Chapter Two
'Kris Hadersly' looked nothing like Kurt Hummel. A mousey brown wig covered the usually perfectly coiffed auburn hair, and slate gray contacts hid the remarkable glasz eyes, which were further concealed by a pair of Buddy Holly glasses. To add to the transformation, cotton rolls were tucked into the back corners of Kurt's upper gums to fill out his cheek bones a little more, and a prosthetic mouth piece made his bottom teeth appear less perfect.
In contrast, 'Brian Aberforth' sported a strawberry blonde wig, green contacts, and a scar on his chin from where he fell off his bike as a young child. Blaine also had cotton batting in his mouth, in the lower jaw, to round out his face even more.
The facility's director of operations had greeted the two boys cheerily enough, and had given them a brief history of the facility before he began the tour. After showing them the various labs, they finally reached the storage areas.
As Blaine asked questions, Kurt unobtrusively examined where the nucleic acid had been taken from. Charlie had mostly been quiet up till now, only speaking to supply them with bits of information to answer questions as needed. Now, as Kurt studied what looked like broken chips of dry ice, Charlie's voice came through his ear piece.
"Wait, go back a little." Kurt turned his face back to the spot he had been looking a moment ago, giving Charlie a good look through the camera. "That doesn't look right. Can you get a little closer?"
Kurt knelt down, pretending to tie his shoe next to the spot Charlie had indicated. "Is there any way you can get a sample for me? You won't be able to touch it with your bare hands, you'll get frostbite, but I just need a small piece."
Kurt glanced over at Blaine, who was speaking to the facility manager. Other than the three of them, there was only one other person in the storage area. The indistinct figure was wearing protective gear, and appeared to be inventorying something in another section of the freezer. They didn't appear to be paying attention to him or the other two. If Blaine kept the director distracted, he might be able to get the sample.
A quick glance around was all it took for Kurt to locate a pair of protective gloves. He moved nonchalantly towards them, picking them up, and keeping them concealed by his hip, he turned back to where he had been a moment ago to see the person in the protective gear in the spot, bending over the same location. And they were picking up the sample Charlie needed and putting it in a vial. Kurt watched them slip it into their pocket, and casually begin to walk away.
Kurt had to think fast as the person exited the storage room. "I need to use the bathroom," he said apologetically to the director.
"Of course," the older man said, "Down the hall, third door on the left."
"Thanks," Kurt said, hustling out of the room.
He spotted the mystery figure turning the corner at the end of the hallway, and sprinted after them. The other person must have realized Kurt was pursuing them, because they had begun to jog, and ducked into a stairwell. Kurt increased his speed, reaching the stairwell doors just as it started to click shut. The figure was running down the stairs at full speed now.
"Hey!" Kurt called out, and the person looked up at him briefly, before pushing through another door.
Kurt jumped down several steps, racing to catch up. When he reached the door the other had gone through, he found the protective gloves and face covering they had been wearing discarded haphazardly along the hallway, but he didn't see the other person. Damn, they were fast.
He spotted movement outside a window to his left, a figure with blonde hair jogging away from the facility. Kurt took off, spotting the exit sign about halfway down the hall. He burst through the door, just as he saw the person pedaling across the parking lot on a bike. Kurt took off at a counter angle to him, climbing over the back of a pickup truck and leaping at the blonde, who tried to swerve out of the way, but a row of bushes blocked him, and Kurt knocked him to the ground. They both rolled into the fall with practice, and quickly squared off, before realizing the situation.
"Who are you?" Kurt asked the other boy, who appeared to be about the same age as him. "Did Wes send you?"
"Wes who? And who the hell are you?"
"I asked you first," Kurt said.
"No one sent me. I work alone. Who are you? MI6? CIA?"
"Neither. What's your name?"
"Alex. What's yours?"
"Kurt. Why were you taking a sample from the store room?"
"Why were you there? Did Blunt send you?"
"Kurt?" Elle's voice came through his ear piece. "Alan Blunt is the director of MI6."
"Alan Blunt?" Kurt asked.
Alex frowned at him. "You are MI6! Damn it! Tell Blunt to go to hell! I'm not doing his dirty work anymore!"
"Calm down," Kurt said, holding his hands out to his side to show he didn't mean any harm. "I don't work for MI6, I work for the Globally Authorized Youth Assets Security Force. I'm investigating the theft of several dozen containers of nucleic acid. The sample you took is evidence I need for my investigation."
