A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Sorry it's a little on the late side. The week snuck up on me. :)


Yassen's iPod had been neatly tucked away by the time Alex stormed into the front room and tersely informed him the doctor was ready to speak with him. For a split second, Yassen regretted not eavesdropping on the entire conversation, rather than just the first portion to ensure that this wasn't some sort of ambush to get spy intel from the boy. The little device had already come in handy for that, and a few other things- Yassen had waited only until Alex and the doctor were out of sight before using infrared to ensure there were no lurking dangers. Nothing obvious. With a quick swipe, Yassen then directed the gadget to check for surveillance equipment in the immediate offices beside the doctor's.

It seemed that his guess was correct: they would not be particularly well monitored here. Vankin hadn't misled him when he said it was a formality only, not that Yassen didn't occasionally expect their handler to be honest with them. At any rate, he was now confident there was little reason to pry too deeply into their personal lives. The tactical gains were relatively small: the SVR didn't care much about Alex beyond prosecuting MI6 and using him as leverage against Yassen. Threatening the boy's living situation would be good enough to ensure compliance from the assassin, so knowing the intricacies of their relationship was of less value than the effort it would take to collect, sort, and scrutinize such information. The exterior of their flat and their movements were already monitored- additional tracking would require even more agents on the project's payroll.

No, Yassen did not doubt that they would go unobserved here, though Werner could certainly not be trusted to defend their information to the death.

The doctor emerged shortly at the start of the session, to Yassen's lack of surprise. Satisfied, the assassin switched the device to its actual commercial function of playing music and picked up a magazine from the table.

Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" filled his ears. He suppressed a twitch and hit skip. The next song was significantly worse- something about milkshakes by someone named Fergi. Yassen stabbed the trackpad again, grateful the earbuds weren't loud enough for the doctor and receptionist to hear.

I took the liberty of pre-loading some music that seemed more your style, Smithers had said.

That bastard.

Perhaps this mandated therapy would be good for Alex, Yassen thought, watching the doctor confer with his receptionist about his schedule for the week for the entire ten minutes before returning to his office. This was a proper therapist. His credentials were quite good. He'd even accounted for Alex's less than typical quirks, like his wariness of surveillance. Even if Werner reported directly to Vankin, he might still be able to offer assistance or at least advice.

The boy's furious scowl as he left his session suggested otherwise. After delivering his message, he shoved his own earbuds in and glowered at the glass exit.

Promising.

Dr. Werner nodded to Yassen as he entered, gesturing at the many empty seats in a clear invitation. Yassen had half a mind to refuse to sit, but since he'd already confirmed the room's safety, decided to err on the side of putting the doctor at ease. He likely knew something of his history, and the doctor might still prove useful at treating Alex.

The doctor finished a short handful of scribbles before looking back up at Yassen. "Sorry to leave you waiting for a moment, but I do try to capture these things as soon as possible. My memory isn't what it used to be."

Yassen inclined his head. "May I ask the point of us meeting? Alex will hardly be reassured if we must compare notes after every session to fact check his statements."

The doctor shook his head. "Catching him in any kind of lie is rather beside the point. The purpose of our meetings is to first, ensure that Alex's home life is adequate for the SVR's official records; second, create a unified support system for his treatment; and third, to offer you any insights or tools possible to better equip you for the task"

"Unified support system," Yassen repeated.

The doctor waved a hand. "As a minor, he only has so much control over his environment. If he sets a treatment goal, it is in his best interest if you are aware of any necessary details. We don't want to accidentally set the deck against him, it is hardly effective treatment otherwise. For instance, he might have a goal to eat healthier, but if you keep offering him treats, it would inhibit his efforts. You and I will need to be on the same page, though I would prefer not to share the specific details of his sessions."

"That's fine." Yassen eyed the little black feline slinking towards him, but didn't give it more than a passing glance. "What is it you'd like to know about his home life?"

"First, we just need to tick off some items on the state checklist," the man said. "Does Alex have access to a safe, habitable dwelling when he is not in school?"

Yassen didn't so much as blink. "We live in a large downtown apartment with heat controls for every room and three televisions."

Werner gave him a pleased nod, making a note. "And does he have his own bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Is there an adequate amount of food in your apartment that he has access to?"

Yassen paused, just as the little black cat decided to rub up against his leg. He ignored it. "We tend to eat out more often than not. Is that a problem?"

