Scorpia

everything he believed in. She had tried to make him part of Scorpia, like his father. But whatever his father had been, he would never be the same.
    Alex tensed, about to throw himself at her, wondering if Nile would cut him down before the guards’ bullets did.
    And then one of the windows shattered and something exploded inside the church. Thick smoke billowed out, spreading across the black and white tiles, devouring everything. At the same time came the chatter of machine-gun fire and a second explosion, this one outside. Julia Rothman staggered and fell sideways. Nile twisted round, the white blotches on his face suddenly more livid than ever, his eyes wide and staring. Alex moved.
    He lashed out at the guard on his left, swinging his elbow into the man’s stomach and feeling the bone sink into soft flesh. The man doubled up. The other guard turned and Alex pivoted on one foot, kicking hard with the other. His heel smashed into the barrel of the man’s machine gun a fraction before it fired. Alex felt the bullets pass over his shoulder and heard a scream as one of the other guards was hit. Well, that made one less anyway!
    He charged, head down, and slammed into the man like a maddened bull. The guard cried out. Alex punched upwards, his fist driving into the man’s throat. The guard was thrown off his feet and sent crashing to the floor.

    Alex was free.
    Everything was confused. Smoke coiled and twisted. More machine-gun fire, another explosion. Alex saw the balloon rise slowly above the church. It hadn’t been hit; it had passed through the gaping roof and was continuing its journey up into the London sky. Suddenly he knew that whatever happened down here, that was where he had to be. The balloon carried equipment that was set to automatic. MI6 were here. They might invade the church and capture Julia Rothman; they might bring the balloon back down. But there could only be minutes left. It might already be too late.
    There was only one thing Alex could do. The balloon was trailing the two ropes that would act as anchors when the platform reached the correct height. Alex sprinted towards them. A man blocked his way and Alex automatically dropped him with a roundhouse kick. He grabbed the nearest rope and felt a jerk as the balloon lifted him off the ground.
    “Stop him!” Mrs Rothman screamed.
    She had seen him but the smoke was still cloaking him from the other guards. There was a burst of machine-gun fire but it missed, slicing the rope a few metres below his feet. Alex looked down and saw that the ground was already quite a long way away. And then he was pulled out of the church, up into the open air, leaving Nile, Mrs Rothman and the swirling chaos behind.

    Half blinded by the smoke and shocked by the suddenness of the attack, Mrs Rothman had to waste precious seconds forcing herself to calm down. She strode over to the television monitors, trying to make sense of the situation. She could see soldiers in black combat dress, their faces covered by helmets, taking up positions outside the church. Well, she could deal with them in her own time. Right now, the boy was all that mattered.
    “Nile!” she snapped. “Get after him!”
    Nile had been hit by flying fragments of glass from the first explosion. For once he seemed slow to react, confused.
    “Now!” she screamed.
    Nile moved. One rope still hung down, shivering in front of him. He grabbed hold of it and, like Alex, was jerked into the air.

    The platform was now forty metres above ground level. It had another sixty metres to travel before the dishes would activate. The extra weight—Alex on one rope, Nile on the other—had slowed it down. But the burner was still heating the air inside the envelope. A digital display on one of the metal boxes was flickering and changing, measuring the distance. Forty-one … forty-two… The machines knew nothing of what was taking place below. That didn’t matter. They would do what they had been designed for. The dishes were waiting for the signal to start transmitting.
    The balloon continued to rise. There were just four minutes left.

    Mrs Jones had acted immediately. There had been five SAS teams on permanent standby in different parts of London, and as soon as Alex’s signal had been received, she had alerted the team nearest to him, with the other four moving in as back-up.
    Eight men were slowly closing in on the church—all of them dressed in full combat gear, including flameproof black