A/N: Sorry for the wait, but well . . . can you honestly say you're surprised? Hopefully this will more than make up for it ;)
Fox had served in the field many tines with K-Unit in the past, gone through some pretty rough patches with them before his temporary transfer to MI6. Every time something went wrong (as it was wont to do all too often, in his opinion) he, like the others, looked to their leader for guidance and he always saw them through it. But there were occasions when Wolf got a certain peculiar look in his eyes, a sort of dangerous determination, unlike his usual drive. That meant he'd protect his unit. The other meant any enemy who came across him was unlikely to walk away alive.
He had that look now.
Wolf was standing in the Royal and General Bank, a.k.a. MI6's headquarters, his hands clenched into fists so tightly Fox was worried he might accidentally break his own fingers. The soldier emitted an aura of pure malice that kept everyone, including Fox, Snake and Eagle, at a distance of ten feet, minimum. Crawley must've been made of sterner stuff than he had originally thought as he somehow walked through that invisible wall unscathed and, apparently, unfazed, his face professionally blank and neutral.
"Well?" Wolf snarled.
"Follow me." The spy replied, turning on his heel swiftly and walking towards the elevator, evidently expecting them to follow him. With the speed Wolf stalked off behind the man, he was in danger of overtaking him. Not that he would care – besides wanting Crawley to hurry up.
The elevator ride was over in a matter of seconds, but from the tension radiating from Wolf's body, you'd have thought it took hours. Fox saw Snake and Eagle exchanging somewhat bemused and concerned behind their friend's back out of the corner of his eye. He knew how they felt. When the transportation device stopped moving and the doors opened, Wolf strode out so forcefully he almost barged into Crawley. He either didn't notice or didn't care.
He opened a door to their right and K-Unit found themselves staring at the imposing figures of Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones. Disregarding all sense of protocol, Wolf shouldered Crawley aside and demanded, "Have you found him?"
The two of them were silent for a moment, before Mrs. Jones apparently decided to answer, "Not as such."
"What does that mean?" Wolf growled, very obviously trying to reign himself in. He didn't appear to be too successful at it.
"It means we know where they got him and how. CCTV cameras in the vicinity recorded it." The woman made a small abortive movement towards a TV on the wall of the office, as if she meant to show them the footage before changing her mind. A wise course to take, given Wolf's already frayed nerves. "We rant the vehicle's registration throughout databases and discovered it was stolen."
"So you've put out a notice to the other agencies?" Fox questioned, eager to get some proper answers.
"Yes, but it was a dead end. The local police found it abandoned several streets over; it's likely that they switched cars and backtracked in an entirely different direction."
"So basically you're got nothing?" Wolf snarled. The muscles in his arms and back were so tensed they pressed against his clothing tightly, as if a sudden movement would rip the material from his torso. He was breathing heavily through his nose and his eyes were filled with a dark rage that made Fox flinch.
"Wolf . . ." Snake murmured quietly, an anxious frown creasing his brow. Though he was clearly as frustrated with the lack of progress and as worried about Cub as they all were, he had no wish to see Wolf reprimanded – or worse – for speaking to superior officers as he was. That would get them nowhere. The other soldier ignored him.
"I wouldn't say nothing, Lieutenant." Blunt said stoically, his face unchanged by the rude tone of voice. The slight inflection he placed on Wolf's rank was a mild warning to hold his tongue but something in his gaze indicated that he was well aware that it would not be heeded. Breaking eye contact with the furious man, he nodded to Mrs. Jones. She picked up a remote and clicked a random button, summoning a map of London onto the TV.
"Over the last few months, we've noticed some interesting irregularities in the purchase of property in this area." She clicked another button and the camera zoomed in on said area. Before their eyes, five different buildings were highlighted in red, a scale in the left-hand corner indicating the size of the buildings. "And these specifically came to our attention. They were all bought within a fortnight of each other by a low-key company which background checks would indicate to be fake. We've managed to trace the money transference to the accounts of one man –"
"Sarov," Wolf growled.
"Correct. Obviously they weren't very careful in covering it up."
Fox could've sworn he heard Blunt mutter, "Amateurs," under his breath.
"There seems to be no rhyme or reason to why they were bought – frankly they're all ruins beyond repair. They were going to be demolished to make way for new structures before this mystery corporation stepped in with tempting offers. The only purpose we can place to them," she concluded, turning to face the men in front of her gravely, "is to stall us."
"Stall us?" Eagle asked, his face creased in confusion.
