Scorpia Rising

had ended with Belgium invading Holland and China declaring war on everyone else.
    But Alex wasn’t interested in politics. He looked puzzled. “Actually, sir, I didn’t apply.”
    Mr. Jordan frowned. “Didn’t you? That’s strange. Your name’s down on the list.” He took out a sheet of paper and examined it. “That’s right. You’re definitely here. Why don’t you join us anyway? We’ve got a couple of interesting events coming up and you might find it’s fun.”
    Alex shrugged. It didn’t make any difference to him—and it made sense not to offend the principal. “All right,” he said.
    “Great. I’ll see you later in the week.”
    And so he talked politics, he played soccer (seven-aside in the air-conditioned gymnasium), and he even got a small part in the Cairo College production of Blood Brothers. That made him think of Brookland. Right now he should have been rehearsing for their production of Grease. It struck him as odd that no matter where in the world he went, there were people trying to make him sing.
    And yet Alex couldn’t settle in completely. Although part of him felt ashamed of himself, he had a job to do. He wasn’t here as a schoolboy. He was here as a spy. And that set him apart. There wasn’t a moment when he was able to forget it.
    The transmitting device that Smithers had given him, concealed in the bottom of his water bottle, worked brilliantly. It turned every mobile phone into a bug, and wearing the sunglasses, Alex was able to pick up conversations across the school yard. At the same time, though, it told him a lot of things he didn’t want to know. Miss Kennedy, who taught chemistry and physics, was having an affair with Mr. Jackson, who was in charge of sports. Miss Watson had a mother in the hospital in England and was desperately worried about her. Monty Jordan had just applied for another job in a school in New Zealand. These people weren’t criminals or terrorists, and Alex hated prying on them. It made him feel shabby.
    There was also a limit as to how much he could pick up. The guards spoke Arabic, so there was no point eavesdropping on them. And although he saw Erik Gunter a few times, the head of security seemed to make a point of never speaking to anyone. Alex had positioned one of the fake light switches outside Gunter’s office and had spent as much time as he dared lingering in the corridor, listening to what took place inside the room. Gunter had made a couple of phone calls—one to a company that maintained the school alarm system, one to a doctor to order more painkillers. Either he was very careful or completely innocent. Alex still wasn’t sure which.
    At the same time, he did his best to assess security at Cairo College, the other half of the job that Blunt had given him. It was strange to sit in the courtyard and try to imagine himself as a terrorist. But if he were going to target the school, where would he begin? Who would be his first target?
    And the truth was fairly bleak. The school had guards, identity cards, security cameras, wire fences, and alarms. But none of the guards were armed, and any well-organized group would be able to break in and take over the place in minutes. And if they were thinking about kidnapping—perhaps one of the names on the list that Smithers had brought to the apartment—they wouldn’t even need to come close. Simon Shaw, the son of the Australian gasoline king, walked home every day. Anyone in a car could just pull up and drag him in. All the rich kids at Cairo College were determined to live an ordinary life. And that meant no bodyguards, no armor-plated sedans, hardly any security at all.
    The one weak link, the only lead they all had, was Erik Gunter. He was the new security officer. He must have been recruited for a purpose. If Alex could just break into his office, perhaps he might be able to pick up a clue and bring this whole business to an end.
    On Friday afternoon, at the end of his second week, Alex stopped in front of the room on the ground floor, near the main entrance. The windows were locked and barred, but he had often seen Gunter going in and out through the door. He didn’t use a key. He pressed his thumb against an electronic scanner and the door clicked open. Alex quickly checked out the technology. Behind the glass panel was a light sensor system, the same sort of thing that could be found in any digital camera. This would take a picture of Gunter’s thumb, which would be turned into