Point Blanc (8 page)

Rufus looked
at him, and suddenly all the arrogance had gone and he was just a stupid,
frightened teenager, struggling to get to his knees.

"Alex..."
The single word came out as a whimper. It was as if he were seeing Alex for the
first time. "I'm sorry!" he sniveled. "We weren't
really going to hurt you. It was a joke. Fiona put us up to it. We just wanted
to scare you. Please..."

Alex paused,
breathing heavily. "How do I get out of here?" he asked.

"Just
follow the lake around," Rufus said. "There's a path."

Rufus was
still on his knees. There were tears in his eyes. Alex realized that he was
pointing the silver-plated shotgun in his direction. He turned it away,
disgusted with himself. This boy wasn't the enemy. He was nothing.

"Don't
follow me," Alex said and began to walk.

"Please!"
Rufus called after him. "Can I have my gun back? My mother would kill me if
I lost it."

Alex stopped.
He weighed the weapon in his hands, then threw it with all his strength. The
handcrafted Italian shotgun spun twice in the dying light, then disappeared
with a splash in the middle of the lake. "You're too young to play
with guns," he said.

He walked
away, letting the forest swallow him up.

THE
MAN SITTING IN THE gold, antique chair turned his head slowly and gazed out the
window at the snow-covered slopes of Point Blanc. Dr. Hugo Grief was almost
sixty years old with short, white hair and a face that was almost colorless
too. His skin was white, his lips vague shadows. Even his tongue was no more
than gray. And yet, against this blank background, he wore circular wire
glasses with dark red lenses. For him, the entire world would be the color of
blood. He had long fingers, the nails beautifully manicured. He was dressed in
a dark suit buttoned up to his neck. If there were such a thing as a vampire,
it might look very much like Dr. Hugo Grief.

"I have
decided to move the Gemini Project into its last phase," he said. He
spoke with a South African accent, biting into each word before it left his
mouth. "There can be no further delay."

"I
understand, Dr. Grief."

A woman sat
opposite Dr. Grief, dressed in tight-fitting spandex with a sweatband around
her head. This was Eva Stellenbosch. She had just finished her morning
workout--two hours of weight lifting and aerobics--and was still
breathing heavily, her huge muscles rising and falling. Mrs. Stellenbosch
had a facial structure that wasn't quite human, with lips curving out far
in front of her nose and wisps of bright ginger hair hanging over a high-domed
forehead. She was holding a glass filled with some milky green liquid. Her
fingers were thick and stubby. She had to be careful not to break the glass.

She sipped
her drink, then frowned. "Are you sure we're ready?" she
asked.

"We
have no choice in the matter. We have had two unsatisfactory results in the
last few months. First Ivanov. Then Roscoe in New York. Quite apart from the
expense of arranging the terminations, it's possible that someone may
have connected the two deaths."

"Possible,
but unlikely," Mrs. Stellenbosch said.

"The
intelligence services are idle and inefficient, it is true. The CIA in America.
MI6 in England. Even the KGB. They're all shadows of what they used to
be. But even so, there's always the chance that one of them might have
accidentally stumbled onto something. The sooner we end this phase of the
operation, the more chance we have of remaining unnoticed." Dr. Grief
brought his hands together and rested his chin on his fingers. "When is
the final boy arriving?" he asked.

"Alex?"
Mrs. Stellenbosch sipped from her cup and set it down. She opened her
handbag and took out a handkerchief, which she used to wipe her lips. "I
am traveling to England tomorrow," she said.

"Excellent.
You'll take the boy to Paris on the way here?"

"Of
course, Doctor. If that's what you wish."

"It is
very much what I wish. We can do all the preliminary work there. It will save
time. What about the Sprintz boy?"

"I'm
afraid we still need another few days."

"That
means that he and Alex will be here at the same time."

"Yes."

Dr. Grief
considered. He had to balance the risk of the two boys meeting against the
dangers of moving too fast. It was fortunate that he had a scientific mind. His
calculations were never wrong. "Very well," he said. "The
Sprintz boy can stay with us for another few days. I sense he is growing
restless, and a new friend might put his mind at ease."

Mrs. Stellenbosch
nodded. She lifted her glass and emptied its contents, the veins in her neck throbbing
as she swallowed.

"Alex
Friend is an excellent catch for us," Dr. Grief said.

"Supermarkets?"
The woman sounded unconvinced.

"His
father has the prime minister's ear. He is an impressive man. His son, I am
sure, will meet up to all our expectations." Dr. Grief smiled. His eyes
glowed red. "Very soon, we'll have Alex here, at the academy. And
then, at last, the Gemini Project will be complete."

"You're
sitting all wrong," Fiona said. "Your back isn't straight.
Your hands should be lower. And your feet are pointing the wrong way."

"What
does it matter, so long as you're enjoying yourself?" Alex asked,
speaking through gritted teeth.

It was the
fourth day of his stay at Haverstock Hall, and Fiona had been persuaded to take
him out riding. Alex wasn't enjoying himself at all. First he'd had
to endure the inevitable lecture--although he had barely listened. The
horses were Iberian or Hungarian. They'd won a bucketful of gold medals.
Alex didn't care. All he knew was that his horse was big and black and
attracted flies. And that he was riding it with all the style of a sack of
potatoes on a trampoline.

The two of
them had barely mentioned the business in the forest. When Alex had limped back
to the house, soaked and freezing, Fiona had politely fetched him a towel and
offered him a cup of tea.

"You
tried to kill me!" Alex said.

"Don't
be silly." Fiona looked at Alex with something like pity in her eyes.
"We would never do that. Rufus is a very nice boy."

"What?"

"It was
just a game, Alex. Just a bit of fun."