"You think Alex is being held in one of them," Wolf said abruptly, "and the others are red herrings to make us waste our time."
Blunt nodded at him, "Precisely. I doubt they expected us to figure it out so quickly – the fact that we've done nothing so far will give them a certain over-confidence. Our strategy is surprise attack. An SAS unit per building will storm their chosen target according to their own tactics and conduct a thorough search. This is yours."
Mrs. Jones handed Wolf a small file. He briefly looked at the photographs and blueprints within before closing it and nodding to indicate he was satisfied. "Rider is your first priority, Sarov and his man Sokolov, your second. Use lethal force if necessary but try to keep it quiet to begin with. We don't want to give him any warning unless it is unavoidable. Other than that, I leave the operation to you, Lieutenant."
"Understood."
The other three members of K-Unit came to attention out of habit as they recognized the dismissal. Wolf gave a vague gesture that could've been taken for a salute if you were inclined to see it as one before pivoting on his heel and striding passed his teammates to the door. They hurried after him, the eyes of the three spies left in the room staring after them.
XXXXX
Alex waited, laying perfectly still on his side, for his sight to clear up, his eyes narrowed to mere slits so his guards wouldn't notice he was awake. After a few minutes, the blurriness subsided and he was able to take in his surroundings. It was not what he was expecting.
Given his previous encounters with Sarov and those of his ilk, he was anticipating a rotting warehouse in the middle of nowhere or a modern high-tech office discretely tucked away and impregnable in its defenses, perhaps.
He was in his house.
It was too bizarre to believe but yes, the couch he'd been dumped on was the same one he'd sat beside Tom on as they played video games, that hideous vase in the corner was the one Jack had cooed over for a day or two before conceding she should never have bought it and surrounding him was the same wallpaper he'd helped Ian put up when he'd been smaller. Besides their "holidays" that was the most time they'd ever spent together.
He'd stared too long. The man from the bowling alley, Sokolov, had seen his open eyes and was now leaning over him. "Ah, awake, I see," he said nonchalantly, a pleasant smile plastered on his face, as if kidnapping teenagers and holding them hostage was a regular thing for him. Alex wouldn't have been all that surprised if it was, actually.
Sokolov turned to one of the men who'd been assigned to guard him while he was unconscious. He couldn't see his face as his back was turned to Alex. "Go see if the General is ready to receive him."
The man nodded silently and strode off to obey his orders. Sokolov looked at Alex again, his face giving nothing away. "You appear a little distracted, Mr. Rider."
"Just a tad." Alex replied sardonically, pulling himself into a sitting position. The movement tugged painfully on his shoulders. Shifting his wrists, he was unsurprised to find them bound tightly in metal handcuffs. This was going to be tricky. "I've been kidnapped and are currently tied up in my old house with no idea what's going on. Not my ideal way of passing a Sunday afternoon."
A strange smile twisted Sokolov's lips. "I was referring to the fact that it was so easy to apprehend you earlier. Most astonishing considering the our previous difficulties. Are you well?"
Alex didn't even bother to answer that, inwardly scowling at his lack of attention and readiness. He'd thought he was better than that, damn it!
Just then, the guard returned. "The General wishes you to show him in," he announced, jerking his head idly in Alex's direction.
Sokolov inclined his head in acknowledgement. Alex was interested to note the flash or irritation in his eyes and he reached down, hooked an arm around his elbow and pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the hallway. Sokolov didn't seem too pleased to be dealing with people like the guard, who clearly lacked his dedication and professional edge. He briefly pondered what could have motivated the man to consent to work with people who clearly did not measure up to his own standards when the ex-soldier pushed open a door and he was half-dragged into a cold, dark room.
When he was younger, this little backroom had been a sort-of nursery for him, somewhere for him to play where he wouldn't damage anything and when Ian was too busy to keep an eye on him. He used to be in there near-constantly, before Jack came. Noticing that it was the coldest room in the house, she'd insisted that he not stay in there quite so often, despite his protests, for the good of his health. Since he'd gained a companion in her, he acquiesced to her request and strayed in there less and less as he aged. Gradually, it was transformed from a play-room to a storage space where they put old things they might have a use for in the future. Ian allowed it as Jack was wont to keep things and he didn't want his neatly organized garage messed up.
It was almost unrecognizable now.
The large pile of things covering the back wall had been removed, taken somewhere else or thrown out he didn't know, and in its place a moderately-sized bed and what looked like hundreds of pounds worth of hospital equipment was set-up. He was hard-pressed to explain how all of it even fit. But that was not what had his attention. Propped up on several cushions on the bed lay General Alexei Sarov. He looked atrocious.
