So... I keep saying that these waits will get shorter, don't I? Oops. But I hope you like this chapter – here's where things are really getting good. Hold on tight guys!
Thanks as always to my beta CunningMascara, and another thanks this time to my brain twin cricketchick1990, whose kind words really make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.
The next thing he knew, he was being roughly shaken awake by a calloused hand. Before he had even opened his eyes, he had twisted the arm on his shoulder around almost a full rotation. He only dimly registered the shouting through his sleep-muddled brain.
"Uncle! Hey, Alec, I said uncle! You can let go now!"
Waking fully in a start, Alex glanced at his hand, which was tightly gripping a freckled wrist.
"Damn! Sorry, Nevaeh, didn't mean to do that," Alex exclaimed, letting him go.
"'S ok," he said, rubbing at his shoulder. "Life on the streets must be pretty rough, huh?"
Alex, thinking of the other reasons he had to wake up defensive, allowed the dark look on his face to leak through his normally sealed exterior. "Pretty rough, yeah," he agreed.
"I won't ask," Nevaeh said, miming zipping his lips. "But I should warn you, they don't tolerate swearing here, especially if you take the Lord's name in vain."
"You speaking from experience?" Alex grinned, his mask changing again, standing up in the short tent and running his fingers through his hair.
"Maybe," Nevaeh said, turning a light shade of pink. At Alex's entertained look he said, "Oh, come on! Old habits are hard to break!"
"True," Alex said, laughing. "Didn't you say earlier that there's a service we need to be getting to?"
"Blimey, you're right," he said, jumping to his feet from the edge of his cot. "I'll show you how to get there. Yayah left a bit ago; he usually likes to sit in front."
Alex decided not to comment on the boy's intensity. After all, wasn't he meant to be just as intense?
They made their way to the church laughing, but a spark of something grew in the air as they got closer. Nevaeh seemed to be getting excited. It wasn't tension, it was more anticipation. Alex couldn't put a name to the exact feeling, but it did make him wonder what exactly he was getting himself into.
They pushed their way through the hastily constructed wooden doors and Alex took the place in. It wasn't enormous – big enough for two hundred people or so. It was lit by candle, the flickering casting shadows on the floor. There was a quiet murmur of voices, people exchanging words before the service began. Most were smiling, and Alex was shocked to see a woman with a small baby, a rattle in his mouth, off to his left. Seeing his raised eyebrows, Nevaeh smiled.
"I thought she was crazy too, at first. But everyone helps out. His name's Gabriel. Ironically enough, hers is Mary," he said, by way of explanation.
Alex made himself look away, and instead turned his gaze to the other people populating the church. Most looked normal. It was a truly diverse group, he noted with interest. There were Asian people, black people, white people, young, old, middle aged, and quite a few teenagers. A girl who looked to be about his age, maybe older, with a shock of red hair that grew past the middle of her back, was sitting near the front of the church. As if she had felt his eyes on her, she turned to where he and Nevaeh were. Her eyes brightened, and she stood, mumbling apologies to the people she had to scoot past to leave the pew.
Nevaeh whispered to him as she made her way up, "That's Erin," he said, and paused. "She's a bit of an odd bird, but devoted enough." Alex nodded and watched her come their way.
"'Lo Nevaeh!" she said, and smiled pleasantly at them. "And who's this?" she asked, looking at Alex.
"Hey, Erin," he said, smiling. "This is Alec. He just got here earlier today, from Canada."
"Nice to meet you, Alec," she said, holding out her hand to shake. Alex shook it, surprised by the calluses that were present on her fingers as well. "Nice to meet you too," Alex said, memorizing her features, "Erin, was it?"
"Way to introduce us, Nevvie!" she said, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. With the shared red hair and playful mannerisms Alex would've called them brother and sister. "Yes, I'm Erin," she said, smiling. She flipped her hair back and seemed to blink a few more times than was probably normal.
Alex waited a moment before asking, "...Nevvie?" in a faintly incredulous tone.
Nevaeh blushed again. He seemed to be easily embarrassed. "She decided that Nevaeh is too hard to say in one go. Though it's really not, it's only three syllables..." his voice drifted off as Erin glared at him.
"I'm big on nicknames," she said, taking her gaze off of Nevaeh and putting the slightly disconcerting blue eyes on him instead. "Too bad yours is so short already." She sighed, but she seemed to be done. Indeed, the general noise level in the church was winding down.
"Come and sit with me," she said, grabbing his and Nevaeh's forearms and shepherding them toward where she had been sitting earlier. Her hands were cold, Alex noticed with detached interest.
They had only been settled in for a few moments when a hush settled over the church. The intense anticipation from earlier returned, and Alex was reminded of the atmosphere of a few professional football games he had attended, the moment where the crowd was sitting on the edge of their seats, awaiting a call that could change the outcome of the game. It was a silly comparison, he knew, but it felt similar. The candles flickered.
Before long a man walked out – Alex supposed it was the Father M everyone had been speaking of. According to the file he was given, his real name was Mohammad, but apparently no one called him that. He reached the pulpit and gazed at his audience, his parishioners. His eyes skimmed the audience until they met Alex's. They were a dark shade of brown, and very guarded. He looked at Alex a moment more before he spoke.
"Good evening," he said in a deep voice without accent, and the rest of the congregation repeated his greeting, Alex joining in a half of a beat too late. "I would like to welcome tonight an addition, newly arrived from Canada. Would you care to stand, Alec Landry?"
