Target
The building loomed large, overlooking Liverpool Street. The rain was beating down on the windows and the old brick walls. A black Land Rover turned round the corner and entered the underground car park under the building. Most people who walked past would take no notice. Another old fashioned bank, they would think. But that was what the owners wanted. Although the golden plaque on the door said 'Royal & General Bank', what was contained inside was something very different. The building was in fact the base of operations of MI6, the secret service, who had had a difficult time recently. The Prime Minister had decided – for some unknown reason – that they weren't needed anymore. The head of MI6 – Alan Blunt – was sat at his desk, reliving the argument he had had with the PM.
"How do you expect to keep this country running?" He had argued.
"I don't understand."
"With the amount of threats to this country at the moment, how can you expect to close us down and there not be consequences?"
"Look, Blunt-"
"No! People will die! You cannot do this!"
"I'm sorry Blunt, but this is happening, whether you like it or not. Now get out of my office."
Blunt was angry with himself for not trying harder, but it was clear that the PM had made his decision. To tell the truth, he had not been as effective as he had once been. His decisions were not very good, and good agents had died because of it. At one point he had even thought of resigning, but he felt Mrs Jones was not ready to take over yet. Mrs Jones was Blunt's deputy, and although he didn't want to tell her, it mainly was her fault why MI6 had failed so much recently. If he had been left to do what he pleased, Blunt would have used his secret weapon many times, and everything would be fine. Of course, his secret weapon was controversial, but then again, when had secret intelligence not been controversial? His secret weapon was now sat in the reception area, waiting to come in. Blunt paused for a few seconds, and then picked up his phone.
"Will you send up Alex Rider to my office?" He did not say please – nor did he have to. Nobody was polite here – most people didn't even trust each other. This was intelligence, and one of the first lessons you are taught in intelligence is don't trust anyone. Not even your friends. No one. Alex Rider walked up the polished wooden stairs – he didn't like the lift much – and turned left down a narrow corridor, past the office that had once belonged to his uncle, Ian. He reached the solid oak door, with a plaque nailed to it with the word 'Blunt' carved in plain, bold letters. Alex already knew what he was going to say before he entered. He did not knock – he knew Blunt was waiting for him. He turned the brass doorknob and swung the door open.
"Alex! What a pleasure to see you!" Blunt said the words as if Alex was an old school friend who he had bumped into on the street. But of course Blunt never walked the streets. It was too dangerous. Alex began his planned speech.
"Look, I know what you're going to say. But I'm not working for you again. I don't care that a car just exploded in my street, I am not working for you again. It was just a chance explosion. I'm sure it wasn't aimed at me. So will you just leave me alone?" Blunt was almost impressed with Alex's little speech. But of course it took a lot to impress him.
"Alex," he began. "I know how you feel, but there is something you should know. The car that exploded? Well you see, it was aimed at you. I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but the Triads have managed to track you down. And while you stay in the UK, I'm afraid you are in danger. The Triads will keep taking a pop at you until finally, they succeed. And believe me, they will succeed. That is, if you stay here."
"What are you suggesting? I'm not having a repeat of what happened at Skeleton Key."
"Oh no, don't worry. We think we're being quite reasonable here."
"We?" Blunt ignored Alex's comment and continued.
"We are going to help you. What we are going to is give you an American Visa, and will remove all traces of your life in the UK. You will move to the United States with your housekeeper, Jack Starbright. We will create records of your so called 'existence' in the USA, including a passport. We will give you a new life where you will be known as Alex Starbright. What do you think?" Alex wasn't quite sure what to say.
"I... what are the conditions?"
"Well, this is what we want you to do."
