Point Blanc (6 page)

"Because
I don't like coincidence," Blunt replied. "In fact, I
don't believe in coincidence. Where some people see coincidence, I see
conspiracy. That's my job."

And
you're welcome to it
, Alex thought. What he said was, "Do you really
think the school and this man--Grief--might have had something to do
with the two deaths? Why? Had the parents forgotten to pay the fees?"

Blunt
didn't smile. "Roscoe telephones me because he's worried
about his son. The next day the man's dead. We've also learned from
Russian intelligence sources that a week before he died, Ivanov had a violent
argument with his son. Apparently Ivanov was worried about something. Now do
you see the link?"

Alex thought
for a moment. "So you want me to go and look into this school," he
said. "How are you going to manage that? I don't have parents, and
they were never rich anyway."

"We've
already arranged for that," Mrs. Jones said, and Alex realized that
she must have made her plans before the business with the crane ever happened.
Even if he hadn't drawn attention to himself, they would have come for
him. "We're going to supply you with a wealthy father. His name is
Sir David Friend."

"Friend
... as in Friends Supermarkets?" Alex had seen the name often enough
in the newspapers.

"Supermarkets.
Department stores. Art galleries. Soccer teams." Mrs. Jones paused.
"Friend is certainly a member of the same club as Roscoe. The
billionaires' club. He's also heavily involved in government
circles, as personal adviser to the prime minister. Very little happens in this
country without Sir David being involved in some way."

"We've
created a false identity for you," Blunt said. "From this moment
on, I want you to start thinking of yourself as Alex Friend, the
fourteen-year-old son of Sir David. You've been expelled from Eton. You
have a criminal record ... shoplifting, vandalism, and possession of drugs.
Sir David and his wife, Caroline, don't know what to do with you. So
they've enrolled you in the academy. And you've been accepted."

"Isn't
school vacation about to start?"

"They
don't have official vacations. The school is open all year round."

"And
Sir David has agreed to all this?" Alex asked.

Blunt
sniffed. "As a matter of fact, he wasn't very happy about
it--about using someone as young as you. But I spoke to him at some length
and yes, he agreed to help."

"So
when am I going to the academy?"

"Five
days from now," Mrs. Jones said. "But first you have to
immerse yourself in your new life. When you leave here, we've arranged
for you to be taken to Sir David's home. He has a house in Lancashire. He
lives there with his wife, and he has a daughter. She's one year older
than you. You'll spend the rest of the week with the family, which should
give you time to learn everything you need to know. It's vital that you
have a strong cover. After that, you'll leave for Grenoble."

"And
what do I do when I get there?"

"We'll
give you a full briefing nearer the time. Essentially, your job is to find out
everything you can. It may be that this school is perfectly ordinary and that
there was in fact no connection between the deaths. If so, we'll pull you
out. But we want to be sure."

"How
will I get in touch with you?"

"We'll
arrange all that." Mrs. Jones ran an eye over Alex, then turned to
Blunt. "We'll have to do something about his appearance," she
said. "He doesn't exactly look the part."

"See to
it!" Blunt said.

Alex sighed.
It was strange, really. He was simply going from one school to another, from a
London comprehensive to a finishing school in France. It wasn't quite the
adventure he'd been hoping for.

He stood up
and followed Mrs. Jones out of the room. As he left, Blunt was already
sifting through his documents as if he'd forgotten that Alex had been
there or even existed.

THE
CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN Rolls-Royce Corniche cruised along a tree-lined avenue,
penetrating ever deeper into the Lancashire countryside, its 6.75-liter light
pressure V8 engine barely a whisper in the great, green silence all around.
Alex sat in the back, trying to be unimpressed by this car that cost as much as
a house. Forget the plush carpeting, the wooden panels, and the leather seats,
he told himself. It's only a car.

It was the day
after his meeting at MI6, and, as Alan Blunt had ordered, his appearance had
completely changed. He had to look like a rebel, the rich son who wanted to
live life by his own rules. So Alex had been dressed in purposefully
provocative clothes. He was wearing a T-shirt cut so low that most of his chest
was exposed, and there was a leather thong around his neck. A baggy, checked
shirt, missing most of its buttons, hung off his shoulders and down to his
faded Tommy Hilfiger jeans, frayed at the knees and ankles. Despite his
protests, his hair had been cut so short that he almost looked like a skinhead,
and his right ear had been pierced. He could still feel it throbbing underneath
the temporary stud that had been put in to keep the hole from closing.

The car had
reached a set of wrought iron gates, which opened automatically to receive it.
And there was Haverstock Hall, a great mansion with stone figures on the
terrace and seven figures in the price. Sir David's family had lived here
for generations, Mrs. Jones had told him. They also seemed to own half the
Lancashire countryside. The grounds stretched for miles in every direction,
with sheep dotted across the hills on one side and three horses watching from
an enclosure on the other. The house itself was Georgian: white brick with
slender windows and columns. Everything looked very neat. There was a walled
garden with evenly spaced beds, a square glass conservatory housing a swimming
pool, and a series of ornamental hedges with every leaf perfectly in place.

The car
stopped. The horses swung their necks around to watch Alex get out, their tails
rhythmically beating at flies. Nothing else moved.

The chauffeur
walked around to the trunk. "Sir David will be inside," he said. He
had disapproved of Alex from the moment he set eyes on him. Of course, he
hadn't said as much. But he was a professional. He could show it with his
eyes.

Alex moved
away from the car, drawn toward the conservatory on the other side of the
drive. It was a warm day, the sun beating down on the glass, and the water on
the other side looked suddenly inviting. He passed through an open set of
doors. It was hot inside the conservatory. The smell of chlorine rose up from
the water' stifling him.

