The Carlin School

By H. H. Sawyer

Spying was in Alex Mullnar's blood.

Chosen to attend the classified British Secret Intelligence Service high school, he was proud to be following in his father's CIA footsteps. But Alex was understandably nervous: would he have what it takes to excel at Britain's top school for future spies?

When Alex and his fellow students suspect a teacher of selling secrets to Russian intelligence agents, they must take matters into their own hands to stop it.

However, there is a bigger danger lurking on the streets of London, and when Alex finds out about a plan to conduct a horrific terrorist attack in the heart of the city, he and his friends are the only ones who can save innocent lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. H. Sawyer
• Release date: Oct 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301620135

H. H. Sawyer

H. H. Sawyer prefers, at this time, to remain somewhat anonymous; but is working on several sequels to the Carlin School. Watch this space to find out what Alex and his friends get up to in year two! Welcome queries and feedback.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Saying Goodbye

It was on a bleak winter day that Alex Mullnar's father moved to London without him. Crows wheeled overhead, the air smelled of snow, and Alex shivered in the cold, certain that this was the worst day of his life. He was waiting outside his father's apartment in Reston, Virginia. Waiting to take his dad to the airport. Waiting to say goodbye.

Fred Mullnar appeared in the doorway, a suitcase in each hand. To Alex, he looked handsome and strong and capable, and already very far away. When he saw his son, Fred smiled, and Alex felt a warmth in his chest.

Ready? Fred asked with a false cheerfulness.

No, Alex answered, but he said it in a good-humored way, rolling his blue eyes and frowning theatrically.

Fred set his luggage down and stood in front of his son, putting both hands on the boy's shoulders.

We're going to talk just as much as we do now, Fred assured him.

I know, Alex muttered, looking down. But you won't be here.

Yes, Fred agreed, but we have winter break in two weeks, and then most of the summer together.

I'll be OK, Dad, Alex told him, forcing himself to meet his father's eyes with a steady gaze. This is just harder than I expected. I wish I was going with you.

I know, Fred replied, helplessly spreading his hands. I know, he repeated.

Alex's mother, Linda, waited in the car, cordially having offered to drive her soon-to-be ex-husband to the airport.

They rode the twenty minutes to Washington Dulles airport in almost complete silence. Although Fred and Linda got along fairly well despite having separated two years prior, everyone in the car had the same unspoken thought that if the couple were still together, the whole family would be moving to London, and not just Fred.

In the drop off lane at the airport, Alex and his father got out of the car. Alex watched miserably as Fred removed his suitcases from the car and closed the trunk with a resounding thud.

Fred looked at Alex seriously.

Remember: no CIA talk over the phone or email, just like here, he admonished his son.

I know, Alex nodded.

No hinting, no allusions to spy stuff.

Dad, I know.

Alex hugged his father and then watched as his parents gave each other a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, murmuring goodbyes. The Fred slung his backpack over his shoulder and pulled up the handles on his two suitcases. He smiled and nodded, and turned away.

The airport doors slid open to admit him and a warm draft of air spilled out. When the doors closed, the warm air was cut off and Alex was left alone in the cold.

His father was off to spy in London, off to do exciting operations in the world, while Alex was stuck in suburban Virginia. Stuck with his mother, who didn't want to travel anymore; stuck going to school with kids who had never heard of half the places Alex had lived.

Alex was being left behind.

Chapter 2: A Visit To MI6

Six days later, Fred Mullnar stood patiently at the fortified gate while the guard examined his list, searching for a name matching the one on Fred’s black diplomatic passport. The guard held up the passport so he could compare Fred’s face to the photo in the document. Once he was satisfied, the guard handed the passport back to Fred and waved him through the opening gate.

Fred stepped into a small glass enclosure which smelled faintly of disinfectant. The door sealed behind him with a hiss and he was unknowingly subjected to a full body scan and physiological measurements to search for unusual indications of stress. When the two technicians watching through a bullet-proof one-way mirror saw nothing out of the ordinary with the visitor, they released the door opposite.

