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The Economist was always in the reception of Bickers & Hassle LLP. Lawyers should never be late to meet their own clients, but often were, and it usually eased the awkwardness if the clients were given something interesting to read in the interim.
That, and it had somehow become as much a part of branding as anything else. You wanted to show you were a serious, heavyweight city firm? Then you offered The Times, The Financial Times, The Economist. A high street firm where anyone wandered in off the street? The Guardian or OK Magazine.
No one carried The Daily Mail.
On this particular Wednesday morning, it wasn’t the lawyer who was late, but, annoyingly, the client. Kabir had been called down by accident due to a mix up, and now he was left on his own in reception. He wasn’t very inclined to trawl all the way up to the fourth floor again, especially since the lift was out of order. Sod’s Law dictated he’d get to his desk, only to be called back down again.
“I’ll just wait,” he told Gloria the receptionist, and wandered over to the coffee table in the waiting area. There was someone else already there, flicking through The Times. Kabir had already read it on his phone on his commute that morning. He reached instead for The Economist . Not his usual reading material, but he had a new Government client, and thought it best he should look informed.
Age of Anxiety, the cover read. The New Politics of Terror.
The feature article was on page forty-four. He flicked from back to front, trying to find it, and then found himself stopping instead on page forty-six. A photograph of a teenager stared back at him.
A teenager he’d known, once upon a time.
What the hell was Alex Rider doing in an article about terrorism?
He hadn’t thought about Alex in years.
They’d been friends at school. Good friends - until Alex’s uncle had died. It had sparked a spate of absences over the following months until after the summer holidays, Alex just… hadn’t come back at all.
None of the teachers seemed to know what had happened. Tom, Alex’s best friend, gave annoyingly jokey answers about how if he told people he’d have to kill them; but Kabir caught him on occasion in the locker rooms, staring off into the distance with a frown on his face. After GCSEs he’d disappeared too; Kabir heard some rubbish about a finishing school but it didn’t add up. In fact - none of it did, from the plain-clothed policemen who came around asking questions of the Year Tens shortly after Alex left, to the way Alex’s house in Chelsea had been boarded up when Kabir went round.
If Kabir was being honest with himself (and he wasn’t sure right now that he wanted to be), he had probably dwelled on Alex Rider’s disappearance for longer than was justifiable. In the first few weeks after he’d gone - especially after the police visits - people talked; said he’d run off to join a proper gang. But school gossip moves quickly, and by half-term interest had already faded; the memory of Alex Rider reduced to nothing except historic class photos and a name that was read out whenever reception had forgotten to update the registers at the start of term.
Only Kabir remembered, with the hollow ache of a missed opportunity, the handsome blond boy in his Chemistry class.
He devoured the article in The Economist . It was hard to believe what he read. Alex Rider - the boy from the football team; who had walked Kabir home after practice and done his Chemistry homework with him - had been on INTERPOL’s most wanted list since the age of fourteen. In fact, since he’d disappeared from Brooklands.
Now he led an organisation responsible for a tenth of the world’s terrorist activity.
Kabir wasn’t sure how he got through his meeting - when the client eventually showed - and afterwards he knocked off early, pleading a migraine. When he got home, instead of going to bed, he sat on the sofa with his laptop. It was dark by the time he was finished, and he registered only dimly that he’d missed dinner. He was confident he’d read everything on the Internet there was to find about Alex Rider - the legitimate parts of the Internet, anyway, he thought with a burst of hysteria.
His research hadn’t been pretty. It painted a decidedly more dangerous and ugly picture than the article had. But it was surprisingly sparse. It wasn’t enough - not to answer all the questions still buzzing around his skull.
Thankfully, there had been another name he recognized listed in the front of the magazine. Sabina Pleasure - Associate Editor and Free Exchange Columnist.
Kabir had met Sabina Pleasure at King’s College London. She had been studying Politics; he, Law: they had encountered one another through the university debating society. Loud and self-assured, Sabina was the sort of person who had outshone everyone else, even the would-be barristers and politicians. Her role at The Economist , especially at their age, was an impressive feat.
It also came with a tight schedule.
Kabir’s wasn’t much better – even if his did not require spur of the moment trips to Belarus or Argentina. After their third canceled meeting, the problem was solved by both of them putting a lunch meeting on their calendars and claiming them for business. Kabir, Sabina informed him, was a promising lead into the seedy world of government contracts.
She was just noted as ‘Client’ . He would deal with the billable hours issue later.
