GASP. An update? I know, please control your excitement. jk. Anyway, sorry this took kinda long but I've actually been busy, which is surprising since I really have no life. I've also been sick, still am, and my Christmas present to my family this year was to sneeze and cough all over them.
Now here comes the part where I thank all of my amazing readers and of course reviewers: ReillyScarecrowRocks,PartyPony2,Pheonix Revenge, Sajna18 (sorry, not this chapter but I'm thinking that I may add Yassen next chapter, I'll do a poll),Phantom Lightning,Storage-Jar,Fanfictionaddict1,armygirl1234,SilverStar121(I meant that there are tons of different shades of brown his eyes could be, they're not all the same. Sorry if it only made sense in my head :)), May-The-Wolf-Girl,Jellie Smiff,wolfiergirl,Evgenia,Books111,WrITInGthroughDARKNESS,(I used an idea from a your review of the 1st chapter, I hope you like how it came out)and fan of alex rider books.
Also, I've had a few reviews saying to add more comments so I tried to do that with this chapter.
Disclaimer: Unless you have dyslexia (like Percy Jackson, ah!3) you should definitely know by now that I DO NOT OWN ALEX RIDER!
ROYAL & GENERAL
THE BANK CALLED the following day.
"This is John Crawley. Do you remember me? Personnel manager at the Royal and General. We were wondering if you could come in."
"Come in?" Alex was half dressed already late for school.
"Alex!" Helen admonished. Ian rolled his eyes.
"This afternoon. We found some papers of your uncle's… We need to talk to you about your own position."
Was there something faintly threatening in the man's voice?
They all tensed at this, sure that whatever reason they really had for asking Alex to come wouldn't be good.
"What time this afternoon?" Alex asked.
"Could you manage half past four? We're on Liverpool Street. We can send a cab."
"I'll be there." Alex said. "And I'll take the tube."
He hung up.
Helen grinned but John and Ian looked slightly worried. It wasn't exactly the best idea to say no to and then hang up on MI6. Of course Alex doesn't know they're MI6…
"Who was that?" Jack called out of the kitchen. She was cooking breakfast for the two of them although how long she could remain with Alex was a growing worry. Her wages hadn't been paid.
She had only her own money to buy food and pay for the running of the house. Worse still, her visa was about to expire. Soon she wouldn't even be allowed to stay in the country.
"I have a feeling MI6 will have a solution to that." John said. He frowned. "But I'm not sure we'll like it."
"That was the bank." Alex came into the room wearing his spare uniform. He hadn't told her what had happened at the junkyard.
"How could he keep that from her? He looked like a wreck and was hurt!" Helen exclaimed; trying not to think about the fact that she should be the one Alex tried to lie to. Not that she'd let him get away with it. Then again, being the son of a spy might give him an advantage…
Jack had enough on her mind.
"Oh, Alex. I'm sure she'd want to know." Helen said softly. She was a little sad that Alex obviously thought that he had to take on the role of protector. He was only 14.
"I'm going there this afternoon," he said.
"Do you want me to come?"
"No I'll be fine."
He came out of Liverpool Street tube station just after four-fifteen that afternoon, still wearing his school clothes: dark blue jacket, gray trousers, striped tie.
Helen momentarily forgot her worry as she pictured a younger version of John with her eyes. She sighed.
He found the bank easily enough. The Royal & General occupied a tall, antique-looking building with a Union Jack fluttering from a pole
about fifteen floors up. There was a brass plaque with the name next to the main door and a security camera swiveling slowly over the pavement.
Alex stopped in front of it. For a moment he wondered if he was making a mistake going in.
Ian and John were both thinking along the same lines. They didn't think MI6 usually interfered this much in these types of situations. At least not so openly.
If the bank had been responsible in some way for Ian Rider's death, it was always possible they had asked him here to arrange his own.
The normally-calm-John tensed. They better not even think about it. Especially since John wasn't there to protect Alex. No one was.
