Scorpia Rising

shape of the weapon, tucked into the back of his trousers, was unmistakable.
    “Now that’s interesting,” Smithers muttered. “Do you think this chap followed you here? Or has he come for me?”
    “Either way, I hope you’re not going to let him in,” Alex said.
    Smithers smiled. “I don’t think so.” He pointed the remote at the door. “I actually put the welcome mat in myself. Occasionally, though, it becomes an unwelcome mat, as he’s about to find out.” His thumb stabbed down. The doormat collapsed. It was hinged, like a trapdoor, and the fake FedEx man had been standing right in the middle of it. With a yell, he disappeared from sight.
    “What’s underneath?” Alex asked.
    “It heads directly to the Cairo sewers about ten yards down,” Smithers replied. “He’ll have a soft landing, but I’m afraid it won’t be a pleasant one.”
    “Mr. Smithers . . .”
    Alex pointed at another of the monitors, which only moments before had been a portrait of the Prince of Wales. It showed the front gate. Two cars had pulled up, and even as he watched, half a dozen men poured out, all of them Egyptian, all of them dressed in dark clothes. Perhaps they were all in radio contact, but somehow they seemed to know what had just happened. Warily, they made their way up the garden path. Two of them had machine guns slung across their chests. The others were carrying automatic pistols.
    “How many gadgets do you have in this house?” Alex asked.
    “Not enough.” Smithers nodded at a third screen. Four more men had joined the others, coming around the side of the building, bringing the total to ten. They were spreading out, surrounding the house like an invading army.
    “What time did we say your plane was?” Smithers asked.
    “Three thirty.”
    The men were getting closer.
    “Then we’d better get a move on. We don’t want you to be late.”
    Smithers was still holding the remote control device, and Alex wondered what else it could do. The collapsing doormat had been simple but effective, and at least it had reduced the odds by one. But there were a lot of determined-looking men crossing the front garden, approaching the front door—and as far as Alex could see, that was the only way out. The attackers were all armed and they were taking no chances, moving carefully one step at a time, as if they were in a minefield. Smithers looked from one TV screen to the next. Alex had never seen him like this before. Like so many fat men, he had always seemed carefree and jolly. But right now, as he timed his next move, he was deadly.
    One of the screens showed the pair of stone lions. Two men were passing between them, each one clutching a nasty-looking snub-nosed miniature machine gun, and Alex wondered if they really dared use them here, in the middle of a city that was always on the alert against terrorism. But there could be no doubting the determination in their eyes and in their very body language. They had come here for the kill. By the time the police arrived, they would be far away.
    Smithers waited for the exact moment, then hit the next button. The two men partially disappeared in a cloud of white dust that sprayed out of the lions’ mouths. They were still there when it cleared, gazing at each other, wondering what had just happened. Alex had no idea either. He glanced at Smithers, who said nothing. Then one of the men threw away his gun and began to roll on the grass. A second later, the other did exactly the same. They were like small children, writhing on their backs, kicking their legs, and screaming. They had completely forgotten where they were or why they had come here.
    “Itching powder,” Smithers muttered. “Super-strength. It was actually developed in the last war, but I’ve made a few improvements. To be honest with you, I’ve been itching to try it!”
    The others had seen what had happened and looked at the two men, still rolling helplessly, in disbelief. Somebody shouted a command and they advanced on the house, colder and more angry than ever. Alex could see eight of them spread over the TV screens. He glanced at the door. Would it be strong enough to hold them back?
    As if to answer the question, that was when they opened fire. Their weapons had been silenced, but even so, the sound of the bullets slamming into the walls, the windows, and the front door was deafening. It was like being inside a tin box in a hailstorm and Alex flinched despite himself. But the door didn’t so