STINGO.

Jungle-strength mosquito lotion

"Mosquito repellent," Alex said.

"Absolutely not," Smithers replied. "This is a very powerful formulation and it actually does the exact opposite. It attracts mosquitoes. In fact, once you open the bottle, it'll attract just about every insect on the island. You might find it useful if you need a diversion." He closed the case and stood up. "I'm off to St Lucia," he announced. "A little holiday and it'll give me a chance to test my shark-repellent swimming trunks. So I won't be too far away if you need me, although I'm sure you won't. Chin-chin!"

Smithers wandered off down another corridor. Alex was left with Joe Byrne.

"So will you do it?" Byrne asked.

Alex stared at the three gadgets on the table. "It looks like everyone's already made up my mind for me."

"That's great, Alex. Thank you." Byrne gestured and the blond-haired man who had brought Alex from the airport came over. "You've already met Special Agent Shulsky," he said.

"Call me Ed," the agent said. Without the dark gla.s.ses and the intimidating manner, he seemed a lot more pleasant. Alex guessed he was still in his twenties; he looked as if he hadn't long graduated from college.

"Agent Shulsky will be heading the back-up operation," Byrne explained. "He and a dozen people will be based on Barbados. That's where you'll be landing, by the way. Flamingo Bay doesn't have its own airstrip. The moment you call, they'll come running."

Shulsky smiled. "It's a real pleasure to be working with you, Alex," he said. "They showed us your file. I have to say, it's more than impressive."

"Is there anything else you want to know?" Byrne asked.

"Yes. There is one thing," Alex said. "This all came about because I just happened to be in the room next to Paul Drevin at St Dominic's Hospital. But it was no coincidence, was it? Mr Blunt put me there because he hoped I'd meet Paul and become friends with him."

Byrne hesitated. "I can't answer that for sure, Alex," he said. "But I will say this much: Alan Blunt does have a knack of making events work his way."

So it was true. Alex could have been taken to any hospital in London. But even as he lay there bleeding with a bullet in his chest, the MI6 chief had been planning ahead, engineering his next a.s.signment. It was almost beyond belief. No. Where Blunt was concerned, it was to be expected.

"Shulsky will take you back to the airport," Byrne added. "We'll sort you out a temporary pa.s.sport and Drevin will pick you up tomorrow. Good luck on Flamingo Bay."

"Just don't expect any postcards," Alex said.

He and Ed Shulsky left together. Byrne shook his head and walked slowly back the other way.

FLAMINGO BAY.

The six-seater Cessna 195 seaplane circled the island almost lazily before it came in to land. Alex, along with Paul and his father, had been flown from New York to Grantley Adams International Airport on the south-east corner of Barbados. From there they had been taken by car a few miles up the coast to Ragged Point, where the seaplane had been waiting for the final ten-mile flight to Drevin's private island.

Alex could see it now, his face pressed against the window with the single propeller buzzing noisily and the starboard wing stretching out above his head. From the air, Flamingo Bay looked as ridiculously beautiful as every Caribbean island, the colours almost too intense to be true. There was the dazzling blue of the ocean, the immaculate white beaches, the rich, elemental green of the pine trees and rainforest. The weather couldn't have been more perfect for the coming launch. As the plane arced for a second time, tilting towards the stretch of water that would be its landing strip, brilliant sunshine blazed in through the window.

"There it is!" Paul Drevin leant past Alex and pointed. "You can see the launch site!" he exclaimed.

The island was about two miles long and shaped like a leaping fish. The rocket gantries stood where the eye should have been. There were two of them, right next to the sea, with about a dozen brick buildings, many of them surmounted with satellite dishes, about a quarter of a mile away. The ground in this area was quite bare, all the vegetation burned away, presumably by rocket exhaust. Alex remembered what Kaspar had told him when he had been a prisoner of Force Three. Four bird species had been made extinct on the island. He was surprised it hadn't been more.

If the head of the fish was naked, the rest of it was covered with dense rainforest separated by a narrow track which ran the full length of the island. The track led to a tall fence running north to south, with a checkpoint and a series of wooden cabins near by. This was the only way into the launch site. There were watchtowers all over the island, making sure that n.o.body could approach unseen by sea.

