Stormbreaker

inquiries about him and discovered how poor he was … the very clothes he was wearing had been passed down by all nine of his brothers. And so, out of gratitude, they more or less adopted him. Flew him out of Cairo and put him into a school over here, where he made astonishing progress. He got excellent exam results and—here’s an amazing coincidence—at the age of fifteen he actually found himself sitting next to a boy who would grow up to become prime minister of Great Britain.
    Our present prime minister, in fact. The two of them were at school together.
    “I’ll move quickly forward. After school, Sayle went to Cambridge, where he got a degree in economics. He then set out on a career that went from success to success. His own radio station, computer software …
    and, yes, he even found time to buy a string of racehorses, although I believe they seldom win. But what drew him to our attention was his most recent invention. A quite revolutionary computer that he calls the Stormbreaker.”
    Stormbreaker. Alex remembered the file he had found in Ian Rider’s office. Things were beginning to come together.
    “The Stormbreaker is being manufactured by Sayle Enterprises,” Mrs. Jones said. “There’s been a lot of talk about the design. It has a black keyboard and black casing.”
    “With a lightning bolt going down the side,” Alex said. He had seen a picture of it in PC Review.
    “It doesn’t only look different,” Blunt cut in. “It’s based on a completely new technology. It uses something called the round processor. I don’t suppose that will mean anything to you.”
    “It’s an integrated circuit on a sphere of silicon about one millimeter in diameter,” Alex said. “It’s ninety percent cheaper to produce than an ordinary chip because the whole thing is sealed in so you don’t need clean rooms for production.”
    “Oh. Yes…” Blunt coughed. “I’m surprised you know so much about it.”
    “It must be my age,” Alex said.
    “Well,” Blunt continued, “the point is, later today, Sayle Enterprises are going to make a quite remarkable announcement. They are planning to give away tens of thousands of these computers. In fact, it is their intention to ensure that every secondary school in England gets its own Stormbreaker. It’s an unparalleled act of generosity, Sayle’s way of thanking the country that gave him a home.”
    “So the man’s a hero.”
    “So it would seem. He wrote to Downing Street a few months ago: ‘My dear Prime Minister. You may remember me from our school days together. For almost forty years I have lived in England and I wish to make a gesture, something that will never be forgotten, to express my true feelings toward your country.’
    The letter went on to describe the gift and was signed, ‘Yours humbly,’ by the man himself. Of course, the whole government was excited. The computers are being assembled at the Sayle plant down in Port Tallon, Cornwall. They’ll be shipped across the country at the end of this month, and on April first there’s to be a special ceremony at the Science Museum in London. The prime minister is going to press the button that will bring all the computers on-line … the whole lot of them. And—this is top secret, by the way—
    Mr. Sayle is to be rewarded with British citizenship, which is something he has apparently always wanted.”
    “Well, I’m very happy for him,” Alex said. “But you still haven’t told me what this has got to do with me.”
    Blunt glanced at Mrs. Jones, who had finished her meal while he was talking. She unwrapped another peppermint and took over. “For some time now, this department—Special Operations—has been concerned about Mr. Sayle. The fact of the matter is, we’ve been wondering if he isn’t too good to be true. I won’t go into all the details, Alex, but we’ve been looking at his business dealings—he has contacts in China and the former Soviet Union, countries that have never been our friends. The government may think he’s a saint, but there’s a ruthless side to him too. And the security arrangements down at Port Tallon worry us. He’s more or less formed his own private army. He’s acting as if he’s got something to hide.”
    “Not that anyone will listen to us,” Blunt muttered.
    “Exactly. The government’s too keen to get their hands on these computers to listen to us. That was why we decided to send our own man down to the plant. Supposedly to check on