And that was
it. Fiona had smiled as if everything had been explained and then gone to have
a swim. Alex had spent the rest of the evening with the files. He was trying to
take in a fake history that spanned fourteen years. There were uncles and
aunts, friends at Eton, a whole crowd of people he had to know without ever
having met any of them. More than that, he was trying to get the feel of this
luxurious lifestyle. That was why he was here now, out riding with
Fiona--she upright in her riding jacket and breeches, he bumping along
behind.

They had
ridden for about an hour and a half when they came to a tunnel. Fiona had tried
to teach Alex a bit of technique--the difference, for example, between
walking, trotting, and cantering. But this was one sport he had already decided
he would never take up. Every bone in his body had been rattled out of shape,
and his bottom was so bruised he wondered if he would ever be able to sit down
again. Fiona seemed to be enjoying his torment. He even wondered if she had
chosen a particularly bumpy route to add to his bruises. Or maybe it was just a
particularly bumpy horse.

There was a
single railway line ahead of them, crossed by a tiny lane with an automatic
gate crossing equipped with a bell and flashing lights to warn motorists of any
approaching train. Fiona steered her horse--a smaller gray--toward
it. Alex's horse automatically followed. He assumed they were going to
cross the line, but when she reached the barrier, Fiona stopped.

"There's
a shortcut we can take if you want to get home," she said.

"A
shortcut would be good," Alex admitted.

"It's
that way."

Fiona pointed
up the line toward a tunnel, a gaping black hole in the side of a hill,
surrounded by dark red brick. Alex looked at her to see if she was joking. She
was obviously quite serious. He turned back to the tunnel. It was like the
barrel of a gun, pointing at him, warning him to keep away. He could almost
imagine the giant finger on the trigger, somewhere behind the hill. How long
was it? Looking more carefully, he could see a pinprick of light at the other
end, perhaps half a mile away.

"You're
not serious," he said.

"Actually,
Alex, I don't usually tell jokes. When I say something, I mean it.
I'm just like my father."

"Except
your father isn't completely crazy," Alex muttered.

Fiona
pretended not to hear him. "The tunnel is about one mile long," she
explained. "There's a bridge on the other side, then another gate
crossing. If we go that way, we can be home in thirty minutes. Otherwise
it's an hour and a half back the way we came."

"Then
let's go the way we came."

"Oh,
Alex, don't be such a scaredy-cat!" Fiona pouted at him.
"There's only one train an hour on this line and the next one
isn't due for..." She looked at her watch. "...twenty
minutes. I've been through the tunnel a hundred times and it never takes
more than five minutes. Less if you canter."

"It's
still crazy to ride on a railway line."

"Well,
you'll have to find your own way home if you turn back." She kicked
with her heels and her horse jerked forward, past the barrier and onto the
line. "I'll see you later."

But Alex
followed her. He would never have been able to ride back to the house on his
own. He didn't know the way, and he could barely control his horse. Even
now it was following Fiona with no prompting from him. Would the two animals
really enter the darkness of the tunnel? It seemed incredible, but Fiona had
said they had done it before, and sure enough, the horses walked into the side
of the hill without even hesitating.

Alex shivered
as the light was suddenly cut off behind him. It was cold and clammy inside.
The air smelled of soot and diesel. The tunnel was a natural echo chamber. The
horses' hooves rattled all around them as they struck against the gravel
between the ties. What if his horse stumbled? Alex put the thought out of his
mind. The leather saddles creaked. Slowly his eyes got used to the dark. A
certain amount of sunshine was filtering in from behind. More comfortingly, the
way out was clearly visible straight ahead, the circle of light widening with
every step. He tried to relax. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad
after all.

And then
Fiona spoke. She had slowed down, allowing his horse to catch up with hers.
"Are you still worried about the train, Alex?" she said scornfully.
"Perhaps you'd like to go faster."

He heard the
riding crop whistle through the air and felt his horse jerk as Fiona whipped it
hard on the rear. The horse whinnied and leapt forward. Alex was almost thrown backward
off the saddle. Digging in with his legs, he just managed to cling on, but the
whole top of his body was at a crazy angle, the reins tearing into the
horse's mouth. Fiona laughed. And then Alex was aware only of the wind
rushing past him, the thick blackness spinning around his face and the
horses' hooves striking heavily at the gravel as the animal careened
forward. Soot blew into his eyes, blinding him. He thought he was going to
fall. Minutes seemed to pass in mere seconds.

But then,
miraculously, they burst out into the light. Alex fought for his balance and
then brought the horse back under control, pulling back with the reins and
squeezing the horse's flanks with his knees. He took a deep breath and
waited for Fiona to appear.

His horse had
come to rest on the bridge that she had mentioned. The bridge was fashioned out
of thick iron girders and spanned a river. There had been a lot of rain that
month and, about fifty feet below him, the water was racing past, dark green
and deep. Carefully, he turned around to face the tunnel. If he lost control
here, it would be easy to fall over the edge. The sides of the bridge
couldn't have been more than three feet high.

He could hear
Fiona approaching. She had been cantering after him, probably laughing the
entire way. He gazed into the tunnel, and that was when Fiona's gray
horse burst out, raced past him, and disappeared through the gate crossing on
the other side of the bridge.

But Fiona
wasn't on it.

The horse had
come out alone.

It took Alex
a few seconds to work it out. His head was reeling. She must have fallen off.
Perhaps her horse had stumbled. She could be lying inside the tunnel. On the
track. How long was there until the next train? Twenty minutes, she had said.
But at least five of those minutes had gone, and she might have been
exaggerating to begin with.

Alex swore.
Damn this wretched girl with her spoiled brat behavior and her almost suicidal
games. But he couldn't leave her. He seized hold of the reins. Somehow he
would get this horse to obey him. He had to get her out, and he had to do it
fast.