Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series.

Alex stepped out of the staff car, his boot kicking up the white gravel. He straightened his shirt after the three-hour car ride from London, and tucked it back into his combat pants. MI6 had thought it best if he blended in while he was staying at the SAS base. While it was a highly secure facility, there were civilian contractors on the base almost constantly, and they were not all that far from civilian population centers. The uniform brought back memories - not at all fond - of Brecon Beacons.

At least he didn't need to fold back the cuffs this time.

He scanned the area. It was a far cry from the Beacons' small cluster of relatively crude huts surrounding by a sea of mud. Here the neat brick buildings stretched out for quite a ways. There was a distinct lack of signage, Alex noted. 'I guess if you don't know where you're going, you're not supposed to be here.'

"If you can just go in here, Mr. Rider," said the corporal, while grabbing Alex's bag from the boot, "I believe the Colonel wanted to receive you himself." The teen had given up on insisting "It's just Alex" after the first half-hour of the trip.

He was led to an office near the front of the building with a placard on the door reading "Officer of the Day". Inside was a large office with four desks, only two of which were manned. The driver gave some paperwork to the soldier nearest the door and said, "Alex Rider to see the Colonel."

The receptionist/aide gave Alex a warm smile and directed him to take a seat. "The Colonel should be ready to see you shortly. Would you like something to drink?" Alex demurred.

The driver took the opportunity to say "It was an honor, Mr. Rider." He extended his hand, which Alex shook. When Alex released his grip, the corporal then gave a smart salute. The teen froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. After a pause that probably seemed longer to Alex than it really was, he returned the salute. His uncertainty resulted in a sloppy gesture that would have gotten him a dressing down from the drill sergeant at the Beacons. The driver merely grinned and turned crisply towards the door. The receptionist had taken the opportunity to take paperwork into the inner office on the other side of the room.

After a short wait, the door to the inner office opened and the aide came out, followed by an officer. "Alex! May I call you 'Alex'?" The teen bobbed his head in a gesture that was meant to convey "Of course."

The Colonel said, "Come this way," and gestured into his office. The room had a fairly spartan decor; no doubt, a natural consequence of being a shared facility. "You've been offered refreshments?" Alex once again turned down the offer, and settled himself into the offered chair. "Well. Welcome to Credenhill, home of 22nd SAS. I take it you didn't pass through here on your original, ah... tour of duty?"

"No, sir. I was taken directly to Brecon Beacons."

"Right, then. I'll take you on a brief orientation when we're done here." The officer opened the folder on the desk in front of him. "I've been briefed on your security situation-"

'That makes one of us,' thought Alex.

"- and it looks like you'll be staying with us for the foreseeable future. We have a bachelor's apartment in the Officers' Quarters set aside for you. Unfortunately, as a secure facility, we don't have many minors living on base. A few of the more junior officers have children, but they are typically much younger than you. If you'd like I could find out if any of the officers living on base have children around your age?"

Alex was not enthusiastic, but responded, "Um, sure."

The Colonel referred back to the folder. "While you are not restricted to base, we must insist you take a security detail with you if leave the base. How does that sound?"

"OK, I guess. But is that really necessary? Is this... Gentleman likely to plan an attack right under the noses of the SAS?" Alex was hoping to hear that his anxiety was unwarranted.

The Colonel looked up from the file. "I have seen what we have on The Gentleman, and it is not much. But I do know that the attack on you in the States is his - or her - first confirmed failed mission. The thinking at the Ministry is that he is likely to try to clean up his record. While it is unlikely he would make a direct assault on an SAS stronghold, we cannot take the threat lightly. In the meantime, the Minister's office has arranged for a tutor. You've yet to sit your GSCE's, correct?"

Alex nodded. "Right. In the States, we were preparing for taking the PSAT. But surely I won't be here long enough for that to make sense?"

"We can hope. But surely you are familiar with the saying 'Pray for the best, but prepare for the worst.' We don't expect you to put your life on hold while we sort this out." He pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and shook out a few items. "Here is a key to your quarters, a temporary ID card, and a debit card for the commissary."

Alex looked bemused. "I get an allowance?"

"While there is a small credit balance on the account, personnel stationed here eat for free. The cards primarily let the quartermaster track usage." The colonel rose from his seat. "Your bags will be delivered to your quarters. Let me show you around a bit, and then I'll let you get settled."

