1.05 pm, Tuesday, 19th July
Liverpool Street, London
"We've lost Alex Rider".
The Head of MI6 Special Operations and his second in command were having lunch together in a restaurant near Liverpool Street Station. They ate there frequently, although not often together. The restaurant was in a basement with low, vaulted ceilings, soft lighting and bare brick walls. Blunt liked the starched white tablecloths and the old-fashioned service. Also, the food was poor so few people came there. That was useful when he wanted to have a conversation such as this.
"Alex did very well" Blunt said quietly, as though it pained him to admit it.
"Oh yes. I had an email from Joe Byrne in Virginia. Of course, he was upset about the loss of his own two agents in the underwater cave, but he was full of praise for Alex. He definitely owes us a favour… which will at least be useful in the future". Mrs Jones took a bread roll and broke it in half. "It wouldn't surprise me if the CIA didn't start training their own teenage spy now. The Americans are always copying our ideas".
"When we're not copying theirs" he remarked.
"That's true".
They paused as the waiter came over with the first course. Grilled sardines for Mrs Jones, soup for Blunt. Neither dish looked particularly appetising but that didn't matter. Neither of them had much of an appetite.
"I've looked through the files and I think I have the general picture" Blunt said, "But perhaps you can fill me in on some of the details. In particular, I'd like to know how the Russian authorities found out about Sarov in time".
Jones looked down at her plate. There were four sardines lying side by side, complete with heads and tails. If it was possible for fish to look unhappy, these had managed it. She squeezed lemon over them. The juice formed tears beneath the unblinking eyes.
"I was the one who alerted the authorities at Murmansk" she admitted, before quickly continuing, "And I must say that the Russians acted very promptly. They pulled a naval force together, plus two helicopter gunships, and stormed the yard".
"What happened to the bomb?"
"They have it. According to their people, it would have been big enough to blow a sizable hole in the Kola Peninsula. The fallout would have contaminated Norway, Finland and, for that matter, most of Great Britain. If it hadn't been for Alex, who knows what might have happened".
Blunt's soup was almost cold. He had forgotten what was meant to be in it.
"What do the Cubans have to say about all this?"
"They've disowned Sarov. Nothing to do with them. They had no idea what he was planning. What's so terrifying is that he nearly got away with it!"
"If it hadn't been for Alex Rider…"
The two of them finished their first course in silence.
"How is Alex?" Blunt asked eventually, although Mrs Jones didn't fool herself for one second in thinking that he actually cared for the boy; he only cared about his secret weapon.
"It would seem that Sarov shot himself" she said, feeling her temper flare, "Alex was standing right in front of him. The trouble with you, Alan, is that you've never had children and you refuse to accept the fact that, at the end of the day, Alex is only a child! He's already been through far more than any fourteen-year-old could possibly be expected to, and this last mission! I would say it was his toughest yet. And at the very end, he actually saw what Sarov did!"
"I suppose Sarov didn't want to be taken alive".
"I wish it was as simple as that. It seems that Sarov had some sort of… attachment to Alex. He saw him as the son he had lost. Alex rejected him and it pushed him over the edge. That's why he did it. He couldn't live with himself any more".
Blunt signalled and a waiter came over and poured the wine. It was unusual for the two spy masters to drink at lunchtime but Blunt had selected a half bottle of Chablis, which had been sitting in an ice bucket beside their table. Another waiter served the main courses. The food sat on the table untouched.
"What happened with that business with the triads?" he asked.
"Oh, I've sorted all that out. We had a couple of their people in jail and I arranged for them to be released. Flown back to Hong Kong. It was enough. They'll leave Alex alone".
"So why do you say we've lost him?"
Jones stared at him in disbelief. After everything she'd just told him, he still believed that this boy, this- this child could continue working for them?!
"We shouldn't have used him in the first place".
"We didn't use him. It was the CIA".
"You know that doesn't make any difference!" she snapped, before carefully, calming, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it again, "The point is, I was the one who debriefed him and all I can say is… he's not the same. I know, I've said this all before, but I am seriously worried about him, Alan. He was so silent and withdrawn. He'd been badly hurt!"
