Skeleton Key

tried to fight, the result would be just the same. Alex had just one hope Left. If he walked out of here with Sarov and Conrad and the security guard was still alive, there was just a chance that he might tell his story to someone who would report it to MI6. It would certainly be too late for Alex. But the world might still be saved.
    “Isn‟t that right, Alex?” Sarov was waiting for an answer.
    “Yes,” Alex said. “Hello, Dad.”
    “So what‟s all this business about bombs and spies?” Prescott asked.
    Alex inwardly groaned. Why couldn‟t the man keep his mouth shut?
    “Is that what Alex has been telling you?” Sarov asked.
    “Aye. That and a whole lot more besides.”
    “Has he made a telephone call?”
    “No.” Prescott puffed himself up. “The wee rascal was helping himself to the phone when I came in. But I soon put a stop to that.”
    Sarov nodded slowly. He was pleased. “Well… he does have a vivid imagination,” he explained.
    “Alex has not been well lately. He has mental problems. Sometimes he finds it hard to distinguish between fantasy and reality.”
    “How did he get in here?” Prescott demanded.
    “He must have slipped out of the plane when nobody was watching. He has, of course, no permission to be on British soil.”
    “Is he British?”
    “No.” Sarov took hold of Alex‟s arm. “And now we must return to the plane. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”
    “Wait a minute!” The guard wasn‟t going to let them off that easily. “I‟m sorry, sir, but your son was strictly off-limits. And for that matter, so are you. You can‟t just go wandering around Edinburgh airport like this! I‟m going to have to report this.”
    “I quite understand.” Sarov didn‟t seem at all perturbed. “I must get the boy back on the plane.
    But I will leave you with my assistant, who will give you all the details you require. If necessary, he will accompany you to your superior‟s office. And I have to thank you for preventing my son from making a telephone call, Mr Prescott. That would have been most embarrassing for us all.”
    Without waiting for a reply, Sarov turned and, still holding Alex‟s arm, led him out of the room.
    An hour later, the Lear jet took off on the last leg of its journey. Alex was sitting in the same seat as before but now he was handcuffed to it. Sarov hadn‟t hurt him and no longer seemed even aware that he was on the plane. In a way, that was the most frightening thing about him. Alex had expected anger, violence, perhaps even a sudden death at the hands of Conrad. But Sarov had done nothing. From the moment that Alex had been escorted back onto the plane, the Russian hadn‟t so much as looked at him. There had, of course, been problems. The explosion on the plane and Alex‟s leap out of it had raised all sorts of questions. The pilot had been in constant communication with the control tower. The sound of the explosion had been a faulty microwave oven, he‟d explained. As for the boy? General Alexei Sarov, on the staff of the Russian president, was travelling with a nephew. The boy had high spirits. Very stupid, but everything was under control…
    If this had been an ordinary private jet, the police would have been called. But it was registered to Boris Kiriyenko. It had diplomatic immunity. All in all, the authorities agreed, it would be easier to turn a blind eye and let it go.
    George Prescott‟s body was discovered four hours later. He was sitting, slumped, in a stationery cupboard. There was a look of surprise on his face and a single, round bullet wound between his eyes.
    By then, the Lear was in Russian airspace. Even as the alarm was raised and the police were finally called, the cabin lights were dimmed as the jet curved over the Kola Peninsula preparing for its final descent.

THE END OF THE WORLD

    Airports are the same all over the world, but the one at Murmansk had managed to achieve a new level of ugliness. It had been built in the middle of nowhere so that, from the air, it looked like a mistake. At ground level, it offered just one low-rise terminal built out of glass and tired, grey cement, with eight white letters mounted on the roof.
    MYPMAHCK
    Alex recognized the Russian spelling. Murmansk. A city with thousands of people. He wondered how many of them would be alive in twelve hours‟ time. Now handcuffed to one of the two guards who had flown with them all the way from Skeleton Key, he was led across an empty runway. It