Chapter Seven, Substantial Threat Four

It's been a long time guys, I'm sorry. I think I've been going through an enormous author's crisis lately, in that I have had zero motivation to write anything at all besides poetry, oddly enough. I've been going through a lot of issues (the least of which being that I got three D's on this semester's report card) and had to prioritise. Hopefully, you guys can understand that. I'm going to be back on track now, for this story, 'Stockholm Syndrome' and 'Challenge'. Not sure about 'Kill or Be Killed' yet, I'm seriously giving up on that one =(

Anyway, it's nice to be back. Hope you enjoy this quick little update :)


As Derrick had predicted, Alex's head felt like it was going to split open as he came round. With a pained groan, he started to try and get up, but was stopped by gentled hands at his shoulders.

"Don't hurt yourself." It was Jack. She sounded frightened still, and more then a little worried. However, it was all nothing compared to the concern in her voice. Concern for Alex.

Opening his eyes with a wince, Alex sat up anyway.

"It's alright," He muttered, leaning forward over his knees, "I just need a moment."

Jack hesitated, hands still hovering uncertainly. Then, she shrugged and pulled away. She sat across from him, shivering a little in the cold room. There was a large bruise already appearing over the left side of her jaw. Alex felt like crying again looking at her.

"Jack," He realised he really was crying again, "Jack, I'm s-so, so sorry…I never dreamed that you or anyone…I didn't want this to happen!"

The reproach and misery that had been growing in Jack's eyes promptly faded away as she hugged Alex tightly.

"It's alright," she sighed, "somehow it'll be alright."

Alex smiled faintly at her before straightening up and rubbing his temples grimacing.

"I hope so," He said before getting unsteadily to his feet. He helped Jack up as well. "Because I don't know how much more of this I can take…I was sure I knew what I was doing, that I was right, but now… I feel like I'm losing it Jack! Every time I think I'm close to finding out what's going on, something bad happens!"

Jack led the way out to the kitchen where she reached into the freezer. She produced two ice trays. Then, she wrapped each one up in a tea towel and passed one to Alex whilst she kept the other to herself. Alex gratefully pressed the instant ice pack against his aching head. Jack pressed hers to her jaw.

"So does this mean you're giving up?" Jack asked, hope flaring in her eyes. Feeling like an asshole, Alex half shrugged. The hope in Jack's eyes died and she looked sad. However, she didn't argue. She figured that if Alex wasn't giving up after something like this, nothing she could say would shake him.

"Derrick had a driver's license sticking out of his pocket," Alex explained slowly. His voice and eyes seemed to be begging Jack to understand, "I pretended like I was going to fall, and he reached over to stop me…I stole his license."

Jack sighed and shrugged.

"You're going to try and use his details to find out what's going on?"

Alex tried to make Jack understand through the expression in his eyes, but he got the feeling she didn't get it. Then he realised, she never would. MI6, Yassen Gregorovich, Scorpia…They'd all changed him so that only people and organisations like them could possibly understand him. With a sigh, Alex just shook his head and walked up to his room.

Derrick Lind. 49 Redfern Road, Harlesden.

Alex studied the drivers licence in front of him, drumming his fingers against his desk thoughtfully. He had a full name, he had an address. The real question was how to proceed from this point. He knew that the answer to that was very carefully, not thrashing around like before.

He could carefully do a walk-by of Derrick's address, just to get an idea of the person he was. There was no way he'd actually go into Derrick's home, not after what had happened with his invasion of Ray Dunne's house. A quick scan would be enough and maybe if it seemed feasible, Alex figured he'd tail Derrick to see if he led him anywhere important. He just had to stay hidden the entire time.

Alex had no doubt that if he was caught snooping again, the punishment would be worse then a few bruises on his and Jack's faces. Something much more permanent for sure.

The only problem, other then that was how Alex was going to tail Derrick. The man was sure to be trained somehow, whether that be to Intelligence standards, or just a casual glance back over his shoulder every now and then, Alex wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't feel like taking his chances.

Too bad there really weren't any other choices.

Even in daylight, Alex knew Harlesden was dodgy. He'd read somewhere once that it was nicknamed 'UK murder capital' and 'home of Yardie Gang culture', but even so, he'd still thought a fair bit of it was exaggeration. However, when Alex began to walk down the street, he began to realise just how bad this place was. Something about the group of boys, armed with knives watching him from a nearby stoop, told him that this suburb was bad news. They didn't halt their mission of carving every swear word known to man into the wooden door they sat in front of, but their eyes were hard and speculative as they regarded Alex.

Running on a short fuse, Alex stared back, trying to silently send them a 'piss off and find an easier target' message. He thought maybe they got it when they suddenly turned away from him and went back to doing what they'd been doing previously.

