Scorpia (11 page)

Alex sipped his drink and considered the view.

It was a beautiful night, the sky stretching to eternity with thousands of brilliant stars. He could hear the waves rolling in, far below. The town of
Positano was built on a steep hillside, shops, restaurants, houses and flats all piled up on top of one another, with a series of interlocking alleyways and a single, narrow street zigzagging all the way down to the horseshoe bay below. There were lights everywhere. The holiday season was drawing to a close but the place was still crowded with people determined to enjoy the summer right to the end.

There was a knock at the door. Alex went back into the room and walked across the shining marble floor. A waiter in a white jacket and a black bow tie had appeared. “Your clothes, sir,” he said. He handed Alex a case. “Mr Nile suggested the suit for tonight,” he added as he turned to leave.

Alex opened the case. It was full of clothes, all of them expensive, all of them brand new. The suit was on the top. He took it out and laid it on the bed. It was charcoal grey, silk, with a Miu Miu label. There was a white shirt to go with it: Armani. Underneath, he found a slim leather box. He opened it and gasped. They had even provided him with a new watch, a Baume & Mercier with a polished steel bracelet. He lifted it out and weighed it in his hand. It must have cost hundreds of pounds. First the room, now all this! He was certainly having money thrown at him – and like the water in the power shower, it was coming from all directions.

He thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure what
he was letting himself in for but he might as well play along with it for the time being. It was almost nine thirty and he was ravenous. He got dressed and examined himself in the mirror. The suit was in the classic mod style, with small lapels that barely came down to his chest, and tightly fitted trousers. The tie was dark blue, narrow and straight. Mrs Rothman had also provided him with black suede shoes from D&G. It was quite an outfit. Alex barely recognized himself.

At exactly nine thirty he entered the restaurant on the lower ground floor. The hotel, he now realized, was built on the side of the hill, so it was much bigger than it seemed, with much of it on levels below the entrance and reception. He found himself in a long arched room with tables spilling out onto another long terrace. It was lit by hundreds of tiny candles in glass chandeliers. The place was crowded. Waiters were hurrying from table to table and the room was filled with the clatter of knives against plates and the low murmur of conversation.

Mrs Rothman had the best table, in the middle of the terrace, with views over Positano and out to sea. She was sitting on her own with a glass of champagne, waiting for him. She wore a low-cut black dress set off by a simple diamond necklace. She saw him, smiled and waved. Alex walked over to her, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the suit. Most of the other diners seemed to be casually
dressed. He wished now that he hadn’t put on the tie.

“Alex, you look wonderful.” She ran her dark eyes over him. “The suit fits you perfectly. It’s Miu Miu, isn’t it? I love the style. Please, sit down.”

Alex took his place at the table. He wondered what anyone watching might think. A mother and her son out for the evening? He felt like an extra in a film – and he was beginning to wish someone would show him the script.

“It’s been a while since I ate dinner with my own toy boy. Will you have some champagne?”

“No, thank you.”

“What then?”

A waiter had appeared out of nowhere and was hovering by Alex, ready to take his order.

“I’ll have an orange juice, please. Freshly squeezed. With ice.”

The waiter bowed and went to fetch it. Alex waited for Mrs Rothman to speak. He was playing the game her way, and she was the one with the rules.

“The food here is absolutely wonderful,” she informed him. “Some of the best cooking in Italy – and, of course, Italian is the best food in the world. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already ordered for you. If there’s anything you don’t like, you can send it back.”

“That’s fine.”

Mrs Rothman lifted her glass. Alex could see the
tiny bubbles rising to the surface in the honey-coloured liquid. “I shall drink to your health,” she announced. “But first you have to say you’ve forgiven me. What happened to you at the Widow’s Palace was monstrous. I feel totally embarrassed.”

“You mean, trying to kill me,” Alex said.

“My dear Alex! You came to my party without an invitation. You crept round the house and sneaked into my study. You mentioned a name which should have got you killed instantly, and you’re really very lucky that Nile decided to drown you rather than break your neck. So although what happened was very unfortunate, you can hardly say it was unprovoked. Of course, it would all have been different if we’d known who you were.”

“I told Nile my name.”

