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Authors: Anthony Horowitz
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moment you arrive. And finally … my own favorite.”
Smithers held up a final cartridge. It was labeled BOMBER BOY.
“Do I get to play this one?” Alex asked.
“You can play all four of them. They all have a built in games function. But as the name might suggest, this is actually a smoke bomb. This time the cartridge doesn’t go into the machine. You leave it somewhere in a room and press START three times on the console, and the bomb will be set off by remote control. Useful camouflage if you need to escape in a hurry.”
“Thank you, Smithers,” Mrs. Jones said.
“My pleasure, Mrs. J.” Smithers stood up, his legs straining to take the huge weight. “I’ll hope to see you again, Alex. I’ve never had to equip a boy before. I’m sure I’ll be able to think up a whole host of quite delightful ideas.”
He waddled off and disappeared through a door that clanged shut behind him.
Mrs. Jones turned to Alex. “You leave tomorrow for Port Tallon,” she said. “You’ll be going under the name of Felix Lester.” She handed him an envelope. “The real Felix Lester left for Florida yesterday. You’ll find everything you need to know about him in here.”
“I’ll read it in bed.”
“Good.” Suddenly she was serious and Alex found himself wondering if she was herself a mother. If so, she could well have a son his age. She took out a black-and-white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close-cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dance The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, possibly with a hidden camera. “I want you to look at this,” she said.
“I’m looking.”
“His name is Yassen Gregorovich. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China.”
“What does he do?” Alex asked.
“He’s a contract killer, Alex. We believe it was he who killed Ian Rider.”
There was a long pause. Alex had almost managed to persuade himself that this whole business was just some sort of crazy adventure … a game. But looking at the cold face with its blank, hooded eyes, he felt something stirring inside him and knew it was fear. He remembered his uncle’s car, shattered by bullets. A man like this, a contract killer, would do the same to him. He wouldn’t even blink.
“This photograph was taken six months ago, in Cuba,” Mrs. Jones was saying. “It may have been a coincidence, but Herod Sayle was there at the same time. The two of them may have met. And there is something else.” She paused. “Rider used a code in the last message he sent. A single letter. Y.”
“Y for Yassen.”
“He must have seen Yassen somewhere in Port Tallon. He wanted us to know…”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Alex asked. His mouth had gone dry.
“Because if you see him, if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once.”
“And then?”
“We’ll pull you out. It doesn’t matter how old you are, Alex. If Yassen finds out you’re working for us, he’ll kill you too.”
She took the photograph back. Alex stood up.
“You’ll leave here tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” Mrs. Jones said. “Be careful, Alex. And good luck.”
Alex walked across the hangar, his footsteps echoing. Behind him, Mrs. Jones unwrapped a peppermint and slipped it into her mouth. Her breath always smelled faintly of mint. As head of Special Operations, how many men had she sent to their deaths? Ian Rider and maybe dozens more. Perhaps it was easier for her if her breath was sweet.
There was a movement ahead of him and he saw that the parachutists had gotten back from their jump.
They were walking toward him out of the darkness with Wolf and the other men from K Unit right at the front. Alex tried to step around them, but he found Wolf blocking his way.
“You’re leaving,” Wolf said. Somehow he
Smithers held up a final cartridge. It was labeled BOMBER BOY.
“Do I get to play this one?” Alex asked.
“You can play all four of them. They all have a built in games function. But as the name might suggest, this is actually a smoke bomb. This time the cartridge doesn’t go into the machine. You leave it somewhere in a room and press START three times on the console, and the bomb will be set off by remote control. Useful camouflage if you need to escape in a hurry.”
“Thank you, Smithers,” Mrs. Jones said.
“My pleasure, Mrs. J.” Smithers stood up, his legs straining to take the huge weight. “I’ll hope to see you again, Alex. I’ve never had to equip a boy before. I’m sure I’ll be able to think up a whole host of quite delightful ideas.”
He waddled off and disappeared through a door that clanged shut behind him.
Mrs. Jones turned to Alex. “You leave tomorrow for Port Tallon,” she said. “You’ll be going under the name of Felix Lester.” She handed him an envelope. “The real Felix Lester left for Florida yesterday. You’ll find everything you need to know about him in here.”
“I’ll read it in bed.”
“Good.” Suddenly she was serious and Alex found himself wondering if she was herself a mother. If so, she could well have a son his age. She took out a black-and-white photograph and laid it on the table. It showed a man in a white T shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close-cropped hair, a smooth face, the body of a dance The photograph was slightly blurred. It had been taken from a distance, possibly with a hidden camera. “I want you to look at this,” she said.
“I’m looking.”
“His name is Yassen Gregorovich. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China.”
“What does he do?” Alex asked.
“He’s a contract killer, Alex. We believe it was he who killed Ian Rider.”
There was a long pause. Alex had almost managed to persuade himself that this whole business was just some sort of crazy adventure … a game. But looking at the cold face with its blank, hooded eyes, he felt something stirring inside him and knew it was fear. He remembered his uncle’s car, shattered by bullets. A man like this, a contract killer, would do the same to him. He wouldn’t even blink.
“This photograph was taken six months ago, in Cuba,” Mrs. Jones was saying. “It may have been a coincidence, but Herod Sayle was there at the same time. The two of them may have met. And there is something else.” She paused. “Rider used a code in the last message he sent. A single letter. Y.”
“Y for Yassen.”
“He must have seen Yassen somewhere in Port Tallon. He wanted us to know…”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Alex asked. His mouth had gone dry.
“Because if you see him, if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once.”
“And then?”
“We’ll pull you out. It doesn’t matter how old you are, Alex. If Yassen finds out you’re working for us, he’ll kill you too.”
She took the photograph back. Alex stood up.
“You’ll leave here tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” Mrs. Jones said. “Be careful, Alex. And good luck.”
Alex walked across the hangar, his footsteps echoing. Behind him, Mrs. Jones unwrapped a peppermint and slipped it into her mouth. Her breath always smelled faintly of mint. As head of Special Operations, how many men had she sent to their deaths? Ian Rider and maybe dozens more. Perhaps it was easier for her if her breath was sweet.
There was a movement ahead of him and he saw that the parachutists had gotten back from their jump.
They were walking toward him out of the darkness with Wolf and the other men from K Unit right at the front. Alex tried to step around them, but he found Wolf blocking his way.
“You’re leaving,” Wolf said. Somehow he
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