The phone rang in the hall.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
Alex took the plates over to the dishwasher and began to stack them. About two minutes later, Jack came back in. There was an odd look on her face.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“It was for you. I don’t believe it! That was Nikolei Drevin.”
“He rang himself?”
“Yes. He’s invited you to have tea with him this afternoon. He’s giving a press conference at the Waterfront Hotel and he wanted to know if you’d come along and meet him afterwards.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, I told him I’d ask you and he said he’d send a car.” She shrugged. “I guess he expected you to say yes.”
Alex thought for a moment. Mr Crawley had said that Drevin would probably get in touch. “Do you think I should go?”
Jack sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose he wants to thank you. After all, you saved him one million pounds.
And you stopped his son getting hurt.”
Alex remembered Paul Drevin. He wondered if the other boy would be at the hotel.
“I could call him back and say you’re too tired,” Jack added.
For a moment, Alex was tempted. The last time he’d met a multimillionaire, it had been Damian Cray—and the experience had nearly killed him. On the other hand, this was different. Drevin was a target. It was the man called Kaspar who was the enemy. And it was fair enough that Drevin should want to meet him after what had happened. Alex felt awkward about saying no.
Sometimes it’s the tiniest things that can mean the difference between life and death. A few centimetres of kerb had saved Alex when he stepped off the pavement on Liverpool Street just as a sniper fired at him.
Now two words were going to drag him back into the world he thought he’d left behind. “Let’s go.” AT THE WATERFRONT
« ^ »
he Waterfront Hotel was brand new—a silver and glass tower rising above the Thames at St Katharine’s Dock. Looking up the river, Alex could see Tower Bridge with HMS Belfast moored near by. He didn’t look the other way. He was only a few miles from where he’d been held prisoner. He didn’t need any reminder of that.
Behind him, Jack Starbright stepped out of the ordinary London taxi that had brought them here. At first she had been a little disgruntled. “So what happened to the Rolls-Royce?” she wondered out loud. But in the end she agreed that Drevin had made the right decision. The last thing either of them wanted was to make a grand entrance.
They walked into a foyer where everything seemed to be white or made of glass. A young woman was waiting there to greet them.
“Hi,” she said. “You must be Alex Rider and Jack Starbright. Mr Drevin asked me to look out for you.“ She spoke with an American accent. ”My name’s Tamara Knight. I’m Mr Drevin’s personal assistant.” Alex cast an eye over her as they shook hands. Tamara Knight was twenty-five, although she looked much younger. She was not much taller than he was, with light brown hair tied back, and attractive blue eyes.
Alex felt that the formal business suit and brightly polished leather shoes didn’t suit her. He also wished she’d smile a bit more. She didn’t look at all pleased to see him.
“Mr Drevin is still tied up with his press conference,” she explained as she led them across the central atrium of the hotel. Silver and glass lifts rose and fell around them, travelling silently on hidden cables. A group of Japanese businessmen walked across the marble floor. “He said you were welcome to look in if you wanted to. Or you can wait for him in his private suite.”
“I’d like to know what a suite costs here,” Jack muttered.
Tamara Knight smiled coldly. “It doesn’t cost Mr Drevin anything. He owns the hotel.”
“Let’s take a look at the press conference,” Alex said.
“Of course. He’s talking about Ark Angel. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.” She led them up a wide flight of stairs and along a corridor until they came to a pair of smoked glass doors.
Two large men in suits were guarding this entrance. “We’ll slip in at the back,” Tamara whispered. “Just take a seat. Nobody will notice you.”
She nodded and one of the men opened the doors.
Alex went through and found himself in a wide, imposing room with large windows giving a panoramic view of the river. There were about a hundred journalists sitting in rows facing a long table on a platform.
The words ARK ANGEL had been spelled out in solid steel letters, each one two metres high, and there were photographs of the earth, taken from space, suspended on thin wires. Three people were seated behind the table. One was the minister for science and innovation. The other looked like some sort of civil servant. Alex didn’t recognize him. The man in the middle was Nikolei Drevin.
Drevin was unimpressive. That was Alex’s first thought. If he’d bumped into him in the street he might have mistaken him for a bank manager or an accountant. Drevin was a serious-looking man in his forties with watery, grey eyes and hair that had once been fair but was now fading to grey. He had bad skin; there was a rash around his chin and neck as if he’d had trouble shaving. All his clothes—his suit, his shirt with its buttoned-down collar, the plain silk tie—looked brand new and expensive. But they did nothing for him. He wore them with as much style as a mannequin in a shop window. Alex noticed a gold watch on one hand. There was a ring made of platinum or white gold on the other.
Drevin seemed dwarfed by his surroundings. He was physically smaller than the two men who were sharing the platform with him. The minister had been answering a question when Alex came in. Drevin was fidgeting nervously,
