10.09 am, Friday, 11th March
MI6 Training Centre, Wales
Alex felt the weight of the room bearing down on him as he stared at Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones. They had arrived before lunch today, and based on their stern expressions, they wouldn't be staying for it either.
"Alright, Alex" Blunt said, "I presume you've had enough time to think. So what do you say?"
There was a long pause. Blunt was watching him with polite interest. Mrs Jones was unwrapping yet another peppermint, her black eyes seemingly fixed on the twist of paper in her hands.
"No" Alex said.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's a dumb idea. I don't want to be a spy. I want to play football. Anyway, I have a life of my own".
He found it difficult to choose the right words. The whole thing was so preposterous he almost wanted to laugh.
"Why don't you ask the real winner of that magazine competition to snoop around for you?"
"We don't believe he'd be as resourceful as you" Blunt said.
"He's probably better at computer games". Alex shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm just not interested. I don't want to get involved".
"That's a pity" Blunt said.
His tone of voice hadn't changed, but there was a heavy, dead quality to the words. And there was something different about him. Throughout their previous meals, he had been polite - not friendly, but at least human. Today, in an instant, that had disappeared.
"We'd better move on then to discuss your future" he continued.
Alex frowned. "My future?"
"Yes. I had hoped that you would see how vital this mission is - not just to us, but to England itself - especially since you've spent your whole life being trained for this moment-"
"I keep telling you that Ian wasn't training me for anything!"
"-but if you insist on being difficult about it" Blunt continued, his bland voice slowly trailing off, "Well… Then I'm afraid I'll have to get difficult in return".
Alex felt something cold and slimy shiver down his spine.
"This is your last chance, Alex". The man's eyes were dark and featureless, like a bottomless hole to hell. "Be a good boy and do as you're told, and you'll get to go home again. If you don't..."
"I'll- Wait, what?!"
"It's quite simple, really. You do this for us, and we'll do something for you".
"But I don't want anything from you!" he protested, heart racing and palms sweating, "You kidnapped me! I just want to go home!"
"Prove yourself useful, and you will".
Blunt's blank, calm demeanour only amplified the sense of danger that was slowly but surely encompassing him. It was as if he had stumbled into a trap, and now there was no way out.
"And if I don't?" he asked, voice trembling.
The man reached into the briefcase at his feet and pulled out a featureless tablet.
"Then it's like I said. We'll have to discuss your future".
Turning it around, Alex was frozen in place at the photograph of his uncle - of Ian, of his family - captured as the man was clearly leaving a police station.
"The officers assigned to your case have deemed it a lost cause" Blunt continued, "Just another missing child never to be found again… And your uncle, well - as I'm sure you can imagine, he's not exactly taking the news very well".
He swiped the screen and a new image came up - taken from a different security camera across the road from the police station, and positioned exactly right to capture Ian collapsed on the bench outside, his head in his hands and a look of utter desperation on his face.
"Poor, unfortunate, Ian Rider… A very quiet man, by all accounts. No friends, no partners, and as of now - no family to speak of". Blunt switched off the tablet. "No one would be surprised if he were to… step out in front of a moving car, for example".
His words hung in the air, echoing through the room. The threat was clear - either Alex agreed to work for them, or he'd kill Ian and make it look like a suicide.
"Go to Port Tallon, do some investigating, and report back to us… And maybe then, you'll get to see your uncle again".
Alex's mind raced, desperately searching for an alternative, a way to escape this nightmare. But there weren't any - Blunt had him trapped over a barrel and he knew it.
"Don't work for us, and I shall personally ensure that he has a little… accident, shall we say? And then there will be nothing from me keeping you here forever - and I assure you, Alex, doing so would bring me no greater joy".
"Then why don't you?" he spat out.
Blunt's left eye twitched.
"Because my deputy has strongly advised me against it".
Alex gave Jones a surprised look, reevaluating his previous opinion of her - namely, that she was Blunt's hype girl - but her expression gave nothing away.
"So this is what it comes down to" he said, "You're blackmailing me to do what you want".
"Not at all".
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but neither of them budged.
"And if I agree to do what you ask?"
Blunt glanced at Mrs Jones.
"Help us and we'll help you" she simply said.
Alex considered, but not for very long. He had no choice and he knew it. Not when these people held Ian's life in the palm of their grubby little backstabbing hands.
"... You talked about training".
Jones nodded. "Felix Lester - that's you - is expected at Port Tallon in two weeks. That doesn't give us very much time. But it's also why we brought you here, Alex. This is a training centre. If you agree to what we want, we can start tomorrow morning".
"Start tomorrow morning".
