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It was the week before Christmas and the mood at Brooklands was relaxed and festive. It had reached that time of year where everyone had given up the pretence of doing any work and were just waiting for the holidays to start. In classrooms decorated by cheap shiny strings of tinsel and multi-coloured lights, all anyone seemed to want to talk about was their plans for Christmas.
“…Scotland, mum and dad have some family up there they want me to visit…”
“…no, I’m a bit nervous actually, I’ve never been skiing before…”
“…overseas to Japan…”
Alex Rider, in a situation that had become depressingly common, sat and smiled and nodded as his classmates chattered around him. He didn’t have anything planned for Christmas. This was not unusual; often, Jack would be in the US around this time of the year and Alex had learnt to expect that Ian would cancel any plans at the last second if work came up. Alex was used to it by now.
But it felt worse this year. In fact, this was the first Christmas he would spend without Ian.
Allowing his classmates’ conversation to wash over him, Alex let his thoughts drift. Jack was staying in the UK this year; she’d arrange something fun for them if he asked – in fact, she’d already floated a few ideas – but Alex’s heart wasn’t in it, even setting aside the friction that had rose between him and Jack ever since that guardianship order had barged into their lives.
It was just that, after the warehouse, after Amsterdam, after Air Force One, something had changed. Point Blanc had been bad enough to send him to therapy, but this…it somehow felt even worse than that.
Maybe it was seeing two people shot dead in front of him, Alex thought, as the bell rang for the end of the school day. Sure, he’d seen death at Point Blanc, but the worst of the details had been obscured by darkness and smoke. Smoking Mirror and Charlie Roper, however – Alex had spoken to them right before their deaths. He knew them.
And had watched them die.
He’d seen, right up close, the devastating impact of the bullet. Witnessed the way their bodies went limp, swayed – then heard the dull thud as the now-lifeless corpse toppled onto the ground.
He’d felt the gush of blood, sticky and warm, as he knelt on the carpeted flooring of Air Force One and pressed his hands against the gunshot wound, futilely trying to staunch the spreading crimson stain…
Find Scorpia.
The familiar tightness in his chest was back. Alex forced himself to breathe, taking in a deep long drag of air, holding it for a second, then exhaling again, coming back to the present. He’d lost time again. He was alone in the classroom; even his teacher had left.
It was fine. He was fine.
Mechanically, Alex packed up his things and left. That had been the last class of the day and plenty of people were loitering around the lockers, chatting and laughing. Usually, he would be doing the same with Tom except he’d already left for Christmas; his parents had arranged a family trip in a last-ditch attempt to mend their relationship, Tom had said, quietly bitter.
So, it was just Alex, drifting quiet and alone towards the school gates, where he got on his bike and began pedalling briskly down the narrow London streets. The sky was a dull sleety grey at this time of the year, and the avenues were lined with trees in the process of shedding their last autumn reds. Christmas was in the air. Cycling down residential streets, he was greeted by cheery wreaths on front doors, and decorated Christmas trees peeked out at him from behind tall windows.
The festive cheer was lost on Alex. Mostly, he was preoccupied with the appointment ahead – but not so much that he missed the oddly-shaped shadow that was standing under the shade of a bare tree. Alex slowed, heart pounding. Breathed in. Out. When he was certain he was calm, he turned his head to look, but by then there was nothing to see, just the thick dark trunk and twisting branches. The figure – if it had ever existed – was gone.
Taking another breath, Alex began pedalling again, slower this time, scanning his surroundings as he went. But he didn’t see the figure again.
Five minutes later, Alex arrived at his destination. The therapist’s room looked the same as it always did, done in muted shades of green and ivory, a strange blend of clinical modern aesthetic with soft textures and homey comfort designed to inspire trust and openness.
Alex, unfortunately, hadn’t felt much trust and openness towards his therapist since she stonewalled him when he tried to get into contact with MI6 about Ed Pleasance and Damian Cray. So, after yet another fruitless session, it didn’t come as a surprise to either of them when he said: “I want this to be our last appointment.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” she replied immediately. “What you had to deal with recently, that whole situation with Damian Cray – you need help, Alex.”
“Not from you or anyone in the Department.”
“Who else can you tell? No one else will believe you.”