They had settled on a small French bistro that Sabina had recently been recommended by someone she refused to name - another source, he assumed. She had made the reservations, had texted him that morning to make sure of the time. And, of course, he had shown up late anyways, having to beggar off a request from a junior associate before he was able to slip out. Which meant he was left standing alone at the host table, shifting a little clumsily to peer back into the darkened cafe for a glimpse of his lunch date. The restaurant was two stories that both seemed quite full, conversations lost under the light music and shuffle of chairs.
The host was nowhere to be found, and Kabir was unable to do more than clear his throat and shift from foot to foot, trying not to seem impatient.
The barkeep nee maitre de finally took mercy. She gave him a more thorough once-over than Kabir thought he really deserved but should be used to - his Pagri brought quite a bit of attention even in a very upscale and proressive side of town.
“Yes?” She pressed, staying rooted firmly behind the bar where she was ostensibly cleaning something.
“Reservation for Pleasure?” The words slipped off his tongue and it took a heavy beat before he realized just how inappropriate that might sound. He loosened his jacket a little as the heat crawled up his neck.
“Miss… Pleasure is seated in the back.”
He couldn’t fault her for the skepticism on the name. Rather than get more specific direction, he just nodded in thanks and took off at a rather brisk pace as if outrunning the awkward interaction.
Further back, once his eyes got used to the moody light, spotting her was easy. The other Londoners that dotted the restaurant were all clothed in plain black with occasional gray or navy - typical winter attire. By comparison, Sabina shone like a jewel in the gloom - her gold threaded kurta and equally bright lipstick easily separating her from the masses. From what he remembered from late night talks at University, she had grown up in England until her teens and after her father’s death had been sent back to live with her mother’s family in Bangalore. Unlike Kabir, she had never been shy about embracing her heritage. It was an admirable trait, but one that during his time at Uni had his mother hitting him over the head about a potential marriage. Thankfully, all that had quieted down when Sabina fell on the sword by announcing her own sexuality first. He had followed it up shortly thereafter by coming out on his own and with that, his mother had moved on to finding eligible bachelors without missing a beat.
Kabir lifted a hand in greeting as he walked closer, shuffling carefully through the close-packed chairs.
She stood from the table favoring him with a bright smile and pressed an airy kiss to each cheek then gracefully took her seat. Kabir fumbled with the buttons on his coat and gratefully pulled it off before sliding into the chair.
Kabir wasn’t quite sure how to start. An apology for falling out of touch? Pleasantries about how well her career was going? How did one ask for more information about an inflammatory article over a month out of date?
He needn’t have worried.
“First things first, Khatri,” Sabina said quietly, flipping up her menu to block her lips. “Why are you interested in Alex Rider?”
If mixed messages amongst friends were a thing Kabir was experiencing it - choosing a table in the back corner of the restaurant, using the menu to hide her lips, and speaking in a hushed voice was not the sort of behaviour Kabir had come to expect from her and clashed with her otherwise vibrant appearance.
He wondered briefly if all journalists were like this, and then decided it was probably just journalists that met for lunch dates to discuss active terrorists.
“We were at school together,” he said, before it occurred to him that when he’d rung Sabina he hadn’t mentioned Alex, just catching up and his interest in the article’s subjects. He couldn’t rember his exact words, but Kabir was sure that the closest he’d gotten to his former classmate was mentioning ‘ that piece on SCORPIA ’. An acronym that before a month ago, had meant nothing to him. “Hang on, how did you - ”
She let out an impatient sigh he remembered far too well; plucked his menu from the table and pushed it into his hand. Kabir rolled his eyes but leaned forward, holding the menu up to cover his lips as well.
“Don’t you think this is a bit obvious?”
She ignored him; continued in hushed tones that would have been almost comedic in any other circumstances. “There’s no way you would’ve rung me up out of the blue for the first time since graduation to discuss an article unless you had a personal stake in it, and I doubt you rub elbows with the criminal underworld professionally. You hedging about SCORPIA just confirmed it – Alex was the only viable conclusion.” She raised her eyebrows. “But no one else from his past has been ringing up the Economist .”
Her chestnut eyes narrowed, scrutinising him. Kabir felt his face heating up without knowing why; he fumbled around for a way to change the subject, before his brain landed on the oddity in what she’d said.
“... Alex? ”
Her painted lips pursed; and something clicked into place.
“You knew him too,” he said in dawning realization. “Of course. That makes more sense.” Kabir sat back, setting the menu down in front of him.
“ What does?” she asked waspishly.
“Well,” Kabir said, relieved he could finally voice what had been bothering him ever since he had read the article. “It was the personal angle in there. An unbiased account-”
“ Unbiased? You’re accusing me of bias? ”
It came out loud; for the briefest second, there was the flash of the Sabina he’d known at King’s rather than the skittish journo at the table. She stared him down, an annoyed pinch in her brow.
