The Taxi, driven by Mr. Shah's cousin, had dropped Alex off at Si's house on Bollingbroke Grove with all his belongings. Considering he'd lived with Chris and Lee for less than six months, he had amassed a awful lot of stuff. Books, clothes and a fair few cooking utensils and pans, having introduced the boys to the possibilities of eating other things than microwave meals and pizza.
He paused before letting himself in. This was a real life changing event, for the first time since San Francisco, he had a home with no conditions. This time he wasn't afraid of the big bad bank, even if they came after him now; only him and Si mattered. Si had his back and Alex would not bend to the pressure of blackmail and extortion anymore. Once broken, he was nothing to them now. No threat could clear him for espionage work, he would fail any medical or psych test. It was that simple, he had been around the bend and emerged from paranoia and depression as a stronger and wiser man.
In the large bedroom, walk-in wardrobe and en-suite on the second floor, Alex stowed his clothes and kept his books in a box at the bottom of the wardrobe. The last thing to not unpack, but to hide was his nest egg of solid gold coins. Over the years, he had exchanged paper wads of wonga for the certainty of bullion as long term security with a mix of krugerrands and sovereigns. He watched prices and bought when the market dropped, making sure he got the best deals in a market that was normally rising. It was a fair weight of ready cash, nearly nine grands worth. He weighed the small bag in his hands, so little, less than twenty coins in all. Most the result of his time stealing, when he had urgently accumulated a get out quick fund. He had kept Enid's last Christmas Present as its wad of notes, more keepsake now. Money to buy a van and tools, if he wanted. Only he was happy doing his bits and pieces, while working the 31 hours at the pub every weekend.
The coins were hidden in the bedroom, behind a loose board in the built-in bookshelf the perfect cubbyhole to stash his hoard. He always thought on Samuel Pepys at these times, burying his valuables including a prized Parmesan cheese, as London burned in 1666. He could not bury anything in Si's low maintenance yard covered in stone slabs. He then went to he cellar to brew a cuppa. The calendar on the fridge had today's date ringed with a heart, even though Alex had spent most nights here mid week since June. This was a million miles from sleeping rough in February and March. He was no longer renting, squatting or existing; he now belonged here, this was home.
….
Si was a bit of a computer buff, having owned a series of Apple Computers and played with Digital Cameras for over twenty years. He had added Alex to his home network, creating an email account and desktop. Alex was starting college to get his NVQ Level 2 and 3 qualifications in Roofing and Construction Skills.
Moving in with Si, Alex was still getting used to the absolute bliss of 24/7 Wifi on the home desktop and was seriously considering getting a laptop himself, under Si's strict instructions to buy a Mac. The ideal of surfing in bed was quickly quashed as he had much better things to do there. So, his train of thought was back to thinking of Si again, being seductive, kind and dominant.
So, after reading the various blogs he followed intermittently, he googled Point Blanc Academy Alumni, knowing Joe kept up a running commentary on the other seven classmates and their clones. The surviving Grief abominations all in high security prison or psychiatric hospitals. All unlikely ever to get out after being found guilty of murder, kidnapping and extortion. Joe ran a blog and was a contributor in a surrealist and political magazines in the States. Alex's entry read, nephew of Banker Ian Rider, currently missing assumed homeless and mentally ill. In April the boys had celebrated the 10th anniversary of their liberation and posted a new web page, offering a reward for the whereabouts of Alex Rider, last seen in London. The princely sum of $100,000 was being offered, if the lead proved to be genuine, from Paul Roscoe, who was now Director of Communications and major shareholder of Roscoe Electronics, Satellites and Cybernetics. Orphaned by Grief, Paul was a billionaire and philanthropist, engaged to a super-model and richest of all the unfortunate seven and the missing spy. For that kind of money, he'd turn himself in and now there was nothing stopping him, only fear of rejection.
…..
Joe read the usual pile of crap from all over the world from the crazies and the desperate claiming to know or be Alex Rider. He then found a cryptic email from AlexHandyManHero, which stated "Still eating peanut butter and grated carrot sandwiches on Norwegian Dark Rye with a side of chocolate (Hershey's Special Dark preferred, not Swiss shit) and orange cookies? Am I barred from claiming my own reward, as I've always know where I was. My chosen path has led finally to home and happiness. Living with Simon and very much in love; in college getting some basic qualifications. Life in Wandsworth is good. Only joking about the reward, Paul should spend it spoiling that fabulous girl he's dating. Best wishes, sorry I missed the party, but I was not in a good place in April. Hugs, kisses and very mush retired from saving the world, only saving myself now, Alex."
The blogger was sat staring at the screen, he and Alex after the fight and liberation had talked of food, their hatred of school and in a round of truth and dare between the boys, Alex had admitted to being bi and attracted to older men. He was torn, reply or forward this message to the other very select members in his school classmates he kept in touch with; certainly none of the brain dead, yes-men he shared a dorm with at the Military School he'd ended up in after France.
He wrote to the six other close friends in New York, Los Angeles, Canada, Holland, Germany and France. "Hi Guys, Alex finally wrote after that jerk Paul offered that huge reward and after sorting through thousands of emails, he says he's happy. Please send your greetings direct to the man himself."
….
At GCHQ in Cheltenham, a small subroutine went through the emails sent to a series of specific addresses. Those under scrutiny were Sabina Pleasure, Edward Pleasure and seven boys rescued by the SAS in 2001. The programme flagged up all uses of Alex and/or Rider. After running with thousands of results for several years, but none from the actual missing MI6 operative, it appeared someone professing to be Alex Rider had written to Joe Canterbury and the email had been returned.