A/N: I don't think I've said this recently, but thank you very much for reading and for your reviews. I appreciate each and every one of them :)
Alex left American territory three hours later on a private jet with primary objectives one and two, his two teams, and most of the leftover supplies. The drugs and cash had been left in Miami. Yassen would stay for another several days with his teams to handle clean-up and hand over the rest of operation to someone else. Maybe they had someone like Crux nearby to take over Ramos' business, Alex had no idea. He had spoken briefly with Yassen before they took off but there hadn't been time to see him in person, much less ask about anything that wasn't directly related to Alex's part of things. It was probably one of those things Yassen wouldn't answer, anyway.
Someone had found him an ice pack and some painkillers, and Alex felt better for it already. Aranda had taken a closer look and confirmed that it was nothing more than bruised ribs. Nothing that looked like fractures. Time would take care of it. The medic had also stitched up Alex's cut and bandaged it properly. They still needed to remove the implant, but that would have to wait until they had access to an actual clinic to make sure it was done right.
None of the injuries on the teams were serious. Heavy body armour and experience had kept them mostly safe. Two bullet wounds, both of which had already been handled, and a possible concussion. They'd only had the one fatality on the two teams, though Alex had no idea what the status was on Azov and Baikal. Another thing Yassen hadn't mentioned.
Alex let Ramos' sedative run out over the Atlantic, when any chance of escape was gone. He was easier to deal with conscious than with the worry that something would go wrong if they kept him under for the entire flight.
He did duct tape the man's mouth shut and handcuff him to the seat. A little hunger and thirst wouldn't hurt him, and they had three trained medics on board if anything happened.
Between Alex and two trained SCORPIA teams, they had no issues at all with their prisoner. They took turns keeping watch while the others rested, and when they landed in Abu Dhabi in the early evening some fourteen hours later, Alex had actually managed to catch a little sleep. Short and restless, but sleep.
He had also managed to find a uniform that fit. Height wasn't an issue, since he was already a little taller than several of the men on the teams, but his build was still slim for an adult. The clothes hung a little loose in places but they were at least clean and fit well enough. He kept the t-shirt from Yassen on underneath, just to feel a little more comfortable. An actual bulletproof vest would have been too much.
The person that greeted Alex in the mirror was a total stranger. His hair was dyed, his face looked hard and his eyes tired, and the uniform was all black and had a small, grey, stylised scorpion on the pocket right above his heart. Alex was sure SCORPIA had designed the uniforms for that. The symbolism was a little uncomfortable to him. There were enough similarities with his uniform from Brecon Beacons to be vaguely unnerving and enough differences to remind him that he belonged to a very different sort of organisation now.
Sunglasses and a shemagh along with some discreetly aimed weapons kept Ramos from drawing unnecessary attention. Someone had stripped him and put him in a SCORPIA uniform as well. From a distance, he looked like anyone else on the teams.
Alex had wondered about their destination, but Yassen had arranged the flight and there hadn't exactly been time to ask questions. He got his answer when he left the plane and found Dr Three waiting in front of a massive, white Mercedes G-Class with one of his assistants and two guards.
Yassen had mentioned that the mission hadn't been supervised by one of the board. That left exactly one reason why the man would be there. Alex felt a twinge of sympathy for Ramos.
He stood a little straighter as he approached the small group. "Sir."
Dr Three smiled. He looked genuinely pleased to see Alex. "Orion." He glanced past the group to look at Ramos instead before he looked back to Alex. "And primary objective one. Excellent. Your teams?"
"Commanders Marcus and Hill, sir. Teams Sagitta and Danube for the operation."
Dr Three nodded slowly. His attention lingered on the two men. Alex noticed they both stood a little straighter as well. "Very well done indeed. We will need to remember them for later operations."
A slight gesture from Dr Three saw Ramos moved to the car, one guard on each side. The man glanced at Alex. "And Cossack's orders for you?"
