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There was a tall, antique-looking building on Liverpool Street in London. The name on the brass plaque next to its main door was The Royal & General Bank, but it was a lie; the first of many deceptions and secrets held within these walls.
The Royal and General Bank was but a front. Its true purpose? The building hosted the headquarters of the Special Operations section of MI6.
The head of that section was Alan Blunt, a man very ordinary to look at. Grey suit, grey lips, grey eyes behind grey glasses; even his hair was starting to grey with age.
Blunt's moralities were just as grey. His intentions seemed honourable enough, yet he was known to be ruthless. From his perspective, the security of the United Kingdom largely relied on his willingness to make difficult choices. In spite of his boring, unassuming appearance, the entire intelligence world knew to never underestimate Alan Blunt.
Ian Rider had been working for this man for several years, and he couldn't help but feel some slight but real apprehension whenever he was called to his office. However, Ian had just come back from a very relaxing holiday in Barcelona with his 5-years-old nephew Alex, and he was firmly intent on not letting the grey man ruin his high spirits. Not even the two files sitting on Blunt’s desk when he entered his office – one of them rather thin, the other much thicker – could make his resolution waver; or so Ian thought.
“What did you want to see me for?” Ian asked Blunt calmly after the necessary greetings.
“It seems that the Fusagasugá Cartel have a new base in London – we think they’ve settled in the marshmallow factory near the Crystal Palace. Somebody needs to get inside and confirm their presence. This is your cover story.” Alan Blunt handed over the thinner file, and Ian nodded absently as he took it.
Ever since his little nephew Alex had grown up enough to notice his absences, Ian had opted, with the permission of his superiors, to avoid long-distance and long-term missions. For the past few years, his presence on the field had mostly been limited to either information exchanges taking place in Europe, or reconnaissance missions no further than two hours away from London.
It was not what Ian had initially had in mind for his career; but after Alex had come to live with him, he’d had to make a choice. Alex had been orphaned once already, losing both parents in an assassination disguised as a plane crash. After those events, making sure his nephew was both safe and cared for had become one of Ian’s top priorities. Avoiding far away, dangerous missions had therefore turned into a necessary career orientation.
Reconnaissance missions tended to follow a pattern, and Ian expected the file he’d just been handed to be a cover story of the likes he was used to: a new identity, someone easily overlooked, whose discreet background allowed to work inside a factory for a few weeks; as a security guard or as a maintenance man, most likely, to have enough freedom of movement. Only when he opened the file, a surveillance photograph of himself holding the hand of a grinning Alex in the Park Güell stared right back at him.
Ian’s good mood plunged; he didn’t bother to conceal his outrage.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Read the file, Rider, it’s not as bad as it looks like. The factory organises guided tours for the Taste of London Festival. Children are expected. You only need to get in with the boy for a few hours, take a good look around and leave.”
“Or maybe, you could do the sensible thing and have someone hired to work inside. A trained, grown-up someone,” Ian answered between gritted teeth.
“Takes longer, costs more. Unfortunately, as you very well know, our budget isn’t unlimited.”
Ian wanted to retort that their budget was evidently high enough to have him followed on his holiday in a foreign country, but he figured it wouldn’t help his case.
“That’s none of my concern,” he answered firmly instead. “You’re not using my nephew as a cover. He’s a child, not a tool.”
“Fine. We’ll just have to find another mission for you, then.”
Blunt’s dismissal had come too easily, and Ian knew better than to feel victorious. He watched suspiciously as his boss opened the other file on his desk and flipped a few pages.
“You haven’t been travelling a lot lately, and we can’t really afford to let your private life get in the way of your job any longer. There is another mission that requires someone with your qualifications. We need an operative to infiltrate a snakehead operation. In Bangkok. Long term.”
“No.”
“Your choice, Rider. The London factory with the boy as your cover, or the Bangkok snakehead.”
Ian mulled this over. He could see he didn’t really have a choice unless he quit – something he was not ready for, yet. Not only did he love his job, but Ian was also a patriot, first and foremost. Serving his country was in his blood. To be perfectly honest, he had never planned on raising Alex; and no matter how much he loved his nephew, he couldn’t see himself giving up his vocation if there was a chance of coming up with another solution.