But why would anyone from the bank want to kill him? He didn't even have an account there.
He went inside and in an office on the seventeenth floor the image on the television monitor flickered #1 #2 #3 and changed as Street Camera smoothly cut across to reception cameras and everything was dark and shadowy inside. A man sitting behind a desk saw Alex come in and pressed a button. #2 Camera zoomed in until Alex's face filled the screen.
"So, he came." the chairman of the bank muttered.
"Wait. Chairman? As in Mr. Blunt? What does he want with Alex?" Helen asked trying to keep her voice level. The hand that strayed protectively to her stomach gave away her worry.
"I don't know." John said truthfully. Sure, he had suspicions but he didn't want to even consider any of them right now.
"That's the boy?" The speaker was a middle-aged woman. She had a strange, potato-shaped head and her black hair looked as if it had been cut using a pair of blunt scissors and an upturned bowl.
Her eyes were almost as black as her hair. She was dressed in a severe gray suit and was sucking a peppermint. "Are you sure about this, Alan?" she asked.
"Sure about what?" Helen asked a bit frantically, looking from Ian to John.
"It's probably nothing." John said, rubbing her arm in a calming manner. Though the apprehensive looks on their faces did nothing to help reassure her.
Alan Blunt nodded. "Oh yes. Quite sure. You know what to do." This last question was addressed to his driver, who was also in the room.
The driver was standing uncomfortably, slightly hunched over. His face was a chalky white. He had been like that ever since he had tried to stop Alex in the auto junkyard.
Ian and John smirked in such a similar manner it could almost be deemed creepy.
"Yes, sir." he said.
"Then do it." Blunt said. His eyes never left the screen.
In the lobby, Alex had asked for John Crawley and was sitting on a leather sofa, vaguely wondering why so few people were going in or out. The reception area was quiet and claustrophobic, with a brown marble floor, three elevators to one side, and above the desk a row of clocks showing the time in every major world city. But it could have been the entrance to anywhere. A hospital.
Helen winced. Though she usually had no problem with hospitals, she even worked at one, when it was her family it was different. Especially since she had a bad feeling that this place, these people, could put her son in a hospital for the rest of his life. She stopped her train of thought there, not wanting it to carry her any further, and continued listening to Ian.
A concert hall. Even a cruise liner. The place had no identity of its own.
One of the elevators slid open and Crawley appeared in the same suit he had worn at the funeral but with a different tie. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Alex." he said. "Have you come straight from school?"
Alex stood up but said nothing, allowing his uniform to answer the man's question.
Helen smiled wistfully, again picturing him in his uniform. Reading about him and seeing him were two different things. Acting on impulse she grabbed the book from a surprised Ian's hands. He held them up in surrender, deciding it was probably best not to argue with the pregnant woman.
John looked at her concernedly. "Um… Helen. What are you doing?" He questioned in a light, cautious tone.
She shushed him and began shaking the book, making both men doubt her sanity.
John was about to question her again when her vigorous shaking paid off. Three rectangular pieces of paper floated into Helen's lap. She tossed the book back to Ian and snatched them up victoriously.
She smiled widely and examined them. "Oh, John. Look at him." She whispered.
John looked and saw that she was holding pictures. All three photos were of the same blonde boy with serious brown eyes. In one he appeared to be about 5 or six, his adorable face alight with joy as he smiled at the camera. In another he appeared about 14, the age he was in this book, and on vacation somewhere. The sun shining on his handsome face and his skin tanned from days at the beach filling the picture's background. In the last picture he appeared slightly older physically but the most difference was in his dark brown eyes that seemed to exude a sort of maturity rare in those his age. The eyes of someone who'd seen too much. Despite this, he was grinning wildly; arm in arm with a young woman with bright red hair they assumed was Jack. Bulrushes sprouted behind them and the sun looked blazing hot, as though attempting to burn through the very picture. By this point the room was silent as the trio just stared at their future son and nephew.
