8.07 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
When he woke up - and hey! Wasn't that a nice surprise? - Alex was smart enough to keep his eyes closed long enough to figure out what had happened.
He had been… kidnapped.
Like.
Actually kidnapped.
He felt his heart rate pick up just from that thought alone and quickly fought back his panic and confusion and fear because the last thing he needed right now was to lose his head.
Okay.
So.
What did he know?
He knew that two men had come to the school and had managed to convince Mr Bray and Miss Bedfordshire that they were actual police officers. He knew that they knew enough about him to know Ian's name and what kind of car he drove. And he knew that they had shot him with some sort of drugged dart or tranquilliser when he tried to contact someone and escape.
The list of what he didn't know was much longer.
Who were these guys? How did they know about Ian? Why had they chosen him specifically? Because he had been chosen, he realised, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears, he had been specifically targeted because what sort of opportunistic kidnapper did that much research?
Those men could have picked him up as he cycled home with far less fuss - by going to Brookland they'd only caused problems for themselves. The Headmaster would know their faces now, and they'd have been seen on the CCTV at the school door, too. Yeah, the wide-brimmed hats would have concealed their faces a little bit, but not enough. And the police car - that had looked legit, at least to Alex, but he didn't think that stealing a cop car was an easy thing to do, so surely they'd been caught on camera while doing that somewhere, too?
He struggled to make sense of the situation, his thoughts intertwining with a mixture of shock, anger, and a deep-seated fear of the unknown. The entire situation seemed unreal. People like Alex didn't get kidnapped - that was something that only happened in movies or books, it wasn't something that he thought would ever affect him.
So why had they kidnapped him?
8.10 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Kensington Police Station
Ian sat in a hard plastic chair with his head in his hands.
When Alex didn't return home after school yesterday afternoon, he'd assumed he was with Tom and had simply forgotten to call. By dinner time, he had started getting worried, and when a quick phone call to the Harris family revealed that Alex hadn't visited them that day, he became even more so. But Alex was a smart boy and more than capable of taking care of himself, so Ian had taken a deep breath, left yet another voice message on his nephew's phone, and then turned in for the night.
Maybe he was staying over at a friend's place or had been invited to a party. Maybe he had gone to the library to work on a school project and had lost track of time. Maybe his phone was dead or he had texted but the message had yet to come through. Maybe-
Ian knew he was a paranoid bastard, but he also knew that he'd raised Alex right and that the boy wasn't doing drugs, wasn't getting into trouble at school, and most definitely wasn't involved in anything illegal.
He just had to trust his nephew and give it time - and time, apparently, meant until six o'clock the following morning.
He hardly slept all night, jumping at the slightest of sounds in case it was Alex coming in. He had his own house key, after all - he was fourteen now and far more mature than Ian had been at his age. But there was nothing - no movement, no steps on the stairs, no sheepish grin and a bad excuse on the tip of his tongue.
As soon as the first dredges of daylight appeared in the distance, he'd gotten up and, despite knowing what he'd find, he checked Alex's room. It was just the same as it had been last night - clothes thrown over the back of the chair, football gear piled up in the corner, and the bed made and unslept in.
Ian immediately started calling the parents of Alex's friends, apologising for the early hour and asking if they'd seen him, but they'd all said no. Eventually, after a bowl of soggy cornflakes, he grabbed his coat and, after a second of hesitation, a recent photograph of Alex, and then walked to the police station, bypassing all the boy's usual haunts along the way.
Chelsea Common, where Alex and his friends normally played football, was deserted at this hour of the morning, and the parks at Westfield and Bramham were also empty. The café that his nephew occasionally studied in wasn't open yet, nor was the library. He even detoured through Brompton Cemetery, as morbid as it was, but nothing stuck out to him there, either.
The only place that wasn't deserted was the police station.