The trick was to find something that both smoothed things over with Blunt and completely ascertained Alex’s safety.
“How about a compromise?” he eventually offered.
“Go ahead.”
“Alex and I go in as a family with our own names, just like in your file. But since I refuse to leave him on his own in such a potential nest of vipers, there’s someone else with us. A woman agent. She is the one who investigates.”
Blunt appeared to ponder this. “Do you have any agent in mind?”
“Rachel Grün, if she’s available,” Ian answered quickly. “Alex has met her before, it should be easy enough to have him accept her as my new girlfriend.”
Rachel had come over one evening the previous month to bring him some files, and they had somehow ended up scratching a mutual itch. Alex had found them still tangled up in Ian’s bed the following morning. Explaining that had been an awkward experience, one Ian wasn’t intent on repeating any time soon; but it would indeed be very easy to make Alex believe Ian was truly dating Rachel.
Ian didn’t really appreciate the idea of manipulating his young nephew’s beliefs and feelings this way, but it was infinitely better than Blunt’s alternative.
Blunt gave his agent a long appraising look, no doubt suspecting there was more to the story. Ian was eventually dismissed.
He learned Blunt's final decision when Rachel Grün stopped by his desk.
This was how, the next Saturday morning, Ian came to be at the Cloudy Mallows Factory holding the hand of an over-excited 5-year-old.
Alex had been delighted when Ian had told him about the visit. He had also been taken with the idea of going there with his uncle’s special friend, notably because Ian had told him Rachel knew a lot about marshmallows. It also helped that Ian had brought home marshmallow 'samples,’ which he’d presented to his nephew as a preparation present from the woman.
Alex had decided this meant he had to learn everything there was to know about Cloudy Mallows. He had spent the whole week trying to read all of the packages, coming up with the best way to chant the company slogan (‘We simply love all things squidgy!’) and drawing all sorts of clouds he claimed were ‘the next, totally very bestest marshmallow shape, ever!’
Alex’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Rachel was a competent and careful agent whom Ian trusted to investigate discreetly. All in all, instead of being on edge and worried as he had expected, he had arrived at the factory firmly intent on relaxing enough to make sure his nephew had an amazing day.
Although he would still keep his eyes open, just in case.
“Do you think they swim in the marshmallow tanks for fun at the end of the day?” Alex whispered loudly as they joined the group of visitors waiting in the hall.
A few adults laughed, and Ian pretended to think this over as he checked out the other visitors – sixteen people, among them six children and three teenagers. He could see Rachel appraising them more thoroughly from the corner of his eye, and he decided to leave the inspection to her and focus his own attention on Alex.
“I don’t know, do you think marshmallow dough is liquid enough to float in?”
“Oh. You’re right.” Alex looked disappointed for just a few seconds, then his whole face lit-up. “But maybe they have marshmallow ball fights, instead! Like we did with snow balls on my birthday, but with marshmallows!”
“You know what, maybe they do, we’ll need to ask,” Ian smiled. “And maybe they make marshmallow snowmen, too!”
“Mallowmen! Wicked!”
“What would you use for the eyes?”
”Fraise Tagada!”
“Wouldn’t you want to use those for the mouth instead?” Rachel cut in, seeming to remember she was technically supposed to be getting to know the child.
“Good thinking, since Tagadas are red.” Ian rested a casual hand on her hip to add to their cover, carefully avoiding the place where he knew a gun was holstered. “Unless we’re making an Albino Monster Mallowman, maybe?”
Alex giggled and he tugged on Ian’s other hand. “Tagada eyes for Yeti Mallow, Maltesers eyes for his bestest friend Bigfoot Mallow. Bigfoot Mallow is aaaaall covered in chocolate, too!”
“Sounds yummy,” Ian said with a smile. “What do you say, Rachel?”
“Sounds very yummy. Are you boys trying to make me fat?”
“Nope. We’re trying to come up with the next Cloudy Mallow product. Alex has been drawing prototypes non-stop since your last visit.”
“Oh no, I forgot my drawings in the kitchen! I wanted to show them, too!” Alex looked desolate, and Ian removed his hand from Rachel's waist to put it on his nephew’s shoulder.
“Aww, it’s alright, little man. We’ll mail your drawings from home, instead.”
