Operation: Scorched Earth – Survival

So this took me rather longer than I thought it would to get written and ready to publish. But here it is! The final arc, which started with Red Crescent, continued in Bury Your Dead, culminates here, with Operation: Scorched Earth. Hint: That means you should go read those if you haven't before you continue. No, seriously, go ahead, I'll wait!

AHEM. Now that you've done that, here's a quick history lesson: Scorched Earth is the name given to the defense policy carried out by the Russians during most of it's history. When Napoleon invaded, the Tzar ordered the serfs to burn everything - homes, crops, livestock, etc - and retreat, forcing the French to advance, but be unable to gain any resources. They arrived at Moscow to find it aflame, in the middle of the harsh Russian winter that destroyed most of Napoleons forces. The same mistake essentially undid Hitler's army. Aside from the basic lesson (that most of us learned from playing Risk) that you should never EVER invade Russia if you're trying to take over the world, I just wanted you to know why I chose that particular name for this final arc. Draw whatever conclusion you like from that choice. XD

And finally, I would just like to say a few words. Thank you to my tremendous beta prone2dementia, who catches my absurd mistakes, and corrects me when I sound downright idiotic.

And thank you to my wonderful readers, who have stuck Alex (and me!) through to the bitter, bloody end. I hope to live up to and surpass your expectations. Hold onto your seats ladies and gentlemen - this is the end.

…

The sight that Alex encountered outside the tent was like something out of a horror movie.

Bodies lay strewn about, scattered like dolls in a demented playground. Men dressed in forest camouflage moved about with guns, firing on the LRA. There were smoking craters everywhere.

The forest was on fire. It looked like someone had tried to carpet bomb the whole area. There were helicopters landing around him. It was like that stupid training exercise with ASIS all over again, except that this was very real.

I didn't panic then. I won't now, Alex thought determinedly. He needed to know who these attackers were.

"Rider?"

Alex whirled around, finger on his trigger. He stared into disbelieving eyes that belonged to someone he remembered from another life.

Walker.

Alex felt a headache come on as he started in disbelief at the former CIA agent that he had trained with at Malagosto.. Had Scorpia reformed? Had they come after him, or was this a coincidence?

And most importantly, how could he get the hell out of here as fast as physically possible?

"Hey, don't shoot, man. We're Gregorovitch's team," Walker said, raising his hands in surrender. "I decided to throw my lot in with the winning side a while back. Is Kony dead?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Alex said. He didn't lower the gun, however. His mind was racing, trying to figure out whether this was some kind of ploy. It would suck to have come through all this and to have killed Kony, only to die because he wasn't careful.

"We've been following you for the last few weeks in order to make sure you finish the job. But we have to get out of here, now."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"I had a clear shot at your back and didn't take it," Walker said. Alex mulled over that. True. If he was wanted dead, there was certainly enough manpower (and guns) to take him down without needing him to surrender. A few moments of careful consideration told Alex that Scorpia really didn't have anything to gain from this, unless they wanted to take him alive.

There was no way Scorpia would ever want Alex alive, and as Alex highly doubted that the former CIA agent was working for MI6, he couldn't discern any motive aside from the obvious – that Walker really was here on the orders of the renegades to help Alex.

Oh, what the hell, Alex thought, and lowered the gun.

"Fine, but first sign of you lot ganging up on me, and I'll pull a Bond move on you."

"Perish the thought," Walker said. "Still crazy then?"

"Good to see you again, Walker," Alex responded, purposefully avoiding the question. He followed the man into one of the choppers. They were joined by some of the other men, and the chopper promptly took off.

"That creepy Australian dude told us to go in as soon as Kony called for you," Walker yelled over the noise.

Almost thoughtful of him, Alex thought, and then he froze. A sudden realization chilled him to the bone and warmed him at the same moment.

This was the first time he had ever been on a mission that his backup had actually arrived in time to help him complete his mission without getting severely injured. Sure, he had a few cuts that could stand some Triple Antibiotic Ointment eventually, but he wasn't bedridden. They had come through and helped him get out with the mission completed, no fancy stunts needed.

