Ok. I have a million and one reasons why this took so long, including mountains of summer work, suddenly hard homework and two and a half hours of practice after school, but all I can say is that I'm sorry. I'll try to get chapters up faster from now on, but this year is looking to be a tough one.

Also, a minor disclaimer about the religious stuff that is involved in this and later chapters – it is not meant to offend, and I'm really sorry if it does. I'm Catholic myself, so trust me, I'm not going for Christianity-bashing.


Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.


It was still dark when car from hell came to a complete stop, but it was the kind of darkness that spoke of dawn. There were no clouds, making every star in the sky visible. He spotted the North Star, the same even though he was halfway around the world, and took note. Looking around, he could see nothing but sand from horizon to horizon, save for an old-fashioned oil rig off in the distance.

The driver, a black man with a bald head and muscles that appeared to pop out of his skin, grabbed his forearm tightly, a grip that even Alex would find difficult, if not impossible, to escape. The man led him apparently nowhere, toward the peak of an enormous mound of sand, bigger than any hill he had ever seen – in England and elsewhere. They climbed and climbed, and both were panting by the time they reached the crest.

Alex was surprised by what he saw. Whatever his mind had cooked up, it certainly wasn't this. It looked remarkably similar to the barracks at Breacon Beacons, but with smaller buildings. A few tents were scattered around as well, making the whole place look oddly like a summer camp. There were no obstacle courses or death houses, but instead a wooden church with an enormous cross decorating the front. Alex absorbed all of this in the seconds before the large man (Alex had dubbed him Muscles, for obvious reasons) led him down, toward one of the larger tents on the outskirts of the camp.

Squinting his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun, Alex was barely able to make out the word REGISTRATION in faded red lettering on the side of the tent, printed in several languages. His heart rate sped up imperceptibly as he entered, though his face didn't change expression.

There was a young woman at the desk; her brown hair tied back, reading the Bible. Her copy looked more worn than Alex's did, and she didn't glance up as the two entered.

Muscles cleared his throat. "Miss Smith?" he questioned, his voice deep and sounding vaguely African, "Mr. Landry is here."

Smith finally looked up and smiled. She had a kind face, with brown eyes and a nose scattered with freckles, which Alex immediately memorized in case he needed to identify her later.

"Mr. Landry!" she exclaimed, putting a small leather strip on her page before closing the book. "How good it is to finally have you here! How was your trip?"

"Long," Alex answered, taking note of the American accent, "but worth it. It's beautiful here."

Smith beamed. "I'm glad you think so! I personally think this is one of the most beautiful spots on Earth, though that may be because of what we do here, as opposed to the pretty desolate landscape."

Alex gave her a half-smile, hoping it could be interpreted as a sign of jetlag rather than one of disgust. How could any organization that voluntarily killed people like Mr. Wells, Chloe or Kwan call itself beautiful?

Miss Smith saw the exhaustion in his expression and hurried to talk again. "Oh, you must be so tired, Alec! Is it okay if I call you Alec? Where did you fly from again? Canada?"

Alex nodded. "Toronto," he said, adjusting the Toronto Blue Jays cap, seemingly subconsciously, "to London, and then to Manama. After that, I'm not so sure."

Smith smiled again. Her face looked like it might crack in half, and her cheery tone, coupled with her liberal use of exclamation marks, was beginning to irritate him.

"Toronto, eh?" she laughed, putting an audible accent on the second word. "I've never been there, just to Montreal. Will you miss it?"

Alex shrugged and said, "Not much to miss is there? Not like I had any family there."

There was an awkward silence, Alex's favourite kind. Muscles looked uncomfortable and Smith's smile had slipped off of her face. Within a few seconds, however, it was back, looking faker than ever before.

"Well let's get going then, Alec!" she said, her voice hitting an even higher register. Alex wondered vaguely as she led him through a flap in the tent whether that frequency would have the same effect as the green candy Smithers had given him - capable of incapacitating any nearby animals. Somehow, he didn't think he would be terribly surprised.

She led him into a room where there were two more bulky men – there certainly didn't seem to be any lack of them at this camp. Smith turned to him again, twirling a bit of her brown hair around her finger.

"Um... Alec?" she asked, her face turning curiously pink, "I'm going to leave for this part. These lovely guys are going to have to search you."

"Search me?" Alex responded, confused, before it dawned on him. "Oh!" he shouted, trying somewhat successfully to blush, "Oh, man."

"Sorry about this Alec," she said, already closing the tent flap behind her, "but it's for your own safety."


In the end, all they ended up confiscating were his candies, though the experience wasn't exactly fun. Alex made a mental note to remember to listen for an explosion coming from the general vicinity of the Registration tent sometime soon.

