A Cold Day in Hell
Chapter V: To Russia, With No Love
Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing.
AN: This story is predominately based on the book series, as when I started it, the only film on it was the Stormbreaker movie (which I somewhat enjoyed by itself, but hated in comparison to the books). Currently, my writing mind is spinning with possibilities from the TV show (of which I am very excited for season three, and hope will come out). So I may start another Alex Rider fic, but I will still continue with this one as well.
The sense of someone looming over him jerked Alex awake, automatically shooting out of the chair and looking for what woke him. Alex looked up, blinking the tiredness from his eyes. An agent in a plain blue-black suit stood before him looking nonplussed with shopping bags in one hand and a travelling suitcase in the other.
"Alex Rider?"
"Yes..." the boy replied cautiously.
"These are for you," the agent said simply, handing the shopping bags out to the eight year old, "This suitcase is for Alex Kingsley," he continued, placing it on the ground with a thump.
Alex glanced down at the expensive-looking suitcase and back at the expressionless agent.
"Are you supposed to escort me somewhere?" Alex asked, warily eyeing the agent's face.
"Yes. I'm to drive you home to your father, Johnathon Kingsley."
"I don't suppose I'm allowed to say no?" the boy said, knowing the question was fruitless and resisting the urge to just chuck the bags back at the agent.
The man didn't say anything, but his eyes told Alex he'd been authorized to get physical if need be. MI6 never changed.
"Naturally," Alex muttered, stepping forward to pick up the suitcase.
"This way," the agent said stiffly, walking quickly back to the lift.
Alex cursed mentally, struggling slightly with the roller suitcase and the bags as he hurried after the man. The agent wouldn't hold the doors for him.
The child-spy quickly stepped into the lift, the agent pressing the button for the basement garage. The lift descended swiftly and with a soft chime, the doors opened. The older male immediately stepped out without waiting and strode to an SUV a few car spaces away. Again, Alex was left to struggle with the bags.
The agent opened the boot and impatiently grabbed the suitcase out of Alex's small hands. Alex winced, his pinky having been caught briefly on the handle and wrenched uncomfortably. He glared at the man, rubbing his now sore pinky; his fingers were finally healed, he had no intention of letting them be broken again.
"Get in," ordered the agent, ignoring the glare directed his way.
The child-teen didn't move for a drawn out moment, debating if running would do him any good. Maybe he could run to the prime minister's residence; Alex had heard the politician adamantly disliked Blunt's use of Alex as a teen spy.
The agent sighed in irritation, interrupting Alex's pseudo-planning. It was the first real expression Alex had seen on the bland agent's face.
"You either get in, or I help you get in. Which do you prefer?" the man intoned, the undercurrent of a threat not lost.
Alex climbed into the vehicle.
"I doubt I'd have been able to get into the Prime Minister's residence anyway," thought Alex moodily, slipping on his seatbelt with a soft click.
The engine rumbled softly as it was taken out of park and smoothly began its journey out of the garage and onto the main road.
"Where are we going?" asked Alex, staring out the tinted windows and trying to determine which area they were driving to.
Alex allowed a few minutes to tick past before frowning, realizing that his temporary chauffeur wasn't going to be telling him anything. The child spy pulled out the fidget spinner Smithers had given him, spinning it while trying to convince himself it would be the height of stupidity to activate the smoke bomb inside the car.
Though the agent's reaction would be priceless.
The drive turned out to be a long one, longer than Alex was expecting. They turned off the main roads and ventured into the rich countryside where estates and manors were prevalent, and stone fences and airy woodlands thrived.
Alex was having flashbacks to his time as Alex Friend.
The SUV eventually turned down a tree lined drive that ended at a large pair of wrought iron gates, an old, well-kept manor a short ways beyond. The lawn was manicured to perfection, hedges in abundance and creeping vines of roses and ivy trailed their way up trellises strategically framing large windows. Dormers looked out onto the sprawling estate and a lone tower to the side of the manor gave Alex the fanciful notion of long hair tumbling from the tower's highest window.
