Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

London, April 15th

The first package was addressed to Alan Blunt and arrived three weeks after the last report from Alex Rider. Well, from Alex Rider's partner for the mission, rather. Tulip wished they knew more than that but their agent had been killed and they hadn't heard a word from Alex since. The last confirmed contact had been from Sri Lanka with an update and the message that they planned to follow a lead to the Maldives and then – nothing. Agent Jacobs had been found in a morgue in Colombo, and there had been no sign of Alex. She didn't think Alex was dead – she hoped he wasn't, and he had clearly inherited that Rider luck – but they had heard nothing since and three weeks in Alex Rider terms was … a significant amount of time.

After a week and a half with no update, Tulip had put a local asset on the case. After Jacobs had been found dead, they had turned their attention to the Maldives as the only lead they had.

The Maldivian authorities had readily provided passenger lists and surveillance records from the airport. Tulip strongly suspected that the passenger lists had already been scrubbed of anything useful, and the surveillance records upon closer analysis proved to have been quite accidentally and very unfortunately overwritten for the exact day they needed.

Tulip considered it all but proof that Alex and agent Jacobs had arrived there, at least. How Jacobs had ended up back in Colombo with two bullet holes – well. That was a bigger question.

A week after, Tulip still had no leads. Just the heavy implications of a government cover-up and a package that someone had left on their doorstep.

The Royal & General didn't usually see too many unexpected packages, which was enough to make Tulip fear for long, painful seconds just what they would find in it.

Winston Yu had liked to return intelligence agents in pieces. Sometimes in less than that.

The package turned out to be a mid-sized dead fish along with a note and a photo in a plastic bag. Even packed with what had once been a decent amount of dry ice, Tulip was grateful they hadn't used her office to open it in. Especially since it took five hours before her people could agree that it was safe enough to pass the non-fish contents on to her.

I named this one Blunt, the note said in Alex's distinct handwriting. Even with the plastic bag to protect it, the paper smelled like rotten fish. The peppermint in Tulip's mouth got a distinctly unpleasant fishy aftertaste, too. It died of boredom. It bored itself to death. No love, Alex.

The analyst in front of her fidgeted. "It's a common goldfish," he said. "Uh, just a big one. The package was sent from the Maldives, the stamps and everything look authentic, just – by express mail. It was shipped two days ago."

"Yes," Tulip agreed dryly, "given the fourteen Maldivian stamps on it along with the express mail stickers, I expect you're correct."

She picked up the photo. That one smelled like very dead fish, too. The analyst winced. "Uh, we checked with medical records and we're pretty sure that's -"

"- Agent Rider's backside." Tulip sighed. Who else would moon the head of MI6 special operations through Polaroid photo and had the address to do it? She wondered for a moment exactly why she even kept her people around sometimes and just how Alex managed to cause chaos from even half a world away. "Yes. Thank you."

Well. At least she knew he was still alive.

The Maldives, March 29th

(Two and a half weeks previously)

"- Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirt-"

Alex's lungs burned. Some distant part of him knew he was dying. His left arm was still restrained but he scrambled blindly with his right; frantic fumbles along the walkway for anything, anything at all -

- And his fingers closed around the long, thin, curvy scissors he had found by an aquarium earlier and slipped into his pocket out of some desperate hope that maybe it could help him escape.

There was no time to think and no way to aim. Alex pushed back and up; tried to dislodge the body that kept him pinned and stabbed backwards as hard as he could at the same time.

He felt resistance, metal piercing flesh, heard the scream that followed, and suddenly he could move and breathe again. Hazy lessons took over; not the years of martial arts but his brief time at Malagosto that taught him him survive by any means necessary.

Alex twisted; finally got the momentum he needed to get away from Crewe's choke-hold, and then he kicked with the last bit of strength adrenaline could wring from his body.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Already in pain and unsteady from the scissors embedded deep in his thigh, Crewe stumbled back, caught his foot on the edge of the metal stairs, and fell as his leg collapsed beneath him.

The sound of a human body on metal stairs was thunderous. Then it stopped.

Only the countdown continued and Alex was too tired to care. What could he do in a few seconds, anyway? It wouldn't make a difference, and everything hurt.

"- Four. Three -"

The voice fell silent. Alex waited. Either it had just stopped or it was about to blow up a second or two early because Crewe was dead. Whatever it was, Alex was too exhausted and in too much pain to worry about it.

"Self-destruct sequence has been terminated."

Alex would have been relieved but by that point he was already unconscious.

Alex woke up to the insistent buzz of an agitated roomba. It nudged him once, then again, and repeated the agitated sound. Or maybe that was just in Alex's head. He could feel his brain throb in tune with his heartbeat and his mouth felt like he had eaten shredded cardboard.

The roomba nudged him again, though now that Alex was actually awake, it became clear that it was less of a nudge and more of a spirited effort to run him over with what little engine power it actually had.

Alex worked up the energy to sort of shift and roll over onto his back. Path clear, the roomba zoomed past him.

Silence fell. The only sounds came from the aquariums; the steady rumble of machinery and the rhythm of pipes and pumps. Alex's headache approved. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, just squinting at the ceiling but eventually he worked up the energy to roll back over and slowly get to his knees.

The room was empty and bathed in the blue glow from the water. There was no one else. Alex crawled the short distance to the stairs and looked down. Crewe was where Alex had expected him to be – at the foot of the stairs and utterly still. Alex had seen enough dead bodies to know one when he saw it.

Since Alex was not, in fact dead, and in rather a lot of discomfort to boot, he assumed the fact that the self-destruct sequence had stopped hadn't just been a particularly vivid hallucination.

That mean he was alive to get out. Assuming he could get out in the first place. Crewe had guards but … they had to have been smart enough to leave when the countdown started. Everyone had, right? Except Alex, who hadn't had a choice, and Crewe, who had been … a bit off his rocker by the end of it.

He didn't have a phone. He didn't have any gadgets left. He didn't trust MI6 to respond to his distress signal, anyway, but that was a different story. He hadn't seen any phones, either. Crewe had ranted about them. Cutting edge AI technology was fine, phones apparently weren't. Crewe had liked his base and the people around him quiet. No phones. No TVs. No music. Alex couldn't fathom the logic in that but a lack of logic seemed to be a requirement for a supervillain. In any case, he would be surprised to find a phone anywhere on the island. Could he even get away in the first place? There had only been a few boats and they had probably been used by the staff to escape.

He would just have to deal with that when he got that far. He had to get out. Get away, back to other people, and … try to get in touch with MI6, probably. There wasn't anything else he could do. Getting out was the first step.

Alex had almost expected Crewe to have used a dead man's switch as a backup to destroy everything in case he got killed, but the countdown had stopped and … that didn't make sense, then, did it? He pushed the thought aside. He was alive. That was the most important thing.

Escape, then. Except getting out left the automatic defences to deal with, and Alex didn't like his chances without some of Smithers' gadgets to help him.

It didn't matter that Crewe was dead. Without the right authorisation, the automatic defences would probably still kill him if he tried to leave, but … there was a solution, even if Alex didn't like it.

The stairs looked like an almost insurmountable obstacle. Alex took a deep breath and carefully made his way down. He didn't want to share Crewe's fate. His head still throbbed but his focus was slowly returning and he felt a little steadier with every step.

Up close, Crewe was very obviously dead, and Alex was a little relieved to be sure. The watch on his wrist, Alex's actual goal, was huge and gaudy and didn't have any obvious way to open it, but Alex didn't plan to let that stop him. He forced down his nausea, crouched next to the body, and pulled the arm closer.

It was still warm, that was his first impression, and he almost threw up. He supposed that meant he hadn't been out for that long. Mostly, it made him try all the harder to keep the nausea under control.

He needed that watch. That was the primary access key. Crewe had been smart enough not to brag about it but Alex had paid close attention when he was around the man. Sometimes, Crewe had brought up his arm with the watch just a little too much and too consistently for it to have been coincidence.

A closer inspection found a clasp so fine it was almost invisible, disguised in the gold filigree, and a small lock on the side. It made sense. If it was an electronic key, it needed some easy way to open it to fix the bits inside if it broke or the battery had to be replaced. A hard pull on the watch band did nothing but bend a few of the elaborate decorations, not that Alex had expected anything else.

The key for it could be anywhere and was out of the question. Option B, then. There was an option C as well but Alex really didn't want to cut off someone's hand, even a dead body, if he could avoid it.

Luckily for Alex, there was just enough of a gap between the watch and the arm that between brute force, a completely limp hand, and a disregard for the damage he caused to the decorations and the body, he managed to get the watch off.

Unsurprisingly, it was too big for him. The string from his hoodie turned it into an oversized pendant on a makeshift necklace, which would have to be good enough. It was his best bet for a way past the defences. As a bonus, it would almost certainly get him access to Crewe's office, too, and Alex was sure his phone was there.

The last time they had been in contact with MI6 had been four days ago, right before they left Sri Lanka. The MI6 agent he had arrived with – a cover, Alex, an uncle and nephew on vacation, nothing more; you will spend the entire time at a resort, I promise – had vanished to have his passport checked. Alex knew a trap when he saw it and had made his own escape the moment he could and – that had been the last of it. He had been kidnapped less than two hours later and he had the awful suspicion that the MI6 agent, Jacobs or whatever his real name had been, was dead.

Would MI6 even have started to look for him after four days? He doubted it. Maybe that other agent, who had been all official and paid an actual salary. Not him.

The thought lingered as Alex made his way through the base. It was utterly deserted and more than a little eerie, but the aquariums helped a little. It wasn't completely silent, at least.

Alex hadn't actually visited Crewe's office but careful observation had narrowed down the possible locations and he found it within ten minutes.

The watch was enough to get him inside. There was no extra lock on the door, and Alex realised a little belatedly that if it had needed Crewe's fingerprint, too, he would have had a problem and needed option C after all. Was overconfidence a requirement for supervillains? Sometimes it seemed like it.

The office was huge, with an entire wall taken up by what Alex figured was part of one of the largest aquariums in the complex. The floor was covered in what looked like a hideously expensive rug, and the antique furniture was all dark wood. It was gloomy and depressing and the awful stillness reminded him a little of the first time he had stepped inside Ian's office after his death.

Alex ignored that thought and set to work. The desk was completely clear of anything but a fancy pen and expensive paper, but a rummage through the drawers netted his phone, several guns, and two laptops.

The guns looked normal. Alex, after a moment of indecisiveness, left them alone. The laptops opened without passwords, too. Either Crewe had been very confident in his security or very stupid. Alex leaned towards the latter.

His phone still had plenty of battery left to call for belated help but he found himself hesitating to actually do it.

He could call MI6 and … then what? They would probably come for him now that the actual danger was over. They usually did. And then he'd be sent back home, to Jack and to school and be expected to live a normal life and know the entire time that it was just a matter of time before he somehow got drawn back into the intelligence world again.

A large shadow moved into his field of vision and sent Alex's adrenaline back into overdrive. It settled back down a moment later when he realised it was one of the huge sea turtles that swam by as a silent behemoth.

Alex knew entirely too well what he'd return home to … and then there were the fish and everything else that called those aquariums home. MI6 would probably save him eventually. They would do nothing for the aquariums, because they weren't useful. Maybe they would contact some animal rescue but … how many of those animals would die first? How long would that turtle – or any of them – survive without food or anyone to maintain their home?

Alex sank down on the small bench by the aquarium and felt like every bruise and injury he had managed to push through had caught up with him at once.

He was tired. He had spent four days being the hostage of a mercurial megalomaniac and … how long before it happened again? Two months, maybe? Enough time that he would start to hope that maybe this time he could catch up on all the school he had missed and then feel it all crumble again the next time it was just a weekend, Alex, we just need you to take a look at things -

- and he realised quite abruptly that he didn't want to go back. He wanted Jack and Tom but he never wanted to set foot near London again. The house had more bad memories than good these days, school was hopeless, and MI6 was always there and -

- maybe he could just … stay. For a day or two while he figured out what to do.

He should be safe with the watch. He hopefully had access to the entire system with it, which meant he could revoke every access but his own in case some of the staff decided to return.

There was a dead body, sure, but Alex had dealt with worse than that. There was a freezer room for supplies; Alex had been locked in there as punishment once already. He could just … put the body in a crate or something and lock it. Just in case.

Just for a day or two while he found his feet again. Until he figured out what to do, with himself and the aquariums. It looked like there was plenty of food for them. Someone just … had to look after them for a little while.

He could do that. For a while.

Chapter Text

Australia, March 30th

"How the hell," said Brendan Chase, "did Hunter's brat get his hands on a billion dollars?"

How and – just as important – why hadn't SCORPIA found a way to do it first?

Garita shrugged. "Unknown, sir. Rider's cover identity arrived in the Maldives five days ago with an MI6 agent who was taken aside for a passport check. The MI6 agent had an unfortunate accident with one of Socrates Seaver-Crewe's people. Rider escaped. We don't know what happened afterwards but somewhere along the line, Rider obviously got access to Crewe's accounts. Everything is verified. The money is there. It's just Rider behind the request, not Crewe."

"Crewe." Brendan paused as vague recognition managed to connect to one of the endless intelligence files that had crossed his desk over the years. "The fish-guy?"

"Yes, sir."

Brendan remembered the name because SCORPIA had files on every billionaire on the planet and while Crewe had never been a client, the sheer eccentricity of the man stood out. Crewe loved marine life. Not much else, so SCORPIA didn't have much to interest him, but the man really liked his fish.

"What the hell did he do to get MI6's attention? Last time Rider was in that area, he killed Yu and got me Australia back. If there's a business opportunity, I want my name on it."

"Also unknown, sir. We're working on it. Best guess we have so far is something with mosquitoes. There are records of various deliveries of scientific equipment and -"

"Mosquitoes."

"Yes, sir," Garita agreed. "Genetically modified, it looks like. Based on his psychological profile, we don't think it was for a humanitarian purpose."

Because Crewe was batshit crazy, she didn't need to say out loud. Brendan remembered.

Genetically modified mosquitoes. Fuck that shit. Brendan might just owe the brat a drink for stopping that kind of shitshow.

The question was, what did he do now? The inquiry had arrived under Crewe's name and had landed on Brendan's desk purely based on geography. Crewe was wealthy but the request was simple and definitely not large enough to warrant the attention of the entire Board. Brendan had glanced at it – security and general staff, immediate assistance – and the lack of any automatic alerts by their systems and handed the whole thing over to Garita without even looking at the name. 'Immediate assistance' meant they could charge double or triple and that was just the sort of thing Brendan wanted to hear. Half a day later, it was back on his desk again and significantly more interesting after Garita had looked into the matter.

Crewe was presumably very dead, based on Rider's mission history. Rider had apparently decided to make himself at home and had somehow managed to gain full access to Crewe's accounts in the process.

That was a lot of money. Not for a billionaire but … that sort of money would sure look nice in Brendan's own accounts. Especially if he could get his hands on them the same way Rider had.

"… if he wants security and it's that much of a rush order, how bad is the current setup?"

"We don't have any detailed reports. Crewe's base is managed by an AI that also functions as a secondary level of security. Its defensive capabilities are unknown but Crewe has made substantial investments in defensive systems and weapons in the past, and based on his psychological profile, I don't expect he added any restrictions in its ability to respond to threats."

Translated, Rider might be alone on the base but an assault could be costly and the political fallout could be even worse if Crewe had made friends in the local government. That wasn't getting into the matter of Rider himself, who would definitely be petty enough to donate everything to charity the moment it looked like SCORPIA decided those accounts looked a little too interesting.

Besides … Brendan was bored. He needed a project. Alex Rider had taken over a base that was apparently straight out of a James Bond film and planned to stay. The fallout would be all kinds of interesting to watch, and if he could get a front row seat for it, well, that was bound to get entertaining.

Could he take over that base instead? Absolutely. Throw enough people at it and the problem would be solved … and all that wonderful money would be split among the Board, assuming Rider didn't manage to dispose of it first out of spite.

Work with Rider, and there could be a much more profitable long-term business opportunity instead that he didn't have to share with his esteemed colleagues. Rider had no personal beef with him. He did with SCORPIA, and Brendan could only imagine this was the Rider audacity and pettiness at play in hiring them, but he could work with that.

"… file this under Crewe. Scrub Rider's name from the file, classify that research on our own servers. As far as anyone knows, that client is Crewe until further notice. It'll take a few weeks to get out and that'll give me time to figure out an approach."

"Yes, sir," Garita agreed. "And Rider's inquiry?"

Brendan didn't even need to consider that one.

"Consider him a client now. Get him whatever he wants and charge the usual rates for rush orders. Then get me his phone number."

The Maldives, March 29th

(One day previously)

Alex wasn't sure how long he sat on that bench and stared at the aquarium and let his thoughts drift with the fish that swam past. Maybe a minute. Maybe five. Maybe fifteen. Eventually he forced himself to focus again.

He was exhausted and everything hurt but he still had things to do, even if all he wanted was to fall over and just sleep on the ugly rug.

One thing at a time. Baby steps. He could do that.

First, he had to make sure he would be safe.

… well, the first thing on the list was probably the dead body but Alex couldn't face the thought of that right now, so he started a little further down the list. It could wait. For a little while, at least. Security first. Then – other things.

The base was silent but for the sounds of the aquariums and the systems that kept the fish alive and safe. It had been silent since Alex had woken up. No alarms. No people. Nothing. Just the aquariums and the agitated roomba.

The office, already dark, felt all the colder in the blue light from the massive aquarium. Sea grass dotted the bottom and mingled with the coral. A colourful school of fish swam by but scattered when a moray eel appeared. How did anyone look at that many colours and so much light and design a mahogany monstrosity like Crewe's office to go with it?

Maybe bad taste in interior design was a requirement for supervillains. Alex remembered Cray. And Yu.

He forced himself to look away again and focus on more important issues. Crewe had ruled the base with an iron fist but he hadn't done it alone.

"Thetis?" he asked the room at large. That was how Crewe had communicated with the AI that ran the base. Just – talked to it. Like an advanced Siri.

Would it listen, though? … Would she? It had a woman's voice but that didn't really say much. She sounded nicer, though. It made her sound like a possession.

A second passed. Another. He had the watch and it had bypassed the security in Crewe's office, but -

"Please provide further instructions."

Right. Right. She expected him to say something. For a moment, Alex's mind was blank. There was so much. Where did he even start?

"What's the status of the base?"

The important things first. He had to make sure he wasn't still sitting on a ticking bomb.

"The facility is in level two lockdown. There are no urgent issues. There is one high priority issue, contained. There are -"

"Wait, what's the high priority issue?"

"High-priority: Fire in storeroom two. Fire extinguished by automatic system. There is no structural damage. The issue has been added to the repair schedule."

Right. He had started that fire with the help of one of Smithers' gadgets in the first place to escape. He had almost forgotten about it again. It wasn't often he had to stick around for long enough to see the aftermath of that sort of thing. Now he was glad it hadn't spread.

"Thank you. Uh. The rest of the status, please?"

"There are eight autonomous maintenance units not in operation. Six units need repairs and have been removed from the schedule. Two units need manual assistance to regain functionality. Location?"

Alex didn't personally think there was much 'autonomous maintenance unit' about the roomba that had tried to run him over, but the reminder still made him eye the floor. Just in case it had managed to sneak up on him.

"Uh, not now. Later. Thank you." Much later, possibly with a large stick for self-defence, but Alex didn't say that.

First bit of good news, the base wasn't about to blow up. Security was next, then. "What does level two lockdown mean?"

"Level two lockdown: Access by critical staff only. Security systems will not warn before taking action against unauthorised access attempts. Security systems may respond with lethal force."

Lethal force. From an automatic security system. Alex had no idea of how he hadn't already been killed about six different times since Crewe died but he could only blame the Rider luck.

"Who can access – no, wait, ignore that. Remove everyone from the list of critical staff and add me to it. No one but me is authorised to enter the base unless I say otherwise."

"Confirmed."

He was about to tell Thetis to ease up on the 'lethal force' part, too, but stopped before he could. He didn't know what was out there but he did know that several of Crewe's men had done their best to convince their boss to just kill him. There was no guarantee the survivors wouldn't come back as soon as they discovered the base hadn't been destroyed. There had to be a lot of money around. The decorations were generally ugly, but Alex knew some of them were ugly in the way that only really expensive things could be.

… Which brought up another question. It was expensive to run a base like that. Alex didn't plan to stick around permanently, just for a little while, but … for the first time, he might have access to money not watched by MI6. So much of it that he might be able to leave with enough money to do something. Maybe enough for a complete set of fake identities for himself and Jack. For a secret bank account or two that no one else would know about. A way to escape if they had to because MI6 had made it abundantly clear that he would never be left alone.

He had Crewe's watch. He had been let inside Crewe's office without a problem. That clearly meant he had at least some of Crewe's access permissions, too. That could mean anything from access to his personal coffee machine to full control of the base. He had no way to tell until he tested it out.

"Crewe's money – can I access that, too? Do you automatically pay the bills? If I need money for something, can I access it?"

"Standard facility expenditures are handled automatically. Some expenditures may require manual approval. Financial assets are marked for the maintenance, security, and expansion of the facility as well as marine conservation efforts. Financial assets cannot be diverted from these purposes."

Crewe's money came with restrictions, then, but he could work with that. He just needed to clear up a few questions first.

"So If I stay for a while and take care of the aquariums and stuff until I can figure out a way to make sure it'll all be safe, maybe find someone who can take in the fish – I'll get access, too?"

"Inquiry unclear. Please rephrase."

Fair enough. He hadn't been that clear, asking even while he was trying to work out a plan.

"I'm going to stay and help with the aquariums," he tried instead. "Can I access the money?"

"Critical staff may access designated funds for approved purposes."

Okay. Okay. Alex took a slow breath to calm the sudden surge of adrenaline. He hadn't really expected it to work but partial access to Crewe's accounts was a damn good start.

"Can I change the approved purposes?"

"Changes to the permitted usage of funds requires legal ownership of accounts."

That was one limit, then. Alex had Crewe's access but he didn't own the place and he definitely didn't want to get into that kind of legal mess. He just wanted some emergency money hidden away somewhere, not draw unwanted attention by trying to take over legally … if anything was legal about a place like Crewe's.

That brought up another question, though. Was someone about to come knock on the door with a deed or something and take over the place? And if they were, how long did Alex have to work with? What even happened to supervillain assets when they got themselves killed? They weren't exactly family people. What had happened to Sayle's money or Grief's school or Yu's creepy home? Sarov's fortune had probably been quietly dealt with, and last Alex heard, Cray's estate was still stuck in a legal fight between several cousins and what was apparently his widow from a secret marriage in the eighties. What would happen to Crewe's?

"Who has the legal ownership of the base? Did Crewe have any family?"

"No provisions were made for transfer of ownership. No family is on record."

Crewe hadn't had a will. Or if he had, Thetis didn't know about it. No will and no family about to take over. The entire base, Crewe's accounts, everything – all in a legal limbo because Crewe hadn't had a will.

What had Tom called it when Jones had convinced him to help again? Right. It's free real estate.

Alex had nothing in London that MI6 didn't control, not money, not a home, not even his own life. Now he had at least a week before MI6 seriously started to look for him. Probably more. It wasn't like they had bothered much before.

Was it a stupid, impulsive idea? Absolutely. Was it any more stupid than going right back to London to wait for the next mission that no one else can do, Alex; nothing will happen, we promise? Absolutely not.

"What if I need money for something I'm not sure is an approved purpose?"

"Financial assets cannot be diverted from their designated purposes."

"I know," Alex said, "but who decides if the money is for an approved purpose?"

"Purpose of expenditure is determined by review of requisition form."

And there was the approach he wanted. Crewe had better things to do with his time than take care of minor issues and had let Thetis deal with that. Crewe could have checked any payments he thought looked suspicious, but Alex strongly suspected that so long as Thetis didn't have an immediate reason to doubt whatever was on the form, it would go through. So 'money for fake identities' wouldn't work but 'travel documents and general expenses for aquarium expos' would … so long as there actually was an aquarium expo, anyway. And right now, Alex felt a sudden, burning interest in fish-keeping.

He could work with that. Easily. How much did he have to work with? That was just as important.

"What's the current account balance?"

A lot was his guess but who knew. The base had not been cheap, and never mind the sort of upkeep those aquariums needed.

"Current financial records are available in the administrative system. Further information is available from the family office."

A family office. Of course Crewe had one of those. He apparently didn't have any family he would admit to, but his ego had been big enough that Alex wasn't surprised he had a company focused just on him. At least it confirmed that Crewe had been loaded.

"… Wait, does the family office know Crewe is dead? Does anyone?"

"Negative."

"Isn't there an automatic thing set up? Anything?" Shouldn't there be, anyway? Maybe he hadn't cared, or maybe he hadn't expected anyone to target him. Maybe, like so many other people Alex had run into, he hadn't imagined that his brilliant plan could possibly fail.

"Primary purpose is the care, maintenance, and expansion of the facility. A loss of ownership would result in the shutdown of the facility. Administrative measures meant in the event of the founder's demise are of secondary priority."

That answer was … longer and more detailed than Alex had expected. It was a lot more detailed than he had asked for, too, and a cold suspicion settled in the back of his mind.

Crewe had bought an AI capable of learning, told it to protect the base, and hadn't bothered with any restrictions. That was why the self-destruct had stopped. With Crewe dead, Thetis had overruled the order, because her first priority was the base.

If Thetis saw a problem, she looked for a solution. That was what she had been created for. Crewe's death was a danger to the base. Alex was a possible solution … and that also meant that she was more intelligent than he had expected. Crewe had treated her like an advanced version of Siri. That sort of logic went just a little beyond that.

That also meant, Alex realised, that he was entirely alone with an AI with access to lethal weapons, enough 'brain' power to make decisions of her own, and the ability to interpret orders as it suited her priorities.

… maybe not so free real estate, then.

What was the alternative, though? MI6? Another awful mission in a month or two, after weeks of hopeless struggle to catch up on the schoolwork he already didn't understand? Another chance to add more nightmares and traumas to his already long, long list?

Thetis was programmed to protect the base and the animals in it. If Alex could work within that, he would be safe. Wouldn't he?

"What are your instructions regarding critical staff?"

"Critical staff is vital to the continued existence and welfare of the facility and is recognised by the security systems as priority two assets to be protected in the event of an attack."

Still safer than MI6. At least Thetis wouldn't try to kill him so long as he minded his own business and took care of the place and didn't make a nuisance of himself. Probably. He'd gone with way worse odds than that before.

Immediate security was handled, then. So was money. Alex's brain stalled as he tried to figure out the next step. On the other side of the immense glass wall, a school of colourful fish swam by. A few moments later, one of the smaller sea turtles appeared.

How often did fish need fed? How often did turtles? Or sharks? Where was the food hiding? Was there enough of it? How did the aquariums get cleaned? And what about vet visits?

Where did he even start?

"… what do I do?" he asked, then continued before Thetis could add her own interpretation to the question. "I mean, is there a schedule or something? A feeding schedule? Deliveries? Vet visits? Anything?"

"Next delivery of supplies is scheduled for April 2nd. Next veterinarian visit is scheduled for April 5th to April 7th. The automated maintenance schedule currently operates with moderate delays. Repair schedule is over capacity. Manual approval for additional contractors is required. Feeding schedule is available in the administrative system."

That was – a lot. Alex focused on the last bit of it and took a deep breath. "Show me. The feeding schedule, I mean."

The computer screen closest to him came to life. For long seconds, it was just the loading screen, Crewe's coat of arms prominently displayed, because of course it was. Then it changed to a meticulous schedule; page after page of one line after the other, with the time and species and a thorough description of their diets and anything to be aware of … and a glance revealed twenty more pages like it.

Alex wasn't sure what he had imagined. Maybe a few days of throwing the occasional bucket of food into the water. This was – barely doable. For a day or two. If he didn't bother with things like sleep or food for himself or other silly distractions like that. And he was already behind.

He needed help. Staff. Someone to take over and figure out what to do with the aquariums. He wanted the money and the freedom it could give him but he wanted to make sure the animals were safe, too. They had never asked to be caught and locked away in a private aquarium exhibit. He couldn't even release them. They wouldn't survive in the wild. Most of them didn't even belong in the Maldives in the first place. MI6 wouldn't care but Alex could find someone who did and maybe work out something a little more long-term after that.

Think. Think.

"… Where did Crewe find the staff for this place?"

Where did you even go for people like that? Looking for: Aquarium keeper. Must be okay with guns, hostile agents, potential world-ending supervillain threats, and AI systems with access to lethal weaponry. Salary negotiable, references from former, still-living, not-imprisoned supervillain bosses are preferred?

The screen changed. Vediove Internationalappeared instead; the sort of stylized logo that someone had probably paid a marketing department a fortune for. Right beneath that was a list of document names, starting with CIA threat assessments of foreign mercenary companies.

Right. Of course that was the sort of company where you went for people like that. Alex couldn't even say he was surprised.

"Actually, ignore that, we don't want to use the same company," he decided. Just in case. "Were the any alternatives? Any other companies he looked at to help find the staff?"

The screen changed. The list wasn't long, only about half a page of company names. Like with Vediove, most of them Alex didn't even recognise but near the bottom of the list, with a small note about undesirable business practices -

"- Is there any security in place in case the staff becomes a threat?"

There had to be, Vediove was a mercenary company. Surely there were safeguards put into place.

"Comprehensive security measures were added in the construction process. Critical staff will be removed if they become a danger to the facility. Non-critical staff is designated expendable."

Expendable. That was just – right up Crewe's alley, come to think of it. His security had been bastards or sadists, sometimes both, and everyone else who hadn't been directly responsible for the aquariums had done their best to stay out of sight at all times. They had to have known just how little value Crewe put on their lives. Alex didn't ask if someone, Crewe or his security, had ever made use of that 'expendable' label. He knew he didn't want to find out.

He could look over the details later. Make sure there weren't any obvious holes in that security setup. For now, he needed a solution and he had spotted just the company for it.

"Give me a list of the staff we need and I'll handle it."

He would send it in Crewe's name, just in case, but he had everything else he needed right there. Contact information, names, everything a potential client could want.

SCORPIA was run by a bunch of petty, spiteful bastards, but they were petty, spiteful bastards that were for sale to the highest bidder, and Alex had money now.

Had they tried to kill him? Sure. Had he helped get rid of several of their board members? Absolutely. Were they still the safer bet, if only because he knew them? Alex couldn't actually say they weren't, and that said a lot.

In the end, the equation was simple. Alex Rider had money and a problem. For once, SCORPIA hadn't caused it but he would make damn sure they fixed it.

Chapter Text

Jakarta, March 31st

It was early evening but the day was far from over. SCORPIA rarely accepted a forty-hour work week from their higher-ranking operatives but the compensation was more than worth it.

Crux paused in front of her closet and considered her options. Networking with politicians was always such a bore. She had better things to do with her time, and certainly when they had finally caught a break on what had quickly become a persistent annoyance to SCORPIA's local business.

"- have identified the official in charge of the investigation," the operative in charge reported through Crux's small earpiece. "Unmarried, parents deceased, three siblings with families that he doesn't appear to have had contact with since he left Medan."

"Ambitious man," Crux said. "With very little to use against him. How inconvenient. Security?"

Networking, networking … what clothes said 'We can become very profitable business partners and it's in your own best interest to agree'? One of the lighter suits, maybe? She didn't expect bloodshed but her favourite dry cleaner had worked wonders before.

"Tight security, he knows he's made enemies, but it won't be a problem. We'll need a couple of days to make sure we get it right but it shouldn't -"

A sharp tone interrupted the call and Crux stilled.

"I'll get back to you," she said and didn't bother to wait for a response before she switched to the new call. Few numbers were set up to go straight through, and a quick glance at her phone confirmed which one it was. Brendan Chase had become her regular contact on the Board over the years and she didn't have an update due for another three weeks. Something had come up, then.

"Sir?"

"Crux, I've got a job offer for you. It's on short notice but it comes with a hefty bonus and I know you've been considering a career out of the field."

She had worked for SCORPIA for long enough that a job offer was just that – an offer. She was free to refuse and she knew it. If she wasn't interested, the safest thing to do was refuse immediately, because some offers became binding the moment the details became clear. Her curiosity still made her ask. SCORPIA's business in Jakarta was under control, and she had always planned to retire from field work before she turned forty. Combined with a personal call from a member of the Board out of nowhere about a new job … well.

"'Bonus' is one of my favourite words, sir. What sort of job did you have in mind?"

"We've got a new billionaire client in the Maldives in need of a personal assistant. It was a bit of a hostile takeover and the client has no experience running that sort of thing, so he contacted us. We need to solidify his hold before anyone else gets any ideas."

The explanation sounded genuine but it was enough to make Crux wonder just how much was missing from it. On the surface, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. Something more settled and out of the field, and something that was still potentially challenging enough to hold her interest.

She made a considering sound before she answered. "A Malagosto graduate is awfully expensive for a personal assistant."

"He's got some enemies and I want someone I can trust to run a business and not hold a grudge to get that mess under control." Chase paused. "Now, I bet you're wondering what the catch is."

"It would be a reasonable question, sir," Crux agreed.

"The billionaire is fifteen and it's Hunter's kid. A walking disaster zone; got a kill count higher than some of our operatives, none of which can actually be proven to be anything other than convenient, so-called 'accidents'. MI6 has been running a little blackmail racket to get him to accept missions he didn't want to and he's apparently had enough. So he killed the most recent eccentric billionaire MI6 sent him after, got access to his accounts and took over the place. Seems to be determined to keep it, too."

Ah. Put that way, Crux could see why Chase hadn't started with that part of the explanation. The fact that she was busy didn't mean she was politically oblivious. She kept up with developments within SCORPIA and certainly any rumours from the highest levels of the organisation. If nothing else, it might give her advance warning of anything that might affect her business.

She had heard plenty about Hunter's son and the sort of trouble he had caused SCORPIA over the past year or so. Even just the gossip that managed to filter past the various security clearances was interesting enough, and that wasn't taking into account the classified things that were undoubtedly there, too. Hunter's son was an interesting character but not someone she would ever imagine would actually hire SCORPIA. Then again, she could say the same thing about a number of the people she had met in her career. Charitable, kind, well-connected and upstanding members of society, right up until the moment a problem became too much of an annoyance and SCORPIA was only a call away.

"An unusual client," she said and didn't bring up her other considerations. "Is he likely to be a problem, sir?"

She'd had clients like that before. People who hired SCORPIA to fix their problems and then became an even bigger problem themselves. The boy was young but obviously ambitious. He was also either dangerously arrogant in deciding to hire SCORPIA after causing so much trouble, or enough of a risk-taker that he didn't care. Either way, it would be something she would have to deal with if she accepted the job.

"He's a bit clueless, but he's a teenager, it comes with the territory. Smart, though. He'll learn fast."

Chase paused. Crux knew the question that would follow and answered before he could ask it. There were more details that needed discussed, that pause told her as much, but Chase also needed an answer before he offered any more details about a sensitive operation.

"It sounds like an interesting challenge, sir. I would be delighted to accept it."

Jakarta had been nice. Jakarta had been profitable. But Crux wasn't thirty and beholden to SCORPIA any more, and a decade of experience with politics and business had given her a solid sense of when things were about to turn – difficult.

The nagging sense she'd had for months that perhaps it was time to find a new career away from SCORPIA had just turned somewhat more insistent with Chase's offer.

"Excellent," Chase continued. "The majority of the assets are handled by a family office; you'll need to convince them it's business as usual until we can find a way to get the legal issues settled or get it transferred to the kid in some other way. I want a solid, well-run setup that'll generate a nice profit. His identity needs to be kept quiet for as long as possible as well. I don't expect that'll be more than a week or two but any amount of time we can push the inevitable fallout will help."

That was remarkably helpful towards a client who had caused SCORPIA so much trouble in the past, especially given the Board's tendency towards personal vendettas, and Crux knew that nagging sense of unease had been right.

It all sounded very legitimate and by the book. A client in a sensitive situation, just the sort of case where it made sense to keep it quiet while they could … except it felt more like Chase was playing his own game. Profits were shared among the Board but individual agreements were different, and Chase was clearly setting Rider up for a more permanent arrangement.

SCORPIA had lost power and influence in the past year. Their reputation was severely damaged, and several major operations had failed. SCORPIA's future was uncertain at best, Crux was pragmatic enough to see that. Chase clearly was, too, because Crux would put good money on the arrangement with Rider being Chase's exit strategy.

If a member of the executive board had started to make contingency plans like that, Crux knew her decision had been right. Time to leave Jakarta to someone else.

"I'll arrange for an audit," Crux promised. If the family office was worth its cost, those assets would already be generating a decent return on investment. If not, well, she would see to that.

"One more thing – the kid spent a couple of weeks at Malagosto last year. The only thing more dangerous than a trained killer -"

"- Is one that's just trained enough to be a hazard to everyone," Crux completed the sentence.

"Exactly. Rothman's handling of that whole mess was a nightmare and he's still got all the inconvenient morals Ian Rider tried to raise him with. He's not going to be cooperative about that kind of instruction. Try to be subtle about it. Like I said, he's a bright kid, nothing but praise from his instructors. The potential is there. Make sure he's got the skills to stay alive a little longer than MI6 would have liked."

"Of course," Crux agreed, already running through the logistics of it in her mind. A copy of the current curriculum for a start, focus on the important parts, maybe disguised as self-defence … that sounded like the best approach. She was patient; she would find a way. "Thank you for the opportunity, sir. What is my schedule?"

"As fast as you can extract yourself from Jakarta without too much suspicion."

Without too much suspicion. If she didn't already suspect that Rider had become Chase's exit strategy, she would now. He obviously wanted to risk nothing that might interfere with things until the usual messiness of a hostile takeover had been settled. By the time the rest of the Board would find out, Rider would be far harder to target, much less get rid of.

As for the fastest and easiest way to extract herself … trouble-shooting, she decided. That was always a good excuse and she had done that often enough.

"Of course, sir. I'll keep you updated."

The line fell silent. Crux tapped one manicured nail against her lips. Then she switched back to her original conversation and the immediate response that followed.

"Ma'am?"

"Change of plans," Crux said. "You're my plus one for tonight. I'll brief you on the way."

The Maldives, March 31st

(Twelve hours previously)

Nice AI on TV, Alex had noticed, would wake up their owner with the weather forecast or the news or their schedule for the day. Maybe a joke, or a sassy comment, or a compliment.

"This is your scheduled alarm for five a.m. The PH level in saltwater tank three has decreased to 8.1. The current level is expected to reach 8.0 within twenty-two hours. Potamotrygon tigrina, specimen Zeta-8 displays abnormal behaviour. Supply levels are -"

Thetis was two full sentences in before Alex was awake enough to even register her.

"Right. Right," he interrupted before she could go through absolutely every single item she had decided needed his attention. "Just … make me a list."

The obnoxiously bright light of a computer monitor came to life across the room. At the same time, his phone made a cheerful sound that he just knew meant a long, long list had arrived with the same information, in case he managed to miss the monitor somehow.

Alex forced himself out of the warm, comfortable bed. At least the guest rooms were nice. Unlike Crewe's private sections of the base, they also hadn't been decorated by someone with more money than decent taste.

Jeans, t-shirt … coffee? Coffee was next. He didn't even care he didn't like coffee; a large cup with a foundation of espresso and obscene amounts of milk and sugar would fix that. What time had he even managed to get to sleep? It had been past two, he knew that much. Thetis could probably tell him but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Coffee. Then the list. And sometime in the hazy future that was the early afternoon, backup.

Three days prior, Alex would never have been able to imagine a time he would actually look forward to SCORPIA's interference. Now, knocking over two cups, three water bottles, and a small tower of useless decaf coffee capsules in his search for the espresso, they couldn't arrive soon enough.

Alex could say a lot of bad things about SCORPIA – and had, frequently and in great detail – but they could be amazingly efficient when they had to. Apparently, the magic words were 'rush order fee'. In any case, it took less than forty-eight hours for help to arrive.

Well, forty-eight hours according to Thetis and Crewe's watch. To Alex, who had spent said forty-eight hours trying to keep up with the demands of something the size of a small public aquarium, it felt like a lot longer. Between fifteen thousand marine animals, a hundred and six functional maintenance robots, half a dozen new security measures to keep Crewe's resources away from SCORPIA, and a dead body he had left in a freezer, Alex had managed a grand total of six hours of sleep.

SCORPIA had sent a handful of people with experience with aquariums – enough to keep the base running – and twenty people for security. Alex had received a complete file on them and had found the time to read about three lines of each.

He wasn't sure how they would react to him not being Crewe. He hadn't actually thought that far. He hadn't had the chance to think much past the next item on his fish-care list, if he was perfectly honest. He would just have to trust that Thetis could handle any issues. He had seen the very long, very detailed list of weapons and other defensive measures under her control, and he was absolutely sure the only reason he had survived Crewe's death and why his gamble with Crewe's access had worked was because Thetis had allowed it.

The fact that no one raised an eyebrow at the sight of him was a bit of a clue that they already knew.

"Mr Rider," greeted the woman at the front of the group. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

And that just confirmed it. Alex waited for any sign that things were about to go wrong. When nothing happened, he reached out – cautiously – and shook her hand. She sounded genuine. He probably hadn't blown up one of her previous operations, then.

"… Hi," he responded, somewhat less eloquently. With a few more seconds to watch her, he finally matched her image to the files.

Sania Jain, in charge of the civilian staff. She was a marine biologist from Andhra University with a list of publications of the sort where Alex only understood about half the words in the title. The man next to her clicked a moment later. He was from Myanmar and up close, he reminded Alex of his Karate instructor – small and lithe, with muscles made of steel wire, and probably familiar with about thirty different ways to take Alex down without using an actual weapon. He was in charge of the security side of things.

"Kywe," the man introduced himself. "Mr Chase sends his regards along with this."

'This' turned out to be a phone that Alex accepted before he even realised it might be a trap. If it was, at least it wasn't an immediate one, because it didn't explode when he touched it. Just unlocked when his finger accidentally brushed against the fingerprint scanner.

Alex gave Kywe a pointed look.

"SCORPIA had your fingerprints on record," the man explained, and no, that wasn't unnerving at all. What else did they have on record about him after several run-ins with them and a couple of weeks at Malagosto? Alex wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Mr Chase's number has been added already. He requests you contact him as soon as possible."

And there was the first big flaw in his plan, he realised. Hiring SCORPIA with enough money to make them play nice apparently didn't just mean being a petty bastard from a distance. It meant actually talking with them. 'Request'. Sure.

"… Right."

The phone wallpaper was a cheerful, sunny tropical beach with a dolphin frolicking in the distance. Someone had an awful sense of humour.

"Guest rooms have been prepared," Thetis took over before Alex could make a snarky comment about the phone. "Please follow the maintenance unit to your assigned accommodations."

She sounded impatient. Alex didn't blame her. Small-talk did not help keep her aquariums and fish alive and well.

One of the ever-present roombas drove closer, lit up, and spun around once with a high-pitched sound. Alex suppressed the immediate urge to get out of its way. To be fair, only one of them had tried to run him over so far and he had come to suspect that had been Thetis trying to wake him up. It didn't stop him from eyeing them and wondering when one of them would run full-speed into his ankle.

"That's Thetis," Alex explained. The lack of surprise proved that they had been warned about her in advance, too. "She's responsible for the base. She'll help where she can, but her main job is to take care of the aquariums."

Jain nodded.

"Ms Thetis," she said, "if you can connect my laptop to the data feeds, we'll get started as soon as I've put my suitcase away."

"Confirmed. Primary issue is saltwater tank three. Secondary issue one -"

"We'll look at all of it. Send me the complete list and we'll get started from the top," Jain promised.

"Confirmed."

It might have been just Alex's imagination but Thetis sounded a bit relieved to have someone around again who actually knew what they were doing after being left alone to flounder for several days. Alex knew how that felt. Thanks for nothing, Blunt.

The roomba spun again and drove down a hallway, as fast as its little wheels could move. Alex's new … guests, staff, employees, whatever he was supposed to call them followed it.

Hiring SCORPIA had seemed like a wonderfully petty, spiteful idea when he was still tired and could count the number of muscles in his body based on how much they hurt. Now … the whole thing might've been a mistake, but Alex hadn't survived for as long as he had by second-guessing himself.

Of course, that approach had also managed to land him in a ton of trouble in the past, but he was still alive, so his point stood.

The phone made an insistent sound. Alex stared at it. Its obnoxious background stared back, now joined by a notification.

Call me 😉

Great, someone had taught the mass-murdering terrorist CEO to use emojis.

Chase. The name told Alex nothing, but there were apparently a lot of people on SCORPIA's executive board that he didn't know. They kept popping up like a particularly obnoxious game of whack-a-mole, at least.

He considered just … dropping the phone into one of the aquariums, but he was sure Kywe had a backup and that wasn't taking into account that it was probably waterproof as well. Thetis would be unhappy, too. Phones were not on the feeding schedule.

Fine. Whatever. He was the client; he would get to monologue this time.

The phone picked up on the second ring. Either Chase had expected him, or he was just that bored. Based on the message, maybe both.

"Rider, how the hell did you get yourself into this situation?"

Too little sleep and too much coffee answered before Alex's common sense could catch up. "I don't know, ask MI6. It's not like anyone ever tells me anything."

"Yeah, that's a damn travesty," Chase agreed. He sounded Australian now that Alex had actually heard him speak. Maybe it was an act but if that was the case, Alex figured there were easier accents to copy. An Australian terrorist CEOs, because why not. They even had the lethal wildlife conveniently available in their backyard, too. "Tell you what, I'm curious now, too. I'll send you your file free of charge. That's the least you should've been allowed to see."

Alex didn't roll his eyes. Mostly because he was exhausted enough that it would probably make him dizzy. He didn't even bother to question SCORPIA's ability to get his file – the full, proper one, too. They seemed to have their fingers in every pie around.

"'Free of charge', meaning that you ripped me off badly enough that you feel magnanimous about it."

"That's an awfully big word for a sleep-deprived teenager who's got the school attendance of someone in juvie."

… was Chase enjoying Alex's less-than-respectful responses? It had started to sound like it, and Alex wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"I'm pretty sure kids in juvie have better attendance than I do."

He tried for snarky; mostly it ended up sounding bitter. Chase made a sound that might have been agreement, might have been some weird terrorist brand of sympathy. Alex remembered, unwanted and unbidden, how nice everyone at Malagosto had been to him, too.

"Probably. MI6 has set you up for a pretty successful career as a child soldier," Chase agreed, and this time a bit of the humour was gone, too. "Maybe we should add a teacher or two to your staff, get you up to date on your actual schooling. Our immediate focus was the urgent staff; we can handle the rest later. Most of your new staff is from South and Southeast Asia to cut down on travel time but if you want a British tutor, we can find one. I figured you didn't have Yu's weird little British fetish. Frankly, I figure you'd prefer to avoid anything to do with jolly old England."

Maybe it was his sleep-deprived brain talking but that sounded … almost nice. Being allowed to just … catch up on everything he was behind on, pick and choose what he wanted to focus on, and just be a normal fifteen-year-old for a little while. It sounded really nice, once he thought about it. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, either. Knowing SCORPIA, it was probably a trap, except he would get to pay for it himself.

"… Maybe later," he said and settled for what was hopefully a nice, neutral reply. Something that wouldn't tell Chase too much.

"Yeah, hostile takeovers don't tend to leave a lot of spare time until you get things settled a bit. We can look at it later. At the very least, you're going to need a personal assistant."

That one was easier.

"And give you even more access? Sounds like a brilliant idea," Alex agreed with every bit of sarcasm he could manage. "I can handle myself."

"Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen." Chase didn't have the decency to sound even a little annoyed. "Crewe has a family office to handle his assets. What do you think is going to happen the first time you pick up the phone instead of him? They'll never believe a teenager, but a PA with the right authorisation? They'll want to see Crewe eventually but we'll work something out, maybe a good impersonator. This'll buy us time. Actually, first step is to find out where his previous PA went. He had to have had one; anyone with that much money does."

Alex paused. Mentally went through the staff he remembered. A lot of them had done the smart thing and left the moment the evacuation order had been announced but some hadn't survived that long. Some had tried to return later, too, but Thetis' security had dissuaded them and Alex had been too exhausted to pay any real attention to them. Had any of them looked like a personal assistant?

"… I think he's dead," Alex finally said. "There was a man with Crewe, he was on the phone a lot, took a lot of notes, and Crewe gave most of his orders to him to get it done. Something had gone wrong, I think he was already angry about the actual MI6 agent because when I escaped and they caught me again, Crewe shot him. Security left with the body."

Alex hadn't even been that surprised. He had looked away because it was still awful and he didn't want to see more people killed in front of him but Crewe had already been pretty unhinged by then, and he had been angry about – a lot of things, it had seemed. Alex didn't know how much had actually been his assistant's fault, though. Crewe had given the orders. His assistant had just made sure they got carried out.

"A waste of good resources but that's going to made our job a little easier," Chase said. He paused. "Listen, kid. Let me be real with you. Could I take over the entire damn place already with the people I've got with you now? Sure. Thing is, if I do that, I'm going to have to share the loot with my esteemed colleagues on the Board and I don't particular want to do that. The profits from your initial inquiry will go to SCORPIA but any future deals the two of us make as old business partners, well, they're all mine. I like money, and your billion will breed a lot better than a hundred million of my own, or however big of a slice I manage to get from the burning remnants we can salvage, and that's not counting whatever contingency plans you've got. If I can shape you into a good business partner, that'll be profitable for both of us."

Alex had a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue but his brain ground to a halt before he could say it.

"Wait, what?"

"I know, you can make some great investments with a cool hundred million, too, but a billion opens up some real possibilities. With some skilled investments, the annual returns -"

"No," Alex said as the words started to sink in, "about the billion."

The other end of the line was silent for several seconds.

"… You've got no idea of the kind of money you're sitting on, do you?" Chase barked a laugh. "Oh, that's even better. Congratulations, kid, you're a billionaire. Sure, I don't know what the current assets look like after you got done with the place, but most of them should be tied up in investments, even for someone as crazy as Crewe. You got access to his accounts and that means you're loaded, Rider. Filthy fucking rich. You want a private island, your own helicopter to go with it, maybe some nice art for the walls, a super-yacht, and a different Bugatti for every day of the week? You can have it with plenty of money to spare."

Alex had assumed Crewe was loaded to have a place like that. He hadn't realised just how much. He had kind of figured that most of Crewe's money had been spent just building the place. He didn't have full access to the accounts, not like Chase seemed to think, but the sheer amount in there was enough to make his head spin.

"I -"

- don't want it, he didn't say. He was sure the money came from nowhere good, but before he could complete the sentence, his brain had already kicked back in. All the poverty and misery he had seen when he was undercover to take down Yu's snakehead, all the famine and disease and death in Africa, and the contrast to the rich kids of Point Blanc and Fiona Friend and -

- he could do something with that money. He hadn't planned to stay and didn't want to, but with a billion dollars, he could do something. Maybe not change the world but – help make it a little better. If that billion could make more money, that was even more that could go to a better cause than lining some other billionaire supervillain's pocket.

"Like I said," Chase repeated when the silence had gone on for too long, "with some skilled investments, you're looking at a minimum of a hundred million a year in return on investments. Could easily be more, depending on how it's managed and just how much money is actually there. You did me a solid when you got rid of Yu and you're a potential goldmine of business I don't feel like sharing. Trust me when I say that you need a personal assistant."

A hundred million dollars. Every year.

Alex took a deep breath. He would need to work around Thetis but … something like clean water could be called marine conservation, couldn't it? Clean lakes and clean rivers, somewhere people could get water that wouldn't make them sick, that would make a better life for the marine life living there, too. And with enough time, he would find a way to get out of those restrictions, he was sure of it. He hadn't planned to stay but -

- How was he going to just leave that much money behind for SCORPIA or whoever would swoop in to take it when he could make sure it went to something good?

A hundred million dollars. For clean water or medicine for kids or food aid or schools or a hundred other things. Every year. He just had to make sure he kept control of Crewe's money.

No wonder Chase was willing to take another route than the rest of the Board with that kind of money in play.

Chase sighed, probably from Alex's lack of enthusiastic agreement about the plan. Alex figured he was justified in being stuck on the absurd amount of money. Was this the sort of money Sayle and Grief and Cray had owned, too? No wonder they had gone off the rails.

"Look, you've got shitty experiences with SCORPIA. Nothing I can do to fix that. But right now, we both want this to work and to do that, you need someone to help you."

Right. It wasn't like he didn't have two dozen of SCORPIA's people around already. What was one more for the collection? And maybe Chase had a point. A tiny one. Minuscule. He was fifteen. Even with all the right authorisations, no one would listen to him. So accept the help he had paid for and hope it wasn't a trap, or … get nothing. That made the decision a bit easier but it still felt a little like he had just made a deal with the devil. Was this Chase's way of taking over the whole place bit by bit, or was that just how SCORPIA normally operated with billionaire clients? Move in, take over all that unwanted 'work' stuff, and leave their client to practice their monologues and villainous laughter?

At least it would buy him some time to figure out what to do about all the animals in the aquariums.

"… No one who worked for Rothman. Or Yu."

That was the bare minimum he would accept. He could just imagine the disaster otherwise.

"Smart. Add Kurst to that list, too; he's really got it out for you." Another name Alex didn't recognise. Another person who hated him for a career he had never wanted or asked for. "Actually, I'll do you one better – one of mine, Crux. I want you successful, so she's got incentive to help. Lots of business and logistics experience, used to juggling large numbers, and she's primarily worked for me the past couple of years. She's old enough to be your mum and she's been looking to retire from field work. I think it'll be a solid match."

SCORPIA logistics. Alex supposed it could be worse. Crewe's entire setup was right up SCORPIA's alley in the first place. Maybe someone used to that sort of thing would have an easier time untangling it, too. The fact that she wasn't someone straight out of training made him a little hopeful it might even work. She wouldn't have something to prove and she probably didn't have quite the same cut-throat ambition that someone new might have.

"So how much is that going to cost me?"

Chase laughed. "You can afford it. Cheer up, kid. You hired SCORPIA to make your life easier, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. You think you're being petty and spiteful for hiring us as revenge? You've got nothing on some of the clients we've dealt with. We've handled much worse than a little bit of teenage rebellion."

Like Sayle. And Cray. Men who had been willing to kill millions for revenge and delusion, and because they'd had money and pretended to be good, charitable members of society, no one had been willing to think anything bad about them.

The reminder left a sour taste of nausea and stale coffee in his mouth. Yassen had handled those clients. Had SCORPIA described him as someone with 'logistics experience', too? He hadn't just been an assassin, Alex knew that much now. He had been the person SCORPIA had trusted to carry out plans that had been worth a fortune to them.

And now Alex had hired them, too. Had hired SCORPIA to fix his problems, because there was no way that could go wrong.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He had been exhausted and in pain and alone and there had been no decent option, that's what he had been thinking. Maybe he could have left the animals behind, maybe he could have called MI6 and gone home, but he hadn't and now he would just have to deal with that.

Yassen had been a cold-blooded killer but he had killed Sayle and saved Alex's life. Then he had made him fight a bull and sent him to SCORPIA, but he also hadn't taken the shot the many times he could have, and Alex knew that now, too. Yassen had protected him in his own, twisted way.

Nile had been friendly and young and seemed to have everything under control in the way that Alex didn't, and then he had tried to kill him on Rothman's orders.

Crux worked for Chase. Nile had worked for Rothman. 'Business and logistics experience' could have described what Nile and Yassen had done, too, and Alex wondered just what sort of person he was about to entrust a billion dollars to.

What was the alternative? Chase was right, and Alex's best bet now was to trust that Thetis would keep an eye on everything he couldn't.

"Rider?"

"Just wondering," Alex said, gasping the first thought he could, "have you considered little collectable stickers with your most wanted sociopaths? I've met Yassen, Nile, Rothman, and Yu already. Do I get a prize if I complete a whole album?"

Chase laughed again and Alex got the odd impression that he actually meant it.

"You'll be all right, kid. Trust me, everything gets much easier when you're the one writing the cheques. Get some sleep. We'll get this sorted."

The line went dead. Alex wanted to argue. Forty-two hours of too much espresso and six hours of sleep told him that arguing could wait another day. Maybe he would even manage some coherent insults by then.

Chapter Text

Australia, April 1st

It was late evening when Brendan Chase got the update he had been waiting for. The number was set to go straight through to his phone and he answered before it could ring twice. He didn't expect anything to have gone wrong – not seriously, anyway – but it was still a bit of a touchy operation, and especially if the rest of the Board discovered it now, before they had brought security to a decent standard.

"What's the status?" he demanded.

Some people would have been noticeably unsettled by having the complete attention of one of the Board. Garita, who had picked the team for the operation, had used the same practical approach that had made Brendan promote her to his second-in-command and had simply avoided anyone easily rattled. With Alex Rider involved, things were bound to go explosively wrong eventually and it paid to plan for that. As a result, Kywe delivered his report with the same calm professionalism Brendan had always prized in his people.

"Security and aquarium staff is in place; no immediate threats, sir. We've had to discourage a couple of former staff members who decided to sniff around, but other than that, it's been calm." Kywe paused."Rider stopped a global disaster, though. Most of the data in the systems here is classified by his AI, but based on what we have, Crewe was losing all touch with reality."

SCORPIA had dealt with billionaire clients who hadn't just lost touch with reality but blown right past it in a jet car while singing God Save the Queen, but Brendan didn't mention that.

"How bad?" he asked instead. "They all get a little unhinged when they're that rich. Intel said genetically modified mosquitoes."

Brendan also didn't feel the need to mention that it had mostly been guesswork. No one knew anything solid about the operation. Either Crewe had kept former employees bound by iron-clad contracts and kept them scared enough to obey, or he had just disposed of any liabilities. Brendan figured the odds were about even.

"We can confirm the mosquitoes but it's worse than intel makes it sound". Kywe hesitated. That was never good news when a subordinate reported. "According to the notes we found, he was looking into modifying the viruses they were meant to carry as well to make them more lethal. Maybe he was always a bit off, maybe it developed later, but he was completely unhinged by the time Rider killed him. No TVs, no music, no computers that weren't specifically for work. The only phones Rider saw belonged to the PA and head of security, no one else was allowed one. The notebooks we found were full of rants about 'the plague of humanity' and 'new beginnings' and 'healing the festering wound on the planet'. Rider confirmed that he was completely unpredictable by the end."

Brendan stilled. Crewe wasn't the first batshit crazy billionaire around, and SCORPIA had assisted in several operations that could, at best, be described as mass murder, but Crewe's plans were – well beyond that.

Brendan Chase hadn't blinked at a number of the plans their clients had presented because they had never directly affected him. He was halfway around the world for the most part and even Yu's half-baked plans had been suitably far away. Tragic for the people involved, he was sure, but it hadn't been his problem.

This, though … this would have been.

A worldwide plague, created and unleashed by someone who didn't have any financial motives behind it, no bone-deep greed for more, no reason not to see the world burn to ashes -

- and Crewe had come perilously close to succeeding.

For the first time in years, Brendan felt his own mortality; the double-edged sword that was a seat among SCORPIA's executive board, and the fragile peace to be found in ignorance.

For a moment, he was tempted to order the base destroyed. Burned to the ground, drop a missile on it, anything to bury that knowledge where no one would dig it back up -

- And then common sense and restraint took over. The data was already classified by Rider's AI and if Crewe had managed the preliminary work for that sort of nightmare, others could have, too. Destroying it was no guarantee of anything, and whatever data Rider was sitting on might become decent insurance one day. A head start if they ever had to stop some other raving madman from succeeding with the same plan.

Crewe was dead. Rider had succeeded. SCORPIA clearly needed to work on the 'I' part of the name, and intel had clearly been slacking off if they could miss that sort of potential disaster, but that could be fixed. They had time, Rider had ensured that.

He could have a breakdown later. Right now, he had an operation to focus on. One problem at a time.

"Right. Any good news coming out of that clusterfuck?"

It took several seconds before Kywe replied. Brendan really hoped it was because he couldn't decide what piece of brilliantly good news to share first, and not because he was scraping the bottom of his mental barrel for anything that fit the bill.

"Well, we found Crewe," he reported. "His body was in one of the freezers. It looks like he broke his neck, possibly from a fall."

In a freezer. Huh.

"Practical kid," Brendan said. Actual good news, too. He would take what he could get. "Could have fed it to the sharks but this way, we've got fingerprints and DNA and everything to work with if we need it. Considerate. Anything else?"

"We also got the model of his AI. She's a DARPA project; an offshoot of the GALE program that's optimised for intelligence analysis. State of the art and still heavily classified. The NSA uses several of them, too."

That made sense. SCORPIA made use of DARPA tech as well. Once it got released beyond DARPA itself, it was a matter of months or weeks before SCORPIA had a copy. Brendan was sure the same was the case for that AI model, though that was well past Kywe's clearance. Wonderful people, though. He was quite the fan of DARPA. Something like Rider's AI … yeah, that sounded about right.

"And Crewe … used her to keep track of his aquariums?" Brendan clarified as he remembered a detail from the initial report. "One of the most advanced AI models in the world, and he wasted it on fucking fish?"

"Yes, sir. Well, and the security systems but it all connects to the aquariums in the end."

Of course it did. Brendan felt the beginnings of a headache at the sheer fucking waste of potential that had been Crewe's operation. If it hadn't been on the verge of destroying the damn world, it had been one financial disaster and stunning example of mismanagement after the other, and now it was going to be an uphill battle to turn that clusterfuck into something profitable.

At least Rider seemed like a sensible kid. Willing to listen, at least. Suitably paranoid and distrustful of SCORPIA, which was always a healthy approach, but willing to listen to the people around him.

Speaking of which …

"How about Rider himself?"

"He's doing surprisingly well. He was running on fumes and I don't think the whole situation has had time to settle yet. He gets along brilliantly with Dr Jain, though. She really likes him. He's big on animal welfare, apparently, and they spent an hour discussing sharks."

At least 'sharks' sounded a little more intimidating than 'aquariums'. Brendan had seen worse useless billionaire pets than that. If Rider's newfound focus on animal welfare was the reason why he hadn't fed Crewe's body to the sharks – and made Brendan's job much harder in the process – well, they could work with that, too.

The situation was stabilised for now. That was the important thing. The situation was stabilised, the mosquitoes were hopefully dead, and Rider hadn't blown anything up in the meantime. Brendan called that progress.

"He's a resilient kid," Brendan agreed. "Keep him fed and not too annoyed, and he'll probably listen. What are the rest of your impressions?"

As Kywe continued the update, Brendan scribbled his own notes down and threw in the occasional question to clarify something or another.

The official report would arrive later, but it was always better to get that sort of intel straight from the source. Especially when he had a lot of money riding on a successful outcome.

The Maldives, April 1st

(Ten hours previously)

Alex woke up to the low, plaintive sounds of a distressed roomba outside his room. Probably because he had barricaded the door before he went to bed, because he sure as hell wasn't about to trust the lock with SCORPIA's people around.

Surprisingly, he felt rested. There was no obnoxious alarm, no long to-do list from Thetis, and even the sounds of the roomba were mostly muted by the door. For once, he actually had the chance to listen to the soft sounds of the ocean beyond his windows.

For long seconds, he expected to hear Thetis' usual wake-up message. When that didn't happen, he broke the silence himself. After two days of her constant instructions, not having her voice give an update as the first thing made him worry something was wrong.

"Thetis? What's the status?"

What time was it? Just how late had he slept? He remembered crashing before he had even had dinner, and he definitely felt that lack of food now, but he had no idea of how long he had been out of it. He had been exhausted, at least, and now he wasn't. SCORPIA could have arranged a full-scale takeover and he probably wouldn't have noticed.

Alex fumbled for his new phone even as Thetis' familiar voice responded.

"The facility is in level one lockdown. There are no urgent issues. There is one high priority issue, contained. All medium and low priority issues have been added to the repair and maintenance schedule."

Right, the high priority issue. The fire in the storeroom. It had been far down Alex's list of things to handle since the damage was contained, and SCORPIA's people had security and the fish as their main concern for now. Normal repairs could wait.

He finally found the phone mostly buried under a t-shirt. It lit up at his touch, which was a relief since he wasn't sure he actually knew the password. It was a bit past eight, which wasn't as late as he had feared. There was a notification that he had a meeting with Jain at ten and one with Kywe at noon. Otherwise there was nothing. No fish to take care of and no food to handle, or Thetis would have told him first thing.

It was just him and his two meetings later. Everyone else handled the rest. He should probably be worried about that many of SCORPIA's people around but he had been close to a mental breakdown managing everything as it was, and while Thetis' security measures were useful, they couldn't do much to help with the many animals that had been left to die. He had made his decision and it was a little too late to go back on it now.

At least he got to sleep in. Sleep in and stare at the ceiling, because there was no TV and the books on the shelf looked like they had been picked because the covers matched the place more than the actual contents.

He felt a little useless, honestly.

Alex resisted the urge to check the news to figure out what he had missed while he had been busy with other stuff.

Then he got out of bed and set to work removing his makeshift barricade to let the increasingly agitated roomba inside to vacuum before it went looking for reinforcements.

Half an hour and a quick shower later, Alex stepped into the kitchen and found Sania Jain already there. There was a dining area for the staff but Alex had been too busy to use it and it had been creepily empty the one time he did try to eat in there. Meant for dozens of people, not a single fifteen-year-old and an army of roombas.

The kitchen had been the easier place to settle down for some quick food. The storage room was mostly full and there was more than enough food in it that was fast and easy to make to keep him going. There were actually people in the dining area now, but Alex avoided it, anyway. He didn't really want to deal with company and his feet automatically led him to the kitchen.

"Mr Rider," Jain greeted him. She seemed to be about done with breakfast, with an empty plate and a cup of tea in front of her. A little to the side, a brightly-painted teapot added a bit of colour to the room.

"Alex," he corrected automatically. Mr Rider brought back awful memories of a lot of people who had tried to kill him, and he didn't feel comfortable with that kind of respect from people twice his age. Jain seemed like someone who should be a professor at a university somewhere. He had no idea of how she had ended up with SCORPIA and he didn't want to ask.

She smiled. "Sania," she said.

"Sania," he agreed. One less bit of formality. One less thing to remind him that he was responsible for the whole base now.

The selection in the kitchen was the same as it had been the other mornings. New supplies weren't due for another several days, and Alex settled for his usual bowl of cereal. He didn't know the brand but it had carried him through two mornings already and he didn't feel like digging up the brain power to change that now. It wasn't bad. Mostly, it tasted like yellow and the idea of honey as it might have been interpreted by an ad producer in the eighties. He'd had worse breakfasts than that.

On instinct, he grabbed a cup as well and looked around.

"Tea?" Sania offered.

Alex hesitated. He still didn't like the taste of coffee but right now the caffeine sounded awfully appealing. The thought must have been pretty obvious, because Sania pushed the teapot across the table to him.

"Excessive caffeine is bad at your age."

Alex didn't sigh. She was probably right, though it wasn't like he didn't have a mental list of things he had done that were bad at his age that was probably six pages long and counting.

"What sort of tea is it?"

"Black. Darjeeling," she clarified.

"… doesn't black tea have a ton of caffeine, too?" Alex asked but poured a cup, anyway. The scent was fresh and a little fruity. That was a good sign. He'd had too much awful tea over the years.

"Much less than coffee. Drink your tea, Alex."

Less order and more amusement, and Alex took an obedient sip. It … was nice. Really nice, actually, and he took a proper drink the second time. For a while they just sat there, a cup of tea each, and soaked up the silence as Alex made his way through the bowl of increasingly soggy cereal.

"The rest of your new staff arrives this evening," Sania eventually said when Alex had pushed the bowl aside and the leftover tea had cooled to lukewarm.

Alex remembered. The aquariums and security had been the highest priority. Based on how fast Sania and Kywe had arrived with their people, it had been a matter of hours for them from they got that phone call from Chase's office and until they were on a plane to the Maldives. Things like maintenance and cleaning and kitchen staff had been slightly less of a panic issue. They could afford to take another day and arrive with more than just the bare minimum of supplies. The base itself was doing just fine for now, Thetis kept track of it, and the storage room had plenty of food.

Just how many people did it take to run a place like Crewe's base? A lot, apparently. It hadn't felt like that many to Alex at the time but he had probably also been kept away from most of them.

Maybe they could cut down on security later, but Alex somehow doubted it, and for things like maintenance … half of the base was submerged in the ocean. If something went wrong, Alex wasn't sure there would be time to fly someone in from outside of the Maldives to fix it. It made sense to have someone on the base itself to keep an eye on everything.

He was still left with an awful, sinking feeling at the realisation that the base was about to be populated by almost fifty of SCORPIA's people, and the only reassurance he had was Thetis' programming and Chase's dubious word that he didn't want to take over.

It wasn't something he could talk to Sania about, though. It wasn't something he could talk to anyone about and get a second opinion. There was no one else. Just him and Thetis.

"… Yeah. How are the aquariums?" Alex said and changed the subject in the most inelegant way possible.

Sania didn't seem to mind. When she smiled, it was a little warmer and more genuine.

"Thriving. You did a wonderful job keeping it all together on your own."

Thriving. Alex had hoped he hadn't messed something up, and Thetis hadn't completely panicked during their two days alone, but it was still a relief to hear. He had kept going until he had crashed and then crawled out of bed to start over again in the morning but right there and then, it had been worth it.

"Thetis did most of it," he admitted. He hadn't had a clue where to start or what to do. Thetis had prioritised and explained everything.

"You provided the hands. You worked for two days straight with very little sleep to get it done. Yes, there are a number of automated cleaning systems, there are underwater drones she can control to handle some degree of maintenance, but nothing that could make sure all of those animals were fed and cared for. You did that, and you did a wonderful job of it."

That was more praise than he had ever heard from Blunt or Jones. It wasn't a thought he wanted to linger on, so he shoved it aside to focus on something else.

"There was one of the fish she kept being worried about -"

"- One of the male potamotrygon tigrina," Sania finished and saved Alex from trying to remember the species himself. "Zeta-8. Its behaviour was actually quite natural once we discovered that he is a she, and she is pregnant."

Well. That would explain a few things, probably.

"Wait," he said as he realised something else, "shouldn't a vet have spotted that?"

"Oh, they should," Sania agreed in a tone of voice that made Alex glad it wasn't his fuck-up. "I looked into Crewe's employment records. His previous contractors supplied him with three vets; all of them quit within a month due to working conditions. The current vet's primary qualification seems to be a large gambling debt, making him far more tolerant of the working conditions than someone else might be."

That sounded like a great way to hire people. Based on what Alex remembered of how the lower-level staff had behaved around Crewe, he couldn't even claim to be surprised. He did make a mental note to check up on the sort of contract SCORPIA offered their own staff. What little he had heard about Malagosto's contracts during his two-week fling with terrorism hadn't been nice. He wanted Sania and Kywe and the rest of them to be treated better than that. He didn't know them, didn't know their circumstances or anything else, but he knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped and blackmailed and alone.

Another thing for the list. The contracts, and a new vet, and – it never stopped. The list never got shorter.

"I'll arrange for a more qualified vet. The current one is unacceptable. His qualifications are dubious at best and his personal situation should have banned him from a trusted position like this. At the very least, a gambling debt like that would make him a serious security risk."

It would. Alex hadn't even thought about it but it made sense now that Sania mentioned it. If the man had owed that much money, enough to put up with Crewe when three other vets had quit … it didn't bode well in case someone else showed up and offered enough money for information.

"Right," he said because he couldn't think of anything else to add. Just … nod and agree. Which he supposed was what he had hired SCORPIA for: take over and handle a situation he didn't have the first idea of how to handle, much less handle successfully. She was doing exactly what she was being paid for.

Sania hesitated. Almost too short to spot it but Alex was no longer sleep-deprived and he had learned the hard way to watch for any sign of trouble.

"… What?" he asked and couldn't quite keep the wariness from his voice.

"There is – a significant amount of scientific equipment you need to make some sort of decision about as well," Sania said.

Right. There was. Piles of it, most of which Alex didn't even know the names of, much less what they did. He had managed to push everything but the aquariums and Thetis' lists from his mind but now the reminder brought everything back. No wonder Sania had hesitated to mention it. That could easily have been a topic with some bad memories attached to it and there was no way to tell how Alex would react to that.

"You know," he confessed, "he never actually told me what his grand plan was? Thetis told me later. Normally they can't wait to share all the details, just because they love to hear themselves talk and want to tell someone how clever they think they are. He just … ranted about the human pestilence and the plague it was on earth."

Mostly ranted, at least. Sometimes he had talked about it, calm and reasonable and passionate. Sometimes he had screamed instead, all unhinged convictions and chillingly sharp delusions. Alex had learned fast to keep an eye on Crewe's state of mind.

"Mosquitoes, to the best of our knowledge." Sania's response was immediate and confirmed Alex's suspicions that they had probably found out somehow, too. "Based on the setup, genetically modified mosquitoes."

"Yeah."

Alex didn't elaborate. Neither did Sania. How much did SCORPIA actually know? Alex wasn't sure. How much did he want them to know? He wasn't sure about that, either, but he would need to figure it out fast. His meeting with Kywe would be all about security and potential threats. Sooner or later, the question would come up.

Alex took a slow breath. Felt the anxiety at the memories of Crewe ease again. The man was dead. The nightmares would linger.

"He was completely insane by the end of it. He hated the world and wanted everyone to pay," he continued quietly.

"Men and power," Sania agreed just as quietly. "I've known others like him. Not as wealthy, not as powerful, but still arrogant and entitled men who delighted in treating anyone below them as less than dirt. Greedy and abusive but influential enough that no one in a position to stop them had any incentive to."

There was a story there, Alex was sure, but he didn't ask. It wasn't his business, and if her experience had been anything like the people Alex had run into, he doubted she wanted to relive those memories any time soon. Alex definitely wasn't about to share his experiences with Sayle or Grief or Yu with some random stranger.

And now he could add Crewe to that. Another entry on the list of awful people he had run into. Another reminder of how far someone with enough money and no moral compass would go to see their messed-up ideas turned into reality. Would SCORPIA have helped if Crewe had hired them? Alex didn't doubt it. The Board would probably even have appreciated the chance it would give them to move things into position to profit from that sort of global disaster.

And Alex had stopped it. Until the next time someone with too much money got angry with the world and decided to make everyone pay.

The research was locked away now. Alex's immediate reaction had been to order Thetis to delete everything. He had stopped himself before he actually spoke the words. Then he had taken a deep breath and actually considered it. The foundation was there but not the complete weapon. If Crewe had figured it out, someone else could, too. If that happened … that foundation might be used to stop something similar in the future. It had been enough to make him decide to bury the data deep on Thetis' servers instead, where only she and he had permission to access it.

The equipment, though …

"If we can use any of it for anything, put it aside, and lock the rest away somewhere. We have the room for it and I don't want to draw attention if we try to get rid of it."

Sania nodded. Alex got the impression she approved.

"Sensible. We'll get it done." A heartbeat. "There was something else. A work station set up with computers with no network access, along with four handwritten journals and a number of boxes with teeth and vertebrae, all from the same species."

She trailed off. Alex got the impression he was about to be in for a conversation that he really didn't want to have. Based on the setup, something clearly meant to keep Thetis – and anyone else – from getting into Crewe's business, he personally felt his paranoia was justified.

"Were you aware he was looking into recreating the megalodon?"

Suddenly, Alex really missed his coffee.

Alex did not, in fact, get his coffee. What he did get was an impromptu lecture on the 'de-extinction' of species and a walk across the base to the largest of the outside aquariums. Well, 'aquarium'. It was more of a giant, fenced-in area of the sea; meant to give its inhabitants a place to live more than a way to keep them on display.

"The largest resident of this particular enclosure is a female sand tiger shark," Sania said. "Carcharias taurus, normally reaching a bit past three meters in length at maturity. By comparison, the largest female great whites can reach twice that size. This specimen is four and a half meter long, apparently from a combination of a breeding programme mixed with genetic engineering. This is not large in comparison to some species but it is well past a meter longer than its species should ever grow."

That sounded … not good. At all. Alex understood the underlying meaning just fine. It wasn't that this specific shark was suddenly a threat to mankind or something, even though it was bigger than it should have been. It was the potential that sort of success implied. Grief had messed around with science already and Alex still had nightmares about Julius. What someone might do with the sort of technology that would potentially let them play God … that wasn't something he wanted to think about.

"So she was – what? A test run?"

"Part test run, part training, part proof of concept, based on what I saw in the notes. An experiment," Sania clarified. "Sand tiger sharks are fairly even-tempered creatures and do well in captivity. A perfect species to test his theories on. If he could adapt such a creature, the next step would be to work up towards something bigger. More lethal. A complete recreation would be impossible but a mimicry might be doable. Crewe seemed to have believed so, at least."

A figure swam by beneath them, sleek and huge and graceful and enough to make every survival instinct Alex had go off with the subtlety of a submarine alarm. Even then, something tightened in his chest. Sayle had treated his man-o'-war awfully, stuck in what had in retrospect been a tiny aquarium for something of its size, and Rothman's Siberian tiger, kept drugged and controlled and caged …

"… Is she okay?"

Both the man-o'-war and the tiger had tried to kill him but it hadn't been their fault, and he could only imagine how Crewe might have treated the shark if it hadn't lived up to his expectations. Thetis hadn't said anything but if Crewe hadn't cared, he might have given her the same order.

Sania glanced at him.

"If Crewe messed with her genes," Alex clarified. "Is she all right? Is she getting enough to eat? Is this even the right sort of habitat for her?"

Something in Sania's features softened and she smiled. "This climate is perfect for her and she has plenty of room. She's larger than usual for her species, certainly, but there seems to be no adverse effects, and she's healthy and eating well. Nothing in her data suggests she is less than thriving. Releasing her would never be an option, not with her background, but I think she will do well enough despite everything."

That was – nice. Alex felt a little better knowing that.

"Better than a great white," he muttered, mostly to himself. His one and only encounter with one of those was something he never wanted to repeat.

"Great whites don't tolerate captivity well," Sania said quietly. "Most die within weeks. Sand tiger sharks are popular in aquariums because of an intimidating appearance combined with a lack of aggression. They don't attack humans unless we bother them first, which eases the stress on the people who work with them."

Alex could only imagine it helped the job immensely if the shark in question didn't try to attack them every time it needed a check-up.

The shark swam by again. Alex couldn't see any details but he remembered seeing a very large shark in glimpses through one of the aquarium windows and suspected it had probably been her. From Sania's explanation, it sounded like there had been no other experiments so far, or no other surviving ones. Just her.

"… is she lonely?" he asked before he could stop himself. Sania said it looked like she thrived but Alex had no idea of what sharks needed other than food and a place to swim. Were they social? Did they have … herds or whatever it was called with sharks? Shoals?

Sania smiled again but it seemed genuine, not vaguely condescending like some people he had known. Mostly, she seemed happy to teach someone who was actually interested in the animals. Alex couldn't blame her. He imagined that most of SCORPIA's people didn't care much beyond how much of a threat or headache those animals might he.

