A.N.: Wow. Whew. What a long break! I'm so sorry that I kept you guys waiting
Mrs. Heatherson, the math professor, stood tall and stern, with narrowed features, besides the lectern. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her face shown clear signs of disapproval for the two men that had taken over her class without proper etiquette and formality.
"We will begin from this class," The man was saying. He was the police apparently, "One by one. Don't worry, we have all the time we want. While we are interviewing the individuals, you may go back to lessons."
The second man, tall and pale but had a rather deadly aura, hadn't moved since he was instructed to stand next to the lectern. His piercing blue gaze roamed the room and though barely perceptible, pausing once on the boy by the window. Winchester, was it? Feighton Winchester, the new boy. Mrs. Heatherson wasn't trained to be perceptive or anything, but years of teaching and catching her pupils off-task gave her the talent.
"Now, let's start with the first one," The man said as he scanned his list, "Emery Armstrong, please follow me out the door."
The inspector turned toward his partner and jerked his head at the room, "Evans, stay here."
"May I see your badge again?" Mrs. Heatherson finally stepped up.
The inspector flashed it out without hesitation. Ian Chevalier, "I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion, but I've been given permission by the headmaster."
"Ms. Armstrong?" Inspector Chevalier called out as he pocketed his badge with a nod, "Gooday, Mrs. Heatherson."
"Feighton Winchester," When his name was called, Alex was barely paying attention.
He was hungry. And sometimes hunger tend to take over one's brain. Mrs. Heatherson's voice droned on and on and if it weren't for the short interruption, in the beginning, announcing an inspector's arrival, he would have spaced out for the whole sixty minutes of class. At least he heard five minutes.
"He's calling you," Someone next to him nudged him gently.
"What?" Alex jerked in inattention to the girl next to him.
"Feighton Winchester," Slight exasperation coloring the man's tone told him that he had been called several times already.
"Oh, yeah, thanks," Alex hurriedly stood up and pushed his chair in.
Police investigation. Someone else must have realized that something was wrong and was bold enough to do it. It would definitely tick the school off, but somehow, that might just be part of the inspector's plan. Alex frowned. But if things were this obvious, why didn't the government take action? Of course, it might scare the men behind the scene, but why didn't MI6 react earlier?
The tables and chairs were arranged in straight horizontal and vertical lines and with careful and precise footwork, he had no trouble navigating through them. In the short week, he had gotten used to the alignment and arrangements of pretty much everything he needed to know in the school. Maybe not down to the last dust, but he could manage as if he could see. The pang of bitterness was pushed down before it could surface.
Then he felt it, next to the door, a faintly familiar presence. It wasn't like a nagging feeling of something there, but more like a sensation that someone he knew was there. Wolf, for example, had a heavy presence. Sounds were blocked from his location and his footsteps were soft but curt. The man by the door had an air of quietness and caution. Similar, but he couldn't place a finger on it.
"I'm Inspector Chevalier," As soon as he stepped outside the door, a second man announced, "Please, come inside this room."
The man walked ahead much to Alex's relieve and Alex followed his footsteps. It was patterned and light. Like a horse's gait. Rhythmic and consistent. "Take a seat, Mr. Winchester."
The man himself took a seat and Alex made his way slowly to the table he knew was there. The chair must be opposite of the man logically so that they could converse easily. He felt satisfaction as his hand landed lightly on the metal edge of the chair on the first try. He pulled it out and sat down, his feet feeling for the edge and supports on the bottom of the chair.
"Feighton Winchester?" The man asked for confirmation.
"Yes," Alex nodded, his alias sounded almost like it was his own name at the moment. If this wasn't a police investigation like they said, he wasn't going to give his identity out. If this really was one, however, he couldn't either. Who knew how many different types of bugs, cameras, microphones, were situated around the school?
"How long've you been here?" Inspector Chevalier asked and Alex heard the man pulling out paper and a pen by the short click it made.
