A/N: First of all... I am so so so so so so sorry! I cannot apologize enough. It's has now been over a year since I last updated this story. I am so ashamed of myself. I was supposed to upload another chapter when disaster struck - my laptop died! I've been spending the last year every bit of money I've got to buy a new one. So for now, I'll be uploading my chapters on the family desktop. I've already finished writing the next couple and it should be with you within the next few days. Thank you to everyone who has the patience to wait this long and again, I am so sorry!
(Frank's POV)
Just another two weeks to go until the wedding. Well, two weeks from Saturday, to be specific.
Up until this time everything has gone plain sailing. But while there still one or two things to be sorted out, I'll be having my stag party tonight – hosted by Zeke as he is my best man. The problem is I don't know what he has planned – he hasn't told me what we'll be doing. I've been going round my head about what tonight's going to be like. Will it be a rowdy night out in a pub or bar where I'll be tied up to a lamppost in nothing but my underwear with obscenities written on me with a permanent marker pen? Or will it be an even rowdier weekend away in one of the many European countries famous for their stag parties and have a Hangover-style stag, and everyone will wake up with me missing and no memory of the previous night's events, and must find me before the wedding can take place? Who knows? But when I did ask Zeke about it, all he told was to trust him and not to worry.
Easier said than done, but what can I do except take his word for it. So all I can do is keep myself busy until this evening.
Like right now – I'm at MI9, along with Zeke, helping an Oxford-educated professor solve the problem with his latest invention: a nitrogen fuel turbine. We're watching the experiment take place in the lab with the three of us behind the control room.
"The jet engine runs off of nitrogen in the air," Professor Rossington explains as a large glass tube covers a jet engine.
"Incredible," I say, as the engine is activated. "Do you know what this would mean?"
"Limitless free fuel," Zeke answers.
"Precisely," Professor Rossington nods.
But as we watch, the engine turns bright red, overheating. It explodes, sending shrapnel from the engine to our direction.
"Get down!" I yell, and the three of us scramble for cover as the shrapnel punctures the control room's viewing window, showering us in glass.
After avoiding that disaster, the professor, Zeke and I gingerly get on our feet, dusting ourselves down from glass and debris.
"However the engine is imperfect because a corrosive by-product was created," Professor Rossington explains.
Zeke reaches out and touches the metal, singeing his finger in the process. "Talk about your big bang theories," he responds.
"Ah, well. Back to the old drawing board, I suppose."
"Don't worry, professor. We'll find a way to get rid of that by-product," I assure him. "Let's call it a day. Maybe by Monday there might be something we can do."
Professor Rossington and Zeke nod in agreement.
As the fire is finally put out, the three of us are escorted out of the lab and out of the building where a car is waiting for us.
The driver drops off Professor Rossington at his hotel, then Zeke (not before he tells me I have to be ready within the hour), and then me.
When I let myself in the house, I'm about to call out to Jenny that I'm home when I suddenly realize that she isn't home. She's at her parent, where she'll be spending the next two weeks. I should explain. A few days ago Jen and I decided to spend the next couple of weeks apart without contact before the wedding. It was something that she saw on Don't Tell the Bride – except I don't have to single-handedly organize every aspect of the event and attire. On the one hand, it might be exciting to see Jen on the wedding day after not seeing her for two weeks. On the other hand, I may end up yearning for her as I miss seeing her face and hearing her voice. But as I said before, I need to keep myself busy until the big day.
Anyway after remembering about what Jenny and I agreed on, I head for the kitchen to make myself a coffee and a quick snack. After that I head upstairs to the en-suite bathroom for a shower. When I'm finished I enter the bedroom… and find some clothes laid out for me on the bed – along with a weekend roller case and a note from Jen to say that the clothes on the bed are what I'll be wearing for my stag party tonight.
"There are more clothes in the bag; along with some spare cash and a mobile phone should you lose your current possessions," Jenny scribbles to me. "Also a Spy Watch if you need finding should Zeke lose you – or if you need to change into your spy outfit to kick bad guy butt."
