Drevin’s house was in sight. He was tempted to steal in and try to get hold of a telephone. But Tamara had warned him that all the phones on the island would be disabled, and Alex believed her. Might he find a key to the Princess in the house? It was possible but the risk was too great. Alex looked up. The sky was brightening rapidly, the darkness trickling away like spilt ink. Dawn had broken. Drevin might wake up at any moment.
No phones. No boats. Barbados was ten miles away—too far to swim or to paddle in a canoe. Alex knew what he had to do. He had worked it out when he was sawing through the bars of the cage, but he’d hoped he would be able to find another way. Well, there was no other way. He might as well get on with it.
He jumped down from the boat and ran along the beach, making for the house. But he wasn’t going in.
Instead, he went round the back to the equipment store where Kolo had taken him before the dive. It occurred to Alex that he might find a key to the motor launch somewhere inside, but he wasn’t going to waste any more time looking. The store was where Paul Drevin kept his power kite and board. That was what Alex had come for.
But even as he found the kite and began to bundle it out, he wondered if it would be possible. Ten miles was a long way, and after the storm the sea might be rough. At least there was a strong breeze. Alex had felt it when he was on the jetty—and it was also blowing offshore. Most kite boarders avoid an offshore wind; it’s lumpy and difficult, and there’s always a danger it will blow you out to sea. But that was exactly what Alex wanted. He needed to get away. Fast.
He reached for the board and at that moment the door swung open behind him. Alex was already spinning round, his fists raised, preparing for a karate strike, when Paul stepped inside.
“Alex?” The other boy had obviously only just got up. He was wearing shorts and nothing else. He stared at Alex, shocked. “What are you…” He couldn’t find the words. “I thought you’d gone,” he said.
“I’m afraid not.” Alex wasn’t sure how much Paul knew, and he didn’t know what to say. He was aware that the whole situation had changed. Where did he go from here?
“What’s happened to you?” Paul asked. “What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “I can’t tell you.” He desperately wished Paul hadn’t found him. “How did you know I was here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I went to the window to get some air—and there you were, on the beach.”
“Do you have a key to the boat? Do you know where it is?”
“No.” All of a sudden Paul was angry. “Dad told me that you’d been sent here to spy on him. I said that couldn’t be true, but he was sure of it. He said he had enemies in New York and they’d paid you to come here, to make trouble.”
“Did he tell you what he did to me?” Alex cut in. He was getting angry himself. Here was Paul, accusing him. But he knew nothing.
“He said he put you on the plane out of here.” Paul looked at Alex uncertainly. “Is it true, Alex?” he demanded. “Are you spying on us?”
“I haven’t got time to talk about this now.” He took a step and Paul’s arm shot out, his hand reaching for a button built into a panel on the wall. Alex hadn’t noticed it before.
“This is an alarm,” Paul told him. “If I press it, there’ll be a dozen guards here in less than a minute. I want you to tell me the truth. What are you doing here? What’s been happening?”
“If you press that button, I’ll be killed.”
“You’re lying…”
“Your father will kill me, Paul. He’s already tried once.”
“No!” Paul was staring at Alex and now there was something else in his face. It wasn’t just disbelief. It was anger. And Alex understood. There was nothing he could say. He could tell Paul everything he knew about Nikolei Vladimir Drevin, and it would make no difference.
Drevin had lied to him. He had taunted him and shown him little affection. But he was still Paul’s father. It was as simple as that. And no matter what the feelings were between them, Paul would defend him.
Because he was Drevin’s son.
Alex knew that he had only seconds before Paul sounded the alarm. He raised his hands, palms upward, as if to prove that he meant no harm. “OK, Paul,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Don’t come any closer…” Paul’s hand hovered centimetres from the alarm.
Alex risked another step forward. “It’s not what you think. Your dad was wrong about me. So are you.
Your mother asked me to come here.”
“What?”
Alex had mentioned Paul’s mother because he knew the effect it would have. Paul froze, uncertain, and in that split second, Alex lashed out, driving his elbow into the other boy’s temple. Paul crumpled instantly; Alex caught him and lowered him to the ground. He had been learning karate since he was six years old but this was the first time he had struck anyone the same age as himself. He felt ashamed. All Paul had ever wanted was a friend, someone he could look up to—and it had come to this. But what else could he do? He had to leave the island. He had to prevent a whole city from being destroyed.
He forced himself to ignore the unconscious boy, picked up the kite and the rest of the equipment and dragged it down to the beach. The sun was already well above the horizon. Alex pumped up the kite and laid it out along the shore, all the while looking out for any approaching guards. How long would he have before Paul came round? Fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. No matter which way he looked at it, he was running out of time.
And there was still the problem of launching the kite. With two people it had been easy. On his own it would take more time. Quickly Alex stripped off the grey uniform; underneath he was wearing swimming trunks. He picked up the harness and clipped it on. It was a Mystic Darkrider, made out of black rubber with a foam shell. Paul had chosen all the equipment himself and he’d made sure he’d got the best. If only he could have been here to help Alex with it.
How to do it?
Alex checked the wind direction, then laid the kite out on the ground with the lines stretching towards the water’s edge. He scooped up several handfuls of sand and dumped them on the upwind tip of the kite. The other tip he left free.
