Scorpia Rising

Julius had disobeyed his instructions. So far, however, he hadn’t mentioned it.
    Julius passed through the main entrance and heard the whir of machinery as the solid wooden and steel gates swung shut behind him. He knew that miniature land mines, buried in the sand, would have been activated all around the fort. A few nights ago, a stray desert fox had tried to approach the compound, scavenging for food. They had all been woken up as the unfortunate animal had been blown apart.
    Drinks had been served on the terrace outside the house where Razim lived. This was a neat, very square-cut building with two floors . . . In fact, it could have been drawn by a child. It had a front door and five shuttered windows, one on each side and three above, positioned with perfect symmetry. Wooden rods carved from palm trunks jutted out of the side of the house just below the tiled roof. It was part of the Berber tradition. Local tribes-men would have hung bones—animal and human—from the rods to keep away devils. But looking at the two people who had come together to watch the sun set, they might have decided that it was already too late.
    Razim had a tall glass with gin and tonic, ice, and lemon in front of him and, as usual, he was smoking one of his Black Devil cigarettes. Julius Grief sat down opposite him, resting the gun against the table. He raised a hand and one of Razim’s men hurried over with a soda.
    “That was excellent shooting,” Razim said.
    “My father trained me,” Julius replied. “He trained all of us. And every time we missed, we got three strokes of the cane. By the end of it, we were all pretty good shots.”
    “He was a remarkable man.”
    “He was brilliant.” Julius drank some of his soda. “You know, they say it’s impossible to clone a human being. Well, he managed it. In fact he did it sixteen times.”
    “And the plastic surgery?”
    “That was done by some doctor he found. A man named Baxter.”
    “It must have been very disappointing for you to find you had been given the wrong face.”
    “You have no idea.” Julius’s hand tightened on his glass. “It wasn’t just that. I’d spent months learning about David and Caroline Friend. They were stinking rich . . . They owned supermarkets and art galleries and stuff. And I was going to move in as their son and take it all from them. It would all have been mine. But then Dad had to come and tell me that Alex Friend didn’t actually exist. His real name was Alex Rider. And everything I’d done, everything I’d been through was for nothing!”
    Razim had already noticed that when Julius became angry, he spoke with a South African accent. He was angry now.
    “He was a bloody spy! I couldn’t believe it! And after that, everything went pear shaped. He managed to escape and then he killed Dad and that was the end of it.”
    “I can understand how much you must hate him. But even so, you were wrong to disobey me.” Razim spoke softly, but there was an edge to his voice. “Going to the school was foolish. If you had been seen, it could have ruined everything.”
    “I was seen!” Julius laughed. “I put on that uniform you gave me and I just walked in through the school gates. So much for all their precious security! They took one look at me and they thought I was him. I went into Gunter’s office and I waited and I saw him leave. He actually turned around.”
    “He saw you?”
    “No. Don’t worry. But I think he sensed me. It was quite interesting, really. It was like a sort of telepathy.”
    “And how did you feel?”
    “Now you’re sounding like my bloody psychiatrist, if you don’t mind my saying so, Razim. How do you think I felt? If I’d had a gun, I’d have used it then and there. I had to stop myself from running out and strangling him with my bare hands. I’d have loved to have done it. I really would.”
    In the courtyard, two of the guards had appeared with shovels and a wheelbarrow, walking toward an enormous mound of salt on the other side of the well. It was directly underneath the rope walkway. The salt had been pounded until it was fine and it seemed to Julius that it had a life of its own, shifting and swirling in the breeze. A third guard stood above, watching them.
    “What are they doing?” Julius asked. The men had begun to scoop out the salt, loading it into the barrow.
    “The salt has come out of the lake. We mix it with sand to make bricks.” Razim gestured at one of the half-finished