As Smith led the way to his "dwelling" (her word, not his), Alex thought over what he still had: the Bible with the cool transmitter ability, the rosary that sent out the constant locator beacon, and the shoes that sent out the extra strength emergency signal. Not very much, and now there was nothing offensive. Nothing good for spying, nothing good for snooping. All he had to rely on now were his own skills, smarts and luck. But, he figured, that wasn't very much different than ever before.

"Right now is personal time, Alec, so your roommates will most likely be in their beds. Most campers either use this time for sleeping or personal prayer. I recommend personal prayer, especially as you're new to the church. There are just so many things you have yet to discover in the Bible! But of course, you'll be very sleepy, so I won't blame you if you take a catnap. Just ask your roommates to wake you in time for the morning service, alright?"

Alex blinked and nodded slowly, trying to see if he could remember everything she said. He didn't think she had stopped to take a breath. But before he could ask her to repeat it, slowly this time, they were there.

It wasn't much - just a fairly large tent with a number 49 taped to the side of it. Alex couldn't bring himself to look nervous as he entered, just tired. He unzipped the zipper, sounding very loud with just the whispering of the desert wind to hide it. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the surprising darkness, Alex noticed three cots squeezed into the small space - two with sleeping bags and pillows, one looking invitingly bare.

There were two boys on the cots - one a redhead with so many freckles it gave the appearance of a tan, the other a boy with very dark hair and the beginnings of a moustache. Both were reading Bibles, though the redhead was tapping a pen to an erratic beat. Neither looked up as he entered. He cleared his throat and dropped his few belongings at the end of his bed, wondering where the sleeping bags came from.

"You must be Alec!" the redhead shouted, jumping off of his cot and tangling himself in his bedding in the process, falling onto the ground. He was still holding up his hand, as if to shake, so Alex took it with a small smile.

"That would be me," he answered, "and who are you?"

"Oh!" he said, pushing himself off of the ground and jumping up. He had a strong Irish accent, which made Alex quite weirdly think of Jack and her love of imitating accents, especially Irish and Scottish (and one she claimed was Slovakian, though it sounded more like gibberish). "M' name's Nevaeh. Pronounced Na-vay-ah. It's heaven spelled backwards. Course, I wasn't born that, I was born Eric, but I changed it a couple years ago when I got really into religion."

At this point Alex looked to the other boy, the darker one, but he still wasn't looking up. He made no move to introduce himself.

"That there's Yayah. Sick name, if you ask me, but he doesn't talk much. Actually, I don't think I've ever heard him talk. He's a nice bloke, though. He's from wherever we are right now, and this is the first time he's ever been able to practice in public and I don' think he's quite used to it, if you ask me, which you didn't."

Alex blinked a few more times, Nevaeh's voice being even more difficult to understand than Smith's. Not the accent, but the speed which he was talking at made most of the words blend together.

"Course," he said, "I didn't really get into religion at all until a few years ago."

"Beats me," Alex said, sitting on this edge of what he assumed was his bed. "I only got into it a few months ago. What made you more serious about it?"

"The Underground Bombings." Nevaeh replied, suddenly less of a hyperactive teenager and more of what Alex expected in this place - a serious, brooding adult. "Me ma and little sister were in London that day, looking to get me a birthday present." Alex was suddenly uncomfortable. Listening to the sufferings of others was not something he was particularly comfortable with.

"They only go once a year, you see," he continued, "and they just went on the wrong day. They didn't die in the explosion." he said, talking less to Alex now than himself, "It took them a few weeks, and while they were in hospital, I got to talking with the priest there. He helped me a lot, and now here I am. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be. What about you?" he asked, "It's your turn. What made you religious rather than apathetic?"

Alex shrugged. "It's pretty similar to your story. My parents died years ago, and I got shuffled around from home to home. I got sick of it and went to the streets. Tried some stuff, some stuff I regret now, but Father George found me and helped me out. Jesus saved me."

"I know what you mean, Alec," he started to say, but Alex yawned before he could continue.

"Sorry, Nevaeh, but I'm kind of falling asleep. I had a long trip. Would you wake me up if we need to be somewhere? I'm not really sure what I'm doing yet."

"Course!" he said, smiling again, "I think the first thing you'll need to get to is tonight's service. Father M doesn't much mind if people miss the first service on their first day here. It's a lot to get used to. So I'll get you up before that?"

"Sure, that would be great. Thanks a ton," Alex replied, searching the tent for any spare sleeping bags, pillows, anything. Finding one under the cot, he unrolled it and crawled in, not even bothering to take his trainers off. He rolled over and put his head under his pillow, wondering silently how he would ever be able to act this sort of fanaticism.


Hold on tight guys. The ride only gets faster from here.