"...And we are back to the mess hall." The colonel had given a brief tour of the administrative and housing portions of the base. "As I said, meals here are covered by that card I gave you. If you want a little variety, there is pub fare in the officer's club over there," he said, pointing across the parade ground. "They do charge over there, but your... allowance, did you say?... should cover it nicely. Are you hungry?" He gave a chagrined look. "Stupid question. You're a teenager. Of course you're hungry. We will end the tour here. I'm sure you have enough to get by until you can get more familiar with the workings of the base. You can get some food, and then I'll have one of my aides show you to your quarters." The officer opened the mess hall door for Alex to enter.

Alex entered the building, and glanced around the large space. If it wasn't for the large number of people in uniform, and the almost complete lack of women, he could have mistaken it for a uni cafeteria. There was a sandwich station, and over there a salad bar. A far cry from the rough construction of the mess hall at the Beacons. He couldn't imagine the river of mud that was regularly tracked into that facility being allowed here.

He noticed some of the soldiers glance toward the door, and then do a double take. Several stood from their seats, then a few more. If this was Brecon Beacons, by now someone would have barked "Shun!" when a senior officer entered the room, and everyone would have been on their feet in moments. Perhaps the protocol was different when the troops weren't on training footing. He glanced back to see the Colonel's reaction. He had turned nearly all the way when he realized that the officer had not followed him into the building. He turned back, slightly embarrassed, and it was clear from the number of grins on the soldiers' faces that the action had not gone unnoticed.

He had collected himself and decided to press on, when one of the soldiers snapped off a salute. It was quickly adopted by a large number of the other standing soldiers. He thought it best if he returned the salute; maybe then he could slink off and pretend it didn't happen. The soldiers fairly quickly returned to their previous activities, to Alex's relief.

The quality of the food was much higher than that of the Beacons; certainly, the produce was fresher. At the end of the line, Alex topped off his selections with an apple and a banana. Turning, he scanned the room for an open table. There was plenty of available seating, but none of the tables were completely empty. He picked one of the long tables along the side of the room that was empty on one end.

"Hey, kid," one of the soldiers at the other end of the table said. Alex tensed slightly. 'And it starts...,' he thought."Pass the salt."

"Excuse me?"

The soldier who had spoken gestured with his chin. "Near your elbow, there." Alex lifted his arm and spotted the shaker. He slid it down the table to the soldier, who appeared to be the oldest of the three by a few years. He was certainly the tallest, by a good four inches. "You're Rider, right?" he asked, though it didn't sound like a question. "You don't have to sit way down there, we don't bite. Gull here was just telling us about storming a sniper's nest in Kandahar."

Gull tried to wave him off. "It wasn't much of a story. It's not like..." he gestured vaguely "... like I saved thousands of schoolkids from a deadly epidemic or stopped a nuclear holocaust."

With a jolt, Alex realized 'Wait a minute... they're intimated by me?' He mentally shook himself. "Uh, yeah, no. You were running towards the shooting. That's a big deal. When the guns come out, that's when I start running the other way."

The first soldier piped up, "The bullet scar on your chest says otherwise."

Alex looked down at the table, then looked up into the man's face. "I was standing on a sidewalk, minding my own business, at the time. I would have been hightailing it if I had known." Feeling a bit bold, he turned to Gull. "I wouldn't mind hearing the story, if that's OK?"

Gull shrugged, "Sure, I guess." He glanced at the other two soldier, then added, "I'll back up a bit. It was an evening patrol in the central district of Kandahar-"

After a couple more stories, the first soldier - who had introduced himself as Badger - turned to Alex and said, "So the rumor mill says you are actually a SAS veteran. That true?"

"Well, I spent a week and a half at Brecon Beacons. Mostly conditioning and wilderness training, before they sent me undercover as a teenage computer geek on a corporate campus. So, yeah, that happened."

"Typical SIS. They send agents over for training and physical therapy without any consideration of what training regimens are currently being conducted." Badger turned to Eel, the third member of the original group and asked, "You remember Skunk?"

Alex sniggered. "Skunk? Wow, now I don't feel so bad about being tagged with 'Cub'." Alex immediately realized his mistake. It was a familiar feeling; he flashed back to telling Sayle that his name was 'Alex'.

"Cub, huh? Sarge must have been feeling particular sympathetic that day. Most secondments from MI6 get codenames like 'Maggot' or 'Worm'. Cub's not so bad. At least a cub is a wild animal; it could have been 'Kitten'."

Alex chuckled. "I guess you're right." He looked up and saw a soldier that he recognized as the colonel's aide standing just inside the cafeteria, scanning the room. "Looks like my ride is here. It was a pleasure meeting you all."

"Any time, Cub." Alex suppressed a sigh.