"It's unlikely at this stage," the doctor informed him. "But still possible that child services may swing by to document his living space. You'll want to ensure that there is food ready to be consumed at any given time. It doesn't have to be any particular type, so long as it's relatively healthy and safe to eat. My advice is to fill the pantry with cans and the freezer with microwave meals, even if it's just for the sake of appearances."

"I'll see to it." Yassen glanced down at the cat, who now added a gentle mewl to it's bid for his attention. The minute it realized he'd looked in it's vague direction, it gave a triumphant purr and hopped onto his lap.

Yassen stiffened. Great.

Werner must have picked up on his discomfort. "Ah, Minka seems to think you're a cat person. I can put her in my office, if you'd like."

Normally, Yassen would have continued to ignore the animal or gently swat it away. He didn't. Maybe it was all the questions centering around his ability to provide Alex basic care, but Yassen found himself hesitant to seem too cold, even if the man almost certainly knew something of his true profession and his relation to Alex's- well, lack of relations. Yassen reluctantly patted the cat's head. "It's fine."

The checklist of questions was fairly quick and simple. Yassen answered a few more about his apartment, the school, and other resources while Werner carefully noted each answer of his notepad. Neither of them went into much detail and Yassen got the impression that the doctor was neither surprised nor concerned with the answers he received.

After those were out of the way, the doctor set aside his pen and turned to Yassen. "Now, between all of the assessments and my session with him today, I think I have nearly half of the total picture. I expect it will take me a few more visits with him before I have an accurate understanding of his perspective and a full accounting of his current problems. He is very closed off and very wary, which makes perfect sense in light of his history. Now, that being said, is there anything you think I should know, particularly about his drug use? While I wouldn't normally "fact check" a patient, there is a very real safety concern."

The little black feline seemed to enjoy cheek rubs. Yassen obliged it. "How much did he tell you?"

"Very little. We touched on it only briefly in conjunction with alternative medications."

"Which medications?"

"I have a few options in mind, to treat his anxiety and depression, but I do not think he is open to taking them. Not if it means less opiates."

Of course. Was there any sort of medical treatment or problem that didn't conflict with the damn things? To think, in prison, Yassen had been more concerned with A216. He inhaled softly. "Are there any options that would not conflict with his addiction?"

"There are some, but I would not turn to them first. They are typically prescribed when other, more effective medications fail." The doctor clasped his hands loosely in his lap. "His opiates conflict with many substances. He said you've been giving him weed as a safer way to get high, correct?"

Yassen nodded, glancing back down at his furry lap warmer. "He would steal more otherwise. Still does, from time to time."

"Why would he do that?"

"It usually correlates with him being upset."

"How often?"

Yassen actually had to consider that. The cat stretched it's spine across his leg, exposing a graying belly in an obvious invitation. "Not as often as you might think. The last few months have been very stressful for him, but he's only done it maybe three times."

"And you view his stealing as a stress response?"

"As I said, it's only when he's unusually upset." Yassen wasn't sure if he was imagining a hint of disapproval in the man. A lurking assumption. "I've never cut him off, if that's what you're thinking. I know withdrawal is taxing on the body and his health has been fragile ever since we left prison. I won't let him take enough to get properly high, but I've never withheld his normal dosage."

"This stealing. Did it happen before or after you switched him to cannabis for highs?"

"Both."

"I see." The doctor chewed on that for a moment. "How much cannabis does he consume now?"

"I don't know exactly. He hasn't asked for a new bottle. I gave him a tincture."

Werner paused. "I was under the impression that you manage all of his medications."

"I do, for the most part." Yassen rubbed his face with his free hand, since his dominant was tied up in rubbing the cat under the chin. It had turned into a pool of purring in his lap, vibrating softly against his leg. Hopefully that was a good sign. Yassen had never really paid much attention to animals before Alex. "I've always been the one to dispense his xanax and painkillers, since he had memory problems during his withdrawal from his antipsychotics. The risk of him forgetting what he'd already taken was high. With him returning to school, I've been giving him his school-day dosages to keep on himself and he texts me to confirm when he takes them. The cannabis is consumed at his own discretion."

"So you don't know how often he needs to get high. Or how much."

Yassen felt his lips thin. "It's every day. Maybe not constantly, but it's very nearly every day."

"How do you monitor that?"

"I don't officially. I can usually tell when he's high and we spend most evenings together."

"Interesting. What do you do?"

Yassen paused. "What do you mean?"

"During your evenings together."

