Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"It's Tulip."

The lady at the desk froze for a second before reaching out and grabbing the phone, taking it off speaker phone. "What do you want?"

"Zara!" The element of surprise showed in the caller's voice, "I thought you'd retired."

"Duty calls." Zara flicked her eyes towards the door, "I heard you got promoted."

"Alan was asked to resign after the… events a few years ago." There was an awkward pause, "You know how it is in our business. He made a call. It was a bad call-"

"-and no one will miss him. Yes." Zara's voice was dry, "I presume that means that you're running it over there these days?"

"For the last two years, yes. And for most of the previous ten, unofficially." They shared a laugh before Tulip continued, "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"Not so long as you keep this quick. I've a meeting in five. How can I help?"

Though Zara Asker, head of CHERUB, couldn't see it, Tulip Jones opened a folder on her desk and stared down at the attached photo of her best agent. "I need a favour."

Zara's eyebrows raised. MI6 was not known for a willingness to seek aid from other organisations. The opposite, in fact, especially in the last few years. "It must be something big. You want to discuss this over the phone or do you want to come on over?" A quick glance at her diary, a quick glance at the clock, "I'm free this evening. We could go to that place you used to like?"

Mrs Jones paused, before closing the folder once more, her own calendar on the desk in front of her. "The Queen's Crown?"

"7 pm."

"Done. And Zara?" Mrs Jones barely waited for that moment of acknowledgement before continuing, "I may pretend not to know what you get up to, but make sure you bring some of your agent files with you. The older ones. Even recent retirees maybe. We're going to need a shortlist."

"You've got a job for us?" There was a note of incredulity now. MI6 had always been against the entire CHERUB concept, claiming that children had no place in espionage, claiming that children didn't deserve that kind of pressure, that kind of lifestyle. "I thought that-"

"A lot of people thought that." Mrs Jones glanced down at the closed folder once more before nodding decisively, "And Zara? Make sure they're female please."

"Female? Why do they have to be fem-" The hum of the dial tone interrupted before she could finish. The phone being slammed into its cradle a second later, as Zara swore. "Fucking Six."

It had been a long three years. Three years since James Adams had been caught up with the entire Brigands mess, since his friend Kyle and him screwed up an operation in progress so badly that the entirety of CHERUB had been called into question. International relations, international politics, the entire thing with the politician. The greater body of MI5 operations hadn't been impressed, let alone the fact that it had compromised an active MI6 operation as well.

Zara sent an email off to the personnel manager as she ran through the older operatives in her head. Bethany Parker would have been an obvious choice… three years ago, before they had to drop her from the program. Kerry Chang perhaps? She'd managed to avoid being tarred with any brushes. Ex-CHERUB, of course, but still on the ball enough? She scribbled the name down.

There was the elephant in the room of course and Zara felt she should acknowledge it. Lauren Adams. The only person to ever get a black shirt, the highest accolade a CHERUB agent could receive, stripped from her. Though she'd re-earnt it in the last three years of course. After the entire Brigands mess…. her line of thought trailed off and she pulled herself consciously back to the future. Lauren was leaving the campus soon, for good. An agent disgraced who re-earnt their honours. There were commendations in her file, but there was still an attitude problem there. One that they should have perhaps seen coming, given that it was the first time they'd ever stripped an operative of their rank, but what else were they supposed to do? They were spies, not schoolkids, and noticing that your phone was bugged was part of basic training. But still, Zara would be a damn liar if she didn't admit that Lauren was one of the best agents to ever pass through the CHERUB program. She knew that MI5 already had eyes on her.

Zara paused once more, considering that implication, before adding the name to the very short list anyway. Then there was that newer girl. Charlotte something-or-other. Three names. She hoped it was enough for whatever they wanted. But still, she wondered, why female? It wasn't entirely unusual, but it did raise a few questions she'd want answers to.

Though Zara was completely unaware of it, the real fault with the request lay several hundred miles west of the London office where Mrs Jones was now rapidly sorting out the last remnants of the day's paperwork. Her request, whilst unsolicited, was one that she knew her agent would vastly prefer given the nature of the cover they were likely to use, and it was every good boss' duty to ensure that their employees at least knew when to shut up. In her office, Mrs Jones reached for the phone. It was probably a good time to insist that her top agent make time for an evening meal.