It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that his most reliable backup ever had been provided by contract killers. He had no idea what to make of it.

What a nightmare.

"Where are we going?" Alex yelled back at Walker.

"We're flying to Kampala, where there's a set of burn aliases waiting for us," Walker answered. "We'll hole up in a hotel and wait for our orders to come in and tell us where your final destination is. Until you're in front of our bosses, we'll be watching out for you. In the meantime, you should get some sleep."

Alex looked around at the contract killers who had surrounded him.

Like hell I'm going to sleep here, he thought. He didn't trust anyone in this helicopter not to slit his throat as soon as he was asleep.

He must have fallen asleep eventually however, because sometime later Walker was shaking him awake. Alex checked to make sure he still had his gun and the camera before he stood and stretched.

They landed at Kampala in the middle of the afternoon. It was blistering hot, and it was all Alex could do to stay upright.

The group of bloodied assassins took a taxi from the airport to a small hotel. The man driving kept glancing nervously in his rear view mirror, and his hand kept twitching towards the glove compartment. Alex surmised that he kept some kind of weapon there, and almost felt bad for they guy. True, ragged as they were, they looked no different than most of the refugees in the street. Alex doubted that they spent much time in cabs, however.

When they reached their destination – a building that looked like it was about to collapse on itself – Alex thought that the mercenaries would just shoot the driver. But Walker just handed him a stack of shillings and left it at that.

There were five of them, including Alex and Walker. He didn't recognize the other three men, who introduced themselves once they were in the hotel room and had checked for bugs. They names they used to introduce themselves to Alex were Anish, Dan, and Lee, though the teenager doubted that those were real names. True, they all seemed quite comfortable with the names, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Aside from the fact that Anish was Indian and Lee was Asian, none of them had any real defining characteristics that would make them stand out.

Alex did, however, notice the weapons each one had on his person, and the way their eyes followed the same track that Alex's did, taking into account every detail that might affect a combat situation. Alex didn't need to bother giving the room a second glance to know that any attempted escape through the window would be hampered by the giant air conditioner that jutted out of the wall just below the glass. He saw Anish's eyes rest on it momentarily as they scanned the room, and knew that all five of them had taken that into account.

Five pairs of eyes memorized the layout of the room with two beds, a couch, and a small table. If the electricity had been cut, none of them – teenager or mercenary – would have had a problem finding their way around.

Hell, even the way they walked reminded Alex of himself, or other killers he had seen. With absolute purpose and confidence.

Everything about them screamed 'mercenary', and Alex was sure that as far as bought soldiers came, these would be among the best. He doubted Yassen Gregorovitch would stand for less.

The rest of the mercenaries had apparently dispersed to cities surrounding Lira, so as not to attract attention. If each team involved four men, Alex estimated at least three teams had been sent after him. Now that was backup.

This hotel room was only a temporary stop, however. The men changed clothes quickly, taking turns to dye their hair and change skin color. Alex's hair was still colored red from his last dye job, so he wasn't going to worry about concealing his hair. Instead, he claimed the couch to rest while the mercenaries did their thing.

"Oh, and Alex," Lee called to the teen as the mercenary left the bathroom. Alex looked up from the couch, wondering what the man had to tell him.

"First aid kit is under the sink."

The words came with a lot more tenderness than Alex would have expected. He felt something akin to gratitude rise up and choke his throat. Lee just clapped him on the shoulder and moved on.

Alex looked down and dodged into the bathroom without responding, locking the door behind him. He pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink, wincing as the act pulled at his cuts and bruises.

Whoever invented button down shirts should get a Nobel Prize, Alex thought, eyeing his torn and bloodied shirt. Had he been wearing a t-shirt, he would have had to cut himself out of it.

He winced at the lacerations that covered his body. He had certainly taken worse in his time, but it was never fun to be injured.

