There wasn't much Alex Rider could do with himself at this point. It would be foolish to try to keep running from the man when he was in this kind of situation.
Alex saw the man's eyes level with his own, a maniacal grin on his jowls. The man held up the gun, pointedly, "You should 'ave joined us when you 'ad the chance, Alex, mon fils," he said in a thick French accent, "Your chance 'as now expired. I will kill you quickly, Alex. Au revoir, mon amour." The man put his finger on the trigger, preparing to shoot.
Alex squeezed his eyes shut. He waited with bated breath, but no searing pain in his chest came. No blackness, followed by a blinding, white light ever greeted him.
Instead, the room was totally silent. He cracked open one eye.
The man was frozen, a look of horror plastered on on his pudgy face. Suddenly, he keeled over forwards, almost crushing the lean boy beneath his blubber. Alex peered over his over sized shoulder. There was a long knife protruding from his back and dark red stains on the surrounding material of his pinstriped jacket. The man wasn't breathing.
Alex shoved the dead man off of him and stood Gregorovitch was standing in front of him, in a tight black body suit that left little to the imagination.
Alex grinned, cheekily, "I knew you'd come." Yassen closed the space between them and embraced him tightly.
"You really should stop working for MI6. They do you nothing but harm," He said in his Russian-tinged English.
Alex's smile faltered slightly before being replaced by a softer smile, "You know I can't do that, Yassen. Jack will be deported if I do."
Jack Starbright. Alex's house-keeper and only real friend. She had been with him through thick and thin. Even a bout of depression.
"Well, if you ever change your mind..." He left the sentence hanging, allowing Alex to interpret in how he pleased.
"If I do, I'll call you." He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the pale cheek before him.
Yassen smiled his tight-lipped smile and kissed him back, running his tongue along the inside of Alex's mouth.
"I'll miss you, Alex."
"Likewise," the breathless, blond boy said, sadness ebbing into his voice.
Yassen spared him one last fleeting glance, before he was gone.
Alex pulled out his state of the art cell phone and entered Jack's private number.
It was a few seconds before she picked up, "Where are you?" She asked. Her American voice was somehow soothing to him.
"Liverpool station. North side. Can you come get me? I don't want to take the train."
Her voice was soft when she replied, "Sure, Alex, honey. If there's anything you want to tell me about, don't hesitate, okay?"
Alex debated weather to tell her about his encounter with Yassen or not. He decided against it. Telling her would only complicate things with MI6.
"There's nothing. I'll see you in a bit." They said goodbye and hung up.
Alex would really have to get a report handed in. Blunt was starting to get testy.