Kabir gestured apologetically. “I’m not accusing you of anything, you didn’t write the article. After all, the article alluded to Cray and…” he stopped himself, realizing that he was treading on thin ice so early in the conversation. Those long-ago discussions from Uni had included more than one choked-up declaration of hatred for the man who had killed millions, her father specifically among them.
They stared at each other for a long moment and then she folded. “It was Bullman,” she sighed. “Not that I’m supposed to say anything about it. I tried to take my pen to the piece but the rest of the EB wouldn’t have it.”
“Why not? I thought you were an editor?” Kabir had certainly rubbed elbows by proxy with some of the upper echelons in the business world but publishing had never been a strong suit.
Her lips pinched again. “There’s politics even in the world of publishing and the board was worried enough to publish anonymously so they didn’t want to,” one long manicured finger raised to make quotes in the air, “ruffle any feathers.”
Kabir had thought the article had been inflammatory enough, so he could even understand their precautions.
“Besides, it was an informative piece for those unaware of SCORPIA and their foothold in the governments of the world,” she said stiffly. “Alex…Rider was only a part of that.” There was just the barest bit of sarcasm, likely what she had been told verbatim when she tried to step in.
“A part?” He couldn’t stop himself, “He’s the head of it.” In that light it was almost criminal how little of the article had actually featured his former classmate. This was the man supposedly controlling one tenth of the world’s terrorism and he had been relegated to little more than a footnote. Kabir had thought there was a personal touch to the way it discussed him, but maybe that was just the faintest fingerprint of Sabina’s history with the man.
“A part of the article .” Frustration finally won out; Sabina lowered her menu, leaning back in her own chair. “It’s not about Alex; it’s an indictment of our current political climate that empowered him.” She paused. “And men like him.”
Kabir hadn’t intended to get so heavy before they’d even ordered starters, but since they’d got onto the topic it was too late to turn back. “What other men?” He challenged her. As far as Kabir was aware, short of the CIA, Alex had the market cornered on large scale terrorist activity.
“Hart, Marinescu with Glaive, Spectre. Not to mention more ideological groups like the Taliban or the regional ones like the Bratva or Triads. The list goes on.”
Kabir was sure he looked surprised as she rattled them off like they were household names and then offered him a slightly bitter smile. “I’m sure you can imagine where my interest in global terrorism comes from.”
He went quiet at that. He had been the first to bring up Cray; it made sense that she would want to bring it full circle. But the heavy silence was quickly broken: Sabina never was one to stand for awkward pauses, at least not among friends.
“Anyways, he’s not the only terrorist out there and he certainly didn’t build that organization to where it is.” That much was obvious: a behemoth like SCORPIA didn’t just pop up out of the blue. There would have been a million shady and clandestine business deals before Alex was even born.
“There was an executive board before him. Made up from remnants from the Cold War.” Sabina paused as if waiting for a question.
Kabir nodded, some of this had been in his late night internet binge. The strung together Wikileaks page had been remarkably informative if a little sparse on the gory details. Those Kabir had found elsewhere and hadn’t been able to get out of his mind for the last three weeks.
“They had done well for themselves for decades but in a post-Cray world they were more of a liability. Too much attention, too many large-scale terror attacks in a short amount of time. It was unsustainable.” Sabina stopped herself with a shrug. “That’s the dominant theory, at least.”
“And so, what, Alex single handedly took them all out?” It was ridiculous even saying it, especially since none of the bounties on the other suspected Board members had been claimed by him. Only Kurst. And then ten years later Gregorovich. Another name spoken synonymously with Alex’s in the articles Kabir had found online.
Sabina gave him a sharp look at his tone, but continued. “No, not alone but he was certainly part of the coup. What truly happened can’t be verified but we suspect -” She abruptly stopped talking as her eyes landed on something over his shoulder. Kabir glanced backwards. Just the waiter, finally approaching their table.
Tall and dark. Not necessarily Kabir’s type but he could appreciate a good looking man, even one in a slightly wrinkled white collared shirt and loose tie. The waiter caught his gaze and gave one in return, eyes running down his body and then lingering a little too long at his lap. Kabir flushed. Served him right, he supposed.
“What would you like to drink, sir?” The man flashed a small smile, made warmer by his faint American accent. Of course the question was directed at him: Sabina already had a tall glass of something pink and fizzy that could equally have been alcoholic as not. Kabir glanced up at the waiter and saw him pulling a pad and pen from a bulky apron. He clicked the top of it in a way that seemed pointed; his interest in Kabir - if it hadn’t been imagined to start with - seemed to have already waned.