Gritting his teeth, Alex sought out his wounds and liberally made use of the kit's rubbing alcohol to clean them. He had to use a washcloth to gag himself when it got too bad for him to suffer in silence. Just because the people in the next room had saved him didn't mean he wanted to look weak in front of them.

When he finally made it to his wrists, Alex couldn't help but stare.

It looked like he had tried to kill himself. Aside from the black and blue bruises that came from having his hands chained and tied together, he hadn't been as efficient releasing himself from his bonds as he had thought. The blade had created lacerations that crossed over his veins.

Alex grimly set about cleaning and bandaging his wrists before he pulled on the clothes that Walker had tossed him, and left the bathroom.

The four men were sitting on the beds, cleaning weapons. Walker was talking swiftly and quietly on a mobile. As Alex watched, the man snapped the phone shut and broke it under his foot.

"Come on, Rider, we've only got a few hours," Walker said, gesturing for Alex to join them. "Our flight leaves at eleven at night, so we have a few hours in the city," Walker explained. "There's a change of plans – we'll be waiting for our orders in Paris – this safe house has been compromised."

"To whom?"

"Your best friends," Walker muttered.

Alex frowned. "How?"

Walker grit his teeth.

"An old associate of mine," he finally said. Alex wondered how much flak Walker had taken for letting himself be seen by someone who could identify him. "The problem has been rectified, but we'll be leaving ASAP."

"On the plane, we split up," Walker ordered. "Anish, you're with Dan, on a layover from South Africa, visiting Dan's in-laws. Anish is best man at your wedding in a month. You're marrying Linda Dinel. You were on flight 134, which was diverted because of problems with navigation equipment, and ended up in Jinja."

Walker handed the two their passports.

Burn aliases, Alex realized with a start. They wouldn't hold up to the kind of scrutiny that MI6 could bring to bear, but if the five of them played their parts right, they wouldn't have to worry about that kind of scrutiny.

"Lee, you're with Doctors Without Borders again."

"Again?"

"Obviously someone thinks you're rather good at the role."

"Oliver's better."

"Nobody disagrees," Walker responded, but he was smiling slightly. "Nevertheless, Doctors Without Borders it is."

Lee grumbled good naturedly as he flipped through his documents.

Alex watched with detached disbelief as the mercenaries ribbed each other like… like kid's on Alex's football team. Like teenagers. It was bizarre. Even Anish, who struck Alex as the strong and silent type, was smiling at their antics.

Unbelievable.

"Alex, you're with me," Walker finally said. "You're a stunt driver in a movie being shot in Amuru. I'm your bodyguard, escorting you home."

Alex nodded, taking the offered passport, which stated that he was a 23 year-old national from France named Adrian Saurel.

The plane ticket was for a flight to Paris. Alex felt his gut twist uncomfortably. The last time he had been in Paris, Ian had taken him there. They had spent the whole summer in France together, goofing off while Jack studied for the bar exam.

Now, of course, Alex could look back and see how blatantly Ian Rider had been teaching Alex to follow in his footsteps. Once upon a time, those thoughts had comforted him. Knowing that his uncle had wanted this made Alex feel better about spying.

And now Alex didn't want anything to do with the man who had raised him.

It bloody hurt.

Alex schooled his face to blankness, hoping that he had suppressed the guilt and hurt before it could register on his features.

"Be at the airport in three hours," Walker said. "If we're separated, the hotel is in your emergency contacts."

With only a quick goodbye, the three other men dispersed, probably to solidify their cover in the city.

"Rider, you look terrible."

"Really? I could have sworn that stunt drivers get hurt all the time," Alex shot back without malice.

"Grab a couple of hours of sleep, will you?"

Alex wanted to argue that he didn't need it. But he had been through so much that he couldn't find the strength to lie through his teeth. If Walker was playing him – well, he was too bloody exhausted to care anymore.