“But I wanted to explain!” Alex whined.
“I’ll tell you what, when we get home we’ll make copies, and I’ll help you write down all the explanations you want. Rachel can help, too. She told us a lot about marshmallows when she came over on Wednesday, didn’t she?”
Alex’s eyes went to his uncle’s ‘special friend’ and he gave her a doubtful look. “You’ll help too? Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise,” she answered with a tentative smile as she held out her finger.
“That’s a lie!” Alex spouted fiercely, his nose scrunching up. “Ian says grown-ups don’t do pinky-promises because they think it’s silly so they can break them. And Tom says Jerry says they cut their own hand open with a big knife and swear with their own blood on their own ancestors’ graves instead.”
Rachel looked at Ian as if calling for his help, but she was saved from answering as a man in a lab coat came into the hall.
“Welcome to the Cloudy Mallow Factory!” he said in a booming voice. “My name is Mister Gourmet, and I’ll be your guide for today. Now if you’re here because you like your marshmallows, then you came to the right place! Do you like your marshmallows?”
“Yeeeees!” Alex and the other children answered enthusiastically.
“Then we’ll get along just fine! Because Cloudy Mallows aren’t your average marshmallows, they all have their own name and personality! Which creates a unique experience for all marshmallow lovers. Our aim here is to product the most sumptuous and fun array of handmade, gourmet flavoured marshmallows. We love and believe in our products so much we’ve invited all of you here today, in the hope you will love them even more after you see how much we enjoy making them for you!”
“I thought we had to pay?” a tiny girl in a flower dress piped up toward a man Ian assumed was her father.
Alex looked at her and grinned, while Ian observed ‘Mr Gourmet’ to see his reaction. He had chosen to pretend he hadn’t heard the child.
“Now, since we are producing food, there are a few rules to apply, for hygiene purposes, of course. First of all, does anyone need to use the little boys’ or the little girls’ room?”
A few adults, among them Ian, insisted that their children did.
“Then we have outfits for all of you – lab coats just like the one I’m wearing, plastic hats and gloves. We’ll also ask you not to take pictures or taste the products when we’re inside the main factory, and please don’t move away from the designated paths. We’ll have a sample session at the end of the visit, so don’t hesitate to memorise the names of whatever makes you salivate! The fun will begin no further than fifteen minutes from now, or whenever you’re all ready! And remember, here at Cloudy Mallow, we simply love all things squidgy!”
A man distributed a kit for each visitor. Parents organised themselves, helping out those who needed it. The provided lab coats were far too large for the children, and Ian thought Alex looked adorable, drowning in his white outfit.
“I think a marshmallow escaped the production line,” he said in a worried voice. “And I know we’re not supposed to taste anything yet, but how am I supposed to resist?”
Alex giggled. “I’m not a marshmallow, I’m me, Alex!”
“A talking marshmallow, at that! What am I going to do?”
“You’re silly!” Alex attacked his uncle with tickles. Ian grabbed both of the child’s wrists in his hands and pulled him up into his arms in retaliation.
“That’s it, I can’t resist, I’m eating you!”
“Nooo! Rachel, help!” Alex squealed, seeming to forget he was currently unhappy with his uncle's lady friend.
“Ian, do release the boy, everybody’s looking at us.”
Ian pinched his lips at the other MI6 agent’s tone and words, barely refraining himself from retorting in Arab that Alex wasn’t ’the boy’ but his kid, that this wasn’t his mission but hers, and that acting as a parent was definitely appropriate considering their cover.
In the end, he settled for putting Alex down, but he kept a protective arm around his nephew. The father of the little girl in the flower dress sent him a sympathetic look, and Ian took in a deep breath to calm down. He started making funny faces at Alex to distract him from the waiting.
He knew he could only blame himself for the awkwardness of the situation; he had been the one to suggest Rachel for this mission, after all. And maybe he should have talked with her before he had, considering what had transpired between them the previous month. Or they should have talked when she had come over for dinner during the week, to have a chance to discuss the details of the mission after Alex went to sleep. Instead of that, he had chosen to touch and kiss her enough in Alex’s presence that his nephew would truly believe Rachel was his girlfriend; which had led them to finishing the night in the same bed again instead of working on their cover.
