Scorpia

Oliver d’Arc was standing with Nile, who was dressed in white judo robes with a black belt around his waist. It was odd how often the two colours seemed to surround him, as if perpetually mocking his disease.
    “Nile was one of our best students,” d’Arc explained. “Since his time here, he has risen up the ranks of Scorpia with successful assignments in Washington, London, Bangkok, Sydney—all over the world, in fact. He has kindly agreed to show you a few of his techniques. I’m sure you’ll all learn something from him.” He bowed.
    “Thank you, Nile.”
    In the next thirty minutes, Alex saw a display of strength, agility and fitness he would never forget. Nile smashed bricks and planks with his elbows, fists and bare feet. Three students with long wooden staffs closed in on him. Unarmed, he beat them all, weaving in and out, moving so fast that at times his hands were no more than a blur. Then he proceeded to demonstrate a variety of ninja weapons: knives, swords, spears and chains.
    Alex watched him throw a dozen him shuriken at a wooden target. These were the deadly, star-shaped projectiles that spun through the air, each steel point razor sharp. One after another they thudded into the wood, hitting the inner circle. Nile never missed. And this was a man with some sort of secret weakness? Alex couldn’t see it—and he understood now how he had been defeated so easily at the Widow’s Palace. Against a man like Nile he wouldn’t stand a chance.
    But they were on the same side.
    Alex reminded himself of that now as he stood at the top of the bell tower, watching the night draw in and darkness take hold. He had made his choice. He was part of Scorpia now.
    Like his father.
    Had he made the right decision? At the time, it had all seemed very simple. Yassen Gregorovich had told the truth; Mrs Rothman had shown it to him on film. But he still wasn’t sure. There was a voice whispering to him in the evening breeze that this was all a terrible mistake, that he shouldn’t be here, that it wasn’t too late to get away. But where would he go? How could he return to England, knowing what he did? Albert Bridge. He couldn’t erase the images from his mind. The three Scorpia agents waiting. Mrs Jones talking into the radio transmitter. The betrayal. John Rider pitching forward and lying still.
    Alex felt hatred welling up inside him. It was stronger than anything he had ever experienced in his life. He wondered if it would be possible to live an ordinary life again one day. There seemed to be nowhere for him to go. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just took one more step. He was already standing on the very edge. Why couldn’t he just let the night take him?
    “Alex?”
    He hadn’t heard anyone approach. He looked round and saw Nile standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame.
    “I’ve been looking for you, Alex. What are you doing?”
    “I was just thinking.”
    “Professor Yermalov said he thought he saw you come up here. You shouldn’t really be here.”
    Alex expected Nile to come forward, but he stayed where he was.
    “I just wanted to be alone,” Alex explained.
    “I think you should come down. You could fall.”
    Alex hesitated. Then he nodded. “All right.”
    He followed Nile back down the twisting staircase and at last they emerged at ground level.
    “Professor d’Arc wants to see you,” Nile said.
    “To fail me?”
    “What gave you that idea? You’ve done extremely well. Everyone is very pleased with you. You’ve been here less than a fortnight but you’ve already made great progress.”
    They walked back together. A couple of students passed them and murmured a greeting. Only the day before, Alex had seen them fight a ferocious duel with fencing swords. They were deadly killers; they were his friends.
    He shook his head and followed Nile into the monastery and through to d’Arc’s study.
    As usual, the principal was sitting behind his desk. He was looking as neat as ever, his beard perfectly trimmed.

    “Do, please, sit down, Alex,” he said. He tapped a few keys on his computer and glanced at the screen through his gold-rimmed spectacles. “I have some of your results here,” he went on. “You’ll be pleased to know that all the teachers speak very highly of you.” He frowned. “We do have one small problem, however. Your psychological profile…”
    Alex said nothing.
    “This business of killing,” d’Arc said. “I heard what you