twisting the ring on his finger. Tamara gestured to a seat and Alex sat down. The minister finished talking and the other man looked around for another question.
One of the journalists raised a hand. “I understand that Ark Angel is now two months behind schedule and three hundred million dollars over budget,” he said. “I’d like to ask Mr Drevin if he now regrets getting involved.”
“You are mistaken,” Drevin replied, and at once Alex could hear the accent in his voice. It was more pronounced than his son’s had been. He spoke slowly, accentuating each word. “Ark Angel is actually three hundred million pounds over budget. This is a British project, you must remember.” There was a murmur of laughter around the room. Drevin shrugged. “Some difficulties were to be expected,” he went on. “This is the most ambitious building project of the twenty-first century. A fully functioning hotel in space! But do I regret it? Of course not. What we are talking about is the beginning of space tourism, the greatest adventure of our lifetime. A hundred years from now, it will not only be possible to travel to the edge of the universe, it will be cheap! Maybe one day your great- grandchildren will walk on the moon. And they will remember that it all began with Ark Angel. It all began here.” Another hand went up. “How is your son? Does it concern you that the people who tried to kidnap him are still at large?”
Jack nudged Alex. They had arrived at the right time.
“I do not normally speak about my family,” Drevin replied. “But I will say this. These people—Force Three
—claim they are fighting for the environment. It is true that the wildlife on Flamingo Bay was disturbed when we launched our first rockets, and I very much regret that. But I have only contempt for these people.
They tried to extort money from me. They are common criminals and I have every confidence that the British or European police will soon bring them to justice.”
“Absolutely!” agreed the minister.
“We have time for just one more question,” the second man said.
A bearded man sitting in the front row raised a nicotine-stained finger. “I have a question,” he said. “I’ve heard rumours that the federal government of the United States is currently investigating Mr Drevin.
Apparently they’re looking into certain financial irregularities. Is there any truth in that?”
“Mr Drevin is not here to answer questions about his personal affairs.” The civil servant scowled and the minister nodded.
Drevin cut in. “It’s all right.” He didn’t seem concerned. He looked the journalist straight in the eye. “I am a businessman,” he said. “I am, you might agree, a fairly successful businessman.” That produced a few smiles. Everyone in the room was aware that they were being addressed by one of the richest people in the world. “It is absolutely true that the CIA are looking into my affairs. It would be surprising if they weren’t.
It’s their job. But…”—he spread his hands—“I have nothing to hide; indeed, I am willing to offer them my full cooperation.” He paused. “It is possible that they will find some irregularities. I went out to lunch last week and forgot to keep the receipt. If they decide to prosecute me because of it, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”
This time there was real laughter and even a scattering of applause. The man with the beard blushed and buried himself in his notebook. The other journalists stood up and began to file out. The press conference was over.
“He’s such a brilliant speaker,” Tamara Knight said, and Alex couldn’t doubt the enthusiasm in her voice.
She led Alex and Jack back the way they’d come, then across the atrium and over to one of the lifts. Once inside, she produced a key. The building had twenty-five storeys; the key activated the button for the top floor.
The doors closed and they were whisked upwards at speed. Alex felt his stomach sink as the atrium disappeared beneath them. Twenty floors up, the lift entered a solid shaft and the view was blocked.
Another few seconds and they slowed down. The lift stopped and the doors slid open.
They had arrived.
They were in a huge room with windows on two sides giving breathtaking views over St Katharine’s Dock, the yachts and cruisers resting at their moorings far below. Tower Bridge was close by. It looked unreal, a toy replica, sitting in the afternoon sun. Alex looked around him. The room was simply but expensively furnished with three Persian rugs spread over light wood floorboards. The furniture was modern. On one side stood a dining-room table with a dozen leather chairs. A corridor ran past a black Bechstein grand piano to a closed door at the end. There was a sunken area in the middle of the room with three oversized sofas and a glass coffee table. Tea—sandwiches and biscuits—had already been served.
“Quite a place!” Jack said.
“This is where Mr Drevin stays when he’s in London.” Tamara Knight pointed out of one window. “You see the boat third from the left? The Crimean Star. That belongs to him too.” Jack gasped. The vessel was gleaming white, the size of a small ocean liner. “Have you been on board?” she asked.
“Certainly not. My work with Mr Drevin doesn’t allow me to enter his private quarters,” she explained primly.
Just then the door at the end of the corridor opened and Nikolei Drevin came in. It occurred to Alex that there must be a second lift, bringing him up to another part of the penthouse. He was alone, hands clasped in front of him, his fingers tugging at the ring. “Thank you very much, Miss Knight,” he said. “You can leave us now.”
“Yes, Mr Drevin.”
“Have you made the arrangements for Saturday?”
“I’ve left the file on your desk, Mr Drevin.”
“Good. I’ll talk with you later.” Tamara Knight nodded at Alex. “It was good to meet you,” she said—but without a lot of enthusiasm. Then she turned and walked back into the lift. The doors closed and she was gone.
For the first time, Nikolei Drevin seemed to relax. He walked up to Alex and rested a hand on each shoulder, and for a second Alex wondered if he was going to kiss him. Instead Drevin held him firmly in what was almost an embrace. “You’re Alex Rider,” he said. “I am very, very happy to meet you.” He let Alex go and turned to Jack. “Miss Starbright.” He shook hands with her. “I am so glad you were able to come. Please, will you sit down?” He led them to the sofas and picked up the teapot. “Tea?” he asked.
“Thank you.”
