Well, readers, darlings, I know that you've been waiting for this chapter for a long time, and I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't have great news for you over this story. Don't worry, it's not being discontinued or anything, but - PLEASE READ the AN at the end of the chapter.
So... the job-hunt goes on apace, and I had a trial shift at Lush yesterday, and an interview with Molton Brown on Wednesday! (beams) On the other hand, I don't think they're going to employ me, especially because if I get a job, the first thing I have to say is "I'm really sorry, but I need this weekend off" - so I can... wait for it... GO AND SEE DAVID TENNANT IN HAMLET!! (faints)
Anyway. Sorry. (clears throat) I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend and that this story lives up to it's reputation. It's an Alex-Lite Chapter, I'm afraid, but he should be in the next one... but read the end AN for more details about the next chapter. Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: Getting the money together to buy the books was a struggle. Please.
The next morning, Markham and Smithers met for a 'working breakfast' at the Marriott Hotel opposite the Houses of Parliament – unknowingly a few feet away from where Alex had tried to kill himself. Markham made a point of being there before his 'source', and was sat at a table waiting for the man by the time Smithers heaved himself through the door.
He'd heard a little about MI6s resident genius, but had never met him, and was a little surprised to see a man of such extraordinary girth, though he was far too professional to let it show on his face. Standing, he held out a hand to him.
"Mr. Smithers – I'm so glad you could make it."
Smithers shook his hand, with a surprisingly firm grip, and smiled at him. "My dear Colonel, I'm delighted to meet you. I'm simply thrilled you agreed to meet me."
"The pleasure's all mine."
They both ordered orange juice and a full breakfast, before starting on the real business of their meal. Smithers paused, before saying, quietly, "Colonel Markham, I'm sure you understand that talking to Alex would be your best course of action right now. He's been – very badly treated, and the last thing he needs to feel is that you are trying to manipulate him in the same way as Alan Blunt."
Markham took a mouthful of bacon, chewed and swallowed, thinking over his response. Regarding Smithers for a few moments, he said, slowly. "Ah… now, there, Mr. Smithers, I was hoping you could do me a favour."
"In what way?"
"Since you know Alex far better than anyone affiliated with my organisation," they were both careful to avoid mentioning any names – the last thing they wanted to do was give even the most casual of eavesdroppers any cause to pay proper attention to their conversation, "I was wondering whether you would be willing to… make the first move."
"You would like me to get in touch with him?" he paused. "I'm perfectly willing to call him, but I warn you, he's not likely to react well."
"Oh?" Markham frowned, genuinely surprised. "I assumed… from all your interest in him, I assumed you knew him well."
"Better than many," Smithers' mouth quirked wryly, "But not well. My – position – didn't encourage much intimacy."
"No, I suppose not." He paused, taking another mouthful of his meal, before putting his fork down and resuming his slight frown. "Do you have any suggestions as to how we should approach the situation, Mr. Smithers?"
Smithers paused. "Any attempts on my part to call him – coming so long after his attempt – would be viewed with extreme suspicion, don't you think?" This was an altogether different man to the one he had talked to on the phone, Markham decided, less flowery and less indecisive. His insight into the Rider child would hopefully be invaluable. "He would see them as an attempt on the part of my employers to regain contact with him, and I think that viewpoint should be discouraged."
"I agree completely." Markham nodded. "So – your suggestion would be…?"
"I understand you have a unit watching him?" Smithers asked, sipping at his orange juice, and deliberately not looking at Markham.
"Yes." He acknowledged, a little startled.
"At the moment, Alex is probably identifying everyone who had anything to do with MI6 as a threat. So, Colonel, I genuinely think the best thing to do would be for you yourself to try and meet him." He gave Markham a disarmingly candid look. "I'm sure you can understand the reasoning behind that."
Every time he had to make a reply, he ended up feeling like Smithers was about four steps ahead of him, anticipating every move he made. "Yes." He said, simply. "And what about the unit we have on him at the moment?"
Smithers considered the problem for a few moments. "They'll have a hard time getting through to him." He said, finally. "But I think… in time…Alex could come to rely on them. But they need to be interacting with him, not simply watching him; and Alex indubitably knows they're there, Colonel. He's our best, after all."
"That good?" Markham asked, mildly.
"Better." Smithers told him, succinctly. "You'll never meet anyone like Alex."
"Then I look forward to it."
"The best plan of action is probably to have K-Unit," he acknowledged Markham's still-more startled look with an impatient flap of the hand, "contact him, and try to get them to explain things to him, calmly and carefully. And to leave nothing out." He gave Markham a pointed look. "Anything unpleasant which has to be done, any manipulation you have to make to improve his situation, Alex needs to know about it. You may think you're leaving it out to protect him, but as far as Alex is concerned, it's lying by omission. For Alex, there's no such thing as leaving things out to protect him. If someone hasn't told him something, it always ends up hurting him. Remember that, Colonel."
