Alex almost wished he was being court-martialled again.
Three weeks had passed since the assignment in Tunisia, and he was once again standing in front of his mirror, trying to get the knot on his bowtie to look like they did whenever his tailor had tied it. Of course, he couldn't, and had to make do with his own inferior effort.
He hummed gently as he laced up his shoes, and considered what had befallen him since he had landed back on British soil. It had been a relatively hectic fortnight, especially given the trial and all.
Now that it had happened, the court-martialling incident seemed insignificant, but Alex could still recall the slight trepidation at being called in front of that virtually empty courtroom. It had been co-opted for the solitary purpose of conducting the review of the Tunisian operation, which had been codenamed Fishhook.
The review was conducted at the behest of Jonathon Matthews-Prosser, regarding the accusations of insubordination and assault, seeking "Agent Alex Rider's immediate and complete dismissal from the direct and indirect employment of any government agencies or subsidiaries." Alan Blunt had tried to argue against even holding a trial, according to Ms. Jones, but the Prime Minister had given his assent to pursue the case under internal party pressure from defence force allies in the government.
So Alex had sat in the box usually reserved for the criminally accused while Matthews-Prosser had given his evidence to the panel of four men and one woman sitting in five high backed leather chairs at the judges tables. They listened intently as the blundering National Securities Advisor tried to justify his own actions while painting Alex as a rogue, unreliable agent with no future.
The panel of judges was not made up of simply any run-of-the-mill military figures either, in light of the nature of the accused. Naturally, there was no record of the case ever having been heard, and the entire court building had been emptied of anyone who hadn't signed an OSA at least once in their lives. In the court room the only people present other than the accused and his accuser were the five judges, all of whom Alex recognised from his time in the Prime Minister's war-room from various operation briefings. They were made up of two senior military generals both from the Army and Airforce, whose jurisdiction Operation Fishhook had fallen under, as well as the Minister for Defence, a retired army general who was the director of military prosecutions, and finally the sole woman on the panel, the head of MI5.
Normally, Alan Blunt would have sat in on a case involving an occurrence such as this, but Matthews-Prosser had successfully argued the likelihood of bias towards his own operative. Not that it had made any difference to the outcome in the end.
In a majority decision of 4 to 1, with the only dissenting judge being General Michael Weening, an apparent close friend of Matthews-Prosser, the panel ruled to clear Agent Alex Rider of the insubordination charge completely, and abstain from punishment in light of evidence of self-defence in response to the assault charge. All four members of the SAS and Ben Daniels had given testimonies via video-link that Alex had not raised his hand first.
Jonathon Matthews-Prosser announced two days later, while speaking on BBC News that evening, that he had decided to resign from his post in the government effective immediately, as a result of "undue stress" taking its toll. He looked forward to spending more time with his family and young children.
Alex couldn't help the broad grin spreading across his face when he heard the news.
David Atherton, otherwise known as the Prime Minister, had contacted him in the days after, and apologised for putting Alex through the process, blustering on about 'due process' and 'justifiable positions'. Alex had simply politely agreed with him, and it had almost been a relief when the Prime Minister's daughter had taken the phone away from her father to confirm that Alex was still accompanying her to whatever it was she was doing.
Since that rather needlessly painful and awkward split second where Alex had, in a moment of weakness, agreed to accompany her to her senior school ball, all he had done, besides participating in the trial, was study.
Normally, his teachers would have been delighted at this unexpected turn of events, but he had not touched a single schoolbook in the process of this patch of dedicated revision. In fact, the only book he had touched was bound and had no cover apart from a brown piece of cardboard.
Alex had been bitterly disappointed on some level when he received his first briefing dossier and it had not had 'TOP SECRET' stamped across it in big red letters, but he got used to it. All mission briefings and background information handbooks were unmarked and untraceable to anyone outside the organisation. Alex also happened to know that they contained a miniature trace inserted in the layers of the back cover, to remotely track where they were being kept via GPS.
Of course, the special lead lining of Alex's roof meant no foreign signals could get in or out of his house without him providing explicit digital permission, but MI6 were content knowing that if they couldn't trace the dossier then it was still exactly where they wanted it.
The seven hundred and thirty-two page document was not Alex's favourite thing in the world after reading it almost non-stop for three weeks, but it was his bible. During the day it lived on his kitchen table or the kitchen bench, and in the evening it came to sit on his bedside table while he slept. It was the live-in girlfriend he never had.
Now though Alex patted the book with a mixture of resentment and regret, feeling that even another night spent poring over the nearly four hundred pages of useless surveillance reports and grainy photographs that looked like they had been taken by some camera from the 1900's was still preferable to the alternative.
