AN: Here is Ella's POV of the last chapter. The chapters won't usually be so repetitive, but this is an important scene, so you needed both her and Alex's perspectives.
Chapter 9: Pizza and Revelations
Ella:
About a minute after the alarms start, two men wearing full-body biohazard suits come rushing into Mrs. Jones' office, with a boy in tow. He is wearing a gas mask, so I don't get a clear look at his face, though I do notice his long, messy, blonde hair spilling over the top.
One of the men holding the blonde boy begins shouting at Mrs. Jones. "We just caught this degenerate burning incense into the vents. We fear he's trying to poison the entire office. Do you know who this is?" Poison? What the hell is going on at MI6? Was I the target? How do more people know who I am?
Mrs. Jones groans. "Yes, Mr. Robertson," she says, addressing the man who had spoken, "Leave him here. You two are dismissed. Crawley, follow them." The men in the biohazard suits leave her office, with Crawley following behind them. I'm not sorry to see him go.
The boy stands up. There's something strangely familiar about him that I can't place. He is tall, probably 6 foot 2, and has searing, intelligent brown eyes that have clearly seen too much. He is kind of cute, with his blonde hair mussed up from the gas mask he is still wearing. I ignore that last thought because a blonde British boy in a hazmat suit is the absolute last thing I need.
"And you," she growls, turning to the boy, who is grinning sheepishly, "Sit down. You have some explaining to do." Why is he smiling? He just tried to poison us all!
His eyes scan the room as if he were searching for any discrepancies or threats. By that move alone, I can tell that he has at least some experience in the intelligence field. As if he suddenly decides it is safe, he begins walking toward the chair next to me. His movements are fluid and graceful, as though he is a dancer. I suppress a shudder when I realize what he reminded me of: a Scorpia assassin. I've had a few encounters with Scorpia, and none of them were pleasant. I eye him, warily. I don't know who this is, nor do I trust him.
My stomach lurches. All of a sudden, I am feeling really ill. I quickly swing my feet off of Jones's desk, stick my face into the trashcan next to her desk, and begin throwing up violently.
However, almost as quickly as the sickness came, it left once again, and I was left feeling fine, though upset. I stand up and wipe my vomit-covered mouth with a tissue from the box on Jones' desk. "What the hell was that?" I demand. I am confused about why Mrs. Jones is so calm about this person who just poisoned me. "What's going-" My question is interrupted when Jones grabs the same trashcan, gross, and vomits just as I did. He is not about to get away with this.
What's happening to me? Am I going to die? Why the hell does MI6 have fucking Scorpia assassins going around and poisoning their headquarters? Wait. Is this actually a trap? Is this even MI6? Is everyone around me an imposter looking to kill me? I need to solve this. Now.
"What's going on?" I demand, "Why is everyone throwing up? And why," I ask, turning to the assassin, "Are you wearing a gas mask? Did you just poison us? Who the hell are you?" I demand, inching closer to him. I am this fucking close to ending his life. I change into a smooth, ice-cold persona, attempting to show my power and authority. I know 74 ways to kill this prick with my bare hands. I begin going through the list mentally when the assassin speaks again.
"Well," he begins. He speaks in a British accent. It sounds like he's upper-class, Chelsea, maybe, with a hint of something else I can't quite place.
However, he is interrupted by a fuming Mrs. Jones. "What the hell, Alex, what did you do? You didn't poison the building, did you?" She looks scared. I roll my eyes because even I can hide my emotions better than she can.
It was funny to hear her swear. Fucking hypocrite. "I thought you said you'd swear less," I mumble with a smirk. Humor and sarcasm, I've found, are some of the best distractions. I really don't want Mrs. Jones to anger this assassin, who now has a name. Alex. I want to question him myself.
Much to my dismay, Mrs. Jones just ignores me. "Alex," she demands.
Alex just rolls his eyes. "Well," he begins, "I didn't poison anybody. I just used one of Mr. Smithers' gadgets, that's all." He was clearly trying to feign ignorance. It really wasn't working. Why the hell isn't he in handcuffs, and who the hell is Mr. Smithers?
"Can you expand on that?" Mrs. Jones demands impatiently.
