10.23 am, Saturday, March 19th

Whitechapel, London

Returning home the afternoon he spoke to Tom, Ian had thrown himself back into the list he'd made at the kitchen table. He'd studied everything that he knew - quite a little - and then made a new list of everything he didn't know - quite a lot - and had spent the next day poured over those notes as he tried to come up with a game plan.

The police were a dead end - quite literally, in their own opinion - so it was up to him to try and figure things out. He knew he couldn't do it alone; he'd been out of the game far too long for that, but he also wasn't sure just which of his contacts from the good ole' days could help him with this.

And, even more importantly, which of his contacts he could trust with this.

The most obvious choice was MI6, but he refused to get Alan Blunt or Tulip Jones involved - even if they were still the Head and Deputy Head of the organisation. Blunt, most assuredly, would hold his involvement over Ian's head and expect a favour in return, and Ian wasn't willing to put Alex's life in jeopardy like that.

There was a reason he'd taken Alex and fled England all those years ago, after all.

Jones, on the other hand, was a more viable option, although she was still something of a wild card. She was certainly kinder than Blunt, and she'd always had a soft spot for himself and John, which Ian could only assume would extend to John's son, too. But being a mother who had lost two of her own children because of her job made him reluctant to get her involved. And for all of her gentle kindness - she was still the Deputy Head of MI6 for a reason.

And besides, a slab of granite would look kind when compared to Blunt, so it wasn't as if she had much competition.

So.

Blunt and Jones were out - if only for the simple reason that they'd become involved in Alex's life if he asked for help, and no one, least of all his nephew, deserved that.

Even if Alex's life probably couldn't get any worse right now.

Although speaking of MI6, Ian had a friend or two back in the day that had stuck to their morals after leaving the army, just like he and John did. There weren't many of them left at this stage, and even fewer of those remaining he could trust, but one name, in particular, stood out in his mind.

Ian sat in the dimly lit corner of the café, waiting for Lee Bauer to arrive.

It had been years since they had last seen each other, but the last time they had, they'd been put in a rather sticky situation in the backstreets of Hong Kong. Long story short, Ian had saved his life, and even though that had been well over a decade ago, favours were currency in their line of work - and he knew that Lee would be good for it.

The café, tucked away in the bustling streets of Whitechapel, provided a discreet setting for their meeting, and it also allowed Ian to watch the road unobserved from anyone coming or going.

As the bell above the door tingled, his gaze immediately locked onto Bauer, and he raised a hand in greeting. The man's face lit up into what appeared to be a genuine grin as he approached his table.

"Ian! It's been too long!"

Fourteen years, six months, and three weeks, exactly - but neither man mentioned it.

"Lee" he returned, voice warm, "How are you?"

"Oh, you know, not too bad, not too good" he replied cheerfully, sliding into the booth opposite him.

The weak light above them reflected off of the ring on his finger, and Ian gestured at it with a smirk.

"I see that you've finally settled down, then".

He laughed and twisted it, the gold already tarnished from the habit, even as he nodded at Ian's own jewellery-free hands.

"And I see that you still haven't".

"Are you really that surprised?"

"Nah, not really. I thought maybe when John's boy reached the terrible twos, you'd find someone to help out, but apparently, you make a better parent than I thought!"

"Than either of us thought" he automatically quipped back, despite the clench in his heart as he remembered just why, exactly, he'd called Lee here today.

Sensing the sudden mood change, the man's grin fell, and he gave a quick glance around the café before turning back and lowering his voice.

"Why are you here, Ian?"

"... I need a favour".

"What kind of favour?"

"The kind that could get you fired".

Lee nodded, slowly, and leaned back in his seat.

"I heard you were out of the game".

"I am" he agreed, "This isn't business related, it's… personal".

"... You get mixed up in something you shouldn't have? Drugs? Weapons? Trafficking?"

"What? No! Fuck, no, Lee, nothing like that! It's… It's about Alex. John's boy" he added, seeing the flash of confusion in the man's eyes.