Alex wanted to lie. He wanted to wash his hands of the whole assignment, go to a hotel somewhere, curl up in bed, and just ignore the world. He knew where that question was going. They needed to know Ramos didn't have contingency plans. The original plans called for Yassen to handle the interrogation but those plans had obviously been changed. Alex didn't want to be involved, didn't want to be anywhere near it, but Yassen had left him with no choice. Lie or deal with the interrogation. Yassen had promised he wouldn't make Alex sit through something like that again. That promise had lasted a grand total of two months.
Alex closed his eyes briefly. Opened them again and steeled himself. "I'm not to let Ramos out of sight, sir."
Dr Three nodded. He looked like he had expected it. "You will need a team for the exchange."
"Sagitta, sir." That choice was easy, at least.
Dr Three looked like he had expected that as well. He handed Hill an envelope. "Your new orders."
Hill nodded slightly. "Sir."
Another envelope went to Marcus. "Your team has been given four days of downtime. The exchange is arranged for a week from now. Your instructions."
"Sir." Marcus' slight nod echoed Hill's.
A small gesture dismissed both teams. Alex was alone with Dr Three. In the car, Ramos was slumped over. Drugged again, probably. Alex felt tired resignation settle in his body, weary to his bones. His chest throbbed dully. The cut on his back still stung. He had been ready to refuse, and if it had been Yassen, he would have. Against memories of RTI and Dr Three's sincere delight in breaking people …
Dr Three was famous for his abilities. Alex had passed RTI but that didn't change the fact that the man had him firmly brought to heel and they both knew it.
Property of SCORPIA.
"Your orders, sir?" he asked quietly.
Dr Three's expression seemed to soften just a little. He handed Alex an envelope as well. "So obedient. Cossack trained you well. You have been given three days of downtime yourself. Primary objective one is my responsibility now. You are very young. It takes age and experience, I think, to appreciate the art of breaking a man. Hunter was skilled at it but he never enjoyed the task, either. A room has been booked for you. Dismissed, Orion."
Alex didn't move for a second. He wondered if he should ask, but he was too tired all of a sudden to play those games. For all of Dr Three's disturbing hobbies, he had always been … kind, of sorts, for a board member. "A test, sir?"
"Life itself is a test," Dr Three said philosophically. "SCORPIA knows of your dislike of torture. It speaks well of you that half a world away, injured and obviously reluctant, you still obey Cossack's command. He requested we keep you out of this."
Alex wasn't sure what to say to that. In the end he just nodded. Asking too much might just make the doctor change his mind.
"Thank you, sir."
Dr Three nodded. "Dismissed."
This time Alex obeyed without hesitation.
Alex spent two days more or less constantly asleep. Someone had booked him a suite in a five-star resort, but Alex never left the room. He left the 'do not disturb' sign up and had room service when he was awake and hungry for long enough to bother. He hadn't bothered with air conditioning but left the balcony door open instead. The unfamiliar smells helped a little.
His chest hurt, he was exhausted, and he kept dreaming of blood and the feel of Bald's throat crushed under his hand.
Yassen Gregorovich let himself into the suite on the morning of the third day. He had a bag over his shoulder and looked perfectly anonymous. Casual enough clothes to fit the place and no visible weapons.
Alex looked up from his bowl of obscenely colourful cereal where he was curled up on the couch. He knew what Yassen saw. He hadn't showered since Miami and he still wore the black t-shirt from his uniform along with a pair of boxers. He hadn't even bothered with trousers. The TV was on, but it was a cartoon in Arabic and not the news he should probably have been watching instead. He didn't even try to make up an excuse. He had downtime and he would use it however he damn well pleased. He was tired, mentally and physically, his chest hurt, and he didn't want to be Orion. Not now. He was Alex Rider, he was fifteen, and he didn't want to be a killer.
Alex Rider was the very model of a modern SCORPIA operative, and anyone who had an issue with that could take it up with someone who actually cared.
Yassen arched an eyebrow. Alex took another spoonful of cereal and chewed. Loudly.
Was that a flicker of amusement? Alex wasn't sure. Point made, he put the bowl aside a little reluctantly.
"My chest feels like someone hit me with a mallet." He paused. "Thank you for the t-shirt, by the way."
"It did its job." That was 'I'm glad you survived' in Yassen-language. Alex was an accomplished translator these days.