"Just this school year," Alex offered, "Moved here barely a month ago with my brother."
"Oh?" The inspector wrote something down, "A brother?"
"Dean Remington," The man probably wanted the name.
"Age?"
"Twenty-six," If he recalled correctly, but again, it wasn't uncommon to forget one's brother's birthday or age. People just, well, forgot.
"Any extracurricular activities? Afterschool activities?"
"No."
Another scribbled note.
"What do you usually do after school?"
"Homework," Alex said. And some 'spy talk' with Wolf.
"Anything else?"
"We, my brother and I, walk around, get used to the new place," Alex shrugged. They were mapping all the possible fast exits in case they ran into trouble, but Alex supposed it counted as exploring and getting used to the place.
"Where are you from?"
Alex went back to his mental file, "Wales."
If the inspector wanted to dig deeper, he would undoubtedly find a file on him somewhere with MI6's secret tweaking on it. Perhaps a short mention of an airplane trip to China when he was six and if he dug even deeper, maybe even a short receipt of a bus ride to the Great Wall.
"Pretty long way from there," The man commented as he made another note that Alex couldn't see.
"Quite," Alex nodded.
"And where does your father work?"
"He's dead," Alex said nonchalantly. His new alias matched his real profile in several personal aspects and he didn't have to put too much effort to act his part.
"Mother?"
"Dead," He replied, his tone solid hard.
"I'm sorry," Another note.
"It's all right. Long history."
"Who do you live with?"
"My brother."
"You two must be close," The inspector made another comment.
"We're half-brothers actually," Alex nodded, "But we're rather…close, sure."
Another note. Just what was so interesting about him?
"Any other relatives?"
"No," Alex replied without hesitation. His parents were single children and his grandfather died about five years ago. Hours-worth of going over the files with Wolf had sort of paid off.
"All right, you can go now," The man stood up and opened the door for him.
Alex left.
Something in the back of his mind told him that there was more to this man than what met his senses.
"Coffee, sir?" One of the officers asked, pausing outside his office in mild concern at seeing his superior frowning and running his hand through his hair repeatedly.
"No, leave." Ian said curtly, "And close the door."
"Yessir."
Ian couldn't believe it. The boy was a replica of his brother John Rider. He had refused to have anything to do with his brother when the man decided to join the Intelligence department. He didn't want anything to do with spies. A policeman, fine, but he didn't want to tangle with dirty spy businesses. It had been sixteen years ago when he heard about his brother and his wife's death. He wanted even less to do with the whole spy business.
When they told him about John's son, Alex, he had refused to take custody of that boy. Too much trouble, even if it was his own blood separated by a sibling. He was devoted toward his work, he didn't have time to take care of an infant.
Yet here the boy was, all grown up into a tall handsome young man. Ian had no trouble with the young man not knowing who he was on sight immediately, but it troubled him to no end that the young man couldn't remember his face even after such a long conversation. MI6 had tried to request him to look after the boy but he had blatantly refused. He heard later that they had replaced him with a willing volunteer. Some man by the name of James Marian. In exchange for not having any further involvement with MI6, he had to agree to give the man his name. To put it simply, James Marian was the 'real' Ian Rider to the rest of the world. Ian had to change his last name to Chevalier instead of keeping the family name Rider. The man had shockingly similar features to him and Ian suspected that it was some sort of mask. He was right.
Why MI6 wanted him to take care of the boy so badly, he didn't know.
But that wasn't important, what was troublingly important right now was why did Alex have no recognition of him? It wouldn't matter all that much but Ian had felt guilty for the past three years ever since 6 informed him that the man, James Marian, pretending to be him had died on a mission. He had planned to pay a visit to Alex before realizing that a dead man couldn't be alive and he would have to spend so much time explaining.
Ian did visit, however, almost three months ago, and he knew what was happening when he saw that sleek black car pulling up outside the house whose address had been given by 6 a long time ago in case he wanted to reconsider their offer. Alex had walked out of that car, looking damaged like his brother had so many times before.
