Chapter 13 – Whispers in MI6
It was a typical grey morning in London for the time of year. In the heart of the city, the unassuming building that housed MI6 seemed as impenetrable as the information circulating within it. Alan Blunt sat in his usual office, the blinds drawn and the room sterile except for a stack of reports on his desk. He read in silence, his eyes running over the lines of a new dossier.
In the chair next to him, Miss Jones was leafing through a report of her own, but her gaze often strayed to Blunt, watching him as if trying to anticipate what he would say.
"That's true then," Blunt finally broke the silence, setting the report aside and removing her glasses. Her voice was low, almost indifferent, but there was a tone to it that Jones recognized.
"Yes," she replied, setting her own report on her lap. "It seems our young Alex Rider is distinguishing himself once again. Only this time in the army."
Blunt leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "Of all people… Why him? We couldn't keep him under control before, and now he's become a figurehead in a war."
"The nickname the insurgents gave him… 'Spooky.'" Jones read aloud from the report, his tone mixed with disbelief and a touch of admiration. "They say he operates like a ghost. No one escapes when he's involved."
Blunt grimaced. "That's what worries me. Alex isn't just another soldier. He has a skill set he shouldn't have for someone his age. Skills we helped him develop."
"You're the one who forced him into this, Alan," Jones replied with a hint of disapproval. "Don't forget who put Alex in the field in the first place."
Blunt ignored her, or at least pretended to. He picked up another report. "Henderson, Wilkinson, do those names sound familiar to you?"
Jones nodded. "Yes, they both have solid reputations in the British military. Wilkinson especially. He's known for spotting raw talent. It seems he has high expectations for Alex."
Blunt rubbed his chin. "That makes him more dangerous. If Alex continues to grow in reputation, he could become a symbol. And symbols are hard to control."
Jones was silent for a moment, considering his words. "But he's not under our control, Alan. And if we try to interfere, we'll put MI6 on a collision course with the military. That would be a political disaster."
"Yes," Blunt replied dryly. "And that's what bothers me most."
Jones leaned forward, his hands clasped on his knees. "What exactly are you thinking, Alan? Do you want to bring him back into our ranks? That wouldn't be possible now. He's already made his choice."
Blunt shook his head. "No. It's not a matter of bringing him back. It's a matter of watching him. Knowing exactly what he's doing and who he's becoming."
"Do you think he could become a problem in the future?"
Blunt didn't answer right away. He stood and walked to the window, pushing aside the blinds to look out at the city. "Alex Rider is already a problem. What we need to decide is whether he's going to be a manageable problem or a risk we need to eliminate."
Jones's eyes widened. "You can't be serious, Alan. He's just a kid... a kid who's survived things no adult should have to face. And yet, he chose to serve his country."
"He chose," Blunt repeated, turning to face her. "But he's unpredictable. We need eyes on him. Close."
Before Jones could answer, the door to the office opened, and an agent rushed in. He looked nervous, which was unusual for MI6.
"Mr. Blunt, Miss Jones," the man said, handing over a sealed envelope. "A message from the Director General's office, M."
Jones exchanged a surprised glance with Blunt before taking the envelope. She opened it carefully and began to read.
"M is aware of our past operations involving Alex Rider," she said, reading aloud. "And it appears she is not pleased."
Blunt frowned. "What exactly did she say?"
Jones continued, "She believes that forcing a minor to carry out missions for MI6 was a serious breach of protocol and ethics. She also mentions that MI6 must avoid any attempt to interfere with Alex's military activities, lest they risk internal reprisals."
Blunt sat back down, his expression grim. "So she knows."
"She doesn't just know," Jones added, turning to face him. "She has someone monitoring our conduct. A special agent."
"Who?"
"She doesn't specify," Jones replied, but there was something in her tone that suggested she had an idea.
Across town, in a discreet pub, James Bond agent 007 was finishing his own dossier. He was aware of what was in store for him.
"So now I'm taking care of a child prodigy," he muttered to himself, taking a sip of his drink.
Bond was no stranger to operations involving Alex Rider. He had heard rumors about the boy before stories that ranged from the impressive to the completely absurd. But now, it seemed that Alex was a figure of strategic interest.
He closed the file and looked out at the street. His mission was clear: to keep an eye on Blunt and Jones, making sure they didn't overstep their bounds again. And at the same time, to observe Alex Rider from afar.
Back at MI6, Blunt and Jones sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
"So," Jones finally broke the silence. "What do we do now?"
"Now?" Blunt replied, with a hint of irony. "Now we wait. And watch. If Alex Rider is destined to be a ghost, then we had better make sure he doesn't turn against us in the future."
Jones didn't answer. She knew that Alex's relationship with MI6 had always been complicated, and perhaps always would be. But deep down, she hoped the boy would find the peace he so deserved even if it was away from the shadows Blunt insisted on casting.