Walker woke him up sometime later. The teenager was on his feet instantly, ready to go. He was inwardly relieved – Walker had woken him in the middle of a nightmare. He had been standing over a girl with arms that ended in bleeding stubs. The world around him was full of gunfire and napalm, and Alex was holding a machete that he had used to maim the sobbing girl in front of her. And then her face became Jack's, and Alex saw Tom standing by the side, begging for her life. He awoke covered in sweat, disgruntled, and altogether not in the mood to pretend that he wasn't on the verge of freaking out.

He followed Walker out to the car.

"Come on, Adrian, or you'll miss your flight," Walker said.

"If I was driving we'd be at the airport already," Alex responded. His throat was dry, but he allowed himself to fall into the role. A slip up here in the taxi wouldn't matter (probably), but he could bet anything that if Walker had been spotted, someone would be keeping an eye out for them.

Walker, of course, looked nothing like himself. Alex wasn't too worried about them being followed.

"If you were driving, the car would already be a wreck at the side of the road. Kampala airfield."

Walker addressed the last to the driver almost dismissively, and Alex fought the urge to grin.

The ride to the airport was uneventful. Alex managed to spot some of the mercenaries at the airport, but he knew not to approach them. Until they had landed in Paris and determined a safe location, the team would have no direct contact with anyone who wasn't a direct part of their cover.

Alex slept through the plane ride. It seemed that his body was finally demanding that he catch up on the sleep he had been missing.

In Paris, Walker and Alex changed their appearances in a public restroom at a café, and met the rest of their team at a luxury hotel. Their room was really more of a suite than anything, and each of them had his own bed.

Alex was just thankful that there was air conditioning and a roof.

"Any problems?" Walker asked the team. Anish reported for himself and Dan, explaining that they had no issues with security. Lee grumbled a bit about the clerk who wouldn't flirt back with him, but Walker ignored the man. If he was muttering about attractive security agents, his flight had been fine.

It seemed that they had gotten out clean. Alex sighed in relief. International travel freaked him out these days. With security on flights being what it was, he didn't want to accidentally slip up.

Then again, he had proven himself quite capable of beating the system. Alex decided not to let it worry him.

"Keep this with you at all times," Walker said, handing Alex a mobile that he pulled out of the base of the lamp. Alex nodded and pocketed the phone.

"Hey, boss, there's scrabble!" Dan commented. He had been rifling through drawers while Walker took status reports and made some quick phone calls.

"No."

"Come on, just one game?"

"I'd rather have Arrow back on my team," Walker answered. The rest of the mercenaries groaned.

Alex decided that he didn't want to ask.

"Alex, want to play a game?"

Alex stared at the mercenary. He hadn't known what he expected mercenaries to do for fun. Maybe he thought they played Russian roulette or something.

But Scrabble?

"Sure," he finally said.

"How many languages are we counting?"

Alex grinned. Ian played the same way.

"Anything with a Germanic root. Nothing Semitic. All dead languages using the English alphabet and all Latin languages."

"I'm in, so long as you add any transliterated curse word," Lee said, joining the two at the table in their suite.

"Deal," Alex said. Anish and Walker exchanged glances and reached under their beds for a black case they must have known was lying there. Alex didn't even have to look to know it held guns.

Lee eventually won the scrabble game, though not by much. The game had eventually deteriorated to the point where everyone was suggesting curses in different languages with no tiles actually being placed onto the board.

Anish joined the fight by adding Indian and Arabic curses to the mix, and Walker finally just yelled at them all to shut up.

Four pillows hit him at once.

"That's it, I pick next game," Walker said with a grin that promised the fiery wrath of hell. "And it's going to be fight club, ladies."

Anish groaned good-naturedly while Lee and Dan cheered, and Alex realized that these four spent a lot of time together. He didn't want to seem like he was inquiring too deeply into the structure of their organization, so he said nothing, but their interactions belied a familiarity that was almost impossible to fake.

Alex wasn't even a little surprised to see newly acquired guns slipped under pillows as they settled down to sleep. He had to smile to himself as he claimed the couch. He wondered if he should be ashamed of himself for identifying with killers.

