Too Close to Home --- Chapter 10
Alex shed his clothes, ignoring the livid bruises that flashed in the mirror, and got into the shower — he knew a wash would make him feel better, and with no immediate threat in sight, he could also do with a sleep. Whatever happened next, he wanted to be sure that he was awake enough to face it.
It was evening when Alex woke up. Through the window, he could see the stars clearly in the night sky; they looked closer than usual, possibly because he was outside the smog of London. He got out of bed and wished he had some clean clothes to put on – he felt stiff and his muscles ached, but he also felt alive. It was impossible to believe that only several hours earlier, he'd almost been murdered in cold blood in front of the nation.
The door was still locked and his mobile phone signal was still blocked, so Alex resigned himself to taking a book from the shelf and waiting for someone to turn up. His assumption that the room must be bugged was confirmed when it took only ten minutes for Rothman to arrive.
"Had a good snooze?"
Alex nodded. He patted his pocket to double-check that he still had his phone.
"Right I'm going to be in charge of your well-being while you're here. The boss doesn't want any of our more heavy-handed agents dealing with you. Doesn't want you to get hurt."
"I have no intention of trying anything," Alex said calmly.
"I should hope not. As you know, my mercy extends only so far."
He paused meaningfully, letting Alex shudder at the memory of Rothman shooting the headmaster and his secretary. "I know," Alex replied. And he meant it. "So, where are we going?"
"The boss has invited you to supper. We need to discuss how best to send you back to MI6 without them getting suspicious."
Alex nodded again, following Rothman. At this rate, he wouldn't even be needing the transmitter in his phone. He'd be sent back to MI6 to spy on them, but of course he'd alert them to Yassen's operations and then they would have to protect him! Or so he hoped. Deep inside, he feared that Alan Blunt didn't really care about his safety.
They arrived in a grand dining hall. Gregorovich was already pushed up to the head of the table in his wheelchair. His face looked pinched and tense, but he brightened up when he saw Alex. "Come in, my boy, sit down. We have so much to discuss."
Alex sat by Gregorovich's right and Rothman took the place to his left. The table was set for only three.
"Alex Rider, you're a good person. An honest person," Gregorovich started, "Which is why I hope you understand that I'm going to take insurance on your cooperation."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you try to double-cross me, like you double-crossed Scorpia, then no amount of pleading that you were running scared will be able to save your loved ones from my wrath."
Rothman grinned at Gregorovich's words – it looked as though he enjoyed seeing Alex's discomfort.
"I understand," Alex rasped.
Gregorovich placed a hand on his arm. "Think about it, Alex. This just makes your job for us easier. Just consider it like you don't have a choice."
I never have a choice, Alex thought bitterly. "So what will my job actually involve?" he asked, not daring to catch his captors' eyes. "It's not like MI6 ever tell me anything. They just send me out on missions. I don't have access to any information."
"We are going to train you in the fine art of espionage. You'll not only keep us alerted of the missions they send you on, but you'll also employ some subtle interrogation skills to glean knowledge from your colleague at MI6. Furthermore, I will be expecting you to do some very simple information gathering from within the MI6 computer system."
It sounded easy – Alex would go along with the training and then trust MI6 to sort everything out and to terminate the Black Hawk Group. It sounded too easy.
There was a sudden silence as the food was brought in. The waiter looked like a hospital orderly in his white clothes, but he served them in silence, somewhat breaking the tension. When he left, Alex finally found the courage to look Gregorovich in the eye. "I can do that. You won't be disappointed," he promised, "When does my training begin?"
During the meal, Gregorovich almost seemed to forget Alex's presence. He held a dynamic discussion with Alistair Rothman, talking about the degenerative state of British internal affairs and mentioning nothing of interest. Before sending Alex away for the night, he explained that the training would start first thing in the morning with an information technology lesson. As Rothman has already explained, he would be in charge of assuring Alex's safety while on the estate.
It was past midnight when Alex got back to his room. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, hardly even registering the click of the bolt locking him in.
OOO
The computer lesson was gruelling – Gregorovich obviously expected him to pick up advanced hacking and programming skills in record time, and Alex found it hard to keep up. He thought wistfully of the fact that only 24 hours previously, he'd been sitting in his maths classroom – how many of those classmates were now dead? Which ones? He didn't even dare to think about it.
It was on the way to the dining room that the attack happened. Alex was alone with Rothman, when suddenly a man dressed entirely in black stepped out from behind a corner. Rothman didn't have the time to react – an expert karate chop sent him crashing to the floor.
Alex immediately fell into a defensive crouch, making sure he wasn't in a position to be backed into a wall.He watched the attacker check Rothman's pulse before turning his attention to Alex, and was surprised to see the attacker relax a little.
"Come on, Alex," he whispered.
Alex froze. Was this the rescue at last?
"Who are you?" he whispered back, turning to make sure no one else was coming.
"I've come to get you out of here."
"On your own?"
Alex took a step back; it didn't make sense! Where were the Special Ops? The man nodded curtly and then jumped forward, obviously intent on taking Alex by force. But Alex was too quick; he twisted out of the way.
"Who are you?" he repeated more insistently, "Who sent you?"
"MI6," the man snapped. He looked weary, nervous that someone was going to turn up. And yet, Alex still wasn't convinced. On the one hand, he could feel relief flooding him … on the other, he was terrified that Gregorovich would blame him for escaping and take it out in his friends and on Jack.
"I can't come with you," he decided out loud.
The man's face paled in shock. "I've come to rescue you," he said again, as though that explained everything.
But it explained nothing to Alex.
He'd had his plan all worked out – let Gregorovich train him and send him back to MI6. Now MI6 was going to muck everything up with a forced rescue that had virtually no chance of succeeding. There was no way Gregorovich would trust him after that! He couldn't take the risk.
"You can't rescue me," Alex snapped, willing the man to understand. However, the man seemed to be making his own decisions; he leaped forward, grabbing Alex in a stranglehold and pulling him backwards.
"Look here, punk, I've risked a lot breaking in here to save your sorry arse. You're coming with me whether you like it or not!"
Alex saw sparks dancing in front of his vision. He knew he had to act fast. He let himself go completely limp, becoming a dead weight in his attacker's grasp. As he felt himself beginning to slide to the floor, he suddenly spun around, ramming the palm of his hand into the man's chin, snapping back his head. Destabilised, but not knocked out, the man roared with anger and rushed at Alex.
Thinking quickly, Alex sidestepped the charge and swung leg into the man's groin.
Then he ran.
He only realised how stiff and tired he was when he burst into the dining room and stopped short, his lungs burning and his heart pounding in his chest.
"It's MI6," he panted. "They found me. I don't know how. They knocked out Rothman, but I got away. I don't kn—"
He broke off, surprised that nobody had reacted to the news. Gregorovich sat at the table with Taylor and Cleaver, the two heavy thugs that had helped take over Brookland school.
"Didn't you hear me?" Alex snapped impatiently, hugging himself against the stitch in his side.
Gregorovich smiled. "I heard you, Alex. Sit down and recover. You'll be pleased to hear that you've just passed our first test."
He moved his wheelchair away from the table and rolled over to Alex's side. "I expected no less, of course," he said with a touch of pride. "Now come on, you look like you could do with a shot of brandy."
Dazed and still very confused, Alex allowed Gregorovich to escort him to the table. He nervously accepted the glass of amber liquid that was thrust into his hand. He was too battered from the previous day to have been fighting and running. His nerves were shot … but Gregorovich was right – the brandy settled like fire in his stomach, numbing his pains and settling his nerves.
To be continued ...