Welcome to new MI6, as opposed to old MI6 where apparently every man and his dog knew where it was, and it's security system appeared to consist of a piece of string that was attached a can of rocks which rattled when someone opened the front door. Surely, surely secret services would have better security systems than pretending to be a bank, and backing it up by having 'an-ex agent with a pistol' on reception. Even if that did crop up in this chapter... anyway, as always, please read and review!
The bell rang for the final time that day, and Alex quickly packed his books away as chatter broke out around him. Discussions ranged from football to schoolwork, with not much variation in the middle. It was part of what frustrated Alex so much about coming back to Brookland; everyone and everything was so mundane.
It was a relief then, when his pocket vibrated to inform him he was being called. No one else, not even Tom had the number for his phone, it was strictly business. He placed his books in his locker, glancing to either side to ensure that no one was in earshot, before answering it.
"Rider speaking."
"Agent Rider, this is reception. This is a cursory call to remind you of your meeting today at Liverpool Street. You are expected at 4 o'clock."
With that, the lady at the other end hung up. Of course, she was an ex-agent also, who had been deemed physically unable to perform her duties, he assumed, and so had taken up a desk job like so many retired operatives had. It was the cushy way to keep working without really working, and Alex could never see him reducing himself to that level; he needed to keep his mind and body active or else he'd go insane.
Tom had athletics training on Monday evenings, so Alex didn't get to see him after school had finished. It made Alex reminisce back to the days when he too had competed in athletics and the football team. That had no longer been a possibility after he turned 15. No team was interested in having a player that would mysteriously disappear for three months at the drop of a hat.
It was a lonely bike-ride back to his Knightsbridge home, which he completed quickly. He wanted to give himself enough time to shower and freshen up before he arrived at Royal and General. He knew he was going to be put on the fire for disobeying orders and ignoring protocol, so he wanted to make a good impression. It may not have seemed important, but to a keen observer of the human condition and psyche like Alex, appearances were everything.
After his shower, Alex put on business slacks, a slim fitted, light blue shirt, and leather shoes, before running a casual hand through his hair to make sure it was still as artfully messy as ever. This time on his way to the door, however, he grabbed his car keys and not his helmet. MI6 had expressly banned anything aside from non-descript cars entering and exiting the building to avoid arousing suspicion, so Alex was confined to his Mercedes.
Alex had selected the car on the advice of MI6, from their list of acceptable vehicles. The list was short, and only permitted shades of white, grey and black. Nothing that could possibly turn a head or draw an unwanted eye to the building.
Entering the car park at Royal and General was comparable, Alex imagined, to trying to drive a tank into Fort Know. The security was meticulous, even for Alex's high standards. Each vehicle entered through a steel sliding door after swiping their 'employee' card, which appeared regulation, but was in fact a finger print sensor that registered anyone who had touched the card in the previous 24 hours. Once the first door opened, Alex progressed slowly forward, where he was confronted with another identical door to the one that slid shut behind him.
Confined in the steel and concrete blast-proof box, the car was scanned top to toe for explosives and registered threats such as weapons, the x-ray scanning plate making short work of whatever material his Mercedes was made of. He'd seen a print out one day of what that machine could do; it had been like looking through glass.
Once that was complete, he was allowed into the car park. Getting into the elevator took a retina scan along with two minutes of voice recognition and password entry. People always wondered why government response was so notoriously tardy; it was because whenever an emergency meeting was called to decide on a response, it took people half a lifetime to just make it into the relevant building.
As soon as Alex had set foot in the Royal and General car park, he'd got his poker face on. Betray no nerves, because nervousness suggested guilt, regardless of the truth. Quiet confidence was the most impressive, and Alex had perfected its maintenance in all situations where the need arose.
Alex, of course, had left his sidearm in the car, in his customised hidey-hole behind the steering wheel, which would frustrate even the most committed thieves. The only way it would be found was if someone physically removed the steering wheel.
The Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife that he was so fond off sat in the glove box, in its sheath. Alex wasn't worried about that falling into the wrong hands, he had complete faith in his ability to return it to the correct set of hands if confronted with it.
The elevator ride from the basement to the top floor of MI6 headquarters took less than a minute, including the tinny voice that informed him he was expected without him even having to touch a button. There wasn't actually a button that could be pushed if one wanted to see Alan Blunt or Ms. Jones. It was strictly by appointment only.
When the doors slid open on the top floor, there were only two options. To Alex's right was a door, immediately as he exited, to Ms. Jones' office. To his left, there was an S-bend, which opened out into Mr. Blunt's office, which is the direction Alex headed.