Drevin's house had been built on what Alex thought of as the fish's tail. It was a simple white structure, and even from this distance he could see that it was ultra-modern with giant gla.s.s windows giving uninterrupted views of the sea. The arched belly of the fish was one long beach with palm trees leaning towards the water. As the plane dipped down, Alex saw a brightly painted wooden jetty, three motor launches and a couple of sailing boats anch.o.r.ed in the shallows. He couldn't hear music from steel drums or smell the rum but it was easy to imagine them.

"Fasten your seat belts," Drevin said. "We are about to land."

Drevin was sitting on the other side of the aisle, wearing a pale yellow open-necked shirt. He hadn't spoken much on the journey from New York, not even when he had fetched Alex from the departure lounge at JFK. Alex got the impression that Drevin blamed him personally for the mix-up over the pa.s.sport. Or perhaps he was annoyed with the American authorities for inconveniencing one of his guests. Now he was deep in thought, tugging at his ring. In the bright sunlight his face looked more pale than ever.

Alex was grateful for the silence. He wasn't sure how to behave with Drevin any more. Everything Joe Byrne had told him was tumbling around in his head. In the s.p.a.ce of just a few days, Drevin had gone from being a reclusive billionaire who didn't like losing, to the biggest criminal in the world. He was involved with the mafiya and the triads, who only a few months ago had tried to kill Alex. People who got in his way died. He was another monster and here he was, sitting just a few seats away.

The Cessna swept down and landed smoothly, water spraying up towards the windows. It taxied towards the jetty and came to a halt. Paul Drevin was the first to stand up, followed by Tamara Knight, who had been sitting directly behind Alex. They made their way out into the soft heat of the Caribbean afternoon.

There was an electric buggy waiting for them, the sort that was normally used on golf courses. Drevin had already explained that there was very little petrol on the island; electric vehicles were easier. Now that he was back on land, he seemed more cheerful.

"We'll go to the house first and change," he announced. "Alex, I'm sure you'd like to see around the island. We can do that before dinner. Tomorrow I'll be busy with preparations for the launch, so the two of you will have to amuse yourselves. But there's plenty to do. Swimming, scuba-diving, sailing... Welcome, you might say, to paradise."

Drevin drove them the short distance to Little Point, the corner of the island where the house stood. The building was as impressive in its own way as every property that Drevin owned. It was almost futuristic, white with huge windows that retracted into the walls, so that at the press of a b.u.t.ton it could be either open to the elements or enclosed. It had been raised about half a metre above the ground, presumably to allow the air to circulate. Thick, wooden legs supported it on a rocky shelf facing west. Alex guessed that the sunsets would be spectacular. There were only three bedrooms. Tamara would be staying on the other side of the island. Alex was next door to Paul. His room had two single beds, an en suite bathroom and plenty of s.p.a.ce.

Ten minutes later, dressed in a T-shirt, knee-length shorts and sandals, Alex was back in the buggy next to Paul. It was early in the afternoon and the sun was still strong. Drevin drove them along the single track. Although the island couldn't have been more than half a mile wide, the sea had disappeared from view, lost behind a seemingly impenetrable screen of vegetation. Here the atmosphere was damp and heavy, and Alex could hear thousands of insects already active among the leaves.

They pa.s.sed the cabins that Alex had seen from the air, and immediately afterwards came to an electric gate with a checkpoint and three guards on patrol. They were the first guards Alex had seen. They were dressed in pale grey overalls with a logo a pair of wings and a streak of light printed on the left side of their chest. They wore combat boots and carried black Mini Uzi 19mm sub-machine guns. Seeing the vicious weapons, Alex felt a twinge of unease. Joe Byrne had made this visit to Flamingo Bay sound very safe and straightforward. He was there to make sure Drevin didn't run away. Nothing more than that. But if something did did go wrong, if Drevin found out that Alex had been in contact with the CIA, he would be trapped. He had no doubt that the motor boats would be neutralized at night. The plane had already left. Barbados and the CIA back-up team were ten miles away. Once again Alex found himself surrounded by an enemy army and, as usual, he was on his own. go wrong, if Drevin found out that Alex had been in contact with the CIA, he would be trapped. He had no doubt that the motor boats would be neutralized at night. The plane had already left. Barbados and the CIA back-up team were ten miles away. Once again Alex found himself surrounded by an enemy army and, as usual, he was on his own.

