Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4766381.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Alex_Rider_-_Anthony_Horowitz
  Relationship:
      Yassen_Gregorovich/Alex_Rider
  Character:
      Alex_Rider, Yassen_Gregorovich, Ian_Rider, Herod_Sayle, Julia_Rothman,
      Nile_(Alex_Rider)
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Dubious_Consent, Torture, Slash, Explicit_Language,
      Attempted_Rape/Non-Con, Incest, Ian_Rider/Alex_Rider, Nile/Alex_Rider_-
      Freeform, No_Nile_Stop_It
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-10 Completed: 2015-09-11 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 21632
****** Thlipsis ******
by AislingSiobhan
Summary
     Kidnapped by Yassen and raised by Scorpia, Alex Rider is the world’s
     youngest assassin. When a mission takes an unexpected turn, MI6 sends
     Ian Rider to bring him home. Alex would rather die than work for the
     people who he thinks killed his father, but the choice is about to be
     taken out of Alex’s hands. It’s kill or be killed, and the time to
     choose has run out. (Originally posted: 2010)
Notes
     So this is from the 2010 Spyfest over at LJ. I haven't looked at it
     in years, so I have probably missed a load of tags. Keep that in
     mind. I started crossposting fics from FFNet to AO3 a while ago, and
     then gave up because of reasons. But I figured I might as well add
     this one, to tide over anyone who is interested, while I finish off
     my Frostiron Bang fiction.
     After my holiday this month (and starting a new job in October,
     hopefully) I should have enough of a routine to go along with all of
     my sudden excess of free time - and shall start updating stuff again.
     Yay!
***** I *****
Title: Thlipsis: Greek, meaning “pressure or oppression”.
My translations suck.
Thlipsis
Summary: [YG/AR] Kidnapped by Yassen and raised by Scorpia, Alex Rider is the
world’s youngest assassin. When a mission takes an unexpected turn, MI6 sends
Ian Rider to bring him home. Alex would rather die than work for the people who
he thinks killed his father, but the choice is about to be taken out of Alex’s
hands. It’s kill or be killed, and the time to choose has run out. AU.
Warnings: Slash. Underage. Dub-Con. Torture. Angst. Character Death. YG/AR. AU.
Language. Incest. Attempted Non-Con (not Y/A).
Rating: NC-17.
Title: Thlipsis.
Word Count: 21,368
* * *
Words: 9,011
Chapter_1/2
March 1988.
Yassen watched them.
With his car half-hidden in a shadowed alleyway and confident that they could
not see him, he watched the three men through tinted windows. Two of them
worked for MI6: the Special Intelligence Service. They might be a problem. The
other one was a young woman and she was the one carrying the young child. The
child of course would be no trouble, and Yassen hadn’t even included him in the
count.
Alex Rider was just over a year old. He had been a month old when his father,
John, was murdered, and it had taken Yassen an entire year since then to find
the boy. After John’s death, Yassen had presumed the man’s wife would take care
of Alex. He had never personally met Helen, but John spoke well of her and had
loved her fiercely. However, it wasn’t Helen holding Alex. John had shown
Yassen his wedding photos once, a few months before his death, and Yassen would
have recognized the wife of John Rider anywhere. Yassen doubted she would be
the type of person to abandon her son. Perhaps she was also dead?
The blond man gave a soft chuckle. He wouldn’t put it past those agents outside
to kill an innocent woman to achieve what they wanted. They had murdered John
in cold blood, hadn’t they? Why should his wife have been spared? And now the
child would be dragged into their mess. But Yassen wouldn’t let that happen.
When Julia Rothman had finally confided in him about Alex’s whereabouts, Yassen
had initially only wanted to check on the boy. Alex was apparently living with
his uncle Ian. One would assume that a blood relative would take good care of
his brother’s son. Ignoring the difficult relationship that had existed between
John and his brother, MI6 must have felt Ian was the best choice as Alex’s
guardian.
Now, Yassen knew better.
Anyone would have been a better choice than Ian Rider.
The nanny and the two MI6 operatives had been knocking on Ian Rider’s front
door for the past hour, shivering in the wind that was blowing in over the
river. It was still Spring, and the mornings were chilly with the barest threat
of frost in the air. Alex had been crying from the cold for the past ten
minutes, and yet neither of the agents had thought to send the nanny and Alex
to wait in their car.
Yassen was exceptionally good at lip-reading. His blue eyes narrowed as he
caught what one of the men had said. “Agent Rider must not be back from Hong
Kong yet. Where shall we leave the child?”
“Mr. Blunt said the spare key was under the flower pot. You’ll stay with him,
won’t you?” The other man asked the dark-haired nanny, reaching down to lift
the potted plant. He pulled out the key, but Yassen didn’t wait for him to
insert it into the lock. Instead, he raised his gun, lowered the tinted window
just enough for the nozzle to poke through, and fired. Were these men actually
planning to leave the child without even waiting for Ian Rider? Were they
really that disrespectful?
Yassen gritted his teeth. One of his first memories of childhood was of his
father explaining the importance of respect to him. Respect for others and for
himself; he had lost much of his self-respect as an adolescent trying to
survive in a grown-up’s world. But he would always respect John Rider and what
the man had meant to him. If MI6 couldn’t respect the son of his hero then they
didn’t deserve to know the child.
Alex was coming home with him.
He shot again, and the second man fell. The woman was screaming, one arm tight
around Alex’s wiggling body and the other hand scrabbling to fit the key into
the lock. She shoved open the door, but before she could run inside, Yassen was
right behind her, moving with the grace and agility of a dancer.
“Do not turn around, or I will kill you. Give me the child,” he whispered into
the woman’s ear. There wasn’t even a trace of an accent in his voice, no subtle
clue to hint where he came from, no way of identifying him by sound.
The woman was sobbing, one hand pressed against the doorframe and the other
holding Alex like he was her lifeline. “Please?” she breathed, not sure exactly
what she was begging for.
“Give me Alex. I won’t hurt him. I promise,” the assassin said softly. The hand
holding the gun was steady, and he pressed it firmly to the base of her spine.
“I will shoot you, and take Alex from you before you even have time to drop
him, I promise. Give me the child and there will be no need for me to kill
you.”
She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, arms and legs trembling. Keeping
her eyes squeezed shut, she turned her face slightly towards him. As she leant
down to place the toddler on the ground, Yassen noted the tears that wetted her
cheeks. Alex sat on his bum, staring up at Yassen with trusting brown eyes and
a soft smile, as he raised his hands and said: “Up!”
“Go into the house,” Yassen told her, prodding her again with the gun. “Close
the door behind you, and wait for Ian Rider to come home.” He smirked to
himself. “If the police do not turn up first.”
“W-What should I s-say?” she stuttered, and she bit her bottom lip, waiting for
Yassen to answer her.
Yassen thought about John’s death. About how disgusted he had been with himself
for allowing John to be captured in the first place; how his own mistake and
actions were what had ultimately led to him watching as John was shot in the
back. Yassen had felt physically sick, watching John gasping as he toppled
forwards, blood blossoming across his chest like a rose. Bile had risen in
Yassen’s throat; the taste of it in his mouth had been revolting.
Later, he had seen Tulip Jones on camera, speaking into a microphone, ordering
John’s death. And Ian Rider, his own brother, had been the one to pull the
trigger!
The knowledge had given birth in Yassen to a hatred so strong that even after a
year his heart still pounded furiously at the thought of those two people.
Yassen had followed his orders; he had carried out his revenge on Mrs. Jones,
had targeted her husband and children and had killed them, but he had never
been allowed to take revenge on Ian. Every mission that Scorpia believed Rider
to be involved with had been denied to Yassen. They had expressly forbidden him
from having any contact with Ian. The year before, Scorpia had ordered him not
to kill Ian Rider, and those orders still stood. Yassen couldn’t wait around
for Ian, but he wasn’t going to leave Alex to be raised by the people who had
gunned his father down in cold blood either.
Alex would know about his father. Yassen would teach him, and Alex would know
about those who had betrayed them, who had destroyed what had been precious to
Yassen. One day Alex would be the one to have his revenge.
But until then—
“Tell them, Scorpia never forgets.”
He shoved the woman forward, closing the door behind her. He was certain she
hadn’t seen his face, completely certain, or else he would not have let her
live regardless of whether he wanted the message delivered or not.
His own safety was paramount. A message could be delivered in any number of
ways, but his identity was important to him. Yassen prided himself on being
unassuming. He was handsome, but he didn’t deliberately draw attention to
himself. His face was smooth and pleasing, with chiselled lips and with
slightly feminine eyelashes. He kept his hair closely cropped at his natural
shade of blond. He didn’t wear make up or gel, and while he wore expensive
clothes, he preferred them to be in neutral or dark shades. There was always
something suspicious about men who wore Hawaiian print shirts at a British
airport, after all.
No one would look at Yassen twice and think, assassin. He looked like every
other ordinary businessman to stroll through Stanstead, Treviso Airport, or
JFK. He spoke with no accent, unless he was very angry in which case a trace of
his Russian origins seeped through. Yassen rather enjoyed being unmemorable. It
helped him survive.
MI6 would inevitably know it was him who had taken Alex. Cameras would capture
his face as he carried Alex through the airport and boarded the first available
flight to Venice but there would be no human around to recognize him and call
for help. It would not be hard to steal Alex away from his home.
Yassen reached down and gently gathered Alex into his arms. “Come, child,” he
whispered, one hand running over Alex’s soft, fair hair. “It is time to take
you home.”
There was no child seat in Yassen’s car, but there wasn’t one in the agents'
car either. The nanny must have carried him on her lap, Yassen mused, as he
buckled himself into the driver’s seat. Yassen frowned over at Alex, watching
the child lying flat on the passenger seat. There was no time to waste and
Yassen drove to the nearest train station with Alex belted on to his own lap.
From there, he held Alex against his chest as the train took them away from
Victoria Station. One Yassen was far enough away, he changed lines. He needed
to get to the furthest airport away from Chelsea. If Ian Rider came home soon,
or if MI6 had been watching, they would undoubtedly search for Yassen at the
nearest airport. Going further away from Chelsea before booking a flight would
give him a little more extra time.2
Once they boarded the plane, and the airhostess had offered him one of those
tiny yellow seatbelts for babies, he belted Alex to his own lap again. Then the
Russian allowed himself to relax. They were leaving Britain. In two hour’s time
they would arrive in Venice, and from there it would only be a short boat ride
until they were home.