The sight that confronted him, to his mind, was one of the more amusing he'd experienced, not that he let it show of course. There were three people in the room, the two usual occupants and one other. Jonathon Matthews-Prosser was standing behind a seated Alan Blunt, and the smoke was almost visible as his face went beetroot red at the cause of his displeasure.
"Mr. Rider..." he spluttered, a rather unconvincing starting place Alex thought, but he kept silent.
"Agent Rider, Mr. Matthews-Prosser has voiced considerable distaste for the way you conducted yourself last night at the charity gala," Alan Blunt interjected, and Alex gave him his best wide-eyed look. He knew he'd never fool the head of MI6, but he got the feeling this was more about pacifying their unwanted guest and shipping him out as quickly as possible, than retributive action.
"You will never work with me again..." Jonathon Matthews-Prosser's rage had now developed into apoplexy, but Alan Blunt simply nodded.
The tone of dismissal was unmistakeable, even for an imbecile like Jonathon Matthews-Prosser.
"If that is all, Jonathon? I'm sorry to hurry you, but we have serious business to attend to."
Alex had to look elsewhere to suppress his grin. That was the closest Alan Blunt got to humour, was being short-tempered with half-wits. It happened irregularly, but it was entertaining when it did.
"No coincidence just how well it rhymes with tosser," Alex muttered under his breath, as Matthews-Prosser made his way to the elevator. He received the coldest glare of his life as the man stared at him until the doors slide shut.
"Now Agent Rider, we have business to attend to."
That was going to be more of a problem.
"If, for whatever reason, next time you decide to take liberties with your asset, make damn sure that you can construct a cover that is preferably less transparent than my office window. In fact, my office window is an excellent metaphor; you can see out, but they cannot see in. I was not expecting a phone call, on top of all the panicked and frankly unwelcome visits I received in the wake of yesterdays little incident, telling me that one of my agents was taking extreme liberties with the only daughter of our Prime Minister."
"Your little stunt at the checkpoint was suicidally stupid and the reasoning apparently incoherent. Oh yes, the Prime Minister spoke with his daughter, who then passed on the information to me. She seemed to think she was doing you a favour by recounting every little detail of your little escapade. Fortunately for you no one was hurt and we were able to cover for all the damage you did."
Alex said nothing as he received his dues. He'd known it was coming, and despite Alan Blunt never once raising his voice, there was an undeniable note that rang somewhere between disappointment and cold fury. In the light of day, he had committed some unthinkable acts the previous evening, tearing up the book of protocols and then setting fire to it, before scattering its ashes just for good measure.
And then as quickly as his remonstrations had begun, they ceased, and Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones were moving on, and by the expressions on their usually placid faces, it was something big.
Ms. Jones stood and sucked on her peppermint, staring at Alex over her half moon spectacles, as if appraising him, just as she had done the first time they had met.
Whatever they were planning, it was massive.
"Late last year," Alan Blunt began, as he unfurled a map on his desk, "the incumbent Italian government was rapidly losing popular support and Prime Minister Belusconti faced a vote of no confidence in the parliament for attempting to alter the constitution illegitimately, in a move that was seen to benefit organized crime syndicates."
"You may have seen it on the news, several countries threatened boycotts and sanctions at the United Nations if the bill was passed," Ms. Jones interjected.
"The bill failed as did the vote of no confidence, but gave grounds for the opposition to legally challenge Belusconti through the courts in an attempt to have him impeached. The Supreme Court ruled in favour of the opposition, and called for elections to be held to re-elect a government, but Belusconti insisted on his right to appeal, and remain Prime Minister while this occurred. Then reports emerged of attempted bribery of Supreme Court and debate about whether the impeachment was effective immediately."
"Then, three days into the New Year, Italy's biggest bank, Banca Nazionale Italiana, collapsed and plunged the country into crisis. The European Union attempted to construct a bailout package, but with no recognizable government, there was no way to negotiate or implement its conditions," Ms. Jones said.
"I saw all of this on television, they won't stop talking about it, but how is this relevant to me?"
Alex was seated in front of the table, and was looking at the map closely.
"Normally it wouldn't be. In Italy, things are a little different. I take it you've heard of the Mafia?" Ms. Jones enquired rhetorically.
"Yes of course. Everyone has seen The Godfather. Sicilian gangsters and their white fedoras, toting Tommy Guns and smoking cigars."
"Yes well that is the 1920's Mafia, certainly. In the 21st century, the Mafia aren't even called the Mafia anymore, they are the Cosa Nostra these days, and up until 2006 they were subject to an extremely harsh law known as 41 BIS which was extremely limiting for their operations. However, Belusconti's parliament failed to agree on a renewal in 2006, and the constitutional protection was all that remained," Ms Jones explained patiently.