Because somewhere out that door, waiting for him, was a young blonde woman who was expecting to be treated like a princess by a boy who routinely committed acts of violence and espionage on behalf of his country for a living. His training had not prepared him for this at all, and he was about to receive an unwanted crash course in upper-class social life.
Alex shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the limousine, rubbing the shoulders of his jacket. It was a fraction too small, a result of it not having been tailored with him present but rather having been designed from measurements that someone had found somewhere. Apparently it was of vital importance that all the males wore the same style tuxedo. Alex would have preferred to have had the Anderson & Sheppard one he had designed to conceal his Beretta, but their priorities apparently differed.
He tugged at the silk shirt that had accompanied the entire ensemble, which had turned up at his gate one afternoon, as the London night streamed past in silence. The driver had offered to put on some music and gestured to the bar fridge but Alex had ignored both these suggestions. He had an idea he was going to value silence in the next couple of hours, and as attractive as being less lucid during the upcoming experience sounded, alcohol was not something he was interested in using. Anything that impaired motor or mental function made you vulnerable to surprises or mistakes.
His "date" had been at Gibson Hall in Bishopsgate, North London for the past hour and a half with her parents, as was apparently customary. The girls put the final touches on their outfits and their parents mingled for early refreshments and snacks. Alex had been given the full rundown on the procedure, but he was almost certain his etiquette would leave much to be desired.
Debutant balls, according to Sienna Atherton anyway, were originally a fixture of the royal court, which had been discontinued in the 1950's. St. Paul's School for Girls, ever ones for tradition and ceremony however had decided, in light of their numerous pupils with royal or aristocratic lineage, to revive it as a social event and reclaim it from the Americanised concept it had become.
Women wore white, ivory or light pink with dress trains that they held over one arm, with pearl jewellery, and were presented by their mother's to their selected male partner for the evening. It was no wonder no other schools in the country held them, the costs for everyone involved were simply staggering.
Gibson Hall was 150 years old, an impossibly regal stone building with the statues of previous monarchs lining the roof, illuminated eerily from below as they surveyed the north bank. The limousine pulled up behind two others who were queuing to drop off guests, and Alex noticed with some annoyance that there were actually photographers waiting to snap the young bachelors as they arrived at their prestigious social event.
The rise of the internet had been a nightmare for security agencies and trying to keep their employees faces off the web, and events like this were particularly difficult. MI6 had grudgingly agreed to provide someone from Smithers' division whose entire job for the next few days was to make sure that every photo of Alex that turned up on a social media profile anywhere surreptitiously disappeared. If only the taxpayer could see how their hard-earned was being spent by the government, Alex chuckled to himself.
Sliding out of the backseat of the car quickly and quietly, Alex stepped onto the pavement behind the photographers, and slipped between the bank of men with cameras and the external wall of the building, and in through the front door before anyone realised what was going on. He wasn't waiting around to have flash bulbs go off in his face, and for his face to inadvertently appear on a gossip blog. Of course, they were photographing high school kids, and to them one slipping through the cracks here or there made no difference, so he was forgotten as soon as he crossed the threshold.
It was like stepping into something from the middle ages. Everything that wasn't marble was marble wrapped in gold leaf. His dress shoes made a muffled thud on the lush red carpet as Alex walked along, drinking in the ornate design and architecture.
"Your name please sir?"
There was a man standing a raised sidebar, with what was clearly a list of guests in a large book.
Alex had to pause and think before he responded.
"Alessio Rinnovato," the boy replied with an accent, still admiring the building's interior.
"Ah Mr. Rinnovato, welcome to Gibson Hall, sir. If you would be so kind, first door on your left will lead you to the outdoor garden area, where your peers are waiting."
Alex couldn't help scoffing slightly at the description of these other boys as "peers", but he followed the man's instructions anyway. He was well aware that he was distinctly out of place as a plebeian whose parents didn't own a large corporation or hold some archaic title or distinction. Sienna had informed him one of the numerous phone conversations she'd felt the need to have, that he'd be at a table with a Lord Digby, which apparently was supposed to mean something.
Sienna was also unhappy when she'd been informed that Alex would be adopting the moniker "Alessio Rinnovato" for the duration of the evening, as practice for his upcoming deployment in the south of Italy. Alessio was the Italian contraction of Alex so any forgetfulness by Sienna could easily be passed off as demonstrating a close relationship, but MI6 felt it prudent to give Alex some experience familiarising himself with the individual and his back story before he used the identity in the field.