"Of course, anything for you, Tulip," he says smoothly. Tulip! Her name is Tulip! I try my best to hide a smile, but it's rather difficult. "Remember the incense from Thailand?"
"Really, Alex? What made you think that this was a good idea? Are you insane?" Jones was pissed.
"Well, you seem to think so, Tulip." What does that even mean?
Jones is yelling now. "No. Alex, no. You did not light that wretched incense just to get out of our conversation." Her accusation was met with only a smirk. "Alexander John Rider, you are a liability!" Tulip roars. Rider? Could it be? An evil smirk appears on Tulip's face. "Alex, meet fou-" Shit. Wait. She is not about to give my spy identity to the random maybe-assassin. This cannot happen. I don't even know who this is, let alone trust him.
"Ella," I interrupt, trying to keep my secret identity a secret, "My name is Ella." 'Ella,' could be anybody. '4-6-7,' however…
"Yes, right," Mrs. Jones recovers, "Alex, meet Ella, your new partner."
Partner? Hell will freeze over before I go on a mission with this guy, Rider or not. "What?" I shriek, whipping around to face Mrs. Jones, "First you blackmailed me into your stupid contract, and now you're assigning me a partner who TRIED TO KILL ME?"
Jones chuckles, humorlessly, "Alex didn't try to kill you, Ella, he has no idea who you are. The vomiting thing was just a prank, directed at me. You two should be fine to work together." I huff. I like pranking intelligence officers as much as anyone, but this is a little far. You have to admire the craft, though…
Alex speaks up again. "Tulip, who even is this girl? I don't...what does she know? What are we partners for?"
Mrs. Jones grins evilly, "Yes. Yes, this is perfect, actually. You guys are one and the same, and you don't even know it," She says, cryptically.
One and the same...Holy shit! "Wait," I exclaim, realizing who (else) Alex was, "You're MI6's child agent!" I can't believe I hadn't realized this before!
Alex looks petrified. "What? Who are you?"
"I'm you," I say, simply, "If you were female and American." Now, it's my turn to mess with this kid, and boy, is it fun.
"What? What does that even mean? Who are you?" His struggle was amusing, and I fully intended to capitalize on it. I could tell that Alex wasn't someone who squirmed easily.
I sit back down, arrogantly. I swing my feet slowly back onto Jones' desk, happy to be back in control. "I'm Ella Cornell," I announce, slowly and clearly, with a smirk twisted onto my face, "And you're Alex Rider, and we're in the same situation."
"Could you please explain to me what the hell is going on?" He says, through clenched teeth.
"One minute," I promise. Before I can divulge any information, I need to talk to my dad and maybe Byrne. Turning back to Tulip, I say "Mrs. Jones, I need my phone back. I'd like to call my boss to find out what information I can divulge. Otherwise, I'll be forced to escape, and neither of us wants that." I make my voice sound calm, yet dangerous so that Jones has no choice but to comply.
Tulip nods and pulls out my cell phone from her top left desk drawer. Handing it to me, she points me in the direction of an empty conference room.
I completely ignore where she wants me to talk, as I'm totally sure that it's bugged. Instead, I leave the building and walk a few streets away to a little cafe. I sit down in a chair against the wall, as though I am waiting for someone, and dial my dad's number.
"Ella!" He exclaims, picking up after just two rings, "Nice to hear from you, finally." He sounds pissed.
"I'm really sorry, Dad. There's been a bit of a situation." We are speaking English, though quietly, as I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself.
"What the hell, Ella, you've literally been there 48 hours. How did you already find yourself in a 'situation?'"
I recount the story of me setting a rapist on fire. Unsurprisingly, my dad is totally understanding and has no qualms with what I did.
"So, what exactly is your situation?" He questions me.
"Well, after the police showed up, I was taken in for questioning. Then, someone searched my dorm room, found my suitcase full of identities, and decided to do a little research. I know it was stupid not to hide them better, but I was literally at Oxford for 18 hours and never had a chance. Anyway, I was linked to 4-6-7, and MI6 showed up. Ever met John Crawley? Fascinating guy. I was taken to their HQ and I met the ever-lovely Tulip Jones, and MI6's child agent, Alex Rider. Oh, also, I somehow got roped into a one-mission contract with them and Alex is my partner," I say that last part quickly.
