Scorpia Rising

inside by now, slumped over their homework. He wished that he had so little to worry about.
    Alex had changed into a baggy T-shirt and shorts. His hair was still wet from the shower and there was a bandage on his knee. He wasn’t even sure when he’d scratched himself, but Jack had noticed it at once and had insisted on rubbing in half a tube of antiseptic cream. He had, after all, taken a dip in the Nile. It reminded Alex of all the times she had looked after him in the past. Some things never changed.
    She had prepared an assortment of Egyptian dishes: hummus, olives, stuffed grape leaves, fried meatballs, and smoked aubergine—all served with warm aish baladi, or Egyptian flat bread. She was drinking chilled pink wine. Alex stuck to water.
    “I was sitting outside the House of Gold, wondering what was going on, when I got your text,” she said. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving you, but I waited for Gunter to come out and I followed him like you told me to. He looked like he was going to play golf or something. He had a golf bag.”
    “I know.”
    “Well, he flagged down a taxi and I managed to get one just behind him. It was like being in a film. I followed him all the way across Cairo and I thought he might be going somewhere exciting, but in the end he went into an apartment just around the corner from here. I made a note of the address. I think it’s where he lives. Anyway, after that I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was worried about you, so I went all the way back to the House of Gold . . . except that it wasn’t there anymore. There were police everywhere and they were talking about a terrorist attack or something. My first thought was to call Mr. Smithers, but when I took out my mobile I saw that you’d called. I got your message and came back here.”
    She poured herself another glass of wine. “Now it’s your turn. What happened on the boat? How did you escape? And who was the man in the car?”
    Quickly, Alex told her about his own ordeal, starting with the dead man in the antiques shop, the explosion, his capture by the CIA, and the bell room. He left out the waterboarding. He didn’t really want to relive the experience and he knew Jack would have been sickened. “That was a CIA car that brought me here,” he concluded. “At least they were decent enough to give me a lift.”
    Jack shook her head. “This is absolutely typical of Mr. Blunt,” she said. “He promised us there wouldn’t be any danger, but we’ve already got dead bodies on boats, bombs, and political assassination. So what are we going to do?”
    The question had been hanging in the air since he got back, and Alex had already been considering the answer. “I think it’s time to do what Mr. Byrne suggested,” he said. “We ought to leave.”
    “Back to England?”
    “I suppose so.” Alex had eaten enough. He put down his knife and fork and leaned back contentedly. In the distance he could hear insects of some sort—cicadas—that had already started up in the undergrowth. “I still don’t know what’s going on here, Jack,” he said. “And my cover’s been blown. There’s a boy here from Brookland who recognized me, and it can’t be long before people start asking questions. It’s all getting out of hand and I don’t want to be part of it.”
    “Do you think the school’s under threat?”
    “If I thought that, I’d stay. Cairo College is okay . . . even Miss Watson. But I’ve been there for almost three weeks and it all seems completely ordinary. The only reason we think it might be a target is because Mr. Blunt told us—and you’re right, we can’t believe a word he says. Anyway, after what happened today, it seems almost certain that he’s wrong.”
    Alex went over it all in his head once again. But he couldn’t see any other possibility.
    “Erik Gunter must be involved with this visit,” he said. “The American secretary of state. He’d been to see this big weapons dealer and that bag he was carrying . . .”
    “It wasn’t golf clubs.”
    “Exactly. Maybe he’s a hired assassin. Maybe he’s using his position at the school as some sort of cover. But the CIA is going to be watching him from now on. It’s got nothing to do with the school and it’s got nothing to do with me. So I might as well go.”
    Jack nodded. “Are you going to tell Mr. Smithers?”
    “Yes. I’ll go and see him tomorrow while you’re doing the packing. You’d better also call the school and tell