October 31st 2002

The Chapel, Brompton Cemetery, London

Alexander John Rider

1987-2002

In Memoriam

Tom Harris read these words on the cover of the order of service and seethed. He sat and listened to the two adults who stood up to speak and tell lies of about a teenager who had lost his way after the death of his beloved uncle and committed suicide. Every utterance was pure fiction. They did not know Alex. It was complete bullshit. Tom wanted to stand up and scream this fact, but his mother would kill him for embarrassing her. He knew there was no body in the coffin being placed in the ground. Alex had not died in London. Tom was pretty sure Alex was dead. The last communication from Alex Rider had consisted of three identical letters sent by surface mail from Moscow dated 21st September 2002 and had arrived five days ago.

This operation has been a complete SNAFU from the start. If I have not phoned you by the time you get this letter I will be dead. Do not mourn me. I am at peace with my imminent end. I knew I had no luck left after Cairo.

Alex.

PS Dear Mrs Jones/John Crawley/Ben Daniels if you're reading this, Mark Donovan, is already dead. I am on the streets at the moment as I do not know any contacts or safe houses here as no one told me. Its great being on your own, a thousand miles from home, with both Russian Federal authorities and the Mafia after your blood.

The short note had been sent to Sabina, Tom and James Sprintz.

Tom scowled as his classmates from Brookland acted like Alex Rider had been their friend. That they were sorry he'd passed. Even here, they had whispered and gossiped about the cause of death, the favourite was Alex ODing on heroin. The only drugs Alex took were his prescribed anti depressants. They were as big hypocrites as those gits from MI6 and the SAS who stood at the back. Miss Bedfordshire was weeping openly. Mind you so was a huge bloke in his army uniform. Tom guessed from his description this was Eagle. Sabina and her family had not come. She and her parents had decided not to grace MI6's charade with their presence, not after Crawley had turned up two months ago to blackmail Alex. Threats that his presence near Sabina made her a target. Alex would have done anything to protect Sabina. He'd only been well enough to go back to operations because he'd improved amazingly due to the Pleasure's support over that summer and a shit load of therapy. For what, to get forced back into spying at the first opportunity.

James Sprintz had let all the other graduates from Point Blanc Academy know and the floral tributes were huge. There was a strange Russian kid here as well with his mother and a body guard. It proved that Alex had made a difference and that he had friends. Not that it made the fact he'd died alone any easier to stomach. A small part of Tom hoped that Alex had walked away, got a new identity. The fact was he would never know. His friend was gone. He was one of the few genuine mourners at this debacle.