Yassen's eyes lingered on the neatly folded uniform on the table, Alex's only concession to the fact that he was technically considered an adult. Then his attention drifted to the large bowl of melting ice cream that was supposed to be the other half of Alex's breakfast.
"I got three days of downtime," Alex felt compelled to point out, part defence and part defiance.
"So you did," Yassen agreed. A heartbeat passed. He had to have noticed the fact that Alex wasn't armed, but he seemed willing to let it pass this one time. "You did very well, Alex."
Alex swallowed. He had dreamt of bloodstains, and Ramos' dead guards, and security spotting his transmitter. They had not been nice dreams. "Thank you." He hesitated and wondered if he should ask. "Your two objectives -"
A flicker of annoyance deep in Yassen's eyes, though Alex knew it wasn't aimed at him. "It has been handled. Baikal did not perform to the expected standards."
Alex took it to mean that people had probably died for that. He deliberately didn't ask and Yassen didn't explain any further but merely placed his bag on the couch next to Alex.
"Clean clothes. We leave for Malagosto. Primary objective one will remain in Dr Three's care until the exchange, but you have an implant that should be removed. A general medical check-up would be sensible as well."
Primary objective one. Ramos didn't even have a name anymore. He was just a thing they had been paid to deliver, much like the evidence.
Alex would be glad to get rid of the implant, though. Maybe even do something about the scarring. Without stitches, the thing had started to heal pretty bad, and the stitches he now sported hadn't been able to do much to help. He knew he should have gone to see one of SCORPIA's medical contacts sooner, but Aranda had taken a look at things already. That was good enough for him.
"Contingency plans?" Alex asked. They had been worried about that.
"They have been handled. Dr Three plans to make sure no other unfortunate surprises might appear later."
Use the full week to properly break Ramos, then. Get all the information they could out of him and make use of it before the FBI did. There were lots of ways to do that and still leave him in decent physical condition. Alex should know, he had sat through those lessons himself.
Alex picked up the clothes and vanished into the bathroom. He appeared twenty minutes later showered and dressed in normal clothes again. He appreciated Yassen's choice of casual clothes as he strapped on the two guns and combat knives Yassen had also supplied. He didn't even try to argue. A phone, small and anonymous, went into his pocket. The uniform had vanished into the bag at some point while he got changed. Any evidence of room service was gone, probably while Alex was in the shower since he hadn't heard the door. The hotel suite looked perfectly pristine again.
Yassen had a car waiting for them, a familiar white Mercedes. The driver took off without any need for instructions. Alex idly realised that his physical possessions had once again been reduced to the clothes and weapons he wore. Yassen must have been aware of the same, because they stopped at a mall for just long enough for Alex to pick up a bag worth of clothes before they left Abu Dhabi.
The drive to Malagosto passed in silence. Alex was surprised to discover he had actually missed the place when they cleared security and finally came to a stop in front of the main building. It felt … weird. Sentimental and nostalgic and like it was a world and a lifetime away. Those two and a half months felt like forever ago. Before he had become a murderer.
Staring at Malagosto's grounds, Alex Rider was genuinely happy to be back. The closest thing to a home he'd had since July. Malagosto and Yassen's cabin in Russia.
"A number of your classmates have graduated," Yassen commented.
Alex nodded. He had expected as much. He didn't ask how they had done. He wasn't sure he wanted to, not when he knew just how many of those students that didn't even survive a year.
"D'Arc?" Alex asked.
"Away for the day." Yassen's response was perfectly neutral, but Alex got the suspicion that the man didn't exactly mind not having to go through the social niceties with the overly-chatty principal.
They found Dr Javadi in her clinic and she didn't let them leave again for three full hours. It took a good while to remove the transmitter and stitch up the cut – properly this time – and Alex had to sit through a thorough check of his ribs as well before she finally completed the whole thing with a general check-up.
Other than the pain in his chest and the cut on his lower back, Alex felt fine. Dr Javadi's results agreed with that assessment, not that he was that surprised.
Alex thought it was a little unfair Yassen didn't get put through the same. He was practically a geriatric in assassin-terms, not that Alex was about to say that out loud.