Alex stood. “Then I’ll work through it on my own.”
Maybe she knew he was a lost cause, or maybe she knew this was coming and had prepared for it – she was a therapist, after all, and a good one. She nodded. “One last thing, Alex. That person you’ve spoken to me so much about, the man with the scar – have you seen him recently?”
“No,” Alex said, and let himself out.
Sundown in London came early at this time of the year. It was already fully dark by the time he left and the wind was cold against his cheeks as he swung himself back onto his bicycle. He took the long way home, stopping by King’s Road to pick up a parcel for Jack. Under the dark sky, the road twinkled, bright fairy lights wreathed across trees and woven in complex patterns overhead. Alex stood alone in the streets were filled with happy chattering families juggling their Christmas shopping, a throng of human bodies ebbing and flowing against Alex, all their faces bleeding together.
It should be impossible to pick out any specific person in the crowd. But a familiar tightness closed around Alex’s chest with crushing force; his head whipped around, eyes fixed on a figure in the distance in a long dark coat – and then someone else, on the opposite side of the road, striding along in that leisurely yet focused manner that was all too recognisable to Alex.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be.
Grimly, Alex clutched Jack’s parcel close and got back onto his bike. But, as he began the ride home, from the corner of his eye he glimpsed a familiar reflection in a shop window, and tension seized his chest again.
***
Ever since Alex got back from Air Force One in October, it was as though a veil had come down between him and the rest of the world, washing out all sound and colour. Everything took an immense effort these days. His concentration lapsed frequently, his memory was dubious and his motivation low. It was simply too hard to care about schoolwork when, even after weeks had passed, Alex woke up gasping for breath as memories of being hunted chased through his mind, the deafening crash of bullets ricocheting all around him, his feet pounding against the warehouse floor as the dark figure behind him aimed, and fired.
Find Scorpia. Alex took in a ragged breath, raking his hands through his dishevelled hair before settling back into his blankets, all twisted up into a tangled choking hold around his body.
He couldn’t trust his therapist and his teachers were only marginally sympathetic after Jack pulled the “dead uncle” card, which was a whole other issue on its own, as Alex slipped further and further behind in his coursework, too busy brooding on thoughts of Scorpia. Tom and Jack helped, but Tom was away and things with Jack were sometimes – weird, with the new guardianship order binding them together. Something about their dynamic had shifted and not in a way Alex liked. She was pushier these days, and stricter too, in a way that reminded Alex uncomfortably of Ian.
Alex thought about reaching out to Sabina, but it didn’t feel right dragging her back into his world, especially when her dad was still struggling to recover from the explosion caused by him.
The one person he wanted to talk to was Kyra, but she had vanished before the dust had settled and although she had left him her number, Alex had never managed to muster up the courage to text her. He just couldn’t think of what to say. Hi, hope you’re doing well, I can’t stop thinking about people getting shot in front of me and I can’t stop thinking about him, do you feel the same way?
No, no that wouldn’t work. He’d sound even more insane than he already was, and Kyra was one of the strongest, most pragmatic people he knew; he didn’t think she’d have any patience for this sort of thing.
So Alex kept it all to himself and tried to get on with his life, thinking about Scorpia the entire time and trying to commit to his next move. His first attempt at finding Scorpia over half term had been a dismal failure; was it worth continuing? When he stopped and really thought about it, he was trying to seek out an incredibly powerful terrorist group…
(And every single day he made himself ignore the shadowed figures he saw lurking around the streets; the flap of long dark coats, the blocky shape of a handgun.
It wasn’t real. It was just his mind.)
The days dragged by. The weather grew colder, Christmas inching closer and closer. His first Christmas without Ian. Restless, Alex roamed across the city, trying to recall some of the things he and Ian had done together. Shopping – well, people-watching, really – at Soho, brilliant light displays twinkling overhead. Ice skating by the Natural History Museum. Dropping down to the Christmas market at South Bank, sipping mulled wine as they moved from stall to stall.
Ian might be gone, but there was no reason Alex couldn’t carry on those traditions, few as they were. Their time together had always been brief, fleeting moments snatched from the hungry jaws of Ian’s work commitments.