“Water’s fine.” Although by the way the conversation was going so far…” Actually can I have a coffee? Black, please?”
“And the baked brie to share,” Sabina said with far more confidence than she had any right to, given that she’d spent more time using the menu as a shield than reading it.
“Very good,” the waiter replied.
Kabir noticed he didn’t bother writing any of the order down, despite the pen in his hand, and he wondered if that was a bit pointed too; if they shouldn’t have ordered more food to justify their presence in a crowded establishment. As the waiter gathered up the menus, Sabina made a small movement, like she was thinking about stopping him; but maybe even she’d realised that her precautions were bordering on the faintly ridiculous. The place was hard enough to hear in anyway; and it wasn’t, after all, like terrorists would be stalking around a small French bistro in Clerkenwell.
“You mentioned Gregorovich?” Kabir asked as soon as the waiter had left. The article had discussed him very briefly. Board. Coup. And a bounty collected on him a scant decade later after ascending to power.
“From what we can gather Gregorovich took over SCORPIA after the coup. He was a former operative with a storied history. As far as we can tell, he was the one who took Alex and as Gregorovich’s star rose, so did Rider’s.” Her words were barely audible over the ice she was swishing around in her glass.
Kabir leaned forward, pulled into the hush. “Is it true Greogorvich…”
“Was killed by him?” Sabina interrupted. “Probably.”
“No,” Kabir stopped her. “If he was the one who kidnapped Alex, do we know why?” And that was what had bothered Kabir so much from the moment he had read the article. SCORPIA was an established organization with global reach and leadership… and now there was just one leader. And that was Alex Rider.
That sort of thing didn’t happen by accident, Kabir realised with a sinking feeling. No one could have picked the boy who had befriended him in school out as a terrorist in training. There had to have been a history or something special to bring Alex to a man of Gregorovich’s status.
Sabina caught his eye. He’d never had much of a poker face. “You thought he just stumbled into leading a terrorist organisation?” she asked, and didn’t bother hiding her incredulity.
“I didn’t necessarily…” he began, “I mean, you knew him too…”
“Sorry to interrupt again, sir, madam.” There was another waiter at his elbow; this one short and far too tan to work in London. Probably just off holiday, Kabir was jealous. “Someone should have taken your coats at the door. Can I take them for you now?”
Kabir’s coat was already crumpled from where he’d been sitting on it; he didn’t really care, but it seemed churlish to refuse. He extracted it from underneath him and held it out. Sabina dug in her pocket and withdrew a slim cardholder and her phone before handing hers over too.
She tucked the card holder next to her and then checked her phone, frowning down at the screen. “Shit, I thought I charged it.” She put it down again with a frustrated clatter and sat back, folding her arms. “We don’t know exactly what brought Alex to their attention. Or why Gregorovich selected him as a partner. And at this point it doesn’t matter.”
Kabir was conscious of someone else at his elbow, but he didn’t even look up as his coffee was placed in front of him. He wanted, badly, to argue with her. Surely that was the only thing that mattered: making sense of how someone so normal, so kind , could have gone so far astray. That was what had brought Kabir here in the first place… to try and make sense of the lump of lead in his gut when he thought of the person who used to be his friend. But Sabina stared resolutely back.
“Sorry,” she said, “but if you were hoping I’d tell you that Alex Rider got caught up in all this by accident and he’s actually a misunderstood saint, I can’t. He’s been killing for a living since he was a teenager and now he’s one of the world’s most wanted terrorist for a damn good reason.” Her eyes sparked and then softened slightly. “Look, Kabir, I know the Guru Granth Sahib says that men are inherently good but if you wanted a real-life Satan, Alex Rider’s probably your best bet.”
“Well,” a man’s smooth voice said, “I guess it’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.”
There was a beat where Kabir’s eyes met an equally shocked Sabina’s as someone who could only be Alex Rider sank into the third chair at the secluded table.
Slowly Kabir brought himself to look over at him. This man bore little resemblance to the soft cheeks and warm smile he remembered from years ago. He was tan and everything about him was angular and sharp, even his teeth. Although that could just be Kabir’s imagination.
“I hope you don’t mind my joining you.” It was a statement, not a question and Kabir couldn’t imagine just what would have happened if they had said no. “But I have a mutual interest in the topic, as I’m sure you can understand,” he finished, obviously having better things to do with his time than deal with horrified silences from old acquaintances.
