dazed.
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Major Yu got out of the back of the car. He was wearing a white suit with a lavender shirt, buttoned at the neck. He moved slowly, supporting himself on a walking stick. As always, his hands were gloved. At the same time, the driver and another man got out. They were taking no chances. The three of them surrounded Ash. Yu took out the pistol he had used to kill the old man on the
“Alex Rider!” he called out in a thin voice, filled with hate. “You have three seconds to show yourself. Otherwise you will see your godfather’s brains all over the highway. I am counting now!”
Alex realized he wasn’t breathing. They had Ash! What was he to do? Give himself up and they would both be killed. But could he forgive himself if he turned and ran?
“One . . .”
He regretted now that he hadn’t used the telephone to call ASIS, the police, anyone. He had known something was wrong. How could he have been so stupid?
“Two . . .”
He had no choice. Even if he tried to run, they would catch him. There were three of them. They had a car. He was in the middle of nowhere. Ash wasn’t moving. His shoulders were slumped and he looked miserable, completely defeated.
He stood up, showing himself.
Major Yu lowered the gun and Alex began to walk for-262
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ward, worn out and defeated. Ash must have been on the
“I’m sorry, Alex,” he rasped.
“Well, here you are at last,” Major Yu said. “I have to say, you’ve caused me a great deal of time and inconvenience.”
“Go to hell,” Alex snarled.
“Yes, my dear Alex,” Yu replied. “That’s exactly where I’m taking you.”
Yu raised the hand with the walking stick, then swung it with all his strength. This was the last thing that Alex remembered—a silver scorpion glinting brilliantly as it swooped toward him out of an Australian sun. He didn’t even feel it as it smashed into the side of his head.
“Pick him up!” Yu commanded.
He turned his back on the unconscious boy and climbed back into the car.
16
M A D E I N B R I T A I N
T H E R E WA S A VA S E of roses on the table. Alex smelled them first . . . sweet and slightly cloying. Then he opened his eyes and allowed them to come into focus. They were bright pink, a dozen of them arranged in a porcelain vase with a lace mat underneath. Alex felt sick. The side of his head was throbbing, and he could feel the broken skin where the walking stick had hit him. There was a sour taste in his mouth. He wondered how long he had been lying here.
And where was he? Looking around at the antique furniture, the grandfather clock, the heavy curtains, and the stone fireplace with two sculpted lions, he would have said he was back home in Britain—although he knew that wasn’t possible. He was lying on a bed in what could have been a country hotel. A door to one side opened into a bathroom. There were bottles of Molton Browne shampoo and bubble bath beside the sink.
Alex rolled off the bed and staggered into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and examined himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. Quite apart from the dark hair and skin color and the two fake teeth, his eyes were bloodshot, there was a huge bruise next to his eye, and generally he could have been dumped here by a
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garbage truck. On an impulse, he reached into his mouth and pulled out the two plastic caps on his teeth. Major Yu knew perfectly well who—and what—he was. There was no need for any further pretense.
He ran himself a bath, and while the water was flowing, he went back into the bedroom. The main door was locked, of course. The window looked out onto a perfect lawn with—bizarrely—a set of croquet hoops arranged in neat lines. Beyond, he could see a rocky outcrop, a jetty, and the sea. He turned back. Someone had left him a snack: smoked salmon sandwiches, a glass of milk, a plate of McVitie’s Jaffa Cakes. He ate it all greedily. Then he stripped off his clothes and got into the bath. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and he didn’t like to think, but whatever it was, he might as well be clean.
He felt a lot better after half an hour in the hot scented water and although he hadn’t been able to get off all the makeup Mrs. Webber had put on him, at least some of his own color had returned. There were fresh clothes in the wardrobe: a Vivienne Westwood shirt and Paul Smith jeans and underwear—both London-based designers. He was still wearing his old clothes, but the belt that Smithers had given him had been taken away. Alex wondered about that. Had Major Yu discovered the knife hidden in the buckle or the jungle supplies inside the leather itself? He was sorry that he hadn’t gotten the chance to use it.
Maybe there would have been something inside that could help him now.
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On the other hand, nobody had searched the pockets of his jeans—or if they had, they had missed the ten-baht coin and the chewing gum pack with the secret detonators. The watch was also still in place, the hands fixed at eleven o’clock, and that gave Alex a sense of reassurance.