At least that was an easy question. Yassen shrugged. "Alex likes watching television. Sometimes I play video games with him. For the last week we haven't done either, since the assessments have taken all of our extra time."

"I see. Does he take any other drugs?"

"No."

"You sound quite certain."

Yassen looked down at the cat rolling around in his lap. "He has little reason not to tell me."

Werner paused. "Why is that?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

Alex's therapist considered him. "Most children obscure their misdeeds to avoid some form of punishment."

Yassen snorted. "I don't punish Alex."

"Interesting- and I mean that sincerely." Werner glanced at his watch, then back at Yassen. "But I'm afraid that as much as I'd very much like to explore this topic, we've run quite thin on time. Next week, we can pick this line up again. Is there anything you'd like to ask me before we end?"

Yassen dislodged the cat and stood to go, but found himself pausing at the door. "Medication. Do you think it will actually help him? With the problems he has?"

"While it is a little early to say definitively," Dr. Werner told him, reaching out a gentle hand as the sulking cat plodded back to him for a stroke on the top of it's head. "I very much believe so. Trauma changes our brains, especially if we are young. Rewires signals. Enhances fear. Mutes happiness. At the very least, we can supply him with enough neurotransmitters to give him some relief from the worst of it. Provide the option of feeling other things than panic or disinterest. I believe he is trying to accomplish something similar with getting high on opiates, though they leave him less room to function. The other problem is that the body adapts quickly to them: without intervention, overdose is an eventuality. Alex's brain can never again experience the pinnacle of relief he got once on heroin for chemical reasons, but he may very well spend the rest of his life chasing it."

Yassen did not permit himself an open wince, though he got the impression that the doctor picked up on it anyway. "What are the odds he succeeds in getting off of them?"

Dr. Werner exhaled slowly and gave Yassen a slight, thin smile. "If he acknowledges that they are harming him and makes the decision to seek treatment, his odds of recovery are very, very good. The biggest threat is him overdosing before he enters rehabilitation, but otherwise, most opiate addicts achieve sobriety."

Thank god. At least there was one spot of good news.

One final thing weighed on his mind. He almost didn't ask, but did anyway. "I know we only spoke of it in passing at the assessments, but will he ever be able to live independently?"

Werner nodded gently. "I believe it is more a matter of when than if."

With a short nod, Yassen left the room. As he approached the waiting area, he saw Alex quickly tuck his iPod back into his pocket. Yassen didn't acknowledge it, though he filed the information away. It didn't really bother him that Alex had eavesdropped, since he had no intention of saying anything to Werner that he wouldn't say directly to Alex if asked. If Alex wanted to ensure he was apprised of everything going on, that was fine by Yassen.

"Come along," the assassin said to the schoolboy. Alex grimaced, evidently mostly recovered from his sulk. "We need to get around to that shopping. Doctor's orders."


Mrs. Jones stared at the tablet in her hand, swiping her hand across the screen and closing her email abruptly. Tucked it under her arm. The sharp taste of peppermint filled her senses as her teeth cracked down on the hard exterior of the sweet.

What she wouldn't give for just one bit of good news today.

With a ding, the elevator swept open and she found herself in a hallway almost identical to the rest of the ones in the building. Pale blue walls, white trim, standard wood office furniture- had anyone managed to take a picture of the highly secure area, it would be near indistinguishable from any other generic London office. She shoved open the first door without knocking or acknowledging the agents glancing up at her from the reception desk outside.

A sea of startled analysts and technical specialists looked up at her, half frozen behind their row of computers. Hmpfh. Perhaps she should put an end to this open concept style of desk arrangements and go back to the standard cubicles. Her Chief Science Officer had insisted that this layout encouraged "rapid collaboration", however, and since everyone had clearance there was little more than personal taste to swing the vote.

Samantha Redwing, said Chief Science Officer of MI6, glanced up at her from the pilot's desk at the helm of the room. As Jones suspected, she'd eschewed her private office on the other side of the building to consult with her technical team full time. Good.

A red-headed man in his early forties was studying the young woman's computer screen from over her shoulder. He straightened and nodded as Jones approached. "Mrs. Jones. I assume you're here to discuss my email? I would have come to your office to give a proper-"

Well, there was no way to have this conversation privately in this room. Not that it mattered. This entire tech team had been assigned to the task at hand anyway. Tulip set her tablet firmly on the desk, the screen frozen on the image of the U.N.'s official notification of accusation and charges, and leveled the twenty-eight year old with a stern look. "What do you mean you cannot provide the evidence required to move forward?"