Well, Alex knew the truth about Ian’s work now. Drifting along Regent Street where Ian had spent several afternoons teaching him how to track people through a crowd, Alex reflected that it wasn’t so surprising that Ian was always so busy around Christmas; surely the throngs of people and surging activity must provide an attractive target for the very groups MI6 sought to thwart.
A lean figure in a long dark coat brushed by him; Alex’s head turned to follow him before he sternly forced himself to keep walking. No more jumping at shadows. Ian would be disappointed in him.
Would he? Ian could be understanding at the most unexpected of times – it was what made it so hard to resent him, even at his sternest, even in his longest absences.
He passed a shop window full of mannequins – and the reflection of a dark-haired man, face rough with a five o’clock shadow. Alex breathed out slowly and kept walking. Just his mind playing tricks again. Ian’s killer wasn’t here.
Did Ian know it would end this way, Alex wondered, as he slipped and swerved through the milling crowds of shoppers. Surely he knew his job was dangerous. Even Alex had come close to death plenty of times already and he’d only been tangled up in Ian’s world twice.
A family of three walked by, laughing. The father was an awkward figure, bundled in a puffy winter jacket and juggling bulky shopping bags with one arm only – all so he could keep his other hand free to hold onto his son. He passed by close enough that Alex could see the laughter lines on the man’s face.
A pang shot through Alex’s heart.
What was Ian’s plan? Did he even have one? What if he had died when Alex was six, twelve, fourteen – even more of a kid than he is now – was he just expecting Alex to grow up on his own, without a single parental figure?
And, the key question, why did Ian teach him all these skills, Alex wondered, idling next to a café where he and Ian had once sat for hours while Ian taught him how to observe people without being noticed. Didn’t he think, even once, that it would put Alex squarely in the Department’s crosshairs?
A man looked up at Alex. His eyes were dark and curious, set in a face with an angular jaw dusted by stubble. Alex turned away.
Behind Alex, unseen, a shadow moved across the street.
***
It was only four thirty by the time Alex got back to Chelsea but it was already fully dark by then, sunset hastened along by thick gloomy clouds. Frustration banged about in his chest as he approached the house. He had technically snuck out earlier and Jack wouldn’t be happy with him; she’d been frustratingly strict recently, more like Ian and less the fun-loving quasi big sister he adored.
Alex let himself in without a word. Usually he’d announce his presence with at least a quick I’m home, but today was one of those days where everything felt like entirely too much effort, and all Alex wanted to do was to collapse onto his bed and stare at the ceiling for a while.
“Alex, is that you?” Jack called from the kitchen.
“Yeah.”
Jack appeared from the kitchen. Alex saw right at once that she had her unimpressed face on, eyes narrowed and lips firmly pressed together. “Alex,” she scolded, “Where have you been?”
“Needed some air.” He adjusted his bag across his shoulders, ready to head up into his room.
Jack blocked his way. Her arms were stubbornly crossed. “So if I go up and check right now, all of today’s homework would be finished, right?”
Alex sighed. “Jack–”
“Don’t take that tone with me! You know you’re behind on your schoolwork!”
“Yes, yes, it’s my future on the line,” Alex grumbled, parroting back things he had heard far too many times already. He didn’t need to hear them again, and definitely not from Jack, who knew what he had been through and knew some of the dark thoughts that plagued him. A little sympathy wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Maybe it was because she hadn’t been through the sort of near-death experiences he had. Maybe, if it was Ian, if Ian was still alive, he would have understood better.
Alex tried to shake those thoughts out of his mind, knowing he was being unfair. It wasn’t like Jack hadn’t been through her own trials.
But, as much as he loved her, right now Alex just wanted to be alone; taking a step to the side, he tried to brush past her and up the staircase. “I’m sorry, OK? I just wanted to get some shopping done while it was still light out. I’ll get it all done before dinner, I promise.”
Jack’s hand shot out, catching him by the elbow. Alex turned to look at her, ready for an argument, but instead of looking angry Jack seemed worried more than anything.
It didn’t make Alex feel any better.
“You know you can tell me if you need anything at all, right, sweetie?”
“Yeah.” Alex made himself smile. “Yeah, ‘course. Thanks, Jack.”
Jack looked at him searchingly for another moment before letting you go. “Come into the kitchen. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Alex took a longing look up the stairs but trudged after Jack, hopping into his usual seat at the kitchen table. A shadow fluttered in the periphery of his vision, but Alex ignored it. He was safe here.
