10.12 am, Monday, 2nd May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Ian wasn't surprised to find himself summoned the following Monday, but that didn't mean that he had to like it.
He also didn't like the fact that the man was keeping track of him, even though he'd suspected that too.
Either way, he found himself exiting Liverpool Street station bright and early Monday morning, purposefully treading on the late side of their so-called meeting just to piss off the bastard even more. The receptionist waved him through - not that he'd stopped long enough for permission, to begin with - and he arrived at Blunt's office fashionably late, throwing open the wooden doors without so much as a knock.
The man scowled at the intrusion. "Ian".
He grinned sharply in response. "Alan".
From her semi-permanent position just behind the bastard's shoulder, Jones gave him a friendly, if somewhat tight, smile. Ian carelessly threw himself down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and waited for Blunt to speak first, resisting the urge to scratch at the bandages only just about hidden beneath the short sleeves of his shirt.
After a rather long stare-off, the Head of MI6 finally relented.
"I'm sure you heard about the fire at Brookland Comprehensive School last Friday?"
"I did" he replied evenly, "Shame, that. It was a brand new science block, and all".
A glint of irritation briefly flashed through the man's eyes, and Ian silently raised his Rider vs Reptile win counter by one.
"Let me make myself more clear, then" Blunt continued, "I know that you know about the fire because I have CCTV footage showing you entering the schoolyard approximately fifteen minutes before the explosion happened… Now, what do you have to say about that?"
"Well, anything can be doctored these days" he said breezily, "Including videos. You would not believe the editing software that exists right now; it really is impressive-"
"Enough!" the man snapped, "I warned you against meddling with the affairs of MI6. If you continue to get yourself involved-"
"You'll what?" he interrupted, rather pointedly, "Kidnap my kid?"
The bloody reptile of a man didn't even flinch.
"I have enough concrete evidence as it is to send you away for a very long time. If I were you, I wouldn't continue to taunt me like a schoolboy or I will personally ensure that those tapes end up on the police commissioner's desk!"
It was a bluff. Ian didn't doubt for one minute that Blunt had security footage putting him on King's Road just before the fire, but he sure as hell didn't have a scrap of evidence that suggested that Ian was the one who'd started the fire - nor did Ian have a single reason to have done so. If Blunt did have such proof, then he'd have used it by now, seizing the chance to remove him from the playing field permanently.
"Well" he finally replied, "We all know how much you love schoolboys".
He clenched his jaw so tightly that Ian could've sworn he heard a tooth crack. From behind him, safely out of view from the man in question, Jones smirked.
"It might interest you to know" Blunt bit out, "That we recovered a fourteen-year-old boy from the wreckage… Still very much alive".
And-
Well.
That… complicated things.
As relieved as Ian was that he hadn't played even just a tiny role in the death of Not-Alex, he was still somewhat concerned given that Not-Alive had survived. The boy had clearly been deranged before he'd hit his head, after all, so just what on earth would he plan to do now?
"We have safely detained him in one of our offshore prisons for the moment" Blunt continued, "But I cannot help but wonder; why were you meeting a psychotic murderer?"
"I wasn't" he replied easily, which, you know, was technically the truth, "I had absolutely no intention whatsoever in meeting him there".
"But you did plan to meet him elsewhere?"
"Not at the school. As I told you".
Blunt's cold grey gaze glinted with something akin to satisfaction and Ian was immediately put on guard.
"And yet still; you and Julius Grief met in a private location which was then promptly burned to the ground… This isn't starting to look very good for you, Ian. I'd hate for the police to get involved".
"I imagine that the police would be far more interested in your wrongdoings than in mine" he countered evenly, "Especially since your recent crimes actually have eyewitnesses".
There was a brief pause as the bland man considered his words. It wasn't an outright threat; Ian was far too smart for that, but he'd gotten the message across. If Blunt tried to go public with the arson, then he'd go public with the kidnapping - the reptilian bastard didn't need to know that Ian had already decided that going public was the last thing he'd do.
"... I'd advise you not to stray too far down this dark path, Ian" he eventually said, "Who knows what phone calls could be traced or recorded? What clandestine meetings could be videoed for later use… I mean, you saw how well it turned out for your brother after he adopted a pet criminal".
That odious vindictive self-serving prick!
"I'll be sure to take that under advisement" he replied tightly, abruptly standing up, "So if we're done here…?"
"We're done" Blunt said, a tight smile on his own grey lips, but whether it was genuine or not was anyone's guess, "Stay out of things that don't concern you, Ian. Perhaps it would do you well to take a vacation".