"I seriously doubt SKUL will disrupt my stag night," I mutter.
I read on. She can't wait to see me on the wedding and she can't wait to be my wife. Hugs and kisses.
"P.S. – the man bun looks good with the outfit that I chose. Just saying," Jenny writes.
I smile. Even when we're far apart, she will still advise what looks good on me.
I towel myself dry and put on my ensemble: black cropped trousers, a smart, crisp white shirt paired with a blue plaid jacket, accompanied with a luxe pair of black leather loafers. I decide to comply with Jenny's request and style my hair into a man bun – my hair is long enough for it. Maybe before the wedding I should have my hair cut short.
By the time I'm finished and checking myself out in front of the full-length mirror, I get a text from Zeke that a car will be coming to pick me up.
I grab my roller case and head out the house – and right on time, a black car stops on the kerb. The driver that steps out is Victor Bishop, Zeke's chauffeur.
"All right, Frank?" he greets me, taking my case.
"Hey, Victor," I reply, watching him put my case in the trunk. "Where's Zeke?"
"He and the others are waiting for you at the hotel. I'll be taking you to them."
"A hotel? But…?"
"No time for questions, Frank. Just hop in and enjoy the ride," Victor says, holding the door open for me.
I do what's said and get in the car. There's no point asking anymore questions. Victor must have been sworn to secrecy by Zeke about the events for this evening – as have Oscar and Percy. They're also invited to the stag do and waiting for me at the hotel – wherever that is. Now I know what you're thinking: why is a teenager getting invited to a boisterous night out where a night of heavy drinking is involved? It's simple really – on Monday, it was Oscar's birthday. So Zeke decided to celebrate Oscar's sixteenth birthday by having him tag along to my stag – and I don't mind one bit. But even though he's invited and disguised with the Age-Deceiving Pills, Oscar will be accompanied by his foster parent and fellow agent, Percy – who will ensure that Oscar doesn't have a single drop of alcohol.
I arrive at my destination less than fifteen minutes later. Victor opens the door for me, I climb out and I find the car is surrounded as if it's a super-charged F1 racing car making an emergency pit stop.
"Where am I?" I ask.
"Hype Park Corner," Victor replies. "You'll be spending your stag weekend at the Lanesborough."
"The Lanesborough?!" I gape. "You mean I'm spending the weekend at Britain's most expensive hotel where even the cheapest room is £720 a night?"
"You know Zeke. He'll do anything for his friends."
"I'll say. Right… I better get my bag and…"
"Your bag has been taken while we were talking. It'll be in your room long before you get there. Your personal butler will take you there right now."
As if by magic, a well-dressed man appears in front of me – causing me to squeak in surprise.
"Enjoy your stag," says Victor, and then her enters the car and drives off.
"Good evening, sir. My name is Lennox, your butler during your stay at the Lanesborough," he says. "Let me escort you to your room."
"Thank you, Lennox," I say. "My friend, Zeke is staying here – along with some other friends."
"Ah yes – the stag group. You'll be staying in the Royal Suite. Follow me."
I'm escorted down the handsome limestone corridor by Lennox. En route, I pass three original paintings by Sir Joshua Reynolds and learn that the hotel has the largest collection of 18th-century paintings in the world outside any gallery.
Lennox and I exit the lift after arriving on the floor of the Royal Suite, and I can see someone rushing towards us, waving. It's Zeke. His versatile outfit looks out of place against an opulent building recreating 18th century Regency London – a T-shirt sporting graphic stripes of blue, peach and grey, the grey jeans are casually cool; and the black boots complete the look.
"Frank – you made it!" Zeke says, approaching me. He turns to Lennox. "It's OK, Len – I can take it from here. Here's something for your troubles. Call it a raise."
Zeke hands the butler a wad of twenty-pound notes.
"Very good, sir," says Lennox, and takes his leave.
"This way, Frank," says Zeke, leading me down the corridor.
