Scorpia Rising

entrance to a mosque, and down an alleyway with fresh laundry hanging on lines above their heads. It was close to midday. The sun was directly overhead and the heat was fearsome. Alex wondered how far Smithers would be able to run before his heart gave out. But he was already determined. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to leave the gadget master behind.
    Smithers reached the end of the alley and came to a breathless halt, glancing left and right as he weighed up his options. “The souk!” he gasped. “We can lose them in the souk.”
    “Who are they?” Alex demanded.
    “Scorpia,” Smithers replied, and the single word told Alex everything he needed to know. Nobody else would have dared mount an armed assault in the middle of a highly populated Middle Eastern city. Nobody else was more determined to see him dead. From the very start, even when he had been attacked at Brookland, he had been aware of something unseen, some old enemy stealing out of his past. Well, now he knew. Part of him was grateful to Smithers for telling him the truth. But he was also angry. Blunt must have known that Scorpia was active in Egypt. Yet even so, he had sent Alex here like some sort of sacrificial lamb, forcing them to make their move.
    For just a brief pause, Alex and Smithers were alone. Alex guessed that the Scorpia agents had decided to regroup. They would be waiting to see if any survivors came out of the house.
    “Did you tell anyone you were coming to see me?” Smithers asked.
    “No. Only Jack.”
    “Were you followed?”
    “No. I don’t think so.”
    “Then they didn’t know you were coming. It’s just bad luck you were with me. I’m the one that they’re after.”
    A figure appeared at the top of the alleyway. Alex and Smithers set off again, crossing a courtyard of debris, past a couple of shops with interiors so dark it was impossible to see what they actually sold. The main road was in front of them, divided in half by ugly concrete pillars supporting a second road overhead. The traffic had become a solid, unmoving wall—in fact, the explosions and the approaching police must have brought the entire city to a halt. There were people streaming past in every direction. The sidewalks simply weren’t wide enough to contain them, and much of the available space was taken up by Egyptians with stalls selling sandals, cigarette lighters, scarves, souvenirs . . . each one managing to block the way ahead.
    Smithers pointed. A metal footbridge led above the chaos, up and over to the other side. Alex could feel the sweat pouring off him. The clothes he was wearing were for England. He certainly hadn’t expected to run in them. He didn’t look back. Somehow he had the idea that if he managed to cross to the other side he might be safe.
    It wasn’t the case. Halfway across the bridge, Smithers stopped to catch his breath. Alex turned and saw the five men from the van appear at the side of the road. There were two or three more behind them . . . the survivors from Smithers’s safe house. He and Smithers were in plain sight—but surely even Scorpia wouldn’t take them out in front of so many witnesses. He shouldn’t even have framed the question. A hail of bullets hit the metal side of the bridge, and as Alex dived for cover, they ricocheted all around. Remarkably, in all the noise and the confusion, nobody seemed to hear the shots. The two of them could have been killed without anyone even noticing.
    Alex caught Smithers’s eye. The big man was crouching uncomfortably beside him. “Can you call for help?” he asked.
    “I’m afraid not, old bean.”
    “You must have more gadgets!”
    “Just one!” Smithers checked the way was clear, then stood up again and ran forward. Alex had no choice but to follow—across the bridge and down the other side.
    Behind them, the five Scorpia agents were already clambering up the first steps, determined to follow them into the souk.
    For that was where they were now. Alex had plunged into a series of courtyards and alleyways so densely packed together that it was hard to say if he was inside or out. The Khan el-Khalili souk was the biggest in Cairo, a twisting labyrinth of tiny shops connected by steps, arches, and passages, with all manner of goods piled high on shelves, dangling from walls, and spilling out onto the street. Alex and Jack had already been there and had found the experience almost too much.
    “You want gold? I make you good