Chapter Two:

The sun filtered through the windows, casting pale shadows on the hardwood floor. Papers were ruffled as a cool breeze, let in by the open shutters, passed over them. A man sat silently, with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. But he was awake when a knock was heard on the door.

"Come in," he said, softly.

A woman walked into the office. She was dressed in a rather masculine outfit; silk trousers with a white, stiff collared shirt that did nothing for her figure.

"He's dead." She spoke in an odd, clipped tone. Almost as if she wanted to get the words out quickly. "Shot on Cliffs Street."

The man – Alan Blunt – shifted in his chair. "I expected nothing less."

Mrs Jones turned around sharply, hiding the pain on her face. "He was my husband." She said this angrily. "Did you have to send him?"

Mr Blunt stared at her impassively. "He was the best man for the job."

She paced the room, furiously wiping tears from her eyes. "I thought so, too. Apparently he wasn't good enough. Stupid, clumsy man."

Alan Blunt regarded her with something that resembled disgust. "Get a hold of yourself," he said coldly. "If you can't keep your personal life separate from business matters, then go see a therapist."

She halted abruptly. Then, slowly, she made her way back to her chair. Her face was shuttered, any pain that was previously there hidden away under lock and key. "So, Alan, why exactly did you call this meeting?" she asked tightly.

"I received a message from Agent Blue. This was before he died, obviously." He paused. "It seems that we were wrong about Scorpia."

"Wrong?"

"Yes. They aren't planning to cause any form of civil unrest."

"What are they planning, then?"

"Something far more dangerous. They want to kill Alex."

She was confused. "How is this more dangerous?"

He sighed. "Because, the only way they can kill Alex is if they know where he is. And to know that, they have to infiltrate MI6."

Mrs Jones tapped her nails against the desk. "That's not good."

"No. It means we might have a traitor in our ranks right now."

"So what do we do?"

"Nothing. For the moment, all we can do is wait."

"Do we warn him?"

Blunt considered this for a moment. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "It would only scare him."

"I don't think Alex is ever scared."

Blunt looked at Mrs Jones amusedly. "I think you might be wrong. Every fourteen year old is scared."

"Alex isn't fourteen, Alan. He's much older. He has to be."

"If you say so." Blunt stood up, walking over to the cabinet situated at the far end of the room. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a thick folder. "Here's the file you were asking for."

"Thankyou."

"Now, do you want some dinner?"

Alex was annoyed. Not only was he blindfolded, but he was also being led to the training grounds by, it seemed, an incompetent fool. Was it really necessary to walk through so much mud? He didn't hear anyone else wading through ankle-deep water. And what about the fact that he was gagged with what tasted like a sock?

He bit down on a frustrated yell. Once again, his guide had managed to step on his shoe. Were these people really qualified SAS members?

Alex sighed, wanting nothing more than to be back home. But that wasn't possible. He had signed a contract, after all. After that disastrous day at school, all the students in 9B had been given parental consent forms. Alex had taken his to MI6, and they had told him they would take care of it. They had kept their word; for the next day Alex had been sent off, with the rest of his class, to the SAS training grounds.

Just remembering that journey was enough to make him shiver. Three hours travelling over rocky ground, in a bus full of flatulent teenagers. Every time they had driven over a pothole, Alex's head had hit the roof. Then another two hours on a jet boat, going against the wind. Luckily, Alex didn't get seasick (his 'holidays' with Ian Rider had cured that), but unfortunately others in his class weren't so lucky. The smell of vomit and what had been someone's lunch was disgusting.

And then, when they had finally reached the port, they were met by an SAS officer.

"I'm Gull," he'd said. "I don't have a name. Not to you." He spoke harshly, almost spitting the words out of his mouth. "I'm here to take you all to the SAS grounds. It's a top secret place, so you'll have to be blindfolded and gagged. No talking to anyone. So sorry for the inconvenience." He added, not looking sorry at all. "Oh, and if you so much as try to remove the blindfold, well..." He smiled, a truly terrifying sight. "Let's just say it'll be worse than an afternoon detention."

