Alex lay on his beach towel, soaking in the rays of the Mediterranean sun. The water from his last swim had already dried, but it left deposits of salt sticking to his skin. Emily sat beside him, putting sunscreen on herself.

"Ready to swim?" she asked.

"We just swam fifteen minutes ago," Alex laughed.

"I know. Come on, let's go."

Alex stood up and followed Emily into the warm Mediterranean Sea. He couldn't help noticing how great Emily looked in her white bikini. He smiled and shook his head as he stepped into the salty water.

"Hey, Alex, I'll race you to the rocks," Emily challenged. About thirty yards away to the left was a wall of rock about ten feet high.

"Sure. The loser buys ice cream."

The two immediately swam for the rocks. Alex pulled ahead quickly with ease. About five yards from the wall, Alex was suddenly jerked underwater. Something had caught his ankle and dragged him beneath the surface. It was a hand. He could feel the fingers gripping tighter as he fought. Fingernails dug into his skin as he kicked and flailed. Finally, Alex's foot made contact with a face. His head broke the surface just as he thought his lungs would explode. He gasped for air and swam over to the rock where Emily was waiting. She launched herself off the rock and threw her arms around Alex. Alex nearly went underwater again.

"What happened?! I saw you go under."

"I probably just got my leg caught on something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's no big deal."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Maybe we should stay out of the water for a while."

"Want to go get ice cream?"

Emily thought about it, then smiled. "Sure, but you're paying."

Alex lay on his bed in the hotel room, listening to his iPod. He hadn't said a word since he came back. He stared expressionlessly at the ceiling. He and Emily just happened to be on vacation in the same city. He ran into Daniel Walker, who was presumed dead. Someone tried to drown him at the beach. Could this vacation get any weirder?

Of course it can, Alex thought. The last time he was in Montpellier, he had seen Yassen Gregorovich, who had made an attempt on Edward Pleasure's life. Alex got tangled up in a mess with the pop-star-psychopath Damian Cray. Sabina had been taken hostage and nearly killed. Alex was nearly killed trying to save Sabina and stop Damian Cray. How would this vacation be any different? For all Alex knew, this vacation could be even worse than the last.

Alex was itching to investigate, but he had no idea where to start. Naturally, he wanted to know who tried to kill him and why. He didn't want to spoil his vacation, but his survival was more important than having a pleasant time in France.

Just then, Tom walked into the room and fell into an armchair. Alex sat up and turned off his iPod.

"Why are you so late?" Alex asked. "It's half past eleven."

"Got caught up," Tom replied without going into detail.

Alex frowned, trying to decide whether or not he should press for details. "Caught up with what? Or with who, I should say?" Alex raised his eyebrow suspiciously.

"Don't give me that look, Alex. I'm still a virgin."

Alex smiled and shook his head. "That's somewhat hard to believe. So, what were you doing?"

"That's none of your business," Tom retorted.

"Fine."

"So, how did your day with Emily go?"

"That's none of your business."

Tom sighed. "Okay, fair enough. I met this girl at a café this morning. She asked me to go dancing with her at a local nightclub. That's it."

"That's it?"

"You asked what I was doing. That's what I did. I went to a club with her. Now it's your turn to spill."

Alex shrugged. "Emily and I went for a walk, had lunch, then went to the beach."

"That's it?"

"You asked how my day with Emily went. That's what happened."

"Why is there a bruise on your face?"

"I got in a fight."

"With who?"

Alex paused. He wasn't sure if he should tell Tom the whole story about Daniel. He didn't want Tom to have a lousy vacation just because Alex couldn't keep himself out of trouble. "Just some guy."

"Okay… Why does your ankle look like my dog chewed on it?"

"I got it caught on something while I was swimming."

Tom frowned. "You don't have to lie to me, Alex. This is a spy thing, isn't it?"

Alex sighed. "Yeah. Okay, do you remember Camryn mentioning Daniel Walker?"

"Yeah. He's her ex-boyfriend, right? I think you told me that he died in a car accident."

"Yeah, that's him. I saw him today."

"But he's dead."

"That's what I thought. He told me that he had faked his death in order to save Camryn from some people who were after him."

"Don't tell me he's a spy too."

"He claims he is."

Tom slumped down in his chair. "What's with all these kid spies all of a sudden? What's the big deal?"

Alex shrugged. "I wish I knew. Well, anyway, I got into a little fight with him before I got any information out of him."

"What about your ankle?"

"Someone pulled me under and tried to drown me while I was swimming."

"You're like a magnet for trouble."

"It's a spy's life."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I want to investigate, but I don't know where to start. Besides, if Emily starts asking questions, I don't know how I'm going to keep the truth from her. I mean, Sabina found out, you found out. How is Emily going to be any different?"

"That's true," Tom muttered.

"I'm not exactly sure of what I'm going to do yet, but I'll figure something out."

Mr. Hughes sat behind his desk, carefully eying the woman before him. Her name was Eva. She was slim with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark complexion. She was in her mid to late twenties. She stood stiffly at attention. Her fear was evident.

"Is he dead?" Mr. Hughes asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, sir," Eva replied shakily. "I'm sorry. I won't fail you again, sir."

"Very well. You may leave."

As soon as Eva turned around to leave, Mr. Hughes pulled a gun from his desk drawer, unlocked it, and fired. A bullet spiraled into the back of Eva's head, and the woman slumped to the floor. Mr. Hughes put down the gun and sat back in his chair. He stared down at the file on his desk. A satellite photograph lay on his desk beside a profile. It portrayed a fair-haired boy in his late teens. He was tall and good-looking. His serious brown eyes had a forlorn look in them as if he were very deep in thought. He was five feet and ten inches tall, and he weighed 163 pounds. He was seventeen and had graduated from Brookland in May. He was a spy. He worked for MI6.

Mr. Hughes smiled to himself, imagining a bleeding hole in the middle of the boy's forehead.