Operation: Bury Your Dead – Ghosts

Yes folks, it is here. The (not-so-long)-awaited sequel to Operation: Red Crescent. For those of you just tuning in, I recommend you go over and find the first story, or you might get a tad confused. For those of you rejoining us after having read Operation: Red Crescent, thank you for sticking with Alex through everything I've been sadistic enough to put his through, and I hope this new segment does not disappoint.

Disclaimer: Everything that follows herein is statistically improbable. Deal with it. =)

Ah: Just a quick thing: Tomorrow night is Shavuot, and in the spirit of Red Crescent, I wanted to share a bit about what that means. Shavuot is a celebration of the day the Jews received the Torah (our code of law) from God at Mount Sinai (supposedly). We eat a lot of dairy food (because at the time, the laws of Kashrut (dietary restrictions) were known of but knot actually known, and we couldn't eat meat. We dance and sing and stay up all night studying – it's basically a celebration of us being Jewish, and accepting God (again, supposedly).

Anyway, just wanted to share. Moving along…

I officially refuse to keep putting up disclaimers from now on. If I were AH, would I REALLY be writing on fanfiction? No, no I would not. I would be writing the next brilliant Alex Rider book. Consider this my standing disclaimer for the rest of this series. I'm sick of pandering to the copyright gods.

Enjoy this new segment – and have a happy Shavuot!

PLEASE NOTE: I HAVE EDITED THIS SEGMENT, AND IT IS MUCH LONGER NOW. (Did I fix the whole problem with rushing and anticlimax?)

~InK

………………………………………………………………………

"You will go back to Scorpia, John," Mrs. Jones said. Her face was filled with hard lines of determination.

"I will do no such thing," John Rider growled. "You promised. You promised that you would give me a new identity, and that you would leave me alone, so that I could have the life I wanted with Helen and my son. I did the job you gave me; I held up my end of the bargain. It's your turn to deliver."

There was a hint of petulance in his voice – he sounded almost childish. But mostly, there was thinly disguised menace. Tulip Jones watched her agent carefully. He was unpredictable and uncontrollable. If he decided to attack her, it wasn't like she could stop him. She resisted the urge to go for the gun at her hip, keeping her arms folded neutrally in front of her.

"It is no longer my right to gamble away my life, even for my country," John said, his voice becoming soft, pleading. "I have a family. I promised Helen I would be there for Alex."

"Then break your promise," Tulip said without sympathy.

"We had a deal!" John yelled, standing. His fist came down hard on the table between them. Tulip didn't even jump.

"Sit down John," she said calmly. "We lied. Its what we do."

"This is how it is going to work, if you will not return willingly," she continued. "We will place your son under the care of one of our other agents, and we will hide Helen so thoroughly that you will never find her."

Mrs. Jones' voice was matter-of-fact. Calm, professional. She slipped another peppermint into her mouth, burning away the acrid taste of the threat she knew was necessary. John sank into his seat, as if his legs could not longer support him. All the anger left his frame in an instant.

"You wouldn't," John whispered. He looked around him, as if the walls were beginning to close in on him; panic was replacing the anger that had consumed him just a moment ago. He looked like a trapped wild animal, searching for any escape.

"Wouldn't we?" Tulip asked. "Ian would be more than happy to care for his nephew…"

John laughed. Actually laughed. Tulip wondered (and not for the first time either) whether he was loosing it.

"I've seen Ian burn cereal," John choked out. "Twice. I don't think he even knows how to use a dishwasher, and if it weren't for his housekeeper, the man would forget to buy groceries on a regular basis. You want to give him a child to care for? My child?"

"Go back into Scorpia one last time, and we will discuss the terms of your retirement," Tulip said unsympathetically.

"How long?" John Rider rasped, defeated. He might pretend to hold some of the cards, but both he and Mrs. Jones knew that he no longer had the upper hand. Mrs. Jones felt a surge of triumph; John Rider was to be the greatest success MI6 had ever seen. They could not let him go just yet.