Chapter 14 – The Invitation to the Saber A
The desert heat was oppressive that morning, even for Alex Rider, who was already beginning to acclimate to the extreme conditions of Iraq. He stood in a makeshift shelter, meticulously disassembling and cleaning his L115A3 rifle. Accuracy was his priority, both in the field and in the maintenance of his equipment.
The tent around him was nearly empty, save for a few soldiers resting between missions. It was a rare moment of tranquility, and Alex used it to recharge his batteries and keep his skills sharp.
The tranquility was interrupted when Sergeant Wilkinson entered the tent. He had a serious air, but there was something different about his features. He was carrying an envelope in his hand, and Alex could tell right away that this was no ordinary visitor.
"Rider," Wilkinson called, approaching.
"Yes, sir," Alex replied, standing quickly and standing at attention.
"Relax, kid," Wilkinson said, waving him back down. "I've got something I think you'll find interesting."
Wilkinson handed the envelope to Alex, who opened it carefully. Inside was an official letter from the Ministry of Defence, bearing the SAS seal. Alex read the first few lines, feeling a mixture of surprise and pride:
"Corporal Alex Rider, Based on your exceptional performance on the battlefield and your advanced skills as a sniper, you have been selected to support a specific mission for Sabre A Squadron of the Special Air Service (SAS)."
Alex blinked, confused but also honored. "Sabre A? They want me to work with them?"
"Exactly," Wilkinson confirmed. "They're aware of your reputation and what you've done here. It seems someone up there believes you have what it takes to operate alongside the best."
The news spread quickly through the camp, generating mixed reactions among the soldiers. Some were proud that one of their own had been recognized, while others were envious.
Alex, however, was focused on what it meant. Working with the SAS was a rare opportunity, and he knew he would need to prove himself worthy. Wilkinson called him into a private meeting later that day.
"Look, Rider," Wilkinson began, pouring himself a cup of strong coffee. "The SAS is no joke. They'll be watching you closely. Any slip-up, and you'll be dropped. But knowing you, I'm not worried about that."
"Understood, sir," Alex replied. "What exactly is the mission?"
"We don't know all the details yet," Wilkinson explained. "Sabre A team will brief you when you meet with them. All I can say is that it's a joint operation to neutralize a major terrorist cell. They need someone with your precision and your ability to operate under pressure."
Alex nodded. He could feel a growing nervousness, but also a determination. This was a chance to show that he was more than just a young man with advanced training he was a full-fledged soldier.
Two days later, Alex was taken to the forward camp where Saber A was stationed. He was met by Captain Mitchell, a tall, piercing-eyed man who seemed to be able to read thoughts with a single glance.
"You must be Rider," Mitchell said, looking Alex up and down.
"Yes, sir," Alex replied, his posture firm.
"I've heard of you," Mitchell continued, his voice low and steady. "The 'stunning' kid, right? Well, we don't deal in nicknames or reputations here. You'll have to prove yourself worthy of being here. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
Mitchell gestured for Alex to follow him to the operations tent. There, he met other members of Saber A, who eyed him with curiosity and skepticism.
"This is the team," Mitchell said, introducing the soldiers: Harper, the demolitions expert; Taylor, the team's medic; and Conroy, another sniper.
Conroy in particular looked uncomfortable. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Alex. "So you're the kid everyone's talking about? I hope this isn't just idle chatter."
Alex remained calm. "You'll see in the field," he replied, his voice neutral.
Mitchell stepped in before the tension could get too intense. "Okay, everyone, focus on the mission. Rider, we'll brief you now."
The operation involved infiltrating an isolated village where a terrorist cell was using civilians as human shields while coordinating attacks in the area. Sabre A's mission was to eliminate the cell's leaders without causing civilian casualties.
"Conroy and Rider will take out strategic positions to take out high-priority targets," Mitchell explained, pointing to a map. "The rest of us will go in to neutralize the location. We need pinpoint accuracy. We can't afford to miss."
On the night of the mission, Alex was positioned next to Conroy on a hill overlooking the village. They both set up their rifles, checking the coordinates and adjusting their scopes.
"Let's see what you're made of, kid," Conroy said, with a slight hint of challenge.
Alex ignored the taunt, focusing on his task. He knew this was his chance to show that he deserved to be here.
When the signal was given, the two began working together, eliminating the sentries around the village with precise shots.
"Nice shot," Conroy muttered after Alex hit a moving target.
"You too," Alex replied, never taking his eyes off the scope.
Inside the village, the rest of the Sabre A advanced silently, neutralizing the remaining insurgents and freeing the civilians.
"Rider, we need a clear shot on the leader," came Mitchell's voice over the radio.
Alex adjusted his sights on the main building. He located the target—a man barking orders to his subordinates. Taking a deep breath, Alex held his breath and pulled the trigger.
The silence was broken by the sound of a gunshot, and the leader instantly fell.
