Point Blank

beings!‛ He coughed. ‚The families involved in this business have no desire for publicity, so they won’t be talking. They’re just glad to have had their real sons returned to them. The same, of course, goes for you, Alex. You’ve already signed the Official Secrets Act. I’m sure we can trust you to be discreet.‛
    There was a moment’s pause. Mrs. Jones looked carefully at Alex. She had to admit that she was worried about him. She knew everything that had happened at Point Blanc, how close he had come to a horrible death, only to be sent back into the academy for a second time. The boy who had come back from the French Alps was different from the one who had left. There was a coldness about him, as tangible as the mountain snow.
    ‚You did very well, Alex,‛ she said.
    ‚How is Wolf?‛ Alex asked.
    ‚He’s fine. He’s still in the hospital, but the doctors say he’ll make a complete recovery. We hope to have him back on operations in a few weeks.‛
    ‚That’s good.‛
    ‚We had only one fatality in the raid on Point Blanc. That was the man you saw falling from the roof. Wolf and another man were injured. Otherwise, it was a complete success.‛ She paused. ‚Is there anything else you want to know?‛
    ‚No.‛ Alex shook his head. He stood up. ‚You left me in there,‛ he said. ‚I called for help and you didn’t come. Grief was going to kill me, but you didn’t care.‛
    ‚That’s not true, Alex.‛ Mrs. Jones glanced at Blunt for support, but he didn’t meet her eyes.
    ‚There were difficulties…‛
    ‚It doesn’t matter. I just want you to know that I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be a spy anymore, and if you ask me again, I’ll refuse. I know you think you can blackmail me. But I know too much about you now, so that won’t work anymore.‛ He walked over to the door. ‚I used to think that being a spy would be exciting and special, like in the films. But you just used me. In a way, the two of you are as bad as Grief. You’ll do anything to get what you want. Well, I want to go back to school. Next time, you can do it without me.‛
    There was a long silence after Alex had left. At last Blunt spoke. ‚He’ll be back,‛ he said.
    Mrs. Jones raised an eyebrow. ‚You really think so?‛
    ‚He’s too good at what he does—too good at the job. And it’s in his blood.‛ He stood up.
    ‚It’s rather odd,‛ he said. ‚Most schoolboys dream of being a spy. With Alex, we have a spy who dreams of being a schoolboy.‛
    ‚Will you really use him again?‛ Mrs. Jones asked.
    ‚Of course. There was a file that came in only this morning. An interesting case. Right up his alley.‛ He smiled. ‚We’ll give him a few days to settle down and then we’ll call him.‛
    ‚He won’t answer.‛
    ‚We’ll see,‛ Blunt said.
    Alex walked home from the bus stop and let himself into the elegant Chelsea house that he shared with his housekeeper and closest friend, Jack Starbright. Jack knew where Alex had been and what he had been doing. But the two of them had made an agreement never to discuss his involvement with MI6. She didn’t like it, and she worried about him. But ultimately, they both knew, there was nothing more to be said.
    She seemed surprised to see him. ‚I thought you’d just gone out,‛ she said.
    ‚No.‛
    ‚Did you get the message by the phone?‛
    ‚What message?‛
    ‚Mr. Bray wants to see you this afternoon. Three o’clock at the school.‛
    Henry Bray was the principal at Brookland. Alex wasn’t surprised by the summons. Bray was the sort of principal who managed to run a busy school and still find time to take a personal interest in every pupil there. He had been worried by Alex’s long absence at the start of spring term. The fact that Alex had also missed the last two weeks of the same term had worried him more. So he had called a meeting.
    ‚Do you want lunch?‛ Jack asked.
    ‚No, thanks.‛ Alex knew that he would have to pretend he had been ill again. Doubtless MI6 would produce another doctor’s note in due course. But the thought of lying to his principal had spoiled his appetite.
    He set off an hour later, taking his bicycle, which had been returned to the house by the Putney police. He cycled slowly. It was good to be back in London, to be surrounded by normal life. He turned off the King’s Road and pedaled down the side road where—it felt like a month ago—he had followed the man in the white Skoda. The school loomed