Disclaimer: I do not, will not, and have not made any money off this or other Fanfiction writings. The characters herein are property of Anthony Horowitz.
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It was probably the easiest job ever assigned to him. In fact, if he had not been so relieved, Alex might have felt offended. He'd been taken straight off the school grounds earlier that day, the sound of his classmate's laughter and chatter still in his ears….
"Rider?"
Alex turned away from trying to untie his bike, not expecting to see the bored looking man, most of his face hidden behind tinted glasses. His dull, stiff suit looked odd against the vibrant green grass that the school was so proud of, and Alex avoided the eyes of six or more teens who'd found reason to stick around and listen in.
"I'm here to pick you up, your guardians sent me with their apologies that they could not come themselves."
These words had the wanted effect on most of the curious students, the subject of Alex's guardians was a dull one, and they wandered off. Alex had taken time to make every conversation about 'them,' as sleep inducing as he could.
'Them', was of course an imaginary old man and woman who were now his legal guardians but for some reason let him stay with Jack, already confusing, isn't it?
In reality, MI6 had been his guardians since the death of his uncle, but Alex already had enough of a bad reputation thanks to his constant sick status, and he highly doubted mentioning that little fact would be beneficial to his situation.
Wary but not bothering to protest, Alex left his bike alone, following the man to his car.
"You know I'm not getting in there without--"
Alex was cut off when the man produced a badge, shiny, and very real much to his dismay. He grinned when Alex's mouth shut with a snap, "They told me you'd need proof. Can't say I blame you, in fact, I approve."
As much as he wanted to snipe that his approval didn't matter to Alex, and was in fact comparable to that of a toerag--Alex decided to save it.
Maybe he could rant to the heads of MI6 for plucking him out of his own schoolyard without a beforehand notice. Yes, he'd agreed to do their dirty work, but Alex did a damn good job and because of that, felt he deserved a bit more respect.
"Name's Jeremy," the man said, getting in the government provided car and expecting Alex to do the same.
Alex rolled his eyes at Tom, who watched with a trembling mouth from the gates and then proceeded to imitate bursting into tears. They'd had plans to go see a film, something Alex had not done in months.
Waving at him in a, 'go on, get outa here' fashion, Alex slumped into the car and placed his backpack in the seat beside him.
"Nice to meet you Germy," Alex said, already testing the limits of this man's patience by mispronouncing his name. He buckled the seat belt slowly, wondering absentmindedly if MI6 would still want him to come in if he broke his back in a car crash, and was it worth a try?
"It's Jerem--"
"Do you know my name?" Alex interrupted and caught Jeremy's eye twitch in the overhead mirror.
"Of course I do," Jeremy muttered, sounding bitter as he pulled out of the parking lot.
"Oh," Alex said, "What is it?"
A bewildered glance in the mirror, and then, "What?"
"What?" Alex responded, eyebrows crinkling together in confusion.
"You asked--never mind."
Alex looked at Jeremy oddly, and slunk down in his seat. "Can I see your badge again?"
The cautious way Alex asked, and another glance to the backseat just to be met with mistrustful eyes had Jeremy snapping, "No," is an annoyed tone.
Alex grinned; appeased to know he could always annoy any future capturers to death if Smither's gadgets did not work.
They arrived at MI6 headquarters promptly thanks to Jeremy driving over the speed limit in his haste to be rid of Alex. Outside the entrance waited another car. This seemed odd to Alex, but his forming questions were answered as Jeremy pulled up beside the other car, mashed the un-lock button pointedly and looked out the window as Alex got out, his backpack secure in his arms.
Through the backseat window he could see the outline of a woman, twisting something in her hands right before the driver's window was rolled down and John Crawley looked out at him.
"Are you getting in or waiting to be run over?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll stay here thanks," Alex said decidedly, surely that would be a better fate for him. Crawley did not seem amused and looked at him with narrowed eyes.
Narrowing his own, Alex opened the car door and got in resignedly.
Crawley drove off before his seat could even be buckled, and a moment later Mrs. Jones, who was the one he had seen through the window, passed him a file, a peppermint wrapper in her other hand.
"We don't have much time," she said. "I have a meeting soon. Mr. Crawley is taking me there before he takes delivers you to the airport. Everything you need to know is in the file, the job is simple. Do it right the first time and you can be home in time to finish your weekend homework," she said; eyeing the backpack.
"Yeah, I got a three page History thingy," Alex replied, already looking through the file.