"Any broken bones?"
"For heaven's sake! Children can be hurt in other ways! I'm sorry, but I do feel very strongly about this. We cannot use him again. It isn't fair!"
"Life isn't fair". Blunt picked up his glass of wine, his expression as blank and grey as ever. "I think you're forgetting that Alex has just saved the world. That boy is fast becoming one of our most effective operatives. He's the best secret weapon we have. We can't afford to be sentimental about him. If the need arises, there's nothing to discuss. We'll use him again and again…"
"He needs a break!" she insisted, "I can't stop you from using him, Alan, but you need to give him time to recover! This last mission nearly killed him!"
"But he survived. Just like he always survives. That's what makes him such a good asset. What other agent has a one-hundred-per-cent success rate? What other agent even has a ninety-per-cent success rate? Or an eighty?" Blunt gave her a disparaging look over his wine glass. "You knew this day was coming, Tulip. We've been watching Ian and Alex Rider for years".
And they had. God help her, but they had.
Blunt had been secretly surveilling the pair ever since Ian had left England and she knew about it, of course she knew about it, and she hated it but… well, she'd fallen a little in love with that blond-haired boy laughing over ice cream in Bordeaux, tossing a coin into a fountain in Florence, ordering two Berliners in broken German in Frankfurt. It reminded her of happier times, with her own two children…
MI6 had watched them from afar because Ian had been the best agent they had after John had died. Blunt initially justified the surveillance as a matter of state security - there were many secrets that Agent Rider could auction off to the highest bidder, the Official Secrets Act signed or not. Jones had never believed that he would, of course, not even for a split second, but Blunt had phrased it just right in front of the committee board to be granted the funding and resources necessary for such a long-term operation.
As Alex had started getting older, and Ian had started teaching him all the qualities and skills that a good operative would need, Blunt's interest in the boy had started getting… worrisome. He was still smart enough to keep his distance, though, because - as Ian had proved multiple times - as soon as they got suspicious, they packed up and left, moving to a new city in a new country far, far away.
They'd kept such a distance that, at times, they'd even lost them, but Blunt never panicked about such things because he knew that they would always pop up somewhere else soon enough. He'd even anticipated the family's move back to England, once Alex turned eleven, because Ian was a patriot at heart, and sentimental besides.
But then Blunt had started… saying things.
"You told me that we would wait until Alex turned eighteen to approach him" she said, her voice quiet yet as sharp as a razor blade, "You promised me that you would not go near that boy until he was of age!"
"Yes, but then the Stormbreaker opportunity presented itself" he replied mildly, "And Alex did wonderfully".
"Then let him go home!"
"And lose our best agent? I think not". He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "It's unorthodox, I'll admit, but it's all for the greater good at the end of the day".
"It isn't right!"
"It doesn't matter!" he snapped, his patience finally wearing thin, "Do you think the CIA gave a damn about morality when they started MK ULTRA? Or the KGB when they created Kamera? This isn't about what's right, Tulip! This is about winning!"
Mrs Jones stared at him in disbelief for one long, silent moment, before she slowly put down her knife and fork.
"I'm suddenly not very hungry".
Blunt gave her an almost curious look.
"I hope you're not getting a conscience, Tulip. If you're really worried about Alex, bring him up to my office someday and we'll have a little… heart to heart".
She looked her boss straight in the eye.
"He may have trouble finding yours".
11.13 am, Friday, 22nd July
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Alex blacked out after Sarov shot himself.
Or, at least, it felt like he did, but Mrs Jones had told him a few days ago that he'd been awake when they'd found him, just not exactly… responsive.
When he finally became aware of himself again, entire days had passed.
He'd been to hospital and left it again, flew back to England on some private military plane where no one would ask him questions, and had been returned to his room at the bank, deposited there like some sort of children's toy, only brought out during playtime and put back in its box to be ignored afterwards.
Wind him up and watch him go.
It still hurt to speak, and the bruises around his throat, courtesy of Conrad, had bloomed in some truly fantastic colours now. The small thin cuts all over his face and arms from broken glass itched as they started to heal, and his knee still ached fiercely from where he'd been hit with that metal pole.
