Camille's sharp blue eyes scanned the room, she was sitting in one of the five restaurants the hotel offered, and this one was casual with an Asian influence. She sat there with a glass filled with iced tea, she wasn't hungry, just bored. The server came up to her small table and set down her lunch without a word. Camille had ordered a grilled chicken salad. She could not bring herself to eat anything, so she picked at her food for a while.

Alex snored softly, curled up in the silk bedding he slept soundly. He had been in Porto Vecchio for three nights, and was not looking foreword to going back to London, and MI6. After being scooped out of the ocean off the coast of Australia, Alex had been flown back to MI6 headquarters in London. There he had been debriefed on his mission, after a while he was allowed to go home for the night with the requirement that he come back the next morning to speak with Mrs. Jones about something or another.

That entire night he had dreaded going back to the retched Royal and General Bank, thinking he would be shipped off on another mission to some obscure part of the world. He remembered the meeting the following morning well:

"Alex!" Jack had called to him.

Still half asleep Alex had climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen surprised to find Jack holding the phone impatiently.

"It's for you," she told him, holding the phone out to him.

He grunted and took the phone from her, "Hello?" he muttered sleepily.

"Yes, Alex, this is Mrs. Jones, I-"

"What do you want?" he interrupted rudely.

She continued calmly, "Mr. Blunt and I would like it if you would come in today around noon."

"Yeah, you already told me that yesterday, but if you felt the need to call at," he threw a glanced at the clock, "7:30 in the morning and disturb my first night of peaceful sleep at home to tell me this so be it."

Mrs. Jones's voice was still one of calm, but with a slight hint of softness in it, "Well just make sure to be in at 12:00 Alex."

"Fine," he retorted.

Mrs. Jones had always been slightly more concerned with his well being then the heartless Blunt, who could have sent anyone to his death without a second thought, but for her to be nice to him, what had the world come to. He shook his head to clear it, and by the time he had dressed it was long gone.

After dressing, Jack handed him a plate with some macaroni and cheese on it. He felt sick, he didn't want to go on another mission for MI6, he didn't want to be shot at, and he didn't want to kill anyone. The image of Mrs. Jones when he was sent to kill her still burned in his mind, no matter what anyone said, Alex was not a killer, he would never be one.

For almost fifteen minutes Alex picked at the food, eating only a few bites before Jack spoke up, "Alex, just go, you can eat when you get back its fine."

Alex didn't answer, he just stood up from the table and walked out the door. The bike ride to MI6 was much shorter then he would have wished.

When he arrived he found Mrs. Jones waiting in the lobby for him, "Alex, how are you doing?"

"Fine," he muttered.

Mrs. Jones looked as dreary as ever, she was wearing a navy suit, and was sucking on a peppermint. She turned toward the elevators and Alex followed, instead of leading him to the bank of elevators he normally used, she led him to one at the end of a long hall. As if reading his mind Mrs. Jones said, "This elevator will take us directly to Blunt's office."

Alex noted the guards standing on either side of the doors, they wore suits and he knew they carried guns, and would not hesitate to shoot. The inside of the elevator was different as well, it had ruby carpet on the floor and the walls were paneled in a dark wood. Once they were both inside, Mrs. Joes placed her hand on a glass panel, typed in a password on the newly revealed keypad, and swiped an ID badge she had produced from a pocket. Apparently it was satisfied, because the panel and key pad disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The elevator ride took less then a minute, way too short for Alex, who was seriously considering running straight out of here if he was told he had to go on another mission. He followed Mrs. Jones down the hallway that led to Alan Blunt's office.

His office was the same as ever, cold and boring, much like the man that inhabited it. Blunt was sitting with his back to the door, seemingly talking on the phone, Alex caught a few words, "Yes, but-, are you sure she can get them? If we don't get those files it will be a catastrophe" He cut off as he noticed that both Alex and Mrs. Jones had entered the room.

Blunt muttered some indistinguishable words into the phone and set it down on his desk. "So, Alex how are you doing?" his voice was as cold and emotionless as ever.

