They were crawling into his eyes and up his nose. Still screaming, he punched himself frenziedly. The other two men were doing the same.
There was a small explosion and a shower of sparks as one of the television monitors, invaded by insects, short-circuited. It was the final straw. Blind and swearing, Kolo staggered to his feet and tumbled out of the control box. The other two guards fell onto him, clinging to him for support, and the three of them began to grope their way towards the showers and the changing room.
A huge cloud of insects followed them.
Suddenly everything was silent.
“You were right,” Tamara observed. “Your Mr Smithers is pretty good.” The two of them hurried past the now deserted checkpoint, through the gate and along the track on the other side. The rainforest soon ended and they could make out the gantries with the rockets ahead. There was still no moon.
Tamara looked up. “We’re going to get wet,” she announced.
She was right. A few minutes later, the clouds opened and they were instantly drenched. The rain was warm and fell from the sky as if poured from an enormous bucket. A sheet of lightning pulsed over the sea, reflected in the ground that was being churned up all around them. Everything had become black and white.
“What will happen to the launch?” Alex shouted. There was no longer any need to whisper. Tamara could hardly hear him against the crashing rain.
She shook water out of her eyes and shouted back, “It won’t make any difference. The rain won’t last long.
Everything will be dry by tomorrow morning.”
In fact, the storm couldn’t have broken at a better time. The launch area was a quarter of a mile of completely open land and Alex had wondered how they would cross it without being seen. He had no doubt that there would be other guards on patrol and probably closed-circuit TV. The rain provided perfect cover. In their dark clothes, he and Tamara were invisible.
The second jetty was on the western point of the island, connected to the rocket gantries and the various control buildings by a white cement track. Alex and Tamara were jogging towards it when a light suddenly burst out, cutting through the rain. It was mounted on a boat that was heading towards the shore, fighting its way through the tumultuous waves.
“This way!” Tamara yelled and pulled Alex towards a brick outbuilding with a tangle of metal pipes and gauges outside. As they ran, she tripped. Alex managed to catch her before she fell, and a few moments later they were safely concealed behind a water tank. The jetty was right in front of them. Alex wondered if Drevin was about to appear.
The boat reached the jetty. The rain was coming down even more heavily and it was difficult to see what was happening. Someone jumped down with a rope. More figures appeared on the deck. Alex had thought that Drevin was planning his exit from the island, but it looked as if the boat had brought new arrivals—
people who didn’t want to be seen.
Alex heard a sound behind him and turned to see Magnus Payne and two guards drive down the track towards the boat. The ginger hair and lifeless skin of the island’s head of security were unmistakable even in a tropical storm. They reached the jetty and Payne got out. Four men climbed down from the boat. Alex grabbed hold of Tamara, shocked. He knew who the men were, even though he had never learnt their real names.
Combat Jacket. Spectacles. Steel Watch and Silver Tooth.
Force Three had come to Flamingo Bay. But why? What did it mean? Magnus Payne was shaking their hands, welcoming them. This was the terrorist group that had sworn to destroy Drevin. But they were being greeted like old friends.
And then a voice crackled out of the storm, amplified by hidden speakers, echoing all around.
“Do not fire! We know you are there. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up.” The five men froze. Two of them pulled out guns. But the words weren’t being addressed to them.
If Alex had any doubts that it was he and Tamara who were being targeted, they were dispelled a few seconds later. Four more buggies had come racing out of the rain. They slid to a halt, facing him, their headlights dazzling him. A dozen black shadows came tumbling out and took up positions around them.
Next to him Tamara tensed, then sprang into action, drawing her gun. There was a single shot, fired from one of the buggies. Tamara cried out. Her gun spun away. Blood began to seep from a wound in her shoulder, spreading rapidly down her sleeve.
“That was your last warning!” the voice boomed. “Stand up and move slowly forward. If you resist, you will be shot.”
How had they been found? Alex thought back and remembered Tamara stumbling. A tripwire. That had to be it. As they had run, she had triggered an alarm.
Magnus Payne pushed his way through the line of guards. The four members of Force Three followed. The whole area had been empty only minutes before; now it was swarming. Tamara was clutching her wounded shoulder. Alex stood next to her, sick at heart.
And then Nikolei Drevin appeared, dressed in a light raincoat and—bizarrely—holding a brightly coloured golfing umbrella that shielded him from the downpour. He seemed relaxed, as if he’d simply decided to go for a late-night stroll. He stood in front of Alex and Tamara. There was very little emotion in his face.
“Miss Knight,” he said, and although he spoke softly, the words carried even above the sound of the rain.
“I always did have my doubts about you. Or rather, I suspected that the CIA would try to infiltrate my operation, and you seemed the most likely choice. How very sad I am to have my fears confirmed.”
“The boy…” Magnus Payne had reached Drevin’s side.
“Yes. It seems your man didn’t quite finish the job.” Drevin stepped forward until he was centimetres away from Alex. Alex didn’t flinch; rain streamed down his face. “Tell me, Alex,” Drevin asked. “I’d be interested to know who you’re working for. Is it MI6 or the CIA? Or perhaps both?”