His hair was lank, his skin papery and deathly pale, coal-coloured circles gauged beneath his eyes. Just sitting up appeared to tire him, despite his attempt to keep his back straight and his shoulders set. A smile stretched his ashen skin even tighter across his cheekbones, skeletal-line in their prominence. "Alex," he rasped breathlessly. "It's good to see you."
The teenager could only stare, partly out of morbid curiosity, partly out of satisfied revulsion. "You're not looking so good yourself, General." He looked around meaningfully at the large display of syringes and tubes set on a tray balanced on a rickety old stool to the left between him and Sarov.
Looking a little annoyed, the Russian clicked his tongue and made a rapid gesture with his hand. "That is nothing. A trifle. It will be put to rights soon enough. Now," he twisted his hand round and made flicking movements with his fingers, beckoning Alex forwards, "come closer. Have a seat." He pointed to a pine chair set in the centre of the cleared space, obviously put there for his use.
A gentle push on his back reminded Alex of Sokolov's presence, so, squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward of his own accord and sat down in the chair. Sarov smiled at him, as if in approval. Sokolov remained at his side, a constant, malevolent shadow.
"I'm curious," Alex began, "why my house? It's a little daring, isn't it? A place MI6 are fully aware of inside and out. Surely with the alert on for you there was some kind of guard posted here on a regular basis?"
The smile on Sarov's face did not falter. "The fact that is well-known to your employers is precisely why we have chosen it as our . . . venue, shall we say. In their arrogance, they would never suppose that we would choose to stay here. And you should not rely on their diligence, we have sent them on a, as you would say, "wild goose chase" through London. Hopefully if should thin out their forces a little."
Alex sensed a double meaning to that final sentence that sent a chill down his spine. 'Wolf . . .'
Unaware of Alex's thoughts, Sarov continued. "As to the guards, though they were pitifully few and far between, they have been taken care of. My dear friend Sokolov has a contact who is very talented at hacking into secret communications systems. He simply gave them new orders. We felt it wise to keep them alive, for the purposes of discretion, of course."
Alex did not respond. Though he was glad to hear the agents were still alive, he was a little annoyed that they fell for such a simple trick and massively overshadowing that was his desperation to know what Sarov had planned in order to "thin out" anyone MI6 sent after them.
As if on cue, a ringing filled the room. It was Sokolov's mobile phone, which he quickly answered, speaking in English, "Yes?" A short pause as the other person spoken, then he turned to Sarov, who was looking up at him in askance, "That K-Unit has arrived at destination five. Shall we launch the defenses against them?"
"Yes. Kill them."
"NO!" Alex shouted in horror. Without really thinking about it, he launched himself out of the chair at Sokolov, knocking the man to the ground whilst luckily remaining on his feet. He made as if to stomp the phone to pieces, when Sokolov lifted himself partially off the ground and kicked out, shoving him back towards the table on which the needles lay. The impact knocked the tray and its contents to the floor, one of the syringes snapping in two when he rested his full weight against one. He felt it break beneath his foot and faked a fall, rolling the opposite leg out beneath himself and scrambling underneath his crouched form as it surreptitiously as he could with his hands bound.
His composure gone for the moment, Sokolov shot forward and dragged Alex to his feet roughly, brining his hand across Alex's face in a stinging slap that would've sent him reeling back into the chair he had formerly occupied had the Russian man not retained his grip. He used it to deliver two more harsh, powerful strikes, before Sarov's voice called out from behind him, "That is enough, Kazimir! You have made your point."
Sokolov paused, his hand still raised to hit Alex again, his teeth grinding down angrily. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then released the material of Alex's shirt covering his shoulder and backed away, so that he stood at Sarov's bedside instead of Alex's periphery, retrieveing the phone as he went and bringing it to his ear. "Yes," he belatedly answered his agents' question, "full power." Then he hung up.
Alex sat, white in the face, eyes locked on the slip of plastic disappearing into Sokolov's pocket as if it were the cause of all hell on earth. 'Wolf, where are you?! Please be careful . . .'
XXXXX
Fox held his breath as he watched Eagle and Wolf dismantle the trapdoor above their heads, trying to make as little noise as possible. The scrap of mental barring their way was old, however, caked with rust and heavy. This made it easier to break through and pull it away, but the screeches it made as the edges snapped off into pieces and dragged across the floor overhead seemed deafening in the silence and made him wince.