"I will do." He said, calmly, pausing to think Smithers' suggestions over. "It seems a sound plan. I'll call them in, explain it to them."
"That seems the most reasonable to me. But, of course, dear boy, it's your show." He paused. "Indulge me, though, Colonel – what exactly are your plans? And when this is over, how exactly to you intend to proceed?"
"Our aims in the short-term, Mr. Smithers, are relatively simple …"
The rest of the meal was fairly straightforward, and they finally finished going over the SAS' aims and methods to help Alex, and it wasn't until the end that Smithers handed over what would prove to be the most useful outcome of their meeting. He had brought a briefcase with him, and now pulled out an innocuous manila file, handing it over to Markham with a serious look.
"This is all the information I have on Alex, including his recent hospital records. I hope it's useful." He said, quietly. "Everything I have found out about him, everything I could get from the databases, it's all in there." He paused. "Should anything – happen – to it," he added, quietly, and Markham knew he was about to hear a threat phrased in the politest possible way, "You will find that the teenager it refers to does not exist." He shrugged, and patted his lips with a napkin. "They didn't do too thorough a job of erasing him from all records – they need to be able to find him if he was hospitalised, after all – but the information in that file refers to the child Alex really is, not the persona which has been created for him."
With that, Smithers stood. "Colonel, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you have any further need of me, please don't hesitate to contact me."
Markham stood, and shook his hand – and it was only after the other man had left that he realised Smithers had left him with the bill.
Heading back to his office, he realised he was about to have a busy few weeks ahead of him if he was going to sort the Rider boy's situation out satisfactorily. John Rider had been a valuable asset to his organisation, and Markham had no doubt that his superiors' main reasons for trying to improve their ties with Alex Rider were anything but philanthropic. Had he shared those views, things could simply have deteriorated for Rider the moment he was fully in the SAS' clutches. As it was, Markham intended to sort things out satisfactorily for all concerned.
From all his experience, Markham knew that the most important part of any situation was not to end up light on intelligence, so his first action was to read through the file Smithers had given him, making a note of the most salient points. The folder made for an interesting – if somewhat chilling – read. Smithers had included a description of every assignment the boy had ever had, which were frightening in their sheer number. Their details would keep the most hardened agent awake at night – racketeering, drug smuggling, child exploitation, slavery… it seemed as though Alex Rider had been involved in every single example of humanities worst activities.
Along with his mission reports, the invaluable file included transcripts of the boy's debriefings and his medical situation at the end of each mission. At no point in the file did Markham see a psych evaluation.
To date, the boy had completed just over twenty three successful missions, failing just one, and had been sent all over the world. His achievements were simply… staggering.
Stupidly, Markham had assumed that Smithers had been exaggerating when he had said that the Rider boy was the best MI6 had. Compared to a normal operative's average ratio of four successes to one failure, this child set a terrifying 'best score' of twenty three to one. Dimly, Markham wondered what the retribution was if the boy ever failed.
Suspending his own reaction to the transcripts and reading a little less subjectively, Markham could see a worrying lack of self-preservation in the boy's actions. His medical records were impressively, frighteningly long, and his debriefings were always blasé about any injury he himself had received. The only remorse he seemed to feel was for the people who ended up dead during a mission of his, and though this indication of humanity was welcome it was also a worrying indication of where Rider – consciously or unconsciously – placed himself in his own eyes.
Laying the folder down for a moment, Markham reviewed what he now knew of the boy. Exploited immediately after the death of an apparently much-loved uncle – Smithers' notes had been sickeningly clear on the circumstances of the boy's first 'job' – and carelessly, even recklessly, deployed ever since, without the slightest thought for his future, his health, or even his life. It really was no wonder the boy had decided to try and commit suicide.
Evidently, something was going to have to be done, particularly as regarded the child's education, since it was that which was going to keep him down. Any sixteen year old who could survive what this one had – anyone who could be considered MI6's top agent before he got out of his teens – was obviously brilliant, but his marks did nothing to reflect that. MI6 had sabotaged any of his chances for any kind of future outside their own organisation, and knowing what he did of Alan Blunt, Markham had no doubt that every move had been calculated for MI6's best advantage.
On the other hand, MI6 was going to find itself with a formidable enemy in the form of the SAS, backed as they now were by the Ministry of Defence and the Prime Minister himself. It was a fight Markham knew everyone on his organisation had wanted to avoid, but one which he also knew they had no intention of losing. Blunt's tactical genius was one thing; his apparently growing egomania was quite another.
Pushing those thoughts away, Markham looked back down at the file, reading, with a rather derisive twist to his lips, some of the more recent school reports Smithers had somehow got hold of and had added to his file. "Rarely present… marks reflect level of attendance rather than aptitude… when present, performs beyond all reasonable expectation… an outstandingly good mind let down by an outstandingly bad attendance record…' – they all said much the same thing.