The agent rolled down his window, pulling up next to the gate to announce himself and request entry into the speaker of the security system. Permission granted, the man drove through the gates and followed the circular drive to the front door where a tall man stood, waiting.
The vehicle slowed to a gentle stop and parked, the engine still running. The agent hopped out, opening the (locked) door for Alex before popping the boot and dragging out Alex's luggage and bags.
Alex got out gingerly, the long drive and his dangling feet having wreaked havoc on his knee. He reached up and adjusted the headphones he now constantly wore and made sure his phone and keychain/fidget-spinner were still in his pockets. The watch still sat comfortably on his wrist.
He never wanted to be caught without all his gadgets again.
"Alex, welcome home," said Johnathon Kingsley, voice warm as he dropped his hand onto Alex's head, giving it a playful tousle.
Slightly caught off guard and struggling not to flinch, Alex pushed the hand away, "Dad!" he frowned, just the right amount of embarrassment and annoyance inflecting his voice and expression.
"Let's get you inside, son," Kingsley said, easy smile covering his surprise at Alex's prompt response to the abrupt roleplay, "Thanks for driving my son here. I'll let your company know you did well."
"Thank you, sir," the agent responded, giving a curt nod before climbing back into the SUV and starting the long drive back.
Another relatively young man in butler's livery stepped out to collect Alex's things as the MI6 agent escorted Alex inside.
The charade stopped once they were inside, Kingsley stepping out of Alex's space and striding through the sitting room and into the study. Alex followed after him, assuming they were going to have "the talk" all special agents felt the need to give whenever he was paired with them.
He wasn't wrong.
"You seem to be an intelligent child, you pick up cues and have the ability to act on them. I can't say I understand what Mrs. Jones is thinking, but you don't seem like you'll get in the way. Just make sure you act appropriately and don't blow our cover," Johnathon warned, casting a glance over his shoulder at the silent child standing in the doorway, grabbing a glass decanter filled with amber liquid and a matching tumbler, "You'll need to be comfortable with me, but still maintain the air of a rich son raised by a moderately strict father. And there's no mother to speak of, so we don't speak of it in true British fashion," the man continued, a humorless smile quirking his lips and reminding Alex disturbingly of Yassen.
Kingsley poured himself a drink, not much by most people's standards, but enough for perhaps two swallows. About to offer the boy a drink before he caught himself, the agent put the decanter back onto the side table. Alex noticed, but didn't call him on it; he rather thought Kingsley seemed stressed. Small lines framed his thin mouth and a small furrow ran between his thick eyebrows.
Fair hair and hazel eyes matched well with his "son's" looks, though his skin wasn't as pale and the undertone of his skin wasn't quite right. The man had an athletic frame hidden beneath his casual suit.
He was a handsome enough man, Alex supposed, but not so handsome as to leave a deep impression. He fit well with the image of a young man involved in diplomacy. The alcohol in his tumbler didn't hurt.
Kingsley dropped into the chair behind his large desk, sipping from his glass as he observed the still silent Alex. The bruising and watchfulness were readily apparent to the agent's experienced eyes.
"Anything I should know?" asked the man, putting his now empty glass down onto the desk with a gentle clink.
"I can't speak loudly," Alex admitted, forcing himself to relax, "My neck was damaged and it's still healing. And my knee is a bit weak from recent injury."
"Noted," said Kingsley, "Although there shouldn't be any situations that require you to raise your voice. Or run."
In Alex's experience, that particular statement just about guaranteed that he would need to raise his voice and/or run.
"I really wish he hadn't said that," Alex thought, an uncomfortable and familiar foreboding coming over him.
Alex was given five days to acclimate to his new role, and for him and Kingsley to become better acquainted. They would be together frequently in front of others, so Kingsley thought it best to give Alex time to become more comfortable with him; it would blow their cover if Alex flinched from his touch.
The final day arrived and the butler loaded their few bags into Kingsley's black Mercedes GLS. The windows were deeply tinted on the backseat passenger sides where Alex would be sitting, a lighter tint on the rest of the windows.
Alex tugged open the door with difficulty and had one foot poised to get inside. He was drawn up short, however, by the sight of a booster seat.