Alex spoke the three words without liking the sound of them. He was backed into a corner, his fate tied to their whims. The thought of being trained, thrust into a world of danger and espionage, made him shudder. The innocence of his previous life seemed like a distant memory, replaced by a harsh reality he never asked for.
Blunt and Mrs Jones were waiting for his answer.
He sighed.
"Yeah, alright. It doesn't look like I've got very much choice".
2.01 pm, Saturday, 12th March
MI6 Training Centre, Wales
"Now I'm sure you understand, Alex, that we cannot have you reneging on our deal" Blunt announced, as two nameless agents none-too-gently pushed him down in a chair.
In front of him stood a tall man in a white lab coat; presumably the same man who'd told Blunt to give Alex enough time for the tranquilliser to wear off before hitting him with any hard questions. Initially, Alex had been thankful for the doctor - now, however, as the man tapped on a rather large injection, he was starting to feel a bit more concerned.
Seeing his expression, Blunt gave a humourless smile.
"Not to worry, Alex. It will only pinch for a moment".
"I'm not worried" he couldn't help but reply, glaring at him, "I've dealt with far larger pricks than this".
His expression immediately soured, and the agents' hands on his shoulders tightened in warning. But Alex refused to be cowed into submission. His mind raced, searching for any way to escape whatever the bloody hell was in that vial.
"I'm surprised you're not asking me what it is we're injecting you with".
"And I'm surprised that your shadow is apparently capable of taking a day off, yet here we are".
The doctor rolled up his left sleeve and Alex tried not to think about the massive needle that was steadily approaching his arm. The absence of Mrs Jones was weighing heavily on his nerves.
"It's a new invention of ours" Blunt continued, ignoring him, "A hybrid, if you will. It's a tiny device, no bigger than the tip of my finger-"
"Wait, what? A device? What do you mean a- a device?!" he exclaimed, starting to struggle, "You can't just inject me with some sort of- of- of-"
"Tracker? Actually, Alex, you'll find that I can… Or need I repeat the numerous types of accidents that your uncle might one day find himself in?"
The needle pierced his skin, just below the wrist, and he bit back a cry of pain.
"A tracker small enough to be injected straight into you - it's incredible how technology has advanced, isn't it?"
The doctor pulled back the needle and Alex watched with a sickening feeling of dread as the man silently pressed a cotton ball to the bead of blood that had bubbled up.
"But as I was saying" Blunt finished, "It's a hybrid tracker - a GPS locator and a voice-activated listening device rolled into one".
Alex stared at his wrist as the doctor took a step back - and more specifically, at the faint red glow just beneath the surface of his skin. Blunt followed his gaze and frowned.
"Yes, the light has always been a bit of an issue. But nevertheless, at least we know that it's functioning correctly".
"... Why?"
He had so many questions he didn't even know where to begin.
"Why?" the man repeated, his tone laced with twisted amusement, "To keep you obedient, of course! Teenagers are rather well-known for their spots of rebelliousness and we couldn't have you trying to tell anyone about our little deal, either. Not that they'd even believe you. I mean - a fourteen-year-old spy? It's simply preposterous!"
Obviously, the idea wasn't preposterous enough.
"Perhaps the light will remind you about our agreement" Blunt said, "We're always watching, Alex, and with this, we'll be able to hear every single word you say".
He was trapped.
Alex felt a surge of frustration and anger within him, but he knew that any further resistance would only lead to more suffering.
He was trapped.
The magnitude of his helplessness settled deep within his core, and not for the first time since this entire clusterfuck had happened, he miserably wished that Ian was there.
"The sergeant is expecting us soon". Blunt glanced down at his watch, which was just as pale and grey as the rest of him. "It's time to go".
The two agents hauled him to his feet, and he was unceremoniously shoved towards the door, fear and pain and resentment making his heart pound loudly in his chest. The injection, the GPS tracker, the listening device - all of it, had suddenly made the entire bizarre situation that he was in seem very, very real.
One of the agents pushed him forward again but he resisted the urge to lash out.
He had to be smart about this - Ian had definitely taught him that much, at least. He couldn't run away because they'd find him again, and he couldn't tell anyone what was happening or Blunt would hear him and kill Ian. But surely there had to be a third option?
Either way, he knew that the best thing he could do now was bide his time. This entire Sayle Stormbreaker computer thing seemed pretty straightforward, and if there was anyone who could help him, then it would be the genius millionaire who had a flair for technology.
So for now, at least, he would play Blunt's game - pawn or not.
And who knew? Maybe there would be someone at this training centre that could help him too.
