the steps away. He watched as a gap opened up between them and the door.
Four… three… two…
“Alex! Return to your seat!”
Alex dropped the figurine and threw himself forward.
Conrad Leapt up like an angry snake, the gun in his hand.
The figurine exploded.
Alex felt the blast behind him. There was a flash of light and a bang that sounded massively loud, although no windows broke and there was no fire or smoke. His ears rang and for a moment he couldn’t see. But he was outside the plane. He had been outside the plane when the stun grenade went off. The steps were still moving away, disappearing in front of him. He was going to miss them! The asphalt surface of the fuel farm apron was five metres below. If he fell that distance, he would break a leg. He might even be killed. But he had made his move just in time. He landed flat on his stomach on the top of the staircase with his legs dangling in the air. Quickly he pulled himself to his feet. The man with the ginger hair was staring at him, astonished. Alex ran down the still-moving steps. As his feet came into contact with the ground, he felt a thrill of triumph. He was home. And it seemed that the stun grenade had done its job. There was no movement on the plane. Nobody was firing at him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man demanded.
Alex ignored him. This wasn’t the right person to be talking to-and he needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and the plane. Smithers had said that the grenade would only incapacitate the enemy for a few minutes. Sarov and Conrad would wake up soon. And they would waste no time in coming after him.
He ran. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man snatch a radio out of his pocket and talk into it-but that didn’t matter. There were other men around the plane, about to start refuelling. They must surely have heard the explosion. Even if Alex was recaptured, the plane wouldn’t be allowed to leave.
But he had no intention of being recaptured. He had already noticed a row of administrative buildings on the perimeter of the airfield and he made for them, the breath rasping in his throat. He reached a door and pulled at it. It was locked! He looked through the window. There was a hallway on the other side and a public telephone, but for some reason the building was closed. For a moment he was tempted to smash the glass-but that would take too long. Cursing quietly, he left the door and ran the twenty metres to the next building.
This one was open. He found himself in a corridor with storerooms and offices on either side. There didn’t seem to be anyone about. Now all he needed was a phone. He tried a door. It led into a room full of shelves with a photocopier and stationery supplies. The next door was locked. Alex was getting increasingly desperate. He tried another door and this time he was lucky. It was an office with a desk and, on the desk, a telephone. There was nobody inside. He ran in and snatched it up.
But it was only now he realized that he had no idea what number to ring. The mobile that Smithers had given him had been equipped with a hot key-a direct link to MI6. But nobody had ever given him a direct number. What was he to do? Dial the operator and ask for military intelligence? They would think he was mad.
He didn’t have any time to waste. Sarov might already have recovered. Even now he might be on his way. The office had a window but it looked out the back, so there was no sign of the plane or the runway. Alex made a decision and dialled 999.
The line rang twice before it was answered.
It was a woman’s voice. “You have rung the emergency services. Which service do you require?”
“Police,” Alex said.
“Connecting you now…”
He heard the ring tone.
And then a hand came down onto the telephone, cutting him off. Alex swung round, breathless, expecting to see Sarov in front of him-or worse still, Conrad with the gun.
But it wasn’t either of them. It was an airport security guard who had walked into the office while Alex was making his call. He was about fifty years old with greying hair and a chin that had sunk into his neck. His stomach bulged over his belt and his trousers stopped about two centimetres short of his ankles. The man had a radio attached to his jacket. His name-George Prescott-was written on a badge on his top pocket. He was looming over Alex with a stern look on his face and, with a sinking heart, Alex recognized a real security nightmare: a man with the self-important smugness of the traffic warden, the car park attendant, any petty official.
“What are you doing here, laddie?” Prescott demanded.
“I need to make a telephone call,” Alex said.
“I can see that. But this isn’t a public telephone. This isn’t even a public office. This is a secure complex. You shouldn’t be in here.”
“No, you don’t understand. This is an emergency!”
“Oh yes? And what sort of emergency do you mean?” Prescott obviously didn’t believe him.
“I can’t explain. Just let me make the call.”
The security guard smiled. He was enjoying himself. He spent five days a week plodding from one office to another, checking doors and turning off Lights. It was good to have someone he could boss about. “You’re not making any calls until you tell me what you’re doing here!” he said. “This is a private office.” His eyes narrowed.
“Have you opened any drawers? Have you taken anything?”
Alex’s nerves were screaming but he forced himself to remain calm. “I haven’t taken anything, Mr Prescott,” he said. “I just got off a plane that landed a few minutes ago-”
“What plane?”
“A private plane.”
“Have you got a passport?”
“No.”
“That’s a very serious matter. You can’t enter the country without a passport.”
“My passport is on the plane!”
“Then I’ll escort you back and we’ll get it.”
“No!” Alex could feel the seconds racing by. What could he say to this man that would persuade him to let him make the phone call? His mind was in a whirl and suddenly, for the first time in his life, he found himself blurting out the truth. “Listen,” he said. “I know this is hard to believe, but I work for the government. The British government. If you let me call them, they’ll prove it to you. I’m a spy-”
“A spy?” Prescott ’s face broke into a smile. But there was no humour in it at all. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“A fourteen-year-old spy? I think you’ve been watching too much television, laddie.”
“It’s true!”
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen to me, please. A man has just tried to kill me. He’s on a plane on the runway and unless you let me make this call, a lot of people are going to die.”
“What?”
“He’s got a nuclear bomb, for God’s sake!”
That was a mistake. Prescott bristled. “I’ll ask you not to take the name of the Lord in vain, if you don’t mind.” He came to a decision. “I don’t know how you got here or what you’re playing at, but you’re coming with me to security and passport control in the main terminal.” He reached out for Alex. “Come along now! I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense. There’s a man called Sarov. He’s carrying a nuclear bomb. He’s planning to detonate it in Murmansk. I’m the only one who can stop him. Please, Mr Prescott. Just let me phone the police. It’ll only take me twenty seconds and you can stand here and watch me. Let me talk to them and afterwards you can take me wherever you like.”
But the security guard wouldn’t budge. “You’re not making any calls and you’re coming with me now,” he said.
Alex made up his mind. He had tried pleading and he had tried telling the truth. Neither had succeeded, so he would just have to take the security guard out. Prescott moved round the desk, getting closer to him. Alex tensed himself, balancing on the balls of his feet, his fists ready. He knew that the man was only doing his job and he