There were photographs of a large building with shady looking men entering and exiting. Some carried wooden boxes while others stood bye, guns on hand. This did not tell Alex much about what he had to do with this. He began to read the neatly typed and formal run down of his job, and discovered slowly that Mrs. Jones was telling the truth for once, this should be easy.
He simply had to plant miniscule listening devices around and inside the building he'd seen in the photos.
The building was an old warehouse that had a reputation for holding drugs, dubious liquids and other anathemas. Dealers and runners were often in and out of the before mentioned warehouse, but lately, the British government had taken notice that these groups had changed from lower forms of criminals, to antagonists with a history of disruption.
It was now believed that the warehouse might hold weapons of warfare, thanks to many weeks of watching shipments being taken in and out. Because of this, measures needed to be taken. The warehouse and the surrounding forty-six acres belonged to Goldeen Haroban, and this is why Alex's services were called upon.
Haroban was working towards being Prime Minister, doing everything right in the public eye to get his place in Her Majesty's Government. He had donated millions of pounds toward charities in need and to disaster survivors, visited orphans and provided a place to sleep for those without homes.
Though most of the money was donated anonymously, somehow it was always traced back to Haroban…which was quite fortunate for him, because then, of course, the press did its job and continued to tell anyone who would listen, and listen everyone did.
Haroban was praised for his unselfishness, though no one seemed to know how he had become so prosperous, and it now seemed quite likely that Haroban would get the job he had wanted for quite a while.
With a suspicious light now cast upon the favorable candidate, MI6 had to be careful about their suspicions.
To swarm the warehouse with SAS men just to be found that Haroban had no idea about the dealings taken place on his property, could end with bad results. Alex could understand how this would be bad for the heads of MI6. He would love a chance to fire Mr. Blunt and even Mrs. Jones at times, and Alex was positive he was not the only one.
"Okay," Alex said finally just as the Crawley turned off the main road. "What you want me to do is clear enough, but how am I going to get in, and stay there long enough to plant these things, without immediately being shot?"
They pulled over, and Mrs. Jones picked up a black leather suitcase sitting between her feet and handed it to him. "These are the devices; hide them in your backpack. We've arranged it so the warehouse and the property should be clear for approximately two hours, that's all the time you have. Smithers will supply you with a means of knowing how much time is left." She said, unbuckling her seat belt as she spoke.
Alex watched as she opened her car door and stepped out; the expensive suit without wrinkles even though she took a moment to tug the jacket down. "Good luck, I'll be seeing you after your mission."
Alex glanced out the window, angry at the people walking to and fro on the street that could carry on with their lives, while his own was handed to him in the form of missions and emotionless files.
"Jack will need to be told where I'm at," Alex said, wishing he could say the thousand of other things he'd rehearsed in his mind.
"We've already done so," Mrs. Jones replied, looking like she wanted to say something further, but deciding against it when she caught the unhappy and tight frown Alex had.
"You'll be late, good-bye Alex."
The car was shut and Crawley drove off to the airport.
………………………
The plane was a personal jet, small, which Alex had expected, but very nice. His destination, a small rural area with only a private school to its name. It would take to long to get there by car they had told him, so Alex was flying into the neighboring town and driving the next thirty or so miles.
He was handed a package by the stewardess soon after the plane was in the air. She did not seem at all surprised to find the only passenger was a mere fifteen year old boy, which Alex was grateful for.
"I was told to give you this after take off, do you need anything else?" she asked nicely, young and vivacious.
"No ma'am, thank you though," he told her, hands itching to see what Smithers had come up with now. Alex felt he might have come off a little impatient, but the stewardess just smiled again and went back toward the front of the plane.
From what he had read, Alex had been chosen among the other spies because of his age. Not a very surprising reason, but it did make sense and did give him an alibi if he was caught.
Because of the private school nearby, once every few months, a schoolboy would wander onto the property in result of a dare or just foolishness. Alex figured someone had created a tale about the building being haunted, or perhaps a few of the students knew about the drug dealings that used to take place there and their curiosity got the better of them.
Not willing to cause a scene and get more attention drawn to the warehouse, if and when the students were caught, they would be swiftly scared away by one of the guards.
Hopefully, Alex would have enough time to get his job done, but if he did not and if Smithers' mysterious invention did not work to get him out of there in time, MI6 seemed sure his age would save him.
Alex undid the clasp on the package, holding it up to let the small, rounded object inside slide out onto his lap.
It was a ring, made of silver or steel. As he studied it, holding the ring in his fingers, Alex noticed it had his initials carved into the inside. Very daring, Alex thought, and possibly quite stupid.
