Skeleton Key by Anthony Horowitz
“Out,” Sarov said.
There was a breeze blowing across the airport runway, carrying with it the smell of aviation fuel. Alex stood on the tarmac, watching as the silver chest was loaded onto the plane, Conrad shouting instructions. He found it hard to believe that such an ordinary-looking thing could be capable of destruction on a massive scale. He remembered films he had seen. Flames and gale force winds rushing through whole cities, ripping them apart. Buildings crumbling. People turned to ashes in an instant. Cars and buses flicked like toys into oblivion. How could such a terrible bomb with so much power be so small? Conrad closed the cargo door himself. He turned to Sarov and nodded. Sarov gestured. Unwillingly, Alex walked forward and climbed the steps into the plane. Sarov was right behind him. Conrad and the two men who had been carrying the bomb followed. The door of the plane was closed and sealed.
Alex found himself in a luxurious compartment that was like no plane he had ever been in. There were only a dozen seats, each one upholstered in leather. The compartment was long and thickly carpeted, with a well stocked bar, a kitchen and, in front of the cockpit, a seventy centimetre plasma television screen. Alex didn’t ask what film they would be showing. He chose a window seat – but then they were all window seats. Sarov sat across the aisle from him. Conrad was one seat behind Sarov. The two guards sat at the far end of the compartment. Alex wondered why they were making the journey. To keep an eye on him?
And what journey, exactly, were they making? Were they crossing into America or travelling across the Atlantic?
Sarov must have been reading his mind. “I will explain to you in a moment,” he said. “As soon as we are in the air.”
In fact, it was about fifteen minutes before the Lear jet took off down the runway and lifted effortlessly off the ground. The cabin lights dimmed for take-off but as soon as they had reached thirty thousand feet, they came back on. The guards got up and began to serve hot tea which had been brewing in an urn in the kitchen. Sarov allowed himself a brief smile. He pressed a button in the arm of his chair and swung round so that he now faced Alex.
“You may be wondering why I decided not to kill you,” he began. “This afternoon, when I found you in the car … I came so close. Conrad is still annoyed with me. He believes I am making a mistake. He does not understand me. But I will tell you why you are still alive, Alex. You are working for British intelligence. You are a spy. And you were only doing your job. I admire that, and this is the reason why I have forgiven you. You are loyal to your country even as I am loyal to mine. My son Vladimir died for his country. I am proud that you were prepared to do the same for yours.”
Alex took this in. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“We are going to Russia. To be precise, we are going to Murmansk, which is a port on the Kola Peninsula.”
Murmansk! Alex tried to remember if he had heard the name before. It did seem familiar. Had he heard it in a news bulletin, or perhaps in a lesson at school? A port in Russia! But why would they be going there … and carrying a nuclear bomb?
“You might like to know our flight path,” Sarov continued. “We are crossing the Atlantic by the northern route. This involves flying over the Arctic Circle. In essence, we are taking a short cut, following the curvature of the earth. We will have to make two stops to refuel. One in Gander, in northern Canada. The other in the British Isles, in Edinburgh.” Sarov must have seen the hopeful expression in Alex’s eyes. He went on. “Yes. You will be home for an hour or two tomorrow. But please don’t get any ideas. You will not be permitted to leave the plane.”
“Will it really take so long to get there?” Alex asked.
“With the first stop and the time difference … yes. We may also have to engage in some diplomatic pleasantries with both the Canadian and the British authorities. This is Kiriyenko’s private plane. We have filed our flight plan with Euro Control and of course they recognized our serial number. They believe the president is onboard. I would imagine that the Canadian and the British governments might be keen to offer us hospitality.”
“Who’s flying the plane?”
“Kiriyenko’s pilot. He is, however, loyal to me. A great many ordinary Russian people believe in me, Alex. They have seen the future … my future. They prefer it to the version they have been offered by others.”
“You still haven’t told me what that future is. Why are we flying to Murmansk?”
“I will tell you now. And then we must both sleep. We have a long night ahead.”
Sarov crossed his legs. There was a light directly above him and it beamed down, casting his eyes and mouth into shadow. He seemed at that moment both very old and very young. There was no expression in his face at all.
“Murmansk,” he began, “is home to Russia’s northern fleet of submarines. Or it was. It is now, quite simply, the world’s biggest nuclear dustbin. The end of Russia as a world power has led to the rapid collapse of its army, air force and navy. I have already tried to explain to you what has happened to my country in the past thirty years. The way it has been allowed to fall apart, with poverty, crime and corruption sucking the people dry. Well, that process of decay can be seen most starkly in Murmansk.
“A fleet of nuclear submarines is moored there. I say ‘moored’ but I mean ‘abandoned’. One of them, the Lepse, is more than forty years old and contains six hundred and forty-two bundles of fuel rods. These submarines have been left to rot and they are falling apart. Nobody cares. Nobody can find the money to do anything about them. It is a well documented fact, Alex, that these old submarines represent the single biggest threat to the world today. There are one hundred of them! I am talking about one fifth of the world’s nuclear fuel. One hundred ticking time bombs, waiting to go off. An accident waiting to happen. An accident I have decided to arrange.”