He had
thought that the pool was empty, but as he watched, a figure swam up from the
bottom, breaking through the surface just in front of him. It was a girl,
dressed only in a white bikini. She had long, black hair and dark eyes, but her
skin was pale. Alex guessed she must be fifteen years old and remembered what
Mrs. Jones had told him about Sir David Friend. "He has a daughter
... a year older than you." So this must be her. He watched her heave
herself out of the water. Her body was well shaped, closer to the woman she
would become than the girl she had been. She was going to be beautiful. That
much was certain. The trouble was, she already knew it. When she looked at
Alex, arrogance flashed in her eyes.

"Who
are you?" she asked. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm
Alex."

"Oh,
yes." She reached for a towel and wrapped it around her neck.
"Daddy said you were coming, but I didn't expect you just to walk
in like this." Her voice was very adult and upper class. It sounded
strange, coming out of that fifteen-year-old mouth. "Do you swim?"
she asked.

"Yes,"
Alex said.

"That's
a shame. I don't like having to share the pool. Especially with a boy.
And a smelly London boy at that." She ran her eyes over Alex, taking in
the torn jeans, the shaven hair, the stud in his ear. She shuddered. "I can't
think what Daddy was doing, agreeing to let you stay," she went on.
"And having to pretend you're my brother! What a ghastly idea! If I
did have a brother, I can assure you he wouldn't look like you. "

Alex was
wondering whether to pick the girl up and throw her back into the pool or out
through a window when there was a movement behind him, and he turned to see a
tall, rather aristocratic man with curling gray hair and glasses, wearing a
sports jacket, open-neck shirt, and cords, standing just behind him. He too
seemed a little jolted by Alex's appearance, but he recovered quickly,
extending a hand. "Alex?" he demanded.

"Yes.

"I'm
David Friend."

Alex shook
his hand. "How do you do," he said politely.

"I hope
you had a good journey. I see you've met my daughter." He smiled at
the girl, who was now sitting beside the pool, drying herself and ignoring them
both.

"We
haven't actually introduced ourselves," Alex said.

"Her
name is Fiona."

"Fiona
Friend." Alex smiled. "That's not a name I'll
forget."

"I'm
sure the two of you will get along fine." Sir David didn't sound
convinced. He gestured back toward the house. "Why don't we go and
talk in the study?"

Alex followed
him back across the drive and into the house. The front door opened into a hall
that could have come straight out of the pages of an expensive magazine.
Everything was perfect, the antique furniture, ornaments, and paintings placed
exactly so. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen and even the
sunlight, streaming in through the windows, seemed almost artificial, as if it
was there only to bring out the best in everything it touched. It was the house
of a man who knows exactly what he wants and has the time and money to get it.

"Nice
place," Alex said.

"Thank
you. Please come this way." Sir David opened a heavy, oak-paneled door to
reveal a sophisticated and modern office beyond. There was a desk and two
chairs, a pair of computers, a white leather sofa, and a series of metal
bookshelves. Sir David motioned at the chair and sat down behind the desk.

He was unsure
of himself. Alex could see it immediately. Sir David Friend might run a
business empire worth millions--seven billions--of dollars, but this
was a new experience for him. Having Alex here, knowing who and what he was, he
wasn't quite sure how to react.

"I've
been told very little about you," he began. "Alan Blunt got in
touch with me and asked me to put you up here for the rest of the week, to
pretend that you're my son. I have to say, you don't look anything
like me."

"I
don't look anything like myself either," Alex said.

"You're
on your way to some school in the French Alps. They want you to investigate
it." He paused. "Nobody asked me my opinion," he said,
"but I'll give it to you anyway. I don't like the idea of a
fourteen-year-old boy being used as a spy. It's dangerous--"

"I can
look after myself," Alex cut in.

"I
mean, it's dangerous to the government. If you manage to get yourself
killed and anyone finds out, it could cause the prime minister a great deal of
embarrassment." Sir David sighed. "I advised him against it, but
for once he overruled me. It seems that the decision has already been made.
This school--the academy--has already telephoned me to say that the
assistant director will be coming here to pick you up next Saturday. It's
a woman. A Mrs. Stellenbosch. That's a South African name, I
think."

Sir David had
a number of bulky files on his desk. He slid them forward. "In the
meantime, I understand you have to familiarize yourself with details about my
family. I've prepared a number of files. You'll also find
information here about the school you're meant to have been expelled
from--Eton. You can start reading them tonight." Alex took them and
he went on. "If you need to know anything more, just ask. Fiona will be
with you the whole time." He glanced down at his fingertips.
"I'm sure that in itself will be quite an experience for
you."

The door
opened and a woman came in. She was slim with dark hair, very much like her
daughter. She was wearing a simple mauve dress with a string of pearls around
her neck. "David," she began, then stopped, seeing Alex.

"This
is my wife," Friend said. "Caroline, this is the boy I was telling
you about. Alex."

"It's
very nice to meet you, Alex." Lady Caroline tried to smile but her lips
managed only a faint twitch. "I understand you're going to stay
with us for a while."

"Yes,
Mother," Alex said.

Lady Caroline
blushed.

"He has
to pretend to be our son," Sir David reminded her. He turned to Alex.
"Fiona doesn't know anything about MI6 and the rest of it. I
don't want to alarm her. I've told her that it's connected
with my work ... a social experiment, if you like. She's to pretend
you're her brother, to give you a week in the country as part of the
family. I'd prefer it if you didn't tell her the truth."