It had not been long since Yassen was last at Malagosto, but he had already
started to miss it. Just as he himself did, Yassen knew Alex would love it
there.
XXX
February 19th 2001. 1
Sayle Enterprises was an interesting enough place, Alex supposed, if one were
into technology and computers. The buildings were tall and impressive, and the
floors shiny and always clean. The people hurried about in white lab coats and
biohazard suits with lowered, submissive gazes, and the curious looks they shot
at him made Alex grin and bare his teeth. Alex Rider wasn’t too interested in
what Sayle Enterprises looked like. Or of what its staff thought of him.
Alex had a job to do. If he did his job well, he would be paid well, and that
was all that mattered to him.
Not to mention that the sooner the job was complete, the sooner he could go
back to Malagosto and see Yassen again.
“Ah, Mr. Rider,” Herod Sayle drawled, linking his fingers together beneath his
chin. “What a coincidence.”
Alex waited for him to speak again, but his employer remained silent. Sayle was
dark-skinned and beady-eyed. Originally from Beirut, and adopted by American
tourists after he had saved them from being crushed to death, Sayle had somehow
ended up in a British school with the current Prime Minister of Great Britain.
Apparently, Sayle could hold a grudge with the best of them. His plan was
clever, in its own way, and undoubtedly cruel, and Julia Rothman loved it.
Alex wasn’t so sure.
Yassen hadn’t been concerned by the thought of working for a man who wanted to
kill all of the children in Britain with one push of a button. But when he had
been informed that Alex would be going to Cornwall, the Russian had suddenly
begun to feel uneasy.
“What is a coincidence?” Alex forced himself to ask, knowing he would not be
able to leave this ‘meeting’ until Sayle had finished making himself feel
important. Alex kept his voice cold and his face expressionless, showing
neither pleasure nor disgust.
He did not like Sayle. Sayle did not like Alex either. Unfortunately, Yassen’s
injury was taking longer to heal than had been expected and Scorpia had been
left with no choice but to send Yassen’s partner as his replacement.
Herod did not like schoolchildren, especially schoolboys, which was a pity
because Alex was only fourteen. Not to mention that some geek kid would be
arriving in just over a month because he had won a magazine competition, so
Herod would be stuck with two teenage boys, and miles to go before he could
cripple the country.
Alex felt a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, but he fought it back. Now
was not the time to give in to his baser emotions. Now was the time to work,
and sometimes ‘work’ meant sucking up to your employer. Though in this instance
‘work’ was less sucking up, and more trying not to outright laugh at him.
Alex was tempted to repeat his question, but he didn’t. He knew Herod was
waiting for Alex to enquire, to show curiosity and interest and something else
which Sayle probably thought of as infantile. So Alex waited too. He was being
paid to be there, Sayle was not, and as such Alex had all the time in the
world. Or more accurately, he had all the time Herod Sayle could afford.
“There is a new security guard starting work this week. His surname is also
Rider.” Herod said, a sugary smile on his lips. His eyebrows were narrowed
together as he waited for Alex to startle in recognition or surprise. But Alex
remained blank-faced, expressionless and unconcerned. Herod spoke again, his
voice low and husky, as if Alex’s lack of facial expressions were arousing.
“Ian Rider,” he continued.
Alex reacted then. A grin broke out across Sayle’s face, but he said nothing as
Alex’s eyes widened and then narrowed just as suddenly. The teenager took a
small step back, fighting with himself to keep his feet from running out of the
room to track Ian Rider down and hurt him.
“Yes,” Alex whispered once he was back under control. “Quite the coincidence.”
He considered telling Yassen, but Yassen would only tell Scorpia, who would
then pull him from the mission. That would make his assignment a failure, and
so far Alex had a straight record of success after success after success. He
would not let Ian destroy this for him, like he had destroyed his family! Alex
would keep the information to himself, wait and watch and stay wary until he
knew what Rider was doing there and how much the man knew.
MI6 didn’t know about him, Alex was sure of that. Scorpia had been very careful
to mask the identity of the world’s youngest teenage assassin. If Ian got even
an inkling, the vaguest notion that Alex and Cub (Cossack’s partner) were one
and the same, then, orders or no orders, he would have to die. Alex would deal
with Julia Rothman, and Yassen, and his punishment afterwards. His security was
more important than the ‘no kill’ order about Ian Rider, after all. The number
one rule Yassen had taught him, having learnt from his experiences with John in
Malta, was don’t get caught!
 
Without waiting to be excused, Alex turned sharply on his heels and walked from
the room. His footsteps were silent. He passed through the hallways as barely
more than a shadow, and those who did notice him gave no indication of such,
deterred by the scowl that marred the child’s normally handsome features.
Alex had a lot to think about. He entered his room, closing and locking the
door, before lying back on his bed and shutting his eyes. But he did not sleep.
Yassen had always said the night was too valuable to be wasted in sleep, and so
Alex had trained and tried and succeeded in needing only four hours of sleep a
night.
Instead, Alex thought.
XXX
March 12th 2001.
There was something strange going on at Sayle Enterprises. Besides the obvious,
that was. Ian may have been pretending to be a security guard, but he wasn’t
going to pretend to be stupid as well. Normal computer game developers,
software developers and technologists didn’t have radiation protocols or
suspicious convoys of trucks filled with armed men patrolling the Cornwall
coast every night.
Ian knew what all of that was about now. It had taken the best part of three
weeks, but he had done his job well. He was ready to return to Liverpool Street
and accept his pat on the back from Mr. Blunt.
Except…
Except that there was something else that was strange about Sayle Enterprises,
and Ian wasn’t talking about Herod’s dress sense. Ian had watched , hidden
uncomfortably in the air conditioning vents that ran the length of the
biochemical lab’s ceiling, and he had seen the scientists and the hired
mercenaries doing their jobs. The scientists had been injecting the genetically
modified smallpox virus into little test tubes, while the guards waved their
guns threateningly at them. And then it had happened. One of the scientists had
dropped a test tube. The other scientists had screamed. The guards panicked,
stumbling backwards until they were pressed against the walls. But the vial had
only bounced once and rolled. There was no crack in the tube. No more
screaming.
There was just silence, and there he'd been.
A teenager, fair-haired and nicely built, had entered the lab through the
secret door that Ian had spent hours and hours trying to open from the outside.
He'd stood silently, his arms held behind his back and there was a soft, soft
smile on his pleasant face.
“What did you do?” he had asked in a calm voice, his hands slowly moving until
they hung limply by his sides.
The scientist had trembled. He'd bent slowly to collect the undamaged test tube
and placed it gently back in its designated holder. “It won’t happen again, Mr.
R-”. He'd stopped speaking suddenly, his mouth widening into an ‘O’ of surprise
just as the crack of gunfire echoed through the underground room.
No one had dared make a sound as the perpetrator had fallen to his knees, and
then his side, and lay still. Ian had watched as the child’s brown eyes,
calculated and cold, traced over every shadow inside the room, searching for
something. But he had obviously not found it, because the boy had then sighed
deeply, and said, “No. It won’t.”
Just as silently as he had entered the room, he'd left it. And Ian had watched
him go, knowing he couldn’t leave Port Tallon until he knew for sure that the
boy was not who he thought he was.
The day after, Ian had packed his bag and secured all of the information he had
gathered on behalf of MI6. It had been relatively easy to steal a set of keys
for one of the quad bikes that the guards used to patrol the grounds.
He had talked himself into leaving during the night since he had glimpsed the
fair-haired child. It was the right thing to do. Ian needed to return home,
check on his house and his housekeeper, hand over his information and be
debriefed. And then he would lock himself away in his office and pore over
family albums: filled with photographs of him and John, John and Helen, and
Alex, they were an endless source of self-loathing for him. There were two
special photos framed on his desk. They were the reminders of why he did his
job as readily as he did and why he fought so hard to destroy anything that
Scorpia hadn’t already ruined with their poisonous touch.
One was of an airplane after it had been blown up. Ian had cut it out of the
paper, with the headline ‘Disgraced Soldier dies in explosion’ underneath it.
The other was a smaller picture. It was one Ian had taken himself as a reminder
of why he hated Scorpia as much as he did. It was Alex’s body after MI6 had
finally retrieved it. Or what was left of it.
The memory of those pictures, of his own personal photo-ritual, was all that
kept him from hunting down the teenager and demanding to know who he was. Alex
Rider was dead. He had to be ...
Ian wasn’t about to put himself through any unnecessary torture when he knew he
would only be disappointed in the end.
Alex was gone.
Yassen Gregorovich had made sure of that.
Ian fished the quad bike keys out of his pocket, palming them between his hands
as he made his way out into the open ground between the buildings. He froze
suddenly, holding his breath as two people walked by. The child followed them.
With his hands in his trouser pockets and headphones over his ears, he acted
just like every other teenager, but Ian had seen first-hand that the child
wasn’t normal.
“Mr. Rider?” Nadia Vole said. Alex didn’t hear her; her voice was drowned out
by his music.
“Hmm!” Mr. Grin grunted, waving his hands in Nadia’s direction.
She sighed and stopped walking. Alex stopped too, but did not remove his
earphones. “Mr. Rider, really, can you please try to be more professional?”
Ian couldn’t think straight. Blood pounded through his ears, painfully loud.
Rider was a common enough surname. In fact, he and John had gone to school with
two others, a boy and a girl, who all shared the same last name. It didn’t
necessarily mean anything.
“Alex!” The blond haired woman hissed.
“It’s less a matter of professionalism and more a general dislike of your
voice,” Alex informed her snidely. “I heard Herod as well as you did. There is
no need for you to repeat his orders. Everything will be fine,” he said, before
he turned and walked away. Shocked and mortified, it took Nadia a moment to
realize that Mr. Grin was still following Alex and that she had been left on
her own. She ran to catch up with them. Once they were out of sight, Ian
stepped out of his shadowed hiding place.
Alex Rider. The boy’s name was Alex Rider.
