Scorpia Rising

buildings. “One day this will be a library. I also plan to construct a small concert hall.”
    Julius sniffed. “You’d have thought it would all dissolve in the rain.”
    “It has not rained here for a hundred and ten years.”
    “That’s a lot of salt. Maybe we could take off all Alex’s skin and roll him in it. That would really hurt.” Julius giggled. “You are going to let me torture him, aren’t you, Razim?”
    Julius had already attended several of Razim’s experiments. Only that morning they had been working on a tourist they had picked up in Alexandria. Julius had watched with fascination as Razim jotted down his findings. Unfortunately, the tourist hadn’t lived very long.
    “You enjoy my experiments?” Razim asked.
    “Yes. Very much. Don’t you?”
    “I do not derive pleasure from them. I have never really understood pleasure. For me, they are a scientific necessity—nothing more, nothing less.”
    “Well, I like them a lot.”
    “And in answer to your question, I will allow you to spend a little time with Alex Rider. And I can promise you that you will cause him more pain than he has ever known. You will have your revenge, my friend. But only if you do as you are told. I will not have you putting this operation at risk again. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.” Julius scowled.
    “Good. Scorpia has made too many mistakes in the past. I do not intend to make any myself. Alex Rider will be with us very soon, and from the moment he arrives we are going to have to take extreme care.”
    Julius finished his soda. Almost immediately, and without being signaled, a servant ran forward with another.
    “The gun will have to be decontaminated tonight,” Razim continued. “And make sure you don’t touch it again until it’s in place. Meanwhile, it would seem that we do have one small problem that we’re going to have to deal with.”
    “Oh? What’s that?”
    “This morning I received a coded transmission from Zeljan Kurst in Paris. MI6 have taken one precaution that we could not have foreseen. They have sent an agent out here to keep a watch over Alex Rider while he is in Cairo. He is a very fat man by the name of Smithers.”
    “Is that bad?”
    “No. On the contrary. He visited Alex at his apartment the day he arrived and we have photographic evidence that we can add to the Horseman file. It’s further evidence that MI6 have been running a covert operation in Egypt. However, as we move toward the critical stage, I do not think we can afford to have him on the scene. It’s too dangerous.”
    “So?”
    “So this is my plan.” Razim took a last drag on his cigarette, and for a moment the tip glowed the same color as the sun. “Mr. Smithers must die. I will have it done tomorrow. From what I have heard, and despite his appearance, he is an extremely effective secret agent. So I think I will send perhaps a dozen men.”
    “That seems a bit over-the-top.”
    “Learn from me, Julius. Maybe one day, when this present operation is concluded, you will join the ranks of Scorpia . . .”
    “Really? Do you think they’d have me? I’d love that!”
    Razim smiled. He had already decided that he was going to kill Julius as soon as he had no further use for him. That idea he had just suggested . . . flaying him alive and then rolling him in salt. That might be interesting.
    “We take no risks. We make no mistakes. Tomorrow morning we kill Smithers and tomorrow evening . . .”
    “Alex Rider!”
    “That’s when it begins . . .”

16

    INSIDE EVERY FAT MAN . . .

    THE STREET WAS JUST five minutes from the souk, but it was surprisingly quiet and empty, with just a few children kicking a soccer ball around in the dust and not a tourist in sight. The taxi dropped Alex off at a few minutes before eleven o’clock. He had already contacted Smithers using the notepad with its hidden circuitry. Smithers had rung back immediately to confirm.
    The house wasn’t difficult to find.
    When Alex had been walking around the city with Jack, he had noticed a few old European buildings here and there . . . elegant and somehow out of place, as if the Egyptians hadn’t noticed they were there and so had forgotten to knock them down. They dated back to the nineteenth century—the Suez Canal had been built at the same time—and might once have housed French noble-men or engineers. Smithers had chosen one of these and added a few touches of his own.
    It was a tall, narrow building on three floors,