Alex studied him for a moment. "You work for an agency called Gay As Fuck?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "I didn't come up with the stupid acronym! Please, just give me the sample so I can have it analyzed."
"Why should I trust you?"
Kurt heard something in the other boy's voice. "You have a lot of trust issues, don't you?"
Alex shrugged. "Yeah, well, when you've been lied to by so many people your entire life, it's kind of hard to take anything at face value."
"Kurt, bring him back to HQ," Elle said. "Wes just called, and he wants to speak to you ASAP."
Kurt nodded once to indicate he'd heard her. "Alex, maybe we can help each other. I don't know what you were planning to do with that sample, if you had a way to analyze it yourself or not." He noticed the blonde boy's glance to the side, indicating that he either didn't have a way, or didn't like the way he did have. "Come back to our headquarters and we'll analyze it together. Compare notes. We can help each other."
Alex studied him for a moment. "What's your full name?" he asked.
"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. And if you even think of teasing me about the Elizabeth, you should know it was my mother's name, and I will kick your ass ten ways to Sunday."
Alex grinned. "You could try. A lot of people have. No one has succeeded yet. By the way, I'm Alex Rider. No middle name."
Kurt smiled.
…
The moment they were back at HQ, Tao escorted Charlie and Alex to the lab with the sample, while Elle led Kurt and Blaine into her office. She pressed a button on her desk, and Wes Montgomery appeared on the oversized monitor hanging on the wall. The young Asian man looked a bit stressed out, as did David, who was standing behind him.
"Good, you're both here. We received a transmission from our agent inside the Crimson Mongoose organization, and it's not good."
"What happened?" Kurt asked.
"I'll play the audio for you," Wes said. David turned and pressed a key on the keyboard. A female voice came through the speakers.
"This is Siren, transmitting on frequency seven six zero. I've been compromised. I repeat, I have been compromised. Crimson Mongoose is on the move. Shit!" The sound of gunfire and swearing in Spanish interrupted the transmission, and then for a moment all they heard was static. When the voice resumed, it kept cutting in and out.
"Tra-ponder damag…Crim…ongoose on the move. (words garbled) assassi…prince…Swede…weap…mass…Will rep…rther when possible."
"Damn," Blaine said.
"Can you clean the message up any further?" Kurt asked, "Try and recover some of the missing parts?"
"This is the cleaned up version," David replied. "Jeff spent three hours trying to make sense of any portion of it, and when he realized she might be talking about a possible weapon of mass destruction, he notified Wes immediately."
Wes nodded. "I've sent both the original and cleaned up version to the UK division, see what Tara can do with it. In the meantime it looks like the Crimson Mongoose has two objectives, a weapon of mass destruction, and an assassination. The question is, how are the two connected? And which Swedish prince? The heir or the spare? And are they the target, or the one who ordered the assassination?"
"We need to have someone keeping an eye on the princes," Elle said. "Who do we have in Sweden that can get close to the royal family?"
"That's not going to help you now," a voice said from the doorway. Alex Rider leaned against the frame. "At least not for the spare. You must not have seen the news over the weekend."
"What news?" Kurt asked.
Instead of answering, Alex took out his phone and pulled up the video. It was titled 'Party Prince gets a smack down at an underground club.' It was a news clip showing a group of teenage boys getting into a fight, followed by the Swedish Royal Family sitting together on a too-small couch as the young prince apologized rather reluctantly, and announced that he would be enrolling at Hillerska Boarding school.
Elle sighed. "Well, that should make things a bit easier. We can just have one of our agents enroll as a midterm transfer."
Alex had a contemplative look on his face. "That may not be necessary. I might know someone who knows someone already on the inside."
"Who?" Wes asked from the screen. He'd already been briefed on Alex Rider, and knew who he was.
Alex grinned. "A Friend."
…
A thousand miles from London, in south eastern Sweden, Wilhelm Bernadotte, Prince of Sweden and second in line to the throne, was in a foul mood, for multiple reasons. Getting into a fight at a party at a club was bad enough, especially over something so stupid as not wanting to have his picture taken with some random girl. Add to that his mother's glare of disapproval, and a lecture on the importance of protecting the image of the family, and being told you are being sent to boarding school, and any fifteen year old would be upset.