By the second day at the base, Alex was already getting used to the place. After being cooped up at MI6 headquarters, it was good to be able to get some exercise to work through the last of the jet lag. He had found a decent running route that took him past the parade grounds and some of the training areas. It lacked the steep climbs of Brecon Beacons or San Francisco, but it was fine for bringing his endurance up.

He stopped at the parade grounds, which were being used as a football pitch at the present time. He popped the top of his water bottle as he watched the six-a-side scrimmage. He briefly considered asking if he could join, but every one of the players had a few stone on him, and there was quite a bit of contact. Alex wondered if he could get his hand on a frisbee and introduce the soldiers to Ultimate. It was, theoretically, a non-contact sport. He'd picked up the sport in San Francisco playing with Spike and his friends.

He turned towards the administrative buildings and saw a school bus idling near the commissary. Just then, a civilian came out of the entrance with a takeaway cup clasped between his hands, his head bowed over the steaming container as if in prayer. 'There's a man who needs his morning cuppa,' thought Alex. 'Not a bad idea.' The man took a couple of sips of his drink and climbed onto the bus.

Alex patted his pocket to make sure he had his meal card and started towards the building. The bus lurched into motion and drove a brief distance to the low building that the colonel had identified as the community center. 'Short route,' mused the teen. His attention drawn to the building, he noticed a small group of kids waiting at the bus stop, perhaps six to ten years old. Most of them where genuflecting over their phones or other electronic devices. Alex chuckled. Their postures were eerily reminiscent of the driver's worship of his beverage.

The teen entered the commissary and got his tea prepared the way he liked it. He grabbed some fruit to bring back to his room and walked back out into the bright morning sunshine. He spotted a schoolboy about his own age rushing for the bus stop. The boy jumped aboard, and the vehicle roared to life a moment later. Alex glanced down at his watch. Maybe he'd time his morning run tomorrow to be able to introduce himself and see if there were any other teens on base. Of course, if the kid was habitually late, that might be a problem. Well, whatever; he did better without a plan anyway.

It seemed that Badger's attitude was pretty typical of the SAS rank and file. Alex was treated like a favored kid brother. They greeted him warmly, but didn't push their way into his life. He was starting to get anxious that he still hadn't heard from Sabina or her parents, but at least pretty much having the run of the base did prevent him feeling like he was living in hiding. Even if, in fact, he was.

The next day, he was more than three-quarters through his planned run when he realized he was going to be early for his planned ambush meeting at the bus stop. He came upon a troop doing morning exercises. Alex thought they might be fairly new recruits, because the non-com leading the exercises was berating them like a stereotypical drill sergeant. "Frog squats! Twenty! Touch the ground, Manion! Tuck that chin, Callahan, or I'm going to knock it off!" Later, it was "Push ups! You've got one minute! Give me at least forty, or I'll have you running laps! Get those hips down, Peterson - it's not mating season!"

Not wanting to tighten up, Alex took off again for the administrative area. He'd timed it pretty well. The kids were still waiting for the bus. He settled in for a wait a little ways from the bus stop and looked off in the direction he'd seen the teenage boy come from the day before. It was only a couple of minutes later when he saw the boy coming - this time walking. Alex stood up from the bench, and called, "Oi! Mate!" The teen was a bit startled. It was clear that the first thing that registered was the uniform Alex was wearing. But after a moment, he focused on his face.

"Wait! You're him! Alex Rider!"

With a slight smirk, Alex replied, "Yes, I know." He held out his hand. "Just wanted to say 'hi'. I haven't seen any other teens on base."

The boy shook his hand. "Peter. Peter Lymond. So the rumors are true? You're really staying here?"

"At least for now. It's hard to say how long at the moment."

Peter eyed Alex's clothes and said, "You're going to school with us? We don't usually wear anything that identifies us as being from the base. Just easier to fit in, you know?"

"No, nothing's settled," Alex denied, "There's been talk of a tutor, but I haven't really fully gotten myself sorted. I just saw the bus and figured I'd introduce myself. I don't want to make you late."

The other boy glanced over to the bus stop. "No problem. The bus hasn't even pulled into the loading area. Boy! What 'til my mates hear about this!"

"Whoa, there. Actually, it's supposed to be a bit of a secret. Not OSA stuff, but probably best if you don't confirm it for now."

Peter looked skeptical. "Everybody was talking about it at school yesterday. I think that ship has sailed."

"Still, I don't want my personal brand of crazy rubbing off on anyone here. Just a warning."