Alex had felt it would be unnecessarily pedantic of him to point out that the guests at this event were unlikely to care two iota's about his or anyone else's life unless it helped their own, from Alex's experience.
The small reception garden at the rear of Gibson Hall was barely large enough to contain the couple of hundred guests that had arrived and were milling about, munching on canapés and sipping champagne. The bubbly was not any of the 'white sparkling wine' variety either, it was the proper stuff imported from the northern region of France, with the three and four figure price tags. Everything here screamed money at the top of its lungs.
Alex was one of the last guests to arrive, a move that had most certainly been deliberate, and he pulled out his phone from his pocket and his finger hovered over Sienna Atherton's name on his screen. Every time he called her he felt he was reinforcing that it was acceptable for her to reciprocate and call him, which was not something he wished to encourage. And naturally, as the saying went, give them an inch and they'll take a mile, she would call him at least six or seven times for every solitary call he gave her. He was certainly going to have to invest a new phone and number when all this was over. Well, get Smither's to build him a new one anyway.
"Alex! Where have you been?" came the high pitched keen in his ear, causing him to jerk the speaker away from the side of his head.
Deep breaths.
"I'm here now," he replied calmly.
"You were supposed to arrive early so I could make sure nothing was wrong, and the presentations start in fifteen minutes! You better get over here right now!"
"Where exactly is over here?" Alex replied, peering around.
"At the very front, silly! We're leading the class out."
"Of course we are," Alex muttered sullenly. "Sienna," he added more gently, "remember, it's not Alex tonight, its Alessio yes? You can't tell your friends who I am, or else I will have to leave."
"Yes, yes, just get over here already."
"Oh my god! What did you do to your hair!" came the shout as Alex approached.
Sienna rushed towards him, holding her left glove, her eyes wide in shock.
Alex's hair was a dark brown colour, a far-cry from his usual blonde 'surfer' look. The dye was another formula of Smithers', an amazing concoction that would not decay or fade over time, nor could it be washed out by soap or water. Instead, the only way to get rid of it was to rinse ones hair in chilli sauce. Smithers had offered to demonstrate the functionality of this system when Alex had first applied the dye, but Alex had unsurprisingly declined. He wasn't keen on rinsing his hair with chilli sauce only to have to re-dye it later. He wasn't particularly keen on the chilli sauce idea at all, really.
Sienna gave Alex a once over, looking him up and down.
"Well I guess you still look like you, if just a little different," Sienna said, before lifting Alex's arm above her head and twirling underneath it.
"So, what do you think?" she asked when she was facing him again, still clasping his hand in hers. Naturally she was more concerned with her own appearance than any secondary considerations.
Alex froze for a second, before remembering the social etiquette in these scenarios.
"You look... very nice," he replied haltingly.
"Ohhhh," Sienna replied, looking at him brightly, "that's quite an accent you have there, Alessio."
Alex had been training with the voice coach in the past month had helped him a great deal. It was one thing to speak a language fluently, but to sound like you had spoken it your entire life was an entirely different matter. Whenever he'd been forced into any human interaction since his return from Tunisia, he'd spoken exclusively in an Italian accent. It was still discernibly different from his instructors, but his cover story of having an English mother hopefully explained that adequately.
"Mr. Rinnovato," said a voice from behind him, unmistakeably the tone of the nation's Prime Minister.
Alex turned to find himself indeed faced with David Atherton and his wife Samantha. Alex shook hands with both of them awkwardly, and Samantha Atherton looked particularly shocked as if she expected him to do something completely different. Which he supposed he was probably expected to, but observing social customs had never been high up on his bucket list.
He was feeling a bit like he was at the centre of a Mexican stand-off with both the elder Atherton's staring intently at him, and Sienna alternating between staring at him and staring at her parents. It got very awkward, very quickly.
It was a relief then when Sienna tugged on his sleeve, and suggested that they go any prepare themselves. David Atherton opened his mouth as Alex turned to him, as if making to say something but thought better of it. Alex was mightily relieved about that too, he didn't fancy having one of those talks with the country's leader and more importantly the father of the girl who he was escorting.
Another day, another social function. Alex was beginning to wonder whether he was actually even employed by MI6 anymore, or whether they'd traded him to a private security company, and not bothered to tell him.
He was currently standing at the bottom of a grand staircase, which had been installed specially for the event, while David Atherton stood at the podium as he finished his keynote address to the assembled family and friends.
"And finally, it is my privilege to welcome this year's debutantes, from St. Paul's girl's school! Please welcome to the podium Mr. Hewlett to conduct the formal proceedings for the evening."
