Warnings: Violence, Language, Scorpia Rising spoilers
Disclaimer: This is a work of FanFiction using characters from the Alex Rider series, intellectual property and copyright of Anthony Horowitz.
"The best weapon of a dictatorship is secrecy, but the best weapon of democracy should be openness."
Neils Bohr
"They're arriving."
Ice blue eyes turned towards the speaker who was seated in front of multiple security monitors in one corner of the room. With one swift motion he pushed himself into a standing position from the large leather desk chair and crossed the room in four strides, coming to stand behind the man and watching the monitors with eager eyes.
"Ah David," Adair greeted as another of the board entered the room, the grey haired politician smiled and shook the offered hand before turning to look at the other people already situated in the room and talking amongst themselves in quiet whispers. The room they were situated in was, of course, underground for security purposes and the guards outside the door were armed with the country's finest weapons.
"When are we expecting Henley?" one of the seated men asked, Adair turned to him.
"In an hour. I believe we need to discuss a separate situation before he arrives."
"Doctor Three and Goan Niche."
He turned his head back to the monitor as the Rolls Royce pulled up to the pavement outside of the high end bar on the Grecian south coast. The bright sunlight glared against the paintwork, temporarily whiting out the camera as one of the back doors was pulled open. Two men climbed out of the back, one older with greying hair, sitting away from the natural hairline due to age and the other, younger, no more than 24. Both were bedecked in expensive, and no doubt, designer suits.
This was one of the pairs his mentor had been eager to arrive. Three would prove pivotal in the upcoming meeting of minds but the actions of change would rely on his young apprentice. He watched with assessing eyes as the pair made their way to the door. He recalled all the information he had researched before the invites had been dispatched.
Three was old school Scorpia, a master in torture and currently a major hand in operations of the Yakuza in his homeland. It had been surprising to discover he had taken on a young Swede as a protégé but it was by no means unwelcome. The young man moved with a confident deadly grace. Even in the grainy image of the monitors you could see the dangerous edge to his eyes that seemed even stronger than his mentors.
"We have a contact, who I have asked to attend today," Adair explained as the door to the meeting room was pulled open. Another man, his hair grey, his suit ironed within an inch of its life and a tie so cheap it reminded Adair of a school boy, entered the room. Adair had never been a fan of John Crawley and the feeling was mutual. They had both been bought together by an understanding of failure, heads were going to roll in the near future. Especially if they were being seen to be doing nothing in times of adversity.
It had been an awkward conversation, which had led to an uneasy pact between them. All personnel investigations into SO had to be brought to attention of the board, even those of internal or trusted candidates.
"Mr Crawley," Adair greeted as he stood and gestured to the spare seat beside him. He shook the man's hand and sat down; waiting patiently as Crawley followed and placed the file he was carrying on the large round table in front of them.
"This is the last?"
"Yes. Arun Maurandi."
"The other?" He asked as he eyed the man that was walking beside the rather plump individual along the pavement. The long pause confirmed what he already knew, there wasn't a response. The silence was as bad as incorrect information. It would appear the man knew that as his fingers twitched nervously against the mouse.
"H-he did not send notification of a travel partner."
He stayed silent, and his face gave nothing away as his eyes watched the pair walk into the building. He made a mental note to discover who the second man was as a point of importance Anyone aside from the imbecile sat in the room with him now, would have gotten the information in a heartbeat.
Talking of heartbeat...
He pulled his Grasch from its holster and one shot was fired into the silence. He watched with impassive eyes as the man slumped over the keyboard he had been working at moments before. He gave no warning, the same as he gave no care for mistakes and timewasters.
"What exactly are you implying, Mr Crawley?" One of older directors asked from the opposite end of the table. Adair clasped his hands on the table and looked to Crawley with an interested gaze.
"As you can see from the information supplied, I am not implying anything," Crawley explained in his normal dull, lifeless tone. "I am informing you that I have received confirmation that Alan Blunt is conducting a seemingly separate investigation into the cause of the Stella Anta raid of his own accord."
"How is he getting access to this?" Adair asked pointedly. Crawley shut the file in front of him.
"You do not run Special Operations for almost twenty years and not acquire separate contacts, Adair," Crawley stated, Adair frowned and looked at the man who was acting as an independent advisor to the board against the wishes of his corporation.