Alex opened his mouth to break in, but Sarov held up a hand for silence.
“Let me explain to you what would happen if just one of those submarines were to blow up,” he continued. “First of all, a huge number of Russians in the Kola Peninsula and the north would be killed. Many more people would die in the neighbouring countries of Norway and Finland.
“Unusually for this time of year, the wind is blowing to the west, so the nuclear fallout would travel over Europe to your country. It is very possible that London would become uninhabitable. Over the years, thousands more people would fall ill and die slow, painful deaths.”
“So why do it?” Alex shouted. “Why cause the explosion? What good will it do?”
“I am, if you like, giving the world a wake-up call,” Sarov explained. “Tomorrow night I will land in Murmansk and I will place the bomb that you have seen amongst the submarines.” He reached into his top pocket and took out a small plastic card. It had a magnetic stripe down one side like a credit card. “This is the key that will detonate the bomb,” he said. “All the codes and information required are contained in the magnetic strip. All I have to do is insert the card into the bomb. At the time of the explosion itself, I will be on my way south to Moscow, out of harm’s way.
“The explosion will be felt in every country in the world. You can imagine the shock and the outrage that it will create. And nobody will know that it was caused by a bomb that was deliberately carried to Murmansk. They will believe that it was one of the submarines. The Lepse, perhaps, or one of the others. I’ve already said – it was an accident waiting to happen. And when it does happen, nobody will begin to suspect the truth.”
“Yes they will!” Alex said. “The CIA know you bought uranium. They’ll find out their agents are dead—”
“Nobody will believe the CIA. Nobody ever believes the CIA. And anyway, by the time they have assembled their evidence against me, it will be too late.”
“I don’t understand!” Alex exclaimed. “You’ve already said you’ll kill thousands of your own people. What’s the point?”
“You are young. You know nothing of my people. But listen to me, Alex, and I will explain. When
“You made a film of him…” Alex muttered.
“We will release the film that shows him drunk beside the swimming pool. In his red shorts and flowered shirt. Playing with three half-naked women young enough to be his daughters! And we have interviewed him. We’ll release that too.”
“You’ve edited the interview!”
“Exactly.” Sarov nodded, his eyes catching the light. “Our interviewer asked him about a train strike in Moscow and Kiriyenko, who was already half drunk, replied: ‘This is my holiday. I’m too busy to deal with that.’ We will change the question. ‘What are you going to do about the accident in Murmansk?’ And Kiriyenko will reply—”
“—’This is my holiday. I’m too busy to deal with that.’” Alex finished the sentence.
“The Russian people will see Kiriyenko for the weak, drunken imbecile that he is. They will very quickly blame him for the disaster at Murmansk – and with good reason. The northern fleet was once the pride of the whole nation. How could it have been allowed to become a rusting, leaking, lethal nuclear dump?”
The plane droned on. Conrad was listening intently to what Sarov was saying, his head balancing unevenly on his neck. The two guards at the back had gone to sleep.
“You said you would be in Moscow,” Alex muttered.
“It will take less than twenty-four hours for the government to be swept out of power,” Sarov replied. “There will be riots in the streets. Many Russians believe that life was better – much better – in the old days. They still believe in communism. Well, now their anger will be heard. It will be unstoppable. And I will be there to harness it, to use it to take power. I have followers who are waiting for it to happen. Before the nuclear cloud has settled, I will have total control of the country. And that is just the beginning, Alex. I will rebuild the Berlin Wall. There will be new wars. I will not rest until my kind of government, communist government, is the single dominant power in the world.”
There was a long silence.
“You’re prepared to kill millions of people to achieve this?” Alex asked.
Sarov shrugged. “Millions of people are dying in Russia right now. They can’t afford food. They can’t afford medicine—”
“And what happens to me?”
“I’ve already answered that question, Alex. I don’t believe it was a coincidence that you turned up the way you did. I believe it was meant to happen. I was never meant to do this on my own. You will be with me tomorrow and when the bomb is primed and ready, we will leave together. First Murmansk, then Moscow. Don’t you see what I’m offering you? You are not just going to be my son. You are going to have power, Alex. You are going to be one of the most powerful people in the world.”
The plane had already reached the coast of America and turned, beginning its journey north. Alex sank back in his seat, his head spinning. Absent-mindedly, he allowed his hand to slip into his trouser pocket. He had managed to bring one stick of the MI6 bubblegum with him. He also had the little figurine that was actually a stun grenade.
He closed his eyes and tried to work out what he was going to do.
SECURITY NIGHTMARE
Hours spent in a strange twilight that was neither night nor day. Trapped on the roof of the world, totally still yet hurtling ever further. Alex slept for the first part of the journey, knowing that he was tired and that he would need his strength. He had accepted what he had to do. Before, when they had been on Skeleton Key, a small part of him had been tempted to sit back and do nothing. After all, he had never asked to be there. All this had nothing to do with him.
