CHAPTER 2- DEPLOYMENT.

Alex sat comfortably in the first class seat he'd been given. He flipped through the files Mrs. Jones had given him right before he left. He wondered how it had all gone south so quickly. One moment he was enjoying a cold but fun camp out with his best mate, the next his world had darkened, leaving him alone and hanging on to the edge of an abyss so deep he knew he'd never claw his way out of if he fell.

He stared at a page he had memorized by now. There was no mistaking the face that looked back at him. Yassen Gregorovitch. His secondary target, and the hit man that had ended Jack's- and his- life.

He wasn't fool enough to think he could do this and come home the same as he'd always been. Frankly, he didn't care. He was going to hunt the man down, and then take out the SCORPIA organization. He didn't know much about them, and once again, didn't care. They were targets to him. Nothing more, nothing less.

But it would all end in Russia, one way or the other. Alex was determined of that. MI6 had even managed to track down the Russian's permanent address in Moscow, under the name Sergey Ostrovicha. The studio they had managed to find him was across the street, and had already been furnished. It was awaiting his arrival.

He shifted, and felt the weight of the holster he was wearing under his jacket, the specially made gun nestled next to his ribs. He had another on his ankle, and another, more visible and normal gun, on his hip.

His visit to Smithers before he left had been awkward, to say the least, but he'd gotten what he wanted.

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"Alex, old boy, whatever are they sending you for now to need such an arsenal?" Smithers had chattered happily.

There was no humor in Alex's eyes as he looked at his only true friend at MI6. "Assassination."

Smithers frowned, as though not quite believing him, but did a double take as he looked closer at the boy. There was something different about him, harder, colder. He sighed.

"Revenge is a lousy reason to kill, Alex, and I'm rather sorry to say that you'll find no satisfaction in it."

Alex nodded. "I don't need satisfaction, Smithers, I just need it done. What have you got for me?"

"Three guns, each one specially made to fit your hand, all finger print sensitive. For the moment, they're loaded with blanks. You need to spend some time at the firing range with me to work out any kinks in the balance. None of them have any traceable make, as they are all Smithers Specials. Each one is also equipped with internal silencers, as you requested," Smithers reported sadly.

"And the safety function?" Alex inquired, testing the weight and balance of each one.

"There isn't a manual safety, again, as you requested. I don't think it's a very good idea, but Mrs. Jones was quite adamant that I do my best to fill your requirements for these weapons. The safety mechanism is voice activated, and will respond only to your voice. We need to activate it. Please pick a code word, something that isn't likely to come up in casual conversation."

"Jack," Alex answered instantly. By the time that name came from his lips again, it would be time to start shooting.

Smithers nodded. "While I disagree with what you're doing, I must say I've had some challenging experiences with these weapons, and since I had to completely remake them, I've added some of my own special touches."

Alex chuckled. "Of course you have."

"This one," Smithers held up one of the guns, this one with a red line around the barrel, "fires heat seeking bullets. Each round has a mass of micro circuitry in it. I'm afraid I can only give you thirty of these bullets, as there wasn't much time. Testing proved that it will seek out the highest heat source available to its sensors. Just in case, I would suggest you put this one in your ankle holster."

Alex nodded. He picked up the one with the blue line around the barrel. "And this one?"

Smithers smiled. "That, my dear boy, is my pride and joy. It's completely voice activated. The safety word you picked will power it up, and from there you have a choice of three commands. 'Thermal' will flip up a target screen which will give the thermal reading of whoever you're aiming it at. 'Line up' will target and fire at up to three targets all within the same area. There's enough power in this thing to push a bullet through all three, though you must manually use the trigger. And the last command is simple. 'Lock' will fire three bullets in rapid succession. For normal use, simple pull the trigger. All ammunition have built in micro navigation sensors."

Alex grinned. "Smithers, you're in the wrong business. This is genius." There was no way to tell how specially designed and digitalized the guns were. They looked like normal hand guns, standard issue for most federal agents. He picked up the last one. "Dare I ask?"

"Actually, that's just a normal gun, with the exception of the finger print recognition and voice activated safety. This is the one I recommend you carry on your hip. It uses standard ammunition, which we can give you a good supply of, so there's no need to be careful with how much you use."

Alex nodded. "And the ID?"