"Jesus, Ella, I don't even know where to-Wait. Rider?"
"Yes, Dad, Rider."
My dad sighs. I know this is bringing back some painful memories for him. "So, you want to know how much you can tell him?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, I've talked to Byrne, and Alex is just as loyal and as trustworthy as any Rider, so use your judgement."
"Thanks, Dad," I sigh. I didn't realize how weird it felt to not be living with my family anymore.
"So," he says, changing the subject. "You're caught up with MI6, and only after two days."
"Yes, Dad, I realize the irony. You were right, I do always manage to find trouble."
"I know, Ella,"
"Bye, Dad,"
"I love you. Godspeed, Ella." I hang up the phone.
Rider. Goddammit, I can't believe it.
I walk back into Jones' office about 40 minutes after I left.
"Great to see you again," Alex mumbles sarcastically. He looks bored.
"I'm good," I inform the both of them, "My boss knows about everything."
"Are you going to give me any information about yourself at all? Because it seems unfair that you know so much about me, and I only know your name." Alex's annoyance was actually pretty amusing.
"All in good time, Alex," I say, just to piss him off.
Jones just nods, ignoring us, and begins to explain the mission. "You two are going to be sent, as partners, to Austin, Texas for your mission."
"Texas?" I interrupt, confused, "Shouldn't this be a CIA job, then?" It is America, after all.
"This man we are investigating, Todd Eldridge, is a British citizen and has been in our attention for a few years now. Anyways, he is now the principal of Truman Elementary School. In this particular school, seven children have up and vanished without a trace in the past two months. The parents are freaking out, and pulling their children from school. While it may just be your run-of-the-mill serial killer, it's too coincidental that they're all from the same school. Additionally,-"
"Jesus Christ, another child sex ring," I grumble.
Alex looks over at me. "Um, Ella, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say quickly, not wanting to open that can of worms.
"Anyways, if you'd be so kind as to stop interrupting me, here at MI6, we don't believe in coincidences."
"Yeah," Alex mumbles pointedly, "Unless they involve international pop stars."
Jones ignores him. "I'm sending you two undercover to investigate the school. You're a little young, but some makeup and the right outfit will age you both a couple years. Alex, you'll be undercover as a 4th grade teacher, and Ella, you'll be undercover as a secretary."
"Wow, Tulip, sexist much?" I ask, "Make the woman be the secretary, why don't you. I want to be a teacher, too."
"We need to have someone stationed near the principal's office," Jones sighs, "Just, please, cooperate with me."
"You want me to work for you, Tulip," I remind her, "I'll sit down and shut up for the rest of your little spiel, as long as I can help with Alex's and I's covers. I always did back at my former occupation, and I was damn good at it." I lift my eyebrows up, daring her to say no.
Mrs. Jones sighs. "Fine, but only if you shut up for the rest of my speech." I nod. This is acceptable to me. Thinking up covers is the most enjoyable part of going on missions.
"What do I get out of this, Mrs. Jones?" Alex asks innocently, his eyes wide. I laugh, knowing that he's just fucking with her.
"You get a regular paycheck, Alex, now please, let me speak." She takes a deep breath. "You two will be investigating Todd Eldridge and his shady elementary school, and you will be reporting back to us on your findings. We don't know what is going on with these children going missing, but we are determined to figure it out. Any questions?"
"No, ma'am," Alex says, politely.
"Yes. Now that you have him," I gesture at Alex, "Do you even need me anymore? Can't Alex just complete this mission while I go back to school?"
Alex laughs loudly, the sound surprising me. "You really think that Tulip gives a singular shit about your schooling? When I was 14, I missed more school than I attended because of MI6."
I raise an eyebrow at his statement. Tulip ignores the both of us. "We have a contract, Ella. You signed it."
"Yeah, that's a bullshit contract. I could sic the CIA on your asses. Is that what you want?"
"Wait," Alex interrupts, "You're CIA?" I nod. "Do you know Mr. Byrne?"
