Guess who's back? Yeah, sorry. A was hit by a deadly combination of busyness and laziness. This chapter was tough, but I got through it! Consider it an early Christmas present for you guys. Enjoy, and please review!

Important News: I started a new Alex Rider story called The Pain Game! It's high-stakes and intense. I hope you all check it out!

disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize (consider this story disclaimed for the rest of the chapters).

Chapter 7

Alex wasn't going to bother with customs. The lines were long, the employees were irritating, and the process was a bore. That, and the fact that he was a fugitive from the law made getting past customs quite tricky. In fact, it made the whole entire getting-on-a-plane ordeal quite tricky. It would be a miracle if he could even get a ticket to England last minute, outlaw or not. So, Alex wasn't going to bother.

But, He thought as he hopped off the train right outside San Francisco International Airport, That doesn't mean I'm not getting on a plane.

Arnold checked his watch for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. Forty-five minutes until his break. Each time he glanced at the timepiece, the hands seemed to move slower.

Working security at an airport was so boring. When he signed up for the job, he imagined saving the day- tackling terrorists, confiscating bombs- but the most exciting thing that ever happened was finding a squirt gun in a kid's suitcase.

That is, until he heard the alarms.

The red color and blaring noise was unmistakable. In his training, Arnold had been told what this specific alarm meant. A code red: someone had set a bomb off in the airport.

"Explosion on the north end!" His radio crackled, barely audible through the alarm and panic of travellers. With adrenaline tingling on the tips of his toes, Arnold dashed towards the noise, to save the day, to be the hero he wished to be every day of his career.

Alex snickered as he snuck across the tarmac; not a soul in sight. If he concentrated, he could hear far-off commotion of airport workers rushing to his explosion, and trying to figure out what the hell just happened. It wouldn't be long before they found out that it was just an accident involving poorly placed jet fuel, and no one was harmed. The may find out the truth, but by then, Alex would be long gone, en route to Heathrow.

From this point on, the plan was simple. The hardest part was building the bomb, and even that wasn't very difficult. It was only a matter of sneaking into a supply closet and finding the cleaning supplies that didn't quite agree with each other, and an empty fuel barrel.

This little trick was actually not taught to him by his uncle, but warned against by him when Ian found Alex mixing cleaning agents in the laundry room, attempting an eight-year-old science experiment.

"Alex! What are you doing?" Ian yelled as he caught sight of Alex dumping bleach into a plastic cup. He reached over and grabbed the bottle before Alex could empty another drop.

"I'm doing science!" Alex said excitedly, but his excitement mixed with uncertainty after reading Ian's expression. "Just like the big kids do in school."

"You can't do science with these!" Ian gestured to the bottles of various cleaners littering the table. "If you mix some of these," Ian picked up an ammonia glass cleaner and bleach, "You could die."

"You mean, it blows up?" Alex was torn between being scared and intrigued. he didn't want to die, but he was a little boy, and what little boy doesn't want to see something explode?

"This combination doesn't, it creates a toxic gas. Some of these could blow up though." Ian scanned the medley of bottles, nodding, as if remembering a time when they did. Alex's little-kid brain didn't acknowledge his uncle's reflective expression, he was too busy thinking about fireballs.

Fast forward a week, when Alex asked about which combinations would explode, claiming he didn't want to accidentally combine the wrong chemicals. Ian saw right through Alex's fib, but was happy that the boy was taking interest in an aspect of the family business. The two spent the night learning about fireballs, and Alex couldn't have been happier.

Smiling at the memory, Alex came across a large, international jet. He checked the serial number to make sure it matched his target flight. Bingo.

He knew the plane would be completely empty, as emergency procedures instructed all planes to be evacuated after a code red. Alex walked up the rolling stairs, peeked around the corner of the doorway, and walked right in.

According to further emergency protocols, Alex had plenty of time until the plane was to take off, but he could never be too sure. Thus, he combed the plane for a good hiding place as quickly as possible.

He went to the back of the plane, only to find a cramped area with a beverage cart and a couple of doors, which he assumed to be bathrooms. There was a few small benches as well, but the room under them was not big enough to hide under, even for his relatively small frame. He turned to the two doors.

He opened the first, and his suspicions were confirmed; it was a cramped, smelly airplane toilet. The second door looked nearly the same, but was marked with a "Staff Only" sign. He assumed this door revealed another bathroom, but he tried it anyway.

