Story Alex Rider - King and Country Chapter 1

Summary: It has been fourteen years since Alex Rider narrowly survived the evil plan hatched by Scorpia and one of their operatives, Razim. Fourteen years since confronted, and killed, his deranged look alike, Julius Grief in the streets of Cairo. Fourteen years since he lost the closest thing to a parent he ever knew, his American guardian Jack Starbright...

Mercifully, perhaps amazingly, M16 had left him alone ever since. Perhaps they came to grips with the ethical troubles of using a 15 year old as a spy. Or maybe they figured Scorpia was finished after the encounter in the sands of Siwa. Whatever the reason, M16's silence had been hastened along by the resignation of Alan Blunt and his replacement, Ms. Jones. For once, Alex is ready to believe they are gone and that he can live what he's always wanted, a normal life.

He is sorely mistaken.

Journey into the valleys of British Yorkshire and into the mountains of Scotland as Alex, more of a reluctant spy than ever, once again finds himself in the thick of things. This time the stakes are higher than ever. A secret society called The Gentleman's Club has been conducting attacks at various museums across the country. Each time leaving a cryptic note promising more theft... and carnage. Meanwhile a newly founded political party, led by the charismatic Jonathan Rigsby, seem poised to take control of Parliament on an anti-terror message. Are the two groups related? And can Alex get to the bottom of it before it's too late?

Chapter 1

The Reluctant Spy
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The morning was damp and cold, as it usually was in East Anglia, especially at this time of the morning. It hadn't rained, but the thick fog that coated much of the country in Spring would have given the casual observer a different impression. The fog wouldn't dissipate for hours more either. It was only six am and one was lucky to glimpse the sun by lunchtime.

Given the choice, most would have stayed in rather than face such a dreary scene. But not Alex Rider.

Alex Rider, or Professor Rider as he was now called, was sitting up in bed, staring at the telly that adorned the end of his flat. He lived in a large, 1200 square foot apartment. He could have afforded a house but he didn't want one. All the houses had lawns and lawns meant yardwork. Not that Alex didn't like to work with his hands, he'd done so for years, but he preferred to be focused and pulling weeds or trimming the verge wasn't what he had in mind.

The apartment was simple enough. It was square shaped, with a long hall leading to the bathroom, closet, and kitchen, with the remainder of the space forming a sort of hybrid between a den and a bedroom. His bed was jammed against the wall at the far end of the room while the TV was hanging on the opposite wall. A large desk, oak and on the cheap end of the price range, adorned the space in between. There was also a carpet, a bookshelf, two chairs, a computer to round it out, and a reading lamp to round it out.

He even had a view.

Some might have looked at such a room and thought it basic. Alex did not. He never bought more than he needed and he certainly didn't keep anything he didn't use. This attitude had, over the years, made him one of the more conspicuous characters at the local flea markets.

In his past life Alex had developed a remarkable sense of resourcefulness. It was this resourcefulness that allowed him to escape the clutches of Dr. Grief, Desmond McCain, and narrowly stop the mad millionaire Damian Cray from blowing the world to smithereens. Now, it served him just as well, but in a considerably less interesting capacity. For instance, Alex was known to make his own pencils (he had a machine for such a purpose), pick his fruits and vegetables from the fields, and clip every coupon from the daily paper.

Then there was his academic life. While he'd always had an aptitude for science, Alex never dreamed of becoming a professor of chemistry. But here he was, teaching at Langley School at twenty nine. And to think, only a decade and a half before, he'd been an operative for M16, one phone call away from adventure?

Espionage. Deep cover. Adventure. The life of a secret agent was enticing to every boy in England. Even Alex had believed that, once - until he experienced it firsthand.

Alex sighed. But now wasn't the time to dwell on such things, especially when he'd been thinking about them for fourteen years. He turned and slowly eased himself out of bed. Alex hated mornings but classes started at 8:15 sharp and the commute was a good thirty minute ride from Houghton Towers. As adjunct faculty he couldn't pick and choose his hours and he had to take what he could get. That was fine by him, as long as kept his job.

Alex stood and stumbled over to the TV. It was a SONY flatscreen and, like most modern sets, had a remote that broadcast by Wi-Fi. He grabbed the remote and flicked on the set. It was the BBC, as it almost always was (Alex didn't watch sports or TV dramas). A fair haired man in a suit appeared, he was in front of a podium and appeared to be giving a speech. Alex recognized him at once, it was Jonathan Rigsby, MP from Sunderland South and leader of the newly formed Centre Party. Alex didn't think very highly of him.

But then again, he never paid politics much mind, although more than he was wholly dependent on government funding for his paycheck. Alex liked having the TV on for the sake of having something to listen to, if nothing else. Too much silence drove him mad.

Alex made his way to the kitchen and, after turning the light, found the frige, and began scrambling two eggs for himself. They were a part of his favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs, a slice of french toast, a pear, and a tall glass of milk. Protein, carbohydrates, acid, and calcium. It was a good way to start the day. After all, he was a chemistry professor. He ought to know.

The body craves what it needs, and if you know what you need you'll never be hungry...

It was something his Chemistry instructor, Dr. Dennis Schmitz used to say in lecture. After all these years it had stayed with him. Probably cause it was true.

Alex scooped the eggs onto a plate with the spatula and was in the process of devouring them when a sudden noise from the TV caught his attention.

"Sorry Jeremy, we interrupt this broadcast with the terrible news that last night, two security guards at the Suffolk Museum of Natural History have been murdered...

yes we're getting the names now. Arnold Cranst and Devon MacDonald. Both officers were shot in the head while on duty. No, we don't know what gun was used... police are tracing all possible suspects...

I repeat two officers were shot and killed at Suffolk Museum of Natural History. They were discovered this morning by a custodian, he has asked that his name remain private at this time

Angela I'm getting further information. May I?

Of course Jeremy.

Thank you. According to the constable's office, both tusks on the Wooly Mammoth in exhibit C were taken. They were sawed off with a knife, weapons experts are determining the make...

Two tusks Jeremy?

Yes Angela. Sawed to the end. Here, I think we can get a picture...

Oh god.

There was also a note, pinned to the right ear of the mammoth. If I may Angela?

It's to you Jeremy...

The criminal or criminals left a note on the mammoth. While police are treating it as confidential evidence, on the ground reporters managed to obtain its contents...

the note says... "little foxes play in the woods. old women go out to shop for goods. years come and years go. but nothing stays, not rain or snow. Catch me if you can, but I doubt you'll do it. Tomorrow it's two more of yours for two more of mine. For where the sun sets is where I dine.

GNTLM"

Thank you Jeremy. This is BBC Friday, covering the attack at Suffolk Museum last night. We'll be back in a few minutes...

Alex was on his feet before he knew it, heading for the door.

-End of chapter 1-

@SoullessAngel_
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