"As long as it takes."

………………………………………………………………………

"We received a tip early this morning," Alan Blunt said, meeting his Deputy Director's eyes over the top of his desk. It was still very early in the morning, not yet three o-clock, but Blunt was sitting comfortably in his suit in his office, as if it was already noon. "Alex has escaped Scorpia's hold, with the help of Yassen Gregorovitch."

"I thought Yassen was being securely held by some of our best," Mrs. Jones said frowning. "It isn't every day that we find a close to dead Yassen Gregorovitch on Air Force One, after all. How could we let him escape?"

"Yes, well, much like our Alex, Yassen has a talent for getting out of rough situations," Blunt said by way of an explanation.

"Do you think he intends to use Alex?" Mrs. Jones asked. Blunt shook his head. "The most recent news I've had is that Alex is on a plane from Tunisia, safe and sound. Agent Daniels remains among Scorpia, unsuspected."

Mrs. Jones paled at the news about Alex.

"What's his flight number?" she demanded sharply.

"Why does it matter?" Blunt asked.

"I was coming in here to report that five minutes ago, an air control station in Greece picked up a transmission from a man who had said he had hijacked flight 617 from Tunisia to London, and was planning on crashing it into a major structure if the British government did not provide one hundred scud missiles and an anthrax vaccine to Al Qaeda."

Blunt typed quickly on his computer, and he once again looked up at Mrs. Jones.

"That boy has both the best and the worst luck of any operative I have ever met," Jones said, understanding the look that Alan was giving her.

"Well, we can't very well give in to their demands," Blunt said practically. Mrs. Jones nodded, knowing what came next.

"So we wait for Alex to be… Alex, then?" Blunt asked. Reluctantly, Mrs. Jones nodded.

"Make sure we have someone to wait for him at the airport," Blunt continued. "I have another mission I believe Alex would be perfect for."

Had Mrs. Jones thought that protesting could have saved Alex from what Blunt was planning, she would have. As things stood however, she knew that Blunt would never give up on the perfect chance to solve a conflict that had been raging for years. He wanted to use Alex again, to save thousands of lives.

But the cost to Alex... He would not survive. Even if he did manage to return to London alive and whole... if Blunt sent Alex on this particular mission, he would never be able to come back from it. It was almost like Alan was trying to make the boy psychologically unable, for the love of god! Hadn't they already learned their lesson with his father?

Mrs. Jones shuddered, holding onto the edge of her desk like it was a piece of driftwood in a storm. The one thing tethering her to this life, this job.

She carefully unwrapped a peppermint, and she let it wash away the acidic taste of death from her mouth.

What's the matter, Jones? John Rider's voice asked in her head. Loosing your taste for abusing agents? Can't take the heat anymore?

Tulip gasped for a breath she hadn't been aware that she had to take.

I did my job, she thought furiously, regaining control.

Sure you did, the sarcastic voice in her head replied.

I'm loosing it, Tulip realized weakly.

Not that that was particularly surprising, given her job. Just a little… disturbing.

………………………………………………………………………

The sound of a shot being fired echoed through the streets of London failed to reach the ears of any bystanders.

The sniper in the buildings overhead quickly disassembled his weapon and moved down the side of the building using the fire escape, navigating almost entirely by feel alone. There wasn't even a shred of light in the sky to indicate that dawn was but a few hours away. He made no sound moving across the metal frame, despite the fact that it was old and rickety.

The man was an expert at remaining unseen. He had managed it for a long time; it was a necessary part of who he was. From a young age, he had always been taught to be silent when he moved. The training he had received for his job made it all the more imperative that he become a ghost.

Of course, the sniper thought wryly as he knelt by his victim, confirming the kill, the people that had trained him had never once thought that he might turn those skills against them. They thought he was one of them.

Well, this is for you, Tulip, my old friend, the man thought with a viciousness that surprised him. He had once been a patriot.

Now?

Now he would see Scorpia and MI6 destroyed.