"But since the turn of the millennium, the Cosa Nostra was not Italy's biggest concern. Are you aware of a group known as the 'Ndrangheta?'' Mr. Blunt asked, staring at Alex.
"I've only heard of them," Alex admitted, "I know nothing about them."
"Well you should, because they used to control 80% of the cocaine that was imported into Europe, up until only a few months ago, anyway."
Alex sensed that this was about to all become clear as why he was relevant to this situation became apparent.
"Why only up until a few months ago?" Alex asked.
"Because in the midst of all the other turmoil, the south east of Italy became united, in a completely unprecedented move. The Cosa Nostra and the 'Ngrangheta came together peacefully, and amalgamated themselves into a behemoth crime syndicate that controlled the entire country, save for a few pockets of rival gangs and smugglers."
"Why do we care about Italy's internal crime problems?" Alex asked.
"Because the 'Ngrangheta, it has been estimated, contributed 3% of Italy's gross domestic product. That is $63 billion US dollars a year in drugs, weapon and people smuggled across the planet. For the Cosa Nostra, add another 20%. This is serious money, they are as large as any multinational corporation, and they are particularly in the business of exporting drugs to mainland Europe. If you buy a bag of cocaine in Soho tonight, there's an 85% chance that some of that money is going into the pocket of someone in the south of Italy."
"The problem used to be manageable, they would conduct an elaborate dance with authorities, which protected the rest of the world to an acceptable degree. But public servants and public sector workers haven't seen an honest pay check this year, and they are getting desperate. Border security is struggling to keep its collective nose clean. Bribery is rife, and the results are devastating."
"The amount of cocaine and crack seized by police is already more this year than the total amount last year; heroine is on the up, as is ice and MDA. Ecstasy tablets are pouring onto our shores, and we are trying to plug the breach in the dam with the resources we have, but it's simply unmanageable. The combination of the Italian political crisis, and the merging of the two behemoths of Italian crime has created the perfect scenario for criminals seeking to make a profit, and it's impacting every nation on the planet where drugs are sold."
Alex breathed out slightly. This was big. Really big.
"So what am I here for?" he asked.
Alan Blunt stared him coldly in the eyes.
"Italy cannot be relied upon to get itself in order, and deal with the problem. So we will deal with it instead. The new amalgamation of the Sicilian families has been facilitated by one family in particular, a very special family. Giorgio Benevento was born in 1957 in a very unique situation."
"He had a father from the 'Ngrangheta and a mother who was the daughter of a Mafia don. Such a marriage was unheard of, so they eloped," Ms Jones explained, as Alan Blunt looked slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of discussing relationships.
"How very Romeo and Juliet of them," Alex commented drily.
"Perhaps, but I doubt Romeo and Juliet had much else in common. Giorgio Benevento's parents set about living the only way they knew how; by being career criminals and running their own syndicate/family."
"They became known for the ruthlessness and brutality, going so far as to execute all the family members on the father's side to seize control of their patch after a turf war broke out. Needless to say, they rose quickly in reputation, and the current Benevento has done nothing to halt that rise. He is the only family head alive who has an active foot in both camps, and as the biggest, most influential family in Italy, he brought the 'Ngrangheta and Cosa Nostra together."
"And elected himself leader?" Alex asked.
"Well, not officially. But you must be a brave man to vote against Giorgio Benevento I imagine. The police want to speak to him in relation to nearly ten murders, and many more suspect disappearances, but the local police force has been extremely uncooperative."
"Bribery?" Alex asked.
"Of course. Especially now, when everyone is struggling. The Mafia have money and the people are desperate. It is difficult to convince a starving man that it is morally wrong to help drug dealers if it ensures your own survival and well-being, as well as that of your family."
His role still hadn't been addressed however, and Alex repeated his question.
"So what am I going to be doing?"
I'm not sure if this counts as a cliff-hanger, but I promise the next chapter is going to be better and hopefully more interesting for you. I can imagine most of you are screaming obscenities at me through the monitor about how little you care about the political background and history of my Italy, and I'm sorry if I bored you to tears. But most of the stuff to do with the Cosa Nostra and 'Ngrangheta I referenced is true, including the estimated 3% of GDP stat, which is incredible. I try to research as much as possible to keep everything very authentic, so if anything interests you, you can either ask me or google it because it almost certainly exists/happened in real life.
Anyway, please take a second to leave me a review; you can't imagine how great they are when I'm trying to motivate myself to keep writing, I legitimately read them all for your thoughts and opinions :)