On the outside of the ring though, there were three Latin words. These intrigued Alex the most. In italics, the words read, "Et tu, Brute?"
Alex blinked, thinking them an odd choice. He remembered the words from someplace, but at the moment could not remember where.
Placing it on his finger, Alex was pleased and yet slightly unnerved to see how well it fit as he flexed his hand. Smithers always did his studying before making something especially for Alex.
There was a letter inside the package as well, and Alex slid it out to read.
'Alex, my lad!,' the letter read, 'I'm on holiday in Peru at the moment, but I found the time to make this for you once Mrs. Jones told me you'd be needing an alarm, it's a wonderful piece of new age technology--I'm so ecstatic at what can be achieved in the smallest spaces. Inside the ring is an alarm of sorts, it will begin to burn when your time starts to run out. It will only work once; I suggest you keep it on your finger, although you might be able to feel the heat from the ring through a shirt pocket.
I'll be returning in a week or so, do be careful,
Smithers'
Alex took care to fold the letter into a precise, neat square. He tucked it into his backpack and caught a glimpse of the homework he had. Alex's better half told him to start his homework now, that it wasn't to difficult and that putting it off would just make it seem worse later on.
In truth, the worst thing he had to do was write an original story. The main character had to be based off himself, and this was the same for all the other students in his class. However, the story was supposed to be fictional, a real life story would not work.
Alex hated writing assignments like these, the real life stories were worse though. The result was usually personal, and if he was chosen to read his report in front of the entire class--it was like baring his heart, which was the last thing a spy wanted. Emotions had no place in his life. They caused mistakes, and mistakes led to death.
In an attempt to turn his life away from such thoughts, Alex turned to the window near his right shoulder. Fields of different produce, separated only by fences, melded together like a giant patchwork quilt before his eyes.
Beside this enormous quilt, there was a river. Alex guessed it was several miles wide, and he could spot a few large cargo ships dotting the surface.
Alex kept himself occupied like this until they neared the airport. After the plane had landed, and reached the passenger dock, Alex picked up his backpack and prepared to leave. Glancing at his hand to make sure his ring was still there, Alex climbed down the stairs to the ground after receiving a nod from the flight attendant and a smile from the stewardess.
He walked toward the main building. It was small, which was not surprising considering that besides the one he had arrived in, Alex only saw two other planes.
At a loss as to what would happen now, Alex stood in the reception area moving his stance from one foot to the next. Elevator music played somewhere, and the air conditioner was on full blast. Being fall, it was not needed and Alex started to shiver.
He did not know what he was waiting for, a man in sunglasses holding a sign with his name printed on it? Alex grinned; surely MI6 was more subtle than that.
After standing there for five minutes, a sharp tapping noise reached his ears. Having lived most of his life with Jack, Alex immediately knew the sound. Although Jack was more or less a tomboy, she owned a fair share of high healed boots.
The boots in question walked through the doorway, bringing a middle aged woman with them. The lady spotted Alex immediately and nodded a hello as she neared.
"Mr. Rider?" she asked politely. Her tone professional but her eyes were merry.
"Yes," he said with a nod.
"I'm Regina, if you'll just follow me," she said, and as Alex shifted his backpack, he could see the reason for her shortness. The security guard and the lady at the desk were both listening in intently. The lady having lowered her magazine so that Alex could see the tip of her horned glasses, and if the guard leaned over anymore he would surely fall over.
In a small town, Alex guessed a young man traveling alone might produce a bit of interest, especially considering that anyone could tell this lady was not his mother.
Besides the lack of warmth between them, they also looked nothing alike. Her hair was black and reached half-way down her back. His, of course, was dirty blond. Besides that, she had an olive complexion while Alex always had had fair skin.
Alex followed her outside where the most unlikely car sat. He'd expected the regular black car, it would have fitted this woman, but instead there was a lemon yellow Volkswagen bug….
Regina caught the surprised expression on his face and grinned, "It's my daughter's, and I didn't think I'd have any customers today but I received a call last night. You never know when someone will need a taxi."
Alex nodded and gave her a quick smile, but his mind was busy. This woman had no connections with MI6?
"Sorry about that chilly welcome in there, Bod and Milley are the worst gossips. Milley comes by it natural, and after working with her for six years, I think she passed on the trait to Bod."
It took Alex a moment to straighten everything out that she'd said. Bod was the guard, and Milley was the woman with the horned glasses, but before he could say that he'd seen them trying to listen in, Regina was off talking again.