Do I know Mr. Byrne? Hah. The man practically raised me. "Yeah, I've seen him around," I say, casually, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to myself. I hear Mrs. Jones snort. Obviously, she knows I'm bluffing. "So, anyways Tulip, how would you like to feel the wrath of the entire CIA? I could get them to take you fuckers down, no questions asked. You know who's in charge over there," I say, clearly hinting at my father.
"Yes, Ella," Jones says, coolly, "But what about your suitcase?" Suitcase?
"What do you mean?" I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt.
"You know, that little suitcase that Crawley found under your bed," She smirks. Oh, fuck. She means the suitcase full of my other identities… "Well, you can refuse to work for us, but we keep the suitcase. If, however, you choose to go to Texas with Alex and complete the mission, it's all yours."
"That is blackmail!" I protest.
"That never stopped Jonesy before," Alex says flippantly.
"Which will it be, Ella?"
I have absolutely no choice in this matter, and Jones knows it. I want to wipe that stupid smirk off of her face. "Fine," I say, switching into a Southern drawl, "Guess I'll see y'all down in Texas."
Jones smiles, pleasantly. "Very well. You have until tomorrow to work with MI6 to develop your and Alex's covers. After that, since you aren't flying to Texas for another three weeks, you two will go up to Wales for more training. Specifically, the Brecon Beacons for SAS training."
"Tulip, what the hell!?" Alex explodes, "Are you Alan Blunt?"
"A great leader," Tulip says, just to spite him. I have absolutely no desire to train with the SAS. I trained with the Green Berets–sort of the American equivalent of the SAS–for a few months when I was 16. It was super illegal, but my asshat dad made me do it, so Mr. Byrne pulled some strings. They aren't exactly the American SAS, but it's the same general idea: Small, specialized teams of soldiers. Anyways, the training sucked, and I was looked down upon and harassed due to my age and gender. I need to get out of this.
"Tulip, let me remind you, that I set a man on fire because he tried to rape a complete stranger. Just imagine what will happen if I'm the victim," I say, keeping my voice ice-cold and dangerous.
"I'm sure you'll be fine, Ella, you have years of training, and Alex is here to protect you." She said, nonchalant.
Alex and I exchange glances as if to decide who should yell at Tulip first. He nods at me, so I begin. "I DON'T NEED A MAN FOR PROTECTION!" I explode, "What I need is to not put myself in the middle of another goddamn testosterone-filled army camp. What I need is for you to not disregard my safety and well-being. Is that how you treat all of your agents? You literally just discounted my fears of being sexually assaulted and put the onus of my protection on Alex. You treat him like shit, by the way. Anyways, how can you call yourself a woman when you treat me like that! I cannot believe you. In the CIA, my health and safety were always put first. You call yourself the 'good guys,' but you can't even offer the people you blackmail into working for you the basic feeling of health and safety! This is complete and utter bullshit, Mrs. Jones." Tulip should know as well as I do the struggles of being a young woman in a man's world. You always have to watch your back, because literally everyone is a threat.
"You're right," Mrs. Jones sighs, "That was really insensitive of me. I unfortunately still have to send you, though, because MI6 legally requires army work before employment."
"First of all, this is a top-secret mission anyway so we can sweep this requirement right under the table. Second of all, I have trained with the Green Berets, so I have army experience," I protest.
"British army service, and besides, after the whole Alan Blunt scandal–using underage agents," she clarifies for my benefit, "We have to be completely clear and transparent with the rest of the government." I nod once again.
"So I have no choice in the matter," I sigh. Tulip shakes her head.
"I can, however, give you your own separate sleeping quarters and bathroom," She offers.
"Yes," I agree, "Throw in the video footage of me setting that prick on fire, and the permission to murder anyone who intends to inflict harm on me, and we have a deal."
She raises an eyebrow. "Deal, but try to save murder as a last resort. These men have been vetted, and it is likely that nothing will happen to you. However, your safety is first, because the entire CIA will truly bring down a shitstorm on me if anything happens to you. Use your judgment, Ella." Use your judgment. That's the second time I've heard that today…
"Deal," We shake hands. Alex looks frazzled. "Welcome to womanhood," I say, sarcastically, "It's a wonderful place." He nods quickly.
