walls were damp and peeling. Many of the ceiling tiles were missing, revealing great gaps filled with a tangle of wires and pipes. There were doors every ten or fifteen metres, some of them hanging off their hinges. Once, they would have opened into people’s flats. But it was obvious that—apart from rats and cockroaches—nobody had lived here for years.
Combat Jacket was waiting for them outside.
He had recovered from his encounter with the medicine ball but there was an ugly bruise on the side of his head where he had hit the wall. The two of them marched Alex down the corridor to a door at the end.
“In!” Spectacles said.
Alex pushed open the door and went through. He found himself in a large, open space with litter strewn across the floor and graffiti everywhere. There were windows on two sides, some of them covered by broken blinds. Alex guessed he was inside one of the flats, although the partition walls had been smashed through to make a single area. He could see an abandoned bath in one corner. In the middle, there was a table and two chairs. A man was sitting there, waiting for him. Spectacles prodded his gun into Alex’s back.
Alex stepped forward and sat down.
With a shiver, he examined the man sitting opposite him. He was dressed in what might once have been a uniform but the jacket was torn and missing buttons. The man must have been about thirty years old but it was impossible to be sure. His face and head had been tattooed all over. Alex saw the United States of America reaching down one cheek, Europe on the other. His nose and the skin above his lips were blue, the colour of the Atlantic Ocean. Brazil and West Africa touched the comers of his mouth. If the man turned round, Alex knew he would see Russia and China. He had never seen anything quite so strange—or so revolting—in his life.
With difficulty, Alex tore his eyes away and looked around. Combat Jacket and Spectacles were standing on either side of the doorway. Silver Tooth was lurking in a corner. Alex hadn’t noticed him in the shadows, but now he stepped into the light and Alex saw that his neck was swollen, two angry red marks burned into the skin. There was no sign of Steel Watch. Perhaps they’d been unable to peel him off the Magnetom.
The man with the tattoos spoke. “You have caused us a great deal of annoyance,” he said. “In truth, you should be dead.”
Alex was silent. He wasn’t sure yet what to say.
“My name is Kaspar,” the man continued.
Alex shrugged. “You mean … like Casper the friendly ghost?”
The man didn’t smile. “Why were you out of your room last night?”
“I needed some air.”
“It would have been better if you had simply opened the window,” Kaspar said. When he spoke, whole continents moved. It occurred to Alex that if he sneezed it would set off a global earthquake. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No,” Alex replied. “But it would be useful to have you around in a geography exam.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were in any position to make jokes.” Kaspar’s voice was flat and unemotional. He gestured at the other men. “You have caused my colleagues a great deal of pain and inconvenience. They would like me to kill you. Perhaps I will.”
“What do you want me for?” Alex demanded. “I will tell you.” Kaspar ran a finger down the side of his face. It travelled from Norway to Algeria. “I can see that you are surprised by my appearance. You may think it extreme. But these markings represent who I am and what I believe in. We are all part of this world. I have made the world part of me.” He paused.
“I am what you might call a freedom fighter. But the freedom I believe in is a planet free of the exploitation and pollution caused by rich businessmen and multinationals who would destroy all life simply to enrich themselves. We have global warming. The ozone layer has been decimated. Our precious resources are fast running out. But still these fat cats continue lining their pockets today with no thought or care for tomorrow. Your father is such a man.”
“My father? You’ve got it all wrong—” The man moved incredibly quickly. He stood up and lashed out, hitting the side of Alex’s head with the back of his hand. Alex snapped back, more startled than hurt.
“Don’t interrupt!” Kaspar commanded. “Your father made his fortune from oil. His pipelines have scarred three continents. And now, not content with damaging the earth, he is turning his attention to outer space.
Four species of wild birds have been made extinct by the launch of his rockets from the Caribbean. Apes and chimpanzees have been the unwilling victims of his test flights. He is an enemy of mankind and has therefore become a legitimate target of Force Three.”
Kaspar sat down again.
“There are those who think of us as criminals,” he went on. “But it is your father who is the real criminal, and he has forced us to act the way we do. Now we have decided to make him pay. He will give us one million pounds for your safe return. This money will be used to continue our struggle to protect the planet.
If he refuses, he will never see you again.
“That is why you were taken from St Dominic’s last night. You will remain with us until the ransom has been paid. I do not personally wish to harm you, Paul, but we have to prove to your father that we have you. We must send him a message that he cannot ignore. And I’m afraid that will demand a small sacrifice from you.”
Alex tried to speak but his head was reeling. It was all happening too fast. Before he could react, his right arm was seized from behind. Combat Jacket had crept up on him while Kaspar had been talking. Alex tried to resist, but the man was too strong. The cuff of his shirt was ripped open and the sleeve pulled back.
Then his hand was forced down on the table and his fingers spread out one by one. There was nothing he could do. Combat Jacket was holding him so tightly, his fingers were turning white. Silver Tooth approached from the other side. He had taken out his knife. He handed it to Kaspar.
“We could send your father a photograph,” Kaspar explained. “But what would that achieve? He will know by now that you have been taken by force. There are stronger ways of making our demands known, ways that he may find more persuasive.” He lifted the knife close to his chin, as if about to shave. The blade was fifteen centimetres long with a serrated edge. He examined his reflection in the steel. “We could send him a lock of your hair. He would, I’m sure, recognize it as yours. But then, he might take it as a sign of weakness—of compassion—on our part.