2.52 pm, Saturday, 12th March
MI6 Training Centre, Wales
He'd been moved out of the manor house and into a crude wooden hut a few miles away. There were nine huts in total, each equipped with four metal beds and four metal lockers. A fifth had been squeezed into one of them to accommodate Alex. Two more huts painted a different colour, stood side by side. One of these was a kitchen and mess hall. The other contained toilets, sinks, and showers - with not a single hot faucet in sight.
His wrist hurt.
Blunt had introduced him to his training officer before leaving; an incredibly fit black sergeant. He was the sort of man who thought he'd seen everything. Until he saw Alex. And he had examined the new arrival for a long minute before he had spoken.
"It's not my job to ask questions" he had said, "But if it was, I'd want to know what they're thinking of, sending me children. Do you have any idea where you are, boy? This isn't a holiday camp. This isn't Disneyland".
He cut the word into its three syllables and spat them out.
"I have you for twelve days and they expect me to give you the sort of training that should take fourteen weeks. That's not just mad. That's suicidal!"
"I didn't ask to be here" Alex said.
Suddenly the sergeant was furious.
"You don't speak to me unless I give you permission!" he shouted, "And when you speak to me, you address me as 'sir.' Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir".
Alex had already decided that the man was even worse than his geography teacher - and very, very, very unlikely to help him in any way, shape, or form.
"There are five units operational here at the moment" the officer went on, "You'll join K-Unit. We don't use names. I have no name. You have no name. If anyone asks you what you're doing, you tell them nothing. Some of the men may be hard on you. Some of them may resent you being here. That's too bad. You'll just have to live with it. And there's something else you need to know. I can make allowances for you. You're a boy, not a man. But if you complain, you'll be binned. If you cry, you'll be binned. If you can't keep up, you'll be binned. Between you and me, boy, this is a mistake and I want to bin you".
Yep.
There was definitely no help going to come from this guy.
3.01 pm, Saturday, 12th March
MI6 Training Centre, Wales
As the sergeant had predicted, K-Unit weren't exactly overjoyed to see him.
There were four of them. As Alex was soon to discover, the Special Operations Division of MI6 sent its agents to the same training centre used by the Special Air Service - the SAS. Much of the training was based on SAS methods and this included the numbers and makeup of each team. So there were four men, each with their own special skills. And one boy, seemingly with none.
They were all in their mid-twenties, spread out over the bunks in companionable silence. Two of them were smoking. One was dismantling and reassembling his gun - a nine-millimetre Browning High Power pistol.
Each of them had been given a code name: Wolf, Fox, Eagle, and Snake. From now on, Alex would be known as Cub.
The leader, Wolf, was the one with the gun. He was short and muscular with square shoulders and black, close-cropped hair. He had a handsome face, made slightly uneven by his nose, which had been broken at some time in the past. He was the first to speak. Putting the gun down, he examined Alex with cold dark brown eyes.
"So who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded.
Alex took a deep breath and answered with the code name the sergeant had given him.
"Cub".
"A bloody schoolboy!" Wolf spoke with a strange, slightly foreign accent. "I don't believe it. Are you with Special Operations?"
The other three men in the room were looking at him curiously, but none of them made a move to step in and stop the interrogation.
"I'm not allowed to tell you that".
Alex went over to his bunk - a small, metal bed that had been shoved into the back of the hut - and sat down. The mattress felt as solid as the frame. Despite the cold, there was only one blanket.
Wolf shook his head and smiled humorlessly.
"Look what they've sent us" he muttered, "Double 0 Seven? Double 0 Nothing's more like it".
And with a sinking feeling of impending doom, Alex realised that getting help was going to be far more difficult than he'd initially realised.
After that, the name stuck. Double 0 Nothing was what they called him.
In the days that followed, Alex shadowed the group, not quite part of it but never far away. Almost everything they did, he did. He learned map reading, radio communication, and first aid. He took part in an unarmed combat class and was knocked to the ground so often that it took all his nerve to persuade himself to get up again.
And then there was the assault course.
Five times he was shouted and bullied across the nightmare of nets and ladders, tunnels and ditches, towering walls and swinging tightropes that stretched out for almost a quarter of a mile in, and over, the woodland beside the huts. Alex thought of it as the adventure playground from hell. The first time he tried it, he fell off a rope and into a pit filled with freezing slime.
He was rather irritated to realise that the stupid bloody tracker was waterproof.
Half drowned and filthy, he had been sent back to the start by the sergeant. Alex thought he would never get to the end, but the second time he finished it in twenty-five minutes, which he had cut to seventeen minutes by the end of the week. Bruised and exhausted though he was, he was quietly pleased with himself. Even Wolf only managed it in twelve.
