Alex sat in the swivel chair staring across the table into the grey eyes of Blunt. Mrs Jones was sitting in the corner chewing on her peppermint. Blunt examined the report in front of him, and then laid it aside. He made no attempt at a smile, or even a greeting and he didn't apologise for keeping Alex waiting.

It was a month after Alex had nearly been killed escaping from Ark Angel, a space hotel that had been set to explode and destroy Washington DC. A small helicopter had picked Alex up from the middle of the ocean, and he had been dropped back home via a taxi from the airport. Blunt had called him in the month after. He attempted a smile now, although all his lips managed was a faint twitch upwards.

"Well, Alex. You've done it again," he said. "The President of America sends his congratulations. But along with that, he also sent you another assignment."

"No," Alex said. "No way. I've had it. You can do it alone this time, I've had . . ."

His anger burnt out as he remembered the threats Blunt had promised would fall on him if he refused to do what he wanted. It was blackmail, but argument was a waste of time.

"What is it this time?" he asked, recognizing defeat. As if on cue, Mrs Jones stood up and walked over, slipping another peppermint into her mouth.

"Along with his congratulations, the President of America also sent you another assignment. Have you ever heard of Inkheart, Alex?"

Alex shook his head.

"Wasn't it on the news? Was it a criminal organization or something?" His heart sank. The last time he had come into contact with a criminal organization, the results hadn't been good. He had almost been poisoned, stabbed, and drowned. It was also to Scorpia that he owed the bullet wound just above his heart to.

Mrs Jones seemed concerned. Scorpia had manipulated Alex into thinking his father was a contract killer. As a result, Alex had almost killed Mrs Jones.

"I'll give you a brief history of Inkheart. Nobody knows when they were first activated, but a CIA operative started joining the dots in 1890. Since then, CIA have waged a constant war with them, but they were bought down twenty years ago by a CIA officer called Joe Brace. Brace was extremely intelligent, and work constantly against Inkheart because his family was killed as a result of their actions. He masterminded a trap to kill one of its key operatives and Inkheart fell to its knees. Brace was given promotion and a medal, and continued to rise throughout the CIA." Mrs Jones paused before moving on.

"Brace retired from field work about ten years ago, but he still has a desk job at CIA. But last week, he fell seriously ill, and stopped going to work. He has sent a few emails, but the CIA are worried."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"The day after Brace fell ill, the NSA intercepted an encrypted email message. TRANSLATR broke it, and . . ."

"Hold on!" Alex cut in. "What's TRANSLATR?"

Mrs Jones had taken advantage of his sudden question to throw another peppermint into her mouth. Alex wondered why her teeth were still in place, what with all the peppermints she ate.

"TRANSLATR is the NSA's code breaker machine. The email it intercepted contained top information concerning an operation involving an assassin in New York. What's more, the CIA have tracked the original computer that sent the message."

"Don't tell me," Alex said. "It was Brace, wasn't it?"

"Precisely," Mrs Jones said.

"So what do you need me for?" Alex asked. "The CIA have their own agents, I'm sure they can manage."

"No, Alex," Mrs Jones said. "The CIA need somebody who can blend in. Brace lives in a small flat in Chicago. We can arrange for you to live in the flat, and see what you can find out. And we're not sending you in alone."

"What?" Alex said.

"The CIA have arranged for an old friend to meet you at the airport," Mrs Jones said with a thin smile. "And we've also arranged some new toys."