Phoenix Rising

Chapter One

Disclaimer:

For my sake, reader
take this story as disclaimed;
It's not mine at all!

AN: This story might be confusing to those who can't remember the basic plot of SCORPIA Rising. Here's what's happened up to this point:

There was a shooting at Alex's school. He chased the gunman, sending his escape helicopter and him into the Thames. Alex was then sent to Cairo, along with Jack and Smithers, to investigate the head of security at a school. While investigating, Alex narrowly escaped death when a jewellery shop he had entered blew up, but was subsequently kidnapped. It turned out that the kidnappers were the CIA, who were there to protect the American secretary of state. Alex then made his way to Smithers' house, which was attacked by SCORPIA. Now, Smithers and Alex are escaping through a marketplace.

"It's time I disappeared."

Alex stared at the new, skinnier Smithers.

"I never meant to deceive you," this stranger said in a broad Irish accent. "I developed the Smithers disguise for fieldwork, and became attached to its anonymity and consequent safety. My real name's Seamus."

Jaw gaping, Alex was unable to answer Seamus. In a daze, he watched as the man rolled up the deflated body of the English Smithers and tucked it under his arm.

"Never leave a gadget where the enemy can find it," was the accompanying comment.

The blond spy nodded numbly, and jumped as Smithers – Seamus – clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Now, how about we get you back to the apartment and safely on a plane home. I'll make my own way back from there. I can always start again. Who knows, maybe I'll meet you when Jones makes you deputy!"

The lithe man gave a humorous chuckle. "Now, don't look so shocked. I wouldn't be surprised if we return to find Blunt leaving, and Jones put in place. Westminster hasn't been very happy with him since finding out about you."

They set off.

Maintaining a brisk pace, Alex was reminded of a weight-loss advertisement he'd once seen in on TV back home. What had it been? Inside every fat man there's a thin man trying to break out. He'd joked with Tom about the probability of that happening literally, and in typical teenage tomfoolery a bet had been wagered.

Tom would be five pounds richer when Alex returned.

Smithers – Seamus – and Alex retraced Alex's steps away from the square, joining a pack of tourists exiting the souk. Alex shivered as a group of white-suited tourist police ran past, and caught a glimpse of uncharacteristic grimness on the man beside him. Was it uncharacteristic? He didn't know anymore.

Alex looked at his watch, glancing up when Smi—Seamus commented, "You should call Ms Starbright."

Doing so, he was unnerved to receive no answer from his friend. He tried again, this time letting it ring for longer.

Still no answer.

Smithers' face stiffened into a frown and Alex noticed his hand twitch strangely beside his pocket. "Well, we'd better hurry up, then."

The street was empty, but upon turning a corner, they happened across a gleaming Triumph Bonneville motorbike, lying innocuously against a building, its keys conveniently stuck in the ignition.

Smithers – Seamus! – looked at him. "What are you waiting for? You're driving."

Alex's eyes widened, but he hastened to do as the man said. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that the bike's appearance was just too much of a coincidence.

What did Blunt like to say, again? Where others see coincidence, I see conspiracy.

His grip tightened on the handlebars as the older man settled himself on the leather pillion seat, seemingly unsurprised by the turn of events.

"Drive on, MacDuff!"

And they were off.

After what seemed the longest wait, Alex pulled into the complex, dismounting from the bike before the engine completely settled. Ignoring Seamus' cries to be careful, he raced up to the flat.

The door was open.

While Seamus caught up, Alex padded into the flat. When he had checked all rooms, noting with trepidation the fully-packed suitcases laying open on the floor of her room alongside a neat stack of souvenirs, their passports and some cash, he watched as Seamus walked over to a half-finished glass of Coke on the kitchen table.

The brown-haired Irishman picked the glass up and turned it over in his hands. "It's lukewarm." Their eyes met. "She's been gone a while."

Alex slumped. He'd been hoping, but… But nothing. She'd been taken. He sighed in defeat, and collapsed onto a chair that still had her imprint on its suede cover.

Then he saw the note.

It lay on the cabinet beneath the TV, malevolent black letters against a gleaming white sheet.

Alex walked over and picked it up.

We have Jack Starbright. If you want to see her again, come to the City of the Dead at 3.00pm this afternoon. The Tomb of the Broken Moon. Do not be late. Do not speak to anyone. If you call MI6, she will die. If you contact the school, she will die. If you are not alone, she will die. We are watching you now. We are listening. Obey these instructions or you will never see your friend again.

A trembling hand showed the note to Seamus, whose brow furrowed.

"I have to go," said Alex bleakly, and with a sense of purpose, he rose from the chair and headed for the door, only to blink to a stop. Seamus was suddenly barring his way and had never looked so forbidding.

"Let me through," Alex insisted. "I have to help her." He shoved his body forward, but was unable to break past the steel muscles of the Irishman. It was quite different than trying to break past the ordinary Smithers – although, of course, this was the ordinary Smithers. Seamus. And what a strange thought that was.