That's what I am now, Alex realized, almost surprised. Not a killer, not a spy, nor a teenager or a mercenary, but someone who was all of them and none of them at the same time.

Morning came, and the men dispersed across Paris. So long as none of them was ever more than half an hour away from Walker, this didn't seem like such a big deal. Alex guessed that they had gone through this routine before – waiting for orders in random cities.

He vaguely wondered if he would get in trouble for using his newly acquired ID to go to a bar. A year ago, dodging his minders to drink in Paris would have seemed like a great thrill. Now it just seemed like immature musing. Alex chuckled to himself, and enjoyed the sights of the city. After spending so much time with the LRA, it was a relief to interact with people in a way that was at least a little bit normal.

Several days went by. Alex convinced Anish to continue the education that Yedit had started with his Arabic language skills, and spent a lot of time working on learning the new language.

The five of them spent almost a week and a half in Paris before Walker actually made good on his threat to force the others to fight one another. Alex groaned along with Anish and Dan when Lee had finally traded one too many insults with Walker and made him mad enough to declare a "Fight Club."

Of course, given what Alex had seen of the movie in English class, this version was much tamer. Two beds were pushed together to make the area. Whichever opponent pinned the other to the bed for three seconds won.

Alex at first couldn't believe people did this for fun, but he soon got into it. Anish started telling stories of what fight club looked like during basic training, and it actually sounded kind of fun. They fought without punches or lethal blows, more like a game than anything else.

Alex won both of his fights, and lost the third to Anish, who moved far too fast for Alex to keep track of. The Indian man might have been slim, but he had a lot of muscle, which allowed him to pin Alex down after half an hour of brutal wrestling.

The teenager hadn't gone without a struggle, and even though he lost, he grinned. It had been a brutal fight, leaving Anish with a bloody nose, as well as deep scratches on his back and Alex with a shirt that was torn to shreds.

Sore, but gratifyingly so, Alex slept like a log. It didn't escape his notice that his nightmares seemed to have faded since they arrived in Paris. It was a welcome respite.

He was woken in the early hours of the morning, however, when the hotel phone rang loudly.

"Whiskey here. Uh huh. Gotcha. 0300 hours, boss. We'll be there."

It was a conversation that took less than twenty seconds. Alex groaned and rolled over.

"Catch, Rider!" Walker called from across the room, and Alex reflexively raised a hand from his sheets and caught the package of hair dye that Walker threw, as well as the bag of clothes that went flying behind it.

"And here I was thinking that my hair was finally starting to grow out from the last time I dyed it," Alex griped good-naturedly. There were still orange tips on his shaggy hair from that adventure. His hair was almost at his shoulders now, Alex realized. He hadn't been minding it much, but he wondered when he was going to get a chance to cut it.

"I always knew you were a dumb blonde," Walker shot back without any malice.

"At least blondes get all the girls!" Alex answered brightly and without even thinking. It was like being with Jack again, trading sarcastic jibes and mock insults. Like being home again.

"Whatever you say, blondie."

"Killjoy."

"Shorty."

"Virgin."

"Loon."

"Oh, come on, I'm not a loon!" Alex shot back.

"And I ain't a virgin blondie, but there you go," Walker answered with good humor. The rest of the mercenaries were chuckling, leaving Alex with no doubt that the nickname 'blondie' was going to stick. God damn the CIA and all former American agents.

Just like the last time they had been moving out, the men took turns in the bathroom, dying their hair and, for some, applying lotion to darken their skin (or, in Dan's case, washing his off). Walker's skin remained the tanned color it had been since they arrived in Paris.

Alex no longer doubted that he was one of them. Perhaps he was not exactly the same, but he was close. Somehow, between trying to find out the truth behind his uncle's death, being dropped into a pit of crocodiles, and being dragged halfway across the world and back again, he had become a trained professional. He'd had no teachers and no school (if you didn't count his brief stint with Scorpia), and no official training, but he learned more from experience than lectures anyway.