The agent that had been targeted, Nathaniel Hurwitz, had died instantly when the bullet entered his skull. The bullet had created a hole the size of a grapefruit in the back of his head.

The sniper simply dropped the shell from the shot he had fired next to the body. No reason to police his brass after all, not when he could give them his fingerprints and his name – it was time to make his identity known to MI6.

The man who had spent his whole life learning to move like a ghost was about to become one.

………………………………………………………………………

As soon as the terrorist looked away, Alex checked the woman's pulse. It was normal, which meant he hadn't hit her hard enough to kill her. He didn't know enough to see whether or not she had a concussion, but it seemed luck was playing both sides today.

"Here, switch seats with me," the man next to Alex in the window seat said. "I'm a doctor."

Gratefully, Alex moved over to let the man work. It wasn't like there was anything he could do to help the woman. Well, aside from making sure this plane didn't crash.

Somehow, he doubted that Britain was going to capitulate to the demands of these terrorists.

Speaking of which…

Alex had to come up with a plan. Rapidly, he scanned the plane. It was a typical 747 – two rows of seats on either side of a central isle, seating about 70 people if it was full.

There were four terrorists that he knew of for sure, and Alex would have bet anything that there was at least one more. All of the ones he had physically seen were carrying small caliber weapons, and didn't seem to have a problem with causing pain – though none of them had fired just yet.

Well, its not like they can exactly fire a gun on a plane, Alex thought. They're probably just for show, because if they miss and hit a window, this plane is going down. And even if they are suicidal, they're not stupid.

"Is she okay?" Alex asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them.

"She'll be fine, but she's going to have one hell of a headache when she wakes up," the doctor said. Alex nodded.

"You didn't look real surprised when she went down," the doctor went on. Alex shrugged, trying to avoid his eyes.

"Cub, you're about as transparent as glass," the doctor said, whispering in Alex's ear.

Alex nearly yelped with surprise at hearing the name he had been called while training with the SAS.

Oh fuck.

Snake.

Alex fought the urge to scream in frustration. The last time he had seen this man, he had been trying to make Alex's life hell. And what, exactly, were the odds that he would run into the SAS soldier on a plane back from Tunisia, of all places, during a terrorist attack? His week seemed to be getting more and more surreal.

He really did have the most fucked up luck, Alex thought bitterly.

"What the hell?" he asked weakly.

"I was about to say the same thing," the SAS man said, giving Alex a searching look. "I'm here coming home on leave. Just so happened that the first plane out of Afghanistan was through Tunisia."

Snake tried to meet Alex's eyes, and failed, because the teenager was glaring out the window. "And I'm guessing you were playing Double-O-Seven, am I right?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Alex answered automatically. Snake snorted.

"Right, well," he said. "Got any ideas as for how we can get to ground safely? Because my girlfriend is waiting for me in London, and I would really hate to die now, after having survived twelve months in hell."

"Any suggestions?" Alex whispered back.

"You're the spy boy," Snake said plainly.

"You're the trained soldier," Alex hissed.

"Oh don't bullshit me – you've seen as much action as I have, since you left Brecon Beacons, haven't you?"

"That's none of your fucking business," Alex said.

"No, its not," Snake said, eyes twinkling in amusement. "But what is my fucking business is surviving today. So if you wouldn't mind?"

Alex really wished he could hit Snake, but he turned his attention back to the situation at hand.

"I'm going to try and go to the bathroom, and see what their security is like," Alex said calmly, climbing over Snake and the unconscious woman before the SAS soldier could stop him.

"You there! Sit back down!" The terrorist that had hit the woman was yelling at him now. Forcing his heart to beat evenly and his voice to remain steady, Alex turned to face him. I am not afraid of this man, Alex told himself over and over again.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said in his most annoyed I'm a teenager voice. He had gotten it almost perfect - the right mix of fear, disbelief, anger, and vanity. The terrorist softened a little, realizing this wasn't some sinister plot, but an honest issue. He nodded.