"You know, you didn't have to do this," I say. "Staying at the most expensive hotel in London…"
"Nonsense! I want you to have the best experience while staying here. And let me promise you this – this stag weekend is going to top everybody else's, and it'll be rated as the greatest bin history!"
We arrive at a set of grand double-doors. We enter, and go down an expansive entrance hall into a resplendent living area, flooded with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Wellington Arch and Buckingham Palace Gardens.
"Welcome to the Royal Suite," says Zeke. "I booked this room months ago what I saw what it had to offer. Extending across 4800 square feet, its seven bedrooms and bathrooms, two living rooms and dining room exude exquisite taste, impeccable British craftsmanship and exciting attention to period detail – the hallmarks of its distinguished designer, the late, great Alberto Pinto."
"It's spectacular," I say in awe, walking further into the room. The room reflects the elegance and grandeur of Regency palaces and stately homes, reinvigorated by vibrant period décor, the finest fabrics and handcrafted furnishings such as the mahogany dining table and matching chairs that can seat up to twelve people, which is served from an adjoining galley kitchen.
The richly elegant surroundings offer exceptional comfort and the height of modern, high-tech luxury. The suite includes a study, tablet-controlled room conditions and integrated entertainment systems, and finest Italian marble-panelled bathrooms with double vanity units, rejuvenating spa baths and separate steam showers.
After that amazing tour I suddenly realize that I haven't seen any of the other guys who I was told would be here. Where are they?
I leave one of the seven bathrooms and return to the leaving area to ask Zeke when, from the corner of my eye, a group of people burst out from a secret door, releasing balloons and ribbons.
"Surprise!" they yell.
"Holy sh…!" I exclaim, restraining myself from swearing – but to be honest, they did scare the hell out of me.
"Happy Stag Weekend!" the group cheer.
"Oh, my God – what the hell is wrong with you people?!" I cry. "You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!"
Zeke steps forward, laughing his head off. "I'm sorry, Frank. It was my idea – I couldn't resist," he says.
I've calmed down now – my heartbeat returning to its normal pace.
"You're such a nut," I say.
"I know, I know. So am I forgiven?"
I think about my answer for a few seconds before telling Zeke that he's forgiven. After that he introduces me to his two friends: Kenzie Sims and Hayden Haywood, a.k.a., Hay-Hay.
Kenzie is one of the few people who knows of Jenny being the Cat and has helped her out on a few of her missions. He's your standard tall, dark and handsome type of guy – with his square jaw, sharp features, short black hair, icy blue eyes and an extremely athletic build. He wears a short-sleeved top that mixes patterns in black and grey with red denim jeans with faded details. The tan work boots with golden trim is a trendy complement. Zeke's other friend, Hay-Hay, is a blogger and "…a celebrity in training", in search of riches and fame. I can't blame him – he is conventionally attractive; tall and lean, but broad-shouldered and light muscled with a glowing (fake) tan. Sweeping eyelashes and perfect dark hair are set off by chiselled jawlines. The hips look is complete with green and white striped T-shirt, denim skinny jeans and white Converse shoes.
After I introduce myself to them, I greet Percy and Oscar – or Aiden Richardson, Percy's nephew from Essex. With the help of the Age-Deceiving Pill, Oscar, or Aiden, has aged at least ten years, giving him a structural and muscular body with broad shoulders. And for his outfit, he's paired a blue and white graphic T-shirt with dark denim jeans. A white pair of shoes completes the outfit for a polished look.
When all of that is done, Zeke calls of us to gather round. As we take our seats on the floral chintz sofa. Zeke is standing in front of the grand fireplace.
"Gentlemen – welcome to the Stag/Birthday Weekend Extravaganza. I am your host, Zeke Williams. Tonight, we'll be celebrating my good friend, Frank's last days of freedom as a single man shortly before he enters marriage. At the same time, we'll be celebrating my other good friend, Aiden's birthday, as he turned twenty-six on Monday."
There are cheers for me and Oscar.