All four of them paused for several moments, waiting to see if anyone would come. When Wolf was satisfied that their entrance had gone undetected, he signaled at the others to wait and, gripping the frame around the space above on either side, hauled himself up and out. He froze again, listening intensely, before reaching down and assisting Snake's ascendance. The entire unit was soon out of the overlapping tunnels they had discovered and crouching in what appeared to be the basement of the chosen warehouse. Keeping to the shadows, they skirted the edge of the large, stone room, muscles tense as they held their guns at the ready.
Reaching the rickety staircase, which looked as it would never support their combined weight, Wolf made a few rapid hand signals. One at a time.
Again, he was the first to alight, gently probing at the door in his way. The locked had been busted at some point in the past and the door swung open at the simple touch. Wolf frowned in puzzlement, peering cautiously into this new area. Empty.
At least until he drew equal with a large fissure in the wall that from his previous angle had seemed to be just a shadow on the bricks. He grunted as the enemy launched himself from his hiding spot, sending them both crashing to the floor. Pain pulsed up his arm as he landed on his old bullet wound – the one he got in the French Alps.
Cub.
From his peripheral vision, he saw two more guards appeared from the narrow passageway and charge towards his unit as he struggled to throw off his opponent. The man was not especially skilled, if the way he was wildly clawing at Wolf's face was anything to go by, but he was bulky and the angle he'd landed at had not only hurt like hell, but also trapped his arm. He briefly wondered if the man had done that deliberately before deciding it was a fluke.
One of the flailing hands in front of his face came down to secure his throat in a tight grip, the other curling into a fist and reeling back to deliver a punch. Wolf waited and then jerked his head aside at the last moment so that the enemy's knuckles collided with solid wood instead of his jaw. As the man cursed angrily, Wolf shifted his left arm under the guard's extended right one and jabbed at his throat. Due to his folded-up position, it was not a particularly powerful or well-executed blow, at least by his usual standards, but it was more than enough to have the man instinctively draw back with a gasp.
The soldier immediately followed up his first blow with a sucker-punch to the gut, this one far stronger than the other. The guard doubled over in pain. Pulling his leg up so his foot rested on the edge of the man's thigh and pelvic bone and seizing hold of his arm and ribs, Wolf threw his opponent over his head so he landed and few feet away, rolling to a crouching position in that same movement. As he looked up, he registered the guard struggling with the knife in his belt before Snake appeared at the man's side and brought his booted foot down in a single stomping movement. With a sickening crunch the man lay prone, unconscious or dead.
The entire encounter had lasted less than ten seconds.
Snake gave him a once-over with his eyes as he rose to his full height. "You okay?" he asked gruffly.
"Fine. You lot?"
"Yeah, we're good."
Two more bodies were lying a little bit away from their companion, totally still. A tiny pool of blood began to pool around the larger of them. "Then let's get moving."
The team quickly scaled the next two levels, as quietly as they had made their entrance into the building. With each passing second, Wolf's shoulders seemed to get tenser and tenser, until he appeared on the verge of screaming from sheer pent-up frustration. There was no sign of Cub anywhere. Wolf shoved the next door open so violently that it nearly slammed into the opposite wall; he only managed to stop it from doing so at the last second.
Because of this, he didn't notice the little flash of light at ankle level that had flared inside the doorway. Fox paused, squinting down at the corner in question. What had that meant?
The other three carried on moving through what appeared to be a leisure area for the guards, littered around as it was with oddly mis-matching furniture. They passed a small round table that could have come out of any IKEA catalogue, a massive, thick wooden dining table that looked as if it belonged in an antique auction and a pine coffee table with dirty mugs that was missing one of its legs before Eagle asked confusedly, "Do you guys smell something . . . strange? Like, burning?"
Looking up at Eagle's prompt, Fox saw another blue flare in the corner of the room. With a sudden rush of dread, his gaze swung down in shock to regard the thin wire that he'd missed the first time. "It's trip-wire explosives!" he shouted.
"Back out the door!" Wolf roared.
The other three rushed to obey him, almost flying down the steps leading to that level. It was a stroke of good fortune that it was a replacement for an older staircase, twisted and unstable, that the guards had complained about until Sokolov had ordered a new one. This was far sturdier than the previous set and made of a combination of steel and iron; industrial strength. And because it was new, it was not built directly into its surroundings – there was a gap between its highest step and the floor.
As Eagle and Fox made to bolt to doorway ahead, Wolf and Snake grabbed hold of one of them each by the backs of their collars and hauled them in the space provided, tiny and uncomfortable as it was. A breath later, the world went to hell.