Hello chickets. How are you all? Par usual, I'm tired. Reviews make me happy! Thanks to my readers and reviewers:
djrocks
xJayjaybenzox
Mythomagic-Champion
Firebird
PS: This story is rather AU because Jack isn't dead and Alex is still in MI6.
PSS: Alex is eighteen, along with any of the Gallagher Girls that may or may not show up in this story. Therefore, it takes place AFTER the final Gallagher Girls book. The Circle has been dealt with, but I won't really get into all of that.
Alex's POV:
I winced as Cammie crumpled to the carpet, but there was nothing I could do. If I so much as breathed wrong, I would literally tumble down into the scene…that would not be good for either of us.
I watched the goon dig through her pocket and grunt something at his companion when all he found was eight dollars and twenty-nine cents.
"Nothing."
"He musta skipped out. We should report back to headquarters," the second goon said in a crisp accent, glancing at his watch.
They made one last sweep of the room then disappeared out the balcony, much like Cammie had entered just minutes earlier. I waited for the sound of their feet on the top of the dumpster, then counted backwards from one hundred in German before gently lowering down from the ceiling support beams where I had been balancing for the last hour.
I limped over to Cammie, moving slightly faster as a moan escaped her lips. I reached down to feel the lump on the back of her head when she grabbed my wrist, which I still don't know how she did considering she was lying flat on her face. However, in three seconds I was the one flat on my face and she was kneeing on my spine.
"What the heck is going on-" she paused, "Oh, Alex! It's you."
She quickly got off my back and helped me sit up. The gash in my side had started to bleed again and I must have grimaced because she cut me off before I could say anything, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
I shook my head, "It wasn't you. I'll be fine, just give me a second."
Cammie rolled her eyes, "Yep, you're definitely okay. The blood dripping on the carpet means nothing."
I winced as she helped pull me to my feet, walking slowly with me over to the only standing piece of furniture in the room. The huge wooden bed was so heavy the two goons couldn't even make it budge. I was pretty sure the hotel was built around it. She's pushed me down unceremoniously and turned towards the bathroom without another word.
"I'm sorry," I called across the room.
"For what?" she asked, remerging from the bathroom with a fresh towel.
"For getting you into this mess, I should have never called you."
She rolled her pretty eyes and I was momentarily distracted. "-like I've never gotten into trouble without you." She pulled my t-shirt out of the way and grimaced at the large gash on my side.
"I have a first aid kit in my bad, let me go get it."
"Cammie, this is serious," I said, watching her walk towards the door. I seriously needed to focus.
She grabbed the bag, digging through it as she walked back towards me. "Yeah, yeah. Isn't it always? What has MI6 gotten you into now?"
"That's the problem," I said, my eyes on her face gauging her reaction, "It's me they're after."
"Who, those goons? I kind of figured they weren't looking for the Queen."
"Those goons are MI6. They think I've gone rogue."
Cammie sat heavily on the bed beside me, "What?"
"MI6 thinks I've gone rogue," I repeated.
"Why?" she asked, her intelligent honey brown eyes searching my face for answers.
I sighed, running my good hand through my hair, "It's a long story-"
"We've got as long as you need," she cut in. Giving herself a barely noticeable shake, she reached into the bag for a bottle of antiseptic.
I steeled myself against the sting of the antiseptic, focusing on the dirty Modernist-wanna-be attempt at art on the wall across from me. "Well, it all started about two months ago…
Flashback
With my head bent against the unforgiving wind, I made my way down a busy London sidewalk in early April. The sky was a swirling mass of gray and it felt like rain. I honestly wasn't paying very close attention to the people around me; my mind wandering to warmer places, but when one of the apartment doors that led out onto the busy street burst open, barely missing hitting me in the face, my brain was wide awake.
"Hey!" I shouted, jumping back, "Watch where you're going!"
"Sorry mate," the girl who had almost run me over said. She was wiry with short neon purple hair and stunning eyes that were nearly black.
She glanced back into the lobby, cursed loudly, and then took off at a run down the street. Before I could move or say anything, the door burst open again and a short, black haired guy rammed into me, sending us both crashing to the ground.
He leapt up, shouted down the sidewalk to the purple-haired girl who was now hopping into the back of a cab. He turned and extended his hand to me, "So sorry mate," he said with a smile, repeating what his friend had just said.
