Ark Angel Part 15

"Why me? Why not both of us?"

Tamara shook her head. "I'm sorry, Alex. But I've got a bullet in my shoulder. I'd only slow you down."

Alex lashed out at the cage door with his foot. The bars rattled. It was obvious to him that he wasn't going anywhere, and he said so.

"Maybe I can help you," Tamara said. She was wearing trainers and as Alex watched, she reached down and pulled out the laces. "Catch!" She slipped her uninjured arm between the bars of her cage and threw the laces over to Alex.

"What-"

"You're not the only one with gadgets. There's tungsten wire inside the laces. Diamond-edged. You can cut through the bars."

"That's neat," he said, though secretly he wished that the CIA had come up with something less clumsy and perhaps a little more efficient.

"They removed my exploding earrings," Tamara added, as if reading his mind.

Alex took one of the laces and examined the door. The steel bars were strong but they were thin and he would only have to cut through three of them to squeeze through. His job wouldn't be made easier by the fact that his hands were tied, but perhaps he could deal with that too. "How much time do we have?" he asked.

"Not much. It gets light around six, and if you're not out by then, I don't think you'll have much chance."

"Right."

Alex looped the lace over the wire between his wrists, then grabbed the dangling ends with his teeth. He pulled the lace tight and began to jerk his hands in a vague sawing motion. In less than a minute his wrists were free. He saw Tamara smile. Now he could begin work in earnest.

The bars weren't so easy. It took well over half an hour to make the first cut, and Alex was disappointed to discover that even after it had been severed near its base, the bar wouldn't bend. He had to make a second cut another half-hour's work before it finally fell to the floor with a clang. Alex cursed himself. If there were any guards upstairs, the noise would have alerted them. But he was lucky. n.o.body came. It seemed that the two of them were on their own.

Tamara hadn't spoken while he was working but now she nodded at him. "Keep going!" she encouraged.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. They took my watch."

That was the worst of it. As Alex started on the second bar, he had no idea how much time had pa.s.sed. All he knew was that he was worn out. He needed to sleep. And he had blisters on his thumbs, his fingers and the heels of his hands where they had rubbed together.

The night dragged on. He sat hunched up in the cage, sawing back and forth. Tamara was watching him. The orang-utan had turned his back on both of them and seemed to be asleep.

At last it was done. The third bar came loose, leaving enough s.p.a.ce for Alex to slip through into the corridor. He went over to Tamara.

"I'm going to get you out," he said.

"No, Alex."

"I can't just leave you here."

Tamara shook her head. "You don't have a lot of time. Get to Barbados. Find Ed." She leant back. Although she was trying not to show it, Alex could see that she was in a lot of pain. "I'll be all right," she went on. "I've got Arthur to keep me company. Now go, before someone comes."

Alex knew she was right. He picked up one of the loose bars and climbed back up the stairs. Looking through the window, he was alarmed to see streaks of pink light stealing across the inky sky. It must be well after six o'clock, less than three hours to the launch.

He went over to the door and opened it a crack. There was a guard sitting in a chair, wearing grey overalls and a cap. Alex smiled to himself. For once luck was on his side. The man was fast asleep. He gripped the metal bar more tightly. He had thought it might come in useful.

Ten minutes later, dressed in the guard's uniform and with the cap pulled down low over his forehead, Alex drove an electric buggy back towards the checkpoint. Without slowing down, he held out the guard's ID, angling his arm so that it covered most of his face. He was prepared to crash through the gate if he had to, and he was relieved when it opened to let him pa.s.s. It seemed that security on Flamingo Bay needed a serious overhaul. But then again, he and Tamara were supposed to be locked up. The place was an island, ten miles away from the nearest land. What was there for Drevin or anyone else to worry about?

The buggy was easy to drive, with only two pedals accelerator and brake and no gears. He put his foot down and sped through the rainforest, aware that the sky was getting lighter all the time. Drevin's house and the far end of the island, Little Point, appeared in the distance. Alex turned the wheel and spun off the track, steering the buggy down between the palm trees towards the beach. It made it about halfway before it got stuck in the sand. That was good enough for Alex. He jumped out and ran down to the jetty.

