Scorpia Rising

sniper miss? It’s true that Alex noticed him and reacted quickly, but even so, the bullet hit his desk, not his chair. It’s as if the sniper wasn’t aiming at him at all.
    “And then there’s the business at the Wandsworth Park industrial estate. Alex overheard the gunman talking to the pilot of the helicopter. “It was fine. Mission accomplished.” That was what he said. Was he lying? Or was he actually telling the truth? Had he achieved what he set out to do?”
    “Where are you going with this?” Blunt asked.
    “I think you know exactly where I’m going. You recruited the sniper and the helicopter pilot. You arranged the whole thing. Scorpia wanted to lure Alex Rider to Cairo and they set up the trap. But you had to make sure that he fell into it. If Alex believed he was in danger—worse than that, that his friends might also be in danger too—he would have no choice but to leave. I’ve traced the ownership of the Robinson R22, by the way, so there’s no point denying it.”
    “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by denying it, Mrs. Jones,” Blunt replied.
    “What happened to the pilot and the sniper?”
    “They survived. They broke a few bones. Nothing serious. They’re both recuperating on the Isle of Man.”
    “Do you have any idea how serious this is? You arranged a shooting in a British school! You brought half of London to a standstill and you’ve wasted thousands of hours of police time—and all so you could get your way. And you were wrong all along. Scorpia tricked you.”
    Alan Blunt took off his glasses, wiped them with a handkerchief, then put them on again. His eyes were suddenly tired. “Who knows about this?” he asked.
    “Only me.”
    “And what do you intend to do?”
    There was a brief silence.
    “Nothing.” Mrs. Jones might have made the decision before she came into the room. Or she might have made it just then. It made no difference. “I can’t separate myself from the responsibility in all this,” she went on. “I can understand why you did what you did. And I won’t stand in the way of your knighthood. So go to Venice. Enjoy your vacation. We’ve been together for a very long time. We won’t see each other again.”
    Blunt stood up. He went over to the desk and laid his hands on the shoe box. But he didn’t pick it up. He looked straight at Mrs. Jones. “I’ll say two things if I may,” he said.
    “Go ahead.”
    “Try not to forget that some good came out of all this. I understand that Scorpia has disbanded.”
    “Scorpia is a laughingstock,” Mrs. Jones agreed. “They’ll never work again. Several of their personnel—including Zeljan Kurst—have been arrested, and the international police forces are cooperating to track down the rest of them. They took on Alex three times and three times they failed. That was the end of them.”
    “Well, one might argue that made it all worthwhile.”
    “One might. What else?”
    “Only this. Let me give you some parting advice, Mrs. Jones.” Blunt lifted the shoe box. Now the desk was entirely hers. “The Brookland business was a mistake, as it turned out. But I had no hesitation in arranging it. And if you are going to succeed in this job, Mrs. Jones—my job—then there will come a time when you will have to do the same. Of course, you know that. You know the sort of decisions we’ve had to make. But I wonder if you know what it’s like to live with them? A German philosopher once wrote that he who fights monsters must take care that he doesn’t become one himself. Our work is often monstrous. I’m afraid there’s no escaping it.”
    Mrs. Jones considered this and nodded. There was nothing more to say.
    “Good-bye, Alan.”
    “Good-bye, Mrs. Jones.”
    Blunt took the shoe box and left the room, closing the door behind him.

    “Virgin Airways Flight 20 to San Francisco has begun boarding. Will all passengers please proceed directly to Gate 3.”
    Sitting in the Virgin business-class lounge at Heathrow, Edward Pleasure closed the book he had been reading and put it away.
    “Time to go,” he said.
    “Okay.”
    Alex Rider was sitting next to him, dressed in jeans and a dark jersey. He had a carry-on bag for the flight, packed with books and computer games for his Nintendo DSi. He had checked in two other suitcases, and they contained just about everything he now owned. The house in Chelsea had been cleared and was on the market to be sold. Alex had taken his clothes, a few photographs, his