Point Blanc (21 page)

"I was
told that he was involved in a snowboard accident."
Mrs. Stellenbosch took out a small handkerchief and dabbed at her eye.

"He
tried to snowboard down the mountain at night. He was involved in a collision with
a train. His injuries are very serious, madame. The doctors are operating on
him now."

Mrs. Stellenbosch
nodded, swallowing her tears. "My name is Eva Stellenbosch," she
said. "May I wait for any news?"

"Of
course, madame."

Mrs. Stellenbosch
took a seat in the reception area. For the next hour, she watched as people
came and went, some walking, some in wheelchairs. There were other people
waiting for news of other patients. One of them, she noticed, was a
serious-looking woman with badly cut black hair and very black eyes. She was no
doubt from England, as she was periodically glancing at a copy of the
London Times
.

Then a door
opened and a doctor in a white coat came out. Doctors have a certain face when
they come to give bad news. This doctor had it now. "Madame
Stellenbosch?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"You
are the director of the school?"

"The
assistant director. Yes."

The doctor
sat next to her. "I am very sorry, madame. Alex Friend died a few minutes
ago." He waited while she absorbed the news. "He had multiple
fractures: his arms, his collarbone, his leg. He had also fractured his skull.
We operated, but unfortunately there had been massive internal bleeding. He
went into shock and we were unable to bring him around."

Mrs. Stellenbosch
nodded, struggling for words. "I must notify his family," she
whispered.

"Is he
from this country?"

"No. He
is English. His father ... Sir David Friend ... I'll have to tell
him." Mrs. Stellenbosch got to her feet.

"Thank
you, Doctor. I'm sure you did everything you could."

Out of the
corner of her eye, Mrs. Stellenbosch noticed that the woman with the black
hair had also stood up, letting her newspaper fall to the floor. She had
overheard the conversation. She looked shocked.

Both women
left the hospital at the same time. Neither of them spoke.

The aircraft
waiting on the runway was a Lockheed Martin C- 130 Hercules. It had landed just
after midday. Now it waited beneath the clouds while three vehicles drove
toward it. One was a police car, one a jeep, and one an ambulance.

The Saint-Geoirs
airport at Grenoble does not see many international flights, but the plane had
flown out that morning from England. From the other side of the perimeter
fence, Mrs. Stellenbosch watched through a pair of high-powered
binoculars. A small military escort had been formed. Four men in French
uniforms had lifted up a coffin that seemed pathetically small when balanced on
their broad shoulders. The coffin was simple: pine wood with silver handles. A
Union Jack was folded into a square in the middle.

Marching in
time, they carried the coffin toward the waiting plane. Mrs. Stellenbosch
focused the binoculars and saw the woman from the hospital. She had been
traveling in the police car. She stood watching as the coffin was loaded into
the plane, then got back into the car and was driven away. By now,
Mrs. Stellenbosch knew who she was. Dr. Grief kept extensive files and had
quickly identified her as Mrs. Jones, head of Special Operations for MI6
and number two to its chief, Alan Blunt.

Mrs. Stellenbosch
stayed until the end. The doors of the plane were closed. The jeep and the
ambulance left. The plane's propellers began to turn, and it lumbered
forward onto the runway. A few minutes later it took off. As it thundered into
the air, the clouds opened as if to receive it, and for a moment its silver
wings were bathed in brilliant sunlight. Then the clouds rolled back and the
plane disappeared.

Mrs. Stellenbosch
dialed a number on her cell phone and waited until she was connected.
"The little swine has gone," she said.

She got back
into her car and drove away.

After
Mrs. Jones left the airport, she returned to the hospital and took the
stairs to the second floor. She came to a pair of doors guarded by a policeman,
who nodded and let her pass through. On the other side was a corridor leading
to a private wing. She walked down to a door, this one also guarded by a
policeman. She didn't knock, but went straight in.

Alex Rider
was standing by the window, looking out at the view of Grenoble on the other
side of the River Isere. High above him, five steel and glass bubbles moved
slowly along a cable, ferrying tourists up to the Fort de la Bastille. He
turned around as Mrs. Jones came in. There was a bandage around his head,
but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

"You're
lucky to be alive," she said.

"I
thought I was dead," Alex replied.

"Let's
hope that Dr. Grief believes as much." Despite herself, Mrs. Jones
couldn't keep the worry out of her eyes. "It really was a
miracle," she said. "You should have at least broken something."

"The
ski suit protected me," Alex said. He tried to think back to the
whirling, desperate moment when he had been thrown off the train. "There
was undergrowth. And the fence sort of caught me." He rubbed his leg and
winced. "Even if it was barbed wire."

He walked
back to the bed and sat down. After they had finished examining him, the French
doctors had brought him fresh clothes. Military clothes, he noticed. Combat
jacket and trousers. He hoped they weren't trying to tell him something.

"I've
got three questions," he said. "But let's start with the big
one. I called for help two days ago. Where were you?"

"I'm
very sorry, Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "There were ...
logistical problems."

"Yes?
Well, while you were having your logistical problems, Dr. Grief was getting
ready to cut me up!"

"We
couldn't just storm the academy. That could have gotten you killed. It
could have gotten you all killed. We had to move in slowly--try to work
out what was going on. How do you think we found you so quickly?"

"That
was my second question."

Mrs. Jones
shrugged. "We've had people in the mountains ever since we got your
signal. They've been closing in on the academy. They heard the
machine-gun fire when the snowmobiles were chasing you and followed you down on
skis. They saw what happened with the train and radioed for help."

"All
right. So why all the business with the funeral? Why do you want Dr. Grief to
think I'm dead?"

