I DO NOT OWN ALEX RIDER.

Chapter 2

"It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever."

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

"You can't possibly be thinking about dragging him back into this mess again!" The rough, almost familiar voice was what he first heard as he woke.

"I know this is regrettable," another voice, this time, very familiar, answered. Thought it was higher pitched, the woman spoke lowly, "but there is no other choice. I've tried to manage without him for the past couple of years—"

"Well, try harder! He was just a kid when you dragged him into this whole mess. He deserves to have a normal life."

There was a pause in conversation before the second voice replied, "They were after him. It's not my choice anymore whether or not to bring him in."

There was a sigh and someone's footsteps were heard, growing fainter and fainter.

"You can get up now, Alex."

Alan—or, rather, Alex—thought briefly of ignoring her, but the heart rate monitor sped up with a beep-beep-beep, alerting the two that he indeed was awake.

"Jones," he acknowledged, forcing his eyes open. His voice was rough and his mouth felt dry. As if knowing what he was thinking, Jones placed a water bottle on the table in front of him, watching impassively as he struggled to sit up.

"So you heard?" Jones smoothed her grey skirt, watching Alex as he began to drink slowly. Her beady eyes took in his every move. "Director Byrne didn't want to get you involved in this, if that's any consolation."

It wasn't, and Jones knew it.

Her eyes softened, "Look, Alex, I really wish I didn't have to drag you back into this—"

"—but you have no other choice," Alex finished for her, setting the capped bottle of water down. He was pleased to note that the heart rate monitor didn't increase at all as he struggled with his inner conflicting emotions. "Save it and explain."

Jones reached into her pocket. At first, Alex thought that maybe she was reaching for another one of her dreaded mints, but when he turned his head more to look at her, he realized she'd pulled out a phone—or something that resembled a phone.

"What do you remember about yesterday?" Jones asked carefully, taking a cautious few steps forward.

Alex's suspicion grew at her words, "A bomb. I tried to stop it, but I was too late."

"Yes, that was rather... unfortunate," Jones said very carefully. She tapped something on her phone and held it up. There was a picture of the woman that had accepted the call. She was dead, no doubt. Guilt filled Alex. "Do you know this woman?"

Alex studied the picture for a minute, racking his brain, "No," he finally said, "should I?"

Jones pocketed the phone, "She was a senator. Very important."

Alex watched as Jones reached into her pocket once more and took out a peppermint. She popped it into her mouth, crumpling the wrapper. Alex knew that she only did this when she was agitated.

"In the past twelve months, three U.S. senators, four CIA agents, and two MPs died in suspicious circumstances. Everyone's on edge—CIA, MI6, you name it. We've already conducted a few missions, and we barely have any more information than we did a year ago."

"And you want me to help," Alex stated dully, knowing the glint in her eyes.

"She wasn't the only target today, you know," Jones tapped the phone in her pocket, sending Alex a knowing look. "It wasn't a coincidence that you were there too."

Alex's throat closed up, and he could barely breathe out, "Jess?"

Jones pursed her thin lips, stilling. She looked away, "Her real name was Emma Rosalind. She's dead. I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure whether or not Jones was sorry about her death or about Alex's own ignorance. How could he have let someone like her in his life? Why hadn't he at least double checked who 'Jess' really was?

Alex sank back into the hospital's pillows, steadying his breaths, listening as the heart rate monitor beeped steadily, a little quicker than it had been beeping a moment earlier.

"They're after you," Jones said softly. "They're after political power and high-up figures. We need to stop them."

Alex looked up at her, giving her a vicious glare, "And I'm supposed to just drop everything for this stupid mission? Again? I'm not sure if you've forgotten, Jones, but I've already risked everything for you and your damn agency!"

"I know," Jones cut in before Alex could continue his angry rant, "but they're going to come after you, and until they're stopped, they'll keep hunting you down. They'll target your friends. Innocents, Alex. I know you don't want that."

Alex glared at her more intensely, trying to hide his thoughts. He could sense his will slipping with every word that left her lips. "And what about my life here? I'm going to Stanford. You can't just whisk me away. I worked hard for this."

Jones didn't flinch at his underlying message: You're the ones who made it so difficult for me. Why do I have to pay when it's all your fault?

"We'll sort it out," she promised, but Alex didn't trust her.

He gritted his teeth, "What if I still say no?"

Jones' expression morphed into a hard, blank slate. Whatever emotions she had been displaying—which wasn't much—it was now gone, "I'm afraid I'll have to resort to regrettable means."

Alex knew what she meant by that. His friends would be thrown in jail. His career would be flushed down the toilet. Stanford would kick him out. His entire history—jobs, achievements—down the drain. Bank account cleared. Life ruined.

He nodded, and with that single move, he saw the victory in Jones' eyes, "I'll do it, but you better draw up a written, legal statement."

Jones smiled. It wasn't actually a 'happy' smile. It was more of a smile that let everyone else know that she was in control. She had won.

"Of course, Alex."