The motorbike roared its way down the road, coasting along at a sluggish ninety miles an hour, rock music blasting inside the helmet as the rider wound his way between the hills. He was singing along, almost in tune, and seemed to be enjoying the ride, unconcerned by anything going on around him, the wind soaring past his ears, the water rushing down the river under the bridge ahead of him, the bullets whistling down the road, throwing sparks up from the tarmac.

Alex Rider was serving his country with distinguishment.

"Stormbreaker was only the beginning," as Blunt had been so fond of telling people around the water cooler (not that Alex ever got to be around the water cooler mind, given that they'd relocated his office to be off-site almost as soon as he accepted the offer of having one). Seventy-three missions for MI6, seventy-two successes, and one mission that Smithers just refused to shut up about. Though Blunt had nothing to do with him these days after the Grief cockup and the entire "shooting your agent's family" debacle. "Questionable judgement" the inquest had decided. And Alex knew, because the first thing he'd done upon getting his clearance, was to open the file and see what the fuck Blunt had been thinking. Bastard.

A bullet dug up the road in front of him, reminding him of the fact that being a super spy wasn't all women and motorcycles. In his defence, there were plenty of reasons for him to have taken the file, plenty of reasons for them to have expected them to take the file and, somewhat embarrassingly, no real reason for him to get caught taking the file. Wolf would have a field day, he was sure. The Spanish cunt. Whenever Alex was busy saving the world, what was the soldier doing? Running around firing bullets into thin air, he was sure. Alex didn't know just how many bullets the army took to kill a man, but he was sure it was more bullets than he used. Wastage! Think of the poor accountants.

Speaking of which... He glanced behind him, noting the four motorcycles, the four riders, remembering their positions, their speeds, their movement. The road was empty ahead of him, the bridge clear. In a single movement, he braked, spinning the bike, his hand seeming to drift like an extension of his own body, almost as if it had a mind of its own, the gun in his hand as natural as his own fingers, an extension of his wrist. Nine shots rang out. Overkill, of course, but it seemed stupid to take a risk. Even if it did mean he was acting more like the trigger-happy SAS than the smooth, sophisticated MI6.

He was reloading and approaching the groaning bad guys, dramatic hero monologue all prepped, when his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, he slid his helmet off and picked up his mobile. "I'm busy, what is it?"

"I need you to come in."

"Can it wait? I'm literally in the middle of something."

"Wrap it up fast."

Alex sighed, before firing four shots and pressing a button on his phone to let Smithers know that someone should come clean up his mess. At least there was a river there. That tended to make things a bit easier. To her credit, Mrs Jones didn't even blink at the gunshots, simply sipping at her tea as she waited for her operative.

"Where do you need me now? The Bank?"

"You know we've got a lifetime ban on you ever coming here." Alex reloaded the gun again as she continued, "Lord knows you've caused enough chaos inside of London. What do you think of green trees, riverbanks, a nice pub?"

"Sounds just like here." He picked his motorcycle up and lent against it, staring down at the river, "Are you sure it's any better?"

"I could promise you company." She could smell his dubiousness, "It's almost definitely female."

"Almost definitely." His tone gained a hint of sarcasm as he ran a hand through his sandy locks, "This is very reassuring. How could I ever doubt you?"

"Just turn up Agent Rider." Mrs Jones rubbed her brow, wondering just why exactly they hadn't already fired the damn man. If not for his efficiency, his competence… "I've sent you the address."

There was a moment of fumbling as he glanced down at his phone again, throwing the address into his GPS. He blinked slowly, before lifting the phone back to his ear. "You weren't joking about the pub."

"Alex, please."

"I hope you're paying for my drink."

"Shaken not stirred?" She kept her tone dry, her delivery deadpan. They didn't need to overly encourage the boy. "7pm. Make sure you're on time."

"And there's going to be company?" He mounted the bike idly, wheeling it round to face down the road, "Of the female kind?"

The buzz of a dial tone was all the confirmation that Alex needed to confirm that Tulip Jones was quite finished with him. He glanced at the GPS once more, before looking at his watch as a small grin snuck onto his face. He picked us his phone and dialled a number, barely waiting for the other side to pick up before smirking, a touch of cockiness creeping onto his features, "This is Agent Rider. Do you still have access to the regional traffic controls?"

In the end, it took him nearly three hours and dealing with one over-enthusiastic jumped up officer who decided to take the law into his own hands and ignore his computer's instruction to leave the agent alone. Three hours, three hundred miles. Not bad.