"Perhaps it would".
He turned back to the door, but to his surprise, before he could leave, Mrs Jones stepped forward.
"I'll see you out".
They both felt Blunt's hard gaze pierce into them until they reached the elevators.
Jones remained silent on the way down from the sixteenth floor, and she maintained her silence as they walked through the lobby, her steps measured and calm but just a touch too fast to be casual. It was only once they'd stepped outside the Royal and General that she finally turned to him.
"Ian".
"Tulip" he said, just because he could, and the corners of her mouth briefly twitched.
"I know that you're… concerned" she started, haltingly, "About- About Alex. I can… understand your worry. But you also must realise that Alan will not hesitate to throw you under the bus if it means protecting MI6's best interests".
It wasn't an outright admission. She hadn't told him directly that MI6 did have his nephew. But if finding Alex was threatening MI6's best interests, then it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.
"I understand" he replied carefully, "But you must realise that me finding Alex is in his best interest. I can't just sit back and do nothing while his life is being put at risk!"
"And what about your life? Do you honestly think that Alan won't-" Mrs Jones cut herself off, as if fearing that she'd said too much. "... You need to be careful, Ian. There's no point in bringing Alex home if you're not there to greet him".
She was worried about him - about him and Alex both. But if she really was so bloody concerned about their safety, then why the hell wasn't she helping his kid escape?!
"You made the right choice, getting out when you did" she said suddenly, sensing his frustration, "You protected your family… Not all of us were so fortunate".
He abruptly remembered the rumours about her losing two sons and not for the first time, he wondered if there was some truth in it after all. He wasn't sure how accurate the rumours were - wasn't even sure if it was two boys that she had, or two girls, or one of each, perhaps. He did think there was truth in her being a mother, however; call it a sixth sense but there was just something about the way that she… held herself.
Maybe it was in the way she'd always treated him and John when they'd first been recruited, how… indulgent she seemed to be to their whims at times. Maybe it was even just because of how she treated Alex - not the blackmail-into-working-for-MI6 part, but other things, like how she spoke about him or the look she got in her eye whenever Blunt said something especially callous, as usual.
But that last line…
Not all of us were so fortunate.
She had lost someone, that was for sure, but that would've made her even more likely to help him get Alex out, or so he would've thought. Unless… Unless Alan bloody Blunt was employing the same methods on her as he was on Alex, and she was being… what? Blackmailed into keeping his kid in the confines of MI6?
It made sense... but just what on earth had Jones done that was so terrible that she'd prefer to see a child suffer rather than have it come out?
"Alan was right, you know".
Uh- What?!
"About associating with criminals" she explained, smiling at his baffled look, "If you get caught talking to more unsavoury figures, then it will be well within his rights to have you arrested… If you get caught".
Mrs Jones was giving him a rather peculiar look.
"So I would tread lightly if I were you. Ours has always been a world of grey, rather than black or white… Doing bad things for good reasons is a difficult line to balance. Especially since MI6 typically operates in murky waters, to begin with - treading that line is something that we instil in all of our agents".
As well as in their past agents, Ian realised. She was right - he himself had dealt with more than one criminal mastermind, letting them go in favour of catching the bigger fish. MI6 dealt with morally ambiguous situations every day, often having to make difficult choices for the greater good, as it were.
Ian considered Jones's words carefully. She was warning him, yes, but there was an undercurrent to her message that hinted at something more. If the so-called good guys were using such underhanded tactics to achieve their goals, then perhaps it was time to consider seeking help from the other side. An enemy of my enemy, and all that.
"... I understand" Ian eventually replied, "I, uh… I won't get caught getting involved with any criminals".
She smiled again, lighter this time.
"Good. See to it that you don't". Jones turned back to the main entrance of the bank. "I'd hate to find out that you've forgotten all that we taught you".
11.03 am, Monday, 2nd May
Liverpool Street, London
Ian decided to walk part of the way home rather than get back on the tube at Liverpool Street station. He could always jump on at Cannon Street or even Blackfriars if he wanted to, but for now, he needed the fresh air to help clear his head.
Doing bad things for good reasons is a difficult line to balance.
Ian wasn't sure if Jones was referring to Blunt using Alex to save lives, or to himself using criminals to rescue the boy. MI6 clearly thought that he'd set up that meeting with Not-Alex - Julius Grief, he reminded himself - and that had made Blunt nervous.
