Scorpia (Alex Rider, Band 5) - Softcover

Horowitz, Anthony

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0142405787 ISBN 13: 9780142405789

Verlag: Puffin Books, 2006

Inhaltsangabe

Alex Rider is now an IMDb TV/Amazon Original Series!

Alex Rider is an orphan turned teen superspy who's saving the world one mission at a time—from #1 New York Times bestselling author!

Alex Rider, teen spy, has always been told he is the spitting image of the father he never knew. But when Alex learns that his father may have been an assassin for the most lethal and powerful terrorist organization in the world, Scorpia, his world shatters. Now Scorpia wants Alex on their side, and Alex no longer has the strength to fight them. That is, until he learns of Scorpia’s latest plot: an operation known only as “Invisible Sword” that will result in the death of thousands of people. Can Alex prevent the slaughter, or will Scorpia prove once and for all that the terror will not be stopped?


From the author of Magpie Murders and Moriarty.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Anthony Horowitz (anthonyhorowitz.com) is a world-renowned screenwriter for film and television, having received multiple awards. And he is, of course, the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Alex Rider novels, which have become bestsellers the world over, spawned a major motion picture, and a line of graphic novels. A master of the spy thriller, Anthony is the only writer authorized by both the Arthur Conan Doyle and Ian Fleming Estates to write original Sherlock Holmes and James Bond novels, respectively. Anthony lives with his wife in London, England; they are parents to two grown boys. Follow Anthony on Twitter @AnthonyHorowitz.

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Chapter 3

THE WIDOW'S PALACE

That afternoon, the two boys stood in front of yet another grand palace in the heart of Venice.

"It's called the Contarini del Bovolo," Alex said, consulting his guidebook. "It says here that the staircase is shaped a bit like the shell of a snail. And bovolo is the Venetian word for 'snail shell'."

Tom stifled a yawn. "That's fascinating, Alex," he said. "But if I see one more palace, one more church, or one more canal, I think I'm going to throw myself under a bus."

"There aren't any buses in Venice," Alex reminded him.

"A water bus, then. If it doesn't hit me, maybe I'll get lucky and drown." He sighed. "You know the trouble with this place? The entire city's like a museum. A bloody great museum. I feel like I've been here half my life."

Alex couldn't bring himself to agree. He had never been anywhere quite like Venice--but then there was nowhere in the world remotely like it with its narrow streets and dark canals twisting around each other in an intricate, amazing knot. Every building seemed to compete with its neighbor to be more ornate and more spectacular. A short walk could take you across four centuries and every corner seemed to lead to another surprise. It might be a canal-side market with great slabs of meat laid out on the tables and fish dripping blood onto the paving stones. Or a church, seemingly floating, surrounded by water on all four sides. A grand hotel or a tiny local restaurant. Even the shops were works of art with windows framing exotic masks, brilliantly colored glass vases, dried pasta, and antiques. It was a museum, maybe, but one that was truly alive.

And yet, part of him felt guilty for dragging Tom here. Tom would have preferred to go straight down to Naples, but Alex had managed to persuade him to spend a few days, first, in Venice. What he hadn't been able to tell his friend was his real reason for coming here.

Scorpia.

He still hadn't forgotten the last words that Yassen Gregorovich had spoken on the plane even as he lay dying. Night after night he had thought about them, turning over in bed, unable to get to sleep. His father--John Rider--had worked with Yassen. He had once saved Yassen's life. But then John Rider had been killed by MI6, the very same people who had forced Alex to work for them three times: lying to him, manipulating him, and finally dumping him when he was no longer needed. It was almost impossible to believe, but Yassen had offered him proof.

"Go to Venice. Find Scorpia. And you will find your destiny . . ."

The trouble was, he had absolutely no idea what Yassen Gregorovich had meant by his last words. Scorpia could be a person. Alex had looked in the telephone book and had found no fewer than fourteen people living in and around Venice with that name. It could be a business. Or it could be a single building. Scuole were homes set up for poor people. La Scala was an opera house in Milan. But Scorpia didn't seem to be anything. No signs pointed to it. No streets were named after it.

