Do you think it's realistic for Alex to be relatively wealthy? I mean SAS soldiers are on 100k a year, and Alex is far superior to them, plus he has his fathers and his uncles inheritance... And MI6 are desperate to keep him. I'd be very interested to know how much secret service members are paid, or at least how much you think they should be paid, anyway.
A quick shower, and a plain grey t-shirt and blue zip down tracksuit pants later, his charge reappeared at the top of the stairs, padding down barefoot with her dress over her arm, and heels in her hands.
Alex had removed himself to his lounge room, where his massive 70 inch Sony Bravia television dominated the room.
"So you're not all business then," commented Sienna Atherton, as she curled herself up into one of the seats.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you obviously like watching movies or something. That's bigger than my television at home, and I go to private boarding school."
"So you keep reminding me."
"How do you get all this money, anyway? I mean, surely the government isn't paying you that much?"
"I am the seventh highest paid employee in the intelligence services behind the head of MI6 and the deputy and five senior agents, if you really want to know. I am a 'valued team member' I think they described it as."
"So that's how you got so much money, by being a valued team member? What on earth does that even mean?"
"No, I told them if they didn't pay me properly, I'd jump ship to the CIA. They were offering me three times MI6's first contract offer."
"Why didn't you go?"
"As I said, I like to think of myself as a patriot. I fight for my country, like any regular soldier, I'm just much better at it than your average Private Ryan. Do you have any preferences as to what we watch?" Alex asked, firmly changing the subject. He didn't like discussing money, it made him uncomfortable.
This discomfort wasn't due to the social taboo either, but more to do with the power of money. Alex disliked the concept of this all powerful force that drove the globe so completely. The thought of unregulated influence of that stature made him slightly nervous.
"What have you got on offer?" she asked, as Alex picked up the remote.
"I have every Chelsea game for the last six months recorded on my hard drive recorder. Other than that, it's your pick of the satellite channels."
"So you like football then?"
"Season ticket holder. I go to every home game that I'm in London for. Honestly though, you've got more questions than a recently awoken coma patient."
Sienna Atherton ignored the jibe, instead she snatched the remote control from his grasp, and turned on his television.
Alex had been hoping that the selection of program would be an amicable agreement between the two of them. After thirty seconds of "Sex and the City" he gave up all hope and just prayed for his nightmare to be over.
The call didn't come in until four in the morning, and Alex had retreated to his study and left his charge in front of the television.
About five minutes into the awful program she had selected, she had started complaining about her phone, as if she'd only just realised she'd didn't have it. Her bag had been collateral damage in Alex's extraction of her, but it didn't stop her moaning bitterly about it.
The message he received was simple, and less than twenty minutes later, Alex could see on the feed from his external security cameras that there was a black convoy of three cars parked outside.
It was with great reluctance that Alex keyed in the code to his front gate. Only have a single visitor to his house for the entire year was one too many, in his opinion, let alone three vehicles worth. After the gate had slid completely back, the central vehicle in the convoy turned into his driveway, leaving the other two to flank the entrance, in some ridiculous security guard posturing exhibition. Honestly, could they be begging for any more attention?
The car pulled to a halt behind the elderly Mercedes that was still stuck in the middle of Alex's driveway, and the front doors opened as the driver and passenger stepped out into his gravel driveway, and held the back doors open for the vehicles remaining occupants.
Alex, who by now was dressed in a pair of sports tracksuit pants and a plain white t-shirt, padded past the lounge where the television was still blaring, to open the front door.
Alex had to admit, the sight of the nations Prime Minister and his wife climbing the front stairs of his home was a little disconcerting. They in turn were flanked by the National Securities Advisor, or whatever bogus role had been fabricated for that man this week, and a personal security operative, who followed the country's most powerful man everywhere he went during his working day.
The National Securities Advisor, Mr. Jonathon Matthews-Prosser, was not Alex's favourite person in the world. It might have had something to do with Alex informing the man that he would ram the proposal that the man had suggested for the allocation of agents logged time somewhere decidedly uncomfortable. He already detested being stuck doing security enough as it was, however he had to admit that a little more tact might have been in order.
Mr. Matthews-Prosser was positively steaming from the ears as he approached, and Alex figured a little good-will probably would have helped. However, in his defence, it wasn't Alex's fault the man was a blithering idiot who was more paranoid than the lovechild of Joseph Stalin and Howard Hughes.
"Agent Rider..." he breathed from behind the Prime Minister, who was standing there observing Alex in a puzzled manner from the top step of his short staircase. "You have broken more regulations..."
"Agent Rider!" interrupted David Atherton, "I would like to see my daughter, if you don't mind!"
"Certainly Prime Minister," Alex replied, gesturing through his front door, "right this way."
David Atherton was followed quickly across the threshold by his wife, Samantha Atherton, and the security guard. Alex went to follow, but he found a hand on his shoulder.
"Agent Rider, what happened tonight...I don't know who you think you are..." spluttered Jonathon Matthews-Prosser, but Alex pushed his arm away none to gently, and the man stumbled backwards.
"I am not one of your bit-part goons, if you give me a job, I do it my way. Now, unless you want me to expel you forcibly from my property I suggest you wait out here. And for god sake, don't touch anything. I can't remember what still has a current running through it and what doesn't," Alex said, as he continued through the doorway, before turning back.
"Oh, and if your security ape who followed in Mr. and Mrs PM into my house had any electrical equipment on him, I hope you're not expecting it to work on the way out? I may have turned on my electro-magnetic pulse plate underneath my doormat as he entered. Don't worry, as long as he wasn't trying to record anything, it'll be fine. Now why don't you wait in the car? You can use the stereo while you wait, I'm sure," smiled Alex in the sweetest manner he could muster.
The door shut with a thud in the face of one of the most influential men in the country.
He wasn't worried though, he knew Alan Blunt found him more of an insufferable fool than Alex did.
"Oh darling!"
The voice of Samantha Atherton as she was reunited with her only daughter made Alex retch. Well at least pretend to, anyway. The security guard had looked askance at him for this, but Alex didn't care; at least he wasn't being paid to be a private lap-dog.
The blonde girl had been curled up on his couch, sleeping soundly until her mother had charged in and roused her. She
Sienna Atherton had the decency to sound slightly embarrassed by all the fawning attention, and as she hugged her father in the doorway to his lounge room, where some woman with a head shaped like a horse was still filling his television screen, she locked eyes with Alex.
"Alex was the real hero today," she announced, as she moved towards him, arms outstretched.
Alex almost went into lockdown. This wasn't part of the arrangement. This was an emotional moment, and by god, was it awkward. He patted her gently on the back, trying to avoid the stares of her parents. What was the protocol for this? He adopted a serious face, not wanting to give any sense that he possibly could have been enjoying it. She was a hot blonde, after all. It was a bit hard not to enjoy it slightly.
The entire pick-up had taken all of five minutes, and as he stood there and had both his cheeks kissed after being released from her grasp, he concluded that it would be churlish to ask for his clothing back.
"I'll call you," were the ominous parting words as she was escorted down his hallway by her parents, the security guard blocking his view of the family, as if he half expected Alex to launch a vicious attack while their backs were turned. It was fortunate however, because it meant there was no chance of Sienna seeing Alex roll his eyes skyward.
The last relatively mundane chapter (I hope). I apologise if there hasn't been enough explosions or gunfights, or real story progression, but we're building towards it. Next chapter will contain most of the details of Alex's major assignment, but I'm going to have him do a couple of different things before I ship him out to Italy. Anyway, if you enjoyed it, or have any thoughts at all, please leave me a review!