He should have realised Rachel knew nothing about children, or children-friendly events. Not that he could think of any woman agent who would have understood; apart from Tulip Jones, maybe.
Alex squirmed against him, and Ian realised the lab doors had opened while he had been lost in his thoughts.
Alex followed almost religiously the guide’s explanations throughout the visit. He looked at all the indicated places, asked the right questions at the right time, requested Ian’s help to remember the names of the products he wanted to taste, and he even got the opportunity to inquire about the eventuality of taking a dip into a marshmallow tank – to the adults’ amusement and the guide’s embarrassment. Rachel had disappeared to investigate at one point, but Alex had been far too busy enjoying himself to notice her absence.
It was only at the end, as they were sampling the marshmallows and deciding which ones to buy, that he seemed to realise she was no longer with them.
“Where is Rachel?” he nudged his uncle.
But Ian had just seen four men in uniforms enter the factory shop, and he had frozen. Among them was the familiar silhouette of a lithe young man with ice-blue eyes Ian had the dubious honour of being acquainted with. He had gone straight for the guide, moving among the visitors with an almost uncanny grace. Mr Gourmet took a look around the shop, observing the clients, before he pointed to Ian and Alex.
Yassen Gregorovich met Ian's eyes coolly. He didn’t seem surprised in the least to see the MI6 agent inside the factory.
Alex seemed to notice Ian’s sudden tension, followed his look, and immediately went to hide behind his uncle’s legs, hugging them hard in the process.
“Ian, I’m scared,” the little boy whispered pitifully.
Ian moved his left hand behind his back to squeeze his nephew’s shoulder, but his move projected the wrong intention and there were suddenly three guns pointed at him.
Only three guns, despite the presence of four security men. Yassen’s eyes had gone straight from Ian’s face to Alex’s little hand clutching his uncle’s knee, and he had remained perfectly static.
The other visitors started screaming, parents pulling their children behind the furniture or covering them with their own bodies. Ian, hindered by Alex’s arms around his legs, didn’t move at all. Alex began to cry.
“We’re very sorry, everybody!” Mr Gourmet boomed, trying to rescue the situation. “It seems that there was a thief among your group, and our security team here is trying to sort things out while we wait for the police to arrive. Sir, if you and your child could follow our head of security quietly, please? I’ll join you myself shortly. Don’t start until I’m here,” he added firmly in Yassen’s direction.
Yassen made a gesture and the three other guards holstered their weapons; Ian gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement. He took the time to gather Alex in his arms before he complied and followed Yassen. His nephew clung to him like a koala, his little arms and legs squeezing as hard as he could, his tearful face hidden in the crook of Ian’s neck. Ian’s right hand went to rest on the back of Alex’s head and he squeezed back just as hard.
“Easy,” he murmured soothingly as Yassen and one of the guards escorted them down the corridor. “We did nothing wrong, they won’t hurt us. We’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. We did nothing wrong, they won’t hurt us. We’ll be fine, we’ll be home soon.”
Alex’s sobs receded into sniffles at his litany and they were ushered inside a small office. Ian sat down tensely when asked, Alex curled up on his lap, Ian’s arms instinctively wrapping around the little boy in a protective embrace. An uncomfortable silence fell until Mr Gourmet joined them.
“Did you search him?” Mr Gourmet asked as he entered.
Yassen moved languidly to Ian and requested monotonously that he made Alex sit on the desk while he was patted down. Yassen pulled Ian’s passport, wallet and one of his knives out of his jacket, but he pretended not to find any of the other weapons secreted on the MI6 agent.
Ian breathed a little more easily. Yassen handed the passport and wallet over to Mr Gourmet and put the knife inside his own pocket, his expression neutral.
“You can sit down again.”
Alex jumped back onto Ian’s lap and buried his face in his uncle’s shoulder, but Mr Gourmet interrupted the move. “Facing us, Alex, if you please. I’d like to speak with you.”
Alex shook his head in refusal and he hugged his uncle impossibly tighter. Ian looked at the men to appraise their reactions. Mr Gourmet made an impatient hand gesture which Ian interpreted easily enough.
