It was dangerously close to Christmas. Everybody was rushing about London, doing last-minute present shopping. A blond boy with jaded brown eyes strolled down Liverpool Street. He looked completely natural. Passing him, you wouldn't have spared a second glance. You wouldn't have time to. As he disappeared through the entrance of the Royal and General bank, the ordinary pedestrian would have no idea that at that very moment, hidden cameras were focusing, zooming in, searching the security files for a match. The match was found. The computer focused on the binary code that spelled out the boy's clearance to carry a weapon.

Alex Rider stepped up to the front desk. He said in an undertone, "Special agent Rider, code 422331." The receptionist nodded and pressed a button on the underside of the desk. The button operated the staff elevator. Alex stepped in and the elevator automatically took him to the fifteenth floor. He found the door he wanted; the one marked 'Alan Blunt'. Without knocking, he strode in and threw himself down on the chair in front of the desk, composure forgotten, obviously in a dark mood.

"You wanted me?" he snapped.
"I did," Alan Blunt replied. Alex, for the umpteenth time in his life, was awestruck by how impossibly grey this man was. Then again, he was a spymaster. It came with the job.
"We believe Scorpia will launch an attack on you," said Blunt, not bothering with pleasantries. "And this time, they've joined up with another of your enemies,"
"Oh, yeah? Which one?" sighed Alex wearily, not wanting to remember his numerous enemies, compared to his miniscule amount of allies. What Blunt said next, however, completely knocked the wind out of his sails.
"Julius Grief."

It was a mark of how skillful Alex was at hiding his emotions that he didn't show how shocked he was. Carefully keeping his voice level, he asked, "He was killed. There was a fire and I saw him dead."
"You thought he was dead," said Blunt maddeningly. "Which brings me to a related subject. Yassen Gregorovich is alive."

An hour later, in which Alex had started swearing at Blunt in a variety of languages, the boy stalked off to the place he knew as Smithers' office. The only people in MI6 I can trust, thought Alex, are Mr. Smithers and Ben Daniels. It was true, too. Everybody else thought of him solely as a weapon. Alex knocked on the door, which slid smoothly open exactly 3.8 milliseconds later. ("Exactly 3.8," Smithers had said proudly. "Timed it myself.") Looking to the room within, Alex saw three men, all three familiar, one painfully so. Smithers himself was behind the desk, his huge belly pressing against the edge. Ben Daniels, previously known as Fox, was a recent transfer from the SAS. During their mission with the snakehead, Alex had learned to see him as an older brother. The last, as you have probably guessed, was Yassen Gregorovich. The familiar blue eyes gazed at Alex emotionlessly. Alex ignored him. "Hello, Mr Smithers," he said, smiling. "What ingenious mechanisms have you thought up for me today?"
"Well, Alex," boomed Smithers. "I must say, with the impending attack on your life by Scorpia, and it being so near to Christmas, I've had great fun with these," this speech was accompanied by a wicked grin. "I've got one here," he said, bringing out a box of miniature Christmas tree baubles. "Grenades. They're perfectly safe when you've got them on your tree, but if you press the bottom, here," he flipped one over, exposing a small, round, virtually undetectable button. "Gives you a five second fuse. I hope you don't have a cat?"
"I don't."
"Then it won't be a problem. Cats and hanging explosives don't mix." The gadget master gave a theatric shudder. "And this is my second one," he said, producing a roll of fancily decorated present ribbon. "This looks like ordinary ribbon, but tie a strong knot around something, and voila, virtually indestructible climbing rope! Handy if you want to make a quick getaway. Also very good for tying people up with." Smithers chuckled. "And that brings me to the third and final – my personal favorite, miniature technology." He pulled out a fine silver chain, with a multitude of charms hanging from it. "I know boys your age don't normally wear jewellery," he explained, "but I've noticed the attachment you seem to have with your wood bead necklace. Anyway, I don't think I've made this too girly. See, this charm – "he pointed at a spherical charm – "emits a powerful knockout gas when separated from the chain. It has a five second fuse – they all do – and everyone in a room will be knocked out for up to twelve hours. This one," he said, pointing at a triangular charm, "is a mild explosive. Perfect for small things, like blowing apart a lock. This square one is another explosive, though more powerful than the triangle. It'll blow a door off its hinges. This pentagon is a much more powerful one. It'll blow apart a room, or blast a sizeable crater in cement, metal, any hard material you would care to mention. And this last one, the cube, is a powerful magnet. If you're in a locked cell, it'll destroy the lock with ease. And, don't mention this to Blunt," said Smithers, looking suddenly guilty, "I don't think he'll approve." He handed Alex a small, slim gun. "It's made of toughened plastic, like that concealed knife I gave to you a while ago. It'll fire normal bullets, but I've already got a full magazine of plastic ones in there. If you go through a metal detector, nothing will show up. I can trust you to keep the secret?" he asked the other two. Alex started; he'd forgotten they were there. "Sure," said Ben with a grin. "Blunt won't hear about this." Yassen gave a nod. Smithers gave a wide smile. "Good-o, then," he said cheerfully. "Merry Christmas, Alex!"
"You too, Mr. Smithers."

