A/N: okok so sorry I know is a super long overdue chapter...
Yup enjoy it, and do continue to R and R so I can improve!=) Thanks a lot for all the encouragement so far=)
I may be on temporary hiatus til after mid October cos of this super irritating thing called EXAMS.
Blond hair. Pale blue eyes and skin. The graceful poise and lithe built of a dancer. A trademark scar running across the length of his neck. The unmistakable air that screamed deadly
Yassen Gregorovich looked exactly as Alex had last seen him—shot twice in the chest, only this time, he was alive.
Alex sat frozen, staring at him with wide orbs, completely incapacitated. After the incident, he had suffered from recurring nightmares which forced him to relive Yassen's death again and again. And now Yassen stood before him, alive, breathing and well, if not looking a little more ragged and tired than usual. His mind went into overdrive.
"Good to see you back in action, Gregorovich." d'Arc stood, smiling. "I shall leave the two of you to make your acquaintances."
Yassen gave him a slight nod and glanced at Alex.
"Alex Rider." He acknowledged simply. "We meet again."
Alex closed his eyes, refusing to believe the ridiculous delusions his mind must have conjured.
"I was asked to see the Principal, got my wish to escape half a morning of training, was told to get ready for my first mission, and now a dead person has come back to life. Oh yeah, I am definitely dreaming." He opened his eyes.
Sadly, a very much alive Yassen Gregorovich filled his vision again instead of disappearing as he had hoped.
The corners of Yassen's mouth jerked up very slightly but he said nothing.
"How can you still be alive? I saw you being shot in the chest by Cray. Twice." Alex questioned unsteadily in a hoarse whisper.
Yassen hesitated a moment. "I was shot. But the fool must have missed out on a few shooting lessons. He missed the heart by two inches and gave me a punctured lung. Also, did you think you were the only one with a bulletproof vest?" He asked blandly, with the slightest hint of a smirk. "I managed to escape by means of an experimenting built-in parachute in my jacket, which fortunately, worked. The rest you can figure out yourself."
Silence reined.
"Alright," Alex finally controlled his overwhelming emotions. "Let's say, let's say that I am not a raving lunatic and you miraculously managed to survive 2 gunshot wounds and a plane crash. So you will be my mentor for my first mission? What happens now?"
"Now, we receive our mission guidelines." Yassen replied, somehow producing a sleek black laptop and placing his finger on a concealed fingerprint scanner.
The screen burst into life and a monotonous female voice resounded through the room.
"SCORPIA international, Restricted zone. Level 8 pass."
"Agent #Triple Zero Cossack. Code 15-16-AG –HN-26-10-NJ-NY. Voice activation: Kazak." He spoke fluently, staring straight into the built in webcam in the laptop. A shimmering blue light scanned his pupil.
"Access granted. Welcome, Agent Cossack."
Anticipating the question before Alex even had the chance to ask, he explained: "Regular missions are usually dished out by d'Arc, but for convenience on the go, I usually retrieve mine from here."
He turned back to the laptop. "Mission summary; open file."
The disembodied voice spoke again. "Mission summary. Freelance, one man assassination job under Mentor guidance. Date and time: 30th September year 2011, 1200 to 1500 hours. Preferred weapon: semi-automatic handgun. Location: Brookland School. Mission details: Target is scheduled to give a public speech on security in British schools in Brookland School auditorium from 1300 to 1400 hours, followed by the presentation of a token of appreciation from Brookland School Principal to the target. Mission objectives: Agent is to carry out assassination of target during presentation of token of appreciation. Get in, get the job done and get out as quickly as possible. Do not get caught at all costs. Mentor is to follow closely but minimize interference in mission.
Target: Alan Blunt, Head of MI6 Operations. Read separate files on analysis of Blunt and surrounding security, Brookland school compound infrastructure and area map. Printer located, printing."
The voice stopped. The only sound that broke the deafening silence was the rumbling of the printer as it printed out the corresponding mission files.
Alex could hardly believe his ears. They wanted him to assassinate Blunt; Blunt! And at his old school, Brookland! He suddenly thought of Tom. Would Tom be there as well? And Jack, what would she say about this?
Yassen retrieved the printed files and handed them to Alex. "The speech will be in 5 days will be leaving for London the day after tomorrow so get ready to start packing." He stared at Alex intently. "Are you up to it?"
Alex felt panicky. How could he kill another person willingly? Would he be able to do so in cold blood? And... what would Jack and Tom ever think of it if they were present to witness the assassination?