Looking at his surroundings, Alex was struck by how run-down and tired a lot of the buildings seemed. He figured that whatever Derrick did for a living (when he wasn't bashing kids and their guardians that is of course), it wasn't paying well.

Derrick was driving home to change quickly before going into the 'office', when he suddenly caught sight of the flashing lights in his rear-view mirror. With a sigh, he pulled over and waited. In short order, a young male police officer with black hair was by his window.

"What'd I do?" Derrick was annoyed, but tried to remain polite. His Uncle had been a police officer; he had a healthy respect for the profession accordingly.

"You were going ten k over the posted limit," The policeman (Derrick saw he was wearing a badge: PC Timothy Sullivan) seemed nice enough, if a little unexperienced looking, "So would you mind showing me your licence please?"

Derrick shrugged and dug his hand into his back pocket, where he kept his licence. To his surprise, his hand returned to him empty. Frowning slightly, Derrick quickly checked his other pockets. Still no results. Police Constable Sullivan looked at him, perhaps made uneasy by his slightly frantic search.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, eyes fixed on Derrick's hands.

"Um, yeah…" Derrick was too bothered by the fact his licence was seemingly missing to concern himself with the fact he was probably making the constable worry about being shot, "I just need to remember where I put my damn licence…"

Starting to truly worry now, Derrick ripped open the glove box and rifled quickly through all the stuff in there. Finding no licence there, Derrick gave up and turned to Constable Sullivan who was regarding him awkwardly.

"I don't know how I did it," Derrick said in a voice that suggested he was in slight awe of his own stupidity, "But I've misplaced my licence…"

Constable Sullivan's face cleared instantly; obviously glad that a tense moment had been replaced by the calm certainty of routine. He shrugged and began rattling off a rant probably learned off by heart and practised in front of a mirror.

"That's going to mean a fine for you then," He said, "With up to 6 penalty points and even driving disqualification. I'll write it all out for you."

Derrick scowled and bit back the all too sarcastic 'isn't that kind?' that leapt to the tip of his tongue. In all honesty, he was bewildered. Where the hell had he put his licence? He was wearing the same pants as yesterday, and he hadn't washed them, so he should still have his licence in his pocket. The only possibility that came to mind was that somehow, it'd fallen out of his pocket at home. Shaking his head in mystification, Derrick accepted the slip that Constable Sullivan filled out for him without a word and continued home.

Alex was sitting in a café opposite Derrick's house when a dark silver Citroen C5 pulled in out the front of the house. Careful to remain partially hidden behind the potted plant he sat by, Alex watched carefully as Derrick got out and, looking harried, disappeared into his house. Once Derrick was out of sight, Alex got up and prepared for what was to come.

Derrick wasn't a slob, but even so, his heart sank when he saw the untidy mess he had to sort through to search for his licence. True, he could just tell work that he'd lost it and he'd have a replacement in less then 24 hours, but he knew it was irresponsible of him to lose such a crucial document in the first place. He knew his was better then this.

Tearing the main living quarters apart, Derrick began to panic slightly when he realised that his licence was not anywhere to be found in his living room or kitchen. A horrible thought occurred to him. What if it had fallen out of his pocket outside? That would mean anyone could get their hands on it and…

Well, Derrick knew that in a profession such as his, his identity was best kept secret. The idea of someone in organized crime (or worse) getting their hands on his drivers licence was a real worry. In fact, it was a real threat to his very wellbeing. With a heavy heart, Derrick knew he was going to need to go to the 'office' and report this. Sighing, he picked up his car keys again and headed back to the car.

Whilst Derrick had been in his house, Alex had been preparing. Using some money he'd attained from Jack's wallet (he silently promised to make this up to her sometime), Alex had purchased another mobile phone and used the GPS mobile phone system again so that his phone would be able to track the newly purchased one wherever it went.

So, safe in the knowledge he had a tracking device, Alex had duct-taped the second phone to the bottom of Derrick's car. He used almost a whole roll of the tape, determined to make sure that the phone wouldn't fall off and therefore ruin everything. Once that was done, Alex had quickly returned to the nearby bike rack where he'd locked up his bike. He knew that he wouldn't be able to match a car for speed, but that wasn't the point. Alex could take short cuts and detours a car couldn't with his bike and therefore (hopefully) keep up.

Then, just as Alex was unchaining his bike, Derrick came out of his house. The man looked worried or annoyed by something. Alex waited until Derrick was inside the car and already halfway down the street before climbing onto his bike and following.

To Alex's surprise, following Derrick did not prove as difficult as he'd expected. Due to the busy London traffic, the man never had an opportunity to go so fast he'd lose Alex. The hardest part of the whole exercise was the endurance aspect of it all; Alex's legs began to ache from pedalling after awhile. His chest ached a little too, but he guessed that was to be expected.