It was too much of a coincidence. Having the same surname was one thing, but
sharing the same Christian name as well was too much. Ian felt like laughing,
he felt like falling to his knees and praying, and he felt like screaming. Alan
Blunt had told him Alex was dead. Mrs. Jones had helped to bury his nephew’s
body a month after they had buried his brother’s. When Alex had turned to
insult Nadia Vole, it had been John Rider standing before him. Younger, and
with Helen’s cheekbones, but Ian had been looking at his brother.
His nephew had been right there, close enough to touch. The urge to take him
home and keep him protected was so strong it almost felt like his heart was
tied to a string that was held within Alex’s hand. As Alex walked away from
him, he felt he was being pulled to follow.
But no… he had to go. He had to go now. Sayle was onto him, and if Ian didn’t
leave now, there was a strong possibility that he wouldn’t be leaving alive.
He knew where Alex was, and more importantly, he knew Alex was alive. Ian would
come back for him.
He smirked to himself as he mounted the nearest quad bike and turned it on.
He’d come back, all right, with back up. Scorpia would be so sorry that they
fucked with his family.
XXX
March 29th 2001.
Alan Blunt rested his head on his palm. His elbow ached from digging into his
desk, but he didn’t shift positions. Instead he pushed the pain from his
thoughts and focused on the young boy in front of him.
“Mr. Lester, hello,” he greeted as warmly as was possible for someone like him.
He may have considered himself one of the good guys, but he was far from the
hugs-and-puppies type. He was cold and unfeeling at times, but most importantly
he did what was necessary. When Alex Rider had been kidnapped, every one had
assumed the worst. Mr. Blunt and Mrs. Jones however knew there were fates worse
than death, and if Alex had really been dead it might have been a blessing for
the child. They had watched the surveillance footage of Yassen carrying Alex
through Gatwick Airport together.2
Simultaneously, they had turned to one another and whispered, “John.”
Yassen Gregorovich would no more hurt Alex than Ian would have; they both knew
that. But when Ian refused to take assignment after assignment, choosing
instead to waste his time hunting for a child who would most likely never be
found, Alan had been forced to take necessary actions to ensure that Ian Rider
could move on from his nephew’s death.
Agent Rider was refusing to speak to them at the current time, but Mr. Blunt
had other things to focus his attention on anyway. Beside him, Mrs. Jones
popped a mint into her mouth and smiled widely at the teenager seated across
from them.
“Hello Felix,” she said, reaching out to shake his offered hand. “It’s nice to
meet you. Congratulations on winning the competition. You must be so excited.”
“I’m looking forward to playing with the Stormbreaker, yes,” he told them. He
looked a little bit like Alex, except his hair was a shade of mousy brown, and
he kept pushing old-fashioned glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle
finger.
“I know that this is supposed to be an exciting adventure for you; a holiday,
if you will,” Mrs. Jones said, deciding that the boy would be most likely to
listen to her. “But could you do us a small favour?” She didn’t wait for Felix
to reply. She pushed a photograph of Yassen across the table separating them
and pointed at the Russian’s face. “If you see this man, will you call us
immediately?”
“Here is a phone. Hold down the number one and it will dial this office
immediately. It will be impossible to connect with any other number from this
device.” Alan slid the phone across the table. Mr. Blunt frowned at the
teenager, wondering what the situation would have been like had Alex been
sitting in that chair instead, Ian hovering over his shoulder like a proud
parent. Alan brought himself back into the conversation. “My nephew is there on
work experience for a security company. You’ll probably meet him; he might even
be the one to show you around. His name is Alex, by the way. Jolly good chap,
clever, friendly, and good at snooker. I dare say you’ll like him. That fellow,
however,” Alan said, trailing off with a very real frown.
“His name is Yassen Gregorovich.” Mrs. Jones was also frowning.
“What’s so important about him?” Felix Lester asked, a curious half-smile on
his lips. “He looks harmless enough.” Brown eyes darted between the faces of
two adults in the room. They both scowled at him.
“Yassen Gregorovich may look to be in his mid to late 20s, but he is in actual
fact 35 years old. My nephew,” Alan had no problem lying about his relationship
with Alex, but every time he used the word ‘nephew’ he considered whether he
should have let Ian deal with this, as the man had wanted to. “Alex is only
fourteen. We have reason to believe that Gregorovich has instigated a
relationship of a sexual nature with Alex. Alex’s other uncle and myself have
tried to warn the man off, but he refuses to listen. Alex doesn’t really want
the police involved, as he insists he ‘loves’ the man. It would be best not to
mention anything like this around my nephew.”
Tulip Jones gave a soft smile. “We’re just trying to do what is best for the
boy. His father was a great friend of mine, before his death. None of us wants
to see Alex hurt by a relationship of this kind.”
 
“Ok,” Felix agreed, clearly feeling the need to protect someone his age, even
if he had never met him, from falling victim to a sexual predator. “I’ll keep
an eye on him. If I see this guy around,” he pointed at the photo again, “I’ll
give you a call.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lester. Have a good time.” Alan waved his hand at the door, and
Mrs. Jones stood from her chair.
“I’ll show you out,” she said, and took hold of his arm.
Alan watched them go. He knew there was a good chance that the boy would get
hurt or even die, but he was just one child. Compared to the hundreds of
thousands that would die if the Stormbreakers were released into the public,
Felix Lester’s life wasn’t all that important. Sacrifices had to be made. Every
agent knew that. It was one of those necessary evils in life, and Mr. Blunt was
very, very good at doing what was necessary! It was a pity the Prime Minister
wouldn’t let them move on Sayle Enterprises without a sample of the virus, and
it was a shame that Ian had not managed to procure one. But if Lester died,
Alan Blunt would get what he wanted anyway: the end of Herod Sayle.
XXX
March 31st 2001.
It was 2am. It was Alex’s last day in Port Tallon.
It would also be the first day since Felix Lester arrived that he would be
completely alone. For some reason, probably due to their close ages, the other
boy had demanded that Alex be the one to guide him around Sayle Enterprises.
Once Herod Sayle had agreed, what was there for Alex to do about it? He
couldn’t very well just abandon the boy as he played the Stormbreaker. What if
he got bored and went exploring?
Undoubtedly, Sayle would blame Alex. They hated each other. No, that was a lie.
Sayle hated him, and Alex was merely disgusted by the older man. There was a
difference.
The last 40 containers of the virus were coming in.. Once these last few had
been safely transported to the biochemical lab Alex’s assignment would be
complete.
It was a shame that MI6 had not moved on Sayle Enterprises.3 All of those
children would die, but Alex wouldn’t be one of them. Yassen would be thankful
for that at least. There were no computer games on Malagosto. If Alex had
wanted to play ‘Halo’ or ‘Call of Duty’ as a child, he had been sent out with a
team of training assassins and a real gun. He had been shot once, and it had
hurt like hell, but it had been a good learning experience.
Alex’s lips twitched into a smile at the memory.
The guards, all dressed in black, stood silently in a straight line behind him.
Their convoy of trucks rumbled softly in the dark, the noise drowning out the
lapping of the water on the shore. Alex took a few steps forward, the tops of
his shoes barely getting wet. Nadia Vole made her way down to the end of the
jetty, where a man was climbing out of the Chinese Hans Class 404 SSN that had
just surfaced. Alex watched wistfully as the other man stretched, wishing that
it had been Yassen who was sent to join him for their final day.
Alex made his way back up the incline from the sea to where the other men
waited. Once he had reached the front of the queue, Ernesto Alvisio handed him
the first metal container, and Alex turned to hand it to the person behind him.
They continued for an hour, passing container after container down along the
line of human hands and into the waiting trucks.
“How is Yassen?” Alex asked as they made their way back up the jetty.
Ernesto shrugged. “He is well, I suppose. The bullet wound is healing nicely,
but Mr. D’Arc thinks it would be best for him to remain at home for the next
month or two.”
Alex gave a soft smile. “I suppose you’ll be taking on his assignments then?”
“Oliver did mention that, yes,” he said softly, blushing. Oliver D’Arc was the
head principal of the assassin training school on Malagosto. Consequentially he
had been the one to clear Alex for full duty when the boy was thirteen years
old. Ernesto Alvisio, however, was twenty-four and while having been recruited
almost a year ago he was only being sent on his first mission now
“Good luck with that. You’ll need a partner for some of the things they send
Yassen and me into.” They walked alongside the trucks, looking inside and
checking the containers. He gave the signal, waving his hand twice, and the
guards picked up their guns and climbed back into their respective trucks.
“I was under the impression that taking on Mr. Gregorovich’s assignments meant
I would be adopting his partner for the time being too?” It was said in a
teasing manner, his voice lightly accented by his native Italian, but Alex
didn’t like the gleam in the man’s hazel eyes.
“I’d much prefer to stay home and kiss Yassen better. Thanks though.” Alex
ignored the look the elder man gave him, and added flippantly, “and anyway, I
don’t deal well with other partners. Tried that once. He died."
Ernesto followed silently as Alex led them to the last truck. The others had
already begun to drive away. Their driver was waiting by the door, frowning.
“Boss,” he whispered, “there’s something you might want to see.”
Alex frowned. Without a word he followed his driver around to the back of the
truck and lifted up the tarp that covered its cargo area. Crouching in the
corner was Felix Lester and he stared up at Alex with wide, terrified brown
eyes. He was pale faced and crying, and Alex was completely unmoved by the
sight. Just because Yassen chose not to kill children in cold blood, Alex had
no such concern.
No matter how old a person was, once you put a bullet in them they were just
one more dead body. Alex had seen plenty of those. They no longer bothered him,
and he didn’t sleep long enough to have nightmares anyway.
He pointed the gun at Lester’s face, his expression blank. He had to clench his
bottom jaw to stop his hand from shaking. While he had no problem killing, it
was part of his job after all, he really didn’t see the need to excessively
waste life. But the boy had seen too much. Scorpia would not be pleased with
Alex if the boy was allowed to continue living. Alex’s eyes narrowed and he
swallowed. He would not take the blame for some child’s nosiness.
“I will say I am sorry if that would make you feel better?” Felix just shook
his head, crying harder. His mouth moved, probably to beg for mercy, but the
words weren’t coming out, and Alex didn’t really want to hear them anyway.
Begging made death that much more undignified. Alex was determined to die with
dignity, so he didn’t see why everyone else simply threw theirs away.