Jack took the seat opposite him. “So!” She said, with false brightness as she laid a sheaf of papers in front of him. Dr. Katherine Finch, Clinical Psychologist, read the first line, and Alex tore his eyes away.
Jack was watching him carefully, a pinched look coming over her face. “I know you’ve had issues with your last therapist,” she said carefully, “and you know I’m behind you a hundred percent if you don’t want to see her anymore. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stop therapy completely.”
“I can han-“
“Sweetheart. Alex. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but this isn’t the sort of thing you should be going at on your own.” Jack’s eyes were fixed on his, serious and imploring. “Look, here, I put together some options for you. I called up Mrs. Jones as well, she–”
“You did what?”
“Called up Mrs. Jones,” Jack repeatedly stubbornly. “You told me yourself before, you need someone who you can talk to about the stuff you’ve been through, and that means it needs to be someone with security clearance. But I know you don’t want to have anything to do with the Department if you can help it, so I also–”
“No no, hold up. Why did you call Mrs. Jones?” Alex had swung off the chair and was on his feet, that familiar tightness suffocating his lungs. “You can’t just go behind my back like that, you can’t trust those people with my health!”
Jack looked hurt. “Don’t shout at me, it was for your own good. I’m your guardian now, remember?”
The guardianship arrangement that Mrs. Jones made. Alex gripped the edge of the table. In. Out. Was it just another way of bringing him under their control? He couldn’t believe they’d stoop low enough to use Jack against him, but of course they would.
He wished, fiercely, that Ian was still here. That none of this had happened.
“…Alex?”
Alex pushed the papers back towards Jack. “I don’t want to.”
“Alex, come on, be reasonable.”
“I don’t want to,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “You can’t make me. The Department can’t make me.”
“No one said anything about the Department,” Jack said placatingly. “Sit down. Let’s talk through this. Like adults.”
Calm down now, let’s all behave like adults, echoed a memory of Ian’s voice.
Suddenly, Alex had enough. “Stop it,” he said, his mind feeling like it was somewhere far away. “Stop pretending to be him.”
“What?”
“You’re not him!” Alex ground out. “You’re not Ian. You’re not my parent, neither of you are!”
“Alex!”
For a long, long moment, the two of them simply stared at each other, Jack’s expression frozen in shock and hurt, and Alex desperately regretting his words. “Sorry,” he stammered, but all he could think about was how confined the house was, how there was no running away from the shadows that continued to lurk on the periphery of his vision. “Sorry,” he repeated, shaky, reaching for his bag. Jack was saying something, but he couldn’t focus on her, his chest felt so tight; Alex gasped for breath like he was drowning, dodging around Jack and making straight for the front door.
He needed to get out of here.
***
The wind hit him as soon as he stepped out the front door. It was dark, but Alex strode rapidly along the quiet residential streets, breath fogging in front of him in heavy plumes. He didn’t have a destination in mind, nothing except the need to move. Without thinking about it, he sped into a jog, heading in the direction of the Thames. The buildings surrounding him felt claustrophobic. He wanted to see the water.
It couldn’t have been any later than five, and the streets were busy with cheerful pre-Christmas crowds. Alex pushed his way through grimly. No matter where he went, it was impossible to escape from other people in London – and impossible to outrun the shadows caught at the edges of his vision. Ahead of him loomed the tree-lined Chelsea Embankment that snaked along the Thames. In the distance, stretching along the river, a mass of lights pierced through the fog: Albert Bridge.
Alex headed straight for the river. He rested his hands against the stone railing, bent his head, and breathed. The air was cold and dry. Below him, the Thames rippled gently, its surface placid and calm, utterly at odds with the unrestrained chaos swirling around in Alex’s head.
In and out, in and out. Alex stared down at the dark waters of the Thames and willed his thoughts to slow. But he just felt so angry these days, like a feral animal tangled up in a net, and every time he thrashed about trying to escape he only ensnared himself more tightly and painfully still. There was no escape from any of it – Jack’s concern, questions about Ian, half-formed plans about what he should do next; and always, lurking in the background, the shade that–
“You don’t look very well.”