“I didn’t write it,” Sabina abruptly blurted out. Hands raising in the universal ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. Kabir doubted it would do any good. Editing a hit-piece on a terrorist probably brought just as much trouble as writing one did. Then again, if Alex had wanted her dead she probably would be. Unless he wanted to make a point by it. Kabir quickly filed that thought away, unwilling to consider what it meant for both of them.
Alex hummed noncommittally. “I know. It was very well written, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. The Economist tends to have the best sources.” He leaned casually back in his chair, favoring them with a smile that Kabir imagined was supposed to be calming. “Don’t get me wrong, there were a few mistakes but many of those were… trade secrets. I’d have been concerned if it had the whole truth.”
“And what was…inaccurate?” The slight tremor in Sabina voice seemed to get more pronounced as she focused not on Alex but something over his shoulder. Kabir didn’t dare turn. There was some animal part of him that recognized Alex as the bigger threat.
As it turned out it was just their waiter - tall and dark - carrying a glass of something chilled. Deep red and sweating cold. Not wine then.
“Your drink, sir,” the man said gruffly. Alex took it with a grateful smile. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Unbelievably he turned to them with an arched eyebrow. With any other company the offer would be clear - it’s on me. When there was no response, he waved a dismissive hand - some smart watch, likely custom and expensive, glinting on his wrist. Tall and dark nodded and stepped back. Abruptly Kabir pushed his coffee a little farther from him and eyed his own water glass, trying to remember whether he had taken a drink out of it. Sabina appeared to already be doing the mental math, staring at her pink cosmo in horror.
“It wasn’t poisoned,” Alex offered, with just the slightest twitch of his lips. “That would make conversation very difficult. And I’m just here to chat.” It was disturbingly casual, but everything about Alex was - dressed in trousers and a collared shirt with a sport jacket thrown over but nothing fully buttoned. He could be anyone on the high street - tousled blonde hair and clothes that were nice but not nice enough for him to stand out. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“Is that what you’re here for? To clear the record?” Sabina was, mercifully, carrying the conversation. Even at King’s College she hadn’t been afraid to speak truth to power. That trait had been readily apparent during Kissinger’s visit while they were in their final year. It had earned her a visit with the Dean but she had done so with a smile on her face.
Now, her voice trembled and her eyes were wide, but it just made her that much stronger.
“If you would like,” it came with a casual shrug “I had been hoping to catch up first, but I understand you’re a busy man.” For the first time those brown eyes met his. He expected them to be empty and hollow like everyone described a killer’s, but Alex’s were bright and warmed by his smile. From anyone else, without the full knowledge of just who this was, Kabir would have returned it.
“It’s alright.” It came out more steady than he had given himself credit for. Alex’s smile softened and he nodded approvingly.
“Well then,” Sabina began, reaching toward her phone, then, likely remembering that it was dead, moved toward her purse for the pen and paper she always carried with her.
“Don’t.”
Alex flexed a single finger upwards and at that it felt as though all of the air in the room was sucked out. Kabir had a distinct feeling of eyes on him. A quick glance to the side showed all of the other diners had gone silent. Despite the unnatural stillness, the soft clinks and murmurs of a restaurant continued somewhere above them. Sabina slowly placed her hands back on the table. Probably not worth the risk.
From the easy smile that slid back across Alex’s face, he’d agree. He lowered his finger and the tension broke. Active conversation resumed around them. Without even a word, a notebook and pen, a nice one, were brought over by the man who had taken their coats. Everything shifted into high focus. The pen, the waiters - they were all with him . The realization sat cold and heavy in Kabir’s stomach.
Sabina didn’t look anymore thrilled as she accepted the materials and flipped open to a crisp white page, clicking the pen. “Careful,” Alex warned,and they both froze again, “Three times and it will disable any technology around you. I thought it would be a nice gift for you allowing me to crash your little lunch date.”
Some suicidal part of Kabir wanted to ask just what he was receiving for being caught up in this. It must have shown on his face.
“Business, Mr. Khatri. For a man in your line of work fancy things are not hard to come by.” The thought of doing business with Alex Rider or any shell company under him made Kabir faintly ill. The sure knowledge that he would be completely unable to pin it down as a dirty dealing meant it was inevitable.
“Now that the gifts are out of the way,” Alex said, picking up his glass. “I suppose you would like to get to what brought us all here, shall we?” Us. Meaning Alex and his security. Kabir’s eyes raked around the room again. It wasn’t all men. But it was mostly and the hint of muscle, whisper of holsters under slightly raised hemlines assured him that there were no weak points.
Alex followed his gaze with an arched eyebrow. “This is a meeting between old friends. Nothing will happen and, if it does, you’ll be under my protection.” Tall and dark tensed at that but Alex waved him off.