“It obviously didn’t register with him, and he didn’t mention it to me until the morning afterwards. I was so shocked when I heard. I couldn’t believe it. Alex Rider, the son of John Rider, in my house – and he’d been locked in that place and left to…” She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes. “We had to wait for the water to go down before we could open the door. I was sick with worry. I thought we were going to be too late. And then. We looked inside and there was nobody there. You’d done a Houdini and disappeared. I assume you swam down the old well?”

Alex nodded.

“I’m amazed it was big enough. Anyway, I was furious with Nile. He wasn’t thinking. The very fact that you were called Rider should have been enough. And for him to run into you a second time at Consanto! What were you doing there, by the way?”

“I was looking for you.”

She paused, thinking. “You must have seen the brochure in my desk. And did you overhear me talking to Harold Liebermann?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s one thing I absolutely have to know. How did you get into the complex?”

“I jumped off the terrace at Ravello.”

“With a parachute?”

“Of course.”

Mrs Rothman threw back her head and laughed loudly. At that moment, she looked more like a film star than anyone Alex had ever met. Not just beautiful, but supremely confident. “That’s wonderful,” she declared. “That’s really quite wonderful.”

“It was a borrowed parachute,” Alex added. “It belonged to the brother of a friend of mine. I’ve lost all his equipment. And they’ll be wondering where I am.”

Mrs Rothman was sympathetic. “You’d better call them and let them know you survived. And tomorrow I’ll write your friend’s brother a cheque. It’s the least I can do after everything that’s happened.”

The waiter arrived with Alex’s orange juice and the first course: two plates of ravioli. The little
white parcels were wonderfully fresh, filled with wild mushrooms and served with a salad of rocket and Parmesan. Alex tasted one. He had to admit that the food was as delicious as Mrs Rothman had promised.

“What’s wrong with Nile?” he asked.

“He can be exceptionally stupid. Act first, ask questions later. He never stops to think.”

“I meant his skin.”

“Oh that! He suffers from vitiligo. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s a skin disorder. His skin is lacking pigment cells or something like that. Poor Nile! He was born black but he’ll be white by the time he dies. But let’s not talk about him. There are so many other things we need to discuss.”

“You knew my father.”

“I knew him very well, Alex. He was an extremely good friend of mine. And I have to say, you’re his spitting image. I can’t tell you how strange it is to be sitting here with you. Here I am, fifteen years older. But you…” She looked deep into his eyes. Alex saw that she was examining him but at the same time he felt as if she were sucking something out of him. “It’s almost as if he’s come back,” she said.

“I want to know about him.”

“What can I tell you that you don’t know already?”

“I don’t know anything, except what Yassen Gregorovich told me.” Alex paused. This was the
moment he had been dreading. This was the reason he was here. “Was he an assassin?” he asked.

But Mrs Rothman didn’t answer. Her gaze had drifted away. “You met Yassen Gregorovich,” she said. “Was it he who led you to me?”

“I was there when he died.”

“I was sorry about Yassen. I heard he’d been killed.”

“I want to know about my father,” Alex insisted. “He worked for an organization called Scorpia. He was a killer. Is that right?”

“Your father was my friend.”

“You’re not answering my question,” he said, trying not to get angry. Mrs Rothman seemed friendly enough but he already knew that she was very rich and very ruthless. He suspected that he would regret it if he got on the wrong side of her.

Mrs Rothman herself was perfectly calm. “I don’t want to talk about him,” she said. “Not yet. Not until I’ve had a chance to talk about you.”

“What do you want to know about me?”

“I know a great deal about you already, Alex. You have an amazing reputation. That’s the reason why we’re sitting here tonight. I have an offer to make, something that may startle you. But I want you to understand, right from the start, that you’re completely free. You can walk away any time. I don’t want to hurt you. Quite the opposite. All I’m asking is that you consider what I have to say and then tell me what you think.”

“And then you’ll tell me about my dad?”

“Everything you want to know.”

“All right.”

Mrs Rothman had finished her champagne. She gestured with one hand and immediately a waiter appeared to refill her glass. “I love champagne,” she said. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“That’s probably wise.” Suddenly she was serious. “From what I understand, you’ve worked for MI6 four times,” she began. “There was that business with the Stormbreaker computers. Then the school they sent you to in the French Alps. Then you were in Cuba. And finally you crossed paths with Damian Cray. What I want to know is, why did you do it? What did you get out of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were you paid?”