Redwing gave her a bland, professional smile after a split second. "Actually, Mr. West and I were just discussing that. He's in charge of-"

"I know Mr. West, Miss Redwing," Jones informed her. "We've consulted on the legal angling of other cases in the past. What I don't understand is how we can have video evidence tying Gregorovich to several crimes, combined with Alex's obvious kidnapping from Gibraltar, yet somehow have no legal ground for anything moving forward, despite the charges Alex has listed against us."

The two at the desk exchanged a look before Redwing turned to the large team screen behind her, tilting it so Jones would have a better view. "Mr. West, why don't you take point on this? I'm not sure I've got the legal jargon down, so to speak."

The redheaded man shrugged and waved a hand at the screen. His jacket seemed to have disappeared, but then again, Tulip couldn't recall seeing the man wear it anywhere that wasn't a courtroom anyway. What he lacked in professionalism, he made up for in skill. "Fine, fine. Okay, let's start from our initial, safest position: Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich are somewhere in Russia, both criminals, and require extradition. We can't strictly prove any of that, for various reasons, but we can send in requests to the Russian government for cooperation."

"I anticipated their attempts to stall, plus the fact that the Russians don't extradite their own citizens, generally speaking," Tulip said, waving her own impatient hand. It took her a moment to get herself under control. It was as though she could feel the hands of the clock pressing down on her, suffocating her. She almost choked on the taste of peppermint. "But Alex is an English minor. Tell me why we can't proceed with the legal process of demanding his return under precedent, at the very least."

"You're correct that Alex being an abducted child does open a chance to pursue actual legal action," he said, leaning against the wall. "As the Russian Federation does adhere to the Hague convention, which necessitates returning kidnapped children swiftly to proper parental custody. It's what we have to establish in order to invoke it is where things get tricky. That Alex is a British child removed unlawfully from British territory will be difficult to prove unless we open the can of worms that was his incarceration. Doing that should prove that he shouldn't be where he is, making our case for a legal kidnapping. However, all of that is all done to get us to our next issue: proving that he is not in his right mind, as he is cooperating with his supposed kidnappers and accusing us of unthinkable things."

Jones shook her head. "That won't be particularly difficult. We were already careful to suggest that Stolkholm syndrome is in play to the Americans. Alex need not complain of it himself."

West tilted his head. "That will be quite difficult to prove in court, actually. While Stockholm Syndrome is a more subtle survival mechanism, it generally shows some signs. The victims are still under stress- they've simply aligned themselves with the needs of their captors rather than stand in opposition to them. Signals that they are under duress or are uncertain about their safety. To generalize, it often shares the same symptoms of domestic abuse. Not quite a hostage situation on the surface, but there's still something off that you can spot. Even body language could be enough to make a case that he is being coerced psychologically."

Jones dug into her pocket and procured another mint. "I don't see the problem then. We have video evidence of them. Hours of it. I don't care how many techs it takes. I'll approve any amount of overtime. Pour over it, analyze every scrap of body language, and move on."

"That's the problem," Redwing said, glancing at West. "We have. There's nothing workable."

Tulip gave her a flat, disbelieving stare.

"I've had my entire team go over it. While we can craft any narrative we want on paper, there's little evidence to back up our claims of coercion." West shook his head and gestured to the screen as Redwing pulled up a series of clips. "Look for yourself. Here they are shortly after getting off that cruise ship in Miami."

A video player filled the screen. A small bus stop was shown, in fairly good detail though the images were in black and white. Traffic camera, perhaps. At double speed, Gregorovich and Alex sat side by side, waiting for the next line to drive by. Their day had been quite tiring: not only could she guess that based off of the reports of the failed attack by Scorpia on the cruise ship, but by how haggard both of them looked. Alex especially, since he leaned on the assassin's shoulder and appeared to promptly fall asleep. After a few minutes, Gregorovich covered the boy with his coat.

Redwing sighed. "This is useless. He doesn't look remotely scared."

Her heart sank. "We have more video files. That's only one."

West winced, but tapped the keyboard nonetheless. Another video clip enlarged itself from the tray, filling the screen. Alex and Yassen, in a shopping mall food court. The bottom corner of the screen listed the time and date, as well as a small MI6 notation that this took place in a small town in Louisiana. Alex and Yassen were both eating something from paper wrappings, nearly out of range of the camera.

Yassen twisted to look at someone passing in the crowd.