There were two canoes and a boat moored there a Princess V55 motor cruiser. A canoe would be too slow. But the boat? It was a beautiful craft, very low in the water, its bow shaped like a knife, built for speed. Alex looked for the key in the ignition. Why not? One guard had been asleep. Another hadn't even looked at him as he drove past. A third might have made the clumsiest mistake of all.

But this time he was disappointed. There was no key. He searched all the cupboards and lockers in the main cabin, but there was nothing. Frustrated, Alex rested his hands on the wheel and forced himself to think calmly. Drevin's house was in sight. He was tempted to steal in and try to get hold of a telephone. But Tamara had warned him that all the phones on the island would be disabled, and Alex believed her. Might he find a key to the Princess in the house? It was possible but the risk was too great. Alex looked up. The sky was brightening rapidly, the darkness trickling away like spilt ink. Dawn had broken. Drevin might wake up at any moment.

No phones. No boats. Barbados was ten miles away too far to swim or to paddle in a canoe. Alex knew what he had to do. He had worked it out when he was sawing through the bars of the cage, but he'd hoped he would be able to find another way. Well, there was no other way. He might as well get on with it.

He jumped down from the boat and ran along the beach, making for the house. But he wasn't going in. Instead, he went round the back to the equipment store where Kolo had taken him before the dive. It occurred to Alex that he might find a key to the motor launch somewhere inside, but he wasn't going to waste any more time looking. The store was where Paul Drevin kept his power kite and board. That was what Alex had come for.

But even as he found the kite and began to bundle it out, he wondered if it would be possible. Ten miles was a long way, and after the storm the sea might be rough. At least there was a strong breeze. Alex had felt it when he was on the jetty and it was also blowing offsh.o.r.e. Most kite boarders avoid an offsh.o.r.e wind; it's lumpy and difficult, and there's always a danger it will blow you out to sea. But that was exactly what Alex wanted. He needed to get away. Fast.

He reached for the board and at that moment the door swung open behind him. Alex was already spinning round, his fists raised, preparing for a karate strike, when Paul stepped inside.

"Alex?" The other boy had obviously only just got up. He was wearing shorts and nothing else. He stared at Alex, shocked. "What are you..." He couldn't find the words. "I thought you'd gone," he said.

"I'm afraid not." Alex wasn't sure how much Paul knew, and he didn't know what to say. He was aware that the whole situation had changed. Where did he go from here?

"What's happened to you?" Paul asked. "What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm sorry," Alex said. "I can't tell you." He desperately wished Paul hadn't found him. "How did you know I was here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I went to the window to get some air and there you were, on the beach."

"Do you have a key to the boat? Do you know where it is?"

"No." All of a sudden Paul was angry. "Dad told me that you'd been sent here to spy on him. I said that couldn't be true, but he was sure of it. He said he had enemies in New York and they'd paid you to come here, to make trouble."

"Did he tell you what he did to me?" Alex cut in. He was getting angry himself. Here was Paul, accusing him. But he knew nothing.

"He said he put you on the plane out of here." Paul looked at Alex uncertainly. "Is it true, Alex?" he demanded. "Are you spying on us?"

"I haven't got time to talk about this now." He took a step and Paul's arm shot out, his hand reaching for a b.u.t.ton built into a panel on the wall. Alex hadn't noticed it before.

"This is an alarm," Paul told him. "If I press it, there'll be a dozen guards here in less than a minute. I want you to tell me the truth. What are you doing here? What's been happening?"

"If you press that b.u.t.ton, I'll be killed."

"You're lying..."

"Your father will kill me, Paul. He's already tried once."

"No!" Paul was staring at Alex and now there was something else in his face. It wasn't just disbelief. It was anger. And Alex understood. There was nothing he could say. He could tell Paul everything he knew about Nikolei Vladimir Drevin, and it would make no difference.