The buggy stopped and a man appeared, dressed in the same grey uniform as the guards. He was an ugly man, aged in his thirties, with round cheeks, thick lips and curling, ginger-coloured hair. There was something about his face that didn't look quite real. His skin was deathly pale, as if he never stepped out into the sun. Alex could see the man's paunch pressing against his overalls. He wasn't just unfit. He looked ill.

"Good afternoon, Mr Drevin," he said. His voice suited his appearance. The words came out in a strained, unpleasant whisper as if he had something caught in his throat.

"Good afternoon." Drevin turned to the two boys. "This is one of the most important people on the island," he explained. "His name is Magnus Payne and he's the head of security." He looked at Payne. "You haven't met my son, Paul; and his friend, Alex Rider."

The security man nodded at Alex. "Nice to meet you, Alex," he said, and at that moment Alex was conscious of two things. Although he knew it was impossible, he wondered if he'd met Payne before. And there was something else. Something that felt wrong. But what?

"I should warn you that Payne has complete control over this side of the island," Drevin was explaining. "You must do what he tells you. And please don't try to get past here without his authorization."

"What's the point of a security barrier?" Alex asked. "This is an island. If someone wanted to break in, they could just swim round."

"Razor wire," Magnus Payne rasped. "Under the water. They could try, but it would be rather painful."

He raised a hand and the gate slid open, activated from inside the checkpoint. Payne climbed into the buggy next to Drevin and the four of them continued to the launch area.

Alex had seen many amazing things in his life, but the sight before him was something he knew he would never forget.

The rocket was right in front of him, on the edge of a flat, empty area, pointing towards the sky and supported by two steel arms reaching out from a huge gantry. It was at least fifty metres tall, slender and more beautiful than anything Alex could have imagined. He had seen rockets in museums; he had watched launches on TV. But this was different. It was surrounded by a vast, blue sky which seemed suddenly endless. And yet, sitting there, it seemed to radiate the power that was contained in the four solid rocket boosters that would, very soon, blast it into s.p.a.ce. About twenty people were working around it. The rocket dwarfed them, making them look tiny.

"We call it Gabriel 7 Gabriel 7," Drevin said, and he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. "It's an Atlas 2AS rocket. You can just make out the payload." He pointed to a bulging shape close to the rocket's tip. "It's covered with an aerodynamic fairing," he went on. "It has to survive the ascent through the atmosphere. But underneath, there's a gla.s.s and steel observation module weighing 1.8 tonnes. It will take the Atlas just fifteen minutes to carry it into s.p.a.ce, and the day after tomorrow it'll be up there, three hundred miles above our heads. The heart of Ark Angel!"

Paul shook his head. "It's really cool!"

"Cool?" Drevin snapped. "I despise this modern teenage slang! You use ghetto language to describe what you can't even begin to imagine. Cool? Cool? Is that all you can say?" Is that all you can say?"

"What about the other rocket?" Alex asked.

He had seen the second gantry from the plane. It was further along the sh.o.r.e, a clear distance from the Atlas. The second rocket, slightly smaller, also seemed to be waiting for blast-off. More people surrounded it, working on the final preparations.

"Mr Payne?" Drevin turned to his head of security.

"We've brought forward the launch," Payne explained in his rasping voice. "We plan to send it up immediately after Gabriel 7 Gabriel 7."

"Why?" Alex wondered.

"We are involved in a series of long-term experiments," Drevin said. "We need to know more about the effects of weightlessness on the human body. The second rocket is a Soyuz-Fregat. It will carry a model of the human system into s.p.a.ce."

"What does that mean?" Alex asked.

"An ape."

"I didn't realize you were still allowed to use animals."

Drevin shrugged. "It's not ideal. But there's no other way."