"And here I was praising your parenting skills. Obviously, they can't be that good if you let him get mixed up in something-"

"Damnit, Lee, nobody's mixed up in anything!" Ian snapped, "He's missing. Alex is missing".

That got his attention, and all traces of mirth quickly left his face as he abruptly straightened up in his seat, expression serious.

"What?"

"Two men came to his school almost two weeks back, pretending to be cops. Asked the headmaster to see him, told Alex that I'd been killed in a car crash and that they needed to bring him in to identify my body… No one's seen Alex since".

"Jesus Christ" he said inelegantly, "... That's fifty shades of beyond fucked up".

"Yeah". He snorted. "Tell me about it".

"You go to the police? The real police?"

"Of course I did! They searched around for a few days and found nothing. Gave me a pat on the back, a "we'll be in touch", and sent me on my way… They think he's dead".

Lee gave him a look, a look that Ian had started to become very familiar with over the past few days, a look that spoke of pity and guilt and helplessness.

"Ian… maybe-"

"No".

"But-"

"No!" He slammed his fist on the table, before forcing himself to calm down as a passing waitress gave him a concerned, slightly fearful look. "He's not dead, he can't be! This wasn't random, Lee. This wasn't some- some sort of perverted lunatic who pulled him off the street! They knew his name. They knew my name. They even knew the kind of car that I drive!"

"It was planned" he realised, "Researched, even".

"Exactly". Ian grimaced. "And I'll give you three guesses as to why".

Lee stared at a distant spot over his shoulder as he carefully considered his words. The younger man smiled in apology at the waitress as she passed their table again with a tray of drinks, and she gave a much less concerned and not-at-all fearful smile back in response.

"So you want me to pull up your old case files. See if anyone's been active recently, gotten out of jail, any children, siblings, spouses, etcetera, looking for revenge?"

"To begin with, yeah".

"To begin with?"

"... The timing of this is off, Lee. Why wait until now if it was to get revenge? Why go after Alex at all, why not go straight for me? It's been fourteen years since I last worked for the British government. Taking Alex, taking him now, it just… it just doesn't make sense".

"You think this is bigger than you? Bigger than Alex?"

"Maybe" he allowed, "But there's definitely something going on here, and I no longer have access to the resources that I need to investigate it".

Lee slowly nodded, analysing the crime from all angles, just as Ian had done himself only a few days before.

"I can't promise anything, Ian. It won't be easy to access classified information like that, especially without raising suspicion... But I'll do what I can. Alex deserves a fighting chance, and if there's something fishy going on, we'll find it".

He let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I knew I could count on you, Lee. Just remember - this has to stay between us. The last thing I want is to put Alex's life in further jeopardy if someone else at '6 finds out what's going on".

"'Course" he replied, standing up, "I'll keep mum, you have my word… but, you know, just so we're all on the same page here - if I do this for you, then you'll-"

"-forget all about what some stupid rookie agent did to a Triad member in a brothel in Kowloon".

Lee flashed him a grateful smile and patted him on the shoulder as he passed.

"Glad to hear it. I'll be in touch".

9.01 am, Wednesday, 23rd March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

As the week moved on, Wolf, somehow, against all odds, got even worse. He had long since forgotten any semblance of gratitude he'd felt towards Alex for getting them out of the RTI training, and instead, seemed determined to get him binned.

Alex did his best to keep his head down and ignore the man - if only for the simple reason that his getting binned seemed like the perfect excuse for Blunt to arrange his own little binning of Ian.

On the tenth day of his training, however, Wolf came close to finishing him altogether.

It happened in the Killing House.

The Killing House was a fake - a mock-up of an embassy used to train the SAS in the art of hostage release. Alex had twice watched K-Unit go into the house, the first time swinging down from the roof, and had followed their progress on closed-circuit TV. All four men were armed. Alex himself didn't take part because someone somewhere had decided he shouldn't carry a gun.