He pulled the trigger. Half of Felix’s head blew off. Blood splashed across the
inside of the truck and onto Alex’s face. Rider wiped at his eyes and licked
his lips, then tucked his gun away.
“Leave the body out on the beach.” When Lester didn’t return home tomorrow,
someone would report him missing.
 
Alex climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and slid towards the middle.
The passenger seat was wide enough for two men, so Ernesto sat beside him. When
their driver returned from dumping the body he started the car in silence,
shooting Alex wary but half-awed glances, and drove them back to Sayle
Enterprises.
XXX
April 1st 2001.
Today was the day the Stormbreakers were due to be unveiled at the Science
Museum. The Prime Minister himself would be the one to bring the computers
online and kill every school child in the country.
Alex flicked through the TV channels before he settled on the news.
The Channel 4 crew were there, their cameras framing Herod’s face as he was
dragged from the Museum by three armed police officers. MI6 agents stood around
the room, strategically placed to minimise any harm that Sayle might have
caused to civilians once he realised his plans were ruined, and very careful to
keep out of range of the cameras. Sayle man had shot the Prime Minister, before
trying to activate the computers himself, but Ian Rider of all people had shot
him in the hand.
Alex felt his blood boil as he watched the man standing beside Mrs. Jones.
Those two people had killed his father, and the anger that still lived inside
of him was overwhelming when he thought about the two MI6 employees.
Alex changed the channel. He couldn’t bear to look at Jones or Ian any longer.
He left it on some cartoon, one he was not familiar with, and he reached for
the scrambled mobile phone that lay on the bed beside him. He dialled in the
number from memory, and then Alex pressed the call button.
It rang a few times before someone answered it. For just a moment there was
only the sound of someone breathing, and then, “Alex?”
“Hey Yassen.” Alex smiled, flopping back onto the mattress once he heard his
lover’s voice. “I’ve missed you.”
“As I have also.” There was something off about the Russian’s voice, but Alex
couldn’t place the emotion. “When are you returning?” There was a hint of
longing in his voice now. Alex smiled at the ceiling.
The other bed in the room was empty and the shower was running, but Alex didn’t
have to worry about keeping anything secret at the moment anyway. It didn’t
matter if Alex’s roommate could hear what they were speaking about. “Ernesto
and I are waiting until Mrs. Rothman sends someone for us. We have to be
debriefed before returning to Malagosto, and since the mission failed we’re
following policy and hiding out for a few days. It shouldn’t be much longer,
моя любовь .4 God, I can’t wait to be home.”
“You should wait a few days, маленький ангел,”5 Yassen whispered down the
phone. Anyone who knew Yassen as well as Alex did, knew that there was
something very wrong with the man. “Perhaps you will be safer where you are?”
Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it intently, as if the
look would somehow be magically transported to Italy and to Yassen. “I don’t
understand,” he said simply.
There was a sigh, and Alex pressed the phone tightly against his ear, waiting.
“They know.”
Alex didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were. MI6. It was the worst thing that could
have happened and at the worst possible time. He was still in England and there
wasn’t much chance of him escaping the country while they were looking for him.
Yassen was right; it wasn’t safe to go home yet. No airport in the country
would be safe for him, and short of swimming the English Channel, Alex was
stuck in the country until Scorpia sent a handler to retrieve him.
“I see.” What else could Alex say? He was sorry? “That sucks.”
Yassen snorted. “It does, doesn’t it? I will have to miss you longer I
suppose.”
“And here I was, looking forward to kissing you better.” Alex whispered,
teasing. The shower stopped running, but he ignored it. Alex ignored Ernesto as
he walked into the room in just a towel, dripping wet. “I really wanted to kiss
you.”
“Where?” The Russian played along.
Alex chuckled; knowing without needing to see it that Yassen’s hand was down
his trousers. In breathy whispers Alex described exactly what he planned on
doing to the older man the second he was home. Alex brushed off the glares
Ernesto sent him, and the jealous gazes, and he didn’t notice the eyes fixing
on his groin as his own hand slipped into his trousers, lost as he was in the
sound of Yassen’s panting.
When he hung up the phone, Alex easily slipped into sleep.
XXX
April 3rd 2001.
Yassen was supposed to be resting, but he didn’t feel tired. He had never slept
much anyway, even as a child. After his parents’ deaths he had been too afraid
to sleep, the streets of Moscow were not the safest place to let your guard.
Joining Scorpia had probably saved his life. Like all jobs it took up a lot of
Yassen’s time and like his last job most of it was done at night. Night-time
was valuable, he had quickly learnt, and most of his money was made during the
dark hours. He didn’t have time to waste on sleep.
Dr. Voitekh Emiliya was a good man with a very strong Bulgarian accent, a kind
disposition and an unmemorable face. There was only one thing Yassen didn’t
like about being in the man’s care (aside from the fact that he was injured),
and that was his pronounced need to force Yassen to sleep. The need extended so
far as to actually drugging the assassin with sedatives if Yassen suggested
leaving the medical ward.
Dr. Emiliya was busy tending to a couple of Scorpia’s explosives technicians.
He didn't notice Yassen slipping from the room.
The Russian made his way through the familiar corridors of his home. He had
houses, scattered throughout the world; some his enemies didn’t know about,
some his employers didn’t know about, and one or two that no one knew about,
not even Alex. Yassen didn’t stay in those houses often. He only visited
occasionally when he happened to be in the area on business, just to make sure
the people he paid to look after his homes were doing their job. Ever since he
had first met John, he had always considered Malagosto to be his home. John
Rider had made the island become somewhere Yassen had wanted to be, rather than
needed to be. Whenever they were away from the island and he was with John he
hadn’t missed it, but if they were ever separated it was Yassen’s biggest
desire to return home. With Alex, he felt the same. Apparently home really was
where the heart was.
 
Malagosto was made up of a firing range and 6 buildings, surrounded by concrete
courtyards and overgrown forests. It had been Scorpia’s base since its founding
in the 1980s. Each of the buildings was separate from the others, each had its
own function, and Yassen found that this building was his favourite place
outside of Block 12.
Block 12, as it was called, was actually the 3rd building built on the island.
It was where the instructors trained future assassins, spies, and terrorists.
The gym was first class and Yassen had enjoyed working out there over the
years. He had especially enjoyed sparring, when Alex had been younger and
easier to pin beneath him. However, it was just as fun to wrestle with Alex now
as it had been then. Yassen mostly won.
Block R was where the inhabitants on the island slept. It was the biggest
building by far and the only one that Scorpia had expanded, contracting outside
builders and surveyors who, once their job had been completed, had been shot
one after the other and dumped into the Venetian sea. Yassen and Alex shared
the same rooms. Theirs were the same as everyone else’s. A bedroom with two
twin beds, which the couple had pushed together once their relationship had
changed; twin bedside lockers and wardrobes; a small television sitting on a
chest of drawers. There was a small en-suite, with just a toilet and a sink in
it, branching off from the bedroom. Yassen had fitted his own desk against the
wall beside the bathroom door. Unlike Alex, he could not plan his missions
while lying face down on the bed. It was uncouth.
There were several communal showering areas spread throughout the levels of
Block R, but at least the toilets were private. All the bedrooms were shared
between partners, though Yassen knew for a fact that Mr. Alvisio had put in a
request to room with Alex.
Thinking about Ernesto made Yassen’s lips curl. If it had been safe for Alex to
risk taking a public flight out of England, Yassen would have told him to come
as soon as possible. He did not like the idea of Alex being left alone with
Ernesto; he had told Mrs. Rothman as such. She had accused him of simply being
jealous, brushing off his concerns easily. In irritation Yassen had accused her
of the same, back when he and John had been indivisible and Julia had been the
one desperate to separate the two.
He was about to open the door to his room when something made him pause.
Something wasn’t right. Ear pressed against the thin door, Yassen listened as
someone moved about inside the room. There were two people in the room. As one
of them spoke, Yassen breathed out a sigh of relief. It was only Mrs. Rothman.
She was probably waiting to speak to him, he thought. He was about to push open
the door, pleased to know it wasn’t anyone snooping through his room, but then
Nile spoke.
“What are we going to do with Rider?” he asked, his voice smooth and cultured.
Yassen paused, considering his options. He didn’t believe in eavesdropping
because usually one only heard half of the story, but in this instance he would
forgive his lack of caution. It was likely to be his only chance of knowing
what Scorpia planned to do about Ian. Yassen decided to wait outside. After
all, gathering intelligence was a part of what Scorpia had trained him to do.
“We’ll have to kill him.” Mrs. Rothman answered, her voice light and bubbly.
Like the champagne she was probably drinking. “He’s too much of a liability now
that the truth is known.”
“You’ve always known the truth,” Nile pointed out slowly.
“Yes, but no one else did who mattered. They know he is alive! What if they
tell him, what if they tell Yassen?”
The Russian startled at the mention of his name. His hand that had been flat
against the wall beside the doorframe clenched into a fist and then his fingers
straightened out again. He took a deep breath, let it out and waited silently,
patiently.
“They won’t have a chance. We’ll kill him first,” Nile promised.
“We will. You will.” Julia sighed, and then giggled lightly. “Oh, I have the
perfect idea. I’ll have to give the boy a ring and let him know. Perhaps he
will kill him?” she mused aloud, smiling widely.
Yassen frowned, his eyebrows creasing together. He was annoyed; he would admit
that much. They planned to kill Ian and leave him out of it. But they had also
said ‘the boy’. There was only one boy in Scorpia, and that was Alex. If they
were allowing Alex to kill Ian then Yassen could not be too angry. Alex
deserved to cause the traitor’s death. John had been Alex’s father, after all,
and Ian was his uncle. Perhaps it would be best to resolve the issue within the
family?
“If they don’t kill him first, Nile, make sure you do. Rider isn’t going to be
a problem much longer.”
Yassen smiled, briefly, imagining blood on Ian’s chest as the man lay dying. It
was something he had dreamed of for a long time, and knowing that his death was
so close made Yassen’s heart start beating faster in excitement.
“Poor Gregorovich,” Nile said, chuckling, “he’ll need a new partner.”
“Again.” Julia laughed as well.
With a sickening jolt, Yassen realised they weren’t talking about Ian. They
were talking about Alex! And for a second it was like his heart had stopped
beating.
XXX
April 4th 2001.