Much to his surprise, this door opened to a small, winding staircase, which led up to an area out of sight. Alex's curiosity was piqued, and this seemed like a fantastic hiding place, so he slowly walked up the stairs. He was forced to duck under the low ceiling as he ascended.

The staircase wasn't very long, and once he reached the last few steps the ceiling opened up, and he was able to stand straight. He looked around at his surroundings, and was met with a narrow hallway lined with small rooms. The rooms ran the full length of the hallway; all were covered by floor length, heavy curtains. He carefully pulled one back, making sure no one was inside first, and found a big bed, a TV, pillows, blankets, magazines, and a storage locker, all tucked away snugly in the airplane's ceiling.

Alex had never heard of such rooms existing, which made sense. He imagined first-class fliers would be enraged at the thought that the quality of their seats were in fact, not the best available. Throughout all of his experiences with planes, he'd seen travelers get upset about much more superficial issues.

Alex walked down the hall, counting the rooms as he went. There were eight in total. From what he could recall, there were usually three to five flight attendants per flight, so that would leave at least three empty rooms.

He went inside the room farthest from the staircase, hoping the attendants would want to be closer to the exit. The teen went straight for the storage area. It was a long, rectangular space that ran the length of the room. It was about a two meters long and a half meter tall. It had air slits like the ones on school lockers on the far left, and a handle on the bottom.

Alex pulled on the handle, which caused the door to slide upwards and into the wall, much like how the overhead luggage bins on the floor below worked. He took a look inside, saw it was completely empty, and just big enough for him to fit inside.

The teen wriggled into the small space; his shoulders barely scraped by. With more expert maneuvering, he was able to position himself with his head facing the room. He tugged his arm out and grabbed the door. He lost his grip a few times, but he eventually managed to bring the cover in front of him. Before he closed it all the way, however, a concern came to light: Could he open it again from the inside?

He remembered the butter knife he had snatched from the internet cafe; it was still in his pocket. he wrenched it out, placed the tip under the door, and let it close as far as it could. The thin metal of the knife kept the door and the base barely separated, securing an exit, but it would be impossible to hold that position.

Because the door didn't click into place, it would not stay down on it's own, and Alex, as well as keeping the knife in position, had to hold the door down with his other hand. Without a handle to grip on to, that was a very taxing job.

Within two minutes he couldn't take it anymore and let go, allowing the door to slide back into place. He released a frustrated sigh and flopped on his back, pouting at the ceiling.

This fleeting moment of teenage angst is what turned his impossible situation around. On the top of the storage locker, right above his nose, there was a small, glowing button. He squinted to read the words below them, and saw they said: "emergency release. In case of confinement, press here". Alex silently cheered. Any other time he would have scoffed at the crazy safety measures airplanes were notorious for, but they had saved him today.

He pulled the door down once again and let it click shut. Alex laid there for all of five minutes before he grew uneasy. He just couldn't stand the lack of control he had once the flight attendants came upstairs. There was no way he could guarantee that an attendant wouldn't choose his room, and happen to have a bag they needed to store. The teen needed some way to make sure he wouldn't be found.

He pushed the escape button and popped out of the tiny space. He looked around the small room. The storage space had no lock, and neither did the privacy curtain. There was nothing he could do to prevent a crew member from entering the space. This obstacle didn't stop Alex. If he couldn't physically keep anyone out, he'd have to drive them away through other means.

He examined the inside of the space more closely. There was a hanging rack on the wall stuffed with magazines, paper, and pens. To the right of that was a small first aid kit. He opened up the kit. Nothing in there would help keep flight attendant out, but he knew how useful a first aid kit would be to him in the future.

He couldn't carry the whole box with him, but he grabbed a few items- gauze, disinfectant, pain killers- and stuffed them in his pockets. It all fit; he thanked his lucky stars that he decided to wear cargo shorts to school the day before.

After grabbing the necessities, he continued to look around the space. There was the TV, its remote, and then the bed.

The bed took up the entirety of the room's floor, and it had a giant strap, much like the seat belts on the airplane seats, connected to each side of the mattress.

He returned to the hanging rack, and found a crew manual. He flipped to the section discussing the rooms:

Rest areas are for crew members only. They are not for sale. Crew members must not stay in rest area for more than one hour at a time. Maximum occupancy: 8 persons. Rooms may not be shared. Crew members are required to use safety belt when resting in case of unexpected turbulence. Rooms unsuitable for any reason may not be used.

