arrangements for an SAS unit to fly into Geneva. Blunt was right, of course.
Delaying tactics might work in their favor.
Clear it with the French. Find out what was going on. And it was only twenty-four hours.
She would just have to hope Alex could survive that long.
Alex found himself eating his breakfast on his own. For the first time, James Sprintz had decided to join the other boys. There they were, the six of them, suddenly the best of friends.
Alex looked carefully at the boy who had once been his friend, trying to see what it was that had changed about him. He knew the answer. It was everything and nothing. James was exactly the same and completely different at the same time.
He finished his food and got up. James called out to him. ‚Why don’t you come to class this afternoon, Alex? It’s Latin.'
Alex shook his head. ‚Latin’s a waste of time.'
‚Is that what you think?' James couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice, and for a moment Alex was startled. For just one second it hadn’t been James talking at all. It had been James who had moved his mouth, but it had been Dr. Grief speaking the words.
‚You enjoy it,' Alex said. He hurried out of the room.
More than twenty hours had passed since he had pressed the Fast Forward button on the Discman. Alex wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. A fleet of helicopters all flying the Union Jack would have been reassuring. But so far nothing had happened. He even wondered if the alarm signal had worked. At the same time, he was annoyed with himself.
He had seen Grief shoot the man called Baxter in the operating room, and he had panicked.
He knew that Grief was a killer. He knew that the academy was far more than the finishing school it pretended to be. But he still didn’t have all the answers. What exactly was Dr. Grief doing? Had he been responsible for the deaths of Michael J. Roscoe and Viktor Ivanov—and if so, why?
The fact was, he didn’t know enough. And by the time MI6 arrived, Dr. Baxter’s body would be buried somewhere in the mountains and there would be nothing to suggest there was anything wrong. Alex would look like a fool. He could almost imagine Dr. Grief telling his side of the story …
‚Yes. There is an operating room here. It was built years ago. We never use the top two floors. There is an elevator, yes. It was built before we came. We explained to Alex about the armed guards. They’re here for his protection. But as you can see, gentlemen, there is nothing unpleasant happening here. The other boys are fine. Baxter? No, I don’t know anyone by that name. Obviously Alex has been having bad dreams. I’m amazed that he was sent here to spy on us. I would ask you to take him with you when you leave…'
He had to find out more—and that meant going back up to the third floor. Or perhaps down. Alex remembered the letters in the elevator.
He went over to the Latin classroom and looked in through the half-open door. Dr. Grief was out of sight, but Alex could hear his voice.
‚
There was the sound of scratching, chalk on a blackboard. And there were the six boys, sitting at their desks, listening intently. James was sitting between Hugo and Tom, taking notes.
Alex looked at his watch. They would be there another hour. He was on his own.
He walked back down the corridor and slipped into the library. He had woken up still smelling faintly of soot and had no intention of making his way back up the chimney. Instead he crossed over to the suit of armor. He knew now that the alcove disguised a pair of elevator doors. They could be opened from inside. Presumably there was some sort of control on the outside too.
It took him just a few minutes to find it. There were three buttons built into the breastplate of the armor. Even up close, the buttons looked like part of the suit … something the medieval knight would have had to use to strap the thing on. But when Alex pressed the middle button, it moved. A moment later, the armor split in half again and he found himself looking into the waiting elevator.
This time he went down, not up. The elevator seemed to travel a long way, as if the basement of the building had been built far underground. Finally, the doors slid open again.
Alex looked out onto a curving passageway with tiled walls that reminded him a little of a London subway station. The air was cold down here. The passage was lit by naked bulbs, screwed into the ceiling at intervals.
He looked out, then ducked back. A guard sat at a table at the end of the corridor, reading a newspaper. Would he have heard the elevator doors open? Alex leaned forward again. The guard was absorbed in the sports pages. He hadn’t moved. Alex slipped out and crept down the passage, moving away from him. He reached the corner and turned into a second passageway lined with steel doors. There was nobody else in sight.
Where was he? There had to be something down here or there wouldn’t be any need for a guard. Alex went over to the nearest door. There was a peephole set in the front, and he looked through into a bare, white cell with two bunk beds, a toilet, and a sink. There were two boys in the cell. One he had never seen before, but he recognized the other. It was the red-haired boy, Tom McMorin. But he had seen Tom in Latin class just a few minutes ago! What was he doing here?
Alex moved on to the next cell. This one also held two boys. One was a fair-haired, fit-looking boy with blue eyes and freckles. Once again, he recognized the other. It was James Sprintz. Alex examined the door. There were two bolts, but as far as he could see, no key. He drew back the bolts and jerked the door handle down. The door opened. He went in.
James stood up, astonished to see him. ‚Alex! What are you doing here?'
Alex closed the door. ‚We haven’t got much time,' he said. He was speaking in a whisper even though there was little chance of being overheard. ‚What happened to you?'
‚They came for me the night before last,' James said. ‚They dragged me out of bed and into the library. There was some sort of elevator…'
‚Behind the armor.'
‚Yes. I didn’t know what they were doing. I thought they were going to kill me. But then they threw me in here.'
‚You’ve been here for two days?'
‚Yes.'
Alex shook his head. ‚I saw you having breakfast upstairs fifteen minutes ago.'
‚They’ve made duplicates of us.' The other boy had spoken for the first time. He had an American accent. ‚All of us! I don’t know how they’ve done it or why. But that’s what they’ve done.' He glanced at the door with anger in his eyes. ‚I’ve been here for months. My name’s Paul Roscoe.'
‚Roscoe! Your dad’s …?'
‚Michael Roscoe.'
Alex fell silent. He couldn’t tell this boy what had happened to his father and he looked away, afraid that Paul would read it in his eyes.
‚How did you get down here?' James asked.
‚Listen,' Alex said. He was speaking rapidly now. ‚I was sent here by MI6. My name isn’t Alex Friend. It’s Alex Rider. Everything’s going to be okay. They’ll send people in and get you all freed.'
‚You’re a spy?' James was obviously startled.
Alex nodded. ‚I’m sort of a spy, I suppose,' he said.
‚You’ve opened the door. We can get out of here!' Paul Roscoe stood up, ready to move.
‚No!' Alex held up his hands. ‚You’ve got to wait. There’s no way down the mountain.
Stay here for now and I’ll come back with help. I promise you. It’s the only way.'
‚I can’t—'
‚You have to. Trust me, Paul. I’m going to have to lock you back in so that nobody will know I’ve been here. But it won’t be for long. I’ll come back!'
Alex couldn’t wait for any more argument. He went back to the door and opened it.