"What's this?" asked Alex, turning to drive a pointed stare at his "dad", also about to get into the vehicle.
"Your booster seat," grinned the agent, "You didn't tell me that your most recent height and weight measurements indicate you still require a booster seat. Luckily, your school nurse called me to make sure I knew."
Alex gritted his teeth and wordlessly climbed into the SUV and buckled himself in. Somehow, Alex knew with the utmost certainty that Ben Daniels had something to do with the damn booster seat.
"I don't suppose you know anyone named Ben Daniels, do you?" the child asked blandly.
"Not at all," was the too smooth reply, amusement rolling off the man in waves.
Figured. Alex sighed and tried to get comfortable. It would be a little over an hour from where they were in West Sussex to Heathrow Airport. Thankfully he'd decided to put on the compression brace for his knee that he'd found in his suitcase after arriving.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Ben Daniels slipped it into his things. A small smile crept onto his mouth as he turned his attention out the window.
"I guess I can forgive the booster seat," he thought.
They made it to the correct terminal with time to spare, Kingsley leaving his SUV in long-term parking before the two grabbed their minimal luggage and made their way through the airport. Kingsley made a show of being a gentle, yet stern father guiding his son through the maze of airport security, occasionally teasing and answering the quiet, eager questions from his young son.
The pair made it to their designated gate and made themselves comfortable, Alex's patience wearing rapidly thinner with each soft, amused look sent their way. It rankled in a way Alex was unable to explain and unwilling to examine.
A woman, holding her three year old son, sat across from them and smiled. Kingsley, playing his role of smooth diplomat and doting single father to perfection, started up a polite conversation. The woman, radiating a gentle kindness, tried multiple times to draw Alex into the conversation, but Alex was done.
He moved to pull on his headphones, but Kingsley halted the movement.
"He's feeling a little shy and overwhelmed today. This is his first time coming with me to another country," Kingsley explained, tightening his grip ever so slightly on Alex's wrist before leaning down and hissing into Alex's ear, "Calm down!"
Alex took a deep breath and squashed the urge to throw his elbow into the older agent's nose, which was so temptingly close and begging to be broken.
"Don't worry about it," the young woman said, shifting her sleeping child to her other shoulder, "I get overwhelmed, too. I use headphones to help shut out the noise," she explained, sending a smile in Alex's direction.
Kingsley removed his hand. Tacit permission granted, Alex pulled on his headphones quickly, though didn't turn on any music; he still wanted to be able to hear, after all.
Twenty minutes or so passed and the lady at the counter announced it was time to board. Kingsley herded Alex through the line and they handed over their tickets, the lady scanning them and giving Alex a patronizing smile, no doubt thinking he would be a pain to have on board.
Alex and Kingsley found their seats quickly, the agent swiftly putting his and Alex's carry-ons into the overhead bin, along with their expensive winter coats. The man nudged Alex to the window seat, not bothering to ask which Alex would have preferred.
"I almost prefer travelling with Yassen at this point."
The unbidden thought surprised him, but he also understood it. With Yassen, it was surprisingly simple. Do what he was told, or he got hurt. Escape successfully, or he'd be tied down harder. There may have been moments where Yassen made Alex pretend to be family, but he didn't expect Alex to maintain it, and neither did he make a grand show of it.
The way Kingsley seemed to announce their presence, and purposefully attracted attention (small though it may be), set Alex's nerves jangling. Never mind the way the adults looked at him, like he was either a pest or a small, cute animal. The patronizing stares, smiles, and kiddified conversations...
It was galling.
And Alex was getting a little too good at passing for a true eight year old, even if a quiet one. The flight attendants were constantly telling a proud Mr. Kingsley how well-mannered and calm his boy was once the plane was in the air.
Eventually, Alex curled up next to the plane's window and feigned sleep, turning on his headphones and playing music from his phone. There were still two and a half hours until they reached Moscow, and Alex's stomach was in knots.
"Why did it have to be Russia?" wondered Alex, curling more tightly into himself, his sense of unease refusing to abate.