Suddenly, all the doubts in his mind disappeared just as quickly as they had appeared. He felt strangely calm and blank of all emotions. To kill... it seemed just as easy and reasonable as taking a step forward. Especially when the target was someone who had made his life hell. Dark waves of revenge lapped at him. Anyone else was pushed out of the picture; their opinions did not matter in the field of assassination and revenge.
Alex answered in a voice rather unlike his own—cold, indifferent, assured—just like the assassin before him.
"Oh yes."
Yassen was silent for a few minutes. Then he spoke in a voice so soft that Alex could hardly hear him.
"I was doubtful of my killing capability at the start too, but I felt nothing after my first assassination. You'll get used to it soon as well."
He turned and headed for the door.
"Wait!" Alex cried. "Why? Why did you choose to join Scorpia, to kill?"
Yassen's hand paused briefly at the door and he spoke without looking back.
"It is my destiny, as it was your father's and now it is yours. After all, young Alex, don't you agree that the enemy of your enemy should be your friend?"
He walked out of the room, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Tom Harris slammed his bedroom door shut. With a swift movement, he slid on his earphones and tweaked the volume to MAX. His parents had unfortunately visited at the same time and what had been a tense dinner soon developed into an explosion. The two of them were now down in the dining room hollering at each other, in the process of trashing the room. Fortunately Tom was experienced enough and well prepared for such an occasion. He had headed back up to his room with an extra helping of supper the moment he felt the tension rising towards a breaking point.
Their quarrels didn't really bother him as long as they didn't involve him or his brother.
He sighed. Ever since Alex had disappeared once again, bad things seemed to have happened continuously to him. So far, his winning streak on the soccer field had been so off that he had managed to lose a crucial semifinals soccer match; he had been warned to pass all his exams or he would not be allowed to continue sports and now, his parents had turned up at the same time. How joyous.
It was pouring outside and the cold breeze snuck into his room. Tom shivered. Once again, there was this ominous feeling he couldn't put a finger on. And it definitely had something to do with Alex. As ALWAYS. He chuckled at the thought. Alex attracted trouble as though he was wearing a bright neon pink 'bite me!' tag.
"Just please don't get yourself into unnecessary trouble, Alex." He muttered. But even as the words left his mouth, there was this niggling feeling at the back of his mind that Alex was not the one in trouble this time.
Somehow, it seemed as though he was the trouble.
The London Heathrow airport was busy all year round, 24/7. A global hub for communication and connection from all over the world, it was also a major terrorist attraction. Security had been tightened further after Scorpia had disposed an entire football team seemingly without lifting a finger.
The passport officer at counter 6 was new to his job. He was rather jittery and still nervous after a month's tryout but enthusiastic and eager. At the moment though, he was starting to regret his choice of job. The tense atmosphere and heavy security around was enough to keep him on guard at all times. If possible, the airport was busier than usual that week as many flights had been delayed due to some power cuts. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him.
He stamped another passport. "Next please!"
A middle aged man and his teenage son sidled up. The man had smooth tanned skin and a neat mustache. He wore diamond studded dark sunglasses and an expensive business suit. Theson was basically a small sized carbon copy of him. Dark sunglasses and equally expensive clothes though much less formal and a large smirk and attitude to top it off. Oh yes, he definitely knew this type. He could almost feel his ears hurting before they even reached him.
"...Couldn't even have a good sleep on that damn flight! What kind of bloody service...Dad, you should seriously tell them off!" The irritating whinny soon reached his ears.
"Mind your language, son." The father responded mildly, handing the officer the passports.
Hector Jerome De'quedar. Keith Hector De'quedar. Quite fitting names, he thought, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. The passport stated that they were from Greece but had flown constantly in and out of America.
The boy turned his attention on him and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Another one trying to act all big and manly," he blatantly insulted the officer right in his face.
The officer was smoking sulphur by now. Damn that politeness rule in his airport service rulebook! He shoved the passports back at the pair, shooting daggers at the youngster.
The boy removed his sunglasses and slid them into his pocket as they left. "Goodbye, officer." He sneered, glaring deep into his eyes.
The officer let off a hot puff of air as the pair disappeared. He was so annoyed by his bruised ego that he nearly forgot something very, very vital. Nearly. The boy's eyes as they stared into his own... there was something very familiar about the electricity they held. Not the eye colour, but the strange maturity he saw in them. He ruffled through the papers scattered on his desk until he saw the right one. The poster which had been given to everyone working in the airport by the British intelligence.
Alex Rider. 14 years old, British. Fair hair and serious brown eyes, quite good looking. Wanted for connections with terrorists. But it was the eyes which made him certain. They may had been a different colour but the same intense gaze was there.
He picked up the phone, knowing he was a little too late.
"No wonder his attitude sucked."
"Slow down, Slow down! I value my life, thank you very much! Look out!"
