Disclaimer: If you think that I own Alex Rider, you're retarded.

Thanks for the reviews people. I apologize for the lack of action…I'm not very good at this stuff. Later on in Chapter 3 there might be some fighting and weaponry and stuff. I'll try to make it as….violent…as possible…evil cackle This chapter will move kinda slow btw, it's just like….explanations and stuff…action will take place in the next chapter. Sorry if I'm slow to update. My teachers bury me with homework, quizzes, and tests.

About the geographical locations…forgive me you Brits out there that are reading my story if the geography doesn't make sense. I am an ignorant American that doesn't know very much about English geography.

Alex Rider groaned and opened his eyes. He felt as though someone was mashing his head with a sledgehammer. What had happened? Something about a chase, a fall; It all came back to him slowly. Tentatively, he sat up and surveyed the room. He was in a spacious and artfully decorated log cabin; the kind that rich people lived in. Alex stood up and stumbled to the grand bathroom, splashing water on his face. Feeling better, he went back into the room and looked out the window: the world was masked in a blanket of snow. Alex sat back onto the bed again and was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. Only months ago he had awoken in a similar state at one of MI6's "training centers". Scowling to himself, Alex walked up to the door and opened it cautiously. There was no one in sight. He silently stepped out into the hall, and went down a set of stairs. There was firelight coming from one of the rooms downstairs and Alex went towards it. Upon entering, he found himself looking into the cold, emotionless face of the assassin, Yassen Gregorovich.

"Hello little Alex." Said the Russian assassin without turning.

Alex found himself temporarily speechless. It couldn't be Yassen. As far as Alex knew, the assassin was dead.

"I thought you were dead." It sounded stupid, like a line from a book or movie, but that was all Alex could think of saying at the instant.

The assassin got up and turned to Alex, who noted that the man had not lost his graceful manner. Yassen surveyed Alex for a while and then motioned to another chair by the fire. He did not speak until Alex had settled himself into the chair.

"No matter what lies the MI6 have told you Alex, I did not die on Air Force One." Yassen paused as if amused to think that possible, and then continued, "When the American secret service agents went into the Air Force One, they had been told about you, but not me. They assumed I was with Cray, but took me to a hospital where I was treated and survived. Alan Blunt recognized me at the hospital of course, and he was set on taking me in when I was well, but he was many steps too late. I escaped and altered records to make it seem as though I fled for Russia, while I am actually here in the Cumbrian Ranges. "

Yassen finished and Alex let the words sink in. Yassen had survived and was hiding right under Alan Blunt's nose. Could Yassen have anything to do with the men that had burst into the camp and held all of his friends hostage?

"Are you holding my friends hostage? Who are those men? Are you working with them? Were they sent after me? What---"

Yassen held up his hand and Alex fell silent.

"You are on this camping trip with your soccer team am I correct?"

Alex nodded.

"Interesting of your team to choose to camp when it's snowing."

"We were supposed to have cabins at the lower part of the mountains but they were accidentally given away so had to come up here. I wandered out this morning to look around and when I went back I saw the three men with machine guns. I ran and they followed me." Explained Alex, squirming under the watchful gaze of Yassen.

The assassin looked thoughtful and murmured to himself in Russian. He turned to Alex, "The American author, Dan Brown, was supposed to be staying in the cabin that your team was given, Alex. Weeks ago, I was offered a very large sum to eliminate Dan Brown. I turned it down. Perhaps the men who have taken your friends hostage were the people who were hired for the "job"."

"What will they do to my friends?" asked Alex. Why did this stuff always happen to him?

Yassen turned to Alex, his empty blue eyes piercing. "I'm afraid your friends will die if you don't help them Alex. Those men went through the trouble to make sure you died and all you did was see them."

Alex groaned to himself. "Why can't we just call MI6 or something?"

Yassen gestured at the swirling white flakes outside the window. "Blizzard,' he said simply, "nobody can get up here. Not even by air since there's no place to land. By the time the snow clears enough your friends will be all dead. "

different scene below

Tom Harris gazed up at the three masked and black-clad figures in the cabin with a mixture of fear and awe. All three were carrying weapons of all varieties and were murmuring to each other in low voices. Bits of the conversation drifted down to the boys in the room.

"Sent after boy…return…dead?...Kill…..later…blizzard…don't want to…room full of dead bodies….mistake…further down the mountain…"

Tom felt a bit of fear when he heard the words "kill" and "room full of dead bodies", but he was also rather excited. To be trapped in a room with three masked terrorists, and to be eavesdropping on them! It was just like something out of a spy movie. Speaking of spies, thought Tom, he wondered where his friend Alex was. Maybe the men were here for Alex? He was a spy after all. The boy next to Tom whimpered. Tom leaned over and whispered to the boy.

"Don't worry Stuart. We'll be fine. Alex escaped and he'll come back and help---"

In a flash, one of the men had grapped Tom by the collar and pinned him against the wall. Not very tall, Tom's feet dangled in the air.

"What did you say?" growled the man, his voice muffled and accented from under the mask.

"I…um…noth—" stammered Tom.

"The name, boy, what was that name you said? And don't play games with me!"

Tom felt something cold pressed against his throat. A knife. One of the other boys in the room cried out, and he could here the Coach protesting.

"uhh..Alex." gasped Tom. He felt a sharp pain on his throat. Something hot started trickling down his throat. He had been cut.

"Alex what?!"

Maybe being a spy wasn't as fun as he had originally thought, thought Tom.

"Alex Rider!"

The man let him go, and Tom slid to the floor. The man turned back to his accomplices.

"We'll stay here and wait for this Alex Rider. I've heard of him. There are many who would pay to have him dead. I'll start contacting some of those people right now."

"A boy?" intoned one of the others skeptically.

"No," said the man, "a spy; for MI6."