Wolf remained actively hostile toward Alex. The other three men simply ignored him, but Wolf did everything to taunt or humiliate him. It was as if Alex had somehow insulted him by being placed in the group. Once, crawling under the nets, Wolf lashed out with his foot, missing Alex's face by an inch. Of course, he would have said it was an accident if the boot had connected. Another time he was more successful, tripping Alex up in the mess hall and sending him flying, along with his tray, cutlery, and a steaming plate of stew. And every time he spoke to Alex, he used the same sneering tone of voice.
"Good night, Double 0 Nothing. Don't wet the bed."
Alex bit his lip and said nothing. But he was glad when the four men were sent off for a day's jungle survival course - this wasn't part of his own training. Even though the sergeant worked him twice as hard once they were gone, Alex preferred to be on his own.
Even if it did mean that he had no one to ask for help.
But being perfectly honest, Alex wasn't entirely sure how he would even go about doing that if given the chance. It was like Blunt had said - who would believe him to be a fourteen-year-old spy?
The tracker in his wrist continued to work, and Alex often found himself staring at its red glow late at night. He wondered if Blunt really was listening to his every conversation. He wondered if the reason Jones hadn't been there that day was because Blunt hadn't told her what he was doing. He wondered if Ian really was safe from Blunt or if he'd figured out what had happened and was now coming to rescue him.
Alex doubted it.
The photographs he'd been shown clearly told a story - one in which the hero had died and the hero's uncle was left behind, mourning his loss.
He'd give anything to see Ian again.
11.03 am, Sunday, 13th March
Kensington Police Station
The police had called him in.
Initially, Ian had been excited - maybe they'd had a breakthrough! Or a new lead! Or new camera footage or eyewitness accounts or sightings or-
And then, he'd been introduced to Detective Constable Kelly.
"She's a Family Liaison Officer" Thompson continued, "Trained to provide liaison between the police and families who have been victims of crime".
Ian felt… hollow.
"You're closing the case".
Thompson and Kelly exchanged a look before Kelly took a seat directly next to the man.
"No, Mr Rider, we're not closing the case. The Metropolitan Police never officially close a missing person's case".
"The key word here being official!" he spat, "You might not officially close it, but you stop actively working on it! You just call it a cold case, slap a label on the box, and shove it to the back of the evidence locker!"
They couldn't deny that much.
He wondered, distantly, where Sergeant Patel was today.
"Sometimes, we do reach a point where we deem it more… beneficial to shift our focus from active investigation to other, ongoing cases".
"Beneficial to whom? To Alex? He's fourteen years old! A child! He's just… He's just a child".
"We understand that, Mr Rider" Detective Inspector Thomspon said calmly, "And I promise you, we are not giving up. We won't give up until we have exhausted every possible avenue. However, statistically speaking, given Alex's profile... it's unlikely that he's still alive".
The words hit Ian like a punch to the gut.
Alex, his Alex, bright and kind and good… had now been reduced to just another cold statistic.
"He was a smart, well-loved kid" Thompson continued, her voice heavy with remorse, "Sporty, attractive, and a straight-A student… Unfortunately, these are the very qualities that made him an ideal target. The people who do this usually do it for fame. To make an impact. They want to go down in history as the man or woman who kidnapped the school's star pupil".
Ian listened to her numbly, noting the use of the past tense already. Was that all Alex was now? A memory? His name, a haunting reminder of what was lost? Someone from the past, someone with no present or future?
"DC Kelly is now your main point of contact. She can provide support during this trying time, and pass on any information about the investigation that we deem important. If you have any questions, then you can ask her, alright?"
He didn't answer, instead continuing to stare blankly at the metal table in front of him. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all. Ian's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, memories, and unanswered questions.
How did it come to this?
Detective Constable Kelly reached out and placed a gentle hand on Ian's trembling one. Her touch was surprisingly comforting, a small gesture of empathy amidst the cold and sterile atmosphere of the interview room.
"We understand the pain you must be going through, Mr Rider" Kelly said softly, her voice laced with seemingly genuine compassion, "And we want to assure you that even though the case might not be actively pursued at the moment, it doesn't mean we have given up on finding Alex. We will keep his file open and continue to explore any new leads or information that may arise".
Ian clenched his fists and pulled away from her, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. He wanted to be more than a helpless bystander, relying solely on the efforts of the police. Alex's case couldn't end like this. Alex's life couldn't end like this.
"Mr Rider… is there anyone I can call for you?" Kelly asked softly, "A friend, perhaps? Or a family member?"
"... No". He barely recognised his own voice. "No, Alex is, uh… Alex is all that I've got left".