Fred walked down a short hallway and into a spacious reception room. An attractive young woman sat behind a large desk, smiling as she watched him approach.

Mr. Mullnar, welcome to Vauxhall Cross, the woman told him in a perfect Oxford accent. Mr. Strix is on his way. If you have a telephone with you, would you leave it here with me, please?

Thank you ma’am, but no phone today, Fred told her cheerfully in his most American accent, leaning casually against the counter and smiling at the young woman. She was quite pretty in a prim sort of British way, and Fred Mullnar was now officially a single man.

The receptionist blushed, for Fred was handsome, charismatic, and although there were many Americans in London, he was still something out of the ordinary. Before Fred could begin flirting in earnest, the door opened and Joseph Strix burst into the reception area.

Felix! Joseph Strix bellowed, engulfing Fred’s hand with one giant meaty palm and slapping him on the back with the other. My God, man, it’s good to see you!

Likewise, Joseph, likewise, Fred replied, his demeanor less exuberant than his British friend, but just as genuine. He wanted to chide Strix for calling him Felix, but it had been going on for so long that the nickname had become irrevocably stuck. Strix had always relished working with his American intelligence counterpart, and had started calling him Felix many years ago in reference to James Bond’s CIA friend.

Come on up and see the new office! Strix boomed, ushering Fred onto the elevator. How is London treating you so far?

Very well, Fred told him. My housing is very nice.

Better than that mansion you had in Dubai? Strix asked.

Well, that place was hard to beat, Fred admitted, but this one is pretty nice, and far too big for just me.

The elevator door opened and Fred led the way into a short hall that had two uniformed soldiers standing in it. One reached over and opened the door for the two men as they approached.

And how is Alex doing? Strix asked, waving for Fred to go through the open door first.

Something had changed in Strix's tone with this question, but Fred did not notice. He was too busy admiring the expansive view of the River Thames from Strix’s lofty office window.

So… I bet the Chinese set up their listening post right about there, Fred pointed to a building across the river that had a direct line of sight into Strix’s office.

Actually, it was the North Koreans, but they couldn’t pay their lease and the police notified us once they realized who the delinquent tenants were. Strix chuckled, and then scratched his chin with a quizzical look. It’s probably best that you don’t repeat that. It may be a State secret.

Your secrets are safe with me, and the seven hundred people that read the cable traffic between my office and Headquarters, Fred replied seriously. It was a longstanding joke between the two men that nothing was secret within their own organizations, and that once something was in the CIA or SIS official cabling system, it was out of their control. Often, information seemed to run wild in inexplicable ways.

Perhaps that may not make it into cable traffic, Strix suggested.

Fred acquiesced with a slight nod.

I understand that you are settled in your Station and ready for business, Strix commented with a smile, waving at Fred to sit in a plush chair in front of the desk. The SIS officer poured two cups of tea and handed one to Fred without comment, then sat down beside him.

I believe we have our first official exchange on Thursday, Fred told him.

To the CIA Chief of Operations, London Station, Strix declared, holding his teacup in the air to toast. Fred nodded in thanks and the two men touched cups briefly before sipping the steaming drink.

Truly, Felix, I am glad you’re here, Strix declared. We’ve got a lot going on, and we need to work together now more than ever.

What is it? Fred asked, sitting up straight, alerted by the seriousness of his friend’s tone. The British and Americans shared all intelligence that had to do with terrorism, and both men lived under the heavy knowledge of the constant threat to the people of both of their countries.

Nothing that can’t wait until Thursday, Strix assured him, his hand raised in a soothing gesture. He paused for a moment, looking out over the water. It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?

You deserve it, Fred told him sincerely. You worked hard to sit here.

Thank you, Strix replied. So tell me about Alex. How is he?

Divorce isn’t easy, but he’s managing, Fred mused. He likes his school in Virginia, and I think he likes having me and his mother in two different houses. I know I do.

Strix chuckled. I am sorry to hear about you and Linda, but it seems that it’s for the best. She stayed in Virginia with Alex?