Now here he stood, with a camera flashing in his face once again, in front of Hillerska Boarding School, next to his brother, Crown Prince Erik, who he adored, and his second cousin, who he couldn't stand. August had always made Wille feel uncomfortable with the way he tried to insinuate himself into their family, especially after the death of his father. If he had to go to the same boarding school as one of his cousins, why couldn't it have been Jon?
Jon Franklin was his third cousin, several times removed, and a year older than Wille. Unlike August, Jon had always gone out of his way to make Wille laugh, never schmoozed up to him or treated him any differently, nor did he expect deferential treatment, which considering Jon was the Crown Prince of Denmark, he totally could have expected from his younger cousin.
But Jon wasn't like any other Crown Prince Wille had ever met, and he'd met many, was related to several of them in one way or another. Wille loved his brother, and Erik never acted condescendingly towards him, but Jon was just more exciting to Wille. Jon hated being called Crown Prince Jon, for one thing. His friends called him Beatz, because he was a damn fine beat-boxer. It was a touchy subject with Wille's mother, and one reason she and the Queen of Denmark had a strained relationship.
"A prince should behave with more dignity, and should never be addressed in such a common manner!" Queen Kristina had always said.
His mother's disapproval was another reason Wille loved his cousin Jon, and most likely why he had to suffer August's condescending looks, rather than Jon's infectious laugh. He couldn't wait until Christmas break. He and Jon were supposed to go skiing with their other cousins from the UK.
"Wille?" Erik said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Wille blinked, realizing he must have zoned out at some point during all the picture taking and introductions. He gave his brother an apologetic look. Erik hid his sigh, and spoke softly. "We're going to the chapel now. The school choir has prepared a short concert for us."
Groaning inwardly, Wille put on his best fake smile and followed them. He was prepared to be bored at what he presumed would be some traditional choral arrangement of some song written hundreds of years ago that should have died with the composer, but instead was used to torture children in the name of heritage. When the choir began harmonizing, a cappella, Wille was certain he was right. And then an Angel began singing, and not some stuffy old song either.
…
Simon Eriksson knew the value of having good contacts and connections when it came to getting ahead in the world. Sometimes, knowing the right people, and knowing when to do them a favor now and then, was the only way to survive. Yeah, sometimes some of those favors were a bit shady, but Simon knew how to keep his head above water and his nose clean.
That was how he'd managed to get him and his sister into such a prestigious school as Hillerska. Granted, the snobs here barely ever talked to him, but he didn't care. He was here for only one reason; to get a decent education so he could get out of Bjarstad for good, and no longer have to work for questionable people just to get by.
Of course, neither his mother or sister knew what kind of work he did. They thought he just worked odd jobs here and there to help his mom out.
It had started a couple of years ago, when he was a bit desperate for money when his mother was too sick to work. He had always been good with his hands, and the rich guy he'd spotted literally had a large envelope of cash sticking out of his pocket. He knew it was cash because he had seen him with it in the bank. He'd never pick-pocketed anyone before, and his heart had been pounding the entire time he followed the guy into a less populated area of town.
He made his move when the man had stopped to look at something in a bookstore window. Simon had 'bumped' into him, and apologized as he slipped the envelope from the man's pocket and hastily slipped it into his own.
The man had smiled at Simon, making the boy feel slightly weirded out, but Simon had just rushed away, finding a hiding place to see just what he had managed to nab. To his surprise, when he opened the envelope, instead of the cash he had seen the man put in there, it was just cut up pieces of paper. One of the pieces of paper had writing on it, a phone number, and the message;
"If you want the real money, call me. I have some work for you."
He'd looked up then and had seen the man watching him from a distance, that same, weird smile on his face. Simon had run away then, but when his mother's serious cough had turned into full blown pneumonia, Simon had called the number. That had been two years ago.
The man's name had turned out to be David Friend. More precisely, Sir David Friend. He was some kind of British nobleman, who apparently had a side business that paid the bills. He paid Simon to gather information for him, as well as run other errands, the nature of which Simon had chosen not to ask too much about. Simon had only one stipulation for doing these jobs for Sir David. No drugs. The man had assured him that he did not deal in that kind of business, and so far he'd lived up to his word.
And now, here Simon was, going to the same school as the Prince of Sweden. Singing for the Prince of Sweden. And damn, did the boy have a beautiful smile.
