A/N: NOT Alex X OC!!!

Edit 2/5/2009: Yes, I changed the summary. Seemed that people thought this was another one of those Alex falls in love with Mary Sue story. Not so.

Sequel to my one shot, 'Conscience'.

Started this as another one shot, but it quickly turned out too long for that. So then came the task of splitting it up in chapters, but since it was written as one continuous story, no splitting it up other than simply splitting it at scene changes worked. That's why you get a story with currently 15 short chapters (I need to write the epilogue). On the bright side (or, depending on your view, the down side), since the story is finished and only needs editing, updates should be fairly quick.

Story warning: rated for everything that's listed under FF T rating rules.

Disclaimer: Alex Rider is the property of Mr Anthony Horowitz. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

DECEPTION

Chapter 1

"Jason Carnegie, age, 45. Information security officer for the ministry of defence. Former military, former SAS, former MI5. Served in Northern Ireland, Beirut, Irak. Fifteen years ago he quit, went to university and got a degree in computer science. Worked for various companies, among which, which will interest you, Alex, Sayle Inc. Came to work for the ministry of defence five years ago, to everybody's satisfaction. He is unmarried, his wife died seven years ago in a car accident. He owns a house in Kensington and another one at the Costa Brava in Spain, which he will be at for the coming three weeks of summer."

The photograph showed a blond man who looked younger than his forty-five years. A smiling face, friendly blue eyes. Handsome in an unremarkable sort of way.

"Likes sports. Runs ten kilometres every day when not too busy, plays tennis, does some karate, though he seems to have less time for that lately. As far as we can tell, he's not dating. What caught our attention a while ago, was that he seems to have a lot of money on his hands, more than would seem appropriate for his salary. This was however sufficiently explained as being winnings from a casino."

More pictures, Carnegie entering a building, playing tennis, sitting on a terrace with somebody else, a dark haired man with dark sunglasses. Blunt leaned forward and pointed at the last picture.

"This picture was taken three months ago in Madrid, Spain. The man in the picture is Carlos Schliesser, a what we call 'information broker'. He buys and sells information to anybody who's willing to pay, and he is very indiscriminate about it. He sells information to any intelligence agency in the world, but also to various terrorist groups, including ETA in Spain, Scorpia and of course Al Qaeda. It took us a while to figure out who he talking with. Imagine our surprise when we found out Carlos was having a nice little get together with an information security officer we had been suspicious of before, but couldn't prove was anything wrong with."

Mrs Jones shifted in her chair. Alan Blunt leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"We, of course, contacted MI5 as soon as we identified him. They were... not very cooperative. We investigated Jason Carnegie before, because of the unexplained money, and he came out clean then. He is one of them. They don't like us touching what they see as one of their own. This, however," Blunt leaned forward again, "We cannot let slide. The man has access to very sensitive information."

"OK," Alex said, "I get why you want him under surveillance. You don't need me for that."

Blunt folded his hands and stared at Alex through his glasses. The trace of sunlight coming from the partially shaded windows reflected in them, and Alex had a hard time seeing his eyes. Not that they would have had any expression in them.

"We need somebody in his house to look for information he may have stolen. That is a job that takes some time, and we don't want him to get suspicious and alert his mates in MI5. You must understand, Alex, this man is very cautious. None of our operatives can approach him. He is ex-MI5, he knows how to keep us away. He is weary of every new person he meets."

"What makes you think I can approach him?" Alex asked, "Maybe he won't expect me to be a spy because I'm fifteen, but why would he want to even talk to me, let alone invite me into his house?"

"No. He won't. But she will."

Blunt placed a second photograph next to that of Jason Carnegie. A girl, about Alex's age, the same blond hair, cut short, the same blue eyes as the man next to her."

"Jennifer Carnegie," Blunt said, "His sixteen year old daughter. She will be with him in Spain. You approach her, get her to invite you over. Once in, you'll be able to discretely search the place."

Alex stared at the girl. She looked pretty, a little defiant.

"She's an adventurous type," Blunt continued, "A bit like yourself. You'll get along splendidly. Your best chance at meeting her will be one of the clubs or discotheques in the town they are currently staying."

Alex shifted in his chair, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Am I supposed to..." he started hesitantly, not quite knowing how to put it into words.

"Approach her romantically. Certainly. You are her type. Other than that, she seems to just have broken up with her boyfriend. You can get her... how do they say it these days... you can get her in the rebound. Be nice to her, with your looks, she is almost guaranteed to fall for you."