In one sense, he was almost grateful for the injuries. They helped to ground him, to focus him in the here and now, and he knew that Blunt couldn't risk sending him out looking like this. The entire reason he made such a good spy was because of how easy he was to ignore - a nameless child in the middle of a crowd never garnered much attention, after all, but an abused child, covered in cuts and bruises…
He wondered if that was what he was now.
An abused child.
He knew that Mrs Jones was worried about him, or, at least, as worried as she could be while still putting his life at risk every other day. She'd visited him, not too long ago, and told him what a good job he'd done and how the bomb had been safely recovered and that the Russian government would forever be in his debt and if he ever wanted to see an MI6-approved psychiatrist, then-
He snapped at her for that.
"I don't need to see a shrink! I need to go home!"
His voice had cracked on that final word and for a split second, he could have sworn that he'd seen tears in her eyes.
"… I'm sorry, Alex".
And then she'd left.
The image of Sarov's pale, distraught, defeated face burned behind his eyelids every night, his broken voice, his bloody hand raising the gun, and then-
"I'd rather be dead than have a father like you".
BANG.
3.24 pm, Wednesday, 27th July
Chelsea, London
Ian jumped as his phone suddenly rang, startling him out of the daydreams he'd been prone to getting lost in lately - thinking about Alex, wondering what he was doing now, reasoning that he was a clever and capable kid who could surely keep himself alive and safe for just one more day…
His mobile rang again, and he quickly patted down the couch on either side of him to try and find it, flipping pillows and pulling out seat cushions until-
There!
Lunging for it, he barely paused long to register that it was an unknown number before saying fuck it and pressing answer.
"Hello?"
He was panting, he realised, out of breath from that brief moment of panic, the slow but steady decline into middle age sapping his fitness and energy levels along with his health.
"... Is this a bad time?"
Gregorovich.
Ian quickly pulled back the phone to double-check that- yep, it was still a block number, before answering.
"No! No, not at all, this is a- a brilliant time! Perfect, even!" And oh great, he was rambling again. "I mean, uh, I mean this is- this is a totally normal time, completely normal, just- just so very normal".
God, did he even hear himself? Ian collapsed back down on the haphazard couch with a silent groan, closing his eyes in embarrassment because really? Fucking really?!
"... I see" came Yassen's smooth, cultured, and perfectly normal-sounding voice, "I have received information".
That made him straighten up.
"About Alex?" he asked, and then, because of course it was about Alex, "I mean, uh, what about Alex? Do you know where he is? Or where Blunt is keeping him?"
"No".
Ian's heart fell.
"But I did reach out to one of my contacts in the Triad and they explained how Alex made one of their members 'lose face', as it were, and so they wanted revenge".
"Wait- They wanted revenge? As in past tense?"
"Yes. The Big Circle planned on killing him, of course, but a few days ago, a representative from MI6 reached out to the Triad and they cut a deal. In exchange for leaving Alex alone, MI6 agreed to release a few of their imprisoned members and send them back to China. They won't be going after him anymore".
It was, objectively, good news that a vindictive and deadly crime syndicate didn't want to murder his child anymore, but Ian still felt absolutely furious because why the hell didn't Blunt just do that in the first place?! Why didn't he release those gang members instead of sending Alex out of the country on some other dangerous mission?! Why didn't Blunt just fucking die?!
"And there's something else".
Of fucking course there was.
"I cannot confirm that Alex was involved in this" Yassen continued slowly, "But the situation does appear to have his usual level of… flair in it".
Ian wondered if "flair" was just a codeword for "explosivity".
"There have been rumours, over the past few days, about an incident that occurred in Murmansk, in Russia. A nuclear bomb was set to detonate but it was prevented from doing so at the last second… It has the CIA's fingerprints all over it, but there have been whispers of… a child also being involved. I have a contact in the Russian army and he confirmed that a few of his men recalled seeing a teenage boy at the site of the failed detonation. Given that it was the CIA who helped with the clean-up, and not MI6, I was hesitant to believe him". The assassin's voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. "But then I remembered that neither government has the most scrupulous of pasts and that they have shared agents before".