The Irish gadget-master shook his head. "I know you have no choice, and I'm going to let you go," he sighed. "But remember, please; treat this like any other mission. Don't get caught up just because it's personal."

Alex nodded, bemused but calmer.

"And be very careful."

"I will."

"Good luck."

"I think I've found a way out…"

The car blew up.

Julius fired a single shot. But Alex fired first.

Alex faced Joe Byrne in the Grand Hall of the University Campus. It had only been a few days since the two last met, yet it seemed an eternity to Alex.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

Not without Jack: his nanny, housekeeper and older sister in all but name.

Joe Byrne's face reflected Alex's feelings, a thin veneer of blankness covering his shuddering disbelief.

With Byrne's prompting, Alex told the story concisely, detachedly. If he could just get this over and done with, finish the job and remove Jack's killer, then he could collapse. Then he could recover.

He watched stiffly as the short, moustached Egyptian and Byrne conversed.

He answered the Egyptian's questions.

And then he demanded to be taken with the soldiers to kill Razim.

They refused, of course. To them, Alex was still a wide-eyed child who had never really quite realised what a world he was in. He'd skimmed the surface, sometimes dipping down for a look-see, but never trawling the depths for too long.

Alex told them about Razim's radar warning and missiles. His mines. The helicopter waiting to take Julius Grief back to the fort – or to take Alex, as Grief. He was met with dismissive, curt answers, but he persisted.

It was obvious when the Egyptian decided to agree. The man relaxed and rocked back on his heels, something in his eyes saying, 'Well, if you want to die, don't let me stop you.' A good commander always puts his own men and the people he protects ahead of any other person, including himself. Alex was relying on this.

Once the Egyptian was persuaded, Byrne was even easier. As a guest in another country, he was obligated to capitulate to the decisions of the Egyptians, unless they put his fellow Americans, at risk.

Alex was British.

The decision was cemented when an aide confirmed that Julius resembled Alex exactly. Byrne placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. "What did Razim do to you, Alex?"

Pain, despair, anger. Alex flinched. "Razim has an interest in pain. I think it's time he experienced some." He stood. "We shouldn't be here talking. We should be on our way."

"Alex. Are you sure—?"

A brief smile. "There is one other thing.

"This time… I want a gun."

"I wish you success."

"Don't worry about me."

Alex felt sickened. He wanted this to be over.

"Alex…" It was Razim's last word.

They found him … kneeling beside a burnt-out car.

It seemed as though nothing ever ended. Razim was dead, the threat eliminated, yet Alex found himself yet again standing before Byrne. The man looked at him with pity in his eyes, and understanding, but what could he possibly understand? Alex had said nothing. Jack's death was his secret only.

"Alex," Byrne started slowly, as if searching for the correct words in a storm of meaningless platitudes. "I understand you're in a rough patch."

A mix between the sympathy but lack of empathy from a doctor, and the euphemism of an acquaintance. Alex snorted. "You could say that."

"Perhaps it would be better if you told me what happened," grimaced Byrne.

"What's there to say? Razim was sick." A pause. "And I took Jack with me, I didn't try to tell her not to escape—"

"You're not to blame, Alex."

Alex rolled his eyes sourly. "I know that. But what else could I feel?"

The head of the CIA shifted on his feet.

Thankfully, Alex was saved from baring his soul by a harried soldier who whispered a message to Byrne. The head's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Alex," he said almost gently when the soldier had disappeared, "you might want to sit down."

Confused and still shaky from the aftershocks of the night, Alex collapsed onto a wooden chair placed conveniently nearby.

"Alex," Byrne said again, "It seems that…"

"There's been a bit of a mix-up, my boy." Smithers was here, and once again in a fatsuit. He mopped his brow with a comically large handkerchief that could have served as a scarf.

"Mr Smithers… what…?"

Smithers – Seamus – knelt down, balancing his bulk impressively. "I'm so sorry. I tried to get to you on time, but I'm afraid—"

Alex choked when Jack – but it couldn't be Jack, how could it be Jack? – slipped through the door, looking exactly as she had before she'd been blown up. Her red hair gleamed in what little light there was in the small room and her skin was flushed with life.

"Alex!" she cried, and rushed towards him. They embraced with all the relief and fervour of two people previously doubting that they would ever see the other alive again.

"I – I thought you were—" Alex choked when they released each other. "How—?" He turned to Smithers. "I saw her die," he stated blandly, fishing. The Irishman had to be involved in Jack's recovery somehow.

But Smithers – Seamus – did not give up his secrets so easily. "What you saw was an illusion, Alex," he replied calmly, and did not go on.

"Jack?" Alex turned to his guardian – his guardian, who was, against all odds, alive, and breathing, and seemingly unharmed.

To his disappointment, she only shrugged. "To be honest, I was pretty out of it. Sorry, Alex."

Shaking his head, Alex carefully pushed all suspicion relating to Seamus to the back of his mind. Jack was safe, he'd finished the mission as best he could and it was time to go home.