"And this is how we're gonna celebrate these events," Zeke continues. "Tonight we're gonna start off with a pub crawl. We're gonna drink so hard we'll be seeing pink elephants. Then on Saturday, if anyone is sober enough and well enough for it, we're gonna go paintballing and laser tagging. Finally on Sunday, some rest and relaxation at the hotel spa before kicking back with a game of poker. Who's with me?"
"We are!" we cry.
"Then let's get this party started! Let's start off our pub crawl. I called for an assortment of drinks to be sent up here. They should be arriving any second now…"
There's a knock before the door opens and Lennox, along with five butlers, bring in crates of drinks.
"Right on time, gents!" says Zeke. "Over here – by the table, please."
One by one, the butlers place the crates next to the table. As they leave, Zeke tips them with another wad of cash. Then he opens the crates and brings out cans and bottles of alcoholic beverages, juices, and soft drinks and places them on the table.
"All right, fellas…" Zeke says, picking up a bottle of beer. "Let's get drinking!"
We dive in, picking either a bottle or can of drink and we start downing them. While the rest of us chug down on alcohol, Oscar opts for a juice, and explains that he's a teetotaller and can't stand alcohol.
After than an hour of drinking I feel slightly buzzed, but not too drunk yet.
"OK, guys, let's head out!" says Zeke.
We cheer as we head out of our luxury suite. When we step out of the hotel, we find a black stretch limo waiting for us, the door held open by Victor.
The six of us cheer again as we enter the limo with Zeke giving instructions to Victor as to where to drop us off. All of us are messing around and singing songs very loudly as we get driven into central London. We also help ourselves to the bat installed in the limo. About ten minutes later we get dropped off at Soho – and properly begin our pub crawl.
We spend five minutes walking around when we come across a twenty-four hour off licence. We help ourselves to a few cans of lager – all paid for by Zeke – and we carry on stumbling and tripping through the streets of London.
Three hours later after downing beers in pubs, necking Jägerbombs in cocktail bars, and finding ourselves doing a conga in a nightclub, we find ourselves sitting in Leicester Square sipping on water after Hay-Hay and I throw from swigging several mouthfuls of vodka straight from the bottle. Also we are seriously dehydrated. I find Hay-Hay shivering violently so I take off my blazer and drape it over his shoulders.
"Thanks, Frank," he stammers. "I can see why Jen wants to marry you. You're so sweet."
"Thanks," I reply.
Hay-Hay looks me up and down. "If only I was a girl, huh?"
"Heh, if only…" I say, suddenly regretting it immediately. Maybe it's the alcohol. Still, even if Hay-Hay was a girl, I'd still choose Jenny over him.
Oscar heads over to us. "How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Like I'm ready to rock and roll," says Hay-Hay.
"If you do that you might be sick again," I say – and Hay-Hay chuckles.
"Well, if you guys are ready, Zeke is taking us to one more club," says Oscar. "He's says it's be out of this world."
Hay-Hay and I climb to our feet and follow Oscar out of Leicester Square. The limo is waiting for us outside the tube station. The three of us enter the limo, joining Zeke, Kenzie and Percy, and we head for our next destination.
While everyone raids the bar, I decide to slow it down a bit and take a leaf out of Oscar's book by having juices and soft drinks.
A few minutes later we reach our destination. We get greeted by flashing lights and screaming people when we step out of the limo.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"The BT Tower," Zeke replies. "A daughter of an Arab oil sheikh has rented the rotating restaurant and transformed it into a nightclub. Tonight's the opening night."
"Awesome! Let's par-tay!" Hay-Hay cheers.
The six of us head for the door, where the bouncers let us in – no questions.
The club is on the 36th floor and the lift swoops up faster than your stomach can cope. That's why I suddenly feel so weird – that and the thumping I'm getting in my head. After tonight I am never ever ever going to drink another drop of alcohol in my life.