"Well I was fine before you people decided to wake me up at 7:00 this morning." He didn't care how rude he was being, it's not like being polite would get him anywhere. "So where are you shipping me off to this time, Antarctica?"

Blunt made to speak, but Mrs. Jones sensing dangerous waters but in, "Actually, Alex we thought you needed a small vacation after that last mission."

Alex was stunned, "A vacation?"

"A vacation. We thought you might enjoy the island of Corsica for two weeks, Porto Vecchio to be exact."

Alex was stunned at this, and for the first few days of his vacation he had been on the lookout for any sign of MI6, but by now he had settled into a comfortable rhythm. He dreaded returning to London where he would return to school to find a flurry of new rumors about him.

A loud ringing noise awoke him from this happy state. It took him a few moments to figure out where the noise was coming from. Finally he picked up the phone sleepily, "Hello?"

"Alex, this is Mrs. Jones-" Alex cut her off.

"Not you. Look, why can't you people understand? I don't want to work for you, so leave me alone."

Mrs. Jones continued in her crisp business like voice, "I'm afraid you have no choice, actually we are asking you to come in as quickly as possible. We shall provide you with the details of your mission when you arrive. At the front desk you shall find an envelope. You are to give this to Camille Laurent."

"Who?" Alex had never met anyone named Camille and had no idea who Mrs. Jones was talking about.

He could here muttering in the background, "You might know her as Helene Marseille."

Alex racked his brain to remember, after a few moments he remembered the girl he ran into at the pool, the girl who's Ipod he had. He started to ask what she had to do with all of this, but Mrs. Jones ended the conversation, "Goodbye," and hung up.

He was left lying in his bed wondering what this girl had to do with MI6, she was French, or at least her accent was. Glancing at the clock he saw he had been napping for almost two hours. With a groan he pulled himself out of bed, slipped on his shoes, grabbed the room key off the desk, and headed down to the lobby.

Alex walked over to the front desk and asked the concierge hesitantly, "On m'a dit que vous avez une lettre pour moi. (I was told you have a letter for me.)"

The concierge seemed to rummage around a bit before he produced a brown manila envelope and handed to Alex, "Oui monsieur. (Yes sir)"

Alex took the envelope from the concierge's hand and hurried back up to his room. He grabbed a pot and filled it with a little bit of water, there was a small kitchen in the room and he set the pot on the range and turned the heat to high. It took little under five minutes for the water to boil.

Knowing he had to hurry Alex held the envelope over the pot and waited before sliding his thumb under one end of the flap and gradually sliding it down opening the envelope. He knew he had to be careful not to rip it, who knows what MI6 would do if they found out he had read classified documents.

Finally it was open, eagerly Alex pulled out the documents, he eagerly began to scan the first page, but almost instantly his face fell. They were in that same obnoxious code as the document he had found in the purse he had fished out of the sea.

Defeated he stuck the papers back in the envelope and sealed it up again, careful to make it look exactly the same as before. Alex headed back out the door, slamming it with unwarranted venom. He practically ran down to the lobby and once again went up to the concierge, "What room is Helene Marseille staying in?" he didn't even bother with French.

"Monsieur, I cannot tell you that." his English was heavily accented with French. "That information is private, but I can tell you I saw her go into Tsai Chang restaurant only a bit ago."

"Merci," Alex murmured, before dashing off to Tsai Chang restaurant.

A man walked up to him as soon as he was through the doorway, "Vous comme une table par la fenêtre monsieur? Would you like a table by the window?"

Once again Alex didn't even bother with speaking French, "No, I was looking for a girl, her name is Helene Marseille."

"Um…what does she look like?"

Alex struggled to remember what Helene, or Camille, or whoever, "Well, she is tall, brunette, about fifteen."

"I think she is over there by the window," he pointed to a table where a girl with curly brown hair sat picking at her food.

Alex walked over and stood over her until she noticed him. Eventually she turned around, "Oh, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he voice still had a heavy French accent.

"Cut the crap, Camille or Helene, or whoever you are!" Alex exclaimed angrily.

