Alex burst out of the house and stopped in the open air, taking stock of his surroundings. He was aware of alarms ringing, guards running towards him and two cars, still some distance away, tearing up the main drive, heading for the house. He just hoped that although it was obvious something was wrong, nobody would yet know what it was. They shouldn’t be looking for him – at least, not yet. That might

give him the edge.

It looked like he was already too late. Sayle’s private helicopter had gone. Only the cargo plane was left. If Alex was going to reach the Science Museum in London in the fifty-nine minutes left to him, he had to be on it. But the cargo plane was already in motion, rolling slowly away from its chocks. In a minute or two it would go through the pre-flight tests. Then it would take off.

Alex looked around and saw an open-top army Jeep parked on the drive near the front door. There was a guard standing next to it, a cigarette dropping out of his hand, looking around to see what was happening – but looking the wrong way. Perfect. Alex sprinted across the gravel. He had brought a weapon from the house. One of Sayle’s harpoon guns had floated past him just as he’d left the room and he’d snatched it up, determined to have something he could use to defend himself with at last. It would have been easy enough to shoot the guard right then. A harpoon in the back and the Jeep would be his. But Alex knew he couldn’t do it. Whatever Alan Blunt and MI6 wanted to turn him into, he wasn’t ready to shoot in cold blood. Not for his country. Not even to save his own life.

The guard looked up as Alex approached, and fumbled for the pistol he was wearing in a holster at his belt. He never made it. Alex used the handle of the harpoon gun, swinging it round and up to hit him, hard, under the chin. The guard crumpled, the pistol falling out of his hand. Alex grabbed it and leapt into the Jeep, grateful to see the keys were in the ignition. He turned them and heard the engine start up. He knew how to drive. That was something else Ian Rider had made

sure he’d learned, as soon as his legs were long enough to reach the pedals. The other cars were closing in on him. They must have seen him attack the guard. The plane had wheeled round and was already taxiing up to the start of the runway.

He wasn’t going to reach it in time.

Maybe it was the danger closing in from all sides that had sharpened his senses. Maybe it was his close escape from so many dangers before. But Alex didn’t even have to think. He knew what to do as if he had done it a dozen times before. And maybe his training had been more effective than he’d thought.

He reached into his pocket and took out the yo-yo that Smithers had given him. There was a metal stud on the belt he was wearing and he slammed the yo-yo against it, feeling it click into place, as it had been designed to. Then, as quickly as he could, he tied the end of the nylon cord round the bolt of the harpoon. Finally, he tucked the pistol he had taken from the guard into the back of his combats. He was ready.

The plane had completed its pre-flight tests. It was facing down the runway. Its propellers were at full speed.

Alex slammed the gears into first, released the handbrake and gunned the Jeep forward, shooting over the drive and on to the grass, heading for the airstrip. At the same time there was a chatter of machine-gun fire. He yanked down on the steering-wheel and twisted away as his wing mirror exploded and a spray of bullets slammed into the windscreen and door. The two cars, speeding towards him, head- on, were getting closer and closer. Each of them had a guard in the back seat, leaning out of the window, firing at him. Alex swerved between them, and for a horrible second there was actually one on each side. He was sandwiched between the two cars, with guards firing at him left and right. But then he was through. The guards missed him and hit each other. He heard one of them yell out and drop his gun. One of the cars lost control and crashed into the front of the house, metalwork crumpling against brick. The other screeched to a halt, reversed, then came after him again.

The plane had begun to move down the runway. Slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. Alex hit the tarmac and followed.

His foot was pressed down, the accelerator against the floor. The Jeep was doing about seventy – not fast enough. For just a few

seconds Alex was parallel with the cargo plane, only a couple of metres from it. But already it was pulling ahead. At any moment it would be in the air.

And straight ahead of him, the way was blocked. Two more Jeeps had arrived on the runway. More guards with machine-guns balanced themselves, half-crouching, on the seats. Alex realized the only reason they weren’t firing was that they were afraid of hitting the plane. But the plane had already left the ground. Ahead of him, and just to his left, Alex saw the front wheel separate itself from the runway. He glanced in his mirror. The car that had chased him from the house was right on his tail. He had nowhere left to go.

One car behind him. Two Jeeps ahead of him. The plane now in the air, the back wheels lifting off. Everything happening at once.

Alex let go of the steering-wheel, grabbed the harpoon gun and fired. The harpoon flashed through the air. The yo-yo attached to Alex’s belt spun, trailing out thirty metres of specially designed advanced nylon. The pointed head of the harpoon buried itself in the underbelly of the plane. Alex felt himself almost being torn in half as he was yanked out of the Jeep on the end of the cord. In seconds he was forty, fifty metres above the runway, dangling underneath the plane. His Jeep swerved, out of control. The other two Jeeps tried to avoid it – and failed. Both of them hit it in a three-way head-on collision. There was an explosion – a ball of flame and a fist of grey smoke that followed Alex up as if trying to snatch him back. A moment later there was another explosion. The second car had tried to avoid the two Jeeps but it had been travelling too fast. It ploughed into the burning wrecks, flipped over and continued, screeching on its back along the runway before it too burst into flames.

Alex saw little of this. He was suspended from the plane by a single thin white cord, twisting round and round as he was carried ever further into the air. The wind was rushing past him, battering into his face and deafening him. He couldn’t even hear the propellers, just above his head. The belt was cutting into his waist. He could hardly breathe. Desperately he scrabbled for the yo-yo and found the control he wanted. A single button … he pressed it. The tiny, powerful motor inside the yo-yo began to turn. The yo-yo rotated on his belt, pulling in the cord. Very slowly, a centimetre at a time, Alex was drawn up towards the plane.

He had aimed the harpoon carefully. There was a door at the back of the plane and when he turned off the engine mechanism in the yo- yo, he was close enough to reach out for its handle. He wondered who was flying the plane and where he was going. The pilot must have seen the destruction down on the runway but he couldn’t have heard the harpoon. He couldn’t know he’d picked up an extra passenger.

Opening the door was harder than he’d expected. He was still dangling under the plane and every time he got close to the handle the wind drove him back. He could still hardly see. The wind was tearing into his eyes. Twice his fingers found the metal handle, only to be pulled away before he could turn it. The third time, he managed to get a better grip but it still took all his strength to yank the handle down.

The door swung open and he clambered into the hold. He took one last look back. The runway was already three hundred metres below. There were two fires raging, but at this distance they seemed no more than match-heads. Alex unplugged the yo-yo, freeing himself. Then he reached into the waistband of his combats and took out the gun.

The plane was empty apart from a couple of bundles that Alex vaguely recognized. There was a single pilot at the controls, and something on his instrumentation must have told him the door was open, because he suddenly twisted round. Alex found himself face to face with Mr Grin.

“Warg?” the butler muttered.

Alex raised the gun. He doubted if he would have the courage to use it. But he wasn’t going to let Mr Grin know that.

“All right, Mr Grin,” he shouted above the noise of the propellers and the howl of the wind. “You may not be able to talk but you’d better listen. I want you to fly this plane to London. We’re going to the Science Museum in South Kensington. It can’t take us more than half an hour to get there. And if you think about trying to trick me, I’ll put a bullet in you. Do you understand?”

Mr Grin said nothing.

Alex fired the gun. The bullet slammed into the floor just beside Mr Grin’s foot. Mr Grin stared at Alex, then nodded slowly.

He reached out and pulled the joy-stick. The plane dipped and began to head east.