Alex huffed as he glared at the mailbag that had just been delivered to his quarters. It was a visible symbol of how messed up his life had become... but at least it was a distraction. He up-ended the bag's contents onto his desk. It was a hodgepodge of different colors, sizes and quality. There were fine stationery, and simple envelopes. Most were white, but mixed in were lavender, pink, and other pastels.

He started to work his way through the pile, only occasionally setting aside a missive that he would consider responding to. He came across another disc similar to the one he had received at Thames House. He wondered whether Tom or James Hale had shown up in any interviews, and whether Spike had kept his head down like he had recommended. As he didn't have a computer in his room, he started to set it aside when the label caught his eye. It read:

Brookland - 00:00 - 03:52

Pacific Heights - 03:54 - 08:12

Wimbledon - 08:14 - 11:02

Feathered Serpent Launch - 11:04 - 26:58

Jack - 26:59.32

BBC America - 27:01 - 38:13

News Hour - 38:15 - 43:22

Jack's name stopped Alex cold. His mouth went dry, and a wave of grief rose from his belly. He took a moment to gather himself and wondered where they had gotten any footage of her, or even when her name had gotten dragged into the story. 'That's odd,' thought Alex, 'They included it, even though from the timings they could only have the briefest of images.' His curiosity was piqued; what image could have been so striking as to be included in such a highlight reel? Perhaps it was from the Feathered Serpent event. Whoever put this together must have a real eye for detail.

He pocketed the disk and prepared to investigate whether the base had an internet cafe.

Alex sat down at the workstation and swallowed nervously. For some reason he couldn't identify, he was hesitant to put the disk into the drive. He chastised himself and popped the disk into place. The player started up automatically.

'It's all one track', he thought. 'Just great.' Brief interviews with Brookland students began to play. Just reactions to the news, really; nothing substantive. He had seen some of these before. He looked around the mostly empty computer room to see if anyone was paying attention to him, but he had his privacy. He placed his mouse cursor on the slider and began to scan for the Feathered Serpent footage.

When he found it, he let it play. He couldn't believe that anyone could watch the scene and not see the petty hatred in Cray's manner. He was lost in his thoughts for a moment and was only drawn out when he noticed the familiar BBC America logo. 'Ugh. Missed it.' He fiddled with the slider for a minute, but he only ended up alternating between images of himself with Cray and a panel discussion of his situation with a set of pundits he distantly recognized. He finally gave up and placed the indicator at the final moments of the Feathered Serpent demo and began to repeatedly double-click on the play/pause button. 'This is ridiculous. It had better be worth it.'

The next iteration left him rocked back in his seat.

There on the screen was an image of Jack - his Jack - sitting on a cot in a cell. The view was angled down, as if from a security camera. Alex's first thought was that someone had gotten their hands on security tapes from Razim's compound. He gave a little gasp as he remembered to breathe. In that moment, he realized what was wrong: the walls in Razim's holding cells had been sandstone. This had been part of what made the fact that Jack had been able to loosen the bars from the windows more credible.

The walls in the image were cinderblock.

Other details began to register with the teen. Jack's hair was brutally short - much shorter than she had ever worn it. She also looked thinner than Alex remembered her being. And there were dark shadows under her eyes. After studying the image in confusion for a few more moments, Alex tore his focus from her face and noticed the caption that had been added to the image:

They are not telling you the whole story.

Alex was numb. He still couldn't process the implications of the image. 'I saw her die!' He briefly wondered if this could be from some other time, perhaps before she started working for Ian? That didn't make sense; she looked older than he remembered her, not younger. 'What story?' he wondered. 'What story?'

Alex shook his head and scanned the remainder of the image. At the bottom, in a smaller font, was an email address and a password. The ex-spy put aside his confusion and began to fashion an email to the supplied address.

He paused and looked back at the image. 'Why is the password there?' he wondered. He opened another tab and navigated to the email provider's web site. He logged in successfully with the supplied credentials, but the inbox was completely empty. He then noticed there was an item in the Drafts folder. The subject line was "To: Alex".

He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he opened the message. He began to read:

Alex,

If you're reading this, then you're truly as observant and resourceful as your reputation has painted you. My name is Roger Laughlin and I'm a freelance reporter. You may have seen my byline in the London Times or in Le Monde. Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but the Powers That Be are keeping a tight grip on press access to you.

I've tried several different avenues to try to attract your attention without getting shut down by your handlers. No doubt the only information that you are interested in is the story behind the picture. The picture is undated, but I believe it to no more than a few months old. It came into my possession several weeks ago.