"Go, but know that I'm right behind you," he said. "Try anything, and I will shoot you."

Alex nodded as if exasperated, but moved down the deathly silent aisle, trying to do nothing offensive. He locked the bathroom door as securely as he could behind him. Alex knew he had only a minute before he had to go back. He searched the bathroom frantically, looking for something he could use as a weapon.

Of course, he was in an airplane. It wasn't like they were going to leave anything seriously dangerous lying around.

Which begged the question of how these terrorists had gotten on the plane with guns.

Disassembled, made of special plastic parts except for the spring and other essential parts, the part of his brain long honed by his work as a spy, and then by the training he received at Malagosto. That particular trick had been used by Scorpia many times.

Alex doubted now that these terrorists were affiliated with Scorpia, but he couldn't imagine any other method that would be useful to get a gun onto a plane.

Alex watched his reflection while he tried to come up with a plan. The only idea that sprang to mind was leaping out of the bathroom and just taking out as many of the terrorists and he could, hoping Snake could watch his back.

Oh yeah, that would work, Alex thought derisively. He'd been imagining himself as some kind of commando James Bond. Yeah, right.

How to take out the terrorists without getting anyone else hurt?

If they could get more of the passengers involved, they could get those guns out of the way, and then the whole situation became a whole lot easier. The close space of the aisles also complicated things a bit, and he didn't know how they could free their pilots, which was also a big problem, but they would deal with that when they got there, if they could.

Someone banged on the door. Alex winced. His time was up.

"Come on kid, let's go!" the terrorist yelled.

"Coming," Alex muttered. He unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

Halfway down the aisle, Alex made his move. He struck with his elbow, hitting the stomach of the terrorist behind him. The man grunted in pain and tried to take a swing at Alex, but Alex lashed out again, kicking the gun out of his hand before he hand the chance to move.

The terrorist took a swing at Alex's head before grabbing for the gun, which was unfortunate, for him. One of the other passengers had stood and picked it up while Alex was knocked to the floor.

"Put down the gun," one of the terrorists said menacingly.

The passenger simply struck with the gun, knocking the man Alex had disarmed unconscious.

The other terrorist fired. Screams erupted. Alex glanced back to see blood blossoming at the man's chest. He was pulled up by the collar of his shirt.

"You little-"

The man's eyes rolled back in his head. Snake had hit him from behind. He staggered forward, and Alex backed up to get out of his way.

"Alex, go check the cockpit," Snake said, appearing behind the unconscious terrorist. Another shot rang out, and Snake gasped in pain when a bullet hit him in the shoulder. It was lucky the terrorist hadn't taken the time to aim, because if he had, Snake would have been dead. As it was, he roared and turned on the man.

Alex ran back through the aisle, which was filled with fresh screaming. All the passengers were staying in their seats, scared after what had happened to the first person to help Alex.

One of the terrorists was already coming out of the cockpit when Alex approached. He threw a punch before the man could react, but the terrorist was faster. He grabbed Alex's wrist and pulled it behind him.

"Anyone else move, and we will start shooting again, starting with this child," the terrorist yelled. Alex saw Snake freeze halfway down the aisle. The terrorist he had been fighting slammed his gun into his head, hard enough to give Snake a concussion. Alex winced.

"What to do with you now," the terrorist holding Alex whispered in his ear. Alex shuddered.

"Let me go?" he suggested. The man snorted, and said something in Arabic, that Alex had the sneaking suspicion mean 'does the boy think I'm stupid?'

"Move, and I have no problem killing anyone," the terrorist warned him, steering him back into the cockpit.

Alex forced down a gasp. The two pilots were dead. Their bodies were in the corner, bullets in their heads. He gulped. There were two terrorists sitting where the pilot and co-pilot should have, and another two crowded into the space behind them.

One of them cursed and demanded something in Arabic of the man holding Alex. The man holding Alex answered in rapid Arabic, too quickly for Alex to catch anything useful.