"The intelligence leak?" It was Ronson that spoke, and pushed the questions in the direction they were all apprehensive about approaching.
"I can assure you, if Mr Blunt had any intention of taking the Establishment down with him, he could have done so very easily within hours of leaving the bank."
There were concerned murmurs from the gathered men and Crawley watched them with an impassive face. Adair waited a second before speaking again.
"You believe he would?" Adair asked, he could have sworn he saw the head of HR's lips twitch in a mocking attempt of a smirk.
"It wouldn't matter what I believe," Crawley stated. "Rather what you would believe. I have no authority nor power."
"We are aware of that," Ronson declared. "We are asking you if Blunt is safe."
There was a long pause. The tension in the room was palpable. The chance of one man, with all the knowledge that Blunt held, contemplating speaking out in the current climate would only lead to one order being issued. However if the affirmation was given in the opposite direction, it could cast the situation into a new light.
"Alan Blunt was one of the most feared features of MI6 for many years," Crawley stated dully. "It was maintained that way for a purpose."
"And that was?" Ronson prompted.
"Fear is the foundation of safety."
The hallway was expensively be-decked, the bright red and gold gilding that ran the coving glittered under the lights of the chandelier and he walked into an office with one curt knock on the door. The occupant of the room, who was sat behind a desk with a solitary piece of paper in front of him, looked up without an element of surprise on his face.
"Davies." He greeted calmly.
Davies nodded in reply and gestured to the door. "They're here."
"Any problems?"
"There is an unknown," Davies admitted as he walked to the desk, he pulled open the man's top drawer and picked up one solitary bullet easing it into place in his weapon with gentle fingers. His mentor didn't look surprised by the act; instead he turned to the computer on the desk.
"His associate?"
"Maurandi," Davies stated impassively as he picked up the man's glasses cloth and cleaned a smudge of blood from the muzzle of his weapon. There was silence apart from the clicking of keys on the keyboard and Davies moved around the desk beside his mentor when indicated. His eyes caught on the image of the blonde man he had observed entering the building and swept down to the profiling below the image.
"Your thoughts, Davies?"
Davies blue eyes read through the known employment history. It was long, a good ten years worth, but there were none of the gaps he would have expected to see in a "normal" operative's history.
"Too comprehensive," Davies stated as he placed his gun back into the holster. "We didn't recognise him by sight and yet it appears he has worked with some of the biggest organisations."
"Then I trust you can draw appropriate lines of action."
"Yes Triglav."
"Preferably without harming our plight," Triglav stated with serious grey eyes. "Remember your teachings, Davies. Manipulation is an art form."
Triglav picked up his own weapon, tucking it into the holster under his jacket before the pair walked to the door and down to the meeting room on the ground floor.
"Presenting Prime Minister Henley."
Adair looked up as the announcement was made. Crawley had been dismissed twenty minutes prior. In the time between then and now there had been more debate in the room than in the last 9 months worth of meetings put together.
The arguments had ranged from wanting to seek out Blunt's contact, through despondency about the lack of thought on the matter at the man's dismissal, until coming to rest on an unsteady query of whether or not the man had managed to draw any conclusions that SO hadn't so far. They were finally grasping at straws setting Crawley off with the job of discovering within the time of the meeting if this was the case, so they could make a decision for further action.
Adair didn't envy Henley as he walked in. The tension within the cramped and dank room was strife and more than one of the gathered officials looked on edge at the man's presence. Crawley's information had added an extra option to the limited ones they had laid out in front of them. The minutes that had followed had split decisions within the room in an instant.
Many immediately declared a negative response, while other warily voiced their agreement to the proposition that Adair himself had pushed forwards. In the end it was a divided compromise and Adair couldn't help but wonder why they never seemed to reach a conclusive action whenever the names Blunt and Rider where mentioned.
"Good Morning, gentlemen," Henley greeted with the suave smile that Adair had seen used for many years by many different faces. It was a shame really the expression would do him no favours here. "I approach you today with a proposition regarding the hierarchal standings of Special Operations."
Adair turned his eyes away and looked to the others who didn't look surprised. They had, of course, already come to the conclusion that was what Henley wanted to discuss. The same as they had, of course, already made a decision.
Henley didn't know that and out of good grace they allowed him to voice his plight.