Alex tensed.

Watching the video, Tulip's body language unconsciously mimicked the boy's. Praying. If there was ever a moment in which the boy second guessed his alliance with his uncle's murderer, surrounded by cameras would be the absolute best time to make an attempt to run for-

Like a teenaged piranha, Alex struck face first, burying his teeth into Gregorovich's taco (gyro? Salad wrap?) and yanking free a large, sloppy bite before the man could turn around.

The assassin scowled and swatted at him with his free hand, holding the food out of range with the other. Alex chewed and swallowed with record speed, jaw hanging open in an obvious show of intent to steal more. At least until Gregorocih tried to grab Alex's remaining food in retaliation and the boy went on the defense. There was nothing in the assassin's body language or mannerisms to suggest real anger or any propensity for violence. Mild annoyance at best. Not a hint of danger.

Tulip grimaced. "We can spin this."

West gave her a nonplussed look. "Honestly, even if we can loosely tie Gregorovich to two stolen cars and Alex to a pharmacy pickpocketing, there's no footage to suggest any kind of aggravated kidnapping. Not so much as a hint of fear. If they're identifiable in these shots at all, Gregorovich acts like his long lost big brother and Alex eats it up. Showing these tapes won't inspire concern in any judge. They're fucking heartwarming."

"Or it's Stockholm Syndrome and Alex is too mentally ill to understand the danger he's in."

West shook his head. "Believe me, we should drop the aggravated kidnapping angle. We would need so much more proof than we currently have that he is unable to understand his situation. Alex was never formally diagnosed as a schizophrenic and it could easily be shot down now with a new examination by the Russians. Without being able to prove he's not in his right mind, it doesn't matter if he's kidnapped. He's old enough. The Hague Convention can be legally ignored by having him testify that he doesn't want to return, by using any of the proposed evidence in his accusations that he faces the risk of abuse here; or, if he just runs out the clock on being in Russia for a year, at which point it's considered cruel to remove an unwilling child from a stable living situation."

"Fine," Jones snapped. "We can't prove that Alex is with him unwillingly. The fact remains that they are criminals and Alex is British. Alex will at least need to be deported and charged."

West shook his head. "Not with the clips the Americans provided. I mean, when I say loosely tie Gregorovich to two car thefts, I mean loose. I could present a case in court, but I'm not sure I could prosecute successfully. He left no DNA evidence and the cameras never actually caught him, so there's room for reasonable doubt. Also, the crimes occurred in the States and no formal charges have been filed by the Americans since Kingman. Everything they've sent us since has been harmless looking footage. We know the CIA is covering up how they got to Russia, but that's nothing new. At any rate, Gregrovich wouldn't look good to a judge if we present what we have, but there's enough reasonable doubt that he's a proper criminal, especially if the Russians trot out character witnesses and run interference. We can prove Alex is a petty criminal when he stole pills from a man coming out of a pharmacy, though as he was a minor at the time of the crime, it's pretty worthless in seeking deportation."

Jones rubbed her temples. Of course the CIA was being less than helpful. Just what she needed. "What about the encrypted video files? The ones covered in white noise. Those have to be at least one of them committing serious crimes."

Redwing cleared her throat and shook her head. "I've tried everything I can think of. I've got dozens of processors working on it, but it could take decades to try every permeable-"

"Custody, then. We fight the custody battle, rather than the aggravated kidnapping. Gregorovich has no legal grounds to have Alex," Jones snapped, turning back to West. "We can prove that, at least."

West pressed his lips together, obviously not liking the angle any better than the kidnapping one. Admittedly there was overlap, but they all knew they were grasping at straws as it was. "Yes, but legally speaking, no one does. Alex is a ward of the crown, but the Bank is cited directly in three of the remaining files on public record. I would not call attention to that, in light of his allegations against us. Who's bloody idea was that anyway?"

What Tulip wouldn't give to punch Alan Blunt in the mouth.

She didn't so much as blink. "We can provide another guardian."

"Unless he's lived with them before and they have some sort of pre-established familial right to his care, it will do us no good. There is no one with the legal grounds to complain about what is an unwinnable case to begin with since he's old enough to object. MI6 can't do that as an entity without making Rider's abuse case for him." West rubbed his eyes and leaned against the desk.

Jones bit down on her peppermint, hard. "Fine. What is our best move to get him back then?"