T*C*C

Alex stayed in the hospital for three full days, which was three days longer than he was expecting. After the first day, Jones had disappeared, probably back to the Royal and General Bank to sort out his upcoming mission, and Joe Byrne kept him company. Alex liked Joe even though he was one of those nasty intelligence directors, plotting and manipulating in his sound-proof, bullet-proof office. They spent the days alternating between playing cards and talking in soft, hushed tones about the mission.

It turned out that no one new much about the deaths besides that it was done by some kind of assassination agency. Joe reckoned that it was the new SCORPIA—the one that took over SCORPIA's position as a global power—but they didn't have any proof besides it was something called the IA. They liked to leave and take little souvenirs at every crime scene. They'd taken the senator's ID last time and left behind a pair of glasses that belonged to one of the MPs.

Tapping his fingers on his seat, Alex turned his head to stare out the window. He was on a private jet, Joe somewhere behind him, heading to an undisclosed location in Europe. It was an important meeting, someone had told him. Alex had to be there.

He didn't really understand the point. He wasn't into politics. He just wanted to go in then get out as soon as possible.

Alex stared at the deceivingly thin folder in front of him. It was a standard manila colored folder with the words 'TOP SECRET' printed in bold on the top. He'd read through it many times, but hadn't found anything particularly useful. Anyway, he'd figured it was all the same mumbo jumbo as before. Assassins. Threats. Doom.

"You okay?" Joe asked, looking up from a cup of coffee and his own standard issue manila colored folder.

Alex tore his gaze from it, blinking slowly at the director, "Yeah. Fine."

They didn't talk after that.

They arrived two hours later. Alex wasn't sure where they'd landed, but if he had to guess, he would say they were on neutral ground. Glancing out the window, Alex noted that they were on an obscure, private runway. Despite that, there were still many security guards on patrol.

Alex didn't bring anything with him except a backpack filled with clothes and other necessities. He threw it on his back and followed Joe out.

It took them half an hour to reach their location. Peering out of their tinted windows, Alex found that all the cars around them were filled with backup. They were discreet in their actions, driving civilian cars in a multitude of colors.

"The meeting starts in a few," Joe told him as they rushed from the belly of the government issued vehicle and into the building. It looked like an office complex, but Alex reckoned it was some other country's 'international crisis meeting place'.

"So," Alex noted Joe's shallow breaths, and he took longer strides to keep up, "you're saying we're late."

"Damn right," Joe cursed, speeding up.

They didn't encounter any security, so Alex assumed that he'd been checked surreptitiously, perhaps when he had crossed over the threshold or popped into the elevator.

"Come on, come on," Joe reached the last door at the end of the hallway—it looked the same as all the others, a sturdy wooden door with a number painted on the surface—and tapped something into the keypad. It unlocked and he dragged Alex inside.

"Yep, we're late," Alex muttered under his breath.

The meeting room was more of a conference room, and every seat (thank God they were the squishy, wiggly kinds) except two were filled. One was next to Jones—Alex assumed this one was for him—and one was next to a sour-faced tanned man. Joe and Alex took their respective places, the more important of the two apologizing quickly.

Alex didn't look at Jones as he sat. Instead, he focused on the sheets of papers placed in front of him. They were outlines of optional strategies, he realized. Tactical airstrikes (it seemed that they did know where their major bases were), infiltrations (they'd tried four times and it had failed each time), and military operations (for each compound? There were just too many).

"Let's get this meeting started, seeing as everyone is here," Jones began. Alex wondered who decided to put her in charge. "As we discussed last time, I have brought Agent Rider. If you've ever worked with him, you understand the serious advantage this is."

Alex dared to lift his eyes to inspect the circle of politicians. He didn't know all of them, of course, but some he did recognize. Most were directors of their country's intelligence agency, but there were a few (including Canada's Prime Minister) world leaders.

"If you all recall the group SCORPIA," several of the members stiffened visibly, "you should be thanking Agent Rider for their collapse."

After that statement, Alex noted that the silent directors looked at him a bit more approvingly. Typical.

"I hope that he is able to offer his opinions," Jones turned to Alex with an expectant look in her eyes. Alex merely gave her a glare. She cleared her throat, "Right—so we'll do this like last time. Major identified bases first before we move onto the smaller targets."

There was the sound of general agreement as the directors shuffled their papers and produced pens out of thin air. Alex slumped in his chair, holding back a yawn. Sure, he had tons of practice trying to stay awake in lectures, but he really couldn't care less.

He closed his eyes and listened as the meeting—the real heavy stuff—began.

"...airstrikes work the best on the larger complexes..."

"...hostages!"

"...can't bomb them...they have some of our own..."

Voices weaved together. In and out. Through one of Alex's ear and out the other.

"This stuff is pretty boring, huh?" The person to the left of Alex asked. From his voice, Alex could tell he'd adopted the same posture as him, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

Alex lifted his eyelids lazily and glanced over, not bothering to turn his head. With unruly brown hair and unguarded brown eyes, the man beside him didn't seem much like the serious officials around them. He was young—not as young as Alex, of course, but young enough for him to stick out.

