Scorpia Rising

that really could be someone’s home. Indeed, a lot of the poorer people of Cairo had seen an opportunity and had actually moved in so that many of the buildings were now occupied with TV screens flickering behind windows, television antennas on the roofs, and laundry hanging on lines that stretched over the graves. There were even a few bars and supermarkets with cans and bottles spread out on wooden shelves that might once have held dead bodies.
    The taxi slowed down once they entered the cemetery. It was impossible to speed through the narrow, twisting streets. The driver seemed to be looking for something and suddenly drew in, stopping beside a wooden door. Alex saw a name—TORUN—written in Arabic and English characters on a plaque. Was this the place? The driver pointed and he looked up. There was a dome and a minaret surmounted with a crescent moon that someone had shot at. The bullet had snapped off one end. The moon was a Turkish symbol. Torun could well be a Turkish name too. Had a Turkish family moved to Cairo, died in Cairo, and decided to be buried in Cairo? At least Alex could be fairly sure that he was in the right place.
    He gave the driver all his money. With his nerves tingling, he got out of the car and went through the door. He heard the taxi pull away behind him and knew that he was on his own. He looked at his watch. It was five to three. He had completed his part of the bargain. He wondered what would happen next.
    Alex was surrounded by three walls. The fourth had crumbled away, revealing more tombs scattered haphazardly and a few shrubs and trees. No squatters seemed to have moved into this part of the cemetery and Alex was quite alone. He felt trapped, hemmed in on all sides. As far as he could tell, the City of the Dead stretched out for at least a mile, and at this time of the afternoon, in the full heat of the sun, there would be few tourists or visitors.
    He heard footsteps. Somebody was approaching. Alex drew himself up, his whole body tensed, not sure what to expect. A figure appeared.
    Alex stood where he was, completely shocked, as he watched himself walk between the graves.
    It was him. The boy had his face, his hair—cut in exactly the same style. He was even dressed similarly, as if he had deliberately checked out what Alex was wearing. The only thing that was different was the cruelty in his eyes. Alex had never smiled like that, with such a degree of malevolence. And suddenly he knew who it was . . . who it had to be.
    Julius Grief stopped. “Surprised?” he asked.
    Alex didn’t speak. He was angry with himself. He remembered the face he had glimpsed in the window as he left school. He should have recognized him then. And the photograph he had seen in Gunter’s desk. At the time it had puzzled him . . . when had it been taken? But the answer was simple. It hadn’t actually been a photograph of him.
    “Do you know who I am?” Grief asked.
    Alex nodded. “Where’s Jack?” he demanded.
    “You don’t ask questions,” Grief replied. He was obviously relishing this. He couldn’t contain his glee. “From now on, you do exactly as you’re told or she gets killed. Do you understand that? We’re going on a little journey together, you and me. And if you cause me any trouble, she’s the one who’ll pay.”
    “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve spoken to her,” Alex said.
    Grief’s face darkened. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re nothing now, Alex Rider. You’re not special. You’re not a superspy. You have no idea what’s coming your way. I’m in charge. I’m the one who says what you do.” Suddenly, as if changing his mind, he took out a mobile, pressed the redial, and spoke a few words. “All right,” he went on. “You can talk to Jack. But only if you ask me nicely. You have to say please.”
    “Please, may I speak to Jack?” Alex measured out the words.
    “Get on your knees.”
    Grief was taunting him with the phone. He was behaving like any school-yard bully. But Alex had to know if Jack was alive. He knelt down in the dust. Grief nodded, pleased with himself. He stepped forward, towering over Alex, and handed him the phone.
    “Jack?” Alex muttered the single word.
    “Alex—don’t do anything they say. Get help.” It was definitely Jack’s voice. But then the phone was snatched away at her end. The line went dead.
    “Satisfied?” Grief held out his hand for the phone. Alex handed it back. He was already