Davies walked past the guard that was stood outside of the meeting room, passing a critical eye over him. They weren't checked for weapons, there was no point. Every being inside that meeting room would be armed with more than one weapon. If they had tried to stop that, then the seeping of distrust would have already been working in their guests minds.
Davies moved to the computer that was on the receptionist's desk and typed a few keys, scrambling any electronic and audio devices that would be within the room. They had worked for a long time under the cover of secrecy; Triglav himself had never revealed his name to any of his co-workers, instead choosing to work under an alias. Davies had been surprised to discover the organisation which had no specific name working from the back streets of Russia. It was his first, and would be his final, employer within the underground. That much had been made clear on his integration. For an organisation that worked under a thick veil of compliant silence, it was only natural for nobody to be able to speak of them after their employment.
Not that it mattered; Davies had no intention of taking his expertise elsewhere. The group was well known within criminals, but rarely spoken of. They had acquired many names, the most prominent of which had been applied over the last 18 months was Libra. Davies could only think it fitted the rulings well, they weren't a band of thugs taking everything for gain, nor where they assassins and spies.
They were more a balanced force, a small mixed group; multi-skilled across all areas, but Triglav was undoubtedly the mastermind. He was a strategist, a manipulator of minds and completely neutral. Davies could only begrudgingly admit that the confidence the man walked, talked and presented himself with, was perfectly justified.
99% of the time the man got exactly what he wanted from any given situation. For the 1% that he didn't, Davies dealt with in ways that were a little more "persuasive" under the watchful eye of his mentor.
For the last 18 months though, they had sat idly instructing minor operatives under their command into jobs that would allow them a broader insight. They'd watched, analysed and gathered information as the choices of estranged allies and familiar intelligence agencies shaped the world into a maelstrom of activity that they could take advantage of.
When the announcement of the attack on the Stella Anta cruise ship was announced, Davies didn't have to look too hard to realise that Alan Blunt had been the intended target. Nor did he have to work too hard to discover that the action had been unsuccessful. One simple trip to a grieving family's funeral had proved that.
It was all Triglav had been waiting for and now they would make their move. Despite all of these meticulous actions, Davies couldn't help the tensing of his muscles as he entered the room; there were no dead certainties here.
Henley left the room, leaving the board to debate his points in privacy. Adair looked to the group.
"Responses, Gentlemen," He stated calmly, suddenly there was uproar and Adair looked around at each of the 8 men,
"We need to resolve this!"
"To put a public official in as point person for Special Operations is idiotic."
"He doesn't understand the workings of the business enough to make that call!"
Adair held one hand up to call for silence. The noise stopped abruptly leaving a cavernous silence and edgy glances between competitors. Adair clasped his hands together and glanced down at the proposition sheet that they had all been provided with.
"I am not experienced enough with the inner workings of Special Operations to make any set decision," Adair acquiesced. "However I do agree that Henley's proposition is a ridiculous notion that would work to his advantage rather than ours."
"I think we all agree that Henley is attempting to rein more control over our actions," Ronson supplied heatedly. "The question is do we let him?"
The room was silent for a second until a grey haired man, sat at the head of the table leant forwards with a serious look. Adair held the utmost respect for the man. After nearly 25 years as an experienced field officer, he'd moved into higher positions of power dealing with his work intruding in his personal and professional life. All through the years, he'd remained steadfast and, alongside Alan Blunt, one of the best logical minds in their fields.
In short, when Field Marshal Findlay spoke, you listened.
"I believe gentlemen." Findlay spoke softly, as if approaching a scared animal. "That it is time for serious action. We all know that military action should be separated from public ruling, and Prime Minister Henley has approached us twice in decisions that should have no place with him."
There was silence from the others and Adair felt the atmosphere take on a tenser edge, Findlay appeared impartial but took in the questioning looks he was receiving from everyone around him with a determined edge.
"Henley is correct. It is time for a hierarchal movement," Findlay stated. There were murmurs of incredulity from around the table and Adair frowned to himself.
"You aren't talking within Special Operations." Adair commented, Field Marshal Findlay's lips curled at the edges into a mocking smirk.
"No. Henley would never agree to appoint an advisor to the head of special operations. It would effectively be giving control back to the military in an "unstable force" as he called it."
"But we agreed there would be no power attached to the role of the advisor," Ronson protested quietly, Adair looked to Findlay who had a knowing look on his face.
"I can assure you, that nobody would take on that particular role without conditions and a little leniency."