“You’re very brave, Alex, so this will be easy for you,” he said softly in Alex’s ear, making sure he spoke just loudly enough to be overheard. “You only need to raise your head and look at them when they speak to you. You can just look at Mr Gourmet, we know him, right? He’s the one who told us about Mrs Banoffee Mallow, and Mr Cinnamon Mallow, and that marshmallow ice-cream exists.”
Alex sniffled and nodded into Ian’s shoulder.
“I’m right here with you, and no one’s going to hurt you. Just look at Mr Gourmet for now. You can hide again once he says it’s okay.”
“What’s going on?” Alex asked wetly into Ian’s shirt.
“That’s what everybody here’s trying to figure out, and for that, they need our help. Can you help out, Alex?”
“Okay…”
“Do you need to blow your nose?”
“Yes.”
Mr Gourmet handed over a box of tissues without being prompted. Ian held the tissue himself while Alex blew his nose. He left it on the desk when his nephew was done, deliberately omitting to fold it to keep the snot in. It was a small spite, but possibly the only one Ian could get away with in their precarious position. Despite how petty it was, it somehow made him feel like he hadn’t completely lost control of the situation.
“You’re very brave Alex, I’m very proud of you. Are you ready to answer the questions now?”
“Yes.”
Ian squeezed his nephew and dropped a kiss on his hair, and the child turned his tear-stained face towards Mr Gourmet.
“Alex, right?”
Alex nodded.
“Do you know your last name?”
“Rider.” Alex’s voice was barely audible.
“And what’s your dad’s name?”
“Ian,” Alex said very softly.
Ian easily hid his surprise at his nephew’s answer and he glanced at Yassen to assess his own reaction. The assassin met his eyes impassively. Ian didn’t manage to read him at all. Mr Gourmet looked satisfied and he went on.
“You seemed to enjoy the visit quite a lot, Alex.”
“Yes.” Alex was chewing on his nail, obviously very uncomfortable. Mr Gourmet saw that and adjusted his tactics.
“What was your favourite part?"
“The big 'mallow tank.” Alex’s voice grew slightly stronger.
“Ah yes, you seemed quite taken with that.”
“Yes.” Alex’s voice was audible enough now, if still a bit soft. Mr Gourmet went back on track.
“When did your dad tell you that you were coming to visit?”
Alex counted on his fingers. “Five bedtimes ago?”
Ian felt his heart break a little. Alex had stopped counting days in terms of bedtimes more than a year ago. It hurt to hear him revert back to his toddler habits in this stressful situation.
“How high can you count, Alex?”
“Ninety nine.”
Alex could count much higher than that. Ian suddenly wondered if his nephew was consciously trying to be underestimated. He stroked the child’s back softly, soothingly.
“Waw, that’s high!” Mr Gourmet said as if impressed.
Alex gave a tiny smile.
“Do you know why your dad decided to visit Cloudy Mallows?”
“Hum…” Alex glanced at Ian, who smiled at him encouragingly. “He brought back Cloudy Mallows from Rachel, and Rachel knows a lot about ‘mallows, so maybe it was Rachel’s idea, because she likes ‘mallows?”
Mr Gourmet looked at Yassen. Yassen looked at Ian and blinked once. Ian rested his chin on top of Alex’s head.
“And how does your dad know Rachel?”
Alex pouted. “She’s his special friend. She comes over sometimes. He touches her a lot and sometimes she lies and I don’t like her.”
“Alex…” Ian started as if to lecture him.
“I’m still speaking to Alex, Ian, if you don’t mind.” Mr Gourmet’s voice was stern, and Ian made himself nod sheepishly in answer.
“Thank you. When did Rachel lie, Alex?”
“I drew 'mallows and I forgot them and she said she’d help with the arrows but then she pinky-swore and I don’t believe her.”
Mr Gourmet exchanged a puzzled look with Yassen. This particular illustration of child’s logic seemed to go right over their heads. Ian felt some spiteful satisfaction at that. The questions moved on.
“Where is your mum, Alex?”
The child attempted to meld into his uncle. “She’s dead,” he breathed in a tiny, broken voice.
Ian closed his eyes and he held Alex tighter.
“I’m sorry,” Mr Gourmet said in a regretful tone, and Ian had the feeling the man was sincere and it wasn’t only Alex he was speaking to. “Did she die a long time ago?”
