Scorpia Rising

car was waiting for them, parked outside. Meanwhile, Alex sat on his own, his head in a whirl. Cairo! Part of him was excited. He couldn’t help himself. It was an amazing city, somewhere he had never been before. And yet at the same time, he felt a great weight on his shoulders. It was all happening again.
    Jack came back in. “They’ve gone,” she said.
    “Thanks, Jack.” Alex got up. “Thanks for saying you’d come with me.”
    “I wasn’t going to let it happen any other way.” Just for a moment, Jack remembered that she had been planning to tell Alex her plans this very evening. Had she really been thinking of abandoning him, of moving on? Well, her parents and Washington would have to wait. “I guess they’ll have to give me a new ID too,” she said. “I wonder what I’ll look like with a fake mustache.” She sighed. “Are you going to do your homework?”
    “I don’t think there’s any point.”
    “Then why don’t I make us some supper? And you see what’s on TV . . .”

    Alan Blunt was in a better mood as they headed back toward Liverpool Street. Mrs. Jones had noticed the difference. “So you got what you wanted,” she said.
    “Yes.” Blunt avoided her eye. “It’s funny how things work out sometimes.”
    “I think you forgot to mention that Scorpia might be involved.”
    “I didn’t forget. I preferred not to alarm him.”
    “He might have decided not to go.”
    “I would have said, all in all, that it’s better for him to keep an open mind.”
    They drove on in silence.
    “I want him to have backup in Cairo,” Mrs. Jones announced suddenly.
    “Who do you have in mind?” Blunt knew that there was a time when his deputy would never have spoken to him so directly. But he would soon be gone. Power was already transferring itself to her. “We could send Crawley, perhaps. Or Gerrard . . .”
    “I was thinking of Smithers.”
    “An interesting choice.”
    “Alex trusts him. And he may come in useful, particularly if Scorpia does show up. Do you have any objection?”
    “Of course not, Mrs. Jones. Whatever you think best.”

    The strange thing was that Blunt had been right all along. He never should have left Liverpool Street and he certainly shouldn’t have visited Alex at home.
    He and Mrs. Jones had been filmed getting out of the car from the window of the house opposite. The owners of the house were on vacation in Thailand, and although they should have returned by now, they had both fallen ill with food poisoning and were being treated in a hospital in Bangkok. Scorpia had arranged this, just as they had arranged for one of their teams to break into the house and set up their cameras on the second floor.
    Alex’s home had also been bugged. Two men dressed as telephone engineers had slipped in while Jack was out at the shops and placed recording devices in the kitchen, the living room, both bedrooms, and even dotted around the garden. The entire conversation with Blunt and Mrs. Jones had been recorded.
    “I want him to go to Egypt . . . I have a job that is ideally suited to you . . .”
    “We’ll give him a false name . . .”
    “I’ll alert our Cairo office that you’re on your way. They’ll give you everything you need.”
    It had all been recorded, on film and on tape, proof that MI6 had once again employed Alex Rider and sent him to the Middle East. It would be put into the Horseman file, and over the next few days, that file would start to grow. Ariston might be dead, but his work would continue. Scorpia’s operation had begun.

10

    WELCOME TO CAIRO

    THE MAN FROM THE EMBASSY had introduced himself as Blakeway, but Alex wondered if that was his real name. It somehow suited him too well. He was thin, elderly, hollowed out by the sun, and very English—wearing a crumpled linen jacket, a striped tie, and a Panama hat. He had been waiting for Alex and Jack at Cairo Airport, standing next to the metal tunnel that led from the plane.
    “Miss Starbright? Alex? Very good to meet you. I’ve got a car waiting for you. Do come this way.”
    They set off at a leisurely pace. Blakeway didn’t look like the sort of man who ever hurried. But it was good having him with them. They were waved through passport control. They didn’t have to join the long lines or buy twenty-dollar entry visas from the banking kiosks. Blakeway stood with them until their luggage arrived on the carousel, then carried Jack’s cases for her, leading them through the crowds of taxi