No national leader trusts his spy chiefs. President Bradley Grendel was no exception. And when the head of the CIA has a British accent and a scar down his face, it makes things so much worse.

"Look, Mr..."

"Rider."

Grendel massaged his temples. "Mr...Rider. What you're giving me here is obviously not going to sit well with Congress. It's got evidence to back it up, I know, but still, it's hard to believe the DSGE and MI6 are collaborating on this project."

Alex Rider sat straight-backed in the chair, running a hand through gray hair. "I'm just the messenger, Mr. President. I don't make up the intel myself."

Grendel raised a suspicious eyebrow. "It's just a bit... hard to believe, Rider. The French and the British, working together to undermine the Germans? The French and British have barely made any diplomatic contact since the end of the War."

Alex's expression didn't change, but he was fuming internally. No matter the president, no matter the party he was from, it was always an uphill battle to get them to pay attention to intelligence reports. Even if said reports included the intelligence agencies of two bitter enemies conspiring against an American ally in World War III.

"Mr. President, there are several courses of action we can take. Our man in London has been swearing up and down that the Brits have been loading cartons of explosives disguised as umbrellas at the docks, but we have no idea where they're going. Also, it seems that the French have planted several moles in the BND. Our man in Berlin has been..."

Alex could tell Grendel wasn't listening, and this was confirmed when the President started staring at his watch and tapping the table.

"Uh, sir?" Alex had to wave his hand in front of the President's face.

"Huh?" Grendel sat up. "Oh. Just get more info, and come back here when you've got a dossier with several proposed solutions."

Alex gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

He picked up the papers and walked outside. His bodyguard, Samuels, offered to take the dossier. Alex scowled at him. "I'm not fragile, Samuels."

Samuels nodded and took up his position at Alex's shoulder. The old spy chief and his security hurried towards the bulletproof limousine waiting for them at the corner. Alex wasn't taking any chances; he had CIA operatives positioned all over Pennsylvania avenue, just in case one of his old enemies decided to have a crack at him.

Ever since the triads had tried to assassinate him on his thirtieth birthday, he slept with a gun next to him. And ever since another sniper had put a hole in his thigh when he became head of the Special Activities Division, he kept an army of agents in any area he ventured outside.

Alex entered the limousine, followed by Samuels.

"A coffee, sir?"

"That would be nice, Samuels."

Alex took the offered cup and took a sip. He would need all of his energy to face Sabina and the kids once they got back to Langley.