She sent them off again with instructions to call if Alex's condition got worse and a list of the exercises he could still do until everything healed up right. She kept the transmitter. With how much that thing cost, Alex assumed it would be returned to their surveillance section. Hopefully someone would clean and disinfect it first.
Alex really, really missed Smithers' gadgets.
"The students have class with Dr Three for another hour," Yassen commented. "He was quite pleased to have a live subject to demonstrate the less damaging methods on for a few days. The shooting ranges should be available."
Alex suppressed a shudder at the thought of live subjects and the image of himself in that position and focused on the second half of the comment. "Shooting sounds good."
He hadn't been able to practice properly beyond those hours with Patel and Yassen knew it. Target practice sounded good. Alex had found he genuinely enjoyed shooting when he wasn't targeting people or kid-shaped cut-outs. Even the adult-shaped cut-outs were something he had become used to.
Gordon Ross greeted them cheerfully and let them grab whatever they wanted. On neighbouring lanes, with Alex restless after three days in a hotel room – his own choice, but still – and Yassen still a little annoyed with Baikal, it shouldn't have been a surprise that shooting practice quickly turned into a competition.
It had happened often enough in the safe-house in Russia when Alex's aim had become good enough. Yassen still trounced him soundly, but Alex got a little better every time. Yassen held him to impossible standards, fifteen years of constant practice by someone who was widely considered one of the best in the business for a decade or more, but Alex enjoyed the challenge.
Next to Yassen, with scores to keep up with and an ever-changing rotation of guns, Alex lost all sense of time.
It wasn't until Alex squinted at the last target – acceptable accuracy by Yassen-standards, but he was still seconds slower than he should be, damn it – that he discovered they had an audience when a low whistle broke the silence of the range.
Alex blinked. Turned around and found a class of students staring at them. He recognised Greer and Osborn as well as one of the more antisocial students from his own time there, but the rest were all new. New, and probably about a decade older than him on average.
Gordon Ross looked quite pleased with himself. Alex was reminded of his own arrival, when the man had talked Yassen into showing the students how shooting was supposed to be done.
Yassen had to have known they were there. He ignored them easily to glance at Alex's target.
"Acceptable." The word sounded very loud in the silence. "A little slower than usual. Regular practice will rectify that."
High praise. Alex bit back the first comment that came to mind – wonder why, couldn't be because I just spent two months solid on undercover missions - in favour of a swift nod. He understood perfectly well that it was no coincidence that Yassen's suggestion had brought them to the range in time for the students to see. Yassen wanted to make a point, and Alex wasn't about to ruin it by being a brat.
"Sir," he agreed, falling back into the role of Yassen's second.
Ross approached. He looked all the more delighted up close. "Cossack, a pleasure as always. And Orion. Congratulations on your graduation. That was an excellent kill."
Kill. Something about the word reminded him of the actual nature of his new life in a way that 'job' and 'assignment' didn't. "Thank you, sir."
He wasn't sure where a Malagosto instructor fit into SCORPIA's hierarchy but he was pretty sure it was somewhere well above a newly graduated operative, even one that was Cossack's apprentice. Politeness didn't hurt.
Ross smiled sharply – he had a beef with MI6, Alex had learned that much, and he seemed to take every one of Alex's good results as a personal victory against Blunt and the rest of that merry band of child abusers – and then he turned to Yassen.
"Can you spare a few hours for a lesson?" Ross asked. "Not too often you pass through the school. Hell of a time to track you down for that sort of thing and the kids need a wake-up call before we let them out in the real world."
Alex was sure that watching Yassen shoot, even if it hadn't been a proper lesson, would have been plenty wake-up call for them. It had certainly been for him, the first time Yassen had proven just why his reputation was so well-deserved.
"An hour," Yassen decided. "We leave tomorrow. The exchange needs to be arranged. We visited mainly for a check-up for Orion while our primary objective one enjoys Dr Three's hospitality."
Practised eyes took in Alex's appearance. "Any injuries?" Ross asked.
A glance at Yassen got him the permission he wanted. "Bruised ribs. Point-blank bullet into ballistic fabric. The target's guards didn't appreciate getting screwed over by a kid."
