Chapter three
But man is the unnatural animal, the rebel child of Nature, and more and more does he turn himself against the harsh and fitful hand that reared him.
H.G. Wells
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Study everything. Accept nothing. Always be suspicious. Always be alert. These are the rules Ian Rider had lived his entire life with. These are the rules he had then passed onto his nephew, when his brother could not. Alex had come to realize, with a sickening suddeness, that these are the exact rules that had guided his entire life.
Daniel Ozbourne is the boy he was doomed to live with for the duration of this little experiment. The academy hosted dorms that housed two students each. And by mere coincidence, Alex Rider was bunked with Daniel Ozbourne. Of course the school didn't know that. Because in their books, Alex Quincy was bunked with Li Bosch, a boy who suddenly had a limited English vocabulary.
Oz, as he had instructed that Alex identify him by, even if it was only in private, was already there when Alex entered his humble abode. He lifted his head slightly upon Alex's entrance. The intensity of Oz's stare almost burned. Alex shivered, forcing himself further into the room. He gingerly lowered his bag to the ground and sat on his bed.
"So you're Alex Rider," Oz began. Alex nodded curtly, holding Oz's heavy gaze calmly. "The perfect spy, huh?"
Alex shook his head. "I am not a spy."
Oz shrugged. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that. It won't make it any more real...but I hear it helps the sanity stay within your body."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "You're American," he stated quietly. Oz shrugged. "That wasn't in your file."
Oz shrugged again, leaning back against the wall at the head of his bed. "I guess he didn't think it matter," he murmured. Alex wasn't quite sure if Oz was talking to himself or addressing Alex. He didn't suppose it much mattered. "In the end of things," Oz added.
Oz was looking at him again, forcing Alex to acknowledge the conversation at hand. "What do you mean by that?" Alex asked him quietly.
"We're not spies," Oz said seriously. "This isn't a video game, and you're not safely at home. What they want us to do here is very real. Dangerous, and they're not afraid to bet our lives on it. They want solutions. And they're willing to do whatever it takes to solve the problems at hand. Our nationality, our personalities, our relationships and achievements, none of that will matter when all they get back are corpses. Faceless casualties of their own war."
Alex shook his head. That's not true, something inside kept telling him. They would never stand by while four children were murder...just so there would be evidence against the criminals at hand. But Blunt had quickly ushered Alex and the other three kids into this academy - without any back ups. No gadgets, no way of communication aside from a cell phone and a memorised number.
"If you think it's suicide, then why are you here?" Alex asked.
"Because I have a death wish," Oz answered honestly. "Why are you here?"
Why are you here? Alex knew sooner or later he would have to face that question. "I don't have a choice." The answer had always been in his head. It had been the one that he kept telling himself.
Oz shook his head, strands of black hair separating itself from the main mass of hair to fall across his face. "There's always a choice." His face looked dark than before, somehow shrouded in shadow.
Alex narrowed his eyes further. "No there isn't. Not always."
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Blunt did have a plan. He hadn't just happened up this team that he has designed. He had been searching for a team, preverably young. Because the young could learn, the young also didn't have nasty habits that older spies tended to pick up. Little tricks they thought worked...until the day they didn't.
Daniel Ozbourne was an excellent martial artist. He fought with the lack of consistency that afforded him the ability to adapt to every fighting style. He could think almost simultaneously on his feet. He was strong, physically and emotionally. And he was young. Young enough to learn, old enough to be useful.
Bartholomew Mallory was observent. And he had a photographic memory, allowing him the ability to commit everything he reads and hears to memory. He was quiet, almost to the point of silence, but he listened to everything. It was Mrs. Jones who first took notice of him, two years ago, when she visited his father for a strictly business meeting. Normally Mrs. Jones wouldn't have noticed the son of one of her agents, but Bart was different. He was indifferent, silent, and strictly obedient.
Peyton Dewey was a pleasant blend of the two. She had a blended sense of martial arts that you could find in no academy, or learn from any master. She was as observant as any good spy would be. She had been fighting underground and a previous agent had seen her and only mentioned her in casual passing. But while Blunt and Mrs. Jones were gathering the team together, this girl seemed to fit quite nicely as the last member. She was the normal teenager; the sort of teenager that Alex strived to be. But unlike him, she had absolutely no problems with being normal - with staying away from violence, and not being the hero.
And Alex Rider? Quite honestly, he was the first person in this team, whether he was aware of it or not; even before he was shot. Even before this mission suddenly became personal. Alex was always a part of that team, and the other members were almost secondary as of this moment.
They were not friends, not companions - not even on a speaking basis yet. But Alex was aware that they'd either have to learn to communicate or parish.