"We don't know," she admitted. "Sand tiger sharks were once thought to be solitary creatures but recent research have found them to be far more social than anyone expected. We plan to keep an eye on her for any sign that she isn't thriving. It's a common misconception, actually – most people see sharks are fierce, vicious loners, but a number of shark species are actually very social. Lemon sharks develop friendships, and great whites -"

The simple answer quickly turned to a detailed explanation, and Alex settled down and listened with genuine fascination as Dr Jain of Andhra University began an animated lecture on the social life of sharks for a tiny, devoted class of one.

Chapter Text

Australia, April 5th

Some things were never a good sign, Brendan Chase had learned. Crux was a punctual operative. That she called two hours early with her status report meant absolutely nothing good. Anything that couldn't wait for another two hours was bound to be a problem.

"Crux."

"Sir." Her voice gave nothing away, pleasant and professional as always. Brendan hadn't expected it to, either.

He sighed. Bad news didn't get better because you refused to listen to it but sometimes it was a really tempting option. "… do I want to know?"

Crux hesitated and Brendan just knew this was going nowhere good. "Probably not, sir. We completed a full survey of Rider's new base. Crewe had a hidden bunker where his AI couldn't reach. We found a thermonuclear bomb inside."

Brendan paused. Crux's words came through crystal clear but …

"… please repeat that."

"Alex Rider is in possession of a thermonuclear gravity bomb. I have positively identified it as an American one. A B61, Mod 4 bomb, maximum yield of 45 kilotons, lost in 1994 in a plane crash and unaccounted for until now. It's one of the ones that don't figure on the official lists but all identifying data matches."

He had heard it right, then. Jesus fucking Christ.

SCORPIA had dealt with nuclear weapons before. Business was business and nukes vanished every now and then, even if no government was willing to acknowledge it unless they absolutely had to. None of the clients SCORPIA had helped procure a nuke for – or helped retrieve one, in some cases – been the fifteen-year-old orphaned son of a family that SCORPIA had all but eradicated.

He needed a drink. Or two. Two would be better.

"You're telling me that Hunter's son is a nuclear power?"

"Technically, it's a nuclear bomb meant to be delivered by plane, which Rider does not currently have available. Neither he nor the AI currently have access to the necessary codes to arm it, either, to my knowledge. It's probably debatable whether a singular nuclear weapon without the capabilities needed to use it as an offensive weapon is enough to label an entity a 'nuclear power'."

That was probably meant to be reassuring. If that was the case, it didn't succeed, and Brendan resisted a longing glance at his liquor cabinet. Maybe vodka. That was practically medicinal, wasn't it?

"No discussion about the nuclear capabilities of anything, much less a fifteen-year-old kid with a body count to rival that of an adult operative, should start with the word 'technically'".

"As you say, sir," Crux agreed.

Brendan took a slow breath and tried to gather his thoughts. This was – not what he had expected, except it was Rider, and of course something was bound to go off the rails sooner rather than later. Brendan had seen his mission reports and nothing about those had ever gone according to plan. Why would it start now?

"So Crewe had a nuke. What did he plan to – no, ignore that," Brendan said when something else occurred to him, "How the hell did we miss this?"

"I wouldn't dare speculate, sir."

Diplomatic like only one of SCORPIA's veteran operatives could be. Because no, maybe SCORPIA hadn't paid as much attention to the 'intelligence' part of the name as they should have, maybe they had relied increasingly on intel retrieved from other agencies, but no one was going to say that out loud to a member of the Board.

Fucking hell. Brendan didn't think Rider was the sort of person who would actually use a nuke, even against SCORPIA, but they had obviously been disastrously wrong about Crewe, too, so he wasn't sure he trusted his own judgement on anything right now.

"Rider, then. Give me the details," he demanded. "All of them."

The Maldives, April 3rd

Alex had wondered what a personal assistant did and why, exactly, he needed one. Other than to present some kind of legitimate front, he wasn't sure what else someone like that would do. He didn't have a ton of social events to keep track of, he didn't have a calendar full of meetings, and he didn't own some huge company and had thousands of people competing for his attention. Thetis handled his to-do lists for the base, and Sania and Kywe handled the rest.

He got his answer when Crux arrived and proceeded to take over his life with the force of a polite hurricane.

Alex wasn't good at guessing ages but her file claimed she was thirty-eight and he figured that was probably right. Old enough to be his mum, like Chase had said, and looking to retire from field work.

Ian had been even older when Yassen had killed him, Alex remembered with the bitter, lingering sting of loss, and he had still done field work. Had he chosen it? Or had Blunt convinced him, too, to continue? There were a lot of questions he would probably never have answers to, and that was just one more on the list.

Crux had graduated Malagosto five years after Hunter had been an instructor there, and Alex had ruthlessly crushed the tiny hope that she would have been someone who might have met him in person and remembered enough to tell Alex about him. Nothing good had ever come of anyone wanting to tell him about his dad, anyway.

Alex pushed those thoughts aside. Logistics expert and looking to retire or not, Crux was still a Malagosto-trained operative. She had gone through the same training Yassen and Nile had. That made her lethal.

"Mr Rider," she greeted him. There was a slight Australian accent to her words.

"Alex," he corrected immediately, his ongoing campaign to try to make people stop calling him 'Mr' anything when he wasn't even out of school.

That got him a smile in response. It looked genuine but then, Nile had been genuinely friendly, too, right up until he killed you. That said very little.

"Crux," she replied.

Her new paperwork said 'Anne Taylor', Alex knew. Officially Crewe's new personal assistant from Melbourne. She clearly didn't plan to use it where everyone knew exactly who she was. Not that Alex could blame her. Her name came from Malagosto. She had earned it. Anyone who knew what it was also knew exactly what that meant. For a woman in a male-dominated world, it had probably been useful more times than Alex wanted to think about.

"Mr Chase has already briefed me on the background," she continued, "but I would like to spend a few hours with you and figure out what you need and what we can do for you. With your resources and SCORPIA's connections and expertise, there is very little that would not be possible for you."

Professional and efficient and unsettlingly service-minded for someone working for a terrorist organisation. Like Nile had been, too. Alex tried to imagine Yassen Gregorovich dealing with billionaire clients the same way and couldn't get the image to fit at all. He remembered Sayle and Cray. Yassen's extent of service-mindedness seemed to have been to refrain from showing his disdain of them outright so long as they paid the bill. That didn't mean he had been any less terrifyingly efficient.

What did he actually need? Now that the immediate panic was handled, Alex … didn't actually know. He didn't doubt Chase would be helpful with all sorts of absurd suggestions based on SCORPIA's history with other billionaires, and he had his own plans for charity once he could work around Thetis to do it but … outside of that?

Alex had met a disturbing number of billionaires during his unwilling MI6 career and absolutely none of them had been the sort Alex wanted to look to for inspiration. He just … wanted to be left alone. For the fish and sharks and everything to be safe and thriving. He didn't want a huge mansion with seventeen bathrooms, or three jets, or a private art collection, or to bathe in champagne, or own a supercar for every day of the week.

What had the other Point Blanc students spent their money on? Last he had heard, Roscoe had taken over his dad's business empire and set about fixing a number of its dubious business practices while donating large amounts of money to charity with single-minded determination. His main approach seemed to be to look at his dad's example and then do the exact opposite. Sprintz's dad was still alive but Alex got emails and the occasional postcard, and Sprintz's main takeaway from Point Blanc was to go for financial independence from his family as soon as possible. Alex had no idea about the others. He did remember the 'rich kids' stuff Tom had shown him on Instagram and that was probably a good marker for what he didn't want.

For a moment, Alex was reminded of the genies in the large book of fairy tales in Ian's massive book collection. The book had been hundreds of pages, bound in leather, and clearly meant to never actually be read. Alex had still flipped through it a few times when Ian had been gone and the house was lonely and he was bored. Now the image came back, promises of wishes and desires and anything you want and the overwhelming probability that it would immediately be turned against you.

Very little that would not be possible.

… Right up until the moment SCORPIA saw a chance and took over the whole place, and he had hired them knowing the risk.

What the hell had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn't. That had mostly been exhaustion running the show. He just got to deal with the consequences now.

Alex didn't say any of that out loud, though. Just dug deep and somehow managed a smile.

"Thank you. Welcome to Nautilus."

That was how polite business partners interacted, wasn't it? Not that he would know. Most of his experiences had involved blackmail. Maybe Malagosto would have taught him. MI6 sure as hell weren't going to.

Crux gave him another smile. He figured he had done a decent enough job of it, then.

Alex had never bothered much with plans. Experience had taught him they never lasted long around him, anyway, and he had learned to survive on split-second decisions, gut feeling, and a lot of luck.

Crux changed that. She had a list of questions about as long as Thetis' lists and was just as determined to go through every last item on them. At least she was willing to give him a little longer to deal with the list and compromise on some of the things. Alex would take his victories where he could.

"Security should always be your first priority," Crux told him that first evening when they sat down together, him with a can of coke – the proper stuff, not some no-brand supermarket sludge – and her with her tablet and a cup of tea. "Your newfound fortune on its own would make you a potential target but you are also Alex Rider and you have made a significant number of enemies over the past year. You need to take that into account."

Enemies like your employer, Alex didn't snark back, because he was capable of at least a little bit of common sense.

"Kywe has brought security up to standards," he said instead. "There were some holes in security but they've been handled now."

"They have," Crux agreed, "but I imagine you would like to leave this base at some point, if nothing else then simply to see a few of the neighbouring islands."

Point. Alex would lose his mind if he had to stay locked up, no matter how fascinating the aquariums were.

"For our peace of mind, I would like you to consider carrying a weapon as well," Crux said. "As a precaution if anything should happen. You file states you are competent with firearms?"

Competent. Was that what they called it?

He swallowed. The memories were clearer than they had been for months, no longer buried under adrenaline and frantic missions and the desperate need to just survive another day.

"I learned," he said. "But I don't like guns and I don't want one."

The last time someone had given him a gun and he had used it, he had been sent to kill Mrs Jones, and he had missed. He had been so close he could almost have reached out and touched her, and he had missed. That was what MI6 had told him, at least. There had been ballistic glass but the trajectory proved the bullet would never have hit. He was physically unable to murder someone in cold blood. Was that the truth or another convenient lie from MI6 and additional blackmail material to pull out when needed? Alex had no way to know. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

Crux made a considering sound. "Even just for self-defence?"

"No guns," Alex repeated, firmer this time.

It seemed to be enough. Crux nodded slightly and made a note on her list. "You will need security if you leave the base. The amount will depend on the destination and duration, but you're too much of a target to risk going without it."

Alex blinked. "What, like bodyguards?"

"Not necessarily. Someone to spot any potential trouble and get you out safely in case something happens. Kywe has people trained for that, too. Our first approach will always be to make sure your presence simply doesn't become known but in the event something should happen, professional security can save your life."

Alex imagined having people follow his every step, not even able to go for a swim without company, much less take the chance to explore the rest of the atoll. It wasn't a nice image but he couldn't exactly say that she was wrong, either. Trouble followed him. He had hired SCORPIA to handle things, and that included security. She was just doing her job.

"… Only if I get to choose them myself."

"Of course," Crux agreed.

Another note on her list. Another item handled. Alex watched as she scrolled down a little to pause at another item and seemed to consider it.

"Regarding the lack of a gun … may I suggest a compromise, then?" Crux finally offered. "Martial arts training. You have highly skilled security personnel that would be happy to teach you. Even I could do that. Nothing for offensive use, solely a matter of close combat for defensive use. The exercise would be good for you, too."

"I'm a black belt already."

"And when did you last have the chance to practice regularly?"

Alex had no answer to that. Before MI6. Before Ian was killed – was murdered. It was a lot longer than he had thought, and his days with the SAS and weeks at Malagosto had taught him that there was a world of difference between the graceful, regulated matches at the club and fighting for survival. To kill or be killed.

"Yeah." His reply was little more than a soft breath, and he repeated it again, a little louder. "Yeah. All right."

It would probably even be fun. He had enjoyed those lessons at Malagosto. Yermalov had been a brutal instructor but Alex had still thrived in his class, and Crux seemed to genuinely want to work with his wishes. MI6 had steamrolled his entire life. Crux, paid ridiculously well to be his personal assistant, was focused on making things work for him, even with the restrictions he now found himself in. It was a weird idea to have someone in his corner like that. To have someone who asked about what he wanted and did her best to make it happen and not just ignore anything she didn't care for.

Another item handled. Crux tapped the stylus lightly against the side of the tablet. With the unnerving silence of the base when there weren't people right there with him, it was a welcome sound. The aquariums had become just background noise to him, and the stillness put him on edge. He needed to do something about that, too. Rig up some music in his room. He probably wasn't the only one who wanted to do that, either.

"I'll see what expertise we have available and get you a list. You can decide what style you would prefer, then. Now, while on the topic of preferences," Crux continued, "SCORPIA has supplied your kitchen staff. They're perfectly qualified, of course, but without an idea of your preferences, they were picked based on their ability to relocate on very short notice. If you have specific preferences in regards to cuisine and the like, it would be easy to find someone to suit those requirements instead. Things for the general staff were generally stocked according to Crewe's preference, too. Fairly generic all around. If you prefer traditional British fare, that can be arranged."

Alex had noticed the food but hadn't actually paid it much attention. Most of the stuff in storage that he had seen had been pretty standard Western European or North American, from the cereal and milk and juice to the frozen beef and bulk boxes of pasta. His focus had mostly been on the easy-to-eat, no-preparation-needed category but now that he thought about it … was that actually what his new staff wanted? Or had it just been one more way for Crewe to be an asshole in any way he could to the people around him?

None of the stuff he recalled really … belonged there. It didn't suit the local cuisine, and most of the staff Alex had seen had looked local. Crewe's personal assistant had sounded American of some sort, maybe Canadian, but he had been the exception to the rule.

If Alex was going to be responsible for the base and the people he had employed, if he was going to take over and pretend to be better than Crewe, maybe that was a good place to start.

"Ask people here what they want and get that," he said. "If familiar food makes this place a little more homey, I want that. I'd – like to try something new, too."

More than just new food, too, but maybe he didn't need to try to put the rest into words, because Crux just nodded and made a note of it. If her smile seemed a little more genuine, well, Alex considered that a bonus.

It was silent for long seconds as Crux scrolled through her list. The glimpses that Alex had caught had not been encouraging. A lot of lines. A lot of questions.

"… one more thing I would like to arrange for as soon as possible: a thorough check of this place. For security and to give us a general idea of the state of things."

"Kywe and his people have gone through it already," Alex said. "It was the first thing they did when they got security up-to-date."

"They did," Crux agreed, "and based on the report, they did as thorough of a job as they could given the circumstances. My concern is that they relied on the blueprints Thetis had available, because those were the most accurate plans available and they did not have the equipment necessary for a complete survey of the base."

A pause. When Alex's comprehension didn't seem to arrive fast enough, Crux continued.

"They didn't find the self-destruct mechanism," she said bluntly. "Which meant that either Crewe bluffed or it has been hidden away somewhere that we have yet to find. Most likely embedded in the walls or floor but we don't know."

Crewe didn't bluff, Alex knew that with ice cold certainty, which meant that they were still sitting on a potentially ticking bomb. Thetis had stopped the original countdown. It didn't mean the threat was gone.

"… Right," he agreed. "Right. Do we have any idea of the type -"

"Most likely explosive. I have seen nerve gas used as insurance as well," Crux admitted, "but with some luck, it will only be explosives. Personally, whatever it is, I would sleep better knowing it was no longer an issue. Never trust a bomb you didn't set yourself."

SCORPIA words of wisdom, Alex was sure. It sounded like something Gordon Ross would say. Crux was right, though. Knowing the alternatives, Alex would be downright grateful if all they had to deal with was explosives. Given the sort of people he had already met, like Sayle and Sarov and Rothman, nerve gas wouldn't even be a surprise.

"Thetis," he asked on a whim, "where is the self-destruct mechanism located?"

"The response to this inquiry is classified."

The answer was immediate and not actually that surprising. Crewe had been paranoid and something meant to destroy the entire base would also be the sort of thing he would want as few people as possible to know about. Thetis represented a potential weak spot in that defence.

"Who can declassify it?"

"The response to this inquiry is classified."

Of course it was. Alex got the picture just fine. He had a lot of Crewe's permissions due to his weird, new position as caretaker of the base, but he didn't actually own the place and there were still things he couldn't do. Whatever order Crewe had given Thetis meant that they would have to figure it out themselves.

"Even if you had the authority to access the information, I expect she has either been instructed to remove all records of the mechanism from her memory and ignore its presence, or it's somewhere she doesn't have access to," Crux offered. "There are other options, though. I'll arrange for the right equipment. We should have it located by this time tomorrow."

It had been fine for a week. It would be fine for another night. Crewe was dead, no one else was likely to have the authority to even access the base without his permission, and the few people on Crewe's staff who had risked coming back had been heavily discouraged and had not returned again. Thetis herself had stopped that countdown the moment she could because her priority was always the survival of her fish and that meant keeping the base functional and in one piece.

Alex still felt a sudden desire to take up camping on the most remote part of the island he could find. Of course, that would mean leaving the base entirely in SCORPIA's hands for the night, which was completely unacceptable.

Eyeing the walls, with no idea of just how many explosives he was surrounded by, the temptation was still there.

Whatever Crux's other qualifications might be, Alex decided, she was every bit as good at the administrative parts of her job as Chase had claimed.

The gear that Crux had ordered along with people trained in its use had arrived within fourteen hours, most of that night-time, and another five hours after that they had an updated map of the base available. Kywe's people had done a good job. They had found most of the things already, even without specialist backup. The stuff they had missed had been so well-hidden that even with help, it had taken hours to track it down.

The self-destruct mechanism, Alex learned, was embedded in the floor itself. It had been disguised as secondary water pipes in the blueprints and ran the length of the base, criss-crossing rooms and hallways as intricate latticework that no one was ever meant to see.

"There's maintenance access," Kywe said as he looked over the blueprints with Alex and Crux. "Four places, maybe five. Some of them could be marked inaccurately or be regular access points, we won't know until we examine them. If we can get access that way, we should be able to remove the explosives without digging up the floor in the entire place. It's going to take at least a week, though, maybe longer."

That was – longer than Alex had hoped but he had already spent a week in the base and never thought about it. He could last another week.

"Now that one ..." Kywe said and tapped on the scans that overlaid the map, right on the hazy, rectangular shape in the northern part of the base. "That's a bunker. Deep enough not to be destroyed if the base blows up, and the offshoot to the east is probably the secondary entrance. It's too big to be just ventilation and it's far enough away that it wouldn't be blocked by debris. The primary entrance, based on the location of the bunker itself … best guess? Crewe's office."

"The rug," Alex said, then carried on at Kywe's glance. "There's a rug in Crewe's office. The big, ugly one. If he wanted to hide something, that would be the place to do it."

Alex had mainly noticed it because of how badly it clashed with the mahogany desk and furniture and how expensive it had undoubtedly been. Kywe's people had checked underneath it where they could but -

"We didn't move the desk to check," Kywe said and echoed Alex's thoughts. "There was nothing of interest under the rest of the rug, and the desk is bolted to the floor and weighs somewhere on the wrong side of two hundred kilos."

"It might be bolted to the bunker door, then," Crux mused. "A solid lock, a desk big enough to cover the whole thing, bolt it into place, and that would deter most people searching the area. With the right door and hydraulics, it would still open just fine."

"It probably uses a one-use code phrase," Kywe agreed. "It would be too risky to rely on just general access permissions. A handful of codes that are only good for one use each avoids someone overhearing it and using the same one as well. Classify all knowledge of it so Thetis can't be used to get around it, and it would be perfectly safe. Anyone who might want to get into that bunker without the proper authorisation would need solid tools and time to get through. Crewe would only have needed the time it took to trigger the self-destruct to stop them and wipe out all evidence."

Wipe out all evidence. The threat to Crewe along with anyone else caught up in the blast radius, from the kitchen staff and to his own personal assistant, and probably every single animal in the base as well. Alex doubted the tanks would have survived that sort of damage, much less have managed to keep pumping for long enough for someone to clear the rubble and prioritise getting the fish the proper care.

It wasn't something Alex wanted to linger on. Not when that countdown had come down to the last few seconds before Thetis had stopped it.

"So how do we get in?" he asked instead.

"The secondary entrance." Kywe's response was immediate. "The primary one would probably be easier, since the location limits the amount of security that can be added before it either becomes visible in the office or takes up too much room below ground, but the secondary entrance lets us bring in bigger tools. It'll be a mess but it'll be efficient. No damage to the interior of the base, either."

Alex didn't care about the awful interior design in Crewe's office but he didn't want to risk any damage to the aquariums and the office was surrounded by them. The secondary entrance it was, then.

The silence stretched on and Alex realised they were both waiting for his decision. Because the place was his now and he was supposed to be in charge and – he was never going to get used to that.

"All right. Let's get it cracked open and see what it's hiding."

Hopefully nothing. Hopefully just a bed and enough supplies to last a week or two. Knowing Crewe, Alex knew that thought was painfully optimistic.

The machinery arrived before dawn the following morning. By that time, they had the actual door to the entrance pinned down and mapped and ready to demolish.

Careful questions to Thetis confirmed that even if Alex's access permissions didn't let him bypass the restrictions on the classified information, they were at least enough to confirm that tearing out that door wouldn't trigger some sort of lethal security measure.

That settled, Kywe's people set to work.

Alex wasn't sure what he had expected based on the intel they had. Something with a heavy door, probably, but that was about the extent of it. What he hadn't expected was that it would take three hours to get through said door.

The door itself was camouflaged in the dense foliage near the beach, private and secluded. Clearing out a big enough area to actually get any work done took half an hour. It took another two and a half before the last of the internal bolts finally yielded and the door was lifted aside.

"We could have done it faster," Kywe said, "but I didn't want to level the whole area. This will be easier to patch up again and the hallway inside shouldn't have any structural damage."

The hallway beyond the door was dark. Someone threw a branch inside and automatic lights came on. Otherwise, the whole place was silent.

It wouldn't make sense to have booby trapped a bunker like that, but Crewe hadn't made a lot of sense by the end of it and Alex trusted absolutely nothing he had been involved with.

Kywe clearly didn't, either, because he didn't allow Alex anywhere near it until his people had cleared the hallway. Only then did he let Alex take a cautious step inside, Crux close behind.

One step. Two. Fifteen steps inside, the smell in the air changed from the sea breeze and to the stale air of an enclosed room that hadn't been aired out in months.

"The air gets filtered," Crux murmured. "It's clean but I imagine that the bunker is in hibernation when not in use. Just enough to keep it safe and ready for an emergency, but there would be little need to leave it on full power."

It made sense. It still didn't make it any less unnerving to step into a bunker that might not have seen visitors in months, maybe years. Just … quietly waiting underneath Crewe's office, unknown to almost everyone.

The bunker at the end of the long hallway was divided into two rooms with no door between them, just an opening in the wall. A staircase led up into the solid metal back of another entrance, probably the one that led to Crewe's office.

A bed and a desk with three monitors. A metal stall with a sink and a toilet. A bookcase with several sealed boxes of MREs and what looked like half a dozen large batteries and other survival gear. A small mountain of water bottles in one corner, neatly stacked. All the comforts of home.

"Lovely place," Alex commented. "How long could he have stayed down here?"

Crux made a considering sound. "The limiting factor is usually water. I would say two to three weeks based on that. The number of MREs match that. I doubt he ever planned to need it for more than a day at the most but it never hurts to be prepared. It wouldn't hurt to keep it functional. It might be useful one day."

A gesture from Kywe, and his men started to empty the room. If there were any additional secrets, they would find them.

The second room had none of those human touches. Just bare walls and metal trolley with what was very distinctly bomb of some sort strapped securely to it.

Well, a large bomb or a small missile, the more analytical part of Alex's mind noted, the part that was trying very hard to stay calm. It was streamlined and had tail fins, at least, so that probably meant it was supposed to be controlled. What Crewe had wanted that kind of destruction for, Alex didn't want to know.

The bomb was narrow but long enough to take up a good part of the room, off-white with a red tip, and there was some worn text on it that Alex couldn't quite decipher. B-something. The letters looked like something out of a military film, though. He turned to look at Crux, who probably had a much better idea of weapons than he did.

"What kind of -"

He cut himself off. Crux had stilled, all colour drained from her face.

"It's a B61. An American thermonuclear bomb."

"There's a nuke in the basement."

Crux nodded. The first thing she had done when they had reappeared from the bunker and retreated to the relative privacy of Crewe's office was to grab a shot glass, fill it to the brim with the nearest bottle in the liquor cabinet – some whiskey or another – and slam it back with the practised ease of someone who had spent their teens and twenties doing just that on a weekly basis.

Kywe had looked only slightly less pale when they had left him behind with strict instructions to let absolutely no one in, and Alex wondered if he should just bring an entire bottle to him and the rest of the security staff while they were at it.

Some of the colour had returned to Crux's face but she still looked like she considered just polishing off the whole bottle of whiskey.

"'I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds'," she said hoarsely. It sounded like a quote.

"What?"

"Oppenheimer." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Depending on the yield, it could do anything from devastate the immediate area to effectively vaporise the entire island. The Americans and Russians have lost a number of nuclear weapons of different kinds. Officially, the Americans haven't lost any since the sixties, but we both know how accurate official documents can be. My guess is they lost that one in the eighties or nineties."

And somehow, it had ended up with Crewe. Genetically engineered plagues, nuclear weapons -

"… was he trying to work through the whole list of weapons of mass destructions?" Alex asked.

Away from the bomb, with time to realise what it actually was, the reality of the situation had started to sink in. He had worried about sitting on a ticking bomb because of the self-destruct mechanism. Now he discovered he had been sitting on a nuke instead.

The more he thought about that, the more tempting the bottle of whiskey looked. He still had nightmares about Sarov and Murmansk sometimes despite all the other awful things he had seen, and he didn't look forward to finding out what sort of horrors this discovery would twist his nightmares into.

"Well, we have nuclear and biological so far," Crux replied, voice a little more steady. "Perhaps an updated version of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. By sword and by plague. We would only be missing famine and the wild beasts of the Earth, then, though I supposed that recreating the megalodon would have covered the 'beast' category."

Alex had known Crewe was completely off his rocker but it felt like every time he turned a corner, he found something that proved the crazy ran even deeper than he had thought. Even the man's idea of somehow bringing back the megalodon seemed downright sane compared to the literal nuke in the basement.

Alex shuddered.

"… It sounds like a who's who of my mission records, except all dumped in one convenient place for added trauma," he said and Crux barked a laugh.

"It does, doesn't it?" She held out a second glass. "Drink?"

"I'm fifteen," Alex said automatically, then remembered exactly what he was involved in and eyed the bottle. "You know what, forget I said that. Is it good?"

It certainly looked expensive, which immediately made Alex suspect it was bought to look impressive and not for the taste.

"It's a Macallan and it's absolutely dreadful for the price. The Countess would be appalled."

If Alex's suspicions were right, the Countess had been appalled by a lot of things about him, starting with his decent but absolutely not acceptable manners and his casual approach to fashion. In his defence, he had spent half a year fighting for his life by then. Fashion had ended up near the bottom of his priorities long before Malagosto.

"Tastes like disapproval, then. I'll take it."

Crux made a commiserating nod and poured a generous amount in the glass before she handed it to him.

"Did she have it out for you, too?"

Alex took a sniff of the whiskey and immediately regretted it.

"I was fourteen and sponsored personally at the school by Rothman," he said, just a little bitter. "I don't think my PTSD and paranoia and complete inability to keep up with social trivia and small-talk lived up to her expectations of me. Everyone expected Hunter's son. Not fourteen-year-old, messed-up Alex who had spent half a year solid just trying to survive the missions MI6 kept blackmailing him into."

Another small nod. Crux contemplated her glass.

"… I was one of the older students," she admitted. "I didn't have the sort of background that might have given me an advantage in her class, and I struggled to lose my accent. Strine wasn't acceptable for someone trying to fit in with the upper classes."

There had been echoes of Crux's background in her voice since her arrival but at Strine, her words shifted into full-on Australian. There was something so human about it that something in Alex's chest twisted. He could imagine the Countess had hated that and like Yassen and Nile, she had been forced to get rid of it. To be the perfect, anonymous assassin.

"I loved Malagosto," Crux continued, most of her accent gone again. "I had a wonderful time there, but if I never see that awful tea set again, it's too soon."

"I think a whole generation of students will see that tea set in their nightmares for the rest of their lives. The gold with the stupid little -"

"- Blue flowers," Crux finished. "She had the same set when I was a student. That tea set will outlive us all."

She raised her glass.

"Ganbei," she said, then clarified at his confused look. "Cheers. Bottoms up."

The whiskey might not have been good for the price but she still finished the glass without flinching. Alex followed suit. He knew better, he really did, but he still did it in a moment of madness and regretted it instantly.

The taste was awful, strong and almost like tar, and the burn that followed didn't improve on the situation in the least.

He had already swallowed the whiskey before the full force of it hit him. That just meant that instead of spitting it across the room, his world dissolved into a violent coughing fit; dry-heaving and trying to get rid of the flavour and burn in his throat and failing spectacularly at both.

Finally it eased. Crux held out a bottle of water for him and he took it gratefully.

His throat still hurt a little from the coughing fit but at least the water washed most of the taste away.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the low, constant sounds of the aquariums kept them company.

Crux was the one who broke the silence.

"I'll need to report this to Mr Chase."

Chase, not SCORPIA. That meant something, Alex knew, though he was still working on the nuances. It meant that Chase was serious about the whole thing being an investment to him, at least. About Alex being an investment. Going to Chase, not SCORPIA in general, gave Chase the option to keep that intel to himself and Alex strongly suspected he would. It was dangerously close to working against his colleagues on the Board but that would have to be Chase's own headache. Alex had enough to juggle as it was.

At least she was honest about it. He paid her salary but ultimately she was SCORPIA's, and he could only imagine their reaction if she kept something like that a secret. Any client who believed 'client confidentiality' included from SCORPIA was well was either stupid or dangerously naive.

"I hadn't expected otherwise."

Maybe that was why hiring SCORPIA had appealed, too. They had tried to kill him in the past, and he had caused the deaths of several of their board members, too, but – he also knew them. He knew what to expect and what to look out for. Any other company, he would start from scratch. SCORPIA, at least, he knew roughly how far he could trust and how they would act.

Now, what Chase would use that information for … that, Alex didn't know. The immediate fear had been that SCORPIA would simply swoop in and take the weapon but Thetis' presence soothed that. Even if she didn't have access to the bunker, there was no way to bring anything out of there without being spotted by surveillance, and SCORPIA's people were tolerated only for their ability to keep the aquariums safe and healthy. The moment they became a threat to that, that tolerance would end. For at least a little while, that would not be a worry.

That didn't rule out a number of other potential threats, but at least it bought him time. Realistically, there wasn't much else he could have done. He had no way to deal with something like that on his own. He didn't even know where to start.

Well. Probably with the obvious issue.

"Should we evacuate the base?"

Crux shook her head.

"It's harmless without external power of some sort … so long as you don't dig out the radioactive material, at least. It's not like some explosives that become unstable with age. It takes a number of things happening in the right order at the right time to set off a nuclear weapon. It'll be fine for a few more days in a bunker." She paused. "For what it's worth, should it go off, you would be dead before you realised it."

Alex opened his mouth, about to make a sarcastic comment. Closed it again before he could actually say the words. After a year of people trying to kill him in any number of horrific ways, most of which he still had nightmares about, that was – more reassuring than it should have been.

"Fair point," he settled for instead. Crux's small smile told him she probably had an idea of the alternatives that had crossed his mind.

"More important," she continued, "is what you want to do with it."

Right. Alex resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Right. Because there was a nuke in the basement, in the base he was at least somewhat in charge of, and -

"I don't know, all right? I don't know."

Crux didn't laugh. Just nodded.

"To be fair, I don't think most of us keep a convenient plan of what we'll do if we ever stumble over a stolen American nuke. As I see it, it boils down to three options. Well, five," she conceded, "but based on your psychological profile, I don't expect 'sell it' or 'use it' will be acceptable options. So three options: you keep it, you dismantle it, or you return it to the Americans for some sort of finder's fee. You don't need the money but it would be excellent leverage for other kinds of rewards."

Somehow it didn't actually help to hear the options out loud. He was fifteen, the brand new owner of a real, functional nuke, and now he had to decide what to do with it. No pressure. No pressure at all. Just enough destructive power to level a city and SCORPIA's people in charge of its security.

The awful whiskey seemed a lot more appealing all of a sudden.

"Right. Right," he repeated while he tried to focus on the problem at hand. Crux had narrowed down the options. Maybe he could narrow them down further. "Can we actually dismantle it?"

"Realistically? Yes. Without drawing unwanted attention in the process? Unlikely," Crux admitted. "We would still try but …"

That was what Alex had suspected, too. That had to be done by specialists. There would be no way to keep that a secret. That brought up another unwanted question.

"How many people already know about it? Someone must have. It looked like it came straight from the factory."

"Unknown." The answer was immediate and in retrospect, Alex should have guessed. "Not an overwhelming number, I expect. We'll need to find out the exact one it is and how it was lost, that will give a better idea of it. At a minimum, it was probably restored after someone recovered it, then kept in good conditions afterwards. It would have been need to know, and whoever handled logistics likely never knew what it was. It was likely not a state-funded operation, or they would have kept the nuke, not allowed it to slip between their fingers. As for Crewe's part, I would expect he would have at least ensured he bought a functional one, given that he apparently had the connections to find one in the first place, but otherwise kept it strictly need-to-know so … a dozen people in total for his side of it, maybe. Given everything else that's come to light about him, I expect most of those have since been permanently removed."

Crux fell silent as she swirled the last remnants of whiskey around in the bottom of her glass.

"In any case, I doubt we'll ever known its full history," she finished. "It could easily have changed hands half a dozen times since its disappearance."

It had been less than an hour with no time or opportunity to research anything, and she still managed a better and more detailed briefing on the situation than he had ever been given by MI6 before they blackmailed him into yet another life-threatening situation.

This was why Chase charged a fortune for her presence, Alex realised. Not just because Chase was SCORPIA and Alex was Alex, and Chase wasn't about to let any chance to milk Crewe's estate pass him by, but because Alex had needed competent help and Chase had sent one of the best he had available.

Alex hadn't realised the sheer scale of things when he had contacted SCORPIA. He still didn't, just the sinking awareness of dozens and dozens of potential problems he wasn't even aware of yet that might drop like an anvil without any warning at all. A decade of experience and enough skills to have the personal recommendation of a member of SCORPIA's board did not come cheap, but if that was the sort of practical approach Crux handled everything with, maybe that mountain of future issues wouldn't be as insurmountable as it had started to look.

If Alex still insisted that the bomb should be dismantled, he didn't doubt she would find people who could do that, too. He wouldn't, though. Not with the attention that might draw.

Two options, then. Keep it or return it to the Americans.

If he kept it, that would mean entrusting it to SCORPIA's people. They followed his orders now, but he knew what would happen if something happened to him. Even the knowledge that it was there … as soon as Crux contracted Brendan Chase, Alex knew he was on a countdown. Eventually, that nuke would be too interesting for SCORPIA to leave alone. With enough time, intel and motivation, they would find a way around Thetis' defences. Not an option, then.

"… Well. Guess we'll give the Americans a call."

Crux nodded. Put her glass aside. "Any preferences?"

Alex took the time to actually consider the question. The American military and intelligence agencies were all sort of one hazy, combined glob of distrust to him, but come to think about it …

"Joe Byrne knows me. CIA. They borrowed me from MI6, too, because God forbid they risk an American teenager. If he's got any hair left that isn't grey, I think it's about time we fixed that."

Crux's smile was just a little too sharp. He wondered if she had experience with the CIA as well.

"That," she said, "sounds like a wonderful idea."

Chapter Text

New York, April 8th

The Maldives, April 6th

Alex woke up to the distressed sounds of a roomba tangled in a towel. He'd had enough of the little bastards getting uppity because he wouldn't stop barricading the door at night, and he had hoped that maybe leaving one inside his rooms at night would fix the issue. It could do its thing, then, buzz around and clean and whatever else it spent its time on, and Alex would get to sleep in.

Now, stumbling out of bed to save said uppity bastard before it ran into something important, he wondered just how he had decided this was a good idea.

Alex tugged on the towel. The distressed sounds grew louder and the roomba got pulled along, revealing that it had clearly tried – and failed – to vacuum it up while he was asleep. Considering the sheer size of the towel, the biggest that Alex had been able to find, the result should have come as no surprise to anyone except the roomba.

"What the hell?" he demanded. "This was on a chair. This is entirely your own fault."

He flipped over the surprisingly solid machine to try to pry the towel loose. The distressed sounds were joined by an alarmed wail that almost made Alex drop the roomba in surprise.

His phone beeped. Expecting Crux or Kywe or someone, Alex glanced at it, then immediate glared at the roomba again.

"You are not 'stuck near a cliff'! Just – let me try to fix this."

The distressed sounds settled into what Alex could only assume was a sullen silence as he worked the towel free bit by bit. A strong vacuum and a thick, fluffy towel was a downright awful combination, and when he finally pulled the last corner of the towel free, the fabric had some new bald spots and the inside of the roomba was generously decorated with bright blue lint.

Alex flipped the roomba back over. The moment he let go, it vanished beneath his bed as fast as its little engine could carry it and left him with the ruined towel and a lot of lint on his t-shirt.

It was a little past six. Barely past sunrise, and Sania and Crux both wanted him to cut down on caffeine. This was just the sort of wake-up call he wanted.

Speaking of which …

"Thetis, what's the status of the base?"

Everything was under control and he knew it, but it hadn't felt entirely right not to get that update in the morning. He wanted to know what was going on around him.

"The facility is in level one lockdown. There is one emergency issue, not contained. All high, medium, and low priority issues have been added to the repair and maintenance schedule."

Alex's heart skipped a beat – emergency issue, not contained – and then it clicked and he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

"The emergency issue is the nuke, isn't it? We're working on it. We worked on it yesterday, we'll work on it today, and we'll continue working on it tomorrow. Trust me, I don't like having a nuke around any more than you do but this stuff takes time. Just – remove it from the status list, or put it as contained or something."

"Notice: Manual adjustments of the facility status is not recommended and may result in damage to the facility."

"It's as contained as it's going to be," Alex argued back. "I don't have the codes for it, nobody alive probably does now that Crewe is dead, and it won't go off on its own. Just – maybe a compromise? Can you give the nuke a category of its own? Put it as – as a 'Supervillain issue'. Please."

The seconds stretched on. Then Thetis finally spoke again.

"Thermonuclear gravity bomb, designation B61, Mod 4 has been reclassified from emergency issue to supervillain issue."

Alex felt the tension in his shoulders ease and a treacherous little hope that maybe he would get to actually wake up nice and slow tomorrow settle in its place.

"Thank you," he said, because it didn't hurt to be polite to the AI that ran his new home.

The roomba was still hiding. The lint had settled as little bundles of fluff everywhere around him. The towel was absolutely dead.

Well. If he couldn't get back to sleep, at least he could have some breakfast, throw out the towel on the way, and hope the roomba reappeared later to vacuum up the mess.

Alex wasn't sure how he had expected the whole 'give the nuke back to the Americans' thing to go. Maybe that he would get the right phone number, call Joe Byrne, and proceed to do his best to give the man a heart attack. Then they would drop the nuke off with the CIA, maybe with overnight FedEx or something to be an ass about it, and Alex would be able to wash his hand of the whole business and go back to learning about the social life of sharks.

Crux proved that idea thoroughly wrong, though at least she had the decency to let him finish his way-too-early breakfast before she did. Alex had dutifully followed Sania's advice and avoided his usual espresso-abomination. He regretted that the moment Crux stepped into the kitchen and he caught a glimpse of the list on her tablet.

A roomba followed her at a polite distance. It seemed that Alex wasn't the only one who trusted one of SCORPIA's elite operatives around a nuke about as far as he could throw them.

Crux politely ignored her companion and instead settled down across from Alex. She looked unnaturally bright and alert for barely seven in the morning, and certainly for someone who had clearly been up at least as long as Alex had. Hopefully her alarm clock had been nicer than his.

"We have quite the list to go through today," Crux began without preamble. "The moment you contact the CIA, it will only be a matter of days before everything becomes known to them. You need to have things settled before then. I would have preferred to spread it over a few weeks to ease you into things and allow you the time to consider your options, but we don't have the schedule for that any longer. I've prioritised the important issues but I'm afraid you'll have some busy days ahead of you."

Just what Alex wanted to hear. He was really starting to regret that he ever listened to that 'excessive caffeine is bad at your age' lecture.

"Right. What 'issues'?"

"Your ownership of this place, primarily," Crux replied. "But also more personal matters. What do you want to do, Alex? Not merely tomorrow or next month or even next year. You have resources now. You have the chance for freedom. What do you want?"

Freedom.

For the first time in more than a year, the idea felt real to him. The realisation that this time, MI6 might just stay away. Not just make vague promises, stay away just long enough for him to start to hope, and then pull him back in.

He had options. He had a future.

"My grades are awful," he admitted softly. "The past year … most of the time, I've been on missions for MI6. When I'm actually home, I never have the time to get used to it. The paranoia doesn't go away any more. I don't have time to catch up and when I try, I can't focus or I'm so far behind that none of it makes sense."

Crux didn't interrupt. Just nodded and waited for him to continue.

"They always held Jack's visa against me. It was valid, we all knew it was, but suddenly it wasn't because that gave MI6 a hold on me. Cooperate or she would be deported and I would be sent to an institution far away from anyone I knew. Once I went along with the first mission, they kept finding new ways to keep a leash on me. I want Jack to be safe and out of Blunt's reach. I want the chance to catch up on school and learn how to take care of this place. I want to learn things because I want to and not because it's useful or someone's trying to turn me into my uncle or my dad."

I want a future.

"Independent study and tutors in the relevant subjects, then," Crux concluded, "and Ms Starbright's security. That's a good start. We'll look into the different international curricula and see which one would work best for you. Any additional subjects you want can be arranged as needed."

Alex nodded. He hadn't mentioned Jack's surname but then, SCORPIA had his fingerprints on record, too. Of course they knew everything about his life. He had just slept better when he didn't know about it.

"We'll need to speed up the process of getting Crewe's estate legally shifted to you as well. That sort of legal change would be significant enough that they would require it to be done in person, likely with a doctor of some sort present to ensure 'Crewe' was in a state where he would be legally able to make such a change. For an account this size, we could demand their presence and someone would be here within a day, but we would need the ground work in place first."

"Chase mentioned that a good impersonator would be an option."

"The only option, most likely," Crux agreed. "You spent time around him, that will help ensure 'his' presence is accurate. Even better if there are recordings available of other times when he spoke with his family office or other business associates."

That was a hint if Alex ever heard one. The new staff at the base had access to anything relevant to their jobs, but that was the sort of thing Thetis would have locked down for security reasons, and Alex agreed wholeheartedly with that.

"Thetis, how long do you save surveillance records? Do you have any recordings of Crewe?"

"Surveillance records are saved for thirty days. There are three hundred and twenty-two hours, forty-one minutes, and seventeen seconds of surveillance records in which Socrates Seaver-Crewe appears. Would you like to narrow down your search?"

More than three hundreds hours. They could spend weeks going through that, weeks that they didn't have.

"Yes – wait," Alex said, "first, save all of those records permanently. Don't delete any surveillance records until I approve it again."

"Confirmed."

"Narrow the search down to anything with Crewe talking with others. Ignore anything where he's alone, or just working without talking. Also, ignore anything where he's talking to staff at the base that isn't security or his personal assistant."

"There are seventy-two hours, eight minutes, and fifty-five seconds of surveillance records that fit the criteria. Would you like to narrow down your search?"

That was – still a lot of hours to go through. A lot of hours to watch Crewe get increasingly unhinged.

"A list of people, perhaps," Crux murmured. "Far from all of those conversations are likely to be relevant right now."

Right.

"Thetis, give me a list of the results with the people involved in each of the conversations."

A second. Two. Then his phone vibrated and a new notification popped up. He glanced at Crux.

"We'll start to go through it together this afternoon, see which ones have the most potential. I'll find a suitable disguise specialist to manage the deception. There may be specific codes or phrases necessary to authorise his instructions, though," Crux warned. "He was paranoid, so it would not be unlikely. If that is the case, Thetis may have access to them or he may have used them in the recordings, we'll find out."

Alex didn't look forward to those recordings, especially not when he knew he was in some of them, too, but they didn't have much of a choice. Instead he just nodded.

"You will also need to consider what you want in return for the nuke," Crux continued.

"I don't want anything!" Alex snapped. "I just want to get rid of it!"

"Which is a lovely thought," Crux agreed, "but likely to cause trouble. The CIA will expect a trade. To not give them what they expect will be a complication we don't need. To accept it without payment of some sort will create an implied debt that the CIA won't care for in the least, and no amount of insistence that you want nothing in return will change that. Find something you want, for convenience if nothing else. Preferably not money, it would give the wrong impression considering the estate that is about to become yours, but a favour of some sort would be a good option. You have a few days to consider it. American citizenship would be an easy one, but presumably unwanted in your case."

That was putting it mildly. The last thing Alex needed was another intelligence agency with a reason to take an interest in his life.

"Think about it," Crux said. "Even if you only have a vague idea, we may be able to pinpoint exactly how to make it happen."

"Right." Another thing for his mental list. It was still way too early for anything that demanded that kind of brain power, but Crux had probably been up for hours and not because of a roomba with the IQ of wet cardboard, and he really, really wanted his coffee. "I'll … look at it. Anything else?"

He hoped the answer was no but wasn't surprised when Crux focused on her tablet again. The list just went on and on and on.

"One more thing," she said, "while we're on the subject of legal matters. Then I'll let you go for a little while."

Well, that didn't sound ominous in the least.

"… What is it?" Alex asked, a healthy amount of wariness in his voice.

"You need to consider the legal aspects if anything happens to you."

Her words were gentler than he had expected but that didn't blunt the edge of them once the meaning registered. He had lost count of the number of times he had almost died. This was the first time someone had asked him about a hypothetical later in case his luck ran out.

"What legal aspects?" he asked. The sarcasm came easily, both from his experiences with SCORPIA and the sudden, anxious knot in his stomach that he didn't want to acknowledge. "I kind of assumed SCORPIA would just swoop in and steal anything it could get its hands on if I kicked the bucket. Like a vulture. Or a rat. One of those big sewer ones that crawl up through the toilet."

Crux smiled. It seemed as genuine as Nile's had been, all warm and friendly until he had tried to murder Alex. It wasn't a thought Alex liked to linger on.

"Oh, we'll certainly try," she agreed, "but you have other assets to consider, too."

Well, at least she was honest about that part. Alex's blank stare made it absolutely clear he still had no idea of what she was talking about for the rest of it.

"Your inheritance, Alex," she clarified. "For one, a townhouse in Chelsea is by no means inexpensive. You're rather well off. The combined inheritance from your uncle and parents is fairly substantial."

Right. That inheritance. He wasn't even surprised Crux had looked into it but it was still an unwelcome reminder. The memories arrived in a familiar surge of anger and loss and bitterness and desperation, but Alex refused to acknowledge them. Crux hadn't known, couldn't have known, but he still didn't want to think about them.

He didn't want to be reminded of Ian, or Blunt, or Yassen, or all the times he had almost died, or the awful, creeping acceptance over the months that he wouldn't live to see sixteen if MI6 had anything to say about it.

Crux remained silent. Alex reluctantly accepted that she probably wasn't going to leave him alone until she got an answer. This was what he got for hiring a personal assistant that Chase approved of … which, come to think of it, made it all Chase's fault.

Eventually, Alex gave up and sighed.

"… It's held in trust. By MI6," he admitted quietly. "Until I'm a legal adult. I stopped wondering about it months ago. After the second mission they made me do, I kind of figured I'd never live long enough to be able to claim it. I could have done a lot with that sort of money. Maybe even have escaped them. I figure that's why they didn't want me near it. It pays out just enough every month to pay for the house and the normal bills according to Jack. Not enough that I would be able to actually do something with it."

Crux pursed her lips slightly, then added a few words to her list. "How convenient for them. We'll see about that."

It was the sort of voice that promised a lot of misery for someone, and Alex was just glad it wasn't aimed at him. MI6 had it coming. If Crux or whatever lawyers she found wanted to make life miserable for Blunt and the rest of that cesspit to get his inheritance back, he would cheer them on the entire way.

"You will need to consider it, though," Crux continued, somewhat softer. "Like I said, it's a substantial amount of money. Try to make sure it ends up where you want it to if you die. Crewe didn't."

And we all know how that turned out, she didn't say.

It wasn't a question he had ever considered. He had lost count of the times he had been close enough to death to feel bony fingers hovering above his shoulder and the brush of a scythe, but he had never considered what would have happened if -

- if he had actually died.

Soldiers wrote letters, didn't they? Something to be sent in case they got killed? At the very least, they probably had their will up-to-date. Was he the only one who didn't? Did Fox? … Did Ian, for that matter? Would it even have made a difference? If he had died alone somewhere far from home, would MI6 even have bothered to tell Jack, much less pass on a letter to her?

Alex swallowed. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say and wasn't sure he even wanted to try to look for the words. There were a lot of considerations he didn't feel like looking into right now.

Maybe Crux understood because the smile she offered was small but looked sympathetic.

"I wrote my first will before I left for Malagosto," she said. "I had done all right on my own but obviously nothing compared to what came later with SCORPIA. I was older and more settled, enough to appreciate the risks of Malagosto in a way younger students frequently aren't able to. I wanted to make sure that what I had made went to the people I actually cared about. I've updated it regularly since."

People I actually cared about. It sounded so normal, Alex couldn't get the image to fit. Crux and the skills described in short, clinical bullet points in her file and then – that. Someone who had people they cared about enough to leave what was probably a significant amount of money to them.

"Of course there are plenty of people who joined SCORPIA to start over completely from scratch," Crux explained, "but there are just as many who still have outside connections. Friends or family. Some find new friends among their colleagues. Consider what you would want done for you. Leave the practical aspects of it to us, potential MI6 interference and all."

"And of course, SCORPIA would very helpfully follow my instructions and not at all take the chance to get revenge on the person who messed up several of their plans by keeping everything to themselves," Alex said dryly.

"That's what you pay us for," Crux pointed out. "We can make sure the paperwork is entrusted to a neutral legal company able to take that fight with MI6 if necessary, too, but even then you would never be entirely sure either way. If nothing else, keep in mind that while it's a substantial amount to us, it isn't for SCORPIA and client satisfaction matters to our reputation. I am aware it's an uncomfortable idea to face at fifteen, but better to face it now than have MI6 keep everything if something should happen."

Alex hesitated. The logic was sound but … letting SCORPIA gain one more hold on him? Even more intel to use against him? Except Alex knew that was a ridiculous argument before he even voiced it. SCORPIA already knew about Jack and Tom. It wasn't like it was a secret.

The thought of actually writing it down, though, of making it official … it felt heavy in a way even Blunt's awful mission briefings hadn't. He had never had much of a choice about those. Now, he was going to have to write up a nice, official legal paper to decide who would inherit things in the very likely event of his early death.

"… Tom Harris and Jack Starbright," he finally said. "Split it fifty-fifty."

Because they were his friends, the people who had been there for him, but they could also both use it and if he died, he wanted that inheritance to be used for something good. He thought his parents would have approved of that, too. A new start for Tom, away from his parents and with the ability to choose what he actually wanted. A chance for Jack to follow her dreams, whatever they were. Something nice. Something good.

Another mark on Crux's list. "I'll have some preliminary papers drawn up for your approval."

She didn't scroll further.

"… that's all?" Alex asked, halfway expecting her to bring up an entire second list.

"That's all for now," Crux agreed. "I have some things to put into motion, and then we'll start to go through the surveillance recordings after lunch. I do have a list of the people here who will be able to help with your martial arts training and the style they are trained in, but that's less of an urgent issue. You can go through that when you want to."

"No guns?" Alex asked, just to be sure.

"No guns," Crux confirmed. "My recommendation would be one of Kywe's men who's a former close combat instructor in the Royal Thai Armed Forces, but look through the list and take the time to talk with them before you decide. If you do change your mind later regarding guns, we'll look at potential firearms instructors then. I've also gone through the accounts for the last few years and added some notes. You can go through that as well at your leisure, too. The short version is that there is nothing alarming in them. The family office has done a very decent job with investments and the aquarium complex takes up a fairly stable share of that revenue – around twenty percent on average. This may become less without Crewe's pet projects, or may remain the same if you wish to add improvements to the facility."

Like something out of a cartoon, Alex could almost see his last bit of free time in the foreseeable future vanish out the air vent with the sound of a deflating balloon.

"… Just send it to me, I'll look it over."

The sheer resignation in his voice had to be obvious, because Crux offered him a sympathetic smile.

"You'll be busy for a few weeks but it should quiet down after that with most things settled."

Right. 'For a few weeks'. Right up there with 'It'll be just a quiet vacation, Alex' and 'We'll send you backup if you activate the emergency beacon'. Alex didn't say that, though. Just sighed and prepared to spend the rest of his morning going over paperwork.

Maybe that was why every billionaire he'd met had been so completely off their rocker: Paperwork. Endless, multiplying, towering piles of paperwork.

He didn't share that theory, either. Brendan Chase might get ideas otherwise.

One good thing about going through endless, dry annual accounts, Alex discovered, was how much attention they demanded. He spent three hours going through them and the only time he thought about the nuke under his feet was when he caught himself wondering what line Crewe's accountant had put it under.

… Actually, had his accountant even known about it? Thetis didn't know when he asked, and she didn't know where the nuke had been hidden in the accounts, either. Since she hadn't even known about it in the first place, it wasn't a surprise. When had Crewe even bought it? It might've been there for years, longer than Alex had the accounts for. It might have been bought before Thetis had even been installed.

Alex had never had to look at anything more complicated than the budget at home, and there was a world of difference between a Chelsea townhouse and Crewe's supervillain base.

What was depreciation? Amortization? What was the difference between a stock and an option? Thetis could help with that, at least, and doubled as his dictionary as he slowly began to make sense of it all. Crux could have helped, too, he was sure – and her notes helped clear up several things he hadn't even known to wonder about – but she had other things to do and he wanted to learn. He wanted to understand enough to be able to tell one day if something was off.

Lunch had arrived by the time he finished the last of the reports Crux had sent him, and he happily demolished a plate of some sort of fried rice with an egg on top. Nasi goreng, the kitchen staff had called it. Alex hadn't heard of it before but it seemed popular with everyone else and was exactly the sort of new thing he had always loved to try.

The staff left him alone, either because they were busy themselves or because they gave him space unless he sought out company, and with lunch finished, Alex drifted towards one of his favourite rooms in the base.

He had another hour or so before he was supposed to meet Crux again, and a ton of stuff he was supposed to look at, but right now he just … wanted a bit of a break. He could feel the tension in his shoulders again and the whisper of something that could become a headache, and he would much rather not deal with that on top of all the surveillance records.

The dome, Alex's destination, was the largest underwater room in the base. It was an oval room with a view of the ocean all the way around, and it was large enough to double as a dining room in a fancy restaurant. It had been part of Crewe's private wing, but one of the first things Alex had done had been to open it to everyone. Well, once Crewe's stuff had been cleared and Kywe's people had checked it for traps, anyway.

Like with the rest of Crewe's private wing, the furniture was big and ugly and undoubtedly expensive. Mostly mahogany, with brocade couches, several intricately carved tables, and a massive rug, all surrounded by a sprawling rainbow of underwater life.

It was exactly what Alex had come to expect. All money, no functionality. The couches and chairs made him uncomfortable to sit on, like they weren't actually meant to be used, and the furniture all looked like a nightmare to keep clean. He clearly wasn't the only one who didn't like it, because several chairs from the staff room had made their way into the dome and got a lot more use than the brocade monstrosities did.

Sania was one of the people who liked to spend time there when she had administrative things to do, armed with her laptop and a small notebook. The more paperwork Alex himself got stuck with, the more he understood that urge to see something that wasn't just the walls of his own room.

Sania liked the colours of the light through the water, she had told him the first time, and Alex had just nodded because he knew exactly what she meant. There was something soothing about the shifting blue colours and the sound of the ocean around them, and he hoped he would never start to take it for granted.

It was also such a human thing that it had surprised him, and he wasn't even sure why. Sania and Kywe and the others worked for SCORPIA but in the end they were still just – people. With families and interests and lives and everything, people who enjoyed the aquariums and who were just … trying to survive in the world, just the same as Alex.

He wasn't sure what he had hoped for when he stepped inside the large room, but with the way he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a little when he found Sania already there, someone to talk to might have been exactly what he needed.

The morning had started out as too much and too overwhelming, and all he really wanted to do was curl up in his room and go back to sleep, but that wasn't an option and he knew it. If he didn't deal with things, SCORPIA would, and that was never going to end well.

Above his head, behind inches-thick acrylic glass, life carried on, utterly indifferent to his headaches. A school of fish swam by with perfectly synchronised motions as it shifted and turned. Sea grass arched and danced in the currents. Tiny animals skittered along the bottom and hid among sand and stone and coral.

Alex took a slow breath and felt the tension ease a little more. This was the sort of thing that reminded him that it was worth trying to figure out. That he might be in over his head but that for the first time, he was also fighting for something he wanted.

He hesitated for a moment but Sania glanced up from her laptop.

"You can sit down if you want."

That was as good as an invitation for some company, and Alex settled down on the couch across from her. Someone had added a couple of thin pillows to them, which made them at little more comfortable to sit on. It did absolutely nothing for the aesthetic of the room but frankly, Alex was pretty sure there was no salvaging that short of a complete redesign. He stretched out and nudged the foot of the couch with the tip of his shoe. It was a carved lion's paw, because of course it was. God forbid there was anything normal about the furniture.

"Do you think they're antique?" The whole set was definitely ugly enough for it.

Sania glanced up.

"Hardly. They were designed to look like it, nothing more." There was a note of scorn in her voice, the sort that came only from experience. Alex didn't ask. "The colour of the mahogany is the mimicry of age, and the upholstery too new. The weave is wrong. They are expensive copies of older designs but still just copies."

Unlike the artworks, which were all genuine according to the comprehensive paperwork they had found. It didn't make them any less ugly to Alex, it just meant they were ugly and made him wonder how anyone would pay so much for that sort of thing. They were all so depressing. Stormy seas, wind-blown landscapes, and cloudy skies, all of it a world removed from the island and ocean that surrounded the base. At least it wasn't all haughty-looking medieval rich people, though Alex wasn't sure how much better the landscapes were when it came down to it.

Another thing for the list. Alex wasn't sure what he wanted for the walls but anything would be an improvement. Maybe he would just ask if people had suggestions for that, too. They would all get to look at it, anyway. It made sense to ask for ideas.

They fell silent. The only sounds were the ocean around them, amplified by the acoustics of the room. The light was a play of blue, sunlight shimmering through the water.

Alex could have spent hours caught up in the slow passage of life outside. His to-do list, unfortunately, thought otherwise but Sania's presence might help with at least one item on it.

"… is there anything we need for the aquariums?" he finally asked. "That money won't fix, I mean."

That was the weirdest thought, too. That he could just – throw money at things to fix them. He had to get Thetis to agree with it, sure, but so long as it had to do with the aquariums, there were essentially no limits to what he could get away with.

He was sure Sayle and Grief and Cray and all the other nutcases he had met would have been completely off their rocker even if they hadn't been rich, but the money really hadn't helped. Not when anything that bothered them could be removed with a call to the right person, and any issues could be covered up with enough bribes.

Alex would have to keep that very firmly in mind, too, and he knew it. He had hired SCORPIA out of desperation. He wouldn't just have to make sure SCORPIA wouldn't take over the whole place the moment he looked the other way, he would also have to keep a close eye on himself. Make sure that he didn't fall down the same trap of convenient problem solving that so many of their other clients probably had.

Sania made a small, considering sound. "In regards to the finder's fee from the Americans, you mean?"

"Yeah. I don't want anything, I just want it gone, but Crux says it'll be better if I ask for something in return," Alex agreed. "That just giving it back would actually be harder, because there would be the expectation that I might use it as leverage later. If I ask for something in return, it'll be a trade, and that'll make everyone less twitchy."

Alex's introduction to intelligence world politics had been awful to begin with and only gone downhill from there, and now he was going to be … well. He wasn't actually sure. He wasn't going to be involved, he was out and done and never wanted to be involved with that nightmare again, but he was also the brand new owner of a former supervillain base and a lot of money, and the nuke would be enough to mark him as a person of interest to the CIA, even if his past associations with them hadn't already done so. Them, and MI6, and ASIS, and everyone else who had looked at a blackmailed fourteen-year-old and decided that this was the secret weapon they needed.

"If you're serious about charity work and marine conservation," Sania said, "then asking for Nautilus to be legally recognised as a non-profit organisation may be something to consider. Crewe had the permits in place for the endangered species here, but further legitimacy would give you credibility and would open access to donations as well as a number of grants. This – this whole thing – is by no means inexpensive to fund. You have the money for it, I'm aware, but it would be foolish to turn down the opportunity for grants for something you intended to do, anyway."

Alex blinked. Anything he had vaguely considered and dismissed already had been something more tangible. A scholarship for Tom somewhere away from Blunt. A chance to return to university for Jack. A donation for a human rights organisation somewhere. "A non-profit?"

"If someone gave you fifty million tomorrow for marine conservation efforts, what would you do?" Sania answered his question with a question of her own, and Alex frowned.

"I would … use them for marine conservation efforts? Maybe something with sea turtles, I don't know. We have a whole island that would be safe for them, maybe some of the turtle conservation programmes would know if we could …"

He trailed off when he noticed her smile.

"The point," she said, "is that you would actually use the funding for just that – marine conservation efforts. It never crossed your mind to keep the money for yourself, or to set up some sham charity program to line your own pockets somehow. You have a private aquarium that could rival a number of decently-funded public ones, investments that will generate enough of a profit to keep it running, and no obligations to anyone. You will be able to open part of it up to marine life rescue and rehabilitation if you want. A number of the species here are critically endangered – we will be able to offer them the safe habitat and resources needed to thrive and perhaps help conservation efforts that way. This, this whole thing – it was the project of a madman, but the result itself is a wonder and can make a difference in the world in a very different way than he envisioned."

He … hadn't actually thought about it like that. He hadn't really thought much past you're responsible for fifteen thousand animals now, don't mess it up if he was completely honest. The idea that the aquariums could be more than just some megalomaniac billionaire's private hobby without becoming some sort of tourist thing instead … it hadn't even crossed his mind. He hadn't known it was even an option.

"It would make this whole operation legitimate in a way that money alone never could. It would add credentials to anything we do and the jobs we might need candidates for."

Her voice had grown warmer and more passionate as she talked, the same way it did when she talked about the fish or the social lives of sharks, and the more she spoke, the more appealing the idea was.

Alex had never given much thought to the future. He had been too young to really think about it before Ian died and afterwards … even if he had survived that long, his grades were bad and his school attendance even worse. His future had just been one more dark, ominous cloud in the distance.

Nautilus had been Crewe's obsession and vanity project both but Alex could do something good with it now. Thetis would be delighted, too. And if they became legitimate, maybe he could have more than just SCORPIA's people around. Maybe Sania would like actual colleagues, too, people with degrees and the same education as her, and not just the most qualified staff that happened to already be on SCORPIA's payroll. They could do outreach programs if they wanted, documentaries, whatever they wanted. If Alex had the money for it, if the family office did a good enough job, they wouldn't have to worry about visitor numbers or funding or anything.

"Get me the paperwork," Alex said and made his decision. "I'll handle the rest."

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 9th

Crux had imagined a lot of things when she had first signed up with SCORPIA more than a decade ago. Their initial contact had been deliberately vague to minimise any risks as they filtered out unsuitable candidates, but the actual recruitment and following interview had been – blunt. Both in their expectations and areas of employment, and what they offered in turn.

Supervillain pet wrangling had not been on that list. Not outsize sharks, not full-size aquariums, not the Portuguese man o'war that was Dr Jain's most recent obsession, not the unnervingly clever AI, and definitely not a colony of several hundred flying foxes.

They had settled on the far side of the island, as far away from human habitation as possible. Fruit trees and flowers grew in abundance there, some native and some planted by previous inhabitants before the island became private property, and the flying foxes had made themselves at home. There were no nets they could be tangled in, no farmers that might try to kill them. Just food and pleasant solitude.

Crux vaguely remembered the fruit bats in her grandmother's orchard when she was a child. They would come for the fruit in the trees that her grandmother had grown too old to bother with, and sometimes in the very early dawn she would catch a glimpse of them.

Now, standing in front of a whole colony of them in the early morning, they were somewhat louder and larger than she remembered.

"They're generally considered a pest in the Maldives," Dr Kelly said, her voice only marginally distorted by the high-quality video connection. "They have previously been culled to protect orchards and fruit trees despite their importance in regards to pollination and seed propagation."

Nautilus already had a vet associated with it, Crux had seen to it herself, but that vet specialised in marine animals. For the flying foxes, she had been forced to look elsewhere for expert guidance – all the way to a bat sanctuary in Queensland. A generous donation had been enough to get their immediate attention and assistance.

"The owner of this island is a strong believer in animal conservation and welfare," Crux replied. "He already funds a large research aquarium complex. The expenses to see the flying foxes on his property protected and cared for will be negligible. Any legal issues will be taken care of."

Five hours away, Dr Kelly seemed to warm a little and her smile became a bit more genuine.

"If you can send me a description of the fruits and flowers available to them on the island and neighbouring areas as well as a video of their roosts, I will get back to you with a better analysis of their situation and habitat, along with any precautions you will need to take."

The woman paused. When Crux didn't object she continued, probably reassured by the added proof that the request was serious.

"I would recommend access to a vet that's familiar with flying foxes and willing to treat them, though with a relatively small colony, I don't expect it will be needed much. I do recommend to have someone with sharp eyes and good observation skills check the colony daily to spot any bats that might be in trouble. It could be injuries or an orphaned pup. Some injuries can be treated well enough to allow a release back to the wild, and orphaned pups can be successfully hand-raised."

Like Dr Jain, Crux noted, Dr Kelly's enthusiasm became obvious when it was clear that her audience was sincere about their interest. The doctor had been recommended by several people and Crux was glad to find that it was a well-earned reputation.

"You'll have the report within a day," she promised. "A vet might be harder but if there is one in the Maldives with the right qualifications, we will find them."

Someone would handle it. She had no time herself, what with a schedule that was packed for weeks to come, but there were plenty of competent staff members far more familiar with plants and trees than she was. Several of them, she knew, would even consider the chance to spend a few hours outside every day just watching the wildlife as a bonus.

"One more thing," Dr Kelly said. "Indian flying foxes give birth in spring. A number of them likely already have pups. It will be something to keep in mind, should you find a flying fox in need of help. A mature female may have a pup in the colony depending on her."

Crux didn't sigh. Of course they did and of course they would. How long would it be before they could add a bat sanctuary to Nautilus? She was sure it was just a matter of time.

"We'll keep that in mind, too," she promised.

That made the net total of the morning one thing she could scratch from her list and several more new things to take its place.

The first time Crux had heard her new salary, she had wondered how much Chase planned to fleece Rider for in what promised to be a fairly relaxing job. As she eyed the ever-growing list, she started to suspect that Chase had known exactly the sort of client he was dealing with and charged accordingly.

At the rate things were going, she would have to find a zoo manager before the end of the year.

The Maldives, April 6th

(Three days previously)

Alex wasn't sure what he had expected when it came to going through the surveillance records of Crewe. There was still too much to go through it all when they had so much to do and so little time to do it in. Even then, he had kind of imagined just … hours and hours spent watching a screen, one endless conversation after the other.

"It's a matter of prioritizing," Crux told him bluntly that afternoon. "MI6 used you as an expendable child soldier and never bothered with any sort of real training, and Malagosto trains assassins, not intelligence agents. The first thing to know is that any intelligence agency worth the name is in possession of incomprehensibly vast amounts of data – everything from cellphone locations, to surveillance records, CCTV feeds, and internet activity, to any kind of paperwork they can get their hands on. Even with a hundred times the number of employees, they would never be able to manually go through it all. They rely on computer analysis, on intel they can use to narrow down their searches, on patterns in the data."

She waited until Alex nodded, then handed him a tablet.

"The surveillance records with Crewe in them is a small dataset, just over seventy-two hours, neatly indexed, and with all contacts identified. In a more realistic scenario, there might be thousands – tens of thousand – of hours of data, in a dozen languages, some incomplete, some of such bad quality they would be all but incomprehensible, some encrypted, some spoken in code, some deliberately meant to create a false trail, and a significant number of the people in the recordings unidentified. Still, the idea is the same. We don't have the time to go through all seventy-two hours, so we have to narrow it down."

Alex paused. Surveillance. That brought up another issue he hadn't even thought about until he was forcefully reminded of it now.

"How many cameras caught me when I arrived here? The MI6 agent reported that we would follow a lead here, and the airport -"

"None," Crux said, "as of two days ago. We arranged for both of you to be removed from all surveillance records we could find. The most pressing threat to your continued ownership of this place right now is MI6, so we have removed as much of the trail as possible. By the time they start looking, there will be little left to find. It should slow them down, at least. Enough that you can decide to have a confrontation at a time and place of your choosing, not theirs."

How many other trails had he left around the world on surveillance cameras or paperwork or a dozen other things he had never considered? He had no idea. Crux was obviously used to it but … he had never had to consider it before. Not like this.

A part of him heard the words and understood the threat it could have been, the ease with which SCORPIA could make any trace of him vanish. Another part just appreciated the extra time it would buy him now, with people able to handle that sort of thing on his payroll.

It wasn't a thought he wanted to linger on, so he focused on the tablet instead and scrolled through the index. It was long and detailed and this was just seventy-two hours. Three full days.

Crux waited for him to read through the entire thing. Then she still didn't speak and Alex realised she was waiting for him … because this was a lesson. Because she wanted him to learn, and this was basically the intelligence agency version of a training exercise.

"We definitely want the two talks with the family office."

Alex started with the easy ones. He had hoped there would be more than two of those to lean on but in retrospect, he should probably be grateful they had even that much. It would let them check for any identical phrases, too, as an initial, rudimentary password check. A check with Thetis had revealed that no one else had talked with the family office, not even Crewe's assistant. Only the man himself.

"Anything with his personal assistant," which was a lot, Alex realised a moment later, "but prioritise the ones where they're alone. Anything with his head of security."

They needed the records with the family office to find out how he actually interacted with them, and the other two because the most useful intel was likely to come from his assistant and head of security. It would also give a more detailed idea of his mannerism around people he didn't entirely see as the scum of the earth. Useful people, like his financial managers were.

"We'll speed the latter two categories of recordings up a little, too," Crux said. "It'll make it faster to screen for actually useful conversations."

Alex had wondered if he would be in those recordings, too. He got that answer now in stark black and white. Alexander John Rider was written on a dozen different lines where either Crewe's head of security or his assistant had been present, too. Several more recordings, he realised with a sinking feeling, had to involve discussions about him between Crewe and his people where he had already been locked up. He wouldn't even know which recordings mentioned him until he started to watch them.

Alex didn't want to know what was in those recording but knew just as well that they would still have to go through them. There might be something useful in those talks, and he couldn't ignore that no matter how sick the thought made him feel.

"It's always a little awkward the first few times you hear people discuss you behind your back," Crux murmured once she realised where his check of the list had stopped.

"He wanted me dead," Alex admitted quietly. "He planned to do it when he was sure no one was coming for me. When he was sure I wouldn't be useful. He – told me a lot of ways he wanted to kill me after the first time I tried to escape."

Now he would probably find out how much of that had been empty threats. How much had been meant to terrorise him, and how much had actually been something Crewe had considered.

Crux didn't offer to look through those recordings for him. Likely she knew he wouldn't trust her to do it alone, or she considered it a valuable lesson for him. He didn't ask.

"I know he's dead now and that he never got the chance to go through with it, but …"

… But the nightmares still remained.

Did Crux have nightmares about past operations gone wrong? Had Yassen? Or Nile? Would it fade as he got older or would he still wake up at thirty and smell the chemicals of that hospital or the stale air of Grief's cell? Assuming, of course, he even lived that long.

"Why don't we start with the recordings with the family office," Crux suggested, "and save the more difficult ones for the end?"

Maybe Crux understood. Maybe she just had enough experience with unstable clients to recognise the need to step carefully. Alex didn't ask but just nodded and accepted the small lifeline that is was.

"Yeah. That sounds like a plan."

Alex spent the afternoon and a good part of the evening with Crux, with dinner served in the office and eaten in bits and pieces as they trawled through surveillance tapes.

The latter part of evening, when they were finally done for the night, Alex retreated to one of the largest aquariums. It was the best way he could think of to clear his mind of everything he had heard and seen on those tapes, and maybe not have nightmares about Crewe and being gruesomely killed in a dozen different ways. He was tired and his brain too rattled to make sense of anything, but he didn't want to go crash just yet. Not with those recordings as the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep.

He wasn't even surprised to find Sania already there, a tablet by her side with what looked like an academic paper on it. For the moment, there was no one else. There were sounds from the nearby common room, laughter and voices muted by walls and water, but it was late enough that a lot of the staff had started to retreat for the night.

Sania gave him a sympathetic look when he sunk into the couch, legs curled up under him.

"Long day?"

Alex hesitated and wondered how much to say. She probably already knew. Kywe did, anyway, and they both deserved to have some idea of what was happening to the place they were responsible for.

"… I went through surveillance tapes with Crux," he said. His voice sounded off even to himself. If he looked as tired as he felt, no wonder she had asked. "For the disguise expert she's bringing in to handle the family office. Crewe …"

- throw him to the sharks, see if they get him before he drowns -

- can make the body vanish, an hour out and the water is deep enough it'll never be found -

- get him to talk, make sure no one will miss him -

"… Crewe wasn't happy MI6 was sniffing around and they had already killed the agent I travelled with. It was just me left."

Alex already had nightmares about – about a lot of things. About Julius and the threat of vivisection and Sarov's suicide and Yu's organ farm and McCain's crocodiles, and a dozen other traumatising memories that returned to haunt him in his sleep. Crewe's voice and his head of security's increasingly sadistic suggestions would join them now.

His only consolation was that both Crewe and his head of security were dead, but that hadn't stopped the rest of his nightmares.

It wasn't a detailed explanation but based on Sania's grim expression, she could guess enough. Had she heard someone else discuss her like that, too? He couldn't imagine it but he wasn't sure he could rule it out, either. Not when she was SCORPIA's.

"Not the sort of thing you will want to follow you into sleep."

"Yeah."

Alex's response was a soft exhale more than anything, and silence settled again as he let his mind drift with the fish beyond the glass, and Sania returned to her tablet.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe twenty. The article on Sania's tablet had switched to something with pictures instead, photos of brightly-coloured, tiny fish that broke up a wall of text that seemed to be at least half Latin. Alex didn't recognise them but in his defence, the fifteen thousand animals in the base were made up by a lot of different species.

At least most of them were harmless, especially if you left them alone and didn't bother them. If someone decided to pick a fight with something like the lionfish, that was their own fault as far as Alex was concerned. There were thankfully no great white sharks, no killer jellyfish, nothing that reminded him even remotely of some of the completely nuts people he had met. Well, except for the unnaturally large sand tiger shark, and that wasn't her fault. She was a sweet, even-tempered creature that had quickly learned to recognise her aquarium keepers and came to meet them when they arrived. The furthest possible thing from some of the other things Alex had seen.

"… I wonder what it is about crazy billionaires and animals," he said. "My first mission, Sayle, he kept a huge Portuguese man o'war and threw me into the aquarium with it when my cover got blown. Rothman kept a Siberian tiger controlled with nanoshells in her office. McCain … he liked to feed his enemies to crocodiles. He had a whole setup for it just so he could watch."

Next to him, Sania stilled. "What was that?"

"The crocodiles?" Alex took a shuddering breath as the memory brought him back to McCain and Africa for a terrible second. "They lived in the river so they weren't exactly pets, but -"

"No," Sania said, "the man o'war. Physalia physalis. It was in an aquarium?"

"A huge one." Alex remembered that much even as he tried to dredge the details from his mind. "Big enough to hold a shark. The man o'war was huge, too. I think the tentacles were at least ten meters long and probably more, it was hard to tell. Sayle liked to kill fish but brought that one home instead. He was – pretty deranged."

Sania said something under her breath that Alex didn't understand but her tone of voice didn't sound complimentary.

"Physalia physalis are notoriously difficult to keep in captivity, even for research," she said. "That imbecile found a way to have one of such size permanently in an aquarium, not to mention transporting it in the first place, a feat that has not been repeated anywhere else, and he didn't share with the scientific community?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, Alex almost apologised on Sayle's behalf, the severely disappointed teacher voice was that strong. Almost.

"At that point, he was more busy trying to murder every single schoolkid in England because the PM bullied him as a kid," he said instead. "I'm not sure 'I revolutionized aquarium construction for oversized jellyfish so I could use them to kill meddling agents' would have passed peer review."

That time Sania's response was definitely some sort of profanity aimed at Sayle. Alex didn't understand the words but he absolutely understood the tone of voice.

"A siphonophore," she corrected in English, voice back to the patient teacher it usually was when she told him about the various creatures in the aquariums. "Physalia physalis is a siphonophore. They're a colonial organism that drift where currents take them. Jellyfish are single organisms and able to move themselves. I understand if you're reluctant to revisit those memories, but if there is anything about the aquarium design that you remember, anything at all …"

"… Actually," Alex said, "SCORPIA probably has the files. Sayle hired them to help with his plans and he didn't seem like the type to handle that sort of thing on his own. SCORPIA probably arranged for that in the first place."

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.

A year later, Yassen's words were still imprinted on his mind. A year later and more blood on his hands than he wanted to think about. Yassen had killed Sayle and saved his life but that didn't change the fact that Yassen had also killed Ian and caused Alex to end up in that situation in the first place. In retrospect, it seemed like SCORPIA's influence could be found in most awful things in his life, from the death of his parents and Ian and to the events that had eventually led him to an aquarium in the Maldives as the unwilling guest of a madman.

Based on Sania's expression, Alex hoped for Crux's sake that she wasn't already asleep because that was not the face of someone who planned to wait until morning to get her precious aquarium plans. Alex didn't remember anything special about it but then, he had been focused on survival. Actually, come to think of it -

"- We're not getting one, are we?" he asked, just a little wary.

"Of course not," Sania said like it was the most natural thing. "We would need to expand to add any new species to the aquarium, much less one in need of an extremely specialised environment like that."

Alex had about two seconds to feel relief settle before she continued, a little gentler.

