Alex knew his moment had come. He would never have a better chance. He ran forward.
The other Alex twisted around and fired. The bullet creased his shoulder, a molten sword drawn across his flesh. But a second later he had reached him, grabbing him around the neck with one hand and seizing hold of his wrist with the other, forcing the gun away. There was a huge explosion in the laboratory below and the entire building shook, but neither of the boys seemed to notice. They were locked in an embrace, two reflections that had become tangled up in the mirror, the gun over their heads, fighting for control.
The flames were tearing through the building. Fed by a variety of chemicals, they burst through the floor, melting the asphalt. In the far distance, the scream of fire engines penetrated the sun-filled air. Alex pulled with all his strength, trying to bring the gun down. The other Alex clawed at him, swearing—not in English but in Afrikaans.
The end came very suddenly.
The gun twisted and fell to the ground.
One Alex lashed out, knocking the other one down, then dived for the gun.
There was another explosion, and a sheet of chemical flame leapt up. A crater had suddenly appeared in the roof, swallowing up the gun. The boy saw it too late and fell through. With a yell, he disappeared into the smoke and fire.
One Alex Rider walked over to the hole and looked down.
The other Alex Rider lay on his back, two floors below. He wasn’t moving. The flames were closing in.
The first fire engines had arrived at the school. A ladder slanted up toward the roof.
A boy with short fair hair and brown eyes, wearing a Gortex jacket, T-shirt, and jeans, walked to the edge of the roof and began to climb down.