And right now, seeing the boy here, he had faint suspicions that he was undercover for 6. And the investigations he was having had something very important to do with it.
"Evans!" Ian called.
The door opened a moment later, revealing the tall pale man, his blue gaze searched him rather beseechingly, "I need to have a talk with one of the boys in the school."
Evans blinked but otherwise he remained motionless, waiting for the rest of his statement. Truth be told, the new man Anthony Evans was an excellent candidate for a police officer. He was observant and noted down everything during the interview that Ian might have missed. From even the slightest movement of the body to possible induction about the student's living habits. "Get him down the station."
"Who?"
Ian was almost tempted to say Alex Rider but he stopped at the last moment. Until he could confirm that this really wasn't his nephew, he wasn't about to claim his relationship. But if the boy really was Alex… He would look after that boy on whatever mission it was. Ian rolled his chair over to his cabinet and stood up, pulling open the top drawer and reaching inside for the file. It was the first class he interviewed. His fingers slide down the paper and paused at the name, "Feighton Winchester."
"May I ask why?" Evans asked rather bluntly in contrary to his tone.
The man spoke rather condescending sometimes yet Ian found himself raising his brow in skepticism, "No you may not."
"But I will later," Ian pushed the drawer shut and walked over to the man, "I want him here as soon as school ends and be as inconspicuous as possible, Evans."
"Just him?" It was a muttered question spoken as if Ian should have known better.
"What?"
"Nothing," Evans shook his head and turned, glancing at the clock hanging on the side of the wall, "I will be back."
The heavy sinking of the sofa next to him signaled Wolf's arrival.
"How was your day?" Alex asked sarcastically as he stood up and shouldered his bag.
"Great," Wolf seemed to be equally enthusiastic.
Sarcasm and Wolf? Something was a little wrong here, "Something happened?"
"Did you see th-," Wolf paused and went back for another word, "Did you get interviewed by an inspector? Some Ian Chevalier?"
"Yeah," Alex nodded, confused, "Why?"
Alex could sense Wolf turning around as if watching for anyone suspicious before the man leaned down slightly to hiss, "And you didn't feel anything?"
"Besides being creeped out by you at the moment," Alex's lips twitched, "No."
"Don't you think he's-"
"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Remington," A third voice made them turn around, just barely out of the school front door, "I'm Evans. Anthony Evans. Please come with me."
The tone was smooth, perhaps a little gruff on the edge, with a perfect British accent. Perhaps a little too perfect that made Alex on edge. The voice was cold, chipped, and hard. It was familiar, but just like the man in the morning, he couldn't place a finger on it, "Who are you?"
"Anthon Evans," The man paused, "Assistant to Inspector Ian Chevalier of KSPD."
So he was the same man he met in the morning.
"Come with you to where?" Wolf asked bluntly.
"Police department," Mr. Evans said he turned, "Please follow me. Don't worry about your car, Mr. Remington, I will give you a ride to and from."
"C'mon," Alex muttered as he stepped to follow the man.
Wolf followed him and Alex could sense his uncertainty radiating in his every step. How, Alex didn't know, "It's just the police, Dean. We didn't do anything wrong."
"Maybe some neighbor reported us for throwing that trash over the fence," Wolf muttered.
Alex rolled his eyes, "Or maybe they reported me for digging that hole in their backyard."
"Very funny." But Wolf paused afterward. He paused, "You didn't, did you?"
"Of course not," Alex said then really thought about it, "But I might have dug a hole through the wall in the backyard to let that spider out."
Wolf's irate growl pushed aside the growing wad of worry that was slowly settling in his stomach. What did the police department want with them? It might blow their cover.
And they wouldn't know it was blown until something bad happened.
Like being interrogated.
Or killed.
Alex grimaced. His pessimistic attitude always astounded him.