“I don’t know.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know that either. But wherever she is, she managed to contact me. She sent me an email. She tried to tell me she was alive.”
Colonel Manzour thought for a minute. Then he strode over to the desk, picked up the phone and barked a few orders in Arabic. He put it down again and turned to Alex. “All right,” he said. “Then let’s try and find her.”
THE ONION ROUTE
They took a lift down to the basement. This was where the technical section of Jihaz Amn al Daoula operated. As the doors slid open, Alex found himself in a corridor that stretched into the distance, with doorways and plate-glass windows looking onto a series of laboratories and workshops. The area extended well beyond the house. As Alex followed Colonel Manzour, he guessed they must be walking underneath the garden. He glimpsed scientists and technicians in white coats, bent over computer screens, talking in low voices. An armed soldier passed them, going the other way, followed by two men he recognized. They were the agents who had been sent to the Hotel Neheb and who had missed Alex as he walked past them, disguised, in the corridor. Now they briefly made eye contact but said nothing.
The Colonel arrived at an office and went in without knocking. A young woman was sitting at a desk talking on the telephone, but she hung up as soon as she saw him. She was in her twenties, slim and dark-haired, wearing a blue silk suit and a headscarf. She had very soft, gentle features and it immediately struck Alex that she was a little out of place, working here. She alone in the compound actually looked friendly.
“This is Shadia,” Manzour said – and the strange thing was that he had suddenly become a little uncomfortable. “She is the head of our technical section. Give her your computer.”
Alex was reluctant to hand over his laptop but he did as he was told. As she took it from him, she met his eyes and smiled. “So you’re the famous Alex Rider. I watched you arrive on the garden cameras.” Alex remembered the statue with the swivelling head. “How are you enjoying Cairo?”
“It’s been interesting so far,” Alex said.
“And the sooner he’s out of Cairo, the happier I’ll be,” Manzour cut in. “He has received an email which seems to have come from Peru. I suspect it has been rerouted…” He added a few words in Arabic and Shadia opened the laptop.
“Do you want my password?” Alex asked.
Manzour let out a bark of laughter. “Shadia has hacked into the computers of almost every world leader,” he said. “The White House, the Kremlin, Downing Street, the Elysée Palace… If she asked for your password, I would fire her on the spot!”
Alex watched as Shadia’s fingers swept lightly over his keyboard. He had a screen saver – a view of the River Thames – but it disappeared almost at once to be replaced by a mass of text. She worked for about fifteen seconds then looked up with mischief in her eyes. Alex saw that she had opened his email page. “You should change your password,” she said. “It’s far too easy.”
She pulled up the email that he had received from Lima and went through the same procedure as Sabina’s friend in San Francisco. That had been just days ago but to Alex it felt much longer. He wondered what time it was in California. He hadn’t spoken to Sabina or her parents since he had left and suddenly he felt bad about it. He would contact them as soon as he had the opportunity. “Whoever sent this used Guerrilla Mail,” Shadia said. “And you’re right, Colonel. The message was routed through TOR network.”
TOR stands for The Onion Router. Alex vaguely understood how it worked. Johnny Feldman had already told him that the message had been bounced around the world. In fact, it would have been sent through a network of proxy servers – computers that might not even know they were being used. The alpaca business in Lima would have been one of them. To make things more complicated, the message would have been encrypted every step of the way. It was the worst news he could have heard. As far as he could see, it would be impossible to find out where the email had begun.
Shadia must have seen the look on his face. “Don’t worry,” she said. “TOR network is very hard to crack. It’s like a huge maze with the messenger changing his identity at every turning. It’s almost completely secure but it has two weak spots: the point you go in and the point you come out. In order to send the message in the first place, they’ll have had to access a wireless network. I can run a special program – it’s called a correlation program – and it’ll look at all the Internet traffic being sent at exactly that time. That way, I should be able to find out where this thing started.”
