Stormbreaker

x caught a glimpse of a squat black thing with four fat tires, a cross between a miniature tractor and a motorbike. It was being ridden by a hunched-up figure in gray leather with helmet and goggles

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 school yard, 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 Crawley’s office. His hands were behind him, clutching onto the windowsill. He took a deep breath. And jumped.
A camera in the office across the road caught Alex as he launched himself into space. Two floors above, Alan Blunt was still sitting in front of the screen. He chuckled. It was a humorless sound. “I told you,” he said. “The boy’s extraordinary.”
“The boy’s quite mad,” the woman retorted.
“Well, maybe that’s what we need.”
“You’re just going to sit here and watch him kill himself?”

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 school yard, 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 Crawley’s office. His hands were behind him, clutching onto the windowsill. He took a deep breath. And jumped.
A camera in the office across the road caught Alex as he launched himself into space. Two floors above, Alan Blunt was still sitting in front of the screen. He chuckled. It was a humorless sound. “I told you,” he said. “The boy’s extraordinary.”
“The boy’s quite mad,” the woman retorted.

I’m going to sit here and hope that he survives.”

It wasn’t. Alex slid the window open and hoisted him self into the second office, which was in many ways a carbon copy of the first. It had the same furniture, the same carpet, even a similar painting on the wall. He went over to the desk and sat down. The first thing he saw was a photograph of himself, taken the summer before on the Caribbean island of Guadeloupe, where he had gone diving. There was a second picture tucked into the corner of the frame. Alex aged five or six. He was surprised and a little saddened by the photographs. Ian Rider had been more sentimental than he had pretended

“I’m going to sit here and hope that he survives.”
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. He still didn’t look down. He just hoped that no passersby looked up.
It was easier after that. He squatted on the pole, then threw himself sideways and across to the ledge outside Ian Rider’s office. He had to be careful. Too far to the left and he would crash into the side of the building, but too far the other way and he would fall. In fact, he landed perfectly, 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.

Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the day, but by the time the final bell rang, his mind was made up. While everyone else streamed out, he made his way to the secretary’s office and borrowed a copy of the Yellow Pages.
“What are you looking for?” the secretary asked. Miss Bedfordshire had always had a soft spot for Alex.
“Auto junkyards…” Alex flicked through the pages. “If a car got smashed up near Old Street, they’d take it somewhere near, wouldn’t they?”
“I suppose so.”
“Here…” Alex had found the yards listed under “Auto Wreckers.” But there were dozens of them fighting for attention over four pages.
“Is this for a school project?” the secretary asked. She knew Alex had lost a relative, but not how.
“Sort of…” Alex was reading the addresses, but they told him nothing.
“This one’s quite near Old Street.” Miss Bedfordshire pointed at the corner of the page.
“Wait!” Alex tugged the book toward him and looked at the entry underneath the one the secretary had chosen:

had been dug close to the lane that ran the length of the cemetery, and as the service began, a black Rolls-Royce drew up, the back door opened, and a man got out. Alex watched him as he walked forward and stopped. Alex shivered. There was something about the new arrival that made his skin crawl.
And yet the man was ordinary to look at. Gray suit, gray hair, gray lips, and gray eyes. His face was expressionless, the eyes behind the square, gunmetal spectacles, completely empty. Perhaps that was what had disturbed Alex. Whoever this man was, he seemed to have less life than anyone in the cemetery. Above or below ground.
Someone tapped Alex on the shoulder and he turned around to see Mr. Crawley leaning over him. “That’s Mr. Blunt,” the personnel manager whispered. “He’s the chairman of the bank.”
Alex’s eyes traveled past Blunt and over to the Rolls-Royce. Two more men had come with him, one of them driving. They were wearing identical suits and, although it wasn’t a particularly bright day, sunglasses. Both of them were watching the funeral with the same grim faces. Alex looked from them to Blunt and then to the other people who had come to the cemetery. Had they really known Ian Rider? Why had he never met any of them before? And why did he find it so difficult to believe that they really worked for a bank?
“He is a good man, a patriotic man. He will be missed.”
The vicar had finished his graveside address. His choice of words struck Alex as odd. Patriotic? That meant he loved his country. But as far as Alex knew, Ian Rider had barely spent any time in it. Certainly he had never been one for waving the Union Jack. He looked around, hoping to find Jack, but saw instead that Blunt was making his way toward him, stepping carefully around the grave.
“You must be Alex.” The chairman was only a little taller than him. Up close, his skin was strangely unreal.
It could have been made of plastic. “My name is Alan Blunt,” he said. “Your uncle often spoke about you.”
“That’s funny,” Alex said. “He never mentioned YOU.”
The gray lips twitched briefly. “We’ll miss him. He was a good man.”
“What was he good at?” Alex asked. “He never talked about his work.”
Suddenly Crawley was there. “Your uncle was overseas finance manager, Alex,