Scorpia Rising

wondering how the boy had escaped from wherever MI6 had sent him. What was his part in all this? And did anyone know he was free? One thing was already certain. He was quite mad, worse even than he had been the last time they’d met, on the roof at Brookland. “From now on, you call me ‘sir,’” Grief continued. “And you speak to me only when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    The telephone slammed into the side of Alex’s head, almost throwing him off his knees. He swayed and reached out to steady himself against a tomb. “Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir.” Grief held all the cards. There was no point fighting with him yet.
    “That’s good. Now get up and start moving. We’ve got a car waiting for us nearby.”
    Grief gestured. Alex got up. The side of his head was pounding. He wondered briefly what would happen if he took Grief out here and now. It would be easy enough. Twist around, a side kick to the stomach. But they still had Jack. Until she was safe, there was nothing he could do.
    They made their way back through the cemetery. Alex knew this was bad . . . worse than anything that had ever happened to him. Scorpia had its own agenda, still unknown to him. But Grief clearly had just one thing on his mind. He wanted revenge and he was going to make him suffer. Alex walked slowly, trying to ignore the pain in his head. He wouldn’t give up. His chance would come. He just had to make sure he didn’t miss it.
    There was a black limousine waiting not far from where the taxi had dropped him off and, standing beside it, a man whom Alex knew. Erik Gunter was waiting, the sun reflecting off his forehead, his eyes dark and watchful. He was dressed in the same suit and tie that he wore every day at Cairo College; presumably he had left school early today to be here. The only difference was that there was a gun in his hand, but Julius nodded at him and he tucked it away, seeing that the situation was under control.
    “Hello, Tanner,” he said jovially. “Or maybe I should call you by your real name now. Rider! It looks like you’ve reached the end of the line.”
    “So have you,” Alex replied. “MI6 has a file on you. You may have been a war hero in Afghanistan, but they know you’ve switched sides and that you’re working for Scorpia. When this is over, they’ll come looking for you. And they’ll find you. There’s nowhere in the world you’ll be able to hide.”
    Gunter smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “Maybe I’ll have to change my face,” he said. “Like Julius.”
    Julius! So that was his name. It was the first time Alex had heard it.
    Gunter glanced at the red welt on the side of Alex’s head, then at the other boy. He scowled. “You weren’t supposed to mark him,” he said.
    “He was rude to me.”
    “Razim won’t be pleased.”
    Alex filed the information away. It might be useful later. Who was Razim? Presumably the man in charge. For some reason he needed Alex not just alive but unhurt. That might be helpful.
    Gunter went over to the car and opened the trunk. He leaned in, and when he straightened up, he was holding a sophisticated weapon, a sniper rifle, complete with scope. Alex remembered the golf bag that he had seen at the House of Gold. He had no doubt that this weapon must have been inside. At some time Gunter had slipped a glove onto his right hand. He was holding the rifle by the barrel, taking care not to leave fingerprints.
    “Before we go, I want you to take this,” he said. “And don’t get any funny ideas. It’s not loaded.”
    “What do you want me to do with it?”
    He had no sooner spoken the words than he felt a sharp jab in the ribs. He had been hit, hard, from behind. “You don’t ask questions. You just do as you’re told,” Julius said.
    Alex took the gun. It was heavier than he had expected. He held it awkwardly, unsure what was expected.
    “Aim it at me,” Gunter said. “Go on. I’m sure you’d love to kill me. Aim it at my head.”
    Alex did as he was told.
    “Now pull the trigger.”
    Alex hesitated.
    “Go on. Do it.”
    Alex put his finger around the trigger and squeezed. There was a click but no explosion. As Gunter had said, the gun wasn’t loaded.
    “I bet that felt good,” Gunter mocked him. “Now—hold it there.” He took out a digital camera and squeezed off a few shots: Alex and the gun, a brick wall behind him, nobody else in the picture. “That’s great,” he said. “That’ll make a