"He looks just like you, John." Helen said softly, as though afraid to speak any louder and break the awe-filled atmosphere.
John pulled her in close but never took his eyes of the pictures. "Yeah." He breathed. "But he's got your eyes."
They stayed in that quiet moment for a while before Ian decided it would be best to continue reading.
"Let's go up to my office." Crawley said. He gestured. "We'll take the elevator."
Alex didn't notice the fourth camera inside the elevator, but then it was concealed on the other side of the one-way mirror that covered the back wall. Nor did he see the thermal intensifier next to the camera. But this second machine both looked at him and through him as he stood there, turning him into a pulsating mass of different colors, none of which translated into the cold steel of a hidden gun or knife.
"I should hope not." Helen stated, almost threateningly. Her son should have weapons.
In less than the time it took Alex to blink, the machine had passed its information down to a computer that had instantly evaluated and then sent its own signal back to the circuits that controlled the elevator. It's OK. He's unarmed. Continue to the fifteenth floor.
"Here we are." Crawley smiled and ushered Alex out into a long corridor with an uncarpeted wooden floor and modern lighting. A series of doors were punctuated by brightly colored abstract paintings. "My office is just along here." Crawley pointed the way. They had passed three doors when Alex stopped. Each door had a nameplate and this one he knew 1504: Ian Rider.
Ian paled slightly but John was thinking.
"They obviously led him by your office for a reason. It's a test."
What it was a test for, he would not say. He really didn't want to think of the implications.
White letters on black plastic.
Crawley nodded sadly. "Yes. This was where your uncle worked. He'll be much missed."
John snorted. "Yup, that's Ian. Always the social butterfly."
Ian glared at him.
John shrugged apologetically. "What? You know it's true."
It was Helen's turn to glare. "If you two are done, I would like to hear the rest."
"Can I go inside?" Alex asked.
Crawley seemed surprised. "Why do you want to do that?"
"I'd be interested to see where he worked."
"No, you probably don't."
"I'm sorry." Crawley sighed. "The door will have been locked and I don't have the key. Another time perhaps." He gestured again. He used his hands like a magician as if he were about to produce a fan of cards.
Ian snorted loudly.
"I have the office next door. Just here."
They went into 1505. It was a large square room, with three windows looking out over the station.
There was a flutter of red and blue outside and Alex remembered the flag he had seen. The flagpole was right next to the office. Inside there was a desk and chair, a couple of sofas in the corner, a fridge on the wall, a couple of prints. A boring executive's office. Perfect for a boring executive.
"Well, I can't argue with that. But I'm pretty sure Crawley's more than just a boring executive." John said.
"Please, Alex. Sit down." Crawley said. He went over to the fridge. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Do you have Coke?"
"Yes." Crawley opened a can and filled a glass, then handed it to Alex. "Ice?"
"No, thanks." Alex took a sip. It wasn't Coke. It wasn't even Pepsi. He recognized the oversweet, slightly cloying taste of supermarket cola and wished he'd asked for water. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"
"Your uncle's will…"
The telephone rang and with another hand sign, this one for 'excuse me', Crawley answered it. He spoke for a few moments, then hung up again. "I'm very sorry, Alex. I have to go back down to the lobby. Do you mind?"
"Go ahead." Alex settled himself on the sofa.
"I'll be about five minutes." With a final nod of apology, Crawley left.
Alex waited a few seconds. Then he poured the cola into a potted plant and stood up.
Helen had to snicker slightly. She may have done that herself once…or twice.
He went over to the door and back into the corridor. At the far end a woman carrying a bunch of papers appeared and disappeared through a door. There was no sign of Crawley. Quickly, Alex moved back
to the door of 1504 and tried the handle… But Crawley had been telling the truth. It was locked.
Alex went back into Crawley's office. He would have given anything to spend a few minutes alone in Ian Rider's office. Somebody thought the dead man's work was important enough to keep hidden from him.
