Scorpia by Anthony Horowitz

dagger. Nile held it for a moment in his hand, obviously enjoying the fine balance, then raised it to the height of his shoulder. Now he could throw it or slash with it. Either way, Alex knew instantly, he was facing a master. He had perhaps seconds to live.
    “You can’t kill him here!” Dr Liebermann exclaimed in exasperation. “You’ll get blood everywhere!”
    “Don’t worry, Harold,” Nile replied. “This is going through the neck and into the brain. There’ll be very little blood.”
    Alex crouched down, preparing to dodge, knowing that he wouldn’t have a chance. Nile was still smiling, obviously enjoying himself.
    He threw the sword.
    There was a single movement. Alex hadn’t even seen Nile take aim but the blade was already a blur, flashing down the length of the passageway. It passed over Alex’s shoulder. Had Nile missed? No. That was impossible. He suddenly realized that Nile hadn’t been aiming at him.
    Alex turned and saw Dr Liebermann already dead, still standing, a look of surprise on his face. He had managed to bring one hand up so that it was lightly holding the blade of the sword now sticking out of his neck. He pitched forward and lay motionless.
    “Straight into the brain,” Nile muttered. “Just like I said.”
    As Alex watched, stunned, Nile walked past him and crouched down beside Dr Liebermann. He pulled the sword free, used the dead man’s tie to wipe it clean, and returned it to its sheath, which hung from his waist beneath his lab coat. He looked up.
    “Hello, Alex,” he said cheerfully. “You’re the last person I expected to see here. Mrs Rothman will be pleased.”
    “You don’t want to kill me?” Alex murmured. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Not at all.”
    Nile stood up and went back to the attaché case and opened it. Alex was finding it very difficult to keep up with what was happening. Inside the case, he saw a keyboard, a small computer screen, two square packets and a series of wires. Nile knelt down and tapped rapidly on the keyboard. A series of codes appeared on the screen: black and white like the fingers that were typing them. He continued talking as he typed.
    “I hope you’ll forgive me, Alex. I have to say, I’m terribly sorry for what happened at the Widow’s Palace. I didn’t realize who you were – John Rider’s son. I think it’s brilliant how you managed to escape, by the way. I’d never have forgiven myself if I’d had to go in and fish you out with a boathook.” He finished typing, pressed ENTER, then closed the lid of the case. “But we can’t talk now. Mrs Rothman is just along the coast, in Positano. She’s dying to meet you. So let’s go.”
    “Why did you kill Dr Liebermann?” Alex asked.
    “Because Mrs Rothman ordered me to.” Nile straightened up. “Look, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, but I can’t answer them right now. I’ve just set a bomb to blow this place to smithereensin” – he glanced at his watch – “ninety-two seconds. So I don’t think we have time for a chat.”
    He slid the case near Dr Liebermann’s head, checked the dead man one last time, then walked away. Alex followed him. What else could he do? Nile came to a set of doors and tapped in a code. The doors opened and they went through. They were moving quickly. Nile had the athlete’s ability to cover a lot of ground with no apparent effort at all. Here was the staircase that Alex had been looking for. They went down three floors and came to another door. Nile punched in a number and suddenly they were in the open air. There was a car – a two-seater Alfa Romeo Spider – waiting outside with the roof down.
    “Hop in!” Nile said. From the way he was talking, he and Alex could have just come from the cinema and been on their way home.
    Alex got in and they drove off. How much time had passed since Nile had set the bomb? It was now completely dark outside. The sun had finally disappeared. They followed a