…
Charlie frowned when he studied the shard under a microscope. What he was seeing wasn't what he expected. Either someone had contaminated the storage space, or he'd just figured out why the theft hadn't shown up on camera.
"Smoke and mirrors," he said when he looked up at the blonde boy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone.
Alex looked confused when he looked up. "What was that?"
"Smoke and mirrors," he repeated. "We need to see the security footage from the previous week."
"Why?"
"Because the theft didn't happen last night. It happened up to five days ago."
"And you know this how?"
Charlie indicted the microscope. "Look for yourself, tell me what you see?"
Alex moved forward and studied the slide. "What the hell?"
"Did you find something?" Tao asked as he entered the lab.
"Aluminum," Charlie said.
"And?" the taller boy asked again.
"The shard of dry ice had bits of aluminum in it."
"And that is suspicious why?"
Charlie took a breath. Tao was his friend, and he didn't want to make him feel dumb. "Aluminum and Liquid nitrogen don't exactly mix well. While it's not precisely true that liquid nitrogen can make metal shatter, prolonged exposure can make it brittle. Depending on how thick the metal is, it can take a bit of time for it to fracture.
"Aluminum is generally one of the weaker metals. It would break down faster than steel or iron, which is precisely why they don't use it to make containers to store chemicals and compounds that must be frozen."
Tao frowned. "So, why is that suspicious? It could have come from someone dropping something in the cryostorage section."
Charlie shook his head, and indicated the microscope again. "Look closely."
Tao studied his face for a moment before turning to the equipment. Not being an expert in this type of thing, it took Tao a bit longer to see what Charlie had spotted.
"Is that paint?"
"I'd have to run a chemical test to prove it, but I would bet my life on it, yes."
"I didn't think you could paint on aluminum," Tao said, standing straight again.
"You are partially correct," Charlie said. "The paint will flake off as soon as it dries. But, there is a way to make the paint adhere, using a special primer and acrylic paints. My conjecture is, someone made fake containers using painted aluminum, and replaced them for the real containers. No one would know anything was amiss until the aluminum broke down and shattered, most likely turning to dust size particles that no one would notice. I suggest you check the security cameras from the past five days. Probably less, but I would go back five days just to be sure."
Tao nodded. "Thank you, Charlie."
After he left to report to Elle, Charlie glanced at Alex, who seemed lost in thought.
"What is it?" Charlie asked him.
Alex didn't answer right away. "How much nucleic acid would it take to create a virus?"
The dark haired boy frowned at the question. "It would depend on the type of virus. I mean, technically speaking, if you made it contagious enough, with delayed symptom development, you would only need to create enough to infect a single person, given how many people we come into contact with daily. And if any of those infected got on an international flight, the spread rate would be astronomical."
"So, stealing more than thirty seven hundred containers seems like a bit of an overkill to make a virus, don't you think?"
That made Charlie frown. Alex had a point. "What are you thinking?"
"What if they don't want the nucleic acid to make a virus or a dirty bomb? What if they want it to make clones?"
Charlie almost snorted at that. "No one has successfully cloned a human before."
Alex stared at him for a moment. "That's not exactly true. A mad man made eight clones of himself, and then when they were mature, he surgically altered them to look like the teenage children of some of the most influential people in the world. He succeeded in switching two of the clones for the real heirs, who then killed at least one of their parents."
"How do you know that?" Charlie asked.
Alex smiled ruefully. "I was one of the teens, but unlike the others, I was a plant, sent in by MI6 to investigate the private boarding school where it all went down."
"You work for MI6?"
"No," Alex said, an expression of rage blooming on his face. "I was blackmailed by them to force me to do their dirty work after my uncle was murdered. And then once I did what they asked, they kept dragging me back. And now I have criminals constantly coming after me, putting my friends and Jack in danger."
"Who is Jack?" Charlie asked. He didn't want to assume it was the other boy's boyfriend, and it was a good thing he hadn't said anything out loud.
"She's my legal guardian, now that everyone else is dead."
"I'm sorry," Charlie said.
"It's not your fault, you have nothing to be sorry for."
Charlie realized he was right, but he always felt like he needed to apologize for something. He changed the subject again. "So, you think they may be trying to clone someone?"
Alex shrugged. "Probably more than one person." He frowned again. "I wonder if that was what she was trying to say about the prince?" He straightened from where he was leaning against the counter. "I gotta go."
Charlie watched him go, frowning himself.