Alex shook his head. “No.”

Mrs Rothman considered for a moment. “Then … are you a patriot?”

Alex shrugged. “I like Britain,” he said. “And I suppose I’d fight for it if there was a war. But I wouldn’t call myself a patriot. No.”

“Then you need to answer my question. What are you doing risking your life and getting injured for MI6? You’re not going to tell me it’s because you’re fond of Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones. I’ve met both of them and I can’t say they did anything for me! You’ve put your life on the line for them, Alex.
You’ve been hurt – nearly killed. Why?”

Alex was confused. “What are you getting at?” he demanded. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“Because, as I said, I want to make you an offer.”

“What offer?”

Mrs Rothman ate some of her ravioli. She used only a fork, cutting each pasta envelope in half, then spearing it with the prongs. She ate very delicately, and Alex could see the pleasure in her eyes. It wasn’t just food for her. It was a work of art.

“How would you like to work for me?” she asked.

“For Scorpia?”

“Yes.”

“Like my father?” She nodded.

“You’re asking me to become a killer?”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “You have a great many skills, Alex. For a fourteen-year-old you’re quite remarkable – and, of course, being so young, you could be very useful to us in all sorts of different ways. I imagine that’s why Mr Blunt has been so keen to hang on to you. You can do things and go places that an adult can’t.”

“What is Scorpia?” Alex demanded. “What were you doing at Consanto? What
is
Consanto? What were they making in that complex? And why did you have to kill Dr Liebermann?”

Mrs Rothman finished eating her first course and laid down her fork. Alex found himself hypnotized by the diamonds around her neck. They were
reflecting the light from the candles, each jewel multiplying and magnifying the yellow flames.

“What a lot of questions!” she remarked. She shrugged. “Consanto Enterprises is a perfectly ordinary biomedical company. If you want to know about them, you can look them up in the phone book. They have offices all over Italy. As to what we were doing there, I can’t tell you. At the moment we’re involved in an operation called Invisible Sword, but there’s no reason for you to know anything about it. Not yet. I will, however, tell you why we had to kill Dr Liebermann. It’s really very simple. It was because he was unreliable. We paid him a great deal to help us in a certain matter. He was worried about what he was doing and at the same time he wanted more money. A man like that can be a danger to us all. It was safer to get rid of him.

“But let’s go back to your first question. You want to know about Scorpia. That’s why you were in Venice and that’s why you’ve followed me here. Very well. I’ll tell you.”

She sipped her champagne, then set the glass down. Alex suddenly realized that their table had been positioned so that they could talk without being overheard. Even so, Mrs Rothman moved a little closer before she spoke.

“As you guessed, Alex, Scorpia is a criminal organization,” she began. “The S stands for sabotage. The CORP comes from corruption. The I is
intelligence – in other words, spying. And the A is for assassination. These are our main areas of expertise, though there are others. We are successful and that has made us powerful. We can be found all over the world. The secret services can’t do anything about us. We’re too big and they’ve left it too late. Anyway, occasionally some of them make use of us. They pay us to do their dirty work for them. We’ve learnt to live side by side!”

“And you want me to join you?” Alex put down his knife and fork, although he hadn’t finished eating. “I’m not like you. I’m not like that at all.”

“How strange. Your father was.”

That hurt. She was talking about a man he had never had a chance to know. But her words cut straight to the heart of who and what he was.

“Alex, you have to grow up a little bit and stop seeing things in black and white. You work for MI6. Do you think of them as the good guys, the ones in white hats? I suppose that makes me the bad guy. Maybe I should be sitting here in a wheelchair with a bald head and a scar down my face, stroking a cat.” She laughed at the thought. “Unfortunately it’s not as simple as that any more. Not in the twenty-first century. Think about Alan Blunt for a minute. Quite apart from the number of people he’s had killed around the world, look at the way he’s used
you
, for heaven’s sake! Did he ask nicely before he pulled you out of school and turned you
into a spy? I don’t think so! You’ve been exploited, Alex, and you know it.” “I’m not a killer,” Alex protested. “I never could be.”