Alan Blunt was a calculating man. He had to be, it was the nature of his work. Where other men saw accidents and mishaps, Blunt saw connections. Coincidences were for the ignorant and in this business naivety got you killed.
As the sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled away from Brompton Cemetery and began to make its slow way back to Liverpool street through the heavy afternoon traffic, Blunt began to think of the latest problem before him: Herod Sayle.
Beloved by the nation, Sayle's "generous gift" had brought him from relative obscurity to exalted by all. Even the Prime Minister had point blank refused to acknowledge Blunt's concerns, acting as if all his Christmases had come at once. There were even rumours circulating about a knighthood as well as British citizenship. Not bad for a man from the backstreets of Beirut.
But something still sat uneasily with Blunt. Sayle's apparent philanthropy was unparalleled and, if Blunt had the measure of Sayle, completely out of character.
Ian Rider's death had further proved something was indeed amiss at Sayle Enterprises. Rider had been assigned to Sayle's base in Port Tallon as a precaution, to keep an eye on things as it were. Things had progressed quicker than Blunt had anticipated and Rider had died before being able to make his final report. It had been an unfortunate setback as far as Blunt was concerned, a waste of time and resources, but it was Blunt's job to ensure that they turned the situation around to benefit them. By having Rider killed, Sayle had shown his hand, it would all be a matter of time.
The car slowed to a walking pace before stopping entirely, hemmed in on all sides by the famous London congestion. As the head of special operations pondered upon the different avenues of action, he almost wished Mrs. Jones were present. It did not matter if she approved of the endeavour or not. He would get his own way in the end, but it was helpful to bounce ideas aloud.
The more he thought of the situation, the more his thoughts kept coming back to Ian Rider's nephew;
"Your uncle often spoke about you"
"That's funny. He never mentioned you."
Yes, there was something about that Rider boy.
It was true enough that Ian had spoken about his nephew often, although admittedly that was more about securing leave to spend time with the boy rather than an attempt at small talk with his boss. He knew the boy was fairly accomplished in martial arts and several languages but little else. Blunt had been unsure what to expect at the graveside and had been somewhat taken aback by the level of stoicism the boy displayed at the death of his only remaining relative, even more so by his impertinent remarks to Blunt himself. Needless to say this was something that didn't happen very often.
The gears in Blunt's brain began to whir.
No, surely he couldn't...a child spy...utterly ridiculous. He'd be killed almost immediately.
But it made sense...
There'd be a national outcry if he was discovered. Heads would roll. It would mean his job at the very least.
True the pair did bear some familial resemblance but at the same time it would be entirely unexpected. Sayle expected him to send another agent perhaps masquerading as a security guard or an inspector of some description but a child would fit right in. The option should at least be considered before being dismissed entirely.
The car pulled into the underground car park beneath the Royal & General bank. Blunt was surprised at the quickness of the journey, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the passing scenery. Agents Sayer and Hamilton got out of the front seats before slipping around to the passenger door and opening it for Blunt.
He stepped out and began to make his way to the lift that would bring him up to his office. As he walked, Blunt found himself thinking about his own son, Luke. Now in his twenties and serving with NATO troops in Kosovo, would he have been able to cope when he was just 14 before crushing this line of thought. This was business. Sentiment would get you nowhere.
There was a high chance that the Rider boy could be killed, but if it meant one innocent lamb needed to be sent to the slaughter to the save the lives of potential thousands, Blunt was prepared to the take that risk.
A/N: And if you've made it this far, thank you for reading. This is my first fanfic so all constructive criticisms are more than welcome. Tell me what you like, didn't like or whether you think this belongs in the bog of eternal stench and you would much rather if you never heard from me again. I have some longer pieces in the pipeline but until then, adieu