Drevin had lied to him. He had taunted him and shown him little affection. But he was still Paul's father. It was as simple as that. And no matter what the feelings were between them, Paul would defend him. Because he was Drevin's son.

Alex knew that he had only seconds before Paul sounded the alarm. He raised his hands, palms upward, as if to prove that he meant no harm. "OK, Paul," he said. "I'll tell you everything."

"Don't come any closer..." Paul's hand hovered centimetres from the alarm.

Alex risked another step forward. "It's not what you think. Your dad was wrong about me. So are you. Your mother asked me to come here."

"What?"

Alex had mentioned Paul's mother because he knew the effect it would have. Paul froze, uncertain, and in that split second, Alex lashed out, driving his elbow into the other boy's temple. Paul crumpled instantly; Alex caught him and lowered him to the ground. He had been learning karate since he was six years old but this was the first time he had struck anyone the same age as himself. He felt ashamed. All Paul had ever wanted was a friend, someone he could look up to and it had come to this. But what else could he do? He had to leave the island. He had to prevent a whole city from being destroyed.

He forced himself to ignore the unconscious boy, picked up the kite and the rest of the equipment and dragged it down to the beach. The sun was already well above the horizon. Alex pumped up the kite and laid it out along the sh.o.r.e, all the while looking out for any approaching guards. How long would he have before Paul came round? Fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. No matter which way he looked at it, he was running out of time.

And there was still the problem of launching the kite. With two people it had been easy. On his own it would take more time. Quickly Alex stripped off the grey uniform; underneath he was wearing swimming trunks. He picked up the harness and clipped it on. It was a Mystic Darkrider, made out of black rubber with a foam sh.e.l.l. Paul had chosen all the equipment himself and he'd made sure he'd got the best. If only he could have been here to help Alex with it.

How to do it?

Alex checked the wind direction, then laid the kite out on the ground with the lines stretching towards the water's edge. He scooped up several handfuls of sand and dumped them on the upwind tip of the kite. The other tip he left free.

He picked up the board and control bar and began to walk backwards into the sea. The water, surprisingly cold, lapped around his ankles. The kite, shaped like a crescent moon, was lying flat behind him. It was already flapping like a wounded animal, trying to rise up into the air. Only the sand was holding it down.

Alex laid the board down beside him and pulled one of the lines attached to the downwind tip, gently nudging it into the breeze. Almost at once it began to rise, and the kite inflated, the wind rushing through the vents. Alex stepped deeper into the water. The kite was pulling more strongly, the fabric jerking and throwing off the sand. And then, suddenly, it rose. Alex steered it carefully into the air and neutralized it above his head. It had taken him several minutes to get to this point and he was painfully aware of the time ticking away. But he had done it. He was ready to go.

He hooked the control bar to his harness and then stepped onto the board. Carefully he lowered the kite into the wind. Almost at once he felt the pull, fierce and irresistible. He leant back, letting it take him. He was powered up. A moment later, he was away.

The kite was flying in front of him, about fifteen metres above the sea. Despite everything, Alex experienced the same exhilaration that he had felt with Paul when the two of them were fooling around. He seemed to be going incredibly fast. The wind was rushing over him, the spray almost blinding him as it swept into his face. The sun was already hot; he could feel it beating down, warming his arms, chest and shoulders. If he was out here too long, he would burn. But Alex knew that was the least of his problems. Somehow he had to cover the ten miles. And Drevin would be coming after him very soon.

He was heading past Little Point; once round it he would find himself in less friendly waters. He eased the control bar, raising it slightly to slow himself down, then pulled on the two front lines, tilting it to the left. The moment he rounded the headland, he felt the difference. The waves were suddenly much larger. The view ahead was obstructed by solid blue walls that rose up with alarming speed and threatened to come crashing down on him. Somehow he managed to climb them, one after another. But his arms, taking most of the strain, were already aching. And when he did catch a brief glimpse of the horizon, there was nothing on it, not even so much as a speck. Barbados was still a long way away.