Finally, they turned into an area of London that Alex recognised better. His heart sped up; they were close to the Royal and General Bank. Surely Derrick was not going to-

But he did. To Alex's absolute horror and fury, Derrick pulled up in front of the Royal and General. Without any hesitation, the man got out of his car, locked it behind him, and walked into the building. Alex broke hard on his bike, staring at the spot where Derrick had vanished into the bowels of the 'bank'.

"Perfect," Alex muttered angrily under his breath, "Just fucking perfect!"

Frustrated, he got off his bike and after chaining it up, started off down the road. He knew now he was at a dead-end. All the determination and resourcefulness in the world wouldn't help him here; there was no winning if Derrick and Ray Dunne were MI6.

"This isn't fair." Alex wasn't normally given to talking to himself, but his frustration, anger and misery were too much. He needed an outlet. With a moan, he sat down on a nearby bench and moped. After a moment, a bus came by, stopping to let a few people off. Through the open doors, Alex caught sight of a poster above the driver's head. It was a city-wide security measure taken since the 2005 bus bombings.

'Keep London Safe! Report all suspicious packages, bags and vehicles to police!'

Alex's eyes widened as he stared at the poster. He now had an idea. A far-fetched, long shot of an idea, and most certainly a dangerous one, but there was no other way.

Quickly, Alex dialled Jack on his mobile. She answered quickly.

"Alex?" She sounded worried from the first syllable and Alex didn't blame her for it, not after all that had happened. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"Jack," Alex licked his lips, measuring his next few words carefully, "I want you to get out of London, now. I think something might happen soon, and I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire. Try and get on a flight or a ferry or something out of the city and preferably even out of the country. Try Ireland or France. Just get out and do it fast."

To her credit, Jack didn't waste time asking questions or arguing. There was a second's hesitation, and then a wary reply.

"I have a cousin in Ireland," Jack said, obviously trying to remain calm, "I know there's a ferry in a few hours. I'll get the first flight I can to Holyhead and take the ferry from there to Dublin. Will you be alright on your own?"

Alex smiled at the care obvious in Jack's voice.

"Yeah, I should be. Just make sure you keep a low profile…Hopefully, everything will turnout alright, and I'm just being paranoid."

"Alex," Jack sounded wearily amused, "With you, there's no such things as paranoia…Just foresight."

"Yeah, maybe." Alex said before hanging up. Sighing, he got to work.

"Are you getting on?" The bus driver was annoyed at being held up.

Alex watched the young man closely, praying this would work. The man chewed his lip, obviously unfamiliar with the London bus system. This was something Alex intended to take advantage of.

"This bus go to Notting Hill, yes?" He asked, his words falling gingerly from his mouth. The driver nodded and gestured for him to step forward. For a split second, Alex held his breath, watching the man climb onto the bus. Then, he acted.

"He's got a bomb!" He screamed as loud as he could, pointing at the man from where he stood at the bus shelter. "It's in his bag!"

Alex felt absolutely terrible for what he was doing. With the paranoia and hysteria concerning terrorism, there was every chance he was throwing this man to the wolves. He had no other ideas though.

The man spun around to look at him, beginning to speak quickly, panicking. All the passengers misinterpreted this of course and within a matter of seconds, there was chaos. Everyone spilled out of the bus in a pushing, struggling throng. They spread their panic as they went like a virus and before long; the entire street was engulfed in pandemonium.

Alex took a split second to regard the effect he'd had before quickly running into the middle of the street. Mobs swarmed around him, screaming and running in circles. Quickly, he swung his bag off his shoulder (having taken everything in it out already) and threw it under a nearby car.

"Oh my God!" He shouted so loudly his throat hurt, "There's another bomb underneath this car! Everyone run!"

If he'd thought the street had been going nuts moments before, it was nothing to what was happening now. People lost the plot, shoving each other to the ground and climbing over parked cars in an effort to escape. Alex darted through the crowds and into the lane between the Royal and General and the neighbouring building. Seconds later, just as he'd expected, several armed men wearing Kevlar and earpieces came crashing out of the building and into the street, attempting to discover the 'bomb threat'.

Alex didn't stay to watch them. Instead, he turned to the bolted basement door before him. It was a little known entrance to the Royal and General, generally only used by the janitors and maintenance people. Or, in this case, Alex.

Acting quickly lest he be discovered, Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out a strange, moulded piece of metal. It was a shim, a tool for opening padlocks, usually made out of a soft drink can. Alex had made a few of them ages ago so he could get to his bike whenever he forgot his keys. They'd work well in this instance too though.