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "You could say that."

The guy smiled, "So you're the famous Agent Rider, huh? From the way Jones kept on going on about you, I thought you were some kind of retired war veteran." There was no hostility in his voice, only plain curiosity.

"Yes," Alex answered shortly, finally turning his head towards the guy. "And you are?"

"Aegosokovia," the man grinned loosely. "We're a small country, so I won't be offended if you've never heard of us."

Alex hid his frown. He had never heard of this country, and he thought he knew his geography pretty well.

"Nice to meet you, Aegosokovia," Alex replied after a beat of silence between the two. It was evident that the man wasn't going to give him a name.

"Likewise," the man grinned.

Alex turned away. He didn't trust this guy, and he was suspicious. Why was he suspicious again?

"Dum, dee-dee dum, bah-dum-da-doo," the man sung under his breath, tapping a rhythm on his thigh, "tick-tickety tock. Bah-dah-dee-boom. Boom, boom, boom."

This caught Alex's attention. He whipped his head sharply over to stare at Aegosokovia, who shot him a nasty, knowing grin. He leaned over partially and sung lowly into Alex's ear, "Stay quiet or this whole room is going to go bah-dah-boom! And we're all going to explode. Kah-pow-mooosh!"

Alex's breath caught in his throat as Aegosokovia drew back, smiling all the while. The man was a psychopath! Alex dealt with psychopaths before, but never in a room full of higher-ups with said higher-ups letting someone slip past their guard.

Aegosokovia hummed under his breath, closing his eyes and leaning back once more, enjoying whatever he was listening to in his messed up head, "Boom-bah-dee-boom."

Reaching out slowly, Alex managed to tap Jones' leg covertly without looking suspicious. The guy still had his eyes closed, but Alex suspected that he wasn't as unobservant as he seemed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Jones turn her head to peer at him, but he kept his gaze fixed on Aegosokovia, hoping the head of MI6 would get his silent message. It seemed to work. After a long spiel from an accented voice—it was probably France—Jones stood and declared a fifteen minute recess. The majority of the room fled within the first ten seconds.

"Alex? Are you coming?" Jones asked as she prepared to leave the room. Aegosokovia was still there, leaning on the back of his chair, humming merrily, rocking back and forth.

Alex eyed the man, "I'm okay. You go ahead."

Jones left without another word. Alex was trusting her to go alert the rest of the officials. It was ironic. He hadn't ever trusted her, and now, he was depending on her help.

"Oh, oh," Aegosokovia smirked, "you bad, bad boy. Shouldn't have done that, Agent Rider. Shouldn't have told your little MI6 friend."

"I didn't," Alex denied, his eyes searching the walls, the chairs, any open space for a sign of the bomb that Aegosokovia had promised.

"Tick-tock, goes the bomb," Aegosokovia sang, the chuckle very clear in his voice, "the one you can't even see. Tick-tock, tick-tock... you've run out of time. I have what I want."

Aegosokovia opened his eyes, looking smug as he lifted himself off of the back of the chair and stood, the roll-y chair not making a single noise against the carpet, "You should have just taken me down in front of all those people. You could have stopped me from sending all that information to the I.A."

Alex's eyes narrowed, and he stood at the same time Aegosokovia stood. The man held out his wrists, a glazed look over his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Alex questioned. He was expecting a fight—a scuffle at the least. This man was strange. This whole thing was bizarre. Alex had never encountered something as weird as this.

Aegosokovia looked at him expectantly, "Handcuff me, big boy. You're going to question me, right?" He leaned forward and whispered in Alex's ear, "You're going to be the one to ask me the questions right? I'd love to see you all riled up. It's the new sexy, darling."

Alex didn't waste a moment. Grabbing Aegosokovia by the wrist, he slammed the man into the table, face-first. He glared at the man, who was chuckling.

"I don't have enough patience for pests," Alex hissed. He didn't have a pair of handcuffs, so he improvised, using the rubber bands on the table. He doubted that the man would even try to run away. He seemed too crazy for that.

"Sexy," Aegosokovia sang as Alex pulled him from the table and pushed him out into the hallway. "I told my superiors that you were ultra-mega-hot. Can I see your abs?"

Alex sighed out of his nose, tightening his grip on the man's wrists.

"I bet they're rock hard. Can I feel them? I promise I won't touch you again. Okay, joking. I want to feel your biceps too. Are they as hard as your abs? Can I caress your face? Have I mentioned that you're like super-ultra-mega-insanely hot. Like a hot dog. Like a bomb. Tick-tock..."

A/N: Okay, so how was this chapter? I liked the beginning more than the end, but ehh. If y'all want to leave a review about what you would like to see in the story (plot and/or style-wise), that would be awesome! Of course, I can't guarantee that your suggestion will be answered, but I like to gather ideas.

Thank you to Guest(1), Ramona Fox, Guest(2), JadedKrystal, Torchwood Cardiff, Guest(3), Batfan3, nrynmrth, Skendo, M-chanchen, and TimeyWimeyBadWolf for your lovely reviews!

-Alice x