When Yassen had decided to fly his private Colibri EC120B helicopter to
England, the last thing he had expected was to be shot out of the sky and
captured. MI6 were apparently so desperate to capture him that they had let the
Army fire upon the helicopter, bringing it crashing down over a private
airfield.
The helicopter was a write-off, but Yassen had managed to survive the crash
uninjured.
“Hello Mr. Gregorovich,” the head of the Covert Action branch of the SIS
greeted him coldly. “How nice to meet you face to face.”
Yassen stared at him silently with cold, blue eyes. He was secured to the
chair, the cable ties around his legs, arms, wrists, ankles and waist digging
painfully into him. Ian Rider stood behind him with a gun pressed to the nape
of his neck. Mrs. Jones smiled at him, sucking on a peppermint as she picked up
the phone.
“Here you go Alan,” she said kindly, handing the telephone over.
He took it and dialled the number Jones had used to arranged the exchange on
Albert Bridge with Scorpia. He waited out the ringing.
“They won’t fall for it. Not again,” Yassen told them emotionlessly. As long as
they stayed away from Alex, he didn’t care what they did to him.
“I’ll take your advice into consideration- oh, hello!” Alan trailed off, as
someone answered the phone on the other end. “This is Alan Blunt. Ah, of course
you know who I am. But whom might I be speaking to? Ah, Julia! A pleasure as
always, I’m sure. How have you been?”
He spoke to her as if they were old friends. Yassen frowned, but otherwise
showed no outward reaction. Mentally, though, he wondered if this was how Mr.
Blunt treated everyone, enemies and friends alike. Then he wondered if Mr.
Blunt even had any friends. He didn’t seem the type.
“What can you do for me? Well, I’d say it was more a matter of what I can do
for you— no, no, hear me out.” He chuckled;. Julia must have said something
scathing. “I have in my possession Yassen Gregorovich. Speak to Mrs. Rothman,
Yassen, she doesn’t quite believe me.”
“I apologise,” the assassin said softly, clenching his fingers, “for causing a
nuisance, madam. Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“Now, we are willing to trade Mr. Gregorovich for Alex Rider. Oh, don’t deny
you have him; we know very well that you do. We also know that Alex has ceased
to be useful to you. We will take him back. No questions asked about his
training, zero repercussions for his kidnapping and a carte blanche promise
from us to you that Alex will never be used against your organisation. You
relieve yourself of a liability and in return you will receive back your best
assassin. The world’s best assassin! It is a good deal, don’t you agree?”
Alan cupped his chin, resting his elbow on top of his desk, and began drumming
his fingers against the flesh of his cheek.
The room was silent for some time. Yassen didn’t want Scorpia to hand Alex
over. But he had realised that Alex would actually be safer here than with
Julia Rothman. Julia… who had once been so fond of Alex, and who was now
planning to kill Alex. The same Julia whom he had trusted with the safety of
the son of a man she had once loved, a man they had both loved.
“Really?” Alan said, his voice raising just a pinch, expressing his surprise.
He had expected to work harder for Alex, but Mrs. Rothman was all but throwing
the boy at him. “Yes, the day after tomorrow will be fine. Perhaps I should let
Alex know, do you have a contact- ah. No, no, right, you inform Alex. We’ll
bring Yassen.”
He turned and nodded at Mrs. Jones, who smiled widely back at him. “It was nice
doing business with you.”
When the phone was placed back in its cradle the head and the hand of MI6
frowned at each other.
“That was too easy,” Mrs. Jones said.
“They’ll try to trick us.” Alan clenched his teeth.
Ian chuckled softly. “They’ll send Alex tomorrow to look around or attempt a
kidnapping. They’ll try to take Gregorovich before the handover date. Even if
they don’t order it, Alex will come anyway.” He sounded so sure of himself, so
calm and patient and convinced, and Yassen felt a snarl rising within his
throat.
“How would you know?” he hissed, the first outright show of emotion he had
exhibited since he had been captured.
“It’s what John would have done.”
Ian and Yassen stared at each other; Yassen’s head bent back at an awkward
angle to meet the spy’s eyes. At the sound of his dead friend’s name Yassen
flinched away. Ian looked just as uncomfortable, but at least he knew the
truth. Yassen simply thought he was trapped in a room with everyone responsible
for John Rider’s murder.
And they would never tell him the truth. What if he blamed Alex, the son of a
man who had betrayed him? What if he tried to hurt Alex?
MI6 never wanted Yassen to know.
Scorpia wanted to hide the truth from Alex.
But hardly anyone gets what they want. The world just didn’t work like that.
XXX
3 – моя любовь is Russian for “my beloved”. Let’s assume Alex learnt Russian!
4 – маленький ангел or Mladshaya anhel is Russian for “little angel”
apparently, because I couldn’t find the word “one” without the Cyrillic
writing!
* * *
***** II *****
Chapter Summary
     There are less chapters than I thought there were... That's the old
     age affecting me, right there, yup...
Words: 12,357
Chapter_2/2
April 4th 2001. Same day.
Scorpia phoned Alex barely an hour later. Mrs. Rothman had first taken the time
to fine tweak her plan with Nile, making the necessary changes to include
Yassen’s involvement. She still had need of Yassen and had hoped to leave him
out of it, but it had become apparent that his first loyalty was to the boy.
Not Scorpia… not her! And that wouldn’t do at all.
The mission statement was simple. Alex memorised it immediately as Nile read it
over the phone to him. He was to wait for Nile to arrive. Another operative
would escort Mr. Alvisio back to Malagosto in a private jet for debriefing.
Nile would wait in their motel room, and Alex whose mission it was, would go
alone and retrieve Yassen. He was apparently supposed to rescue Yassen to make
up for failing the Stormbreaker mission, which he hadn’t actually failed,
though his protests had been ignored. If Yassen could not be taken back he was
to kill Agent Rider, or if Yassen had been injured further or killed he was to
kill Agent Rider. Alex’s breath had stuttered then, and he had missed the next
part of Nile’s sentence as he fought to beat down his fear. Once the mission
had been completed Alex was to return to the motel and Nile would personally
detail the next step of their plan.
What Alex had missed Nile saying had actually been part of what Julia had
changed to their original plan. They wanted Ian Rider dead, regardless. If Alex
didn’t kill him, Alex would have failed her test.
“The boy could be used,” Julia had mused once she hung up on Mr. Blunt.
Nile was in her office, stroking his hand lightly over the head of the
slumbering tiger. He looked up at her from where he was crouched, and frowned.
He did not like Yassen, who had come first in their class, rendering Nile to
second place, and he did not like Alex, who seemed to be the next best thing
since John Rider had swanned around the place. He didn’t see what was so great
about either of them, especially since he knew he was much better.
“Why? What use is he?” Nile said, trying to keep the hatred from his voice.
There had been a time when Julia had liked Alex. Certainly she hadn’t loved
him, but he was a sweet baby and he looked so much like his father in infancy.
As her relationship with Nile grew, he became more and more pronounced in his
dislike of the boy. Every memory she had of John, Nile used and twisted,
pinning Alex at the crux of all of the bad ones and tainting all of the good
memories until Julia’s heart hurt to remember. She knew he was manipulating
her, but it gave her the excuse she needed to take revenge. Killing John and
his wife hadn’t been as sweet as she had thought it would be. Their deaths had
pleased her. But they were simply dead. There had been no opportunity to hurt
them, to play with them, but Nile would have that chance with Alex. He would
tell her all about it, and as she imagined Alex writhing and screaming in pain,
she would replace his face with John’s. She would watch his mouth move as he
begged, imagine him speaking in John’s voice and telling her he loved her.
Julia smirked to herself, hiding her mouth behind her champagne glass.
“He is one of our best operatives,” she murmured. She wanted revenge,
undoubtedly, but she had to put her personal issues on the backburner when it
came to work. In terms of usefulness, Alex was at the top of the list. The only
problem was whether or not he knew that she had been the one to kill his
father. “We’ll give him a fighting chance,” she said, grinning, “Yassen will
appreciate the irony of that.”
Nile raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“Inform the boy that Ian Rider needs to be killed by him and no one else.
Regardless of whether Yassen is successfully retrieved or not, Rider must die.
I wonder if he will do it, pull the trigger on a man who looks so similar to
John, to himself? I’m surprised Alex hasn’t guessed that they are related, but
then again Yassen never mentioned any family aside from John, nor did we. It is
a good thing that Alex has never questioned us.” She paused, sipping at her
champagne with a smile. “If Alex cannot kill Rider, kill them both, Nile.”
“Yes, Ma’am. And Gregorovich?” He tried not to look too excited as he waited
for her answer. He knew what she was going to say and Nile couldn’t quite keep
the grin off of his face.
“He will not forgive us if we kill Alex. He will be of no use to Scorpia,” she
said softly. A part of her regretted her next words, but she ignored the
niggling doubt. This was a cutthroat business and personal issues needed to be
kept aside from business concerns. Yassen had been the best student Scorpia had
ever seen, and he had been a friend of hers while John was alive, and she was
still fond of him even now, but business was business. If Yassen would not
follow her orders, they had no need for him. “Kill him too.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He turned to leave, a grin on his dual-coloured face.
“Nile,” she said warningly, “only if Alex fails. If he kills Rider let him and
Yassen return here alive.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he gritted out, annoyed that she had practically read his mind.
How she kept doing that he would never know, but this had been the one time
when Nile had hoped to act on his desires without a rebuke and an order not to.
When Nile appeared at the motel Alex was ready for him.
MI6 would be waiting for them on the 6th. They were probably suspicious about
Mrs. Rothman’s ready agreement, so the next two days were going to be tense.
Alex knew better than to let his guard down, even around allies. The only
person he was truly relaxed with was Yassen, and the Russian was moderately
calm around him too. If Yassen weren’t always tightly strung he simply wouldn’t
be himself. It was a part of the Russian that Alex had easily got used to as a
child. He should never sneak up on his surrogate, wake him unexpectedly should
he happen to be sleeping, or even address him by a name that was similar to
‘father’. Yassen did not like to be taken by surprise.
“Are you ready?” Alex asked.
Nile shook his head. “Sleep now.” The black man said, running his fingers
through his close shaven hair. “You will need to be fresh for tomorrow.”
