Los Angeles, Beverley Hills, the Madison Mansions, over looking West Hollywood
She sat down at the table, book in her hand.
The table was a thick, simple, tough, sheet of un-bordered glass, being held up by two strong pieces of wood, carved intricately into two elaborately decorated peacocks. The chairs were also carved, with soft satin cushions and smooth, polished legs.
In front of her sat an empty bowl, a silver spoon, an assortment of possible breakfasts, a sugar bowl, a milk bowl and two vitamin tablets laid carefully on a china platter, with ice cold, freshly squeezed orange juice by its side.
The girl at the dining table sat in dark grey skinny jeans, a loose, grey, unstitched hoodie with an open neck, and a thin, bright yellow belt over it. Her footwear was a pair of beige low-top Converses, her favourite footwear.
Her jet black hair curled naturally to her left side, and her shocking green eyes were rimmed with stylish, black glasses. Her lips were the perfect shape, and a delicate shade of pink. Her skin was slightly tanned from her travels, and her skin had no marks, as she did not believe in "war paint" as she put it (make-up) and cleansed regularly.
The table was empty except for her.
Her name was Analie Madison, girl 16, a certified genius and a former member of MENSA from when she was 6 years old. She did not attend school, seeming as her academic genius would "not be fed". Instead, everybody left Analie to it.
Analie Madison had excelled at Harvard at the age of 8. She had enough knowledge to pass a law degree, a medical degree, a philosophy degree and a Civics and Philosophy degree, amongst others. She was a black-belt in karate, tai chi, tae-kwon-do and Judo (she went to package classes).
She was a credit to society.
She was had the brainpower to rule the world, if she wished it.
Analie ate her buttered toast and waffles, not once taking her eyes off the book. In fact, she didn't even turn the page.
Inside the supposed book, was a camera. The camera, at that moment, was in Knightsbridge, London, SW1, the highest ranking and most exclusive place to live in the United Kingdom.
"Miss Madison, you have received a phone call from your father." Chechen, Analie's favourite butler, bowed at her. Analie rolled her eyes.
"Mr Chechen, when will you not refuse my request to not call me Miss? You deserve the title much more than I do."
Mr Chechen, an old African man, grinned at Analie. He had known her for a very long while, and treated her like a daughter and Analie to him a substitute father. In actual fact, the Madison's and the Chechen's had worked together for years, and were great friends.
"When you stop making me feel old by calling me Mr." Mr Chechen- known as Toby- winked. "Now; what do you want to tell him this time?"
"Uh…in the shower?"
"Using that tomorrow."
"Oh, okay, how about…I'm sick?"
"Used that the day before."
"I'm out?"
"Yesterday, remember?"
"I have smallpox!" Analie yelled, before collapsing into her chair. Her father was a very busy man, and Analie did not have the relationship McAvoy Madison would have liked. Mr Madison liked to think of his daughter as an over-achiever; he always chose to pick on her faults.
If he had looked closely, he would have realized Analie didn't have many faults at all.
"Smallpox it is." Mr Chechen grinned, bowing as he went out. Analie curtsied.
She picked up her dishes, and slipped them into the dumbwaiter, too busy to wash her own mess. Not that she was expected to; what was the cook for?!
Analie made her way into the Computer Lounge; a lavish room with a wall-to-wall screen/television hooked up to all the electrical systems in the house, including the Wi-Fi.
Analie hooked her "book" to the screen, and continued watching, occasionally practicing a few karate moves. Out of all her martial achievements, she was most proud of karate. She excelled in it, and definitely enjoyed it the most.
The image projected on the screen was in Washington DC. Analie was watching a Mr & Mrs Michaels; also known as the prime minister and his wife; - attending lunch with the President…
London, Liverpool Street, Royal & General Bank, Head of MI6 Operations
Alex stared in disgust at Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones.
Alex was now sixteen, and also extremely annoyed. He threw the file back onto the desk.
"You want me to look into a mysterious country club that has branches all over the world, including New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Rome and Beijing, just to name a few?! What the hell for?"
"Alex, there have been six arson attempts on these clubs." Mrs Jones explained, eating a peppermint, as per usual. "They must be hiding something."
"So, what? Let me guess; you want me to sneak around before my twelve o'clock seaweed scrub?" Alex laughed without humour. "You've got to be kidding. Can't you get one of your own agents to do it?"
"No, Alex. We need you."
"What is a teenager going to be doing at a luxury country club slash spa? Unless he has sexuality issues?" Alex snapped. "Well?"
"Alex, you remember Miss Starbright…"
"Oh, shut up." Alex huffed, ignoring Mr Blunt. "Fine. I'll do it; if you do something for me."
"Alex, I think your attitude has impacted the fact you are not in a position to compromise…"
"This will benefit me and MI6."
Alex knew he now fully had the two adults' attention. What had happened the last time they hadn't listened to Alex? Disaster, that's what.
The fax machine in the corner beeped. Mr Blunt picked up the sheet of paper and handed it to Alex.
There was a picture on.
Of a girl.
Of a very familiar looking girl.
"This girl has been spotted in all of the locations where there has been attempted arson." Mr Blunt explained, hoping he wasn't walking on deaf ears. "She has no identity, except for the place of Analie Madison, a child genius at the age of 16." Mr Blunt paused. "Your age, Alex."
"I know her." Alex muttered. Mr Blunt stared at the teenager in front of him intently. "This was who I was telling you about. Analie Madison…she gave me the radio to contact you yesterday. She was the who came to Judeans' lair!" Alex felt extremely cliché explaining it like that, but he had better things to worry about.
"Analie Madison? Are you sure, Alex?" Mrs Jones prompted.
"Yes!" Alex snapped. "I…I need to find her."
"Alex, this isn't exactly the best time-"
Alex ignored Mr Blunt. The man's voice had turned into an irritating bleat.
"If she's connected to the arson attempts, and turned up at Clayley's place, she must know something more than what she said." Alex briefly scanned Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones' faces. Mr Blunt's was blank, whilst Mrs Jones was staring at Alex intently. "And I can find out how she knows me."
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Alex looked Mr Blunt straight in the eye. "She knows who I am and that you sent me. Sorry about that- must have slipped my mind."
Two hours later, Alex was sitting in the air, on his way to the Madison Mansions, Beverly Hills, to meet the famous Miss Analie Madison.
"I said I'd find you." Alex muttered to the black and white picture. It showed Analie returning from the gym; the latest satellite feed of when Analie had been publicly spotted and in a relaxed environment. "And now I have."