He often wondered with a sick twisted sense of humour if it was because Blunt was worried about what he'd do with one.

Inside the Killing House, mannequins had been arranged as terrorists and hostages. Smashing down the doors and using stun grenades to clear the rooms with deafening, multiple blasts, Wolf, Fox, Eagle, and Snake had successfully completed their mission both times.

This time Alex had joined them. The Killing House had been booby-trapped. They weren't told how. All five of them were unarmed. Their job was simply to get from one end of the house to the other without being "killed."

They almost made it.

In the fourth and final room, Snake dealt with the alarm on the French windows while Fox and Eagle prepared to neutralise the trip wire, unclipping an electronic circuit board and a variety of tools from their belts.

Wolf stopped them.

"Leave it. We're out of here".

At the same moment, Snake signalled. He had deactivated the alarm. The French windows were open. Snake was the first out. Then Fox and Eagle. Alex would have been the last to leave the room, but just as he reached the exit, he found Wolf blocking his way.

"Tough luck, Double 0 Nothing" Wolf said. His voice was soft, almost kind.

The next thing Alex knew, the heel of Wolf's palm had rammed into his chest, pushing him back with astonishing force. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance and fell, remembered the trip wire, and tried to twist his body to avoid it. But it was hopeless. His flailing left hand caught the wire. He actually felt it against his wrist. He hit the floor, pulling the wire with him.

He only had a split second to wonder if steel was sharp enough to damage his tracker before the stun grenade was activated.

The blast didn't just deafen Alex, it shuddered right through him as if trying to rip out his heart. The light from the ignited mercury burned for a full five seconds. It was so blinding that even closing his eyes made no difference. Alex lay there with his face against the hard wooden floor, his hands scrabbling against his head, unable to move, waiting for it to end.

But even then it wasn't over.

When the flare finally died down, it was as if all the light in the room had burned out with it. Alex stumbled to his feet, unable to see or hear, not even sure anymore where he was.

The room swayed around him, the heavy smell of chemicals hung in the air, and he felt sick to his stomach.

Ten minutes later he staggered out into the open. Wolf was waiting for him with the others, his face blank. He had slipped out before Alex hit the ground. The unit's training officer walked angrily over to him.

Alex hadn't expected to see a shred of concern in the man's face and he wasn't disappointed.

"Do you want to tell me what happened in there, Cub?" he demanded. When Alex didn't answer, he went on. "You ruined the exercise. You fouled up. You could get the whole unit binned. So you'd better start telling me what went wrong".

Alex glanced at Wolf. Wolf looked the other way. What should he say? Should he even try to tell the truth? Maybe if he lied and covered for Wolf, the man would stop being so harsh - and maybe he would even listen to him if he ever found a way to silently tell someone about the stupid fucking tracker MI6 had put in his wrist.

"Well?" The sergeant was waiting.

"Nothing happened, sir" Alex said, "I just wasn't looking where I was going. I stepped on something and there was an explosion".

"If that was real life, you'd be dead" the sergeant said, "What did I tell you? Sending me a child was a mistake. And a stupid, clumsy child who doesn't look where he's going - that's even worse!"

Alex stood where he was. He knew he was blushing. Half of him wanted to answer back, but he bit his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wolf half smiling.

The sergeant had seen it too.

"You think it's so funny, Wolf? You can go clean up in there. And tonight you'd better get some rest. All of you. Because tomorrow you've got a thirty-mile hike. No rations. No lighters. No fire. This is a survival course. And if you do survive, then maybe you'll have a reason to smile".

4.27 pm, Thursday, 24th March

Whitechapel, London

It was almost an entire week later before he heard anything back from Lee, and Ian waited anxiously in the same corner booth in the same dimly lit café as before. His hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee - even though they were nearing April, the weather lately had been as cold and wet as winter.

Glancing up at the familiar bell chime, he didn't bother waving to Lee as the man was already heading in his direction, a worn look on his face.

Ian's heart jumped and he decided to simply skip all of the meaningless pleasantries.