Later that day, I am back in Jones' office with her and Alex, explaining our covers. "Okay, so Alex, your name is Allen Greenwald. You are 24 years old, and this is your first teaching job. You attended the University of Alabama and worked in Tuscaloosa, Alabama–that's where the college is–for a year as a substitute before landing a job in Texas, and moving to Austin. I am Eloise Greenwald, your beautiful wife. I'm 23. We met at Alabama when I was a sophomore, and you were a junior, and we've been together ever since. You stayed in Alabama for another year to wait for me to finish up college. We married the summer before my senior year. I applied for and got a job as a secretary at the same elementary school you work at so we could work in close proximity to each other. Oh, and I'm three months pregnant. I've cleared all of this with the CIA, who will have passports ready for us in Washington DC, upon our arrival." I clear my throat, very proud of my work. "Any questions?"
"Yes," Alex shifts uncomfortably, "I have a few. First of all, what are sophomores and juniors? Second, why the pregnancy? You're not actually pregnant, right? And anyway, your cover is super young. Third, Byrne once told me that it was illegal for the CIA to manufacture false passports, so how did you convince him so easily? And last, why the hell did you name me after Alan Blunt?" I chuckle at his naïvety.
"Okay. First, a sophomore is someone in their second year of college, and a junior is someone in their third. I guess the terms are only used in America. Anyways, because we are going in as adults, and not innocent children, we need to find another way to be unsuspecting. Who is more unsuspecting than a pregnant woman?"
"Oh my god, that's genius," Alex says, his eyes wide. Jones nods in agreement. I smirk arrogantly.
"Anyways, I'm not pregnant, it will be a fake belly that your Mr. Smithers is going to create. I've already discussed it with him. Also, in the future, it's incredibly rude to ask a woman if she's pregnant. And about my age, have you ever been to the South? People have children really young there. Okay, about the passports, let's just say that I have friends in very high places, and I wasn't even thinking about Blunt when I named you."
"How did you manage to accomplish that much in four hours?" Jones asks, incredulously, "If the whole college thing doesn't work out, please, apply for a job here."
"I'm okay, thanks though. And I have loads of experience, and again, friends in very high places that will give me anything I may need to be successful," I say, referring to my father and Joe Byrne. It's pretty funny to watch Alex's face contort in confusion, trying to figure me out. I swing my feet back on Jones' desk, mainly to confuse Alex even further. It's clear he knows nothing about me. To him, I'm just arrogant little Ella Cornell who has strong friends at the CIA.
Although, I know next to nothing about him, too. An aura of mystery surrounds him, and I am desperate to learn more.
Jones just sighs. I seem to have that effect on her. "Okay, agents, go home. It's late, and you have a big day ahead of you. Wait, Ella, before I forget," says, handing me a flash drive, "Here are the video clips you requested."
"Thanks. And one more thing, can I have money for a train back to Oxford? All of my stuff is up there."
"No matter, Crawley will take you up tomorrow," She assures me. That's great, but where the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?
I voice my thoughts out loud. "Okay, but where am I supposed to sleep tonight?"
She thinks for a second before an evil grin forms on her face. "Why, I'm sure your husband Allen, would just love to have you over for the night."
What? "No, no, it's okay, if you could just give me some cash for a hotel, that would be great. I really don't want to intrude," I protest awkwardly.
"No, no, you guys should get to know each other before your mission," Jones insists.
"Alex?" I ask, feeling really weird about the whole situation.
"Fine by me," he sighs, "But you have to sleep on the couch, and no blowing anything up." I nod. It's not like I try to blow things up. Not without good reason, anyways.
We leave the Royal and General together. He walks quickly past the front entrance and doesn't stop until we've turned the corner. "So," I announce, "What do you want to do for dinner? I personally haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday." I pull two 20£ bills out of a stick of chapstick that's in my pocket. "I'm buying," I offer. I wish I had more money on me. I usually do, and if I had brought more, I could have paid for a hotel room. There's no way I could find a hotel room in Central London for this cheap. Alex leads me into a pizza place, about three blocks down the road. We sit down and split a pizza. I haven't eaten in a very long time, and the food tastes amazing to me.
