Ark Angel - Anthony Horowitz [84]
“If you press that button, I’ll be killed.”
“You’re lying…”
“Your father will kill me, Paul. He’s already tried once.”
“No!” Paul was staring at Alex and now there was something else in his face. It wasn’t just disbelief. It was anger. And Alex understood. There was nothing he could say. He could tell Paul everything he knew about Nikolei Vladimir Drevin, and it would make no difference.
Drevin had lied to him. He had taunted him and shown him little affection. But he was still Paul’s father. It was as simple as that. And no matter what the feelings were between them, Paul would defend him. Because he was Drevin’s son.
Alex knew that he had only seconds before Paul sounded the alarm. He raised his hands, palms upward, as if to prove that he meant no harm. “OK, Paul,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Don’t come any closer…” Paul’s hand hovered centimetres from the alarm.
Alex risked another step forward. “It’s not what you think. Your dad was wrong about me. So are you. Your mother asked me to come here.”
“What?”
Alex had mentioned Paul’s mother because he knew the effect it would have. Paul froze, uncertain, and in that split second, Alex lashed out, driving his elbow into the other boy’s temple. Paul crumpled instantly; Alex caught him and lowered him to the ground. He had been learning karate since he was six years old but this was the first time he had struck anyone the same age as himself. He felt ashamed. All Paul had ever wanted was a friend, someone he could look up to – and it had come to this. But what else could he do? He had to leave the island. He had to prevent a whole city from being destroyed.
He forced himself to ignore the unconscious boy, picked up the kite and the rest of the equipment and dragged it down to the beach. The sun was already well above the horizon. Alex pumped up the kite and laid it out along the shore, all the while looking out for any approaching guards. How long would he have before Paul came round? Fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. No matter which way he looked at it, he was running out of time.
And there was still the problem of launching the kite. With two people it had been easy. On his own it would take more time. Quickly Alex stripped off the grey uniform; underneath he was wearing swimming trunks. He picked up the harness and clipped it on. It was a Mystic Darkrider, made out of black rubber with a foam shell. Paul had chosen all the equipment himself and he’d made sure he’d got the best. If only he could have been here to help Alex with it.
How to do it?
Alex checked the wind direction, then laid the kite out on the ground with the lines stretching towards the water’s edge. He scooped up several handfuls of sand and dumped them on the upwind tip of the kite. The other tip he left free.
He picked up the board and control bar and began to walk backwards into the sea. The water, surprisingly cold, lapped around his ankles. The kite, shaped like a crescent moon, was lying flat behind him. It was already flapping like a wounded animal, trying to rise up into the air. Only the sand was holding it down.
Alex laid the board down beside him and pulled one of the lines attached to the downwind tip, gently nudging it into the breeze. Almost at once it began to rise, and the kite inflated, the wind rushing through the vents. Alex stepped deeper into the water. The kite was pulling more strongly, the fabric jerking and throwing off the sand. And then, suddenly, it rose. Alex steered it carefully into the air and neutralized it above his head. It had taken him several minutes to get to this point and he was painfully aware of the time ticking away. But he had done it. He was ready to go.
He hooked the control bar to his harness and then stepped onto the board. Carefully he lowered the kite into the wind. Almost at once he felt the pull, fierce and irresistible. He leant back, letting it take him. He was powered up.