“When I was a baby.”
Ian kissed the top of Alex’s head and he rested his cheek on the child’s soft hair. He decided to keep his eyes closed until the next question. He didn’t want to be tempted to look at Yassen if Alex’s parents came up again.
“Last question for you, Alex.” Mr Gourmet said. “Then my friend will have some questions for your dad.”
“Okay?”
“When did your dad meet Rachel?”
Alex blinked. “I don’t know?”
“Was it a long time ago?”
Alex glanced at Ian, who nodded encouragingly.
“Look at me, Alex. Not at your dad,” Mr Gourmet said assertively.
“Okay.”
“When do you first remember seeing Rachel?”
Alex chewed on his finger as he concentrated. “Before my birthday, but after Christmas, I think? She slept at home. I don’t sleep well when she sleeps at home, she sighs and she makes plenty of noises.” He turned to Ian and asked in a serious voice, “Does she have nightmares?”
"She does," Ian mumbled with fake embarrassment.
Alex couldn’t have been more perfect if his uncle had briefed him or made him rehearse. The MI6 agent hid his pride by staring hard at the ceiling, carefully avoiding meeting Yassen’s eyes in the process.
Mr Gourmet checked the date of Alex’s birthday on Ian’s passport and he nodded to Yassen.
“It checks out with what we inferred. Alex, would you like to come with me and finish choosing your marshmallows while your dad speaks with my friend?”
Alex hesitated. Ian made the decision for him.
“I’d rather he stayed right here with me, thank you very much.”
Yassen nodded, as if he had expected Ian’s answer. Ian noticed he was still in a position where Alex couldn’t see him without contorting his neck, and he felt some relief that his nephew wouldn’t learn to recognise the face of infamous Scorpia assassin Yassen Gregorovich at the tender age of five.
“Mr Rider, on behalf of the Cloudy Mallow Factory security team, I’d like to offer you our most sincere apology for scaring you and your son,” Yassen started in a pompous voice.
Ian let out a loud, disbelieving snort. Alex giggled at the noise. Yassen’s eyes smiled at the child from his otherwise blank face.
“It turns out that the woman that you came with, Rachel Green, your ‘special friend,’” Yassen’s hands made air quotes and his eyes were distinctly mocking as they met Ian’s, “broke and entered into this very office in an attempt to force open our recipe safe.”
Ian managed to put on a confused face for Mr Gourmet's benefit, but he figured Yassen could tell he was inwardly rolling his eyes at the blatant lie.
“Really?” Alex asked in a surprised voice.
“Really,” Mr Gourmet answered the child and then he turned to Ian. “We think she was using you and your son to avoid being a suspicious lone grown-up in this child-friendly environment. You were her alibi, so to speak.”
“Her alibi?” Ian repeated in an overwhelmed tone. He looked from Gourmet to Yassen several times, intent on looking lost enough to maintain his own innocent bystander cover.
“It fits with the way she spoke to you and Alex in the hall, when she hissed at you for getting noticed by the other visitors,” Gourmet finished explaining his reasoning.
“Ha! I told you I didn’t trust her!” Alex quipped in a triumphal voice.
“We’re sorry for you,” Yassen took over speaking, making sure only Ian would be able to hear the irony in his words. “I can only imagine what it feels like to learn you’ve been tricked and betrayed by someone you trust.”
He was once more staring straight into Ian’s eyes, as if challenging him to reply, his expression falsely mournful. Ian pretended not to notice.
“Thankfully, this person won’t be in a position to hurt either of you any longer,” Yassen finished in a satisfied tone.
Ian couldn’t help but glare.
“As we’ve called the police, and they were already looking for her,” Yassen amended quickly, with a glance in Alex’s direction. “She will stay behind bars for a very long time.”
“For trying to steal recipes?” Alex inquired suspiciously to Mr Gourmet.
“Some very special recipes,” the man answered. “The White Powder Mallow, the Cloudy Nine Mallow, the Meta Mallow…”
Ian stole a peek at Yassen, and he found the assassin glaring murderously at Gourmet. The guide may see Ian as a harmless widower dad who thought with his dick more than he used his brains; but in truth, Gourmet and his complete lack of subtlety with the recipes’ names had just confirmed to MI6 that the Cloudy Mallow factory was really a front for a drug laboratory.