"Target eliminated," Alex confirmed over the radio.
When the team returned to camp, Mitchell gathered everyone for a brief post-mission debrief.
"Rider," he said, addressing Alex directly. "You did a good job today. You proved you can operate alongside the Sabre A."
Even Conroy, though reluctant, gave a slight nod of approval. "Not bad, kid. Maybe you're not all talk."
Alex thanked him, but inside he felt a mixture of pride and relief. He knew this was only the first of many missions, but he was determined to continue proving his worth.
Later, as he cleaned his rifle again, Alex reflected on what he had accomplished. Working with the SAS was a privilege, but also a huge responsibility. He knew that each mission would be a test, not only of his skills, but of his determination.
And he was ready for the challenge.
Chapter 15 – Forging the Body and Mind
The oppressive desert heat was a constant on base, but for Alex Rider, there was something calming about the routine. After his brief stint with the SAS Sabre A, he had returned to his regular team with a new energy. He now carried with him not only the practical learning, but also the respect of many who had begun to see him not only as a talented young man, but as a serious soldier.
With irregular patrols and missions, the days on base could be long and tedious. There was little entertainment other than card games, reading, or chatting with other soldiers. For Alex, who had always been active and restless, sitting still was almost unbearable.
That afternoon, Alex was sitting in the mess hall, finishing a simple meal. He looked out the makeshift window at the area of the base where the makeshift gym had been set up. It was a modest space, with a few rudimentary weights, bars, and benches, but it was enough for many soldiers to keep fit.
"Hey, Rider," called Thompson, a tall, muscular soldier on his team. "Thinking about working out? I saw you looking at the gym."
Alex smiled. "Yeah. I think I'll start using my free time to do something productive."
"Good choice," Thompson said. "I'll warn you, kid: it's no joke out there. But with what you've shown in the field, I have no doubt you can handle it."
Alex pulled on a simple T-shirt and camouflage pants before heading to the makeshift gym. The place was bustling with activity, with soldiers lifting weights and chatting in animated tones. Music played softly from an old radio, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and exertion.
Thompson was already there, lifting weights on one of the benches. He waved to Alex. "Time to show that the 'amazing' can lift heavy too."
Alex laughed, but he knew Thompson was just teasing him. He walked over to a set of weights and started with something light to warm up.
"Nice one, kid," Thompson said, watching him. "But if you want results, you're going to have to lift heavier than that."
"Take it slow," Alex replied. "I don't want to hurt myself on the first day."
As the weeks passed, Alex began to seriously commit to his physical training. He followed a disciplined routine: waking up early to run, doing weights in the afternoon, and finishing the day with sit-ups and stretches.
His body, already naturally athletic from the intense training he had received as a young man, began to change rapidly. His arms became more defined, and his shoulders gained impressive width. His physical strength increased, and he was able to lift weights that had previously seemed impossible.
One particularly hot afternoon, Alex was doing push-ups when Thompson and other soldiers stopped to watch him.
"He's getting monstrous," Jenkins, another member of the team, commented.
"It's the desperation of wanting to be the best," Thompson joked, but his tone was respectful.
One day after training, Alex was called by Sergeant Wilkinson. He walked into his superior's office, still sweaty, his T-shirt clinging to his body.
"Rider," Wilkinson began, motioning for Alex to sit down. "I hear you've been putting in a lot of physical training."
"Yes, sir," Alex replied. "I want to stay in shape for whatever mission comes my way."
"That's good," Wilkinson said. "But remember that physical strength is only part of what makes a good soldier. Keep your mind as sharp as your muscles."
"Understood, sir."
Wilkinson smiled slightly. "You're doing well, Rider. Keep it up."
Inspired by Wilkinson's words, Alex decided to train not only his body, but his mind as well. He began to spend some of his free time studying maps, learning more about military tactics, and even practicing puzzles to improve his ability to think under pressure.
One night, while he was studying a tactical manual, Thompson walked into the tent.
"You really don't stop, do you?" Thompson said, shaking his head.
"No," Alex replied, not looking up from the book. "If I'm going to do this, I want to do it right."
Thompson gave Alex a friendly slap on the shoulder. "You're a role model, kid. Just don't forget to get some sleep every now and then."
The impact of Alex's training began to be noticed by those around him. He was no longer just an exceptional sniper; now he was also physically intimidating.
"Rider, you look like a tank," Jenkins joked one day, as he watched Alex lifting weights.
"Maybe," Alex replied with a smile. "But I just want to make sure I'm ready for whatever comes."
"You were ready already," Thompson said, his tone more serious. "Now you're just making sure no one can stop you."
That night, Alex sat outside his tent, looking up at the stars. He knew the war was far from over, but he felt he was preparing himself as best he could. He couldn't control everything, but he could control his dedication and effort.
And he was determined to keep improving, for himself and for his comrades.
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