The building was bustling with activity; officers typing away at computers, phones ringing in the background, and the exhausted receptionist who'd told him to have a seat almost an entire hour ago was swept off of his feet signing documents and directing different people in different directions.
Twenty-four hours ago, he'd just waved Alex off to school, the day starting the exact same way as every other day.
So why hadn't his nephew come home?
8.13 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Alex slowly opened his eyes and blinked to adjust to the bright light around him. He was lying on a soft fabric sofa in a large, square room. Sitting up, he confirmed that he was alone before giving himself a minute to adjust. Whatever the hell had been in that dart was making his head spin and he needed to take a few deep breaths before he could stand without falling over.
He glanced down at his watch, focusing on the cool metal against his skin in an effort to ground himself.
It was just after eight o'clock, but a quick glance out of the three large windows told him that it was likely eight in the morning rather than eight at night.
It had been around half past three when he'd been tranquillized. He had lost a whole night and half a day.
A quick glance around the room revealed it to be dull, sterile, and devoid of any personal touch. There was a desk and a chair, the sofa he'd woken up on and a second one opposite, in the corner a fridge, and on the wall a couple of prints.
It was completely featureless - he could be in an office, a museum, a bank, or even a rich person's home study.
Alex quickly turned towards the windows and stepped closer. He didn't know how long he'd be left alone for, or even if there was anyone watching him right now - there weren't any visible cameras that he could see - so he wanted to make the most of the time that he did have before those men came back.
There was a bustling busy street below, but any hope of getting someone's attention was quickly diminished as he realised he was probably fourteen or fifteen floors up. It appeared to be a tall, antique-looking building, but most of his surroundings were high-rises and modern skyscrapers. A flutter of red and blue caught his eye, and he glanced over only to see a Union Jack flag fluttering next to him.
It may have been stupid, but he felt a surprisingly large amount of relief to realise that he was still in England.
And not only that, he realised, catching sight of familiar twin brown towers, but he was still in London too because-
Because that was Liverpool Street Station.
Alex backed away from the window and marched over to the door. He highly doubted that the men had left the office unlocked, but it would do no harm to double-check.
Unfortunately, he was right.
Almost frantically, he glanced around the room, searching for any way out, any weapons, or any hint of familiarity that might offer a glimpse into his captor's identity. But the room offered no solace, no answers. It was a sterile canvas of despair, devoid of any traces that could shed light on just who the hell had kidnapped him.
His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst free from its cage. Adrenaline surged through his veins, fueling his resolve. He had to find a way out, to escape this nightmare.
Even if he could find something similar to a hairpin or a paperclip, then he might be able to pick the lock. Ian had taught him when he was nine while they were still living in Italy - at the time he'd treated it as a game, a fun skill to have in case he ever forgot his future car keys or accidentally locked himself out.
Alex never thought he'd actually have to use what he learned in a life-or-death situation before.
Pulling open each desk drawer in turn, he found that they were completely empty, and there was no handy jar of paperclips on the desk itself either. The wall art had been screwed into the walls so he couldn't rip off any wire from those, and there was nothing else in the room small enough to slide into the lock.
Groaning in frustration, he headed towards the fridge and yanked open the door with perhaps just a bit more force than necessary. Inside were chilled glasses and sealed cans of fizzy drinks. He picked up a red one and, after checking for any pinpricks in the thin metal, poured it into a glass.
Alex took a sip. It wasn't Coke. It wasn't even Pepsi. He recognized the oversweet, slightly cloying taste of supermarket cola and wished it was bottled water instead.
Closing the fridge door, he toyed with the idea of using the pull tab to pick the lock, but the metal was weak and he had nothing to cut it into the right shape anyway.
He poured the rest of the cola into a potted plant, sat back down on the couch, and thought.
By now, Ian had to know that something was wrong - Alex hadn't returned home last night, and he wouldn't be showing up at school today either. Surely his uncle was already on his way to the real police? But how would they even find him? The men who had kidnapped him were smart - they had to be to pull all of this off - so he doubted that they left an easy-to-follow trail behind them.