Blunt would be pleased. Despite the loss of an agent, the mission was a success. Ian briefly stroked Alex’s hair and he pretended to shake himself to completely focus his attention on the little boy.
“We don’t care about those recipes, but we wouldn’t mind getting the Banoffee Mallow one…”
Alex nodded energetically in agreement.
“Ah, I’m afraid that’s not an option, all of our recipes are kept secret,” Mr Gourmet answered, and Ian saw that he had successfully been dismissed as a clueless idiot. “But once you get back to the shop, you can buy some of them, instead! Here is a voucher.” He handed over a coupon as well as Ian’s passport and wallet.
“I don’t suppose I can get my knife back, too?” Ian asked in Yassen’s general direction. “It was a present from my brother.” It wasn’t, but Ian wasn’t willing to leave anything of his to Yassen anyway. Besides, Yassen had been the one daring Ian to mention John; he definitely deserved the jab.
Alex jumped a little in surprise on Ian’s lap, and he turned pleading eyes to the Russian man who reluctantly gave the weapon back.
“Thank you.” Ian pocketed his belongings and he stood up, carrying Alex with him. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his little nephew, yet.
“I’ll escort the two of you back to the shop,” Yassen offered. Ian nodded absently and he rearranged the child in his arms more comfortably before he followed the assassin.
“Fine. Mr Gourmet,” Ian saluted as they left the office.
“Where did that Gourmet idiot come from?” Ian couldn’t help but ask as soon as they were out of ear range.
“My employers needed a public face for Cloudy Mallows, one who knew how to deal with children,” Yassen answered through gritted teeth. “They hired him.”
“Then their standards have drastically lowered.”
“I graduated more than 5 years ago. Mine are not the employers you’re thinking about. I’m freelancing.”
“Do you two know each other?” Alex interrupted in a curious voice, and Ian couldn’t ask the assassin for more information.
“No,” he answered quickly. Ian wanted to kick himself. He had expected Alex to tune out the boring adult discussion as the child usually did, but he should have realised his nephew wouldn’t let go of his awareness in such an unexpected and frightening situation. “The logo on Mr Security‘s jacket is from a subcontracting security company I know. They work with the Bank sometimes.”
“Okay.” Alex was used to Ian noticing tiny things that said a lot about people, so he easily accepted the answer, even if he probably didn’t understand what a ‘subcontracting company’ was.
“This is where I leave you,” Yassen said as they reached the shop. Alex wiggled out of Ian’s arms and he hurried to see if their shopping basket was still where they had left it. The little girl in the flower dress and her dad were still present, and the father sent a relieved look in Ian’s direction when he saw Alex run in.
“I’ll be visiting you shortly,” Yassen murmured in Ian’s ear. “We need to talk.”
“Well, it’s a date, then,” came the acerbic answer. “Not that I have much of a choice, I guess.”
“You don’t.”
Ian glowered resentfully at the assassin before he went to join Alex.
The muted noise of a broken window alerted Ian to Yassen’s entrance later that night. He stopped by Alex’s room, making sure his nephew was still sleeping soundly, before he noiselessly made his way down the stairs with his gun at the ready. Yassen was standing in the middle of the living-room and Ian pointed his weapon directly at the Russian’s head.
“If you’re expecting thanks, then you can go straight to hell.”
Yassen showed him his empty hands in a peace gesture, and he didn’t make any attempt to move any closer. “I’m not. But I wanted to stress out the fact that had Alex not been here today, you’d be dead alongside your girlfriend.”
“Then you’re a fool!” Ian exclaimed bitterly. “Blunt was trying to prove there’s something wrong with this place, and you’ve played straight into his hands.”
Yassen didn’t move at all, but somehow his whole posture turned icy. “What were you thinking, taking him with you if this was what you expected?”
“I was thinking he wouldn't be better off if I got sent long term undercover on another continent in a potentially lethal situation,” Ian snapped back.
“And it was your only choice? How about quitting?”
Ian let out a joyless laugh. “Quitting. Right. Possibly not an option any longer. Between our last name and Alex’s inner Riderness, I doubt I’ll be able to keep him safe if I ever lose access to MI6’s intel.”