Kingsley glanced over at the child next to the window. The boy looked a shade too pale, but otherwise appeared relaxed. His "son" seemed eerily familiar with travelling incognito and in stressful environments.
The kid wasn't normal, and Kingsley found himself wondering how on earth Alex got mixed up with MI6 Special Operations.
Alex's eyes popped open as soon as the wheels hit the tarmac. He quickly and quietly gathered up his few belongings, his "Father" doing the same. As soon as they were given the all clear to undo their seat-belts, Kingsley was standing and grabbing the carry-ons from the overhead bin, pulling out Alex's black Burberry winter coat, the child already wearing the orange warmer that went with it.
Alex slipped it on, immediately beginning to feel uncomfortably warm in the heated plane. Kingsley was pulling on his own Burberry coat, a check-lined wool duffle with a detachable hood; he didn't bother doing it up, instead handing Alex his bag and gesturing for the boy to step into the aisle before him. Alex did so, and was quickly herded off the plane.
There was a sharply dressed man waiting for them almost as soon as they de-planed in the Sheremetyevo Airport. The man, likely an agent of some kind, led them to a dark car marked with diplomatic plates. Apparently, he was also their driver (no one bothered to tell Alex exactly how things were going to go when they arrived). He loaded their luggage into the car and gestured for the two to hop in the back. No booster seat awaited Alex inside, for which he breathed a sigh of relief.
It took roughly half an hour to reach the Arbat District, and another few minutes to reach the upscale apartment they were now renting. A theater nearby promised both entertainment and a place to either hide or lose pursuers (a very real possibility with Alex's penchant for trouble).
Arbat was the perfect street for both tourists and civilians, Alex realized; an upper end neighborhood with a nearby decent nightlife, going by the amount of clubs they'd driven past on the way. There were embassies nearby, just a few blocks away, which was likely the reason Kingsley picked Arbat. Art vendors and musicians littered the street, and Alex spotted very few pickpockets making use of typical tourist carelessness.
All in all, a great place for a father and son on a business trip with the intention of a little sightseeing.
The car slowed to a stop and parked on the street outside an older, well-kept apartment building. Alex climbed out, shivering slightly as a cold breeze blew down the street. Kingsley followed, carrying his own bag while the driver carried Alex's.
In short order, they were shown inside and guided to their respective rooms, which were upstairs via a short winding staircase with a lovely curved bannister of intricate metal.
"Go ahead and get settled in, Alex," said Kingsley, pausing outside Alex's new room, "I have a few things I need to take care of. For work," he continued, giving the boy a look.
"Does it have to be right now? We just arrived," Alex responded with quiet disappointment, playing his part with ease, remembering the times Ian had to leave abruptly. This was a role he was well suited for, having lived it when he actually was an eight year old.
"Afraid so," replied Kingsley, giving a rueful smile, "I promise, I'll make it up to you."
"You always say that," pointed out Alex, "That's the whole reason you decided to bring me with you this time."
"Alex," Kingsley warned, giving the boy a stern look, "Not now. You know my work is important," he said, voice strict as he turned to leave, "And mind yourself. Remember, appearances are important."
Warnings and subtle reminder that they could be being watched at any time given, Kingsley left, polished shoes making more noise than Alex cared for. He sighed and continued to unpack, putting Alex Kingsley's casual clothes into the dresser before hanging his jacket in the wardrobe and tucking the suitcase underneath. He left his backpack there as well, still lightly packed with necessities and spare clothing.
Alex always made sure to have a go-bag for emergencies, stocked with water, meal bars, and extra cash. Just in case.
Task done, Alex surveyed his room. It was basic and well-furnished, tastefully decorated in minimalist arctic colors and modern furniture. Not particularly welcoming, but it was better than many places Alex had been, clean and dry and warm. A full size bed sat against the wall, well-fluffed with pillows and a spare knitted throw blanket in soft grey at the footboard. A desk and chair sat beneath a small window that overlooked an empty alley and the fire escape on the opposite building. A black bedside table that matched the desk held a single drawer and blown glass lamp.
