It seemed to Alex that his only destiny was to be lied to and manipulated by adults who cared nothing about him. Should he go to Venice? How would he find Scorpia? For that matter, was Scorpia a person or a place? Alex watched the swans, wishing they could give him an answer.
But they just drifted on the water, ignoring him.
A shadow fell across the bench. Alex looked up and felt a fist close tightly inside his stomach.
Mrs Jones was standing over him. The MI6 agent was dressed in grey silk trousers with a matching jacket that hung down to her knees, almost like a coat. There was a silver pin in her lapel but no other jewellery. It seemed strange for her to be out here, in the sun. He didn't want to see her. Along with Alan Blunt, she was the last person Alex wanted to see.
“May I join you?” she asked.
“It seems you already have,” Alex said.
She sat down next to him.
“Have you been following me?” Alex asked. He wondered how she had known he would be here and it occurred to him that he might have been under round-the-clock surveillance for the past fortnight. It wouldn't have surprised him.
“No. Your friend—Jack Starbright—told me you'd be here.”
“I'm meeting someone.”
“Not until twelve. Jack came in to see me, Alex. You should have reported to Liverpool Street by now. We need to debrief you.”
“There's no point reporting to Liverpool Street,” Alex said bitterly. “There's nothing there, is there? Just a bank.”
Mrs Jones understood. “That was wrong of us,” she said.
Alex turned away.
“I know you don't want to talk to me, Alex,” Mrs Jones continued. “Well, you don't have to. But will you please just listen?”
She looked anxiously at him. He said nothing. She went on.
“It's true that we didn't believe you when you came to us—and of course we were wrong. We were stupid. But it just seemed so incredible that a man like Damian Cray could be a threat to national security. He was rich and he was eccentric; nevertheless, he was only a pop star with attitude. That was what we thought.
“But if you think we ignored you completely, Alex, you're wrong. Alan and I have different ideas about you. To be honest, if it had been my choice, we'd never have got you involved in the first place … not even in that business with the Stormbreakers. But that's not the issue here.” She took a deep breath. “After you had gone, I decided to take another look at Damian Cray. There wasn't a great deal I could do without the right authority, but I had him watched and all his movements were reported back to me.
“I heard you were at Hyde Park, in that dome when the Gameslayer was launched. I also got a police report on the woman—the journalist—who was killed. It just seemed like an unfortunate coincidence. Then I was told there had been an incident in Paris: a photographer and his assistant killed. Meanwhile Damian Cray was in Holland, and the next thing I knew, the Dutch police were screaming about some sort of high-speed chase in Amsterdam: cars and motorbikes chasing a boy on a bicycle. Of course, I knew it was you. But I still had no idea what was going on.
“And then your friend, Sabina, disappeared at Whitchurch Hospital. That really got the alarm bells ringing. I know. You're probably thinking we were absurdly slow, and you're right. But every intelligence service in the world is the same. When they act, they're efficient. But often they get started too late.
“That was the case here. By the time we came to bring you in, you were already with Cray, in Wiltshire. We spoke to your housekeeper, Jack. Then we went straight to his house. But we missed you again and this time we had no idea where you'd gone. Now we know, of course. Air Force One! The CIA have been going crazy. Alan Blunt was called in to see the prime minister last week. It may well be that he is forced to resign.”
“Well, that breaks my heart,” Alex said.
Mrs Jones ignored this. “Alex … what you've been through … I know this has been very difficult for you. You were on your own, and that should never have happened. But the fact is, you have saved millions of lives. Whatever you're feeling now, you have to remember that. It might even be true to say that you saved the world. God knows what the consequences would have been if Cray had succeeded. Anyway, the president of the United States would very much like to meet you. So, for that matter, would the prime minister. And for what it's worth, you've even been invited to the Palace, if you want to go. Of course, nobody else knows about you.
You're still classified. But you should be proud of yourself. What you did was … amazing.”
“What happened to Henryk?” Alex asked. The question took Mrs Jones by surprise, but it was the only thing he didn't know. “I just wondered,” he said.
“He's dead,” Mrs Jones said. “He was killed when the plane crashed. He broke his neck.”
“Well, that's that then.” Alex turned to her. “Can you go now?”
“Jack is worried about you, Alex. So am I. It may be that you need help coming to terms with what happened. Maybe some sort of therapy.”
“I don't want therapy. I just want to be left alone.”
“All right.”
Mrs Jones stood up. She made one last attempt to read him before she left. This was the fourth occasion she had met Alex at the end of an assignment. Each time she had known that he must have been, in some way, damaged. But this time something worse had happened. She knew there was something Alex wasn't telling her.
And then, on an impulse, she said, “You were on the plane with Yassen when he was shot. Did he say anything before he died?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he talk to you?”
Alex looked her straight in the eye. “No. He never spoke.” Alex watched her leave. So it was true what Yassen had said. Her last question had proved it. He knew who he was.
The son of a contract killer.
***
Sabina was waiting for him under the bridge. He knew that this was going to be a brief meeting.
There was nothing really left to say.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I'm OK. How's your dad?”
“He's a lot better.” She shrugged. “I think he's going to be fine.”
“And he's not going to change his mind?”
“No, Alex. We're leaving.”
Sabina had told him on the phone the night before. She and her parents were leaving the country.
They wanted to be on their own, to give her father time to recover fully. They had decided it would be easier for him to begin a new life and had chosen San Francisco. Edward had been offered a job by a big newspaper there. And there was more good news. He was writing a book: the truth about Damian Cray. It was going to make him a fortune.
“When do you go?” Alex asked.
“Tuesday.” Sabina brushed something out of her eye and Alex wondered if it might have been a tear. But when she looked at him again, she was smiling. “Of course, we'll keep in touch,” she said. “We can email. And you know you can always come out if you want a holiday.”
“As long as it's not like the last one,” Alex said.
“It'll be weird going to an American school…” Sabina broke off. “You were fantastic on the plane, Alex,” she said suddenly. “I couldn't believe how brave you were. When Cray was telling you all those crazy things, you didn't even seem scared of him.” She stopped. “Will you work for MI6 again?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you think they'll leave you alone?”
“I don't know, Sabina. It was my uncle's fault, really. He started all this years ago and now I'm stuck with it.”