"This is the result of that leniency!" Ronson protested. "This whole debacle and the mess we are now having to pick up is because we were too damn lenient with the ruling before, Michael. We gave Blunt too much freedom."
There was silence for a moment as the words were put through mental musings and Findlay nodded thoughtfully.
"Possibly. Or is it because of the interference of a man who has no idea of how to handle the situation, that we have been left with unexpected turmoil."
None of them had an answer for that.
"Good evening," Triglav greeted as he took a seat at the head of the table. Davies stood to his side, the same as all the other lower standing individuals attending. He hadn't been surprised to see some of the most vicious men in the world on the listing for attendance. He was even less surprised to see some very familiar faces attending with them. It would have been moronic to arrive to a meeting of criminals with no protection aside from weapons.
Davies nodded to one man he recognised, Alexandros Constantine, one of Scorpia's more advanced agents who had remained faithful to one of the very few remaining directors. The Australian, as he was known, looked between the pair with a calculating eye. Davies could understand why, any alliance to a separate agency could mean death in an instant if it was thought to go against cause. Triglav apparently noticed.
"No need for concern," Triglav stated as he looked at the Australian, "Constantine is perfectly aligned to your cause. He refused our offer without hesitation when it was proposed."
The Australian narrowed his eyes but said nothing as he nodded a curt acceptance of the fact. Davies withheld his smirk. The fact he had made the headway in Scorpia's downfall, rounding up as many agents as possible in the wake of their downfall was no secret within the men of this room. He wondered how many of them realised their finest were tempted by the offer.
"Let's get on with this shall we," A heavily accented voice spoke, Davies looked over to see Copani with a stern look on his face. The man's wanderings through Europe and his work of distributing children to the more "sexually deviant" men of the world had bid him well, looking at the expensive Armani suit he was wearing.
"Of course. As you are aware, we are facing something of a crossroads," Triglav said carefully, Davies internally smirked, he'd heard this a thousand times before, but the man's way of capturing and holding attention never faltered. "As you are all no doubt aware, the CIA recently managed to pull up a group that were operating out of Texas."
"The NDL," Doctor Three commented. "I cannot see how this is any concern of ours."
"I can however," Triglav countered, Doctor Three looked murderous for a second before gesturing for the man to continue. "It would appear the authorities were in fact investigating a separate organisation and because of conflicting terms and territories the attention was drawn to NDL activities."
Maurandi leant forwards. "How did you come across this?"
"I have contacts," Triglav commented offhandedly. There were curious glances at the statement that the chair ignored. "Many of which are within positions of authority. While I do not have exhaustive information, I have enough to be able to hypothesise about events concerning the CIA, along with a few other agencies."
Triglav stood and the lights around him dimmed. Behind him a light lit up the wall and an official looking report appeared in its wake.
"This is the latest from MI6, regarding the Stella Anta," he reported looking directly at Maurandi. "As you can see, they have no idea who it is who is responsible. Nor can they pinpoint exactly where the threat originated from."
"It was not us," Maurandi commented, Triglav nodded his agreement. "But you know who."
"I do. And the company themselves are the first in a list that I am hoping to compile," Triglav explained, the image disappearing from the wall and the lights returning to the room once again. "As you have no doubt heard, there are no leads as to who attacked the liner. Nor are there any suspicions beyond the fact it was aimed at Blunt."
The room was silent and the Australian leant forwards with an interested look on his face. "You arranged the cover up."
"Indeed. As you are all no doubt aware, I operate in secrecy, my presence is as yet unknown to most intelligence agencies and it shall remain that way for as long as possible," Triglav explained. "I make my living and that of my men by conducting commission based work out to other organisations, who do not wish to be open to the risk of using their own operatives."
"And yet you would risk your own," Maurandi observed.
"My men are the best, Maurandi," Triglav replied offhandedly. "Their names are known but you would never recognise them on two separate occasions, and yet each of your accompaniments here today, I recognise and am able to recall at least some of their history."
Davies watched with a smug look as Maurandi shifted uneasily in his chair before his eyes moved to his travel partner. The man was apparently not as interested as every mind in the room, fiddling with his watch with a frown on his face. Davies looked at it, recognising it as a British make, even though the man appeared to be of Middle Eastern assent. He knew from records that Maurandi did no business on the British Isles. The terrorist market in other areas was more profitable making the small island a dead market to him, but that hadn't stopped him receiving attention following recent activities that were similar to ones of past.