Trying to make himself blush, Alex stood and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt at a nervous habit. He was startled when everyone started clapping. Looking around, he could see people smiling at him, and nodding, giving him their approval. He gave a slight strained grin and sat down again. After the applause died out, Father M spoke again.
"Please do your best to make Mr. Landry's transition as easy for him as possible. I'm sure everyone remembers their first few days here," he said, and the group chuckled, seemingly in unison, "and I know how much it helps to have a kind face present." There was an undertone to his words that Alex noticed – he couldn't pinpoint it, and it was so small it was almost nonexistent, but it bothered him nonetheless. His intuition was flickering.
After that, no one paid him much mind. Father M – a large man with a powerful voice – bellowed the service so that at times even Alex found himself following, and not just pretending to. He spoke of the incoming fires of Hell, how humanity was on its last legs, how it was up to them to save their race. Alex had to admit, he was very compelling. To take people who had little left to their lives and give them a purpose – it was very smart.
After an hour and a half of the service, and then Communion, it got down to the nitty gritty. Father M was at the pulpit, but he was no longer preaching. As a matter of fact, he was begging. Begging for money, begging for resources, there was begging, begging, and more begging. Alex supposed it explained the people who had shown up at his school – these people were desperate for cash. He could only hope the current lack of it was postponing any sinister activity.
As Alex watched the sermon, there were two familiar faces watching him. Hidden in the back of the church, along the shadows of the flickering candles, two women were discussing his fate.
"The Father has said that he will give him one last chance," the calmer woman said in her clipped, slightly posh tone, dislike hidden in her words.
"He deserves no second chances," the angry woman hissed as quietly as possible, aware as always of the fact that they were in a house of God.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Takami," the first woman said, reproachfully. "Rider will be given a chance to repent. If he fails to do so, you can have your way with him."
The second woman was torn. The more bloodthirsty side of her nature did not wish him to repent, but her more refined side reminded her that repentance was the pathway to Heaven, and that she should wish it for everyone. But then she thought of Rider again, and that insolent, smirking face, taunting her, and the bloodthirsty side won.
"He will not repent," Mitsuko said, her voice sure and steady. "You surely know that as well as I do, Lewis. He deserves to be punished. He will set the example, and the whole world will know who we are."
The two women quieted and when an Amen echoed through the eaves, their voices were among the strongest.
Getting settled into the schedule at camp, which involved twice daily services, hours of physical labour which they spent "preparing" (for what, Alex had never been told, but it involved lots of hammering), and a few hours every day for meals and personal prayer, took less time than Alex had expected. After three days, full of diligent reports to MI6 during the few precious private hours every day, thanking Smithers every time he uncapped the pen, he could honestly say that he knew the place backward and forward. It wasn't the location that he needed to know, though, it was the eventual goals of this program, and he was no closer to that than he had been when he started.
He was thinking this over in the middle of his fourth day, flipping through his worn Bible, when Smith came into their tent. Closing the book, he looked over to her. She was smiling at him.
"Father M wants to see you, Alec," she said, looking generally unconcerned. "Nothing to worry about, he just likes to talk to all those new to us after the first three days or so to see how they're settling."
Hopping off of his cot, Alex nodded. He followed her around to the general back of the area, where the tents started becoming smaller and more scattered. Leading him to the smallest tent, Smith called out, "Father? Alec and I are here!"
He emerged after a moment, looking smaller somehow than he did while bellowing on the pulpit. With a nod at Smith, he gestured for Alex to enter behind him. Alex's intuition was flickering again. This man was dangerous, he knew that much (it would be hard not to – he had sent bloody terrorists to Brookland, for heaven's sake!), but he wasn't sure to what lengths this man would go to himself. He would just have to be on constant alert until he had determined the level of danger, was all.
Father M had almost the exact same tent that Alex did – a small one, with cots. He had two, though one of them looked to be used more as table than a bed. He sat down on the edge of his neatly-made cot and motioned for Alex to do the same. Hesitating slightly, Alex sat next to the man. Father M smiled; an unusual gesture on the solemn man.
"I have unfortunately never had the opportunity to speak to you one on one, Alec," he said, patting him on the shoulder.
Alex shrugged. "You're a very busy man," he said, trying to sound both respectful and interested at the same time.
"This is true," he laughed, almost too heartily. He seemed to be on edge about something, Alex noted. He reminded himself to stay true to his role, as to not arouse further suspicions. "But it is also true," he said, "that people often need guidance, and I regret that I have not yet been able to offer you this guidance." He paused. "Is there something you would like to share with me, Alec?"
Alex saw the loaded question immediately. His life was hanging in the balance here, and he disliked that fact. He shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I think I'm getting the hang of things here."
"You are sure, Alec? I know that young men such as yourself often have quite a few troubles you should like to... get off of your chest, metaphorically speaking." His gaze was intense, probing. Alex returned it without blinking.
"I'm good. I'm over my life before now. It isn't worth spending time on, when there are other, much worthier pursuits."
A response like that would likely leave the good old Father grasping for straws, which was Alex's intention. He couldn't exactly fault Alex for saying a thing like that, and yet, he couldn't continue to squeeze responses out of him without looking suspicious.
Sure enough, the tent was silent for a moment while the Father recollected his thoughts. After a period of time that Alex deemed sufficient, he asked, "Can I go?" in the quietest voice he could manage, trying to sound meek. Father M only nodded. Alex made his way out of the tent and into the desert, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare.
The conversation had disconcerted him more than he would admit, even to himself. It was as if the Father was trying to make him rat himself out, but that didn't make any sense. If they knew he was here as a spy, he would've been dead by now. He made his way back to his own tent, his mind running in circles.
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