Alex pondered the last sentence. Unsuitable... If he could find a way to make the room he was hiding in defective, then no one would choose it. A plan instantly came to mind.

Alex pulled out his butter knife and began to saw at the safety belt. It was a slow process- Alex wished for something sharper- but he still had lots of time before the plane begun boarding. He made sure to make his cuts as ragged and frayed as possible, to give it a more natural look. He didn't want anyone to suspect that it had been deliberately sawed.

The slow and tiring process took ten minutes. Alex Admired his work. The ends looked as if they had split due to overuse; no one would suspect they had been tampered with. Pleased with the outcome, Alex moved on to the next step. he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the hanging rack, and write out a note in the neatest handwriting he could muster:

DO NOT USE- safety belt unsuitable.

The message was short, but it was all he needed. If he was right, and there would be less than eight flight attendants, then they would have no problem simply moving to the next room.

Alex had done everything he could to secure his hiding place. He placed the note on top of the belt, and climbed back into the storage locker. The boy stared up at the emergency button, and let the faint, green glow lull him to sleep.

Wolf cautiously knocked on the door of Sergeant William's office. After a brief pause, he was granted permission to enter. The soldier walked in, closed the door, and stood at attention.

"At ease." The sergeant spoke casually. Wolf was relieved- it seemed that he had caught the man in a relatively good mood. "State your purpose."

"it's about Cub, Sir." Wolf stated. Williams seemed mildly surprised.

"I didn't think that you cared about him." The man mused. Wolf flushed; he regretted the way he had treated Alex at Brecon Beacons, but his actions were not forgotten.

"My bad attitude towards him was all a misunderstanding and harsh judgement on my part, Sir. I was wondering, are the allegations against Cub true?" He played dumb.

"Well, the kind of evidence that would disprove the claims of the video are highly classified, so not many people have any way of knowing. However, due to the fact that the video was clearly made by Scorpia, we have no reason to believe that their proof is credible."

"Is anyone going to help him, Sir?"

"No moves have been made by MI6, and they have ordered us to not take action. So, I am assuming not."

The sergeant had a hint of pity in his voice. Wolf played it to his favor. "Why is that, Sir? It seems cruel and unjust to leave him out there."

"Soldier, don't you know not to question orders?" The Sergeant raised his eyebrows. he didn't appear stern, just curious.

"Yes Sir, but I can't just sit back when my teammate's life in on the line."

"You consider Cub a member of your team?" Williams' curiosity increased.

"Of course, Sir. I also consider him to be innocent, and worthy of being saved by us." Wolf took a great risk. If the Sergeant disagreed, then the soldier could be binned for plotting against direct orders. but if he felt sympathy for Alex, then K Unit would be able to get a plane, and save their teammate. Wolf waited in anticipation for a response.

The sergeant took a long while to respond. "Well, that would be defying direct orders, and you could risk expulsion from the SAS." Wolf gulped. He had it in for him now. "So I absolutely cannot endorse a mission of the sort."

"Furthermore," The sergeant continued with a gleam in his eye. "I would hope you don't try to carry out such a mission regardless. Especially because, if you attempted to hijack a helicopter from the west hangar, you would most certainly be caught if you were unaware of the security flaws, such as the rusted lock on the unguarded southern entrance, and the fact that it takes fifteen minutes for the outside guards to complete a loop around the building."

Wolf caught on to the Sergeants cryptic message immediately, and he beamed. The man had a new respect for his Sergeant Williams. "I'm sure it would be near impossible if I was also unaware of any hidden cameras, Sir." Wolf suggested in the same tone that WIlliams employed.

"Yes, it would be rather hard to complete such a mission if you did not know that all cameras, both hidden and exposed, record footage but are not monitored." Williams nodded in false contemplation.

"Well, I will make sure to strictly follow my orders, Sir." Wolf spoke the sentence laced with hidden meaning.

"I approve of that. Carry on." Sergeant Williams dismissed Wolf. The soldier gave a quick salute before exiting the office.

Wolf left the property and got in his car, eager to share the news with his unit. We're coming for you, Cub. He thought as he drove back to his flat.

There you have it! Please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! Come on fellow authors, you know how much it means to us.

Remember to check out The Pain Game!

By the way, those airplane crew rooms are real, look them up if you want a visual. They're pretty cool, actually.

~Archer