"What did you find?"

"Something… weird".

"How weird?"

Lee glanced over at the counter across from them and expertly gestured at the waitress, asking for a coffee. Turning back to Ian, he lowered his voice.

"I went over some of your past cases - the ones with the big names - and found nothing… but then I did some digging internally". He shook his head as if still baffled by what he'd seen. "I found a purchase order; a docket dated the same day that Alex went missing".

The waitress suddenly appeared at his side and placed a bright yellow cup in front of him with a smile. Ian wanted to strangle her with his bare hands.

"And?!" he hissed, as soon as she was out of earshot.

"And" Lee continued, "It's… weird".

He paused to take a sip of coffee and Ian briefly debated strangling him instead.

"The purchase order was for clothes. A lot of clothes".

"Okay, so… Smithers is trying something new?"

"Clothes for a teenager" Lee expanded, "More specifically, for a teenage boy. Gap trousers, Nike sweatshirts, size seven sneakers - the works".

Ian stilled. The cup between his hands started to burn, but he still didn't move. MI6 had bought… clothes… for a teenage boy… on the same day that Alex had been kidnapped.

"They were shipped to one of our training centres in Wales" he continued quietly, "But then the trail gets cold. Why they ordered them, what they're using them for, why they sent them to the middle of Mount Nowhere - I haven't the foggiest… But given how the dates line up, it's-"

"-weird" Ian finished, voice hollow.

"I came from the Navy, you know that, so I've got no idea about the centres '6 has got on land, but I can ask around. Subtly, mind you. I'm friendly with a few guys who came from Armed Forces, so they'd probably have a better idea about what kind of training it is-"

"No need" he interrupted, forcing his voice to remain level, "I know exactly which training centre that order was sent to".

"Oh?"

For a spy, Lee had always been pretty terrible at hiding his emotions, and even now, fourteen years after Ian had last worked with him, he could read the curiosity and excitement on his face like an open book.

"Yeah".

But just because he knew what the man wanted, didn't mean he was going to give it to him - not when it was his nephew's suffering that Lee was getting so excited about.

"Thanks for looking into it" Ian said, "Were you asked any questions?"

His face fell as he realised the man wasn't going to indulge him.

"Nah. Not yet, anyway, but… well, a few eyebrows were raised when a field agent showed up in the sales department… I'll still help when I can, and I'm by no means giving up on this, Ian, but I've got to lay low for a bit. Wait until things calm down and my browser history is erased before I start poking my nose into any other departments". He took another sip of coffee and almost drained the cup in one go. "Give me a few weeks, alright? As soon as the heat dies down, I'll start asking some more questions of my own".

"You're a good man, Lee". He easily agreed with a nod. "Just - one more thing? Before you're out?"

"What do you need?"

"The number of that training centre" Ian replied, "It should be on the docket you found. From what I remember, it's a pretty closely guarded secret, and I don't have it still written down anywhere".

Lee grinned. "I thought you might ask me for that".

Putting down his cup, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, sliding it across the table to him. Ian picked it up and deciphered the black scrawl just enough to read the first five digits - zero-one-eight-seven-four - before nodding once and slipping it into his own pocket.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Lee".

"Likewise, Ian". Downing the rest of his coffee, he glanced at his watch and cursed quietly. "Damn. I've got to get back - my lunch break is almost up, and not all of us can be independently wealthy bachelors such as yourself".

"And, remind me again, who proposed to your wife?"

Lee shook his head with a laugh.

"I'll be seeing you around, Rider. Don't do anything I wouldn't do".

Given that there was very, very little that Lee Bauer wouldn't do, Ian found the remark oddly reassuring.

4.48 pm, Thursday, 24th March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

For the hundredth time, Alex cursed Alan Blunt, using language he hadn't even realised he knew - spending twenty-four-seven in a SAS training camp surrounded by seasoned soldiers really had done wonders for his vocabulary - and desperately hoped that the bastard could hear him, too.