Once the last mercenary had finished with his disguises, Alex began the meticulous process of changing his own appearance. Not that it was excessively difficult – he just had to be careful.

"Come on, we're moving."

Alex ducked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel as he watched Walker boot up a laptop computer and connect it to the room's printer.

"Separate cabs, we meet at the airport in an hour," Walker said shortly, handing out boarding passes as the computer printed them, along with new burn identities.

Alex was thrown for a loop when he saw their next destination. They were flying into Heathrow.

"Is this really a necessary risk?" Alex asked, looking up.

"Go yell at the bosses if you have a problem with our itinerary, blondie. In the meantime, grab a cab from the coffee store down the street and get your ass to the airport, would you?"

"Sure thing, killjoy," Alex grinned back. He shouldered his backpack – really more for show than anything else – and saluted the mercenaries.

"Grab some coffee and normalize while you're at it, you little brat."

Alex chuckled and flicked Walker off before closing the door behind him.

"Can we keep him?" Dan asked. Walker glared.

"No, no, we can't," he said. "We're just escorts. So shut up and look over your cover."

….

Alex bought a coffee from the café and hailed a taxi to the airport. He was almost loathe to leave the city – Paris was a wonderful place to be, and he actually didn't mind being there with the mercenaries. They were fun, and they understood Alex in a way he hadn't ever expected anyone to be able to.

He wondered briefly if he was making a mistake, running from this. He didn't really have a name to place on his interactions with the mercenaries, but they had understood him better than anyone he had ever known, and he had enjoyed his time with them. He wondered if it wouldn't be so terrible to sign on with the renegades.

The answer he got from himself in response was disturbing enough, and so Alex chose not to dwell on it too much. He wanted to remove himself from the politicking of MI6, not place himself in a position where they would hunt him down forever.

The taxi ride was short. Alex paid the cab driver and went through security. He expected at least to catch a glimpse of the others as he went through, but none of the mercenaries was visible. Perhaps they had already gone through?

That thought soothed him until Alex made it to their departing gate.

So maybe they're all spread out through the airport, getting coffee, or making sure nobody is following them. They'll be here.

Alex went to buy himself a newspaper, and sat reading it. He tried to avoid obsessively checking the mobile Walker had given him for the time.

The teenager tried not to allow his agitation to show as the boarding time drew nearer, and still there was no sign of the mercenaries. Had something happened? Was their cover blown?

It didn't seem possible. They had gotten out of Kampala clean. Alex had made it through security without a fuss.

So what was taking these guys so bloody long?

When the attendant called for passengers to board, Alex almost wanted to stay behind. He knew, however, that that would be a terrible idea. He checked the emergency contacts in his passport, and found an address in Kent. If they didn't show, he would go there and report in that the four had gone missing.

Still, he harbored some hope that the four of them might come running towards the plane at the last second, having been held up by traffic.

Even if they miss the plane, there are plenty of normal reasons for that. If they got in an accident or something like that, or there was traffic, or the lines for security were long.

Alex knew he was deluding himself. But the four mercenaries could take care of themselves. They were fine.

He told himself that as he sat down on the plane and listened to the instructional video.

He told himself that as the plane began to pull away from the dock

As the vehicle lifted into the air, and there was no sign of the mercenaries anywhere, Alex was forced to admit that they weren't here.

He was alone, and the only people who were protecting him had missed the plane.

….

It was highly irregular for four men who had received military training together to ever be assigned to the same mission.

And yet, here they were. The scattered remnants of a unit, who had trained together for a short while at Brecon Beacons, were gathered in a shitty apartment in Singapore. They had been staking out the apartment across the street for a week, and they were all extremely bored. The apartment had a thick aroma of smoke and sweat. The summer was almost over, but it was still as hot as hell trapped up here.

These four men worked for four separate branches of the military, though they had all trained with the SAS.