If I live long enough for my feet to touch the ground again, I am going to learn Arabic even if it kills me, Alex thought, reiterating a promise he had made himself several times while on his last mission.

The man questioning Alex's captor (who Alex presumed was the man in charge of this who operation), glared down at Alex.

"It seems you have made a great deal of problems for me, boy," he said.
"Well, yeah," Alex said, unable to bite his tongue.

"I believe that it would be best to kill you," the man said quietly. "But my friend here suggests that we let you live, for now."

"Um, I like life?" Alex asked, unconsciously shifting away from the man in front of him. At least the guy holding him didn't want him dead – yet.

The man in charge issued an order to the other man standing with him. The man nodded and left, drawing his gun.

"I think we should see to it that the rest of your fellow passengers are not inspired by your example," the head terrorist said

"What do you want?" Alex managed angrily.

"I want my boss to be provided with a vaccine against Anthrax, and one hundred Scud missiles, because I am in a position to make such a demand," the man said with a sinister smile.

"Why Anthrax?" Alex asked before he could help himself. The man only raised an eyebrow and laughed. He looked at the terrorist holding Alex and asked him another question in Arabic, but Alex's captors' response was cut short by a transmission coming from the plane. Alex glanced over – whoever it was, they were speaking in Arabic, with an air of command to the words. The mastermind behind the whole thing? Alex wondered.

The man in charge said something, and the radio responded. The former was now positively glaring, and Alex knew things didn't bode well for him if he was angry.

Finally the transmission cut off.

………………………………………………………………………

"You should take this, just in case, little Alex," Yassen said, handing Alex a bright pink rubber ball. "In case the flight gets rather more interesting than usual."

"Do you know something I don't?" Alex asked carefully, not taking the rubber ball out of the assassin's hands. He still harbored no trust of the man.

"Only something you don't seem to understand," Yassen said. "That you attract trouble like an open garbage can attracts flies."

"Thank you, for that analogy," Alex said. Yassen shrugged.

"Are you suggesting that it is not true?" he asked innocently. Alex glared, but he couldn't disagree. He was a magnet for trouble. It just seemed to find him wherever he went, no matter what he did. It was lucky Ian had trained him to deal with dangerous situations. True, Ian had probably imagined Alex seeking out the danger he would need such skills for, but they had kept him alive more than once.

He took the rubber ball.

"What is it?"

"I believe the term you would use is 'gadget?'" Yassen said.

"Well, clearly," Alex said. "I didn't think you wanted me to enjoy bouncing a ball for several hours."

"Do not do that," Yassen agreed. "Bounce it only if you're in trouble. It's a rather useful distraction."

………………………………………………………………………

"Who are you?" the man in charge demanded. Alex quailed under his furious gaze.

"My name is Gary Davidson," Alex said quietly. "I was taking a course in scientific Arabic in Tunisia," he lied. He doubted his Arabic was good enough for these men to believe he had been on a real language emersion program, but he knew enough of the words concerning explosives and volatile compounds that he could pass off having learned the language for scientific uses.

"Liar!" before Alex knew what was happening, the man drove his fist into Alex's stomach. He yelled out before he could seal his lips shut. He endured the next blow silently.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "Why has my superior ordered me not to kill you?"

Alex started. That was news.

"I have no idea," he said levelly. "I'm just a kid – I'm in high school, for Christ's sake!"

The mention of the name of god reminded him of something, and Alex could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. He couldn't have said why the Lord's name reminded him of Yassen, but it had. Yassen had given him a rubber ball back in the airport. If he bounced it once, it would get him out of a tight spot.

With his arms pinned behind him, Alex didn't have much of a chance to go for it, but he just needed a second's worth of distraction to make his move.

The leader was ready to punch him again when a second transmission was coming through. It was in English.

"Speak, and I will cut out your tongue," Alex's captor whispered in his ear as the transmission began. Alex wasn't dense enough to think yelling out now would be any help at all, and he nodded his agreement to stay silent.

