Scorpia Rising

a series of dots by an analog-to-digital converter. Somewhere in the system, there was a second picture. If the two matched, the door would open.
    Alex needed Gunter’s thumb . . . and it needed to be connected to his hand. Cutting it off and pressing it against the glass wouldn’t work. Nor would a photograph. Cairo College had installed a sophisticated system that also incorporated a pulse and a heat sensor. Only the real, living thing would do.
    But surely that was possible.
    Alex took out the notepad and pen that Smithers had given him. Working quickly, he sketched an illustration of the door and the keypad. He wrote down the trade name—Securi-Scan—and the serial number. Then, underneath, he scribbled a message: Can you get me in?
    He underlined it, then closed the pad and put it away. The image and the question should have instantly appeared on Smithers’s computer screen. Hopefully he would come up with a solution over the weekend.
    Alex picked up his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, and set off home.

12

    IN THE PICTURE

    ERIK GUNTER WAS AWAY for the whole of Monday at some sort of conference in Alexandria, handing over security to his assistant, an Egyptian named Naquib who spent the entire day either smoking or dozing in the sun. It was infuriating to know that Gunter’s office was empty—but Alex couldn’t break in without him. He had to wait for his return and it wasn’t until the end of Tuesday that he finally got his chance.
    It had been another ordinary school day, but Alex had been unable to concentrate, knowing that he was about to make his move. He had noticed Gunter at lunchtime, sitting with some of the teachers, drinking a glass of milk. He had never actually seen the head of security eat anything solid. Somehow he had managed to get through French, history, math, and all the rest of it. He’d gone swimming, rehearsed the school play. And finally he was on his own, hanging back after the last lesson had ended. He was fairly sure that he was the only boy left in the school. It was now half past three. The gates would be locked at four o’clock—allowing him a window of just thirty minutes. It might not be enough.
    By now, Alex knew the movements of Gunter, Naquib, and everyone else whose job it was to patrol the school and keep it safe. Gunter returned to his office at a quarter to three every day. He worked there for about twenty minutes, then went over to the main gate to watch the students leave. It was surprising that this was one part of his army training that he seemed to have forgotten. He repeated himself—and repetition is a gift to the enemy. It makes you predictable. It makes you an easy target.
    Alex waited in the corridor close to the office until there was a click and the door opened. He moved forward, timing it so that he arrived just as Gunter emerged. He glanced briefly inside before Gunter closed the door. The lock engaged automatically.
    “Tanner!” The security man was surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
    “I came to see you,” Alex said.
    “Why?”
    Alex put his hand in his pocket. “I found this.” He took out an iPhone and handed it to Gunter.
    “What about it?”
    “Well, someone left it in class. I tried to start it up, but it’s locked. I thought you could find out who it belongs to and hand it back.”
    Gunter scowled. With his shaven head and hostile eyes, he had the sort of face that showed anger very easily. “Lost property is no business of mine. You’ve got to hand it in at the gate. They’ll put up a notice and whoever’s left this can claim it when they get into school tomorrow.” He handed it back and began to move away, again with that strange, fumbling progress that suggested his muscles and skeleton weren’t quite working together.
    He had taken only two steps when he turned around. “How are you getting on here?” he asked.
    “I’m fine,” Alex said.
    “But you must be missing your friends in London.”
    “Yes. But I’ve got a lot of friends here too.”
    “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
    Gunter clumped his way down the corridor, leaving Alex wondering how he could possibly have known that he came from London. Of course, Gunter could have looked at his file. But that was in the main office—and why would he have bothered to search it out? It was an interesting slip. Alex made a mental note of it.
    The corridor was empty. It was three thirty-five. Alex was still holding the iPhone, cradling it in