Scorpia Rising

The fact of the matter is that Scorpia has put together a rather brilliant plan and this is where it ends—just you and me, in this van. You get a bullet, I’m afraid. And do you know what I get? A million dollars—just for moving one finger half an inch.
    “I’ve never actually killed a kid before, and for what it’s worth, I don’t feel too good about it. But you see, it’s not my fault. You don’t know anything about me, so let me tell you. When I came out of Afghanistan . . . Do you know how many bullets I have in me? They dug two of them out, but there are still two of them lodged inside—they couldn’t reach them—and they’re killing me. I can feel them. I took those bullets for my men and I was glad to do it. But when I got home, well, suddenly I discovered that I wasn’t quite the hero that I thought. They put me in a hospital in Birmingham—it was even a mixed ward, can you believe it? I was in pain all the time. You have no idea how much pain. But when I rang the bell, nobody came. Sometimes I was just left there to soil the bed. It was disgusting. And in the end, when I was able to limp out of there, oh yes, they gave me the medal. But they didn’t give me a decent pension. The army didn’t want to know. I couldn’t even get a job. You know? Nobody gives a damn about the war in Afghanistan. Nobody cares. So when Scorpia came along, when they offered me this opportunity, do you think I was going to say no? A million dollars, Alex. And too bad that I have to kill a kid. But right now I have to look out for number one.”
    Alex didn’t speak.
    Gunter leaned over and suddenly slapped him. Alex’s head rocked backward. “Talk to me, dammit,” he said. “I want to know what you think.”
    “I don’t think anything,” Alex said.
    Gunter nodded, as if this was enough. “I wonder if you’ve ever heard of the Elgin marbles,” he went on. “Did you ever study them in class? Or perhaps you visited them at the British Museum. Well, believe it or not—and this must sound very strange to you, sitting here in the middle of Cairo—that’s what this is all about. There was this rich Greek guy called Ariston and he wanted them sent back to Athens. Can you believe that? He was the one who hired Scorpia, and they’ve been playing you like a puppet on a string . . . you and MI6. You’ve been complete idiots from the very start.
    “This is how it works.” Gunter tilted his watch again. “In eleven minutes’ time, the American secretary of state is going to begin a speech. She’ll make some general remarks about the Middle East . . . We’ve already seen a draft of what she’s going to say. And then, she’ll start talking about the balance of power in the world and how completely and utterly useless and untrustworthy we Brits have become. And at that moment there’ll be a shot in the auditorium . . . a hidden assassin . . . and I’m afraid the poor woman will be killed. There will, of course, be an immediate panic. There are two thousand people in there and they’ll all come stampeding out. It’s dark and it looks like it’s about to rain, which will help. Nobody will have any idea what’s going on—which is exactly what we want. Because at that moment, I’m going to kill you too.”
    Gunter was about to continue, but just then an image came up on one of the television screens and he reached out and jabbed one of the buttons on the console, freezing it. Still keeping half an eye on Alex, he turned a dial. The image zoomed in and Alex saw exactly what he was meant to see. A row of boys and girls in dark blue and light blue uniforms—the politics group from the Cairo International College of Arts and Education. The principal, Monty Jordan, was at one end of the line. Miss Watson was at the other. Julius Grief was between them, chatting to Gabriella, the daughter of the ambassador. Of course, she would think he was Alex. He looked like Alex and he sounded like Alex, and she hadn’t really known him long enough to tell the difference.
    “Ah—there you are!” Gunter exclaimed. “Did you ever wonder how your name got onto the politics group? I put it there, of course. They do lots of visits like this and there was no way they were going to miss the American secretary of state. Mr. Jordan got tickets for the whole group and there you are, right in the middle of them.
    “Any minute now, you’ll stand up and leave the auditorium. You’ll tell the principal that you’re not