He understood why; if he had enough resources and contacts to track down the clone that MI6 itself had missed, then Ian had a lot of resources and contacts indeed. It was why he didn't correct the man's assumption, only denying their meeting just enough to have plausible deniability, but not enough to convince Blunt that he truly hadn't meant to find Julius Grief at Alex's school.
If Blunt was nervous, then he'd start making mistakes, and if he started making mistakes, then Ian had a better chance of finding Alex and getting him the hell away from the bastard.
And then there was Jones.
She hadn't been terribly subtle about telling him to contact some bad guy or another, but she'd been subtle enough to have plausible deniability herself. Blunt would most certainly be having words with her when she returned to his office, and Ian briefly felt a pang of guilt at drawing the man's ire on the poor woman… but then he remembered that she was just as guilty as he was for using Alex, and he promptly squashed the feeling with relish.
Blackmail or not, she was still making the choice not to get his kid away from the clutches of MI6, and he didn't care how much dirt Blunt had on her.
And as for contacting the villain of the week…
Well, he did still remember what MI6 had taught him, and he did still have enough resources and contacts to find someone if he had to, and he did even have that someone in mind and, ironically enough, it was all because of Alan fucking Blunt.
You saw how well it turned out for your brother after he adopted a pet criminal.
Ian crossed the road and turned left onto Queen Victoria Street, spying the familiar red circle sign for the underground up ahead. With a newfound sense of determination, he headed straight for it.
Yassen Gregorovich.
Now there was a name that he hadn't heard in a while - although he couldn't honestly admit that he didn't think about the assassin from time to time. He couldn't help it; John had told him more than a few interesting stories after his time with SCORPIA and he'd always gotten the impression that, despite the man's profession, he ultimately still had a heart.
Unlike Blunt.
And at this stage, after having lost Alex two months ago, realising that MI6 had kidnapped him six weeks ago, and finding out that they were blackmailing him with his uncle's murder only a few days ago, Ian was more than done.
Fuck MI6.
Fuck Alan fucking Blunt.
And fuck England.
England could burn along with that school for all he cared; he just wanted to get his kid back. Once upon a time, the country had come first, but his priorities had changed the very second a screaming wriggling bundle was deposited in his arms after his parents had sacrificed their lives for it, so just why the hell should he stay loyal to the country that was abusing his kid?
The so-called good guys were blackmailing children into risking their lives now, after all, and if Ian was being perfectly honest, then he wasn't even sure if an organisation like SCORPIA would go that far.
He knew he would be taking a huge risk by contacting Yassen bloody Gregorovich - a risk that the man himself most definitely contributed to - but if it meant finding Alex and getting him away from MI6, then that was a risk he was most certainly willing to take.
After all, if Alan bloody Blunt was playing dirty, then so would he.
2.14 pm, Monday, 9th May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Alex felt a weird combination of tumultuous emotions as he was led by two nameless agents up to Blunt's office.
He'd spent the previous two weeks fully recovering from his injuries from Point Blanc and being brought back up to peak fitness by two different nameless agents who, if he didn't know any better, appeared to be more like robots than humans.
The fact that Blunt had summoned him like a bloody dog could only mean that his time in his windowless grey concrete cell was over - which he was beyond grateful for - but it also meant that he was very likely about to be sent out on another life-threatening high stakes mission he wanted no part in - which he was beyond terrified for.
With a quick rap on the door by agent number one, he was unceremoniously shoved into the office, and the reinforced wood shut soundly behind him. Turning with a scowl, he was briefly surprised to find not just Alan bloody Blunt and Mrs Jones staring back at him, but another man too.
A man that Alex recognised immediately.
"You shot me!"
Only with a tranquiliser gun, admittedly, but still!
The man grimaced. "Yes, I did. Sorry about that, Alex. I, uh… Well, I was trying to keep you calm".
"By shooting me?!"
"Mr Crawley did what he thought was best at that moment" Jones said, although based on the slight derision in her voice, she didn't like the fact he'd tranqed him either, "However I assure you that he will not be doing so again".
"Ah, yes, quite right, quite right, Mrs Jones" Crawley hurriedly said, "Actually, Alex, I have a favour to ask of you".
"An actual favour or just more blackmail? Are you going to threaten my uncle too if I try to say no?"
He grimaced yet again, as did Jones, but Blunt, of course, was as impassive as ever.
"Sit down, Alex".
He sat.