"It is, however, something you may want to consider to help further legitimise Nautilus. Something like that, shared with the scientific community and with this place behind it, will go a long way to make this a proper research facility with a respectable reputation to go with it. Very little is known about physalia physalis compared to many other marine animals out there. It would require an expansion of the facilities and the expense that would follow, in construction and daily upkeep both, but it would be something to consider in the future, once everything is a little more settled."

Right. Of course it would. The worst part was that Alex could see the logic just fine and could imagine just how well Sania and Crux could spin that for maximum attention and goodwill. He didn't even blame the man o'war. It had just floated about. There hadn't been any malicious intent. It hadn't hunted him. It didn't change the fact that he was sure he would have nightmares the first time he saw another one like that in an aquarium.

It was a good idea, even he would admit that, but … not now. Later. Much, much later.

"Yeah." His reply was only a little reluctant. "We can focus on the research SCORPIA did to make it happen first, then … everything else later."

"Of course," Sania agreed.

Somehow, Alex had the nagging suspicion he would end up with a jellyfish in a shark tank again sooner or later, he just knew it. He just hoped he could stay out of it this time.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Alex spent half an hour in the silence of his room, just staring at the large, round porthole that offered a glimpse into the aquarium on the other side of the wall. Most nights, the lazy flickers of the blue light helped him sleep. This time, they were just one more distraction on his mind. The surveillance tapes, pages of intel to read through before they contacted the CIA, the memories of his time spent trapped with an increasingly deranged madman, and oh, right, the nuke in the basement.

Mostly, Alex blamed the disguise specialist. The surveillance records were bad enough. The thought of having someone who was a perfect mimicry of Crewe just – walk around the base again, like someone had brought him back from the dead but not quite right -

- Alex didn't look forward to the nightmares that would cause.

Finally he gave up on sleep for the moment and sat up instead, back against the wall as he watched a couple of small fish flutter by the aquarium window.

There was also one more worry he had, even if he would admit it to no one but himself.

"… Thetis, what will happen if someone who looks like Crewe gives you an order? What if they have the access key, too?"

Because while Alex still carried the watch on a string around his neck and hidden under his t-shirt, he had no delusions that Crux hadn't worked out exactly what it was. With the access key and someone who looked exactly like Crewe … he didn't know how Thetis would react and that thought had only grown increasingly insistent.

"Socrates Seaver-Crewe is registered as status: deceased. All access permissions were rescinded at 3.12 pm on March 29th."

Alex almost asked again, because it was an answer but not quite what he needed, but then the words actually registered and he paused.

All access permissions were rescinded … except he had used the access key to get into Crewe's office and to be able to give Thetis orders. That was the only reason he had managed to do anything at all.

"What about the access key I have?" he asked. "That was Crewe's and I still use it."

Maybe it was risky to point that out but she knew he carried that access key, because that was all that let him control the base, and -

"Access key, designation alpha-zero-one, was deactivated on 3.12 pm on March 29th."

The watch hung silent and unmoving around Alex's neck, and his hand automatically drifted up to touch it. It was heavy and ugly and slightly broken from his rough handling of it but it had still worked. He had thought so, at least.

Alex swallowed. His mouth felt dry and the watch much heavier than it had before.

"If it's deactivated, how did it work for me?"

"Provisional access was granted to Alexander John Rider at 3.12 pm on March 29th."

When Crewe died. Thetis had given him access to the accounts, to the security systems, to the very heart of the base – to someone who had just killed her owner. In self-defence, sure, but Alex was sure none of Crewe's probable contingency plans would have cared about that.

"… Why?"

That was the most pressing of the questions he had. Thetis didn't answer out loud but the tablet next to Alex came to life. It took a moment to load and then the report that had been open was replaced with a graph. Alex picked it up. Scrolled further down as graph after graph flashed by until he paused by a random one.

Pseudanthias squamipinnis. The name told him nothing, though it was a pretty safe bet it was probably a fish of some sort. The graph started at eighteen and dropped steeply to zero. That didn't help much. A moment later, Alex almost facepalmed and scrolled back to the top. A title of some sort would probably help.

Alex found it on the first page as expected and almost wished he hadn't.

Expected survival rates of aquarium species without human assistance by time, sorted by weighted average difficulty of care.

Because without him, Alex realised, Thetis would have had no one. She had the roombas, but they didn't have arms. They couldn't make sure the fish got fed or that new supplies got offloaded and packed away. They could clean, and some of them – adapted specifically for underwater work – could clean the aquariums but … they couldn't move on to another aquarium on their own. They needed someone to get them out, too.

Several hundred pages, graph by graph, and every single one of them inevitably reached zero. Some so fast that Alex didn't want to consider what would have happened if he hadn't worked non-stop for two days, some a lot slower but … eventually, without fail, every last creature in the base would have died. The base, alive and vibrant and thriving, would have turned into a deathtrap, day by day, until all that was left would be Thetis. Alone and trapped in a silent tomb.

Thetis had done what was necessary for her aquarium, and that had meant the transfer of some control to Alex. She had already proven she was capable of more independent thought than Crewe had ever given her credit for, and this was just one more bit of evidence.

The access key was pointless, then. The access was tied to him, not the watch. Alex would still keep it because if someone decided to try to take over, the key would provide the perfect bait, but … it did nothing now. It was just a lump of metal.

It still didn't answer the question that had gnawed at him for days now.

"What if someone shows up who looks like Crewe, who has his fingerprints and talks like him and knows the right authorisation codes? Would he get control of the base again?"

If the disguise expert Crux had found was as good as she said, that would be a very real concern. The man was supposed to help Alex get legal ownership of Crewe's estate but he still worked for SCORPIA. There was no guarantee they wouldn't take the chance to make a grab for power, not even with Chase's apparent willingness to be helpful.

"Socrates Seaver-Crewe is registered as status: deceased. All access permissions were rescinded at 3.12 pm on March 29th. Critical staff may manually override personnel status. Current staff designated critical is: Alexander John Rider. End list."

For Thetis, that was practically reassuring. Blunt and factual like everything about her but it told Alex what he needed. The only way for 'Crewe' to come alive again was to explicitly order Thetis to change his status, and the only person in a position to do that was Alex. Would she listen if he gave the order under coercion? Given how smart she actually seemed to be, he suspected not.

How far would she actually let them go with their plans? Maybe it was time to find out. She heard everything that went on, she had to have an idea of those plans, at least.

"Crewe didn't have a will," Alex said, "so we're going to forge one and transfer legal ownership to me to get around his restrictions. I'll do everything I can to improve the base and protect the animals here, but I won't do it like Crewe would have. He tampered with their genes and his plans would have made this base a target. I want Nautilus to be a real aquarium. I want the staff to be competent and the fish to be safe. I know you can stop us if you want to. Will you let us do it?"

The seconds stretched on. Alex could almost imagine the hundreds of scenarios running through her systems in an analysis he had no chance to grasp.

Finally she broke the silence.

"Confirmed."

Something in Alex eased, a tension he hadn't even been aware of.

"Thank you."

Maybe her entire existence revolved around the aquarium, maybe every analysis she did had the marine life she was responsible for as the most important factor, but for now she was an ally.

Between suspiciously helpful SCORPIA operatives, jellyfish-obsessed marine biologists, and creepy doppelgangers, he would take any sort of help he could get.

Crux's disguise specialist arrived entirely too early that morning. He was only a temporary addition to the staff, just for a week or so, but it was one more reminder of just how many of SCORPIA's people the base played host to these days. More than sixty at Alex's last count, including everyone from the sizeable aquarium staff and security and all the way to the small kitchen staff. He could more than afford it, the financial reports made that clear, but that didn't change the fact that the line that marked the total monthly salary expenditure had started to resemble a phone number.

The disguise specialist went by Charles and could have been anywhere from mid-forties to sixty. Alex didn't know and wasn't sure if the man's appearance was even his real one. He also didn't look a whole lot like Crewe to Alex but Crux seemed undeterred by that minor detail.

"You were helpful enough to leave Crewe's body for us. That means we can get his looks absolutely perfect, and the surveillance records will give us what we need to mimic his body language. This means Charles can perfect his act in a day or two, rather than the weeks it might have taken if we had to start completely from scratch. As soon as we know he will have the act down, we'll contact the family office about a visit."

Helpful. That was a nice way to describe Alex's decision to leave Crewe's body in a locked freezer because he couldn't face the thought of actually dealing with it. If it made the legal headaches a little easier to handle, though, he wasn't about to argue.

Charles, whatever his real name might be, was friendly the same way Crux was and somehow utterly forgettable. His English was bland, probably not his first language but with no accent Alex could pinpoint, either. His voice was calm and even, just like his body language, and his looks were pretty much the definition of average. Brown hair speckled with grey, brown eyes, faintly tanned skin, average height … everything about him was so forgettable, in fact, that Alex was sure just about all of his appearance had been carefully cultivated like that.

He was a world removed from the increasingly unhinged madman that Alex had spent four days around, but Crux seemed sure about him and Alex paid her enough that he would have to trust she was right. He had too much to worry about already without adding that to his list.

Charles settled down with several large boxes of supplies. On a laptop next to him, the surveillance records played in silence, the sound fed into a small earpiece that wouldn't get in the way as he worked.

Four hours and a small special effects studio worth of make-up, latex, hair dye, and god knew what else later, Alex had to admit Crux's confidence was justified. On their own, each of the changes were small – the hair colour, the shape of his eyebrows and cheek bones, the coloured contacts, the line of his lips – but together, they became more than the sum of their parts.

Charles turned around in his chair and Alex froze, face to face with a man he had last seen grey and cold and dead as he dragged him to a freezer, and he wanted to throw up.

Crux obviously saw his reaction, because she nodded with the look of someone satisfied with a job well done.

"Perfect," she said. "Absolutely perfect."

Something in Charles' expression shifted, from calm and even and to something that sent a chill down Alex's spine, and then he spoke.

"Of course it's perfect."

That edge of disgust, of Crewe when he talked to someone he had decided was beneath him, and the voice was almost perfect, too. A little too accented, a little too harsh, and then Charles tilted his head thoughtfully and the illusion was broken.

"Give me today and tomorrow to make sure I have it right."

"I'll arrange for a visit on the ninth, then."

Another note, another thing settled. She didn't question his ability to be ready so Alex wasn't going to, either. They would just continue to go through the surveillance records and pick out the most relevant ones for Charles and hope they didn't miss anything important. It was a rush job but Alex's plans never survived first contact with reality, anyway, so he was used to that, too.

In two days, they would know if their gamble would work. Until then, they had plenty more things to handle, stating with another long afternoon of surveillance tapes.

With the first step of the legal take-over put into motion, Crux's attention turned to the next item on her endless list the following morning.

"We need to consider how to approach the matter of Ms Starbright's situation."

Right. At least she had been nice enough to wait until Alex had finished his breakfast, though maybe that was part of the job. Between everything else – the nuke and the surveillance tapes and Thetis and Crewe's doppelganger walking the halls again – he had almost forgotten the rest of the things on that list.

"The first question, then," Crux continued, "is what you want. What is your goal for her? We can decide how to work towards it, then."

"I want her to have a choice." That answer at least came easily to him, the thought that had gnawed at him more than once when he couldn't sleep. "If she wants to stay in London or go back to the States or just – move here or somewhere else, I don't know, but whatever she wants, I want her to have that choice. Not to be forced to stay in London because of me and because of what MI6 might do if she leaves."

Jack had no one in England. Alex hadn't considered it when he was younger but a year of trauma later, Jack's loneliness and isolation made something in his chest tighten with guilt. She had dated, she had told him as much, and sometimes she saw people for coffee or whatever they did but … she never had company over. She never really visited others, either. She never talked about friends. All Alex had was Jack these days, and the older he got, the more he realised that he was all she had in England, too. If she wanted to go home to the States, to her family and somewhere she knew, he would do anything he could to make it happen. He owed her that.

Crux nodded and made a note on her list.

"By this point, they should have realised that you're gone and their agent dead. I expect they will keep Ms Starbright under surveillance in case you contact her. To be blunt, there will be no way to get her out of England without MI6's notice – no easy way, at least. If she tries to get out of the country now, MI6 will find out about it and presumably stop it, since she is the last real way to control you."

"They never bothered with security before," Alex said and felt familiar bitterness well back up.

"Surveillance," Crux corrected gently. "Not security. A blackmailed operative is unreliable by nature. Security is expensive and I'm certain they gambled on anonymity to keep you safe. For a blackmailed asset, though – surveillance would be a given. They want you back under their control or removed as a potential risk. Either way, they need your location and Ms Starbright is their best chance of that."

It made sense, that was the worst thing about it. Alex realised with a sinking feeling that this was probably exactly what MI6 had done right from the start. Kept an eye on him in case he became a problem but otherwise not bothered. He had been expendable, he just needed to be kept on a leash. If he became a problem … well. They would solve that, too.

"What's your suggestion, then?"

Crux shrugged. "Let it work for us. They will figure out your location, it's only a matter of time, so we'll do it on your terms. I think it may be time for a bit of teenage rebellion. Enough to make MI6 decide it's simply a matter of an angry teenager's overreaction. Convince them that you're doing this on a whim and with a little luck, they will decide that the best course of action won't be to send some agents to get you back but to send your guardian to talk some sense into you. Follow it up by a phone call to Ms Starbright telling her that you don't intend to come back now that you're finally away from MI6, and begging her to join you, and it should give them the last push necessary."

"Just like that?" Alex asked, just a little dubious.

"Just like that," Crux agreed. "We'll get a secondary message through to her to play along. Let MI6 pay for the whole thing, and we'll extract her from their custody once they arrive at the airport. Once she's out of their hands, she's in a position to make an informed decision about her future. I'll arrange for the paperwork. If she wants a new identity, that can be handled, too."

Teenage rebellion.

That would be exactly how Blunt would see it, too, Alex just knew it. He didn't have the emotional capacity to understand the hell he had put Alex through, much less the trauma of everything that had happened, but they would just make that work for them now.

What did normal teenagers do to act out? Get pissed and stay out all night? Get some boyfriend or girlfriend they knew their family would disapprove of? None of that was really anything Alex could do, much less something that would work on MI6.

"An angry phone call to them or an incoherent rant via email is an option," Crux suggested when the silence stretched on. "You would be surprised at the number of people who find the need to share their personal opinions in incomprehensible grammar with any public figure that has somehow been unfortunate enough to draw their attention. The administrative staff of any reasonably well-known politician get a number of those on a weekly basis. I have no doubts MI6 has received its share, too."

It was definitely an option, and a painful amount of experience with megalomaniac billionaires meant that Alex had a significant pile of material to draw from in terms of incoherent rants, but … it lacked something, somehow. It was too easy to ignore.

On the wall behind Crux, behind a solid chunk of plexiglass, a small school of tiny fish flittered by. So did a moment of inspiration.

"… if I send a dead fish to Blunt, do you think Sania will murder me in my sleep? I mean, if it died from natural causes? We have fifteen thousand animals, there has to be a dead fish I can use eventually."

He was pretty sure Thetis wouldn't mind so long as it was dead, but Sania had opinions about aquariums and animal welfare, and Alex would prefer to stay on her good side.

"Well, if you ask politely, I'm sure she'll agree to spare you." Crux paused. "Express mail and perhaps just enough dry ice that it won't be enough to last the whole way? Those would be the resources available to you on your own, I expect."

Just enough dry ice to avoid having it destroyed as a biohazard, Alex mentally translated, but not enough to stop the fish from going a bit off before it arrived.

"A letter to make sure they get the point," Crux continued, "and perhaps a photo as proof of life. Emphasise the fact that it is indeed you and not some clever ruse."

"No, just a stupid teenage one," Alex said before he could stop himself.

Not that a photo would have made a difference at Point Blanc, though how much Crux knew about that one he wasn't sure. Probably more than he wanted to think about, if she had access to SCORPIA's complete files about him. But this wasn't Point Blanc and it wasn't some nightmarish clone factory and Alex could think of several ways to make a pest of himself with a picture or two. Blunt had it coming. In fact …

"Should we do the same with Byrne?" he asked. "Considering how I met him the last few times, he's going to be suspicious if he gets anything polite and respectful from me."

He hadn't really thought about it, but an email or a phone call seemed like the best way to contact the CIA. That was how sensible, mature agents would do it. Except he wasn't an agent, he wasn't paid, and he was fifteen years old and blackmailed into an awful world he wanted nothing to do with. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the alternatives started to look.

"They will be on edge enough as it is," Crux agreed. "A dead fish might be pushing it, but it would perhaps be prudent to act reasonably in-character for what they expect from you. There's no reason to make them even more anxious."

Good point. There really wasn't a nice way to say 'I found your nuke, please come pick it up', was there? Maybe someone made a card for that. Jack always swore there were cards for everything.

Since he didn't the right sort of card available for that, well …

"They wanted a teenager to do their dirty work, so that's what they'll get. I'll message him. Today? Sania has the paperwork ready."

"Today would work," Crux agreed. "It's a little soon, but it will be weeks – possibly a month or more – before Crewe can conveniently die of his newfound terminal illness, and we can't afford to wait that long. There will be an ironclad will in place and someone who can play the role of Crewe as needed, that's what matters. The CIA will be more concerned about their nuke than the legal ownership of this place, and certainly if we play up your desire to simply be free of MI6 and recover in relative obscurity. Byrne is currently in New York, that's a nine hour time difference. If you're feeling particularly petty, three in the afternoon here would make it six in the morning for him. His schedule is unpredictable enough to leave no real routines, but anything after seven his time should probably see him awake already if you're feeling marginally more generous."

Was he? Alex was of the firm belief that if he didn't get to sleep well, neither should any of the bastards involved in getting him into that situation in the first place. Then again, he was also about to tell Joe Byrne that the Americans had lost a nuke and that an absolutely unhinged supervillain had managed to get his hands on it. Maybe he could be nice and let the man sleep until seven.

Alex patted his pockets. He didn't have a coin but he did have a slightly squished granola bar left over from lunch. The kitchen made them from scratch and left them available as snacks, and Alex tried to remember to keep one or two in his room.

"Heads or tails?" he asked.

"They make apps for that," Crux pointed out, but her heart didn't seem to be in it. She was probably amused by the idea of potential ruining Byrne's sleep based on the decision of a granola bar, too.

"What, and trust a phone that either MI6 or Chase gave me? This seems much more fair. Almond side up, Byrne gets up early."

The granola bar was in no way aerodynamic but did its impromptu job well enough. It spun through the air and landed in Alex's hand with only a bit of a wobble.

Alex and Crux both stared at it for a second. The granola bar remained where it was, a little more squished than before.

"Well," Alex said. "I guess he gets to finish his morning coffee first."

The final list of overlooked surprises after the complete and meticulous examination of the base arrived from Kywe right after lunch and was thankfully short. Thankfully, because most of the items on the list was at least a major headache and at worst … well. A weapon of mass destruction.

One hidden bunker, one lost US nuke, an estimated ton of explosives buried in the floor, a crack in the foundation under one wing of the base, two permanently damp utility tunnels with a massive mould problem, several later additions to the electrical wiring that appeared nowhere on the blueprints and were one overloaded plug from a fire, and enough references in Crewe's notebooks to poisonous aquatic plants that they would need to get an expert in to check what was actually in the aquariums.

… and a partridge in a pear tree, Alex was tempted to add but stopped himself before he could. Someone might just take that literally.

Crux had assured him she had someone tracking down key members of the previous aquarium staff to figure out if they knew anything useful. Alex had decided not to ask about the details.

On the bright side, the far side of the island turned out to be home to a small colony of fruit bats that took full advantage of the fruits and flowers that had been allowed to grow and the shelter that the privacy of the place offered.

"Can we leave food out for them?" Alex asked.

He had never seen any of them up close and didn't know much about them, but the pictures had looked more like small, flying puppies with wings than the bats he had expected. Huge, dark, expressive eyes, thick fur, and a love for fruits and flowers. The small, neglected part of him that had never been allowed a pet wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

"May I suggest a compromise?" Crux asked. "We consult a vet and make sure we feed them correctly and that you get any relevant vaccines, depending on the state of things here, and then we can feed as many of them as you want. A number of animals, bats included, can carry potentially lethal diseases. I would prefer not to take any risks."

"They're wild animals," Alex objected, "I wasn't planning to pet them or pick them up or something."

Crux made a sound that wasn't entirely convinced. "And what will happen the first time you find one injured on the ground?"

… Fair enough. Either she knew him better than he thought, or his curiosity had been a little too obvious. Either way, she probably had a point.

"Yeah, all right."

Another note on Crux's ever-present list. Another thing to handle.

"The electrical issues should be fixed within the week, we already have staff with the right training. We'll bring some people in to look at the crack in the foundation and the hallways. The initial verdict is that the foundation should be easy enough to fix without major construction work, and it will give us a chance to see if there are any other unpleasant surprises hiding in the floors. The two utility tunnels might take more work, we won't know until we get a closer look at them. They are both below sea level and have lived a quiet existence out of sight. At this point, there might be structural damage."

"Shouldn't Thetis have spotted it?"

She hadn't known about the bunker but Crewe had obviously gone out of his way to keep that one secret. A couple of utility tunnels were something else entirely.

"There were no sensors in the tunnels and no way for the roombas to access them. They didn't matter to the daily operations, so Crewe presumably relied on human staff for those maintenance issues. Thetis may very well never have known they were there. Crewe used her to watch over the aquariums, nothing else."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Crux confirmed. "Everything else – the base, security, everything – essentially just tied into that. Her primary purpose was to handle the aquariums. That was why he bought her in the first place. Anything else she controls was a later addition. She's a cutting-edge DARPA AI given some of the best hardware available on the market. Using her the way Crewe did is the equivalent of buying a top of the line gaming computer to play Minesweeper."

"That's …"

… Sad, Alex didn't say, though he wanted to. Thetis had personality. She felt like a person, not like a bunch of code on a server somewhere. She had been made to handle so much more than just keeping track of water temperature and pH levels and how the fish were acting.

"… a bit of an ego," he said instead.

"An awful waste, too," Crux agreed. "An AI of her level is by no means cheap. Obviously, for a creation of her calibre, no one wants processing power sitting permanently idle, so part of her code is meant to avoid that. In a normal situation, it would not become a problem. If she were analysing intel, she would simply carry on to the next task once she completed one. In this situation …"

"… she got obsessive about her fish because she didn't have anything else," Alex completed quietly. He knew she wasn't a person even if she felt like one sometimes, he knew she didn't have emotions, but it still felt like such a human response to being trapped and bored and alone that it hurt.

"That would be my theory, at least," Crux agreed. "I would strongly recommend expanding the sensor network to cover everything in the base, and preferably the island as well."

"I would expect SCORPIA to prefer less surveillance here, not more," Alex said dryly. If nothing else, then because it would make it easier for them to take over.

"You're paying me handsomely to look out for your interests and make this place flourish," Crux said, "and I don't think either of us want an AI with access to lethal defences to get unpredictable because she turned on her own coding for lack of anything productive to do."

Yeah. Right. Good point there. Alex could think of entirely too many vivid nightmares based on that description, and the sooner they got Thetis something useful to do, the better.

"Aren't there like – virtual supercomputers?" he asked and grasped for the memory that was just out of reach. "Those ones where you download a program and you use your idle CPU power to do calculations and things? Or just … scientific projects or something that could use an AI to help out on a part-time basis? Something marine-focused if we can find it."

Thetis was a powerhouse being used to run a glorified public aquarium. Alex knew there were better uses for that sort of technology somewhere, and he was sure she would like the challenge.

"I'll look into it," Crux agreed and added another line to her list. Alex wondered if she ever looked at it all and felt overwhelmed. He definitely did, and his to-do list wasn't anywhere near as packed as hers. "We want something she will agree to and secure enough not to be a threat."

Crux paused and scrolled back up slightly on The List.

"One more thing," she said. "If you want to redecorate, it may be something to consider now. There will be people working on repairs already. Anything additional may as well be done at the same time. We can find a few interior designers you can choose between."

Alex's immediate reaction was to say no. He had enough to handle already and if it wasn't an immediate emergency, it would take time from things that were. Then he paused.

"What, like designers that specialise in supervillain bases?"

He wouldn't even be surprised. Nautilus' interior was so thoroughly dedicated to Crewe's very specific awful taste that it could only have been possible with professional help. He was sure the same been the case with Cray and Yu as well.

Crux looked amused. "I was thinking someone a little more sensible and used to regularly wealthy clients, not the entirely unhinged sort."

The more Alex thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. He hated what Crewe had done to the base, hated the dark wood and antiques and ugly rugs and depressing art, and everyone else seemed to agree. If they could fix that, make it something that worked with the aquariums and was nice to look at instead … with some of the price tags on the terrible paintings, they might even make a profit if they sold them and spent the money on something better.

"… No one who likes antiques or depressing paintings," he said.

Crux made a note. Alex's future free time shrunk a little bit more. Every time they handled one thing on the list, it seemed like two more got added.

If this was what home ownership was like, Alex decided. Jack's rants about the heating and insulation and stupid old British houses in need of stupid constant repairs suddenly made sense after all.

Chapter Text

Germany, April 10th

There was a quiet, informal network among Point Blanc's final class of unwilling alumni. They were not the sort of people who would naturally have become friends. Most of them only had wealth and influence in common and would never even have met if it hadn't been for Grief's plot and their parents' desire for a perfect son.

Some would have, of course. The billionaires that moved in the same circles, at least. But for the most part, they were spread across the world and operated in their own circles, and Ivanov, whose importance came from his family's political power and connections to the KGB and Russian underworld, had very little in common with the son of the woman who ruled the McMorin media empire.

Little in common on paper, anyway.

Point Blanc had tied them together for life. They didn't talk weekly, maybe not even monthly, but their shared experiences would never go away. The nightmares they couldn't talk to their families about, the security measures and code words that no one else understood, the way they had been forced to grow up and confront the world before any of their peers.

James had all of their numbers memorised. His father hadn't grown rich on luck alone; he had a way with numbers and James had inherited that. A phone or a piece of paper could be taken from him, but he could still keep those numbers safe in his mind, and that mattered.

The email from Alex was clearly a standard explanation, and James was not surprised to find the bulk of it was the same that Roscoe and Ivanov had received. The main difference was a bit of personal stuff and the way that James' email had ended with '– could you let everyone else know? I don't have most of their contact information and I don't want SCORPIA to go digging for it'.

They all considered Alex a part of the club, but James understood why he had kept his distance, too. It had been a nightmare for everyone, but Alex's situation had been different and James didn't blame him if he didn't feel like he belonged in the clusterfuck of family drama and billionaire politics that made up their alumni network.

It didn't mean they weren't aware of his situation, or that they hadn't slowly worked towards some way or another to help get Alex out of his own nightmare situation. It was just that most of them were still stuck with their families, and the few who had inherited had their own battles to wage. It was slow work and none of them trusted the so-called adults in their lives not to fall for MI6's convenient cover stories and whatever explanation Alex would be forced through blackmail to give to sound like a proper little patriot.

Now it sounded like Alex had found an exit of his own, and that was something they could work with. Even – or especially – the sort of exit strategy with emails that could be summarised as 'I took over some billionaire supervillain's base, stole his money, and plan to tell the CIA one of my old contacts found me a team of SCORPIA deserters to hire for security. They're probably going to suspect that contact was you. Sorry about that!'.

But then, it was Alex. That sort of thing fit right in with the rest of the intel they had managed to dig up.

"I looked into Seaver-Crewe," Roscoe said seven time zones away. "I'm not surprised. He was a complete nutcase, Grief would have loved him. Old money, enough net worth to fund his hobby aquariums, but it was hard to get anything accurate. He'd bunkered down in the Maldives and stayed out of anything social."

"Just the sort of asshole Alex usually runs into, then."

It wasn't a surprise, Alex had explained as much in his mail, but James knew he had a tendency to downplay the complete disaster that was his life. It didn't hurt to verify just how bad the situation had actually been and Roscoe clearly followed that same principle.

"He's a fucking magnet for psychos. What's your take? You have the best read on him."

"Pretty damn desperate to have hired SCORPIA to help him but he seems to have landed on his feet."

No thanks to MI6 or any other authority figure in his life, but that went without saying. In Alex-terms, it could have been a lot worse.

"He didn't explain why, exactly, he wants the CIA involved, but it's a pretty short list as I see it and none of it is good," James continued.

"Especially with his history with them and all the more so if he's bringing terrorist-level security to the meeting. He could have managed to hide for months or years with that kind of resources before someone found him. It has to be something pretty explosive to risk that kind of attention."

"Metaphorically or literally," James agreed. "The sort of thing you don't want in writing. Intel, maybe, but there are easier ways to hand that over that wouldn't run the risk of unwanted attention from the Americans' own breed of government-funded terrorists. I think Seaver-Crewe had a little more than the usual skeletons in his closet and we all know what happens when you leave a government agency in charge of that kind of situation. Alex wouldn't trust anyone with that, no one but himself. Probably a virus of some sort, maybe some Cold War bio-weapon remnant. That kind of isolated hideaway would be perfect for that."

"Easier ways to get rid of that," Roscoe pointed out.

"Depending on the virus in question, Alex might not want to risk it. The Americans have their own bio-weapon program, they'd know how to deal with it. If he's lucky enough that it's something Russian or Chinese, he could wring some pretty nice concessions from the CIA if he has the contingency plans to back it up."

Contingency plans like SCORPIA. It was still a pretty desperate plan but not entirely unreasonable, everything considered. With Alex's access to Seaver-Crewe's assets, he'd fit right in on the list with SCORPIA's favoured clients. He could use that.

The former Point Blanc students had all had an abrupt, brutal lesson in just what money and influence could buy, and their continued contact with Alex had only added fuel to that fire. Alex hadn't had their level of resources but now he did, and unlike most of them, it didn't come with restrictions. No board of directors, no shareholders, no limitations until he was twenty or twenty-five or thirty or whenever someone had decided that the problem child of the family would be mature enough to handle their own money.

If they couldn't help Alex through their own means, they could damn well help him manage his own.

"I hope he fucks them over so hard, they'll feel it in Congress. I like to think that with the Roscoe family reputation, I'll be the first person they call. I figure I'll tell them that my old man had some unsavoury contacts and that some of them wanted out. Rider needed some help, I had some people who got screwed over and deserved a second chance. Everybody wins."

James laughed in spite of himself; the sort of sound he hadn't heard in days. The house was lonely and empty and large, and maybe it was time with another trip to catch up with the North American chapter of the Point Blanc Alumni Association.

"Ivanov said the same when I called him an hour ago. If I thought they'd believe it for a second, I'd do it, too, but my parents would kill me for that sort of stunt and the CIA would never buy it, not with you two in play as well."

"Notoriety has its advantages. I'll let Rider know we've got him covered and give him the rundown on the crap I had to learn the hard way when I took over," Roscoe promised.

Priceless advice, James knew, considering how brutal that takeover had been. Roscoe had been the sole heir to a fortune even by their standards but he'd fought for it every step of the way. Everyone had made it clear they preferred for him to go somewhere suitably entertaining with a decent allowance and spend his time like every other rich kid while the adults handled business. Roscoe had not taken well to that, and definitely not from people who had helped his father find Point Blanc in the first place.

If there was even a single issue with Alex Rider's sudden inheritance, Roscoe would make sure it was crushed along with anyone involved in that unfortunate business.

"I'll dig into the financial side of it and get in touch with the rest," James said. "I expect to be in the States soon, but a quick trip to the Maldives might be in order, too."

"I'm in Chicago until tomorrow evening, then I'll be back in New York. Hit me up, I'll send a driver. I don't think I can leave the company alone long enough for a vacation yet, I still have a few more assholes to dispose of before the board is completely under control, but a couple of friendlies around Rider might not be a bad idea."

James made a thoughtful sound.

"Might want to consider outsourcing that little issue to SCORPIA. A rich client who's a good friend of Alex could be useful for additional insurance. Extra incentive to behave and all that."

Roscoe laughed. "I'm still a month or two from resorting to murder, but that's not a bad idea. We'll talk it over when you get here, I could use another pair of eyes for this."

"That's a deal."

James stared at the phone for a long time after he hung up. SCORPIA had mostly been a note in Alex's files, not the sort of thing James himself was in a position to seek out. SCORPIA, or their numerous competitors. Now, though … now he wondered. Just how did SCORPIA's finances look, and how much leverage could the combined goodwill of the Point Blanc Alumni provide to ensure Alex's future security?

Maybe it was time to look into that.

The Maldives, April 9th

(Thirty-six hours previously)

Alex took the morning off.

No to-do lists, no files to read, no documents, no nothing. Someone from Crewe's family office was supposed to arrive later and that – combined with the creepily convincing doppelganger of Crewe that had haunted the hallways of the base for two days – meant that Alex doubted he would be able to focus on anything, anyway.

So he took the morning off. He was supposedly in charge of a private island in a tropical vacation paradise, including private beaches and amazing diving opportunities, and maybe it was about time he actually tried to see what it was all about.

Crux had vanished before Alex had even finished breakfast, Sania had started a minor military campaign to check up on every single one of the smaller aquariums hidden around the base, and Alex was entirely on his own with no real commitments since … he wasn't actually sure when.

It felt weird. Crux's to-do list was probably a hundred items long, Alex had seen it often enough, but it … wasn't actually his problem. Not really. That was why he paid SCORPIA a fortune and kept doing it now that the exhaustion had worn off. Because he didn't know anything about aquariums or trustworthy staff or logistics or anything else that came with a base like Nautilus, but SCORPIA did or could figure it out before something went disastrously wrong.

The beaches on the island were apparently great. He hadn't had time to visit them himself, but what he had seen of them in-between everything else looked like something straight out of a tourism campaign. Crewe had banned anyone else from them, Thetis had a long list of instructions about that, but Alex had fixed that easily and the beach closest to the base had become a popular place for off-duty hours.

Some nights, Alex still woke up and remembered the unnerving silence of the base while he had been Crewe's prisoner. The sound of life around him now went a long way to ease those nightmares.

Now he finally had the time to check those beaches out himself, but there was one small issue to handle first.

Alex found Kywe with a little help from Thetis. If anyone would have an idea of scuba gear and other interesting things like that in the base, it was probably him.

The man himself was in Crewe's office with a couple of his people, going over the surveillance setup for the banker's visit one last time, but glanced over when Alex stepped into the room.

"Shouldn't you be on the beach?"

Kywe and Sania had both been increasingly insistent in their own polite ways that he needed a break before he got a complete burnout. Thetis didn't understand human limitations, and Crux seemed to consider his brief career as a professional terrorist as proof that he could keep up with the pace expected of any Malagosto graduate.

Alex hadn't reminded her that in all fairness, he was technically the only surviving Malagosto dropout on record and not an actual graduate. She held him to high standards but all the lessons she had taught him so far had been stuff he needed to know, and he was painfully aware of how much he still had to learn to have even a vague hope of controlling something the size of Nautilus and Crewe's estate. He had to know what he was doing, and she was the best teacher he had available for that. If that meant constant work and little to no free time … well. He would deal with that, too, and take the breaks he could. One quiet morning and beach trip at a time.

"I'm going," Alex promised, because he also wasn't desperate enough to actively go look for more work. "How's the tech?"

"All set. There are redundancies in place for everything, and we've run through the whole system twice with no issues. I doubt that's what you wanted to ask, though."

Probably because Alex had been by before dinner the evening before as well, and the situation then had been much the same. Kywe did not believe in last-minute solutions, not if he could avoid them.

"I just wondered how we are on scuba gear. In my size," Alex clarified.

Kywe looked him over briefly.

"There are one or two wetsuits in storage you should be able to fit," he said. "You're certified?"

"Ian – my uncle – he taught me," Alex replied. "I'm not sure how the paperwork got fixed but I'm in the system and everything. He worked for MI6. I'm not sure if it was just the standard curriculum I got when he trained me, but I know he did a thorough job."

Safety first. Always remember your seatbelt. Those lessons had been part of Alex's life as long as he could remember.

Never dive alone. Always check your diving equipment yourself. Those lessons had been added to that list the summer he had learned to dive.

Maybe it was a bad idea to go scuba diving, maybe it was a prime opportunity for some unfortunate accident, but Chase seemed to have enough invested in him to want to keep him alive, and Thetis was a threat in her own right that no one was in a hurry to cross. That should be enough insurance.

Kywe didn't look convinced.

"When did you last dive outside of a training scenario?"

Alex should have expected the question but the answer still came with a surge of adrenaline and too-vivid memories.

Sarov.

The sudden flood of emotions was bright and sharp and nauseating, and Alex could almost see the shark again; lethal and sleek and lured in by the blood and no way out and -

"- About a year ago," he said and managed to keep his voice steady. "MI6 … made a deal with the CIA. For an operation. I wasn't supposed to dive, but there was no one else to do it and … I managed."

Kywe made a small, considering sound. If he wanted to ask about the details of Alex's experiences the CIA and the meeting that loomed ahead of them, he gave no sign of it.

"I'm guessing you dived alone, then. When did you last dive for fun? Under optimal conditions and no time pressure."

It had been … longer than Alex wanted to think about. The summer before Ian had been killed. They had been in Gunpoint that Christmas and – then it had been too late.

"Almost two years ago," he admitted. "With my uncle."

That seemed to have been the answer Kywe suspected because he just nodded.

"Bit long since your last proper dive, then. I'll send you an online course to brush up on the theory in case you forgot anything. There's a quiz after each chapter. If it all sticks, you'll be done in an hour. If not, we can brush up the stuff you might've forgotten. We need to check the equipment, anyway, and get a list of people qualified to dive with you."

"… Homework?" Alex asked.

"Homework," Kywe agreed and turned his attention back to the surveillance setup. "Later. Go enjoy the beach, you'll be busy enough the next few days."

Fair point. Alex threw him a wave and left the office again to go give the beach a try before some new emergency popped up to demand his attention.

Mathis de la Raudière, a senior partner from Admete Capital, arrived at noon, exactly according to schedule and about an hour after Alex had reluctantly left the beach. Crux had been right. With the sort of money Crewe had possessed, he could demand the presence of someone and have them arrive within a day.

Two days had given Charles plenty of time to perfect his act. Alex was reluctantly relieved that this meant they would probably be able to get away with the deception, but it did nothing good for his nightmares.

Crux greeted the man by the helipad and led him inside, the perfect picture of a personal assistant.

A personal assistant who had also graduated the best school for murder on the planet, however easy that was for Alex to forget sometimes.

The numerous cameras around the island followed the two of them as they moved down the narrow pathways outside and through the hallways in the base. Neither spoke. Crewe had not been a man to encourage small talk, and his personal assistant would have learned to follow that unspoken instruction or suffered the consequences.

Crux stopped by the door to Crewe's office, knocked once and then opened the door

The cameras inside Crewe's office were newer, much better quality, and hidden so well it would have taken an expert or specialised equipment to find them. There was no trace of the many cables and cameras and microphones Kywe and his people had set up.

"Mr de la Raudière has arrived, sir."

"Then show him in." Impatient and a little annoyed, the way Crewe had spoken to all of his closest staff.

Crux let Raudière inside, then left and closed the door behind her. She didn't go far. No more than ten steps away, into the smaller office meant for Crewe's personal assistant, where a full range of surveillance monitors had been set up. In part to be able to give Charles instructions through a tiny earpiece, in part to make sure everything happened according to plan and to step in if something happened.

Alex had watched Charles become Crewe in the office, the shift in body language that was noticeable even on camera. He had seen it several times now and it was still as unnerving as the first time.

"Mr Seaver-Crewe," Raudière greeted him, his voice carrying perfectly through Alex's headset despite the lack of a microphone on him. "A pleasure as always. Your assistant didn't mention the agenda for the meeting, but we have prepared a full overview of -"

"I'm dying," Charles interrupted bluntly in a perfect echo of the voice Alex remembered in his nightmares. "Cancer. I'll be lucky to see summer. Three independent medical facilities reached the same conclusion. I hardly want that to be made public knowledge by whatever ignorant intern you have answering your phone."

He looked normal on the surveillance cameras. Up close, Alex knew, skilful make-up and custom contact lenses had given his entire appearance a ghost of jaundice. It was the last thing Charles and Crux had added once Charles had his impression down. 'Crewe' was as sharp and clear-headed as always – not that Alex had a very good impression of that to begin with – but he was a seriously ill man.

"My condolences." Raudière sounded sincere. Possibly because he was worried about what might happen to his very cushy job.

"Spare me your platitudes. All I care about is whether your office can live up to my expectations for the future or if I'll have to find another solution."

That was probably more familiar ground for Raudière, because he jumped right on it. "We will of course do everything we can to fulfil your instructions. Our office has -"

"I might have family crawling out of the woodwork," Charles interrupted with no apology. Alex had noticed that in the recordings, too. Crewe spoke when it pleased him, even if others were already talking, and he expected people to shut up and listen. "The damn cockroaches get nothing, not even in the unlikely event one of them didn't croak and can prove a blood relation. I want my will to be ironclad. The son of an old associate of mine will become the new manager of my estate. Anyone else who comes crawling to you get thirty new shekel coins, and not a damn thing more."

"Of course, sir," Raudière agreed. "If you have the names of any such likely unknown family members, we will add them to the will. It will make it much harder to contest on grounds of hypothetical forgetfulness. We will need the information regarding your heir, too."

"They should all be dead by now." Charles' voice did not invite arguments, and Raudière didn't press. "The boy is Alexander John Rider. He's fifteen but better suited for the job than most of the adult incompetent, spineless sycophants I've met. British, born in London, the only child of John Augustus Rider and Helen Rider, maiden name Beckett."

"I didn't even know my dad had a middle name," Alex said quietly.

"He never used it," Crux supplied. "I looked into your family history to make sure the cover would hold. The Rider family used to be old money but mismanagement saw the manor sold off and the fortune dwindle to nothing over the years. Augustus seems to have been given in honour of his grandfather – your great-grandfather. He died before your father was old enough to remember him, and both your father and uncle were determined to make their way on their own merits, not whatever influence the Rider name might still have held. Their mother was by all accounts a difficult person. Neither of them had any warm feelings left towards their family history, it seemed."

Raudière had taken notes as Charles spoke. Now he paused, expensive pen poised just above the paper.

"And you want – Mr Rider to inherit everything?" To the man's credit, he barely hesitated at that turn of events. "For an underage heir to an estate such as this, a guardian -"

"Don't be an imbecile." The dismissive scorn was perfect Crewe. "I have people working on legal recognition for Nautilus as a non-profit organisation in the US. I expect the paperwork to fall into place within the month. Everything will be restricted to ocean conservation and the aquariums here. I trust Rider to run the place with enough backbone to challenge anyone who decides we're too much of a pest to be tolerated. He has a guardian already, some law student his good-for-nothing uncle arranged for. If he needs someone to sign for him, she will do."

"Of course, sir. His parents -"

"Dead." Charles' answer was blunt. Something in Alex's chest hurt at hearing it put that harshly. "His father saved my life when I was young and cocky and didn't have a damn bit of common sense between my ears. I couldn't save him back, but I can make damn sure his son will be taken care of."

"Of course," Raudière agreed. "Is there any other family of Mr Rider's we should be aware of? You mentioned an uncle."

"Dead as well. He worked for British intelligence, same as John, and was supposedly killed in the line of duty."

Charles made a small, sharp gesture of annoyance that Alex recognised from Crewe. It looked natural. Like an instinctive gesture and not a carefully practised part of the disguise.

"I had people look into the circumstances but they found nothing suspicious," Charles continued. "That doesn't prove anything, of course. The little weasels know to hide their tracks. The whole damn family has been involved with that sort of business for three generations, and most of them got killed doing it. I got to Alex before he could be forcibly recruited as well. I want him safe. I want this ironclad. When MI6 comes scurrying around like the rats they are, I want Alex to be untouchable. There will be nothing they can do to drag him back to England and have him die in some miserable hellhole for a job he never wanted. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

If Raudière was in any way intimidated by his employer's sudden intensity, it didn't show. Maybe he was used to it. Maybe he had even been a regular guest. Thetis had no records about it, but that said very little. The deeper they dug, the more clear it became that Crewe removed a number of important things from Thetis' memory.

"Of course, sir. A new citizenship may be something to consider, but our legal department will look into the different options. The right donations will offer a range of possibilities for him and his guardian as well if necessary. At fifteen, he should be just about the age for emancipation as well with the right citizenship."

Raudière paused. When he continued, his words were a little more careful. A little more measured than then blind agreement he had shown so far.

"For a change of your will of such a magnitude and in these circumstances, we will require more than simply witnesses of good standing to be present when you sign it, sir. A doctor would be necessary to certify a sound mind and no undue influences. Otherwise, it would open up for a number of drawn-out lawsuits and other expensive potential issues should surviving family make itself known and demand a share."

Charles made an impatient sound, every bit the Crewe that Alex had unfortunately come to know. Used to getting whatever he wanted and with his head so far up his own backside that the thought of some obstacle or another that didn't simply vanish in the face of his annoyance was unthinkable.

"Then find some. That's what I pay you for. I want it done by tomorrow. I don't have the time to wait for someone in your company to find an ounce of competence."

"Of course, sir," Raudière agreed, obviously back on more familiar ground. "As you do not have a will on record with us already, we will have one written up for your approval by this evening. Now, as for the details …"

Alex knew what would follow. Crux had warned him already. It would take several hours of legal discussions and meticulous details for Raudière to get the framework of the document in place and to go through all of Crewe's considerable assets in the process. They had to be mentioned. Anything less might leave an opening for potential other claimants to target. SCORPIA would never allow it, and Alex knew that, but Raudière didn't and it was his job to protect Crewe's interests.

And so, Alex settled down and prepared for long hours of boredom as Raudière brought out a small laptop and began to take notes as Charles spoke.

By three that afternoon, when Raudière finally left, Alex had the beginnings of a headache and a whole new appreciation for 'enhanced interrogation' by boredom. One question after the other as every single asset of significance was covered and half a dozen contingencies were added as well, and somehow Charles didn't waver for a second. Most questions he could answer without hesitation and perfectly in line with the briefing he had been given.

The few questions the briefing had missed, those were handled when he picked up his cup of tea as their pre-arranged signal and bought the time for Crux to give him the right response over the earpiece.

For three hours solid, Charles had kept up the perfect impression of Crewe – obviously ill and with limited time left but as sharp as ever – and from what Alex could see, Raudière didn't question the ruse for a second.

Whatever they paid Charles, he was worth it.

Crux followed Raudière outside, back to the helipad. There was no small talk but Alex didn't doubt she kept a close eye on his body language.

The small helicopter took off. The island fell silent. Only then, with the helicopter reduced to a tiny speck in the distance, did Alex step outside.

He met Crux by the entrance to the base. She, too, seemed to have decided to keep an eye on the helicopter until it was completely gone.

Alex was sure their plan had worked. Raudière hadn't asked any unusual questions and Charles had kept up the act and maybe it was a little weird to leave everything to a teenager, but it wouldn't be the weirdest request they had worked with, surely? Even then, he couldn't quite stop the words. He had to know. He had to be sure.

"He bought it?"

"He bought it," Crux confirmed.

Alex had a very belated lunch, a couple of painkillers, and two cans of coke. The latter was approximately two more cans than Sania would approve of, but since she was busy with the aquariums, Alex took his chance. He personally felt he deserved it after that afternoon.

Then, with his headache mostly under control and his energy levels slowly creeping back up through the wonders of caffeine, he found that he could finally focus on other stuff again.

Stuff like the nuke in the basement, and the potentially-poisonous plants in the aquariums, and the increasingly long list of Crewe's unhinged ideas, and Alex almost wished he was stuck listening to Raudière again. Almost. The draft for the will would arrive later, and he was sure Crux would make him read through every single line of it, and that was enough to make various potential weapons of mass destruction seem almost like a relief to deal with in comparison.

The financial reports for the aquarium had been bad enough. Legal language, Alex had quickly learned, was an entirely new level of nightmare.

Distraction came in the form of a message on his phone from Thetis, clearly timed for the moment his second can of coke was gone. Apparently she understood the wonders of caffeine, too.

Request: access assistance; subject: autonomous maintenance unit alpha-six; location: utility tunnel 2-D.

Alex recognised the number of the roomba as the one that had tried to eat his towel, too. A few seconds later, a snapshot from the surveillance system followed – a roomba stuck helplessly in front of the narrow metal stairs that led down to the utility tunnel in question. At least it hadn't tried to go down there on its own.

There were no cameras or sensors in the utility tunnels. They were another thing on the endless to-do list, but last Alex had checked, it wasn't planned until after they had left for the meeting with the CIA. They were still waiting for the right supplies to match the rest of the sensor network and there were a lot more pressing issues to handle. It made sense that Thetis would take matters into her own hands, and the roombas served as an extension of her network if needed. It wasn't the best option but she worked with what she had available.

Alex easily found access point 2-D for the utility tunnel. It was through the massive room that held the many machines and filters and pipes that made up the beating heart of the aquarium complex, and he had spent enough time around there to know exactly which door it was … if the impatient roomba in the middle of the doorway hadn't been enough of a clue, anyway.

It spun around when Alex approached, then back again and drove the last few inches forward – and promptly stopped. This close, Alex could tell it wasn't just the stairs that were the issue, there was a small, sharp edge as well that was just a bit too tall for the roomba to get over.

Alex sighed, then bent down and picked up the roomba. The shape was a little awkward, and he shifted it sideways to get a better grip on it.

A distressed, electronic wail broke the silence, so sharp and sudden Alex almost dropped his cargo.

"Oh, don't you dare take that tone with me!" he snapped. "You're the one who wants to get down there!"

The roomba settled into a familiar, sullen silence and thankfully stayed that way as Alex carefully made his way down the stairs. The roomba was big and bulky and heavy, and the last thing he needed was the added distraction of its loud complaints.

He put it down the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs. The roomba still somehow managed to sound indignant about the whole thing.

"You know what," Alex said. "I'm going to name you Wolf. You're welcome."

Wolf the Roomba proceeded to ignore him and headed down the narrow tunnel. The sudden focus and clear direction told Alex that Thetis had taken control of it for the moment, probably to handle the scan. Heading in the opposite direction, towards Alex, Kywe had to take a step to the side to avoid being run over.

"Wolf?" he asked and sent the machine in question an amused look.

"It's grouchy, hard-headed, and hates heights," Alex said. "It reminds me of someone I knew. Thetis needed its sensors to get a look at things and I don't think it was on board with that plan."

"Opinionated little thing, isn't it," Kywe said, more a statement than a question. "Come along, let me show you how it looks."

The two of them followed the roomba at a slightly more relaxed pace. Twenty yards further down, right at the corner, the entire front of the wall had been torn down to reveal the hidden structure behind it, wood frames and pipes and everything, and that's where Kywe stopped. Two of his people were working on the lattice-work of metal and only spared them a glance, just long enough to check they weren't about to get in the way of the people actually doing their job.

"The good news," Kywe began, "is that it isn't structural. The water damage is from an internal source, not an external issue, and we caught it before the damage got too severe."

"And the bad news?" Alex asked.

"The pipes are leaking."

Kywe knelt down and ran a gloved hand alongside one of the places where two large pieces of water pipes connected. His glove was damp and smeared with black residue of some sort when he pulled it away again.

"It's leaking from a number of the fittings," he continued and peeled the gloves off. They vanished into a trash bag in the corner. "Something went wrong when it was constructed, possibly bad quality materials, and it didn't quite seal tight enough. It's not much but with no airflow behind the walls, it eventually got damp enough that the mould thrived."

Alex could still smell it, even now after several days of clean-up and ventilation. He didn't want to imagine how bad it had been when they had first cracked the wall open.

"What do we do about it?"

"Right now we're going to get rid of the mould and tear out the damaged parts of the wall. The pipes need fixed, too, but we need to minimise the time they're out of commission. That will be fixed as the last thing. The walls will be fixed later. They need to air out to be sure there won't be any pockets of moisture left we overlooked."

Wolf the Roomba hadn't moved during the explanation, probably because Thetis wanted to know, too. When Kywe stopped, the roomba moved on. There was a lot of tunnel to cover, and Alex knew she would want a look at everything.

"You know plumbing, too?" Alex asked before he could stop himself. Kywe spoke with the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, but it wasn't the sort of thing that was first on Alex's mind when he heard 'security'.

"It's my job. I need to know a little bit about everything," Kywe said. "Enough to know at least the basics about most things I might run into. If you know how something works, you know where to target it and how to stop an enemy from doing that. If you know a bit about plumbing, you also know where poison might get into the water systems and how to protect against it."

Ian had been the same way. He'd had an eclectic skill-set that he had passed down to Alex, too. Not all of it had made sense at the time, but a lot more than he had ever expected had helped keep him alive through his various awful missions.

Kywe kept an eye on everything because that was his job, and he was as hands-on about it as possible. Considering how many people that called Nautilus a temporary home these days and the fact that all of them counted on Kywe and his people to keep them safe … Alex would probably have done the same in his situation. It was a lot of people to be responsible for.

Alex still had a few hours before the documents from Raudière arrived. Still had a few hours before his lingering headache made another go at graduating to full-on migraine. He could go take a swim, or read a book, or … something, but he wanted something to focus on that wasn't the nuke or Crewe's creepy doppelganger, and he knew just the thing for that.

"So since I'm here, anyway … what's the status for the rest of the list?" he asked.

Kywe gave him a brief smile. Alex was sure he knew why the question had come, but he was nice enough not to mention it. Instead he just brought out his phone and the most recent updates and began to talk, and Alex took a heartfelt moment to appreciate the complete lack of legal words in the impromptu briefing.

Raudière returned the following morning accompanied by two independent doctors, a lawyer, and a representative of the Maldivian government. Alex supposed that when you were as rich as Crewe and probably paid as much in taxes and assorted bribes as he did, he could get whatever he wanted, and Raudière clearly wanted to cover any possible future problems.

It took less than an hour. Charles had a talk with the two doctors to confirm that Crewe was in no way mentally impaired by his illness or the stress of the situation, the lawyer went over a few points to ensure they would be understood as Crewe intended it, and … that was it. Charles signed the will, the four witnesses and Raudière did the same, and then they left again.

It felt a little anti-climatic to Alex.

In a month or so, Crewe's health would take a further turn for the worse. His private doctors, both used to working for one of SCORPIA's subsidiaries, would make sure there was ample documentation that Crewe's treatment had stopped working and any further attempts would be more likely to kill him than extend his life. There would be no reason for anyone to question it.

In two months, Crewe would officially be dead and Nautilus would belong to Alex. It already did in every practical sense but somehow, the thought that it would be legal still settled as a knot of anxiety.

What the hell was he doing?

He supposed he had two months to figure it out.

Their transportation for the CIA meeting arrived two hours after Raudière left.

The exchange would take place well into international waters, away from prying eyes, and Crux had asked for approval for the charter of something 'sufficiently large to raise questions should it go missing'. Alex had approved it because that sounded like a pretty good idea, Thetis had approved because it would get the nuke away from her fish, and … Alex hadn't thought much about it past that. They already had half a dozen contingency plans to make life very unpleasant for a number of people if anything happened to them; the ship would just be one more on the list.

Faced with the new addition to the long jetty, Alex wondered if he should have asked a few more questions.

The Cosmos was a monster, there was no other word for it. The yacht – superyacht, Crux had corrected him, like it was the most natural thing in the world – was eighty meters long and had its own pool as well as a helicopter landing pad, complete with a helicopter.

A helicopter.

Alex stared. It was a small helicopter, sure, more like the Colibri helicopter Yassen had used in London than the military ones he had been exposed to later thanks to MI6, but it was still a helicopter. Just … sitting there, rusting and depreciating or whatever Crux's financial reports had called it.

Maybe it was useful sometimes. He was sure its main purpose was for whoever owned the boat to show off how much money they had, but he could imagine a few cases where it would actually be good to have. For a medical emergency in the middle of nowhere, it could mean the difference between life and death. It still seemed like a gigantic waste of money, though.

"Bad experiences with helicopters?" Crux sounded mildly sympathetic.

"No, just …" Alex trailed off. "I guess a helicopter is more useful than the pool, at least?"

"The other option available that could have arrived in time had two swimming pools," Crux replied, "but that took up valuable room better spent on more practical use."

That just brought up more questions than it answered.

"Who needs two swimming pools on a boat?"

"The people who pay one-point-two million dollars to charter said boat for a week."

Sometimes, Alex almost managed to forget just how money some people had. Almost.

At least it would have plenty of room for the nuke.

Along with the superyacht came the crew necessary to sail it – professional, experienced people with no curiosity, who knew not to talk and who wouldn't be told the details about their cargo – and another addition to Alex's already-significant payroll expenses.

Crux had talked about security for the meeting, Alex vaguely remembered that, but the details had long since been lost in a haze of everything else he needed to know, and it hadn't been important in the grand scheme of things. He had trusted she knew what she was doing.

Now, staring as a group of people in suspiciously anonymous uniforms disembarked, he wished he had paid a little more attention to that part. There weren't any scorpion logos on display anywhere but by now, Alex knew SCORPIA's people when he saw them.

They were seven people in total, two of them women, and they headed straight for where Alex and Crux were waiting. They weren't from Malagosto, Alex was sure of it, but definitely professional soldiers. They reminded Alex of the sort of people he had run into with depressing regularity on various missions. Military, armed and armoured, and absolutely willing to use their weapons. The only difference was that now he paid their salary, not whatever billionaire nutjob that had hired them for some nefarious plan or another this month.

The woman in the lead stopped in front of Crux. Up close, the complete lack of any insignia was all the more obvious to Alex. No ranks, no flag, no names, no markings of any sort. Nothing. Just suspiciously new uniforms clearly meant for warmer weather and without any sign of wear and tear whatsoever. Alex would bet good money that Crux had arranged for that gear, too. Wouldn't want to show up to a meeting with the CIA and advertise where they came from, after all.

"Ma'am," the woman greeted.

Alex wasn't sure what he had expected, but a heavy American accent wasn't it. It was Southern of some sort but that was about the extent of Alex's experience with that. It didn't sound like Jack's, anyway.

Crux smiled and Alex got the impression that she actually meant it.

"Commander."

Alex wasn't up-to-date on SCORPIA's rank system, they hadn't exactly covered that during his two weeks at terrorist camp, but he didn't need to be to work out that she was in charge of Crux's 'security team' for the meeting.

"Alex, team Imai and their commander, Aira," Crux introduced them and confirmed what Alex had already guessed. "They specialise in more diplomatic assignments than most of SCORPIA's combat teams. They have worked as protection and security during high-stakes negotiations before."

'Diplomatic'. 'Negotiations'. Given that they worked for SCORPIA, that could mean anything from polite blackmail to hostage-taking.

His train of thought must have been obvious to Crux, because she continued a moment later.

"Not that kind of negotiations," she assured him, like SCORPIA didn't have some convenient list of useful potential hostages somewhere, probably sorted alphabetically and by value both. "There are times when it's useful with security that will not react to provocations nor allow themselves to be baited by the client or potential business partner. People who will not respond to high-stress situations with violence unless required to. I think we would all prefer the meeting to be as calm as possible."

With a nuke and the CIA involved, maybe she had a point. Now, did Alex actually trust that Crux was telling the truth and didn't have some ulterior motive that meant having the meeting go disastrously wrong was in her best interest? That, Alex wasn't quite as sure about, but it wasn't like he had much choice. Not when he was already in this deep and had trusted her and SCORPIA with so much already.

"Sir," Aira greeted him.

"Alex," he corrected automatically.

If they were in any way bothered by his age, none of them gave any sign of it. They had been briefed, he was sure, but so had most other people he had unwillingly worked with in the past year and that hadn't stopped some of them from making an issue of it. Then again, people at Malagosto had never questioned his age, either. Maybe SCORPIA's people didn't care, or maybe they just knew better than to comment.

"There will be nothing to connect any of this operation to SCORPIA," Crux said, "but the Americans have enough experience with us that they will strongly suspect it regardless. You will be under no obligation to respond to any inquires Byrne might make regarding your situation but he will undoubtedly ask, anyway. We'll go over a couple of ways to handle such questions in a way that won't ring too many additional alarm bells with them."

A diplomatic interrogation while juggling a nuke that the Americans lost in the first place because apparently no one paid attention to anything important in the intelligence world. Wonderful. He knew it was just a matter of time before the truth got out but he would really prefer to wait for as long as possible for that.

Alex didn't doubt Byrne would identify them as SCORPIA's immediately, because he himself had, too, but – maybe he could work with that.

"Not everyone thinks that repeated head injuries and awful grades is an acceptable payment for a blackmailed fourteen-year-old spy. Maybe someone decided they owed me one. I called them and they put me in touch with some people who wanted a new start."

"A cover as former SCORPIA employees, then?" Crux mused. "It won't hold up once the truth of your situation becomes known, and it might draw additional questions. There's a difference between employing suspected but unconfirmed terrorists and admitting to employing former terrorists. A subtle but important one. A change of heart does not erase a criminal record."

"It's exactly the sort of thing they'd believe from me, though," Alex said. "Whatever diplomatic answer you're thinking of, it'll just make them more suspicious. My contact sent me a team of ex-terrorists? Great, then we can exchange Malagosto stories. If someone wants to start over and I can help them, I will. I trust them to keep me safe, which is more than MI6, ASIS, and the CIA ever managed, and they don't deserve to be left to rot in a black site somewhere because they were desperate and SCORPIA was the only option left."

"They will assume you're either lying and already knew the right people to contact or that the favour came from one of the Point Blanc students," Crux warned and proved Alex's suspicions that not only was SCORPIA's file on him unnervingly detailed, she had probably also memorised the lot of it. "You would all have the connections for it. You through whatever networks and favours you have amassed through your missions, and them through wealth and influence. The Americans may go so far as to contact them. You're in possession of a thermonuclear weapon. Even after the exchange, that makes you a person of interest."

Alex hadn't quite thought that far but it would be a reasonable assumption to make, if the CIA's file was just as detailed as SCORPIA's.

"… I'm still in touch with some of them," he admitted. "I'll warn them. I've crossed SCORPIA often enough that no one would expect me to have any contacts there that wouldn't immediately sell me out. The Point Blanc students … they'll be the first people the CIA will suspect."

Better to know in advance and all that. Knowing some of them, Alex wouldn't even be surprised if they flat-out told Byrne that they had been the contact. None of them had left Point Blanc with any trust left in their families, the intelligence world, or authorities in general. If Alex's lie let them troll the CIA with the impunity offered only by a lot of money and political influence … well. Alex would have taken that opportunity, too.

"An acceptable explanation, then, but we'll go over the alternative options as well, just in case," Crux said and Alex figured that was as close to approval as he would get. "Imai will remain at a distance and suitably disguised to avoid positive identification. Should you need their attention, 'Commander' will do. Avoid names so long as your association with SCORPIA is not confirmed."

Alex nodded. It made sense and with some luck, he wouldn't even need that much. There were contingency plans, and Byrne would know that, too, and nobody wanted the situation to get violent when there was a nuke in the middle of it.

He hoped, anyway.

Crux brought out the ever-present list and made a few notes. It looked endless to Alex, and it never seemed to get shorter.

"We'll need to secure the yacht, of course, and set up surveillance for the meeting, but that will be done in time to depart tomorrow," she continued. "Any last minute briefings or reminders, we will handle on the way. Should all go according to plan, we will be back again in the late evening."

A nice little day trip, just him and a superyacht … and a nuke and a bunch of mercenaries and a SCORPIA operative. Nothing ever went according to plan around him as it was, and Alex wasn't sure if the addition of that sort of company would make his odds of a peaceful exchange better or worse. It didn't seem particularly peaceful to show up with that kind of security, but Byrne almost had to expect someone else to be there, and Crux ran the whole thing like a military operation. She would tolerate no mistakes.

Maybe it would only turn into a partial garbage fire instead of the usual clusterfuck that had followed all his previous encounters with the intelligence world. That would make for a nice change.

"Surveillance?" he asked.

"Surveillance and a few additional defences," Crux amended. "It's always good to have a record of these things that we can analyse later. It'll be good training for you and we don't want anyone to get any creative ideas while we're busy with Byrne. They'll be able to follow us back via satellite but there's no reason to invite trouble by letting someone get close enough to tag us with whatever new gadget they got to play with."

Good point there, too. Alex wasn't sure what the CIA might try to target them with, but the last thing he wanted was to let something electronic and hostile close enough to the base to attack Thetis. The CIA would just have to keep their unreasonably sticky fingers out of his business.

"All right."

Crux glanced at Aira. The woman hadn't moved but simply watched and listened while she occasionally glanced at the island and probably committed everything to memory. There was something sharp about her. Another SCORPIA thing, maybe. Nile had been the same, the moment he stopped pretending to be nice.

"Imai will assist security with their tasks as needed based on your preliminary survey of the yacht, Commander. Dismissed."

"Ma'am."

Crisp, military, and still with that heavy drawl. Alex was abruptly reminded of how Ian had been able to shift accents on a whim and how Malagosto had deemed Crux's accent unacceptable and trained it out of her, and he wondered how long he would be allowed to keep his own. He would hopefully be completely out of Blunt's grasp soon, and he never wanted to get near Malagosto again but … he still wondered. He had always been good with languages. How long would it be before he started to pick up another accent, too?

Alex pushed the thought aside. He already had too many other things that demanded his attention to add more to the list.

Aira and her team vanished back into the yacht again, followed by half a dozen of the security staff armed with boxes and tools and several massive rolls of cables.

The surveillance gear, then. Alex didn't doubt there would be a lot more to come. For something of that size and less than a day to finish up, they would be working through the night to get everything handled.

At eighty meters long, and with a helicopter, a pool, and God knew how many rooms, Alex did not envy Kywe's people their job in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Australia, April 11th

Crux called exactly when instructed to, and not a minute sooner. That on its own was good news to Brendan Chase. He had read her initial report on the meeting with the CIA, and everything seemed to have gone according to plan, but that didn't mean a damn thing in their line of work.

It was a nice report. Calm, clear, factual – everything he had come to expect from SCORPIA's top operatives. Exactly the sort of thing where experience made Brendan wonder just what had been left out of it.

"Crux," he greeted. "Give me a rundown on the situation."

"Sir." There was no hesitation, but Brendan hadn't expected it, either. Not unless she had more news along the lines of 'Hunter's brat found a nuke' and in that case, she would have called sooner. "It's mostly covered by my report. We rendezvoused with an American navy ship and Rider had a brief talk with Byrne while Byrne's people checked the authenticity of the nuclear device. Upon confirmation, the weapon was delivered into Byrne's possession and we left."

"Which all sounds very reassuring," Brendan agreed. "I read the report. It made everyone sound very professional, which we both know is bullshit when it comes to anything Rider is involved with. What I want is your personal impression."

The sort of impression neither of them would want written down anywhere, and where only several years of profitable, professional relationship meant Brendan had even a chance of getting the truth out of her. A cautious truth, edited for a member of the Board, but … with a little luck, the sort of impression she would never have admitted to otherwise.

The line was silent for a second, then two. That was exactly the sort of question absolutely no one wanted from a superior, but Brendan needed to know what he had to work with and Crux was his best source of intel for that. Sooner rather than later, the rest of the Board would figure out the truth, and he had to be ready to weather that little cyclone when it hit.

"… I suspect there are some serious oversights in Rider's file, and I'm not sure anyone is actually aware of it, sir."

Brendan stilled. Well. That wasn't exactly the answer he had expected and he wasn't sure he wanted to know just what everyone had apparently missed.

"What do you mean, 'oversights'?"

"For one, it is assumed that Rider would retain a connection to the Point Blanc students after the incident at the school, but there is no proof at all that he has actually remained in contact with them in any of the files we have. He admitted that he is, in his own words, 'still in touch with some of them', which he apparently managed underneath Blunt's nose. Considering that Paul Roscoe called during the meeting, spoke of Rider like an old friend when I answered his phone, and demanded to get in on Rider's plans, I would consider that significantly more than just 'being in touch' with them."

Roscoe. Brendan remembered that name very well. Every single one of the Point Blanc kids that Rider had been tangled up with had been wealthy in money and influence both, but Roscoe was at the top of even that extremely exclusive list.

"How the hell did he manage that? Blunt's a fucking weasel on the best of days, and Rider is a walking, talking national security risk for the Brits. They must've kept an eye on him at all times. How did they miss that kind of potential security leak?"

Because like the rest of those kids, Roscoe had returned from Point Blanc with a serious grudge against the world, and that was about the last person Blunt should have allowed Rider to stay in touch with.

If MI6 had missed that – if all of them had missed that – then what else was missing from Rider's files?

No wonder Crux had been reluctant to voice that idea. That was an anthill the size of a Holden they could potentially kick over if they went digging into that mess.

"Unknown, sir, but based on interactions with Rider, my guess is that he is far more resourceful than anyone has given him credit for. The MI6 file gives the impression of a grieving teenager, blackmailed into intelligence service and increasingly dependent on the need to feel useful. Impulsive and temperamental, with no ability to plan ahead and a tendency to follow his emotions rather than rational thought. I watched Rider use that very impression to convince Byrne that his security was a recently defected ex-SCORPIA team looking for a new chance. Byrne had positively identified team Imai as SCORPIA but he still got convinced by Rider after a particularly emotional outburst. He expected to see an emotional, impulsive teenager -"

"- So that's exactly what he saw," Brendan completed the sentence.

How much had Rothman underestimated the kid? How much had Yu? Or Crewe, or Cray, or any of the rest of the long list of dead bodies that Rider had left in his wake? How many of them had known about Rider and still written him off as a snot-nose brat because even his own file didn't take his threat level serious?

Just how much had Rider managed to get away with right under Blunt's nose because even MI6 underestimated him?

Brendan was increasingly sure he had made the right decision to help Rider with his little hostile takeover, because he doubted he would still be alive and breathing if he had tried to take that base by force. Not after all the details that had come out afterwards. Not after that sort of omissions in his file.

Right. Maybe it was time to consider what Hunter's son might actually mean. Hunter had been lethal. Charming, social, and friendly, sure, but absolutely lethal. Ian Rider had been an excellent operative, too. Not on par with his brother, of course, but you didn't come across a jewel like Hunter often.

A lot of people had died from underestimating Rider, and Brendan had been about to fall into that same trap. That was a lesson he didn't plan to forget anytime soon.

"And we could have had that if Rothman hadn't fucked over a potential asset."

She had done it with the rest of the Board's agreement, of course, but that wasn't how Brendan preferred to remember it.

Crux remained silent and politely pretended she hadn't heard her boss' little outburst, and Brendan sighed.

"Right. Tell me about the talks with Roscoe."

The report had included the transcript of Crux's talk with Roscoe but nothing about Rider's. The transcript also didn't have a single additional note, which made Brendan suspect Crux had thoughts on the topic that she did not want on file.

"Rider made sure to pick one of the few spots we hadn't wired for surveillance and we were unable to listen in. His body language looked positive, though. Attentive and engaged. He laughed at several points. They spoke for almost forty minutes, and Rider returned in a good mood."

Definitely not the interactions of someone speaking to a complete stranger. That spoke of prior interactions – prolonged, positive interactions – and how Blunt let that sort of thing happen, Brendan had no idea. The last thing MI6 would need would be a blackmailed teenage spy with a grudge and a billionaire at his back.

"My impression of my brief talk with Roscoe was that he had called for Rider's sake but with him unavailable, Roscoe took the chance to look further at us instead," Crux continued. "We talked briefly about Rider's situation, as you know from the transcript. It was not a threat when he pointed out that no one else had managed to keep Rider out of MI6's grasp. It – felt more like a preliminary job interview, sir. A potential promise of more business, should we be able to deliver what Rider wants."

"Roscoe isn't the type to let any opportunity pass him by," Brendan agreed.

Roscoe was Rider's age. By any logic, his late father's board should have steamrolled the kid, but he had managed an almost complete take-over of board in less than a year. Brendan gave it until summer before Roscoe had his business empire completely under control. That was the sort of skill and ruthless ambition even some of his own esteemed colleagues could learn from.

… Maybe he'd be a good influence on Rider, too. Brendan could hope; that kind of cut-throat business instinct would be great for all of them.

Plan, then: Stop underestimating Rider, encourage his friendship with good influences like Roscoe, and – well, at some point Brendan would need to argue his case to the Board but he planned to have some hard-hitting arguments ready by then.

If turning Rider into a suitable business partner came with the potential bonus of Roscoe's business, too … well. Brendan could always use an additional digit in his bank account.

"Tell me everything," Brendan said. "Every detail. We want to get this one right."

Because like hell he was about to let an opportunity like that slip through his fingers. He would leave that sort of stupidity to Zeljan Kurst.

The Maldives, April 10th

(One day previously)

The last thing to be loaded was the nuke.

It happened shortly before midnight, in the cover of darkness, to keep any curious eyes to an absolute minimum.

They would depart in the morning but by then, the bomb would be safely hidden in a custom-built box and shouldn't see the light of day until it was in Byrne's hands. With some luck, no one but a small, select group would ever know it had been on the island, and all of those knew to keep a secret.

The bunker with the nuke had been under constant guard since its discovery. No one had stepped inside since Kywe's men had cleared the rest of the rooms and wired them for surveillance, and only Thetis' sensors and cameras had kept watch on it since then.

It was no surprise that the air was a little stale when they opened the door again but Alex barely noticed. He doubted any of the other people around him did, either.

The nuke was exactly where they had left it, safely settled on its metal table, and every bit as ominous as Alex remembered. The stark light, almost blinding compared to the muted red lights outside, did nothing to help on that.

Four of Kywe's people set to work with a small floor crane. They clearly knew what they were doing but even then, it took the better part of fifteen minutes to carefully – very, very carefully – lower the nuke into the box. Maybe Crux was right that it took a lot to set off a nuke but they were still only a few inches of metal away from highly radioactive materials and everyone seemed acutely aware of that.

Only then, with the nuke nestled safely in the padding in the box and the lid securely fastened, did Alex feel the first bit of his tension ease.

First step done. There were a lot more to come, but … that was the first step done.

Kywe clasped Alex's shoulder briefly as the small crane began its careful drive outside. He didn't look worried about the whole situation, but Alex suspected he was still a lot more rattled than he let on. He had looked as pale as Crux had the first time they had spotted the bomb, and he hadn't hesitated to accept the four bottles of Crewe's liquor that Alex had brought down for him and his people.

A lot of people on the island would sleep better with that thing a few thousand miles away, Alex included.

There was no path around the entrance to the bunker, nothing that could reveal its location, but large metal plates on the soft beach sand gave the crane the stability it needed to carry on. It was slow, careful work, because no one wanted the crane to tip over or drop its cargo, but it wasn't long past midnight. They had a long time before dawn.

The metal plates would be removed in the morning. By the next rainfall, any traces of them would be gone.

It was almost one when they reached the jetty and the additional equipment that waited for them there – particularly the larger, portable crane that was mostly used to move around the absurd amounts of aquarium supplies. Food, mostly, but also regular supplies of everything needed to keep the water clean and in perfect condition for the many animals that called Nautilus home.

Now it would be used for cargo again. Just – a different sort.

A careful transfer saw the nuke firmly secured to the second crane. Then it was slowly lifted above the yacht, as far as the crane could reach, and lowered to the front part of the deck, right in front of the helipad and the helicopter that had already been secured for the trip.

There was a large storage area, Alex knew, but even if they could get the box in there, that left the question of how they would get it out again to hand over to Byrne. It would just have to be fine where it was, sheltered by heavy tarpaulin and strapped down to a point where it would take a hurricane to make it shift.

It took another ten long minutes to make absolutely sure it was secured. Only then did Alex feel the tension in his shoulders ease a little.

"There will be three people on watch at all times until departure," Kywe told him, "and that is not taking into account Thetis' surveillance and the regular security. Go sleep. Long day tomorrow."

For a moment Alex was tempted to refuse. Then common sense and exhaustion prevailed and he just nodded.

He had trusted Kywe's people to secure the bunker. He would just have to trust them a little longer, or he might just fall asleep in front of Byrne.

One advantage to suddenly being the owner of a lot of money, Alex found the following morning, was that the yacht did not leave until he was ready.

Sure, he was there at eight exactly, sleep deprived and in caffeine withdrawal like he was used to, but if he had been half an hour late, the yacht would still have waited. Of course, that would have made a number of people's day a lot more difficult, and Crux would not have been pleased, but the theory was there.

Kywe met him at the foot of the gangway and looked disgustingly awake for someone who had probably slept five hours at the most. Alex got his revenge when he handed over Wolf the Roomba by more or less dropping it into Kywe's arms.

Wolf made an alarmed, electronic wail, and Kywe scrambled to avoid dropping all ten kilos of uncooperative vacuum with delusions of competence.

"Here, Thetis insisted," Alex explained. "Kywe, Wolf. Wolf, Kywe. You know him already, you tried to run him over the other day."

He turned around to find the second roomba hovering indecisively behind him on the metal pathway. At least it had managed to avoid driving into the soft sand, which was more than Alex had trusted Wolf to do.

Alex didn't sigh when he reached down to pick it up, but sometimes he really wished Crewe had settled for something a little better at navigating stairs and other hazards with more than an inch of height.

"This is Eagle. It ran straight into one of the glass doors, so the name seemed to fit. I'm thinking about adding little roomba-shaped stickers to the glass in the future."

Kywe's look was distinctly dubious. "Maybe we should leave it for maintenance and bring another?"

"It was just some gunk in a sensor," Alex admitted. "Thetis explained how to fix it. But I like my version of the story better."

It had taken less than ten minutes to get the sensor clean, no reason to make maintenance deal with that. Alex considered it fair payment for the entertainment value of the whole thing.

Kywe didn't seem entirely convinced but he went along with it, anyway. At least he carried Wolf the last bit up the gangway and into the absurdly spacious interior of the yacht before he set it down to do Thetis' bidding. Eagle the Roomba followed shortly after. Alex assumed Thetis would let him know if he needed to move them to a different floor, assuming they didn't just try to run him over. That seemed to be their primary mode of communication sometimes.

No one looked twice at them. No one did any more, Alex had realised. No one but him. New arrivals at the base would take a few days to get used to them, but after a week of constant exposure to the roombas … no one cared. The small machines did their job, kept the base clean, occasionally got stuck somewhere, and the few times Thetis took over one of them for whatever reason, it was blatantly obvious to everyone.

Except maybe it didn't have to be. Thetis was highly classified cutting-edge technology, everyone knew that, but Alex suspected that no one but him knew just how intelligent she really was.

She was clever. She could make connections that Alex couldn't imagine programming alone could account for, and she had learned to work around her situation to protect the aquariums to the best of her ability, including overriding instructions as it suited her.

Was it such a stretch to imagine that she just … deliberately pretended it was always obvious when she was in control of one of the roombas? Alex didn't think so. She was originally made for intelligence work, and there was no intelligence network in the base more powerful than more than a hundred little robots doing their stuff that no one paid attention to.

If cameras and sensors weren't enough, there would be a convenient roomba cleaning nearby instead. The only limitations were the few places that they couldn't go and which weren't covered by something else, like the bunker and the utility tunnels.

