Free Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz Page A

was the first thing Alex could think of. But he'd seen a soccer poster in Felix Lester's bedroom and knew that at least he'd chosen the right team. “Manchester United,” he added.
    Sayle smiled. “That's most amusing. Alex it shall be. And I hope we will be friends, Alex. You are a very lucky boy. You won the competition and you are going to be the first teenager to try out my Stormbreaker. But this is also lucky, I think, for me. I want to know what you think of it! I want you to tell me what you like ... what you don't.” The eyes dipped away and suddenly he was businesslike. “We have only three days until the launch,” he said. “We'd better get abliddy move on, as my father used to say. I'll have my man take you to our room and tomorrow morning, first thing, you must get to work. There's a math program you should try ... also languages. All the software was developed ere at Sayle Enterprises. Of course we've talked to children We've gone to teachers, to education experts. But you, my dear ... Alex. You will be worth more to me than all of them put together.”
    As he had talked, Sayle had become more and more animated, carried away by his own enthusiasm. He had become a completely different man. Alex had to admit at he'd taken an immediate dislike to Herod Sayle. No wonder Blunt and the people at M16 had mistrusted him! But now he was forced to think again. He was standing opposite one of the richest men in England, a an who had decided out of the goodness of his heart to give a huge gift to English schools. Just because he as small and slimy, that didn't necessarily make him an enemy. Perhaps Blunt was wrong after all.
    “Ah! Here's my man now,” Sayle said. “And aboutbliddy time!”
    The door had opened and a man had come in, dressed in the black suit and tails of an old-fashioned butler. He was as tall and thin as his master was short and round, with a thatch of close-cropped ginger hair on top of a face that was so pale it was almost paper white From a distance it had looked as if he was smiling, but as he drew closer, Alex gasped. The man had two horrendous scars, one on each side of his mouth, twisting up all the way to his ears. It was as if someone had at some time attempted to cut his face in half. The scars were a gruesome shade of mauve. There were smaller, fainter scars where at one time his cheeks had been stitched.
    “This is Mr. Grin,” Sayle said. “He changed his name after his accident.”
    “Accident?” Alex found it hard not to stare at the terrible wound.
    “Mr. Grin used to work in a circus. It was a novelty knifethrowing act. For the climax he used to catch a spinning knife between his teeth. But then one night his elderly mother came to see the show. She waved to him from the front row and he got his timing wrong. He's worked for me now for a dozen years and although his appearance may be displeasing, he is loyal and efficient. Don't try to talk to him, by the way. He has no tongue.”
    “Eeeurgh!” Mr. Grin said.
    “Nice to meet you,” Alex muttered.
    “Take him to the blue room,” Sayle commanded. He turned to Alex. “You're fortunate that one of our nicest rooms has come up free-here, in the house. We had a security man staying there. But he left us quite suddenly.”
    “Oh? Why was that?” Alex asked, casually.
    “I have no idea. One moment he was here, the next he was gone.” Sayle smiled again. “I hope you won't do the same, Alex.”
    “Thi ... wurgh!” Mr. Grin gestured at the door, and leaving Herod Sayle standing in front of his huge captive, Alex left the room.
    He was led back along a passage, past more works of art, up a staircase, and then along a wide corridor with thick wood-paneled doors and chandeliers. Alex assumed that the main house was used for entertaining. Sayle himself must live here. But the computers would be constructed in the modern buildings he had seen opposite the airstrip. Presumably he would be taken there tomorrow.
    His room was at