seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “I told you,” he said. “So why don’t you let me go? I’ve got nothing to do with this. I was just next door.”
“You got involved on purpose,” Kaspar said.
“No.” Alex denied it but his mouth was dry.
“You switched room numbers. You answered to the name of Paul Drevin. You crippled one of my men and injured the others.”
Alex said nothing, waiting for the axe to fall.
“I don’t understand why you chose to become involved,” Kaspar went on. “I don’t know who you are. But you made your decision. You chose to become an enemy of Force Three and so you must pay.”
“I didn’t choose anything.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I am fighting a war and in any war there are casualties—innocent victims who just happen to get in the way. If it makes it any easier, think of yourself as one of them.” Kaspar sighed but there was no sadness in the map of his face. “Goodbye, Alex Rider. It was a pity that we had to meet. It has cost me a million pounds in ransom money. It will cost you rather more…”
Before Alex could react, he was grabbed from behind and dragged to his feet. He didn’t speak as he was forced back out of the room and down the corridor. This time he was thrown into another room, smaller than his previous cell. Alex just had time to make out a chair, a barred window and four bare walls before he was shoved hard in the back and sent sprawling to the floor.
Combat Jacket stood over him. “I wish he’d let me have a little time with you,” he rasped. “If I had my way, we’d do this differently—”
“Move it!” The voice came from outside. One of the other men was waiting.
Combat Jacket spat at Alex and walked out. The door closed and almost at once Alex heard the unmistakable sound of hammering. He shook his head in disbelief. They weren’t just locking him in. They were nailing the door to the frame.
Once again, he examined his surroundings. He wondered why they had chosen this particular room. The bars on the window made no real difference. Even if the window had been wide open, he was at least seven storeys up. He wouldn’t have Deen able to climb out. And what exactly were they proposing to do?
They obviously weren’t planning to come back and get him. Were they simply going to leave him here to starve to death?
The answer came about an hour later. The sun was beginning to set and lights were coming on in buildings all over east London. Alex was becoming increasingly anxious. He was on his own, high up in a derelict tower block. He had a feeling that Kaspar and the others had gone; he could hear nothing at all on the other side of the door. The silence was unnerving. He knew that MI6 would be doing everything they could, searching the city for him, but what hope did they have of finding him here? He couldn’t open the window. The room was empty. There was no way he could attract anyone’s attention. For once he really did seem to be completely helpless.
And then he smelled it. Seeping through the floorboards, coming from somewhere deep in the heart of the building. Burning.
They had set fire to the tower block. Alex knew it even before he saw the first grey wisps of smoke creeping under the door. They had doused the place with petrol, set it alight and left him nailed inside what would soon be the world’s biggest funeral pyre. For a moment he felt panic—black and irresistible—as it engulfed him. More smoke was curling under the door. Alex sprang to his feet and backed over to the window, wondering if there was some way he could knock out the glass. But that wouldn’t help him. He forced himself to slow down, to think. He wasn’t going to let them kill him. Only eleven days ago, a paid assassin had fired a .22 calibre bullet at his heart. But he was still alive. He wasn’t easy to kill.
There were just two ways out of the room: the door and the window. Both of those were obviously hopeless. But what
“You got involved on purpose,” Kaspar said.
“No.” Alex denied it but his mouth was dry.
“You switched room numbers. You answered to the name of Paul Drevin. You crippled one of my men and injured the others.”
Alex said nothing, waiting for the axe to fall.
“I don’t understand why you chose to become involved,” Kaspar went on. “I don’t know who you are. But you made your decision. You chose to become an enemy of Force Three and so you must pay.”
“I didn’t choose anything.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I am fighting a war and in any war there are casualties—innocent victims who just happen to get in the way. If it makes it any easier, think of yourself as one of them.” Kaspar sighed but there was no sadness in the map of his face. “Goodbye, Alex Rider. It was a pity that we had to meet. It has cost me a million pounds in ransom money. It will cost you rather more…”
Before Alex could react, he was grabbed from behind and dragged to his feet. He didn’t speak as he was forced back out of the room and down the corridor. This time he was thrown into another room, smaller than his previous cell. Alex just had time to make out a chair, a barred window and four bare walls before he was shoved hard in the back and sent sprawling to the floor.
Combat Jacket stood over him. “I wish he’d let me have a little time with you,” he rasped. “If I had my way, we’d do this differently—”
“Move it!” The voice came from outside. One of the other men was waiting.
Combat Jacket spat at Alex and walked out. The door closed and almost at once Alex heard the unmistakable sound of hammering. He shook his head in disbelief. They weren’t just locking him in. They were nailing the door to the frame.
Once again, he examined his surroundings. He wondered why they had chosen this particular room. The bars on the window made no real difference. Even if the window had been wide open, he was at least seven storeys up. He wouldn’t have Deen able to climb out. And what exactly were they proposing to do?
They obviously weren’t planning to come back and get him. Were they simply going to leave him here to starve to death?
The answer came about an hour later. The sun was beginning to set and lights were coming on in buildings all over east London. Alex was becoming increasingly anxious. He was on his own, high up in a derelict tower block. He had a feeling that Kaspar and the others had gone; he could hear nothing at all on the other side of the door. The silence was unnerving. He knew that MI6 would be doing everything they could, searching the city for him, but what hope did they have of finding him here? He couldn’t open the window. The room was empty. There was no way he could attract anyone’s attention. For once he really did seem to be completely helpless.
And then he smelled it. Seeping through the floorboards, coming from somewhere deep in the heart of the building. Burning.
They had set fire to the tower block. Alex knew it even before he saw the first grey wisps of smoke creeping under the door. They had doused the place with petrol, set it alight and left him nailed inside what would soon be the world’s biggest funeral pyre. For a moment he felt panic—black and irresistible—as it engulfed him. More smoke was curling under the door. Alex sprang to his feet and backed over to the window, wondering if there was some way he could knock out the glass. But that wouldn’t help him. He forced himself to slow down, to think. He wasn’t going to let them kill him. Only eleven days ago, a paid assassin had fired a .22 calibre bullet at his heart. But he was still alive. He wasn’t easy to kill.
There were just two ways out of the room: the door and the window. Both of those were obviously hopeless. But what
Similar Books