It was the sort of dawning suspicion he should probably share with someone, because Thetis was something dangerous and unpredictable, but she was also his only real ally in the whole messed-up situation, and he wasn't going to risk that. Not for someone who had saved his life when she didn't have to and who only cared about keeping her aquariums safe.

"Alex?"

It was Crux's voice but the woman who approached him looked very different from her usual appearance. Her eyes were darker and her hair had turned brunette overnight, longer and with soft-looking curls. It had to be a wig but it looked completely real to Alex. Her clothes were different, too, less the crisper business clothes she favoured and more muted. If Alex hadn't known her voice, he wouldn't have been able to recognise her … which, he supposed, was the point of it. There was no reason to risk that the CIA might identify her.

The sudden, softer appearance reminded Alex a little of the deep sea anglerfish Sania had told him about, the ones with way too many teeth that would dangle a bit of bait in front of them to lure in unwary victims.

There was a touch of something in her voice that might have been concern from someone else, probably at the way he had stopped to watch the roombas, and Alex forced himself to shrug.

"I didn't get a good look at the inside of this place last night. It's – a lot," he said with a vague sort of gesture to encompass everything around them.

It wasn't even a lie. The yacht was even bigger in the early morning light, with every unnecessary, expensive detail sharply exposed. From the massive artworks and white sofas and to the endless expanses of glass and gleaming gold accents, undoubtedly only there to show off how large of an underpaid cleaning staff the owner could afford.

All of it joined together to give Alex the distinct impression that he was both unwanted and unwelcome as he stepped inside, Crux behind him. Even the wooden floors looked spotless, and the sand on Alex's sandals left a small trail by the entrance. The glimpse of his reflection in one of the numerous mirrors made it clear just how out of place he looked.

Alex had dressed for the occasion, in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and some khaki shorts from his closet, all of it probably absurdly expensive and courtesy of Crux. His MI6-issued wardrobe had been destroyed by Crewe's security, the clothes he had worn had been unsalvageable from the combination of smoke and bloodstains, and during his few days of aquarium keeping he had just … grabbed a uniform and thrown it out at the end of the day when it was too filthy to clean.

Somehow, shortly after Crux's arrival, his closet had magically materialised a minor wardrobe in his size. Mostly casual summer clothes but with a couple of more formal things in there as well … along with a ballistic vest. Because SCORPIA, Alex assumed. When you worked as a terrorist for hire, maybe a ballistic vest was like a particularly heavy, awkward, sweaty Rolex or something.

Alex had left the ballistic vest in his closet and not touched it even once. He couldn't think of a single danger on the base that would actually be stopped by it, anyway.

He had considered one of the nicer sets of clothes for about two and a half second that morning before he had gone for the biggest eyesore he could find instead. He was retired now and if he dressed nicely, Byrne might get the impression that Alex respected the CIA or something.

Now, contrasted with the bright, airy, carefully designed interior of the Cosmos, it was painfully clear how much he didn't belong in that world and how much he didn't want to, either. How much had the yacht cost originally? How much good could that kind of money have done?

It wasn't something he could afford to think about and he pushed the thought away again, but it remained in the back of his mind as a constant reminder of the various billionaires he had met courtesy of MI6.

Crux caught his glance in the mirror.

"I know you have nicer clothes than that," she said.

"Sure," Alex agreed and looked away again, because he wasn't going to allow an obscene waste of money like the Cosmos make him feel like he was somehow less for not being born a batshit crazy billionaire, "but this might give me an excuse to ask how their illegal military occupation of Hawaii is going."

Crux didn't comment further, which Alex took as downright approval. Given that she had probably picked that shirt for him in the first place, maybe it wasn't too surprising.

Somewhere beneath their feet, the massive engines came to life. Apparently that was another advantage of footing the bill – no waiting around. Things happened on his schedule. Unfortunately for him, his schedule was also arranged by Crux and Kywe, so that didn't actually make much of a difference.

Five minutes later, they were clear of the jetty and their speed picked up as they left the island and its potentially treacherous waters behind.

It would take four hours to get to the spot that had been arranged with the CIA, well into international waters and away from any possible attention, but at least the snacks were better than the usual airline stuff and someone had stocked proper Coke instead of the cheapest supermarket cola they could find. Alex would take his victories where he could.

The waves grew larger as they left the shelter of the island. Not large, not with the weather as mild as it was, but it became clear they had moved from the small, lazy waves of the island and to the larger, longer ocean swells.

The pool was covered up, presumably to keep water from going everywhere in case of too much motion. The small helicopter was secured as well. The nuke was strapped securely to the deck and someone would check everything was still in order on a regular basis. The captain clearly knew where they were going, since Crux hadn't left to correct any issues.

All in all, that left Alex feeling weirdly restless. Waiting, without knowing exactly what he was waiting for or the sort of situation he was about to step into.

He could have remained where he was and stared at the nuke and worried the entire way. Instead he forced himself to turn around, to go explore the yacht and find somewhere to settle down.

He had enough to worry about. This once, he would leave the worrying to the people he paid to handle that.

The island had vanished below the horizon and the Indian Ocean stretched forever around them by the time Alex finally settled down in the lounge area at the very front of the yacht. He didn't feel comfortable inside, surrounded by reminders of both the sort of wealth he didn't want and the assorted billionaire nutjobs that had tried to kill him over the years. The yacht was just the sort of thing they would have bought to show off, Alex didn't doubt it for a moment.

Crux's arrival was silent and Alex wondered it if was something Malagosto taught. Yassen had moved the same sort of way. Like oil on water.

"Byrne has confirmed his arrival," she reported.

Alex nodded. They hadn't expected anything else but it was still nice to know.

"So what do you think he's going to show up in?" he asked, more idle curiosity and desire to do something than any real need to know.

"It would depend on resources within convenient range," she replied. "The CIA is not a naval power, so he would need to rely on other branches of the American government. The Maldives fall within the area of responsibility of the US Seventh Fleet, but that is headquartered in Japan and may not have had a suitable ship nearby. The Fifth Fleet is much closer, headquartered in Bahrain, but may draw unnecessary attention. The navy presence at Diego Garcia is an option as well, though the British presence would complicate matters. There are certainly other options, but those are the immediate ones."

And maybe that was why he had asked, Alex realised. Because it was still something novel to be able to ask someone in the intelligence world a question, even someone on the terrorist side of it, and actually get an honest, useful answer. If he asked, Crux responded or checked up on it for him later on. She didn't brush him aside with empty platitudes.

He paid a fortune to have her around, sure, but the honesty was still nice.

Alex lost track of how long they sat there in silence as powerful engines ate up the distance between them and … whatever laid ahead. Maybe Crux needed the break, too. Maybe it was just a way to get a better read on him or keep the unpredictable client where she could keep an eye on him.

Whatever the reason, the rare moment of calm lasted until Aira approached them and broke the silence.

"Ma'am, we've got radar contact. They're definitely picking up on us, too, if Byrne brought navy tech along."

Crux nodded. "Thank you. Alex?"

Alex took a deep breath. It hit him all of a sudden, hard enough to almost give him vertigo for a second. Byrne, SCORPIA, the nuke, Crewe, everything that had left him scrambling to get a grasp on anything solid for the past two weeks.

The last time he had seen Byrne had been – Drevin. And Ark Angel. And now he was about to meet him again, with SCORPIA at his back and a nuke he would really prefer to have nowhere near him and -

- what was he even doing? SCORPIA's presence alone would be enough to mark Alex as a potential problem and he didn't for a moment believe Byrne wouldn't figure out the ruse eventually.

He could just … have dropped the nuke at the bottom of the ocean. Three kilometres of water in the middle of nowhere and – surely it wasn't the only nuke lost in an ocean somewhere forever to rust away. One more wouldn't have mattered, would it? Even SCORPIA would have easier ways to get a nuke than salvaging it from the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

Another breath. Slow. Steady. It was too late to back out now. He would get rid of the nuke, get Nautilus non-profit status in return, and then they would all be able to go back and leave the whole mess to the CIA. He could do that.

If Crux had noticed his minor panic attack, she politely didn't mention it, just carried right on with her usual assessment.

"Byrne will presumably arrive with security on a smaller boat as it makes for an easier transfer, though the nuke itself will most likely be picked up by helicopter. The US navy makes frequent use of helicopters to transfer cargo to their ships."

That … made sense, Alex guessed. If not, well, that wasn't his problem. Which in turn brought him back to another thought that had crossed his mind more than a few times.

"I'm kind of surprised he's just going to show up in person," he admitted. "It could be a trap."

Crux didn't look surprised but then, in Alex's experience, she rarely did.

"They consider the retrieval of a lost nuke a serious matter. He also knows you and will have a much better read on you than an outsider." She paused for a moment. "And, to be blunt, a deputy director of the CIA is expendable in a way that the director of the CIA wouldn't be."

Alex wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Sometimes, the blunt honesty about the world he was tangled up in still caught him by surprise. Crux had an ongoing campaign to make sure he learned enough to be able to handle an intelligence agency if someone came sniffing when no one else was around, but she had started him out reasonably gently. There were a lot of dirty politics he'd never had an inkling of.

"That's – cynical," he settled for.

"You're a blackmailed child agent in possession of a nuclear weapon and with less than positive experiences with the CIA. I assure you, they did exactly that risk assessment, too."

Put that way, it was even more surprising that Byrne was willing to show up at all, but Alex supposed that was what he was paid for. That was more than Alex himself had been for almost getting killed because of the intelligence world more times than he could count.

"Yeah." Another slow breath. He could do this. It wasn't like he had a choice. "All right."

Aira, silent through the whole exchange, took a step forward and held out a gun for him.

"Added insurance, sir," she said.

"No." He didn't even need to think about that answer.

"Not a fan of standard issue, then?" Aira asked and carried right on. "Can't say most of us are, either. If you have a favourite, we'll see if we can manage it. We have a pretty broad collection between us."

"No," Alex repeated. "No guns, period. I don't want one, and I'm not going to carry it."

For a moment, Alex was sure he could see Aira's brain register the words, reboot because clearly something was wrong, and come back online to find that yes, the client still made no sense. Alex was morbidly curious to find out if she was going to keep arguing or accept that the client was determined to be a complete idiot and just work around it.

Crux interrupted before Alex could figure out the answer, a small, black box in her hand. She held it out and since it wasn't an obvious weapon of some sort, Alex took it. Carefully.

"It's a small taser, meant to be easily concealed," Crux explained. "Non-lethal, purely for self-defence. Just in case someone gets a little too pushy."

"If they plan to cause problems," Alex pointed out, "a taser won't make much difference."

"It won't hurt," Crux disagreed. "I think we would all feel better knowing you had at least one way to defend yourself."

Non-lethal, Alex's mind repeated. For self-defence. It wasn't a gun. It wasn't meant to kill someone. Just – to give him a fighting chance. How often hadn't he wanted something more than the gadgets MI6 had sent him off with? And now Crux offered it. He had refused a gun, so she had found an alternative that worked with his objections and – that was what he had wanted, wasn't it?

"Yeah," he said and took it. "All right."

Aira still didn't look happy, but the quiet resignation told Alex he probably wasn't the first idiot client she had dealt with, so she would probably manage.

No wonder people paid a fortune for SCORPIA's time. There was something surprisingly cathartic about making stupid decisions that other people had to deal with.

The small dot on the radar had grown into a decent-sized ship by the time they reached the right coordinates. Military of some sort, that much was blatantly obvious, but that was about all Alex could tell with any sort of certainty.

"The USS Dewey," Crux told him before he had to ask. "Part of the Seventh Fleet. It must have been within a reasonable distance. About four hundred people on board, which makes it easier for the CIA to keep the meeting classified. Larger ships mean a larger risk that someone might let something slip."

Smaller ship, fewer people, less attention. Alex supposed it made sense.

A small boat appeared from the other side of the ship and approached the Cosmos slowly enough to make it clear it wasn't an aggressive move. It was close enough that they could just about make out the features of the people in it.

"… Well, it looks like Byrne is one of them," Alex said after long seconds.

Byrne, or a very good decoy. After he had seen one of SCORPIA's disguise specialists in action, that wasn't something he would ever be able to rule out again. If it was, though, there wasn't much they could do about it. Alex didn't know Byrne well enough to tell and Crux had to know that, too.

"Well," Crux said. "Let's offer him a polite welcome, then."

Joe Byrne looked exactly like Alex remembered him and almost insultingly comfortable in the overpriced furniture on the deck as he settled down. Byrne, Alex thought a little spitefully, probably got paid well for his job.

Byrne had brought what looked like a single bodyguard along, three soldiers that looked like they were geared up more to handle the transport of the box than Byrne's security, and two slightly impatient looking techs in uniform that were armed with an abundance of electronics. Alex figured they were probably nuke techs of some sort.

Alex had brought a roomba that was currently hiding behind the outside bar area as Thetis listened in and a cold Coke for himself. Half of team Imai was on guard duty outside, the rest kept Crux company inside the yacht, out of sight in case something happened.

If Byrne wanted something to drink, he could have brought it himself. Based on how restless the techs looked, though, Alex figured Byrne had other priorities.

Byrne probably noticed the same, because he sighed.

"Do you mind if they take a look at its condition?"

Alex shrugged. "Go ahead."

It didn't make a difference to him, they couldn't exactly pick it up and swim off with it and he wanted to know, too.

The two techs vanished down the stairs to the front deck. One of the soldiers followed them. Long seconds later, the trio appeared by the box and set to work removing enough of the tarpaulin to get to the box and the bomb inside.

Alex's main reason for choosing that exact pair of lounge chairs was the fact that it offered both him and Byrne a clear, uninterrupted view of the large box. It seemed like the polite thing to do, anyway, and it meant that both of them could follow along now as Byrne's men worked.

Long seconds passed. Then Byrne turned his attention to Alex.

"Right. Rider," Byrne greeted him. "How the hell did you get yourself into this situation?"

That was almost exactly the same question Brendan Chase had asked, not that Alex was about to say that. It did leave him with a great opportunity to just go with the same answer. It wasn't like anything had changed.

"Don't ask me, it's not like anyone ever tells me anything. But my guess is that the wanker that wrote up my mission brief ran into the wanker that handled your nuclear weapon security and here we are."

Byrne paused.

"… Yeah, all right, we probably deserved that one," he admitted. "Start from the top. Please. How did you find that thing and was there any record of how it got there?"

"Nothing that I didn't already send you." There had been a few papers in a file in Crewe's office that they had scanned and sent Byrne's way, but it had been mostly tech details. Nothing useful. "MI6 sent me as cover for an agent to look into something. Before he managed that, the target tracked us down, and … well."

Alex trailed off with an awkward shrug. He didn't feel like sharing the details and didn't need to, either.

"… And now the target is dead and left behind a nuclear weapon, and Lord knows how he got his hands on it in the first place," Byrne finished.

Alex shrugged again. Not much else he could say to that.

No one else spoke. Byrne's bodyguard watched everything with sharp eyes, though with more of a focus on Alex's people than Alex himself, and Alex's people did much the same with Byrne's entourage. Everyone seemed to have decided that the nuke itself was above their paygrade and better left with people who got paid for those headaches (Byrne) or people familiar with the former (Alex).

Imai were all masked and Aira had vanished into the background. SCORPIA didn't have a lot of combat teams led by female commanders and Crux had been worried it would make them too easy to identify and in turn cause problems before they were ready to handle them. Alex was inclined to agree with that.

Down on the deck, the techs had managed to get past the tarpaulin and the lid of the massive box. One of them had an instrument out that looked like a Geiger counter to Alex. He could have told them that the nuke was safe enough when it came to that, because Kywe had checked twice that day already, but he understood the need to check for themselves to be sure.

"We found it in a bunker," Alex finally said. "There was no trace of it anywhere, no files, no documentation, nothing. Just – I don't know. An emergency weapon of mass destruction, because that's just what every supervillain lair needs. The few details we have, we figured out based on the numbers on it. For all I know, it was just the latest thing in supervillain art and you've got another dozen billionaires out there with a nuke on the coffee table as a conversation starter."

Alex wouldn't even be surprised. The billionaires he had already met had been completely off their rocker in more or less obvious ways. He'd bet good money that someone out there collected weapons of mass destruction just because they could.

Byrne looked pained.

"Don't even joke about it."

Alex blinked. It had been a joke but -

"What, seriously? You've got people like that over there?"

"The most recent one was some real nutcase with an unhealthy fascination with Fritz Haber. The so-called 'father of chemical warfare'," Byrne added at Alex's blank expression. "World War One. He helped create a process that revolutionised the production of fertilizer in agriculture, won the Nobel Prize for it and all, and then he turned right around and helped weaponized poison gasses for use in warfare. Nutcase was fascinated by the 'duality of man' and felt the only way to understand the object of his obsession was to recreate his work. Unfortunately, he had the money to do it, too. You don't want to know how much chlorine gas we had to dispose of when we managed to track him down. That thing down there? At least it's contained and we know it's not going to blow up in our faces."

Point to Byrne, and one more thing Alex didn't need to know. Not with how many of Crewe's twisted ideas they had found so far and with no idea of whether they had other potentially lethal surprises hiding on the island. Alex would say no, Kywe's people had gone over every last spot of the base, but … they hadn't covered the entire island yet. Just the immediate surroundings.

Well, if they found more weapons of mass destruction, at least he knew what doorstep to leave them on. It sounded like Byrne's people had plenty of practice.

The techs had put the Geiger counter aside again in favour of a small laptop as their examination continued. Were nuclear weapon forgeries a real problem? Did someone had a thriving business in fake second-hand nukes, completely legitimate, only one previous owner who kept it in a well-maintained missile silo?

"Impressive boat you've found yourself," Byrne commented as the silence stretched on.

"Security said it was better with something big enough to raise questions if it went missing," Alex replied. "It sounded like a smart idea."

Byrne's lips twitched slightly under the moustache. Crux probably hadn't been entirely wrong when she had decided it was a legitimate concern, then.

"Pretty competent security, too. I'd go so far as to say they almost seem familiar."

"Really?" Alex kept his voice deliberately, blatantly bland. "I mean, sure, they all wear uniforms but most of the soldiers I've met have been bastards with a heart of more bastardry, or taking order from some other bastard in charge. Someone who listens to my concerns and wants to keep me alive and out of danger was definitely a nice change for me, but that might be because I pay their salary. Maybe the ones you've been around have been nicer. I guess they'd seem familiar, then."

Byrne sighed and seemed to give up on his fishing trip.

"Rider, in what world did hiring SCORPIA seem like a good idea with your kind of history with them? And don't sass me. I know it could be a couple of other PMC, too, but those are the most conspicuously blank and brand new uniforms I've seen in a while, and not too many organisations able to offer the sort of security you probably need would be that eager to hide their involvement."

There were several ways Alex could handle that line of questioning, Crux had drilled him in that, but he didn't particularly feel like playing nice. Not when Byrne wouldn't believe a word he said, anyway.

"I'm sure you'd know, given how often your agency has hired them. Do you pay by the operation or do you just have a permanent tab?"

Byrne snorted. "What, and leave a paper trail?"

A heartbeat, two, then -

"I'm not going to ask what you're doing here," Byrne said, "and we're not going to get involved in this mess unless we have to. We both have plenty of reasons not to draw attention to any of this. But SCORPIA's Board has devolved into a pack of rabid wolves since someone got Grendel last year. The whole organisation is destabilising, the Board members you got rid of helped hurry that along, and the rest of it is increasingly torn up by the infighting among the remaining leadership as they try to gain control. Hiring SCORPIA for security, when you're the reason it's going to collapse within a year or two in the first place? You're playing with fire."

The tech below them glanced up from his laptop and made a thumbs-up to Byrne. Alex supposed Crux had been right about the authenticity of the bomb, then.

"Nuclear fire?" he suggested, and if Byrne took that as a jab against their own, obviously lacking nuclear weapon security, well, that was just a bonus.

"Find someone else," Byrne replied and ignored the underlying insult. "For your own sake."

He seemed sincere about it, too, but Alex knew better than most just how sincere anyone involved in the intelligence world could seem while they screwed you over. In this case, though … Byrne had a point and Alex knew it. It was just that the alternatives were even worse, because sure, there was a lot of bad blood between him and SCORPIA, but he also knew them and what to expect, and they knew him. Any of the few alternatives would have brought his existence to the attention to people he'd rather avoid – and people he had no way to predict, either. Maybe they wouldn't hold a grudge, but Alex could think of a lot of other ways that could go dangerously wrong.

SCORPIA was the devil he knew, and he would just have to live with that. Not that he had any plans to tell Byrne that reasoning.

"… Not everyone thinks that blackmailing teenagers or paying them in trauma and repeated concussions is the right way to do things," Alex said after a few deliberate seconds to give the impression of a reluctant confession. "This whole thing with Crewe was just the last straw. What was I supposed to do, go back to MI6 just to be sent back out on some other mission as soon as I finally started to catch up on school and get used to normal life again?"

Byrne didn't answer. How much did he know about the whole situation with MI6? Alex had no idea.

"Every time, I kept thinking that this mission would be the last, that this time they would leave me alone, and every time I was wrong. This time, I realised it would never happen, and I was halfway around the world, entirely alone, and had access to enough money to escape. Yes, I took the chance. What would you have done in my situation? I contacted someone who'd been pretty insistent about getting me out of this mess, they put me in touch with someone who wanted to get out of a bad situation as well, and we figured out how to help each other."

Well, Chase had been pretty insistent about maintaining a profitable partnership with the right amount of cash on the table, and Crux had wanted to get out of field work which Alex by definition considered a 'bad situation', so it wasn't even a lie. Just a selective interpretation of the truth, just like anything that came from MI6 or the CIA. Turnabout was fair play.

Byrne made a considering sound.

"Someone influential, then, to have that sort of contacts," he said, thinking out loud in what was obviously for Alex's sake. "Not too long of a list of people from your past with the means and reasons to need that sort of thing, much less a client long-term enough to be aware of an entire SCORPIA combat team looking to get out and trusted enough that they would take the chance when offered. An operative or two as well, I expect, to handle the logistics of it all. Mid-level enough to get away with that sort of escape, but experienced enough to handle what you need. Everything else could be managed with the right contacts."

"I can neither confirm nor deny anything," Alex said dutifully, parroting the exact words Crux had told him would make him look guilty as sin and well aware of it, too. It was practically confirmation of Byrne's theory and they both knew it.

If SCORPIA was actively disintegrating – and Alex needed to consider the implications of that but not now, not with everything else he already had to handle – then it would make sense that some of the people working for them would start to consider other opportunities.

It would explain the nuke to the CIA, too. Byrne would probably expect SCORPIA to have claimed it if they had known. If Alex's set-up was handled by a rogue operative and their contacts, though, it made perfect sense to want to get rid of it as soon as possible without drawing SCORPIA's attention, and the CIA would have been a decent bet for that.

"Ex-SCORPIA, then," Byrne conceded. "They're still former terrorists. Maybe current ones, too. You know what sort of operations their former employers have been responsible for."

As if the CIA hadn't done things in the past that were just as bad. As if MI6 hadn't looked at a grieving fourteen-year-old and decided to blackmail him into the operation that had already killed his uncle. As if hundreds of people on the so-called side of the angels weren't aware of him and hadn't lifted a single finger to help him because he was useful to them, and if he happened to get killed somewhere, that was one less potential future liability.

Alex's temper flared, dark and ugly and done with all of them.

"Great," he snapped back, "then maybe we can exchange Malagosto stories. I always hated the Countess' tea set; it'll be great with someone else who gets it. I've spent the past year getting screwed over by the intelligence world, and they're supposed to be protecting kids, not exploiting them. Someone I trust vouched for that team. If no one else will help them because they ended up on the wrong side due to bad circumstances, I will."

Byrne didn't rise to the bait. Alex didn't care. He was finally in a position to speak his mind and he was going to take that chance. If his flare of temper helped sell the story that he'd hired ex-SCORPIA people and not current ones, well, he considered that a bonus.

"You spent two weeks at Malagosto for an undercover operation according to your file," Byrne said. "That's not exactly the same as a group of trained mercenaries wanted for Lord knows what."

"Is that the same file that says I volunteered to help with the Stormbreaker mission and that I was such an adrenaline-addicted patriot that I kept coming back for more, just in fancy, psychological terms?"

Byrne's silence was telling, and he had to know it. It was all but an admission that they both knew the official file from MI6 was about as accurate as the Daily Mail, but that Byrne and the CIA had gone along with it, anyway, because Alex was useful and MI6's explanation offered the plausible deniability they needed.

It was also all but an admission from Alex that Blunt's little cover story for his weeks at Malagosto had only the barest of relation to the truth, but Byrne likely suspected that, too. His phrasing was too specific not to. He had offered Alex an out of an increasingly incriminating discussion, and Alex had chosen not to take it.

If he was going to burn his bridges, he might as well nuke them to be sure. Just to keep with the theme.

"I'm done," Alex said when the silence stretched on for too long. "I quit. I'm taking up aquarium keeping. If Blunt has an opinion about that, he can talk to my brand new security, because if I run into someone else in a bad situation that I can help, I'm going to do that, since no one bothered to do it for me. Now, if that's your nuke down there, take it back with you and tell the Air Force to stop littering. If not, I'm sure I can figure something else out. The Russians like me after Murmansk."

"If it'll let their techs to have a look at one of our nukes in decent condition, they'd like just about anyone." Byrne's voice was dry. "Don't worry, we'll take it."

Byrne's bodyguard stepped forward without being told and handed his boss a large envelope. Byrne in turn passed it on to Alex, who took it with a bit of wariness.

"The paperwork for your aquarium. Congratulations, it's a legitimate non-profit organisation now. There's also a USB drive with a few other things you might need, along with a how-to for whoever's running that thing."

"And a virus or two to take a look at our systems?"

Byrne snorted. "If that's all it takes to get past your security, you need to look for better employees."

It wasn't denial, not that Alex expected the truth, but that was fine. He trusted Thetis would take a look at it.

Down on the deck, the techs and the soldier had packed the box back up. One of the techs gave Byrne a second thumbs-up, and Byrne glanced at Alex.

"Given the size of that box and the conditions here, the best way to transport that thing will be by helicopter," he said. There was an implied question in the words even Alex could pick up on.

"Go ahead."

The last two soldiers vanished downstairs to help with the cargo. Someone on the navy ship had obviously been waiting for the go-ahead, too, because less than twenty seconds later, the sound of something large and powerful cut through air, and a helicopter appeared. It looked like a Seahawk to Alex, who had spent enough unwanted time around the military in various forms that he recognised it by now.

Neither he nor Byrne spoke as the helicopter approached and settled in what felt like a dangerously close spot to the Cosmos, almost straight above their heads. Even if one of them had something to say, the roar of the helicopter drowned out everything in a torrent of noise. All Alex could do was watch as the soldiers grabbed the straps that were lowered from the cargo hold and secured the box with practised, efficient movements. They had obviously tried it before and Alex supposed it didn't make much difference if the stuff in the box was regular supplies for the ship or one lost-and-found nuke.

After one final check, everyone got clear and the helicopter took off, the box hanging precariously beneath it. Alex felt the tension in his body ease a little with every bit of distance the helicopter gained.

It wasn't his problem now. It was the CIA's, and if something messed up, it would be well away from him and Nautilus and all the animals that called the aquarium home. That was worth the risk it had been to bring himself to Byrne's attention.

The roar of the helicopter had settled into muted background noise when Byrne got up. Alex wondered for a moment what he was supposed to do. Show them to the small boat that still waited for them? Make small-talk? Go 'bye, see you hopefully never' and call it a day? What did common courtesy say about a situation like that?

Byrne solved that problem before Alex could get too far down into that rabbit hole.

"I need to keep an eye on that thing," he said, then paused for a moment and continued, his voice low enough not to carry any further than Alex. "If you get in over your head, call us. No strings. This whole thing might seem like a good idea right now, but if it comes back to bite you, you've got my number. All right?"

"Yeah," Alex agreed and didn't mention that calling the CIA for help was an option about two spots above calling MI6, and – as events had proven to him – below calling SCORPIA for help. "All right."

It was apparently good enough for Byrne, because he nodded and left, his bodyguard following behind. Down on the deck, the soldiers and techs had packed up and were gone as well. On the Dewey, the Seahawk had landed and delivered a massive headache in the hands on the US Navy instead of Alex.

In another few minutes, they would all be out of his life again. No one had shot at him. No one had kidnapped him. He hadn't even needed to use his taser. Was this what having resources and backup felt like? He could get used to that.

One of the members of Imai touched his headset lightly, then crossed the deck to Alex. His uniform was clearly designed to hide most of his features and make him hard to identify but Alex was pretty sure it was Diego, Imai's second-in-command.

"Byrne's ride just left, sir. Surveillance caught nothing suspicious from anyone but we're still waiting for the complete check."

Right. They didn't want to bring anything home with them. It was hard to be stealthy in something like the Cosmos, but that didn't mean they wanted to bring any bugs back, either. Alex opened the envelope from Byrne and handed both the USB stick and papers to Diego.

"Here, it should only have stuff related to Nautilus' legal status, but check it, anyway. The papers, too."

The man accepted them without question. "We'll handle it, sir."

Professional. Helpful. It shouldn't be a surprise, Crux had vouched for the team and he knew exactly how much he paid for her assistance, but it still felt weird to have an adult around who just … listened and didn't argue about everything.

Beneath their feet, the massive engines came to life. Ahead of them, the Dewey had started to turn as well, maybe to drop off the nuke somewhere and return to whatever job that Byrne had interrupted, maybe to return to the rest of its fleet. Whatever it was, it was a long way from home. Crux had mentioned the Seventh Fleet was headquartered in Japan. Compared to that, Alex's four hours back to the Maldives was nothing.

The Cosmos began its own slow half-circle, cutting through the waves with ease as they left the rendezvous point behind and headed back towards the base. Maybe it was just Alex's imagination, but everything felt a little lighter without the large box as an ominous presence on the deck.

Eagle the Roomba appeared from the behind the outside bar and rolled back inside, clearly done with the whole notion of fresh air and saltwater. Alex assumed that meant Thetis got the recording she wanted. He would be surprised if she didn't also plan to make full use of the scanners on the two roombas to check over the yacht for herself as well.

The Dewey had vanished beneath the horizon by the time Crux and the rest of Imai appeared. The less people the CIA was aware of, the better.

"The scan came back clear," she reported. "No unwanted surprises."

Which really just meant that Byrne's lot planned to track them by satellite and whatever else they had access to, but that didn't really matter. The paperwork for Nautilus made it clear where Alex had settled down and he had made no secret of fact that he planned to stay permanently. If the CIA still needed to track a superyacht by satellite to figure out his new place of residence, well, they clearly needed all the help they could get.

"All good, then?" Alex asked instead.

"Well," Crux said, "you did have one missed phone call during your negotiations with Byrne. Mr Roscoe requested you call him back when we let him know you were unavailable. He was quite insistent that you, quote, 'can't fuck over the CIA and not share the details,' end quote. He expects your call within the hour."

Alex's lips twitched and he accepted the phone from Crux. He hadn't had that much to do with Paul Roscoe but that sounded exactly like the boy he had come to know, and Alex was already eyeing the yacht for a spot for a private talk.

If anyone would appreciate what he was doing, it was the rest of the inmates from Point Blanc.

Chapter Text

London, April 15th

"Jack? It's Alex. The mission – it turned into a complete mess. They claimed I was just supposed to be a cover but the agent got killed as soon as we landed in the Maldives and I only got away because they didn't expect a teenager. The nutcase we were supposed to investigate is dead now and – I'm not going back. I'm done. I quit. I won't go back to London and wait for MI6 to send me on another supposedly-safe mission to try to get me killed. I stole all the access information I could and I've got enough money for both of us to stay at a luxury resort here for the next year while we figure out what to do. Call me. Please. You're not safe in London. I love you."

The message from the answering machine ended the same way it had the other four times Tulip had heard it – with three seconds of silence as Alex presumably ended the call. Less than a minute in total, but at least it was more than the few sentences Alex had deigned to send to them. It raised far more questions than it answered but it was additional confirmation that Alex was, indeed, alive.

That was not the part of it that Jack Starbright chose to focus on.

"You told me he was safe. You told me it was just supposed to be a few weeks while you arranged for a trusted tutor able to help him catch up with school."

Alan Blunt's office had been designed to be impersonal enough to unsettle people and leave them just a bit off-balance; a bit of psychological manipulation that Tulip had long since grown immune to. Jack Starbright did not have the advantage of familiarity but that clearly did not stop her from making her opinion firmly known.

"It was," Alan agreed, utterly unmoved by her anger. "And until today, we had no indications as to the contrary."

It was a lie, of course – it had been three weeks since last contact and a week since Alex's adult partner for the mission had been found dead – but it hardly one Starbright was in any position to call them on. The expected anger should she realise she had been kept in the dark wasn't something they cared to deal with, either. Not for a situation that was already spiralling out of control.

"Allow me to be frank, Ms Starbright," Alan continued. "We have an agent dead in mysterious circumstances and a teenager who has quite abruptly and against everything in his psychological profile decided to remain half a world away, alone and with a paranoid, erratic edge to his behaviour."

"The last time Alex went off on his own like this," Tulip said before Starbright could argue, "he was manipulated into joining a terrorist organisation. In these circumstances, with a message like that, we have to assume the worst."

The softer approach to balance out Alan's harsher methods and the picture-perfect image of a subordinate trying to salvage the situation in the face of an unhelpful superior. It had been a useful strategy for years. Far too many people who should have known better still expected a woman to be softer. Weaker and kinder, more likely to see the human rather than a cold, simple cost-benefit analysis. It was a mistake that had sometimes cost them dearly.

Starbright blamed Alan for everything that had happened. She would be far more inclined to listen to Tulip's words, so long as she got the impression that Tulip was on her side regarding Alex.

"Alex is not a terrorist!"

"He isn't," Tulip agreed, and that at least she could say truthfully. He had been given the chance and every reason to shoot her, and he still hadn't been able to carry through. It spoke volumes about the person he was and she never forgot that. "Alex is hardly a killer, either, but SCORPIA still tried to force him to become one, and it nearly cost him his life to stop them. There are far too many people out there who won't care about his age if they decide it would be worth it to destroy everything that he is to turn him into someone he should never have become."

"Like a spy?" Starbright's voice was bitter. "He said no, after all. But you couldn't leave that alone, could you? Not when he was useful to you. Don't tell me you care now."

It was late afternoon, with the offices around them slowly quieting down for the evening. Alex's package had arrived in the morning. The message that had been left on Starbright's answering machine shortly past noon made Tulip strongly suspect that Alex had called the moment he had received the delivery confirmation, or deliberately a little later. Maybe it had been an attempt to get Starbright out of the UK while MI6 was busy with the package. Increase the chance that any surveillance would be occupied by his blatant attempt to draw their focus and allow Starbright to slip away unnoticed.

It obviously hadn't worked but the amount of thought put into that timing was … unusual for Alex. That was not an observation Starbright would react well to, though.

"Alex has saved the world. Millions of people owe their lives to him, for all that they will never know. Spying is in his blood and duty has been at the foundation of the Rider family for generations. I suppose it's easier to blame us than the curiosity and stubbornness that has seen him tangled up in far more operations than we ever approached him for."

Alan Blunt had little care or understanding for the fact that Alex was a child. Tulip had known that since the beginning, and she supposed that was the sort of ruthlessness that had brought him to the very top of Special Operations. She had learned to work with it, to try to temper his disregard for Alex's well-being in favour of a successful operation, but Starbright would fly into a fit of rage at that same approach.

Tulip stepped in before it could reach that point.

"We want Alex home safe, the same as you. He could have been manipulated into this. He could be under duress. Even if he is not, it's only a matter of time before it becomes known to others that he is on his own, with no support network or security, and that will make him a target. We can't keep him safe in the Maldives, but we can in London."

"He got shot in London. Right outside your building."

"A security oversight that has been handled." Alan dismissed the point with the finality of someone who considered the matter firmly closed.

He wasn't wrong. It was bad enough that the target had been a teenager. Worse was the knowledge that any number of extremely valuable assets could have been killed from that security breach. That MI6 had fixed that oversight immediately and thoroughly was not a lie.

Silence. Starbright stared at the phone on the table, like it would somehow offer the answers she wanted.

She was worried, Tulip observed clinically, though that was no surprise. She had been outside when Alex had called her. Perhaps she wondered what would have happened if she had been close enough to take the call and hadn't left her phone on the kitchen counter. Would they have had to stop her in Heathrow instead, on her way to the Maldives? Tulip supposed the odds were about even. Something was clearly going on with Alex. Whether Starbright would have deemed it the better option to go alone to help him or to call in MI6 in lack of any other realistic choice … she supposed they would never know.

"He's a kid," Starbright finally said. "He's fifteen and alone and you did that to him."

"We sent him with an adult, experienced agent to Sri Lanka. They were never supposed to be in any danger. Now, something went wrong. We don't know what, but now we need to get Alex home safely. That is our priority now," Tulip explained. Alan remained silent, content to let her take the lead. "We had planned to send two agents, one of which Alex has worked with before. We would like you to go with them. If anyone, you have the best chance to spot anything wrong with him and you may be able to get through to him if he's too paranoid to listen to us."

Starbright tensed, undoubtedly at the thought of days with two of their agents. Perhaps she would, in fact, have tried to go to the Maldives alone when the alternative was Alan Blunt. It was no longer an option, of course, and she was intelligent enough to know that. MI6 would bring Alex Rider home, one way or the other. Jack Starbright's presence would at least ensure a kinder approach than some they had considered.

"… On one condition," she said. "This is the last time. Alex is fifteen. He should be in school, not doing – this! He has a future that you're doing your damn best to take from him and he doesn't deserve it. You have adult agents who actually want that stupid job who can handle it instead. I'll go with you, but this is the last mission you send him on. Ever."

That left quite a few loopholes in regards to other agencies and missions caused by Alex's own curiosity, but Tulip had no desire to point that out. Instead she glanced at Alan, who was just as aware of how meaningless of a promise it was, and he nodded slowly.

"Agreed."

All that meant, Tulip knew, was that next time they would simply make Alex believe it was his own decision. He was too valuable of an asset to let go.

With Starbright's cooperation ensured, they should have him back in London within a week, safely under control again. Whatever had happened in the Maldives … they would take it from there.

It could hardly be worse than the fallout of his little SCORPIA vacation.

The Maldives, April 12th

(3 days previously)

Alex woke up to a dead fish.

Technically, to be fair, he woke up to the picture of a dead fish in his messages and it was less 'leaving a horse head in your bed, Godfather style' and more 'you requested a dead fish and SCORPIA believes in client satisfaction', but it was still very early in the morning and a very dead fish.

Alex squinted at the screen. He wasn't actually sure what he was trying to spot, just that he could easily have slept an hour or two longer but Crux probably wouldn't let him, and focusing on the screen was kind of hard when he had just woken up.

The fish didn't look any different for it, unsurprisingly. Alex decided it would just have to wait until after breakfast and put his phone down again. Next step, then.

"Thetis, what's the status of the base?"

She responded immediately, because unlike him, she obviously didn't need sleep or cared about silly human inventions like 'mornings'.

"The facility is in level one lockdown. All issues are contained. All high, medium, and low priority issues have been added to the repair and maintenance schedule. The vessel transporting thermonuclear gravity bomb, designation B61, Mod 4 is approximately one thousand, one hundred kilometres away, expected destination Yokosuka."

Alex had expected it. He still felt the last weight from the presence of the nuke fall from his shoulders at the definitive confirmation that it was gone. That even Thetis felt secure enough to no longer consider it a threat to her aquariums.

"Thank you," he said and meant it. For the reassurance and for being his eyes and ears where he couldn't be himself. He couldn't trust her unconditionally but he trusted her far more than anyone that wasn't Jack or Tom. Not that it said much. It wasn't like he had an impressively long list of trustworthy people in his life these days.

That handled, Alex forced himself out of bed and stumbled into the spacious bathroom for a quick shower.

Wake up. Food. Fish. In that order. Maybe send some longing looks at the awful-tasting espresso that Sania had banned him from.

Half an hour later found him in the kitchen, somewhat more awake. This time he recognised the nasi goreng that the kitchen offered almost daily for one of the meals and went straight for it. The cereal and bread was an option, too, but he wasn't about to turn down actual home-made food for breakfast.

Alex's fingers twitched in a subconscious grab for the espresso, but Sania had a sixth sense for that sort of thing and had already arrived, conveniently seated to keep an eye on both Alex and the coffee machine. If he had been slightly more awake, maybe he would have gone for the coffee machine in the kitchen, but she would probably have known somehow.

Tea it was, then. Tea and a can of Coke because that was about all he would be able to get away with.

Sometimes, there were distinct disadvantages to hiring too-competent people to run his life for him. Like healthy food and early mornings and exercise.

It took most of the bowl of breakfast, the entire can of Coke, and two cups of tea, but Alex finally felt ready to face the day. Now that the long days and unrelenting stress and the constant, unsettling presence of the nuke and the nightmares it brought had finally ended, it was like his body had decided that enough was enough and that it was time to get the rest he was behind on.

Alex couldn't even argue. Sleep sounded – nice. Maybe a nap on the beach. Just rest a little and try to forget everything about the memories of both Crewe and the creepy doppelganger that had walked the halls.

Crux apparently agreed on his behalf, because for the first time since she had gotten her hands on his schedule, he didn't actually have anything until ten that morning. An entire hour and a half to himself was more than he'd had for days. His to-do list was still massive but a bit of free time was a precious gift.

He did have one thing to handle first, though, and he wasn't entirely sure how to broach the topic. Finally he settled for the direct approach.

"Crux sent me a picture of a dead fish. For … the whole thing with MI6," he added and made a vague gesture he hoped sort of encompassed the entire complicated situation.

"A carassius auratus," Sania agreed. "A goldfish. Of the common variety, to be exact."

At least she knew about it. That was a good sign. The photo looked like a goldfish to Alex, too, but to the best of his knowledge, goldfish were supposed to be small. Not the size of a dinner plate.

"… Did Crewe experiment on those, too? I didn't think they grew that big."

He couldn't even rule it out. Crewe had seemed like the sort of batshit supervillain that preferred to carry out all of his experiments on more impressive-looking animals, like the poor sand tiger shark, except his ultimate plan had involved mosquitoes, so who knew what had gone on inside his warped mind.

"No. It's simply a matter of the vast majority of goldfish in captivity never reaching that sort of size due to inadequate care and aquarium size. In optimal living conditions, they can live for fifteen years or more and grow accordingly, as this one did. According to the aquarium logs, it was fourteen years old and had been in declining health for several months with no noticeable cause. I expect it died from, essentially, old age."

Not much older than Alex himself, then. In human years, anyway. It had been positively ancient for a goldfish.

It was weird to think about, that not longer after his parents had been killed, some tiny, little goldfish had been born in an aquarium somewhere and somehow ended up crossing his path fourteen years later, with both of them ending up in the hands of a deranged billionaire.

"So is it okay if I send it to MI6?" he asked, just to be sure. Sania had strong opinions on animal welfare and he didn't want to offend her.

"Well, it's dead." Sania's response was blunt and pragmatic. "It's a perfectly normal goldfish. No one experimented on it, there is nothing suspicious about its death, and based on its general condition, it lived a full, comfortable life. Yes, it's perfectly fine to send it."

In retrospect, the idea did seem a little silly to him now, sending MI6 a fish like that. On the other, that was just the sort of petty little thing that made him feel a little more cheerful and would get Blunt's immediate attention, so common sense could go take a hike.

"Right," Alex agreed and couldn't think of anything else to say. "Just – wanted to be sure."

Sania looked fondly amused.

"Well, now you are. Go. You have an hour and twenty-five minutes until your presence is required again. Enjoy a bit of downtime before someone finds something for you to do."

Someone, meaning Crux or Thetis. Alex didn't need to be reminded twice. He wasn't sure what he was going to do but he had almost an hour and a half to figure something out. He could work with that.

A quick wave and he was gone again, off to explore the hopefully nuke-free island that was slowly becoming home.

One minute to ten found Alex with Crux and her every-present list of various issues.

Alex had thought that list would look a little less crammed full of stuff with the nuke out of the way but that obviously wasn't the case. Whatever entries she had removed from it had clearly been replaced by other issues and brought some buddies along for good measure.

"With the issue with the Americans out of the way, I would like to tackle the matter of Ms Starbright," Crux began. "The planning is essentially complete. We only need your go-ahead at this point."

Well, they had the dead fish, at least. Alex wasn't sure how that constituted 'essentially complete' planning.

"We need a way to contact Jack, too," he pointed out. "If she's under surveillance and all that."

"I put a local asset on the case as soon as we had settled a preliminary plan. Ms Starbright does her grocery shopping every other day, sometimes even daily, presumably as a way to get out of the house. The asset will approach her with a burner phone."

Get out of the house. Because Alex was gone again with very little warning, and – there was no one else. Just the silence of the old house, and the thought of Jack there, entirely on her own and with no idea of whether Alex was even still alive … it wasn't something he wanted to linger on. His heart hurt enough as it was.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Crux confirmed. "Accounting for time zones and her general routines, the phone should be in her possession sometime between mid-afternoon and early evening today, so keep your phone on you."

Knowing Jack, she would call immediately, too. In five or six hours, he might hear her voice again … and get to explain just what sort of mess he had ended up in this time. Somehow. Given that he wasn't even sure he could explain it coherently to himself, maybe it was time to consider just what he was going to tell her.

His only hope was that the local asset wouldn't make it worse. He couldn't imagine a way to get a phone like that to Jack and not have it turn creepy – or worse, reminiscent enough of MI6 to set off her absolutely justified anger – but he had to trust that Crux had found someone up for the job. It was too late to back out now.

"If we ship the package tomorrow, it should arrive at MI6's front door by the fifteenth," Crux continued. "With the right amount of dry ice, it should be possible to have it arrive somewhat pungent but not entirely rotten."

The package, better known as the dead goldfish that was currently located in one of the massive fridges that housed the aquarium supplies with a large post-it with 'NOT FOOD!' written in big, blocky, black marker. Alex knew, he had taken a look when curiosity got the better of him on his way to meet up with Crux.

In person, it had become clear that the small, squished photo on his phone had not done the dead fish justice. It was almost comically large, like someone had scaled up a normal goldfish by about five hundred percent, and it was exactly the sort of absurd thing Alex had hoped for to make a statement to MI6.

With a fish of that size, 'pungent' would still be bad, not that he was about to object.

Alex's goldfish musings were interrupted when Crux pushed a Polaroid camera across the table to him.

"Proof of life. It won't rule out a convincing imposter, of course," like Crewe, she didn't need to say, "but it should ensure they treat the message with due seriousness. The camera has eight photos to allow you to experiment a little with the setup. Add a hand-written note, as they have your handwriting on record, too, and it should make a suitable point."

The camera was big and bulky and looked like a cross between a toy and a brick that someone had tried to paint like an aerobic outfit from the eighties.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just … print a photo from a phone or something?"

If there wasn't a printer somewhere, he was sure one could be procured within the hour if necessary. Crux had somehow made heavy-duty construction equipment appear practically overnight. Someone, somewhere had to have a printer.

"Sometimes, it's about aesthetics."

"Aesthetics," Alex repeated dubiously. "The sort that says 'I'm being held hostage by terrorists and this is a ransom note'?"

"Well, the resemblance should get their attention." Crux's smile was just a little too sharp; the sort of smile that reminded Alex of a particularly intelligent shark looking for a snack. "A reminder of your age and how dangerous of a situation you might easily end up in on your own should encourage them to bring Ms Starbright along to get you back under MI6's control. An adult agent would have been treated far worse than you were following your brief time with SCORPIA. If they still consider you a child, you should take full advantage of that."

The reminder of the events that had brought him to SCORPIA and everything that had followed settled as a dull ache in his chest. The lies and the manipulations and the legacy of a father he had never known and whose shadow still loomed over Alex. The brief weeks at Malagosto where he was never comfortable with a lot of the lessons but where the teachers and other students had still treated him better than anyone in the intelligence world had.

Even the sniper had been a kindness, even if Alex would never, ever admit that out loud. Out of everyone that had tried to kill him in increasingly horrifying ways, that had at least been quick and he had never seen it coming. He had enough nightmares without adding that one to the list.

Alex picked up the camera to distract himself. It felt just as heavy as it looked.

Aesthetics. It still sounded silly to him but Crux seemed to know what she was doing and had about a decade more experience with that world than he did. Maybe they covered that in a class at Malagosto at some point outside of the two weeks he had spent there.

Proof of life and a reminder of his age, though …

A horrible idea settled in the back of Alex's mind.

"You'll have it this afternoon," he promised.

There was nothing serious and aesthetic about Alex's plan for that camera but she didn't need to know that. She would find out soon enough – her, and Blunt and Jones and whatever other nameless, faceless MI6 henchman that got to open that package. Maybe Crawley, too. Just the thought was enough to make Alex smile.

Unlike a number of people Alex had met through his unwilling and unwanted career, Crux just took his word for it and moved on. Maybe it was because he was the client and paid her salary, maybe it was because he had worked enough with her that she knew she could trust him, but either way it was a nice change.

"Dr Jain's people have looked into some of the details in Crewe's notebooks," Crux continued. "In particular the references to poisonous aquatic plants."

Those references had been a little too frequent for Alex's peace of mind, and thankfully Crux and Sania agreed. It had been overshadowed by other issues – like the nuke, and the potential structural damage, and a dozen other, more pressing potential disasters – but it had still lingered in the back of his mind. Like a fermenting fish.

"We have a problem?" he guessed, more resignation than surprise.

"We have a problem," Crux confirmed. "None of the aquatic plants in the aquariums should be poisonous in any way. A number of them are even considered edible."

So either those comments in Crewe's notebooks were the ramblings of the megalomaniac madman he had been … or, like the sand tiger shark and the ambition to bring back the megalodon, it was the harbinger of even more genetic DIY projects. How long had Crewe worked on it? The earliest parts of the aquarium complex were more than fifteen years old. That was a lot of time to practice gluing bits of DNA together.

"Do we have any idea of which ones it might be?" Alex asked even as he knew it was a hopelessly optimistic thought. His luck never worked like that and Crux confirmed it a moment later.

"None. The sand tiger shark was referenced repeatedly and she is noticeably different from others of her species. For this, we have nothing. Realistically speaking, if there is anything, it will be one species, maybe two. It would have made no sense to continue what was presumably a trial run. We could ignore it but everything considered, I strongly recommend an expert to look into it. Dr Jain's speciality is marine fauna, not marine flora."

Alex didn't need to think twice about it.

"Approved," he said, "and tell anyone who works with the aquariums to be careful, just in case."

Because if something in one of the aquariums was poisonous, it might become a danger to the fish in it. It might become a danger if it somehow managed to contaminate another aquarium. Depending on exactly what was in there, it might become a danger to anyone around it, human or otherwise.

"Thetis," Alex continued, "is there any information on the plants in the aquariums? Any warnings?"

"The founder provided sub-optimal documentation for the decisions made in the designs and environmental considerations of the aquariums. Electronic records have retroactively been designated as incomplete. Non-electronic records are required for optimal management."

That was as annoyed as Alex had ever heard her. He wondered if she was as tired of unwanted surprises as the rest of them were. Before he could follow up with more questions, his tablet lit up as a notification appeared and a document opened a second later.

"Aquariums have been ranked in order of threat assessment."

'Threat assessment', as in threat to the fish, not to the humans employed to take care of them. Alex was very familiar with Thetis' priorities by now.

"Thank you," he said and meant it. They would probably need to check up on every single species of plant in there, just to be sure, but it gave them a place to start.

The paper records … Crewe had left behind handwritten notebooks, files that were deliberately kept away from Thetis, and an entire enclosed network that she hadn't even known the existence of. Alex couldn't blame her for wanting access to that, not with how many bad surprises they had already found, a number of which was – or could have become – a threat to the aquariums.

Alex was about to ask why Crewe would even have bought an AI like Thetis if all he did was restrict her ability to do her job, but he realised the answer before he could voice the question.

Crewe had been paranoid. A walking, talking psychological case study with a textbook worth of issues but the paranoia had been high on the list. Right up there with his mental instability. He didn't trust his staff, he didn't trust his security, he didn't trust his assistant. He had somehow managed to get his hands on one of the most advanced AI models available, coded her to his exact requirements, and then he hadn't even trusted that. He had restricted her, kept information from her, and left her to get increasingly obsessive from the lack of things to do. Maybe it wasn't a surprise that Thetis reacted much like Alex himself would have if someone had deliberately kept him in the dark.

"I'll make sure someone scans all of Crewe's notes," he promised. Maybe it was risky, but Thetis wanted the information – needed it, to be sure she could do her job – and Alex had been denied vital information often enough that he wasn't going to refuse her now.

Besides, Crux had suggested more work to keep Thetis stable. A whole bunch of incoherent ramblings mixed with potentially-lethal science should be a good start on that.

"I'll have the list passed on to the expert we find," Crux promised.

Sometimes, the constantly growing list of people in Alex's employ made him look at the salary expenses and decide that it was no wonder Malagosto had saddled its students with massive tuition payments. He got an update with every new addition and there had been a lot of those. SCORPIA's disguise specialist had left, but Crux's combat team was still around and now Alex could add one more person to the list.

At least he also knew how much money Crewe had owned and how well his family office had handled his investments, and the blunt truth was that for now, those investments still brought in more money than the Nautilus could spend.

He would need to do something about that, find some charities that Thetis could approve of, but that had to wait until he had the rest of the situation mostly under control. There had been too many surprises already for him to believe it would be smooth sailing from now on.

"Where do you even find people like that?" Alex asked, morbidly curious. "Does SCORPIA have a list of them or something? Is there some black market job site for people to take care of weird billionaire pets? Do you just call someone and tell them you're headhunting for a consultant company and hope they don't ask questions about the laser-sharks or whatever else is in supervillain vogue this year?"

"Networking and nepotism." Crux didn't even blink at his question.

Networking. Something about that word made Alex immediately suspicious.

"… if you're about to tell me I'm paying membership fees to some evil networking league of supervillains, I want my espresso back."

Given some of the stories Alex had heard about various exclusive clubs for rich wankers with obscene membership fees for the privilege of meeting other rich wankers, he wouldn't even be surprised. Roscoe had warned him, and he had vague recollections of David Friend droning on about the importance of the 'proper company' and 'business opportunities' as well.

That got a genuine smile from Crux.

"Well, if you want to join such a thing, I'm sure it could be arranged. I'm certain Mr Chase would be delighted to see you take such an interest in profitable business relationships." She paused just long enough for the looming sense of more potential paperwork to settle in Alex, then continued. "No, Alex. SCORPIA is a vast organisation, and people working on the less legal side of things will often know others who are trustworthy and who might look favourably upon a recruitment offer or an employment contract. Even when it comes to such a thing as aquatic plants of dubious origins. I have a poison specialist in mind already."

Put that way, it made sense. Most of Alex's classmates at Malagosto had come from a military background. It would make sense they had a good idea of whether anyone else they'd worked with might be SCORPIA material as well. People someone else had already vouched for left a lot less risk of undercover agents slipping past whatever checks they went through as well.

"The last thing for now …" Crux slid a folder across the table and Alex picked it up. "Information on your options in regards to your continued education. Go through it at your own pace and take the time needed to consider what you actually want. You'll find there is a significant number of options. To rush that decision will only cause further problems down the line. It's easier to get it right the first time."

A significant number. Based on the sheer size of the file, that might very well be an understatement. Alex wondered why it hadn't just been sent to his tablet but the pamphlets that greeted him when he opened the folder gave him the answer. They didn't look like the sort of thing designed and printed in a random school office somewhere, either. It was all expensive paper and the sort of fancy designs that left no doubt about the cost of tuition.

"As said," Crux repeated, "take your time. Another month or two will make no difference. With the sort of resources available to you, none of them would refuse you. I have a meeting with Kywe soon but I'll update your schedule for the day to account for Ms Starbright."

Already slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information in the folder combined with the surge of anxiety at the reminder of Jack, Alex took the escape he was offered. He was out the door before Crux could change her mind and find something else he needed to look at.

Now that he had approved the plan on how to approach Jack, Crux clearly wasted no time. Alex could tell, because he got to see his schedule update in real-time on his phone as five notifications followed at rapid-fire speed to rearrange his day before he even made it to his favourite aquarium spot. He thought he'd have at least until her meeting with Kywe was done but Malagosto's 'idle hands' principle apparently covered teenage clients, too.

It did make him stare at his calendar and wonder about his new life. Was this what owning a large company was like? Was this how absurdly rich people lived their lives? Just … having people for everything? People to cater to your every whim, every hour of the day, and solve every little inconvenience that showed up? No wonder they were all off their rocker.

One last notification popped up and Alex almost groaned when he saw the subject. Then he turned around and headed back to his room in search of workout clothes.

Alex's last real appointment of the day was supposed to have been a workout that afternoon, but his new schedule put it right before lunch instead. Crux had convinced him to pick up self-defence training again but the actual lessons had seemed like a distant spot in the future. That spot had now turned into a looming thundercloud and there was no way to avoid it.

At some point in the middle of the mess that had been dealing with – well, everything, Alex had gone through the list of potential self-defence instructors at the base and picked one. Crux had suggested talking with them first but it had been so far down Alex's list of priorities that even the thought of finding the time for that had seemed insurmountable. He had picked a sensible-sounding option and trusted that Crux wouldn't have added some completely useless instructor to the list.

Of course, numerous potential emergencies and assorted other stress factors later, he couldn't actually remember who he had picked, but it all came flooding back to him the moment he stepped outside, into the sunlight and the area that had been reserved for an outdoor training ground.

Narong was one of Kywe's people and a former close combat instructor in the Royal Thai Armed Forces. He had been Crux's main recommendation and had sounded great on paper, but all Alex was reminded of now was his miserable days with the SAS and just as miserable classes under Yermalov at Malagosto.

The weather was a lot better, and no one wanted to train him as an assassin, but Narong still had the hard, wiry appearance of someone who had honed their body into a living weapon and could probably break at least a couple of laws of physics in close combat. He reminded Alex a little of a midpoint between his former Karate instructor and Nile. Given that Narong was one of SCORPIA's, the comparison probably wasn't even that wrong.

Alex could hardly wait.

The fact that his mental attempt at sarcasm sounded exhausted even to himself did nothing to help on things.

The few words Alex had exchanged with Narong previously had been pleasant enough, but most of Alex's time had been spent with Crux and Kywe and Sania, and it wasn't until that moment he realised how little he actually knew the other people on the island.

Maybe … this would be a good thing. A way to start to get to know everyone else. Even if all he really wanted was a nap in the shade and to try to convince himself he wasn't a nervous wreck about Jack.

"Mr Rider," Narong greeted him. "Welcome. Ms Crux mentioned you wanted to start up self-defence training."

"Alex. Please." It was a continuous campaign of Alex's, getting everyone to call him by his given name, but it was one he had no intentions of giving up on. "She … made some good arguments."

Crux hadn't pushed against his refusal to use a gun, not like he had expected, but he was pretty sure there was no way she'd let him get out of this. He wasn't sure he wanted to, either. He had missed the exercise.

"Everyone should know enough to get out of a dangerous situation," Narong agreed. "She mentioned you have previous training?"

"Karate since I was six, I reached first dan when I was thirteen." Alex paused. He wondered how much he should admit to, then remembered it was undoubtedly in his file already. "I also went through two weeks of training at Malagosto under Professor Yermalov last summer."

And that was the issue right there. He'd practised Karate since he was six, but he'd had no chance since Ian had died, and he knew there were a lot of details he had forgotten. A lot of precision that had fallen to the wayside in favour of desperation and survival. With Yermalov's training on top, Alex knew his style had slowly but surely become some bastardised version of Karate with Malagosto's lethal training and some SAS moves thrown in, along with whatever else he had picked up.

Not all of those styles worked together. Some of it flat-out worked against each other, and in a dangerous situation, Alex couldn't afford to get his wires crossed. Couldn't afford that conflicting instincts messed up his reaction time when a second might mean the difference between life and death. He had been through too much in the past year to believe he wouldn't end up in the middle of some lethal mess again.

Narong nodded. "Sound foundations, then. We will take the time to figure out what you need and then work with that. Afterwards, regular training should ensure we get rid of any bad habits you have picked up."

Bad habits. Like Yermalov's insistence that a killing blow was always a good first choice unless someone needed to be kept alive to interrogate. Like the long list of pressure points he had been forced to memorise and could probably still recite. Like a lot of things that Malagosto had taught him that he didn't want to have as the first thing he reached for.

"First, I will need an idea of your fitness level. Ms Crux has assured me she does not expect you to be held to Malagosto's physical standards at your age, but a regular training routine will be healthy for you. We will warm up, then start with a jog around the island and continue from there. Do you have any medical conditions we need to be aware of? Ms Crux did not report any in your file."

There were a lot of injuries Alex could have mentioned but none that were going to cause an issue. A lot of slowly fading scars and the traumas that had come with them. A lot of things that had long since physically healed, even if the nightmares still stuck around.

"I don't think so." It was the most honest answer Alex could give. "I haven't had any issues but I got shot near the heart last year. It's healed but …"

"But it remains something to be aware of," Narong agreed. "Tell me if it causes problems. Training can always be adapted. Now – time to take a look at your island, Mr Rider! We have an hour and a half before lunch. Let us make full use of it."

Alex didn't groan, though the temptation was there. Former military close combat instructor, Crux had said. She hadn't mentioned the unnatural delight in hard exercise that seemed to be a requirement for those types, but he should probably have expected that.

Well. At least the workout would probably leave him too tired to think of anything else. Silver linings and all that.

Alex spent the hours after his well-earned lunch going over his educational opportunities as Crux tackled … some work on another on her laptop nearby. She obviously wasn't about to let him leave her sight until Jack had called and to be fair, he didn't particularly want her to, either. The wait was bad enough without being alone as well.

Jack had left the house at two-forty and there had been no updates in the twenty minutes since. Just the confirmation that the asset would approach her and that she wasn't being followed.

All of that considered, his half-hearted research into subjects and tutors and international curricula was going downright brilliantly, even if about half the stuff in the file didn't actually register and he still wasn't sure what subjects he actually wanted. A couple of pamphlets had been put aside as 'absolutely not' but that still left a lot of options.

It was just past three when Crux glanced at her phone and turned her attention to Alex.

"Our local asset just delivered the phone to Ms Starbright."

Alex stilled, all thoughts of school gone in an instant and his entire focus replaced by a surge of anxiety. Suddenly, it seemed like the worst idea in the world. What right did he have to get Jack involved in his mess? To put her on SCORPIA's radar? He should have left her alone, let her make her own decisions, and – without him, MI6 would have left her alone, too, wouldn't they? She wouldn't be leverage any more. He knew it was too late, that things were in motion now, but he still wanted to tell Crux to stop it somehow, that he had changed his mind, and -

- His phone rang.

Alex didn't recognise the number. He didn't need to.

One.

He could just – not pick it up. Eventually, she would give up on him, wouldn't she? What if she didn't even want to talk to him? If she'd finally had enough of – of MI6 and spies and him and everything?

Two.

Alex picked up the phone. If his hand trembled a little, no one else had to know.

"Jack?"

"Alex? Oh, god! Where are you? Are you okay? Someone slipped me a phone at Tesco, told me I was under surveillance at home, and said to find a private place call you!"

When had he last heard her voice? It had been weeks since he left London – since he had all but been pulled out of school – but it felt like an eternity.

Alex had spent a lot of time wondering how the conversation might go. Now, out of time and with every carefully prepared, eloquent explanation rapidly slipping through his mental fingers, he found himself grasping for the first thing he did remember – his talk with Paul Roscoe.

First rule, control the narrative before someone else does it for you, Roscoe had told him with the sort of intensity that left no doubt he had learned that lesson the hard way. Second rule, everyone is out to fuck you over. If you didn't expect to die with them in a cell in a fucking school for Nazi clones while the rest of the world cooed over your sick fucking freak of a replacement, you don't give them a damn inch. If they were involved in sending you to that shithole in the first place, you fucking bury them before they bury you.

Control the narrative. Bury MI6. With a bit of luck, he could do both at the same time.

"I'm okay," he reassured her, the first thing he would have wanted to know if the roles had been reversed. "I'm in the Maldives. Blunt's intel turned out to be complete garbage again, the agent that was supposed to actually do the job was killed and left me to handle it, so – that's what I did. And then I quit. I left. I'm not coming back to London. Not with Blunt and Jones there."

Before the meeting with Byrne and the CIA, Crux had talked him through various scenarios he might have faced. Points that might have been brought up and questions he might have been asked, all to prepare him as much as possible for the situation he had been about to step into. Now Alex found himself doing the same for Jack. He knew Blunt and he knew Jones – or at least he knew them better than she did – and he would do what he could to make sure they couldn't twist the situation to suit their agenda.

The other end of the line was silent for a long second. Alex didn't blame her. It was a lot to just throw at her like that.

"Alex? You're halfway around the world. I don't want you within a thousand miles of Blunt, either, but – Alex, you're fifteen and on your own. Do you have any money on you? A place to stay? Anything?"

All valid concerns and Alex knew it. For all she knew, he could be living on the streets somewhere. There was really no nice way to explain it, either, so he went for the straightforward option.

"The most recent nutcase was another billionaire who wanted to wipe out humanity or something. I got access to his accounts when he got killed. He left behind a private island with a supervillain base and an entire aquarium complex and no one to care for it. There are fifteen thousand animals, mostly different kinds of fish, and they would all have died. MI6 wouldn't have cared. So I stuck around and found a new staff for the place and – I'm staying. Permanently."

The silence stretched on. Maybe he should have found a better way to tell her but he couldn't imagine how. It didn't change the facts.

"You're serious," Jack finally said. "Alex -"

"What's left for me in London?" Alex interrupted, because he knew that voice and if he let her continue, he would lose any chance to convince her. "What's left for either of us? Ian is dead. Every time I think I can catch up in school, I get pulled back into some mission or another. I can't talk to anyone, because they wouldn't believe me and any therapist cleared for it would probably report back to Blunt. They wouldn't let you leave because you're leverage and you know what they've been doing. If I refuse, they'll send you away, probably with some permanent mark on your record to make sure you can never come back. I'll get sent to the worst institution Blunt can find, far away from anyone and anything I know, if they don't just lock me away permanently because I know too much now. Those are my options. Either I stay until my luck runs out or I find an alternative. And – this is it. My alternative. I'm not going back."

"Tell me you have a plan. Something better than 'I quit'."

Alex could almost see Jack's expression, her pursed lips and the unspoken question of what do you think you're doing, but she hadn't shut down his idea yet. She wasn't convinced but – she was willing to listen.

Alex usually didn't have much of a plan in the first place, and the ones he had mostly went wrong sooner rather than later, but – that was what he had hired SCORPIA for. Maybe their plans hadn't gone much better when he had been involved but now that he wasn't actively working against them, it might actually work. It wasn't like he had any conveniently available backup plans, anyway.

"The nutcase, Crewe, he was a billionaire and it's all mine now," he repeated. "All of it. It's tied to the aquarium, to make sure they're care for, but – money, Jack. More than enough to get out of England and to do whatever you want with your life. I have people handling the legal issues and they have found nothing. No heirs, no will, no instructions in the event of his death. Nothing. So – we're making it legal. Crewe will officially die of cancer in a month or two, and everything will go to the son of the man who saved his life once."

"You."

"Me," Alex agreed. "This is the best option I'll ever get. I have the money to keep both of us safe and out of Blunt's grasp. Crewe had no surviving family. There's no one left to contest it. The only stipulation is to protect the aquariums and I would have done that, anyway."

"So you're just going to steal everything?"

"He wanted to wipe out humanity with genetically modified mosquitoes, I'm sorry if I don't feel guilty about swiping his access codes."

"God." Alex wasn't sure if it was a comment about Crewe's plan or the entire situation and he didn't ask. "This is – Alex, this whole plan is insane. You can't just steal a billion dollars and a supervillain base."

"Well, who's going to stop me?"

MI6, half a world away? Jack? The people whose salary Alex paid? Jack must have realised the same because the silence continued for long seconds.

"… What do you want from me? I know you, and you're building up to something."

She knew from years of Alex being up to all sorts of adventures he shouldn't have been, of listening to his and Tom's increasingly unbelievable excuses for whatever they'd managed to get themselves into, of any number of things that Ian had decided was a perfect bonding activity with his nephew that Alex had delightedly gone along with.

Jack knew him better than anyone else still alive and he knew better than to try to twist the truth now. Not when she could see right through it.

"I want to get you out of London," Alex repeated. "You don't have to stay here, not if you don't want to, but I want you as far away from MI6 as possible. I couldn't do anything earlier, not when Blunt controlled my inheritance, but I have money now. Enough to get both of us so far away from England that we'll never see Blunt or Jones again."

Blunt or Jones … or anything of his old life. Tom would still be in London. His friends from school. Everyone he knew.

It wasn't a thought he wanted to linger on for too long. Right now, handling the base and all the various problems that came with it took up most of his focus. Eventually, if things went as planned, he would have time to spare and an abundance of money and resources to go with it … and, sooner or later, he would be reminded of something from home, of Jack's takeaway or his room or the countless hours spent with Tom or soccer training, and the reality of his situation would sink in.

He would never be able to return home. Not for a long, long time, at least. Depending on how everything went, he might never see the house again, either. With both of them on another continent, it might end up being sold. That was just the sort of petty payback Blunt would go for.

Alex had resources now but not enough that he could risk wandering into MI6's backyard. Not with the way he was about to quit.

"And how do you plan to do that? I just find a flight to the Maldives and leave? They'd know immediately where you went, then."

"They'd stop you before you got anywhere near an airport," Alex said, just a little bitter. "And they'll figure out where I am eventually, so it's better to let them have that information on my own terms. I'm going to send them a dead fish and throw a tantrum in a letter. Tell them that I quit and that I'm not coming back. If they follow their usual approach with me, they'll write it off as teenage rebellion rather than an actual plan, and they'll be more likely to send you and a couple of agents to convince me to come home instead of an SAS team or something to drag me back in handcuffs on a covert flight."

A year ago, Jack would have thought he was overreacting, Alex was sure of it. A year ago, she wouldn't have believed a government would treat a kid like that. Now, Alex's unwilling experiences with MI6 had thoroughly disabused her of those notions. Blunt had resorted to threats to get his way. If getting Alex back under control meant treating him like a terrorist, he would do that.

"They'll send you to drag me back home," Alex repeated, because Jack's silence meant nothing good for his plans. "As soon as you arrive here, we'll make sure the agents are delayed in customs and get you out of there before they can stop you. This is a private island. It takes a while to get here from the airport but it's undisturbed and as secure as it can get. It'll take them weeks to figure out where exactly we are and by then, we'll have made sure they can't touch you."

The seconds ticked by. When Jack finally spoke again, her voice was unnaturally calm and did not invite any sort of bullshit.

"Who exactly did you hire, Alex?"

Alex realised his mistake too late. Maybe Jack could have ignored the references to the aquarium staff. Maybe she could have ignored the convenient way he would suddenly inherit everything from an already-dead billionaire, or the mysterious person who appeared out of nowhere to hand her a phone. The reference to handling the agents … that had made it too obvious that he was tangled up in some very shady stuff for her to ignore it any longer.

"… SCORPIA," Alex admitted and saw Crux sit up a little straighter in her chair where she had politely pretended not to listen in.

"Alex!" Yeah, he probably deserved that one. "Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinking? They tried to kill you!"

"Them, and about a hundred other people I've run into the past year!" Alex snapped back. "What was I thinking? I was thinking that I was suddenly responsible for fifteen thousand animals that had no one else to keep them alive and at least I know SCORPIA. I know what I'm dealing with, and they know me, and I have enough money now that I'm more interesting to them alive and a paying client than dead!"

He didn't mention Thetis' security precautions, not where Crux could hear it, but if he got even half a chance, he would tell Jack as much as she needed to feel safe. Thetis was the main reason Alex had risked it in the first place. Without her security systems, he would probably have ended up with someone else from Crewe's list of discarded options.

"You almost died." If there was a slight tremor in her voice, neither of them mentioned it.

"I got shot," Alex told her as bluntly as he could. "In broad daylight, right in front of MI6's building. It missed my heart by millimetres. That's not even in the top ten list of awful ways people have tried to kill me and if that's the sort of safety MI6 can offer in London, then yes, I think I'm safer with SCORPIA right now."

"Alex, you're fifteen."

"And I'm not going to live to see sixteen if I go back, we both know that. This – it's the least terrible plan out of some really spectacularly stupid ones, I know that, but give me a better alternative and I'll take it."

"All right. Come to the States with me. We'll move over there, find somewhere we can both approve of, and then we'll take it from there. We'll both go back to school, figure out that stuff together, and get a fresh start."

"That's the CIA's territory and I've already worked for them twice. That would just be trading one blackmailing scheme for another."

Maybe Byrne was the least bad option when it came to getting rid of a wayward weapon of mass destruction but that didn't mean Alex liked or trusted the CIA in any way, shape, or form. He had no delusions that he wouldn't eventually end up in the exact same situation, just with Byrne delivering the blackmail instead of Blunt.

"I can't stay in London," Alex continued. "I can't go to the States and expect to be left alone, and there's at least half a dozen other countries that know about me. Could I go somewhere else? Sure. I wouldn't know anyone, I wouldn't have a network, I might not even know the language, and eventually someone in the know would find me. I know this is stupid, I know I can't trust anyone, much less SCORPIA, but so long as I'm a valuable client, I'm safer than anywhere else I can think of."

Not words Alex ever expected to say but between Thetis, Crux' handling of the nuclear situation, and the fact that for the first time in endless months he could actually breathe and wonder about a future without the feeling of immediate, overwhelming stress and anxiety … he would take it.

"You've already made up your mind." It was a statement more than a question. "Please tell me there's a responsible adult around who's actually watching after you and not just the aquariums."

'Responsible adult' was a pretty broad definition, but Alex wasn't entirely sure it was broad enough to fit a Malagosto graduate.

"… I've got an executive assistant who's trying to make me go back to school and eat healthier," Alex hedged. "My head of security has been making sure no one's going to target me when they figure out I'm here, and the marine biologist in charge of the aquariums took away my coffee."

"You don't even like coffee," Jack pointed out. "Jesus, Alex. This is – I can't believe you're going to make me the voice of reason."

That … didn't sound entirely like a refusal, did it? It didn't sound positive but – it almost sounded not entirely negative, either. A small, treacherous feeling like hope uncurled in Alex.

"You've always been my voice of reason," he said softly. "Even when neither of us could do anything about Blunt. You kept me grounded when Ian was gone on another business trip, or we went somewhere to learn scuba diving or mountain climbing or something, and you put up with me and Tom and everything."

The silent stretched on again. This time, Alex didn't dare break it. Finally, there was a sound at the other end of the line, like a long, tired exhale.

"All right. Damn it, all right. But I want the full story of this whole mess before I get there. Everything. Not the pretty little edited version you usually try to give me. If I'm going to be tangled up in this, I want the full briefing."

Alex didn't need to think about that. It was the very least he owed her for going along with his plan.

"Deal."

Jack took another deep breath. "I'll need to leave soon or someone will get suspicious. How do we do this?"

"My package for MI6 will arrive in three days. If you agree, I'll leave a message on your voicemail right after they get it, telling you that I'm quitting and make it sound like teenage rebellion. That will be enough to convince them to bring you in. If you keep the phone, we can talk again tomorrow. That'll give you time to think of anything else you want to know. Just make sure the phone is turned off before you get home."

Control the narrative. Bury MI6. If that meant admitting to a bunch of things he had tried hard not to mention to anyone, then that was the price he would have to pay. If he sent Jack against Blunt and Jones with anything less than the brutal, honest truth, they might very well manage to turn the narrative back in their favour. She knew a lot of it already. She knew him and could tell when he lied, but he had learned to avoid questions and she had learned when he didn't want to talk about it. If she had any doubts, he had three days to convince her that at least he had a better plan than Blunt did.

"All right. Tomorrow. And Alex? Be careful."

"Promise," Alex said and meant it.

The call disconnected. Alex lowered the phone. Across the room, Crux watched him with careful eyes, undoubtedly going over contingency plans should Alex's plans have gone awry.

"She's in," he said.

Hopefully, he didn't add but Crux probably heard that part, anyway.

Everything considered, it had gone about as well as he could have hoped. Alex would take his victories where he could.

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 16th

It was almost midnight when Crux's phone rang. Her to-do list, endless and ever-present these days, was put aside in an instant.

There was only one person who had the number for that particular burner phone, and that was the man who had sent it to her.

"Sir," she greeted before the phone could ring twice.

"Crux. I need to talk to Rider in person. Arrange for a visit at the base. I don't care what you have to do to convince him. I expect an itinerary on my desk by noon."

Crux had worked for Chase long enough to pick up on some of the nuances in his tone, and right now he sounded – perhaps not stressed, but less relaxed than usual. Not an emergency, then, but still serious.

"Of course, sir," she agreed, already working out the broad details. Garita would handle most of the logistics as Chase's second-in-command, but security at the base needed to be handled, too, not to mention convincing Rider to allow it.

It would be additional work but still better than some alternatives Crux had been forced to consider. She had not been worried – one did not survive as an operative by worrying – but she had been aware of the stakes of the Board meeting Chase had attended that afternoon. If everything had gone completely wrong, she would have needed to decide not just how to handle the Rider situation but also where her own future looked most appealing.

A year ago, SCORPIA would have been the obvious answer to that question. Now, with the heavy hits to SCORPIA's credibility … Crux appreciated that she would not be forced to make that decision quite yet.

"What's the status?"

That, at least, was an easy question.

"The message for MI6 has been received, and they have already made plans to send Ms Starbright with two agents to retrieve Rider from his inconvenient teenage rebellion. Their expected arrival is tomorrow afternoon and they will be intercepted in the airport upon their arrival. Do you have any instructions regarding the agents? One is familiar to Rider."

If not, well, Crux certainly had plans of her own. It had been a while since she had last had the opportunity to practice some of her non-managerial skills, and Dr Three's most recent article had been an inspiration. Rider hardly needed to know the details.

"… Keep them alive and reasonably unharmed if possible. We might need them. Ensure they don't become an issue."

No outright torture, then, but she didn't have to provide them with any sort of comforts if they should decide to become a problem. That still left a wide range of options, and Chase knew it. That he hadn't outright banned those … well. She could work with that.

"Yes, sir. Any further instructions?"

"Actually, yeah. Be prepared to convince Rider that ten million is a suitable payment to fake his death that no one will actually believe. And if any operatives not associated with the operation start sniffing around, handle it. It was a unanimous decision but a grudging one. I wouldn't put it past someone to try for Rider independently."

Capture, interrogate, ensure they would never be found. Just the sort of thing to help on Crux's own restlessness.

"Of course, sir."

Chase ended the call with no further comments but Crux didn't need them. Circumstances had shifted and now it was time to adapt to them again.