The pub itself was about what he expected from a rural riverside pub in the middle of nowhere. It was rather like the one he'd visited briefly when he was based out in Germany but with less lederhosen, less beer and fewer people trying to sneak poison into his drinks. A gorgeous Victorian front led into a spacious yet homely space, with wooden tables filling the space, animals winding their way up the legs in carved masterpieces. The room itself was nearly empty, despite the late hour of the day, only a few people sat around, a few men in suits chatting quietly to each other, a stunning brunette at the back of the room with a glass of wine, a Kindle and a sexy black dress. He let the tension ease out of him as we walked up to the bar, finally beginning to recognise what this place had been.

The barman, wiping down the surface with an old cloth barely grunted when he didn't specify his drink beyond tossing money on the bar for "a pint", and nodded towards the rickety staircase at the back of the room when Alex asked after his boss. That in itself answered a question that had occasionally arisen in his mind on dark, lonely nights: what do spies do when they retire? The odds of his boss being recognised by name by just any bartender was low. The gun under the apron had been another hint, like the concealed carries around the room, and the panic button under the bar another. The thickened door, the bulletproof glass on the windows, the cameras. He swung the door to the private room open with more noise than he'd normally make. Silence, he'd found, wasn't appreciated by his boss.

"Run by one of us for all of us?" he slid his beer onto the table and pulled up a chair as his steely eyes flicked between the two women. "I'd like to register my interest."

Zara's eyes ran up and down Alex, noting the lack of piercings, the leather jacket, the dirt at the cuf- "Is that blood?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.

"Fuck." Alex plucked at his shirt sleeve mournfully as he tossed his leather jacket onto the back of his chair, "It takes forever to get the stains out."

"Rider." Her tone of voice suggested Tulip Jones was less impressed with her wayward agent.

His eyes flicked up and down the two of them as he sprawled himself casually at the third seat on the table, "I presume this is who you wanted me to meet." He stuck his hand across the table, "I'm Alex. I work with Mrs Jones."

"At the bank?" Zara arched an eyebrow, clearly amused, "Which department do you work in?"

"Collections and acquisitions mostly, though I've been known to do a little negotiating." Mrs Jones sunk her head into her hands as his voice dropped into what she'd dubbed his 'honeypot voice'. The one that she wished he could teach all of her female agents instead of just using it on them. "Recently I've been working extensively with the loans department on a few important deals. Overseas mostly, America."

"Anywhere nice?" Zara's voice was artfully curious, her eyes flashing with amusement that she didn't need - or want - to hide. She knew the game, and she knew that Alex - or Rider, as he'd been introduced - knew that she knew the game. Even if it was one that she didn't get to play much.

"Chicago, New York. A little sojourn in Washington too. You might have heard about that one. Big American contract." He leant across the table, his voice low, "You might even have seen that one in the pa-"

Zara's eyes widened involuntarily and her hand whipped out and caught his wrist before he could withdraw it, "That was you?"

"You didn't think it was any of the Alphabets did you?" He snorted, "They wouldn't know the trigger from the bullet if they weren't brought up to shoot anything that moves."

The table was silent for a second before Mrs Jones picked up the conversation from where the CHERUB director's question had left it shattered in pieces. "Though I suppose introductions are barely necessary, as you've both heard of each other, Alex, this is Zara Asker. She runs the CHERUB program over at MI5. Zara, this is Alex Rider. He is one of our best." Tulip's eyes glanced briefly at the both of them as she adjusted her drink on the table, taking a breath, "Though he sometimes does let it get to his head, it is possible that he is our best agent. Bar none. How many operations is it now Alex?"

"Before or after I give you the memory stick?" He wilted at the sharp look she sent him, "Seventy-three successes. One termination."

Zara raised an eyebrow, "How old are you?"

He winced, "Classifi-"

"She's cleared for it." Tulip's voice cut him off, before noting the look of awkwardness on his face and rolling her eyes, "He's eighteen, Zara. One of Blunt's grand ideas."

"You've done seventy-three missions in two years?" She paused, "I wasn't aware that there were that many people that Six wanted to spy on."

"I've done more than that." His voice was calm and controlled, but Zara could see the underlying tension in his voice, "As I said. I get rented out overseas. They aren't counted officially. I'd guess it's somewhere north of two hundred if you include wetwork."

"You're joking."

