Scorpia Rising

is a British plot. In my opinion, it has all the fingerprints of the British secret service. The gun that the sniper used is of British design. The British did not wish the secretary of state to make this speech. And it is a British citizen who was found in the television van.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “We have his ID. His name is Erik Gunter. And he does not work for Al Minya. The van had been stolen from them. They know nothing about him.”
    Erik Gunter. Byrne’s heart sank. It was the name that Alex had given him. He had given instructions for the man to be kept under surveillance, but somehow he must have slipped through the net. “How did he die?” he asked.
    Manzour’s eyes bulged almost comically, as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “My people say that he was stung by a scorpion. But this is madness. There are no scorpions in Cairo. There are no scorpions in television broadcasting vans.” He signaled frantically and a junior officer came running over with a folding chair. He plumped himself down and took out a handkerchief, using it to wipe his brow. It took him a few moments to regain his composure, but when he spoke again it was in a softer voice. “I do not understand any of this. I get the sense of a great conspiracy. Let us give thanks that it does not seem to have worked and that the secretary of state is unharmed.”
    A soldier appeared, walking hastily toward them. He stopped in front of Manzour, saluted, then bent forward and whispered a few words. Manzour looked up, his face filled with new alarm. “The business becomes even more strange,” he said. “I have just been told that a boy has been arrested at the main gate.”
    “A boy?”
    “He was carrying a gun. Russian manufacture. It appears to have been fired. He simply walked up to my men and allowed himself to be taken. He didn’t try to resist. And now he is asking for you.”
    “Where is he?” Suddenly Byrne knew. It couldn’t be anyone else. “Can you ask your man to describe him?”
    Manzour turned to the soldier and there was a brief exchange of words. “He is a British schoolboy. Aged fifteen. Light-colored hair. He was wearing the uniform of one of our international colleges.”
    “The Cairo College of Arts and Education?”
    “Yes.” Manzour’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”
    “Yes, I do. And it’s absolutely urgent that we speak to him immediately . . . somewhere private.”
    Manzour nodded. He stood up, then noticed the soldier, still waiting for instructions. “You heard what he said!” he bellowed. “Fetch the boy. Bring him to me . . . in the director’s office. Nobody is to speak to him. Not even his name! I’ll see him at once.”

    It was Alex Rider, of course. It couldn’t have been anyone else. But Joe Byrne was shocked by what he saw. Only a few days had passed since the two of them had met, but in that time the boy seemed to have aged ten years. Alex didn’t seem to be physically hurt. He had walked into the room, an office inside the Assembly Hall, and sat down without limping or showing any obvious sign of injury. He had seemed pleased to see Byrne. But he looked haggard and exhausted. His clothes, soaking wet, hung off a body that was almost broken. The light had gone out in his eyes. It was obvious to Byrne that something terrible had happened. And for the first time in his long career with the CIA, he was almost afraid to ask.
    Alex told his story briefly, as if he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He explained that he had been kidnapped by a man called Razim and taken to the desert. There was a conspiracy, put together by Scorpia, to blackmail the British government. An exact look-alike of Alex had entered the Assembly Hall with the party from Cairo College and would have shot the secretary of state if Alex hadn’t stopped him.
    “A look-alike?” Manzour repeated the words. From the expression on his face, he hadn’t believed anything Alex had said.
    “Yes. His name is Julius Grief. His father was Dr. Hugo Grief. He had plastic surgery that made him look like me.”
    “And where is he now?”
    “You’ll find him on the side of the road leading down from the university.”
    “Alive?”
    “No. I killed him.”
    Manzour turned to one of his officers and snapped out a command in Arabic. The officer hurried out of the room.
    Byrne waited until he had gone. “I don’t think you should doubt anything Alex says, Ali,” he muttered. “I