His school record mentioned two calls to the Child Protection Services, both of which had not only failed, but had failed spectacularly. Transcripts of his meetings with the social worker had had been assigned – and Markham refused to wonder how Smithers had got hold of all this, not when it was so useful – proved that the Rider boy had lied outrageously, though convincingly, to hide the truth. Gang involvement had been suggested, though bullying had evidently been firmly ruled out; a rather wry addition to his record noted that a group of sixth form boys had attempted to bully the boy and that two of them had broken bones, one had lost a tooth, and the remaining two had bruises which would keep them out of trouble, and off the football pitch, for some time.
Rider, it was noted, had a black eye, and a 'valid claim of self-defence, if rather too enthusiastically applied'.
Markham, who would not condone bullying in any form, even the hazing often offered to new SAS recruits, almost felt sorry for these would-be hard-cases. They were bullies, and probably cowards, but they had received a thorough beating from a highly-thought-of MI6 operative. That was punishment enough for anyone's sins.
The way Markham saw it, the boy was absolutely trapped. MI6 had him over a barrel, as their repeated intrusions into his life made it impossible for him to hold down a job, and they paid him less than a pittance for the work he did for them – the glorious Smithers (Markham was ready to confer a sainthood on the man for the work he had done researching Rider for God only knew how long), had even managed to get hold of copies of Rider's bank statements.
And Rider had no escape from all of this – with his appalling exam results, he was unlikely to get further than his GCSEs in education. Not even the most desperate crammer would accept him.
So, as Markham saw it, the thing to do was to set about getting the boy to resit his GCSEs, which would enable him to get a different future – whatever kind of future he wanted. When he had the necessary marks, they could see about sending him to some kind of boarding school, a relatively standard practice with military brats. Somewhere with a heavy government subsidy, maybe, unless the boy proved willing to sit some kind of scholarship.
The other vital thing was to get the boy's legal affairs in order and away from MI6. Some kind of guardian would have to be found, unless the boy could be emancipated, or unless someone was willing to step into the role in name only.
Thankfully, those bastards at MI6 had at least had the decency to pay his utility bills, which was one headache less, at least. That would evidently have to continue.
However, one thing at a time, Markham concluded, and picked up the phone.
"Good morning. Colonel Markham speaking." He said, in his crisp, clear voice. "Could you please pass a message on to the Prime Minister's staff for me?"
"Certainly, sir." Anyone who had access to this number evidently had the seniority to request such things, and the secretary he was talking to knew so. "May I ask which organisation you're affiliated with?"
"SAS and the Ministry of Defence."
"Thank you, sir. Your message?"
"Colonel Markham would like to request a meeting with the Prime Minister about A. Rider, at his earliest possible convenience."
"A rider, sir?" the secretary queried, confused. "A rider to what?"
Markham smiled, rather dryly, to himself. "No doubt his staff will be obliged to pass such a vague message along, and the Prime Minister knows exactly what it means." He said, calmly. "Please make sure to capitalise the 'a'."
"Certainly, sir." A brief pause while he wrote it down. He sounded no less confused, but a little more likely actually to pass the message on. "we'll get back to you with the time of your appointment by the end of the day."
"Thank you." Markham said, gravely, and hung up.
Knowing that his appointment with the Prime Minister wouldn't be until tomorrow at the very earliest, he made the next of his two important phone calls.
The first was not one he had ever expected to find himself making – Colonels did not often find themselves ringing the home numbers of Lieutenants in their corps to request meetings – but he wanted to see this thing properly sorted, and Lieutenant James San Luca was vital for that.
"San Luca?" The voice which answered the phone was formal and the slightest bit brusque.
"Lieutenant. Colonel Markham speaking."
"Sir?" The voice lost a little of its brusqueness, and Markham recognised the hint of an accent, heightened by confusion, in that perfectly formal voice.
"I want you to report to our London headquarters in half an hour's time, Lieutenant." He said, shortly, and San Luca paused, but said, finally,
"Of course, sir. Is there anything I should kn-"
"I'll see you in half an hour, Lieutenant." Markham said, firmly, and San Luca collected himself and broke off.
"Of course, sir."
"The receptionist will send you up to my office." He said, and rang off.
OK, so the serious AN of Doom - what, you thought I was going to spare you my standard AN practices? (scoffs) Please.
So, as some of you know, although I did have this story all written out, I've been working on the storyline so much that it is now drastically different, which is the reason for the long, loong delay on this chapter. I've now beaten the darned thing into submission, but the story from this point on has to be essentially completely re-written, and I'm only using bits and pieces of the stuff I had already done - it's all having to be reworked and bullied into doing what I want.
So, there is the reason for the delay, but my question is this - would you prefer me to write the whole thing and then post it at regular intervals, or do my normal thing of writing a chapter and then posting it immediately? If you want the former, it will be a very long delay before this story gets underway again, but the gaps will be short again. The other one, there'll be gaps between chapters when real life intervenes, but you will get individual chapters sooner than you get the whole story.
There it is. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Do tell me, and tell me what you'd prefer in a lovely review. I love hearing from you all. (grin) Thanks for reading!
-amitai