“ Is there a threat?” Kabir surprised himself at being bold enough to ask. Sabina probably already knew what they were up against. Her father had been killed in a similar situation with Damian Cray before Columbia had been wiped off the map.
“Always.” It was said almost casually. “There are those who believe that old connections can be used against me. ” Kabir straightened a little at that, heart clenching in fear. “I imagine, given the context of this article and now this meeting, that those…interested parties might be paying attention. And the communications Sabina has been having would likely bolster those feelings.”
“So you came to-” Kabir stumbled over his words, trying to make sense of Alex’s pitch and tone, “-warn us?”
“No.” It was said plainly, and with a small smile. Somehow that made things worse. “I doubt that you need such a warning.” Alex was focused solely on Sabina whose skin was going as pale as the knuckles she clutched around her pen. “I came to correct some of the inaccuracies in the article. If you take it as a warning…” he shrugged as if it mattered very little to him.
Privately, Kabir thought putting all of this together indicated the contrary. Then again Alex Rider, noted terrorist, might enjoy playing with his food.
“It just seemed odd that you or whoever wrote this piece focused solely on the view of my organization as a terror regime when SCORPIA has been acknowledged as legitimate for nearly a decade.” Alex swirled his drink and then finally took a sip.
Kabir couldn’t take his eyes off of the now stained cherry red lips. If he didn’t know who Alex was he might even be able to appreciate them.
As it was, it just looked like blood.
“ Parts of it have.” Sabina pressed, a little boldly. “But as the article lines out there are strings attached to everything, even the foreign aid.”
“Ah yes, unlike the aid rendered by such vaunted countries as the United States or the United Kingdom which comes completely free of charge.” A cursory glance at The Times at any given point during the last half a decade proved that wrong. Nothing was ever free. Not that Kabir was taking SCORPIA’s side, there were a million other crimes that funded that charity work and they all knew that. “Our ‘strings’ are fairly simple - let us in, let us help, and then let us leave. No monetary recompense needed, no favors owed…other than keeping foreign intelligence out of our hair. And,” Alex said, tapping his glass, “there doesn’t even have to be oil in a country for us to volunteer our services.”
“I imagine that those countries might feel a debt of gratitude is owed,” Sabina tried again.
Alex shrugged. “Possibly, there is nothing said on our part. It’s far less of a formal debt than anything given by the United Nations, the IMF, or any other country. No treaties needed, no sides taken, just money and supplies where money and supplies are needed.”
Sabina was scribbling this down, eyebrows pinched in concentration. There was a pregnant pause before she looked up. “So humanitarian logistics is the business model then?
Alex’s smile got a little sharper and he settled backwards, crossing one leg over the other. “Our business is not unlike other conglomerates. We have many different specialties each of which has its own independent structure, some more above board than others, I can admit that. Our carbon footprint is lower and certainly our death toll is.”
Kabir struggled to contain himself at that and Alex shot him a surprisingly good-natured smile. “I see that you are unfamiliar with Nestle and Monsanto?” He paused thoughtfully “Dow Chemical too, Agent Orange really did a number in Southeast Asia. Thankfully Cray’s nuclear strikes got rid of that little PR problem.”
“I’m sure the U.S. was very grateful,” Sabina said a little tightly, the mention of Cray obviously hitting a little too close to home.
There was a pause as if Alex was waiting for her to probe more but when nothing came he continued. “They’ve warmed up.” If the USA utilized SCORPIA as much as the article suggested, he wasn’t wrong.
“Do you have any comment about the government entities expending their resources to hire SCORPIA rather than handling things…in house?”
“As a businessman, I am personally in favor of SCORPIA being provided the opportunity to handle such delicate matters. Our assets are better trained, more familiar with the areas, and we are able to provide counsel and feedback about the situation that may escape the all-seeing eye of Western intelligence.”
“How do they intersect with your non-governmental contracts?” Kabir could read through the lines, she was asking if SCORPIA was double dipping.
Alex, apparently could too, he arched a delicate eyebrow. “Despite the accusations of the article SCORPIA doesn’t fight itself, Ms. Pleasure, it would be a waste of resources and manpower.”
“So you don’t deal in arms to both sides?”
That had been one of the accusations in the article that stood out. Everything SCORPIA did was tainted but there was a laughable injustice to selling arms to the opposition just to make more money on a conflict. Comically evil. It wouldn’t wrankle so much if Alex wasn’t sitting here trying to justify SCORPIA as some authority on human rights and decency.
“Not if our contractors are involved.” It was a hedge, they all knew that.
Sabina jumped on it immediately. “But otherwise?”