"That's
simple, Alex. From what you've told us, he's keeping fifteen boys
prisoner in the academy. These are the boys that he plans to replace."
She shook her head. "I have to say, it's the most incredible thing
I've ever heard. And I wouldn't have believed it if I'd heard
it from anyone else except you."

"You're
too kind," Alex muttered.

"If Dr.
Grief thought you'd survived last night, the first thing he would do is
kill every one of those boys. Or perhaps he'd use them as hostages. We
had only one hope if we were going to take him by surprise. He had to believe
you were dead."

"You're
going to take him by surprise?"

"We're
going in tonight. I told you. We've assembled an attack squad here in
Grenoble. They were up in the mountains last night. They plan to set off as
soon as it's dark. They're armed and they're
experienced." Mrs. Jones hesitated. "There's just one
thing they don't have."

"And
what's that?" Alex asked, feeling a sudden sense of unease.

"They
need someone who knows the building," Mrs. Jones said. "The
library, the secret elevator, the placement of the guards, the passage with the
cells..."

"Oh,
no!" Alex exclaimed. Now he understood the military clothes.
"Forget it! I'm not going back up there. I almost got killed trying
to get away! Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Alex,
you'll be looked after. You'll be completely safe."

"No!"

Mrs. Jones
nodded. "All right. I can understand your feelings. But there's
someone I want you to meet."

As if on cue,
there was a knock on the door. It opened to reveal a young man, also in combat
dress. The man was well built with black hair, square shoulders, and a dark,
watchful face. He was in his late twenties. He saw Alex and shook his head.
"Well, well, well. There's a surprise," he said.
"How's it going, Cub?"

Alex
recognized him at once. It was the soldier he had known as Wolf. When MI6 had
sent him for eleven days' SAS training in Wales, Wolf had been in charge
of his unit. If training had been hell, Wolf had only made it worse, picking on
Alex from the start and almost getting him thrown out. In the end, though, it
had been Wolf who had nearly lost his place with the SAS, and Alex who had
saved him. But Alex still wasn't sure where that left him, and the other
man was giving nothing away.

"Wolf!"
Alex said.

"I
heard you got busted up." Wolf shrugged. "I'm sorry. I forgot
the flowers and the fruit basket."

"What
are you doing here?" Alex asked.

"They
called me in to clear up the mess you left behind."

"So
where were you when I was being chased down the mountain?"

"It
seems you were doing fine on your own."

Mrs. Jones
took over. "Alex has done a very good job up to now," she said.
"But the fact is that there are fifteen young prisoners up at Point Blanc
and our first priority must be to save them. From what Alex has told us, we
know there are about thirty guards in and around the school. The only chance
those boys have is for an SAS unit to break in. It's happening
tonight." She turned to Alex. "The unit will be commanded by
Wolf."

The SAS never
uses rank when it is on active service. Mrs. Jones was careful only to use
Wolf's code name.

"Where
does the boy come into this?" Wolf demanded.

"He
knows the school. He knows the position of the guards and the location of the
prison cells. He can lead you to the elevator."

"He can
tell us everything we need to know here and now," Wolf interrupted. He
turned to Mrs. Jones. "We don't need a kid," he said.
"He's just going to be baggage. We're going in on skis.
There'll be blood. I can't waste one of my men holding his
hand."

"I
don't need to have my hand held," Alex retorted angrily.
"She's right. I know more about Point Blanc than any of you.
I've been there--and I got out of there, no thanks to you. Also,
I've met some of those boys. One of them is a friend of mine. I promised
I'd help him, and I will."

"Not if
you get killed."

"I can
look after myself!"

"Then
it's agreed," Mrs. Jones said. "Alex will lead you in
there, but then will take no further part in the operation. And as for his
safety, Wolf, I will hold you personally responsible."

"Personally
responsible. Right," Wolf growled.

Alex
couldn't resist a smile. He'd held his ground, and he'd be
going back in with the SAS. Then he realized what had happened. A few moments
ago, he'd been arguing violently against doing just that. He glanced at
the head of Special Operations. She'd manipulated him, of course, bringing
Wolf into the room. And she knew it.

Wolf nodded.
"All right, Cub," he said. "Looks like you're in.
Let's go and play."

"Sure,
Wolf," Alex sighed. "Let's go and play."

THEY
CAME SKIING DOWN from the mountain. There were seven of them, Wolf in front,
Alex at his side. The other five men followed behind. They had changed into
white trousers, jackets, and hoods--camouflage that would help them blend into
the snow. A helicopter had dropped them two miles north and two hundred yards
above Point Blanc, and equipped with night-vision goggles, they had quickly
made their way down. The weather had settled again. The moon was out. Despite
himself, Alex enjoyed the journey, the whisper of the skis cutting through the
ice, the empty mountainside bathed in white light. And he was part of a crack
SAS unit. He felt safe.

But then the
academy loomed up below him, and once again he shivered. Before they had left,
he had asked for a gun, but Wolf had shaken his head.

"I'm
sorry, Cub. It's orders. You get us in, then you get out of sight."

It was the
same old story. When they needed him, he was a man. When he asked to protect
himself, he was just a kid.

There were no
lights showing in the building. The helicopter had arrived back from Paris,
crouching on the helipad like a glittering insect. The ski jump stood to one
side, dark and forgotten. There was nobody in sight. Wolf held up a hand and
they sliced to a halt.

"Guards?"
he whispered.

"Two
patrolling. One on the roof."

"Let's
take him out first."

Mrs. Jones
had made her instructions absolutely clear. There was to be no bloodshed unless
absolutely necessary. The mission was to get the boys out. The SAS could take
care of Dr. Grief, Mrs. Stellenbosch, and the guards at a later date.