‚With identical rooms on the third and fourth floors.'
‚Yes. My doubles were able to watch their targets on television monitors. To copy their every movement. To learn their mannerisms. To eat like them. To speak like them. In short, to become them.'
‚It would never have worked!' Alex twisted in his chair, trying to find some leverage in the handcuffs. But the metal was too tight. He couldn’t move. ‚Parents would know that the children you sent back were fakes!' he insisted. ‚Any mother would know it wasn’t her son, even if he looked the same.'
Mrs. Stellenbosch giggled. She had finished her cigar. Now she lit another.
‚You’re quite wrong, Alex,' Dr. Grief said. ‚In the first place, you are talking about busy, hardworking parents who had little or no time for their children in the first place. And you forget that the very reason these people sent their sons here was because they wanted them to change. It is the reason all parents send their sons to private schools. Oh, yes, they think the schools will make their children better, more clever, more confident. They would actually be disappointed if those children came back the same.
‚And nature, too, is on our side. A boy of fourteen leaves home for six or seven months. By the time he gets back, nature will have made its mark. The boy will be taller. He will be fatter or thinner. Even his voice will have changed. It’s all part of puberty, and the parents when they see him will say, ‘Oh, Tom, you’ve gotten so big, and you’re so grown-up!’ And they will suspect nothing. In fact, they would be worried if the boy hadn’t changed.'
‚But Roscoe guessed, didn’t he?' Alex knew that he had arrived at the truth, the reason he had been sent here in the first place. He knew why Roscoe and Ivanov had died.
‚There have been two occasions when the parents did not believe what they saw,' Dr. Grief admitted. ‚Michael J. Roscoe in New York. And General Major Viktor Ivanov in Moscow.
Neither man completely guessed what had happened. But they were unhappy. They argued with their sons. They asked too many questions.'
‚And the sons told you what had happened.'
‚You might say that I told myself. The sons, after all, are me. But yes. Michael Roscoe knew something was wrong and called MI6 in London. I presume that is how you were unlucky enough to be involved. I had to pay to have Roscoe killed just as I paid for the death of Ivanov.
But it was to be expected that there would be problems. Two out of sixteen is not so catastrophic, and of course it makes no difference to my plans. In many ways, it even helps me.
Michael J. Roscoe left his entire fortune to his son. And I understand that the Russian president is taking a personal interest in Dimitry Ivanov, following the loss of his father.
‚In short, the Gemini Project has been an outstanding success. In a few days’ time, the last of the children will leave Point Blanc to take their places in the heart of their family. Once I am satisfied that they have all been accepted, I will, I fear, have to dispose of the originals. They will die painlessly.
‚The same cannot be said for you, Alex Rider. You have caused me a great deal of annoyance. I propose, therefore, to make an example of you.' Dr Grief reached into his pocket and took out a device that looked like a pager. It contained a single button, which he pressed.
‚What is the first lesson tomorrow morning, Eva?' he asked.
‚Biology,' Mrs. Stellenbosch replied.
‚As I thought. You have perhaps been to biology classes where a frog or a rat has been dissected, Alex?' he asked. ‚For some time now, my children have been asking to see a human dissection. This is no surprise to me. I myself first attended a human dissection at the age of fourteen. Tomorrow morning, at half past nine, their wish will be granted. You will be brought into the laboratory and we shall open you up and have a look at you. We will not use anesthetic, and it will be interesting to see how long you survive before your heart gives out.
And then, of course, we shall dissect your heart.'
‚You’re sick!' Alex yelled. Now he was thrashing about in the chair, trying to break the wood, trying to get the handcuffs to come apart. But it was hopeless. The metal cut into him.
The chair rocked but stayed in one piece. ‚You’re a madman!'
‚I am a scientist!' Dr. Grief spat the words. ‚And that is why I am giving you a scientific death. At least in your last minutes you will have been of some use to me.' He looked past Alex. ‚Take him away and search him thoroughly. Then lock him up for the night. I’ll see him again first thing tomorrow morning.'
Alex had seen Dr. Grief summon the guards, but he hadn’t heard them come in. He was seized from behind, the handcuffs were unlocked, and he was jerked backward out of the room.
His last sight of Dr. Grief was of the man stretching out his hands to warm them in the fire, the twisting flames reflected in his glasses. Mrs. Stellenbosch smiled and blew out smoke.
Then the door slammed shut and Alex was dragged down the corridor knowing that Blunt and the secret service had to be on their way, but wondering whether they would arrive before it was too late.
BLACK RUN
« ^ »
THE CELL MEASURED six feet by twelve and contained a bunk bed with no mattress and a chair. Moonlight slanted in through a small, heavily barred window high up on the wall. The door was solid steel. Alex had heard a key turn in the lock after it was closed. He had not been given anything to eat or drink. The cell was cold, but there were no blankets on the bed.
At least the guards had left the handcuffs off. They had searched Alex expertly, removing everything they had found in his pockets. They had also removed his belt and the laces of his shoes. Perhaps Dr. Grief had thought he would hang himself. He needed Alex fresh and alive for the biology lesson.
It was about two o’clock in the morning, but Alex hadn’t slept. He had tried to put out of his mind everything Grief had told him. That wasn’t important now. He knew that he had to escape before 9:30 because—like it or not—it seemed he was on his own. More than thirty-six hours had passed since he had pressed the panic button that Smithers had given him, and nothing had happened. Either the machine hadn’t worked or for some reason MI6 had decided not to come. Of course, it was possible that something might happen before breakfast the next day. But Alex wasn’t prepared to risk it. He had to get out. Tonight.
For the twentieth time he went over to the door and knelt down, listening carefully. The guards had dragged him back down to the basement. He was in a corridor separate from the other prisoners. Although everything had happened very quickly, Alex had tried to remember where he had been taken. Out of the elevator and to the left. Around the corner and then down a second passageway to a door at the end. He was on his own. And listening through the door, he was fairly sure that they hadn’t posted a guard outside.
Alex had one bit of hope to cling to. When the guards had searched him, they hadn’t quite taken everything. Neither of them had even noticed the golden stud in his ear. What had Smithers said?
‚ It’s a small but very powerful explosive device, like a miniature grenade. Separating the two pieces activates it. Count to ten and it’ll blow a hole in just about anything.'