Chapter Text
Central London
The humid air was making Yassen’s shirt stick uncomfortably to his back while his tolerance for inefficiency steadily declined. He checks his watch with a small tut; late.
He was proud of his impeccable punctuality which had been the foundation of his flawless reputation he’d grown over the years in his position at Scorpian Ltd. It wasn’t an option to be late, especially to an important client meeting that would bring the company a large portion of business. Yet, here he stood on the corner of Great George Street and Parliament Square as an array of policeman secured the area.
There was no excuse for being late, much less due to a failed terrorist attack outside the Houses of Parliament. Especially, given how quickly the area had been secured, this particular event would not be making the news.
He huffs out a frustrated breath and accepts the pen offered to him along with the Official Secrets Act paperwork. Not the first time he’s needed to sign this particular document given some of the high level business deals he’s partaken in the past but he sure hopes this will be the last time he has to sign it in this capacity.
….a car backfired that caused a traffic collision and panic….
He shook his head at the, quite frankly, ridiculous excuse the security services had ‘masterminded’. Truly, a spectacle of intelligence.
His eyes momentarily flick over to the tall blond graduate who is stood a mere few meters away, gun now tucked in his belt, talking to senior members of… What? MI5? MI6? …Interpol?
Yassen frowns as he begins to feel a migraine brewing and returns his attention to the paperwork in front of him. Despite knowing it had not been a car backfiring, he knew frighteningly little of the true extent of the nature of events that had transpired in the last half an hour.
He’d been walking to a clients office on the other side of the bridge when a series of gun shots and explosions had rung out a few buildings up ahead of him.
Then the screaming had started with people seemingly running in all directions. He’d spotted a masked figure up ahead with a knife who was running when a secondary figure, tall and blond, had appeared behind him in chase.
The tall and blond figure? The graduate from the 3rd floor of his office building. Surprise didn’t cut it, frankly no word could sum up his shock at seeing him here.
Just as the masked figure was seconds from gaining entry to an office, the graduate – who should be at work – had pulled out a concealed gun and shot a masked man in the shoulder without hesitation. It was a clean execution, unlike his latest work on the Smitherson Account.
The whole situation had been very surprising indeed. Yassen signs the document and looks over to the blond again. His eye’s trail from that face, to that body, to the cargo trousers that were certainly half a size too small.
He’d had his suspicions about this graduate. Never would he have guessed this was the reason for the poor work ethic, the poor attendance. He’d assumed the blond was swanning off on holidays left right and centre. No, he’d been right in the fact that the graduate had never been ill. Instead, the blond was just downright stupid and foolish to risk his life like this.
Not to mention, obviously the report on the Smitherson account wouldn’t be sent in today.
There were few things Yassen Gregorovich despised more than a missed deadline and Alex Rider was one of them.
Alex tucks the gun into the back of his belt before stretching his arms out in front of him and turning his neck from side to side. Mission success. There had been a few spectators but that was to be expected on such a high profile mission in a relatively busy part of London.
The man he was chasing had come a little too close to attacking the person of interest, far too close. But with lack of MI6 support, as per usual, he tried not to beat himself up about it too much.
He turns and see’s the usual Audi approaching in the distance with the usual suspects getting out the car. He starts walking over in that direction, anticipating their comments.
He turned to glance back at the man he’d shot in the arm. The shirt was stained with blood seeping from the wound and dripping in fat drops on the floor. He’d live, even if Alex had scarred the civilians who had witnessed the take down.
His eyes flick over to where the civilians are currently signing the appropriate paperwork before his stomach tenses, recognising a face in that small crowd.
He knew that face.
Fuck.
Yassen Gregorovich, the Senior Executive at the company he worked for, who was most likely on his way to an important business meeting.
The same Yassen Gregorovich who categorically did not like him. It was difficult to miss the sour looks that had been shot his way over the last few months.
This was the last thing he needed. He already knew his performance was lacking in his job, let alone his attendance record, he thinks with a wince.
He had hoped that MI6 would let him go after he got his university degree, how wrong he had been. They continued to blackmail him to this day and while he did a good job in the field, he would actually rather be in the office.
Shooting seemingly random people in front of a Senior Executive was certainly not the right way to go about passing his probation period, much less obtaining a promotion.
Alex looks back over to Yassen who was staring right at him with those cold piercing eyes. Yup, the man had most definitely seen him.
Great, if this goes in his performance review…
[It would, in fact, go in his performance review.]