It looked like it was going to be quite a long conversation, after all, and as much as he wanted to stick it to the man, as it were, he also knew that it would be far smarter for him to conserve his energy now to use it when he actually had a chance to escape.
Not that he could, with that stupid bloody tracker beneath his skin, but he'd figure out a way around that too when it came to it.
"The thing is, what I wanted to ask you was… how would you like a front-row seat at Wimbledon?"
Out of everything that could have come out of Crawley's mouth, Alex had most certainly not expected that.
"Wimbledon? You mean… the tennis? You're, what, offering me a ticket?!"
"Of sorts" he replied, taking the seat next to him, "You see, a week ago we had a break-in. Security at the club is always tight but someone managed to climb over the wall and get into the Millennium Building through a forced window - that's where the players have their changing rooms. Anyway, the intruder managed to disable our security systems before breaking in, and if it weren't for one of the night guards seeing him leave, then we'd never have known anyone had been in there. He was Chinese, in his early twenties-"
"The guard?" Alex interrupted, purposefully acting obtuse, and was rewarded for it by the slight twitching of Blunt's lips and Crawley's frown deepening even more.
"No, the intruder" he replied, "We examined the building from top to bottom after the break-in and found nothing, but my belief is that somebody is intending to sabotage Wimbledon this year. I know it sounds ridiculous and I have to admit, the other committee members don't believe me. On the other hand, they don't have my instincts. They don't work in the same business as me. But think about it, Alex. There had to be a reason for such a carefully planned and executed break-in. But there is no reason. Something's wrong".
"Why would anyone want to sabotage Wimbledon?"
"I don't know. But you have to remember, the Wimbledon tennis fortnight is a huge business. There are millions of pounds at stake. Prize money alone adds up to eight and a half million. And then there are television rights, merchandising rights, corporate sponsorship… We get VIPs flying in from all over the planet - everyone from film stars to presidents - and tickets for the men's final have been known to change hands for literally thousands of pounds. It's not just a game. It's a world event, and if anything happened… well, it doesn't bear thinking about".
Crawley obviously had been thinking about it. He looked tired; the worry was deep in his eyes. And suddenly, Alex knew exactly what they wanted him to do.
"You want me to look around".
"Exactly. But a one-day visit isn't quite what I had in mind" he explained, "I was wondering if you would consider becoming a ballboy".
"You're not serious!"
"Why not? You can stay there for the whole fortnight. You'll have a wonderful time and you'll be right in the middle of things. You'll see some great matches. And I'll be able to relax a little, knowing you're there. If anything is going on, there's a good chance you might spot it. Then you can call me and I'll take care of it".
Crawley nodded. It was obvious that he had managed to persuade himself, if not Alex.
"It's not as if this is dangerous or anything. I mean… It's Wimbledon. There'll be plenty of other boys and girls there-"
"But don't you have enough security people already?"
"Of course; we have a security company. They're easy to see - which makes them easy to avoid. But you'd be invisible, Alex. That's the whole point… So. What do you think?"
Alex glanced between Crawley's hopeful face, Blunt's stern yet somehow blank expression, and Mrs Jones's tense peppermint chewing. The man next to him had made this sound like a small affair - hardly worth his time, but Alex knew that there was a lot more that he wasn't saying.
A lot more that he wasn't telling him.
But this would be his third mission for MI6 and he knew what the stakes were by now. If he said no, then Ian would suffer - and Alex would much rather put his own life at risk than that of his uncles.
"I think that I don't have much choice".
3.51 pm, Sunday, 15th May
Kyoto, Japan
Yassen stared down at the short letter in his hands with something akin to curiosity.
It was late afternoon and the small hotel he was staying in was quiet as other guests were either sleeping off the worst of the heart, visiting the nearby town, or hiking through Mount Hiei.
Hiei-zan, he mentally corrected himself. 山 meaning mountain and 比 and 叡 each having their own meanings, but when combined, forming a proper noun representing the mountain. He had come here during his downtime to learn Japanese, after all, so he would be a fool not to take every opportunity to practise it.
And Yassen was not a fool.
He had, therefore, questioned the young woman who had delivered the letter to the best of his abilities, but the girl had been as confused as he was - apparently, the envelope hadn't arrived with the rest of the post that day, and had instead been hand delivered by a non-descript Japanese man who hadn't left a name or any contact details.
After thoroughly examining the paper for any signs of poison or tampering, Yassen had finally opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper within. It was a handwritten note, brief and to the point, and when he'd seen who had written it…
Well.
He was… curious.