True to his word, they had been gagged and deprived of sight, then led for what seemed like hours on a gruelling hike. For the first part of the journey Alex had been fine. He was fit, so the walking was no problem. His guide had also been well-trained, leading him very carefully through the woods (were they woods? He couldn't be sure). But now… This guide seemed to hate him, making sure to step in every puddle, ditch, and bog he could find. After a few hours, Alex was wet, tired and angry.

"We're here. Take off your blindfolds."

Alex gratefully complied. His eyes were red and blurry, and he could see other students rubbing their eyes. He looked around himself curiously. They were in what appeared to be a tropical forest, with unfamiliar trees and foliage everywhere. But that was impossible. There were no forests in this part of Britain.

"Follow me." The command was softly spoken, but everyone hastened to obey. Trudging through the unknown location, they headed west. Soon, they came to a cranny in the rock. Gull placed his hands on the rock face, muttering under his breath about "stupid security precautions". Amazingly, the rock slid away, revealing a tunnel. Alex was just as surprised as the others. This wasn't how he had arrived at the SAS training grounds, was it? But then he remembered. He had been unconscious when they had brought him here. For all he knew, they could have beamed him up in a spaceship.

Gull walked on, ignoring the astonished whispers of the students. After a few minutes, they reached a door. Gull turned around, and said, "We've arrived."

As soon as the door opened, Alex was confronted with the all-too-familiar sight of the SAS training grounds. The forest had given way to countryside; dotted with large cabins, Alex knew, that were used for sleeping and storage. The mess hall was situated in the centre of the grounds. It was here that Gull took them, telling them to stay seated until the Sergeant arrived.

Arrive he did. And Alex wasn't happy to see him.

As usual, his bulk preceded him. Not to say he was unfit; in fact, that was very far from the truth; but he commanded a presence, and it filled the entire room. The harsh lines of his face were set in a deep frown. Alex sighed. Great. He was in a bad mood.

"Maggots," he spat. "What were they thinking, sending me maggots?" Alex looked around him. Nearly every face was filled with fear. "So you're here for training, are you?"

No one replied.

"Well. The barracks, where you'll sleep, are over that way." He pointed vaguely to the left. "And you all eat here, in the mess hall. Remember to keep your bunks clean. Or you might wake up to a few snakes in your bed." A few people laughed nervously. "It wasn't a joke," he added, smiling menacingly. "Anyway, activities begin tomorrow, so be ready and waiting at sunrise. Get your packs from this pile over here. Then get your scrawny little backsides over to the cabins." When everyone didn't move immediately, his face darkened. "I said, get your packs!"

Alex was nearly bowled over by the mad rush that followed this announcement. Someone pushed him, and he fell, hitting the ground with a loud thud. He heard laughter, and took a minute to place it as Matthew Parker's. As he was getting to his feet, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't get clumsy, boy." The sergeant's voice was a growl. "We have don't have room for idiots here—" His voice cut off abruptly when he saw who he was talking to. He recovered quickly. "What's your name, boy?" he asked roughly.

"Alex Rider, sir."

"Rider, huh?" The sergeant's voice had risen, and the rest of Alex's class turned to see what was going on. "Were you born with this previously unknown foot disease? Or did you catch it from the buffoons that surround you?" There was a smattering of laughter, and Alex didn't have to force the flush that came to his face.

"No, sir."

"Well, I suppose you did it on purpose then, didn't you?"

Alex knew there was no point in arguing.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what the punishment for terminal stupidity is, Rider?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued on. "I'll tell you. It's a week's duty of cleaning the mess hall. That means you stay after every meal to wash up." Looking around at the sea of smirking faces staring at him, he shouted, "Well? What are you lot standing around for? Get to the cabins!"

When they were alone, Sergeant began pacing the room. "Why don't they tell me these things…?" he was muttering. "Cause a lot of trouble…going to have to brief all soldiers…" Finally he turned to Alex. "Cub."

