SPY LIFE

WHEN THE DOORBELL rings at three in the morning, it‟s never good news. Alan Gunner was woken by the first chime. His eyes flickered open, but for a moment he stayed completely still in his bed, lying on his back with his head resting on the pillow he looked at the alarm clock glowing beside him. The time was at 3.14. There was as a thud as somebody knocked hard on front door. He rolled out of bed and walked over to the open window, his bare feet pressing down the carpet pile. The moonlight beamed onto his chest and shoulders. Alan was fourteen, already well built, with the body of an athlete. His hair, cut short apart from two thick strands hanging over his forehead, was fair. His eyes were green and quick. For a moment he stood silently, half hidden in the shadow, looking out. There was a police car parked outside. He quickly analyzed the situation. Millions of thoughts cramped his head and his heart started beating fast. Why were the police here ? he wasn’t going wait and ask. From his second-floor window Alan could see the black ID number on the roof and the caps of the two men who were standing in front of the door.At the same time, a huge, well-built policeman made his way to the front. He raised his leg and bent it, then with all his might he kicked the door. BAM. The door broke open. And policemen flooded in with their torch lights searching for Alan Gunner. He quickly dressed up and silently creeped on to the huge mango tree that was right in front of his window. He slowly made his way to his cycle that was hidden carefully amidst bushes in the shadows. He got onto his cycle and started to paddle when a huge creaking noise came out of the bike which instantly stopped Alan's heartbeat. Momentarily, all the police men outside froze. They looked at Alan and Alan looked at them. Suddenly there was a loud crash and then darkness. It was only hours later, sitting in a empty room with one bed, watching as the gray light of morning bled slowly through the West London streets, that Alan could try to make sense of what had happened. He felt a huge bumb on the back of his head. He assumed somebody hit the back of his head. Bother, now he was caught. He knew, or at least he assumed, that he was being hunted by the police, because his uncle was a criminal and Alan helped with his criminal activities. Alan was 12 when his uncle died and ever since then he has been on the run. The door crashed open and a bank manager walked in. "Alan, come, we are going." Alan surveyed him. Black suit with a red tie, glasses, holster. Why would a bank manager need a g*n ? Alan realized that he had seen this man last night when they came to the house to search for him. He had mistaken him for being a policeman. Alan shrugged and nodded his head, no point trying to fight now. He should wait for the right oppurtunity. He followed the man out of the room and then down a dark hallway. Then he turned right, went down a wooden flight of stairs and then through a revolving door out into the open. He almost shouted in amazement. He was in the middle of London and a Black Mercedez pulled up to him...