Yes, it's kind of ironic, really: the Brit lives in America, and the American lives in London, Fred pointed out. She's got a nice place in McLean, right near Alex's school. It's winter recess next week, so he’s flying in for a visit with me on Sunday.

Oh really? Strix feigned surprise. He already knew that Alex Mullnar was going to be on United flight 6, arriving at 0740 at Heathrow’s terminal 2. Fred looked askance at his friend, realizing that Strix’s interest in Alex was more than casual chit chat about the divorce.

What's going on? Fred asked, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion.

There may be an opportunity for Alex, Strix acknowledged, choosing his words carefully. You see, we have a mandate from Parliament to continue building and fostering the relationship with our American cousins, particularly when it comes to the sharing of intelligence.

Fred waited silently, his training kicking in. He could tell that Strix was discussing a delicate subject, and Fred knew the best thing to do was keep his mouth shut. This would encourage his close-mouthed British counterpart to perhaps say more than he intended to.

I realize that what I am about to tell you will need to be reported back to your headquarters, Strix indicated, but I would ask that the information be carefully compartmented.

Fred’s attention was piqued, and he nodded silently.

You see, Strix continued, we have a special preparatory school that we send our best prospects to. Children who will one day form the backbone of Her Majesty’s Secret Service as intelligence officers. This school has been in existence since before World War II, and to this day, remains unknown to the public. We believe that this level of discretion would never be maintained in America.

Fred nodded solemnly but did not dispute Strix's words. The existence of such a special school would indeed never be kept secret in the United States, which by design had very few secrets.

In the spirit of sharing, and considering that your son is both an American and a British citizen, I – no, we – believe that Alex would be an excellent candidate for the school.

Fred caught the subtle emphasis that Strix put on the we in his sentence. That meant that whoever Strix ultimately reported to in the British government was not only aware of the offer to send a half-American son of a CIA operative to Britain’s secret spy preparatory school, they were supporting it.

Fred let out a low whistle and sat back in his chair. A secret British spy preparatory school. Fascinating. But why my son?

There are certain requirements, and he fits them all, Strix explained. He’ll have to go through the screening process, which is mostly psychological, but generally, I can say from what I know of the boy that he’s an excellent candidate.

When would he attend this school? Fred asked.

September, although the admissions review doesn’t occur until March, so we couldn’t guarantee his place until after that, Strix told him.

When does this psychological screening take place? Fred wondered.

Next week, coincidentally, Strix replied with a puckish grin.

Fred looked at his friend askance. You planned this, he observed, and Strix nodded seriously.

Alex is just finishing junior high in the States this year, Fred mused, so a change in the fall wouldn’t be too disruptive. Although Linda and I agreed that he would live with her in Virginia through high school.

It’s a boarding school, Strix explained, so he wouldn’t be living with either one of you. From what I know of Linda, she’s a good mother and would never stand in the way of this kind of opportunity for Alex. On top of that, Linda – despite the fact that she now lives in America – is a loyal British subject and if her son is called to serve, she'll fall in line.

Fred couldn’t help but agree with the SIS officer’s assessment of his former wife. He nodded thoughtfully.

Let me run it by Alex, Fred conceded cautiously, and see what he thinks.

Strix was shaking his head even before Fred finished speaking.

Sorry, old boy, but you can’t tell him anything until after the screening is over. Students act in unpredictable and uncharacteristic ways if they know that they are applying to a special SIS school. Frankly, they try to act like spies, and make a right mess of it. We want the students to act naturally during the screening.

Fred nodded without comment, recognizing the sensibility of Strix's words.

There is the problem of paperwork and security issues on my end, Fred declared, realizing the mountain of bureaucratic red tape that he would have to wade through with security staff back in Washington. How would he explain the school?

Strix shook his head with a smug smile. That’s been taken care of. If Alex is found suitable, C is prepared to speak to your director on his behalf.

’C’, as in the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service – that ‘C’?

Strix nodded, and Fred laughed out loud.

Well, that should cut through the red tape. Although I am not sure I'm comfortable with the head of the SIS and the director of the CIA discussing my son’s high school education.