When we arrive at his house, I am surprised that I recognize it. Duh! Rider!I keep forgetting his namesake! He opens the door and leads me to a couch in his living room. I sit down. "Do you live alone?" I ask. There is not a soul in sight.
"No, I live with my housekeeper, Jack. Right now, she's at her boyfriend's place," Alex makes a face.
"I'm guessing you don't like the boyfriend?" Alex laughs and shakes his head.
"So, I really know nothing about you, Ella Cornell, yet you seem to know loads about me," Alex says, changing the subject.
"Well Alex Rider, I only know that you are the child agent who has worked for '6 for the past four years. Oh, and that you live in Chelsea," I say, truthfully.
"Really?" He asks, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief, "You seem to know more than you're letting on."
I give him a wide, toothy grin. "I worked for the CIA. You expect me to be transparent with you?"
Alex laughs, good-naturedly. "That's true. How long were you with the CIA anyway?"
I feel weird about sharing any personal information with Alex. He seems nice enough, and we are incredibly similar, but after this mission, I'll probably never see him again, and any incriminating evidence shared could prove to be dangerous. "Long enough to know my way around, but not long enough to be in charge," I say, avoiding the question.
"Come on," Alex urges me, "You know how long I've been with Manipulating the Innocent '6. Just give me a time frame."
I laugh at his nickname for MI6. "Ouch. Don't say that around Jonesey. She'll send you to some hellhole or another." I skillfully dodge his question once again.
"Yeah. Probably." He pauses. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
I shake my head. "Classified." The one thing that Byrne and my dad drilled into my head since I was about 5, was to never tell anyone how long I've been working for them. America has incredibly strict child labor laws. Since our current president is itching for a reason to shut us down, this would end the organization, since they so blatantly broke them with me.
Alex shrugs, unsurprised. "I figured. I know what it's like to be the government's dirty little secret."
I laugh at this, "You know, Alex, we're probably the only ones in the world who can say that."
He considers this. "Yeah, I guess so. Unless other governments are actually able to keep their mouths shut about their child agents. The whole intelligence world knows about me."
"The CIA never ran their mouths about me. They never wanted to bring attention to the fact they were employing a minor. '6 just bragged about you to the entire world. Besides, from what I've heard about you, you're the type to just blow shit up when it suits you. It's a lot easier to cover up a few people "spontaneously" dying than say, the Prime Minister being shot at on live television, or Air Force One being completely destroyed at Heathrow," Alex's eyes widen when I mention his missions. Joe gave me a file, a thin one, granted, on him before I left for Oxford. It didn't say much, but there were details of a few of his missions, "The CIA lost their shit over that, by the way, what exactly happened?"
"Wait, what? Hold up. MI6 bragged about me? Also, blowing things up is maybe the only enjoyable part of being forced to risk your life for a government you detest. How do you know about my missions?" Alex looked, understandably, confused.
"I asked you a question first." I really didn't feel like lying, so I just changed the subject.
Alex sighed. "What I need to know is more important. Answer me, and I'll answer you." I raised an eyebrow and looked him in the eyes. We sat that way for another minute before he finally broke. "Ah!" He exclaims, "Fine! A former pop singer stole the plane and was planning to blow up half the earth. I stopped him, and the plane crashed. Now you tell me what I want to know."
"Damian Cray," I say slowly. I see Alex try to repress a shudder.
"How-"
"You know," I draw out, interrupting him, "Damian Cray isn't the only legend the world lost that day," Alex raises an eyebrow, "Yassen Gregorovich," I say in a Russian accent, "One of the greatest assassins the intelligence agencies have ever known." Alex looks completely dumbfounded. His mouth is literally hanging open, and his eyes are wide. "What," I smirk, "Did you really expect the CIA not to hear about the death of Yassen Gregorovich? It happened on American property. He was one of the greatest assassins Scorpia ever had. But you know that."
"Well, obviously you knew about it," Alex stammers. He is clearly having trouble forming a coherent thought, but who could really blame him? "But why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why would you bring him up?"
"I'm just messing with you, calm down. I saw the plane's security footage, and I wanted to know what he said to you. I've met him, you know, he was a lovely man."