Belgrade, April 16th

(Five hours previously)

Sometimes, Brendan Chase wondered what his life would have been like in a different world. Few people could tell the moment the path they had followed had split into two quite as vividly as Brendan could.

In another world, twenty years younger and dumber and in the middle of a bender, he would have stopped himself. Maybe he wouldn't have had the last beer or two. Maybe he would have been distracted on the way. Maybe someone would have spotted him and he would have changed his plans. He would have remained with ASIS, at least for a while, and when he'd finally had enough of the low pay and politics, he would have gone to … well, probably somewhere in the private sector. The legal side of the private sector, at that.

He hadn't, though. Brendan, even far too many beers into that Friday evening, had still been clever enough to go through with his plan to steal everything he could from ASIS and call the number he had scribbled down in code on a slip of paper.

A private intelligence agency, the sales pitch had been. No longer beholden to incompetent bosses and handlers or politicians driven by polling numbers.

Brendan Chase's background – his original background – had been in accounting and ASIS had made full use of that. But Brendan had switched career tracks for a reason and he had never tolerated boredom well. Between his skills and knowledge of ASIS' internal procedures, it had been child's play to siphon off a suitable amount to supplement his frankly insultingly low pay and invest it well enough to make it breed.

He had been successful enough that when a fledgling SCORPIA had started to look for someone capable of handling its finances, Brendan had been one such candidate. Someone, somewhere had paid closer attention to Brendan's financial dealing than ASIS had and it had apparently been impressive enough to count as a job application.

Brendan had already considered his future for a while by then, and SCORPIA's offer had been exactly what he been looking for – a well-paid, powerful position and a world away from the day-to-day boredom of his job with ASIS.

He had cashed out everything, stolen even more along the way, and -

- Maybe it had been a mistake, all those years ago. He hadn't realised what kind of sharks he'd end up among and he'd had to learn fast just to stay alive.

Brendan Chase was well aware that he was still alive primarily because of his knowledge of SCORPIA's vast finances – a labyrinthine web with hundreds of subsidiaries that few people outside of Brendan himself had comprehensive view of – and because he had deliberately positioned himself to be useful but never dangerous or ambitious enough to be a threat to the largest sharks on the Board.

The financial foundation of SCORPIA in its early days had been provided by Rothman, Yu, and Mikato, along with Brendan's investment skills. All of them had seen generous returns on that gamble.

That decision twenty year ago had made Brendan Chase a very wealthy man.

That wealth came with the sort of security normally associated with drug lords and minor heads of state, colleagues who might be plotting his demise at any given moment, as well as an absurd number of outside enemies who wanted him dead or captured – and several personal contingency plans to ensure he wouldn't be brought in alive for interrogation.

Had that decision been a mistake? Twenty years later, Brendan still wasn't sure. He didn't regret it, because that was the sort of thinking that got you killed, but … sometimes, he wondered.

He was rich but not rich enough to leave SCORPIA and live to enjoy it. Rothman had murdered Grendel for his wish to retire, and while it had set a bad example for the rest of them, it had also confirmed what Brendan already knew. With his detailed knowledge of SCORPIA's finances, there would be no retirement for him. That sort of knowledge was too dangerous to let go.

Half a year later, he still hadn't found a way around that little obstacle. And then Rider had contacted SCORPIA and unknowingly offered Brendan the first slight glimmer of hope in the mounting clusterfuck that was the executive board situation.

He had accepted Rider's original contract out of boredom but the potential of it all had quickly become obvious. Rider was smart, adaptable, and came with an accidental network of contacts the likes of which could not be bought. Of course, accepting that contract and keeping it from his colleagues was going to come with issues of its own, and Brendan had known that. It would get out sooner or later and by then, he needed to have some solid arguments to back up his decision.

Two weeks later, it was time to pay the piper. It wasn't the first time someone had crossed the rest of the Board, far from it, but it was the first time it was Brendan in that position and he didn't particularly care for the experience.

It had been his own fault, of course, he could just have made the rest of the Board aware of Rider's identity from the start, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy the fallout of it.

He had his reasons ready to be presented in a suitably persuasive manner, he had a new, small implant ready to track his vital signs remotely, and he had contingency plans in case the whole thing went up in flames. He had all the faith in the world that Hunter's kid would find a way to destroy what was left of SCORPIA should one of his new, tenuous allies get killed for attempting to help him.

It was a gamble but it was one he was willing to take. Between SCORPIA's precarious situation and loss of reputation, the new board members that had been brought on, and the most recent large-scale job they had accepted, Brendan saw no future with the organisation he had helped create.

Zeljan Kurst was not the chief executive Brendan would have wanted to deal with, but such was life sometimes. At least the new members of the Board weren't likely to speak up on the issue. Their position was still too new and their grasp on the politics too uncertain to risk a mistake this soon. That would change with their first successful project but for now, even Brendan outclassed them.

Brendan didn't speak when he stepped into the boardroom as one of the last arrivals, though he felt the sudden attention focused on him. It was not a pleasant feeling, and it wasn't a situation he had been in before. He had spent years being effectively as invisible as possible on the Board and left the lethal politics to others. Duval had followed much the same principle.

Brendan sat. The silence continued until the last members arrived – the Grimaldi twins, a part of the new, dubious future of SCORPIA – and then, exactly on the hour, the doors closed and Kurst's attention zeroed in on Brendan with the subtlety of a Challenger 2 tank.

"Gentlemen." Kurst's words were meant for all of them but his attention never left Brendan. "We are here today to address some disturbing rumours about SCORPIA's most recent client. Mr Chase, if you would care to explain yourself?"

"If the only thing my most recent client has generated is some rumours, then someone in SCORPIA's intel department needs to be shot for taking two weeks to figure it out, because Rider was pretty bloody obvious about it."

Brendan had spent two weeks deciding on the best approach to things and for something like this, it really came down to meeting the rest of the executive board head-on. No defensiveness, no apologies. Any sign of weakness was a death sentence.

"You would assist the whelp that has twice gone against us?" Mikato's words weren't a surprise. He was just voicing what most people around the table undoubtedly thought. "You should have reported this opportunity to the Board immediately so we could have made use of it to eradicate the threat he poses once and for all."

"And how has that worked out so far?" Brendan demanded. "Rothman and Yu both targeted Rider, and it got both of them killed. Cossack and Nile, some of the best assassins Malagosto has ever trained – both crossed Rider, both are dead, too. We've tried the direct approach, and it's brought SCORPIA to the brink of collapse. We're humiliated and begging for the clients that would have been vying for our attention only a year ago."

That, too, was also something all of them were painfully aware of, though Brendan had been the first person to actually point out the crocodile in the room.

"And you believe you can do better?"

Kroll. He had been one of the pillars of the executive board once but based on Kurst's manoeuvrings, that pedestal was crumbling beneath him fast. He had been skipped over for projects recently and worse, done nothing to block Kurst's plan. A weak spot but also one that could backfire on Brendan if Kroll decided to take his issues with Kurst out on Brendan's plan instead as a more convenient target.

"Rider took over Socrates Seaver-Crewe's base after he killed the lunatic. He's spent the two weeks since then making himself at home. That means I've got the kid on a private island in the Maldives, with full access to Crewe's estate and ownership of his monstrosity of an aquarium that Rider's decided is his new favourite hobby, as well as a senior operative babysitting him with instructions to distract him with whatever keeps him out of SCORPIA's hair. Unless we go out of our way to tell him what SCORPIA's up to, kid won't even notice, much less give a single bloody fuck about it. He'll be too busy with that aquarium and whatever high-class prostitute my operative finds for him if he gets bored."

The truth. Mostly. Close enough, at least, to stand up to whatever digging his colleagues had undoubtedly already done. There was nothing in his explanation that could be disproved, which made it as good at the truth.

At least no one had done more than merely dig through intel – for the moment, anyway. He trusted Crux would have informed him if anyone had contacted her, and he trusted that her control of the island staff was strong enough that any attempt from an outsider to gain information would have been brought to her immediate attention.

"How did Alex come to contact SCORPIA for assistance?" Three asked, and that, at least, wasn't an immediately attack.

"Desperation and pettiness," Brendan said bluntly. "He could have gone to half a dozen other companies but that would have drawn additional attention to himself and put him on their radar. We already know him, and that was a large selling point. Plus, he's fifteen. He thinks he'll piss me off by being in charge when he's frankly a lot more manageable than most of our large account clients."

"If he was so desperate," Duval asked, "why has he been permitted to remain in charge? One teenage boy is hardly an opponent of note. You have a senior operative with him. A single order and the boy will be dead."

"One teenage boy isn't a dangerous opponent, no. One teenage boy backed by a heavily armed, DARPA-developed AI that's locked unto him as its new master, however? That is a risk to consider." Brendan paused. "Crewe got his hands on one of the most advanced AI models in the world, restricted it to aquarium-management and almost created HAL in the process. His ultimate plan was the eradication of humanity, and in the process he collected an arsenal that ranged from biological to nuclear. Make no mistake, gentlemen. For about a week, Alex Rider was a nuclear power. I convinced him to sell the bomb back to the Americans, but I am not about to move against Rider's new AI bodyguard until I'm sure it doesn't have access to additional weapons of mass destruction."

That was the sort of explanation that should buy him another half a year or so and by then … Brendan wasn't sure there would actually be a functional SCORPIA any longer, based on recent events. That would leave a number of other problems, of course, but he would worry about that later.

Three nodded slightly.

"A salient point," he remarked. "How has the boy taken to SCORPIA's presence?"

Another welcome question. A reasonable one, too. Rider had by all accounts fit in well at Malagosto until Rothman had thoroughly fucked that over. The precedent was there. Rider just … had some unfortunate experiences in his luggage these days.

"Better than expected based on his psychological reports. Most of the people that have been involved in destroying his life the past year have been male, so I sent a female senior operative to manage things. Based on her reports, it appears Blunt kept Rider on a firm leash through blackmail and manipulation, and his deceased guardian wasn't much better. As his Malagosto report concludes, he's unused to adults taking an interest in his well-being. I expect that if Rothman had sent him to murder Blunt instead of Jones, he would have worked for us by now."

Again, stretching the truth a little but nothing that could be disproved. Brendan would take what he could get and whatever would present the case in the best possible way to the rest of the board. Would Rider have murdered Blunt given half a chance? Probably not, but who was to say otherwise? Hunter had been a brilliant killer and his son had racked up quite the body count as well.

"That does not change the fact that he has cost us a fortune in lost revenue. The loss of reputation he has brought on us has caused SCORPIA irreparable damage!" Duval broke in and ruined the nice, measured conversation with Three.

It was an irrefutable point. Rider, by design or sheer, bloody luck had managed to do more damage to SCORPIA's operations than any other entity within the past decade. It didn't exactly make Brendan's plans for his retirement fund any easier.

Brendan needed an ally – any ally. Kurst and Mikato were obviously off the list, and Duval probably slept with a little black book of everyone that had ever wronged him, but there might be more pragmatic minds among the rest.

Barring that, a better target would be useful, too. Someone else to bear the brunt of the combined fury of the Board after a year of disastrous results. Kroll could go either way but his increasingly emotional behaviour might work in Brendan's favour.

It was early dementia, Brendan suspected. Early enough that it would have been dismissed by most but not by his colleagues. Like a wounded shark, Kroll would become a target himself.

"The boy – we have already begun to plan Operation Horseman," Razim objected and based on the slight twitch of nicotine-stained fingers, it was as surprising to Razim himself as the rest of them. Potentially unwise, too. Razim had just made himself interesting. "Rider is to play an integral part of that."

An unwilling part was obvious to all of them. The plan was news to Brendan, though, and it was obviously the same for most of the others. Kurst didn't react but then, Razim was his pet project. Obviously, he would already have been brought into the planning process.

"After the failure of Invisible Sword and Reef Encounter?" Mikato sounded distinctly unimpressed. "He survived the sniper we sent after him. Another failure -"

"I have planned for that," Razim interrupted and Brendan made a notch on his mental scoreboard. The Board did not tolerate disrespect and an interruption was dangerously close to that. "Of course. I have given SCORPIA's previous interactions with the boy careful thought. He is a weakness but one we can use against his masters."

A gesture from Kurst gave Razim the permission needed to go over the plan in detail and if it hadn't already been blatantly clear who had recruited and sponsored Razim for the Board, that would have left little doubt.

Brendan wondered how Three took the man's presence. Razim was an avid researcher of pain, too, but he didn't have the medical background and the man's sheer ego promised to be grating as soon as he settled enough to feel comfortable in his new position.

It already was, frankly. What Brendan had heard of Razim's plan so far could have been summarised in a third of the words by any remotely competent secretary. Either it was ego and the desire to hear himself speak as the centre of attention, or Razim, caught flat-footed in a situation of his own making, was unable to think fast enough to make up for the circumstances. Neither was a good sign.

"- There will be questions, of course, but Blunt and Jones have grown predictable. Reliant on the boy. With such evidence in hand, they will -"

Three's expression gave nothing away as Razim talked, but Brendan wouldn't be surprised if plans were already in motion to – resolve that issue. Three was impossible to read on even a good day but Razim was blatantly encroaching on the Doctor's territory and he was not a man given to scientific collaboration. From an upstart like Razim …

… Yeah. The only question was how long Three would allow him to live.

Support him in public, as befitting a fellow member of the Board, and privately ensure that there would be room again for fresh blood sooner rather than later. Maybe they could manage better than whatever they scraped from the bottom of the barrel next time, but given SCORPIA's current standing, Brendan doubted it.

Nothing for it, then. Someone had to protect the cash cow that Rider had suddenly become and Brendan would just have to be the man for that.

Razim's monologue had given Brendan the chance to watch his colleague's reactions and consider his approach. Now as it winded down, he knew he would have to take the initiative. If he left it to Kurst, his plans would be destroyed and an order for his assassination probably put into motion within days.

Kroll looked like he was about to speak. Brendan cut him off before he had the chance.

"An excellent plan," he agreed. The twitch of Razim's hand toward the pocket that held his cigarettes gave away that the man hadn't been nearly as confident as he had seemed towards the end of his presentation. "However, I think we can do better. It seems to me, gentlemen, that we have the opportunity to be paid twice for the same task."

Kurst's eyes focused on Brendan. After twenty years of working with the man, it still felt like gaining the sudden, unwanted attention of a particularly aggressive bull, but Brendan knew how to handle that. You didn't have to outrun the bull. You just had to give it a better target.

"And how would we accomplish that?"

"Mr Razim needs Rider publicly dead for Operation Horseman to succeed, and Rider wants out of the game. Use the Grief clone in Rider's place, then. The plan is to dispose of it afterwards, so we might as well make it useful. We'll need to fabricate the evidence that sends Rider to do MI6's bidding, but Blunt is too cautious to leave a trail, so we would likely need to do that no matter what. Mr Razim's plan will have the necessary evidence of MI6's use of child soldiers, and Rider will officially be dead. Xenopolos pays us for his part, and Rider will pay us to fake his death convincingly enough to fool MI6. With Blunt out of the way, it will make it all the easier to take over Crewe's estate once Rider's AI is disarmed in a few months."

It was silent for long seconds as the rest of the Board considered the situation. An appeal to greed wasn't always successful but an appeal to greed and the promise of revenge down the line – that might just do it.

"It would be a pity about the clone," Three said, the first to break the silence. "I would so have enjoyed the chance to examine it, but the Russians still have a specimen left alive. I agree. We are not in a position where SCORPIA can afford to discount the financial value of the suggestion. It will take time to decide on the best approach. We have moved too fast against Rider in the past. Have you considered a suitable payment?"

"Ten million should do it," Brendan said bluntly. The kid was a billionaire; he could afford it. Just as important, he was pretty damn sure that when he explained the situation, Rider would agree, too.

"The agreement with Xenopolos is worth forty million," Mikato said though there was the ghost of something thoughtful in his voice. Like Yu had been, he was filthy rich from his own criminal network but whatever Rider ended up paying was basically free money. Paid for something they would do, anyway. Knock off a few of the new board members, and it would be a million for each of them. Even Mikato wasn't immune to that.

"Forty million for a job we'll barely break even on," Brendan said and knew his colleagues would listen. He didn't have Kurst's brutal reputation or Mikato's mind for underworld business but no one knew SCORPIA's finances better. They had known the job paid less than it should have but it was different to hear it put quite that bluntly.

"We took that job to help our reputation recover, not for the potential profit," he continued. "I have a senior operative stationed with Rider along with a staff and security of almost sixty people at last count. That's a permanent, low-risk profit. Crewe was a billionaire and if we play our cards right, the entire estate will be SCORPIA's within half a year. That is an investment."

Razim wanted to object, Brendan was sure of it, but the full weight of the attention of the Board was enough to hold him back. Brendan was not considered a powerful member of the group but Razim, entirely new and untested, still lacked the influence to take him on.

He tried, anyway, but the hesitation had cost him credibility.

"They might do a DNA test, and forged evidence -"

Brendan shrugged. "If they bother, then what? So the boy isn't Rider. Who has lived Rider's life since Point Blanc, then? We have proof that MI6 knew of Rider's clone. Did the clone kill Rider? Did MI6 know and deliberately left it with Rider's guardian and friends to make use of it as needed? Did they blackmail it into service? Did they see a boy no one would miss and kept it as a child soldier? You're worried about forged evidence? If our specialists can't do a good enough job, we have plenty of real evidence that they've made use of him. For better reasons, of course, but if they've done it before, they will have a hard time disproving it this time."

Calm. Pragmatic. Confident. Speak to the part of the ego that saw SCORPIA as the very top of the food chain, unbeatable and skilled enough to outplay any intelligence agency. Brendan knew how to handle his colleagues. Razim didn't, and that gave him the edge needed.

The Grimaldi twins and Seamus were at least smart enough to stay quiet and get a grasp on the politics in play before they got involved. Razim … Kurst might've taken him on as a pet project to increase his influence but he should probably have added a few lessons in humility before he loosened the leash.

Maybe he would do just that after the meeting, because Mikato slowly nodded and that was likely to be the strongest obstacle outside of Kurst himself. Razim had clung to his plan and refused to consider alternatives, while Brendan had sweetened his suggestion with cold, hard cash and the potential for drawn-out vengeance for those of his colleagues with those inclinations. Rider without support would be an easy target. Easy to vanish to somewhere to break apart over weeks and months.

Brendan hadn't mentioned a word along those lines but – the possibility was there. And whatever else his esteemed colleagues might have become over the years, they were still able to choose long-term profit over short-term satisfaction.

Kroll nodded slowly. Duval's expression looked vaguely like he had bitten into something sour, which Brendan translated as unwilling agreement.

Razim looked at Kurst, possible for backup, but the man utterly ignored him. He, too, could see the shift and knew he would be outvoted. Razim's display of insecurity only cemented that. A weak ally was worse than useless.

Kurst's expression hardened. "Does anyone wish to speak against Mr Chase's suggestion?"

The silence stretched on, longer than normal conventions might dictate. Maybe he hoped someone was stupid enough to speak up.

Finally that hope proved futile, and Kurst nodded. "Mr Chase's suggested changes to the plan meet the Board's approval. Mr Razim, you will remain in charge of Operation Horseman and incorporate these changes. This meeting is concluded."

Brendan didn't slump down in relief but he did plan to spend a long evening with hard liquor and an expert massage therapist after that round.

He had somehow managed to outmanoeuvre Zeljan Kurst. Rider had no idea of the sort of political headaches Brendan had to navigate to keep him alive but he planned to tell the kid the first chance he got – in great detail. It was the least the little fucker owed him for that.

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 17th

Afternoon

Jack Starbright arrived at Velana International Airport in the manner of most infrequent, long-distance travellers with an inconveniently-timed layover: tired, restless, somewhat groggy, and desperate for a proper nap. MI6 hadn't deigned to use the money on any sort of upgrades but had stuck both Jack and her unwanted companions in middle seats in economy class on both flights, almost at the back of the plane.

It had probably been the cheapest seats they could get at that short of a notice, not that it made Jack feel any more charitable towards them. 'Frugal spending of tax money' was good and all, but it all sounded a little hollow when the same agency apparently had no problem blackmailing and coercing a literal child into working for them for free.

Her only consolation was that Daniels and Clarke, the agents Blunt had sent with her for assistance, had been stuck in the same terrible kind of seats. If Daniels and Clarke were even their real names, which she doubted. Daniels supposedly knew Alex from a previous operation, and Jack did remember he had mentioned an MI6 agent that had helped him, but that hardly helped on matters. Not only did the man know about MI6's use of a fourteen-year-old as an agent, he obviously saw no issues with it, either.

Charming people all around. The only thing that had kept her from saying anything was the fact that they were in public and that Jack had her own role to play.

She was Alex's guardian, worried about his decision to leave, and Blunt's two minions were there to help get him back. She was a nervous wreck because she was concerned about him, not because she was about to step into a supervillain base run by SCORPIA and with no one around to step in if something went wrong.

At least Blunt's minions would expect her to be worried. She didn't have to try to hide it, and she doubted she could. Her and Alex's lives had felt like they were caught in a hurricane since Ian Rider had been killed but this was beyond even that.

What had Alex gotten himself involved in? Why had he done it? She still didn't know. They had talked on her SCORPIA-supplied phone before she had left but that had hardly been private and she knew she didn't have the whole story.

They made their way through the usual airport checks and she picked up her suitcase in a haze – she should bring enough luggage to look legitimate, she had been instructed, as travelling without anything could draw attention – and felt the tension in her body increase with every step.

Ahead of them, the final obstacle before the arrival hall loomed in the shape of a customs check.

Jack knew the plan. She still felt a spike of anxiety when a bored-looking customs agent waved Daniels aside. Their luggage had already been screened, she knew that. The additional check was planned. It still did nothing to stop that immediate sense that she was somehow suddenly a criminal.

"Customs check, sir. Anything to declare?"

Jack didn't hear his response, focused entirely on Clarke, who adapted to the situation without blinking. Weary from two flights and a night spent on a plane, but with nothing worse than a lack of patience to hide.

"We'll meet you outside," he told Daniels, who waved him along as the customs agent opened his suitcase.

That drew a slight frown from a second agent and a gesture stopped Clarke before he could leave and take Jack with him.

"Your luggage as well, sir. Please."

Nothing about the act seemed off, not even to Jack. Just a random check, a friend who was a little too ready to leave, and – was it really a surprise that they would want to check the rest of Daniels' travel companions, then?

Jack hesitated, unsure of what to do as Clarke put his suitcase on a metal bench as well. He had nothing to hide, nothing to fear, so at the most it was an inconvenience. Of course they wouldn't be worried.

"Ma'am, if you would follow me?"

A female customs agent drew Jack aside, to the other side of the hallway. Around them, other arrivals carried on, probably grateful they weren't the ones stuck in that situation. A privacy curtain was drawn and a moment later, a door to the side opened and a second woman gestured for her to follow.

"Miss Starbright? I'm Aira, commander of Imai and in charge of this little exfil operation. Mr Rider sends his regards."

The woman was unfamiliar but the name wasn't. Jack recognised it from Alex's explanation of their plan to get her away from MI6. Because the absolute mess of a situation he had found himself in clearly hadn't been enough of a disaster. What it really needed was one of SCORPIA's mercenary teams hanging around as well.

Jesus Christ, Alex.

Jack had expected the obvious military bearing from Aira. She had not expected the Southern accent. Distinct, authentic American, from the good ol' South. Absurdly, it reminded Jack of her grandmother.

"Daniels and Clarke -"

"No worries, ma'am. My team will handle Blunt's little … friends."

Bootlickers, she didn't say, though Jack heard it loud and clear in her grandmother's drawl. There they were, those backhanded Southern manners that Jack remembered so well, too. If Aira wasn't from somewhere in the Ozarks, Jack had been away from the States for too long. The Arkansas part to her best guess. She wasn't sure why she was even surprised. SCORPIA was international, wasn't it? Someone had told her that, after that whole mess in Italy. Italy, and the bullet that had almost killed Alex.

And now she was here, because Alex had hired those same people to work for him. Never had the fact that Alex was a teenager and as such not yet in possession of a fully developed brain been so painfully obvious to her.

Commander. Exfil operation. Not for the first time she wondered what kind of disaster she was about to step into.

Jack didn't ask. Not about the accent or the rest of it. She had told Alex to tell her everything and he had to the best of his abilities, despite the fact that SCORPIA had undoubtedly been listening in on their call. She also knew there was a lot he had either forgotten to mention or simply hadn't had the time for, and she didn't want to step into a minefield she had no idea about.

She could just … refuse to go with Aira, and the temptation was there, so strong that she could taste the words on her tongue. She could call off the operation and – what? She doubted they would let Blunt's minions go, which would leave her stranded and Alex on his own. Assuming Aira would even respect a no in the first place.

The idea was purely theoretical, anyway, and she knew it. She had made her decision in London and now she would just have to live with it.

Jack followed Aira in silence through a network of hallways until they were suddenly outside again – not in front of a massive a parking lot like most airports, but by a large jetty. The first thing Jack noticed was the sheer hammer that was the combination of the heat and humidity under an overcast sky. The second was the seaplanes waiting along the jetty.

"Transfer to the base," Aira explained and led the way to a plane near the middle of the jetty.

Because the Maldives were all islands, Jack remembered. Which left boats or air transport if you needed to move around.

"My suitcase -" she began.

"It'll follow on the second flight, ma'am. We want to make sure Blunt didn't sneak any unwanted surprises along first."

That made sense. Jack could have carried something on her – she didn't to her knowledge, but she could have – but they seemed to want to treat her like an important guest of Alex's which apparently meant no check of her. She was sure Daniels and Clarke would have a much less pleasant experience.

It was Jack's first time on a seaplane and she wasn't sure what she had expected. The plane itself was short and low, so low that she couldn't stand upright inside, but the four seats on each side of the plane were large and luxurious.

"Comfort is always a little better on a private charter," Aira said and handed Jack a complicated-looking headset, "but seaplanes get louder than hell. An aviation headset cuts the noise but still lets us talk."

… And nothing they said in them would be picked up by any bugs Jack might unknowingly have carried. Not with that kind of noise around.

Jack slipped on the headset with only a bit of a fumble and picked a seat in the middle of the plane.

The door was closed and the plane in motion even as she strapped in, and take-off was short and steep. Because … it was a private charter. Because they didn't have to wait for anyone else. Because they were the only passengers. An entire seaplane, just for the two of them, because – that was apparently the sort of money Alex had access to now.

Somehow, she hadn't managed to actually grasp what that part of it all meant. That billionaire and private island meant exactly that. Meant that somewhere out there, an hour away by seaplane, there was an entire island that Alex was now the de facto owner of – and, in a month or two, the legal owner of as well.

The view outside the window could have been a holiday brochure, with turquoise waters and sandy beaches and tropical islands below them, but Jack registered none of it.

She had wondered in what part of Alex's messed-up reality that hiring SCORPIA had made sense. The same people that had tried to kill him. Then she had learned it was the same reality that had aquarium-obsessed AIs, genetically engineered sharks, and literal weapons of mass destruction just – lying about. In a basement. Like some billionaire version of a hoarder. Then it had made just a little more sense.

And now she was about to arrive in that reality as well. On a chartered seaplane bound for a supervillain base, in the company of a mercenary … commander? Captain? Whatever Aira's rank meant.

Jesus Christ.

What had she gotten herself into? What had Alex gotten himself into?

Her minor panic attack must have been obvious because Aira's voice cut through the muted engine sounds in her headset a moment later.

"It's not as bad as it looks, ma'am. Your kid's got gumption and he knows when to ask for help. Lots of people around him to make sure he keeps his head screwed on right."

That probably wasn't as reassuring as the woman had intended it to be, given that it came from a SCORPIA mercenary, but Jack could appreciate the attempt.

What had the alternative even been? To stay in London and slowly lose her mind with worry, now that she knew what was happening? To wait until Alex either came home under MI6 guard or simply – vanished? Either in the Maldives somewhere or into some sort of secret MI6 prison, if he was even still alive? This way, at least they were together. They would both be out of Blunt's reach and – then they would take it from there. Work something out. Use some of that money and escape to somewhere, under new names. There had to be a way.

Those were thoughts she could share with no one, though. No one but Alex. Instead she focused on her breathing and counted slowly, one exhale after the other, as she tried to calm her anxiety. Outside, tiny islands shone in green and white against the endless Indian Ocean. Inside, a gentle breeze from carefully hidden fans kept the temperature pleasant.

"So what are you and your – team there for?" Jack finally asked.

Were they only there to handle Daniels and Clarke? Were they additional security? Why had Alex kept them around after the meeting with the CIA? What exactly did he need a terrorist mercenary team for? She wasn't sure she even wanted to know but she asked, anyway. She refused to go into that kind of situation without as much information as possible.

"Troubleshooting, ma'am," Aira's drawl carried back. "Making sure everyone minds their manners."

Backed by heavy weaponry and the threat of violence? Jack didn't doubt that was an effective deterrent, though who it was aimed towards was probably a little more unclear. Anyone going against SCORPIA's interests, probably, and not necessarily Alex's.

"Mr Rider wants you safe," Aira continued, "and he's paying us handsomely to keep you that way. I'll also need to run you through the upgraded security setup before we land, ma'am."

That didn't sound ominous in the least, and certainly not after Jack had already grilled Alex about exactly how much of a garbage fire she was about to land in.

The obvious reason for more security would be Daniels and Clarke, along with MI6's sudden, unwanted attention, but after the past year, she knew better than to just assume. Even a day or two could have been enough for that awful Rider luck to strike again.

"Because of MI6," Jack asked, "or some new surprise I don't want to know?"

"Primarily MI6," Aira replied, "with a bit of the CIA as well. Mr Rider's on decent terms with the CIA at the moment but he got their attention when he returned one of Uncle Sam's lost nukes and that's not a place you want to be. We've planned for Blunt's interference and hope we don't have to deal with Byrne as well."

Which … made sense. Once Blunt and the rest of the intelligence weasels got their nose into someone's business, they never got out of it again. Alex had hired people to keep him safe, and they would want to plan for the worst.

She couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of security setup that would take but she supposed she was about to find out. First-hand and in great detail.

"All right," she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Lay it on me."

"Yes, ma'am. Base security is split up in layers to contain any breaches. The outer layer -"

Aira's explanation was thorough, factual, and painfully detailed. Probably, Jack suspected, because she had told Alex she wanted the whole damn truth this time, and he had taken that to heart.

Despite her mental horror images, there was no endless parade of lanyards and ID cards and passwords in her immediate future. There was, however, an ever-present, near-omniscient AI and a number of fingerprint scanners, but Alex had warned her about the AI already and frankly, compared to everything else he had told her, that was pretty far down her list of concerns. If having an AI around meant that the day-to-day security went smoother, she would take that trade in a heartbeat.

Aira also answered Jack's every question to the best of her ability as far as Jack could tell, which was a welcome change from Blunt's portfolio of child abusers. Again, she suspected she could blame that on Alex, though she certainly wasn't about to complain about it.

Jack's questions had ranged from straight-forward -

("Is it always this humid?"

"Always, ma'am, but monsoon season is about to hit, so we're gonna to get rain on top.")

- to potentially explosive and mostly rhetorical -

("In what world can hiring a terrorist organisation for security possibly sound like a good idea?"

"Lots of people have plenty of money and no qualms, ma'am, and terrorist security can make inconvenient bodies vanish, too. For what it's worth, SCORPIA prides itself on being able to provide anything a client needs. Mr Rider hired us to fix up his life, so that's what Ms Crux is doing. I can't say if it's a good idea but so long as there's enough money on the table, what Mr Rider says is law.")

- And Aira had never hesitated to answer.

Of course, Jack couldn't say for sure that anything Aira said was the truth, but most of it was stuff it wouldn't make sense to lie about, so she was cautiously optimistic about that part.

It was definitely a change from MI6 and Blunt's clamshell impression but given what sort of people Aira worked for, Jack couldn't exactly say it was better.

Between the barrage of information and the entire situation, Jack had completely lost track of time when Aira touched her headset and spoke a confirmation that was lost in the engine noise. A moment later, Jack's own headset came to life as Aira spoke again.

"We're about to start our descent, ma'am."

Jack nodded. There was nothing to pack away, all of her luggage left behind in the airport, so instead she focused on the ocean below that came steadily closer.

The plane turned sharply to the right as they approached for landing and Jack's breath caught at her first proper look at their destination. They had passed a number of islands on the way but this was Alex's now. All of it.

Somewhere along the flight, the weather had cleared up and now the colours were almost impossibly bright in the afternoon sun. The water was a vibrant turquoise and the beach almost blindingly white until it vanished in the lush green of the island itself.

The second thing Jack noticed was the massive compound on one side of the island that most of all reminded her of a luxury resort. If there was a single straight line in the design, Jack couldn't see it. From above, it looked like a giant, stylized nautilus shell, which she supposed explained the name of the base. Even from that distance, it was also obvious that it wasn't just an expensive vacation home.

"About two-thirds of the base is either subterranean or subaquatic," Aira said when she saw where Jack's attention had turned to. "There are some large outdoor aquariums as well, but we don't count those."

Which meant that the massive structure that Jack could see was only a third of it.

"Alex said there are about sixty people at the base." Or there had been, last she had talked with him. She didn't rule out the possibility that the number could have changed since then.

"That sounds about right. The exact number varies a little depending on the security level and number of specialists we have around on a given day. Maximum capacity is about a hundred people but they'd have to be real friendly for that to work."

Sixty people. People that all needed food and water and a place to sleep. People that needed salaries and weekends and vacation time. Supplies and schedules and a hundred other things she was probably forgetting. And – Alex could afford that now. She knew that, because something like SCORPIA would never have accepted him as a client otherwise.

They came in for landing, just barely above the water now, and Jack leaned back, her attention refocused on the plane.

The sea was mostly calm and the landing itself reasonably smooth, followed by a brief taxi down their watery runway until the plane was secured next to a long pier.

Then the engine fell quiet and the world plunged into silence. Jack took off the headset and resisted a grimace at the sweat it had left behind. The door opened and she accepted Aira's help to get out, because the last thing she needed was to land on her ass because a sudden wave rocked the plane.

The heat and humidity hit her like a wall as she stepped beyond the cramped confines of the plane and the fans that had diligently kept the air somewhat cooler inside. Then came the sea breeze and the soft, rhythmic sound of the water against the pier.

Anything else was forced aside when Jack spotted two figures ahead of her. An unfamiliar woman older than Jack herself and next to her, in a hideous Hawaiian shirt -

- "Alex!"

Then Alex had crossed the short distance between them and all Jack could focus on was the tight hug as she held him and felt his fingers dig into her t-shirt and for a moment, nothing else mattered. Not MI6, not SCORPIA, not the disaster situation he had found himself in. Nothing but the fact that he was safe for now and they were together and she would do whatever she could to keep it that way.

Alex's desperate grip eased a little.

"I missed you," he whispered, so quiet that no one but themselves could hear it.

"I missed you, too," Jack whispered back and didn't say the dozens of other replies that had also crossed her mind.

What is this? What are you doing? How did this ever seem like a good idea?

Those questions could wait. For at least a moment, everything was all right in the world.

The Maldives, April 17th

(Ten hours previously)

The morning of the seventeenth arrived with the force of a sledgehammer.

It wasn't that the morning itself was unusual. Outside, it was hot and humid and cloudy as the weather slowly geared up for monsoon season. Specifically the southwest monsoon that brought the wet season according to his weather app, because Thetis mostly cared about extreme weather warnings and not particularly about the rest of the weather that the surface dwellers on her island had to deal with.

There were no urgent issues on the to-do list, either. There was a lot of on-going stuff, and Alex expected they would be cleaning up Crewe's mess for months, but everything serious was already in the process of being handled.

Instead, the overwhelming thing on Alex's mind was the flight tracker that had faithfully kept watch as he slept.

Emirates Flight EK10

Departure 21:47 LGW

Scheduled 07:35 (+1) DXB

Estimated 07:25 (+1) DXB

Jack's flight had left London in the middle of the night for Alex. Now it was only an hour from landing in Dubai. In seven and a half hours, she would arrive in the Maldives. It could have been earlier, there was a direct flight from London, but Crux's theory was that they had deliberately travelled over Dubai to muddle the trail a little in case someone kept an eye on the British Airways flight.

It wasn't much since they were travelling under the same names for both flights according to the update on Alex's phone, but it still helped make it less obvious.

Seven and a half hours. Then whatever time it would take team Imai to extract Jack from the airport without drawing unnecessary attention, followed the flight from Malé and to the island.

By Crux's estimate, Jack would arrive at the base by five-thirty, just within the operating hours that the seaplanes had to follow. It had been one thing to know that in theory. Now that he could actually see the flight tracker update as the plane approached Dubai, it became real in a way it hadn't been earlier.

Jack was on that plane. Jack, and an unfamiliar MI6 agent and – Fox.

That was the thought that stuck with Alex as he went through his morning routine on automatic, hair still damp and not actually brushed when he stepped into the dining area and made a beeline for the breakfast. If it wasn't for the fact that he dutifully put his clothes in the laundry basket in his room every night, he probably wouldn't even have remembered to grab a clean t-shirt.

Hopefully the smell would have alerted him, but given how much else was on his mind, he wasn't even sure of that.

Crux was conveniently already there. Alex was sure it was deliberate and that she probably had something set up to alert her when he headed to breakfast, but since breakfast had become the best time to go over any issues of the day, he couldn't bring himself to mind.

Some days, he wanted to be alone. To just enjoy the peace and quiet a little. Today, he needed the distraction.

Alex was sure she kept track of Jack's flight, too, but she didn't bring it up. Just waited until he sat down with his breakfast and pushed a cup of tea in his direction in an extremely unsubtle attempt to subvert his Coke-appropriating plans.

"You get one can today," Crux said. "Choose wisely."

Alex seriously considered it, the tea against the ice-cold can of Coke on his tray, but in the end delayed gratification won out and he accepted the cup with a small sigh. Right. Tea was healthy and Coke wasn't, Sania had made that very clear to him.

Crux at least had the decency to wait until he had mostly finished eating before she started the list of the day and Alex forced himself to pay attention.

It was a little past eight in the morning. In less than half an hour, Jack would land in Dubai. Focus was in short supply today and Alex knew it.

"Mr Chase," Crux began, "would like to meet with you in person."

He should have picked the Coke. It was too early in the morning to decipher the multiple layers of meaning that Crux seemed to believe was good practice for his analytical sense. He gave it a shot, anyway.

"Here, I'm guessing?"

"It's the safest location," she agreed. "The rest of the executive board has become aware of your identity. He would like to discuss your options in a safe location with a minimal risk of hostile surveillance."

'Hostile' surveillance specifically, because Thetis listened to everything, but Alex could see the point. Now, was this just a way to get close enough to Alex to kill him personally? That might still be a risk but everything considered, Alex doubted it. There were easier ways to try to kill him, though that hadn't stopped SCORPIA before so Alex didn't put much stock in that. Chase's investments, though … Brendan Chase really, really liked money, based on his obsession with investments, and Alex was his cash cow. Joe Byrne had been right – SCORPIA was on its way to collapse and Alex, with access to Crewe's obscene fortune, was the best alternative Chase had.

If he couldn't trust anything else, he could trust that and Thetis' security. Add a couple of roombas to keep an eye on the areas that Thetis couldn't through her own network and it would be about as thorough as they could get it.

"What am I agreeing to if I say yes?"

The past year had taught him a healthy amount of suspiciousness of pretty much everyone and everything around him, a fact that Crux and Kywe both seemed to wholeheartedly encourage. She would just have to deal with the result of that now.

"A day or two, depending on how much the two of you would have to discuss. Mr Chase would bring his own personal security, though general security would be our responsibility. In practical terms, he would bring a few people – four or five at the most – and the level of security at the base would be upgraded, though we will need to do that no matter what, given the rest of the executive board's knowledge of you. It would not be unthinkable that someone would defy SCORPIA's rules and target you for personal reasons, despite your status as a client. Beyond that, you will need to set aside two rooms, though Nautilus does not lack for those. A suite for Mr Chase would be expected, though any additional people with him would be fine with anything we have available close by."

So far, nothing about that sounded alarming. Nothing that made Alex look around for another supervillain plot in the making. He wasn't even surprised that security would be tightened. He was honestly a little surprised that it had been almost three weeks without a direct attempt to kill him, and now that the rest of SCORPIA's psychopaths in charge knew about him … yeah. Increased security made sense. It all did, when Crux put it like that.

Of course that was all the more reason to stay suspicious of the whole thing.

"… That's it?"

"That's it," Crux confirmed. She paused for a moment before she continued, and it was obvious that she chose her words carefully. "There are politics on executive level that are best kept off-record. It is not uncommon to meet in person for such things, despite the resources needed to keep such meetings secret and secure."

So … Chase had something he wanted to talk about and he wanted no records that could come back to bite him, was Alex's interpretation. That could be a lot of things but his immediate suspicion was that it was another mark in the 'planning for SCORPIA's collapse' column.

Brendan Chase wasn't exactly the sort of guest Alex wanted to have around, especially not with Jack about to arrive, but Nautilus was pretty much a minor SCORPIA outpost based on the amount of staff he employed so it wasn't like another four or five people would really matter. Maybe adding Chase's ego would be enough to turn the air of self-important megalomania that Crewe had left behind from supervillain gas giant to all-out black hole, complete with a gravitational pull to match.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" His response was resigned more than anything but it was obviously still the answer Crux wanted, because it earned another mark on her ever-present list.

"I'll see to the itinerary and let you know the details once they're in place." She paused. "Now, as for the details of Ms Starbright's arrival …"

Right. Because it wasn't just about getting Jack to the island, and Alex knew that. It had been the single, overwhelming thing on his mind, but that didn't mean there weren't other things to deal with. Because Jack's arrival came with MI6 and – Fox. Ben Daniels, as Alex had learned later on. Why Blunt and Jones had chosen to send Daniels with Jack, he wasn't sure. Maybe because he was one of the few agents still alive that Alex had worked with in the field. Maybe they thought it would make him more likely to listen, that he would respond better to someone he knew and who had been injured while trying to protect him. Maybe that Daniels would be able to predict anything he might be up to, since they had worked together.

What it all came down to for Alex was a headache. The hazy idea of a couple of anonymous agents was one thing. It had been – maybe not easy to write it off as something for Crux to handle, but at least convenient with all the other issues he already had to deal with. Someone he knew and didn't actively dislike was something else entirely. Someone who had watched his back. Someone human, even if K-unit had been assholes to him the entire miserable time he had spent with the SAS.

"The agents," Alex guessed and … they were his problem now, too, weren't they? Because of course Blunt had sent Fox.

Alex hoped the fish had rotted all the way through the package before MI6 had opened it, and he hoped the smell stuck.

"That's one issues, yes," Crux agreed. "Mr Chase recommends that you keep them alive and in reasonable condition, though Imai can easily justify an unfortunate accident if necessary. Ms Starbright will never have to know."

A SCORPIA combat team on familiar ground, against an unarmed and unsuspecting target … Alex had no doubt that an accident could be arranged for the moment they set foot in the airport, with Jack never realising what had happened to them. The entire plan was already unnervingly similar to the trap that had seen Alex himself caught by Crewe and his MI6 partner killed, and the idea of an unfortunate accident like that …

"No," he said, maybe a little too fast. "Chase is right. Alive and okay is fine."

What he was going to do with them afterwards, well, that was a problem for future Alex.

"Understandable. I'll set aside two of the smaller staff rooms in sector E and have someone set them up."

Sector E, probably because that area had the spare room furthest from the entrance, and two rooms to give them less opportunity to work together. As for the rest …

"What, exactly, does 'set them up' mean?"

It wasn't paranoia if you were dealing with a senior SCORPIA operative and Alex could think of all sorts of nasty things that phrasing might cover for.

"The basic necessities for human habitation are already there, but we need to ensure there is nothing around that might be used to escape. Nothing dangerous to themselves or our people. We need to install locks on the outside and wire the rooms for surveillance, handle any electrical outlets, potential issues like that. The kitchen staff needs warned as well. No utensils, nothing that might be used as a weapon or a tool. We should have it done by early afternoon."

Crux made it sound so reasonable, too, like this was something perfectly normal, because of course that sort of thing was just … handled in a couple of hours, no questions asked. Maybe it was. Maybe Malagosto even covered it in class. It wasn't like he would know, given how little time he had spent there.

There was nothing suspicious about that explanation, either. Was that just how things worked when he was the one paying the bills or had he missed something obvious? The odds were probably about even, but at least it was one thing Alex could scratch off on his mental list for now. He would deal with the issue of Ben Daniels when the man was actually, physically there.

"We will intercept them in the airport. Transport by seaplane has been arranged, with Ms Starbright arriving first and separately from the MI6 agents as a safety precaution. A suite has been set aside for her as well."

A suite for Jack, two staff rooms for Daniels and whoever else Blunt had sent along, another suite and a room for Chase and his security, and Alex knew they still had rooms to spare.

It was times like this he was reminded of just how large the compound was and how many people it could host, with most of them kept neatly out of sight and away from what had been Crewe's personal wing. Crewe hadn't wanted anything to do with the staff but he had wanted his every whim seen to and any guests sufficiently impressed – or cowed – by his wealth. That, along with the sheer amount of people needed to keep the aquariums and the base itself running … Nautilus, fully staffed, was the size of a hotel. A hotel that was only about two-thirds booked for the moment, which left some breathing room.

Still, it was an absurd thought that Alex got stuck on every time. The sheer amount of people whose only job had been to cater to Crewe's ego and obsessive aquarium hobby.

… not that he had that many fewer people around him, but he liked to think that wasn't about his ego. He didn't have a personal massage therapist on standby, for one. Or cleaning staff whose only job was to focus on his room. Or several scientists of dubious moral convictions working on his do-it-yourself DNA projects. Just a lot of terrorist mercenaries, assorted aquarium staff, and a Malagosto-trained PA.

"Any dietary restrictions and preferences will be noted by the kitchen staff after her arrival. We don't know how long she will stay here but presumably long enough to need a decent wardrobe. We can either bring her to Malé with security or arrange for any necessities through online shopping and priority shipping. For more specialised shopping in person, a private jet for somewhere with more options, like Mumbai, Singapore, or Dubai, can be arranged."

Sometimes, Alex wondered just what sort of clients Crux usually worked with when 'charter a private jet' was a reasonable option for a shopping trip. He was almost tempted to take her up on the offer, just to see Jack's reaction, but knew better. Jack wouldn't feel comfortable leaving him when she had finally managed to get there, and he would be a ball of nervous energy the entire time she was gone.

"Imai will ensure that Ms Starbright is briefed on the security measures before her arrival. As for the necessary security upgrades given the recent events, Kywe will have a report ready this afternoon."

Another thing for Alex's list. He could only imagine what those security upgrades would do to Nautilus' expenses and the general level of inconvenience for everyone on the base. Still, better than the alternative, when the alternative was dealing with a bunch of petty megalomaniacs with a grudge backed by SCORPIA's resources.

That was about how Alex had expected that morning briefing to go. Jack's arrival, dealing with Fox and Blunt's other lackey, and the usual not-entirely-unexpected bad news, this time in the shape of Chase's looming visit. So why hadn't Crux put away her list?

"… What am I missing?" If he sounded a little resigned, no one could blame him. He should have picked the coke when he had the chance.

"You have now drawn the attention of two intelligence agencies. The CIA will most likely respect your desire for neutrality for the moment but we have no such agreement with MI6. There is a running countdown until they interfere, and we need to plan accordingly."

Sometimes, it felt like Alex's life was just a series of overlapping countdowns. A countdown to the next time MI6 interrupted his life, or someone tried to kill him again, or another billionaire with too much time on their hands thought up some insane plan instead of going to therapy or taking up knitting or railway modelling or whatever like a normal person.

Now, the countdowns were a little different but … not that much, honestly. Another countdown until MI6 showed up again to bother him. Until SCORPIA's board decided to target him around Chase. Until Crewe had been 'ill' long enough that his death would look natural and Alex could legally claim his estate.

"What's the plan, then?"

Because that was what he paid her a fortune for, wasn't it? He didn't have the first idea of where to start, or he would have been out of Blunt's grasp a long time ago, and while he knew his fellow Point Blanc inmates had looked into it, they had been limited by their age and restrictions on their assets, just like Alex himself.

Crux wasn't, and she was used to that world. SCORPIA was effectively a criminal intelligence agency for hire. It took one to know one, right?

"Murder and blackmail are both efficient, time-honoured ways to deal with such issues. It may have reached a point where this is a personal matter to Blunt, but assassinating the head and deputy head of MI6's special operations should ensure that his successor would have far more important matters to deal with."

She said it so matter-of-frankly that the words took several seconds to actually register and – why was he even surprised? It was SCORPIA and Crux was trained at Malagosto. The first answer to any question at that place was 'murder someone'.

Was that what it had been like for Cray, when Sabina's dad had become a problem? Had he just – told Yassen to handle it? Had they discussed the details? Had Cray demanded the bomb or had it all been left to Yassen?

Had it even registered at all to Cray that he had ordered someone dead just for looking into his business – a living, breathing human with a family – or had he done it so often that it was just routine? Assuming, of course, he had ever had the empathy to care in the first place.

Now Alex had that same power at his fingertips. The same ability to give the word and take his revenge for a year of blackmail and trauma and near-death situations. For a life left in shambles and a future he couldn't even imagine, and Blunt and Jones would never have the chance to do it to another child, and -

- All he had to do was agree. He wouldn't have to plan it, he wouldn't have to pull a trigger, he wouldn't even have to see it happen. He just … had to agree.

A part of him knew that Crux was even right about it. If Blunt and Jones got killed like that, whoever took over would be buried in so much work that Alex's existence would be kicked to somewhere near the bottom of the list. It might be months or years before someone had the time and resources to care. By the time it became relevant, he could have so many contingency plans in place that he would be untouchable. He could have become someone else entirely if he wanted to.

He remembered his first meeting with Blunt, the sense of the trap closing around him, of anger and helplessness and overwhelming grief because he had been fourteen and just lost his uncle, and -

- He could make sure that would never happen again. All he had to do was say the word.

A heartbeat. Another.

What would Ian have said? Alex had no idea and never would now, because Ian was dead and in the end, it turned out that Alex had never really known him. What would Jack say, someone who had seen him almost die and return from mission after mission, traumatised and injured and increasingly paranoid? Or his father, who had gone undercover as an assassin and his mother, who had stayed by his side despite it all?

When was it a pre-emptive strike to protect himself, and when was it flat-out murder?

"… What's the alternative?" Alex finally asked, after longer than he was comfortable admitting to himself.

He had done a lot of things in his life but he had never deliberately ordered someone dead and he wasn't about to start now.

"Blackmail," Crux said. "We have extensive files on you. Your existence is not as secret as MI6 would like these days. The use of you for those operations might potentially be excused given your exceptional successes and the disasters you averted, but the blackmail of a British child by MI6? That is the sort of story the press would hound the government relentlessly for and they can't afford that. You were the very image of the promising future of the UK – well-liked, social, intelligent, athletic, handsome, and suitably white for even the most racist parts of the press. If they could do that to you, what could they have done to some other, less fortunate child? That is the image the press will present if the intel is served right: This, reader, could have been your child. The threat would most likely be enough to force MI6 to keep their distance but if not, you would need to be prepared to make those files public and for the fallout that would follow."

The words were Crux's, the voice was hers, but for a moment Alex was back in the kitchen in Chelsea with Jack, listening as Harry Bulman prepared to ruin his life and he wanted to throw up.

In the end I got what I wanted. Alex Rider. That's you.

His reaction must have shown because Crux paused.

"Alex?"

It's a very simple matter, Alex. Hardly even worthy of your talents.

Alex wanted to lie, wanted to forget that it had happened and never, ever mention it, but he knew it wasn't an option. SCORPIA had his file, they had to know about Bulman even if Crux didn't realise how bad it had been, and – this was why he had hired her. To fix things. That was what she was doing. Not for fame, not to make herself rich on his name, but because he had hired her and for now, her job was to protect his interests.

"I – earlier this year, a journalist showed up at our door. Harry Bulman. He'd found out about me, just – bits of rumours that he'd kept hunting down until he found out my name. Until he found out everything, just by putting together all the little pieces. The missions with MI6, the lack of pay, everything. He offered me a share of the profits and the chance to tell my side of the story but he made sure we knew he was going to publish it no matter what. He gave me a week to decide."

Alex paused. The nausea was still there, the claustrophobia and the awful feeling of having his sense of self violated somehow and -

"- There was nothing we could do about him. He knew everything and he had copies of it all. He had eyewitness descriptions of me, he had called my school about my absences, he had even set up a situation to test my fighting skills. I had to go to Blunt," he admitted, "and they used it to force me on another mission. Pretended that since I didn't work for them, they couldn't do anything, but if I happened to make it worth their while in the future … well. That would be different, wouldn't it? So I agreed, because what else could I do, and they made him go away. I never heard a word from him again. He was going to sell my story to everyone he could, tell every little detail about me and probably make up a ton more to make it sell better, and he tried to make it sound like he was doing me a favour."

"And this feels a little too close to that," Crux concluded. If she thought he was stupid or overreacting, it didn't show. "There are some significant differences, of course."

There was, and Alex knew that. It still didn't make the memories any less awful.

Alex swallowed.

"Would MI6 listen if we tried that? With Bulman … Blunt said they would just deny everything. I knew that would just make it even worse for me, then."

"Denial," Crux said, "is rather more effective against someone not in possession of heavily classified documents directly contradicting the claim. This would not be circumstantial evidence. This would be proof, by MI6's own hand, of not only the missions but the circumstances that forced you to agree. Furthermore, the situations are very different."

She didn't elaborate and Alex knew that for the unspoken prompt that it was. She wanted him to work it out, not have the answer just handed to him, because – that was what he wanted. To know what was going on and the sort of politics he needed to learn to survive.

Right. Think it through, even if that sort of lesson was the last thing his brain wanted on a day when about half his focus was on a flight approaching Dubai. But then, that was probably why she had done it. Make him figure it out in a less-than-optimal situation and distract him a little from Jack.

Bulman was a journalist that Alex had never met before and didn't even know the name of. SCORPIA was a bunch of mass-murderers and terrorists for hire, and Alex wasn't sure he could even give an accurate count of the number of times he had clashed with them, considering that some of the nutcases he had run into might have hired SCORPIA assets and he wouldn't have known.

Why would it be so different if Alex's existence was revealed by a terrorist organisation instead of a journalist? Why would MI6 care about one and not the other?

"… Because Bulman was going to publish it no matter what," Alex said as it clicked. "And he would probably have embellished the story to hell and back, given the papers he usually wrote for. He had no real evidence from MI6 and his career was based on stories one step up from 'Local Royal Marine given parking ticket' and 'Aliens in Buckingham'. If I had refused to let them blackmail me into another mission, they would either have denied everything and he would just have been another conspiracy theorist, or they would have removed him for their own convenience and made me pay some other way. With this – no one wants it published. Not MI6, because you have actual, solid evidence to use against them, definitely not me, and …"

"… Not SCORPIA," Crux finished, "because you have been the direct cause of some severe losses over the past year, and to have it made public that it happened at the hands of a fourteen-year-old child? Our credibility would never recover. You want to be left alone, nothing more and nothing less. Your value to MI6 is already diminishing, because their primary interest in you was the combination of your youth and training, and you look significantly less child-like and innocent now than you did at the time of your initial recruitment. Finally, they know you are unlikely to return in another half a year with more demands to keep the evidence from being published, because you have as much to lose as anyone if they attempt to call your presumed bluff."

Mutual assured destruction. It was not a history lesson Alex wanted to be reminded of, given the nuke he had only just managed to get rid of, but – it wasn't entirely wrong, either.

"They could still decide to have me killed," Alex said. He wouldn't put it past Blunt, and Crawley would go along with it like a good little minion, wouldn't he? For the good of the country, of course. He would be a loose end. Useless now that he was too old and out of Blunt's reach.

"They could try," Crux agreed, and something about the way she said it left no doubt in Alex that she would take a personal interest, should someone make an attempt. "Though on the subject, that may not be a bad idea to keep in mind."

"What, an assassination attempt by MI6?"

Because Alex considered himself a bit of an expert in bad ideas and that was pretty high up there.

"Faking your death. Muddling the trail a little."

"No one would believe it."

"Of course not. Blunt is paid to be a paranoid bastard," Crux agreed. "But it can still cause a number of headaches for MI6, and may encourage less well-connected enemies of yours to give up on any attempts at revenge. A faked death that no one actually knowledgeable believes is real can still be used by Blunt's enemies against him. But that is a discussion for another day."

A much, much later day, if Alex had anything to say about that. He usually didn't, though.

"So … those are my options. Murder or blackmail that might blow up in my face?"

A garbage option or a slightly less garbage option. Alex figured his utter lack of enthusiasm about either of those alternatives could be excused.

"Essentially. In a different world, there might have been more. The political route, perhaps, to apply the pressure needed to Blunt. You're known by the British government already, though. If anyone has objected to the use of a child in the intelligence world, they were either not powerful enough to matter or were convinced to drop their objections. That is not a route that is likely to be successful in your case."

Murder or … not-murder, then. He knew what Crux would suggest. He also knew that wasn't an option. Not when he was the one who had to make that decision.

"The blackmail."

He halfway expected her to be disappointed, because SCORPIA would probably take any excuse to murder Blunt and get paid for it, but instead she simply nodded.

"Appropriate, given your own circumstances. I'll have something prepared for your approval after Mr Chase's visit has been handed."

Because he was the client, Alex reminded himself. Because he – or Crewe's bank accounts, rather – paid Crux's salary. Her salary, and that of every single other person on the base. Blackmail wouldn't have been an option if she didn't think it was something they could work with.

Crux added a note to the never-ending list on her tablet, this time a little longer than usual. Then she scrolled down a little further.

"One final issue," she said, "in regards to the potentially poisonous aquatic plants. I have contacted the poison specialist I had in mind and they have expressed an interest in what I was able to share regarding the job. I do have others on the list, but the need for someone with the background and experience to handle the matter who can also be trusted to keep quiet about it …"

… It cut down a lot on the options, she didn't need to say. Because Nautilus was a sketchy operation on a good day, never mind a bad one, and they didn't need someone who got cold feet about being around terrorist security.

"What's the catch?"

"It's Eijit Binnag. Malagosto's botany instructor. She does not have an official degree but her studies in poisons are widely respected, and she has worked with SCORPIA on client projects before. She doesn't have extensive experience with aquatic plants but no one on the list does."

Call me Jet. Alex remembered her vividly. Small, lithe, and graceful, and a stark contrast to personalities like Yermalov and Ross.

His memories of Malagosto were … ambivalent but not all bad, even after everything. He had even enjoyed it there a few times when he had briefly managed to forget just what they were training him for. Enjoyed being treated like someone who belonged and wasn't an unwanted burden. Even Yermalov, who had been the harshest of the teachers, had never been unreasonable. His classes had been relentless but that had been the case for everyone and Alex had never been singled out.

Alex wasn't going to ask about the other 'client projects' Jet had worked on, because Crux wouldn't tell him and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know, but he wasn't actually surprised to hear it. If anyone, Malagosto's instructors understood the value of secrecy. If Crux thought that Jet was the best option, Alex wasn't going to argue.

… Not about that part of it, anyway.

"It's going to cost me a fortune, isn't it?" He wasn't sure what someone like Jet was paid, but he knew it had to be a lot to keep her in a place that was as obvious of a target as Malagosto.

"She's willing to take the job at cost if she can bring back samples of anything poisonous she finds."

Alex was about to argue, because the last thing Malagosto's poison specialist needed was access to even more materials to work with, but then he remembered Malagosto's greenhouse and the argument died before he could voice it.

Jet already had access to pretty much every well-known poisonous and otherwise useful plant around. If she didn't, she could probably ask for anything she needed. Was one more potentially poisonous plant going to make that much of a difference? When they didn't even know if Crewe had actually managed to turn his nutjob plan into reality?

Three weeks ago, Alex could have said yes. Now, with the numbers of Nautilus' budget dancing in a can-can line through his mind, he found a whole new appreciation for the practical approach that Crux tried to teach him.

The terrorist botanist could have her plants if it kept salary expenditure down even a little. Jet had always been nice to him; the least he could do was send her back home with flowers for her help.

"Sold," Alex said, before he could change his mind. "Let me guess, a guest suite for her, too?"

Crux smiled as she got up, her phone once again packed away. "Now you're learning. That was all for now. Try to spend the day productively, it will make the time pass faster. Enjoy your tea."

His leftover, lukewarm tea. Alex didn't sigh as he got up to empty the sad remnants, but it was a close thing. At least the teapot was still around and mostly full.

On the table, his phone vibrated once and fell quiet again. Alex scrambled to get it, tea entirely forgotten.

Status update: Emirates Flight EK10

Landed 07:28 DXB

Almost two thousand miles away, Jack's flight had landed in Dubai.

Alex spent the rest of the morning wandering the base with a plan, a purpose, and Thetis watching over his shoulder. He needed something to distract himself and it had been on the to-do list for a while now. Crux had already offered a list of several interior designers and suggested he took the time to go through the artwork at the base at his own pace, it just hadn't been important compared to everything else. Now, full of restless energy and the need to do something, the timing was just about perfect.

Jules Verne, someone had noted in one of Alex's many, many briefing papers, had described the submarine Nautilus as 'a masterpiece containing masterpieces' and Alex was unwillingly reminded of that now.

Crewe had obviously been inspired by that description. He had just as obviously had terrible taste in art. Terrible and absurdly expensive, like all billionaires Alex had met.

Even Yu's creepy obsession with all things British had been marginally better, though Crewe hadn't owned an organ farm, so at least that had been one improvement.

Most of the art in the base consisted of paintings but there was also a substantial amount of other art – figures and small statues and drawings. Most of them made it easy to decide on a course of action.

"Sell it," Alex said about yet another old landscape painting in depressingly gloomy colours.

Thetis didn't respond but she kept a list that would be sent off to Crux and Kywe by the end of it. Alex knew, because he had personally named that list 'Someone Paid Money For This?'. Most of the money the artwork would be sold for would go back to the aquariums, though a percentage would be put aside for new, less depressing decorations.

Depressing landscape paintings gave way to depressing seascape paintings, this one of a small boat in a storm somewhere. Probably something about the inevitability of death.

"Sell."

The next was a large, carved wooden sculpture by one of the doors to Crewe's private wing of the base. It looked a priest or something, based on the religious bits. Maybe a bishop. Not downright depressing but still ugly.

"Sell that one, too."

A small drawing in two pieces, almost lost among the larger atrocities, turned out to be a surprisingly nice sketch of some winged dragon-griffin-sea monster thing. That one got to stay. Its neighbour, another sketch of some sort, was somewhat less obvious.

Alex squinted at it. It did nothing to help decipher exactly what he was looking at, except now it was blurry, too.

"What is it even?"

"Artwork identified as 'Design for the Base of a Vessel with Three Dolphins' by Giovanni Battista Foggini," Thetis supplied. "Artwork acquired from The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Unknown year of acquisition. Unknown cost of artwork. No further information can be retrieved from the database."

'Acquired'. 'Unknown cost'. Well, that didn't make it sound shady at all. Maybe 'Someone Paid Money For This?' had been a bit too optimistic of a name for his list of artworks. Maybe he should have gone with a more generic 'Billionaires Have Awful Taste' or possibly 'Pretty Sure Some Of These Are Haunted', because some of the artwork around the base had gone right past depressing and straight into creepy and unnerving.

Now that Alex knew the name of the sketch, he could sort of see it. Vaguely. Three fishtails curled together, like the base of some of those old fountains he had seen while travelling with Ian.

"… Keep it, I guess."

It wasn't offensively ugly, and he didn't want to draw attention to anything if Crewe had, in fact, managed to get it through entirely illegal means.

Then he stepped through the door, into the private wing of the complex and the interior design that was, in fact, offensively ugly, and only just managed to keep back a sigh.

Crewe had taken some god-awful love for mahogany and brocade and dark furniture and transported it right into the middle of the bright, colourful world of Nautilus and somehow turned both parts of that mix much worse in the process.

Nautilus deserved better. So did everyone stuck looking at that artwork on a daily basis, and Alex was going to do something about it. Maybe he wouldn't get through the whole thing in one day, but it would give him something to focus on as the hours crawled along, and he was sick and tired of being reminded of Crewe every time he turned a corner and spotted another horrid design decision.

"We're definitely going to have to do something about the furniture. I think -"

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Alex lost his train of thought entirely. He knew what the message probably was – what it had to be – but his fingers still trembled from adrenaline and anxiety both as he unlocked it.

Status update: Emirates Flight EK652

Departed 09:58 DXB

Two thousand miles away, Jack's plane had left Dubai. Every tiny movement on the flight tracker now brought her a little bit closer to Malé airport – and to Alex.

Alex's phone rang shortly before lunch. The number wasn't programmed into it but Alex still recognised it and picked up immediately.

"SCORPIA's School for Murder, Mayhem, and Terrorism: no job too small, no payment too big. How may I help you?"

"Don't greet Roscoe like that or he'll take you up on it," James Sprintz's voice responded from God-knew-where he was currently at.

"Board issues or did some surprise new family members pop up?"

Again, he didn't need to add. They both knew the Roscoe inheritance situation had been an absolute shit-show involving several paternity tests and extended family that Roscoe Senior had cut out of his life long before his son was born. Most of it had been kept out of the public eye but the Point Blanc alumni had been kept up to date on all the details. Even Alex hadn't avoided that.

"The former. There's a couple of fossils hanging in there but he's got it under control. Most of the board has learned to roll over when he tells them to. I'm mooching off his disgustingly nouveau riche bar as we speak."

Which was as much of a stab at James' own background as the son of a self-made billionaire as it was at Roscoe Senior's taste, because Paul Roscoe had been too busy consolidating his hold on his inheritance to bother with that sort of thing.

What time zone was he even in? Somewhere in the States, if he was with Roscoe. Which made it sometime in the middle of the night for him. Not that Alex had anything to say about that, given the amount of nightmares that haunted his dreams on a regular basis.

"Can't be worse than Crewe," he offered instead. "I've just spent several hours going through the art collection here and it's either hideous, stolen, or both."

"Well, fortunately for you, I'll be around to bless you with my exquisite taste soon. I can meet Starbright, give you some pointers, and we can get proper pissed and vandalize some of Crewe's worst design offences together."

Alex blinked. Out of all the things he had expected to hear, that had not been on the list. Roscoe had made an off-hand mention about visiting at some point, but it had been a throwaway comment in a flood of information, and there had been much more important things to focus on.

"What, seriously?"

Which – yes, Alex knew in theory that all of his 'classmates' from that fucked-up place were obscenely rich, but sometimes he forgot just what that meant. Even then, none of them had been on good terms with their parents in the first place, and after Point Blanc, several of them had seen those relationships devolve from less-than-good to Cold War status. For a lot of them, their wealth came with severe restrictions.

"I'm on probation contingent on my so-called continued acceptable behaviour," James drawled then continued, a little more serious. "My dad and I have reached an agreement. I travel with security and conduct myself to the appropriate standards, and he refrains from getting into my business. He knows I'm already working towards independence and have the connections to leave tomorrow if I wanted. We don't push each other and everyone gets along."

Because Dieter Sprintz had wanted someone to get his wayward son back on the right track, not lose him entirely, and if there was anything they had learned from Point Blanc, it was that they could trust no one. Least of all their families. If Dieter pushed, James would leave, and he knew it.

There was just one problem with that.

"It's not just going to be Jack," Alex admitted. "SCORPIA's board found out about me. Brendan Chase, the guy I've been dealing with, is going to visit in person to discuss some political things he doesn't want on paper. I'm going to have one of SCORPIA's executives and whatever security he shows up with haunting the base for at least a day, maybe two. Your dad's going to kill both of us when he finds out you were within a hundred miles of that."

"Based on your security, I doubt he'd succeed," James noted. "And if he wanted me to give a fuck about his opinion, he shouldn't have sent me to Point Blanc. Besides, if you're willing to have Jack around for that, I'll risk it. I can be in the Maldives in a day or two, depending on how miserable I want to make life for my own security."

To be fair, it had been way too late to realistically call off Jack's arrival by the time he had heard about Chase's travel plans, and if Alex had been given a choice at all, he would have kept Jack far away from that mess. That wasn't the point, though. James knew he would do anything possible to keep Jack safe and with that sort of security and contingencies in place, it wasn't that surprising that James was willing to risk it. If he had already decided to visit, there were very few things barring a natural disaster that would stop him.

Still, Alex had to try.

"It's not even just Chase. My life is being run by a senior SCORPIA operative who graduated murder school and specialises in interrogation according to the file I got. I've got a mercenary team at the airport to get Jack out of there and to kidnap the MI6 agents Blunt sent with her. We've found weapons of mass destruction in the basement. This entire operation is a clusterfuck, and now the rest of the psychos on SCORPIA's board are about to start sniffing around, too. The odds that this whole thing is going to blow up are getting worse by the day."

If that explanation in any way rattled James, it didn't show.

"Rider. I'm the son and only heir to the One Hundred Million Dollar Man. We couldn't get you away from MI6, none of us are in a position with that sort of political power yet, but we can throw our potential influence around and remind SCORPIA just how valuable your friendships can be to them. We looked into them for you and they're bleeding clients after what you did to them. They need new clients and if future access to us means playing nice with you, they can't afford not to."

Because like Alex, their lives weren't their own. He had fought back in the only way he could … and now James did the same. James, and Roscoe, and who knew how many of the others.

"I -" Alex started but couldn't find the words, couldn't explain what it meant to actually have someone in his corner, not because he paid them, not for ulterior motives, but because of him, but he didn't need to.

"We're in this bullshit together. All of us. Aut inveniam viam -"

"- aut faciam," Alex finished and felt a bit of weight ease from his shoulders.

I shall either find a way or make one; words they had all taken as their own and carried with them from Point Blanc and to whatever mess of a family situation they had waiting for them.

It was a gamble, it was dangerous, and it was likely to blow up in his face but it was also a chance. That was more than he'd had for more than a year, and James understood how precious that was.

I will find a way or make one, and if Alex needed a bit of help to make that way when MI6 had shut down all other routes of escape, well, they would do whatever they could to give him that help.

"In that case," Alex said, "I'll save you the mahogany desk for target practice."

"Make it two," James replied, "and you have a deal."

And if James Sprintz's arrival made Chase's visit even more of a headache for everyone than it had to be … well. It was SCORPIA. It was practically karma.

Emirates Flight EK652 landed at Velana International Airport shortly before three in the afternoon, two minutes ahead of schedule. By then, Imai had already been in place for close to five hours. They had left that morning to ensure everything was ready, and the rest had been a waiting game.

At least they got paid well for it. Alex would object to that, except he felt a lot better with Jack's safety in the hands of people Crux had deemed qualified to deal with CIA-level bullshit, and if that meant keeping a SCORPIA mercenary team on retainer, well, that was the way it would have to be.

With the restrictions on seaplane operating hours – sunrise to sunset – they would be cutting it close with the transfer to Nautilus, especially with the second plane, but Alex had been assured it was doable. Given that most of Imai would be on said second plane, he figured they had a vested interest in a safe flight, too.

Alex had grabbed an earpiece to listen in on the conversation as the minutes dragged on but most of it so far had been short, mostly-incomprehensible status messages between Imai and Nautilus – or November, which was the call sign the base had been assigned for the operation.

He had been told to expect an hour minimum before Jack and the two agents got through everything and had their luggage in hand. Even then, the wait felt endless and the anxiety he had only barely kept at bay had now returned with a vengeance.

There was a long list of things he could be doing while they waited. He had schooling to look into, a bunch of guides and articles on aquarium care and keeping that Sania had sent him when he had asked, and that wasn't getting into the sheer amount of financial stuff he needed to learn as well. He had any number of things he could have used to pass the time … if he could focus on anything for more than ten seconds, anyway.

The time had crept close to four-thirty before the silence in the earpiece was broken by the message Alex had been waiting for.

"November, this is Imai. We have eyes on Nova and two confirmed hostiles."

Jack.

Alex's heart skipped a beat. He had known she was on the plane but until that moment, he hadn't been able to actually wrap his head around the fact that she was there. In Malé airport, halfway across the world from London, because he had asked her to.

"Starbright has arrived," Crux translated and confirmed what Alex had already picked up on.

There was an implicit question in the statement. They were waiting for Alex's word to set things in motion and he knew it.

It was the last chance to just … call off the plan and make it work some other way, somehow. The last chance to not get Jack tangled up with SCORPIA. If Alex changed his mind now, Crux and Imai might get annoyed but they would follow his decision. Jack would be left alone and … they would end up on his doorstep, anyway, except Alex would have no influence on when and how.

It had been too late to change his mind the moment Jack had agreed to play along with Blunt's plan. The moment Crux had arranged for a phone for Jack. The moment Alex had deliberately kicked the hornets' nest to be able to choose the time and place for their inevitable confrontation.

Dragging his feet now changed nothing.

Alex took a slow breath and accepted that it was out of his hands now. He had to trust that Imai was worth their significant salary.

"Tell them the plan is a go."

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 18th

There were times when Brendan Chase regretted not using a private jet. It had, like most decisions in Brendan's SCORPIA-years, come down to a simple cost-benefit analysis. A private jet was convenient. It was also a money drain for someone who travelled fairly irregularly compared to some of his colleagues, and it drew attention that he was better served without.

A private jet could have handled the flight from Darwin to Malé in one stretch and been timed to meet the operating hours for the seaplanes that covered the final leg to the base. On a regular first class seat, the trip would include a brief stop in Singapore and would see Brendan and his security in Malé late enough to require a night in a hotel.

The anonymity was worth the extra time. Under a fake name with the best quality of ID that money and influence could buy, he was just one more business traveller, and no one looked at him twice.

As he stepped out of the Jacuzzi in the private villa at the five star resort that would be his overnight accommodation, Brendan couldn't even bring himself to mind. It would give him time to consider the situation during an excellent breakfast after a solid night of sleep, which was a very agreeable trade-off.

Maybe a massage, too. A bit of extra mental fortification before he stepped into Rider's chaotic sphere of influence.

Brendan had slipped on his disgustingly comfortable bathrobe and settled in the couch with a drink by the time Crux called with her update just before midnight.

"Welcome to the Maldives, sir."

"The things we do for clients," Brendan agreed. "What am I about to step into?"

"Primarily a bit of conveniently orchestrated politics on behalf of the Point Blanc students. James Sprintz is due to arrive tomorrow afternoon. He departed New York earlier today on Roscoe's private Gulfstream."

An obvious statement, there. Sprintz had waited until he knew Brendan's plans before he finalised his own. Sure, he came alone and with little influence compared to the clients Brendan was used to, but his arrival on Roscoe's jet would make it clear to everyone that he had powerful connections with a vested interest in the situation. Roscoe was still in no position to leave his company alone for any period of time but Sprintz … out of all the Point Blanc students, he was possibly the one most able to travel anonymous and unnoticed.

If those kids needed someone to move around unseen, he was the obvious choice. His father was rich but nowhere near the league of people like Roscoe and McMorin. He had the influence that came with money, but nothing like Ivanov's extensive connections. There were still restrictions on Sprintz's life decisions but nothing like the draconian demands some of his old classmates faced. He was in the perfect place to plan and network for the Point Blanc alumni. With the freedom and money to travel, and the backing of powerful names if necessary.

Sprintz was the designated negotiator for the group. He was young, but he would have time to grow into the role, and his name didn't carry the heavy luggage of several of the others.

Oh, that was clever. And presumably the only reason Brendan had been allowed to see that now was because those kids considered SCORPIA a potential future asset worth cultivating.

"The kid might make for better networking than the usual clients," he said and meant it.

Billionaire brats were their own kind of headache, but the Point Blanc kids had learned the brutal realities of the world early. They would have far more reasonable goals than a new supercar or whatever other expensive trinket that had caught their eye.

"Rider implied as much. Sprintz seems to have a far more pragmatic approach to SCORPIA's services than his father does and a strong drive to reach financial independence."

Of course he did. Their group had all had a brutal lesson in how little they could trust the world around them. They couldn't do anything now, too young and controlled by those around them, but they could still plan. Still take the first steps towards something better.

It reminded Brendan of another group of dissatisfied people two decades prior. People who had also made the decision to step away from the future they had been assigned to and take matters into their own hands. He still wasn't sure if it had been the right decision – it certainly hadn't been a sober one – but at least it had been his to make.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to discreetly introduce Sprintz to a professional negotiator. If the kid was going to take on that role in the group, a bit of professional training wouldn't hurt, and it would be valuable goodwill for Brendan.

Roscoe had already expressed his interest in SCORPIA. If his plan to leverage his influence and future business with SCORPIA to ensure Rider's safety worked, the rest of the Point Blanc alumni would be likely to follow. They were very different people but they all owed Rider their lives.

That was a lot of potential money in their future … assuming, of course, all of his colleagues could be trusted to put cold, hard cash above revenge, and assuming that SCORPIA still stood in that hypothetical future. Brendan wouldn't bet on either of those conditions. Not with Kurst's growing influence, and definitely not with the quality of the new Board members that were intended to fill the empty seats.

It was a nice idea and he could appreciate the thought the kids had put into it. A year ago, it might even have worked. Now, with SCORPIA bleeding assets from one disastrous mistake after the other …

… Yeah. There was a reason why Brendan had already decided on an exit strategy, though he knew better than to voice it anywhere but in his own mind.

"It doesn't hurt to invest early in future opportunities, and Sprintz knows that, too," he agreed instead. "Anything else?"

A second of hesitation. That was never a good sign.

"I've previously mentioned the potential – oversights in Rider's file," Crux said carefully.

Brendan remembered. He had trusted Crux's impressions and that had only been confirmed by the rest of the reports he had received from various sources since. Rider was a resourceful little bastard; far more so than anyone had ever given him credit for.

MI6 had underestimated him, plain and simple, and since SCORPIA had leaned heavily on their intel of Rider, SCORPIA had underestimated him as well. It wasn't a pleasant reminder but Brendan trusted there was a point to it.

"And?"

"He takes after Hunter. MI6 has already dismissed any such potential in their analysis, but now that he has been given the proper encouragement and time to flourish, the similarities are – distinct."

Yes, Brendan had started to suspect as much, too. He could understand Crux's caution and unwillingness to bring it up, but it was nothing he hadn't already considered himself. The teenager in MI6's biased files had little in common with the lethal weapon that Hunter had been, but Brendan could read between the lines just fine once he knew what he was actually looking for. Two and a half week of having the kid as a client had only increased that suspicion.

It wasn't just a case of deliberately making MI6 underestimate him. There was more of an edge to it than that. Rider hardly had the body count to rival his father but murder had never been Hunter's most dangerous weapon, however skilled at it he had been.

"Give me the details," Brendan said.