"Well, thank God he can't get in. Even if there's nothing in there he's way to clever for his own good." Ian stated.
"Yeah, is it just me or is MI6 getting a little too sloppy." John said worriedly, almost hoping for someone to disagree. Neither did.
They had broken into his house and cleaned out everything they'd found in the office there. Perhaps the office next door might tell him why. What exactly was Ian Rider involved in? And was it the reason why he had been killed?
John groaned. "Leave it alone, Alex."
Both Ian and Helen decided it would probably be best not to point out to John that he was talking to a book.
The flag fluttered again and, seeing it, Alex went over to the window. The pole jutted out of the building, exactly halfway between rooms 1504 and 1505.
If he could somehow reach it, he should be able to jump onto the ledge that ran along the side of the building outside room 1504.
"Wow, I take back the clever thing." He said. "Your son's certifiably insane." He looked knowingly at John. "Must be genetic." Despite his joking attitude he was definitely shaken. Though not as much as Helen who was staring at a photo of her son and swearing under her breath. When John tried to comfort her she glared at him. "This is your fault. He definitely got this from you."
Deciding it was best to stop her now Ian continued reading.
Of course he was fifteen floors up. If he jumped and missed there would be a couple of hundred feet to fall. It was a stupid idea. It wasn't even worth thinking about.
Helen let out a breath of relief. "Thank God he got some of my sense."
Alex opened the window and climbed out.
Helen turned to John desperately. "What is he doing? He just said it was a stupid idea!"
"Well, at least he acknowledged it wasn't a good idea." John replied weakly.
Somehow this failed to comfort Helen who looked ready to hyperventilate.
It was better not to think about it at all.
"No it's not!" Helen practically screamed. "Didn't anyone teach you to think your actions through?"
He would just do it.
Helen had John's arm in a death grip. He winced. Mostly at what his son was about to do.
After all, if this was the ground floor or a jungle gym in the school yard it would be child's play.
Helen whimpered.
It was only the sheer brick wall stretching down to the pavement, the cars and buses moving like toys, so far below and the blast of the wind against his face that made it terrifying. Don't think about it.
Ian began to read faster as neither Helen nor John looked as though they would survive the suspense.
Do it.
"Please don't. Please don't." Helen repeated, clinching her eyes shut.
Alex lowered himself onto the ledge outside Crawley's office. His hands were behind him, clutching onto the windowsill. He took a deep breath. And jumped.
"Oh my God!" Helen shrieked.
John seemed to have lost the air needed to voice words.
A camera in the office across the road caught Alex as he launched himself into space. Two floors above Alan Blunt was still sitting in front of the screen. He chuckled. It was a humorless sound. "I told you," he said. "The boy's extraordinary."
"He doesn't need praise from you." John snapped, having found his voice.
Ian growled in agreement.
"The boy's quite mad." the woman retorted.
Helen let out a dry sob.
"Well, maybe that's what we need."
"Leave him alone." John threatened, his worst suspicions confirmed.
"You're just going to sit here and watch him kill himself?"
This comment prompted Helen to begin crying in earnest, tears flowing from her pretty, brown eyes.
"I'm going to sit here and hope that he survives."
Alex had miscalculated the jump.
Helen tried to suck in a breath but she couldn't stop the sobs ripping through her chest. Meanwhile, John could feel his own heart clenching and tightening itself into a knot.
He had missed the flagpole by an inch and would have plunged down to the pavement if his hands hadn't caught hold of the Union Jack itself.
Ian had to stop reading to release an audible sigh of relief.
He was hanging now, with his feet in midair. Slowly, with huge effort, he pulled himself up, his fingers hooking into the material. Somehow, he managed to climb back up onto the pole.
Helen's hysterical crying had calmed down leaving only silent tears tracing her face as her body quivered.
He still didn't look down. He just hoped that no passersby looked up.