Ten minutes pa.s.sed. Alex was a good surfer but the experience was very different with a kite. All his concentration was fixed on the soaring black and white Flexifoil wing. If he allowed it to stray outside the wind envelope, he knew it would fall into the sea. He would come to an immediate halt and it would be almost impossible to launch the kite again. He had to stay upright. He was exhausted from lack of sleep. Ignore it. Stay focused. Ignore it. Stay focused. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself on. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself on.

The wind was coming at him sideways now, gusting at around thirty miles an hour. The spray was lashing into him. He wondered if he was going in the right direction and risked a glance behind him. Flamingo Bay was already small and distant. He figured that so long as he kept it over his left shoulder, he must be heading more or less straight.

He looked back again, and felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. He had to fight to keep his balance. He must have travelled at least five miles, he was sure of it. But there was still no sign of Barbados and the worst had happened.

He was being pursued.

Paul must have come round and raised the alarm. Either that or someone had spotted the kite and guessed what had happened. The Princess V55 was knifing through the water, its sleek form powering towards him. It was incredibly fast, moving at almost thirty-nine knots. Forty-five miles an hour. It wouldn't take very long to catch up with him. And there was more to come. There were two smaller boats with it. As Alex risked another glance behind him he saw them peel away from it, leaping ahead and rapidly closing the distance between the Princess and him.

They were brand-new Bella 620 DC speedboats, Finnish-made and shipped out to the Caribbean. They were twenty feet long, squat and mean-looking with silver pulpit rails shaped like the nostrils of an angry bull. Each one was equipped with a single 150 horsepower Mercury Optimax Salt.w.a.ter outboard and Alex knew that they had to be going almost twice as fast as him. They were less than a minute away.

There was nothing he could do. His hands were clamped tight round the control bar and he lowered the kite as much as he dared, desperately trying to pick up speed. Now he could hear the motors above the wind. More walls of water rose up in front of him. His legs trembled with the strain as he fought his way over the waves. The boats flew along, carving through them.

There were two men in each of them, one steering, the other holding a machine gun. They hadn't come to capture him and take him back. They were here to kill him. Alex heard the first rattle of machine-gun fire, almost lost in the roar of the waves. He slammed the bar into his chest, steering the kite up. At the same time, he transferred his weight to the flat of the board, tensed himself and jumped. Now he was in the air, ten metres above the water. The bullets pa.s.sed underneath him. The hang time seemed to stretch on for ever. He was flying, his whole body tilted backwards, the soles of his feet towards the sky. The men in the speedboats had been taken by surprise. Thrown around by the sea, they were off balance, half blinded by the spray, unable to aim at a target high above their heads. For a few seconds, Alex was safe.

But he couldn't defy gravity for ever. Alex braced himself for the splash down, trying to ignore the two boats, which were horribly close. He landed between them, bending his knees to absorb some of the impact, lowering the kite to maintain speed. If he toppled over, he would die. But while he remained standing, the men couldn't fire. There was too much risk that they would hit each other in the crossfire.

And then Alex saw Barbados. It was there, ahead of him, no bigger than a one-penny piece. If he could survive just a few more minutes, he would be all right.

He was being pulled along between the two boats, all three of them doing the same speed. He was so close to the men that but for the scream of the engines and the booming of the waves he would have been able to call out to them. He could sense his strength beginning to fail him. His arms were aching. All his muscles were straining. He could barely feel the board beneath his feet.

And then the boat on his left edged ahead, allowing the one on his right a clear line of fire. Alex saw the guard raise his machine gun, preparing to shoot. He was a sitting duck skimming across the water, totally unprotected, just a couple of metres away from the man who was about to mow him down.

Alex did the only thing he could. Once again he took to the air, but this time he didn't jump as high. The man with the gun might think he'd miscalculated. But Alex knew exactly what he was doing. Everything depended on surprise.