Ross nodded. "Proper undercover work's a bitch like that. Better opportunities for a good knife in the back, sure, but sniper rifles are a hell of a lot less risky."
Alex supposed he knew about the assignment. The basics, anyway. He didn't feel the need to ask if Ross meant knifing someone in the back in the symbolic sense or the physical one. He had the horrible suspicion it was both.
Yassen's glance flickered to the students, then back at Ross. "What lesson did you have in mind?"
Ross smiled grimly. "Terrify them. Some of them are a little cocky this time around."
Yassen watched the students coolly. Alex knew him well enough to see the man mentally sort through a number of options before he settled on one. To their credit, none of the students-slash-victims squirmed under his scrutiny.
"They've already been given a display in acceptable skills with ranged weapons, but it's been a little too long since I've had the opportunity to practice proper close combat. Orion has strict instructions to allow his ribs the time to heal. Which ones are your best students?"
Ross' smile grew wider. Alex suppressed a shudder. He wasn't sure what the current class had done to earn the man's vindictive wrath and he didn't think he wanted to know. As Alex settled down to watch Yassen prepare to utterly take apart and humiliate Ross' hand-picked victims, he was just grateful he wasn't one of them.
They left for Riyadh the following morning. Yassen, Alex, and Sagitta, along with a number of weapons and several of their primary objectives. Dr Three's main assistant and two guards were along to ensure Ramos wouldn't suffer from any last-minute complications.
They would split up before the exchange. Ramos would be kept elsewhere with a live video feed as evidence of his good health. Yassen dropped the surprise of the day on Alex when they had already taken off.
"You're handling the exchange. You need to look like Alex Rider as well."
It took Alex a second to comprehend the words. He was about to demand an explanation but shut his mouth again before he could and thought about it.
"Is that standard procedure for that sort of thing?" he asked instead.
"Normally they would send someone expendable."
The pieces clicked into place. "They want to show me off. I'm a walking advertisement."
"Yes."
That was just brilliant. At least Yassen didn't sugarcoat things.
"Between security and contingency plans, we will minimize the risks."
Minimize. Not remove. Alex supposed that was why SCORPIA's operatives were as well-paid as they were. They got paid to take those risks. He wondered briefly what MI6 had paid his father to go undercover. Probably a pittance compared to what he actually earned as one of SCORPIA's best assassins.
The weather when they landed was dry and hot, but several days in Abu Dhabi had already got him used to it and he barely noticed it anymore.
The actual exchange took place in a conference room in an expensive hotel in Riyadh three days later, set up with cameras and heavy security from both sides to the deal. The sort of place where neither could afford to draw attention, though. The FBI had arrived to arrange things days before the actual exchange, just like SCORPIA had. Alex felt like he was walking into the lion's den. He would just have to trust that Yassen, at least, had enough contingency plans in place to let him walk back out of there if anything happened – Ramos' survival being the most obvious one. He carried a laptop and a large duffel bag with the evidence they had found in Ramos' home, and the full script of the points he needed to cover memorised.
His hair was back to its usual fair colour with the dye stripped from it, though it was a little shorter than it had been a year ago. They had deliberately picked casual clothes that reminded Alex of what he had worn when he had still lived in London. He was armed, but weapons were easy to hide in a pair of baggy jeans and a shirt, and a small, almost invisible earpiece kept him up to date on anything that might happen. All in all, he looked more like Alex Rider than he had for close to a year.
It was a little unnerving to know that everything that was about to happen would be recorded and dissected by at the very least the FBI and SCORPIA, and who knew how many other agencies. Alex had more or less accepted it. He wondered what their files said about him now. It probably made for interesting reading.
An assistant led him to the conference room and opened the door for him. Alex was almost sure the man was FBI but he smiled politely, anyway, and stepped inside.
The probably-an-agent closed the door behind him and Alex found himself face to face with a familiar person across the room.
"Alex Rider." Joe Byrne's voice sounded resigned.
"Deputy Director Byrne. You weren't FBI last I heard."