Alex understood what she was saying. There was a wireless network at the Elmer E. Robinson High School. Every time he logged on, it was as if he was using his own private key to open a public door and he couldn’t go in without leaving certain clues behind. This is where I work. This is where I can be found. Of course, there were some networks – schools, libraries – that only a small number of people could use. There were others that were open to everyone. “What if it’s somewhere public?” Alex asked. “A Starbucks or a McDonald’s or something like that?”
“That will make it a bit more difficult,” Shadia admitted. “But fast-food restaurants and coffee shops with free Wi-Fi nearly always have CCTV. If someone sent this from a Starbucks, we can look at the film and get the time code and we might be able to identify them.”
“How long will it take?” Manzour demanded.
“As long as it has to!” Shadia snapped back, and Alex was surprised that she didn’t care how she spoke to her boss. “A few hours,” she added.
“Then there’s no point waiting here.” Manzour turned to Alex. “We’ll leave Shadia to get on with it. I’ll get my driver to take you back to the hotel. I have other things to do apart from child-minding an English schoolboy. Do you want to do some tourism? The Great Pyramid perhaps? I can arrange to have them closed for you, if you like.”
Alex was tempted but he shook his head. “No thanks, Colonel.”
“Very well. Wait for us at the hotel. We will come to you as soon as we have any news.”
Alex spent the rest of the day beside the pool. He’d found an old Stephen King novel in the hotel library and he read about fifty pages. He swam twenty lengths. At one o’clock, a waiter brought him lunch. He assumed that Manzour had arranged it. Hopefully, he’d paid for it too. As the day wore on and there was no sign of Shadia or her boss, he became restless. He thought about the Grimaldi brothers and their link to Scorpia. Could it be that they had been in Siwa and that for some reason they had taken Jack with them? Would the email lead him to them? Alex felt guilty just sitting there in the sunshine. At the very least he should be at school. In America, in England … somewhere!
That reminded him of the promise he had made to himself. The day was drawing to a close and, with the nine-hour time difference, he knew that it would be early morning in San Francisco. He put his shirt on and went into the hotel’s business centre. It was ice-cold inside with the air conditioning turned on full and he was grateful for the long sleeves. There were half a dozen computers to choose from and, once again, nothing to pay. Alex sat down and put in a video messaging call to Edward Pleasure. The call tone sounded twice before it was answered and the journalist appeared on the screen. Looking at the background on the screen, Alex saw that Edward was back home.
“Alex! Where are you? Are you in Lima?”
“No. I’m in Cairo.”
“Egypt!”
“Yes. I’m at the Four Seasons.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
The journalist looked relieved and Alex could see the strain in his eyes and knew that he was responsible. “You shouldn’t have taken off like that. You should have talked to us first.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m certain that Jack is alive. I went back to Siwa. And I found something.”
Quickly, Alex told Edward Pleasure about the name scratched onto the cell wall, the arrival of C
olonel Manzour, the fake film. He didn’t say anything about the fight. He didn’t want to cause any more worry. “They’re trying to find out where she is,” he concluded. “They think they can trace the email back to where it was sent.”
“I’m just glad someone’s looking after you.” Edward paused. “I guess we let you down.”
“You didn’t. You were always there for me. You were great. And you’re right. I should have talked to you before I left.”
Just then, Sabina came into the room. She saw Alex on the screen and her face lit up. She leaned over her father and waved at the screen. “Hi, Alex!”
“Hi, Sabina!”
“Are you OK?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Everyone’s talking about you at school. Clayton Miller is in hospital and Colin Maguire has been arrested. There was a witness – some taxi driver – who saw what happened. And then you disappeared. Everyone’s been asking me about you, but of course I haven’t said anything.”
They talked for about ten minutes and right then Alex felt that things were the way they had been, when they first met. No matter what happened, she would always be his friend.
“When do you think you’ll come back to San Francisco?” Sabina asked.