Smithers picked up the small leather pass case. Inside was a plastic card no bigger than a credit card. "This will get you on the plane with the guns, and past any security. It will also inform authorities as to who you are, and who you work for. It's not guaranteed, Alex, Mi6 has long arms, but in Russia, not everyone is a friend."

"I understand."

"And should you need an immediate escape from said authorities, simply press your thumbnail into the ditch at the bottom. That will turn the card into a smoke bomb, with a delay of a five count," Smithers grinned at his own humor. Alex smiled too. One way or another, the ID card would get him out of trouble.

"Thank you, Smithers. For everything."

Smithers nodded sadly. "You know there's no turning back from here, don't you? There'll be no way out, if you succeed. They won't let you go after this."

"I know, Smithers. But I have nowhere to go anyway," Alex answered softly, silently pleading with the only man who just might have a chance of talking him out of it.

"Right then. Take this." Smithers handed him a blackberry. "It's a scanner, communicator, and GPS. It also has my direct number, should you need any more specialty items. It also has a voice activated command. If you say the word 'dead' it will transmit one last signal back to us to inform us of your death, and will then self destruct. I very much hope you won't need it, but it will finalize our dealings with you."

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Alex turned back to the face in the file, and for the first time, began to question his motives. Was he aiming at SCORPIA because he couldn't bring himself to kill the only link to his past?

Yassen was a strange man who had, on several occasions, both saved and ended his life. Why was it that every time something major happened, this man was at the root of it? Were they connected, somehow? One fate to parallel another?

And there was a feeling that Alex couldn't shake, like this was all too perfect, too organized. Anyone who knew him, and whether he liked it or not, Yassen did, would know that Jack's death would send him over the edge. They had to have known what would come next, that Alex would come seeking revenge.

Was this a trap, of some sort? Had he become enough of a nuisance that SCORPIA would go to all this trouble to lure him to them? If it was a trap, it was extravagantly done. The perfect setup. Alex Rider goes off on a suicide revenge mission, and is never heard from again.

Alex shifted again, his unease translating to his nerves. Something wasn't adding up. There were so many strings being attached to him and pulled that he really couldn't tell who was pulling which ones.

There was only one man who had the answers.

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Stepping out the front doors of the Sheremetyevo International Airport, Alex inhaled the cold air. January in Russia, and he was standing there in jeans, sneakers and a light jacket. Most definitely not one of his brighter moments.

He carried with him only a single duffle bag that he hadn't let out of his sight for a moment. Moscow had quite the criminal reputation. Shifting it higher onto his shoulder, he lifted his arm to call a cab. He studied the vehicle that pulled up carefully, then got in, shrugging his shoulders.

After giving the address, he sat back. He could feel the driver glancing at him every once in a while, assessing him, weighing him. Finally, irritated, Alex looked at him through the rear mirror, and pulled aside his jacket, revealing the gun at his hip.

"I wouldn't even think about it, if I were you. I've had a bad day," he growled menacingly, knowing the fake driver for what he was.

The driver dropped him off at the address, and left without waiting to accept the money. Alex looked up at the building that was to be his home for the next several weeks. Posh. Russian architecture was always a wonder to behold, and as the country hosting the most millionaires in the world, Moscow had been modernized without losing it's touch of tradition.

He walked up to the door man, wondering how this was going to work if the man didn't speak English, and he didn't speak a word of Russian.

The older man smiled. "I am Gieve, and you must be young Mr. Rider. You are on time, your Flat is ready." He held open the door.

Alex nodded and entered without saying a word. Gieve shut the door behind him, obviously quite used to the treatment. The lobby was as posh as the outside, bright and sparkling with traditional Russian art.

His Flat was on the top floor, and when he entered it, he whistled. MI6 had definitely not spared any expense. He had a couch, a kitchen table, a computer desk with a very fancy looking computer sitting on it, his bed was a king size four poster, a large high boy dresser and a nightstand. There was a flat screen telly that was probably at least 52 inches, along with a home theatre section and a mass of DVD's. There was even a small home gym tucked away in the corner. It was all open concept. The only actual room was the bathroom, and one large closet for his things. There was no overhead light, but plenty of lamps spread throughout the room.