First, there was Kyle Sanders – once codenamed Eagle by the other men he was sharing this apartment room with – who was currently in the infantry. He was the oldest of the four and had done three tours already. He was a tank driver and an explosives expert. He had a Masters in chemistry and physics.

Duncan Reid, once called Snake, was a medic who had served a tour of duty with the Royal Marines. He was young, impulsive, and rash – essentially everything his teammates didn't want on this mission. In fact, before Alex had shown up, it was his case that Wolf had been on. When Cub had left, the rocky relationships between the four had evened out; Snake sometimes figured that he owed the teenager his career. He certainly had plenty of respect for the kid after watching him take down a bunch of hijackers. As far as Snake was concerned, they had no business going after Alex Rider.

Ben Daniels was the official team leader. He was technically still in training, because of the time off he had taken working for SIS on special operations. He was highly trained in the special ops and commando style attacks that would be necessary to bring a spy like Alex Rider down, no matter how much he hated what he had to do. He wasn't quitting on the SAS ever again, so he really had no say in his participation on this mission.

Really, the only thing that qualified him to be called a team leader was the fact that he knew their target and their target's methods better than any of them. He had seen the spy in action, and he knew Alex's methods of operation. But Ben, along with the others, knew he was just a resource to help catch their prey. He wasn't in charge any more than Wolf or Snake.

It was James Garrott who was the real leader. He was also the only one of the original four members of K-Unit who was still in the SAS, working as a paratrooper. His specialties were strategy and tactics, linguistics, firearms, and moodiness.

The man who still proudly bore the codename Wolf was a real commander – the kind soldiers followed without pause, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Officially, his current codename was Viper, but even his commanding officer called him Wolf. He had completed a tour of duty as an infantryman before entering the SAS, and overseas and at home, there was a longstanding joke that he was the 'Flying Wolf.'

The four sat together in shifts of two, watching the apartment next door, waiting for some sign of life. Surely they had not traveled halfway across the globe just to find another dead end? Rider had to be here.

The former members of K-Unit had started their mission in Uganda. Blunt's agents had intercepted a call on tapped line that suggested that Alex was in Kampala, in the company of internationally wanted criminals.

They had arrived to find that Alex was most definitely not where they had thought he would be. It was clear he and the mercenaries had cleared out of the hotel hours ago.

A conversation with about a thousand cabbies idling by the hotel had told them that Alex was using a French alias, and was headed for Paris. One of the drivers identified Alex's photo as a French stunt driver, of all the ridiculous covers in the world.

And so K-Unit had followed. Without giving much information to the French, Blunt had managed to convince them to allow K-Unit to operate unhindered in their search for the teenage spy.

Wolf almost growled like his namesake as he thought of that night. They had arrived in Paris exhausted and impatient, and had immediately tracked down the hotel where they had tracked Alex. Wolf had kicked down the door, expecting to find the rogue Cub and some shady mercenaries, but Cub was gone again, and they had been met with live fire from the four who were left. It was lucky none of the British soldiers had been injured.

For a while, it seemed that K-Unit had lost their target, but Alex's trail appeared again.

They had followed an arms deal and a plane ticket from Paris to Frankfurt, from Frankfurt to Cyprus, and finally to Singapore, and they were reasonably sure the boy was here, lying low.

For some reason, this apartment seemed to be where Alex's journey had ended.

If he would just fucking show himself.

James lit another cigarette and watched it burn down. He was on duty with Snake now, his eyes glued to the miniature camera they had set up inside the apartment. Sooner or later, Cub would come out.

In his peripheral vision, James watched the cigarette burned down. He had quit years ago, but he liked the smell. The fact that it pissed Snake off didn't hurt either.

Though Snake had been quiet lately. James could only figure that it was because of the bullet wound in his shoulder; the man should still be on medical leave, damn it! As a medic, Snake should have known it too. So what the hell was he doing here?

James pondered that as the cigarette burned to the filer. He tossed it into the ashtray without removing his gaze from the monitors.

Sooner or later, Alex would show himself, and they would catch him.

…..

As always, thanks for reading!

~InK