"What?" Alex exclaims, "You can't just drop a bombshell like that. And he didn't say anything to me, it was just nonsense. The man was bloody dying, for God's sake." I am fairly certain that Alex is lying, but I don't press him on the issue. He looks pretty uncomfortable.
"Okay," I say convincingly, "New subject. If Yassen didn't say anything to you, why do you walk just like him? I can see Malagosto in your stride." I know I'm pressing him, but Alex honestly fascinates me. He is a puzzle. A puzzle I want nothing more than to solve.
"Nope. Not that. New subject."
"Fine then. You choose."
"Okay," Alex says. I can see him processing a lifetime of data in the course of about a second. He has a very analytical mind, I can tell. Finally, he speaks again: "If you've been working for the CIA for so long, then why did they recruit me on two separate missions? Why didn't they just send you?"
"How would I even know about your missions?" I ask, innocently, as if I hadn't just read the CIA's file of him. While it is lacking in his other missions, the CIA ones were thoroughly described.
Alex looks me in the eyes, unamused. "You seem to know lots of things."
"Yeah, true," I say, deciding to give in, "You were recruited for the space hotel nightmare because you were close with Drevin and his son. It logistically made more sense to assign the spy who already knew the family rather than sending me undercover as well."
"Yeah, that's logical, but what about Skeleton Key?"
"Everyone's favorite clusterfuck," I laugh, mainly because these are Byrne's words, not mine, "Troy and Carver were good agents, though they did everything by the book."
"Yeah," Alex remembers, "They never took any chances…"
"Which is what being a spy is," I interrupt, finishing his sentence. "Anyways, I was on another mission then. I was sent out like a week before Byrne got the intel on Sarov, so he needed another child agent. Logistically, he could have sent one of my siblings, I guess, but two of them were pretty young. One was already an adult at that point, so they were too old and the last is a terrible field agent. Byrne would have sent me, but I was in Europe then on a separate mission."
Alex nods, accepting this. "Wait, you have how many siblings?"
"Four. I'm the middle child."
"Wild. I'm the only one."
"Yeah, when my dad wasn't out in the field, he was busy impregnating my mother," I remark.
An amused look crosses Alex's face. "So what exactly are you doing in England?"
"Well, I applied to college here to get away from my fucked-up family and the CIA. However, 18 hours later I'm mixed up with another manipulative intelligence agency."
"Gross," Alex sighs, "Yeah, MI6 fucking blow."
"Yeah, but they're not as bad as the CIA."
"I disagree. Byrne is certainly no Blunt."
"Hard to say. I have been manipulated into risking my life and then sent downright incompetent backup just to see if I could handle it. You know, I kind of hate my country. I know as an American I'm supposed to be extremely patriotic and loyal to America and love the government or whatever, but I've really grown to hate it. That fucking government has been manipulating me since I was a child and I'm expected to love them? Seriously, it's awful. These pricks can force me to work for them, but I can't even vote them out! As a minor, I can risk my life for that country, but I can't vote for those in charge of it? That is complete and utter bullshit. I know that CIA operatives are supposed to be apolitical, but that rule can fuck right off."
Alex laughs. "Yeah, it's incredible that we're expected to love the governments who force us to risk our lives for things we don't believe in."
I nod in agreement. Alex really gets it. He's not a bad guy at all. I yawn because I've barely slept after switching time zones. Alex laughs. "We should probably get some sleep."
I nod again, my eyes heavy with sleep. "Mind if I shower first?"
"No, go ahead, you can use Jack's shower."
A few minutes later, I'm standing in the shower, trying to figure out the water. Honestly, you'd think with the amount I've traveled, I'd be able to figure out showers by now, but unfortunately, that is not the case.
I finally get the water on. The showerhead spits a stream of freezing cold water directly at my face. My breathing rate picks up. Faster and faster. I'm hyperventilating. There are black spots in my eyes. Memories come flooding back. I scream as loud as I can. I fall to my knees. My breathing gets faster. Water continues to fall on my face. I can't do this. My vision gets spottier. The darkness is taking over my eyes. Memories. Nightmares. Water. I can't see. I can't move. I can't-