As nice as it all was, he was even more surprised to see the living room littered with surveillance equipment. Cameras, screens, a telescope, and a case that mostly likely held bugs. Throwing his duffle bag on the black leather couch, he noticed a note stuck to the DVD player that said 'Play Me'.

He did so, and laughed as Smithers face came up.

"Hello, old boy, and welcome to Moscow. I'm sure you've already figured out by now how dangerous a place it can be for a young boy alone. There are several security systems in place around your Flat. The first, you might notice, are the balcony doors. They're bullet proof, as is the bathroom window. If you'll turn and look at the door, you'll notice a palm scanner hidden in the panel by the knob. Only you can let someone else in, otherwise they can beat at the door all night and all they'll accomplish is pissing you off," Smithers chattered happily.

Alex laughed out loud.

"You'll take note of the surveillance equipment we had brought in for you. To keep an eye on your neighbors, as I'm sure you've guessed." Smithers coughed. "The doorman, Gieve, has been thoroughly checked out. He's a harmless old man who can't afford to retire. Once you boot up the computer, you'll find a file on him. Mrs. Jones wanted to bug your Flat, but I couldn't do it, in good conscience. You deserve your privacy on this mission, and this Flat may be your only retreat."

Alex sighed, thanking the man. Smithers always seemed to think of everything. Tired from his long flight, Alex took off his jacket and started taking off his holsters as Smithers voice continued on the telly. Smithers went on to tell him how to use each piece of equipment, it's ranges, and apologize for it not being of his own make. By the time he finished with it, Alex was down to PJ pants and was rummaging in the kitchen for something to eat. There was plenty of snacks, cereal, drinks, crackers, but nothing to really cook anything with.

"I expect by now you're finding there's little food in the kitchen. Here's the thing, Alex. You're going to be expected to live a certain lifestyle. Unlike most countries, the rich are among those less noticed in Moscow, mostly because no one wants their attention. In your account, there is a large sum of money. Your rent is already prepaid for two months. The money in the account is to suit you for the lifestyle. Clothes, parties, booze and girls are the general motto of the young around there. There is a daily cash limit of $10,000, which we fully expect you to need."

Alex had stopped all foraging of the cupboards. They didn't really expect him to live like that, did they?

Smithers chuckled. "I almost wish I was there to see the expression on your face, instead of giving this over a DVD. Don't forget you still have to find a way to get to your target, and that will mean you'll need the freedom to move around the city unnoticed, and perhaps even make a few contacts. A boy your age should have already been immersed in these activities for some time now, so do be careful not to show your inexperience."

Alex blushed deeply.

"And don't blush," Smithers ordered sternly. "Beautiful women are a dime a dozen around there, my lad, and they don't much care so much about age as they do your wallet. In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom you'll find a bottle of aspirin. They're not, in case you didn't guess. They're alcohol inhibitors. They will work to bind the alcohol in your system to a certain extent. With good acting skills, you can appear quite drunk while still maintaining the majority of your alertness. Needless to say, the more you drink, the less they work. Unfortunately, they will make you quite ill the following day, in which case the larger bottle of aspirin is just that. You will find a fully stocked bar by pushing back the panels of the Kitchen breakfast bar."

Alex checked it out, whistling. It was definitely fully stocked!

"As for eating, you will be expected to dine in the finest restaurants. I should expect Gieve will be able to help you with that. Doormen are usually useful like that. Now, lad. I don't know your experience level with the opposite sex, or the same sex, for that matter, but let me warn you. Prostitutes are a part of your lifestyle, but be very careful, because they most likely aren't. They are easily paid off, so never take one home unless you intend to finish the deed, or they will begin to speculate and are capable of blowing your cover. Moscow is riddled with crime lords, and most of the prostitutes belong to them."

Smithers scrunched his face onscreen, as though thinking. "I do believe that to be that. If it helps any, this is what is called deep cover. It was your father's favourite part of the job."

Alex laughed.

"Well, good luck my boy, and do be careful. I look forward to seeing you again."

The screen went blank, leaving Alex to shake his head. He had never been treated like this before, and could see his fathers reason for enjoying this side of spying. He didn't like the idea of being forced the mingle, but had to admit, it made sense. He hadn't thought of how he was going to get in to the Summit, merely that he had to.

Exhausted, and definitely overloaded, Alex fell into the bed, surprised at it's comfort. He would think tomorrow.

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