resistance. There was a bang like a cannon shot. A huge tongue of flame exploded out of the back as the engine was torn apart.
That was when the plane went out of control.
Henryk had decided to abort take-off and was trying to slow down, but now it was too late. An engine on one side had suddenly stopped. Both engines on the other side were still on full power.
The imbalance sent the plane lurching violently to the left. Alex and Sabina were thrown to the floor. Lights fused and sparked all around them. Anything that wasn't securely fastened whirled through the air. Henryk fought for control but it was hopeless. The plane veered away and left the runway. That was the end of it. The soft ground was unable to support such a huge load. With a terrible shearing of metal, the undercarriage broke off and the whole thing toppled over onto one side.
The entire cabin twisted round and Alex felt the floor tilt beneath his feet. It was as if the plane was turning upside down. But finally it stopped. The engines cut out. The plane rested on its side and the scream of sirens filled the air as emergency vehicles raced across the tarmac.
Alex tried to move but his legs wouldn't obey him. He was lying on the floor and he could feel the darkness closing in. But he knew he had to stay conscious. His work wasn't finished yet.
“Sab?” He called out to her and was relieved when she got to her feet and came over.
“Alex?”
“You have to get to the communications room. There's a button. Self-destruct.” For a moment she looked blank and he took hold of her arm. “The missiles…”
“Yes. Yes … of course.” She was in shock. Too much had happened. But she understood. She staggered up the stairs, balancing herself against the sloping walls. Alex lay where he was.
And then Yassen spoke.
“Alex…”
Alex didn't have enough strength left to be surprised. He turned his head slowly, expecting to see a gun in the Russian's hand. It didn't seem fair to him. After so much, was he really going to die now, just when help was on its way? But Yassen wasn't holding a gun. He had propped himself up against a table. He was covered in blood now and there was a strange quality to his eyes as the blue slowly drained out. Yassen's skin was even paler than usual and, as his head tilted back, Alex noticed for the first time that he had a long scar on his neck. It was dead straight, as if it had been drawn with a ruler.
“Please…” Yassen's voice was soft.
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Alex crawled through the wreckage of the cabin and over to him. He remembered that Cray's death and the destruction of the plane had only happened because Yassen had refused to kill Sabina and him.
“What happened to Cray?” Yassen asked.
“He went off his trolley,” Alex said.
“He's dead?”
“Very.”
Yassen nodded, as if pleased. “I knew it was a mistake working for him,” he said. “I knew.” He fought for breath, narrowing his eyes for a moment. “There is something I have to tell you, Alex,” he said. The strange thing was that he was speaking absolutely normally, as if this were a quiet conversation between friends. Despite himself, Alex found himself marvelling at the man's self-control. He must have only minutes to live.
Then Yassen spoke again and everything in Alex's life changed for ever.
“I couldn't kill you,” he said. “I would never have killed you. Because, you see, Alex … I knew your father.”
“What?” Despite his exhaustion, despite all the pain from his injuries, Alex felt something shiver through him.
“Your father. He and I…” Yassen had to catch his breath. “We worked together.”
“He worked with you?”
“Yes.”
“You mean … he was a spy?”
“Not a spy, no, Alex. He was a killer. Like me. He was the very best. The best in the world. I knew him when I was nineteen. He taught me many things…”
“No!” Alex refused to accept what he was hearing. He had never met his father, knew nothing about him. But what Yassen was saying couldn't be true. It was some sort of horrible trick.
The sirens were getting nearer. The first of the vehicles must have arrived. He could hear men shouting outside.
“I don't believe you,” Alex cried. “My father wasn't a killer. He couldn't have been!”
“I'm telling you the truth. You have to know.”
“Did he work for MI6?”
“No.” The ghost of a smile flickered across Yassen's face. But it was filled with sadness. “MI6
hunted him down. They killed him. They tried to kill both of us. At the last minute I escaped, but he…” Yassen swallowed. “They killed your father, Alex.”
“No!”
“Why would I lie to you?” Yassen reached out weakly and took hold of Alex's arm. It was the first physical contact the two had ever had. “Your father… he did this.” Yassen drew a finger along the scar on his neck, but his voice was failing him and he couldn't explain. “He saved my life. In a way, I loved him. I love you too, Alex. You are so very much like him. I'm glad that you're here with me now.” There was a pause and a spasm of pain rippled across the dying man's face. There was one last thing he had to say. “If you don't believe me, go to Venice. Find Scorpia. And you will find your destiny…”
Yassen shut his eyes and Alex knew he would never open them again.
In the communications room Sabina found the button and pressed it. In space the first of the Minutemen blew itself into thousands of pieces, a brilliant, soundless explosion. Seconds later the other missiles did the same.
Air Force One was surrounded. A fleet of emergency vehicles had reached it and two trucks were spraying it down, covering it in torrents of white foam.
But Alex didn't know any of this. He was lying next to Yassen, his eyes closed. He had quietly and thankfully passed out.
RICHMOND BRIDGE
« ^
he swans really weren't going anywhere. They seemed happy just to circle slowly in the sunshine, occasionally dipping their beaks under the surface of the water, searching for insects, algae, whatever. Alex had been watching them for the last half-hour, almost hypnotized by them.
He wondered what it was like to be a swan. He wondered how they managed to keep their feathers so white.
He was sitting on a bench beside the Thames, just outside Richmond. This was where the river seemed to abandon London, finally leaving the city behind it on the other side of Richmond Bridge. Looking upstream, Alex could see fields and woodland, absurdly green, sprawled out in the heat of the English summer.
An au pair, pushing a pram, walked past on the towpath. She noticed Alex, and although her expression didn't change, her hands tightened on the pram and she very slightly quickened her pace. Alex knew that he looked terrible, like something out of one of those posters put out by the local council. Alex Rider, fourteen, in need of fostering. His last fight with Damian Cray had left its marks. But this time it was more than cuts and bruises. They would fade like others had faded before. This time he had seen his whole life bend out of shape.
He couldn't stop thinking about Yassen Gregorovich. Two weeks had gone by but he was still waking up in the middle of the night, reliving the final moments on Air Force One. His father had been a contract killer, murdered by the very people who had now taken over his own life. It couldn't be true. Yassen must have been lying, trying to wound Alex in revenge for what had happened between them. Alex wanted to believe it. But he had looked into the dying man's eyes and had seen no deceit, only a strange sort of tenderness—and a desire for the truth to be known.
Go to Venice. Find Scorpio. Find your destiny…