They drove to the first of the brick buildings. It was the largest in the compound, with three satellite dishes pointing up at the sky. "This is the control centre," Payne told them. "The other buildings are for storage and construction. We also have sleeping quarters and recreation facilities. There are more than sixty people working on the island."

They went in, along a corridor and into a large room with slanting windows looking out onto the launch site. Above the windows was a giant screen, blank at the moment but ready to transmit pictures of the launch itself. There were about twenty computers, arranged in two groups, facing each other. One group was marked COMMAND, the other TELEMETRY. To one side Alex noticed a conference table, a dozen chairs and another screen. A huge board with hundreds of light bulbs spelt out various information including LTST local true solar time the s.p.a.ce equivalent of GMT. There was less to the control centre than Alex had imagined. In many ways it was like an oversized cla.s.sroom.

A man had stood up as they came in. He was short but thickset, and looked either Chinese or Korean with neat black hair, wire-framed spectacles and a pencil moustache. He was dressed like a businessman in a smart jacket and tie. The clothes couldn't have been less appropriate on a Caribbean island, but of course the climate in the control room was conditioned. Alex could feel the sterile air blowing cold on his bare arms and legs.

Drevin introduced him. "This is Professor Sing Joo-Chan, the flight director here on Flamingo Bay. We were very lucky to be able to recruit him from the Khrunichev s.p.a.ce Centre."

"How do you do." Sing spoke with a cultured English accent. He shook hands with Alex and Paul, but the dark brown eyes behind the gla.s.ses showed no interest in them at all. They were children. They had no place here. That was what the eyes seemed to say.

"This is where it all happens," Drevin went on. "We'll be controlling both the launch and the docking procedure from here. Of course, most of the procedure is computerized. But we have a camera fitted into Gabriel 7 Gabriel 7's nose. Travelling three hundred miles at the speed of light, it takes about 0.001 seconds for the images to be relayed back here. It's a bit like a giant computer game, except when you press a b.u.t.ton here you're manoeuvring about four tonnes of equipment in outer s.p.a.ce. You can't afford mistakes."

Sing shook his head. "There will be no mistakes," he a.s.sured them.

"Have we had the latest weather reports?" Drevin asked.

"Yes, Mr Drevin. I've gone over the meteorological charts myself and the conditions are exactly as predicted."

"Good." Drevin was pleased. "Nine o'clock on Wednesday morning. It's a sight you boys won't forget."

"Can't we get any closer?" Paul asked.

Professor Sing looked away, as if the question was too stupid to answer. Alex wondered what it was about the man that he didn't like. Perhaps it was his complete lack of enthusiasm. There was no emotion in his face and none in his voice. How could he be in charge of such a huge project and not feel the excitement of it?

"If you were any closer you'd be deafened," Drevin said. "When Gabriel 7 Gabriel 7 is launched, the vibration levels will be huge. They'd destroy your eardrums if you were too close. Even in here we'll need to be completely insulated." is launched, the vibration levels will be huge. They'd destroy your eardrums if you were too close. Even in here we'll need to be completely insulated."

"I'm afraid I must ask for some time with you, Mr Drevin," Sing interrupted. "I need to discuss the launch trajectory dispersions."

Drevin turned to Alex and Paul. "Magnus will show you around the rest of the base if there's anything else you wish to see. We'll meet again at dinner."

"Sure." Alex tried to smile, but he didn't look up. He could no longer trust himself to meet Drevin's gaze. And there was something else that was worrying him. The more he saw of the island the rockets, the launch pad, the s.p.a.ce centre the more he felt a nameless sense of dread. It was hard to explain, but Alex was beginning to think that Joe Byrne and the CIA had got it all wrong. Drevin wasn't behaving like a man about to run away. He had something else in mind. Alex was sure of it.

There were less than forty-five hours until the launch. That might be all the time he had left to find out what it was.

But later that afternoon, Alex was able to forget some of his worries. Paul took him down to the beach and, as promised, gave Alex his first lesson in kite-surfing.

