Scorpia Rising

carrying a selection of Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns, grenade launchers, automatic pistols, and enough weaponry to launch a small war. This was the American-Egyptian assault team put together by the two intelligence chiefs. Alex was still in his Cairo College uniform. He had assumed it was what Julius would have been wearing on the return flight.
    Jihaz Amn al Daoula, the Egyptian intelligence service, had so far managed to control the night’s news. The radio and television news stations had all reported that an attempt had been made on the life of the secretary of state, but it was still unconfirmed whether she had been hurt or not. Of course, there were thousands of witnesses who had actually been there, but most of them were unsure exactly what they had seen and the CIA had quickly put out their own version of events, which had the secretary of state in the hospital in Cairo and the assassin still at large. Razim might wonder why Erik Gunter hadn’t reported back. But there was every chance that, in the middle of the desert, he was still in the dark—in every sense.
    As Alex climbed out of the jeep, the man in charge of the CIA team came over to him. Alex recognized him. Fair haired, square shouldered, blue eyes . . . it was Lewinsky, the man who had tried to interrogate him in the bell room.
    “I guess I owe you an apology,” he said, holding out a hand. “I never told you my name. It’s Blake Lewinsky. I know now I was way out of line.”
    “That’s all right.” Alex shook the hand briefly.
    “I hope you don’t think I make a habit out of this, but we need to get some information out of the pilot.”
    “What information?”
    “He probably has a password, an identification signal—before he lands at Siwa. If we don’t give it, we could get blown out of the sky.”
    “Are you going to waterboard him?” Alex asked.
    Lewinsky nodded, acknowledging the jibe. “I think Manzour has other ideas,” he said. “But I just thought I’d come over and warn you. It’s not going to be pleasant. You may not want to watch.”
    Ali Manzour had gotten out of one of the jeeps and had picked his way across the rubble to the place where the helicopter pilot was waiting. He crouched down and Alex heard a few soft words, spoken in Arabic. There was silence, followed by a sudden scream. Standing next to Alex, Joe Byrne grimaced and looked away.
    A moment later, Manzour walked over to them, wiping blood off his hands with his handkerchief. At the same time, two of his men dragged the unfortunate pilot away. “It’s just as well we asked,” he said. “The password is Selket . It is certainly appropriate. Selket is an ancient Egyptian goddess of death. She is also known as the scorpion goddess.”
    “You’re sure he wasn’t lying to you?” Byrne asked.
    “He did lie to me.” Manzour folded the handkerchief and put it away. “But then I asked him a second time and he told me the truth.” He turned to Alex. “Everything now depends on you, my friend. But I ask you again, as the father of two sons, you are quite certain you are prepared for this?”
    Alex nodded.
    “Then I wish you success.”
    The twelve men climbed into the helicopter, arranging themselves with the Americans on one side and the Egyptians on the other, like opposing baseball teams. Unit 777 had also provided a pilot to fly them into the desert. Joe Byrne shook hands with Alex. “Take care, Alex,” he said. “You look after yourself.”
    “Don’t worry about me,” Alex said.
    Alex climbed into the helicopter. The blades began to turn, picked up speed, and finally became a blur. The helicopter rose into the air. Byrne was left standing next to Manzour.
    “So that is the famous Alex Rider,” Manzour muttered.
    “That’s right,” Byrne said.
    “It is not my place to say it, but I think that something very bad has happened to that child. Did you see it in his eyes?”
    Byrne nodded. He had already put a call in to Alan Blunt in London and the two of them would speak as soon as Alex returned . . . assuming, of course, that he did. Alex had told him not to worry. But he was very worried indeed.
    He watched the helicopter until it had disappeared into the night. Then Ali Manzour clapped a hand on his shoulder and the two men returned to the waiting cars.

23

    A PINCH OF SALT

    THE HELICOPTER SHUDDERED through the night sky, carrying its load of twelve silent men and one boy. As it reached the edge of Cairo, the streetlights