Scout Warrior

By Ritwik Ojha

Jamie Wood is a normal teenager going to school and playing soccer when one evening after a match of football, a strange man offers him a chance to serve his country. But he refuses, thinking him to be a charlatan. After this, it goes strange. He is followed by men in hats and then is pushed down a plastic tube to the headquarters of a spy agency called RED: Royal Executive Detachment. Then he is given a bloodied letter from some contacts in Cornwall, which tell him to save the Queen. But it is about a matter of time that Jamie discovers that the plot has a twist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482815597

Ritwik Ojha

Ritwik Ojha is a young budding author who is making debut with this spy thriller. Born on 18 Jan 2001 at Allahabad, Ritwik Ojha is presently a student of class 8th in Bhopal.He is fond of reading and watching movies.

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Copyright © 2014 by Ritwik Ojha.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information, and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Partridge India

000 800 10062 62

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CONTENTS

1 The New Unit

2 Bicycle Kick

3 Nerve Test

4 The Grande

5 Jamie’s Diary

6 From The Tube

7 Face To Face

8 Assassin

9 Canine

10 Tiger’s Paw

11 Groping In The Dark

12 Wolf Howl

13 Short Messaging Service

14 Rush Hour

15 The Day After Tomorrow

About the Author

To Mr Anthony Horowitz,

my favourite author and

my inspiration to write.

Thank you, Mr Horowitz.

I have tried to match your

standards and I am sure

I am nowhere near it.

Keep guiding me, sir, for

My best is yet to come.

THE NEW UNIT

T he storm had just got naughtier.

The skies over England were black and filled with darkness, with no bright prospects for the future. Only lightning, thunder and rain.

The Boeing 737 hovered above the city of London. Heathrow was not far away, its lights were dimly visible. The plane was descending gradually, making its way through the thunder and the storm valiantly. The lights on its tail and wings shimmered. A flash of lightning lit up the black sky momentarily, and for a second it seemed it was going to be a bright day after all. But then, all went dark again.

The plane landed smoothly on the runway. The door opened slowly and the passengers started coming out after a moment.

Sir Allen Maguire of the SO12 of Scotland Yard walked down the stairs holding a black briefcase.

He had black hair that had a few wisps of grey. There were wrinkles under his eyes, which were brown and made him look intelligent. His nose was flat and thin, and his chin, long. He looked somewhat absurd in his overcoat which fitted him perfectly but nonetheless made him look overdressed in a lightly dressed crowd. After all, it was summer in London.

He walked to the gate of the airport; a man was waiting for him. Leonard wished him and hurriedly took over his luggage. How was your flight, sir? He asked. Sir Allen gave him a wry smile. Pretty comfortable, he said. Leonard nodded and ran towards the black limousine. He opened the back door and Sir Allen got in, his briefcase at his side. He closed his eyes.

The car stopped after an hour in front of the gates of a huge building on Wapping High Street. It was gleaming and on top of it was a billboard saying THE GRANDE. It was a hotel for the normal people, but for some special people, it was the headquarters of the SO12.

A scanner scanned the whole car as it entered the basement. If any vehicle carried a bomb or any other object that could be lethal, it would be detected immediately and the car would be taken over by a group of trained men capable of handling it. But the scanner showed that everything was safe in the car except for a small pistol.

The head of SO12 was permitted to carry his personal weapon. A Beretta sub compact semi-automatic.

The car was parked in the basement amongst other cars, but at a special place. As Sir Allen got out, Leonard quickly pressed a blue coloured button in the car which sent a signal to the server room.

Suddenly, the platform sank into the ground and as Sir Allen watched with utter boredom, the car went down and the ground closed again. No other car would be allowed to enter until this process was complete.

Sir Allen then turned around and walked to the elevator, which led him up to the seventy-second floor, the head office. The guests at the hotel did not know that such a thing existed on the premises. The elevator went up slowly and then stopped at the seventy-second floor. The doors opened and Sir Allen stepped out. Leonard was there before Sir Allen. Leonard was not only his chauffeur but also a logistics handler of SO12.

Sir Allen went into his office. It was a large room, which had a big desk, a chair and a huge window with an excellent view of Central London. He closed the door and sat down. Soon someone was there to meet him.

It won’t do, it just won’t do, you know. Sir Allen shook his head firmly, to the person standing in front of him. Usually, he was a pleasant man but this time he seemed a bit off. A few days ago, there had been a burglary. Scotland Yard was expected to to get their team for a trivial felony yet once again. Sir Allen was irritated.

The man who stood in front of him was fair, with blond hair that hung upon his forehead. We have to do something, John. said Sir Allen. John nodded. This can’t go on.

Very well, sir. John replied. What do you intend to do?

Sir Allen pushed back his head, and thought for a while before giving a twisted smile. I intend to quit… he paused. John raised his eyebrows, an expression of surprise. . . . looking upon those small matters that this city plentifully presents.

John narrowed his eyes. What do you mean, sir? he asked. Sir Allen shook his head and broke into a chuckle. Get me Charles, John. He said.

I don’t understand… he began, but Sir Allen cut in. GO!

John nodded and scrambled out of the room, closing the glass door behind him. Sir Allen sighed. This was bad. Too many things were happening. Murders, small thefts, petty inter gang conflicts. The Scotland Yard could not take care of all such matters, many of them trivial. The price of devoting time and resources to these issues had to be paid somewhere else.

Though this idea looked mad, he hoped it was going to work. It sounded ridiculous, but now, Sir Allen had actually obtained permission to form an Official Detective Force, called RED—Royal Executive Detachment—which would employ handpicked enthusiastic and motivated teenagers, who had time and who went mostly unsuspected and had the potential of turning into high class detectives.

If all went well, they could even join Scotland Yard as