"Come in alpha hotel six one seven," the voice said. The co-pilot picked up the radio.

"This is alpha hotel six one seven," he said. "Have you made your decision?"

"I have been authorized to tell you that the British government will not negotiate with terrorists, and your demands are being ignored."

"Very well," the man in charge said. "Upon your own heads be it."

The co-pilot cut the transmission.

"Mr. Davidson, how would you like to see what Buckingham Palace looks like right before we crash into it?"

Alex shook his head.

The man in charge gave the pilot an order in Arabic, and the plane lurched.

"We're now in British airspace," he taunted Alex.

Three things happened then at the exact same time, which were both incredible fortunate and unfortunate.

First, the plane began to dip forwards, beginning its suicidal descent – screams from the body of the place reached the cockpit.

The second was that the door to the cockpit was thrown open by one of the passengers, a man who immediately launched himself at the terrorists without consideration. Alex had a second to briefly register that he had dark skin and looked vaguely asian before his body became a blur.

And the third was that Alex struck out with his foot, hitting the man behind him in the groin. The man released him, and Alex spun around, dealing him another blow.

"Get down!" Alex yelled, pulling the passenger with him as he dropped, pulling the bright pink rubber ball out of his pocket, throwing it against the opposite wall.

It was a flash bang grenade.

Alex cried out. He had covered his ears and shut his eyes, but it was painful, all the same.

The passenger next to him had already recovered and was fighting the four terrorists.

Alex heard a curse that brought to mind a phrase that he had heard Yedit utter at least three times under stress, which he knew now was a rather vicious Arabic curse. He could have laughed, but he didn't think he had the breath to spare. Alex sprang to his feet, and went for the nearest terrorist, focusing on the hand that was holding the gun. The plane lurched uncomfortably as the pilots left their stations.

The gun went clattering across the floor, from his first blow to the terrorist's hand. A second one tried to grab him from behind, but Alex lashed out hearing a grunt as his reward, followed by another familiar curse.

Two shots where fired, and Alex heard them bury into the floor, thankfully not bouncing off of any surface or crashing into the windows.

The plane lurched again. It was definitely going down. Alex abandoned his fight and leaped towards the controls. In his head, he was remembering a weekend in France, meeting with a friend of Ian's named Richard, who had offered to take the two of them up in his four seater plane. Alex had gotten to fly copilot, and when they were in the air, Richard showed him the basic mechanics of flight.

He pulled back on the controller, righting the plane just before a fist connected with his jaw. The man in charge was attacking him now, and Alex was forced to abandon his post to defend himself. The controller was knocked, and the plane steered alarmingly to the right, tipping unsteadily. Alex tried to remain on his feet, but the lack of a solid ground was working against his opponents as much as against him.

Two of the terrorists had already been knocked out, and their bodies where rolling around on the floor.

The plane shifted again as the passenger grabbed the controller. Alex tried to hold off some of the terrorists so that his ally could right them, but he couldn't hold off both of them. The plane dipped back down when Alex was thrown into the dashboard. Screams from behind them, in the body of the plane, were becoming more common, and Alex heard shots being fired. Alarmed, he remembered that there were two more terrorists back in the body of the plane.

They had to get this situation under control. Fast.

A roundhouse kick took out the second to last man in the cockpit, and Alex and the passenger took out the second one in moments; Alex swept his legs out from underneath him, and the passenger slammed his foot into the terrorists head.

Sagging, Alex sat back down at the board, righting the plane again.

"I thought I was coming back from a war zone, not getting into one," the man said. Alex started.

"I'm Oliver," the man said, extending his hand. "I was with Doctors Without Borders, working in Afghanistan," he explained to Alex's perplexed look.

"Alex," Alex said, not bothering to lie. "Do they teach everyone in Doctors Without Borders to fight like that?" he asked. He never got his answer, because the end of his question was punctuated by more shots ringing out in the body of the plane.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, as the door slammed open. Both terrorists rushed them at the same time, firing like crazy. Alex ducked, avoiding getting shot by about an inch - he felt the bullet moving past his face, but he didn't have time to be glad he was still alive, because he still had to deal with two angry terrorists rushing at them.