Her usually bubbly manner faded in an instant, her face became emotionless, and her voice was as cold as ice, "I don't know what you are talking about," she still had the French accent.

Alex produced the envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, "MI6 told me to give you this," he slammed the envelope of the table, causing the glass of tea she was drinking to shake and a bit to spill.

She picked up the envelope and examined the seal, "Have you opened this?" her French accent was now non-existent, as was any accent in her voice.

"No," Alex said on instinct, "It's sealed isn't it?"

"Yes, but it isn't that hard to steam open an envelope," her voice still had that icy quality but now with a note of steel.

She opened the envelope and scanned the pages quickly; obviously she understood the code. It took her about five minutes to read the six pages of information, "Gather your stuff, and meet me in the parking lot in," she checked her watch, "thirty minutes."

Alex started to ask her who she was, but she had already gotten up, set some money on the table and left the restaurant. Oh well, he could always ask her later, he had a feeling they were going to be seeing quite a lot of each other. He walked out of the restaurant and up to his room. He gathered everything; luckily he had never completely unpacked. All he had to do was grab all of his items out of the wardrobe.

While he was rummaging through his bag he found the Ipod, he knew he would have to give it back to her soon, so he tried one more time, entering the name Camille and the password, well he just guessed at Marseille. The screen read, "Invalid entry, three tries remaining. With a sigh he slipped it into his pocket, grabbed his duffel and headed down to the lobby.

Helene, or Camille, wasn't waiting there, so he assumed she was out in the lot waiting for him. Heading outside he was hit by a wave of hot humid air, he looked around for a few moments before he spotted her. Alex started to walk over, but he stopped dead. She was a sight to behold. He gave her a once over and took in everything, her giant black Channel sunglasses, her Dolce and Gabbana black and white polka dot camisole, her skin tight dark Versace jeans tucked into her black stiletto Jimmy Choo boots, and the pounds of jewelry she wore looped around her neck and wrists. To add to this imposing sight she was leaning against a silver Mercedes SLR McLaren. Tom loved cars, and from what Alex had heard, this was one of the most expensive, somewhere around 300,000 pounds.

Alex walked up to her tentatively, turning to look at him through blue emotionless eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, she said, "Put your stuff in the car and get in," her voice was cold and emotionless and her manner gave nothing away, she reminded Alex of someone, but he just couldn't place his finger on it. Shrugging off that feeling, he shoved his stuff in the trunk and climbed in on the right side. This was Corsica and the driver was on the left side, he assumed she would drive, given it was her car.

The interior was luxuriously done in black leather, Alex watched as Camille typed something into the GPS system, this was normal enough, but what she did next surprised Alex. She opened the center console and after a bit of rummaging she pulled out two handguns, a GLOCK 9mm, and a Wilson .45 subcompact. Without a word she handed the GLOCK to Alex and tucked the .45 into her waistband, covering it with her loose fitting top.

"What do we need these for?" Alex was curious as to why a teenage would have two guns in her car.

"Just in case," her voice gave him the chills, it reminded him of Blunt, cold heartless and void of any human emotion.

"Who are you again?" his voice had a bit of an edge to it.

"Camille," she didn't look at him, just straight ahead to where she was driving.

Camille dug into the center console again, but this time she pulled out two passports, one which she slipped inside her black Prada purse, and the other she handed to Alex. It had his name and photo on it, and he could only guess MI6 had supplied it.

"Where are we going? How did you get this?" he held up the passport.

"London."

"Ok, but how did you get this?"

"MI6," she said simply.

Alex tried to make conversation, "Nice car."

Camille didn't even look at him, much less say anything, maybe this would be harder then he thought, "How did MI6 manage to rope you in?"

"I'm not with MI6." her voice was still cold.

"Then who are you with?"

"That is my business," a faint hint of annoyance had crept into her voice, "It will be four hours before we reach the airport, I suggest you get some sleep."

Alex said nothing. He remembered his first impression of her, a spoiled stupid brat. He decided to change that, she wasn't a spoiled stupid brat, she was worse, she was just like the rest of MI6, and she was a cold hearted bitch. With this thought Alex turned over in his seat and fell asleep.