No.
He would just have to rescue himself.
The flag fluttered again and, seeing it, Alex went over to the window. The pole jutted out of the building exactly halfway between this room and the next one over. If he could somehow reach it, he should be able to jump onto the ledge that ran along the side of the building outside the room to his right - and unless this was some sort of child trafficking ring and there were a hundred other teenagers here, hopefully, that room would be unlocked.
Of course, he was fifteen floors up. If he jumped and missed, there would be a couple of hundred feet to fall. It was a stupid idea. It wasn't even worth thinking about.
Alex opened the window and climbed out.
It was better not to think about it at all.
He would just do it.
After all, if this was the ground floor or a jungle gym in the schoolyard, it would be child's play. It was only the sheer brick wall stretching down to the pavement, the cars and buses moving like toys so far below, and the blast of the wind against his face that made it terrifying. Don't think about it. Do it.
Alex lowered himself onto the ledge outside the office. His hands were behind him, clutching onto the windowsill. He took a deep breath.
And jumped.
8.17 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Kensington Police Station
"Mr Rider?"
Ian quickly got to his feet as two uniforms stopped in front of him. "Yes?"
"My name is Detective Inspector Thompson, and this is Sergeant Patel" the woman started, and the fresh-faced young officer next to her smiled at him kindly, a clipboard in his hand, "We were told you wanted to report a missing person?"
"Yes" he repeated, "My- My nephew, Alex. He didn't come home last night and I've already contacted all of his friends but no one has seen him".
"Okay, well, if you follow us to an interview room, we can take your full statement and try to figure out where your nephew might be" she replied calmly.
Even though he knew that she was just doing her job, he still wanted to scream. Every single second they wasted doing ridiculous bureaucratic paperwork was another second they lost when they could have been trying to find Alex.
Sergeant Patel gestured for the man to follow him towards a quieter area of the station and held open the door for him to enter the interrogation room.
Ian had been arrested a handful of times in his life, mostly for undercover ops but once or twice for drunk and disorderly as an idiot teenager, and he wasn't surprised to find that the room hadn't changed a bit. The only difference was that the police officers were smiling at him now, rather than frowning, but he guessed that was only because he wasn't a criminal this time, he was a-
A victim.
He quickly shut down that train of thought, and instead took a seat opposite the two-way mirror, distantly wondering if there was even anyone behind it.
"We'll do everything we can to help you, Mr Rider" Detective Inspector Thompson said, "Before we begin, would you like anything to drink? A glass of water, perhaps? Or a cup of tea?"
He silently shook his head, conscious of the tick-tock-tick-tock counting down in the back of his mind.
"Okay then. You said it was your nephew that is missing? Can you tell us some more about that?"
Ian took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and slid the slightly crumpled photograph across the table.
"Yes. His name is Alex. Alex Rider. He's fourteen years old, about five-foot-seven, fair hair, brown eyes... He didn't come home last night and he's not answering his phone, which isn't like him".
"I see. Thank you". She handed the photo to Sergeant Patel who continued taking notes on the clipboard in his hands. "Has Alex ever stayed away from home before?"
"No" he replied immediately, shaking his head, "Not without a few days' notice, and never without telling me first".
"When did you last see him?"
"Yesterday morning, about… eight-thirty? But he was fine - he was acting the same way as he always does. There was no- no sign, no indication that he'd just- just vanish like this! I can't think of any reason why he wouldn't come home as normal".
"I understand".
Ian wondered if she actually did.
"You said the boy was your nephew?" she asked again, "Where are his parents?"
"Dead". He felt a tiny little sliver of amusement as Sergeant Patel's pen suddenly scraped across the page. "Alex's father was my brother. Both he and his wife passed away when Alex was only a few weeks old, and I've been his guardian ever since".