"Honestly, I doubt we legally can. Not in any timely manner, not in international court. There's several options, none of which I would consider viable or likely to succeed without basically proving the agency is liable for what he has accused us of." West grimaced and pointed to the tablet. "As we both outlined in our reports, we can't move forward to extradite him. We just don't have what would be required, even if the judge is friendly. Our best bet would be to prove that he is unsafe with Gregorovich first, regardless of whose care Alex should be under or what he wants. If we can establish that and tie it to the Federations, we can make a case that he's unsafe in Russia entirely, and hopefully have him moved somewhere we can access. The Russians almost certainly have him under protection, so a snatch and grab under their noses is highly unlikely to succeed, even if we knew where he was."

"That might work." Jones gave him a considering look and turned to Redwing. "Can we manufacture some evidence? Gregorovitch striking the boy, perhaps?"

The younger woman hesitated. "I'd err on the side of no. We just don't know enough about their actions and timeline in America. If we come up with something damning without context, it's difficult to be certain that other, contradictory evidence can't be provided proving they were somewhere else at the same time. We don't know what the CIA is up to or if they'll get in our way. If we're caught falsifying evidence now ..."

A disfavorable judge could be a career killer. Then again, Mrs. Jones was already pretty certain hers would be dead before the year was out.

If that.

If she gave it everything she had, she might still succeed before that happened. "I understand."

West shook his head. "I'd focus on our legal defense, personally. I don't think we're going to get this kid back. We should be working on damage control and on persuading him to drop the charges. If he won't, we need to focus on disowning him entirely-"

"If he's made the official complaint," Jones snapped. "We have the legal right to contact him under the purview of the investigation, correct?"

West squinted at her. "No, not directly. We can request a supervised meeting and we can demand our own inquiries, but the courts can deny us a fair bit."

"What if we can get Alex to admit that Gregorovich is a danger to him in one of these meetings?" Jones demanded.

West conceded the point with a wave of his hand. "We might be able to move him into favorable custody for a snatch and grab. Maybe. Our odds aren't very good, though-"

She turned to Redwing. "And if we can decrypt the video files?"

The twenty-eight year old shrugged.

West glanced again at the screen. "Assuming we can prove that Alex is being kept with Gregorovich, we will only have legal grounds to demand he be removed from his custody if the files prove the man is a violent and dangerous criminal. It might even help us make the abuse allegations look like a Russian plot to discredit us, though we'd have a harder time fitting Smithers into that narrative. It might be enough to create reasonable doubt, but that might be too optimistic."

Mrs. Jones nodded as she gathered her tablet back into her arms. "Very well. Arrange for the meeting with Alex through the proper channels, West. After that, I want you to prepare the most likely lines of questioning we can use to get Alex to imply any useful kind of abuse. We'll want to interview him for our own defence anyway, even if it's under court supervision. I have a few other ideas, but I agree, this seems to be our best course of action. For now. Redwing, with me."

With a blink, the woman stood and followed her to the door. The rest of the techs busied themselves with their computer screens while West watched them, arms folded and lips pressed together.

Jones lowered her voice. "The A216?"

Redwing hesitated. "It's been rather challenging, well, doing both the formulation research and the method of administration modifications. Truly, Smithers was our best at adapting any kind of device-"

Jones hissed, "We have other engineers."

"Yes, ma'am," Redwing said without hesitation. "But it's a moot point anyway. The biggest issue is formulation. I'm sorry. It has to be injected. The aerosolized, dermal, and oral methods all showed decreased uptake. It practically won't have an effect at all."

"Very well." Mrs. Jones took a deep, calming breath. "I want you to double your efforts on cracking the encryption. Make it your top priority. Report to me directly if you find anything."

There was still hope, she reminded herself, striding from the room. She refused to acknowledge the concerned glances being exchanged by the two professionals behind her. It didn't really matter how erratic her behavior seemed, not in the long run. They were only following orders, thus their careers could be salvaged from whatever smoking ruin her time in charge left behind her.

At any rate, if she were clever and - more importantly- prepared to leverage absolutely everything she had, she might still pull this off. They had zero child candidates in the pool of likely successes. It hardly mattered- none of them had shown the mental aptitudes required to handle the rigors of infiltrating Nightshade. They needed more than a man on the inside, they needed someone who could adapt under extreme pressure and think on their feet.

They needed Alex Rider.

She took a deep breath. The investigation must never lead to court and Alex had to be recovered soon. The boy had done more with worse odds, she reminded herself. If anyone could do it, it was him.