Alex heard the crackling of broken machinery behind him, and felt the plane tip down again.

Fuck, he thought desperately throwing everything he had into the attack. He managed to wrestle the gun away from one of them. They were rolling on the ground, tossed about by the plane. Somewhere beyond his immediate awareness, Alex knew that Oliver was fighting for his own life against the other terrorist, and he tried not to roll underfoot. The terrorist he was fighting got everal solid hits in before Alex managed to knock him out. He stood, swaying a little, watching Oliver's fight go in and out of focus.

"Kid, you're knackered," Oliver said, after viciously kicking the man in the groin. He went down, and stayed there, moaning in pain. Oliver's face was white, and Alex realized with some alarm that the blood blooming on his arm was his own. He didn't seem to notice, because he went straight over to the board, and tried to right the plane. Unfortunately, it only shook dangerously, levelling out some, but not all the way. They were no longer plummeting out of the sky, but they were definitely still falling.

"And you're shot," he said coolly. Oliver looked down, and winced.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said, almost calmly. He turned on the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the terrorists have all be neutralized," he said into the microphone. Cheers erupted behind them. "Unfortunately, a bullet is lodged in the control panel, and unless there's a skilled pilot among you guys, we might still be done for. If you can help, please come up. Now."

Oliver leaned back. The world outside the windshield was shifting alarmingly.

"And if there isn't someone?" Alex asked, not really wanting to hear the answer to his own question.

"Well, how do you feel about trying to crash us into the water?" Oliver asked. "We have enough control for that, I think. With enough warning, most of us might survive."

Alex winced. He really hoped that it didn't come to that.

"How long to be wait before we try something like that?" he asked.

"We have about five minutes before it would be necessary," Oliver said, glancing out the window. "Would you mind helping me tie a tourniquet in the meantime?"

Alex tore a strip of cloth from one of the terrorists' shirts, and tied it around Oliver's elbow as tightly as possible. Hopefully, it would stem the flow of blood long enough for them to get him to a hospital.

"I'm going to go check to make sure there's no one seriously hurt back there," Oliver said as soon as Alex was done. Alex remembered Snake, and realized that if they had to make a water landing, he might not make it. He didn't hate the man, and that thought kind of sucked.

The door to the cockpit opened again, and Alex started, expecting more adversaries. Instead, a woman wearing the uniform of a stewardess was there. Her hair was blonde, tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked to be in her thirties.

"I know how to fly," she said confidently. Alex vacated the pilots seat wordlessly, too exhausted to make any conversation. She fiddled with controls on the board, and carefully worked the controller, and Alex actually did feel the plane starting to level properly. Her voice had an Australian accent to it.

"Bloody hell," she hissed, trying to turn on the transmitter. Then she shrugged. "Looks like we're just going to have to hope that no one is taking off or landing when we get near the airfield," she said. "We have no communication with the ground, and it's going to be a bumpy landing as is. You're bleeding, by the way," she added the last as almost an afterthought.

"Do I want to know where?" Alex asked wearily. The girl looked back at the control panel.

"Probably not," she said.

The sun was staring to rise as the plane began a final descent. It shook violently as the controller acted up, but each time, the Australian woman managed to right it. Alex buckled himself into the co-pilots seat, keeping a careful eye on the terrorists.

The landing, as she said, was bumpy. The plane lurched, threatening to tip over several times. When it finally landed, cheering and clapping arose from the body of the plane. Stairs were brought out next to the plane, and there were police and reporters waiting on the tarmac. Alex wasn't looking forward to dodging their questions about his identity.

The Australian woman leaned back when she finally brought the plane to a halt.

"Welcome to London," she said into the intercom. "It's been lovely flying with you all, and we hope you don't remember this incident next time you choose to fly," she said cheekily into the microphone. Alex chocked back a peal of laugher. "The cost of your flight will be waived, and you will all get free vouchers for another flight with us."