But it's all OK the minute I step out of the lift and into the club. The floor-to-ceiling windows around the club offer a 360-degree bird's-eye view of London. There's incredible strobes and the music is so loud and there's smoky-cloud stuff pumping all over the place enhancing the effects of lighting and laser arrangements. Hay-Hay takes me by the wrist and we get onto the dance floor. I'm not too bad at dancing but I generally worry in case anyone's looking at me in case I'm making a fool of myself and I might get mocked – but now I just get into the rhythm and leap around like I'm part of the crowd. I am the crowd. We're all the crowd and it's truly fantastic.
Only we get tired eventually and go get a drink. Hay-Hay orders a vodka and cranberry juice, while I have the juice without the vodka. It's more refreshing that way.
Kenzie comes over telling me how he asked the DJ what sound system he's using – however, he explains to Kenzie that it is his first day on the job along with everyone else on the club's staff.
"The club's staff policy is a bit strange, don't you think?" he asks.
"Who cares? We're partying at the most exclusive club in London!" says Hay-Hay before I have a chance to answer. Kenzie shrugs his shoulders and orders himself a beer.
As Hay-Hay rushes back to the dance floor, this older woman with cropped hair and nose stud comes up and starts hitting on Kenzie, leaning over and whispering in his ear. God knows what would happen if he gets off with her as it's a ladies-free weekend – but Kenzie shakes his head and she goes away.
"What was she saying?" I ask.
"Oh, she was pushing E and whizz and all that junk," says Kenzie.
"Really?"
"It's OK. I made it plain we're not into drugs."
I nod and carry on sipping my juice.
"You know you're very lucky to be with Jen," Kenzie tells me. "I only say that because when I first saw her, I was majorly crushing on her. I used to flirt with her like no tomorrow. But then Zeke told me how she fell for you big time – I knew I was out of the running."
I stare at Kenzie for a moment before breaking into a smile. To think that Jenny could have had any bloke in the world – even Kenzie – but she still chose me. I am definitely lucky to have her.
"I don't know what you did to make her fall head over heels in love with you, but you need to let me in on your secret so I can get a girl of my own that way."
"Sorry, Kenzie – but I'm taking that secret to the grave," I say, fingertip to nose.
Kenzie and I dance again, joining Zeke, Hay-Hay, Percy and Oscar. But after another fifteen minutes I'm starting to get ever so tired. And I think the others are too.
"Guys – I think we should call this a night," Zeke says – well, yells so we can hear him above the music.
We all nod and we start to edge our way over to the exit when the music that's playing suddenly stops.
"Hey – what's happened to the music?"
"Switch it back on!"
"It wasn't me!" says the DJ.
Everyone murmurs in confusion. If the DJ didn't stop the music, then who did?
My question is answered when right on cue, the TV monitors behind the bar switches on by itself – and my mouth drops open when I see the person's face on the screen.
"Oh no," I whisper.
"Please tell me I'm not seeing this?" Zeke asks. "I mean… I'm not that drunk, am I?"
"No, you're not hallucinating – we can see him too," says Percy.
"It's the Grandmaster," says Oscar.
"Greetings, fellow clubbers," says the Grandmaster. "I'm just calling to personally thank you all… for falling into my trap!"
"I don't like where this is going," says Oscar.
"Neither do I," I say. "We need to get everyone out of here."
Zeke jumps onto the bar. "Everyone – you need to leave right now! You're all in danger!"
The crowd head for the lift – but panic ensues when the doors don't open.
"There's no need to panic, everyone. Relax," says the Grandmaster. "You'll all be taking a trip of a lifetime… to outer space!"
"Outer space?!" we cry.
As the screen goes black, panicked screams fill the club as people desperately try to exit the club, but to no avail. Suddenly the ground starts to shake, shift and quake. I turn to the windows to find no view of London – but the sky as the club flies into the air. The velocity causes me and everyone in the club to get pinned to the ground.
While everybody is screaming blue murder, questions come at me – why is the Grandmaster doing this? How much will he demand for? What will he do if MI9 say no?
Suddenly I'm feeling a little worse for wear – like I'm going to throw up. I try to hold it in, but the room is hurtling round and round.
My stomach lurches…
Oh no!