"What's the next step, doc? Do I just run off into the sunset with Karl or fight my corner to still write, play and perform?" Alex hated this limbo, full cabin fever after only two days stuck in the cabin in wet and dank Wales.
"You are treating this place as a prison. You can leave, now. You are not a prisoner and you are more than capable of managing your own escape and evade. I can drive you to Cardiff or London, if you want. Are you only seeing the walls of your room and none of the possibilities of life here. You can go running or hiking, swim in the coldest lake in the world, shoot on the range, but for starters lets go to the small officer's mess for lunch. The food is passable, not the slop they serve during training. This is an elite unit, you know."
Alex looked at the man, remembering every detail of the nasty luke warm, overcooked slop he'd eaten as a fourteen year old "Fucking hell! The food was part of the roughing up wasn't it. I thought nothing could be worse than the shit Jack cooked, but she could have added a whole new dimension of burnt to the meals served here. I honestly don't believe you that the catering is anywhere near edible, plus the fact I hate meat. Prove me wrong, Doctor T."
Terrance Pritchard had spoken to the chef and organised a simple lunch of potato and onion tortilla, watercress salad with fruit salad to follow. Simple, light and nutritious; just the thing to get one's appetite back.
With a tiny cup of turkish coffee, Alex could not believe this was the same place he had suffered in thirteen years ago. He had eaten more today than he had in months, even Karl's excellent cooking had left him feeling queazy. "I must go and offer the chef triple pay to come to America and feed me full time. Food like that three times a day and I'll be as fat as Sabina was at nine months gone."
A stocky and bald, Colonel Owen Davis was the Commanding Officer of Special Air Service. He had been a member of M Unit in 2001 and had heard all the rumours and had now read the cold hard facts about Cub, AKA Alex Rider and AJ Pleasure. The teen spy had grown up to be a rock star. His fifteen year old son had tickets for their cancelled tour, the soldier had to admit he thought the present album was edgy, reminding him of U2 in their heyday.
"Afternoon, Major, Cub. I fear I might have missed lunch." The Colonel sat to make conversation with his old friend and the enigma that was MI6's youngest ever agent.
"Your chef is the best!" Alex stated cheerfully. "Its like being back at Paul's place in New York. He ordered in from Michelin restaurants like it was McD's. One aspect of living with that paranoid bastard that I miss. Still, we both moved on and are better as friends than lovers."
The colonel stored that bit of information, as Paul Roscoe was Roscoe Industries, a major player in the world of telecommunications and encryption, a man rich enough to buy whole countries.
…..
Lying in the cabin after another excellent meal in the officers mess, Alex wondered on his father's career path of army, paratrooper, SAS then MI6 Special Operations. His uncle had wanted to force Alex to be the mirror image of his father. What would John have made of Alex the musician or Alex the fairy. With stealth, the tall guest moved and opened the window. After checking the way was clear he climbed over the sill and went to find the sergeant who had named him Cub, the man he had observed was still training here.
Harry Dixon was career army instructor, after two tours with the SAS. He would see through one more intake, this winter then return to Yorkshire, where he planned to retire. He was finishing the tedium of paperwork, when there was a soft knock on the door of his office. "Enter" was barked as he hated being disturbed during his supposed down time.
He did not recognise the blond haired man who entered but surmised this was the man being babysat by medical.
Alex could see the man was not party to the identity of the special guest. He smiled and apologised in a London accent. "Sorry to disturb you, Sergeant. I was hoping we could catch up. Back in 2001, you called me Cub and my life story made it into the papers yesterday."
The super fit forty year old could see this was Cub grown up. "Take a pew. What's your poison, beer, tea or whisky? We'll need lubrication to catch up, a lot has happened in the thirteen years since you darkened my door."
…..
Scott joined as his assignment on a run, as Alex had decided to get fitter, upgrade his skills and use his time in Wales positively. Special Operations was a young man's game and Alex was supposed to be in his prime, only he wasn't. The doctor in London had been right stating his control issues had been killing him slowly. With his new life plan, exercise, nutrition and rest was as important as love, sex and music. Alex noted Scott was barely out of heath and he was exhausted to the point of collapsing.
"Don't overdo it, Cub. Try and take deep slow breaths in to regulate your breathing, then we can jog back at a comfortable pace."
"Bit different to the old treadmill in the gym." Alex gasped.
"Well, the great outdoors is not compatible with agoraphobia. You have been sticking to studio, rehearsal and where ever you happen to be staying. Keeping to controlled environments. Even here, this is no different, in the middle of MOD controlled army base, surrounded by wilderness. You prefer to stay in the cabin. You got to get out enjoy living. Carpe Diem." The nurse was fully aware of the plan to get this semi recluse to relax and live a little.