"I'm sorry for your loss" Thompson replied diplomatically, "So there's nowhere he would run to? No other family members or friends, perhaps?"
"Alex doesn't have any other family and I already contacted the parents of his friends. No one has seen him since yesterday".
"And at what time was that? Approximately".
"Well, he would have left school just before three-thirty, so I would imagine it was sometime around then".
"And have you contacted the school yet?"
"Have I-"
Ian stopped and wanted to kick himself.
"... No" he finally replied, running a hand over his face, "No, no, I- I left this morning before- before the school would have even been open and- and I already rang everywhere he could have stayed last night so it didn't even occur to me to-"
"It's alright, Mr Rider" Thompson interrupted, a kind smile on her face, "This is a difficult time for you, it's not surprising something slipped your mind. Do you have the contact details of the school on you?"
"Yeah! Uh, yeah, yeah, they're- they're on my phone". He stumbled over his words, quickly pulling out his mobile and scrolling down through the contacts. "Alex goes to Brookland; it's that new comprehensive school up the northside- Here!"
He slid the phone across the table, and Sergeant Patel quickly made a note of the number before standing up and leaving the room.
"Alright, Mr Rider, my partner will contact the school and send the photo out to every hospital and police station in London" Thompson continued, "We'll need you to fill out some forms to open an official missing persons investigation. Your contact details, information about Alex, and any additional facts you have about his friends, routines, hobbies, health conditions, etcetera. Are you able to do that?"
Ian nodded, more than willing to do anything to bring Alex home again.
8.26 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Alex had miscalculated the jump.
He had missed the flagpole by an inch and would have plunged down to the pavement if his hands hadn't caught hold of the Union Jack itself. He was hanging now with his feet in midair. Slowly, with huge effort, he pulled himself up, his fingers hooking into the material. Somehow he managed to climb back up onto the pole.
It was easier after that. He threw himself sideways and across to the ledge outside the office, grabbing hold of the ledge with both hands and then pulling himself up until he was level with the window.
It was only now that he wondered if the window would be locked. If so, he'd just have to go back and find some other way of breaking out.
It wasn't.
Alex slid the window open and hoisted himself into the second office, which was in many ways a carbon copy of the first. It had the same furniture, the same carpet, and even a similar painting on the wall.
He went straight towards the door and pulled down on the handle.
It was locked.
Shit.
Mentally cursing in every language he knew - which was quite a lot, admittedly - he went back over to the desk and sat down. Maybe this office would have a paperclip or two.
He pulled open a drawer in the desk. It contained four or five thick files. Alex took them and opened them. The first was marked: NERVE POISONS. NEW METHODS OF CONCEALMENT AND DISSEMINATION.
Alex put it aside and looked at the second. ASSASSINATIONS: FOUR CASE STUDIES. Growing ever more puzzled, he quickly flicked through the rest of the files, which covered counterterrorism, the movement of uranium across Europe, and interrogation techniques. The last file was simply labelled: STORMBREAKER.
Alex was about to read it to see if it could tell him anything about his kidnappers when the door suddenly opened and three men walked in - the same two men who had pretended to be police officers plus a third, bland-looking man. They didn't look surprised to see him there. From the way they had come into the room, they had expected to find him.
Slowly standing up, his mind raced through his uncomfortably limited options.
"Who are you?" he asked, "What do you want from me? Why am I here?"
"So many questions" the stranger in the middle muttered, "But I'm afraid we're not authorised to give you the answers".
The taller man, with a mean smirk on his face, lifted his hand and Alex recognised the same tranquilliser gun from before.
He couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"Oh for fuck's sake-"
SPAT.
8.32 am, Tuesday, 8th March
Kensington Police Station
"I understand how distressing this must be for you, but I still have some questions if you're able. Does Alex's school have a uniform?"
"Yeah. It's, uh, it's a dark blue jacket, grey trousers, striped tie. Knowing Alex, he probably wasn't even wearing the jacket, but there's just a plain white shirt underneath".