“Arms are profitable. Demand is up 4.6% over last year,” Alex began, sounding like a business pitch, then seemed to think better of it, settling back to take another drink. Kabir couldn’t help but watch his long slender neck as he swallowed. Alex caught his gaze and smiled back. Still holding his cup. It occurred to Kabir that it had not once touched the table. “If I didn’t offer it to them, where do you think they would get the arms from? Most of these countries can’t afford Lockheed Martin or even the castoffs from the Americans or the Russians. So they turn to the black market. We have the most access. If I turn them away they go to someone with less scruples.” At this moment Kabir couldn’t imagine someone with less scruples than SCORPIA. He risked sharing a look at Sabina, who seemed similarly unimpressed. That, of course, caught Alex’s attention.
“I am aware that you do not view my business kindly, Kabir. I can appreciate that. But the alternatives to SCORPIA are smaller operations typically running in other unsavory rings. Human trafficking, child slavery… things so deplorable they would make SCORPIA look like a Church. So, to be frank, yes, I do sell to both sides. Arms dealt above board with proper documentation and contracting and a guarantee of professionalism all around prevents others from moving into a conflicted area to collect more chattel for sale.”
“They’re still going to,” Sabina pointed out.
“Trafficking will always happen, especially in…vulnerable areas. However, there is a difference from a bad actor simply being in the area and one who negotiates to take the ‘spoils’.” Alex said, voice sour. “So putting aside your dislike of my organization and what we do, you will find that you like the other choices far less.”
“The devil you know, then,” Kabir offered, knowing he should probably just shut up and let the man give the presentation he seemed so invested in.
Alex favored him with an arched eyebrow and a too tight smile. “If you say so.” He took another long sip, swirling the ice. “I understand it can be…difficult for civilians to understand the scope of what is involved in global black ops and terror. As a courtesy, I provided some potential sources in the back of your notebook, Ms. Pleasure. And a phone number, should you wish to further discuss just how deep the rabbit hole goes.” Competitor information, no doubt, something to draw the attention from SCORPIA. “I trust you will use this information to… reassess your position in the article and perhaps turn your attention to some private entities that are more deserving. The Sprintz empire, for example, would be a fascinating read.”
The name sounded just familiar enough to catch his attention, something about weapons? Sabina seemed to recognize it and she jotted it down in her lengthy notes. Kabir couldn’t imagine who could be more deserving of scrutiny than SCORPIA and the governments that used her. Luckily, he would likely get an article about it soon enough, so long as they survived the encounter and, more importantly, Sabina didn’t see writing it a violation of her journalistic integrity due to the source alone.
“But sources and information aside, I think it’s high time we stopped beating around the bush. You’ve been asking quite a few questions to quite a few people, Sabina. What is it you really want to know?” Alex asked, swirling his drink again.
To Kabir it sounded like a threat, to Sabina it was an invitation.
“How can you expect anyone to consider SCORPIA a humanitarian organization when you are responsible for the deaths of millions? The Air Force One tragedy alone…” she cut herself off, no doubt before she could get more personal.
“The Cray incident was before my time, and before the more dangerous leadership was replaced. It is very regrettable that your father was caught up in it.” Kabir chanced a glance to Sabina who was sitting very, very still. Dangerously so.
Kabir stepped in, “What happened to the leaders who perpetrated it?” It was a feeble attempt at some diplomacy. Closure for Sabina and, perhaps more importantly, keeping the conversation going before she could do something rash.
“Dead,” Alex said firmly. “There is no one alive at SCORPIA who took part in the operation.”
“Is that what it took for you to gain power?” Sabina asked. It was a reasonable conclusion - the deposing of the old leadership had only served to increase Alex’s position in the organization. Justice meted out but in power’s name. A bitter victory.
“It is what we did to keep something similar from happening again.”
We , Kabir noted.
“You and Gregorovich?” he asked, and then quickly realized he made a mistake as Alex’s smile slipped from his face for the first time, revealing the cold stare he had originally been expecting. It was level and blank and robbed all animation from his face. Kabir recoiled as if he’d been stung.
“Yes, Mr. Gregorovich and I. We had been appointed responsibility for the Board’s next operation - a plague that would have ravaged Africa all on the whim of a billionaire seeking petty revenge. It was then we decided that the Board needed to be eliminated. They were taking on operations with cataclysmic goals. Taking out men and women of the Board’s caliber was no easy task but it was necessary, not just for my survival but for humanity’s.”
It sounded dramatic to Kabir’s ears but after Cray and with the alleged plague Alex had described, it was believable.
“And you think you are better than the old Board?” Sabina pressed.