David Atherton departed the podium across the stage, and took up the empty space next to Alex in the wings. Behind them, stretched out in a long line, was a queue of debutante escorts and their partner's fathers, waiting to be introduced.
Alex stiffened as he felt the hand of the Prime Minister slide across his shoulders, as the man lent in and spoke in hushed tones.
"Mr. Rinnovato," he began very quietly in Alex's ear, "my only daughter is extremely fond of you. Consider this a friendly reminder, do take advantage of her. You are a fleeting, childhood crush, nothing more."
That was a command not a request.
Alex simply nodded slowly, and arm slid off his shoulders, seemingly satisfied its intimidation had been successful. Internally, Alex could have died from embarrassment, as the boy standing behind him smirked knowingly and gave Alex a wink.
Samantha Atherton stood at the podium now, and spoke confidently to the assembled guests who were not parents of children participating. She spoke confidently and clearly, but Alex wasn't really surprised; she looked as if she had been created with social functions in mind.
She waffled slightly, before turning and introducing her husband, her daughter's partner and finally the star of the entire production.
Sienna, even to Alex's eye, looked stunning as she glided down the staircase with practiced grace, taking an inordinate amount of time to descend what were perhaps twenty steps. Alex stood at the bottom like he had been instructed to repeatedly, and waited until she had reached the bottom and had turned to face him. He proceeded to bow, and she curtsied, and Alex offered his arm as a light smattering of applause broke out.
Only then were they allowed to descend the stairs off the stage following the nations Prime Minister and his wife. Unfortunately, while her parents took their seats at a table, Sienna led Alex to an open space in the middle of the room.
"What's going on?" Alex whispered as Sienna turned to face him.
Behind them there was more applause.
"What do you mean what's going on? They're conducting the ceremony still. It wasn't just for me silly," she giggled softly.
"No, I mean why are we standing here? What are you doing..." Alex trailed off as Sienna moved to stand very close to him, and took his hand in hers.
"We're waiting for all the other girls and their partners to be announced, and then we dance our opening piece," Sienna responded.
Alex almost collapsed.
"Dancing!?" he whispered as furiously as he could muster without being loud, "no one mentioned dancing!"
"You're at a debutant ball, dancing is compulsory! What did you think was going to happen?"
"A bit of show, then a hearty meal, and then you'd go out, drink yourself into a stupor and pass out?" Alex replied hopefully, that option now sounding infinitely more preferable to the apparent alternative.
"You can dance, can't you?" asked Sienna suddenly, ignoring Alex's less than flattering guess.
"I haven't danced a step in my life," Alex muttered.
"What!" Sienna half shrieked, startling the occupants of the nearest table, who looked scandalized at the outburst. "Ballroom dancing is compulsory at all schools that I know, how have you not learnt it? You're going to embarrass me in front of some of the most powerful people in the world, and all of my friends, how could you do this to me?"
Alex couldn't help a mocking laugh escape his lips which he tried to cover as a cough.
"You really are the most sheltered, immature girl I have ever met. Can you even hear what comes out of your mouth sometimes?" Alex replied darkly, as he detached himself from Sienna's grasp.
"You... you ungrateful swine!" she shouted, as the entire room now turned to stare at the pair of them, "I invite you to the most important event of my life, an opportunity that hundreds of guys would die for, and you turn up unable to dance and then you insult me!? I've never been so humiliated in all my life. You're a scoundrel, and I hope one of these days someone finally manages to kill you, Alex Rider!"
Her final words hung in the room as Alex stared at her, his eyes black. Without a word he slipped off his jacket and deposited it at her feet, before turning and striding away while the entire room watched in a mixture of silent awe and disapproval. Alex couldn't give a toss. He was done with high society.
Ermmm... hello again. We seem to keep meeting like this. Anyway, forgetting that it's been like two months since I updated, I hope you enjoyed nearly four thousand words of good... well whatever you think it is. I feel I should point out that Gibson Hall is indeed a real place, and an extremely elegant one at that. To prove somewhat to you guys that I haven't forgotten you, I've actually been compiling photo albums of the places and towns I have used or that I intend to use, I'm hoping some of you will be interested in seeing all these amazing houses and locations I'm using, because they mostly exist in real life. I will, however, have to go through and hide some of the albums until those places pop up in the story, to avoid confusion. That should come with the next chapter, and of course I'll put the link on my profile, and remind you guys then!
I'd like to give a special thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it was the most reviews I ever received on something I'd written, and it was extremely flattering, so thank you! If you have any opinion or are interested in seeing some of these photos (I think I've compiled nearly 70 so far) drop me a review and let me know.