As he took off, he let go of the bar with one hand and reached down. There was a handle in the middle of the board and he grabbed hold of it. He was hanging in the air and the board fell away, coming free of his feet. Holding it tightly, Alex swung it beneath him like a club. The board slammed into the man's head. Alex knew that it was made of Kevlar, the same material that the SAS used for their body armour. For the man with the machine gun, it was like being hit with a slab of metal. He crumpled. But his finger was still on the trigger. Alex saw the muzzle flash. Bullets tore into the deck of the boat, shattered the windscreen and hit the driver. He jerked and fell forward. The boat went out of control.

Alex slid the board back under him, and managed to get his feet into the straps a second before he hit the water.

The Bella 620 DC had an unconscious pa.s.senger and a dead driver slumped over the wheel. It performed a fantastic S-bend, veering first to the right, then back to the left, crossed the open expanse of water and smashed at full speed into the other boat. Alex watched as the two craft collided. There was an explosion of splintering metal and fibregla.s.s, and the second boat was flipped into the air. For a brief moment, it seemed to hang there, and Alex glimpsed the face of the terrified driver, upside down, as he gazed at his own death. Then it pancaked down and there was a huge splash.

It was over. Alex allowed the kite to drag him out of danger. He was suddenly alone.

But not for long. The Princess had been hanging back, waiting for the two speedboats to finish their work. Now it surged forward. As well as the driver, it was carrying three guards armed with machine guns. The men had seen what had happened; they would be more careful. All they had to do was move into range and they would be able to cut him down.

Alex didn't have the strength for another jump. Barbados was looming up in front of him but, as if taunting him, the wind had died down. He could feel himself losing speed. He brought the kite as low as he dared but it made no difference. There was nothing more he could do.

He braced himself, waiting for the chatter of the guns and the searing agony that would follow.

There was another explosion. A blast of smoke and burning petrol. Alex toppled sideways, deafened. He wondered for the briefest of moments if he had been hit. Then he plunged into the water as fragments of broken, blackened fibregla.s.s ricocheted all around him like a swarm of bees. His hands no longer had the strength to hang onto the control bar. He was sucked beneath the surface, twisting round and round, broken, finished.

He surfaced.

The Princess was on fire. There was no sign of the driver, no sign of the three armed men. The boat swerved, trailing black smoke, and began to slow down.

Alex was choking. He coughed up water and twisted round. Another boat had appeared, some sort of naval vessel. There was a man standing in the bow, holding a bazooka. Alex recognized the blond hair and chiselled features of Ed Shulsky, the CIA agent he had met in New York.

"Alex!" Shulsky called out. "You want a ride?"

Alex was too weak to respond. His shoulders and face had been burnt by the sun but he was shivering. The boat drew up alongside him and he was pulled on board. There were a dozen men on the deck, all young and tough-looking. Someone produced a large towel and wrapped it around him.

"We were watching the island," Shulsky told him. "We saw you coming, although we didn't know it was you at first. To be honest, we couldn't believe what we were seeing. I still don't believe it! So we came over to help..."

It was all the explanation Alex needed. "Drevin has Tamara Knight," he said. "She's a prisoner. And there's something you need to know-"

Just then, it happened.

A blinding light so bright that it seemed to blot out the sun, sucking the blue out of the sea and the sky, turning the whole world white. A noise like an explosion, only ten times louder and more sustained. A shock wave that shivered across the water, sending new waves punching into the side of the boat. The very air seemed to vibrate and Alex felt a bolt of pain in both ears.

He turned in time to see a silver pencil blasting into the sky, flame scorching out of its base, rising as if on a cushion of smoke. It was ten miles away, tiny, but even so Alex could sense its awesome power and majesty. He watched as it disappeared, effortlessly penetrating the upper atmosphere.

He was too late. Gabriel 7 Gabriel 7 had been launched. had been launched.

The bomb that was going to bring Ark Angel crashing down onto Washington was on its way.

THE RED b.u.t.tON.

It sometimes seemed to Alex that the whole universe was against him. Getting away from Flamingo Bay had almost killed him. It had been an exhausting struggle against time, the elements and Drevin's firepower.