Yassen simply ignored him and turned another corner at breakneck speed, throwing Alex against the car windows— Alex was very much certain— on purpose.
"I always thought you were sadistic, but never imagined violence at this standard!" Alex muttered, shooting him a dirty look.
Yassen raised an eyebrow.
Alex sighed. "Anyway, why did you make me remove my sunglasses? He probably recognizes me by now."
"You're supposed to be intelligent. "
Insulted, Alex turned chose to stare out of the windows instead of the infuriating killer. The answer struck him a second later.
Alex grinned. "Not bad, now we can wait for them to panic and raise the security levels."
Yassen nodded, driving the car. "Exactly. Their security measures will now be in plain sight for all to see. Anyway, get your cover ready. We're reaching the hotel in 3 minutes."
"Thank God!"
The car swerved dangerously again, leaving behind a half-hysterical stream of colorful language.
Monday morning was a gloomy affair. Still, the grey clouds and light drizzle did little to deter the large crowd that gathered at the Brookland School auditorium. The possible threat Scorpia had issued hung over the anxious crowd like a mood dampening cloud.
"...and so I urge you all not to worry unnecessarily. Scorpia is indeed a threat but we are more than ready to neutralize this threat and protect the civilians to the best of our ability and resources." Alan Blunt droned and paused. "Thank you, and have a good day ahead."
The crowd clapped politely as he turned to receive a token of appreciation from the principal—a bear wearing the school uniform. Of course, it would eventually find its way to Smithers and either come out as an all-new disguised hand grenade or suffer the sad fate of being blown up by accident. Either way, he did not really care, though he would very much rather it ended up as something useful. There was so much else on his mind. Alex Rider was now in the country. His heart clenched. He had to get a hold on that boy before he did something stupid and ended up on national news.
And those blasted reporters. Always hungry for information and scoops. Already, he had had to shut several of them up before they blurted something unforgiving. At least, for now, the teenage spy Alex Rider would remain under wraps. Hopefully his agents would have captured the boy by now. After all, a 14 year old teenage boy couldn't possibly fight off 10 trained adults, could he?
Blunt took a single step down the stage warily. Strange, it his body seemed almost reluctant to listen to him. "It probably knows I'm about to be stampeded by a hundred reporters or so," He muttered. True enough, already the reporters were swarming towards him, as though he was a magnet attracting iron filings. The security guards were doing a flimsy job keeping them away. After all, the best ones had been sent to protect Mrs Jones and he was left with these blubbering second rate idiots. It didn't matter, everyone who had entered the auditorium had been thoroughly checked by the guards.
"Sir, Sir, What is your view on the—"
A brown haired woman thrust a recorder in his face but a sandy haired man with a huge camera slung over his shoulder pushed her away. He had a youthful face, freckles and bright green eyes shielded by thick glasses. In fact, he didn't seem older than 17. Reporters must be starting younger nowadays. He was saying something, but his voice was drowned out by the hundred other questions yelled at him. The boy moved closer until he was right next to him, almost speaking into his ear.
"Sir, what do you know about the teenage spy, Alex Rider?" The words, barely coherent caught him like a deer caught in the headlights.
Alan Blunt whirled to face the boy, who slid his glasses off his face. The same Intense gaze and slight smirk he would recognize anywhere.
Then the side of the auditorium exploded inwards. A large jagged hole appeared along the right wall. Debris and plaster rained down as the audience and reporters screamed. Everyone made a hysterical dash towards the main auditorium door. Even the guards were stunned for a moment. An explosion not large enough to kill, but powerful enough to create a major distraction.
From me, Alan Blunt realized. Even in such a situation, his mind work to analyze. He swung back to face the boy but he was gone.
He was a little too late.
A millisecond later, a bullet slammed straight into his heart.
Alex twisted the handle of the gun and fitted it back into the professional camera as he smoothly slid back into the hysterical crowd. The security guard had barely glanced at it when he went through the bag check, snapping pictures of the vicinity. It did work as a camera, but it had an extra compartment to fit a small handgun. A single bullet, but that was enough. Alex had almost perfect aim.
He looked back at Blunt's body. A couple of horrified guards surrounded the body, desperately checking for signs of life.
He had not felt any joy killing the man, but it was something, something he had to do or he would go stir crazy, moping in lies he was living on.
Alex turned and broke away from the crowd, heading to the open hole in the wall. There was too much security at the doors. He broke into a jog. Yassen would be waiting for him in the car a street across. He had planted the explosive earlier. There was no time to waste.
Just as he reached the hole, someone lunged at him.
Hmmm my chapters seem to be getting longer. R and R pls!