It was only now that he was here, one day before they were due to leave, that Alex began to see that it had been hopeless from the start. If Yassen had told him the truth, the two men--he and John Rider--had been hired killers. Had they worked for Scorpia? If so, Scorpia would be very carefully concealed . . . perhaps inside one of these old palaces. Alex looked again at the staircase his guidebook had described. How was he to know that the steps themselves didn't lead to Scorpia? Scorpia could be anywhere. Or anyone. And after six days in Venice, Alex was nowhere.

"Where shall we go now?" Tom asked.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to see a movie. The trouble is, they're all in Italian. I don't know. We could go down to St. Mark's and feed the pigeons. You seem to like pigeons . . ."

And that was when Alex saw it, a flash of silver as the sun reflected off something on the edge of his vision. He turned his head. There was nothing. A canal leading away. Another canal crossing it. A single motor cruiser sliding underneath a bridge. The usual facade of ancient brown walls dotted with wooden shutters. A church dome rising above the red roof tiles. He had imagined it.

But then the cruiser began to turn and that was when he saw it a second time and knew that it was really there. It was a silver scorpion decorating the side of the boat, pinned to the wooden bow. Alex stared as it swung into the second canal. This wasn't a gondola or a chugging, public vaporetto, but a sleek, private motorboat--all polished teak, curtained windows, and leather seats. There were two crew members in immaculate white jackets and shorts, one at the wheel, the other serving a drink to the only passenger. This was a woman, sitting upright, looking straight ahead. Alex only had time to glimpse black hair, an upturned nose, a face with no expression. Then the motorboat completed its turn and disappeared from sight.

A scorpion decorating a motorboat.

Scorpia.

It was only the most slender of connections, but suddenly Alex was determined to find out where the boat was going. It was almost as though the silver scorpion had been sent to guide him to whatever it was he was meant to find. And there was something else. The stillness of the woman sitting in the back. How was it possible to be carried through this amazing city without registering some emotion, without--at least--turning her head from left to right? Alex thought of Yassen Gregorovich. He would have been the same. He and this woman were two of a kind.

Alex turned urgently to Tom. "I'll meet you back at the hostel," he said.

"Why?" Tom began. "Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you later!"

And with that he was gone, ducking between an antique shop and a café, up the narrowest of alleyways, trying to follow the direction of the boat.

But almost at once, he saw that he had a problem. The city of Venice had been originally built on no fewer than a hundred islands. He had read it in his guidebook the first day he'd arrived. In the fifteenth century, the area had been little more than a swamp. That was why there were no roads--just waterways and oddly shaped bits of land connected by bridges. The woman was on the water. Alex was on the land. Following her would be like trying to find his way through an impossible maze in which his path and hers would never meet.

Already he had lost her. The alleyway he had taken should have continued straight ahead. Instead it suddenly turned at an angle, blocked by a tall section of apartments. He ran around the corner, watched by two Italian women, both in black dresses, sitting outside on wooden stools. There was a canal ahead of him, but it was empty. A flight of heavy stone steps led down to the murky water, but there was no way forward . . . unless he wanted to swim.

He craned around to the left and was rewarded with a glimpse of wood and water churned up by the propellers of the motorboat as it passed a fleet of gondolas that were roped together beside a rotting jetty. There was the woman, sitting in the back, now sipping a glass of wine. The boat continued underneath a bridge so tiny, there was barely room to pass.

There was only one thing he could do. He turned around and retraced his steps, running as fast as he could. The two Italian women saw him again and shook their heads disapprovingly. He hadn't realized how hot it was. The sun seemed to be trapped in the narrow streets, and even in the shadows the heat still lingered. Already sweating, he burst back out on the street where he had begun. There was no sign of Tom. Alex guessed he would already set out for the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Puffin Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2006
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0142405787
• ISBN 13: 9780142405789
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 416
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland