Anthony Horowitz - Eagle Strike

“But when he was thirteen, there was a terrible disaster. His parents were killed in a bizarre car accident.”

“What was bizarre about it?”

“The car fell on top of them. It rolled off the top floor of one of their car parks. As you can imagine, Harold was distraught. He left the Royal Academy and travelled the world. He changed his name and turned to Buddhism for a while. He also became a vegetarian. Even now, he never touches meat. The tickets for his concerts are made out of recycled paper. He has very strict values and he sticks to them.

“Anyway, he came back to England in the seventies and formed a band—Slam! They were an instant success. I"m sure the rest of this will be very familiar to you, Alex. At the end of the seventies the band split up, and Cray began a solo career which took him to new heights. His first solo album, Firelight, went platinum. After that he was seldom out of the UK or US top twenty.

He won five Grammys and an Academy Award for Best Original Song. In 1986 he visited Africa and decided to do something to help the people there. He arranged a concert at Wembley Stadium, with all proceeds going to charity. Chart Attack—that was what it was called. It was a huge success and that Christmas he released a single: „Something for the Children". It sold four million copies and he gave every penny away.

“That was just the beginning. Since the success of Chart Attack, Cray has campaigned tirelessly on a range of world issues. Save the rainforests; protect the ozone layer; end world debt. He"s built his own rehabilitation centres to help young people involved with drugs, and he spent two years fighting to have a laboratory closed down because it was experimenting on animals.

“In 1989 he performed in Belfast, and many people believe that this free concert was a step on the way towards peace in Northern Ireland. A year later he made two visits to Buckingham Palace. He was there on a Thursday to play a solo for Princess Diana"s birthday; and on the Friday he was back again to receive a knighthood from the Queen.

“Only last year he was on the cover of Time magazine. „Man of the Year. Saint or Singer?" That was the headline. And that"s why your accusations are ridiculous, Alex. The whole world knows that Damian Cray is just about the closest thing we have to a living saint.”

“It was still his voice on the telephone,” Alex said.

“You heard someone give his name. You don"t know it was him.”

“I just don"t understand it!” Now Alex was angry, confused. “All right, we all like Damian Cray.

I know he"s famous. But if there"s a chance that he was involved with the bomb, why won"t you at least investigate him?”

“Because we can"t.” It was Blunt who had spoken and the words came out flat and heavy. He cleared his throat. “Damian Cray is a multimillionaire. He"s got a huge penthouse on the Thames and another place down in Wiltshire, just outside Bath.”

“So what?”

“Rich people have connections and extremely rich people have very good connections indeed.

Since the nineties, Cray has been putting his money into a number of commercial ventures. He bought his own television station and made a number of programmes that are now shown all around the world. Then he branched out into hotels—and finally into computer games. He"s about to launch a new game system. He calls it the Gameslayer, and apparently it will put all the other systems—PlayStation 2, GameCube, whatever—into the shade.”

“I still don"t see—”

“He is a major employer, Alex. He is a man of enormous influence. And, for what it"s worth, he donated a million pounds to the government just before the last election. Now do you understand? If it was discovered that we were investigating him, and merely on your say-so, there would be a tremendous scandal. The prime minister doesn"t like us anyway. He hates anything he can"t control. He might even use an attack on Damian Cray as an excuse to close us down.”

“Cray was on television only today,” Mrs Jones said. She picked up a remote control. “Have a look at this and then tell me what you think.”

A TV monitor in the corner of the room flickered on, and Alex found himself looking at a recording of the mid-morning news. He guessed Mrs Jones probably recorded the news every day.

She fast-forwarded, then ran the film at the correct speed.

And there was Damian Cray. His hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a dark, formal suit, white shirt and mauve silk tie. He was standing outside the American embassy in London"s Grosvenor Square.

Mrs Jones turned up the sound.

“…the former pop singer, now tireless campaigner for a number of environmental and political issues, Damian Cray. He was in London to meet the president of the United States, who has just arrived in England as part of his summer vacation.”

The picture switched to a jumbo jet landing at Heathrow Airport, then cut in closer to show the president standing at the open door, waving and smiling.

“The president arrived at Heathrow Airport in Air Force One, the presidential plane. He is due to have a formal lunch with the prime minister at number ten Downing Street today…” Another cut. Now the president was standing next to Damian Cray and the two men were shaking hands, a long handshake for the benefit of the cameras which flashed all around them.

Cray had sandwiched the president"s hand between both his own hands and seemed unwilling to let him go. He said something and the president laughed.

“…but first he met Cray for an informal discussion at the American embassy in London. Cray is a spokesman for Greenpeace and has been leading the movement to prevent oil drilling in the wilds of Alaska, fearing the environmental damage this may cause. Although he made no promises, the president agreed to study the report which Greenpeace…” Mrs Jones turned off the television.

“Do you see? The most powerful man in the world interrupts his holiday to meet Damian Cray.

And he sees Cray before he even visits the prime minister! That should give you the measure of the man. So tell me! What earthly reason could he have to blow up a house and perhaps kill a whole family?”

“That"s what I want you to find out.”

Blunt sniffed. “I think we should wait for the French police to get back to us,” he said. “They"re investigating the CST. Let"s see what they come up with.” “So you"re going to do nothing!” “I think we have explained, Alex.” “All right.” Alex stood up. He didn"t try to conceal his anger.

“You"ve made me look a complete fool in front of Sabina; you"ve made me lose one of my best friends. It"s really amazing. When you need me, you just pull me out of school and send me to the other side of the world. But when I need you, just this once, you pretend you don"t even exist and you just dump me out on the street…”

“You"re being over-emotional,” Blunt said.

“No, I"m not. But I"ll tell you this. If you won"t go after Cray, I will. He may be Father Christmas, Joan of Arc and the Pope all rolled into one, but it was his voice on the phone and I know he was somehow involved in what happened in the South of France. I"m going to prove it to you.”

Alex stood up and, without waiting to hear another word, left the room.

There was a long pause.

Blunt took out a pen and made a few notes on a sheet of paper. Then he looked at Mrs Jones.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Maybe we should go over the files one more time,” Mrs Jones suggested. “After all, Herod Sayle pretended to be a friend of the British people, and if it hadn"t been for Alex…”

“You can do what you like,” Blunt said. He drew a ring round the last sentence he had written.

Mrs Jones could see the words Yassen Gregorovich upside down on the page. “Curious that he should have run into Yassen a second time,” he muttered.