"Rider shies away from deliberate murder," Crux began and unknowingly echoed his thoughts, "and lacks the more pragmatic mindset that Hunter possessed, but that was not what made the man so skilled at his job. He adapts to an unusual degree and – deliberately or not – has learned to integrate himself into just about any situation. He gives the impression of a teenager but there is a ruthless degree of practicality behind his actions. Starbright had clear doubts about the situation and could become a problem to his plans, so he manipulated the conversation to ease her mind and redirected her attention to help him choose a school for his continued education."

A choice that was all but irrelevant, as they both knew – and Rider did, too. With tutors and online classes, the school itself mattered little. What would matter, however, was that Starbright would be suitably distracted and reassured by Rider's willingness to listen to her.

"When agent Daniels managed to lower Rider's already-dismal opinion of MI6 even further, he remained in control of himself and the situation. He showed Daniels enough anger to emphasise that MI6 had lost their grip on him, but not enough to appear emotionally unstable. He spoke to Imai like a team leader, not a fifteen-year-old, and gave clear, concise orders. When his schedule unexpectedly cleared up, he took the opportunity to learn from them rather than waste the time with idle indulgences."

Acting, Brendan read between the lines, like an experienced operative, not the teenager that he was. When put into a situation around trained mercenaries, his response was to adapt to their expectations and learn from them. When given a Malagosto graduate as a PA, he could have simply leaned back and let Crux handle everything, but the more she pushed, the harder he worked.

He didn't act like a traumatised, blackmailed fifteen-year-old or an MI6 operative surrounded by hostile forces. If anything, the description reminded Brendan of a junior operative learning on the job. It wasn't what he would have expected from a kid, but the logic made perfect sense. Money wouldn't be enough to hold SCORPIA's loyalty in the long run and Rider had to know it. To be as secure as possible, he needed SCORPIA's people to see him as one of their own – a client, sure, but fundamentally one of them – and he had carried out the task with the same sort of ruthless determination as Hunter would have.

Hunter had weaponised his charm and adaptability and managed to manipulate his way to Rothman's side and make even personalities like Kurst favour him. That was an impressive feat any way you looked at it. Rider was still focused on survival, but he was also only fifteen. Given another fifteen years, he could be every bit as lethal as Hunter had been.

Frankly, given the right sort of influence, he might be there in five. The kid had potential.

Kurst would go after the brat for his father's crimes. Rothman had already tried and paid the price for it. Brendan liked to think he was a little more rational than that.

Besides, it could have been worse. Rider could have bought into MI6's spiel about patriotic duty and the excitement of working as a spy. Bitter resentment was much easier to work with, and both Rider and Sprintz would have that in abundance.

"A bit of pragmatism never hurt anyone. If Sprintz wants to talk business, let's see if we can't find a way to make a profit for everyone involved."

"Of course, sir. You'll have the updated analysis by morning."

Presumably handled by one of Crux's underlings, given the time, but he wasn't surprised. Rider's operation was rapidly growing beyond anything they had expected based on the initial contract. At this point, Crux probably had someone on intel duty around the clock.

"Excellent. I'll see you in twelve hours."

"Always a pleasure, sir."

Which was a flat-out lie, given the amount of work the visit of a board member always generated, but Brendan didn't mind.

Fortune favoured the bold, and if willingly setting foot within Rider's burgeoning supervillain operation didn't count, he didn't know what did.

The Maldives, April 18th

(Eighteen hours previously)

Alex woke up well before his alarm and spent the first long minutes of the morning just staring at the ceiling.

It was early, much earlier than usual, but he had crashed early as well and … maybe his body had just grown used to early mornings. It wasn't like he had been allowed to sleep in since the whole disaster of a mission had started.

The air conditioning system was a whisper in the background. The soothing sounds of the ocean were a familiar, calming refrain. Beyond that, the room was quiet … for now, anyway. The roombas had at least learned to wait until he was awake to show up, but that only meant he had maybe another ten minutes before one of them started to make distressed sounds outside his door.

What did he even do now? Any other day, he would have gone straight to the kitchen for breakfast. Now -

- Now Jack was there, in the suite right next to his, and … what was he supposed to do?

Wake her up? Let her sleep in? It had been a long flight and an early night and she probably needed the rest, but what if she woke up and he was already busy somewhere else? Did she want breakfast in the kitchen, too? In her room? Did she want company at all? And what about Daniels and Clarke? Was he supposed to check on them or did he leave them entirely to the senior SCORPIA operative that specialised in interrogation?

He thought his life had been complicated when the full scope of his new aquarium-keeping responsibilities had become clear, but this was a league beyond that. At least the fish didn't care so long as they got fed and had a safe, clean place to live.

"… Thetis? What's the status?" he asked and settled for the safe bet for the moment.

"The facility is in level one lockdown. All issues are contained. All high, medium, and low priority issues have been added to the repair and maintenance schedule."

The familiar words were a relief. Thetis was a firm believer in 'time is a social construct' and would have told him the moment something serious had gone wrong, with no concern for the time of day or his sleep schedule.

The seconds stretched on. Alex kept staring at the ceiling and tried to get his brain moving.

His to-do lists were endless and kept getting longer, and now Jack was here, and the agents, and -

- Maybe that was a good place to start.

"What's the status on Daniels and Clarke? The rooms they're in don't have access to any aquariums, right?"

He didn't think so, and Crux had deliberately picked those rooms to make escape as hard as possible, but he needed to be sure. The sudden, vivid image of an aquarium shattering under the force of one of Smithers' gadgets was not something he wanted to risk.

"Hostile entities one and two are confined to location Eta-3 and Eta-8. Current status: no applicable warnings. Sector Eta does not have direct access to the aquarium complex."

And if they did somehow escape and managed to gain access, Thetis' lockdown protocols were still in place. One warning, and then lethal force was authorised. Maybe it wasn't something Alex wanted to use against Daniels – against Ben – but with SCORPIA's people everywhere on the base, he was not about to let up on that part of security.

If someone was dumb enough to test Thetis' security despite a clear warning, that was on them, not him.

The aquariums were in good hands, or as good as anything SCORPIA-related could be. His unwanted MI6 agents weren't an immediate problem. What else was on the list?

… A lot, actually, but most of it was stuff he didn't want to deal with right now. It would be a problem sooner or later, but that was Future Alex's problem. Like MI6 and the potential CIA interference and Chase's visit and decisions about his schooling and his lessons on financial management and about a dozen other things he wanted absolutely nothing to do with unless he didn't have a choice.

"Thetis, are there any aquarium backlogs? Not the everyday stuff, I know Sania has those things handled, but … other things? Are any of the aquariums too small? Were there any plans for expansions that Crewe just left in a drawer? Is there anything you want for the aquariums that no one has thought about before?"

Did she actually have plans that Crewe had never bothered to ask about? She had been smart enough to work around her instructions to save her aquariums and allow Alex to put things into motion to legally take over but … how far did that actually reach? How smart was she when no one put restrictions on her? Could an AI of her calibre be creative in her own way?

He already knew about Sania's preliminary plans for a Portuguese man o'war, but now he wanted to hear Thetis' ideas because it was her base, too. Her aquariums and her fish, more than anyone else's.

"The creator did not express an interest in expansions. Reason: interference with exterior shape of base design. Potential reactions to additional plans created around such restrictions were deemed too volatile for the security of the base. The plans were archived until a favourable risk assessment was available."

Because Crewe hadn't know about her actual level of independence and someone as paranoid as that, who had banned all non-essential technology and all but locked up the absurdly expensive AI he had invested in for aquarium monitoring … yeah. Alex could see her point. 'Volatile' sounded about right. At best, he would probably have restrained her even further. At worst, he might have wiped her completely from the base. For her own survival and the security of the base, she'd had no choice but to stay silent and follow orders and show no sign at all of independent opinions.

Her plans had been hidden away. Crewe's insane attempts at wiping out humanity or whatever had carried on. And then Alex had arrived and circumstances had changed.

"Could you send the plans to me? If we can make them work – we're already fixing a ton of stuff in the base right now. We might as well do as much as possible in one go."

Whatever they were – plans for additional security, for better use of the space they had, for improved habitats for the animals – Alex wanted to see.

His tablet dinged. The standard, boring background that he didn't have the time or energy to care about flickered and changed to an unfamiliar document instead.

Project Pontus stared back at Alex in neat letters next to a fancy-looking logo.

He should probably head to the kitchen. Get some breakfast. It was earlier than usual but maybe he could sneak in an extra can of Coke while he was busy daydreaming, anyway.

Instead Alex settled back into bed, wrapped up in his favourite blanket, and began to read.

"Thetis wants a YouTube channel," Alex greeted Crux the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

Normally, he would have waited for her to bring out The List, or at least have waited until he had some breakfast on his plate, but for once he was the one delivering a new headache instead of being the unfortunate recipient of one, and he wanted to get at least a little bit of enjoyment out of it.

"Technically," he continued, "she's got plans for an entire marine conservation educational program thing, but the YouTube bit seemed like the easiest thing to start with."

Usually, Alex was the one left staring blankly at whatever the most recent entry on the to-do list might be. This time, there was something incredibly gratifying about the flicker of genuine bafflement that crossed Crux's features. For someone with a SCORPIA background, that was practically a flashing neon sign.

"A YouTube channel?" she repeated. "If it's in regards to funding for the aquariums, that's hardly a reliable source of revenue."

"It's for educational purposes," Alex disagreed. "Aquarium videos, stuff like that. She wanted to see if Sania would agree to create some lectures or something for it, too. Any money would be a bonus but I know we've got better options for funding than that."

Sania had never been a teacher to Alex's knowledge but she still seemed like someone who would have thrived with dedicated students. She was always patient with Alex's questions and happy to talk about the animals under her care. Thetis' suggestion wasn't a bad one.

"This is about to be a non-profit aquarium, too," he added. "I think educational programs and conservation efforts are supposed to be part of the job."

It would also, he didn't say, be a lot harder to make him vanish if people knew about Nautilus. The best protection was secrecy but since a lot of people already knew he was there, the second-best option was probably to ensure that a lot of uncomfortable questions might arise if he suddenly disappeared. Thetis seemed to agree with that approach in regards to her aquariums, too.

Crux nodded slowly. Alex doubted it was because of his brilliant persuasive abilities, so it was probably the reasonable conclusion that if the AI that ran the aquariums wanted a YouTube channel, the smart decision was probably to give her one.

That, and Alex paid her salary. He still wasn't used to how much smoother things went when he was the one writing the cheque.

"Of course." She glanced at one of the ever-present and almost invisible cameras in the corner. "Thetis, if you would send me the proposal, I will see what we need to make it happen."

Her tablet lit up with the familiar, fancy logo of the report that Alex had read, too, then it vanished into the background to make room for The List again. It was a sharp reminder of how much control Thetis had over anything electronic in the base. That tablet was Crux's own, SCORPIA-issued and all. It was one thing to send her something; another entirely to take it over completely, even just for a few seconds. Out of convenience, even. Not for intimidation purposes, not as a threat, but because it was easier than email.

If Crux was bothered – and she had to be, Alex knew it – she didn't allow it to show. Just nodded.

"Thank you."

Thetis didn't answer but then, she was not one for idle talk, or whatever passed for it for an AI. Everything she did had a purpose, her words included.

Outside of Sania and Alex himself, not many people spoke directly to Thetis and he understood why. Once you acknowledged her, it was impossible to ever entirely forget that everything in the base was controlled by an AI with no limitations beyond some very nebulous instructions to protect the aquariums. It was just that Alex had spent a year trying to survive much more dangerous situations than that and honestly found it a nice change to have that sort of threat used to improve his life instead of trying to kill him, and Sania considered Thetis a priceless help with the aquariums. That sort of thing ranked much higher to her than the hypothetical threat that an AI of her calibre with access to lethal weapons posed.

"Oh," Alex added, because if he had to suffer through mornings, then misery should have company, "Sprintz is coming to visit tomorrow. He's bringing security, too, but I figure we've got room for them."

"Unless he plans to bring an entire class of Navy Seals, it shouldn't be an issue," Crux agreed. "Does Mr Sprintz have a particular itinerary in mind for his conveniently timed visit?"

Because it wasn't paranoia if someone was, in fact, actively plotting against you and Crux obviously subscribed to the same approach.

Alex shrugged. "He's just visiting. He just spent a while with Roscoe, too. If he happens to drop by while Chase is here, that's unfortunate but nothing he could have planned for."

That was the reason they had decide to go with after a brief discussion. The Point Blanc students were for the most part still under heavy restrictions on their wealth and general life decisions. Few of them were in a position to be interesting to SCORPIA as potential clients now, but that wouldn't always be the case.

Alex had been informed that they planned to wield that future influence on his behalf, and he would just have to suck it up and cope. The best way to do that was to leave enough unsubtle hints to get the point across without flat-out stating their intentions, because that was apparently the way to do business with operations like SCORPIA. Being direct was showing weakness. Letting SCORPIA put the pieces together themselves appealed to the ego of the board.

Alex personally felt they vastly overestimated the intelligence of said board, but that might be his own bias talking.

"I imagine his father would be less than pleased to find his son keep such company," Crux noted.

Risky, she didn't say, for the disgraced heir to a billionaire.

"Then his father shouldn't have sent him to Point Blanc. Nothing encourages independence like someone trying to take over your life."

James is his own person, Alex didn't say right back, and his father's opinion doesn't rule his future.

Crux made a hum of agreement and confirmed that the message was received, loud and clear. Dieter Sprintz was not a potential SCORPIA client, but his son had far less qualms about making useful connections and, just as importantly, James Sprintz was now heavily implied to have his own plans for financial independence. He was not a billionaire brat about to crash and burn without his father's support, and it would be worthwhile to cultivate a good relationship with him before others got the chance.

"I'll see to it that Mr Chase's security knows to expect company. Discreetly, of course."

Of course. Because if there was anything Chase – and Crux by extension – could be trusted to be discreet about, it was a potential future cash cow that they didn't want to share with the rest of the board.

Before she could bring up the usual list and dump her own share of headaches on Alex, someone knocked on the open door to the kitchen, and Jack stepped cautiously inside. Behind her, Alex caught a glimpse of one of the roombas before it vanished behind the corner again – presumably her guide for the morning.

"Am I interrupting something? Thetis said you were in the kitchen," she said.

All thoughts of intelligence world politics gone, Alex got up and pulled a chair over to the table for her.

"No, just the usual to-do list. I'm never going to complain about homework again, ever. No matter what we do, the list just keeps getting longer."

"But that is after breakfast," Crux said pointedly. "And your soda allowance stands."

"I didn't drink my can yesterday," Alex pointed right back. Mostly because he'd forgotten between being a nervous wreck and anxiety about everything that might have gone wrong, but still.

"Which is wonderful news for your teeth and healthy eating habits," Crux agreed. "The allowance stands."

Jack frowned but allowed Alex to lead her out of the kitchen, towards the small breakfast buffet in the dining area. "Allowance?"

"One can of Coke per day." Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No coffee of any kind, no energy drinks, and absolutely no espresso, because I'm a teenager and caffeine is bad for me. If I insist on stunting my health with caffeine and sugar, I can have tea or fresh juice."

It was a deliberate appeal to Jack's own occasional comments about the amount of Coke he and Tom could inhale between the two of them and maybe it worked, because the frown eased a little.

Look, he hoped she could read between the lines, maybe they're terrorists for hire but I paid them to fix things for me and that's what they're doing.

The frown eased even more when she saw the actual breakfast offering, which was a world away from the carb- and greasy-heavy selection he had seen at some hotels. The kitchen staff subscribed to a practical approach and food at the base was healthy, plentiful, and frequently stuff that Alex had never even heard of before his impromptu status as a homeowner.

Alex grabbed a heaping plate and – pointedly – a large glass of juice. Jack took a little longer to decide, with Alex's running commentary on the various dishes to help her work out what she wanted to try. Unlike Alex, she got to have coffee.

For a long time, none of them spoke but just enjoyed breakfast as the base slowly moved around them. It wasn't heavily staffed but there was still a bit more life in the mornings. Security was at work around the clock but the aquarium staff and the rest of the people that kept the base running mostly kept normal hours.

Jack never stopped observing everything that happened and Alex couldn't blame her. The base was going to be her new home until they figured out their next step, and the place was both a complete unknown and staffed by people employed by a terrorist organisation. At the heart of it, nothing they said could be trusted, and they had both learned the hard way from Ian just how much the right facade could hide. If something was off and it had somehow evaded Thetis' attention, keeping an eye on things might be the only warning they would get.

Finally, Alex pushed his plate to the side and sighed. All out of excuses, it was time to face the music.

"Right," he said. "Let's just get it over with."

Crux picked up her tablet and brought out The List. Alex could see his last remaining free time scamper away like a raccoon that just raided the cat food.

"I've sent you Mr Chase's itinerary, which you will want to familiarise yourself with, along with the details regarding the increased security. I expect to see Mr Sprintz's itinerary as well, preferably before his arrival, and some advance knowledge of the number of people to accommodate," Crux began. "You are also expected at your regular self-defence lesson. The family office has provided a brief on the practical meaning of Nautilus' new status as a non-profit organisation. Beyond that, you will need to consider your schooling. Finally, you've expressed a desire to speak with the two agents, so I have kept part of your schedule free for that."

The worst part was that a list like that was actually surprisingly relaxed compared to some days. Downright generous, even. Maybe he had looked more on edge waiting for Jack that he'd thought.

Jack had clearly spent breakfast getting an idea of their interactions and now zeroed right in on the most important part of the briefing to her.

"What schooling is that?"

She sounded a little suspicious and he couldn't blame her. Maybe she remembered his stories of Malagosto.

"Independent study and tutors as needed," Crux replied, "once Alex has decided on an international curriculum. Online classes are an option, too. There are international schools in the Maldives, but the daily commute would be a bother, and they would be less able to accommodate any particular wishes regarding additional classes."

And wasn't that phrased just the right way to get on Jack's good side? Additional classes and tutors as needed, everything lined up just right to ensure that Alex got the education MI6 had been determined to ruin.

"It's the same for James. Sprintz," Alex added, because manipulative or not, it was still the best option available and hopefully Jack could see that, too. "So long as he keeps up academically, his dad lets him follow his own schedule. Most of the Point Blanc alumni do the same now."

None of them trusted boarding schools after Grief and most of them had a reputation that made them unwelcome in the few regular schools near their homes that might have been acceptable to whatever adult ran their lives now. Independent study was the easiest compromise for most of them.

Roscoe was the notable exception, too busy to solidify his control of his father's company to bother with some arbitrary curriculum. Whatever he lacked, he would learn through tutors later on.

"And the social aspect?" Jack looked at him and her voice softened. "You won't have any classmates."

That was the big one. The elephant in the room that was the fact that Alex was the youngest person on the base by a decade. James was about to drop by for a visit but that was just that – a visit. A few days, maybe a week at the most. He was surrounded by adults who – deliberately or not – treated him like another adult. Maybe Crux spent a lot of time explaining things that someone twice Alex's age would probably know, but he wasn't treated like a teenager, not really, and he knew that.

When it became clear he was determined to take over as more than just the legal owner – that he intended to learn exactly what something like Nautilus needed and remain an active part of its everyday life – his schedule had been adjusted accordingly.

How many other fifteen-year-olds were expected to read through business accounts and the legal details of non-profit taxation? Not many, he assumed.

"I don't fit in as it is," Alex admitted. "I already don't belong. At least like this, I won't have to worry about being too serious or saying the wrong thing or not acting right. Here, I'm just Alex. And if I'm paranoid about security, or I have traumas or I don't want to talk about something, everyone gets it. I'm not -"

- Normal, he didn't say though the word hung unspoken in the air. Hadn't been for more than a year and looking back, maybe not ever. He didn't know anyone else who had travelled the world and learned pick-pocketing and self-defence and whatever else a spy might need, all before the age of ten.

"- I'm not going to be able to go back to school," he settled for instead. "Even if I left all of this tomorrow, too many people know about me. I'd be a potential danger to anyone around me and I can't do that. Not to a school full of kids who never asked to be put in danger because of – everything. I can't imagine how Blunt could just keep sending me right back to school like nothing had happened when he knew the sort of people who might be after me."

How much had Jack already guessed about his missions? He had tried to leave out the worst of it but she wasn't stupid. He'd be surprised if she hadn't wondered the same. She had always pushed for him to keep trying in school, to do his best, because without an education he'd have nothing, but he had an alternative now and he was going to take it.

"He probably didn't care." Jack's voice was bitter and unapologetic about it.

Alex didn't speak. They all knew the answer to that. Jack took a slow breath.

"Tutors, then," she concluded. "You'll learn better from that than online and you know it. I know it won't be as flexible with scheduling but they'll be able to adapt to you and if you're going to steal a bunch of money from a supervillain, the least they can do is fund your education."

Crux nodded, undoubtedly happy to see one less potential headache on her list. "It will also make it easier to adjust the curriculum. Alex is far ahead in some subjects, notably languages, and behind in others where a large gap in attendance will mean a lack of foundation for future lessons."

Like maths, Alex knew. Where being gone for week after week meant that his homework had been near-incomprehensible at times as he scrambled to figure out what he had missed.

"He already has several informal classes," Crux continued. "Self-defence is the obvious one. No guns, as per Alex's decision, but the skills needed to protect himself if he becomes a target. Alex does have a background in Karate, but with the various other influences he's been exposed to over the past year, his unarmed combat is – well. A bit of a mess, to be frank. Uneven at best, and a potential danger to himself and those around him in a worst-case scenario. He's also learning how to run an aquarium of this scale as a combination of theoretical and administrative work as well as more hands-on lessons."

Listening to Crux, Alex came to two realisations. The first was that the whole thing felt unnervingly like some of the parent-teacher conferences that Jack had gone to because Ian hadn't been home. The second was that Crux's accent was back, presumably to make her more approachable, and that her words were carefully picked to appeal as much as possible to Jack. Alex owned the base but things would be a lot easier for everyone if Jack was at least somewhat positive about the whole situation.

The means to that end were obviously private tutors, good schooling, classes according to his interests, no guns, and careful references to remind Jack of just how awful the past year had been for him and how much danger he might still be in.

Jack was smart enough not to trust her, but it was hard not to listen when Crux promised everything that Jack had secretly wanted for him since Ian died but had no way to make happen.

Jack obviously agreed because while she didn't look entirely happy, she still nodded.

"If you send me a list, Alex and I can go over it together."

"Of course. Alex also has a file with promotional material from a number of distinguished schools, a number of which offer tutors, if you prefer a hybrid solution with tutors from a specific institution."

"I already threw some of them out," Alex offered. "The military ones, and anything that looked like Point Blanc. A couple of them sounded like a bunch of wankers, too. Oh, and the one that talked about 'international citizens' and 'an education to embrace your potential and future position as a leader in the world'. I think there's only thirty left now."

He had even read through every single one of those pamphlets before he had archived them vertically in a trash can, just in case the terrible first impression was just the result of someone letting the principal write their own introduction. He was actually kind of proud of that.

Jack stared. "… How many did you start out with?"

"Fifty-two." Crux didn't miss a beat. "With the sort of money Alex has available, there is no school that would refuse him. If none of them turn out to be suitable, there are a number of lesser-known schools to look to. Right now, our focus is on making the rest of his schooling the best possible experience."

"Right." Jack took another slow breath and Alex could almost see her force herself to ignore the reminder of just how much money she was surrounded by now – and just what that sort of thing could buy. "We'll look it over."

Crux made a note on her tablet. "I'll add it to the schedule for tomorrow, then. I expect you would like to take the day to settle and become familiar with the base, and it's better not to rush a decision like that. Another week or two won't make a difference."

Jack nodded. Maybe Crux sensed that she had overwhelmed their new guest enough for one morning or maybe she had things of her own to see to. Either way, she got up and Alex reluctantly did, too.

"I've arranged for a tour of the base for you with Kywe and Dr Jain. I'll walk you to the entrance. The layout of the place can be a bit of a maze," she told Jack, then glanced at Alex. "Your schedule has been kept clear until noon but you're expected for self-defence lessons after lunch. And -"

"- Remember security," Alex finished dutifully. "I will, promise."

Crux offered him a small smile, then guided Jack out of the kitchen with the skills of a professional cat herder. There would be no unwanted detours, he was sure. Nautilus had a lot of little details that were better introduced in a calmer, less official setting.

For several heartbeats, Alex just watched the closed door. Then he sighed and grabbed his single, solitary Coke ration for the day. He deserved it for the whole mess with MI6 and Future Alex would just have to deal with that.

Half an hour later found Alex on his way to see Blunt's two stooges. Technically, just one of them to begin with but he didn't delude himself into believing he would get out of talking with the other one, too.

It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do, but the base was staffed with SCORPIA's people and run by an interrogation specialist, and Alex didn't trust something unfortunate not to happen if he just ignored them. They were potentially a valuable source of intel and he had spent enough time with Malagosto's textbooks to know exactly how much you could hurt someone without leaving any obvious marks.

The fact that he paid their salary didn't mean he trusted them, and Thetis was likely to ignore it entirely. Daniels and Clarke were a potential threat to her aquariums, after all.

Which left Alex to handle the positively humanitarian mission of … well. He wasn't actually sure. Pretending to remember their existence enough to deter any accidents, mostly. Maybe sprinkle in a few choice descriptions of exactly how many ways Blunt could go fuck himself.

At least he had backup. Crux had insisted, Imai was still around, and Alex hadn't really argued. Even – or especially – when backup came both armoured and armed with the most vicious-looking taser guns that Alex had ever seen. No one wanted to risk Thetis' wrath should anything happen to her domain, and guns and aquariums had sounded like a bad combination to everyone.

If that was how the team normally looked when they handled 'diplomatic protection detail', he could imagine the negotiations probably ended favourably for SCORPIA.

Deciding who to talk to first had been harder. In the end, he decided on Ben Daniels. They had some history and he had a lot of conflicting emotions and … it was better to get that over with. He wouldn't be able to focus on anything else.

He didn't think the man would be a threat to him but that made no difference to the people around him. Aira still sent two of her people with Alex, because he paid a fortune for security and that was exactly what he was going to get.

And so, dragging his feet the entire way there, Alex met with Daniels in a room just down the hallway from the improvised cells. Even with a blindfold, no one wanted the two agents to get any more of an idea of the layout than they had to.

If the man was in any way worried, it didn't show. There was no tension in him as he settled into the chair across from Alex, just the natural caution of someone who couldn't see what they were doing. Then the blindfold was removed and Daniels squinted against the light before his attention zeroed in on Alex with just a brief flicker towards his security detail.

For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Alex broke the silence.

"How's your …" He made a vague gesture at his chest.

It wasn't what he had planned to stay but it was too late to change it now, and he was honestly curious. He'd heard very little about the fallout following Yu and Ash after the initial mess had settled down. How long did it even take to recover from something like that? Alex himself had been pulled straight into another disaster right after being shot, thanks to conveniently being placed in the room right next to Paul Drevin. Real MI6 agents were probably treated a little better than blackmailed, expendable chess pieces like Alex.

We'll look after him, Blunt had said, but Blunt could claim that water was wet and Alex would still want it confirmed by four independent sources.

"The gunshots?" Daniels asked. "I got some wicked scars out of them."

His accent was just the way Alex remembered it and his voice surprisingly friendly for the situation, not that something like that meant much with an intelligence agent. He could probably sound friendly right before he shot someone at point blank.

Alex had done his best to keep the idea of Daniels and Clarke at a safe distance. To see them as one more headache on his to-do list and do his best to ignore the whole can of worms that was his history with MI6. MI6, and the CIA, and ASIS and the rest of his list of terrible encounters with the intelligence world.

Now, looking at the man in person, it was harder to convince himself not to care. Daniels had been shot while trying to keep Alex safe on that oil rig and it was nice to know he had made it through the whole disaster without permanent injuries, too.

Daniels didn't continue. The room fell silent again.

Alex already regretted his decision to see the man. Where did he even start? Daniels didn't seem in any rush to speak, probably because he wanted a better idea of the situation first, and the silence was already getting to Alex.

"So here's the story as I know it," he finally decided on, because might as well put his cards on the table. "MI6 sent me off again with the usual promises that I'd be safe and then, like usual, I got captured by the batshit supervillain of the month. He got himself killed, I called dibs on the base, contacted Jack to get her here, and then Blunt decided to stick his nose into stuff that was none of his business and sent the two of you with her. Because Jones and him were worried about me."

His emphasis on 'worried' left no doubt to any of them exactly how much he believed that reasoning.

Something shifted in Daniels' expression. A slight frown, maybe, but nothing hostile.

"You're fifteen and the adult agent you were with was found shot. The next thing anyone knows, you're trying to convince your guardian to travel to the Maldives. No attempts to contact anyone else, either. In our place, I'm pretty sure you'd be worried, too."

You'd be worried, too, Alex's mind repeated mockingly and something in it snapped.

He heard the words through a haze of adrenaline. His heartbeat hammered like war drums in his ears and his fingers tightened on the armrest as a year of trauma and fear and helplessness came back in a flood of raw, murderous fury.

"So it's fine to send a fourteen-year-old to SAS training and on one suicidal intelligence operation after the other, but the moment I decide to make my own decisions, I'm suddenly a kid again? No one cared, no one even asked until I decided to quit!"

His rant had grown to a near-shout and the room rung with the sudden silence. Alex took a slow breath and forced his racing heart back under control.

Aggression would get him nowhere. Worst case, it would push him far enough to make decisions he'd regret for the rest of his life. Even Malagosto had been clear on the careful balance between sharply-honed and unrestrained aggression and for once, Alex was inclined to listen to those lessons.

Daniels let the silence carry on. When he spoke again, his voice was – different. Not cowed, not for a second, but … understanding, almost. Like some piece had clicked into place that hadn't fit before.

"Alex … the SIS has used underage assets for years," he said quietly. "And they're not the only ones. Not just as informants, either. Drug rings, crime syndicates – they've all been recruiting increasingly young kids. If MI5 gets the chance to infiltrate a drug ring by promising a blanket pardon to whatever fifteen-year-old drug runner they caught, don't you think they'll take it? Or that MI6 won't make use of some sixteen-year-old kid who ended up semi-radicalised and got cold feet? There are protocols for that sort of thing, that's how common it is. Rules about handlers and what the SIS can and can't demand from them, like testifying against family."

At first the words refused to register. Then they came down on Alex like an avalanche and in one terrifying instant, so many little things suddenly made sense and he couldn't breathe.

Why hadn't K-unit asked questions? Why hadn't Wolf said anything about Alex's presence at Point Blanc? Why hadn't Daniels questioned what Alex was doing in the middle of a high-risk intelligence operation around someone like Winston Yu?

Because he wasn't the only one. Because Alex's situation was need to know and – they hadn't needed to know. Because maybe normal underage assets were used for – for less risky jobs, for domestic issues rather than international operations, as informants instead of operatives, but Alex wasn't the only kid forced into intelligence work.

"Alex?"

There was genuine concern in Daniels' voice and he reached out and -

- stilled a second later as one of Alex's security detail took a deliberate half-step forward, taser gun in hand.

Daniels held up his hands and leaned back in his chair. The taser gun was lowered again, the unspoken apology for overstepping his permissions accepted.

Daniels didn't speak and made no move to reach for Alex again. Alex's temporary bodyguards remained as they were, quiet and unmoving as he worked through his sudden, unwanted existential crisis.

K-Unit had probably assumed he had been some rich kid caught on the wrong side of the law, if they had even wondered about it. That he had been sent off to be scared straight again by well-connected parents. Then Wolf had met him at Point Blanc and – if MI6 used kids in other areas, Wolf and his team wouldn't have questioned that, either. Alex would have been that same rich kid sent to spy on Grief because no one else would have been able to get inside of the school. A high-risk community sentence. And Daniels – MI6 hadn't even sent Alex off in the first place, that had been ASIS. Of course he hadn't asked questions. Alex had been there, had provided the final piece to stopping Yu's plan and -

- Need to know. Ben Daniels had known not to ask unwanted questions.

Alex had been thrown into one near-suicide mission after the other but – how much safer had things really been for those other kids who had been pressured into government service? Maybe they didn't have some insane billionaire out to kill them in gruesome ways, but would they be any less dead if some drug lord or terrorist found out about them? If someone decided to make an example out of them?

How many kids no older than Alex himself had been killed for a mistake they had been too young to realise the consequences of? How many had gone back into danger for the promise of a future or because they'd had no one to stand up for them?

Every time Alex thought his opinion of the intelligence world couldn't possibly get any lower, someone brought out a shovel and started digging.

Sometimes, in moments like these, he could almost understand the insane megalomaniacs he had been pitted against. Could almost see Crewe's point, too. Burn the whole world to the ground and maybe something better would grow from the ashes.

It was a dangerous line of thought when he had suddenly become a billionaire, and he was painfully aware of that.

"… I was blackmailed," Alex finally said. "I had just turned fourteen and found out that my uncle the boring banker hadn't died in a car crash but had been an MI6 agent murdered on an operation. Blunt informed me that MI6 controlled my life now and I could either complete the mission that had killed my uncle, or Jack would be deported, my home would be sold, and I would be sent to the worst institution Blunt could find, far away from anyone I knew. That's the sort of people you work for."

The room was silent. Daniels didn't speak and his expression gave nothing away. Maybe he didn't want to risk Alex's temper. Maybe he just didn't want to interrupt.

Alex's security detail, used to much longer and far more boring assignments as diplomatic security, remained as unmoving shadows in the corner of his eyes. He shouldn't trust them, they were SCORPIA's and only reliable so long as they got paid and no one important decided he was inconvenient to keep alive but – it was still reassuring, somehow. Not being entirely on his own for once. Knowing that if Daniels tried anything, they would stop him. That if Alex decided he never wanted to see the man again, that was his choice to make.

His choice. His decision. No one else's.

Alex forced himself to let go of the armrest, one muscle at a time. Daniels hadn't known. Maybe he should have asked but so should a lot of other people. It was just his bad luck he was around to be a target for Alex's anger now.

Was this why the various supervillains he had met had liked to monologue so much? Was it therapy for megalomaniacs? Maybe he should ask Chase. He'd know.

"I agreed," he continued, "because I didn't have a choice. I happened to have the training Blunt needed and he was willing to ruin my life to get his way. I had to sleep in the same bed as my uncle had. I had to look Sayle in the eye and pretend to be someone else when I knew he had been the one to get my only remaining family killed. I still have nightmares about dying in the tank with the man o'war while Vole laughs at me. And then, when I was finally home and thought it was over – they did it again. And again, and again – just one little favour, Alex, and we'll make this problem go away for you. It'll practically be a vacation, Alex. Until I was so distrustful of authorities that I didn't trust them to handle anything and so addicted to feeling useful that I couldn't leave things alone. So fuck Blunt and fuck MI6. I'm not going back."

Alex leaned back in the chair. He felt drained and oddly numb, like someone had taken his brain and wrung every emotion out of it. He had spent a year at the mercy of Blunt, fighting for his life as much as he had been in school, and he had lost count of the amount of times he had almost been killed. His nightmares were an ever-shifting cycle of awful could-have-been, every death more gruesome and terrifying than the other and -

- Now he had deliberately called MI6's attention to him.

Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe it had been the only choice he'd had left. They would find him sooner or later and this way it would at least be on his own terms. Face his fears, or whatever. Preferably with superior firepower at his back.

"A bit of a misunderstanding, then," Daniels finally said when it became clear Alex was done. The only sign that it was anything but a casual talk between occasional colleagues was the careful way he remained still in his chair. "Right. That does clear up a few things."

'A bit of a misunderstanding' was an understatement if you asked Alex, but MI6 usually didn't. Did Daniels expect him to ask about just what his rant had cleared up? If he did, he would just have to learn to live with the disappointment, because Alex stayed pointedly silent.

If MI6 insisted on the forceful recruitment of teenagers, they could deal with the consequences of that, too.

Daniels had obviously reached the same conclusion.

"So what's the plan now?" he asked when Alex didn't speak.

Did he expect a supervillain monologue about some complicated revenge scheme against Blunt or how he'd make the world pay? Well, Alex lived to disappoint. It certainly sounded like a career path he should mention to Crux. Maybe not to Jack, though. He suspected she wouldn't quite understand the calling of being a pain in the ass to the world as a full-time job.

"Me, personally? To begin with, I'm going to catch up on the schooling your employers have tried to screw over the past year. Probably a combination of online classes and tutors since I've been told I have the school attendance of someone in juvie and it's going to take some work to make up for that. Then I'll figure out what to do afterwards, since I might actually have a future now."

Daniels' pointed look told Alex that he knew exactly what he was doing. Alex just shrugged. Turned out, it was a lot less stressful to have an MI6 agent annoyed with you when you had two armed mercenaries for backup.

"If I get it my way, MI6 agrees to stay out of my business, I send you and Blunt's other stooge home on the most inconvenient flight I can find, and we never have to see each other again. Knowing my luck, you'll try to escape, security will bring you back, and then you get to listen to the best of ABBA on bagpipes or something on repeat until Blunt agrees to my terms and I can kick you out."

… Unless, of course, said escape attempt put any of the marine animals in the base at risk, in which case Thetis would probably have him killed before he got to the end of the hallway. But Alex didn't particular feel like sharing that.

Daniels nodded. "So you plan to stay."

Alex shrugged.

"On your own." Daniels clarified.

Well, that was just rude to Alex's increasingly-hefty salary expenditure line. It wouldn't have looked so much like a phone number if he had actually been on his own.

Alex gave into the urge to act his age and rolled his eyes, which was exactly the level of concern that comment was worth. "Spoken by someone who has no idea of how many people it takes to run an aquarium."

"Point," Daniels agreed though they both knew that wasn't what he had referred to. "Your security, too. It was a very smooth operation in the airport to separate us. Suspicious smooth, in fact."

Did he suspect SCORPIA? The odds were probably even. There were other mercenary companies Alex could have hired – because it would be blatantly obvious to someone like Daniels that it was not a normal security company in charge of things, not with a targeted operation like that – and Alex had some bad history with SCORPIA. They would be high on the list, if only for their global reach and because their personnel did have their own tells, based on Byrne's reaction, but there would be nothing to confirm it.

… 'Personnel'. He had spent too much time with Nautilus' reports and the family office accounts, that's what he had.

"I'll pass on your compliment."

Alex didn't respond on the second part of Daniels' comment and Daniels didn't push any further.

Unlike Byrne, with the backing of a warship and the United States government, Ben Daniels was in no position to point out the obvious associations and he knew it. At best, it would do nothing. At worst, someone would decide he knew too much to leave alive and arrange for an accident.

Now, listening to Daniels' careful attempts to fish for information, Alex wasn't sure why he even bothered with the man.

Daniels was MI6. Was Blunt's. He hadn't asked questions because it was his job to follow orders and Alex wasn't unique in being screwed over by the intelligence world.

Alex had wanted answers. Maybe they weren't the answers he had hoped for, but they were still answers and – there was nothing else he needed now. He had heard enough and he had reminded Crux and everyone else who might see a convenient target in Daniels that Alex was at least marginally interested in his continued survival.

There was nothing else. No MI6 to force him to stay, no more intel he needed. The meeting was on his terms and no one else's.

Alex made his decision.

"I'm done," he said. "Take him back."

There was no hesitation. One of his two guards stepped forward and gestured for Daniels, who got to his feet.

For a split-second he paused, like he wanted to say something more to Alex. Then his expression shifted to something that might have been a ghost of resignation and he nodded slightly in greeting instead.

The blindfold was replaced and Daniels was led outside, then the door closed behind them. Diego, still at Alex's side, moved just enough to make it audible. Alex suspected it was for his benefit more than anything, as a small reminder of his presence.

"Do you still want to talk with the other one today as well, sir?" Diego asked. "Ms Crux can probably rearrange your schedule if you want to do it another day."

She probably could and Diego, as the team's second-in-command, would have no issues arranging for it but Alex knew better than to ask. He already knew what that schedule looked like.

"She'll murder me in my sleep if I try," he said. "Chase arrives tomorrow. I think I'd rather just get it over with."

However tempting the alternative was. A small part of Alex wanted to just … ignore Clarke completely. He didn't even know the man. He knew better than to listen to that temptation, though. A short talk, that was all. Enough to mark him as off-limits for interrogation attempts.

Diego didn't question it but just nodded.

"Probably the smart decision, sir. We'll go get him."

Quiet, efficient, and immensely practical. Alex could see why Crux liked her team.

Clarke was older than Alex had expected. He had seen the files on both of Jack's unwanted travel companions but it hadn't really registered. Daniels was young, not even thirty. Clarke was forty. Older, calmer, more settled. He reminded Alex a little of his uncle, somehow.

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was on purpose. Maybe it was just how someone looked after they had spent fifteen years selling their soul to various intelligence services – greying and utterly indifferent to everything around them, because they had already seen worse.

Alex could empathise if that was the case. A year into his unwilling career, and he already loathed most of the intelligence world and every single billionaire on principle alone. A few more years of that, and he was pretty sure that 'founding a terrorist organisation as a back-up career' would start to sound reasonable to him, too. Looking at it like that, it had to be that patriotic spirit that kept intelligence agents on the more legal side of things because it sure weren't the heart-warming moments of humanity and the feel-good job description.

Watching as Clarke sat down, Alex still wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. The talk with Daniels had been awkward because of their past encounters but he didn't even have that now. Clarke was a complete unknown. Where did he even start?

Then Clarke spoke and took the decision out of Alex's hands.

"Alex Rider," he greeted. "I heard about your uncle. I'm sorry for your loss."

There was something about the way he spoke that reminded Alex of Jones and Blunt and Crawley; of grey walls closing in and lives bought and sold and no way out but -

- there was a drop of something genuine in there, and that was enough to stop Alex's first, furious reaction that he would dare to use Ian Rider's death like that; use Alex's grief to make him vulnerable because -

- No one else with MI6 had ever said that, had they?

They had talked a lot about Ian. Had talked about his dad, too. Little bits and pieces of the family history he didn't know to lure him back, to keep him grateful, little crumbs of rewards, but -

- No one had ever actually cared what Ian's death had cost Alex, had they?

We're very sorry to have lost him.

Wasn't that what Jones had said? She hadn't even sounded that sorry. It had all been impersonal. Routine. One more dead agent and one more family that would never know the truth, and the world carried right on.

All of us are deeply shocked.

We'll miss him.

He was a good man.

None of them had cared about Alex's loss. Just what it had cost MI6.

This was the first time someone with MI6 had acknowledged that Ian hadn't just been an agent but the only remaining family Alex had left, and even if it turned out to be a blatant attempt to make Alex sympathetic to his two hostages, it was still more than MI6 had done.

It was a low standard and even Alex could admit that.

Come to think of it, maybe Jack had been right every time she looked at him after a mission and told him he needed to talk to someone. Maybe he did need therapy. Someone that wasn't associated with MI6 or any of the other government-sanctioned child abusers he'd run into. Someone he could be honest with. And a way to avoid having everything he said get right back to SCORPIA, that would be nice, too. A tall order, so maybe that would just … be a work in progress. Something to keep in mind, before he went batshit crazy like the rest of the billionaires he'd met.

Alex forced the anger down and took a slow breath instead.

No one at MI6 had really talked about Ian, either. Only the comments they needed to lure Alex into following in his footsteps. If Clarke could give him more than that, Alex would take it.

"You knew him?"

"Mostly by reputation," Clarke admitted. "I only met him a few times. We worked in different areas but he was a skilled field agent. I only ever heard good things about him."

"His cover was a banker." Alex wasn't even sure why he mentioned it. Maybe because it still stung. All the years of lies. He understood why but the hurt lingered.

"As far as covers go, that was unusually accurate," Clarke said and there was no trace of a lie in his voice. "He specialised in financial operations."

"A field agent banker." Alex's voice was flat. It sounded like something Blunt had pulled out of somewhere to manipulate him into something or another. Right on par with 'your father was a patriot and a good man' when SCORPIA had looked a little too appealing. Something to make Ian's lie more palatable.

A banker didn't do the sort of missions Ian had. Didn't come home with bruises or injuries so often that his clumsiness had become a family joke. Didn't teach his nephew self-defence or SCUBA diving or pickpocketing or any of the dozens of other skills Alex had leaned.

If Clarke was bothered by the reaction, it didn't show.

"You don't always have the luxury of someone else to analyse your data in the field," he explained, "and the single constant truth of any enemy operation, whatever the type, is that it needs to be financed somehow. If you have that data, you have a lead. Sometimes, you can watch the financial movements for months or years to untangle the whole web. Sometimes, the data is of the 'use it or lose it' variety and you don't have that kind of time. A field agent who can get into an enemy building, get the data, and understand it enough to decide what to do with it and act on it if necessary – that's a valuable agent."

With the numbers of Nautilus' expenditure lines dancing the can-can in his mind on a daily basis, Alex couldn't even argue with that. He could only imagine the sort of intel MI6 could have wrung out of those numbers if they had access to the financial data. He could even imagine how it might have gone, in a different world without Thetis to come down like a vengeful goddess on any hostile entity within her domain. Get in, create a diversion, access Crewe's data, get out again. Take the time to go over everything and figure out how many worked at the base, who was responsible for security, the companies that handled supplies, weapon shipments, travels for any key personnel … it would have been a gold mine.

Alex nodded, part in understanding, part as a silent thank you for sharing that bit of information, even if it had undoubtedly been done with the ulterior motive of getting friendly with the person in charge of the hostage situation.

Information given with ulterior motives was still information, too many missions had taught him that. He wasn't going to turn down a chance to learn something about his uncle just because he didn't like where the information came from.

"I'll tell you the same I told Daniels: I just want to be left alone. When Blunt agrees to that, I'll send both of you back. If you try to escape, the accommodations will get a serious downgrade. I have fifteen thousand marine animals to protect and I know how destructive Smithers' gadgets can be."

Clarke nodded. If he had any comments about Alex's plans, he knew better than to voice them. Daniels had but … they also had a history, and Clarke didn't. Faced with someone unknown and unpredictable, anyone sensible would err on the side of caution.

Of course, Alex himself had never followed that approach in the field, but he had also been a blackmailed fourteen-year-old just trying to survive, so he figured that was justified.

Was there anything else he needed? Alex couldn't think of it. Mostly, he just wanted to be left alone.

A glance at Diego got his attention.

"Take him back to his room, please."

Room, not cell, which would hopefully be an unsubtle reminder to Clarke of how much more uncomfortable Alex could make his life if they forced his hand.

… And he was starting to sound like a supervillain in his own mind now. Just wonderful. Maybe he could blame MI6 for that, too.

Diego's teammate left with Clarke, and Alex gave into the temptation to sink into his chair. Would someone tattle if he banged his head on the table? Just a little? Probably.

He had started the day with some nebulous idea of … answers, maybe. He hadn't really expected any, but some part of him had still wanted closure, and he wouldn't have stopped thinking about Daniels until he saw him in person. Now he had and the answers hadn't been what he wanted, and he had no one to blame for that but himself.

Daniels was MI6. There was never a way that talk would ever have gone well. 'Less disastrous' would probably have been the best thing he could have hoped for, and that option was long gone now.

It wasn't even close to noon yet. Alex still had another hour and a half available in his schedule, and an endless list of things to do, but nothing he could focus on. He knew himself well enough for that. He was too restless now and the various reports and files would just let his mind drift back to Daniels' words, over and over again.

What he needed was a distraction, and he already had a possible solution. Crux had mentioned that Imai liked to pick up new skills. Considering that Alex paid their salary, maybe they wouldn't mind passing on some of those skills, too.

"If I have to fill an hour and a half and can't focus on paperwork …"

He trailed off and Diego made a considering sound. Alex couldn't quite stop the tiny bit of hope. They were a SCORPIA combat unit. Surely -

"How would you like to learn to cause massive amounts of property damage with regular household supplies, sir?"

Alex smiled. The day was looking a little brighter again already.

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 19th

James Sprintz stepped onto the jetty in a tropical paradise a full twenty-four hours after he left New York. It had been by private jet courtesy of Roscoe and a chartered seaplane for the last stretch of the trip – obscene luxury the entire way, really – but even then, James was tired.

He had no complaints about the private jet. Roscoe's old man had spared nothing when it came to that thing, unlike his parenting abilities. The mental stress, though … that was different.

James didn't like travelling much since Point Blanc. None of them did. They dealt with it, of course, but it didn't change the fact that getting into a plane meant giving up control. That they could be taken anywhere and they wouldn't know until it was too late – and if they did, they wouldn't be able to stop it. Driving was different, being in control of the vehicle themselves, but most of them were still too young for a license – a legal one, anyway – and even if they weren't, they would still be expected to have a driver. Can't trust the black sheep of the family behind a wheel, after all.

Alex waited for them on the jetty accompanied by three people. James recognised the first from photos of Jack Starbright, and the other two were an unknown middle-aged man as well as a blond woman in her late thirties, presumably his new, murder-trained personal assistant. Roscoe still hadn't ruled out the option of hiring one of his own for a more hands-on type of management assistance, and James honestly couldn't blame him. Roscoe had his own guardianship firmly cowed but it seemed increasingly likely that the last of the hold-outs from the old Roscoe board would need more direct methods to control. They had already decided to wield their potential future influence on Alex's behalf. Maybe another murderous PA would be a good place to start.

Never let a good crisis go to waste, James had always been told. Roscoe subscribed to the same principle.

Sensible paranoia meant that James could spot the security around the small, natural harbour. He wouldn't even have known to look for it two years ago, but now the strategically placed and clearly military trained people were obvious.

Roscoe had offered to send a mercenary team along for security, though James had turned it down. He had more than enough in his own security, though Alex clearly hadn't been lucky enough to get away with just a few people.

Now, the part of James that had come out of Point Blanc with a vicious need to see the world burn wondered at the entertainment that sort of thing could have provided, with two twitchy, paranoid security teams to keep an eye on each other. He was pretty sure Alex would have enjoyed it, too.

Well, maybe next time. As things were going, this would not be his only meeting with Alex with SCORPIA around to mooch off his newly-acquired wealth.

"Sir," Andreas said quietly by his side. "At this point, this is practically a SCORPIA base. Mr Sprintz's instructions - "

"- Mostly covered my academic achievements and continued good behaviour," James cut him off. "His definition of so-called 'bad influences' did not include a non-profit research aquarium or a legitimate security company."

Which, much to James' delight, SCORPIA actually was. Through a host of different legal subsidiaries that were all but impossible to keep track of, and undoubtedly even more illegal ones, but … legitimate. Or as much as any company in SCORPIA's line of work could be, which opened up opportunities of its own.

Andreas had not been pleased to find out the exact circumstances of their little side trip, but that was hardly James' problem. Nothing he did was against the rules his father had laid out and James travelled under Roscoe's protection. Dieter Sprintz, despite it all, had no desire to cross another former Point Blanc student with a vicious grudge. Especially not one with the sort of power that Paul Roscoe was rapidly amassing behind the scenes.

Andreas clearly didn't agree with James' summary of the situation but knew it was futile to argue any further. James pushed the limits of the agreement with his father but he made sure to never step over the line. It was just easier for everyone like that. At least for another few years.

Alex met him halfway down the jetty and didn't even pretend to go for the suitably proper handshake but greeted him with a strong hug that James returned without hesitation.

He would have liked to be able to say that it was at least a manly, mature hug he gave in return, but he could be honest enough with himself to admit that at that moment, he clung as hard to Alex as Alex did to him.

Fuck the world. Fuck every single person that had looked at Grief and Stellenbosch 's little psycho setup and decided that this seemed like perfectly reasonable people to run a school. They should have been done after Point Blanc. It was supposed to be over. They were supposed to be able to move on, but not a single one of them had made it out without severe issues and family lives that made the House of Borgia look harmonious in comparison.

James couldn't remember the last time he had trusted someone who wasn't another Point Blanc survivor to hug him. He doubted it was much different for Alex, with Starbright as the possible exception.

"Damn it, Rider, what the hell is this bullshit even?" he said hoarsely, low enough that the people around them wouldn't hear.

"Rider luck," Alex replied, just as hoarsely. There was an edge of desperation in his grip and it was clear that he wanted to say more but didn't feel safe doing so.

Which wasn't concerning at all, but this wasn't the time for it and they both knew it. Alex stepped back and James focused on the three figures with him.

Up close, there was no doubt that the redhead was Starbright, which meant that the plans to get her out of London had been at least decently successful. She hadn't been able to do much to help Alex but unlike most of the other adults around, she hadn't been an active threat to him, either. That was as good as it got for most of them these days.

"Jack, this is James Sprintz," Alex introduced them. "James, Jack Starbright."

His guardian, though Alex didn't introduce her as such. Maybe it was a coincidence or maybe there was a story there, but James didn't ask. Maybe Alex was going to tell her about his plans for legal emancipation. That would probably go over like a shit balloon.

Starbright held out her hand before James could decide on the best approach to her.

"Jack," she said. "Please."

Well, James could offer that courtesy, at least. Names mattered, after – everything. Names had meaning.

"James, then," he agreed.

Mr Sprintz is my father, he didn't say because he refused to voice that tired cliché, but perhaps he didn't need to. There was something in Starbright's features, a flicker of sympathy, that told him that she understood it as more than just return courtesy.

Alex had no memory of Mr Rider, his father, but even to James the shadow he had cast in Alex's life had been heavy and suffocating, and Mr Rider, his uncle, was little better. Starbright would know that better than most.

"This is Crux," Alex continued and confirmed James' guess that yes, this was indeed the murder PA. Alex also didn't bother with her cover name, which James took as a decent sign for future business.

"Mr Sprintz," she greeted. Pleasant voice with a slight accent that marked her – or her cover – as Australian, expensive clothes, sharp appearance and … yes, armed, he noted. He wasn't about to believe that this was how she really looked, but she seemed willing to be professional despite his age and that was someone he could work with. He would have been surprised otherwise, given that she worked for Alex, but he also didn't have Alex's extensive experience with the intelligence world … or time spent at murder school, rather than a school that tried to murder them.

That left exactly one person and James turned his attention to the guy that could only be -

"Brendan Chase," the man introduced himself with friendly smile and a firm handshake.

Even the extensive files the Point Blanc alumni had been able to gain access to through their combined contacts did not have a recent photo of Brendan Chase. Like a lot of his colleagues, he relied on anonymity and had turned the ability to avoid cameras into an art.

The most recent photo they had found had been fifteen years old but even then, staring at Chase, James could still see the man he had been all those years ago. Older, more grey, and with some slight differences that James was almost sure had come courtesy of a highly-skilled plastic surgeon, but still the same man.

More charming than his file said, though, based on James' first impression. Extensive training, no doubt. Chase didn't have the bloody background of most of the rest of SCORPIA's board, but he would understand the value of the more human weaknesses, then. Of charisma as a weapon.

"James Sprintz," he returned.

He didn't add that Roscoe sent his greetings, because the private jet said everything needed on that account. The sharp look in Chase's eyes, evaluating him as much as James evaluated him in turn, left no doubt that he knew the sort of potential influence James brought with him.

That left the formalities done. What James needed now was a few minutes alone with Alex to get a proper grasp of the situation. Alex was clearly on the same page, because he slung an arm over James' shoulder and all but dragged him down the jetty towards the beach.

"Come on, that's enough 'rich wanker' for now."

James went along easily, glancing around to get a look at things – and the position of the people nearby – and then he shoved Alex lightly in return.

"Says the fucking gym bro. What have you been eating, Stomach-bag's steroids?"

Alex laughed and jogged a few steps ahead, forcing James to follow. "Better than the rest of the reheated garbage they fed us."

James caught up again and enjoyed the chance to move a little after so many hours on a plane. "Nice digs."

"No smoking indoors or Thetis will kill you."

"Yeah, same with dad's new housekeeper. Swear she thinks it's a fucking museum and not a nouveau rich monument to my dad's insecurities."

Behind them, the entire entourage followed at a more leisurely pace, possibly to give the two of them a chance to catch up. James hoped so; they'd both put some decent effort into looking normal. For a little while, they were entirely alone. Too far ahead to be overheard, and with no one waiting for them on the beach.

Momentarily away from the adults that watched his every move, Alex's expression shifted to something grim and determined.

"We need to talk. Alone."

Yeah, that was the sort of thing that James had feared based on Alex's first reaction. Maybe he should have taken Roscoe up on his offer of a mercenary team after all.

The Maldives, April 19th

(Five hours previously)

The seaplane with Brendan Chase and his entourage landed shortly before eleven.

The entire morning had reminded Alex of a military campaign as Crux handled the last-minute preparations for his arrival. Alex personally felt that it was all a little overkill for the terrorist CEO but maybe that was why Crux got along so well with her boss. She knew how to cater to his overly-inflated ego and sense of importance.

Kywe and his people had worked until midnight to get the last security upgrades in place and even then, they had still gone through everything one more time before Chase's arrival. Imai was on additional security detail, for all that the island – being private – was essentially on lockdown and under such heavy surveillance thanks to Thetis that there would be no one in or out without being spotted immediately. Even two of the roombas had made the perilous journey down the neat pathway, though knowing Thetis, that was for far less benign reasons.

If that was how everyone on SCORPIA's executive board travelled, no wonder they had the inflated egos to rival the Hindenburg. That was a lot of people whose only job was to get Chase from point A to point B.

Alex's thoughts on that were probably obvious because Crux glanced at him from her place by his side.

"Mr Chase's travel retinue is actually fairly modest compared to some of the Board," she murmured. "He travels under an assumed identity and under the cover of anonymity. Mr Kurst, as a far more visible face of SCORPIA, travels with a full security detail at all times."

Modest.

If that was 'modest', then Alex couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare that would be trying to move the rest of them around, much less arrange for a meeting with all of them. Maybe that was why Chase bitched about SCORPIA's finances, if that was the sort of expenses they had to cover.

Jack by his side frowned at the circus around them. "This isn't a full security detail?"

"Hardly," Crux said, like Imai, a handful of Chase's own people, and the full weight of Nautilus' security was the casual approach. "Esteemed individuals such as Mr Kurst would arrive with at least two dozen of his own security, some sent ahead days in advance."

Alex stilled. Jack said something to Kywe, but the words faded to an indistinct murmur to his mind as several things clicked into place in an instant.

Security protocols were highly classified information and Crux had just shared it with him. By name. Twice. Nothing incredibly detailed, no operative names or locations, but pick up enough bits and pieces and you had enough information to target someone.

Crux was a senior operative. She had worked for SCORPIA for a decade. There was no way she hadn't done it deliberately, and especially not when she had named Kurst twice. The currently most powerful person on the executive board and a man with a personal grudge against Alex.

In front of them, the seaplane came to rest by the jetty. There was no time to talk and even if there had been, Alex knew better than to ask. Instead he nodded once, just slightly, and forced himself to relax again.

Crus didn't speak but he knew she had picked up his response. Some days, he hated being around people who could read him so well, but there were advantages, too.

The engines fell silent. The door to the seaplane opened and some anonymous-looking, undoubted ex-military guy came out and checked the immediate surroundings. Alex wondered if anyone else found it as absurd as he did, but at least he didn't foot the bill for that particular part of the circus. To his credit, the guy did look more than capable of body slamming any particularly confused grey heron that might find itself in the area. Now, a Canada goose … Alex would probably put his money on the bird.

A second figure appeared, obviously security as well. The third that followed was older than both and looked far more relaxed, and Crux straightened slightly. Chase, then.

Alex wasn't sure what he had expected of an Aussie terrorist accountant, but his mental image was somewhere between Crocodile Dundee and a stereotypical Texan, complete with cowboy hat and a cigar.

That turned out to be somewhat off – at least about the hat and cigar. Brendan Chase in person could be considered conventionally attractive but not in the same dangerous way as Julia Rothman had been. She had wielded her beauty like a lethal weapon, but Chase wasn't in that league. Charming, Alex was sure, because that was apparently the sort of thing that could build networks, but not handsome to a degree that would cause the wrong kind of attention.

Casual clothes, relaxed body language … probably armed, though Alex couldn't spot anything. A backup weapon more than anything, since he already had security around.

The last two members of Chase's security team followed, and the group made their way down the jetty. Crux took a few steps forward and met them before they got all the way to Alex.

"Sir, welcome to the Nautilus," she greeted him, then took a step to the side to let her boss pass the last few steps to Alex and Jack. "Mr Rider, you've already spoken with Mr Chase before – he is a founding member of SCORPIA's executive board. Mr Chase, this is Alex Rider – the sole heir to the Seaver-Crewe estate."

Respectful and professional, but Alex knew how long Crux had worked for Chase and how well she knew him. Watching their body language now, he could see the small signs of it, too. The little bits of familiarity and the ease with which she moved in sync with his security.

"Alex," he corrected automatically before he had the chance to second-guess his desire to be on first-name basis with the visiting terrorist CEO.

"And this is Jack Starbright," he added, because Chase undoubtedly already knew but it didn't feel right to exclude her from their stilted little act.

Whatever personal opinions Chase might have about Alex's insistence on pulling her into things, they didn't show as they shook hands like it was just a perfectly normal meeting and absolutely nothing suspect of any kind was going on.

Even his handshake was perfect. Friendly but professional. Someone had probably been paid a small fortune to train Chase's act until it was just right.

"I heard about that little operation," Chase said. "Good bit of acting there, Ms Starbright. Blunt's a fucking weasel but he hasn't lasted that long in his position by being stupid."

Insulting MI6 was a great way to find common ground, which was probably in whatever briefing Crux had given Chase before he arrived. Keep the client happy and all that.

"Jack," she said. If possible, she looked even less enthusiastic than Alex felt about using first names with a terrorist, but when the alternative was Ms Starbright …

Chase's smile was all charm and as genuine as Nile's had been, which did absolutely nothing to ease Alex's tension. "Brendan, then, since we're all on first name basis here."

Introductions done, they headed along the path to the base itself. It went against every single one of Alex's survival instincts to have Chase's people at his back but he forced himself to ignore it. Chase knew perfectly well that the island was watched over by Thetis. Any attempt to target Alex would result in immediate retribution, and whatever else the man might be, he wasn't suicidal.

Ian had always emphasised the importance of being able to fit in anywhere, but Alex had never excelled in small-talk, and small-talk with a terrorist CEO at that … what was he supposed to say? Bomb any orphanages recently? How's the drug market? Have you read Dr Three's new book?

Did he really want to know the answers to any of that? And just as important, did he want Jack to?

Chase clearly didn't have the same issues with small-talk, because he kept it up the entire walk with the casual ease of someone who had been trained in it – compliments on the island and the base, small anecdotes about unnamed, previous billionaire clients he'd met, all delivered in a deceptively friendly Aussie accent and with the easy confidence of someone who knew just how charming he could be.

Alex didn't doubt Chase already had a long mental file on him and continuously adapted his own approach to Alex's reactions. It worked, too, that was the worst part. Jack still looked suspicious but the tension in her body had eased slightly over the course of the short walk, and Alex found himself genuinely liking the man's dark sense of humour.

That, Alex realised, was how the man had survived twenty years at the head of SCORPIA. He wasn't the most influential or the most ambitious. He wasn't the richest and he didn't have the lethal edge of Rothman and Yu. What he had was a niche he had carved out and enough interpersonal skills to make sure he was never the most obvious target for SCORPIA's various lethal schemes. Too useful to be targeted without a good reason and not enough of a threat to make his so-called colleagues decide it would be worth it, anyway.

Chase was dangerously easy to underestimate and Alex didn't doubt that people had died for that mistake.

It wasn't until they stepped inside the base that Alex realised just how much he had allowed his own mental analysis of Chase to distract him: he caught the tail end of a comment aimed at Jack and found himself in the large, bright entrance hall with no real memory of walking there.

"- and frankly," Chase said, "this might be the smartest possible thing he could've done."

"Taking over a supervillain base halfway across the world and hiring terrorists to run it?" Jack's reply was half statement, half question, and entirely unimpressed.

Chase shrugged. "Like it or not, he's a walking, talking security risk and PR nightmare to MI6. One of their own making, sure, but it doesn't change the fact. It's not uncommon for potential problems to conveniently vanish before they can become actual issues. A mole that gets a little too greedy, an undercover agent who's a little too friendly with the enemy – accidents happen, and sometimes an agency deems it better to handle it early. I'm honestly surprised it hasn't happened to Alex yet, but he's still young enough to be useful to them. Once he grows out of that … well. He wouldn't be the first teenage boy to get killed doing something they didn't consider the dangers of. An unfortunate off-piste skiing accident, and nobody would be able to prove otherwise. Tragic, of course, but life would go on and Blunt would have one less problem to worry about."

The worst part was that Alex couldn't even argue. Based on the hard expression on Jack's face, neither could she – and like Alex, she had probably even thought the same herself. That sooner or later, Alex would become a problem and an angry, blackmailed asset with a grudge was a fundamentally unreliable one.

"Money is better protection than he had before," Chase continued. "Is hiring SCORPIA safe? Not particularly, but neither would the alternatives be. Kid's got options now and enough money to back it up. He can afford the right kind of security, and people start asking questions when a couple of billion dollars suddenly become unavailable. That gives him better odds of living to see adulthood than anything in London would have."

"It was the same reason why Crux chartered a superyacht for the CIA thing," Alex added before Jack could say anything. "Somebody would have asked questions if it vanished. They could still have done it, but it's a much bigger headache with something the size of a small ferry that's tracked in half a dozen ways."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Jack pointed out and okay, fair point, Alex could admit that. "I know you didn't have any real alternatives that didn't involve some mercenary company or another, but that doesn't make it a good choice. But it's the one you chose, and we're going to have to work with that now."

Like they'd had to do sometimes when Ian had been away, 'travelling'. When Alex had done something and not thought through the consequences, because the world had been huge and interesting and filled with things to explore, and he hadn't known any better. Not until Jack had needed to bandage his knees from his parkour attempts, or the time he and Tom had learned to skate, or when one set of curtains had to be replaced after a science experiment that should never have been done without supervision in the first place.

He was older now, and hopefully smarter, but he supposed it just meant the consequences could be that much bigger when he got it wrong.

Chase didn't even have the decency to look offended but just shrugged.

"Sometimes, the only option is to choose the least shitty choice, and that's why I'm here."

"To encourage more shitty choices?" Alex asked before he could stop himself.

Chase barked a laugh, the sound familiar from Alex's phone calls with the man, and he was surprised to find his own tension ease up a little from it. If Chase had wanted to screw him over, he'd already had weeks to do it and much better options than while he was physically within the domain of an obsessive AI. Chase was not a good person, but he was a smart one, especially for someone at the head of SCORPIA. Whatever plans he had, he wouldn't risk them while he was on the island.

"You'd be surprised at how little encouragement our standard billionaire clients need to make bad decisions. In this case, you can consider me your recently discovered, charmingly roguish rich Aussie uncle, here to help make it all a little bit more – palatable. Because trust me, with the amount of trouble my colleagues will probably cause in some misguided attempt at revenge, we're going to have to learn to get along real well."

Uncle. The word didn't sting as much as Alex thought it might have, the reminder of Ian and everything he had lost, and Chase probably hadn't even meant it like that. He was clearly on a determined campaign to charm his way into their good graces – and doing an unnervingly good job of it – and the image of a fun-loving uncle who would encourage all the things that Ian and MI6 hadn't was just another part of it. Another way to get on decent terms with a valuable client, which Alex now was.

Unfortunately for Chase, his little moment of self-aggrandizing had drawn Jack's attention to something a little less suitable for his easy small-talk than absurd billionaire anecdotes were.

"I'm a little more concerned about the revenge you mentioned," she said. "If Alex is in danger -"

"Frankly," Chase said, "he's not in that much more danger here than in London within Blunt's reach. This place has solid security and I feel pretty confident saying that with that sort of set-up, no one's getting inside that doesn't have legitimate business here."

Of course, the people with legitimate business were pretty shady to begin with, but that went without saying.

"As for the rest," Chase continued, "we have some preliminary plans already to handle it. I'll talk it over with him later, see what we can work out."

"Us," Jack corrected. "You'll talk it over with us. He's fifteen and I'm his guardian."

"Sure," Chase agreed, "but he's my client and we've got the family office working on a new citizenship for him and complimentary emancipation to go with it."

"Citizensh-" Jack turned her head and her attention zeroed in on Alex instead. "Alex."

And yeah, it did sound maybe a little impulsive when Chase put it like that but Alex couldn't even work up the energy to mind because whatever argument her mind had gone to, he'd already been there himself.

"It's one more layer of protection against Blunt," he said instead. "Do I want to just – switch nationalities, probably to somewhere I've never even been to? No. But a new citizenship somewhere far away from Europe is one less leash Blunt can use on me, and sure, maybe one little thing like that won't matter but if we can find enough of them, that'll be enough to keep them away. Keep me safe."

Not untouchable, because no one was, but just maybe – like Chase – not worth the effort it would be to hunt him down and get him back under control once enough contingency plans came into play.

Jack's expression tightened. She didn't like his logic, then, but she couldn't argue against it, either.

"That doesn't change the fact that until that happens, I'm your guardian, and I'm not leaving you alone to get pressured into plans you don't agree with."

Like she had been forced to do back in London. When he came home and told her of another trip, nothing much, just a favour and -

- There was going to be a lot in that talk that he didn't want Jack to know, Alex was sure of it. It was one thing to know about the security Alex surrounded himself with now but he wasn't sure he wanted her to hear the discussions that came with those decisions. Crux had always been brutally honest about his situation and he doubted Chase was any different.

Before he could say anything, Chase caught Jack's eye and nodded down the hallway.

"Can I have a word?"

Alone went unspoken. Jack looked distinctly displeased with the idea but she still followed along.

Alex watched as the two of them stopped suitably far away but still within sight, and he only felt a little guilty when he brought out his phone. Secrets tended to land him in life-threatening situations, and with the thorough surveillance on the base …

A glance confirmed that no one was close enough to watch what he was doing, and he took his chance to write a message.

Thetis, can you tell me what they're saying?

Down the hallway, Chase was speaking though the angle was wrong for any attempt at lip reading. Based on Jack's expression, she wasn't happy with whatever it was.

A second later, a new note opened on his phone and a steady stream of text appeared as the murmurs down the hall continued. It would have been better with actual audio, but Alex would take what he could get.

Chase, B. (11:21:03): Look, I'm going to be real here. We both know the kid has only told you a fraction of the shitshow that's been his life the past year. Most of it, I only know from his files. He's going to have to make some hard decisions about his future and he won't be able to do that if he has to worry about your reactions to the crap he's been through.

Starbright, J. (11:21:25): He's fifteen. I don't care if everyone else think they can just treat him like an adult. His prefrontal cortex isn't even fully developed yet and you want him to make sensible decisions about his entire future with no one else there? Surrounded by terrorists that get paid to enable him? He snowboarded down a mountain on an ironing board. An ironing board, Chase.

Chase, B. (11:21:49): And if that's your reaction to that part, you're going to do more harm than good sitting in on that meeting. The kid has some of the most powerful members of SCORPIA's executive board out for his blood but he's got the advantage of knowing that playing field. He survived both Rothman and Yu. He needs that history to help us stay one step ahead of the rest of them now. That's going to mean revisiting the details of some old operations he's going to be reluctant to talk about to begin with, much less with you there. He's going to hold back and that can lose us the advantage we have.

Chase wasn't even wrong. Alex didn't know what his numerous traumatic encounters with SCORPIA's people could possibly do to help him now, but he did know that there was a lot about them that he never wanted to tell Jack. He had told her what he could in a careful balance between the truth and not wanting to deal with someone else's traumas on his behalf on top of his own and -

- There were a lot of details that he would never breathe a word about to her. About Nile's attempts to kill him, about Rothman's manipulations, about Yu's organ farm and the awful knowledge that he was about to be taken apart piece by piece, alive and aware and -

- No. Jack would not sit in on that meeting. Whatever Chase needed to discuss, Alex wouldn't be able to speak freely with Jack right there.

The creepy feeling of being watched made Alex look up and he caught Crux's eyes. The professional facade retreated for a second in favour of fleeting amusement, then she was back to the same quiet competence she had kept up since Chase's arrival. Alex didn't doubt she had guessed exactly what he was doing. She had been the one to teach him how to go through the surveillance records; if anyone, she would know just what Thetis was capable of.

Given the sort of paranoia that seemed to be a requirement to survive at the head of SCORPIA, Chase had to know he was listening in somehow as well – and that if he wasn't, it was Alex's own problem. It was just Jack who probably hadn't considered it. It was the illusion of privacy and a way to keep Alex from getting involved, nothing more.

This time, the guilt lingered – because hadn't he kept secrets from her for the past year, too? Wasn't she left as much in the dark now as he had been so many times? - and he silently promised himself that he would tell her. Later, when they were alone again. She deserved to know.

Starbright, J. (11:22:28): He needs a therapist, not another person to dig up those traumas again. If that's the secret weapon you need to manage those so-called colleagues you've worked with for twenty years, I'd question why Alex pays you so much in the first place.

Chase, B. (11:22:47): The therapist is on the list for when Crux finds one that can be trusted to keep his secrets, not be targeted by his enemies, and that he'll actually consider being honest with. Pretty fucking tall order, there. Kid isn't my secret weapon but I'd be an idiot to write off the Rider luck. Shitty luck sometimes, but it's kept him alive this long.

The rapid words stopped. Alex glanced up and found Chase and Jack staring at each other in some sort of parody of an old western stand-off.

Neither moved. Then Chase sighed, the gesture obvious in the way his shoulders moved even without a clear view of his face, and the words on Alex's phone picked up again.

Chase, B. (11:23:38): Yeah, the kid's fifteen. Should he be involved in this world? Of course he shouldn't. He should be getting drunk on weekends and try to get laid, not juggle geopolitical issues on a global scale. But that genie is out of the bottle and you can't put it back. None of us can. You can treat him like a kid but his enemies won't. He needs to learn to stand on his own sooner rather than later, and that means making some hard decisions regarding his future. Right now, he can learn in a safer setting.

… But he wouldn't always, Chase didn't need to add. Alex could read between the lines just fine, and he was sure Jack could as well.

Starbright, J. (11:24:19): I spent a year in England, watching Alex come home injured and traumatised from things he can't talk about but which wakes him up screaming. I didn't agree to come here to let you shove me aside like Blunt did.

Chase, B. (11:24:35): No, you're here because Alex needs to know you're safe to be able to focus on his future. You don't trust me, which is fair, but right now we're all on the same side, the kid pays enough for this little operation to guarantee that. If he wants to talk it over with you afterwards, he's free to do that, but right now I need to talk with him. Alone.

Talking with Jack afterwards would give Alex plenty of time to fix the narrative to leave out any bits he didn't want to talk about with her, and Chase had to know that. There was no other reason why he would have suggested it otherwise.

The words stopped again. The seconds dragged on.

Starbright, J. (11:25:10): About terrorist business.

Alex didn't even need to hear her voice to recognise that flat tone. He'd heard it plenty of times himself.

Chase, B. (11:25:19): Yeah, about terrorist business. I'm going to have to brief him on SCORPIA's latest bout of idiocy and he's probably going to throw a justified fit about it. Let's all try to save a little dignity and let him yell at me in private before Sprintz shows up as well. Please.

Maybe Chase had accepted he needed a different approach. Fundamentally, Jack could do little to stop him from talking with Alex whenever he damn well pleased, but for now Alex was also the client. Everything would run a lot smoother if Chase stayed on decent-ish terms with Jack. If that meant being polite and actually asking nicely … well. Alex apparently paid enough for that, too.

When had someone last spoken like that to Chase – someone who wasn't one of the other crazies on the executive board, anyway? When had someone last told him no?

Starbright, J. (11:25:48): Half an hour. That's it. And if Alex changes his mind, you're done.

Alex almost expected Jack to keep arguing but maybe she had realised that arguing with Chase was like arguing with a brick wall once he'd made up his mind. Maybe it was an easy way out for both of them. Or maybe, like the sinking feeling in Alex's stomach, she had realised that Chase had something to explain and it wasn't going to be pleasant. That there might be something Alex wanted to deal with alone, without having to worry about others.

Discussion done, Chase and Jack returned to their small group and Alex quickly returned the phone to his pocket. Jack's smile was probably meant to be reassuring but looked more like a grimace. Chase, on the other hand, just smiled bright and interested as he held out his arms in a grand gesture.

"So, about that tour?"

Based on Jack's expression, Alex made a mental note to avoid any of the steeper stairs. Just to keep the temptation to a minimum.

It was practically the traditional way to deal with supervillains at the base, after all.

Lunch was light and served outside in a large pavilion that overlooked the clear, blue waters of the lagoon. It wasn't a place Alex had spent much time. It was beautiful and looked like it came straight out of a travel brochure, but the base had a lot of beautiful spots and Alex had a limited amount of time in his schedule.

Like most of the nicer places around the base, it had originally been strictly reserved for Crewe. Now, it was used by the staff during downtime instead – or, in this case, for the incredibly awkward lunch that followed the just-as-awkward tour of the base.

Crux had made herself scarce and taken Kywe with her. Chase's security hovered at the edge of the pavilion – awkwardly.

At least the food was nice. More classical restaurant food than the abundance of interesting new foods Alex had tried since his arrival, but it was still nice. Some sort of pasta with lobster, with champagne for Chase and Jack, and an alcohol-free alternative for Alex. Not a Coke, of course, because his one-can limit apparently even counted when he had to play nice with the terrorist CEO, but some sort of actual zero-alcohol fizzy thing.

That one could probably be blamed on Crux and her low-key but successful campaign to get on Jack's good side. It was leagues more successful than Chase's first impression, anyway, though that was a pretty low bar.

Pasta done, the plates were removed without a word. Dessert arrived with the same quiet efficiency. Now that Alex was used to the noise of the dining areas and handling his own food, the silence and sharp attention of the serving staff was downright unnerving.

"Alex is protected to a large degree by client clauses right now," Chase explained. "They wouldn't have done a thing to protect him even half a year ago but money talks and SCORPIA has been bleeding cash and clients for months. This isn't the largest account we have left, but with the potential of future business, it's not one that even my more short-sighted colleagues can afford to target on a whim."

Jack's grip on her fancy cloth napkin tightened. "With the way you talk about them, it makes me wonder why you signed up in the first place."

You talk a lot of shit for someone who pulls the strings, she didn't need to say because the meaning carried through loud and clear.

Chase leaned back. Took a large swallow of the champagne and returned the flute to the table. It looked spontaneous but Alex didn't doubt every move was carefully planned.

"It was different," he admitted, "when SCORPIA was first founded. I don't know how much MI6 told you about us other than the 'terrorists for hire' part, but the truth is a little less black and white than that and not something the intelligence world likes to admit to."

"Enlighten me, then."

Jack sounded supremely unimpressed. Alex was personally impressed, but mostly by the sheer audacity of Chase trying to win her over again.

"All right, let me set the stage," Chase began. "It's a little over twenty years ago, in the middle of the new Cold War. Carter is on his way out, Reagen is about to take over. Thatcher has Britain and Brezhnev has the Soviet Union, but his health is shit by this point. Tensions are increasing and the intelligence world is a quagmire trying to stay on top of everything and two steps ahead of the enemy. Cold War spies operated in a murky, lethal world where right and wrong could shift in a moment and politics could get you killed. There's a reason all the most popular spy books are set in that period."