That drew a faint, wry smile from Byrne. "God forbid. I'm still not. I'm here as a favour. We thought it might be you. SCORPIA doesn't have too many teenagers employed, and certainly not ones they would trust with something that valuable. And that young to boot … that narrows it down to just one."
"And since we've met in person before, they sent you to confirm, just in case I was the contact."
Alex wasn't even surprised, not really. He was just glad it was Byrne the FBI had convinced to do it, rather than someone from MI6. Sure, Byrne was the person who had managed to get Alex tangled up in the whole Skeleton Key mess, but he still struck Alex as a much better man than Blunt. Then again, that didn't say a whole lot and Alex knew it.
"Well, your employers certainly left enough hints about you. It was worth it if we could confirm your identity." A small grimace. Joe Byrne was an expressive man for a former agent. "I assume your presence means we've played host to Yassen Gregorovich as well."
Alex shrugged. Come to think of it, that realisation would excuse the grimace. "I can neither confirm nor deny SCORPIA business, sir."
"I didn't expect you to. You're a lot more respectful than I remember."
Considering that the last time they had talked had been right after Alex had been roped into the Skeleton Key operation, that was no surprise. "You do represent our client, sir."
"And Gregorovich doesn't tolerate backtalk, I imagine."
A year ago, Alex would have objected to the thinly veiled insinuations in that sentence. As it was, he sent Byrne a bland look. "If you say so, sir. Should we get on with business before one of the snipers get an itchy trigger finger and sets off a major international incident?"
Byrne shook his head. "Might as well. You have the floor, Rider."
Rider, not Alex. Not much of a surprise, either.
Alex nodded and forced his thoughts into the proper mindset. Remembered his thorough instructions. "The FBI, as our client, paid for the retrieval and faked death of the target, any evidence in his home, and the deaths of his closest underlings. They offered a bonus should the deaths and general destruction of the target's business be blamed on a competitor. As of this morning, the current theory with the Miami police was still that a rival had successfully eliminated the target."
Alex hauled the bag up and dumped it on the table. It was heavy. Very heavy. He ignored the sharp twinge in his chest that followed with the motion. He was used to it by now. "As agreed upon, the evidence found in the target's home, both physical and electronic. The death certificates and photographic evidence of his second and third in command's demise should fulfil that part of the request."
Byrne nodded. "Can't say I agree with their way to handle it, but at least they hired professionals. Ramos?"
Alex opened the laptop and placed it in front of Byrne. The image on the screen was a live feed of Ramos in a perfectly anonymous room. For security reasons, even Alex didn't know where. "At an undisclosed location in good condition. The address will be given upon my safe return. Any attempt to hinder me will result in his execution."
"Of course it will." Byrne didn't even sound surprised. Then again, Yassen had mentioned the CIA had done business with them before.
Part of Alex hated the script he had been given. Part of him, a small part that he didn't want to admit to, felt a little reassured by the sort of security in place. Proof that Yassen, at least, cared enough about his safety to lessen the risks. Alex Rider was property of SCORPIA, but at least they considered their operatives a valuable investment. For that alone, they had more of an incentive to keep him alive than MI6 ever did.
"My employers assume you have the necessary expertise to handle the interrogation. If not, an expert can be made available at the standard rate." Alex was vaguely proud that he managed to keep his voice level and steady through that offer, quoted word for word from his own instructions.
"I'm sure." Byrne's words were dry and distinctly unimpressed, both at the offer and the implications regarding their own methods. Alex didn't blame him. They both knew it was true but it wasn't polite to just bring it up like that.
Alex took a breath. "I trust everything is to the client's satisfaction, then."
Byrne glanced at one of the cameras. Long seconds later, he nodded. A reply from whoever was on the other end of the camera, probably. Alex had caught a glimpse of an earpiece. "Everything seems to be in order. One half of the remaining payment has been transferred. The other half will follow once we have Ramos in custody."
As expected. Alex had been briefed on how things would likely go. Everything had gone according to plan. Joe Byrne was a spook but he wasn't working for the CIA right now, and no one had any interest in triggering an international incident in Riyadh.
"Confirmed," Yassen's voice came through the earpiece. Alex remembered Jack cursing about slow bank transfers abroad. It was obviously different when the one doing the transfer was a government agency.