"About the wetwork?" He pulled his jacket to one side, just enough to let her see the concealed carry more clearly, "Unfortunately not. Though, obviously, not in this country. We all know that the British government wouldn't sanction assassinations on home soil."

Zara's sarcasm was so obvious that Tulip winced, "Obviously."

"And it isn't exactly two years either." His eyes flickered over to his boss, who was drinking her tea once more. "Closer to five."

"Five this July isn't it?" Mrs Jones put her teacup down, the slight hollow clinking informing Alex that she had finished, "And I believe that the unofficial count is at two hundred and forty-seven, including today."

Zara snorted, "You expect me to believe that there's an agent that has done operations nearly weekly since he was 14, including wetwork, and no one has noticed?"

"I didn't say no one had noticed." Alex butted back in, "Which is exactly why we're here. As you should know."

"Tulip just told me she had something for me." She glared at the young agent, "She didn't mention it included child assassins."

"Trained by SCORPIA too." Mrs Jones' interjections were becoming less than useful, "No one can say that Alex hasn't had one of the more diversified training programs we've ever seen."

"That doesn't help. Why should I let one of my agents be involved in this?"

Alex coughed, drawing her attention back to him. "Maybe you'd like to hear what we'd like to borrow your agent for?"

"This is going to be good." Her sarcasm was coming back in biting force, "An assassin and the head of an organisation who stopped talking to me for three months because she thought CHERUB was a step too far has an operation to give to the head of the largest child spy organisation in the world. What the fuck do you want me to lend you an agent for?"

The young man had the courtesy to look slightly embarrassed, "Would you believe that I really, really need a flatmate?"

Zara's mouth opened, then closed, her head slowly turning back to Mrs Jones, who wasn't smiling, or laughing, but simply watching her with an expectant face. Her mouth opened again before she collapsed into laughter.

Alex blinked. It wasn't quite what he was expecting.

In between gales of laughter, Zara managed to stumble her way through the sentence, "The best assassin in the country wants a flatmate and comes to me. Excuse me whilst I piss myself laughing." She paused again, trying to gather herself, before bursting into laughter, "I hope you didn't put an ad in the paper - 'teenage assassin seeks future live-in assistant."

He lifted a hand, "I don't think you understand. It isn't an assistant I want or any help. I just need someone to look after the house when I'm not around and it has to be someone with clearance."

She sobered up, staring at him, "You're serious?"

"I am the highest ranked agent of one of the most secretive subdivisions in one of the more clandestine divisions of an agency that is involved in operations at the highest level of security and importance." He lifted an eyebrow, "The files in my office could quite literally topple the country overnight at times. Putting aside the fact that my case history alone would raise some interesting questions, and I'd required flatmates to be informed lest anything significant occur."

"You want me to give you a flatmate?" Zara shook her head incredulously, "That's it?"

"Obviously they'd have to be trained in personal combat, preferably with weapons experience as well. Guns, knives, anything else you've got. Calm and confident under pressure, personable, quiet. Preferably clean and tidy. Proven track record would be best." He shrugged, "We can organise sufficient clearance for the right person, but someone who has past experience working with Five or Six would be preferred." There was a brief pause as he thought through everything he'd just listed, "Experience with French would be excellent too, or willingness to learn. Though from what I understand about CHERUB training, that shouldn't be an issue."

Zara's eyes coasted up and down his suit once more, eyes lingering on the bloodstain on the shirt cuff. "And what do they get out of it?"

"Full funding for university of their choice, so long as it's within the Russell Group. Free room in a fully stocked apartment, the opportunity to train alongside an experienced agent." Mrs Jones had cut smoothly into the conversation, "Fast track opportunities within the business should they prove to be interested and capable. Agent Rider would have the ability to make the appropriate referral where appropriate."

"So why do they have to be female?" Zara stared at the agent across the table from her, "Is there an expectation there? I will not serve up my agents to b-"

"No." Alex cut across her calmly, but clearly, his voice resonating clearly. "But it would make the creation of a cover story somewhat easier if we were a young couple moving closer to the university that she was studying at whilst I worked abroad. There's no expectation. And I prefer quieter people, who tend to be female."

"And why French?"

"Safe language." Zara's eyes narrowed as Alex continued, "It's one of the few languages I never have cause to use on a mission, and one of the few countries where I am explicitly not welcome." Tulip coughed, covering what Zara was sure was probably a laugh.

