It was time to go.
Alex’s luggage was being loaded into the helicopter, and he was standing next to his new parents, clutching the Harry Potter book. Eva Stellenbosch was waiting for him underneath the rotors. He had been shocked by her appearance, and at first he had tried to hide it. But then he’d relaxed. He didn’t have to be polite. Alex Rider might have good manners, but Alex Friend wouldn’t give a damn what she thought. He glanced at her scornfully now and noticed that she was watching him carefully as he said good-bye.
Once again, Sir David Friend acted his part perfectly. ‚Good-bye, Alex,' he said. ‚You will write to us and let us know you’re okay?'
‚If you want,' Alex said.
Lady Caroline moved forward and kissed him. Alex backed away from her as if embarrassed. He had to admit that she looked genuinely sad.
‚Come, Alex!' Mrs. Stellenbosch was in a hurry to get away. She had told him that the helicopter had a range of only four hundred miles and that they would need to stop in Paris to refuel.
And then Fiona appeared, crossing the grass toward them. Alex hadn’t spoken to her for the last two days, not since the business at the tunnel. Nor had she spoken to him. He had rejected her, and he knew she would never forgive him. She hadn’t come down to breakfast this morning, and he’d assumed she wouldn’t show herself again until he’d gone. So what was she doing here now?
Suddenly Alex knew. She’d come to cause trouble—one last jab below the belt. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she flounced across the lawn with her hands rolled into fists.
Fiona didn’t know he was a spy. But she must know that he was here for a reason, and she had probably guessed it had something to do with the woman from Point Blanc. So she had decided to come out and spoil things for him.
Maybe she was going to ask questions. Maybe she was going to give Mrs. Stellenbosch a piece of her mind. Either way, Alex knew that his mission would be over before it had even begun. All his work memorizing the files and all the time he had spent with the family would have been for nothing.
‚Fiona…' Sir David muttered. His eyes were grave. He had come to the same conclusion as Alex.
She ignored him. ‚Are you from the academy?' she asked, speaking directly to Mrs. Stellenbosch.
‚Yes, my dear.'
‚Well, I think there’s something you should know.'
There was only one thing Alex could do. He lifted the Harry Potter book and pointed it at Fiona, then pressed the spine once, hard. There was no noise, but he felt the book shudder in his hand. Fiona put her hand to the side of her leg. All the color drained out of her face. She crumpled to the grass.
Lady Caroline ran to her. Mrs. Stellenbosch looked puzzled. Alex turned to her, his face blank. ‚That’s my sister,' he said. ‚She gets very emotional.'
Two minutes later, the helicopter took off. Alex watched through the window as Haverstock Hall got smaller and smaller and then disappeared behind them. He looked at Mrs. Stellenbosch, hunched over the controls, her eyes hidden by her goggles. He eased himself into his chair and let himself be carried away into the darkening sky. Then the clouds rolled in.
The countryside was gone. So was his only weapon. Alex was on his own.
ROOM 13
IT WAS RAINING IN PARIS. The city looked tired and disappointed, the Eiffel Tower fighting against a mass of heavy clouds. There was nobody sitting at the tables outside the cafes, and for once the little kiosks selling paintings and postcards were being ignored by the tourists, who were hurrying back to their hotels. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and the evening was drawing in, unnoticed. The shops and offices were emptying, but the city didn’t care. It just wanted to be left alone.
The helicopter had landed in a private area of Charles de Gaulle airport, and a car had been waiting to drive them in. Alex had said nothing during the flight and now he sat on his own in the back, watching the buildings flash by. They were following the Seine, moving surprisingly fast along a wide, two-lane road that dipped above and below the water level. Their route took them past Notre Dame. Then they turned off, weaving their way through a series of back streets with smaller restaurants and boutiques fighting for space on the pavements.
‚The Marais,' Mrs. Stellenbosch said to Alex, pointing out the window.
He pretended to show no interest. In fact, he had stayed in the Marais once with his uncle and knew it as one of the most sophisticated and expensive sections in Paris.
The car turned into a large square and stopped. Alex glanced out the window. He was surrounded on four sides by the tall, classical houses for which Paris is famous. But the square had been disfigured by a single modern hotel. It was a white, rectangular block, the windows fitted with dark glass that allowed no view inside. It rose up four floors with a flat roof and the name HOTEL DU MONDE in gold letters above the main door. If a spaceship had landed in the square, crushing a couple of buildings to make room for itself, it couldn’t have looked more out of place.
‚This is where we’re staying,' Mrs. Stellenbosch said. ‚The hotel is owned by the academy.'
The driver took their cases out of the trunk. Alex followed the assistant director toward the entrance, the door sliding open automatically to allow them in. The lobby was cold and faceless, white marble and mirrors with a single potted plant tucked into a corner as an afterthought.
There was a small reception desk with an unsmiling male receptionist in a dark suit and glasses, a computer, and a row of pigeonholes. Alex counted them. There were fifteen. Presumably, the hotel had fifteen rooms.
‚
Alex gazed blankly, as if he hadn’t understood a word. Alex Friend wouldn’t speak French. He wouldn’t have bothered to learn. But Ian Rider had made certain that his nephew was speaking French almost as soon as he was speaking English. Not to mention German and Spanish as well.
The receptionist took down two keys. He didn’t ask either of them to sign in. He didn’t ask for a credit card. The school owned the hotel, so there would be no bill when they left. He gave Alex one of the keys.
‚I hope you’re not superstitious,' he said, speaking in English now.
‚No,' Alex replied.
‚It is room thirteen. On the first floor. I am sure you will find it most agreeable.' The receptionist smiled.
Mrs. Stellenbosch took her key. ‚The hotel has its own restaurant,' she said. Her voice was gravelly and strangely masculine. Her breath smelled of cigar smoke. ‚We might as well eat here tonight. We don’t want to go out in the rain. Anyway, the food here is excellent. Do you like French food, Alex?'
‚Not much,' Alex said.
‚Well, I’m sure we’ll find something that you like. Why don’t you freshen up after the journey?' She looked at her watch. ‚We’ll eat at seven—an hour and a half from now. It will give us an opportunity to talk together. Might I suggest, perhaps, some neater clothes for dinner? The French are informal, but—if you’ll forgive me saying so, my dear—you take informality a little far. I’ll call you at five to seven. I hope the room is all right.'
Room 13 was at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The door opened into a surprisingly large space, with views over the square. There was a double bed with a black-and-white comforter, a television and minibar, a desk, and, on the wall, a couple of framed pictures of Paris. A porter had carried up Alex’s suitcase, and as soon as he was gone, Alex kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. He wondered why they had come here. He knew the helicopter had needed refueling, but that shouldn’t have necessitated an overnight stop. Why not fly on straight to the school?
He had more than an hour to kill. First he went into the bathroom—more glass and white marble—and took a long shower. Then, wrapped in a towel, he went back into the room and turned on the television. Alex Friend would watch a lot of television. There were about thirty channels to choose from. Alex skipped past the French ones and stopped on MTV. He wondered if he was being monitored. There was a large mirror next to the desk, and it would be easy enough to conceal a camera behind it. Well, why not give them something to think about?
He opened the minibar and poured himself a glass of gin. Then he went into the bathroom, refilled the bottle with water, and put it back in the fridge. Drinking alcohol and stealing! If she was watching, Madame Stellenbosch