Alex waited until Nile had fallen asleep and then he snuck out. Ernesto had
left with another Scorpia employee and Nile was a heavy sleeper. There would be
no one to miss Alex during the night. Alex understood that Alan Blunt wasn’t
stupid. He wouldn’t keep Yassen in their own headquarters, just in case the
enemy knew its location. As secure as the Royal and General building probably
was, if Yassen was determined enough he could escape. Mr. Blunt probably knew
that. If he was this interested in Alex he probably knew all about the boy,
including perhaps how far Alex was willing to go to protect his lover. He would
break into the MI6 building on Liverpool Street if he had to, but he didn’t
think he did.
Alan Blunt would know better than to keep Yassen Gregorovich in the most
obvious place. But the second most obvious was as good a place as any for Alex
to start searching. Yassen had told him the address; Alex could only hope that
Ian hadn’t moved house since Yassen had kidnapped him years ago.
“Cheyne Walk, Chelsea,” he told the taxi driver, when the cab had come to a
stop beside him. Alex climbed into the back of the taxi and in silence he
watched the scenery passing by. The closer he got to Ian Rider’s house the more
nervous he began to feel, but he told himself it had nothing to do with seeing
Rider and everything to do with bringing Yassen home safe and sound.
He wasn’t afraid to face his father’s killer. He wasn’t.
XXX
April 5th 2001.
Ian Rider had managed to talk his bosses into stashing Yassen in his own home.
The Russian had listened incredulously: unable to believe what he was hearing,
unable to deny that he actually was hearing it. It was outrageous. Rider was
actively luring a known assassin to his personal home by using another assassin
as bait? And MI6 was letting him!
“Alex will come for him,” Ian had promised. “We want Alex to come for him,
remember. Please, just let him come.” Ian knew what he was doing. He believed
that if Alex were anything like John had been there was no way that Alex would
kill a family member, never, not for anyone. He just needed a chance to tell
Alex the truth. Just a few moments, that was all, and then Alex could come home
to him. Ian knew, just as Alan Blunt did, that if Alex were captured by MI6
first he would rather go down fighting than surrender. But if Ian spoke to him,
and if Alex listened, every thing could be different.
Ian would have his family back.
Yassen’s arms were tied above his head with wire. When Yassen had struggled,
the wire had cut into his wrists and blood had flowed sluggishly down his arms.
Ian had taken a few moments to clean him up and cover the cuts, and warned
Yassen not to try slitting his wrists again. That hadn’t been the Russian’s
intention; he had been testing his restraints, trying to calculate his chances
of escaping, but he had said nothing in response to Rider’s teasing.
He turned to stare at Ian.
“You will leave Alex alone,” Yassen said after an hour of uncomfortable
silence.
The housekeeper moved around downstairs, tidying or cooking or doing whatever
Ian paid her to do. Upstairs, both men had been in the same room for over an
hour, sitting tense and silent and hyper-aware of each other.
“I would never hurt Alex,” Ian whispered. “I believe I’m quite like you in that
respect.”
“We are nothing alike. I did not betray my family.” Yassen turned his head
away, missing the confused expression that stole over Ian’s face.
“You don’t know!” Ian breathed. He should have guessed, he supposed. Since Ian
had found out that Alex was alive, Alan and Tulip had continually assured him
that Yassen would never hurt Alex. He should have known that Yassen still cared
for John. He would never remain working for the people who had truly killed the
man. Ian could relate to him. They really were quite similar. For years, Yassen
had believed that he and Mrs. Jones were the murderers of his closest friend.
Similarly, Ian had believed that the man bound and helpless before him had
tortured and murdered his infant nephew. There were so many possibilities for
revenge, with Yassen tied up before him, but now Ian knew better. He knew the
truth and it was time for Yassen to as well.
“I know enough!” the assassin spat, turning back to glare at the agent. “You
betrayed him. If you touch Alex I will kill you.” Blue eyes hardened as they
met Ian’s, and the elder man just smiled softly in response.
“They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his family. There must
be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience,” Ian quoted
softly, not bothering to defend himself. When Alex arrived, there would be time
enough to tell them the truth.6
Yassen bared his teeth, his face contorted with anger and hate. Ian pitied him.
He could sympathise, he supposed: so much time wasted needlessly hating
someone. Yassen was not the target for his hatred, not really. No one had
killed Alex and the boy had grown up unharmed, physically at least. But John!
John was still dead and replacing the faces of his killers would not change
that fact. Yassen was entitled to keep his anger, but anger was a destructive
force and seeking revenge against Scorpia, no matter how justified, was a
destructive action. Ian pitied the man before him, the man whose life and
beliefs were about to change so drastically, and he wouldn’t even have Alex to
help him through it.
Ian would be keeping Alex.
The phone rang downstairs. Jack, Ian’s housekeeper called up to him, breaking
the horrid silence. “Phone, Ian! It’s the bank!” she shouted.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Ian quipped before he slipped from of the room. Yassen
heard the front door slam a moment later and then a car engine turned over
outside.
Yassen was in the larger of the two spare bedrooms. It might have belonged to
Alex, had Ian been the one to raise the boy. Yassen clenched his fists, his
nails biting into his palms. The thought of Alex being left alone with that
man, in this house, made his stomach twist, and he was so very thankful that he
had chosen to follow the suspicious-looking black car from Liverpool Street to
Cheyne Walk thirteen years ago.
Yassen tensed. He heard the front door open and close. He heard the
housekeeper’s shocked cry and then the familiar soft ‘phut’ of a bullet through
a silencer. Jack’s body hit the floor, and Yassen heard footsteps as someone
made their way slowly up the stairs.
“Hello маленький ангел,” Yassen whispered as Alex closed the bedroom door
behind himself.4
A wide smile spread itself across Alex’s face and his eyes brightened. “Hello
lover,” he greeted, as he bent over Yassen’s head to cut away the wire that
bound him to the headboard.
Yassen rotated his hands slowly, rubbing at his wrists to get the blood
circulation flowing properly again. His legs had been left untied. He swung
them easily to the side and slid off of the bed. The moment he was standing, he
pressed himself against Alex’s back, with his lips on Alex’s neck. He kissed
lightly down the column of Alex’s throat.
“Mmm, thank you,” he whispered between kisses, “my hero.” Alex melted back
against Yassen’s chest with a low moan, arching his neck to offer more of his
throat to the assassin. “How can I ever repay you?” Yassen teased, his hands
running up the sides of Alex’s legs, pulling them apart so that he could settle
comfortably between them.
Alex pulled away. He half-turned his body towards Yassen but the Russian’s hand
on Alex’s shoulder twisted him back again.
“Yassen no,” Alex hissed, bucking lightly. “Now isn’t the time.” Yassen ignored
him. With a scowl, Alex reached behind to shove at Yassen’s chest, “We have to
go.”
“Now is the perfect time,” Yassen insisted. One hand grabbed Alex by the short
hairs at the base of his skull, and he tugged the boy forward, knocking him
onto the bed. Yassen moved behind him, pinning Alex in place with his own body.
He had the boy bent over the side of the bed. Alex shoved back at him but
Yassen’s grip on his hair tightened and Alex stopped struggling.
“Here is the perfect place.” Fucking Ian’s nephew in what should have been
Alex’s room: it was too good an opportunity to stick it to Ian Rider for Yassen
to pass up.
“Yassen! Please!” Alex shouted. He began panting softly, as Yassen reached
beneath him to palm the bulge in his trousers. “We need to go.”
“No. You need to take off your clothing.”
The Russian’s hands busied themselves undressing Alex. The boy didn’t struggle
as Yassen pulled his t-shirt over his head, and he pushed his hips back, aiding
Yassen in slipping off his trousers. When the elder man bent to remove Alex’s
shoes and socks Alex made no attempt to escape. He lay there compliantly, and
it was only when he heard the sound of Yassen’s zipper opening that he began to
protest again.
3“Seriously, моя любовь, we must go. Don’t… ah… I said don’t!” A finger probed
his entrance, rough and dry, and Alex pushed back against it, seeking more. “We
can’t, we, stop! Oh god!” Above him, Yassen chuckled lightly, his face pressed
to the back of Alex’s neck, his lips brushing soft kisses to the skin within
reach. “Do that again,” Alex commanded, and Yassen added a third finger within
him.
Yassen removed his hand, licking over his fingers. He stared down at Alex with
a curious smile on his mouth. Alex turned his head, a groan of protest forcing
its way passed chapped, trembling lips. “Do you really wish me to stop?”
“If you dare, I’ll never let you touch me again!” Alex hissed, his eyes
narrowing.
Yassen chuckled again, having expected that answer. He pushed three fingers
into Alex without warning. The boy arched off of the bed, moaning loudly,
before pressing his hips down against the sheets seeking friction. “Be still,”
Yassen commanded, and Alex instantly stopped moving, lying completely,
frustratingly still as Yassen fucked him with his fingers. “Do you want me to
stop, Alex?”
“God no. Don’t stop. Fuck me, fuck me please?”
“Are you certain?” Yassen’s lips twitched. He freed himself from his trousers
with his other hand. He jerked his hips forward, letting the tip of his
erection brush lightly against one cheek of Alex’s arse. “Is this what you
want, ангел?”4
“Yes, yes, I want this, I want you. Please, oh, please.” Yassen listened to him
begging breathlessly for a moment, before pulling his fingers out slowly,
smirking when Alex groaned as they dragged against his prostate. “You bastard!”
Alex shrieked, as Yassen left him empty and wanting. “Fuck me already!”
“As you wish.”
He pushed forward, his cock sinking into the tight warmth offered up before
him. Yassen let his head drop forward onto Alex’s shoulder blade with a
strangled groan. It had been so long, far too long since the last time he had
touched Alex. He hadn’t even seen the boy in six weeks, not since before he’d
begun the Stormbreaker mission, and before then Yassen had been too injured to
indulge himself in the pleasures of Alex’s body. It had been a while, but it
had definitely been worth the wait. The feel of Alex was everything he
remembered it to be, except he was tighter than the last time Yassen had taken
him. Almost two months without being used, Yassen remembered. It had been
almost two months.
“Fuck,” Alex grunted beneath him as Yassen pulled out and pushed back in again.
Alex jerked his hips back and forth in time with the Russian’s thrusts, rocking
his cock against the cotton bedding that felt oh-so-good against his swollen
erection.