"French is a non-issue. There was a craze a year or two back and everyone learnt it." She paused, before reaching into her bag. "As it turns out, there's someone chafing at the bit to get out of CHERUB's campus a few months early. We could release her on this assignment as a graduation exercise. A final goodbye, passing her onto you. That kind of thing." She paused, the folder half out of her bag, "I do have some reservations, but given the relatively simple nature of the assignment and a guarantee that you'll provide suitable cover and sufficient training, I won't hesitate to recommend this agent to you."

She tossed the folder across to Alex, who read through it briefly. "Lauren Adams." He tried the name out, flicking briefly through a school transcript, a list of operations she'd participated on. "Seems reasonable enough. I like her hair, dyed I presume?" He passed it across to his boss, not really needing an answer, before standing up, "Please. Excuse me for a second. I'd like to go get another drink."

He rapidly crossed the room, slipping through the door like a ghost, gone before Zara glanced across the table at the empty chair and laughed. Tulip arched an eyebrow at her before joining in the amusement, both of them having noted the nearly untouched drink. "I told you that he'd notice if you brought an agent." She tapped the folder. "You didn't really have to give him this to drive it home."

Zara arched an eyebrow, "True, but where would the fun be if I didn't?"

The bar was essentially unchanged from when Alex had left it, from the disgruntled man he'd just got a glass off of to the woman at the back of the room looking for all the world as if she was reading away on her Kindle. Waving his hand at the barman, he threw down his cash and glanced around the room. She'd moved, as he'd expected, and she was underneath the window, which she'd propped open. The lady in the little black dress. What a cliche.

Collecting the drinks from the still-silent bartender, his steps led him directly towards her artfully unaware shoulders, before he reached out one careful finger and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, firing a sentence off in Russian, "Excuse me miss, have you seen anyone called Lauren pass by?"

Absentmindedly as she hit a couple of buttons on the Kindle, she replied without glancing up, in the same language, "I haven't seen anyone pass by."

Alex smirked, before switching to French, "That's a pity. I've been told she's down here somewhere. Maybe I could talk to you until she arrives."

The woman's head shot up, meeting his eyes, before her eyes did a quick once-over, not too dissimilar from Zara's, also lingering for a second on the faint blood stain on the sleeve. Fucking bloodstains. She smiled slowly, before replying in a language he recognised as one of the African dialects, even if he didn't speak it. He shook his head slightly, indicating he didn't speak the language, and she laughed before repeating it in Japanese, "Would you like to settle on a language or are we going to work our way through all of them in the meantime?"

He parked himself firmly at her table, switching over to German, "I've found it's far better to use a wide variety of languages."

"Is there a reason you're bothering me?" Welsh. Alex blinked. That one wasn't in her file.

"Let's not play games. We both know you're Lauren." Spanish. Her smile was slowly growing, both on her face and on him. It was, he noted, infectious.

"Are you planning on trying to prove that?" She'd passed back to French before she repeated it in Italian when he raised an eyebrow.

"Do I really need to? Besides, isn't this display enough? How many women come to this pub and speak this many languages this well whilst wearing a dress as good as that one?" He indicated what was, quite appropriately, a little black dress. It didn't have the most fabric under which to hide a gun, but as Alex knew far too well, women could fit all kinds of things basically anywhere. He'd long since given up on presuming that any woman didn't have at least two guns secreted away on their person unless they were quite literally naked. And even then they normally managed to have one somewhere.

She closed the Kindle cover firmly, pushing it to the edge before leaning towards the man, "Do you really think that you're the only one that speaks this many languages?"

"No." He sat down opposite her and leant forward too, "But I'm the only one that knows why you haven't taken more than a mouthful of your drink all night."

"Then I hardly need ask who you are, do I, Mr Rider?"

His eyes widened for a second before he switched back to English, "You know that doing that is considered very rude in most parts of our business I hope."

"Of course." She smirked, her drink in her hand, "But where would we be if we paid attention to what was considered rude?"

"Did you hear it all?"

"I heard enough." She shrugged, the fabric of her dress rippling, the hem of it riding up a little, the soft cream of her thighs gleaming in the lig... Alex blinked, dragging his eyes back up to her amused face as she continued, "I hope you like London."

"Imperial?"

"University College."

"Medicine. I presume." He paused, "I'm surprised that an agent has such an interest in the greater world."