Alex made a beeline for it, carefully checking the drawer and looking over the lamp, eyes and fingers exploring to check for bugs or microphones. Finding nothing, Alex examined the walls. One painting of a meandering, snow-covered river graced the wall opposite the bed and a fire alarm embedded into the ceiling overlooked the room. Alex eyed both with suspicion.
He would need something to stand on. The eight year old crossed the room and began dragging the rather heavy chair to a spot under the painting. Climbing into the chair, Alex balanced himself and began checking over the painting. Small hands explored the frame, the canvas, the paint, everything he could reach. Finding nothing suspicious, Alex carefully lifted the painting off the wall and jumped off the chair. He dropped the painting atop the bed, face down, and examined the back.
Alex sighed in relief and disappointment. The blond picked up the canvas and carried it back, once more climbing the chair and clumsily hanging the painting back on the wall. At least he knew there were no bugs on it.
The fire alarm would be more difficult to check. Alex considered the height he'd need to reach and dragged the chair into place right underneath it.
"Too bad Smithers didn't give me a bug scanner this time," Alex thought, grabbing and carefully placing his suitcase atop the chair, wedging it as securely as he could.
He climbed up, frowning when his fingers were still roughly ten centimeters away from being able to grab the fire alarm. He glanced around the room once more, checking for anything he could use to increase his height. His eyes landed on a pair of decorative books showcasing the sights of Moscow. Thick, hardcover books that just about equaled the extra height needed. Alex grinned and hopped down, landing silently and favoring his knee.
In short order, Alex was standing precariously atop the chair, the suitcase, and the books. He grabbed and twisted the fire alarm, carefully pulling it down to inspect.
No bugs, and nothing that wasn't supposed to be there. Alex mentally thanked the group of former SEALS/current DIA he played paintball with in America (they happily answered the numerous questions Alex asked, under the guise of future employment).
Alex carefully replaced the alarm and hopped down, swearing in French when his knee throbbed and he stumbled. Shaking his head and cursing Yassen for the hundredth time, the eight year old replaced the books, his suitcase, and the chair back into place.
"Well, my room is clear at any rate. But who would bother bugging a child's room?" Alex thought, though he knew of at least one person who would definitely bother.
He shoved the thought away. At loose ends, Alex exited his room and began wandering the house, memorizing the interior and how things were placed. He made special note of any exits and entries he could use in a pinch, and alternate routes to get to different rooms.
Eventually, Alex found himself at the front door. "Father" never said he couldn't go exploring, and Alex wanted to inspect the apartment building. Decision made, Alex returned to his room to fetch his coat, pulling it on quickly before exiting the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him, passport and key zipped into his inside coat pocket.
He made his way quietly down the hall until he reached an old elevator, well-maintained and boasting its original 1920s art deco metal grate. Alex looked between it and the stairs, and promptly decided on the stairs. He didn't trust elevators at the best of times, never mind one from the 1920s.
Besides, his physical therapist said he should exercise his knee. And it was only two floors, easy enough to walk down. Alex grinned slightly, looking forward to getting outside. He passed no one on the way down and gave a slight wave to the guard at his desk who looked about to ask where his father was. Alex didn't give him the chance and slipped outside, vanishing quickly around the corner.
A few hours later and a pleased Alex made his way back into the building and up the stairs, cheeks lightly flushed from the cold and exercise; he'd found a group of local children trying to practice football tricks, and Alex joined them, patiently teaching them what he knew. Before the child-teen knew it, he found himself roped into playing a game with them within the large alley.
A small grin still on his lips, Alex inserted the key card into the apartment door and stepped inside, warmth washing over him. He sniffled a little, his nose beginning to run at the temperature change.
A sense of eyes watching him made Alex look up. He blinked, seeing his "father" ensconced on the couch. A black turtleneck and casual slacks cemented his cover as a diplomat home to relax, and the disapproving expression on the man's face added to his fatherly countenance.
Kingsley frowned at him, his ire obvious but controlled. Alex tilted his head at the man.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, voice hesitant and quietly hoarse, the cold having done no favors for his still-healing vocal cords.