Yassen muttered something into the hollow between Alex’s shoulders. While not
having heard him, Alex knew what had been said.
“Love you too,” he whispered, turning his head against the pillow, pressing his
face down to muffle his cries as Yassen struck his prostate again. “Love you.”
Yassen kissed his neck and his back, arching into him, covering him and
pressing down on him. Every part of Alex was touching Yassen, and the teenager
panted at the thought of belonging entirely to one person. No one else had ever
touched him. Yassen would never have allowed it, and he had never wanted it.
The thoughts of being with Yassen, of being his entirely, made Alex’s cock
throb with excitement, and he ground his hips against the bed frantically.
Yassen’s free hand crept between Alex and the sheets, circling the neediest
part of Alex’s anatomy. He jerked Alex off roughly. The boy gasped in pain a
handful of times, but loved every moment and every feeling because it was
Yassen inflicting it on him. When he came, he cried out Yassen’s name loudly,
throwing his head back and thrusting into Yassen’s tight fist. The muscles in
his arse convulsed, squeezing and unclenching around Yassen’s cock as the
assassin roughly fucked the body beneath him. The hand that was sticky with
Alex’s come dug into the bed sheets beside the boy’s head. He clamped his free
hand around Alex’s hip hard enough to bruise. Yassen came shortly after: the
tightness and warmth of Alex overwhelming him. He tugged Alex’s face to the
side for a sloppy kiss as his hips jerked and he orgasmed within his teenage
lover.
“Alex,” he breathed, as he drew out slowly. Alex whimpered at the feeling,
cringing at the obscene noise as Yassen separated their bodies. “Love.”
Alex could hear the accent in Yassen’s voice. He smiled, rolling out from under
the fully dressed man and tugging him back down on top of him. His bare legs
wrapped around Yassen’s waist and his arms locked around Yassen’s neck. “Say it
again.”
“I love you, Alex.” The accent faded as Yassen regained control over his body,
but before he could completely compose himself Alex dragged him into a kiss. It
was wet and vicious and Yassen bit at Alex’s bottom lip savagely. He pressed
Alex possessively down onto the bed, as he claimed the child’s mouth for his
own. Yassen’s right hand wandered downwards, but Alex caught his wrist firmly.
“We really can’t. I won’t let you distract me again.” Alex managed to keep a
straight face but he couldn’t stop the longing from seeping into his voice. He
wanted Yassen to touch him again, but they just didn’t have time.
“Alex,” Yassen said warningly. He broke free of Alex’s grip, and grabbed hold
of Alex’s cock, stroking the organ until it hardened.
Alex panted, fair hair falling into his eyes. He looked up at Yassen half-
lidded. “Please stop.” Yassen didn’t. He stroked faster, wringing a low groan
from the boy. “I can’t… this is a mission!” He finally managed to say, but only
after he was brought to orgasm.
Yassen paused, half way through licking the come off of his fingers. “Why
didn’t you say so sooner?” He was composed and businesslike in the blink of an
eye. Yassen zipped up his pants, straightened his shirt and turned to the
teenager. “Get dressed, Alex. What was your mission?”
“To rescue you?” The boy fiddled with his socks, turning them inside out before
pulling them on one after the other, and then he tugged up his trousers.
“I would say I have been sufficiently rescued. What else?” Yassen handed his t-
shirt over, and Alex gratefully accepted it.
“If you were dead or had been tortured then I was to kill Rider. Nile is
waiting at the motel for us. He’s supposed to tell me the rest of the plan when
we get back.”
“Nile is here?” There was something off about Yassen’s voice again, and it was
unexpected enough that Alex snapped his head up. He met wide blue eyes, and
realized that Yassen was afraid! “Where?” He grabbed Alex by the shoulders, and
shook him lightly.
“The motel Ernesto and I booked after Sayle’s arrest. Nile and I are using the
same room.”
“You’re alone?” Yassen questioned. None of his weapons were here. They had
remained behind at the Royal and General. The Russian felt half-naked without
them. “Do you have a gun?”
Alex handed over a loaded Glock; the silencer was still attached. He had left
it down on the bookcase when he had entered the room, along with a hunting
knife. “I’m not alone with him. You’re here now. We really need to go though.
They’ve arranged to exchange us tomorrow morning, and I bet you anything that
Scorpia are planning to double cross Blunt!”
Alex turned to grin at him, but ended up frowning. Yassen stared back at him,
his head tilted to one side, and calmly said, “They are not the only ones
Scorpia plan to double cross.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “What?” Alex took a step back, his hand moving
instinctively to grab the knife he had also brought.
Yassen’s eyes closed, his fists clenched at his sides. He prepared himself to
tell Alex what he had heard of Julia’s plan. He opened his mouth. Then snapped
it closed again.
Ian Rider was framed in the bedroom doorway, his gun pointed at Yassen. In his
free hand was a mobile phone. “Going somewhere?” he said, grinning.
XXX
April 5th 2001. Same day.
Ian didn’t know how he had done it. He was quite sure he didn’t want to know.
After all, how does one actually manage to sneak into MI6’s headquarters, tap
the phone line of the Head of Operations, and place a call from a different
place while making it appear to have come from Alan Blunt’s office? Ian didn’t
know how he had done it, but Alex Rider had done it. He had impersonated Mr.
Blunt. Ian had driven from his house to Liverpool Street, doing far more than
an acceptable speed, and had left Yassen Gregorovich alone with Jack.
It had been a ploy. A very clever trick, he had to admit. While he was gone,
arguing with several secretaries and lower-downs who were all insisting that
Alan had gone to see the Prime Minister, that Alan wasn’t in his office, that
Alan didn’t want to see him, Alex had broken into his house and murdered his
housekeeper.
Ian had got himself home as quickly as possible. He broke every Road Traffic
law that he could name but he had still been too late.
Jack Starbright’s body was sprawled across the bottom two steps of the
staircase, her red hair fanned over her pale, dead face. Wide eyes stared up at
him accusingly through the curtain of her hair, and Ian turned his face away in
disgust. He couldn’t even hate Alex for doing it. He couldn’t hate Alex, ever,
no matter what evils the boy committed.
Scorpia had made him do it.
Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding down the number ‘9’ until it
started ringing. He didn’t hold it to his ear; there was no need. It was the
agent’s emergency services number, and as long as Ian kept on the line MI6
would be able to track his phone signal back to the house. Response time when
the number ‘9’ was dialled was less than ten minutes. He just had to keep Alex
talking for ten minutes. He had to stop Gregorovich from escaping.
There were voices upstairs, muffled but urgent. While Ian would have liked to
listen in and learn all he could, he was far more theatrical than John had ever
been. At the top of the stairs, he paused. Covert was one thing, and suspicious
another. But a real spy did it like James Bond!
He kicked at the bedroom door, and it smashed inwards, bouncing off of the
wall. Gun cocked, he pointed it at the Russian’s chest. His phone was still
held loosely in his free hand. He placed it down on top of the bookcase beside
him, smiling slightly at Alex. “Going somewhere?”
Alex sighed. “Well at least he knows how to make an entrance.”
Yassen took a step forward, and raised his own gun.
Ian clicked the safety off on his. “Sit on the bed.”
Alex sat down. Almost immediately, Yassen moved in front of him, but still
didn’t sit. The assassin didn’t think Ian would kill Alex but he wasn’t taking
any chances on his lover getting hurt because of him. Alex had wanted to leave,
but Yassen had kept them there. This was his fault, and if anyone would suffer
for it he’d rather it be him.
“You should be careful with that,” Yassen said softly, eyes never leaving Ian’s
face. “Wouldn’t want to cause an accident.”
“It isn’t an accident if I meant to shoot you.” Brown eyes mocked him, pale
pink lips twisted into a wry smile. Ian flicked his wrist in Alex’s direction,
twisting his body to half-point around the assassin, and then switched the
gun’s safety back on. “But you’re right,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t want to hurt
Alex.”
Mostly hidden from sight, Alex pulled his t-shirt off over his head and dropped
it on the bed behind him. He had done this plenty of times in the past. There
was no reason for him to suddenly feel uncomfortable. His age and his body had
gotten him out of some very sticky situations in the past, and Alex had never
had a problem flaunting himself before. This time should have felt the same as
ever other time: clinical, necessary and impersonal. But instead his hands were
shaking as they popped open the button on his jeans, and his heart hammered in
his chest as he nudged Yassen aside.
“What do you want, Rider?” Alex asked, his voice soft and smooth. He slid from
the bed, gracefully rising to his feet. Alex walked forward slowly, swinging
his hips teasingly.
There was a resemblance between Ian and him, and that was what was making Alex
nervous he realized. Not only did they share the same surname, but also they
shared similar features. Someone would have told him if he had a living
relative out in the world somewhere, wouldn’t they? Surely they would have.
Alex brushed the concern aside. He had to play his part.
“What exactly can I do for you?” A sexy smile fitted itself on Alex’s mouth,
the edges turning up. His lips barely parted from one another before Alex
flicked his tongue out to moisten them.
Behind him, Yassen went rigid with jealousy. Ian blinked, his face drawn and
pale, and he watched in confusion as his nephew sauntered towards him. The boy
was practically chest-to-chest with him by the time he managed to react. “Stop
that!”
Alex smirked. He reached out with one hand, gently trailing his fingers down
Ian’s chest until they rested just above the waistline of his pants. Looking
coyly up at Ian through his eyelashes, Alex breathed, “Do you really mean
that?”
He placed a soft kiss to Ian’s cheek. As the man went to shove him back Alex
reached out with both hands, grabbing Ian’s wrists lightening quick and pressed
his mouth to the elder man’s.
“Tell me what you want.” He moved forward again, pressing a bolder kiss to
Ian’s mouth and the man couldn’t stop himself from responding. Alex panted
against Ian’s lips when they broke apart, “Tell me what you need.” He let go of
one wrist, moving his hand to press against the bulge in Ian’s trousers. “What
can I do for you, Agent Rider?”
Ian shook his head, his eyes squeezing closed. It was the sound of his title
that had awakened his senses, and he shoved Alex back viciously. For one moment
he didn’t care about hurting the child. All he cared about was getting away
from the boy – his nephew – who he suddenly and undeniably wanted to fuck.