Yassen marked a pause and appeared to defrost somewhat. “His inner Riderness?”
“Have you seen him today? I didn’t let him know we’d be safer if he pretended to be my son, he figured it out all on his own and lied without being prompted! And then he lied again, to make himself sound younger than he is, and after we left he asked me to either go back or call the real police, because you obviously weren’t it and maybe Rachel had really 'drowned in a ‘mallow dough tank and died’!”
Yassen raised an impressed eyebrow. Ian lowered his gun to Yassen’s chest instead of his head and went on in a quieter voice.
“He’s only five, Yassen. What kind of messes will he get himself into when he’s fifteen? I don’t think I can quit.”
“You will if you get injured enough,” Yassen said flatly.
“I won’t be able to keep up with him if I’m crippled, but many thanks for the thoughtful offer!” Ian’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Yassen answered with a smirk. Then Yassen grew serious again.
“The life expectancy of an MI6 field agent is a rather short one. What happens to him afterwards?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to think about it. I’d rather concentrate on not getting killed.”
“Because you made such a good job of protecting the two of you today, throwing yourself into the lion’s mouth with your only nephew in your arms. If it hadn’t been me, then you’d be dead.”
“If it hadn’t been you, we wouldn’t have been made. Rachel’s good enough, she’d have come up with something that’d have worked if you hadn’t recognised me. Was. Was good enough.”
Ian, suddenly too tired to keep arguing, lowered his gun. Yassen killing Rachel had been a part of their job. Ian didn’t really blame Yassen. It wasn’t personal. Yassen had just had the upper hand that time, and he had done what was expected of him. Ian would have acted the exact same way had their situations been reversed, something both of them were perfectly aware of.
It wasn’t like he’d had enough time to develop anything more than physical attraction for her, anyway. Not yet.
“I need a drink,” Ian said in a low voice. “What’s your poison?”
Yassen raised an eyebrow and he lowered his hands as well. “Whatever you’re having.”
Ian pulled a bottle of scotch and two glasses out of a cupboard and he motioned for Yassen to sit down. They fell into a surprisingly companionable silence.
“You should have someone move in,” Yassen eventually suggested. “A housekeeper, or something similar. It’d give Alex more stability, and you’d have more freedom.”
Ian stared into his glass as if it held all the answers. “I’ve already considered that, now that he’s started school,” he said slowly. “But then I’d have no excuse not to be sent abroad all the time again. Maybe next year, when he’s a bit older.”
Yassen nodded, and Ian was almost perplexed to hear himself elaborate.
“I’m surprised Blunt’s allowed me to remain based in London for this long, to be honest; and his tolerance is wearing thinner by the day anyway.”
Yassen considered him a moment. “When you do hire someone; if you have any doubt during the background check, don’t hesitate to find me.”
Whether this meant Yassen was offering to double-check credentials or to make the offending candidate swallow their birth certificate was anybody’s guess, but Ian found himself thinking he was appreciating the offer in either case. Not that he would ever take it in the former situation, of course. He didn’t care at all for Yassen Gregorovich’s opinion on whoever he chose to hire to help him look after his nephew.
However, the knowledge that he could potentially get rid of a threat without owning anything at all to MI6 was sincerely appreciated. Notably because disposing of a corpse discreetly enough was such a bitch.
Yassen finished his glass in one go then he stood up to leave. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. Thanks for the drink.”
“You know the way out,” Ian said drily. “You can use the door this time. And thanks for breaking my window,” he added sweetly as an afterthought.
“You’re very welcome,” Yassen deadpanned.
They exchanged smirks, and Ian caught himself wishing John had succeeded in recruiting Yassen when he was nineteen. Something told him they’d have been good friends.
Yassen came to a stop when he reached the door, and he turned around, looking serious.
“Ian. If that time comes, my hand won’t shake.” He put a hand up to stop Ian before he could retort. “But I will be looking out for Alex afterwards.”
Ian appraised the assassin possibly longer than necessary. “That’s all I can ask of you, I guess. Just keep him safe, Yassen. No matter what.”
Yassen nodded seriously. “I will. I’ll keep Alex safe. No matter what.”
Nine years later, Yassen kept his word.