Her legs crossed, her feet touching his, her eyes staring at his, "Some of us like to offer things more to the world than paperwork for admin staff."

"How's your first aid?"

"Looking for someone to treat your bullet wounds?"

"And maybe to spar. Got to keep my skills in order."

"Second dan Karate." Her smile was smug, "And I'm sure you know the rest."

"Kitty has claws." He reached across the table, placing the second drink on her half of the table, "Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Pet dog?"

"Older brother".

"I hope he's house-trained."

"His girlfriend keeps him in shape, but they'll probably want to check you over".

"I'll have you know that Alex Starbright is a well-known established member of the community, with philanthropic links, charity work an-"

Footsteps down the stairs cut him off, "-and James Adams is one of my organization's most recent successes, no matter the shadows that overlaid parts of his career within my agency." Zara paused, eyeing up the obviously amused Lauren before letting her eyes linger once more on the bloodstains damaging the fabric of his shirt, "And if you want to live with Lauren Adams, I suggest you find a better cover story. James is like a dog."

"You throw him a bone, a bitch and something to chase and then he's happy?"

Lauren snorted. "More like he gets a sniff of you and has to find out everything about you."

"And the single, educated, successful male living with his baby sister is a threat I suppose."

"The ruffian without a reasonable backstory, appearing out of nowhere, seducing his little sister into living in sin with him?" She smirked, "I'd be surprised if you didn't get at least a daily visit."

"You make it sound so terrible."

"Of course." She picked up the drink, "I'll take the assignment, on three conditions."

Zara stepped forwards, raising a hand, "We haven't even offered it to you yet!"

"Please." Alex shot her a look, slightly pitying, "You brought her along to the meeting and let her bug you. You were pretty sure she was going to take it even before you gave me her file."

"You read my file?" A tiny sip of her drink, enough to test it, then another one, slightly more. Cautious nature, Alex presumed. "And you were talking about how rude I was listening in."

"I glanced at the picture. And a few other things." He settled down into his seat a bit more, "Tell me your conditions."

"Condition one, it's a nice house. With at least two bedrooms."

"That was a given." Alex shrugged, "If you're set on Imperial we could even move back into my old place. It's in Chelsea. Nice four bedroom place. All the bells and whistles, including a gun cabinet in the guest bedroom. Ten-minute walk to campus"

She nodded, somehow managing to make it an alluring move, despite its brevity, drawing his eyes to her neckline again, even as she continued. "Condition two, you take me shopping. And out to dinner at least once a week."

Zara's objections were silenced by a stern glance from Mrs Jones as Alex stared calculatingly across the table at the brunette spy girl. "Does it have to be dinner?"

"It has to be a date. We're going to be a cohabiting couple. I have expectations."

"You know I'll be busy some weeks with work."

"And unless you're out of the country seven nights a week, I'm sure you can find a single night to have a sit-down meal."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I hope you like ballet for the following." Seeing Alex wince, her mouth twitched again, "And I've always wanted to go to the opera if you muck it up twice."

"Fine." He sighed, "A date. Of some kind. Every week. For our cover." He raised a finger warningly, "Just don't go complaining if it isn't some fancy restaurant every week."

She met his eyes for a minute before nodding in acceptance, "And my third condition is, of course, that you meet my parents. We're going to be living together. Unless you're planning on telling my crime lord mother that her daughter is a live-in bodyguard and medic for one of the most dangerous men in the country, who probably dismantl-"

"There is no proof of that!" Mrs Jones cut in, looking absolutely horrified, "We would never use an asset like Alex on our own soil. It would be irresponsible to step on the toes of another agency. We are solely responsible for external affairs."

"Like Cornwall?" Lauren raised an eyebrow at the much older woman.

"Yes, like Cornwall." Mrs Jones paused for a second realising what she'd just admitted, "Which barely counts as England. It was definitely our jurisdiction. It's not in London."

"Heathrow?"

"Barely in London."

"The science museum?"

Mrs Jones twitched a little. "All lies concocted by a desperate media."

Alex coughed, hiding a laugh, "If we're in agreement then?"

Lauren took one last look up and down him, before nodding and holding out a hand, "Done."

And without another word to either of their handlers, the two agents began walking towards the door.

Mrs Jones and Zara blinked, before looking at each other with identical looks of slight worry, thinking exactly the same thing: "why did anyone think this might be a good idea?"