"We are of course in a moment of turmoil where each of our organisations is striving for some form of dominance over the territories," Triglav continued, ignoring the look Maurandi gave him. "I have a proposition for you; you were all invited here as being at the tops of each of your fields. Yet you all have separate aims and territories for them. Occasionally, like with the NDL they can inter-lap and often lead to unwanted supervision from authorities."
"You want to form an organisation?" Copani offered. Triglav shook his head as he walked to the head of the table once again.
"Not in the slightest," He stated. "I have learned from Scorpia's mistakes and have no intention of making the same. What I am offering is an alliance, more a way to allow our activities to run as we see fit, without endangering each other in the process. Nothing from an operational point of view will change."
"You are discussing a democracy," Doctor Three stated. "Democracy requires a leader, a ruler if you will, I have no intention of allowing myself up to another individual."
"I am discussing a democratic alliance," Triglav agreed. "But while you discuss the proposition of a leader, I have no intention of making myself as such. There will be no money or power exchanging hands because of this."
"It would be foolish to believe that you would work for nothing," Three commented.
"Obviously, but the cost of services would be extremely low, in fact there would be no literal cost. I require no money. I have enough from my own work," Triglav explained. "I no longer need financial gain, now I simply wish to peruse my work for pleasure and to do so, some of the time I need operatives that are specific to one field."
"You will work for us, allow us use of your agents and hide our activities from officials for the usage of our own operatives." The Australian surmised.
"Basically, that is correct."
There were bemused expressions passed around the table and Davies watched the man that was accompanying Maurandi with a practiced eye. The man was stood tensely, watching proceedings with an impassive face and occasionally touching his wrist that the watch he had noticed resided on earlier. Davies realised he wasn't the only one with concerns, and took a step forwards.
"Mr Maurandi," He stated, the source of his curiosity gave him an annoyed look. "I was wondering if I could borrow your companion."
The man in question tensed and Maurandi looked around at him, "For what purpose?"
"I can assure you Maurandi; Davies would not make such a request without grounds," Triglav stated quickly. It was all it took for a pistol to be drawn from the shifty man's hip but Davies was quicker and a shot rang through the air.
There was a flurry of movement and Davies stilled when metal touched his temple, looking out of the corner of his eye to see Alexandros stood steadily holding his own pistol. Niche had moved to crouch by the body of the fallen man. It hadn't been a shot to kill, purely to incapacitate in the most painful way possible and when Niche stood it was with the watch in hand and an appraising nod to Davies. The gun wasn't removed but Niche turned the watch over in his hands with a scowl, before inching the back cover off.
"Bugged." He stated in a strong Swedish accent. Alexandros removed the gun from his head and Maurandi turned pale as he looked down at the man on the floor, the blood was steadily pooling on the polished laminate floor.
"It looks like I have I already have a client in you, Maurandi," Triglav stated, the man looked down at the spy and nodded slowly. Triglav turned to the rest of the room. "This, although unexpected, is a prime example of why we require this alliance. My men are the best at keeping things concealed by whatever means."
The twelve men in the room looked between each other with plain faced expressions as if silently questioning whether an alliance among enemies was feasible. There were a few extra idle questions thrown around before men stood and started to leave the room without so much as a goodbye. Davies received two nods of compliment from Alexandros and Niche as they exited the room with their mentors. Maurandi left alone, passing a silent look of thanks as he exited.
It was only a couple more minutes before they were alone and Triglav turned with an appraising look once the room had cleared.
"Well done," Triglav complimented. Davies nodded his acceptance. "Your little display, I have no doubt worked in our favour."
"You believe they will accept?"
"Nothing is ever certain," Triglav stated quietly, he turned and looked at the body on the floor. "You planted the lead for the agent to end up here?"
Davies nodded his acquisition.
"You learn well but be careful not to play with your food. As Scorpia proved, it may bite back," Triglav advised before he left the room with one final look at the body. Davies took two swift steps across the room as he pulled the pistol from his holster and fired one shot. Ending the man's life far more quickly than it would have started.
It would be reported in three days that Agent Colson, once MI6 agent, picked up by a contact in Albania and referred to Maurandi as MI6 "arranged" to happen, worked patriotically before that bullet entered his skull.