A/N: Yep, I'm back, and a day early too! Your getting this today in celebration of two things. One, I have finally FINISHED it! You have about 8000 words, that's four chapters, after this one. Secondly, I actually did ok in my maths exam! Well, apart from one question I completely blanked on (prove SIGMA(r!)r=(n+1)!-1 by induction. Ideas, anyone?). And seeing as it's the harder paper tomorrow so I probably won't feel like posting, and will be more than likely found hanging outside my bedroom window come morning, I thought I would post now. Thanks go to NienkevHoof for the luck. It obviously paid off :D. Just for that, I'm dedicating this chapter to you!
DISCLAIMER: If wishes were money I'd be a billionaire by now and I could buy the rights to Alex Rider and make my wishes come true... Unfortunately, wishes aren't money and I'm just as broke as last time I posted. So no, I don't own Alex Rider.
***
Alex raised his masked head above the surface of the Grand Canal. The moon was hidden by cloud, but even with it, Alex knew that he would not be able to see far in the murky, polluted water. He was effectively blind, unless he surfaced. But the guards could only see him when he did surface; below, his dark suit would make him indistinguishable from the black water.
He could see Widow's Palace up ahead, and once again its position took his breath away. He took his bearings and sank once more below the surface, kicking his flippered feet hard to reach the underside of the building.
When he felt the water grow cold, he surfaced once more. He was surrounded by the thick, brick pillars that seemed to support over half the villa. He could see land not too far away and swam towards it, partially filling his BCD to keep himself effortlessly afloat.
He heaved himself out of the water, and detached the specially designed waterproof rucksack from his front. It had been irritating to swim with, but with a large oxygen cylinder on his back, he didn't have anywhere else to put it.
He unzipped it and pulled out a block of what appeared to be grey plasticine. It wasn't. It was actually a type of plastic explosive, a variety of Semtex that the MI6 had been developing. Not only was it able to be detonated wirelessly, but it was also far more potent. He knew that he had more than enough to blow Widow's Palace to pieces, despite already having visited the training centre at Malagasto and done a similar thing. When he pressed the button, both buildings would blow up.
Quickly he broke off a piece of the putty-like substance and slipped back into the water, being careful to hold it above his head, out of the water. He wasn't sure if it would work when wet, but he wasn't about to take that chance. He took the lump to the nearest pillar and carefully pressed it into the join between the pillar and what was currently the ceiling. He returned to land and repeated the process with the rest of the pillars.
It was on the final pillar that Alex noticed it: a brand new, shiny grate covering a small hole. It looked like an old well, and Alex knew that that was exactly what it was. He smiled. He had found his way in.
Laying the putty had been a laborious process and it wasn't until about half an hour later that Alex zipped up the rucksack and slipped back into the canal. His original plan had been to simply take out the guards and enter, but this was nowhere near as suicidal. He did, however have to return to his temporary base of operations to kit up. He had travelled light, thinking he would not need guns or body armour and that it would just slow him down. Now it was costing him time, time he didn't have.
***
Smithers sat in a van on a street near Albert Bridge. It was almost midnight. There were field agents dotted around the area, he knew, but he couldn't help but be nervous. This was the first time he had participated in an operation in more than a supportive sense, and while it was unlikely that he would be in any danger and was completely necessary for him to be there, he had to admit that the still, ominous night was getting to him. It all seemed so needlessly melodramatic. Why midnight, anyway? Why not two in the morning, or ten at night? Either would be just as satisfactory, surely.
Smithers shook his head and concentrated on the controls in front of him. Alex was relying on him.
***
Two Scorpia agents stood on Albert Bridge. There was almost no traffic now, just the occasional car. They leant on the railing and, looking for all the world like two men contemplating the dark surface of the water, they waited. Somewhere a clock began to strike twelve. A figure appeared on the end of the bridge. They tensed, one covertly removing a gun from its holster. The figure drew closer and they felt a small measure of relief as they recognised the serious brown eyes and short blond hair of their target. The relief quickly faded as they remembered exactly who this was: the teenager who had defeated Scorpia; the son of the infamous John Rider; one of MI6's top agents. Alex Rider.
***
Alex hauled himself out of the canal, and was glad to feel a pair of strong arms reach down to help him out. He nodded his thanks, unwilling to break the silence, and the soldier smiled in return. There were four of them, all from the SAS. Together they made up M-Unit.
Officially, they did not know who Alex was but rumours had been circling the camp ever since he left. Someone had seen the head of special operations arrive on the same day he left. A unit of SAS had been working as security guards at a high profile conference just three days later. The teenager crashing through the roof; the hastily emptied gun; the orders –Don't shoot. Just a month later, K-Unit had returned from the Alps, mouthing off among themselves about a suicidal kid, though there was no denying the respect in their tone. After the near-theft of Air Force One, SAS men had arrived on the scene to find a terrified teenage girl, a girl who wouldn't stop asking questions – Where is he? Where have they taken him? Is he ok?
So no, they did not know his name, but they knew that this teenager – as incredible as it seemed – was one of the top agents for Special Operations. This was the point where they universally decided to stop asking questions. They were pretty sure they would not like the answers.
Alex largely ignored them as he stripped off his wetsuit and scuba kit and dried himself roughly with a towel. He wasted no time in pulling on the light, black trousers of a ninja, and stowed a pair of the soft, yet tough, shoes in the rucksack – separate from the explosives; he had no wish to blow his feet off when he pushed the button. He also added to the rucksack several fingerprint sensitive guns – and reloads – a few stun grenades and several other weapons, many, though not all, lethal. Into the front pocket he slipped some of the gadgets Smithers had given him over the years – refilled or replaced if they had run out: the tube of 'Zit Cream', the expanding gum, his yoyo and a new eavesdropping device that worked just like his Game Boy had, and his bullet proof riding jersey.
Finally he pulled out sturdy, circular inflatable, which he folded up and tucked just inside the bag. He left his wetsuit, in favour of the dry suit that would keep the water off his newly donned trousers.
They had prepared for every eventuality, knowing that even the best of plans was liable to change, and Alex's had never been more than a rough outline anyway. Alex was glad they had, he had almost everything he needed. He turned to one of the soldiers and whispered something. His eyebrow's shot up in surprise and curiosity, but he quickly nodded and left, signalling to the others that he would be back soon.
About ten minutes later he returned, clutching a bottle of baby oil in his hand.
Alex smiled and tucked the bottle in his bag. He was ready.
***
On Albert Bridge, the two men watched as Alex Rider approached them. It was definitely him. He was the right height and build and had identical facial features. But they could tell something was off. He was moving strangely, as if he were a puppet on a string. The first man shrugged it off and rolled his eyes at his partner, laughing at their paranoia. He may be Alex Rider, but he was still only a teenager! They were being ridiculous.
***
A/N: Ok, so Alex is in two places at once. Anyone want to hazard a guess how I did it? :D.
Also... I'm sorry I'm not replying to all your reviews, at the moment. I'm replying to as many as I can, but at the moment I'm more interested in not screwing up my exams, if I'm honest. As soon as I've finished I'll start replying less sporadically, I promise. In the meantime, keep them coming cause the really make me happy and make me smile, and encourage me to update faster, so please review.
Next post will be on... Tuesday, hopefully. Unless I completely crash and burn on physics that day in which case I'll be revising like crazy and it will be Wednesday. Of course, if English goes well on Monday you might get it a day earlier... so yeah, sometime between Monday and Wednesday.
Ciao!
Odd x