Strix laughed amicably before his face grew serious once more. There's an appointment for Alex on Tuesday at 9 AM.

Fred sighed and looked out over the river, and then back to the SIS officer with a smile.

OK, let’s give it a shot. My son, in SIS secret spy school.

He smiled and held out his hand, and the two men sealed the proposition with a handshake.

Chapter 3: Alex Arrives in London

Fred’s diplomatic status allowed him access to the secured gate area at Heathrow's International Terminal, so he was waiting when his handsome sandy-haired son walked off the jetway. The plane ride had been long and bumpy on the overnight flight from Washington to London, and Alex had not slept well. At thirteen, he was already tall and his knees hurt when he kept still for too long.

Upon seeing his dad, all the discomfort was forgotten. Although it had been less than two weeks since they had seen each other, father and son embraced as if it had been a much longer separation.

So, how is it? Alex asked curiously as they walked towards customs and immigration. What’s your house like?

It’s a flat, not a house this time, Fred explained. But it’s very nice, and in a nice area of town. I think you’ll like it.

How’s work? Alex asked, his voice low and discreet. It had been two years since Fred Mullnar had sat his then-11 year old son down to explain that he worked for the CIA. The family had just moved back to Virginia from Dubai, and Fred and Linda had decided to separate, so it had been time to tell Alex the truth. Although young, Alex showed amazing discretion and Fred was glad he could be open with his son.

Well, I’m chief of operations now, which means I get to be in charge of the cool stuff without having to do any of the administrative work that the Chief of Station does, Fred told him brightly, and I still get to meet assets. I’m working closely with Mr. Strix – you remember him from Dubai?

Of course, Alex replied.

Alex followed his father past the long line of non-EU citizens waiting to pass through immigration and up to a portal marked diplomatic entry only. The guard glanced at Fred’s badge, took a cursory look at Alex’s passport, and then waved them through.

How’s your mom doing? Fred asked as they walked to baggage claim.

Good, Alex told him. She’s working on some new case: something about tax fraud. She was pretty excited about it. She's going to make partner in the firm soon.

And school? Fred wondered.

Alex shrugged. It’s OK, I guess. Boring. All the other kids only want to play video games.

You don’t like video games now? Fred asked with surprise.

No, I do, Alex explained, but not all the time, every day. They don’t do anything else. I kind of miss the Embassy and international community. Even though some of those people were crazy, they were interesting.

Alex had expressed this opinion before, and he was glad to see that it still made his father laugh.

Well, funny you should mention it, but there might be an opportunity here for you, Fred began, speaking slowly.

Alex could tell that his father was choosing his words carefully, and his interest was immediately piqued. He knew from many years of experience that when his father talked like this, something interesting generally followed.

What do you mean, 'an opportunity'?

On Tuesday, there’s an entrance exam for a prep school here for kids who want to live and work in the international community, Fred explained.

The school is in London?

It’s nearby, Fred answered after the slightest of pauses. He realized he did not actually know where the school was.

Would I go there next year? Alex asked.

It’s possible, Fred agreed, although technically I haven’t spoken to your mother about it yet, and you still need to be accepted, so we’re still a long way from having to make any decisions. I just want you to go and do the testing, and learn a little bit about the school. We can talk about the rest once we know more.

Alex was silent for a few minutes, gazing at the unmoving luggage carousel and thinking about moving to London.

You're going to wind up taller than me, Fred observed, appraising his son.

I'm the tallest kid in my class in Virginia, Alex told him absently.

Alex stayed silent for a few more minutes, and as the bell sounded the arrival of the luggage, he turned to his father with a serious look in his blue eyes.

I want to go, he declared.

Fred looked surprised. But you don’t know anything about the school yet, he protested.

Alex shrugged. You said it’s for kids who want to do something international, right?

Fred nodded.

Well, that’s me. I’m going crazy in Virginia, Dad. I don’t have anything in common with those kids. I’d love to come to London. He stepped away to pull his suitcase off the carousel, leaving his father alone, his jaw agape.