Coming from Blunt's mouth, it sounded like he was discussing a wildlife documentary. Alex recoiled. This was nothing like his regular assignments lately, when he was just part of the scenery while agents did what they had to do, it being either surveillance or something more sinister. Only once, he had gotten himself involved in one of the more sinister missions, and he didn't want to think about that. Don't get involved, that was his motto. He'd kept himself aloof since that one time, hardly interacting with the agents at all. The worst he had done since the incident at Dunkirk had been carrying a gun through customs. This was something entirely different.

"No," he said, "I won't do it. I'm not going to... befriend her only to betray her. It's unfair."

He had long ago resigned himself that he would be used as a decoy by MI6 until he got too old and his usefulness was over. This was going too far. The faint rustle next to him told him that Mrs Jones, who had been oddly quiet the whole time, had just freed another peppermint from its wrapping. She spoke for the first time.

"Alex, there is no danger involved. We thought you might like this assignment. It's about meeting people your own age, you'll get to go to the clubs, the beach, and have a good time. Once you have searched the house and planted the microphones, you're free to enjoy ourself for the remainder of the time. See it as a free holiday."

"That's not what I was objecting to."

"Alex, we have to do this. And maybe the man is clean and there is no problem at all. You'll just have made a new friend."

"Friends don't spy on each other," Alex said stubbornly.

"And trusted government personnel shouldn't sell state secrets," Blunt said sharply, "That's what we're here for, Alex, to defend our country against these covert attacks. We work through ways the general public disapproves off, but are happily oblivious to."

"Like enlisting fifteen year old spies," Alex muttered.

Blunt's words had hit home, though, and unbidden his thoughts went back to Craig Harrison's little speech on the beach, with which he had convinced Alex to become an assassin. They did what they had to do, so that other people could live their lives in peace, oblivious of the means with which that peace was preserved. He felt himself go cold again, that detached feeling when he knew he was going to agree to something objectionable.

"When do I leave?" he asked.

There was no triumph in Blunt's face, nothing that indicated he had won again, no smugness about his total power over Alex. And that made sense too, the man had known Alex would agree, had expected nothing else. One day in the not so distant future, Alex thought, he'd say no, just for the heck of it. Whatever they would do to him then couldn't be much worse to what they were already doing now.

"Three days," Mrs Jones said, her voice all business, "And in the meantime you have some training to do with Smithers, he's waiting for you downstairs. Before you go, however, we want you to meet your 'father'."

She leaned forward and pressed a button on Blunt's desk. "Send him in," she said.

Alex sighed and turned in his chair to watch the door. He could hardly go on vacation on his own, although he knew of several sixteen year olds who did. But they usually travelled in groups. Being alone would make him stand out.

The door opened and Craig Harrison stepped in. "Hello, Alex," he said.

Alex jumped up. "No way," he said.

"Yes way. Don't worry, Alex, I'm only your backup. You know I'm good at that."

Alex stepped back until his chair was between him and the former assassin and looked at him, trying to control the churning in his stomach. The man looked good, healthy, tanned like before, if a bit tired, judging from the dark circles under his eyes. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and Alex knew that was to hide the tremor in them. Craig Harrison would never fire another sniper rifle again, and although Alex was sort of grateful for that at least, he didn't like the man's manipulative power. He couldn't aim. He persuaded others to aim for him. And if the only one available was a fifteen year old boy, so be it.

"I'm not going to kill anybody," Alex said.

"Nobody is asking you to, Alex," Blunt said reasonably, "In fact, nobody asked you in Dunkirk. You volunteered."

Alex opened his mouth in protest, but no sound came out. He remembered that moment on the beach, that cold feeling, the decision to go ahead and shoot somebody. Sure, Craig had pressured him, talked to him, reasoned with him. But the decision had been his. The story he had been telling himself for the past few months, that Craig had forced him to do it, was false. He had done it because he could. What did that make him?

"I'm not going to kill," he repeated stubbornly.

"You won' t need to," Craig said, "It's just in and out, find out what we need and then we'll let the big guys deal with it."

Alex turned to Blunt. "Don't you have somebody else," he asked plaintively. He didn't like the tone of his voice, he sounded like a child. Maybe, he thought spitefully, it was because he was a child. "How about that guy from last week, what's his name, Mike something. Or Ben. Ben Daniels, we worked well together, why can't he come with me?"

Blunt shook his head. "Craig's available. Deal with it. Now go see Smithers, he has something interesting to show you. I need to speak with Craig."

Alex's face flushed red at the dismissal. He glared first at Blunt and Mrs Jones, then at Craig who was still standing at the door and then stalked out of the room.