Alex’s head snapped up. He had only heard that quiet, accented voice a scant handful of times, but it had been seared into his memory.
In front of him stood the figure who had haunted him for so long: Yassen Gregorovich. He looked no different from the last time Alex had seen him, a lean figure with dark hair, dark eyes, dressed in a dark shirt and matching dark coat that hung down to his thighs. He looked deceptively at ease, posture relaxed with one elbow resting against the same stone railing that Alex was leaning against.
Alex straightened. He thought that seeing Ian’s killer again would inspire a shock of adrenaline in him, or perhaps murderous anger, but instead he felt oddly calm. This encounter had clicked into place with the heavy sense of the inevitable.
“You.” Alex said quietly. His phone was in his pocket, with a number he could use to contact Mrs. Jones, but Alex made no move to reach for it. “Have you been following me?”
Yassen, frustratingly, didn’t look at all perturbed by the accusation. “You don’t know the answer to that? Your situational awareness needs some work.”
Alex decided to take the answer as a confirmation and with it came a sense of relief. He really had been followed; it wasn’t all just hallucinations and paranoia. “What are you doing here?”
“Hm, just checking in, you could say?”
There was something different about the way Yassen spoke when he was off duty. Less of the quiet, forthright responses – instead, there was a playful lilt to his voice, and a hint of an enigmatic smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.
Alex didn’t like it at all. “If you’re here just to play games, I’m not interested.”
“I think we both have enough of games after Damian Cray.” If Yassen felt any remorse over shooting his own employer, he showed no sign of it. “No, this is about you. You are not trying very hard at school, why is that?”
Alex’s jaw dropped, but he collected himself immediately. “Didn’t realise that was part of your job description, checking in on my school progress.”
“You’re a person of interest now.”
That answered absolutely fuck all. “Is that what Scorpia does? Follow schoolboys around?”
Yassen smiled briefly. Despite himself, Alex took a step back as Yassen straightened from his idle pose and paced closer in one fluid step, deceptively fast.
“This is your chance, Alex.” Yassen’s voice was low, and his hooded eyes bored into Alex, who stood his ground with dogged determination. “It’s not too late for you. You can still stay in school. Live a normal life.”
Good to know Yassen was wrong about some things. Alex bared his teeth in something that was almost a smile. “That’s not what you said back on the plane.”
“You should forget what I said on the plane. You should forget me.”
“Too late.”
A non-committal noise. Yassen pressed his lips together. “So much confidence. You should know, Scorpia are keeping an eye on you. It is not a safe position to be in.”
“…I thought you wanted me to find them?”
Yassen’s head tilted, back and forth, a show of contemplation. “I…miscalculated. There are many complex factors at play here. Some of them I underestimated.”
“Like what?”
This meeting was not at all turning out like what Alex had expected. He was quite certain that Yassen wasn’t going to reply – it would be too much to hope that Alex could get a straight answer for once in his life – and for the first few seconds after that bold question, it seemed to Alex as though Yassen was about to melt back into the Christmas crowds at any second and leave him alone again.
“Wait–” Alex took a step forward, standing right in the middle of Yassen’s path. “Look. I know there are some things you can’t tell me. You and everyone else, you lot just live for this sort of thing, don’t you? Secrets and lies. But you’ve been following me for a reason. Finish the job. With what you’ve told me so far, I’m just getting more and more curious about Scorpia.”
The corners of his mouth tugged up sharply into a defiant grin.
Yassen was staring at him. There was that look on his face again, the intense one that Alex was never quite sure what to make of. It felt impossible that he, Alex Rider, could inspire such an expression of longing and regret in anyone, never mind an assassin of Gregorovich’s caliber.
But maybe it wasn’t about him after all.
Your father, he was my friend, Yassen had said as he laid bleeding on Air Force One. Maybe, just like so many other things in Alex’s life, this was another thing he wasn’t in control of, only this time instead of Ian’s actions coming back to haunt him it was his own father’s.
The grin faded from Alex’s face. “Well?” He demanded, when Yassen still didn’t respond. “Why did you change your mind? Why are you telling me to stay away from Scorpia now?”
Yassen turned away from him. “He didn’t tell you much about your family, did he? Ian Rider.”