Alex nodded. "The money has been received, sir. If that was all ..."
He wanted to get out of there. Decently safe or not, he still felt trapped in the room.
Byrne watched him carefully. The sharp-eyed expression was unnervingly similar to a number of other powerful people with way too much of an interest in him that Alex had met. "You have quite a criminal record already."
"Wanted for the murder of Laurence Wright and for the bombing of an apartment in Singapore, wanted as a person of interest in a number of suspicious deaths in Singapore, and wanted for terrorist activities as a known member of a terrorist organisation," Alex summarised, then added helpfully, "that last one would be SCORPIA, not MI6. I know sometimes I get those two confused. It's an easy mistake to make."
Another week or two, he could probably add another few murders to that list, once the FBI got through with Ramos. He wondered if the CIA regretted borrowing him. He had seen the file MI6 had given their counterparts about him. It had a suspicious lack of mention of the exact circumstances of his missions with MI6 before he joined SCORPIA. They couldn't get away with ignoring them entirely, but the blackmail and the lack of training, backup, and any legal standing had been left out.
Byrne's expression was unreadable. Then he shook his head. "Yes, Rider. That would be all."
Alex nodded but didn't let the relief he felt show in his body language. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to be anywhere else. The circumstances were unnerving enough without adding the fact that he had known this man, back when they were still on the same side of things … sort of, anyway.
He packed away the laptop and was almost out the room when Byrne spoke again.
"Alex."
Alex stopped by the door and turned to look back at him.
"You're a SCORPIA operative, a rogue MI6 agent, and Gregorovich's apprentice. You will be given no quarter." Byrne's voice was calm and quiet and the words all the heavier for it.
Alex nodded. "I know, sir."
MI6 would probably try to keep him as an asset if they got the chance. It would be a very Blunt sort of thing to do. Most others would consider him too dangerous to leave alive.
Thank you, he didn't say, though he appreciated the warning.
Byrne shrugged. It was the least I could do, the gesture seemed to convey.
The assistant that guided him back out of the hotel again was the same that had led him there in the first place. Stepping outside, Alex felt adrenaline kick back in. SCORPIA had Yassen as well as Jarek of Sagitta watching the whole thing through a sniper scope. He didn't doubt the FBI had something similar.
In that moment, Alex was in the scopes of at least three people and probably a lot more, a number of them hostile.
Alex gritted his teeth and stepped fully out into the late noon heat, silently daring someone to take the shot. Let them know he wasn't afraid.
Right on schedule, a white Mercedes drove up to the hotel and stopped right in front of Alex. Armoured, of course. Everyone had agreed that was for the better.
"Ours," Yassen confirmed, though the fact that Ivey was behind the wheel had convinced Alex already.
Alex got in without a word. Waited until they had left the hotel far behind before he finally drew a relieved breath. Ivey glanced over.
"All right, sir?"
Alex was silent for a second. "I used to know him," he finally admitted. "Joe Byrne. My last mission for MI6 involved me being lent out to the CIA as a cover. Byrne had arranged it. The agents got killed. I got to finish the mission myself."
Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't had a choice. Ivey picked up on that just fine, anyway.
"Sounds like a charming bastard."
Alex stared out the window. They had a rendezvous point to get to, then out of Riyadh and back to Abu Dhabi. They already had another assignment waiting. He knew Yassen was listening in but didn't really mind.
"At least SCORPIA is honest about my job," he admitted. Now that it was over, he felt drained. "MI6 liked the nice approach. They pretended they gave me a choice and then switched to blackmail when I didn't agree. SCORPIA never pretended my job would be anything but this. I knew what I agreed to."
A bit of a lie. Alex hadn't had the first idea of what he was getting into, but that wasn't what he wanted SCORPIA to hear if the conversation got back to them. And at least SCORPIA provided proper support and backup in a way MI6 never had.
Ivey didn't reply, focused on traffic, and Alex didn't speak.
There was a file waiting for them in Abu Dhabi. For now, Alex Rider would take the chance to rest.
Next: Interlude - a few outside POVs as Alex spent those eight months training and the world outside kept moving.