I had been researching your story - or rather, the story of an unnamed underage operative - based on some notes I found belonging to a colleague of mine name Henry Bulman. Harry disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and I'm convinced that it was looking under the wrong rock that got him in trouble. I trust Harry's instincts for a story.

I followed the story to Cairo, and there I heard whispers of a British woman who had been kidnapped by terrorists, though not by fundamentalists, nor by professional kidnappers. Alternate rumors had the woman being American or Canadian. I was able to pay an informant for the picture, but he did not trust me enough to explain why he was shopping the photo around. I hesitate to speculate, but I don't want to mislead you with false hopes. I heard that she had been moved to Libya, but that might have been a deliberate misdirection.

After the story of your exploits broke, I was able to quickly piece together the identity of the woman in the picture. Both the British and American embassies in Cairo refuse to admit that it is Jack Starbright, but at this point I'm convinced.

You probably know why this is being swept under the rug, but I can't imagine that you are fine with the situation. With my help, we can use the prospect of publicity to light a fire under whoever is in charge of investigating Ms. Starbright's situation.

I understand you probably have an exclusive arrangement with Edward Pleasure, and he might not be thrilled with my involvement. But I had been working on this story for a few months when the news of your identity broke. I would be very grateful for your assistance. As it stands, my story is thinly sourced. Many of Harry's original sources were obfuscated in his notes, or have faded back into the woodwork. My editor does not think that we have enough to go to press with. However, as things stand now, even your reaction to rumors would be newsworthy.

Please create a separate draft message to respond to my request. If you are amenable, we can arrange to meet.

Respectfully,

Roger Laughlin

From his vantage between the two bushes abutting the community center, Alex could look one way and see the bus driver talking earnestly into his phone and sipping his morning tea, or look the other to keep an eye out for the approach of Peter Lymond. The driver ended the call, and approached the group of pre-teen schoolchildren. Alex could catch enough of the conversation to tell that driver was giving them assurances that the situation was well in hand. Satisfied, the driver then stalked towards the commissary, and his stalled vehicle.

Alex was glad that Ian's lessons in how to hot-wire a vehicle included some simple hard-to-diagnose ways to disable a vehicle.

Alex turned his attention towards the other direction, and spotted Peter approaching. The ex-spy sank a little deeper into the morning shadows and let the other teen pass his position. He slipped into Peter's wake and called out, "Hey! Peter!"

Startled, the base resident turned and spotted Alex. Breaking out in a smile, he greeted him warmly. "Guess what!" Alex interjected, "I'm going to school with you."

"That's great! Maybe we'll be in some of the same classes."

An embarrassed look crossed Alex's face. "Oh, no, sorry. I meant just today. I've got to go take a placement exam. I mean, I might join you eventually, but I've been bouncing between London, Cairo and San Francisco for the last year, so my studies are kind of a mess."

"But they thought that I would attract less attention if I just took the bus. I think they're going to send a special driver, probably MI5. It's all hush-hush. I'm not really supposed to tell you, but I think all of this secrecy is a bit over the top. It's not like you wouldn't figure out for yourself that something was up. Still, it's probably for the best that you don't try chatting up the replacement driver." Alex smirked. "Shall we?" he added, gesturing towards the crowd of schoolchildren.

After a few steps, Alex stopped, looking down in thought. His head popped up, and he commented, "You know, they haven't really thought this through."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Well, when the kiddies realize I'm on the bus, they're probably going to get excited. Tell me I'm wrong."

"No, you're not wrong."

Alex shook his head. "That's going to attract the wrong sort of attention. What they should have done...," the teen spy trailed off. "Do you have your phone?"

"Yeah, why?" Peter wondered.

"When the replacement bus is about to board, you arrive having a loud conversation. You a football fan? Thought so. So you'll have plenty to rail against. I'll slip on board, and Bob's your uncle."

Ten minutes later, Alex was slouched in the back of the bus staring out the window as the trundled towards Credenhill Comprehensive. He was done with being kept in the dark.

A/N: My apologies to anyone who is familiar with issues of military procedures and decorum. If anything here seemed particularly cringe-worthy, my excuse is that this is an alternate universe where the U.S. Navy still has a base in San Francisco and MI6 extorts teenagers into working for them.

So, yeah, not dead yet.

Alex is at the center of a conspiracy! What are the chances!

I realized I had painted myself into a corner when I had him housed at a highly secure military base. Getting him off the base was a little bit of a pain. That's why the title is "Base Jumping". I figured people would assume I was misspelling "BASE jumping", but no parachutes involved.