"So, 'Lex," said Ben a few minutes later, behind the wheel of the MI6 issue vehicle. "Me and Yassen and K unit will be spending Christmas as bodyguards?"
"No. Guests. I don't need bodyguards."
"Oh, Alex, I'm flattered." Alex turned his attention on Yassen.
"How did you survive Air Force One?" The Russian gave a wry smile.
"Straight to the point, little Alex?"
"Don't call me little."
"Why? It suits you."
In the driver's seat, Ben was shocked at the familiarity with which the two spoke to each other. Had he not had his eyes on the road, he would have turned around to question them thoroughly. Alex sensed this, and to put Ben off, switched to Russian, which he had begun to learn since Air Force One.
"So how did you survive the bullet?"
"I was wearing a bulletproof vest, much like your jersey. It had fake blood packets on it, primed to burst at any physically impairing blow. I was hoping you would forget about me, as I had only brought misery to your life. MI6 didn't give me that option," said Yassen bitterly.

By now Ben was completely infuriated. To break up their conversation, he said, "So we drop by at the start of the Christmas holidays?"
"Yeah. Oh, and just to tell you, my friend Tom's staying for Christmas. His parents can't stay in the same house without trying to kill each other, so I'm his escape. He knows about the MI6 stuff."
"Oo-kay. Does Blunt know about it?"
"Nope."
"Then I won't tell him." Alex cast him a grateful glance.
"Thanks, Ben."
By now, the car had pulled up in the driveway of Alex's Chelsea mansion. Alex got out of the car, nodded at them both, and sashayed away.

When an assemblage of SAS, MI6 and one particular assassin showed up on Alex's doorstep on the first day of the Christmas holidays, their first greeting was a mix of warm air, rock music, and the tantalizing smell of baking cookies. The red-haired woman Alex had called Jack was standing in the doorway, eyebrow cocked. "So this is what an SAS unit looks like," she mused. "I thought you'd be buffer."
Wolf spluttered with outrage. Yassen was trying to suppress a smile with difficulty.
"Well, come in!" said Jack. As the men entered, they realized another voice was mixed in with the rock coming from the kitchen.
"So give me reason, to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean. Let the floods cross, the distance in your eyes…!" turning into the kitchen, they saw the slim, blond figure at the counter, apparently singing along with the radio tuned onto a rock channel. A shorter, spiky, black haired boy sat at the table, inhaling batch after batch of chocolate chip. He raised his head and cocked an eyebrow as Jack had. "So this is an SAS unit," he said. "I thought you'd be buffer." Ben was now in near hysterics and Wolf looked ready to kill.
As the every hyperactive Eagle dived for the warm chocolate chips, Alex turned around and switched off the radio. "So, boys. What will our first act of destruction be?" He asked with an evil smirk. "Now, hold it there," tutted Jack. "Let's set some ground rules. You are not to blow anything up. You are not to open the weapon vault. And you are NOT to crush anyone with a hot air balloon!"
K unit stared at Alex.
"Weapon vault?"
"Hot air balloon?"
"What the BLOODY HELL have you been DOING, CUB?" screeched Wolf.
"No time for that," said Tom, shoving them all to the door. "Jack, can you look after the cookie dough? Alexandra here is going to tell us every detail of his missions!" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a valiantly resisting Alex to the living room, K unit, Ben and Yassen trailing behind.

When they had squeezed as much information as they were going to out of Alex, scarfed down so many cookies they were all starting to feel sick, and gotten a tour of the house, Jack plopped down on the sofa and turned on the news. "I'm too exhausted to do anything else," she mumbled theatrically. "Alex? Would you do me the honor of –"
"On it."
Alex made for the kitchen. As he slid the door shut, he distinctly heard Tom say, "The famous Rider fusilli. Life is good."

It was the undoubtedly the most chaotic Christmas Alex had ever had. Wolf combed the house several times in search of the weapon vault. He did find it, but only because he knew what to look for. And even then, it gave him an electric shock because the fingerprint read on the scanner wasn't Alex's. Snake fussed at the limited state of the medicine closet. Ben and Yassen played big brothers. And Eagle teamed up with Tom and made everybody double-bolt their doors at night.

Christmas night found Alex flapping back and forth between the living room and the kitchen, halfway between tying down Eagle and rescuing the kitchen from Yassen. "Eagle, that's not – NOT WITH A FLAMETHROWER, YASSEN!"
It was a horrifying predicament.

Oh no! how will alex get out of his horrifying predicament? hope this first ficEVER tickles your fancy! PLEASE go to my profile page and do the poll. AND REVIEW! i never understood why authors crave reviews so much. now i do.

Edited 23/5/12