Alex Rider leaned back in his cushioned chair and looked out of the window.
Thousands of feet below him, the sea was roaring ferociously, sending colossal waves crashing and erupting on the coarse rocks that lay amongst the ocean bed. Through the window, Alex could see torrents of rain lashing down, some hammering on his window, as if demanding to be let in.
Alex, however, was warm and dry, seating in a comfortable chair in the first class area of a British Airways plane, reading a book. He was on his way to Moldova, as some rich Count had been stirring up some tension, and Alan Blunt, the head of MI6, needed a fourteen year old boy to investigate, as the Count was offering up a holiday for a child to show he wasn't bad.
So who better for the job than Alex Rider?
"Can I take your order, please?"
The voice was soft and charming, and Alex turned his head to see a tall air hostess smiling at him. Her uniform was pure white, with some patches of deep blue, and no stains in sight anywhere. Her hair was brushed back in a tight bun that you would have thought would explode any second.
"Oh, no thanks, I'm not hungry yet," replied Alex. He was telling the truth, as he had eaten at the airport just two hours before.
"Alright," said the air hostess, and she turned on her heel and walked away.
Alex noticed with a smile that she was wearing thin stiletto heels, and he was surprised she didn't drill a hole in the floor.
Alex sank back in his chair and let the cushions embrace him. He would need his energy. Alex Rider closed his eyes and drifted into a warm sleep.