It had started to pour by then and as I stood up I got my first good view, "It's okay-" I stopped and stared open-mouthed…it couldn't be- "Tom?"
"Alex?"
Tom Harris had been a chum of mine from school. The last time I had seen him had been during the Scorpia mission soon after I began working for MI6.
Tom's face had split into a huge grin, "Alex Rider. Who would have thought? Haven't seen you since I was fourteen!"
I too ginned, "It's great to see you too, Tom. How have you been?"
His face tightened a bit and his bright blue eyes seemed to freeze over, "Life's been good. Until Shelia."
"Purple hair?"
He nodded, "My girl-well, probably ex-girlfriend. Stole a bunch of my stuff when she left too, the little witch."
I nodded sympathetically, "Sucks."
"Don't I know it?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, making his black hair stick straight up. "I don't know about you, I'm starving. Wanna grab something and catch up...and dry off. There's a great little pizza place around the corner."
I glanced at my watch, "Pizza at eight AM…sounds good to me."
An old friendship was revitalized over a pepperoni and pineapple pizza. We hung out occasionally, mostly chasing skirts, playing video games, and partying. I got a rather odd voicemail message one morning about a month and a half after I'd first run into Tom.
"Hey, Alex my man! Sorry I haven't been in touch, but I've been trying to track down Shelia. Turns out she's in good ol'e México, trying to sell my stuff. And that's where I need your help. She swears she gonna sell my granny's necklace, it isn't worth much, but you know, sentimental value and all. I can't really leave London right now, work, but I was wondering if you could do something for me. I talked her into saving the necklace for me…musta caught her in a good mood, but I got to be there by the third of June. I've got a plane ticket and hotel reservations, all I need is a body. It'll be easy, pick up the necklace and get a long weekend in Tijuana. Sun, sand, and chicks, man! Whatda say?"
End Flashback
"Who could say no to that?" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air, winching as Cammie poked at my side. "I knew it was to good to be true…but a week and a half later I was on a plane to here with a picture of the necklace and Shelia's address."
"It looks like somebody tried to cut you a new bellybutton. Care to explain that?" Cammie interjected.
"To put it simply, somebody didn't like me taking the necklace back," I said, pulling the necklace in question out of my back pocket, "that's another long story."
With a long, dull silver chain, the necklace would hang low on anyone wearing it. The pendent center was a remarkable green stone with an engraved snake wrapped around it. The snake's tongue darted out of its mouth, giving the whole piece a very sinister look. It seriously didn't look old enough for somebody's granny to have bought as a girl visiting the Middle East like the load of BS Tom had given me. I should have seen it sooner.
"Wow. That's…." Cammie pulled the necklace from my hand and intently examined it, flipping it over, pulling and prodding.
"Creepy?" I supplemented.
"No, well actually yes…but it reminds me of something I've seen before," She pulled her gaze away from the necklace and turned it on me, "So, how does any of this make MI6 think you went rogue?"
I pulled something else out of my pocket, this time a sheet of crumpled, well-worn paper. Handing it over I watched her face turn form confusion to horror to her emotionless mask all in less than a second.
The paper was an Interpol Notice for a suspected information broker, someone who sold top secret government information to the higher bidder. Until recently, Der Schwarz Teufel, the black Devil, had been faceless. But about two months ago, an agent got a clandestine picture of him along with one of MI6's youngest agents. It was suspected that this agent was selling secrets.
The agent was me.
The Black Devil was Tom.
Cammie's eyes got a little bigger. She gave my side one final poke then pulled my hand over to hold the towel. Zipping up her bag, she grabbed it and stood, "What do you need to take. It's not going to be long before somebody comes back here. And that 'little cut' is going to need some stiches."
"I can't go to a hospital, that would be way to easy to tack," I muttered, standing up and shoving my shoes on my feet and my remaining non-bloody clothes into my duffle bag.
Cammie nodded, pulling the bag from my hand and swinging it over her other shoulder, "I think I know someone who can help us."
Muhahaha, cliffy, yes? Did you like my German? Was it right….I'm honestly HORRIBLE at foregin languages, no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to pick it up. I am in French 1…and I suck so bad it's not even funny. You'd think that after 6 years of Spanish, I'd be fluent, right? WRONG!
Oh, and Tom Harris isn't mine, he was in Scorpia…he and his adrenalin junky brother.
But I digress; please review!
Love,
Striker
