Alex Canterbury occasionally watched sports or a film James was interested in, but generally he preferred radio to TV. He had not been to a theatre since he left school. His flatmate had a bad habit of still watching kid's programmes most of the time, as if he was catching up on all the TV hours missed at boarding school. This Monday morning BBC News was on at 6AM, Jamie was already sat eating cereal engrossed in the big story: Edward's book trashing Blunt had the press asking who was this 'Cub' used in operations in 2001. The nickname made Jamie cough out his cereal in an attempt to conceal his amusement.
Alex rolled his eyes, one name he truly hated. "Laugh it up, but if you call me that I will hurt you in ways that leave no bruises."
Jamie put down his bowl and spoon, wiped the milk dribble from his chin and held up both hands in submission, "Pax, Sasha-baby. I'm well aware I'm no match for your super sneaky spy skills. None of us would never do anything to remind you of those bastards in Wales anyway. Your nightmares make mine seem tame in comparison."
Alex shrugged and shock his head before heading to the freezer to get out a bagel, wanting a very American breakfast this morning. He continued with the assertion that Jamie had thought the rescue had been thrilling. "You still think Wolfie was cool taking a bullet from Stomachbag."
"Maybe, but those bastards took two days to come and save us after you raised the alarm after I disappeared into the dungeon replaced by my 'clone'. 48 hours when the Griefs could easily have killed us all. Live vivisection remember. Threats against all of us and our families. Fuck them all to hell." Jamie's phone distracted him from his rant with an email from his dad, with the familiar alert using the theme to Goldfinger. "By the way, Dad has made a killing selling his supermarket shares to the Texans."
Alex knew it was not just Dieter who had timed this payout, but Rudi Vries and Anthony Marc had also been part of the pact to play hard ball with Blunt's allies. This would have taken the wind out of David Friend's plan to negotiate from a position of strength over the hostile takeover. One gameplay that had kept the American immigrant amused by its sheer audacity in spending over three million euros to achieve.
"So, where are you and Karlo going out tonight?" James said after changing the channel to cartoons.
Alex was concentrating on spreading a more than generous amount of cream cheese on his toasted bagel, thinking that he had twenty minutes to relax before going to the gym. "His place. Romantic candle lit supper for those brain dead enough to need such rituals. Time to see if its more than friends. I have missed sex so much. For all his faults, Paul was not a bad fuck, if only he'd been more open minded about quid quo pro."
"He was just into macho bullshit. Ass for letting you go after promising you the moon and stars. Thank God you and I are cynical bastards". Jamie was thankful for the nudge in the right direction on gifts and gestures of affection to Nia from his dad and the security team. Girls expected things like that. Maybe he should let the Danish guy know he was trying too hard, Sasha was not in need of overt signs of affection or displays of romance. He was a guy who liked guys, but did not need to be treated like he was a girl. He shook his head, Karl needed to find that out for himself. The German then thought of setting a new wager with Joe, that the suitor would be invited to the Canterbury Christmas celebrations, then skiing in Colorado. He sent off his email and awaited the very potty mouth response.
….
Alan Blunt was in Oman visiting old friends and to strengthen his finger hold within the global security market, when he heard about the grubbing coming his way from the former Guardian investigative journalist. He had paid it no mind as he had no skeletons to hide, but on reading the finished text it was obvious Pleasure had spoken to Anthony Sean Howell, the SCORPIA traitor in prison in the Northern Territories. He doubted Alexander Canterbury had been found out. The teenager stayed within his close circle of family and friends, all powerful and well connected enough to protect him. Ash had witnessed Ian Rider's will. The journalist may already have a copy of it. The grey haired man knew his wife would never have put a family ward in danger. Cecily Blunt, nee Marchant, had never paid any attention to his work, but this would affect her. Yet, he had received no calls from MI6 nor any allies in England about this. He expected no warnings from the CIA, they thought him morally repugnant for not bargaining with the Russians directly over his teen operative. It was their mess in the first place. Only now they had made the whole Sarov business seem like that bastard had saved the young Rider from his abusive appointed guardian. He had the option of darkening Ian Rider as the one to train his nephew, and been the first to use him in operations, to take up the family business. The Russians had treated the boy abominably, but those facts were absent from the text. All expertly written to paint Alan Blunt as a man who would use any means necessary to be top dog in the dirty world of espionage.