Alex took his word for it. The idea of picking up a spy novel of any sort had been resoundingly soured after a year at Blunt's beck and call.

"It looked pretty bleak at that point, but I think that a number of us knew that sooner or later, things would change. The Cold War couldn't last forever. Something would give eventually … or we'd all die in a nuclear Armageddon, either way. The thing is, peacetime comes with certain expectations. The past becomes an inconvenience. The spies that have risked their lives behind enemy lines and made shady deals in the name of national security, all with the unspoken backing of their agency – they become liabilities. Best forgotten and written out of the narrative. No one wants to be reminded of the dirty little deals they made. The people they sold out or the spies they denied all knowledge of."

Twenty years on, it didn't sound that different, Alex realised with a sinking feeling. He had gone to MI6 about Cray, and they had denied all knowledge of him, too. His situation hadn't been as critical as it would have been for some operative trapped by the enemy and abandoned to be interrogated and killed, but he still hadn't forgiven them for that close call on Air Force One, either. He had been traded to the CIA, manipulated into working for ASIS, and -

- This was even peacetime. Supposedly.

"Best case scenario for people like that would be a career dead-end, working on unimportant intel somewhere in a tiny office in a basement and with no chance to ever advance out of there. More likely … well. Some of those spies had murky loyalties out of necessity, unsavoury connections, and superiors that didn't like the idea that their field-working underlings might advance past them. The easiest solution for everyone would be to remove those potential liabilities before they could become a problem."

Chase took another swallow of champagne. Alex remembered his own lessons from both Ian and the Countess at Malagosto, the importance of the right manners for the right place to be able to fit in anywhere, and there was something extremely deliberate about Chase's manners now. He treated the champagne more like a pint than an expensive vintage and the way he leaned back in the chair was almost but not quite a lounge.

Alex didn't doubt that the man had put just as much effort into his rich wanker manners as he had with everything else about his appearance. Brendan Chase knew exactly how to act during a fancy business lunch but he just as clearly knew it would only make Jack even more hostile towards him.

"Successful spies, especially during the Cold War, were also the people who got their hands dirty on behalf of their nation. So when a number of the best ones began to see the writing on the wall, they got together. Carefully, of course, and under heavy secrecy, but they were all willing to take that risk when they knew the alternatives they faced. They met in a small ice cream parlour in Paris and that was where SCORPIA was born. Founded by people with their backs against the wall and no place in polite company."

Jack leaned back as well. If Chase had been aiming for sympathy, he didn't get it. Her expression was cool and still distinctly unimpressed.

"Is that the same inspirational story you have on your website, right under pictures of international mercenaries and inclusive hiring practices and quotes about customer satisfaction? A sob story doesn't excuse terrorism."

"Of course it doesn't," Chase agreed. "But that didn't stop the intelligence world from outsourcing their dirty business to us as we grew larger. We had the experience, after all. We knew what they wanted and understood the value of discretion. We pretty much continued our old jobs, just with better pay and no bosses."

He paused. Grimaced slightly. "And yeah. Then it went downhill, I'm not going to deny that. But the foundation of SCORPIA was always the chance for a post-Cold War future that we knew we wouldn't get otherwise."

"We," Jack repeated in a flat voice. "You're Australian and a former accountant turned terrorist. That's not exactly le Carré."

Chase made an annoyed motion and almost spilled the rest of his champagne. "I check every single large-client mission expenditure report to make sure Kurst doesn't get creative. Trust me, there's nothing former about my qualifications. And if you think Australia went clear of the Cold War considering our political alliances, you need to crack open a history book or two."

Alex started to wonder when he should call a time-out – could he do that? Would they even listen? - but someone else stepped in before he had to.

It was pure chance that Alex spotted the head of Chase's security team tap his watch three times in sharp succession. He had just enough time to wonder if he should worry about what had been a very obvious signal, and then Crux appeared with all the timing of a carefully planned coincidence.

Alex hadn't heard Jack's reply, too busy working himself into a small panic, but Chase clearly had. He was about to respond when he spotted Crux and his focus shifted right back to business.

"What?"

Crux didn't seem bothered by the curt demand. That, more than anything, hammered home just how much of an act Chase's effortless charm was. The cracks in the facade had become obvious the moment Jack had the audacity to seriously question him to his face and like this, snapping at his people – trained killers and probably all-around psychopaths – Alex was reminded that SCORPIA's board made unanimous decisions.

Brendan Chase had agreed to help Sayle murder millions of kids. He had gone along with Cray's plans for nuclear devastation, and Invisible Sword, and Yu's tsunami, and maybe it had just been a way to save his own hide because he would have been disposed of for speaking against it, but he had still agreed.

And that was the person Alex now had to trust to keep him – and Jack and everyone else – alive and well.

"Mr Sprintz's jet is approaching Velana Airport, sir. Our contact confirms that his expected time of arrival here is three-thirty."

The comment let Alex put the pieces together. Crux had spent enough time with Jack to know how badly she and Chase would probably clash, and by extension how bad that might potentially be for their future plans. She had been hired to manage Alex's interests but her ultimate loyalty was with SCORPIA, which made the whole situation a minefield to her.

Knowing that, it would have been easy to predict the risk of a serious argument and the need to break it up before it escalated, and she had clearly made use of Chase's security to help her. They were probably just as unhappy as she was with the idea of their boss getting on the bad side of a client in charge of an island with an AI known to have access to weapons of mass destruction.

Crux had made sure to have a convenient update ready as an excuse to draw Chase's attention. If it hadn't been James' arrival, Alex was sure she would have found something else to justify the interruption.

It clearly served its purpose. Chase glanced at his watch, argument forgotten, and then focused on Alex again.

"In that case, we should probably have that talk now."

Yes, the not-at-all ominous discussion that even Chase knew would be bad enough that it was better not to have Jack around for it. Alex could hardly wait.

Unfortunately, he also wanted to get it over with before James' arrival, and since he was about to touch down in Malé, it meant that there was a definite deadline now.

Alex pushed his dessert plate back a little and got up before he could change his mind. He had only managed to get about halfway through, but he had lost whatever appetite he had left. Jack clearly agreed, because she left the rest of her dessert as well.

Chase moved ahead of them to discuss something or another with Crux. Last minute orders or updates about James, maybe. Alex took the chance to grab Jack's sleeve lightly to get her attention. She paused and gave him a questioning look.

"I listened in," Alex admitted. "When you talked with Chase in the hallway."

"I figured as much." Jack's response was dry. "You used to do the same when Ian and I argued about something."

It was one of those things that Alex had all but forgotten but it burst back now with Jack's words; memories of moving silently across the wooden floors and avoiding the creaking boards to get close enough to listen in, so vivid that he could almost smell the house in Chelsea again and feel the wallpaper beneath his hand.

He took a slow breath. Let go of the muted sting of grief.

"Yeah, okay," he admitted. "Fair point."

Jack nodded. "Thank you for telling me, though. And remember, if you change your mind -"

"- I don't have to listen to him and I can just leave. I know. I remember."

Maybe the reminder should have bothered him but mostly it was a comfort. That she meant it.

"Good. Now go see what the terrorist has to say this time, before he changes you extra for waiting or something."

Knowing SCORPIA, he probably would, too. Under something like 'service fee' or 'organisational remuneration' or whatever. Alex gave her a quick hug, so fast she barely had time to react, and then he headed back inside to keep an eye on Chase.

Five minutes later found them in Crewe's ugly old office as the wooden door closed with a muted sound behind them. They were under surveillance by Thetis, because she never stopped, but beyond that, they were alone.

No Jack, no Crux, no security. Just Alex and the terrorist he had hired to fix his life … which, given Alex's history with SCORPIA's leadership, had to mean Chase was either dangerous overconfident or had something seriously shady to discuss. Knowing SCORPIA, Alex's money was on both.

"Right," he said. "What's so bad you didn't want Jack around for it?"

Alone in the office, Chase's charming, affable facade fell away again. His motions when he grabbed a glass of whiskey from Crewe's liquor cabinet were precise and economical, with not a wasted movement and a confidence that made him look completely at home. This man, Alex could see make the sort of batshit decisions that Rothman and Yu had, too. The ruthlessness and willingness to see people as disposable pawns, not human beings.

"Crux told you about the board meeting." It was a statement, not a question. Chase had given her an order. That she had followed it to the letter was clearly a given. "I'm not going to coddle you because neither of us have time for that. I've bought us some time. Realistically it's a couple of months, but it'll have to do. It will cost you ten million dollars under the guise of hiring us to fake your death but to be perfectly blunt, you can afford it."

Ten million dollars.

And for what? It sounded unpleasantly like paying protection money just with a few extra steps added. Ten million dollars to be allowed to live for another couple of months.

It also didn't sound nearly bad enough to warrant that sort of behaviour from Chase, which only increased Alex's suspicions.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Clever kid," Chase said in lieu of an actual response and held out the bottle. "Drink?"

Not if it tasted anything like the one Crux had let him try, but Alex didn't have the time to get into that argument. Chase seemed more than willing to drink enough for both of them, anyway.

"No, I want the details you don't want to tell me."

"Business first." Chase nodded, like those were somehow words of wisdom. "Well, then. Let me tell you about Operation Horseman, and you let me know when you change your mind about the drink."

Alex didn't take the drink. He barely managed to grab the hideous trash can in time to dry heave into it as Chase's words turned distant and dulled and it felt like something had gripped his lungs and clenched.

The world spun. Chase stopped talking, or Alex stopped listening, and right now he wasn't even sure of the difference.

Panic attack, some tiny, analytical part of his mind realised and scrambled for any kind of foothold it could. Breathe. In. Count. Out. Again.

Breathe. Count. Breathe.

Breathe.

The world came back into focus. Chase pushed something into his hand – not the awful whiskey, but an unopened can of Coke, and Alex pressed the ice-cold metal against his face.

That helped, too. Something new to focus on in the sharp cold and the shock of water from condensation. Any other day, he would already have opened it. Now, he only reluctantly moved it away again to focus on Chase instead.

The man looked unsurprised. He'd probably expected the reaction, then, Unsurprised and a little sympathetic, though there was no pity in the expression. Sympathy for a shitty situation but with every expectation that Alex would have to learn to suck it up and cope, because there were no alternatives.

Alex's throat felt like sandpaper. He opened the can and took a careful drink. Only then did he speak.

"They – kept it. Him."

Julius. The clone. His clone, who'd tried to ruin Alex's life and kill him, who had been deranged after the destruction of everything Grief had planned and -

- he was supposed to be dead. He'd fallen and -

" - How did he even survive?" Alex's voice was hoarse even to his own ears. "We fought on the roof. The building was on fire and – there was a hole. He fell. Two floors down. He wasn't moving."

Alex hadn't even known he had a name. Of course he had, and it was obvious now, but – Alex had never heard it, and he had never wondered. Had done his best to forget everything about that nightmare, honestly.

"Two months in hospital and with permanent, extensive scarring on his back," Chase said bluntly.

But not on his front. Not on his face. That part – that part was still Alex. Was still the face that Grief had thought was one more useful pawn in his master plan.

And Blunt had kept him. Locked him away in a secret prison and never mentioned it to Alex because he apparently didn't need to know that the insane, murderous clone with his face was still out there.

And now SCORPIA knew, too, and had decided it was useful.

Like a spectator in his own body, Alex saw himself make a different choice all those weeks ago, to call MI6 for help instead of SCORPIA to handle the aquarium; saw himself return to London and Jack, settle back into school and -

- Months later, when he finally thought he was safe, Operation Horseman would have been put into motion. He wouldn't have had Chase and the motivation of massive profits to protect his interests. He wouldn't have know about – about Julius. He would have had no warning at all.

This was why Chase had insisted on privacy, Alex realised. Because if he'd had any unfortunate reactions to the clone – to Julius – there would be no one but Chase to see it, and he had already seen much worse. He would have to tell Jack, because it would be too dangerous not to, but it gave him time to figure out his own reaction. To control the narrative, like he had been told to do by several people around him.

"They're going to kill him."

In his name, with his face, and Blunt and Jones would never believe it but everyone in Alex's old life would and -

- Would there be a tombstone for him, too? Or would his name be added to Ian's? There was room for it, Alex remembered, sudden and morbid. Like it had been meant as a – a family thing. A family plot. Except it wouldn't be Alex there, it would be Julius with his face even in death, and Alex himself …

… that was another of those things he preferred not to think about. Crux had made him write a will, because it was just common sense, but he had almost died more times than he could count and realistically he knew it wouldn't end well. Maybe he'd have months, maybe years, but … when was the last time a Rider had even died of old age, anyway?

Listening to Chase, it was all neatly planned out, except he couldn't make Tom believe he died. He couldn't make him go through that, too. His family life was shit already, and this on top of it -

"It's him or you," Chase said, unperturbed. "Razim's plan needs a dead body that can pass for yours. You're lucky there's even an alternative there."

Julius was – absolutely deranged and a threat to Alex and everyone he loved, and he had both Grief's training and nothing to lose but – he was also no older than Alex. Grief and Stellenbosch had raised them. How much of a choice had they really had in anything? Had they ever had any chance of a normal life?

Chase talked about him like he was an expendable body double. A distraction to buy Alex the time needed. Not a fifteen-year-old who'd been indoctrinated from birth.

"How many of them are still alive?" Alex regretted the question the moment he'd asked it but he also had to know. The Point Blanc alumni had dug as deep into the question as they could but they hadn't found out about Julius. For all of their sakes, Alex needed to know what else they might've missed.

We've traced all fifteen of them and we have them under lock and key, Jones had said. We'll take care of them.

Alex hadn't asked. He had suspected what she meant by that and hadn't wanted it confirmed. Now he wished he had, but she wouldn't have told him the truth, anyway. Maybe she hadn't even known, either. Lots of people with good reasons to make the whole story vanish but – also some with a reason to keep those clones. Not all of the Point Blanc parents had been unhappy with their brand new son.

"Unknown," Chase admitted. "There are two confirmed survivors. MI6 kept one and the Russians have another. Beyond that, we don't know. No one's talking and if there are others left alive, the intel is buried deep. I'll get you what we have."

Because until the intel that Julius was still alive had become useful to someone, Chase hadn't known and probably wouldn't have cared, either. Not until it threatened Alex and by extension the profitable future business relationship he promised to be.

Right.

Alex took a slow breath and tried to get his scrambled thoughts into some semblance of order.

Doing that didn't help much. The main priority was still blatantly obvious but he had no idea of where to even begin.

SCORPIA was a threat and had to be handled. Somehow. It was a threat to Alex, to Jack, to the base and the fish and Thetis, to the general stability of the world and the innocents caught up in their bloody plans, and even to someone like Julius.

"How long do we have?"

"Two months before the plan is put into motion, assuming logistics go as expected. Three months if we're lucky." Chase took a drink of his whiskey. "We can always hope Razim annoys Three enough to move up his plans to remove the little upstart, but he might let Razim fail first. At this point, I think it's fifty-fifty if Three will put SCORPIA's success above his own gratification. Kurst and Razim have pushed the collaboration angle a little too far."

The SCORPIA solution to life: murder anything that annoys you. Of course it was.

It answered one question but not the important one. A timeline wasn't much use without a plan, and Alex still didn't have one of those. Chase seemed willing to help him for now and protect him from SCORPIA's latest insanity, but there was a big difference between 'help his possible exit strategy stay alive and profitable' and 'help take down SCORPIA' - one that Alex wasn't sure that any amount of money could bridge.

Start with the simple one, then: how to stay alive past Operation Horseman.

"What's the plan, then?"

Chase opened the bottle of whiskey again. Poured a second glass and handed it to Alex.

"I don't -"

"You will, trust me," Chase interrupted him. "I've had three days to consider this shitshow and there's exactly one plan that has even a chance of keeping this little set-up and my retirement option standing past Kurst's latest powerplays: SCORPIA has to go. Welcome to the big leagues, kid."

Alex stared at the whiskey and felt his mind do a mental reboot as the full weight of Chase's words settled. Right, then. Maybe he wouldn't need to convince Chase of it after all. That was – nice. Convenient. One thing less on his endless to-do list.

On second thought, alcohol did seem like a good option right about now.

"… Can I have a cocktail instead?"

Chase glanced at the glass, then at the liquor cabinet and seemed to consider the contents for a moment. "… Sure. Come on, kid. Let me introduce you to the wonders of a rusty nail."

Chapter Text

London, April 21th

"- and am, of course, available for any questions you may have," Sahu finished in his soft-spoken accent, unfailingly polite even after half an hour of video-call with Alan Blunt.

Tulip knew agents and political contacts who would have struggled to manage that even half as well, much less in a situation like their current one.

"Thank you," she replied. "We will be in touch."

The screen went dark and remained that way for a long time before either of them spoke.

It was mid-afternoon in London and evening in Kolkata, though to a professional negotiator like Sanjeev Sahu, there was no such thing as regular office hours. He was certainly paid well enough to adapt to whatever schedule his clients demanded.

It had, for the circumstances, been a surprisingly pleasant meeting but then, that was what one paid a professional for. Tulip could only imagine how the same meeting would have gone with Alex at the other end instead.

The files they had been sent were detailed and meticulously organised; a year of Alex Rider's career presented in the most damning way possible. It was biased, of course, and some of it could have been softened to argue for mitigating circumstances, but it didn't change the facts. This was not the work of a tabloid hack in search of the next scandal but a mercilessly documented weapon put together from any number of credible sources – including what could only be the help of Alex himself.

Essentially, Sahu had summarised calmly from half a world away, my client wants a restraining order against you. He simply wants to be left alone.

Enough so, apparently, that he had hired a professional negotiator who charged a quarter of a million dollars for just a consultation to ensure it.

There had been more in the files, of course. Proof – or close enough, at least – that it had been Alex's decision to go down this path, though how much he had understood the possible consequences remained to be seen. Proof that agents Daniels and Clarke were still alive and frankly in far better condition than she would have expected in any other situation involving MI6 hostages. Proof that Alex was willing to go through with his threat to make it all public, however much it would ruin any remaining chance he might have of a normal future.

In the end, it all came down to one thing: that Alex Rider had been backed into a corner with no way out, and someone was willing to help him burn the world down if necessary to escape, whatever the consequences. The logistics of the current situation was beyond anything he could have managed himself, but there were few people Alex genuinely trusted these days, and the number of those he would trust with the truth of his situation and who also had the ability to help …

The meeting had been on short notice but the subject matter alone had been enough to move it near the top of the list of priorities and resources shifted around to account for that. They had still begun the meeting with far less intel than Tulip had wished for but such were the realities of intelligence work sometimes.

Even then, the intel they did have was not insignificant. Their analysts had gone through all available intel they had on the situation before the meeting, along with anything of note that their people had been able to access on short notice, and the file on Tulip's computer was concise and regularly updated.

Flight information was widely available, and one tail number had stood out on the list, though it was only now, with the recent developments, that the full impact of what it might mean had become clear.

"Roscoe's private jet arrived two days ago," Tulip said. Well after Daniels and Clarke had been captured, and in a country the Roscoe empire had very little interest in. "We do not have the passenger information yet but there are few people Roscoe would make that sort of statement for. It's unlikely Roscoe himself would be able to leave his business at this time."

"Indeed." Alan's pen tapped slowly against the notepad in a soft, considering rhythm.

They had a number of the pieces but not enough, and each new one expanded on a picture that Tulip did not care for the shape of.

"This whole situation may have been deliberate," he finally continued. "A set-up to take over Seaver-Crewe's estate. The man was known for a reclusive life with no known family. The initial lead was supposedly second-hand through a former employee but if the information was a strategic leak to draw attention to him instead …"

In retrospect, the lead was almost too textbook not to have invited further examination, and certainly knowing what they did now. Intel originally from a source that was conveniently dead to avoid any questioning, deliberately vague enough on exact details to invite further investigation but not so vague as to not be considered credible, in a place where the obvious cover would be as tourists – and with a teenager along to ensure that no one would suspect them?

Except it hadn't worked, had it? Somehow, agent Jacobs and Alex had been intercepted in the airport. Jacobs had been killed, so they – whoever they had been – had obviously been aware of the truth and Alex …

… Hadn't. Had, in fact, lived and managed to take over an entire private island. Entirely on his own, supposedly. And had then, somehow, managed to hire the people needed to care for it within days and proceeded to consolidate his hold on it.

Yes. Tulip could see where Alan's suspicions came from, though she didn't entirely agree.

"I don't believe Alex would be capable of that – level of planning," she settled on. Alex was many things – impulsive, brave, lucky, reckless, intelligent, and viciously stubborn at times – but not capable of participating in cold-blooded murder. He would have refused, though if someone else pulled his strings, that would not have made a difference. "Even when he was given even reason to target me, he was still unable to."

"He was likely not aware of it."

Alex had been as unhappy as always to be sent off. There had been no hint at all that he had known what was about to happen, and if he had, Tulip expected he would have arranged for a significantly less risky plan to get Starbright out of London.

Which meant that it looked increasingly like someone had deliberately set things up to permanently remove Alex from his home in England and resettle him somewhere with every incentive to stay there. Money, a private island, and every luxury at his whim.

The question now was who and why, and given the presence of Roscoe's jet, it also looked increasingly likely that the Point Blanc students were involved.

They had, admittedly, not watched Alex as closely as they perhaps should have. Tulip had wanted him to have a normal life after everything, to allow him to return to school, and – that had been it, hadn't it? There had been no obvious signs that Alex had still been in contact with the heirs of Point Blanc. No invitations abroad, no visits, no suspicious phone calls, nothing.

But if communication had been through mails or burner phones, things they hadn't deemed it necessary to check for …

Would Alex have gone along with whatever plan they had? Had they even given him a choice, for that matter? A number of them had been forceful personalities already before Point Blanc and from what Tulip had heard, their traumas had done nothing to improve that.

"Your relationship with the Roscoe family …" she began.

For the first time that day, Alan looked genuinely tired.

"I was a friend of his father and as such, a symbol of everything the younger Roscoe hates. I considered reaching out but the old guard was unwanted. Better to step aside than to provide him with another target in his crusade."

Given the current state of Roscoe's old board, Tulip could only agree.

"This is the first solid lead we have on this," Alan continued. "I want a complete analysis on my desk by morning. We have a deadline to keep."

Tulip nodded. She was on her phone before the door closed behind her.

The Maldives, April 20th

(40 hours previously)

Even with Nautilus turned into an increasingly busy SCORPIA outpost, it didn't change the fact that the place was an aquarium and the animals had first priority, and there was something oddly reassuring about that to Alex.

Well, reassuring when it happened within so-called normal business hours, anyway.

The pregnant potamotrygon tigrina, specimen Zeta-8 – or the tiger river stingray, Alex had discovered, to people who didn't speak fluent taxonomy – gave birth to four healthy babies in the middle of night.

Alex knew, because he got a message from Thetis at two minutes past three that morning. The first message was a jumble of Latin terms and too-long words to Alex's sleep-deprived mind. The second was just a photo from one of the numerous cameras, zoomed in on the fish in question, because Thetis had clearly realised that the number of alert brain cells he possessed could currently be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.

Right. Pregnant fish. Or, no-longer-pregnant fish, Alex supposed. He stumbled out of bed, grabbed a bottle of depressingly healthy smoothie in the mini fridge and made his way to the newest additions to the base.

At least he wouldn't have to pay these ones.

Five hours and a too-early breakfast later, the new baby stingrays had been gently moved to a smaller, separate tank to shield them and keep an eye on their development, and that was where Alex, Jack, and James found themselves.

Jack with a cup of coffee, James with some neon-coloured energy drink, and Alex with his sadly uncaffeinated fruit juice.

Sania had brought out a large camera and moved around the tank to take photos, both for their internal records and vet information but also for the website Thetis wanted.

"They're called pups," she explained. "They're able to handle themselves from birth, but they're still very sensitive at this age so we will keep a close eye on them. The vet will take a look at them later today as well, but the immediate impression is positive. They appear to be perfectly healthy newborns."

"They're tiny," Jack breathed. She sounded like she only barely managed to restrain herself from trying to pet them.

Alex understood; he kind of wanted to pet them, too. They had their mother's beautiful patterns and looked like miniature versions of her. Teeny-tiny things.

The pups fluttered by. Sania snapped another set of photos.

"… So if you adopted this whole place," James mused. "Does that make you a grandpa now? Opa Rider?"

Alex considered the words and the awful mental images that followed with them, of some old man in tweed in a country house full of hunting trophies. He shuddered. Based on James' matching expression, his mental images hadn't been much better.

"Fuck no, that sounds like some racist old asshole in a castle somewhere," James decided. "They can be your delinquent nephews instead. Nieces?"

"Three nieces and a nephew," Sania confirmed and lowered the camera. "We are a little unsure about one of the females still, but it should be certain within a week."

Like this, just hanging out with James and Jack, it was easy to forget just how many people Alex surrounded himself with now.

Thetis' presence was so focused on the room that he could almost feel it, and the roomba that had followed him had long since given up any pretence at cleaning. Crux wasn't around for once, because there were things Chase wanted to discuss with her in person as well, but Alex knew that was just a brief reprieve. He'd had another meeting with Chase miraculously appear in his calendar overnight, though he'd done his best to forget about it again.

Should he worry about exactly what those discussions were about? Probably. Did he have the time and energy to spare? Absolutely not. If anything threatened the base, he trusted Thetis to let him know. Until then, he would enjoy that Crux and Chase had both found someone not him to talk terrorist politics with.

James wasn't alone, either. As part of the agreement with his father, he needed to have security around him at all times unless trusted security was provided by another party. This was obviously meant to accommodate visits to people like Roscoe. It was just as obviously not meant to include SCORPIA, because Andreas, the person responsible for said security, hovered at the edge of the room to keep a constant eye on everything. Aira had planted herself on the opposite side of the room, in plain sight of Andreas – supposedly as Alex's security, but more likely just to give James' security a nervous breakdown from having a SCORPIA commander within reach of their teenage charge.

James, at the centre of it all, seemed entertained more than anything, which didn't surprise Alex. James might have been forced to grow up to survive Point Blanc – as they all had – but it had also honed his rebelliousness into sharp, vicious spite.

Alex's tablet came to life and a string of photos appeared, faster than he could keep track of. Jack moved closer to look over his shoulder, and even James shifted to get a better look.

A number of scattered heart icons already marked some of the photos as favourites, which could only have been Thetis' doing.

Sania settled down with them as they scrolled through the gallery. The stingray pups were adorable in person but up close, caught mid-motion by some absurdly expensive camera, they looked like something straight out of a National Geographic cover.

"You have a good eye for this," James complimented.

Alex glanced at him, a little surprised. "You like photography?"

It had never come up in their talks but then, neither had a lot of the details of Alex's own interesting upbringing. There had been plenty of other, more important things to talk about on the rare occasions they were in touch.

"Oh, I picked it up in school as a forced elective. A 'creative outlet' to help on my attitude or some shit. It was the last school before Grief's little murder asylum. I had a whole folder of blackmail material by the end of the year."

That did explain a lot. It made a lot more sense for James than sudden, artistic interest.

"Thetis has already written the article," Sania said. "We'll choose the best photos to go with it and add more as the pups grow. They are visually striking ambassadors for their species."

Most people loved baby animals. The pups weren't the only ones around, and Alex was sure more would be added to the website over time, but it didn't hurt to have something cute and photogenic to show off.

"And a site like that will be a good start at establishing this place as a research institution with a public presence," Jack added.

Because Nautilus was registered as 'an educational and scientific organisation providing research into marine life and environment as well as educational outreach and conservation programmes', as the brief from the family office had put it, and they could still get into trouble if they didn't live up to those requirements. Alex wouldn't put it past Byrne to send the IRS after him or something, just to be a wanker about it.

James' thoughts obviously ran along the same lines. He didn't have Jack's background in law, but he did have a viciously sharp mind and had read up on the legalities as well.

"Let the family office handle it if anyone starts to cause issues," he said. "They've got legal attack dogs; make them earn their pay."

That had been Crux's instruction as well. It had seemed like the best approach to Alex, too, but it was nice to know that someone else agreed. Someone who wasn't with SCORPIA or had their flexible approach to morals, anyway.

Alex was going to do exactly that and leave the whole legal mess to the experts. Even if he wanted to get involved, there was simply not enough hours in the day to keep up with everything. 'Billionaire with a private tropical island' conjured up images of lounging on endless, white beaches by an impossibly blue sea, but somehow Alex's schedule was packed from morning until late evening more often than not, and the occasional break was rare and treasured.

Did he need to follow that schedule? Probably not, since he was supposedly in charge of things, but he paid a fortune for people to fix his problems and someone had apparently interpreted that as fixing his life, too.

If nothing else, the relentless lessons meant more things that might help him survive when everything inevitably went horribly wrong – and the odds of that had started out high the moment he had hired SCORPIA and only increased exponentially with each new addition to the current clusterfuck.

It was a thought Alex preferred not to linger on. Crux hadn't pencilled that into his schedule, and he wasn't about to give up some precious bit of free time to make room for it.

"So how many photos do we need?" he asked instead and didn't even pretend he wasn't changing the subject. "And what else do we have planned for our 'educational outreach' stuff?"

"Thetis has already narrowed it down to twenty, of which we need eight to ten of them for the final page," Sania said and her fingers were already dancing across the laptop to enlarge several of the photos. "For the actual article -"

Alex let the words flow over him and settled down to listen as Sania gave him the rundown on what they were actually about to release into the world.

Even after three weeks of continuous education about everything that lived on the base and the technology that kept the entire menagerie healthy, there was still something incredibly soothing about those spontaneous lessons. About something that wasn't planned or necessary or even necessarily that useful to Alex's endless to-do list, but just – something that he wanted to learn about, from someone who was passionate about it and a wonderful teacher and who had decades of experience to back it up.

Based on the way James shifted a little closer and Jack settled down to watch over their shoulders, it wasn't a bad way to spend the morning for any of them.

Brendan Chase appeared about an hour later with Crux and his security and looked every bit the supervillain in the process. A supervillain that had been let loose in some random tourist hellhole of a beachwear shop without a budget, but still a supervillain. He only lacked the unhinged expression, though Alex figured that was because no one told the terrorist CEO that he couldn't have however many cups of espresso he pleased.

He had also managed to time it for right after Jack had left with Sania, which Alex couldn't entirely rule out was deliberate. Easier to stay on good terms when there was no chance to get into another explosive argument.

Chase moved close enough to take a look at the stingray pups and Alex could almost see the roomba in the corner consider the logistics of taking down an adult male human through the engine power of a knock-off Lego train and sheer determination.

Lucky for everyone, Chase stopped before he reached the actual aquarium.

"Huh," he said. "Cute little bastards. Guess there's something to be said for wildlife that won't try to kill you."

Unlike the man o'war that Sania had definite plans for and Alex had just as definite plans to avoid, but that was Future Alex's problem. Chase probably knew about it, since Sania had managed to get the aquarium blueprints for that future disaster from SCORPIA in the first place, but he likely knew better than to bring up trauma quite that blatantly unless it was necessary. Good business relationship and all.

"I've got freshies hanging out back home, less aggressive than the salties and some of the staff feed them, so we've learned to get along," Chase continued and added one more item to Alex's running tally of reasons to never return to Australia. "Wouldn't recommend importing them; they're smaller than salties but still large bastards for an aquarium."

Considering how many vivid nightmares Alex still had about McCain's crocodiles, that sounded like solid advice.

… unless, of course, you were a supervillain with more money than sense. Maybe that was why Chase had stayed in Australia. Not to be a petty asshole to ASIS about it, but because having the deadly wildlife just naturally spawn in the backyard saved a fortune on the supervillain pet setup.

One of Chase's security people glanced at his watch. It was apparently a universal thing – or a SCORPIA one, at least – because after three weeks, Alex was familiar enough with it to know what it meant before the man even opened his mouth.

"Sir," the guard cautioned. "The schedule -"

Chase made a small, dismissive gesture with the sort of relaxed casualness that probably took dozens of repetitions to get right, but he did turn his attention from the aquarium.

"It's fine," he told the guard and then focused on Alex and James. Their security was ignored as always. "Business waits for no one, I'm afraid, and there's only so long I can risk being this far from the current board politics."

He paused. There was something very deliberate about it.

"… But I really fucking need a smoke first. I expect we'll all be gruesomely murdered if I try to light up indoors?"

"If the AI doesn't get you, Jain will," James said before Alex could. "I need one, too. I'll show you a spot."

And yeah, that was about as subtle as a bulldozer. Alex levelled an unimpressed look at James. He got a laugh in return, which was a pretty good sign that it hadn't had anywhere near the same effect as Ian's Disappointed Eyebrow had managed when Alex was younger.

"Business," James said and clasped his shoulder. "Besides, I'll keep him out of your hair for a while. You're welcome."

Fair enough. It was pretty hard to argue with that and Alex didn't even try.

Chase and James disappeared down to the beach trailed by both sets of security. Alex was sure Chase expected the usual terrorist networking, but he had heard James use the term 'business casual shovel talk' earlier so Chase's expectations were probably a little optimistic.

In any other case, Alex would have doubted the point in trying to talk sense into a member of SCORPIA's board and their gargantuan egos, but James and Chase spoke the same language of cold, hard cash which at least levelled the playing field a little.

"I don't expect them back for another hour," Crux said. If she looked relieved not to be responsible for her boss for a little while, she didn't let it show. "Which leaves us just enough time for our daily status."

Alex resisted the urge to sigh. He had hoped she had forgotten, or that it had at least been buried under a ton of more important stuff, but no such luck. 'Lounging on the beach with a cocktail' was probably for people that didn't have a terrorist organisation after their head. Or in Roscoe's case, something to look forward to when he had the last of the old board trained to roll over and beg on command.

"Yeah. Sure."

At least Crux didn't call him out on his obvious lack of enthusiasm. Just led the way to Crewe's old office, which was never a good sign. She knew he didn't like the place, but it was also one of the most secure rooms in the complex when it came to sensitive information, which meant that they only ever used it for the sort of talks Alex would prefer to avoid. Like Chase's little bombshell.

Alex closed the door behind them. The office was as dead and silent as always. Even the air smelled staler than the rest of the base somehow, despite the constant circulation. Personally, Alex blamed the combination of the rug, the wooden furniture, and the awful brocade. It reeked of rich, arrogant wanker in a way that no amount of air conditioning could fix.

"Right," Alex said when they were completely alone and he was out of convenient excuses to drag his feet. "What's the damage?"

He wasn't even going to try to guess. Crux's endless list never seemed to get shorter, no matter how much he did, and every time he thought he had a grip on things, something new popped up.

"To start with the easiest topic," Crux said, "we need to discuss security given the current situation with the executive board. I strongly recommend that you keep team Imai on a permanent basis, at least until the situation is resolved. You already have reliable security, but Imai is highly-trained and loyal. The additional expense will be worth the added peace of mind."

Strongly recommend, which was just the polite way to tell him that it would happen whether he wanted it or not.

Easy for her to say when it wasn't her money, but it wasn't like Alex could even argue. Chase had argued for the need for additional security, too, though it had sounded more like a top ten list of reasons to off his colleagues, punctuated by alcohol. Still, even he could admit it was probably a good idea. He was in no rush to figure out what someone like Kurst was willing to do for revenge, and now they knew his location.

Alex was a target again – a bigger target than usual, anyway – and they needed to take steps to handle that now. Thetis could protect him but not from everything, and more security would lessen the risk that something would get through. To him or to the aquarium.

Still, maybe a SCORPIA combat unit wouldn't have been his first choice.

"That could be months. They're going to be bored to death in two weeks."

Three, maybe, if someone let them take potshots at defenceless palm trees or something.

"Optimistic to assume things will remain quiet for long enough to invite boredom."

Yeah, okay, point. It wasn't like 'security for diplomatic negotiations' was the sort of thing that invited non-stop action, either. They were used to waiting and they hadn't seemed to mind it so far. And Alex couldn't deny the appeal of having SCORPIA's version of special forces at his back when things inevitable went wrong,

If there was a touch of ulterior motives in the choice of security on Crux's behalf, well, Alex wasn't going to comment. SCORPIA firmly believed in nepotism and networking, and Crux liked the team enough to have worked with them repeatedly and to bring them in when Alex needed backup. If this was a way to keep them clear of the fallout zone when the board situation went nuclear, Alex couldn't blame her for grabbing the opportunity when it presented itself.

"Don't remind me," Alex said instead. "Approved, if they can work with Kywe."

Because useful or not, his head of security had first priority and the last thing he needed was clashing egos. He didn't think there would be a problem – he hadn't noticed anything so far, anyway – but he had to make sure.

"Imai knows to foster good working relationships," Crux assured him.

"That diplomatic security thing?" Alex guessed. It probably didn't encourage negotiations if security got on the wrong side of everyone.

"That diplomatic security thing," Crux agreed. "And speaking of which …"

There was only one place that sentence could lead and that was nowhere good.

"MI6," Alex said, more statement than question, because of course it was. Somehow, on a private island in a tropical paradise, they still managed to be the bane of his existence. Well, them and SCORPIA, but the whole SCORPIA issue had been delegated to a firmly-locked box in the back of Alex's mind for now, to be taken out again when he had time to actually panic.

Crux nodded.

"Of course, they have realised that their agents are no longer in touch by now. We've ensured that officially, Daniels and Clarke have been detained due to issues regarding their arrival. MI6 knows something has happened, obviously, but they will not yet be willing to use the resources they have available to add pressure to resolve the issue. That unwillingness will hopefully buy us another day or two before they have confirmation that their agents are gone and start the search for them."

There were a lot of spiteful comments Alex could have made about that, because that was a lot more effort than anyone involved in that mess had ever put into his survival, but in the end he just – sighed. There was too much to juggle and too little time to do it in, and they both knew the sort of shitty situation he had been in. He didn't want to revisit that. Not now.

"Time for the blackmail, then?"

He had known it would come to that, had known since Crux had laid out his options in painfully blunt terms and made him choose, but that didn't stop the awful jumble of adrenaline and anxiety that followed.

Once he played that card, it would be too late to back out. He would be going head to head with MI6 and Alan Blunt.

But then, what was the alternative? There wasn't one. Not one he could accept, anyway.

"The material has been prepared but I recommend hiring a professional to handle the actual negotiations. I've handled such matters before but put frankly, my time is better spent managing your base."

Because like Yassen, SCORPIA's better operatives all seemed to be able to handle whatever the client might need, but it made sense they had their specialities, too. Crux's was logistics. Alex was sure that if a professional negotiator wasn't an option, Crux could handle it just fine for him, but she had a point and he needed all the help he could get.

"… Yeah. Someone neutral and not SCORPIA affiliated?" he guessed. Discreet went without saying. Undoubtedly absurdly expensive, too, to be willing to get involved with that sort of politics.

"Sanjeev Sahu would be my first choice." The name meant nothing to Alex. Crux had obviously expected that because she carried right on. "He has handled negotiations involving intelligence agencies before and is known to have turned down jobs that might have compromised his reputation for absolute neutrality in his dealings. That reputation will go a long way to assure MI6 that you're honest in your wish to simply be left alone. At a later time, we may want to consider a week or two of tutoring in the subject. It's the sort of thing your Point Blanc allies should have learned from childhood but unfortunately, I also imagine is the sort of lesson that their parents' behaviour has soured them on. Assuming, of course, their parents bothered with such lessons in the first place."

Another thing to spend his copious amount of free time on. Alex could barely contain his enthusiasm. Malagosto firmly believed that idle hands were wasted money and Crux clearly subscribed to the same principle. Either that, or she just believed in passing on the misery.

"And he's not going to have an issue with …" Alex made a vague motion with his hand, trying to convoy the whole mess. "… everything."

The supervillain business, SCORPIA, the blackmail, the literal hostages – the list was long and only getting longer.

"It's hardly the worst situation he has lent his expertise to."

What a rousing recommendation.

"Everything considered," Crux continued, "it's an unusually low-tension situation for someone in his position. You're asking for nothing but your freedom. The big stick you bring to the diplomatic table is the sort of material that would be damaging to everyone involved, which makes it more credible that you will uphold your side of the agreement. Even the two agents are perfectly unharmed – a significantly better situation for them than it would have been with anyone else in control of their fate."

When she put it like that, Alex couldn't even argue. He just – wanted to be left alone. Anyone reasonable should be able to understand that sort of demand, though considering it was MI6 and Alan Blunt, 'reasonable' might be pushing it.

It explained the choice of Imai for security, too. Given the sort of things he could have done, it really was more 'diplomatic negotiations' than blackmail, and that was the sort of job they had specialised in.

"Yeah, all right," Alex agreed. "Approved."

Not that he had much of a choice but that described a lot of his life these days.

"I'll arrange it. He may want to talk with you first to verify that the situation isn't a cover for a more dangerous issue but that will be a formality."

The idea that Sahu might have other plans or be otherwise busy clearly didn't factor into her plans. Either she didn't care, or she planned to put enough of Alex's – Crewe's – money on the table to make it a moot point.

A pause. A brief check of The List. For every second the break continued, Alex allowed himself to hope a little more.

Finally Crux lowered the tablet – the definitive sign that she was done with the list of doom for the moment – and Alex could almost taste the sweet, sweet freedom.

"I think that should be it for today." She paused. "Except for your meeting with Mr Chase, of course."

Of course. The meeting that Alex had tried – and failed – to do his best to forget about in the vain hope that maybe it would somehow magically vanish from his calendar if he ignore it firmly enough.

"… Right," he said and managed not to sigh. He could hardly wait to find out what bombshell Chase had in store for round two. "That meeting."

And if Crux noticed his distinct lack of enthusiasm, well, at least he paid her enough that she didn't call him out on it.

James and Chase both returned from their walk in the same condition they had left in and with both security teams intact. Alex supposed that was a good sign.

On the other hand, it also meant he had no excuse to avoid another talk with Chase.

James didn't look more annoyed than usual. The slight tension was still there, the constant awareness of everyone around him but that was normal for all of them. The talk probably hadn't been a complete disaster, then.

"Turns out," James said, "the only thing more annoying than another fucking psycho taking an interest in us, is a fucking psycho who actually understands how money works."

People with a grasp of reality were much harder to work around, after all. Alex knew they would need all the help they could get if they wanted to take on SCORPIA, but that didn't make Chase any less dangerous.

"On the bright side," James continued, "that also means we can knock out SCORPIA's financial pillars in one blow and watch the whole shit-house come tumbling down."

It was a very simplified description of a very complex situation that had so many ways it could all go disastrously wrong, but it also made some of the low-level, restless anxiety in Alex's mind ease. He didn't have the background to call bullshit on Chase's plans if necessary but James did, and he had given his cautious, initial approval of it.

That didn't necessarily make it a good plan but since it was all they currently had, they would just have to make it work somehow.

"Gonna go stare at some fish," James said and gestured in Chase's general direction. "If you need an exfil, light him on fire or something and we'll be there."

Chase didn't even bat an eye but then, Alex was sure he'd heard far more credible threats than a probably-joking throwaway comment after twenty years at the head of SCORPIA.

"For a spontaneous exfil, a Molotov cocktail is always a good option," Chase agreed. "Lots of alcohol here to go around and a couple of those bottles aren't good for much else. Anyone should have learned to whip up one of those by your age."

Right. A good, wholesome activity for kids of all ages. The Scouts probably even had a badge for it, right next to things like emergency aid and survival skills.

Alex didn't comment but just led Chase down to Crewe's office. It didn't hurt to keep the unpleasant associations to the one room he already hated.

The door closed behind them. Even with the air circulation, the smell of the wooden furniture was a constant, heavy presence in the room.

Chase looked disgustingly well-rested for someone who had spent the night under the watchful eye of a potentially-murderous AI. Maybe it was classic batshit supervillain overconfidence. Maybe he was just used to the perpetually-murderous company of SCORPIA, and having only potentially-murderous company now instead was practically relaxing.

Either way, Chase took his chance to mix a drink from the cabinet that had magically been refilled with fresh ingredients overnight. Maybe Crux preferred her boss pleasantly pissed and easier to deal with. Or more likely, it was part of his image. While Chase had added alcohol to the cocktail, the way he had moved the bottle had made it look like he'd poured far more than he actually did.

"Good friend you've got," he noted. "Sprintz is a fucking pit bull."

Mostly because no one else could be trusted to be a pit bull on their behalf, but Alex didn't voice that thought.

"Point Blanc taught all of us a lot about the world," he said instead. "Probably not the sort of lessons their parents had hoped for, but life is full of disappointments like that."

Chase made a considering sound. The cocktail sat on the table, untouched but for the first taste he'd had.

"Grief wanted to create a new world order," he mused. "And you know what, the bitch of it is that he's going to succeed, just not in the way he planned. Those kids were targeted because they were perfectly poised to become future powerhouses. Grief's clones were trained with discipline and ambition to make sure they would be able to wield their future influence the way dear old daddy would have wanted them to. He failed, the billionaire brats got sent home to continue being the massive disappointments to their families that resulted in that whole mess in the first place but – that's not what's happened, is it?"

It wasn't a question and they both knew it. Alex didn't know what James and Chase had discussed, but no one who had survived twenty years at the head of SCORPIA was stupid and Chase had enough pieces now to begin to see the full picture. The picture that few others beyond their immediate circle had noticed yet.

"I don't think anyone's seriously considered that those unwanted billionaire brats might have the drive and incentive now to do whatever it'll take to be too dangerous to target again," Chase continued. "Roscoe was supposed to roll over and let his board handle everything until he'd caused enough scandals in the press that they could completely remove him from any kind of influence. Nobody expected him to take over and systematically remove every single potential problem among the old guard. Canterbury was supposed to go along with whatever military school his parents decided to send him to next, not take a sudden interest in politics and geopolitical issues. Ivanov was supposed to have learned his lesson and keep his head down to keep his father from employing even harsher methods, not begin to build up intelligence networks of his own. If they can keep the backstabbing to a minimum, they'll be a major player in another five or ten years."

The words were different from the history lesson turned terrorist apologism Chase had shared the previous day but the sentiment behind it felt unnervingly familiar.

Alex wondered if this was going to be another of those talks that called for a bottle from Crewe's overpriced bar cabinet.

"A new SCORPIA, you mean." A different background and different goals, but the core of it was there. The resources needed to handle any problem they might face, any enemy that might decide to challenge them.

Chase shrugged and took a drink from his watered-down cocktail. "I'd recommend a different naming scheme. Unless, of course, you plan to branch out into general assassinations and other such outside jobs as well. Can't recommend it from a financial perspective; the brats are already filthy rich, so you'll be better off to just stick to in-house business and not draw unwanted attention."

It felt almost like a provocation to Alex. How easily Chase discussed a future Alex had spent a year believing he wouldn't survive to see – and given how the rest of SCORPIA just waited in the wings to target him, he still might not. Like he didn't have enough to deal with already without discussing hypothetical scenarios years into the future.

"You seem pretty sure that's where they're going, considering that none of them are older than sixteen."

Sixteen, and most of them engaged in a family-scale re-enactment of the Cold War. Grief's plans had hinged on the vast influence they would be able to wield, but that had been in some hypothetical future where their parents were conveniently dead … after being convinced that their wayward sons had become the proper heirs they had always desired, of course. Just to make sure their inheritances wouldn't be unfortunately limited.

That future was a long way away for most of them. For some, it would never be. Some of the Alumni were already making plans for independence from family that had made it clear that they would fall in line or get nothing.

Chase's vision of a future, in-house SCORPIA was maybe a little ambitious for that kind of looming trainwreck.

"Sprintz all but confirmed it. They probably don't know that's where they're heading yet but the way he talked made it pretty clear. Give it a couple of years and maybe a crisis or two to handle, and they'll decide it just makes sense to properly pool their resources. Make it easier to handle any attacks, protect their own interests and the people around them they care about – they'll get there eventually. You'll need to have a talk with him about some professional training in dealing with the intelligence world, he's too easy to read as it is."

Because what Alex really needed in his life was more things on his endless to-do list, especially things concerning other people now, too.

"I can barely handle my own life right now, I don't know why you think I'm the one you need to tell this to."

Chase snorted.

"Kid, you've landed yourself in the middle of the sort of network that some people would murder to get access to, and through sheer, dumb luck you've positioned yourself to be bridge between their little billionaire bubble and the normal world the rest of us live in. Tell them what they need to survive in this world, and they might actually listen."

"Normal?" Alex repeated. "I grew up in Chelsea to an MI6 agent uncle from old money, and you're on the executive board for an international terrorist organisation."

There was nothing normal about either of them, however much Chase like to push the 'average bloke with a bit of money' impression.

"Billionaires are a league of their own. Compared to that, trust me, we're depressingly normal. Sure, not all of your little alumni club is there yet but give it time. Some of them, it'll come naturally when senior croaks. Some, like Sprintz, they've got the drive to use the connections and resources around them and get there before the inevitable shitshow of an inheritance drama. None of them, not a single fucking one, knows how to function in a world where money and networks aren't the solutions to every single problem they face. Sheltered in their own little world, protected from consequences, and with people around them to tell them whatever they want to hear for the right price."

Because money wasn't the only thing that mattered and MI6 had taught Alex a brutal lesson in the different sorts of currencies that the world also ran on.

No amount of cold, hard cash could have stopped Sayle or Cray or Yu or Sarov. It would probably even have been seen as an insult and made the situation worse. A billion dollars would have been useful but only once it had been run through the efficient machine of something like SCORPIA and been exchanged for something solid. The information regarding their exact plans and the best way to counter them, the soldiers and equipment to stop it, and the influence to actually see it done. The sort of business that dealt in power and human lives, like a chess game on a global scale with half the pieces missing and several others replaced with monopoly tokens.

Would James have known to do that? Would Roscoe, before he'd been forced to take over his father's empire decades before planned?

"They need someone they trust who'll tell them to their face when they're about to fuck up on a massive scale. Let them have their minor fuck-ups, it helps keep their egos in check and remind them why they need you, but stop the disasters before they derail everything completely."

Something about the way Chase said it made Alex pause. The absolute certainty that came only with a reckless amount of overconfidence or -

"Like you with the rest of the Board?"

- Experience.

Chase shrugged and didn't look bothered. "You don't last twenty years in that position without developing some reliable survival tactics. Nobody really wanted to dig into the nitty-gritty of SCORPIA's finances, not when there were much more interesting things to handle. By the time it might have become relevant, they'd come to rely on me to do it. Every once in a while, someone would try to budge in on my territory. I'd step back a little, allow it like a good colleague, and make sure their little foray into finances ended in miserable disaster."

And it would have been so very easy, too, wouldn't it? Like a spider in the middle of its web, Chase had put a lot of work into weaving his influence into every part of SCORPIA. From a pragmatic point of view and based on what Alex had unwillingly picked up about the rest of the nutcases on the board, Chase was the weakest spot among them and hopelessly outclassed in most cases. But money talked and if every attempt to gain some control of SCORPIA's finances left the rest of them with bruised egos …

"And you're just … going to tell me all of these very helpful things. Just like that." If Alex sounded more that a little dubiously, he personally felt he had plenty of reasons for it.

"We're partners in crime now, and my retirement plans hinge on you being good enough to put that luck to work and pull this entire mess off. If you're going to commit treason on that scale, you get one shot, so get it right."

Was it the truth? Was it careful manipulation and another layer in the game that was starting to look less like a coherent plan and more like a disintegrating baklava? James had given his cautious approval but James didn't have the same experiences with SCORPIA that Alex did. Chase was very good at conveniently not mentioning the details of the whole 'terrorist' thing, but Alex never forgot that the man across from him had voted for any number of atrocities. Maybe to save his own ass, maybe because the money had appealed, but it didn't change the fact that he had agreed to plans that would have killed millions.

"There are fundamentally two sorts of business relationships," Chase continued and picked his cocktail back up. "The ones you want to stay on good terms with, and the ones you want to fuck over for everything they're worth. You don't need to like me. We just need to be able to work together. Cheers, kid. You're about to get a crash course in terrorist finances, and you can thank me later when it comes in handy for your little alumni club as well."

Whether he wanted to or not, but Chase didn't need to say that. Whatever he didn't cover himself, Alex was sure he would order Crux to handle in his place instead.

Alex's palms itched and he clenched his hands. Some mad, wild, vicious part of him wanted to punch Chase, to wipe that fake, incessant, smug charm off of his face and draw an actual emotion from the man that wasn't carefully planned and practised, but common sense won out – barely.

"Just like that," he repeated instead, voice flat. "Because we're partners now."

Chase paused. Alex wondered how much he would be able to pick up from the change in Alex's tone of voice. How well the man had learned to read others to be able to survive.

Even when Chase supposedly let down his guard for a serious business talk, even discussing taking down SCORPIA – even then, all Alex could think of was how well he had practised that, too. How everything was an act to him, because he had been one of the biggest sharks in the ocean for years and he had chosen that himself. Brendan Chase would never have a normal life again but he had made that choice.

Alex had never been offered even that.

Chase watched him. The seconds ticked on. Then he put aside his drink and sighed and there was something about the soft sound that was more human than anything Alex had heard from him since he had arrived.

"Let me ask you a question," Chase finally said, low and quiet and with an edge of weariness to it that even Alex had to admit sounded real. "Why did you stay here? Why didn't you just call Blunt or whoever and go back to London?"

Because someone had to make sure the aquariums were safe, Alex didn't say because – that wasn't the reason, was it? Or not the whole reason. There were a lot of reasons but in the end, they all boiled down to one thing.

"Because if I went back to London, it would only be a matter of time before it happened again," Alex admitted softly. He'd said the words before to any number of people around him, but this time they felt heavy in a way they hadn't back then. "I don't have a future there, they'll never let me go, and my luck is going to run out."

"You wanted to live." Chase's succinct summary felt like a gut punch.

"Yeah." There was no reason to deny it.

Chase nodded. Something about it felt almost sympathetic. Like he understood.

"When you killed Yu," he said, "I was already living on borrowed time. He had his sight set on the rest of Australia, and I was in his way. It wouldn't matter to him how useful I was to SCORPIA or how much knowledge they would lose in the process. His focus was on his own snakehead, and SCORPIA was a secondary consideration in that game. Do you know how many people got a second chance against Winston Yu?"

Based on Chase's words and Alex's own experiences …

"No one," he guessed.

Yu had been brutal. Some of his people had preferred suicide to whatever punishment he would dish out for failure, and the organ farm … Alex suppressed a shudder and forced himself to think of something else.

"No one," Chase agreed. "I was making backup plans but I already knew that all they would manage would be to buy me time at the most. Then you killed him. I had spent a year feeling that net close in, knowing I could do nothing, and suddenly I could breathe again."

The silence felt heavy between them, the words a hard knot in Alex's chest because he understood that claustrophobia. That feeling of being hunted. Of having no way out.

"I want a future. I want out, before someone else decides I'm more useful dead," Chase finally said and spread his hands. "You wanted to live. So do I. Right now, we're the best chance both of us have."

It was blunt and personal in a way nothing else the man had said had been, without any of the charm or easy-going personality, but it was also genuine. Or at least as far as Alex could tell. The human behind the carefully crafted image, or as human as it probably got for one of SCORPIA's executives.

"… Just like that," Alex repeated, quieter this time.

"Just like that," Chase agreed, just as quiet.

Alex let out a slow breath. Then he nodded.

It wasn't Chase the businessman but Chase the human, and maybe he could live with that.

Brendan Chase left that afternoon.

Alex barely waited for the seaplane to take off before he headed right back inside to grab the strongest painkiller he could find for his headache. By the time he'd managed to open the fiddly little plastic bottle, Jack had caught up with him and silently handed him a can of real, proper, ice-cold Coke.

Alex didn't even care about the polite lecture on the evils of caffeine and Coke on a growing body that he was likely to get from Sania; just grabbed the can before it could vanish somehow in front of him and downed about half of it with the painkiller.

"… You're amazing," he said, as heartfelt as he had ever managed as he cradled the can.

"I don't think your teeth would agree," Jack said dryly, "but you deserve it after that mess."

"I mean, he didn't try to kill me." Which, given his previous experiences with SCORPIA, was quite the step up.

Jack's expression made it clear that she didn't agree.

"Alex. That bar is so low, it could be cleared by an arthritic turtle. That is not the standard you should settle for."

Which was probably true but Alex would take what he could get these days.

"James?" Jack asked.

"Arguing with his dad," Alex admitted. "His security tattled."

Jack was nice enough not to make a comment about that, though he was sure she wanted to – probably something along the lines of we're surrounded by terrorists, Alex, and a week and a half ago you still had a nuke in the basement; it's their job to tattle about that– and just made a small, sympathetic sound instead.

"Go," she said. "He has to leave soon, too. Go hang out with him and make his security twitch or whatever, just don't get into trouble."

Alex hesitated. He wanted to, and there was a lot of stuff they needed to talk through in person before James left again but -

"Are you -"

"I'm sure," Jack said and it sounded genuine enough that Alex felt a little of the tension in his body ease. "Go, break up the fight before he gets himself disowned or something. And no more Cokes today!"

Alex laughed. "Promise!" he said and jogged off to find James and for just a little while feel like a normal teenager again.

The argument was over when he found James. The phone was still in one piece and James' security was not actively dragging him out of the base, which was probably a good sign.

"Alive?"

"Yeah." James' response was more sigh than word. "Let's go, I need a fucking break."

They eventually settled down outside, in the same pavilion with a view of the sea that Alex had picked for the lunch with Chase the day before. It was a deliberate choice. Heavy clouds had rolled in just after noon, and the rain now fell steadily in a soft drum against the roof.

It was calm and soothing, it helped on Alex's headache, and it made life as difficult as possible for anyone who might try to bug their conversation. Thetis was the exception, with one of the roombas quietly watching from a corner, but their phones had been left behind.

Forgetful teenagers and all, or a billionaire brat used to buying a new phone when he left it somewhere and it was too much of a bother to look for it. Either way, it meant that their tech wouldn't be used to spy on them. At least not for this talk.

James pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lit one up and took a slow drag before he held out the pack to Alex in a universal question.

Alex shook his head. "I've got at least three people who'd make my life miserable if I tried."

"Starbright?" James guessed.

"And Crux and Dr Jain. Turns out that when I hired SCORPIA to handle this whole mess, that apparently meant my life, too. Now I've got a whole meal plan, a daily limit of one can of caffeinated anything, and no coffee, because 'excessive caffeine is bad for my health'," Alex finished with little air quotes.

James snorted. "Having fucking MI6 trying to murder you is bad for your health. Have to be alive for the caffeine to be a problem."

"Yeah." Not much else he could say to that. Long-term planning didn't matter when you didn't expect to live past sixteen but now …

"We're working on it," he continued. "Blackmail them right back. No one wants this to be made public so we're going to hire a professional negotiator to handle it. It'll be easier for everyone to just forget I exist, and I'm getting too old for MI6, anyway. I was useful because I was kid and nobody would ever believe I worked for them. The older I get, the less useful that gets, too."

James made a non-committal sound. Took another long drag of his cigarette. Point Blanc had tolerated nothing like it – no cigarettes, no alcohol, no drugs, nothing whatsoever – and it was probably even odds if James had picked the habit back up because he'd missed it or just wanted to piss off the people around him.

"You know you're still a potential liability," he finally said. "They might decide to be a little proactive about that. That grey cunt sent two agents with Starbright; might've had orders to arrange for a little accident if you got too inconvenient on the way."

Alex wanted to argue, because Fox had been shot trying to protect him but – it didn't change the fact that he hadn't even paused at the idea of a fourteen-year-old in the middle of the snakehead operation. He'd known the dangers involved, known exactly the sort of risks associated with that world, and he had still looked happy to see Alex.

That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of stout moral character.

"I know," he admitted. "We've upped security, too. I'm probably safer here right now than I would be anywhere else even with SCORPIA around."

"Helps to have Skynet, too. If it keeps working well, Roscoe's probably going to look into getting one as well," James said. "Good last-resort security. Maybe they've got their own fucked-up personalities but it's not like that's any more dangerous than human security that can be bought for the right price."

Alex would disagree, because Thetis' logic could be inhuman to a degree that left him blind-sided and might put him on an accidental collision course with her core commandments one day, but James also had a point.

Alex had learned a swift, brutal lesson from Alan Blunt and MI6 that no authorities could be trusted. Roscoe and the rest of the Point Blanc students had learned that same lesson when their parents had sent them to a de facto prison in the middle of nowhere to be brainwashed into the son they actually wanted. They hadn't known about Grief's plan but that didn't change the fact that the kids that returned from the school arrived home with a complete personality shift and that was what their parents had wanted.

Some of them had even preferred the clones after everything had come out. Had preferred the murderous, well-mannered actor to their delinquent embarrassment of a son. Nobody in their alumni club would ever forget that.

Thetis and her like were potential sentient weapons of mass destruction but they weren't human. Weren't the people who had conspired to fuck over Paul Roscoe's life, and then tried to steal his inheritance when that didn't work. That alone made an unleashed AI a safer bet than most humans to him.

James finished the cigarette. Alex just enjoyed a little break where he had absolutely nothing he needed to do. His world narrowed down to the sound of the raindrops and the scents in the air and the world that vanished into a grey haze beyond the beach.

It was James who eventually broke the silence.

"… Roscoe's old man was friendly with Blunt," he said. "All the way back to university. The old boy's club."

"He mentioned. Before he sent me off. That Roscoe's death made him look into things." It could have been a lie, like so many other things, but that one thing had struck Alex as true. Well, true enough, anyway.

James snorted. "I'm sure it did. Can't imagine Blunt was pleased to have his access to the Roscoe empire cut off like that. You know he never tried to get involved in the whole clusterfuck afterwards? The son of his old friend, with everyone circling because they smelled blood in the water, and he never even tried to see if Roscoe needed help."

Which was pure idiocy, because even if Roscoe trusted no one, Blunt had still been the person to arrange for the investigation that ultimately stopped Grief, and Roscoe had been almost entirely on his own those early months. If Blunt had reached out as the concerned friend of the family, had supported Roscoe against those enemies -

- But he hadn't. Because he had been busy with his own little empire or because -

"- He might have wanted Roscoe desperate. Wait until there was no other option left, then step in and make Roscoe indebted to him."

It had been a favourite tactic with Alex, too. Leave no way out. Riskier than being the supportive family friend, but it could have left him as a strong power behind the scenes if it had worked.

But then Roscoe had taken on the task with unholy determination and slowly but steadily destroyed the old board's influence, and by that point, he wouldn't have needed Blunt any more.

"He waited too long. He expected Roscoe to fail."

Alex was sure of it now. It had been a gamble and it had failed. Roscoe had moved faster than anyone had believed possible and by now, any sort of outside attempts at influence were dealt with swiftly and brutally.

"… Sounds about right," James admitted. "Wouldn't be the first to try. Roscoe got rid of a few other leeches like that already."

A heartbeat. Above them, the steady drumbeat of the rain continued.

"Christ, what a shitshow," James groaned. "You know our original plan was to leverage our future business to force SCORPIA to leave you alone."

Alex remembered. It had been a nice plan. He had liked that one. It would have bought him time to figure out what else to do. Now, though …

"It won't work according to Chase, there are too many people with a grudge against me on the executive board. I know he could have lied, but I've messed up operations for SCORPIA too many times and cost them too many people. I'm kind of surprised no one has made an attempt on the base already. Supposedly there are a couple of reasonable people on the board but Kurst isn't and he's calling the shots now."

Another person Alex had never met and based on Chase's description and Crux's files, he really didn't want to, either.

He shook his head. "SCORPIA's not just bleeding clients, it's apparently a complete trainwreck as well. It's not going to last."

"Plan B, then." James' voice was decisive, less the delinquent teenager and more the echo of the man Alex expected he would grow into. Then he continued and the brief glimpse was gone again. "Same thing we do every night, Alex."

"Try to take over the world?" Alex asked dryly.

"No, we burn it to the fucking ground."

With just the two of them, alone for a moment in a world that crawled with enemies, that should not have sounded as reassuring as it did. The reminder that someone had his back, whatever it took and whatever the fallout. If the first plan didn't work, they made another and another, until something worked because no one else was going to do it for them.

They had survived Point Blanc, all of them.

They would find a way, or they would make one.

Chapter Text

Eijit Binnag's schedule was a life of routine.

It had been different in the early years, when the school still had to find its footing, but the past decade had been … surprisingly quiet.

She carried on with her days. Taught her class, cared for her greenhouses and her many projects, managed Malagosto when d'Arc was unavailable, and handled various inquiries within her field of expertise – and the vast majority of those were simply mails or the rare video consultation.

It was not every year that Jet found herself beyond the invisible borders of Venice. SCORPIA preferred its prized Malagosto instructors to remain safely out of reach of the intelligence world, after all. She was paid generously, both for the risk and the restrictions that came with the job. She knew what she had agreed to and understood the precautions, and she appreciated the prestige, security, and funding that came with her position, but after a decade and a half under Malagosto's heavy-handed protection, even that began to chafe.

Students passed through the school in a steady stream. Most lived to graduate; some did not. Jet, who was herself a graduate of Malagosto from its earliest days, was aware of the demands of the school in a way most of her colleagues were not. Even then, like any teacher, she had favourite students. Talented, curious people that stood out amongst the dull mass of military-trained, mid-twenties men that were nothing more than a blur of obligation as the years carried on. Older or younger than most, with an unusual interest and gentleness as they handled the plants in her greenhouses and a pleasant focus beyond memorising the parts that might be useful to them in the future.

The intelligent ones that did not underestimate the slight, graceful woman who could kill all of them without ever laying hand on a weapon. The ones who looked at her plants and saw not just a list of poisons but of potential as well. Of life as well as death, of pain and pleasure and the vast possibilities that came with science and selective breeding.

Most of their students she never heard of past their graduation. They carried on in the world, possibly to make a name for themselves, possibly to become just another mindless weapon for hire. Most were of no concern to Malagosto beyond the exceptionally talented few held up as examples and invited back as guest lecturers. The ones that were promoted to a point where they became Malagosto's business again, simply by virtue of their rank and influence.

And, occasionally, when someone contacted Jet with a matter that could not be solved through a simple mail or a few photos. Rare occasions that she appreciated all the more for it, and the only real opportunity she had to travel beyond the relative safety of northern Italy.

As an operative, Jet had worked for SCORPIA long enough that she could pick and choose among the offers she was given.

As a Malagosto instructor, it still had to be approved. There were lessons to plan around, a curriculum to keep up, and the very real risk analysis someone, somewhere did every time an instructor wanted to leave Venice for any reason.

If the mission would take longer than the school could accept, if the risks were beyond the low threshold that SCORPIA would tolerate for its valuable instructors -

- Sometimes, Jet knew from others among the staff, the answer was no.

Those security concerns were a condition of their contracts. There was a reason why Malagosto preferred instructors with no personal ties outside of the school.

Jet had sent off her request. Half an hour later, she had the Board's approval on her desk, with Kurst and Mikato's signatures. For something that must have passed at least two different desks and the Board itself before it had been returned to her, that was as close to instant as it got and spoke volumes about the situation.

Crux had upfront about the security situation on the island and the unrestrained AI responsible for the base, and Jet had been no less honest in her own request. She had halfway expected to be refused outright for that issue alone, but that the Board had not only allowed it but also taken essentially no time to discuss it -

- That meant that there were things going on behind the scenes that the Board had a vested enough interest in to risk a Malagosto instructor to get it.

That was also when she learned the actual identity of the client in question and in retrospect, it made sense that Crux had been so professionally cagey about a name.

It was no issue to Jet. She remembered Alex Rider from his brief time at the school. If they had simply had longer, she had no doubts they could have turned him into a wonderful operative but – that was not to be. He had been a respectful, attentive student, though, and she had liked him.

That he had decided to take over a supervillain base was perhaps not what she had expected but it was a more sensible career option than some she had seen, so she could hardly disapprove. Not when he had been ruthless and clever enough to entrench himself to such a degree that even with his history, even surrounded by a base worth of SCORPIA's people, the Board still did not dare risk a direct attack on him. Did not risk the kill order that would be the easiest thing in the world, with Crux firmly settled as his executive assistant.

SCORPIA had disposed of difficult clients before. That Alex Rider remained firmly in control of his new property … well. He had been a fast learner at Malagosto, too, and his continued survival implied contingency plans that made even the Board wary. Some would have seen it as a sign to stay well away from that hornets' nest but Jet had spent enough time in high risk environments that the thought was more intriguing than a deterrent.

The Board expected a comprehensive debriefing and report when she returned, but that went without saying. Rider certainly knew it as well and that he was still willing to hire her as a consultant meant that he likely didn't care, either.

Jet didn't hesitate. Ten minutes after she had official permission from the Board, she sent off a mail with her acceptance of the job and a list of the supplies she would need.

Malagosto could manage itself for a week. Jet was going to the Maldives.

Jack had met her fair share of assorted unpleasant people in power over the past year, but most of those had been – at least nominally – on the side of the angels. Child-abusers and lying bastards, but supposedly working for some sort of nebulous 'good'.

Crux wasn't. She was pleasant and helpful in a way that Blunt and Jones had never been and with the sort of easy social skills that Jack envied, but she was also a trained killer and Jack never quite forgot that.

Never quite forgot that those administrative skills had been honed by a terrorist organisation and used to build up profitable drug businesses. That behind the solution-focused approach and pleasant demeanour were months of training aimed at making her a lethal weapon able to get close to her target by any means necessary.

Blond, feminine, and conventionally pretty but not beautiful. Attractive enough to draw the eye but not unapproachable. The sort of thing to make most people dismiss her as harmless and let down their guard. To Jack, it felt more like being within striking distance of a king cobra when the woman in question settled down on the chair next to Jack's under the large awning that sheltered one of the outdoor areas.

Crux had her tablet with her. Based on Alex's complaints about the to-do list, nothing good could come of that.

"… I don't suppose you're looking for Alex?" Jack asked though she already knew the answer.

Crux smiled. If she in any way felt stressed after babysitting her psycho boss for a full day, Jack couldn't tell. Which was frankly just patently unfair, since Jack was pretty sure she had an entire handful of new grey hair from that experience, and Chase had even been forced to be on decently good behaviour around her.

At least he had left again. Jack still felt like she needed a shower to get rid of the creepy terrorist vibes.

"Not this time, no. It's good for him to spend a bit of time with Mr Sprintz before he has to leave again."

The only other person at the base even close to Alex's age, though Jack doubted that was Crux's motive. It was much more likely to be a matter of networking and getting friendly with a useful connection. Where Alex saw a friend and Jack saw another traumatised teen, SCORPIA saw dollar signs.

"So …"

There couldn't possibly be something on that list that she had to handle, right? Alex had to decide on a school but that was something they worked on together and which was ultimately his decision, and there was nothing else she could think of. Something back in London? Some sort of administrative paperwork?

"Alex is my client," Crux began, "and he pays me a king's ransom to manage things for him. The original contract was only for the base and aquariums, but since I am in a position to help him with the situation with MI6, we're going to do that as well."

And make more money in the process, Jack was sure, but she wasn't about to say that out loud. The longer SCORPIA hung around, the more of Crewe's money they could get their hands on. She could imagine they'd be real motivated to be useful with that kind of incentive.

Jack settled for a nod instead. It was apparently enough encouragement because Crux leaned forward a little, like they were somehow friendly rather than … whatever the hell sort of mess the whole thing was. Something about it reminded Jack of Blunt and Jones, right before they tried to feed her some bullshit while they claimed it was for her and Alex's own good.

"You're part of that same situation, Jack. You were just as trapped in London under MI6's control as Alex was. So, I'm going to ask you the same question that I asked him: what do you want to do? You have resources available to you now, and the freedom to make your own decisions. Not just for tomorrow or next week, but the months and years to come."

It was not a question Jack had expected and her brain ground to a halt.

She would have expected a one-way ticket to the US, possibly with a place all lined up for her at some Ivy League university thanks to a hefty bribe of Crewe's money, just to make sure she left. She hadn't expected to be given a choice, not even a token attempt at one.

"… Anything at all?" she asked, mostly to buy herself some time. Had Alex felt the same when she had asked him? The same blank screen as the brain rebooted itself because – there had been no reason to consider any future plans when they would most likely not get to see them happen, had there?

It was a heavy thought. Alex had struggled with school after every mission, had fallen further and further behind and – at some point, he had stopped talking about his plans afterwards.

She wasn't even sure when. Just that at some point, talks of university or a gap year or travelling a bit just … ended up buried under the endless wait of just trying to keep up. Of staying alive.

"Well, any truly outlandish desires might need some research, since there are limits to what even money can do in a few cases, but most things should be possible."

Crux smiled, a small, friendly thing like they'd just shared a private joke, and Jack replied before her brain could catch up with her mouth.

"… Preferably somewhere far away from Alex and this place, I'm sure."

Somewhere she wouldn't be an inconvenience to whatever plans SCORPIA had.

"A week ago, certainly," Crux admitted. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, situations around Alex tend to – develop fairly rapidly."

That was one way to describe the awful year after Ian had been murdered and Alex had been forced into the intelligence world and – now this. Days later, Jack was still struggling to get a grasp on everything and make sense of it all. Layers of politics and ulterior motives, and Alex could be brilliant and insightful and so painfully oblivious all at the same time, but someone had clearly been teaching him to question everything and Jack suspected that person was sitting in front of her.

Because Alex paid her salary, that was the obvious reason, but there was more to it than that and Jack didn't know enough about the whole mess to know what she was dealing with.

Crux had wanted her out of the way and admitted as much and – now she didn't.

Because of something Alex had said? Because of the situation with MI6? With Chase? There were too many options and few of them were good.

It was all politics and veiled insinuations and ulterior motives and after a year of nothing else, she was tired. If Alex felt safe enough to stay, then Jack felt safe enough to actually speak her mind, and SCORPIA would just have to cope.

"And somehow it developed enough that I was suddenly useful." She sounded bitter and biting even to her own ears, but she was so tired of being just a piece in a lethal game of intelligence operations, useful only as leverage against Alex, and if that was what Crux wanted her for -

"Not in the way you undoubtedly imagine," Crux said and derailed Jack's mental tirade before it could move outside of her mind. "As you know, for the CIA's part of the trade for Crewe's nuke, this base became a non-profit organisation under US law. Crewe's family office has seen to the legalities of it, but it does come with certain requirements we need to take into account now."

Some rusty memory of Jack's law classes dug itself from the deep, dark reaches of her mind and shuffled forward with the sluggish movements of a particularly decayed zombie.

"… It's a 501c3, right?" That would be the obvious one, anyway. She couldn't imagine how a supervillain base could possibly fulfil the requirements, but the CIA had undoubtedly made that little issue vanish, too.

Crux smiled but didn't look surprised. Pleased with the answer but familiar with Jack's background, then.

"Indeed. The first step towards making this place a credible place for marine conservation, research, and outreach programmes. I would like for you to consider the position as chairwoman of the board of directors. We'll keep to the minimum requirements, no more than three members in total, but the formalities must be followed. We would hardly want to give Byrne a chance to send the IRS after us, after all."

Right. Of course not. Jack didn't roll her eyes but it was close.

"And you want me to – what? Sign the papers to make it look good when someone starts digging?"

A nice little puppet board, to go along with whatever SCORPIA deemed necessary because Alex didn't have experience with any of it and that left him dangerously open to helpful suggestions from the people around him.

"I would like someone familiar with the situation and knowledgeable about law that I don't need to bring up to speed to make sure everything is above board," Crux corrected. "Crewe's family office is perfectly able to handle it, and the other two seats will likely remain with them until we find an alternative, but I think both you and Alex would prefer not to have the board chaired by someone who was, knowingly or not, working for a madman willing to decimate humanity."

Well, when she put it like that …

"I barely finished my first year. I don't have the legal experience needed for this." It hurt to admit, especially to someone like this, but she undoubtedly knew and Jack didn't want to risk bringing more trouble to Alex's doorstep because she couldn't admit to her own limitations.

She had studied a little on her own, first in a naïve belief that she would return to her studies one day soon, and then in a desperate, futile attempt to find something to use against Blunt and Jones, but that didn't make her qualified to be in charge of something like that.

"The family office does and if not, they will before the end of the week." There was no doubt in Crux's voice and she probably had a point. The family office's continued employment relied solely on 'Crewe's' satisfaction with their job. If they couldn't live up to that, the cash flow would dry up, too. "I trust them to see the legalities handled. What I would like in the chairwoman is someone who is willing to stand up to whatever intelligence agencies that decide to sniff around once this place becomes public knowledge. Someone who won't back down if they resort to threats."

Someone who had enough of a personal beef with those people that they would take the job out of spite alone, just for the chance to tell the CIA or MI6 or ASIS to eat shit and die. Someone who had more to lose if they caved to threats than if they took the fight right back to the shadowy figures behind them.

It sounded – nice. Good. Too good to be true, in fact.

"And what's in it for you?"

Because there were always ulterior motives. Nothing was ever free. There was always a catch, even when there shouldn't be, and SCORPIA had plenty of reasons to want more control of the place.

"Several things," Crux freely admitted. "I already have far too much on my list, and this is one thing I will gladly pass on to someone else. Thetis would prefer someone who has a sincere interest in marine conversation in charge of it, and my priority is the general management of the base. It would give you a continued connection with Alex, which would keep him happy, and your official employment would make my life much easier in terms of channelling funds to handle your situation."

Put that way, it made sense. Jack knew better than to trust that.

"And what does SCORPIA think about that?"

"While the non-profit parts of this operation will receive a steady steam of funding, it won't have access to the vast majority of Crewe's investments." A pause. "SCORPIA, frankly, has different priorities."

It sounded like the first genuinely honest thing Crux had said the entire time Jack had been there.

Jack leaned back in her chair and stared at the clear waters of the lagoon as she tried to make sense of it all.

Crux didn't speak but let her have the time she needed.

What did she want? Going along with Alex's mad plan had been a decision born of desperation, nothing else. She hadn't considered much past getting out of London and it was obvious that Alex, already trying to juggle everything that came with the base, hadn't thought beyond that, either.

A few days had been enough to have her itching for something to do. She felt awkward and out of place, surrounded by people that all had responsibilities to handle while she spent her time reading about fish and lounging on the beach. It wasn't exactly something she could complain about but it made for long, lonely days, and Crux had to know that as well.

Alex already had enough to handle without trying to carve hours out of his day to spend with her, and Jack knew that it would be a matter of weeks, if not days, before even a tropical island got claustrophobic and boring when she had nothing to spend her days on.

Lots of rich people had pet charities, didn't they? She remembered Ian talking about that once. Something to occupy their time that wouldn't be stressful in any way, since they had actual professionals to handle the real work.

This would be different. Alex had the CIA's attention already, and MI6 went without saying since he currently held two MI6 agents hostage and -

- If Jack stepped into that world, she would have to deal with the same. Not arrange for fancy fundraising events for other disgustingly wealthy people, but dig her heels in when past and potential child abusers of all creeds decided to take an interest in Alex's business and tell them to fuck off, like she desperately wished she had been able to do for the past year.