Alex nodded. "Sir."

The sergeant stood still for a moment. His eyes flickered up and down Alex's body, lingering for a moment on the baggy, comfortable clothing that Alex had chosen for the journey. Grumbling under his breath, he said, "Take off your shirt."

"What?" Alex was surprised, and the prospect of removing his clothing made him nervous. He hadn't been going to his karate classes, because of his bullet wound. He was sure there would be flab on his stomach.

"Are you deaf, boy? Take off your shirt. If you had been wearing tight clothing, I wouldn't need to do this."

Alex understood what he meant. Sergeant needed to check how fit he was – the best way was to have a check up, of course – but excess fat on the body would also be sufficient. Groaning slightly, Alex pulled off his shirt. He stood, fidgeting, as the sergeant looked over every inch of his skin, searching for any sign of injury or fat. His eyes widened when he saw the tell-tale sign of a bullet wound. Alex mentally kicked himself. He had forgotten about that.

"What's this?" he asked sharply.

"A bullet wound." Alex said warily.

"I know that, Cub" His voice was cold. "Where did you get it?"

"I can't tell you that, sir. Classified information."

The sergeant looked angry for a moment, then he nodded resignedly. "Of course. Classified. How long has it been since the shot?"

"Five months."

"That should be enough to heal. What did the doctors say?"

"They said I was fine."

"That means you can still participate in the activities," he said. "In fact, it means you can participate in higher-level activities. Since you know everything that we're teaching the rest of the maggots, you can join in with the soldiers."

Alex groaned. Of course he would be put with the soldiers. He should have lied, and told him that the wound was new. Then at least he could have done easy activities.

"Yes, sir."

"Now go. Get out of here."

Alex walked into his cabin. He looked around at the boys sitting on the beds. Ignoring the raised eyebrows, he climbed onto the only available bunk and began unpacking his things. As he placed the last of the clothes in the small dresser, he heard a happy shout. "Alex!"

He turned around. Tom Harris, his best friend, was standing there. Alex felt a momentary burst of happiness. Tom had been sick for the past few days, and Alex was glad he had made it to the camp. "What are you doing here?" he asked, with a smile.

"I finally got better!" Tom exclaimed. "They let me come on a helicopter. The landing pad is so huge!"

Alex faked a look of anger. "We had to walk all the way here. First a bus, then a boat, then a hike…"

"I guess this means they like me better."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then burst out in laughter. Alex spoke first, still chuckling, "Really, Tom. It wasn't even that funny. We're so pathetic."

"I know. Just look at the expressions on these guys' faces."

Alex looked around. Indeed, the rest of the boys were staring at them with looks of such shock; it was almost comical. It seemed they couldn't quite believe that Alex could even laugh, let alone laugh with a friend.

"Oh, look, it's Alexis and his pet dog."

Tom looked at Matt curiously. "Oh, look, it's trying to speak. I always thought dirt was incapable of speech." He glanced at Alex. "Well, I guess that shows how much I know."

Alex smiled gratefully. He could take care of himself, but he preferred to just ignore what the others said about him. And plus, it added to his cover of being – and it still hurt to say it – a drug addict. No one would ever suspect him for what he was.

Matt growled hatefully, "Do you want to get beaten or something, Harris?"

"I don't think he does. Not really." Alex said. "But it looks like you do. After all, why else would you be insulting him?"

Even Matt knew when to back down. Alex's voice had carried a trace of threat, and everyone knew how well Alex fought.

"What, you gonna set your druggo friends on me?"

Tom stared at Alex. "What friends?" he asked carefully.

"His druggy friends," Matt seemed to find great delight in explaining. "You know, the ones he sells to."

"Alex isn't a drug addict."

"You wanna bet?" Matt jumped off his bunk, and reached for Alex's bag. "I bet we'll find coke in here," he said.

Alex stayed seated. He knew there was nothing incriminating in the bag. It was best to let Matt satisfy his curiosity – at least he'd show everyone there were no drugs in his bag.