Ian Rider.
How… intriguing.
Yassen was not one to experience or even acknowledge extreme emotions, and he hesitated to call his current state of interest extreme, but he was certainly feeling more in general than he had in quite some time.
It had been over a month since the Stormbreaker job but the blond boy on that rooftop still plagued his mind. He hadn't told SCORPIA of his existence - of the real reason he'd ended up disobeying his orders and shooting Sayle - but he wasn't quite sure why.
Well, no, that wasn't true.
He knew exactly why.
The boy had looked far too like John Rider for it to be a coincidence, surely, and he was roughly around the same age as the dead man's son should be, too.
And now Ian Rider, John's brother and his son's guardian, wanted to meet for reasons undisclosed.
The timing was… circumspect, to say the least.
Yassen had been reluctantly impressed when he'd met the boy on that rooftop in London. He hadn't hesitated when he shot Herod Sayle - he hasn't hesitated in shooting anyone for well over a decade at this stage. The body had twisted and fell. It had hit the ground and lay quite still, unaware of the pool of blood spreading around him - and throughout it all, the boy didn't move
Yassen admired him for that.
He had landed the helicopter as quickly as he could, never once taking his eyes off of the boy. The gun that had just killed Sayle was still resting in his lap. The landing skid touched the roof of the building and settled. Yassen switched off the engine and got out.
The two of them stood face to face.
It was extraordinary how similar he was to his father - for that was who the boy was, he was sure of it. Alex's hair was longer and it was lighter in colour - reminding Yassen of the woman he had glimpsed with John Rider at Sacré Cœur many years ago - but he had the same brown eyes and there was something about the way he stood with exactly the same composure and self-confidence. He had just seen a man die, and yet, he wasn't afraid.
It seemed remarkable, and strangely appropriate, that he was only fourteen - the same age that Yassen had been when those other helicopters had come to his village and he'd seen his first man die, too.
He could no longer lie to himself.
The boy was, is, and would forever be John Rider's son.
It was somehow inevitable that the two of them should finally meet. How much did Alex know about the past, Yassen wondered. Did he have any idea what his father had been? Did he have any idea what his uncle had been?
"You're Yassen Gregorovich".
He had nodded.
"Believe me. It would be better if we didn't meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grown-ups and you're still a child".
It was the same advice that Alex's father had once given him. But Yassen was offering it for a very different reason.
The two of them had come from different worlds but they had so much in common. Alex's parents were dead, just like his. At the same age, they had lost everything that mattered to them. They had found themselves alone. And they had both been chosen. In Alex's case, it had been the British secret service, MI6 Special Operations, who had come calling. For Yassen, it had been SCORPIA.
Had either of them ever had any choice?
It might still not be too late.
Except-
"You say that as if they gave me a choice!"
And that had stopped him dead in his tracks.
Yassen thought about his life. If only someone could have reached out and taken hold of him before he got on the train to Moscow, before he broke into the flat near Gorky Park, before he reached Malagosto. For him, there had been nobody… but for Alex Rider, it didn't need to be the same.
"Why are you-"
They were interrupted.
Yassen had turned around and walked back to the helicopter. Alex didn't move - not even as black-clad MI6 agents stormed the roof, weapons drawn. Yassen had flicked on the engine, waited until the blades had reached full velocity and took off a second time. At the last moment, he had raised a hand in a gesture of farewell.
Alex had done the same.
The two of them had looked at each other, both of them trapped in different ways, on opposite sides of the glass - and Yassen thought about everything he had seen, everything he had heard, everything that had almost been said and wondered… What leverage did MI6 have on the boy?
He couldn't stop himself.
High above the Thames with the sun setting over the water, he had spun the cockpit round and glanced back one last time. But the roof had been empty apart from the body stretched out beside the red cross - neither the agents nor Alex Rider anywhere in sight.
And now Ian Rider wanted to meet him…
Yassen turned back to the letter.
He had a job coming up soon, in Morocco, that he expected to take two weeks, perhaps three if the client proved to be… difficult, but after that, he'd have some free time again - at least, for another few weeks.
It'd be suspicious to leave the country the day his target would be killed, after all, and he'd heard that Morocco was particularly vibrant this time of year. So if he was going to be in the country anyway, he might as well kill two birds with one stone - perhaps even literally if this turned out to be a setup, although a very strange and needlessly complicated setup it would be.
It couldn't hurt to simply… meet the man.
But even if it did - Yassen was well equipped to cause just as much hurt in return.