“I don’t know,” Alex answered truthfully. “I’ve got to go where this takes me.”
“The door’s always open for you, Alex,” Edward Pleasure said. “Let us know if there’s anything you need or anything we can do.”
“I miss you, Alex.” Sabina smiled at him from the other side of the world. “Come back soon!”
The screen went blank.
Shadia arrived half an hour later, carrying a motorbike helmet, with Alex’s laptop in her backpack. The sun had just set and the sky was an intense red as the heat of the day finally began to lift. Alex was in the lounge. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks. I got some rest.”
“The Colonel will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “We left at the same time but I got ahead of him. A motorbike’s the only way to get around Cairo.” She sat down opposite him. “He really likes you.”
“Does he?” Alex was surprised. “How do you know?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” She paused. “He’s my dad.”
Alex looked at her a second time, seeing her in a completely new light. So that explained the slightly odd relationship between them! There was no family resemblance at all.
Shadia knew what he was thinking. “He never tells anyone if he can help it. I think it embarrasses him, having his daughter working for him. I have three sisters and no brothers and he complains about it all the time. If you want the truth, I think he looks on you a bit like the son he never had. Don’t tell him I said that though. He’d kill me.”
A few minutes later, Manzour came stamping over. He had ordered fruit juices for all three of them and a waiter brought them on a tray. “Have you told him?” he asked Shadia.
She shook her head. “I was waiting for you.” She turned to Alex. “It’s good news and bad news,” she said. “I managed to find the starting point of the message that you received – that’s the good news. It was a public network, just like I thought. But it was a very odd one…”
“It was sent from the South of France,” Manzour said.
“That’s right. They used the Wi-Fi service at the tourist office in Saint-Tropez.”
“Saint-Tropez? Are you sure?” It was the last thing that Alex had expected to hear. Saint-Tropez was a very smart, fashionable town on the Côte d’Azur. He had passed through it once with his uncle. Ian Rider hadn’t been impressed. “Over-crowded and overpriced.” That was how he had summed it up. What could Jack possibly be doing there? To Alex, the location was almost as strange as the alpaca wool shop in Lima.
“There’s no doubt about it,” Shadia said. “I’ve checked, by the way. It was sent early in the morning last Monday. And that’s the bad news. Anyone could have gone in the tourist office. There are no security cameras on the Quai Jean Jaurès – which is where it’s situated. It’s going to be very difficult to prove that it was your friend, Jack Starbright. It could have been anyone.”
“And why there of all places?” Manzour added. “Did she go on holiday without telling you?” At least he had accepted that she might still be alive. Alex made a note of it but didn’t say anything.
“I wish I could be more helpful, Alex,” Shadia said. She took out his laptop and gave it back to him. “But that’s the best I can do.”
Alex thought for a moment. “I’m going to Saint-Tropez,” he said.
“Oh, really!” Manzour exclaimed. He picked up his juice, drank it in one go, then put down the glass. “Is that what you think? You can just go chasing off to the South of France and sort this out on your own?” He shook his head. “We can look into this for you. I can contact the DGSE – the French intelligence service. I can speak to Mrs Jones in London. This is a job for professionals.” He jabbed a finger in Alex’s direction. “You should be at school.”
“No, Colonel.” Alex had already made up his mind. “Jack wrote to me. She wanted me to find her. I’m not going back to San Francisco. Not until I’ve found out what happened.”
“You are a very difficult boy!” Manzour looked at his empty glass regretfully, then leaned forward. “All right! All right! As it happens, I have a friend in the Egyptian Air Force. In fact, he’s the commander if you really want to know. He’s in charge of the whole thing. He mentioned to me that he’s got a training exercise – a couple of Alpha Jets heading up to France. I’ll see if he can get you a seat on one of them. They can drop you off at Nice Airport. If you behave yourself, they might even land first. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Alex couldn’t help smiling.