It was almost five o'clock in the evening, although it could have been five o'clock in the morning; the sky had barely changed at all throughout the day. It was grey, cold, and unforgiving. The rain was still falling, a thin drizzle that travelled horizontally in the wind, soaking through his supposedly waterproof clothing, mixing with his sweat and his dirt, chilling him to the bone.

Time had begun to dissolve into itself. Alex had spent the last eleven of the previous twenty-four hours on his feet, following the trail that the sergeant had set out for him on the map. The exercise had begun at six o'clock in the morning after a grey-lit breakfast of sausages and beans. Wolf and the others had disappeared into the distance ahead of him a long time ago, even though they had been given fifty-five-pound backpacks to carry. They had also been given only eight hours to complete the course. Allowing for his age, Alex had been given twelve - and the glowing red light just beneath the surface of his skin had taunted him the entire way.

He rounded a corner, his feet scrunching on the gravel. There was someone standing ahead of him. It was the sergeant. He had just lit a cigarette and Alex watched him slide the matches back into his pocket. Seeing him there brought back the shame and the anger of the day before and at the same time sapped the last of his strength.

Suddenly, Alex had had enough of Blunt, Mrs Jones, Wolf… the whole stupid thing.

With a final effort, he stumbled forward the last hundred yards and came to a halt. Rain and sweat trickled down the side of his face. His hair, dark now with grime, was glued across his forehead.

The sergeant looked at his watch.

"Eleven hours, five minutes. That's not bad, Cub. But the others were here three hours ago".

Good for them, Alex thought.

"Anyway, you should just make it to the first RV" the sergeant went on. "It's up there".

He pointed to a wall. Not a sloping wall. A sheer one. Solid rock rising two or three hundred feet up without a handhold or a foothold in sight. Even looking at it, Alex felt his stomach sink. Ian had taken him climbing - in Scotland, in France, all over Europe. But he had never attempted anything as difficult as this. Not on his own. Not when he was so tired.

But if he didn't do it - if he said I can't and shrugged off the bloody backpack and told the sergeant he'd had enough and got binned for his trouble; then Blunt would hurt Ian, if not a lot worse.

He had to do it.

For Ian's sake, if not his own.

5.11 pm, Friday, March 25th

Chelsea, London

As soon as Ian was once again within the safety of his own home, he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it, thoughtfully.

An MI6 purchase order for clothes for a teenage boy being bought on the same day his own teenage boy was kidnapped, was strange enough. But MI6 sending those clothes to Brecon Beacons, of all places, was just downright weird.

Too weird to be a coincidence.

It wasn't much of a stretch to jump from teenage clothes in Beacons to a teenager being in Beacons - but even though every ounce of logic suggested that that was the only possible answer, every semblance of common sense that Ian had screamed, what are the chances?!

Because what were the chances?

A fourteen-year-old boy being sent to train with the SAS was absolutely ridiculous! Ian himself had already been twenty when he'd been recruited - and he was by far one of the youngest soldiers there. Only an absolute lunatic would think it a bright idea to send a child into hell, and only a complete madman would agree to take the child and train him alongside actual soldiers.

Or, Ian thought grimly, the lunatic in question simply had enough power to go above the SAS sergeant's head.

No matter what way he looked at it, it just didn't make sense.

Pulling out his phone, Ian typed the number on the paper into it but then paused with his finger over the call button.

The chances of Alex being at Beacons were minuscule, after all, and he'd be laughed out of the training camp before he could so much as blink if he started asking around for a fourteen-year-old in the toughest, most challenging selection process in the entire world.

So if Alex wasn't there, then he'd end up looking like a complete fool in front of his old sergeant… but if Alex was there, and he never made the call, then he knew that this decision would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He pressed call.

Ultimately, the risk of acting like an idiot paled in comparison to the weight of regret he'd feel if it turned out his nephew was somehow in Wales. If there was even a tiny chance that Alex was at this training centre, then he couldn't bear the thought of missing out on the opportunity to bring him home.