"I've never had to drive anyone over this way before, you're Aunt said you were on your way to visit your great Uncle. I didn't even know anyone lived on that property," Regina said, friendly surprise on her face as she cranked the bug up.
"Yeah, I haven't seen him in a while," Alex replied carefully.
She looked over at him as they drove out of the parking lot, and the smile on her face was genuine. "Yeah, getting to see someone after a long time is great. You'll have so much to say to each over, probably fall over each other trying to get the next word in," she chuckled.
Alex nodded. He knew what she was saying; he had felt that when Ian had went away for two months. When he'd returned with a broken wrist with an excuse about being clumsy, there had been so much Alex had wanted to say to him.
It took an hour to get to their destination. Having never seen the countryside like this, Alex took his time to look out the window and take in the scenery of rolling hills and cud chewing cattle.
Regina went on about her family, sharing funny stories with Alex.
"--and since we were leaving the next day, it had to be eaten! A honey glazed turkey does not taste good once it is frozen. This one was cold from the fridge, but I love cold turkey. The glaze had brown sugar in it and, oh," Regina made a sound of pure delight and looked close to drooling. Caught up in the story, Alex could not help but laugh.
"So, at three in the morning, me and Anne, that's my daughter, sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and finished off that turkey. It was pre-sliced; the glaze had seeped into the meat. We were so hyper, and kept bursting into laughter at the stupidest things," she snickered, and turned off the main road.
"It's just up here, if the address I was given was right," she said.
Regina slowed down as the road ended at a gate. Alex's eyebrows furrowed. There was nothing to see beyond the fence and gate but a run down dirt road. Peering out the window, Alex searched through the trees and caught sight of the top of a roof.
"Yep, there's his house," Alex lied, figuring that the building was not his imaginary great Uncle's house, but the warehouse he was supposed to infiltrate.
"Are you sure? If you have a key to the gate, I can drive you up there…." Regina trailed off as Alex shook his head and unbuckled his seat belt.
"No, that's okay. It's not a long walk, and I need to stretch my legs anyway."
"Well, okay," Regina said slowly, looking unhappy. "You take care Alex."
Alex smiled, "I will, bye Regina." He got out of the bright yellow bug, threw his backpack over one shoulder, and took off up the driveway.
Regina did not pull away until Alex turned the curve in the drive way. He heard her slowly drive off when he disappeared out of sight. Alex waited a few moments until the soft motor sounds faded away, and then he pulled off his backpack to check of the listening devices.
He'd carefully placed them in his backpack during the plane ride and had covered them with his sweatshirt. The devices must have been cleared ahead of time, because Alex doubted airport security would have allowed him on a plane if they had not.
Pulling his sweatshirt off of them, Alex put it back on and looked over the small square devices. They were about the size of the space between his thumb and index finger, made of a hard metal substance and painted black. On the back there was a film that you were supposed to peel back, and then Alex would stick it to whatever well hidden spaces he could find.
There were probably twenty of the devices and Alex felt pressed for time. He checked his watch.
His time to get inside the building and start planting devices started at three o'clock, it was now two twenty-nine. Maneuvering his stuff over to where large bushes grew in abundance, Alex sat on the warm ground to wait.
Listening intently, Alex was able to make out the sounds of a boat motor roaring to life around two forty-five. Alex had discovered from a map inside his file that the nearby river ran right behind the warehouse. This made it easier to transport the building held, whether it was drugs, weapons or both. He waited another ten minutes, then, with a deep breath, headed out of the protected area.
The warehouse was much larger than what Alex had expected. The photographs had not done it justice. It only had one level, but Alex could easily imagine it holding hundreds of crates.
He walked at a steady pace, doing his best to look like a wandering, overly curious schoolboy just on case there were cameras in place, or if everyone had not left the building.
The entrance was a large metal door the colour of rust, Alex was thinking of the hairpin in his pocket he'd brought along just for this reason even as he reached for the doorknob.
It turned under his hand with ease, and Alex was slightly surprised.
That should have been a warning to him, but he ignored it and entered the building.
Authors Summary: Please review and tell me if I should continue? I used to call my cousin Germy, took me forever before I realized I was saying it wrong and that explained why everyone grinned secretly when I said his name, lol. I think they enjoyed it though, because no one ever corrected me, *rolls eyes*.
By popular vote, this story has been titled 'Shattered Impressions'. The second place winner will be used as well for another story. Thanks for voting! Get chapter two's teaser at my yahoo group. Link is in my profile! Yassen and Alex re-meet under very strained circumstances next. Constructive criticism is welcome! You can also watch my Twitter for update notices, again, link in my profile. ^_^
