Anthony Horowitz - Eagle Strike

“And more curious still that Yassen didn"t kill him when he had the chance.”

“I wouldn"t say that, all things considered.”

Mrs Jones nodded. “Maybe we ought to tell Alex about Yassen,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not.” Blunt picked up the piece of paper and crumpled it. “The less Alex Rider knows about Yassen Gregorovich the better. I very much hope the two of them don"t run into each other again.” He dropped the paper ball into the bin underneath his desk. At the end of the day everything in the bin would be incinerated.

“And that,” he said, “is that.”

Jack was worried.

Alex had come back from Liverpool Street in a bleak mood and had barely spoken a word to her since. He had come into the sitting room where she was reading a book and she had managed to learn that the meeting with Sabina hadn"t gone well and that Alex wouldn"t be seeing her again.

But during the afternoon she managed to coax more and more of the story out of him until finally she had the whole picture.

“They"re all idiots!” Alex exclaimed. “I know they"re wrong but just because I"m younger than them, they won"t listen to me.”

“I"ve told you before, Alex. You shouldn"t be mixed up with them.”

“I won"t be. Never again. They don"t give a damn about me.” The doorbell rang.

“I"ll go,” Alex said.

There was a white van parked outside. Two men were opening the back and, as Alex watched, they unloaded a brand-new bicycle, wheeling it down and over to the house. Alex cast his eye over it. The bike was a Cannondale Bad Boy, a mountain bike that had been adapted for the city with a lightweight aluminium frame and one-inch wheels. It was silver and seemed to have come equipped with all the accessories he could have asked for: Digital Evolution lights, a Blackburn mini-pump … everything top of the range. Only the silver bell on the handlebar seemed old-fashioned and out of place. Alex ran his hand over the leather saddle with its twisting Celtic design and then along the frame, admiring the workmanship. There was no sign of any welds.

The bike was handmade and must have cost hundreds.

One of the men came over to him. “Alex Rider?” he asked.

“Yes. But I think there"s been a mistake. I didn"t order a bike.”

“It"s a gift. Here…”

The second man had left the bike propped up against the railings. Alex found himself holding a thick envelope. Jack appeared on the step behind him. “What is it?” she asked.

“Someone has given me a bike.”

Alex opened the envelope. Inside was an instruction booklet and attached to it a letter.

Dear Alex,

I"m probably going to get a roasting for this, but I don"t like the idea of you taking off on your own without any back-up. This is something I"ve been working on for you and you might as well have it now. I hope it comes in useful.

Look after yourself, dear boy. I"d hate to hear that anything lethal had happened to you.

All the best,

Smithers

PS This letter will self-destruct ten seconds after it comes into contact with the air so I hope you read it quickly!

Alex just had time to read the last sentence before the letters on the page faded and the paper itself crumpled and turned into white ash. He moved his hands apart and what was left of the letter blew away in the breeze. Meanwhile the two men had got back into the van and driven away. Alex was left with the bike. He flicked through the first pages of the instruction book.

BIKE PUMP—SMOKESCREEN

MAGNESIUM FLARE—HEADLAMP

HANDLEBAR—MISSILE EJECTION

TRAILRIDER—JERSEY (BULLETPROOF)

MAGNETIC—BICYCLE CLIPS

“Who is Smithers?” Jack asked. Alex had never told her about him.

“I was wrong,” Alex said. “I thought I had no friends at MI6. But it looks like I"ve got one.” He wheeled the bicycle into the house. Smiling, Jack closed the door.

THE PLEASURE DOME

« ^ »

t was only in the cold light of morning that Alex began to see the impossibility of the task he had set himself. How was he supposed to investigate a man like Cray? Blunt had mentioned that he had homes in London and Wiltshire, but hadn"t supplied addresses. Alex didn"t even know if Cray was still in England.

But as it turned out, the morning news told Alex where he might begin.

When he came into the kitchen, Jack was reading the newspaper over her second cup of coffee.

She took one look at him, then slid it across the table. “This"ll put you off your cornflakes.” Alex turned the paper round—and there it was on the second page: Damian Cray looking out at him. A headline ran below the picture:

Cray Launches £100m Gameslayer it"s definitely the hottest ticket in London. Today—game players get to see the eagerly anticipated Gameslayer, developed by Cray Software Technology, a company based in Amsterdam, at a cost rumoured to be in excess of one hundred million pounds. The state-of-the-art game system will be demonstrated by Sir Damian Cray himself in front of an invited audience of journalists, friends, celebrities and industry experts.

No expense has been spared on the launch, which kicks off at one o"clock and includes a lavish champagne buffet inside the Pleasure Dome that Cray has constructed inside Hyde Park. This is the first time that a royal park has been used for a purely commercial venture and there were some critics when permission was given earlier this year.

But Damian Cray is no ordinary businessman. He has already announced that twenty per cent of profits from the Gameslayer will be going to charity, this time helping disabled children throughout the UK. Yesterday Cray met with the United States president to discuss oil drilling in Alaska. It is said that the Queen herself approved the temporary construction of the Pleasure Dome, which uses aluminium and PTFE fabric (the same material used in the Millennium Dome). Its futuristic design has certainly proved an eye-opener for passing Londoners.

Alex stopped reading. “We have to go,” he said. “Do you want your eggs scrambled or boiled?”

“Jack…”

“Alex. It"s a ticket-only event. What will we do?”

“I"ll work something out.”

Jack scowled. “Are you really sure about this?”

“I know, Jack. It"s Damian Cray. Everyone loves him. But here"s something they may not have noticed.” He folded the paper and slid it back to her. “The terrorist group that claimed responsibility for the bomb in France was called Camargue Sans Touristes.”

“I know.”

“And this new computer game has been developed by Cray Software Technology.”

“What about it, Alex?”

“Maybe it"s just another coincidence. But CST… It"s the same letters.” Jack nodded. “All right,” she said. “So how do we get in?” They took a bus up to Knightsbridge and crossed over into Hyde Park. Before he had even passed through the gates and into the park itself, Alex could see just how much had been invested in the launch. There were hundreds of people streaming along the pavements, getting out of taxies and limousines, milling around in a crowd that seemed to cover every centimetre of grass. Policemen on foot and on horseback stood at every corner, giving directions and trying to form people into orderly lines. Alex was amazed that the horses could remain so calm surrounded by so much chaos.

And then there was the Pleasure Dome itself. It was as if a fantastic spaceship had landed in the middle of the lake at the centre of Hyde Park. It seemed to float on the surface of the water, a black pod, surrounded by a gleaming aluminium frame, silver rods criss-crossing in a dazzling pattern. Blue and red spotlights swivelled and rocked, the beams flashing even in the daylight. A single metal bridge stretched across from the bank to the entrance but there were more than a dozen security men barring the way. Nobody was allowed to cross the water without showing their ticket. There was no other way in.