But now everything had changed. He could see the nuclear blast in the Kola Peninsula. It was already there, in his imagination. Thousands of people would die instantly, tens of thousands later as the deadly radioactive particles spread over Europe. Britain would be one of the countries that would suffer. Alex had to stop it happening. He no longer had any choice.
It was going to be much more difficult this time. Sarov might have forgiven him for his failed escape attempt in the car but Alex knew he would no longer trust him. And he couldn’t afford to make another mistake. If he was caught trying to escape a second time, there would be no reprieve, no mercy. In his heart, Alex seriously doubted that he would be able to slip past the Russian general or his twisted companion. Sarov was completely alert, as if he had been sitting there for ten minutes, not ten hours. Conrad was still watching him too. He was sitting quietly on the other side of the plane, a cat waiting for a mouse, his red eye blinking in the half light.
And yet…
Alex had the two gadgets Smithers had given him. And they were going to be landing in Britain! Just the thought of being in his own country, surrounded by people who spoke his language, gave Alex new strength. He had a plan and it would work. It had to.
He must have slept through the refuelling stop at Gander and several hours of the flight because the next thing he knew, it was light outside and the two guards were clearing away a breakfast of raw fruit and yoghurt that had been prepared in the Lear jet’s miniature kitchen. He looked out of the window. All he could see was cloud.
Sarov noticed that he had woken up. “Alex! Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you.”
“Still, you must have something to drink. It’s very easy to dehydrate on these long journeys.” He spoke a few words of Russian to one of the guards, who disappeared and came back with a glass of grapefruit juice. Alex hesitated before bringing it to his lips, remembering what had happened to Kiriyenko. Sarov smiled. “You don’t need to worry,” he said. “It’s just grapefruit juice. No added ingredients.”
Alex drank. The juice was cold and refreshing after his long sleep.
“We will be landing in Edinburgh in about thirty minutes,” Sarov told him. “We’re already in British airspace. How does it feel to be home?”
“If you’d like to drop me, I can get a train to London.”
Sarov shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
A few minutes later they began their descent. The pilot had been in radio communication with the airport and had confirmed that this was a routine refuelling stop. He would not be dropping or picking up any passengers and so needed no operating permit. Everything had been cleared with the airport authorities, making this touchdown as simple as a car pulling into a local garage. And despite Sarov’s fears, the British government had not invited the supposed VIP passengers for a diplomatic breakfast in Edinburgh!
The plane broke through the cloud and, with his face pressed against the window, Alex suddenly saw countryside with miniature houses and cars dotted around it. The brilliant sunshine of the Caribbean had been replaced by the grey light and uncertain weather of a British summer’s day. He felt a sense of relief. He was back! But at the same time, he knew Sarov would never allow him off the plane. In a way, it would have been less cruel if they had refuelled in Greenland or Norway. He was being given one last look at his own country. The next time he saw it, it would have been poisoned for generations to come. Alex reached into his pocket. His hand closed around the figurine of Wayne Rooney. The time was getting close…
The seat-belt signs came on. A moment later, Alex felt the pressure in his ears as they dropped out of the sky. He saw a bridge, somehow delicate from this height, spanning a great stretch of water. The Forth Road Bridge … it had to be. And there was Edinburgh, over in the west, its castle dominating the skyline. The airport came rushing up. He caught a glimpse of a bright, modern terminal, of waiting planes sitting on the apron surrounded by vans and trolleys. There was a bump as the wheels made contact with the r
Guided by the control tower, the Lear jet made its way to the end of the runway and into an area known as the fuel farm, far away from the main terminal. Alex gazed out of the window with a sinking feeling as the public buildings slid away behind him. For every second that they travelled, he would have further to run to raise the alarm – always assuming that he did even manage to get off the plane. The Wayne Rooney figure was in his hand now. What had Smithers told him? Twist the head twice one way and once the other to arm it. Wait ten seconds, then drop it and run. The confined space of an aircraft cabin seemed the perfect place to try it out. The only question was, how was Alex going to stop it knocking himself out too?
They came to a halt. Almost at once, a fuel truck began to drive towards them. Sarov had obviously prepared everything well in advance. There was a car following the truck and, looking out of the window, Alex saw that steps were being led up to the Lear jet’s door. That was interesting. It seemed that somebody wanted to come onboard.
Sarov was watching him. “You will not speak, Alex,” he said. “Not one single word. Before you even think of opening your mouth, I suggest you look behind you.”
Conrad had moved into the seat directly behind Alex. He had a newspaper balanced on his lap. As Alex turned, he lifted it to reveal a large black pistol with a silencer, pointing directly at him.
“Nobody will hear anything,” Sarov said. “If Conrad even thinks you are about to try something, he will fire. The bullet will pass through the seat and into your spine. Death will be instant but it will appear that you have simply fallen asleep.”
Alex knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as that. A person being shot in the back did not look like a person falling asleep. Sarov was taking huge risks. But this whole business was a huge risk. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Alex had no doubt that if he tried to tell anyone what was happening he would be killed immediately.