Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider! :(
Mr. Jones sat at the dining table in the luxuriously furnished apartment in east London, reading the newspaper. It was a routine that he had stuck strictly to since he had graduated with top honors from Harvard Business School and was now working as an investment banker with the Bank of England. Despite being only in his early thirties, he was the owner of his own car, two homes and a great pile of cash in a Swiss bank account, achievements for which he only had himself to thank.
Five years ago, home became jointly owned with his new wife, a mid-level associate at a rival bank, the Royal and General. Tulip Jones was a conservative woman, and her style suited him very well. They got on well together, especially considering that fact that Tulip was rarely home, and if she ever was, only coming in in the wee hours of the morning and leaving again for the office after a few hours of sleep.
However, the both of them had somehow managed to have two children already, taken care of by a maid, who in addition to bringing them to and fro from kindergarten every day, also cooked and cleaned for the Joneses. Joshua and Jermaine were a year apart, and both of the sat facing each other at the middle of the table in crisp school uniform while polishing down a breakfast of milk, fried eggs and ham.
Today was an exception from all other days. The sun had risen hours ago but Mrs. Jones was still sitting at the opposite end of the long oak table from her husband, sipping from a cup of strong, black coffee while reading a second copy of the same newspaper that her husband was reading. She had only just came back from a flight from The Hague the night before and had arrived home at one a.m. after a lengthy six hour debriefing by her immediate boss, Alan Blunt.
The headline was running a breaking news report that seven spies had been captured in The Hague after a tip-off form British intelligence. Mrs. Jones felt her lips turn upward, forming a small smile, as she read the body of the article, and she allowed herself to feel a small sense of victory, reminding her once again of why she had wanted to join MI6 in the first place, with their relatively low pay as compared to the other offers she had received after graduating from Cambridge University.
It was a feeling of accomplishment that she would never be able to get with a $5 million year-end bonus, and that was something that her husband would never be able to understand. He worked for money, while she worked for passion.
Just then, Lorna, their maid, bustled into the room. "Ma'am," she said, addressing Mrs. Jones. "I'll be taking Jermaine and Joshua to school now. Would you like me to cook something for your breakfast?"
Mrs. Jones answered with a no, and the maid backed out of the room with the two children in tow. Five minutes later, Mrs. Jones heard the front door close and saw the three of them walking out of the door and onto the street five stories below.
She put the papers down and sat back with a sigh. She had the rest of the day off, and as she thought back, realized that it was the only day off she had ever had since the beginning of her career, except for Christmas and she had absolutely no idea what to do.
Perhaps she should try grocery shopping? Or what about going with the kids to the shops after school? Or going back to work anyway? She really had no idea.
At the other end of the room, Mr. Jones sat in deep thought. He was currently stuck on page fifty, but his mind was far away from thinking about how Liverpool had been crushed 4-0 by a team he had never heard of in his life.
At first, he'd genuinely believed that his wife was working for a bank. Well, he knew that, technically, she was working for a bank. The problem was that the bank in question was a front for something else.
It had only just dawned on him that the conditions of Tulip's job were rather weird, and that he barely knew anything about what she did. All along, he had just assumed that she was doing what he was doing and had not thought to question her further. However, he had recently heard of rumors form his colleagues that Royal and General was not really a bank, but a front for the Special Operations division of MI6. He had been disbelieving then, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Coming and going in the middle of the night… Going overseas at the drop of a hat… Coming home with more weariness that jet lag ought to give you… He was now convinced that Tulip Jones was a spy, and it had hurt him to think that she had not told him about it at all.
Maybe it was time to call for a divorce, especially after he'd met that gorgeous woman at a party…
It was now ten in the morning and Mr. Jones had left for work an hour ago, leaving his wife alone in the apartment. She was walking around aimlessly and realizing that she had not seen many of the fixtures under daylight before, which gave her a sudden urge to want to stay home the next day. And the day after that as well to catch up on all the things that she had missed out on while she was so preoccupied with her job.
The shrill ring of the telephone in the hallway interrupted her thoughts, and she moved to get it.
"Good morning, this is Ms. Picca calling from Rosemary Montessori. Is this Mrs. Jones?"
"Yes, speaking." Mrs. Jones replied tensely. What could prompt her children's school to be calling? Surely that hadn't been an accident… "Is there something wrong?" she asked.
"Not really," the woman at the other end replied. "Just that your children hasn't been into school today, and we were wondering if you were keeping them at home."
Upon hearing those words, Mrs. Jones' heartbeat increased tenfold. "What do you mean by not in school?" She demanded. "They left two hours ago!"
"No, they did not come today." The response at the other end of the line was smooth and steady, almost as if she dealt with such situations everyday. "Have you considered the possibility that they might be... lost along the way?"
"Do you mean kidnapped?" Mrs. Jones asked. Inside, she was panicking, but she refused to let her fear show. However, her efforts had failed. "I… I guess I'll hand up now and see what I can do…"
After hanging up the phone, she dashed out of the house and traced the path that Lorna and the kids would take to school everyday. She walked to the school, and back again, having found nothing. Could the unthinkable really have happened? She forced herself to think rationally. Could Lorna and the kids have went on a detour to the park and forgotten about the time? Did her children even like going to the park? She realized that she knew very little about her own children, and if things turned out badly, how much she knew about them would be limited to what she knew now. It wasn't a thought that she fancied.
After another ten minutes of deliberating, Mrs. Jones decided to call someone. The problem was that she could not decide if she should be calling her husband, the police, or MI6. After half a minute, she finally decided on the last option and dialed the number embedded in her memory.
There's probably going to be one or two chapters after this, please tell me what you think! :)