Now was the time to put it to the test.
Alex reached up and unscrewed the ear stud. He pulled it out of his ear, slipped the two pieces into the keyhole of the door, stepped back, and counted to ten.
Nothing happened. Was the stud broken, like the Discman transmitter? Alex was about to give up when there was a sudden flash, an intense sheet of orange flame. Fortunately there was no noise. The flare continued for about five seconds, then went out. Alex went back to the door.
The stud had burned a hole in it, the size of a silver dollar. The melted metal was still glowing.
Alex reached out and pushed. The door swung open.
Alex felt a momentary surge of excitement, but he forced himself to remain calm. He might be out of the cell, but he was still in the basement of the academy. There were guards everywhere. He was on top of a mountain with no skis and no obvious way down. He wasn’t safe yet. Not by a long way.
He slipped out of the room and followed the corridor back around to the elevator. He was tempted to find the other boys and release them, but he knew they couldn’t help. Taking them out of their cells would only put them in danger. Somehow, he found his way back to the elevator. He noticed that the guard post he had seen that morning was empty. Either the man had gone to make himself coffee or Grief had relaxed security in the academy. With Alex and all the other boys locked up, there was nobody left to guard. Or so they thought. Alex hurried forward.
He took the elevator back to the second floor. He knew that his only way off the mountain lay in his bedroom. Grief would certainly have examined everything he had brought with him.
But what would he have done with it? Alex crept down the dimly lit corridor and into the room.
And there it all was, lying in a heap on his bed. The ski suit. The goggles. Even the Discman with the Beethoven CD. Alex heaved a sigh of relief. He was going to need all of it.
He had already worked out what he was going to do. He couldn’t ski off the mountain because he still had no idea where the skis were kept. But there was more than one way to take to the snow. Alex froze as a guard walked along the corridor outside the room. So not everyone at the academy was asleep! He would have to move fast. As soon as the broken cell door was discovered, the alarm would be raised.
He waited until the guard had gone, then stole into the laundry room a few doors down.
When he came out, he was carrying a long, flat object made of lightweight aluminum. He carried it into his bedroom, closed the door, and turned on one small lamp. He was afraid the guard would see the light if he returned. But he couldn’t work in the dark. It was a risk he had to take.
He had stolen an ironing board.
Alex had been snowboarding only three times in his life. The first time, he had spent most of the day falling or sitting on his bottom. Snowboarding is a lot harder to learn than skiing, but as soon as you get the hang of it, you can advance fast. By the third day, Alex had learned how to ride, edging and cutting his way down the beginner slopes. He needed a snowboard now. The ironing board would have to do.
He picked up the Discman and turned it on. The Beethoven CD spun, then slid forward, its diamond edge jutting out. Alex made a mental calculation, then began to cut. The ironing board was wider than he would have liked. He knew that the longer the board, the faster he could go, but if he left it too long, he would have no control. The ironing board was flat. Without any curve at the front—or the nose, as it was called—he would be at the mercy of every bump or upturned root. He pressed down. The spinning disc sliced through the metal. Carefully, Alex drew it around, forming a curve. One end of the ironing board fell away. He picked up the other. It came up to his chest. Perfect.
Now he sliced off the supports, leaving about six inches sticking up. He knew that the rider and the board can work together only if the bindings are right, and he had nothing … no boots, no straps, and no highback to support his heel. He was just going to have to improvise. He tore two strips of sheet from the bed, then slipped into his ski suit. He would have to tie one of his sneakers to what was left of the ironing board supports. It was horribly dangerous. If he fell, he would dislocate his foot.
But he was almost ready. Quickly, Alex zipped up the ski suit. Smithers had said it was bulletproof, and it occurred to him that he was probably going to need it. He put the goggles around his neck. The window still hadn’t been repaired. He dropped the ironing board out, then climbed out after it.
There was no moon. Alex found the switch concealed in the goggles and turned it. He heard a soft hum as the concealed battery activated. Suddenly the side of the mountain glowed an eerie green and Alex was able to see the trees, the deserted ski run, and the side of the mountain, falling away.
Carefully, he took up his position on the ironing board, his right foot at forty degrees, his left foot at twenty. He was goofy-footed. That was what the instructor had told him. His feet should have been the other way around. But this was no time to worry about technique.
Instead, he used the strips of torn sheet to tie the ironing board to his feet, then he stood where he was, contemplating what he was about to do. He had only traveled down green and blue runs—the colors given to the beginners’ and intermediate slopes. He knew from James that this mountain was an expert black all the way down. His breath rose up in green clouds in front of his eyes. Could he do it? Could he trust himself?
An alarm bell exploded behind him. Lights came on throughout the academy. Alex pushed forward and set off, picking up speed with every second. The decision had been made for him.
Now, whatever happened, there could be no going back.
Dr. Grief, wearing a long silver dressing gown, stood beside the open window in Alex’s room. Mrs. Stellenbosch was also wearing a dressing gown. Hers was pink silk and looked strangely hideous, hanging off her lumpy body. Three guards stood watching them, waiting for instructions.
‚Who searched the boy?' Dr. Grief asked. He had already been shown the cell door with the circular hole burned into the lock.
None of the guards answered, but their faces had gone pale.
‚This is a question to be answered in the morning,' Dr. Grief continued. ‚For now, all that matters is that we find him and kill him.'
‚He must be walking down the mountainside,' Mrs. Stellenbosch said. ‚He has no skis. He won’t make it. We can wait until morning and pick him up in the helicopter.'
‚I think the boy may be more inventive than we believe.'
Dr. Grief picked up the remains of the ironing board. ‚You see? He has improvised some sort of sleigh or toboggan. All right…' He had come to a decision. Mrs. Stellenbosch was glad to see the certainty return to his eyes. ‚I want two men on snowmobiles, following him down.
Now!' One of the guards hurried out of the room.
‚What about the unit at the foot of the mountain?' Mrs. Stellenbosch said.
‚Indeed.' Dr. Grief smiled. He had always kept a man and a driver at the end of the last valley in case anybody ever tried to leave the academy on skis. It was a precaution that was about to pay off. ‚Alex Rider will have to arrive in La Vallee de Fer. Whatever he’s using to get down, he’ll be unable to cross the railway line. We can have a machine gun set up, waiting for him. Assuming he does manage to get that far, he’ll be a sitting duck.'
‚Excellent,' Mrs. Stellenbosch purred.