"Ah ha!" Matt shouted gleefully. "Look at this! It's not coke – it's pot!"

Silence. That was all that could be heard in the cabin. Everyone was staring at the little packet in shock, Alex included. Tom slowly turned to Alex.

"Did you put that in there, Alex?" His voice was tight. Alex knew why he was so angry; Tom's parents had split primarily because his father had drug problems. Tom had always had a low opinion of anyone who took drugs – he had told Alex himself.

"No. No I didn't." His voice was firm. Apparently, MI6 had at least taught him to adapt to new situations quickly.

This was enough for Tom. "There you go," he said to Matt. "Alex said he didn't put it there, and I believe him. Oh, I suggest you don't take this to the sergeant."

Matt was smiling evilly. "Of course I'm going to take it to the sergeant," he said. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because," Alex broke in, "They might do a fingerprint check. And if they do that, they're going to know who put the bag there." Here he looked meaningfully at Matt. "We wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?"

Matt paled. "Of course not," he stuttered.

"Good." Alex smiled. "Now we're in perfect agreement." He didn't care if he looked particularly threatening at that moment. All of a sudden he felt angry and fed up with the world. Why did this have to happen to him?

That night, as Alex lay in bed, he thought of his parents, and what they might have been like.

Alex woke up a few minutes before sunrise. He immediately got up and began to put on his army-regulation clothes. The combat trousers and shirt fitted properly, this time. Then he shook Tom awake.

"What?" Tom murmured. "Give me five more minutes."

"Get up," Alex hissed. "The soldiers will be here in five minutes."

As Tom struggled with his uniform, Alex deliberated whether or not to wake the rest of the boys. He eventually decided to, because if the sergeant came in and found them asleep, they would all be punished.

As expected, Matt gave him trouble, but he shut up quickly when he was told he had only three minutes to change. By the time the sun had risen, Alex's group were clothed and ready, waiting for whoever came to check in on them.

Unfortunately, it was Fox. He was exactly as Alex remembered him – tall, blonde, with a handsome face. It also looked as though the sergeant hadn't gotten around to telling him about Alex, because as soon as he walked in and saw 'Cub', his face morphed first into a look of shock, then confusion, then delight. Seeing the delight made Alex shudder. Whatever made this man happy was not going to be good.

"Hello, my lovely little friends," he said cheerfully. "How are you all this morning?"

The boys looked at him in confusion.

"Your name is group D," he said. "So, group D, let us begin the wonderful adventure which is SAS!"

It was safe to say that no one greeted this proclamation with the enthusiasm that Fox had been expecting. In fact, they looked downright horrified.

"Well aren't you all grumble-bums," he laughed. It was not a nice laugh, either. It was a mad laugh – the laugh of an insane man. "I guess you'll all have to do extra work today. Like, washing the dishes!"

Matt squinted up at him. "But, Mr, uh,"

"Oh, forgive me. My name is Fox."

"But Mr Fox, sir, Rider here is already on clean-up duty."

Alex cursed the boy. Now Fox was giving him the look a tiger gives it prey. "Is he really, now?"

"Yes, sir," Matt said eagerly. "He got it because he was being rude—"

"Well," Fox cut him off. "I'll go and talk to the sergeant. After all, it wouldn't be fair if you had to do the work he was supposed to be doing, would it?"

"No, sir." Matt was grinning.

"In fact, I think I'll give him double the workload. How about you meet me in the mess hall after we've finished, Rider?"

Alex sighed. "Yes, sir."

Perhaps it was the fact that Alex had called him 'sir'. Perhaps it was the fact that a fly had just buzzed past his ear. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because the voices in his head had just told him a particularly funny joke. Because whatever the reason, Fox started laughing a truly horrifying laugh that didn't stop even as they walked out of the door and to the mess hall.

Author's Notes:

Here's the next chapter. The next update will not be as quick, as I have an exam tomorrow (and I didn't study!). Hope you like it…

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