Ask for an explanation

“What is going on?” Alex demands, as Mrs. Jones continues to drive.

“You’ve been compromised, Alex,” she says in a grim voice.

“Compromised?” His mind races, wondering how this could be. He wasn’t even currently on a mission and hasn’t had contact with MI6 since starting college — at least not since the unexpected and unwelcomed call this morning.

“There’s no time to explain right now,” she answers, swerving the car suddenly and screeching the tires around a corner. “We’ll bring you up to speed at the safe house. For now, just stay down and out of sight.”

She pushes his head down beneath the level of the windows, and Alex rides this way in silence for several long minutes. The car weaves in and out of traffic, taking so many turns, u-turns, and detours that he long ago gave up trying to keep track of where they might be.

Finally the vehicle pulls behind a vacant warehouse, and Mrs. Jones says, “Hurry... Get in that van before someone sees us.”

Alex jumps out of the car and dashes to a nearby van. No sooner does he close the door to the car before Mrs. Jones races away. Alex speeds toward the van and dives into the open side door. He feels the van lurch off in the opposite direction taken by Mrs. Jones.

Only then does he have a chance to take a look at the other occupants of the van.

The first person he sees is Smithers, the slightly-eccentric and socially-awkward technology genius of MI6. Alex smiles at the familiar face and accepts Smithers’ offered hand to help him off the floor and into one of the bench seats.

Alex sits and looks at the person seated next to him. He does a double-take as he recognizes a fellow student. “Katrina?” he asks in surprise.

“Make that ‘Special Agent Katrina Hopkins’,” says Smithers as Katrina offers a grim smile in greeting.

“Special Agent?” Alex is confused. He had definitely noticed Katrina at school. Who wouldn’t notice her athletic body, slightly-larger-than-average breasts, and shoulder-length black hair? He noticed her on the first day at university, and now that he thinks about it, she did seem to be in a disproportionately-large number of his classes.

“Mr. Blunt assigned me to keep an eye on you,” she says, apologetically. “I’m sorry I couldn’t let on who I was.”

Alex is about to ask more questions, but the driver of the van calls over his shoulder and says, “No sign of anyone following us, Mr. Smithers. Do you want to head to base now?”

Smithers looks nervously through the windows. “I don’t know. I’m not a field agent, you know. What do you think, Alex?”