It took a few precious moments, but Alex eventually opened the lock and got through the door. Closing the steel door behind him, he considered his next move. The room he was in was concrete, cool and dimly lit. There were thick pipes emerging from the walls with another door, almost directly opposite the one Alex just came through.

Trying to act quickly but carefully, Alex quietly shut the door he'd just walked through behind him before casting a glance around the room. He could see no cameras anywhere, so he thought that he had a little extra time. A little less uneasy, Alex crossed the room.

He pulled on the door handle. It didn't move.

Alex swore under his breath, starting to stress again. He refused to admit defeat yet. He just needed to-

Alex suddenly heard voices on the other side of the door, approaching quickly. Seeing no other hiding places, he quickly crouched behind a large pipe arching from the ground.

Just as he got himself hidden, there was the sound of keys on the other side and the door opened. A handsome, dark haired man back into the room, looking entirely unsteady on his feet.

But then, considering the stunning brunette woman who had her lips and arms locked around him, Alex thought maybe he could understand the man's wobbly legs. Alex suddenly understood why this room had no cameras.

The passionately kissing pair made it about halfway across the room before both of their legs gave out. They ended up sprawled on the ground, a mess of entangled limbs and rapidly disappearing clothing.

Alex stifled the urge to gag and looked away. To his incredulity, the door had been left ajar. His way forward was clear. He glanced over at the pair once more.

They wouldn't be noticing anything besides themselves for a little while, if the noises the woman were making were anything to go by.

Silently, Alex slipped from the room.

"There's no bomb."

"Pardon me?"

"There's no bomb!" The SAS trained bomb technician for the Royal and General turned to his commanding officer. "The bag is empty sir. It's a hoax."

"Damn." His commanding officer, a broad shouldered man with a shaved head and steely eyes by the name of Dan Bertini muttered. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about the street being blasted to hell."

"Yeah." The bomb technician dragged a dirty hand over his sweaty brow. "But who started all this?"

Dan shrugged and turned to one of the other guards. This man, slighter then the others, was busy tapping away on a laptop.

"I'm signing into the street's CCTV now," The man replied without looking up, "So we'll know in just a second."

Dan gave a grunt by way of reply and helped his bomb technician to his feet.

"Well, whoever it was, they made one bloody mess," He said grumpily, eyeing the street strewn with broken glass, abandoned possessions and other debris. "Everybody went bonkers."

"Are you surprised?" The bomb technician yawned, "Ever since the bus bombings, everybody has feared a repeat. Who knows what nutjobs orchestrated this rigmarole?"

"Gangs maybe." Dan replied, not really caring all that much.

"No," The man on the laptop suddenly said in a strained voice. "Something worse."

Dan frowned and walked over to the laptop. Its screen was frozen on a snapshot of a blurry face with an alert flashing in the corner.

"Facial recognition lists the face as Substantial Threat Four." The man on the laptop said, "Alex Rider."

Dan found there was only one response.

"Shit. Call the George."

Alan Blunt was in the middle of completing some paperwork when Mrs. Jones suddenly appeared at his office door. She didn't knock, which was nothing unusual.

What was unusual, however, was the expression on her face. Anger and fear.

"There was just a bomb threat outside the building." She said without preamble.

"I know."

"The response team ran a CCTV scan to determine who caused the threat. Facial Recognition pulled up an alert for a 'Substantial Threat'. As you know, Substantial Threats are persons who are considered substantial threats to this organisation's integrity due to their unique and compromising knowledge of past and present operations."

"As you said, I know all this already." Blunt pointed out, "So don't bother with the explanations. Tell me about the alert."

"Sir, Facial Recognition places Substantial Threat Four at the scene." Mrs. Jones' face was hard, awaiting orders.

"Alex Rider."

"Yes sir."

Alan Blunt folded his hands on his desk neatly, his mind considering the scenario before quickly coming to a decision.

"He's gotten more information somehow about Ray Dunne. He's here to get the rest of the picture. The bomb threat was a distraction. Put an alert out to building security and tell Dunne to report to the situation room."

"Sir?" Mrs. Jones didn't move, "There's more. Rider obviously takes our threats against Ms. Starbright seriously. Her papers just popped up at Heathrow. She's trying to catch a flight to Dublin…Out of our jurisdiction."

A small, bland smile appeared on Blunt's lips.

"Send a retrieval team to pick Ms. Starbright up. Bring her straight here and place her in media room three under armed guard. The alert for security is still in place, but with a new addition: if they encounter Rider, they have permission to use whatever means necessary to bring him in."

"You have a plan then?" Mrs. Jones asked, memorising her instructions instantly.

Blunt gave a brief, humourless laugh.

"You could say that."

Uh-oh, that doesn't sound good for Alex or Jack...