"Where have you been?" asked Kingsley, standing up from his seat on the couch, arms crossed.
Alex noted a plain file and the small, empty tumbler on the coffee table and looked back up at Kingsley. The man didn't appear to be drunk, which was the only reason Alex could come up with to explain the man's irritability.
"I was exploring. Met some local kids and played football with them," Alex finally said, seeing no reason to detail exactly what he'd been exploring and the amount of information he received from the other kids.
"That's fine. I don't expect you to stay cooped up inside all day. But I do expect you to leave a note or send me a text when you go out. I'm responsible for your safety, damn it!" Kingsley growled, "You're a child in a foreign country and the "son" of a diplomat. Do you not have any awareness?" he bit out.
Alex stared for a moment, taken aback. And then he remembered that all Kingsley saw was an eight year old child in a foreign country in the middle of a hand-off between British spies.
"I didn't mean to worry you," Alex finally said, brown eyes serious as he stared up at the older man.
Kingsley deflated slightly at the softly spoken words and scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired.
"Have you eaten yet?" asked Alex, eyeing the man critically.
"A few bites during a meeting with one of our local contacts, but that's all," responded Kingsley automatically, Alex's tone oddly compelling.
"The kitchen is stocked, or we can order takeout," suggested the child-teen, carefully looking over the man, "I'll order takeout," decided Alex, voice definitive as he pulled out his phone, "Is pizza fine?"
"What—? Yeah, I guess so," agreed Kingsley, looking moderately confused while the apparent child dialed in a pizza order.
"No anchovies fine?" the boy asked.
"That's fine," said Kingsley, eyeing the blond child quizzically.
A few minutes later and the pizza was ordered, Alex using the halting Russian Kingsley began teaching him during the five days at his home in England.
"You've adapted well," said Kingsley after Alex hung up, surprised at how well Alex remembered the lessons.
Alex shrugged, "I speak fluent French and Spanish, some German, and basic Italian and Japanese. Russian isn't too bad, though it's a bit confusing…" he trailed off, attention moving to the window as the sound of distant horns reached through the glass.
Kingsley looked as well, moving to the window and peering outside through the curtains. He shrugged, not seeing anything. Alex frowned slightly; his bad feeling was coming back. He tried to shake it off.
"It's just because of everything that happened and the fact I'm currently in Russia. Nothing else," Alex told himself, removing his coat and reaching up to hang his coat on the coat-rack, straining on tiptoe to loop the coat onto the hook. He turned to Kingsley, "The pizza should be here within a half hour," he said.
"Alright. Thank you, Alex," replied Kingsley, appearing slightly distracted for a moment before turning a making a beeline for the coffee table, grabbing his glass and the plain-looking file.
He deposited the tumbler into the kitchen sink before returning to the couch and dropping into it. The older spy opened the file, dismissing Alex as a security risk, apparently.
"Or he's just too distracted," thought Alex, slightly disapproving, "I'll be in my room. I'm leaving a tip on the counter for the delivery guy," he said aloud, turning to the coatrack and digging into Kingsley's jacket pocket, fishing out the man's wallet and removing a few bills.
As he replaced it, he noticed a pen-drive at the bottom of the large pocket. He debated with himself a moment and glanced back at Kingsley; the man was entirely too distracted by the file, a worried crease between the man's brows. Alex turned away, slipping the drive up his sleeve before stepping away and heading for his room, intent on using the small laptop he'd brought to get a look at whatever's on the drive.
Because as much as he wanted to stay out of it, the majority of his misadventures wouldn't have ended so badly if the one's he worked with actually gave him information on what they were dealing with. And he desperately needed to know something, if only to help abate the niggling feeling that wouldn't leave him alone.
As he plugged in his laptop and inserted the pen-drive, Alex could only hope whatever was on it would be useful. Before he could open the drive, however, he heard Kingsley calling for him.
The pizza had arrived. With a sigh, Alex removed the drive and stashed it into the desk drawer, not noticing it slide back and slip through the small gap at the back of the drawer to land within the desk's lip at the back of the drawer's track.
End Chapter V