Alex blinked at the sudden change of topic. Although he had just been thinking about him, it was the last name Alex had expected to hear from Yassen. “Maybe he would have, if you hadn’t killed him,” he retorted, a second too late.
“He wanted to protect you,” Yassen continued. “Even though he was training you at the same time. A strange man, your uncle, no?”
Alex’s hands clenched against his sides. “How do you know all this?”
“He was a person of interest to Scorpia. Your entire family was. Ian Rider had always been a nuisance to Scorpia; he’d never given up on pursuing us even when the rest of the world thought we were dead. That is one of the reasons for Scorpia’s…hmm, hostility, when it comes to you. A stronger hostility than I had expected, back on Air Force One. But…”
Yassen leant against the stone railing, facing the Thames. The glow of Albert Bridge washed over his tired face. Alex longed to pressure him to keep talking, but he held his breath and waited, sensing that Yassen would continue in his own time.
He was rewarded a moment later. “Had Ian Rider told you much about your father?”
“No. He never talked about him.”
“I’m not surprised. He was a complicated man, your father.” Yassen spoke very slowly, as if considering every word. “And he had an equally complicated relationship with Scorpia.”
Alex’s mouth felt dry. “You called him your friend.”
“He taught me. Kept me alive. I owe so much to him.”
“…But he didn’t work for Scorpia?” He couldn’t have. Alex refused to believe it. He took a step closer, looking searchingly at Yassen’s face, but he could read nothing from the small, sad smile.
“Like I said, it was complicated. And now you might be swallowed up by those complications too, if you don’t leave this life while you still can. It is a rare opportunity you have.” Yassen looked away from the bridge, back at Alex. He didn’t seem very dangerous at the moment, Alex thought, remembering the gush of Yassen’s blood under his hands as he knelt in Air Force One and tried to staunch the gunshot wound. Yassen had been desperate to tell him his message then. He may look more composed now, but Alex had the same sense that there was something Yassen deeply wanted to say.
He waited him out. Eventually, Yassen sighed.
“He was a remarkable man, your father. Clever, resourceful, strong. …Kind, even when it was a liability. You remind me very much of him. He would have wanted you away from this life, I think. But whatever you choose, he would have been proud of you.”
Yassen gripped Alex’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. His hand was strong and warm.
Then he left Alex alone by the Thames, the glow of Albert Bridge in the distance muted by heavy fog.
***
First things first. Alex dropped by Jack’s favourite takeaway place on his way back to the house and, after a moment’s consideration, took a detour to the supermarket to buy her a fresh bunch of flowers.
The moment he stepped through the door, Jack enveloped him in a crushing hug. Alex hugged back just as tightly, trying not to drop everything he was holding. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean what I said. You’re my family. You were the one who was always there for me, not Ian, not – definitely not my biological dad.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Jack squeezed him even more tightly. “I’m sorry too. I should have told you before I called Mrs. Jones and that lot.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll have a look at the list you put together later...”
Although his thoughts were far away from the present, Alex spent the rest of the evening with Jack, watching trashy TV over dinner in a way Ian would definitely have disapproved of. Afterwards, Alex excused himself back to his room.
He sat on the edge of his bed. He could stop thinking about Scorpia, like Yassen had suggested. Could go back to trying to live his normal life. Maybe things will look up in the next term with Tom back, especially if he had a better therapist to help him; he’d stop missing school, he could get his life back on track.
…Then what? Yassen had said Scorpia were keeping an eye on him, whatever that meant. How long until that turned from passive surveillance into something more deadly?
And when that happened, he’d be relying on protection from Blunt and stubborn, prideful people just like him, the type who would never take Alex seriously. He’d be a sitting duck.
It was true, what Alex had thought all along. It was too late for him. There was no longer the option to going back to the way things were before.
But it didn’t mean he had to meekly sit here and let destiny pull him along.
He picked up his phone. Thought for another second, then flicked to the number that Kyra had given him before she left, the number that had sat unused until now.
Hey. I’m so sorry for the long silence. I was trying to get my head back on straight.
Alex waited, but when there was no reply, he sent another message.
Have you learnt anything about Scorpia?
He waited again. Then his heart jumped as his phone dinged with a new notification.
Thought you’d never ask.
Welcome back, spy boy.