A/N: So here's my sequel to Bartender. I re-read the chapter, and I thought to myself, "it's a good thing I knew what I meant because this thing is hecka confusing." So I seriously, seriously apologize for how jumbled and bleh that was. Still, a couple people asked for part two, so I'm obliging with the hope that it'll be better. Oh, and you'll notice that the gadgets suck, and… I have no excuse for that. I just couldn't think of anything. : )

Surprised was an understatement. Astounded, confused, and shocked were adjectives that more accurately described Brigg's emotions at the young spy's revelation. The former Seal could do nothing but gape at the teenager in disbelief. Alex, in contrast, simply walked over to the chair and water basin contained in their cramped cell, giving them each a little tug to ascertain that they were bolted to the floor. He nodded as if this was what he expected.

"You are Alex Rider?" The man asked incredulously.

"Well, yes. I'm your inside man. I thought you knew that," the boy—Alex—turned to face his cellmate and quirked a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Sure I did, but I was expecting someone…" Briggs searched for the right word.

"Older? I get that a lot."

"No, well, I mean, yes, but someone more professional," he replied. Remembering their situation, Brigg's face contorted in anger. "Why the hell did you pick a fight with me if you knew we'd end up in jail?"

Alex smirked. "You want to talk about professionalism? You were successfully baited by someone you thought was just some punk off the street." Alex walked the length of the cell, tapping his heel along the length of the floor. "I thought your acting was a little too good for some Navy grunt."

"See here, you little brat. I—what the heck are you doing?" Briggs asked. Alex had stopped scuffing the floor and was instead rapping a knuckle randomly against the wall. After a moment, his eyes widened as the soft tapping sound reverberated inside the boards.

"I am finding the air duct that was sealed over once this building became the southern Cartel's shipping base," Alex replied with a self-satisfied grin.

"Oh. So that's why you got us thrown in jail?" the agent questioned, finally understanding the bigger picture.

"Nothing gets past you," the young spy replied sarcastically. "Hold this." Alex tossed his apron at his partner, and the retired military man held the filthy garment in distaste. Alex extracted a battered wallet from his pocket, and began to work on the wall. "This contains an all-purpose lock pick, miniature saw blade, and chameleon putty," Alex explained as he worked to cut away a portion of the wall, being careful to pull it away in one piece.

"So what's the plan?" Briggs asked, snapping into mission mode. Get in, get the job done, get out: just his kind of assignment.

"I'm going to follow this duct to Garcias's office. I'm going to break in, steal his shipping manifests, and come back here. I'll re-seal the duct. Then I'll give the manifests, pictures, voice recordings, and all the other evidence I've managed to collect to you. Finally, I will break you out. You will escape with said evidence, and I will tell the other gang members that you stole the papers. In about a month or so I'll follow you back to the States. Got it?" Alex demanded.

Briggs understood, but he didn't like it. He was used to dangerous missions: that's what he was here for. Why was the kid risking his neck?

"Why can't we leave at the same time?" Briggs asked.

"You can get away fairly easily, but I'm a known face. I won't be able to escape until you've taken the bulk of the suspicion."

It made sense. Well, at least he should be the one to take the risks in the most immediate part of the mission.

"No. I'll go. You stay here and keep guard," Briggs declared.

Alex sighed. "Alright. Do you know how to get to Garcias's office?"

"Uh,…"

"Are you sure you can be absolutely silent in the air ducts? Those small, cramped vents?"

"Well,…"

"And do you know where the manifests are kept? Can you find them before you yourself are found?"

"Um…"

"Exactly." Any playfulness or lightness disappeared from Alex's tone with that one word. He stared long and hard at the American man who was supposed to be his support.

"Look, Briggs. This isn't about being macho or alpha. This is about completing our assignment and getting out of here alive. I have the best chance of accomplishing that out of the two of us. I refuse to be compromised because you want to be the one to take all the risks. Besides, if you get caught in Garcias's office, you'll be shot on sight. I will probably be able to get away."

The teenager's tone allowed for no nonsense. All Briggs—navy seal, hardened war veteran, recipient of a handful of awards for his valor—could do was agree and wait with bated breath as his young partner slipped into the hole in the wall.

He didn't wait long. Alex was back and sealing up the hole in less than ten minutes. He watched with interest as the young European carefully replaced the sheetrock and painstakingly applied something gelatinous from one of the compartments in his wallet. To his surprise, the previously clear semi-solid took on the color and texture of the wall as it dried.

"Thank you Smithers," Alex mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Here." Alex slipped the sole out of one of his grimy tennis shoes and handed it to his partner.

"Thanks?" Briggs replied, looking at the shoe part with disdain. Alex chuckled, taking off his gold cross necklace and extracting the stolen papers from his shirt. He laid both items in Briggs's hands.

"The cross is a microphone: it has all the voice recordings I've managed to make. There's a memory card in the sole with photos, scans, names of people I've identified, and logs of different raw materials I've found. This is enough to send the majority of the executives to prison. When you're traveling, go by boat and bus as much as possible. Lay low at night, don't draw attention to yourself, and get to the boarder as quickly as possible," Alex said, rattling off whatever information he thought would be useful.

"There are a few guest rooms behind the bar. Your best bet for escaping unnoticed is through one of their windows. Oh, and one more thing." Alex turned his back to his partner. "Hit me."

"What?" The American asked, surprised.

"You heard me. I need an alibi. It won't make sense that you got away unless you knocked me unconscious first."

Briggs stared hard at the kid in front of him. He was serious and calm. The soldier thought for a moment and considered his options. Alex's best chance was to play the victim. It made sense to hit him. Still, whatever ethical code he still retained made him shy away from the act.

The young spy sighed impatiently. The American steeled his resolve and nodded.

"Well, I guess this is good-bye then. Don't get caught, alright?"

"I won't," Alex said with a grin. Briggs lashed forward and caught the spy with a hit to the pressure point at the back of his neck. He went down like a sack of bricks.

"Good luck, kid. You're going to need it."