Alex took another sip, this one long and slow. “I would like to think so, you may not like my business, or my means but I know that I have left the world a better place than when I found it. Even if I am just the lesser of two evils.”
“That’s a lot of power for one man to have.” Especially, Kabir thought privately, one the same age as him.
Alex nodded, tipping his cup. “It is, but it wasn’t something I ever sought out. The path was chosen for me.”
“By Mr. Gregorovich?” The honorific felt strange on his tongue. But at the name Alex’s blank expression changed into something strange, not quite wistful and more than a little bitter.
“No, or at least it didn’t start with him. Though I’m sure some would deny that.”
“Who is ‘some’?” Sabina pressed, head still down as she continued to feverishly write.
“I’m sure you’ll meet them soon enough,” Alex said with a smile then downed the rest of his drink and held the glass out. Suddenly everything around them was moving, their fellow diners were up, a few walking past them toward the entrance, others branching off to side doors where yet more people waited. Kabir had puzzled out that this had been orchestrated, but the amount of work that went into getting the head of SCORPIA into a cafe in London hadn’t really occurred to him.
“It was a pleasure catching up with you both,” Alex said as tall and dark pocketed the glass and helped him shrug on a coat “Maybe we can continue this reunion another time.” It was almost an insult that Alex thought he would ever be willing to “catch up” with him. But then it occurred that Alex Rider all but owned the world and probably, dangerously assumed he owned everything else in it.
Alex reached into his jacket, puffed a small laugh as they both stiffened, only to produce a money clip full of a sizable stack of pound notes. He proffered it to Sabina who shook her head and then held it out to Kabir. There was a small part of him that also wanted to decline the offer but fear won out. The clip was passed with the barest touch of skin. Enough to make Kabir aware of the attention, the jaunty twitch of Alex’s lip confirmed it was purposeful. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. My treat.”
He gave them another disarming smile, clearly knowing that they had no appetite and then he was striding away with an uncanny grace - footsteps silent despite the old wooden floors. Tall and dark joined him at his side, already whispering something into his ear. The other waiter followed close behind with the four other ‘diners’ leaving Kabir and Sabina alone with their cold coffee and watery pink cosmo.
In a daze, Kabir looked down at the money clip embossed with a scorpion; he idly flipped it over revealing a series of stars that his mind somehow strung together as ‘Orion’. He tossed it to the tabletop. Sabina flinched back as if the scorpion might crawl right off of it. It was blood money.
If asked, Alex would probably have said that there was very little that was clean. He would probably know better. It still left Kabir feeling like the entire thing had followed a script that they hadn’t intended or agreed to.
Sabina sat down the pen, flexing out her hand. Eyebrows pinched and with the aura of someone who had just ran a marathon they hadn’t prepared for.
“Are you oka-”
“Not now, Khatri. We need to…” the words trailed off and it occurred that for once she didn’t know what they needed to do either. Do you call the police? Were their phones even working? Do you accept the gifts?
“Get a stiff drink,” he finished decisively. Alcohol had solved many of their peers' problems at University, maybe this wouldn’t be too different. Sabina clearly needed some time alone to think and Kabir needed to move, do something , even if that was just swiping a bottle. “Vodka work for you?”
“Straight. On the rocks with lime.” Her standard order, but Kabir was no barkeep.
“I’ll just grab the whole bottle.”
She gave him a shaky smile and Kabir did his best to return it. Then set off for the bar, which was, unsurprisingly empty. As he picked over the bottles on the top shelf he considered just what Alex had intended to get out of this - likely not a catch-up with old friends. Perhaps it was just his own say in the article or to send a message about those who looked too closely at SCORPIA. But If Kabir were a betting man they had just been a chess piece in a much larger game. One that their Intelligence Agencies were losing if Alex Rider had been allowed to walk the high street at noon on a Thursday.
Kabir didn’t want to dwell further on it, not when he knew a thorough questioning was likely in his future. They could deal with that later, too. For now they both needed something to take the edge off. Something he doubted alcohol would be able to quench but they didn’t have access to much else. He grabbed the nicest looking bottle he could find - dusty and lightly used - off the top shelf and moved over to the small plastic tray of pre-cut fruits. He snatched a few limes up and then his eyes caught on the smattering of scarlet cherries and was unwillingly taken back to stained lips smiling pleasantly at him.
Kabir shivered and slammed the plastic lid closed like he was shutting the proverbial Pandora’s box. But much like the myth of old, the evil had already seeped out. Despite what Sabina had said earlier, he didn’t think that Alex was the Devil. In his religion they didn’t believe in such a thing only that ego could corrupt and Kabir couldn’t think of anything that exemplified that more than the man who thought he had saved the world.