Chapter Five

The Businessmen's Club

Sabina's home was enormous. It had about thirty rooms, including a study, for research and story writing, a restaurant kitchen, a ballroom, a dining room, about ten en-suite bedrooms, four separate bathrooms, a library and a living room the size of a normal house. Alex found it quite easy to get lost, and often found himself waiting for a cleaner or a maid to walk past.

The house wasn't just big, though. It was really well furnished, with not a single speck of dust out of place. In fact, not a single speck of dust at all. Alex wondered how Sabina managed to be so normal whilst living in such a house. He didn't have much of an ego, but anyone could have let it get to their head in this house.

Alex and Sabina spent most of their time playing on the latest games, things that Alex hadn't even heard of in the UK. He got to see all kinds of interesting films that he'd been waiting to see back at home, and even got to play on a new Nintendo console.

Alex had been to America before, but then he had been undercover with the CIA. He had been learning all the words that made the languages so far apart. They had helped him a lot in the last three days.

Alex was surprised how many fast-food places there were. They were everywhere, and they had that sort of meal at least once nearly every day.

They had visited McDonalds earlier that day, and Alex had been made to order. It wasn't that hard, but he struggled. He had to pause before every word to make sure he was saying it correctly. Also, he had to learn new currency, and often got confused when using dimes, nickels and dollars.

He got used to it eventually. He already knew French, German and Spanish, so a few different words didn't bother him at all.

It was about four when it happened. Alex and Sabina had been watching a film – no, movie, Alex reminded himself - something about Dracula, quite an old one. They weren't really, paying attention to it – they were too busy paying attention to each other.

There was nothing on TV, and all Sabina's DVD's were downstairs. She couldn't go down now, or else she'd be caught, and she wasn't supposed to be awake at this time of night.

They had been halfway through a game of Simpsons Monopoly, when there was a loud bang, and a muffled scream. Before he knew what he was doing, Alex ran to the door, and opened it slowly. It creaked, but not enough to wake anybody. He slipped out, into the corridor, and started to run. He would normally have been faster than Sabina, but in his stealth run she easily caught him up.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Investigating!" he replied, then broke into normal speed, as quietly as possible.

"Alex!" she called softly.

"Sorry, Sab. I just heard someone get shot. They could be still alive. They might need help. Whoever they are, I have to help them."

"But, what if the killer is still there? What if they kill you?"

"Even if I die, and even if it's not someone worth saving, I have to do it."

Then his disappeared down the dark stairs, invisible from Sabina's sight, she sat down and cried.

Alex crept down the street, peering into windows, looking for any sign of someone in distress. He missed out the first half of the street – it hadn't come from there.

As he continued, he realised most curtains were closed. But as he drew closer, he saw a sign.

And suddenly, he hated MI6. Every single one of them. Blunt. Mrs. Jones. John Crawley. Every one.

Though perhaps not Smithers. Smithers hadn't sent him to his death – on the contrary, he had given him ways to defend himself – and Alex thought those ways would help him now.

The sign read "The Businessman's Club".

Alex couldn't see anyone when he first entered. He quickly found the light switch, and pressed it. The light slowly flickered on, and Alex found himself in the biggest room he had ever seen.

Three purple velvet armchairs were placed in a circle, with a matching sofa against one wall. A throne was placed at the top of the room, and was incredible. It was made of hand carved wood, with gold plating around the chairs arms and legs.

There was a large coffee table in the centre of the room, with a telephone near the throne, and some files, full to bursting with what appeared to be very important documents.

Alex left the room through a door in the corner, and entered a room which was the opposite of the first.

A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, and that was al that was in the room. Apart from the body.

He had been quite a short man, with lack hair and a round, jolly face. He looked American, and was wearing an expensive suit. There was a small circular hole in his chest, seeping blood rapidly, already covering most of his chest, and a large patch on the floor.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Alex. This place was bursting with important information. It was hard to break into – so surely it would also be hard to get out of. Maybe the killer was still here...

The first thing Alex did was call 911, the American emergency services. Once he knew that an ambulance was on its way, he decided to search the house. There was no upstairs level that he could find, and no rooms other than the main room, and the room containing the body.

But he wasn't giving up. The buildinghad two storeys. He had to find a way up.

He found the trapdoor under the coffee table. It was big, and looked brand new. It was as if the man's attacker had just put it there now.

He lifted it, and climbed in. He felt steps leading down, and slowly crept down them. Eventually, he came to a corridor. He walked down it.

It was made of stone, and his footsteps, no matter how quiet, echoed loudly all around.

He reached a thin metal staircase that led high into the air. He climbed it, and it seemed to go on forever, but finally, he reached the top.

There was another, shorter corridor, and then a door. Alex opened it and peered inside...

But before he could move, a thick, well-built arm grabbed him in a headlock, and pointed a Smith and Wesson .40 to his head.

He was in no pain, but he was terrified.

"Who are you?" the man who had grabbed him asked with an American accent.

"My name is Alex Pleasure," he lied, "and I was lost, sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I don't care. You saw me, so you have to die. There is no two ways about this."

But Alex had an idea. He jumped and kicked back. The man tried to pull the trigger, but as he'd lost his grip on Alex, it went through a window leading into the back street behind the house. Alex was sure he could jump it if he was faster than the man.

But he wasn't. The man grabbed his leg, pushing Alex to the ground, and pointed the gun once again at Alex's head.

"You're annoying me, boy. Why, I'd love to torture you, but I have to be somewhere."

But suddenly, Alex heard sirens outside.

"You called the cops? You little-"

The door banged, and heknew the police were in the building.

He quickly smacked the gun against Alex's head, knocking him out cold, then jumped, straight through the window, then landed on his feet, body over his shoulder, and began to walk away.