It was easier after that. He squatted on the pole, then threw himself sideways and across to the ledge outside Ian Rider's office.
John flinched.
He had to be careful. Too far to the left and he would crash into the side of the building, but too far the other way and he would fall. In fact, he landed perfectly, grabbing hold of the ledge with both hands and then pulling himself up until he was level with the window.
Helen was praying silently. She may not be religious but now seemed a better time than any to start.
It was only now that he wondered if the window would be locked. If so he'd just have to go back.
John hoped it wasn't locked. Helen didn't look as though she could handle him jumping back.
It wasn't. Alex slid the window open and hoisted himself into the second office, which was, in many ways, a carbon copy of the first. It had the same furniture, the same carpet, even a similar painting on the wall. He went over to the desk and sat down. The first thing he saw was a photograph of himself taken the summer before on the Caribbean island of Guadeloupe where he had gone diving. There was a second picture tucked into the corner of the frame, Alex aged five or six.
Helen's voice was hoarse has she exclaimed, "We have those to pictures!" Holding up the corresponding photos as though proof was necessary.
Ian and John both looked at them. "You're right. I wonder if the third one's in these books too." John said curiously.
He was surprised and a little saddened by the photographs. Ian Rider had been more sentimental than he had pretended.
Ian seemed depressed, but unsurprised. He was a spy; of course he was good at hiding his emotions. But Alex had to know how much he loved him… right? He wasn't even born yet and Ian knew that for certain.
Alex glanced at his watch. About three minutes had passed since Crawley had left the office and he had said he would be back in five. If he was going to find anything here, he had to find it quickly.
He pulled open a drawer in the desk. It contained four or five thick files. Alex took them and opened them. He saw at once that they had nothing to do with banking.
"Great. Let's let the 14 year old boy look at the top secret files." John said sarcastically.
The first was marked NERVE POISONS: NEW METHODS OF CONCEALMENT AND DISSEMINATION. Alex put it aside and looked at the second, ASSASSINATIONS: FOUR CASE STUDIES. Growing ever more puzzled, he quickly flicked through the rest of the files which covered counterterrorism, the movement of uranium across Europe, and interrogation techniques. The last file was simply labeled: STORMBREAKER.
Alex was about to read it when the door suddenly opened and two men walked in.
"Shit." Ian seemed to voice all of their thoughts.
One of them was Crawley. The other was the driver from the junkyard. Alex knew that there was no point trying to explain what he was doing. He was sitting behind the desk with the Stormbreaker file open in his hands.
"Yeah, I don't think you can lie your way out of this one, son."
Ian looked at John. "You do realize that you're talking to a book, right?"
John just shot him a dirty look.
But at the same time he realized that the two men weren't surprised to see him there. From the way they had come into the room, they had expected to find him.
"This isn't a bank." Alex said. "Who are you? Was my uncle working for you? Did you kill him?"
"So many questions." Crawley muttered. "But I'm afraid we're not authorized to give you the answers."
The second man lifted his hand and Alex saw that he was holding a gun. He stood up behind the desk, holding the file as if to protect himself. "No…" he began.
The man fired.
Helen, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, screamed. "They shot my son!"
There was no explosion.
"It's okay Helen. It was probably just a dart gun."
Helen made up for the lack of explosion in the book by yelling, "Ok? No it's not okay! I don't care what kind of gun it is, the only place it's acceptable to shoot a 14 year old is paintball!"
John didn't really have a response to that.
The gun spat at Alex and he felt something slam into his heart. His hand opened, and the file tumbled to the ground. Then, his legs buckled, the room twisted, and he fell back into nothing.
John looked at wife who looked nothing short of a mess. "Okay, I think we should all go to bed and continue reading in the morning."
Ian nodded.
His wife looked ready to argue, but seemed to think better of it and also gave a tired nod.
Next chapter is "So, What do you say?" hopefully I can get it up this week. Please review, I love your feedback!