Ian frowned, confused.
They have shared agents…?
Oh.
Oh no.
No no no no no no no-
"Are you telling me" he bit out, "that Alan fucking Blunt is lending out my child like a goddamn library book?!"
"... Yes".
Ian lowered his phone, glanced around for something to break, and when he found nothing, he grabbed a cushion and squeezed it instead until the seams started to strain and the fabric tightened under his fingers warningly. He picked back up his phone.
"How sure is your guy in the Russian army?"
"Very. It wasn't just one soldier who reported the boy to him, it was multiple, and they all gave the same account".
"Alright. Good. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. So, let me get this straight, not only did MI6 illegally kidnap my kid and force himself to complete multiple life-threatening missions with no recovery time in between, but now they are manufacturing situations to have an excuse to send him out of the country to be used by other intelligence agencies?!"
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line as if the assassin wasn't quite sure if that was a rhetorical question or not.
"Nevermind". Ian forced himself to take a deep, not-so-calming breath. "Okay, so Alex was in Russia, and in the States at some point, presumably, and now he's… what? Back with MI6?"
"The Russian army picked him up but he wouldn't say a word to them and they were under strict orders to leave him at the nearest airport. An English military plane collected him, and that's where the trail goes cold".
"So he is back at MI6".
Despite the fact that Ian knew it would never succeed and he would very likely die in the process, he couldn't help but want to storm the Royal and General bloody Bank and hold them all hostage until his nephew was returned.
"Thank you" he said instead, "For- For all of this. You were able to find out a lot more than I was".
"I'm still in business" Gregorovich replied simply, "You are not… I will also be out of reach for the next two to three weeks due to… business".
Or, in other words, because he had to kill someone.
"That's alright" Ian said, although it very much was not, "You've done more than enough as it is, thank you. And besides, if Blunt really does have Alex again, then chances are, your paths are going to cross once more".
"Perhaps". There was something akin to… a smile in the man's voice. "We shall see".
9.41 am, Saturday, 30th July
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Alex had spent the past week recovering and being put through the wringer by a nameless MI6 agent to improve his overall fitness levels and bring him back up to "peak performance" like he was some sort of bloody machine.
Just before ten o'clock on Saturday morning, he was called up to Blunt's office - and he knew exactly what that meant.
"Alex! Come in, please, take a seat!"
He froze just inside the door at the man's unusually cheerful tone. That couldn't mean anything good for anyone; least of all him. Glancing over at Mrs Jones briefly, he was met with blank eyes and a tight smile, and he slowly, cautiously, sat down in front of the large steel desk.
"How are you feeling, Alex?"
Was this a nightmare? Or some sort of alternate dimension he wasn't aware he'd fallen into? Had someone spiked Blunt's coffee with a drug that completely reversed your entire personality?"
"... I feel like I want to go home" he replied carefully and was rewarded with the briefest downturn of the man's mouth.
Nope. He was still the same old Alan bloody Blunt, then. He was just in a weirdly good mood.
"I've been talking with my deputy, and we both agree that you have done some truly tremendous work for us, Alex" he continued, making the boy raise his eyebrows in disbelief, "So we've decided to give you a little reward, if you like".
Another quick look at Jones revealed that she knew where the man was going with this, and she didn't like it one bit.
"The only thing I'd like is for you to stick to your side of the deal and let me go home".
This time, his left eye twitched.
"... We decided on something else. A holiday. For... let's say, two weeks, give or take? In the south of France, if you can believe it!"
"I can't" Alex replied dryly, "What's the catch?"
"There's no catch-"
"What's the catch?" he repeated, more insistently this time, and he was rewarded with a full-body twitch as Blunt seemed to only just barely restrain himself from lunging at him across the table.
"... We'd like for you to keep an eye out-"
"There is it".
"-for someone" Blunt finished, scowling at him for the interruption, "We have reason to believe that Yassen Gregorovich will be making a brief stop in Montpellier sometime over the next two weeks. As you know, he is on many Most Wanted lists, including ours".
"And, what? You want me to- to arrest him?!"