"Are you allowed to do that?" Alex asked when she turned the microphone off. She shrugged.

"Its standard if something goes seriously wrong," she said. "This is seriously wrong," she said. "Come on kid, lets go say goodbye to all the nice passengers."

Alex followed her reluctantly. Being thanked for doing his job was a new experience for him. The whole plane cheered when the two of them left the cockpit, and all of them thanked him profusely when they left. One woman holding the hand of a six year old boy hugged him, and her son told Alex he hoped to grow up to be just like him.

Oliver had been off the plane first, helping a now-conscious Snake walk off the plane. Oliver grinned tiredly at him. "See you," he said. clapping him on the shoulder. Snake met Alex's eyes momentarily, and his quiet 'thanks' was almost as good as all the other's combined.

Once everyone had gone, the police Alex had seen came on board. He started when he realized they weren't police, but SAS.

Then again, it makes sense, he told himself. Wearily, he gave them his statement, and watched them haul away the still-unconscious terrorists.

"What's your name, kid?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Alex," Alex said. He didn't have any ID with him, but he knew it would be easy to verify. "Alex Rider."

"Why were you in Tunisia?" the man asked.

I was in Egypt, helping an internationally sought terrorist clear her name, and then I attacked a Mossad agent, go dragged across a border, hung out with some terrorists, got kidnapped by more terrorists, and then escaped with another internationally known assassin.

"I was studying scientific Arabic at the Universite de Sousse," Alex lied easily. "I wasn't any good, so I came home early."

"Do you have family waiting to pick you up?" the man asked. Alex paused, and then nodded. MI6 would have sent an agent to debrief him.

"Right, well, I'm assuming that you don't really want to talk to any reporters at the moment," he said, and Alex nodded in relief. "I'll have my men help you slip into the terminal so you can meet whoever's picking you up. Unfortunately," he added, turning to the stewardess-turned -savior, "I can't help you with the same - just don't mention our friend here, if you can help it? Let him talk when he's ready."

More like never, Alex thought. He was grateful to the soldier for letting him off the hook. Soon, he was looking around the terminal, trying to appear inconspicuous. Most of the people on board the plane were focusing on their loved ones, glad to still be alive. Alex cast around, wondering if he would see the agent before the agent found him.

"Jack!" He yelled suddenly.

The redheaded American was standing to the side, looking around frantically. Throwing all caution aside, Alex ran over, catching her in a tight hug.

"Alex!" Jack said, sounding relieved. "You're alive."

"Of course," Alex said, smiling cheekily. All the exhaustion had left him the second he had seen his guardian. "You'd hardly get on without me!" He dodged the playful smack Jack sent his way, and hugged her again. She clutched at him like she was afraid he would disappear if she let him go. For his part, Alex was afraid of the same thing.

"Lets get out of here before we have to talk to any reporters?" Alex asked, eyeing the crowd around them with some trepidation.

"Yeah, thats probably a good idea," Jack said. "You need to sleep. For several days, I would wager. You look exhausted."

Alex shrugged. The tiredness was creeping back on him. He ducked behind a luggage trolley to avoid Oliver and a couple of reporters. The doctor was clearly trying to shake them off, and was snapping at the paramedic that was trying to treat his arm.

"Just, sod off for a minute," he growled at the newswoman who shoved a microphone in his face. The woman and her camera crew backed off, and launched themselves at the Aussie stewardess that had flown them to safety.

"Come on," Jack whispered conspiratorially, and they made a run for the doors. It had started to rain outside, but Alex didn't mind. After days of sun and heat, and even more days of airless captivity, he was glad to breathe fresh air again. The rain was refreshing. It washed away the horror of the nighttime hours, and Alex enjoyed the cool sensation. Jack didn't let go of him all the way to the car, and Alex didn't mind one bit. It was just good to feel her nearby again.

He was finally home.