After collecting Alex’s luggage, they walked to the curb where the Embassy’s British driver was waiting in the idling SUV. He was a tall, spare man in his sixties with wispy gray hair and a steely handshake, and when he saw them coming, he leapt out of the car with a fitness that belied his age.

Is this your minder? Alex asked his father quietly while the man arranged their luggage in the back of the truck.

I think so, Fred affirmed with a chuckle. You know how allies are: they like to keep an eye on each other.

We probably do it to them, too, Alex suggested.

I guarantee we do, Fred whispered back.

Since it was before noon on a Sunday, the streets were relatively clear and they made good time.

This is our street, Fred pointed at the sign bolted to a stone wall. Alex took it in, vainly trying to remember the details in his exhausted jet-lagged state.

This is nice, Dad, Alex told his father, looking at the large row houses and mature trees. A Persian restaurant! Have you been yet?

Nope, Fred shook his head. I was waiting for you to translate. And there’s a park right there.

Alex saw a lone young man, about his age, with brown skin and large brown eyes. He was dribbling a ball aimlessly around a small soccer field just off the road, and stopped to watched the passing car. Alex waved, but the boy just looked at the car and did not wave back.

Who’s that kid? Alex asked.

I’m not sure, Fred admitted, but there’s a Pakistani family that lives above the corner shop. Maybe he’s one of them.

Cool, I've never had a Pakistani friend before.

Fred’s flat was a large open loft-like apartment in a newly renovated building off the Kensington High Street. It was far bigger than he needed as a bachelor with one part-time son, but he was now a senior officer at the CIA Station (and therefore the Embassy) and so was accorded an apartment befitting his rank.

Alex’s room was large and had its own en suite bathroom and a window overlooking the leafy street.

This is even nicer than your place in Reston, Alex enthused. Is there a pool?

No, Fred shook his head regretfully. But the summers aren't that hot. This is London, remember.

I could totally live here, Alex declared, sitting down on the bed and smiling happily at his father.

Alex, the school I told you about is actually a boarding school, so you wouldn’t live here with me. You’d live at the school, and then visit with me and your mom during summers and vacations.

Alex’s face sobered immediately. Boarding school? They still have those?

Fred shrugged.

Don’t you want me to live with you? Alex asked seriously.

Fred sighed and went to sit down on the bed next to his son. Of course I do, but we have already agreed with your mom that you were going to live in Virginia with her.

Yes, but now there’s this school here that you want me to go to… Alex protested. I don’t understand.

The school is an opportunity that may be right for you, or it may not. We don’t know yet. All I want is for you to go on Tuesday and take the entrance tests. That’s all. The rest of it, we’ll work out if you get accepted.

But the school, Alex paused. What is the school's name, anyway? I just keep calling it 'the school'.

To Alex's surprise, his father paused for a long moment, his face reddening.

I forget, Fred finally answered, but it was too late.

You forget? Alex repeated, regarding his father with narrowed eyes. You're not telling me something.

Alex watched as his dark-haired father’s face contorted into several different expressions. Several times it appeared that he was about to speak, but he finally just sighed and smiled.

Dad? What’s going on? Alex demanded, his curiosity piqued.

I can’t tell you, Fred finally admitted. And I can’t tell you why I can’t tell you. You’re just going to have to trust me.

Alex thought this over for a few minutes, and then smiled at his father.

OK, he agreed with a carefree shrug. Is it OK if I sleep for a few hours now? I'm exhausted.

Sure thing, Fred told him. Do you want to go to the Persian place tonight?

Sounds perfect. Alex agreed, pulling off his shoes and socks.

Once his father left him and shut the door, Alex lay back on his new bed and smiled.

A test on Tuesday for a mysterious boarding school with no name, and his father couldn’t tell him anything about it.

Interesting.

Chapter 4: The Admissions Test

On Tuesday morning, Alex rode the Underground to the admissions test. Although he had never been to London before, the metro system was easy to navigate and he knew exactly where he was going. He had an A-Zed map book with every street in London listed in it, and felt confident and well-prepared for his