"I know. I need to surf and ski more, maybe take up diving and rock climbing again. I loved all that as a kid. I stopped living because of the pain, the guilt, the horrors, everything tainted by it. Even, music is a fucking control issue. It was meant to help me, it has helped, but the big question is it holding me back or am I just addicted to it. I need to practice, crave it, it soothes and consumes. Even now I'm writing songs in my head. Who is real Alex… AJ…. Lexie…..Cub?"
…..
Five months had passed since the news broke that AJ Pleasure, was a teenage spy blackmailed by the MI6 Black Ops Unit to bring down Herod Sayle, saving tens of thousands from the deadly biological weapon in 2001. Sparse details emerged of other operations in France, Cuba, Russia, Thailand, Australia and finally Egypt. None of his band mates had seen nor spoken to their guitarist. His social media accounts suspended, his family living in Australia.
Finally, a band meeting had been arranged with Lost and Alone Records to clear the air and try to salvage the five record deal either with or without AJ as part of the band. As the criminal investigation had arrested and charged one of their employees with conspiracy to murder, contract fraud and embezzlement. The takeover deal with Sony had fallen though as a result of the bad publicity.
Gray was pacing the floor of the small conference room in Seattle, anxiously waiting for Alex, to apologise in person for trusting the wrong guy, for becoming a money-man, for failing his sister's hero.
Daisy had arrived 10 minutes ago with two lawyers, which gave the impression Alex was going to sue rather than talk. The meeting about to start when a delivery of coffee and buns arrived. A very muscled delivery man with dark long hair, geeky glasses and big nose was carrying the tray of goodies.
All the cups inscribed with nicknames, True Hero went to Ike, Impossible Princess to Daisy, Igg and Ook to the two lawyers, Cloned Imposter to Cassian, Big Bad Wolf to Gray and an additional cup for the Compulsive Liar as the stranger sat down and pulled off the spectacles, fake nose and wig, "Hi Guys! Miss me."
…
Alex could see the crowd from the platform where he was waiting for his cue. Dressed in black riot gear, about to abseil onto the stage, his flack jacket printed emblazoned with 'LIAR'. He had spent half his life being lied to and then justifying it all by lying to himself. Again the band were one unit, writing together, communicating and the new album was a collaboration of all, not the usual of Alex being more marionette than maestro. The guitars to be played tonight all new, untouched, not objects of obsession. Everything had been laid bare when the story of the teen agent broke, AJ Pleasure had been the boy who saved the word several times. Then, forced into hiding by death threats. He had done what his uncle had ingrained, reinvented himself, spent months with Karl reevaluating everything.
Now the whole sordid affair was known to everyone. Blackmail, fear, pain, death, guilt, loss and devastation revealing a broken child, not a hero. Never a hero, it grated that the stupid and vapid thought he was 'the forgotten hero'… it was heroes. It had always eluded to the ones with no voice, the dead. Sabina had once ranted at length during a school debate on the ideal of the glorious dead, when there was no glory in either war nor death.
If Alex had to choose, it was Ike who was the hero. The quiet, unassuming drummer who had been a friend to an absolute stranger out of kindness.
The singer and guitarist no longer feared the crowd and exposure of his lies and halftruths. Life was not just existing, a banality, being in the open was an act of bravado, of standing proud and living without fear.
There had been no pre publicity to this show, rumours had circulated of a new line up. The music press siding with hate and derision for the replacement of 'the hero'. The band had changed both in style and outlook. A raw, instrument driven sound, a personal album, self produced, mixed and recorded, not in state of the art facilities but their homes. From the cusp of being a mega band to this small venue at Austin, similar to their first tour as a support act. Ike's dream of a small venue tour was underway ahead of the release of an album, no singles, the videos just the band playing during recording.
Alex was not the same AJ that had gone into hiding. His change influenced by the freedom not having to hide or deny his past. He had done four interviews, two in the States and two in Britain and had been open about his past and that he was very much not a spy and had only been involved reluctantly. The worst consequence of full disclosure had been the grilling from the Senate Committee. He had stuck with his opinion that the security services all partook of black operations, he understood that and his use in such operations had saved thousands of lives. Yes he was damaged both physically and mentally, but he was a survivor, a boy trained for this by his late uncle. The blame laid not at the CIA's door but with Ian Rider and Alan Blunt.
He knew life was change. His parent's still living in Australia. He and Karl living inMalibu bit planning on moving back to Denmark and relative anonymity. His band mates back being close friends. He was fit and well, relaxed and happy; taking each day as a blessing.