The idea was ludicrous! Even if Alex wasn't only a fourteen-year-old boy, a mere child next to a highly trained and skilled contract killer over twice his age, he honestly wasn't even sure if he wanted to arrest him.
Although they had only met briefly, Alex had felt… something with the man. A kinship, of sorts. Perhaps it was because he'd been calm and quiet-spoken with a soothing voice so unlike Blunt's. Perhaps it was because he'd actually appeared concerned when he'd told him MI6 were blackmailing him. Perhaps it was even because he'd murdered Herod Sayle right in front of him before the madman could kill Alex instead.
There had been something oddly familiar about the assassin, and Alex couldn't help but feel that there was more to him, more to them, than he realised.
"No, of course not!" Mrs Jones spoke up for the first time. "We don't want you going anywhere near him, Alex! He is an incredibly dangerous man that-"
"Thank you, Tulip" Blunt interrupted firmly, raising a hand, "What we'd like from you, Alex, is a… heads-up, shall we say. As soon as you see Gregorovich and can confirm that he's there, let us know, and we'll have agents on standby ready to rush in and arrest him".
"You mean like how you had agents on standby for Herod Sayle? Or like how you had agents on standby for Point Blanc?"
Blunt gave him a thin, grey smile.
"Yes. Exactly like that".
Which meant it would be up to him. Again.
"Alright, fine" he replied, deciding to play ball, "Let's say I agree to go to France and let's say I see Yassen Gregorovich and let's say I tell you about it immediately… What then? If he were that easy to arrest, then surely you could just send a few agents down there now and lie in wait for him! Why do you need to send me, specifically?"
"Because my deputy believes that you could do with a break!" he snapped, "And also because Gregorovich is a paranoid son of a bitch who will run at the first hint of trouble".
Only the paranoid survive - isn't that what Ian had always taught him?
"He knows exactly when he's being watched and exactly when he's being followed" Blunt continued, "But he won't pay any attention to you; why should he? You're just a young boy on holiday with his family".
"Family?" Alex asked sharply, "What do you mean, family?"
"Oh, didn't I mention? That Sabina girl has been asking after you; wants to know if you'll join her and her parents on their annual trip to Montpellier".
Sabina? He frowned, confused. He didn't know any-
Oh! Sabina! Wimbledon Sabina, of course! Alex had met her during the training sessions and they had become good enough friends - or, at least, as close to friends as they could with him holding everyone at arm's length away from him for fear of what Blunt would do to Ian.
She had been a happy, lively girl with a wicked sense of humour and had even invited him to visit Cornwall with her and her family after Wimbledon finished. He'd had to refuse, of course; something told him that being blackmailed by the British government didn't come with any downtime, but he'd still let her tap her number into the standard issue non-descript phone MI6 had given him, since apparently, being a teenager without one would only draw suspicion on him.
"Wait a minute! What do you mean she's been asking after me?" he exclaimed, "Asking who?!"
"Why, MI6, of course" Blunt replied, "After we confiscated that mobile device before sending you off to Cuba, it started… buzzing with text after text and call after call until eventually, I had one of our junior agents answer it and pretend to be you".
"You what?!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You had a- and he just- and now- She's fifteen years old!"
"Yes. She is. And you are going to spend two weeks on holiday with her. As luck would have it, it provides us with the perfect cover".
"Isn't one child soldier enough for you?! You can't drag her into this! She's- She's- She's normal!"
Blunt gave him an irritated look. "Well perhaps if you do your job correctly, then she won't need to be dragged into this".
Alex stared at him in disbelief. "You're blackmailing me on top of blackmailing me?!"
"Oh, come now Alex; it's hardly blackmail. Just go to France, lie on a beach for a few hours, visit restaurants and museums with your little friend, and if you happen to see Yassen Gregorovich on your travels then… let us know. The timing of it all couldn't be more perfect".
He turned to face Jones instead, but it would appear that she had nothing to add.
"It's simple" Blunt finished, "You'll get two weeks to relax and recover before returning to us again, and we'll get to finally arrest one of the most dangerous men in the world… Just remember to keep your mouth shut, Alex. One wrong word and I'll make sure that your precious uncle drops dead before you can even book a plane ticket home".