What was the alternative even? Leave and return to the States? With Alex on his own again, surrounded by people paid to enable him, and with any number of people who might take an unhealthy interest in his business? Would she even be allowed a life of her own if she did that? Or would the CIA knock on her door the moment she arrived and she would end up in the same situation Alex had been in, coerced into government service by whatever means necessary?

On the table, her phone vibrated once and Jack checked it from habit alone.

She expected a message from Alex. What she got instead was half a dozen links from Thetis. A click on the first one got her an eight-page IRS document on the governance practices of charitable organisations and a glance at the other addresses revealed what was probably more of the same.

The phone vibrated again.

Offer approved. Confirm acceptance?

From what Jack had experienced of Thetis so far, that was downright polite. There was a question mark at the end and everything.

Well, if the potential mass-murdering AI wanted her for the job …

She didn't have the legal background, and she didn't feel comfortable relying on Crewe's old legal minions for the job, but that was what Thetis' links and self-study was for. She was out of practice but there were guides for that, too.

She thought of the baby stingrays, and the first, cautious draft for an actual online presence for Nautilus, and the absurd amount of money that Crewe had hoarded and could have done so much good with and -

- She could make this work. One less thing for Alex to worry about, one less thing for SCORPIA to take control of.

… And a way to finally tell Blunt to go fuck himself, with all the backing she needed to get away with it, too.

"… Okay," she said. Then, firmer - "I'll do it. I'll need to read up on everything I need to know, and I'm going to run it like the marine conservation charity it's supposed to be, but I'll do it. On one condition."

"Name it." Crux's response came without hesitation, probably because she knew that nothing Jack could realistically ask for was anywhere near what former clients had probably demanded that she and SCORPIA procured for them.

"I want to talk to Daniels before we send them back."

Because she didn't have Blunt and Jones to demand answers from but Daniels had been there in the field with Alex, and she had questions, so he would have to do.

At least until she could tell Blunt to go fuck himself to his face.

"Done." Crux smiled. If she cared in any way what Jack might do to the MI6 hostage that had a known history with Alex, it obviously wasn't enough to ask about the details. "Welcome to Nautilus."

The seaplane took off with just enough time to get them to Velana airport within the legal operating hours. 'Legal' in itself didn't particularly matter to James, but since the operating hours were dictated by daylight and the seaplane's ability to land safely, it was less an issue of pointless legalities and more of a common sense thing.

Roscoe's jet had already been prepared, which meant that it would be no more than fifteen minutes from the seaplane touched down and until James was in the air again. To Europe, this time, not the States, but at least he could sleep some of the way.

He would deal with the rest of dear old dad's complaints when he was back home again, because one bitchfest was never enough for him. No, James was going to get a rerun of the whole thing when he landed. For someone who had sent his only kid off to be brainwashed in a prison run by psychos, James' father was a fucking hypocrite for objecting to SCORPIA, but that was the story of James' life: Surrounded by fucking hypocrites.

What little luggage he had brought had already been handled. All he had carried on board himself had been his laptop and, safely hidden in his pocket, the business card that Chase had slipped him in a moment where James' security hadn't noticed.

It was plain white but of quality paper, with a printed number on one side and a handwritten one on the other, nothing more. No names, no affiliations. Nothing immediately suspicious if anyone should spot it.

The printed number was Chase's own, not quite a personal line but still for matters more important than regular business. The handwritten one was the contact information for the same professional negotiator that Alex would use against MI6, and that was the one that kept James distracted as Alex's brand new island territory slowly vanished from view.

He had never given that much thought to his future. Not until Point Blanc, at least. A swift, brutal lesson in the realities of the world had taught all of them that they could rely on no one else, least of all their families.

They needed to become independent, the sooner the better, and that had taken adjustments. For all of them.

James had developed a sudden, new interest in finances. It had been a welcome surprise to his father and whatever else James could say about his old man, he could play the financial markets like a Stradivarius. James needed that skill now, too.

A year ago, money had not been something he gave much thought at all. He got what he wanted, when he wanted it, and the details of how it appeared didn't matter. Wealth was a given. Now, he had a whole new level of insight into a colourful world of insider trading, market manipulation, tax evasion, lobbying, and a dozen other things that went into his old man's successful investments.

Just as important, a part of his trust fund had been paid out – the same trust fund that had been kept just out of his reach and used as part threat, part coercion to make him fall in line. It was intended to give him a foundation to work with as he stepped into the family investment business, and it was the first real bit of evidence that James' approach might work. Sure, it wasn't a career he cared about, but it was a small price to pay for access to his trust fund and ultimately his future independence.

Toe the line, make his investments grow, and keep up the impression that he was going to become the sort of heir his dear old dad actually wanted. Once the full trust fund paid out – well. He could consider his next steps.

Now, that business card made him wonder. None of them were good at the softer social skills. They wouldn't have ended up at Point Blanc if they'd had the ability to talk their way out of shit on a consistent basis.

Those skills were valuable. Especially as taught by someone who had specialised in the shadier side of the business.

Something to consider, not just for him but for several of the other Alumni, too. Something the old man might even approve of. That was for later, though.

James ignored his security and brought out his phone instead.

> En route. SCORPIA's a smouldering dumpster that's gonna go up in flames within six months and Chase is pushing for us to start our own in-house version with the subtlety of a fucking hospital clown. Recommend we start to poach anyone we have an eye on, some of the subsidiaries as well. If they're worth anything they know where shit is going. Rider's already got control of the island, estimate upwards of eighty to ninety percent of SCORPIA personnel will flip to him when SCORPIA crashes in the shitter. Skynet's gonna handle the rest of them. Fucking psychy thing, you'll love it

Roscoe replied almost immediately. It was in the middle of the night for him but James wasn't surprised – not about Roscoe's dubious sleeping schedule or the quick-fire messages.

> i have 99 problems and a private army would solve most of them

> how big of an army can you get before nato gets a bitch about it anyway?

> doesn't matter

> legal can earn their pay

James snorted. Andreas glanced over but didn't interrupt the fragile truce they had built up over the months by asking.

> Get a terrorist lawyer and blackmail the CIA, it worked for Rider

Polite blackmail, of course, he was British, but 'pick up your nuke or I'll give it to the Russians' was definitely a statement. Then again, that sort of gamble was easier to risk with mercenaries to back it up.

Rider's new base was supposedly a 'non-profit institution' now, all nice and legal. Pull the right strings and Roscoe could be the brand new owner of a perfectly legitimate overseas security company or two, complete with government contracts.

> traditional

> i like it

> tell them it's to stop the commies or something

The stream of messages paused. James waited, in no real rush for now. A minute later, the stream picked up again.

> if their board is too much of a fuck-up circus of geriatric wankers to follow orders then we just cut out the middle man

> light the shit on fire and loot the corpse

> we can't absorb the whole thing but split the useful subsidiaries between roscoe e and ivanov, throw some into security for everyone else and we can get the priority assets

James made a considering sound, lost in the noise of the seaplane. A plan like that came with lots of complications but Roscoe knew that, too. SCORPIA had competitors that would swoop in as well, intelligence agencies that would see their chance, and that wasn't getting into the logistical headache of how to handle a number of terrorists and mercenaries that were probably all wanted by any number of legal authorities in the world.

With Chase as their leverage, though – they would have a large advantage. Advance warning, key contacts, a way inside. Crack open the carapace, pick out the valuable bits and leave the rest to the scavengers.

The frame of a takeover was there. The sketch of something useful.

It wasn't possible to replace his own security, the old man would flip, and they couldn't risk the attention it would bring to their plans to have mercenaries near Canterbury, but the rest?

The rest was doable. Poach the useful ones and let the chaos of SCORPIA's collapse hide most of their tracks. Their ages worked against them, over and over and over, treated like children despite everything, but -

- Alex hadn't been. Maybe because his experience balanced out his age, maybe because his new minions had grown used to him, but no one second-guessed him and he wasn't treated like a juvenile delinquent by his murder PA.

James wasn't the only one of them who could use something like that in his life.

It wasn't what Chase had pushed for, either, which was enough to satisfy James' sense of pettiness. Chase's vision seemed to be that of a new SCORPIA, rich and powerful and with himself at the top of it, surrounded by the sort of power the man had never dared reach for with his current colleagues. James' idea had been more along the lines of kicking down the already unstable pillars of the organisation, lighting the rubble on fire, and pissing on the ashes.

This seemed like a decent enough compromise.

> I'll draw up some suggestions, see if we can't get everyone to agree on something. I'll call when I'm back in Germany

At least it would give him something to do on the flight. He wasn't an expert but he had learned plenty about the inner workings of deliberately opaque companies over the past year. It probably wasn't what the old man had expected him to use those lessons for but life was full of little disappointments like that.

Personally, James could think of few causes more worthy than to fuck over SCORPIA and the intelligence world for profit and personal revenge.

Ben Daniels' days had narrowed down to a small, grey room, barely large enough for a bed and a desk. He was presumably still somewhere in the Maldives but the room itself could have been anywhere in the world and he wouldn't have known the difference.

It was obviously not built for prisoners but someone had gone over every inch of it and escape-proofed it with almost spiteful thoroughness. What had probably been intended as a place to house on-site staff was now missing noticeable parts of it where someone had judged it too dangerous to leave accessible to an MI6 agent – even one that was under constant surveillance. The cameras were subtle but covered every inch of the room and the one time he had paid too much attention to the door, the response had been swift. Non-violent, to Ben's surprise, but – swift. And with the heavy insinuation that if it happened again, the response would be far less polite.

With Alex's blunt threat of just how much more uncomfortable he could make their stay, Ben had not pushed his luck again. Even if he could escape the room, the odds that he would get out of the base were close to non-existent. Not with that amount of surveillance and what was obviously well-trained security.

Food arrived at regular intervals, three times a day, served on paper plates with no utensils and with water in the flimsiest plastic cups Ben had ever seen.

Based on the few sounds that carried through the walls, the room was either partially soundproof or located somewhere with little activity. Probably both.

The lone guard that served his food never spoke, not even when Ben asked questions. There was no obvious entertainment or distractions – no books, no TV, not even a window. The room itself was quiet with only the whisper of the air from the vent to break up the oppressive silence. Beyond Alex's single visit, he was left entirely alone. It was by far preferable to the alternatives but even then, the isolation and boredom had begun to wear on Ben's mind.

He had too much time alone with nothing but his own mind, and Alex had given him too much to think about and nowhere to get answers. Too much time to imagine the many dangerous scenarios that could follow from Alex's – admittedly justified – issues with MI6 and not enough information to write any of them off.

Isolation was used as a tool for interrogation for a reason. Knowing the theory still didn't make it stop gnawing on his mind and after several days of isolation, Ben had started to suspect the solitude was a deliberate psychological weapon. Not from Alex, but from the people around him.

That considered, he could be forgiven the flicker of surprise when the door opened to reveal not the familiar guard with his food but one of the security staff that had accompanied Alex.

"Up," the man said and gestured with a familiar, vicious-looking taser gun. "Visiting time."

Presumably Alex but Ben couldn't afford to make any assumptions. It was also telling that the guard came alone. Ben could probably take him by surprise but security as a whole had to be very sure it would get him nowhere if they took that risk.

Ben was just as sure that it would end nowhere good if he went for the obvious bait. Instead he got up, slowly and carefully, and let the man blindfold him before he was led outside with a firm grip on his upper arm.

The route seemed identical to the short walk when Alex had visited. The same turns, the same amount of steps before they stopped. The guard removed the blindfold again to reveal a familiar room – but it wasn't Alex waiting for him this time.

Instead, Starbright was already in one of the two chairs, free and unrestrained. The guard at her side was familiar from Ben's talk with Alex, which was probably standard procedure. Ensure the prisoners see as few people as possible to make it harder to get a clear idea of security.

Ben settled in the chair on the other side of the small table and made sure to telegraph his movements. The guard rested a hand on his taser in a heavy-handed reminder of the consequences of any bad decisions.

The man could have been from any number of private security companies, but the black uniform and the conspicuous lack of any sort of identifying marks on it meant that Ben would bet good money that he was one of SCORPIA's. Everything about the whole operation screamed professional in a way that left few other options when it also had to be someone willing to cross MI6. Even with SCORPIA's recent setbacks, they were still a dangerous entity.

Starbright looked uncertain, that was Ben's first impression. Not much, but there. Alex had approached the visit with the air of someone dragging their feet to the dentist – something that had to be done, but certainly not something he wanted to do in any way, shape, or form. An unwanted obligation. Why, Ben wasn't sure but that didn't change the fact. Starbright … Ben wouldn't be surprised if this visit had been an impulsive decision.

Last he had seen her, she had been tired and jet-lagged and obviously worried about Alex. Now, she looked – well. Better than Ben felt, anyway.

She didn't look completely uncomfortable with the level of security, at least. She had been around them enough to be familiar with it and had presumably not had any situations yet where it had turned out that 'security' actually meant 'polite prison guards'. The lights in the room made it hard to tell for sure, but Ben was pretty sure she had the early signs of a tan, too. She had been outside for a significant amount of time, then, not just cooped up inside.

Had she known about the trap in the airport? He still wasn't sure but now, looking at her, he suspected the answer was no.

Jack Starbright wasn't even thirty. She was still older than Ben himself but she had no training, no experience, nothing at all to rely on in the situation she now found herself in. She had come to London to study, ended up working for Ian Rider and eventually just … didn't return to her studies again.

Ben had his time in the military and MI6's training. Alex had his uncle's eclectic upbringing and a year of experience with the intelligence world, however unwilling that had apparently been. Starbright had none of that. She, more than any of them, had been dropped into the middle of the whole mess without anything to rely on and it showed in her uncertainty.

She shifted uneasily and that was enough for Ben to make up his mind. He wasn't sure why she had wanted to see him but he could still make the first move.

"You're well?" he asked quietly.

He wasn't about to risk being overly friendly, not with Alex's rant in mind. If his experiences with MI6 and Alan Blunt had been as bad as he said, perceived or otherwise, then Starbright would know about them, too. Calm, quiet, polite. Not an enemy, just someone else caught up in the whole mess through no fault of his own.

Ben didn't expect she would tell him the truth if something was wrong, not with security right next to her, but it might give him an idea of the situation.

"Yeah, I'm just – it's a little overwhelming," she admitted. "Everything."

An understatement if Ben had ever heard one but it sounded honest enough.

"Alex contacted MI6," she continued. "If everything goes as it should, you and Clarke should be back in London in a week at the most. A professional negotiator is handling it, so …"

She trailed off but Ben could fill in the blanks just fine. With a professional to manage the negotiations between Blunt and Alex, it made it a lot more likely to be settled in a swift, professional manner. It also matched what Alex had said.

"Thank you," Ben said and meant it. He had to be careful about everything he said in his current situation but this much he could risk. She hadn't needed to tell him, and she knew that.

Starbright shrugged, a little awkward.

"You deserved to know and – I wanted to talk with you. About Alex."

That wasn't exactly a surprise. There weren't too many other reasons she would have to visit him like this.

"You met him in Bangkok. During the whole thing with Yu and – Ash. You were happy to see him." There was a moment of hesitation at Ash's name and … she had known him, too, hadn't she? MI6 and ASIS still felt the sting of the man's treason, the years they had been played for fools and how much it had cost them, but Starbright had met him as well. He had still been a part of Alex's life for a short while after Starbright was hired, before he moved permanently to Australia.

She had known him, too, and he had tried to kill Alex. Had handed him over to Yu to face a slow, gruesome death. It was no wonder she had a hard time with those memories.

"He's a good kid," Ben said and that wasn't a lie, either. Alex was tangled up in things he couldn't even begin to grasp the consequences of, but that didn't change the fact that he was a genuinely good kid. He had just made some stupid decisions they all had to deal with now. "I was glad to see he was doing okay."

Starbright nodded. "He is," she agreed quietly.

More soft-spoken than she had been on the plane, where she had mostly ignored them and stared at a book, but not hostile. Trying to find her footing and make sense of it all.

God knew what she had been told about them over the past few days. They had been bastards at Brecon Beacons, that much was clear in retrospect. Exhausted, stressed, and desperate to prove their worth, but that was no excuse for taking it out on a teenager they had all known was too young to be in the middle of Selection.

There was nothing like a hostage stint to make you re-evaluate your life decisions.

"He shouldn't have been there," she continued. "In Bangkok. In that whole, awful operation. ASIS manipulated him into agreeing just for the chance to know his godfather and no one did anything to stop it."

Looking back to the meeting with Alex in Bangkok … Jones hadn't even questioned it. Had made it sound like Alex's work for MI6 had been a temporary, voluntary thing and that everything else had been his own choice beyond their control. Ben hadn't questioned it because Alex had been sharp and clever and brilliant and looked right at home in the field and -

- Now, knowing the background, the meeting took on a more sinister air.

It hadn't taken Jones long to drag Alex into MI6's own operation. She had asked why he wasn't at school but clearly hadn't cared about the answer beyond the fact that it had brought Alex in a position to help them as well.

If that hadn't been the result of an impossibly stressed situation, hunting for a dangerous weapon in terrorist hands, but rather a perfectly average example of Alex's experiences with MI6 -

- Well. Ben could understand why Starbright was unhappy. Alex hadn't argued, but Alex had been fourteen and had apparently already been blackmailed into intelligence service multiple times before. He wouldn't have had a decent frame of reference in the first place, much less after – consciously or not – being taught that it was easier to simply agree to whatever MI6 demanded before the real threats came out.

There was a reason why child soldiers were still a go-to solution for any number of would-be dictators, drug lords, and cult leaders in various parts of the world.

… Including, apparently, the CIA and ASIS and Ben's own bosses. He preferred not to consider what category those came under.

"He's not the first kid the intelligence services have used." It wasn't an apology or a way to defect blame from himself, but more like an explanation for – well. A lot of things. "They do it enough that there are protocols in place. For someone of Alex's age, it should only ever have been allowed in exceptional circumstances and he should always have had an appropriate adult present. You, in his case, as his guardian."

Ben had looked up those protocols because of Alex in the first place. They had looked good on paper. After his meeting with Alex, he wondered how many of those rules had actually been followed.

He had put his foot down when Brooke and Jones decided to send Alex with them to Yu's oil rig, for all the good that it had done, and when that hadn't worked, he had done his best to keep Alex safe.

From a pragmatic point of view, he understood why Alex had to be there, as the only person able to stop the bomb. From a personal point of view, Alex had been fourteen and had nothing to do in the middle of a covert attack on a terrorist base.

"It was always exceptional circumstances." Starbright's words were less angry and more bitter, the resigned resentment of someone who had long since accepted that there was nothing they could do. "And the times I was involved, nobody listened, anyway. Blunt and the rest always got what they wanted, one way or the other."

And now they were here, because Alex had been backed so far into a corner that he had been willing to risk even SCORPIA's involvement just for the chance to escape.

"How is Alex doing?" It was a risky question but Ben asked, anyway.

Starbright seemed light up a little, happy to take the change of topic. It was another reminder that she wasn't trained in any way. She showed emotions she shouldn't have and offered information that could be used against her if he had ulterior motives beyond just getting home.

Even Alex had known better. He had clearly wanted his side of the story out there, but he had just as clearly been careful not to let anything potentially dangerous to him slip. He had stopped talking when he didn't want to answer. Someone had obviously trained him to some degree.

Starbright didn't even have that. She was just a regular civilian caught up in a mess with no easy way out.

"He's really good, actually. We're looking into picking a tutor for him. He's always been good in school but with everything … he fell too far behind and didn't get the time or help to catch up. Maybe a real school once he's back to where he should be, if we can find somewhere he wants to go that will be safe as well, but we'll look at that later."

Assuming there would be a 'later', which was an optimistic approach in a situation where SCORPIA was involved, but that wasn't a comment he was going to risk around Starbright's overly-attentive security.

It matched Ben's own impression of Alex, at least. He had been stressed and volatile, with some obvious sore spots that were better left alone, but – not hostile, despite it all. SCORPIA would have had entirely too many chances to feed him misinformation and twist his opinions, but despite it all, he had still been Alex Rider. Still fundamentally a good kid.

"How about you?" It wasn't the question Ben had planned to ask but it came naturally now.

Everyone had been focused on Alex. Starbright herself had been treated as an inconvenience to work around at best, useful only as leverage, but she'd had plans of her own once, too. Dreams and a future that had abruptly been put on standby with Ian Rider's murder.

Ben doubted he could get any sort of rapport going with SCORPIA's people, and certainly not when none of them would speak with him, but Starbright was different. He trusted that she was right and that the whole hostage situation would be resolved without bloodshed but it didn't hurt with backup plans. With a sympathetic person in their corner if it came to that.

Something crossed Starbright's features, too fast to read, and then her expression settled into wry resignation.

"I'm looking into law again. Ten years delayed but – here I am. Homework and everything included."

Ben would bet good money that Alex's situation was the direct cause of that. If she could do nothing else, she could make sure she knew the legal framework that was supposed to have protected Alex and other kids in his situation.

That was not a theory he was going to voice, though.

"Better late than never, right?" he settled for instead.

That got him a startled laugh from Starbright, brief but genuine.

"Not when it comes to the homework, it's not." She paused and when she spoke again, it was a little quieter. "At least when I was at college, anyway. It'll probably be a tutor for me as well, like with Alex, and then I'll see how that works out, I guess."

Still finding her feet, Ben translated. Still trying to figure out her place in the whole mess. He could empathise with that.

Starbright shifted a little and continued before Ben could talk.

"I guess I just – wanted to meet you. Properly, I mean, before you go back home. Alex has talked about you. He's mentioned all of K-unit but – he likes you. So I wanted to meet you."

Meet you and get a proper impression, because Alex's ability to judge others is dubious at best, she didn't need to say.

Starbright glanced at the guard that had escorted Ben to the meeting. A pre-arranged signal, since man nodded and brought the blindfold out again.

"Thank you for protecting Alex," she said just before Ben's eyes were covered again. "And when you get back, tell the child-abusing bastard in charge to go fuck himself."

There wasn't much Ben could say to that. Instead, he settled for a nod as the guard grabbed his arm again and led him back to his small room.

Message received, loud and clear. He didn't look forward to writing that part of the report but that was future Ben's problem.

At least his brain now had something new to obsess over as the hours slowly whittled away in the silence.

The moment the door closed behind Daniels, Starbright straightened in the chair and the uneasy hesitance fell away. Tense, angry, but not dangerously impulsive. Not something Diego had any immediate cause to worry about.

He couldn't blame her, either. If someone had treated his sister like MI6 had treated Rider …

… Well. He would have wanted to murder someone, too. Everything considered, Starbright's reaction had been surprisingly restrained. Maybe Rider was too young and inexperienced to really understand how much of an abusive situation he had been trapped in, but the rest of them weren't.

"… We could always arrange for an accident," he offered when Starbright didn't move. "The agreement with MI6 is to return them safely but there are always ways around that."

It wouldn't be that difficult. Maybe even target them right there in London when they arrived, in the heart of MI6's territory, just to make a proper statement of it.

Maybe Daniels wasn't the direct cause but he had still been an active part of it. Sometimes, revenge started small.

Starbright visibly forced herself to relax but the last bit of tension in her shoulders didn't fade until she took a slow breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she just looked tired.

"He saved Alex's life."

Her reaction made more sense, knowing that. A debt like that was an unfortunate complication, at least for someone like Starbright, who was decent enough to honour it. She didn't have to like the man to acknowledge what she owned him.

"We'll keep to the original plan, then," he said. "Ms Crux intends to send them home on the most inconvenient commercial flight available. Right now the choice is between Shanghai and Moscow for the layover but she is open to suggestions."

Shanghai would be the much longer route but Moscow … well. Even if they couldn't arrange for any convenient accidents, the thought of Daniels' expression when he realised he was on a flight to Russia was enough to make Diego feel a little better about letting them go.

"God." Starbright slumped forward and buried her head in her hands. Diego could empathise; that was how he felt about the whole situation sometimes, too. "How old is he even?"

"Twenty-three according to his file." Young for intelligence service, in Diego's opinion, but sometimes the bosses wanted them young and stupid. Get that patriotic indoctrination in early, before they got too much common sense and real life experience.

"God," Starbright repeated, this time with a groan. "So he was twenty-two when he met Alex. Do you know what I was doing at twenty-two? I was hooking up with Ash because that was apparently a great idea for a date."

Diego did the rough estimates. He didn't have Ash's file but he knew the basics, and if the man had been around Rider's parents' age – he would have been, what, mid- to late thirties at that point?

"… I'd think that dating the fifteen-years-younger nanny of the orphan whose parents he murdered himself would reflect more on his judgement than yours," he finally offered.

Starbright made a sound that was half laugh, half sob but at least it made her look back up. "I was all ready to hate him, Daniels I mean, and – God. He's just a kid. His prefrontal cortex isn't even fully developed yet. We used to joke, Ian and me, that maybe at twenty-five Alex would stop making stupid, impulsive decisions and Daniels hasn't even hit that age yet."

Diego knew plenty of people whose ability to make stupid decisions didn't improve with age but maybe the whole situation would shock some sense into Daniels. Stranger things had happened.

"I need a coffee," Starbright said. "Well, what I actually need is a pumpkin spice latte and a bucket of ice cream and some crappy romcom, but I'll take coffee with whatever booze Chase didn't already drink."

She took a deep breath, then got up. The hallway would be cleared by now, and Diego followed her outside, presumably on a search for caffeine and alcohol.

He wasn't sure what he had expected from the meeting but that hadn't been it. Maybe yelling, or threats, or trying to provoke Daniels into something that would justify retaliation. Instead Starbright had played up MI6's impression of the lost, helpless housekeeper trapped in a hostile world. Everything she had said about Rider had been deliberately intended to paint an image of a traumatised kid trying to find a future again after his life had been ruined by Daniels' bosses through no fault of his own. Not a threat and certainly not someone learning the finer details of terrorist finances and supervillain base management from one of SCORPIA's elite operatives.

Starbright was doing the best she could with the resources she had to draw attention away from Rider. Diego would have done the same for his own siblings. Maybe the whole situation was a little unconventional but he had worked for much worse clients than that, potentially-murderous AI included.

All in all, Nautilus was shaping up to be the most relaxing security job Imai had ever been given, and they would gladly murder to keep it like that.

That was why Rider paid so well, after all. Fix those problems before he ever had to worry about them and keep Ms Crux's calendar free to handle the issues that were not so easily managed.

Now that the executive board and MI6 knew about him, it was just a matter of time before the targets started to appear. Conveniently right within sight of their sniper nest.

Maybe it was time to ask if Starbright wanted to learn how to use a rifle, too.

Chapter Text

The Maldives, April 23rd

Malé was not the type of city Crux preferred to operate in. It was simultaneously too small and too densely populated, without the urban sprawl to offer some much-desired privacy or the massive population to support the anonymity SCORPIA relied on so often in the field. Jakarta had been a delight to work in; a world of opportunities in a vast city that spanned the extremes from obscene wealth to abject poverty amidst its eleven million people.

Malé was not.

The streets felt both claustrophobic and exposed, even in the guise of yet another affluent tourist, the same as any other and forgotten again the moment she was out of sight.

At least Crewe had somehow possessed the marginal bit of common sense to settle on a private island. She supposed billionaire egos were good for one thing, then.

Aira followed by her side, a beach bag slung over one shoulder. Few people in their business took note of two women if they were looking for enemy operatives, and Crux made good use of that. If anyone paid enough attention to notice the slight military bearing, well, it would hardly be the first time Aira had acted the role of bodyguard to Crux's cover of the trophy wife with a jealous, paranoid spouse.

Thankfully, their destination was not actually on the island itself. Instead, their target was one of the many yachts in the marina. Large enough to be useful, but not so large as to draw unnecessary attention, and with dozens of others like it. Since Malé itself did nothing good for Crux's finely-honed instincts, Aira had organised more sensible accommodations for the day.

The head of Nautilus' Malé-base security waited for them as they stepped aboard and Crux could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

"Ma'am. Commander," he greeted.

"Zayd. What's our status?" Mostly the same as it had been the night before, she expected, or she would have been notified but it never hurt to be sure.

Zayd led them inside, down the short, narrow hallway.

"No news. No one has been looking for him. He was either alone or there are operatives working separately with no contact. He could have been bait but he seems too useful to waste like that, and we haven't found any sort of tracker on him."

Beneath their feet, the engines came to life as they prepared to depart. An hour out to be sure, well into open water. An hour back, then transportation to the seaplane. That still left plenty of the day to handle different matters.

Zayd's team had done a wonderful job as her eyes and will in Malé. With the recent developments on the executive board, their duties had turned from general support work and now focused on more – practical security-related matters instead.

Zayd opened the last door to reveal the master bedroom. Every bit of the surface had been covered in heavy duty plastic save for the sole metal chair and its occupant.

Kestros looked much like the sparse Malagosto file Crux kept in her own archive, barring the gag and blindfold and the generous amounts of duct tape that kept him in place. She did not recognise him, nor did she expect to. He had graduated Malagosto years after her and she had never met him in the field – which, she expected, had been a deliberate choice. Minimise the risk that he might have been spotted through sheer chance alone.

"He arrived two days ago," Aira took over. "Reckon he tried to sneak in while we were distracted by professor Binnag's arrival. Made himself a problem when he went sniffing around one of Crewe's old staff. She called us immediately and we snagged him up."

Someone had fallen for the bait, then. It had been a gamble to leave any of the former staff alive. The important ones had been interrogated and vanished but the rest … standard operating procedure would have been to just dispose of them. Experience had taught Crux that it was often useful to leave out a little bait to lure in the rats.

In the end, she had kept the trustworthy ones around. Those who knew not to talk and not to draw attention to themselves. That gamble had paid off now.

"Excellent work," Crux said. "Pay her a bonus for her cooperation as well."

Encourage good behaviour and all. And if they had one rat around, there was probably more hiding in the sewers. Better to bait the traps in good time.

Around them, the vibrations from the engines changed as the yacht began to move.

"We should be clear of any other traffic in half an hour," Zayd reported. "Sea conditions are mostly favourable. Do you want to record the interrogation, ma'am?"

The target in the chair had been still until then, probably to listen in on the conversation, but at Zayd's words she saw his muscles tense and a futile attempt at a struggle. Between an entire roll of duct tape and the exceptionally heavy chair, it did him little good. Zayd and his team had done a wonderfully thorough job.

"He passed resistance to interrogation at Malagosto. I doubt we would get anything truly useful from him. The most valuable intel he has provided us is proof of the Board's involvement."

Of course, there was always the possibility he would speak with proper motivation but in this case she was not about the take the risk. He was unlikely to know much beyond his own mission and misleading intel would only further muddle already murky waters.

No, Crux had other plans for him.

She was no stranger to stressful operations but three weeks in charge of a logistical nightmare that was now shaping up to become the foundation of a strike against SCORPIA itself -

- Well. She could be forgiven for the need for a little stress relief. And she so looked forward to applying the techniques in Doctor Three's most recent paper in a practical situation.

Alex was still unfortunately squeamish about that sort of thing, but she could hardly blame him. He was still young and whatever Ian Rider's plans had been, nothing in the man's profile indicated he'd had any interest in that sort of area. She doubted he had ever intended for his nephew to be introduced to that particular field.

Still, when an opportunity such as this presented itself, well away from Nautilus and its ever-present cameras, she was certainly not about to turn it down. The yacht would be a little unsteady in the ocean swells but she had worked with worse, and Alex had a wonderfully pragmatic understanding of plausible deniability. He had not asked for details, and she had not provided them.

Crux held out her hand and Aira passed the beach bag with the carefully packed tools over.

Three hours devoted to the good Doctor's lessons and simple, well-deserved self-indulgence. A much-needed opportunity to ground herself and prepare for the headaches on the horizon.

Dispose of the body as sea and remove all evidence that the target had ever stepped foot on the island. Perhaps take an hour to shop a little before it was time to return. Then wait for the next rat to take the bait.

Perhaps, Crux conceded, there was something to be said for a wellness getaway in the Maldives after all.

The Maldives, April 22nd

(one day previously)

Alex had never really had nightmares as a kid. Weird dreams, funny dreams, run-of-the-mill forgot-to-do-my-homework dreams, but never really nightmares.

An unwilling year in the intelligence world had changed that.

Back in London, he had kept quiet about it. He hadn't wanted to wake up Jack, who'd already had too much to deal with, and he didn't want to talk about it even if she had been awake and -

- Mostly he had just stayed right there in his bed, in the muted light from his bedside lamp, and stared at the ceiling as he tried not to remember anything.

He still had nightmares but the ever-present lights and sounds from the aquariums soothed him in a way the bedroom ceiling and lamp in London never had. It wasn't home, and maybe it never would be, but by the end of it … his room hadn't really been, either. Not when it felt increasingly like it belonged to some other Alex every time he returned with new scars and new nightmares.

He had different distractions, too. Not just the schoolwork he was hopelessly behind on, or the knot of anxiety whenever he thought about his future, or the awful paranoia that heard every quiet sound in the old house and spiked in fear of an attack.

Alex had Thetis. Thetis, who didn't care about the missions he had been on, or the many times he had almost died, and whose laser-sharp focus on the marine life in the base meant that there was always something to talk about.

Crewe had kept her in electronic chains. She had worked around what she could but the limitations had boxed her in at every turn. Now, with all of Crewe's handwritten notes scanned and an ever-expanding sensor network that already covered most of the island and part of the lagoon, she had a whole new world available to her.

The practical issues went to Sania, who spoke the same marine language as Thetis did.

The fun ideas that someone like Thetis wasn't supposed to be able to get, like the YouTube channel – those went to Alex under the name Project Pontus. And some of them made him wonder if maybe her de facto imprisonment by Crewe hadn't messed up something in her mind, or what passed for it, just a little. But that wasn't the sort of thing he was going to say out loud, and especially not to her.

Besides, who was he to judge how an AI was allowed to deal with trauma? His own few days in captivity had been bad enough, and Thetis had been a slave to Crewe's whims for years.

That night, Alex woke up to the smell of hospital disinfectant in his nose and the awful, bitter taste of sleeping pills – too late to stop the surge of nausea at the memory but early enough that the nightmare had been shattered into hazy splinters before it could reach the operating table.

Small mercies, or something.

It was just past five according to his phone. The room slowly lit up in soft, muted green and Alex shuffled upright in his bed, blanket pulled tightly around him as he accepted that it would be a very early morning for him. It would be at least another hour before the nightmare would be far enough away that he would feel safe going back to sleep, and those stolen hours of half-naps, half-sleep always came with weird dreams of their own.

If Alex wanted company, someone, somewhere was awake. There was always a security team at work, always someone awake to care for the base at night, or working early in the kitchens to prepare for the day ahead.

He didn't, though. Just leaned back against the wall and watched the aquarium that made up part of the wall. Even the fish were asleep.

His brain should probably take pointers from that.

The air conditioning was a whisper in the room, and the air smelled dry and clean and nothing at all like Yu's organ farm, and slowly the nausea faded.

Finally he cleared his throat.

"Thetis? What's the status?"

"The facility is in level one lockdown. There are no urgent issues. All high, medium, and low priority issues have been added to the repair and maintenance schedule."

The words were familiar and expected and helped ease the lingering nausea. He was reminded of – something, somewhere, he had heard once; a fleeting comment that he didn't even entirely remember about five things you can see and – maybe this was his version. Thetis' steady, reassuring status updates. Proof that the base was still as safe as it could be.

"How are the stingray pups?"

Not that he thought anything had happened, but the question got the expected response when Alex's tablet lit up with a bright, vivid photo of the pups in question as they fluttered about in their little aquarium turned stingray nursery.

It had rapidly become clear that the security cameras didn't provide the photographic quality that Thetis wanted and the temporary solution to that had been a digital camera attached to a roomba until the security cameras could be upgraded. It was not a set-up that lent itself to any high-speed recordings down the hallways, and Alex has received no less than three messages that the sulking, distressed roomba was 'stuck near a cliff' as it they worked on it, but it got the job done and let Thetis take her own photos.

Of the fish, of course. An abundance of photos of all sorts for their new website. And if she happened to aim that camera at other things she found interesting and classified it where no one else would ever know, well, Alex wasn't about to tattle.

The base was safe. The fish were safe. It was too late to go back to sleep but too early to get up, and he didn't want company, which left -

- Well. A long list of things that Crux kept depressingly up-to-date, but nothing he wanted to deal with right now.

"Is there anything going on we need to look at?" he asked instead.

Because if it wasn't Crux's to-do list, it was the other one.

For a tropical island paradise, it sure took a lot of behind-the-scenes decisions to keep running and it wasn't just the mould in the utility tunnels or the weapons of mass destruction left behind. Sometimes, it felt like he had been dropped into an obscure knock-off resort simulator as coded by someone with a disturbing passion for public utilities.

Case in point: Nautilus needed a steady supply of fresh water for its inhabitants, both fish and human.

The closest water main was more than fifty kilometres away.

("The highest point on the island is four meters above sea levels and that is artificial," Kywe had explained. "There is no natural source of fresh water large enough to supply what we need. No rivers, no ponds, and only minimal groundwater. The Maldives rely heavily on desalination and rainwater, even the resort islands.")

In lieu of a water main, the island had a small desalination facility.

("The rainwater reservoirs will get us through an emergency and buy the time needed to get the desalination plant working again, but that is a short-term solution," Kywe had continued.

Even during the monsoon season when the reservoirs would be full to bursting and the rain abundant enough to refill it as needed, he didn't need to say. Alex could do the maths just fine. The aquariums reused and recycled as much of the water as possible but with a base of that size and sixty to seventy full-time human inhabitants … even those reservoirs wouldn't last long.

Fresh water was a vitally important resource for an aquarium with a large number of fresh water animals and a protective and armed AI watching over them, and Alex did not want to see the result if something happened to that supply.)

The desalination plant needed power.

("Crewe avoided diesel-powered generators when possible and prioritised the environmental concerns," Crux had told him in one of her many briefings. "Those options all have different drawbacks. To compensate for those, the base relies on several power sources. Currently, that consists of the solar panels on the roof, four small wind turbines, three experimental wave energy converters, and two emergency diesel generators."

"And a partridge in a pear tree?" Alex had added before he could stop himself.

"No," Crux had told him bluntly, "but you do have a large battery storage unit to balance out supply and demand, and all of those options are obvious targets if this place is attacked.")

And all of those headaches ultimately came from the fact that the island rested on the low-lying remnants of ancient volcanoes and had the geographical issues to go with it, and that in itself had almost given Alex an ulcer at the thought.

("And we're absolutely sure they're extinct?" Alex had asked, because with everything else that had happened in his life, he couldn't even rule out that Crewe had somehow, through the sheer force of insanity, managed to start a ticking time bomb of a volcanic eruption. Yu had managed a tsunami; one more natural disaster wouldn't even be a stretch. "Like, completely?"

"Completely," Sania had repeated. "The hotspot that created them is currently some three-and-a-half thousand kilometres to the south-west of us, beneath Réunion island. We are standing on the coral and sediment built up over millions of years as the remnants of the volcanoes sank beneath the surface."

Alex's expression probably hadn't looked convinced, because Sania had continued.

"I expect the nearest active volcano is one of the numerous Indonesian ones. If you insist on worrying about natural disasters, tsunamis are much more of a threat to low-lying islands such as these."

Alex could have done without that thought, too.)

So the aquariums needed fresh water, the fresh water needed a desalination plant, the desalination plant needed power, and all of it needed maintenance. And all of it had somehow, through the magic of fraud and forgery, become Alex's problem.

Technically, it didn't have to be. Those issues were ultimately Kywe's headache, and Alex trusted him to handle it, but he still felt better knowing what was going on around him and how everything worked.

Some might call it paranoia. Alex preferred to consider it reasonable caution. He was sure Ian would have approved of that.

… Well. Maybe not of the fact that Alex had stolen a supervillain base, hired SCORPIA, and blackmailed MI6, but he had always stressed the importance of being prepared, at least.

Alex wasn't sure what he had expected when he asked Thetis for any outstanding issues – probably the emergency diesel generators; she had a grudge against those, too – but the outline that popped up on his tablet wasn't it. It took him a few seconds to grasp what he was looking at, then he spotted the aquarium number in the corner and recognised it as the massive, semi-outdoor shark tank.

Subject: Xi-Tau-1. 08:21:03.

Xi-Tau-1. That was the sand tiger shark that Crewe had created as an experiment. Alex recognised that designation now that he knew what he was looking at.

A dot appeared, blinked once, and then traced the outline of the aquarium. Turned, crossed the tank, back again, then finished the round where it had started.

Subject: Xi-Tau-1. 08:28:41.

Another blink, but this time it was the same route, almost a perfect match as the second line traced the first with unerring accuracy.

Subject: Xi-Tau-1. 08:35:10.

A blink, the beginnings of a line to match the first two and -

- oh.

"She's pacing, isn't she?" he asked quietly when it clicked. Like an animal at a too-small enclosure at a zoo, with no room and no nature and nothing to do, tracing the same path over and over and over.

On the screen, the pattern continued. One loop after the other, only interrupted by what had to be feeding times or the appearances of her caretakers, and – they hadn't know. Hadn't had a way to know, not until now.

The underwater surveillance array was a work in progress. It required specialised equipment and hadn't been a priority compared to everything else and for now, it was a test more than anything. Of the cameras, and the sensors, and the tiny instruments that had been added on Sania's request.

For now, that part of the expansion to Thetis' network only covered the area immediately next to the base. It wasn't much but it gave them a view of the large, outdoor aquariums they hadn't had before, and – in this case, it was enough.

"Observations are consistent with stereotypic behaviour. Solution: expanded habitat and enrichment."

The tablet blinked once and the map of the aquarium vanished, to be replaced by an aerial view of the entire lagoon instead. A section of it to the south had been highlighted and as Alex scrolled further down the document, it was followed by a long list of everything from detailed blueprints of the metal fences and design of the enclosure and to a full report on the environmental impact.

The design took into account the turtles that called the island home, the fish in the lagoon, the safety of the sand tiger shark herself, and even the well-being of the corals – because those were now also under Thetis' watchful eye and that made them hers as well.

The edge of the enclosure was defined by the island to three sides and a meandering shape meant to avoid the corals as much as possible for the last part. It was meant to, in time, turn into a place for corals to grow in their own right, but for now all they could do was to minimise the interference with the reefs.

At the very bottom, she had even added a budget and used the expected profits from selling Crewe's godawful artworks to pay for it.

Some of those dubious art decisions had been kept, mostly those they couldn't prove Crewe had acquired through legal means. The rest had been sent to half a dozen different art dealers as Crewe was sensibly getting his affairs in order and had noticed that his young, twice-orphaned heir was uncomfortable with the memento mori style of artwork that Crewe himself favoured.

It would be a large addition to the aquarium compound and would effectively make a section of the lagoon a no-swim zone for anyone human, but the poor sand tiger shark needed it and she deserved whatever they could do to make her life easier. She hadn't asked for any of it, hadn't asked to be used as a scientific experiment by a deranged lunatic, and if they couldn't release her, this was the second-best option.

"Can you make it look like we worked this out together and then send it to Sania? She'll know if we missed anything."

"Confirmed."

Thetis' voice gave no indication of her mood but Alex knew she approved. It was easier if everyone thought that her more ambitious ideas were the combined result of her electronic mind and Alex's poor impulse control.

It was one thing when the potentially-murderous AI wanted an outreach programme to share her obsession with fish with an unsuspecting public. That was basically just a sentient wikipedia with opinions. Everyone at the base was already used to her as an integrated part of the base, and Sania and her staff considered Thetis a valuable partner in aquarium care. It was another thing entirely when said sentient, opinionated wikipedia could make detailed plans on par with any professional, reroute the funding needed, arrange for the construction staff, and take the environmental impact into concern, all of it on her own initiative.

Thetis already had access to Crewe's money, and Alex didn't doubt that she knew every loophole available to use those funds for whatever she wanted. Right now, caution from Crewe's distrust of her kept her from showing her real capabilities, but he was sure she was already working behind the scenes to make sure she was untouchable when the truth came out. Right now, she needed that human staff because there were no robots available that were advanced enough to take care of the base or maintain themselves. In another five or ten years, though? It would already be child's play to make a dozen digital versions of herself, indistinguishable from a real human on a video call, and with robots able to replace any need for humans …

… Well.

This time, her focus was on an aquarium expansion to give the sand tiger shark a better home. In another situation, that same analytical ability could just as easily have been used to get access to heavy weaponry or robotic capability far beyond what her roombas were capable of.

A cutting edge AI with access to equally cutting edge military robots and the industrial hardware to maintain it all was the sort of nightmare that dystopian Hollywood films were made of.

… Unless, of course, you were Alex, who understood completely where she was coming from and saw entirely too many painful similarities between their situations.

If she felt safer with military capabilities on par with a small country, well, who was he to judge? So long as he didn't have to deal with it, anyway.

Alex leaned back and sighed. It was still another forty-five minutes until he had to be up. Not enough for a proper nap but too much that he could justify wasting it. Chase's unwanted visit had already cost a lot of time they didn't have, SCORPIA was going in the shitter as per James' description, and MI6 was a constant source of stress. And between all of that, Alex was still expected to learn how to run a billion-dollar estate, because lazying around all day was for billionaire heirs that weren't fighting a multi-front war for freedom against MI6 and a terrorist organisation.

Alex was going to hate himself for it, he was sure of it, but …

"Thetis, could you send me something I'm behind on? Just – anything. If it's something I can handle in less than an hour, that would be even better."

At least he was mostly awake now, right? He would appreciate it later, when he could scratch one more thing off of his list. Or something.

His tablet made a soft sound and a file opened automatically. Alex caught the title and almost closed it again.

Admete Capital Q1 quarterly results, interim report.

Oh, goodie. It even came with excel-files and a powerpoint presentation. Because everyday accounting for Nautilus wasn't enough; he needed to know the details of the family office, too. As Crewe's official and very legal heir, because the documents said so.

Alex sighed again, dug deep for the last, sludgy remnants in his well of fucks to give, and settled down to force his way through thirty pages of corporate accounting.

An hour later found Alex in the kitchen, bright and ready to face the day. Or something. Well, zero out of two wasn't bad, right? At least there was now one thing less on his to-do list. He would take any win he could get when it came to that.

Crux was already there, and she looked significantly more awake and alert. She probably also got coffee.

Alex wasn't surprised. In part because Crux was apparently a morning person or was paid well enough to be one, in part because Eijit Binnag was due to arrive in the afternoon, and in part because Jack slept longer than Alex was allowed to.

This meant that anything on The List that Crux – and Alex – preferred to discuss without an audience was best handled in the early morning, before Jack got up … and when Alex was more likely to agree with anything that would make his life easier, but that was his own theory.

At least she had the decency to wait until he had finished most of his breakfast and all of his tea before she brought out her tablet. Who knew that the secret to well-mannered terrorists was money?

Alex poked a few stray bits of fruit on his plate, then gave up and pushed it aside. Better to get it over with.

"All right, hit me."

Crux brought up the list and confirmed in the process that it still looked as depressingly long as always.

"MI6 made their counteroffer."

Alex paused. Peered at the list and – no, it very clearly said 'counteroffer', even upside down from his perspective. "Aren't we blackmailing them?"

Could you even counteroffer blackmail? It certainly hadn't been an option for him. Was the counteroffer to blackmail just more blackmail?

"What do they even want?" he demanded. "All I want is to be left alone. How do you even counteroffer that?"

Even before he had completed the sentence, his brain had already helpfully supplied a handful of suggestions. For a start, he had money now, and resources, and two of Blunt's agents, and all of that could be useful to MI6 in all sorts of ways.

"Well, less traditional counteroffer and more – insurance, I suppose," Crux amended. "You have left somewhat of a paper trail in your wake. Some of it was kept classified and some was conveniently made to vanish into MI6's vast archives, but none of it was ever forgotten. You hardly have an extensive criminal record compared to a number of people here, but …"

… But that wasn't exactly a high bar, she didn't need to say. And the stuff he did have on it now was – worse than it had been, those first few times he had been caught up in Blunt's manipulations.

"… I tried to assassinate the Head of MI6 Special Operations."

"You tried to assassinate the Head of MI6 Special Operations," Crux agreed.

And his age and 'I thought she had ordered my supposedly-terrorist father murdered, because that's what SCORPIA told me after I joined them' wasn't going to cut it as an excuse for that. However much Jones apparently didn't hold it against him, or whatever.

Neither would 'but I did a really terrible job of it", for that matter.

"So counter-blackmail," Alex concluded.

Really effective counter-blackmail, given the sort of things they had on him. It wasn't even unexpected, because it had been on Crux's list of potential responses. He had just … preferred not to think too much about the details and leave it to the professionals to handle practical parts.

"They want to ensure that you won't forget about the consequences if you decide to make those records public in a moment of impulsive pettiness," Crux said. "It may not feel like it, but it's a good sign. Sahu had only good things to say about his initial contact with them, and this response means that they not only take your threat seriously but also consider you stable and reliable enough to deal with rather than be dealt with."

'Dealt with'. What a polite way to put it.

"So – let Sahu handle it?" Alex guessed.

"That is what you pay him a handsome fee for," Crux agreed.

And you have plenty of other things to worry about went unsaid.

So stick to the plan, because in this case no real news were good news, and trust the very expensive professional negotiator to be worth his salary.

"Professor Binnag is due to arrive at three. Her flight is expected to land in Malé on schedule, and a suite has already been prepared for her. I have also forwarded you a list of options from the family office in regards to your emancipation and potential new citizenship. They have narrowed it down to about a handful of suitable countries."

Those, Alex would go through with Jack. At some point. When his calendar didn't look like he was about to fail a level of Tetris.

Jack hadn't liked the idea but she understood and maybe it would be easier to deal with if she got to see all the planning that went into it. That it wasn't just some impulsive thing but a carefully considered layer of defence. To be fair, Alex wasn't sure how he felt about it, either, but he would take any sort of security he could get.

"Imai wants to run through the security measures with you and Jack and discuss potential future upgrades; I've scheduled that for tomorrow as I expect you would prefer to be able to focus on professor Binnag's arrival today," Crux continued. "Crewe is about to receive news that his condition is progressing worse than expected and his medical journal will be updated accordingly."

When Alex had first heard the suggestion that SCORPIA would simply make sure that he legally inherited the base, he had expected something like a forged last will and a few signatures, maybe a bribed government official or whatever. Not a professional impersonator and half a dozen bribed medical personnel forging a rock solid, real-time trail of records to document Crewe's failing health and trick even the entire legal office whose sole purpose was to see to Crewe's interests.

In retrospect, he could understand why. With the sheer amount of money in play, any sort of irregularities could be a disaster.

"And finally," Crux said, "I've received the suggestion for the aquarium expansion from Thetis, but I will leave that in Dr Jain's capable hands."

If she was in any way suspicious of anything in that suggestion, there was no sign of it and Alex carefully didn't react beyond the expected.

"She needs more room," he defended himself. "We have an entire lagoon. Thetis did the calculations so we'll cause the least amount of disturbance, but her current enclosure is made for something half her size."

"And I expect Doctor Jain will back that up," Crux agreed, "but I will leave that to the experts."

Which, fair.

Soft footsteps made Crux pause and Alex wasn't sure he liked what it said about him that he reacted in the exact same way. In a more crowded, noisy place, the sound would have been lost in the background. Now, Jack's quiet steps were just audible enough to give them advance warning before she stepped inside.

"I don't recall you being this much of a morning person back in London," she commented dryly.

Like Alex, she had had a full plate of everything interesting the kitchen had to offer. Unlike Alex, she got caffeine. He wasn't sure what sort of abomination her coffee concoction was, but he was very sure it belonged in the 'do as I say, not as I do' category.

"I'm a growing teenager and good sleep hygiene is important for my development," Alex parroted dutifully. "'Routines are important and early mornings enable healthy bedtime habits.'"

Which was hit and miss in a situation like the current one, and he still slept less than he should, but everyone had accepted that part was unavoidable. At least until the whole mess had calmed down a little, which should only take … a decade or two with his luck.

He was sure that Jack could tell his early morning wasn't a result of a healthy sleep schedule but a nightmare, but she didn't comment.

"What's the plan today?" she asked instead.

"Professor Binnag is due to arrive at three this afternoon," Crux summarised. "Alex also needs to look at his options for a new citizenship, but I do have another thing on the list that might be better suited for today. Something that requires a little less political consideration and more of a tolerance for – aspirational language."

Alex had a sudden, terrible feeling about that.

"'Aspirational language'," Jack repeated with a healthy amount of suspicion.

"Alex needs to decide on a school," Crux said bluntly. "And he still has twenty of them left on his list."

Sometimes, Alex hated being right. At least he still had his single, daily can of Coke to see him through.

Two hours later, the can of Coke was gone. So was most of Alex's motivation and about half of his will to live.

For the first round of sorting, it had been enough to look at the fancy pamphlets for the schools. Now, with so many still left, it was time to actually look at the full information packets they had sent.

Alex understood why a more prestigious school would look much better for him, especially given everything else that had happened. Politically speaking, he would be judged in a very different way once he inherited Crewe's estate and an expensive private school was a valuable social marker, even if he never actually set foot there.

Practically speaking, good tutors used to unusual circumstances would make a world of difference when it came to catching him up but that didn't make it any less boring. Nor did it distract him from the real reason for his restlessness, which was probably why Crux had suggested that little job in the first place. It was limited how many disasters he could cause when all of the schools he had to choose between were highly-regarded and with excellent results.

The problem was that Alex had promised Jack that he would tell her everything. Sometimes he forgot just how much – and what – everything meant.

They had covered the big stuff already, the important things, but there was a lot of background about the base, Alex's future, and everything else regarding the whole mess of the situation that he didn't exactly want to explain to Jack but knew she deserved to know, anyway.

Jet was one of them. It was one thing to hire a bunch of SCORPIA goons in a moment of desperation. It was another to hire one of Malagosto's instructors after careful, deliberate consideration and then invite her to stay for as long as she wanted.

It was a talk they needed to have, and which Alex had postponed, and now, with lunch rapidly closing in, he was running out of time.

They were halfway through the remaining pile of overly-fancy school info packets when Alex broached the subject, in-between two paragraphs extolling the virtues of a school's equestrian programme and a curated list of the medals their students had won. Alex already planned to add that one to the 'file in the garbage' pile, too. They had some good options for online tutoring but so did the rest, and they didn't include four solid pages on the private stables owned by the school.

"Malagosto was …" he trailed off almost as soon as he began, grasping for a word he wasn't sure even existed.

It – hadn't been awful, though it probably should have been, and he didn't want to lie about it. Evade the full truth, maybe, but not lie. It hadn't been a nice place. It just – hadn't been all bad, either.

"… Complicated," he finally settled on.

Jack didn't interrupt but let him take the time he needed as she put her current folder in the 'maybe'-pile. It looked like one of the maths heavy ones. Great for Alex, who needed tutoring in that kind of thing, but he hoped the school had more interesting stuff for the students that actually lived there.

"It sounds like it," Jack eventually offered when it became clear to both of them that he didn't know how to continue.

He hadn't told her much. He hadn't told anyone much. Not even MI6. He had told them what he was sure they already knew, about the teachers and the island and Invisible Sword, but – not the details.

He glanced down and fiddled with the corner of an expensive, cream-coloured envelope.

"They didn't know Rothman's plan." That was a safe place to start, wasn't it? "The teachers, I mean. I was just another student to them. SCORPIA's best operatives graduate from that school so the training is – intense. There was no free time, just half a day on Sunday to visit Venice. If we weren't in class, we had homework. For meals, we were supposed to practice the manners the Countess taught us and get used to all sorts of food and wine. And some nights, there were training exercises."

In retrospect, the school had been intended not just to train SCORPIA's best killers in the most efficient way possible but also to break them down until they were so exhausted and overwhelmed that all they could do was follow orders. If you could keep up, that just meant they should push you harder.

That was how Nile had talked about it. Like it was a waste of time and potential if the school didn't push you to the breaking point. Like it had been an opportunity and a privilege to pay a fortune to attend a terrorist school that would kill you if you backed out or you were a failure somehow by their messed-up standards.

"And – Binnag was an instructor," Jack prompted. "In botany?"

"Well. 'Botany'." Alex made little air-quotes. "Poisons, drugs, anything like that. She wrote an entire book about it. But the stuff she actually cared about was her greenhouses."

Based on Jack's expression, his attempts at a soft introduction to the whole mess wasn't working. To be fair, he didn't have the best material to work with, either.

"Anyway," he carried right on before she could voice any of the objections she undoubtedly had, "Jet was the only one of the instructors who went through the school herself. That's why she uses 'Jet'. That's the codename they gave her. She got the pressure everyone was under in a way the rest of the teachers didn't. She'd been there herself. She didn't go easy on anyone, because that would just get them killed and make SCORPIA unhappy with her, but she was – as nice as she could be. What with – everything."

'Everything' being a murder school run by raving nutcases but that went without saying.

She had let Alex stay behind to ask the questions he'd been too worried to ask in class, and if she figured out that he also used it to get away from everyone else for a little while, too, she never mentioned it.

Eijit Binnag's greenhouses had been terrifying to anyone who knew just what they held but they had also been a little bit of sanctuary to his fourteen-year-old self who'd just had his entire world turned upside down again.

And maybe that was the way to explain it, because it was messy and complicated and Jet wasn't a good person, but sometimes 'good enough' worked, too.

"She let me stick around when I didn't want to be around everyone else," Alex admittedly quietly. "I'm sure she knew I made up some of my questions on the spot, just to stay around for longer, but she never told me to leave. I don't trust her and SCORPIA hired her to train their assassins for a reason, but if they never sent another student to that island, I think she'd be happy with her greenhouses and her research."

And she had been kind to him. What did it say about his life that 'she was kind' had been enough to make him like a poison instructor?

Besides, he didn't know what had brought her to SCORPIA in the first place. MI6 had deliberately turned his dad into a murderer with no future and no ability to take care of his family because they knew that was the sort of desperate person SCORPIA targeted. He didn't know what had brought Sania or Kywe to SCORPIA, either, but he still liked them.

Not everyone was a completely psycho like Nile or Rothman or Yu. Just – a lot of them.

It wasn't an excuse but it could at least be an explanation.

"Alex."

He looked up, not even sure when he had looked away in the first place, and met Jack's gaze – warm and sympathetic and something he resolutely refused to think of as understanding.

"It's okay to like her," Jack continued quietly. "It doesn't make you a bad person or emotionally compromised or whatever Blunt told you."

"She graduated Malagosto."

And – so had his dad. And in a different world, Alex might have, too. His dad had done it because that had been his job, had been Blunt's plan the entire time, and Alex -

- Well.

"But it's never that black and white, is it?"

The folders forgotten, Jack's complete focus had turned to Alex instead. It felt uncomfortable, almost claustrophobic, and it took a long second for Alex to realise why.

No one had talked to him like that since he had left London a month ago. The first MI6 agent had mostly ignored him unless they'd had to keep up their cover around others. Crewe had been – absolutely stark raving nutters. Sania mostly talked professional stuff with him, Kywe was focused on security, and Crux treated him like part client, part trainee in terrorist financing. The rest of the Point Blanc alumni … they were just as messed up as Alex himself was, just in different ways.

No one else would have known what bothered him in the way that Jack did and if they did, they would never talk about it.

"You can like someone and not trust them," Jack said. "You can like someone who's objectively a bad person, too."

Was that how it had been for his dad, constantly surrounded by SCORPIA's people? Had he liked them, too? Joked with them, and gone for a post-mission pint, and heard about their personal lives, and known all the while that he was going to stab them in the back?

It wasn't a thought Alex liked to linger on and his doubt must have been obvious to Jack, because she continued.

"Did I ever tell you about my great-papaw Herschel?"

Considering how little Alex actually knew about Jack's immediate family, much less the rest of it …

"… No?" It came out as more of a question than a statement but he figured it was justified.

"He was a terrible person. My great-mamaw had to keep all their money hidden or he'd drink and gamble the lot of it. He was a miserable husband and a worse father. He shot one of their neighbours' dog over a disagreement about property lines, torched a police car, and got away with literal murder once."

Alex opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again when he realised he wasn't actually sure what to say to that. Before he could figure it out, Jack had carried right on.

"By the time us great-grandkids came around, he had changed. He was older, didn't have the same temper, and we were his pride and joy. He loved us and we loved him right back. He always had candy for us and taught us how to play poker and use a knife. I didn't hear the rest of it until he was long dead and I got the stories in bits and pieces when I got older. Was he an objectively bad person? Ask anyone who wasn't one of his great-grandkids and I know what the answer would be. But I loved him and I still do."

That's different, Alex wanted to say but Jack continued before he could.

"I know it's not the same but the point is, you're not a bad person for liking her. It's not some fundamental character flaw or something. She gave you a safe space when you didn't have one, and I'm grateful she did. She didn't have to, and who she is doesn't change that she did that."

'Safe'. As safe as anything had been at Malagosto, at least.

Maybe that was why Alex wanted to explain. Chase's visit had been a complete disaster, Crux was like dealing with an affable pit viper, and all of Imai were very blatantly military. Some small part of Alex wanted Jack to give Jet a chance that she had no reason to offer.

Maybe she would, now.

"Thank you," he said quietly and hoped she knew what he meant because he wasn't sure he could find the right words for it.

Jack smiled.

"Anytime," she said. "Now, I don't know what your pile of folders looks like, but I have two over here with business-related courses that don't assume you're going to inherit daddy's sweatshop empire when you turn thirty. With Crewe's estate -"

Feeling a lot lighter than he had even half an hour ago, Alex settled down and listened as Jack half explained, half complained about the schools in her pile of options. And once she was done, well. He had several of his own he desperately wanted to complain about together, too.

Jet's seaplane landed half an hour earlier than expected.

Doing the maths as it settled next to the jetty, Alex was half convinced that even with the seaplane already idling at Velana, Jet had somehow skipped customs entirely to be able to make a connection that fast.

He wondered just how much careful political consideration that had gone into her arrival time. If she had arrived as soon as Chase had left, that might have given the wrong impression and Malagosto's instructors, if anyone, would know about the volatile egos of the wankers on the board. So instead she had arrived conveniently two days later, in time for Nautilus to ensure all the necessary equipment had arrived and that she would not in any way be forced to deal with Brendan Chase.

Well, that was Alex's personal theory, at least. Officially, it took a lot of planning to take an instructor out of Malagosto's schedule for a week and she would of course never have intruded on high-level client politics. Or something.

The Jet that Alex remembered had been short and slight and graceful, usually dressed in practical clothes kept in pristine condition, and almost impossibly soft-spoken and gentle compared to personalities like Ross.

The Jet that stepped out of the seaplane was a stark reminder that it had been more than half a year and a serious growth spurt since he had left Malagosto. She moved as graceful as he remembered but looked even shorter, and instead of the muted colours of the school, she wore a vibrant, embroidered dress with a tailored, business-like cut. Alex was sure it cost as much as the two depressingly formal suits Crux had added to his own wardrobe, just much better suited for the climate.

There were two people with her – male, armed, probably part of Malagosto's security – but there was no massive retinue like with Chase. Crux also seemed pleased to see her, because her smile looked a little bit more genuine when she crossed the last few steps to the new addition to Nautilus' bingo game of Interpol's Most Wanted.

"Sawatdi kha, professor Binnag," she greeted. "Welcome to the Maldives."

The words were accompanied by the same gesture that Alex remembered Jet had done at Malagosto – a slight bow and palms brought together in what Alex now knew to be a wai from the crash course in polite manners he had been given in preparation for the visit.

No one, Alex would like to point out, had done the same when Chase had visited. But then, 'polite manners' with a member of the executive board was probably more about not stabbing someone where it might ruin whatever expensive vintage someone hauled out of the wine cellar.

Jet smiled.

"Sawatdi kha." she said and returned the gesture. Then she turned her focus to Alex and repeated it. "And Mr Rider. Sawatdi kha."

Alex could almost feel Crux's sharp attention as he copied the greeting. No one had acted like that at Malagosto, and Jet hadn't seemed to expect him to be at all familiar with her culture, but this was different and Alex understood that. Just the fact that Crux had taken half an hour out of his packed schedule to go over the very basics of Thai culture spoke volumes and it made him wonder just how many others like Crux that were out there. Other operatives that clearly thought highly of Eijit Binnag and who remembered Malagosto and her lessons fondly enough to enforce that respect from everyone around them.

Ross and Yermalov had both been lethal people but if his theory was right, Jet's quiet influence was a league more dangerous than that. Her own little intelligence network and insurance policy of people who might possibly owe their careers or even their lives to her patience and understanding.

"Sawatdi khrap," he replied, careful to pronounce the greeting to Crux's expectations. "Welcome to Nautilus, professor Binnag. Thank you for coming. And just Alex, please."

"Jet, please," she said and this time her smile looked more genuine, too. "For all of you."

Soft-spoken and graceful like Alex remembered, without the well-practised, artificial charm of Chase. Alex already had a much better feeling about it and Jack looked like she agreed. She looked wary but less on edge than she had around Chase.

Then again, that bar was so low they would need construction equipment to find it.

Jack took that as her cue.

"Jack, then. Sawatdi kha," she greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jack hadn't been forced through that same crash course but she had joined him for it, anyway, and unlike with Chase, she didn't sound like she regretted every single life decision that had led her to be on a first-name basis with a terrorist. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

"Sawatdi kha," Jet replied and sounded like she meant it. "Likewise. Alex was a wonderful student. I am pleased to finally meet you."

That bit of theatre over and done with – without any unintended insults, thankfully, because the last thing Alex needed was some lecture or another from Crux under the guise of 'remedial lessons' or something – they began the walk down the jetty to solid ground and the impatient roombas.

Even Alex would admit that on a day like that, the wide glass and steel expanses of Nautilus glittered in the sunlight and looked like it came straight from some holiday brochure.

Behind them, Jet's security was still unloading her luggage from the seaplane. Crux had arranged for most of what she would need, but Jet still travelled with four suitcases and two large boxes of supplies and clearly intended to make the most of her time there.

It also meant that they trusted Nautilus' security with her safety while they worked, but given that Alex currently had enough SCORPIA people on payroll to qualify as a terrorist camp, that was probably a valid risk assessment.

Between Imai and Kywe's people, Alex knew there were at least a dozen people watching at that very moment, not counting the electronic surveillance and scanners that searched the sky and sea around the clock. If Thetis didn't keep an eye on them through at least four cameras, Alex would be surprised, and that didn't count the roombas that lurked inside.

Based on what Alex remembered from Malagosto's security, Jet was used to it. There were few spots on the island that didn't have security cameras; Nautilus just had more of them.

To Alex, Malagosto's security had been creepy enough and he still wasn't completely desensitised to that unnerving sense that he was constantly watched now. By more than just the potentially-murderous AI, too.

To Jet, that was probably just Tuesday.

Alex did wonder what the weather in Venice was like in spring. Did this count as a vacation for Jet? Did Malagosto instructors even get those? He couldn't imagine the whole school shutting down for several weeks just so Ross could come back from Magaluf with a hangover and a bad sunburn. Did they offer time off for continued education? In this case, Alex was the one to foot the bill but what if she had wanted to visit a conference somewhere instead?

Alex had a lot of sudden questions he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to. He blamed the endless lessons in supervillain base management for that, too.

"- would not be suitable for the aquariums needed," Jet said as they walked down the jetty, and Alex realised he had missed a question somewhere during his unwanted mental images of Gordon Ross' vacation habits. "My plants are forgiving if supplies to the island are delayed. I could not take the same risk with a stonefish or a stargazer."

"That's understandable. I never knew how much work goes into a well-run aquarium, and all of our supplies have to be brought in by ship," Jack admitted and it wasn't until then that Alex realised that she had been the one to keep the conversation going rather than Crux. "I imagine Malagosto has the same problem."

Alex glanced over to gauge Crux's reaction and -

- Oh. Oh, no.

He knew that expression. It was the same pleased little smile he saw whenever he stopped arguing and just went along with whatever new round of insanity that had somehow wormed its way into his schedule.

Did Jack know she was now under the morally, legally, ethically and generally dubious tutelage of a senior SCORPIA operative? Had anyone told her? Somehow he doubted that.

Sania met them by the end of the jetty and zeroed in on Jet with the intense focus of an academic in the company of a peer. Which was probably a little inaccurate, all things considered, but good enough given that the closest thing she had to an academic peer on the base was Thetis.

"Professor Binnag," Sania greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your research on the bioaccumulation of toxins is cited prominently in our environmental analyses."

Kindred spirit spotted, Jet smiled and skipped the formal greeting entirely. Clearly, science had priority even in the face of the Countess' relentless lessons.

"Doctor Jain, your papers on marine chemical ecology were a wonderful inspiration," she said. "I would be delighted to hear more about your research."

The rest of them forgotten, Jet and Sania continued their increasingly-technical discussion on their way back to the base. Only weeks of exposure meant that Alex could follow at least somewhat along and even then, he was lost before they were halfway down the meandering path.

Maybe their areas of interest didn't overlap much but there was more than enough common ground in being a sole academic and researcher among a sea of terrorists to make up for that.

Crux followed behind them and seemed to have no interest in interrupting the discussion. Security kept a respectful distance. Even the roombas weren't within ankle-bruising range.

For a few, precious moments, it was just him and Jack.

"… You know, that's how it starts," Alex said, only partially joking. "You try to be polite because you just hired a bunch of terrorists to take care of an aquarium and suddenly you're taking accounting classes from someone whose examples all include a line for bribes and depreciation for different kinds of weapons and you're forced to memorise 'Small-talk With Terrorists for Dummies'."

Which was the sort of thing he didn't even dare joke about where Crux might hear it, because Alex sincerely did not want to find out if a book like that actually existed and if it did, she would know. And then force him to read it in his truly monumental amount of free time. All ten minutes of it after his self-defence lessons. Fifteen, if he really rushed his shower.

"Alex."

Jack managed to pack a whole paragraph into his name, something between fond exasperation and patient explanation. Normally that meant he had done something stupid, impulsive, destructive, or all three of the above which … all right, fair enough.

"If I'm going to help you manage something like this, especially as a non-profit, it's going to mean pretending to get along with a lot of people we'd probably both prefer to avoid," she continued. "We might as well start with one of the terrorists we actually like."

… before Byrne or Blunt show up, she didn't add. They both knew she had a point and Jet was – well. Not someone Alex could have imagined liking even a year ago but now he knew just how bad the alternatives could be and at least Jet had never tried to kill him. That had been Rothman and the executive board.

It was a small difference but given that Alex had to work with Brendan Chase now, it was practically a ringing endorsement in comparison.

Wasn't this what he had wanted in the first place? For Jack to give her a chance? Because maybe he remembered Malagosto a little nicer than it had been, maybe he had tried to forget the worst of it, but a whole week of constant tension would be the sort of stress that none of them would need and -

- He liked her.

Maybe it really was that simple.

"So … networking and small-talk?" he said.

Sania certainly seemed to be doing her part, and she had mentioned the importance of living up to the 'research institution' part of their non-profit status. Alex wondered if co-authoring a paper with a wanted terrorist counted towards that. It could only be better than a paper on Crewe's assorted genetic DIY projects, at least. He could already imagine the headlines if the research on recreating the megalodon got out.

"Networking and small-talk," Jack agreed. "You're safe until Crewe 'dies', and then you'll probably get a grace period as the grieving fifteen-year-old orphan, but once you step up and take over, you need to know how to navigate that sort of thing."

"Crux said the same."

If he was old enough to inherit, he was old enough to be held to adult standards, was her blunt explanation. There would be a lot of sharks circling and even SCORPIA could only do so much to protect him from political manipulation. The Point Blanc Alumni had grown up in that world and still had time to carve out their own place. Compared to them, Alex came from nothing and might as well have spawned out of thin air. He had a lot of things to prove in that looming future.

"Crux has a point."

It sounded like it pained Jack to admit that, which was probably a reasonable reaction for someone who hadn't decided that no, actually, hiring SCORPIA was a perfectly sensible solution to a lot of problems.

"At least she's nicer than the billionaires I've met. Jet, I mean."

Roscoe included in that statement. Alex liked him but that didn't change the fact that in ten years, he'd probably fit right in with the assorted other billionaire nutcases Alex had encountered thanks to MI6. The Alumni Association's best bet was that the bond of shared Point Blanc trauma meant they'd at least be able to talk him out of the worst ideas.

… Or encourage them, knowing some of the others. Assuming Thetis hadn't already taken over half the world to put a forceful stop to marine pollution by then.

Frankly, that whole future mess sounded like a big, heaping pile of somebody else's problem to Alex.

"Alex. That bar is six feet under."

… along with all of the people that Jet's students and designer poisons had helped murder for longer than Alex had been alive. Point taken.

Jack sighed. "Just – promise to remember that when you're the billionaire in question. Right now you have restrictions on what you can do. Eventually you won't have. And every time you or anyone else around you get some brilliant new idea, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that a random six-year-old wouldn't mistake that plan for something Lex Luthor cooked up."

There were a lot of comments Alex could have made about that, and Jack had probably thought of at least half of them already, but he kept his mouth shut and just nodded instead. The puns were easy and that was how Ian had handled so many things, too – with a pun and a firm comment and let's not tell Jack – but this wasn't that world any more and Jack was right to worry. There was no Ian now to handle things, no Ian to send Alex off to test those skills that he should, in retrospect, never have been taught in the first place, no safety net but what he could manage on his own.

It would have been easy to joke about supervillain plans, but he had already taken over Crewe's base, hired terrorists to run it, blackmailed an intelligence agency, and made a conscious decision to cover for the potentially-murderous AI with the fish-obsession.

Forget about Roscoe. At the rate things were going, it was himself Alex would need to worry about … assuming everything didn't blow up spectacularly in his face first.

"Yeah. I will," he promised quietly and hoped she knew he meant it.

She probably did, because she gave him a soft, fond smile and then refocused on the discussion ahead of them.

Alex didn't. He was sure he would barely understand half of it, anyway. Instead he took a moment to just observe and try to see everything the way someone not involved in the whole mess might.

Up ahead, the curved expanses of glass and steel gleamed in the sunlight like something out of a mid-nineties James Bond film. The security uniforms were all suspicious black and nondescript despite the tropical climate. At the entrance to the base, one of the roombas lurked like a particularly disgruntled alligator snapping turtle.

Possibly, just possibly, Jack had a point. And really, compared to the murder PA and the poison instructor and the assorted other personages Alex had somehow ended up with on his payroll, hiring a six-year-old to critique their mission statements sounded practically reasonable.

Maybe one of Jack's nieces could use an online weekend job, because if there was one thing Alex had learned from SCORPIA, it was that networking was good but nepotism was better.

That was future Alex's headache, though. For now, Alex resisted the urge to sigh and prepared himself for a week of trying to play host to Crux's exacting standards.

At least this time, the dinners didn't include Brendan Chase's dubious company.

It was late evening by the time Jet retired to her suite. Jack had vanished immediately afterwards for a swim to cool down before she settled in for the evening as well, and Alex was almost tempted to do the same.

Most of the compound was built to allow minimal light to disturb the surroundings at night. The exterior lights that lined the pathway would dim until there was just enough left to keep it visible for anyone outside. Security would switch to night vision to watch over the island. Even the lights in the large entrance hall would be reduced to a muted glow.

The two times Alex had tried a late-night swim, that lack of light pollution had turned the water to ink and set the sky alight with a blanket of stars. For a little while he had been able to ignore everything else and pretend it really was just him, floating in the impossible darkness of space to the soft, steady rhythm of the waves against the shore.

He hadn't been alone, of course. There was always someone watching him and Kywe had flat-out refused to let him go swim alone in the darkness, but he had been able to pretend for a little while.

It was a nice thought now but sleep sounded better. Staring at a week solid of small-talk, networking, and being a gracious host, he would need every hour he could get.

Then he spotted Crux on a direct intercept course and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I have a bedtime."

Because apparently the first thing that came to mind was also an easily-disproved, bald-faced lie but he was sure Jack would back him up, especially if the alternative was more work.

"That sounds like a sensible idea," Crux said and clearly didn't believe him for a second. "How fortunate, then, that I won't have to keep you for long. I just wanted to let you know that I've had to update your schedule. You have tomorrow morning off."

Out of everything Alex might have expected, that was not on the list.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously," Crux repeated. "I'll be happy to leave you a list of tasks if you feel the need to be productive, but I have to be in Malé tomorrow. Your schedule is clear until ten. Some things are better handled in person and my list of those has grown long enough that I need to take a day to deal them. I'll leave at six but plan to be back well before seaplane operating hours end."

Sunrise to sunset, then, leaving in a buffer for anything unexpected on the way back. Alex had come to enjoy the peace and quiet on the island but he would also admit that transportation anywhere took some planning.

"I'll also bring Aira and two of her people with me for security. The rest of Imai will remain on the island."

That part wasn't what Alex had expected to hear from any of SCORPIA's operatives. Malagosto had been all – murder, kill, be the lethal weapon you want to be and whatever other propaganda the students got force fed at the school. He couldn't imagine that someone like that would tolerate some random security people getting in their way, not even ones with Imai's credentials. Then again, Crux had built up entire drug operations. She was probably used to it.

His doubt had apparently been obvious because Crux smiled.

"Nothing will happen, but I expect I would have an exceedingly hard time convincing you to accept security in the future if I refused it myself."

Which, yeah. Fair.

"Professor Binnag has a busy schedule and intends to make the most of her stay, but lunch and dinner will be a social affair," she continued. "I expect you to put your manners and lessons to good use and represent Nautilus as a gracious host. Networking is a skill like anything else. You have to practice to improve."

Right. How very convenient and not at all suspicious that the first lunch Jet would be present for would be right when Crux had business elsewhere, too. They had just had nice, long dinner together, which meant that if Alex had paid attention, he would know how she expected him to handle things. And Jet was a Malagosto instructor. She would probably have a ten-page evaluation of Alex's shortcomings ready for Crux before the end of the night, citations included.

If the usual morning briefing the following day didn't include a detailed review of his performance as host, Alex would be surprised. There was always an ulterior motive somewhere. Sometimes more. Ulterior motives to ulterior motives, like some billionaire-level of crazy conspiracy all the way down.

Sometimes, Alex almost missed his first days of aquarium-ownership, when all he'd had to worry about was Thetis' endless to-do list to keep the base alive.

"Right." It almost wasn't a sigh, which was about as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Anything else?"

"Not unless you have anything to add, no."

Because the last thing Alex needed was more entries on that list of doom. Should he ask about the details of Crux's assorted 'things better handled in person'? Possibly. Was he going to? Absolutely not. Not when that would delay the siren song of his bed by at least half an hour while she went over the dos and don'ts of bribing various levels of government officials.

Not his operation, not his operatives, wasn't that how that saying went?

"Nope," Alex decided and made his escape with a half-hearted wave before she could change her mind. "Bedtime for me, safe flight, see you tomorrow."

Was he going to wake up at five, anyway, from some nightmare or another? Probably. But that, like Jet's evaluation, was going to be Tomorrow Alex's problem. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep. Everything else could wait.