"Perfect, thank you. Does he get the tube home?"
Ian shook his head. "No, he- he bikes with a friend of his, Tom. We only live a few doors apart, so they always cycle to and from school together".
"Do you know if Alex left with Tom yesterday afternoon?"
"He should have done but… I don't know. I rang Tom's father this morning, but he was only able to tell me that Alex didn't stay at their house last night. I don't know anything beyond that".
"I see. And-"
The door reopened with a click, and Sergeant Patel stepped back into the windowless room with a weird, almost bewildered look on his face.
Ian was immediately put on guard.
Walking over to Detective Inspector Thompson, he bent down and whispered something to her too low for the man to hear. She frowned, seemingly just as confused, before saying something back. The sergeant merely shrugged and shook his head before retaking his seat next to her.
Thompson turned back to Ian with an odd expression.
"Mr Rider, this may sound like a… strange question, but… were you involved in any sort of car accident yesterday morning?"
"Was I involved in- No!" he exclaimed, "No, most definitely not! I didn't even leave the house yesterday, and my car is parked in a locked garage!"
"Have you seen your vehicle recently?"
"Yes. This morning, just before I left - and before you ask, it was in perfect condition!" he snapped, "Just what the hell is this about?!"
The officers traded a look before Patel turned back to him, almost apologetically.
"I contacted your nephew's school with the number you provided and got in touch with a… Headmaster Bray?" He gave Ian a look to confirm and continued after he nodded. "Well, according to the Headmaster, Alex was collected yesterday by two police officers who claimed that…"
Patel gave his partner another unreadable look.
"... that you had been killed in a car accident earlier that day".
There was a beat of silence. Then another. And then another.
"What?!"
"The two men claiming to be police officers told Alex that you were involved in a car crash at the Old Street roundabout and that you had died on impact" Patel said, as if that explained anything, "They took Alex just before the end of the school day in order to- to identify your body".
Ian's head was reeling and he felt the blood drain out of his face.
Alex was- Alex was kidnapped. Alex had been kidnapped. Alex was gone.
"I don't... I don't understand, what-? How did they- Why did the Headmaster-?"
"We've sent two officers to Brookland Comprehensive to get his statement" Sergeant Patel said, before giving a wry smirk, "Two real police officers, that is".
"... They took Alex?"
"I'm afraid so. Mr Bray informed me on the phone that everything appeared legitimate and he never doubted for a second that the men could be anything other than the police. We've sent out a description of the two men to other stations, based on what the Headmaster told me. As soon as we can get access to the school's CCTV cameras, we can send out photographs and the licence plate of the car they used as well".
It felt as though time had stopped, everything standing still within the featureless, windowless room surrounding them.
"We're now officially treating this as a kidnapping, Mr Rider" Thomspon continued, "Our team is mobilising all available resources to locate Alex and bring him back safely. We'll leave no stone unturned in our efforts to find him, I assure you".
Alex had been kidnapped. Someone had taken his nephew from him, someone had taken him in broad daylight with the permission of his bloody Headmaster!
"We will keep you informed of any developments or leads that we uncover. Your cooperation and support during this difficult time will be invaluable". Thompson traded a look with her partner, both of their faces etched with pity. "Mr Rider… is there anyone you can think of who would want to do this to Alex? To you?"
He slowly shook his head, his chest feeling strangely hollow.
It had been almost twenty-four hours since Alex had been taken - and after twenty-four hours, only a quarter of missing persons were found alive.
Detective Inspector Thompson's voice softened as she spoke, her eyes filled with empathy. "Okay, Mr Rider. If anything comes to mind, then please inform us immediately. Sergeant Patel will provide you with the necessary forms we discussed but after that… I'm afraid there's nothing more you can do".
It might have been Alex that was missing, but Ian couldn't ever remember feeling so lost.