He switched on CNN in his hotel room, to watch the business news headlines on the hostile takeover of the Fiend Supermarket Empire. A well coordinated attack on his best placed ally. No doubt Sprintz had his hand in that. Revenge was a dish best served cold. Two years for all to sharpen their knives to stick in his back. He had no real power to get back at the journalist. His connections to Westminster would shrivel up. No one would return his calls and the press pack would be camped outside the gates of his wife's residence in Surrey.
The former Head of MI6 Special Operations knew it was against protocol to admit to any involvement in black operations. His former employers controlled his pension and demanded complete silence. With no blowback to current SIS work, he would have to ride out the media storm alone. He could not out ASIS's problems with Howell, as the man had been tried for money laundering and tax evasion, nothing to do with spying. The traitor was safer in prison, as certain death awaited him for his part in destroying the criminal empire of Winston Yu. Blunt could not count on help from his old team, as Tulip did not return his calls after transferring back to Special Branch Liaison, Smithers was now head of Research and Development with Interpol and Crawley was knee deep in bullshit as MI6 Middle East Section Chief.
Did he have any other options? Work as a security consultant would mean life as an exile in the Middle or Far East, but better than the alternative as fall guy for everything at MI6 pre 2005. Knowing the pen pushers in the Civil Service, they would have no qualms to shift the misdirection over WMDs in Iraq onto his head now and he could do nothing to defend himself. Cecily still had not forgiven him for his retirement without the expected knighthood; his official slap on the wrist over use of the Rider boy. There was no chance Alexander would defend him, even if the young man was outed in the press. The thought of disclosing any information about a former operative would see him vilified as a traitor at worst or just a petty loser at best. First and foremost was to clear this mess with his wife, for that he needed to head home and put his political ambitions on hold.
He pondered phoning his contacts, but he knew asking favours was better done face to face. The BBC was showing the throng of media outside his home in Surrey. His wife would not be impressed. The ex-spy wondered if her vows of for better and for worse would stretch this far.
…
Mikey Warsawski had shared a room with Joe Canterbury for nearly two months. The guy was not a total slob, but he hardly ever slept. The jock with a sports scholarship had not been impressed when discovering he'd been teamed up with an obvious geek for roomie, who was from money back East. The guy had hidden depths though, with a bestie who was a DJ at one of the best clubs in West LA. A stone's throw from Mikey's last foster placement. Nearly every weekend the computer nerd was partying down here or in LA and had a complete babe as a girlfriend. Both were freaky vegans, but that seemed to be on trend with those in the media spotlight. This morning, totally out of character Joe was reading all the serious newspapers, currently chuckling at the editorial on some limey loser called Blunt
With no plans to go anywhere for Thanksgiving, he was busy cutting coupons for his own budget feast. When Joe suggested "Mi case es su casa? It'll be a cool bonding experience to spend a week in the boringville Pennsylvania with the Canterburys."
Totally taken aback when Joe offered him a space at Grandma's table for the holidays, all the broke student could reply was "Huhh?"
"Come, I promise Grandma Graylow would love any guy with a heathy appetite. She tries with me and my baby bro, but I'm vegetarian and Sasha's got a million issues over food. So, you'll get to share most of the turkey, gravy, candied yams and pumpkin pie with dad. Mom's forever watching her weight and sticks to slices of breast meat and salad. I'll have nutroast and Sasha will have corn and nothing else, preferring to wait for sandwiches made from the leftovers."
The football running back knew already that Joe's dad would be sat in front of a game, unlike his son's. "Sure, for free food. What about airfare? I can't afford a flight to DC this late in the day."
Joe grinned like a Cheshire Cat, "Private jet, a total freebie curtesy of my brother's very rich boss. All my crowd are heading home and you're all alone. It'll be good for you to find out rich and successful does not mean cold and aloof. Mom may be a life long politician, but knowing her, she'll probably adopt you." The elder, biological child of Mimi Graylow-Canterbury, wanted nothing more than anything to see his parents, grandma and bro again after three months separation. A reunion eagerly anticipated by all. Alex's messages mentioned nothing else. Then again Sasha was suspiciously avoiding any mention of that book or that ratfink Blunt. He had an ulterior motive for inviting a stranger home. He knew everyone would be graciously polite and his brother would therefore not be centre of attention. Spyboy needed a buffer, and would not want the third degree over feelings and reaction to the media storm, when it was irrelevant to them anyway. He could bet his college fund that no one would trace the teen agent to them.