“I have spoken to nobody about this. Even your own people do not know where you are going. I take it you prefer it that way.”
“Yes. I’ll contact them if I need to.”
“Very well.” Suddenly Manzour was serious again. He was a man who could switch moods in a moment. “But there is something else I must tell you. You remember the name, Grimaldi, that you found in the cell?”
“Giovanni and Eduardo Grimaldi. Yes. You told me…”
“They worked for Scorpia. Scorpia are finished now – but that does not make them any less dangerous. I have made enquiries and although nobody is certain, there are strong rumours that they are themselves in the South of France, possibly even in Saint-Tropez.”
“Maybe they took Jack with them!”
“Why would they do that? What possible reason could they have?” Manzour stopped himself. “You may not want to know the answer to that particular question. Never mind! I have arranged things for you, Alex, but what I am saying to you is that you should be careful … think about what you are walking into.” He stood up. “My driver will come for you at six o’clock tomorrow morning. I hope I will see you again in Cairo.”
“I’ll let you know,” Alex said.
“I will know anyway.”
Shadia had also got to her feet. “I’ve added a couple of things to your computer,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but I thought they might come in useful. They’re standard equipment for our own agents. Press CONTROL three times followed by S and I’ll be able to see you through the camera. I’ll hear everything you say. That way you can get in touch with me if you need any help. Press CONTROL – again, three times – and M and you’ll send out a Mayday signal which will be picked up by the nearest intelligence service. And if you’re in real trouble, press CONTROL three times, then X.”
“What does that do?”
“It gives you fifteen seconds to get under the table or out of the room. After that, your computer will explode.”
“Just don’t do it by accident.” Manzour turned to his daughter. “Do you remember Khaled in communications? He sent an email to his mother and signed it with a kiss. He blew off three of his fingers!”
Manzour roared
with laughter, then grabbed Alex in a powerful bear hug. “Take care of yourself!” he exclaimed.
The two of them left.
PEPPERMINT TEA
Eighteen hours later, Alex was sitting in a café on the seafront at Saint-Tropez. It was the first week in September but this was the sort of town where the summer never seemed to end and the streets and cafés were still crowded. He had chosen a table at the corner, giving him an unobstructed view of the area around him. This was the old harbour. The quayside swept around a great expanse of water with about a hundred boats bobbing up and down in their moorings: everything from little dinghies, yachts and fishing boats to the single multimillion-pound cruiser that towered over everything else. A long sea wall stretched out like a protective arm. The Mediterranean was on the other side, with Alexandria and the north coast of Egypt more than two thousand miles away.
The café was one of several. There was a long line of restaurants packed together with their different-coloured canopies stretching out over the pavement. From where he was sitting, Alex could see waiters moving like circus performers, balancing great piles of plates and glasses as they curved and twisted expertly between the tables. Behind them, pink and white apartment blocks rose up with balconies providing front-row seats over the seafront. It was one o’clock and everyone had chosen to have lunch at the same time. The street was full of cars and motorbikes, ice cream sellers, postcard stands, street performers, tourists and travellers.
Had Jack been here?
It was impossible to say.
Alex sat quietly. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the flight that had brought him here. Strapped into the rear cockpit of the Alpha Jet MSI, he had felt every bone in his body contract with the G-force as it blasted down the runway and into the air, rising at eleven-thousand feet a minute. The Alpha wasn’t the most modern jet in operation but it was still incredibly powerful, cruising comfortably at six-hundred miles an hour. Alex had been given a jumpsuit and headphones to protect him from the deafening howl of the turbofans and he had sat in a sort of cocoon throughout the flight. The Egyptian pilot hadn’t spoken to him. He clearly wasn’t too pleased to find himself carrying a civilian passenger and one who was only fifteen years old at that. But he was too nervous to argue with the head of Jihaz Amn al Daoula and even managed a brief smile and a nod once they touched down at Nice Airport.