The sport, very simply, combined surfing and kite-flying. As Paul said, you stood on a board and flew a kite, and the wind did the rest. Of course, there was more to it than that. The kite was actually a giant polyester wing nine metres across which had to be inflated with a pump. It was connected to Alex by four lines which clipped onto a rubber harness around his waist. Then there was the board, similar to a surfboard but with four fins and twin tips, making it bidirectional. And finally there was the control bar, which he held in front of him. The mechanics were simple enough. The control bar was his steering wheel, which he could raise and lower, turn left and right. The rest was balance and nerve.

Alex was lucky. There wasn't much wind and the sea was fairly calm. But even so, he soon felt the power of the new sport. He started on the edge of the water with Paul about twenty metres behind him, holding the kite. Paul released it and Alex quickly brought it up until it reached the zenith, directly over his head. While it was there, the kite was essentially in neutral. Carrying the board, Alex waded into the sea until the water was up to his ankles. He put one foot on the board. Then he lowered the kite into the wind.

And he was away. It was an incredible sensation. He could feel his arms straining at their sockets, his whole body tensing against the pull of the kite. Before he knew it, he was moving very fast, skimming over the surface with the spray flying into his eyes. The board was incredibly flexible. All Alex had to do was pull on the control bar and he could change direction instantly. With the late afternoon sun beating down on him and the palm trees rushing past, all his worries about Drevin, the CIA, Ark Angel and Force Three were forgotten. For the next two hours he was happy, finally enjoying the holiday he had been promised.

After the two boys had exhausted themselves with the kite, they flopped down onto the sand and watched as the sun began its descent. It was still very warm. The breeze, blowing gently across the beach, carried the scent of pine and eucalyptus. From this part of the island it was impossible to see the launch pad and the two waiting rockets. A single grey heron perched sedately on the end of the jetty, its eyes fixed on the water, searching for fish. The sailing boats and motor launches bobbed up and down, jostled by the waves.

Alex was lying on his back, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun. He glanced sideways and noticed Paul staring at his bare chest. The scar left by his surgery had healed quickly but it was still very red.

"You must have really hurt yourself," Paul said.

"Yes." Alex was reluctant to talk about his fake bicycle accident.

"You've got lots of other cuts and bruises too."

Alex didn't even look. Every time MI6 had sent him out on a mission, his body had come back with more souvenirs. He sat up and reached for his T-shirt. "I'm starving," he said, changing the subject. "When's dinner?"

"Not for another hour. But we can grab a snack, if you like."

"No. I'll wait."

Alex pulled on his shirt. The sun was a perfect disc, cut in half by the edge of the world. The sea had turned blood red.

"Do you like it here?" Paul asked.

"It's fantastic. Really great." Alex did his best to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

"It makes a real change to have someone like you here." Paul stared at the horizon as if searching for the right words. "It must be awful not to have parents," he went on. "But you don't know what it's like having a dad like mine. He's got so much money, and everyone knows who he is. But sometimes I think I don't even know him myself."

"Do you enjoy being with your mother?" Alex asked. He wanted to steer the conversation away from Drevin.

Paul nodded. "Yes. I wish he'd let me see more of her. And it doesn't help being on my own all the time. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing in the middle of all this. It would be a lot easier if there was someone else around."

Alex was feeling increasingly uneasy. Paul had no idea that his entire life was about to self-destruct and that he Alex had been sent here to help make it happen. In less than a week's time, the CIA would arrest his father. All Drevin's a.s.sets would presumably be seized by the American government. Drevin would go to prison.

And what would happen to Paul? The story would be on the front page of every newspaper all over the world. He'd have to change his name. He'd have to begin all over again, adapting to a completely different life. Somehow he'd have to get used to the fact that he was the son of a ruthless criminal. A killer. But none of this was Alex's fault. He forced himself to remember that. And Paul had a mother who'd be there to look after him when this whole thing exploded. He'd get through it.

The sun had almost disappeared. A great shadow seemed to stretch out across the sea, and Alex watched as the heron flew off, soaring effortlessly over the palm trees. Paradise? Perhaps the bird knew otherwise.

Alex stood up. "Let's go in," he said.