“I need to tell you the truth!” Ian shouted his hands clenched at his sides.
“And don’t, don’t do that again!”
“People never mean it when they say stop. Not people like us anyway.” Alex
tilted his head to one side as he spoke, studying the fair-haired man
curiously. “We say ‘no’ but what we really mean is ‘god yes, but I’m not
supposed to want this’. It’s a form of denial you know, and we all indulge in
it. Myself included. In fact, it was minutes ago that I was begging Yassen to
stop.” Alex allowed his lips to curve upwards, loving the green tinge that
spread across Ian’s cheeks. “Luckily for me, Yassen doesn’t take no for an
answer.” Alex licked his lips obscenely. Behind him Yassen chuckled.
“That is enough.” Ian took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hear anymore, he
didn’t even want to think about what Alex had been implying. It was the same
lie Mr. Blunt had told Felix before sending him to Cornwall. Had Ian’s
employers known the truth and failed to tell him yet another secret regarding
his nephew, or had they been making a wild but accurate guess? His head hurt
just thinking about all of the lies that surrounded his life, and while usually
he hated them, this one time he was fine with being lied to. He had no desire
to know if Alex really was fucking a man twenty-one years his senior.
“I need to speak to you Alex,” he said.
“So speak. It’s a free country. I’m not promising to listen though.”
Ian’s lips twitched. Alex sounded just like he had many, many years ago when
John had first decided to join the army and Ian had refused to let him explain
his choices. The similarities between them made his chest hurt. He took a step
towards the boy and smiled sadly. “You don’t need to listen now, Alex. I have
the rest of our lives to tell you. You aren’t going anywhere.”
“The hell I’m not!” Alex hissed, “I have places to be.”
“MI6 has already deployed a response team. They’ll be here in probably a minute
or two. You aren’t going anywhere Alex.” He cut a quick glance at Yassen,
“Neither of you are.”
“The hell I’m not,” Alex muttered again. The thought of staying here, of having
no choice but to remain here, surrounded by all of the people who had conspired
to kill John Rider made Alex feel sick. His stomach felt like it had been tied
into knots, and he swallowed heavily, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t stay
here. He couldn’t. MI6 would use him, twist him, and force him to hurt people
that he cared about. They’d take his life into their hands and destroy him just
as they had destroyed his father. But his death would take years. It would be
years of working for his enemy, instead of just a quick shot in the back. Alex
squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Then coming to a decision, he opened
them again. He’d rather die here than go with them willingly.
Alex lunged forward, tackling Ian around the waist and knocking them both to
the floor. He had to wrestle the gun out of the older man’s hands, and when
Alex stood back up, untangling his legs from Ian’s, he cradled the gun lovingly
between both of his hands.
Ian raised his palms, fingers spread wide, and he looked up at Alex
imploringly. “Put down the gun, Alex,” he whispered.
Instead of pointing the gun at Ian, as the man had thought Alex would do, the
child held it against his own temple.
“I’d rather die than stay with the people who killed my father.” His voice was
cold, his jaw clenched, and his hands had finally stopped shaking. Alex had one
finger on the trigger, and his other hand hung limply by his side. Yassen
reached forward for it, clasping it gently in his own while his other hand
moved to point his own gun at the fallen spy.
“Ok! Ok! Don’t!” Ian screamed, holding his hands up unthreateningly. He lay
back on the floor, placing his arms slowly down by his sides. Alex’s hand
trembled as he lowered the gun. “Go,” Ian whispered.
“You’re letting us go?” Alex’s voice shook, filled with disbelief.
“Go.” Ian said. He turned his face away, unable to watch as Alex was taken out
of his life again. Yassen pulled the child forward, all but shoving him down
the stairs and out of Ian’s front door.
Alex still held the gun in his hand, and in a few hours when Ian finally
noticed it was missing he would laugh. It had been his favourite gun and he had
asked Mr. Smithers to place a tracking device within it.
XXX
April 7th 2001.
Alex had wanted to go back to the motel. He had wanted to give Nile and Mrs.
Rothman the benefit of the doubt, because after all they had helped to raise
him and train him and make him who he was. Not to mention that he had left his
possessions behind when he had gone to rescue Yassen. While they were mostly
things that he could replace, one or two of them had sentimental value, gifts
from Yassen and such, that he liked to bring with him when he left home.
Yassen had convinced him that they were best left behind. With his mouth and
his fingers and his tongue, Yassen had convinced Alex to avoid the motel for
now and to avoid Nile completely. Just as they would avoid any British
government official.
The arranged swap-over could not take place without either Alex or Yassen
present. The two assassins had taken precautions to keep themselves completely
below radar until that day and the one after it had passed. It was only when
the sun had finished setting that Yassen looked over at Alex and nodded.
They would treat this as a general cooling-off period; the same Ernesto and
Alex had been treated to after the Stormbreaker assignment had failed. When a
mission goes wrong, you hole up somewhere with your partner and you wait. If it
is not safe, if you feel you are in danger (and Yassen most certainly felt Alex
was) then you wait. When it is safe, you ignore all previous orders and make
your way back to Malagosto, unless an agent is already en route to collect you.
If Nile complained, Yassen was sure they would be able to avoid any serious
repercussions by claiming that they had been following standard protocol. Once
they were back at Malagosto everything would be fine. There were eleven other
governing members to seek protection from, after all. Mrs. Rothman did not
control Scorpia alone. They would be safe once they were home.
Of course, Yassen did not know that Julia had changed her plan. He still
thought she out and out wanted Alex dead. He did not know that she would only
kill him if he failed his mission. Yassen was well aware that failing a serious
mission and endangering another operative because of that failure was a crime
punishable by death in the eyes of all of Scorpia’s founding members.
Unfortunately for them, Nile knew that Ian Rider was still alive.
When Yassen and Alex left the B&B they had been staying in, Nile was waiting
for them outside. He fired at Yassen first, the bullet ripping through his
thigh. The shot had been carefully aimed to miss any major arteries but to
bring Yassen down with just one bullet. Ian’s gun was tucked into Alex’s belt,
and the boy fumbled to pull it out. The sight of Yassen falling face first to
the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped in pain and surprise, had
been enough to stun the teenager momentarily. By the time he had the gun out
and cocked, Nile was already on him. Black hands closed around Alex’s throat,
thumbs pressing down just beneath the chin and Alex felt his head swim. He
panted and kicked wildly, trying desperately to buck the larger man off of him.
Nile merely grinned down at him as he squeezed Alex’s throat harder.
Alex’s vision swam, his eyes blurring in and out of focus. The last thing he
saw before darkness claimed him was Nile’s eyes bulging out of his sockets, his
teeth flashing white. He reminded Alex of Judge Doom, just before he died.7
XXX
April 8th 2001.
When Alex woke up, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
He blinked slowly, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness of the
room. His shoulders hurt, his muscles burning from being stretched above his
head all night, and Alex tugged futilely on the chains that hung from the
ceiling and wrapped twice around each wrist. There was just enough slack for
him to stand flat-footed on the ground, and with a frown he realized he had no
shoes on. As he looked down, he gasped, noting with anger that he was
completely naked.
He hated it when people undressed him while he was unconscious.
He didn’t appear to be in worse condition than he last remembered, other than
the painful bruises on his throat. Those had been newly inflicted by Nile, and
they made it hurt to breathe. Alex swallowed down a groan, remembering with
embarrassment exactly what he had been doing with Yassen before they had left
the B&B. The evidence of that was probably flaked on his inner thighs, and no
doubt Nile had seen it.
He dragged his mind away from that thought. Everyone at Scorpia knew what he
and Yassen got up to in their personal time. It wasn’t like Nile hadn’t known
as well. There were more important things to worry about, Alex reminded
himself.
He looked around, noting the metal gurney that had been left just a foot away
from him, and covered by a transparent plastic sheet. Being able to see what
was hidden beneath it didn’t make Alex feel any better about his situation.
Knives, and scalpels, and pliers, and Ian’s gun, and god was that a
screwdriver? Alex fought against the fear that welled up inside of him. It
wasn’t as if he hadn’t been tortured before, he reminded himself mentally. But
there was a difference between someone torturing you to prepare you, to help
you learn to withstand it, and someone actually torturing you for real, for
pleasure. His breath came in short pants. His heart lodged in his throat.
Through his panic he could hear someone whispering, “Calm yourself, ангел.”4
Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly, opening his eyes again. They
landed on Yassen, who was tied to a chair to the left of him, and Alex wondered
how he hadn’t noticed the Russian sooner. The elder man’s skin was an unhealthy
shade of grey, and his trousers were missing. He was still wearing his boxer
shorts and his socks and shoes, but around one thigh was a thick white bandage
that blood was already beginning to seep through.
“He didn’t want me to die until after I had watched you suffer,” Yassen
informed him matter-of-factly. His blasé tone was enough to make Alex laugh
softly, startled but comforted by Yassen’s familiar way of being.
“We need to get out of here,” Alex whispered, frantically casting his gaze
around the inside of the building. They appeared to be inside of a warehouse,
though it was mostly empty apart from some old crates and boxes shoved in the
far corner. At the moment, they were alone.
“You are not getting out of those chains, Alex,” Yassen told him softly, his
eyes sad and blue. “And I can barely walk. We are not escaping.”
Above his head, Alex’s hands clenched. “No,” he insisted. “We need to get out
of here.”
He didn’t believe in no-win situations. Any time he had been captured before,
Yassen had come to his rescue, and vice versa on the limited occasions that
Yassen found himself a prisoner. They had never both been captured together
before now, and in Alex’s mind that just meant that while they were together
they had double the chance of escaping as they would have had alone.
“Gregorovich is right,” Nile said loudly, as the doors swung open. He walked
into the room and let the door close behind him, not bothering to lock it. No
one knew they were there, not even Mrs. Rothman. “You aren’t going anywhere,
Alex Rider.”
“You can’t do this!” Alex spat, eyes narrowed. “You have no right.”
“I have every right. You failed a mission and put a valued agent at risk.” Nile
smirked at him.
“I didn’t fail the Stormbreaker mission. I had finished my assignment before
Sayle fucked it up!” Alex screamed, coming to the wrong conclusion.
Nile chuckled, coming closer to Alex slowly, a smile spreading across his black
and white face. Nile suffered from Vitiligo, a skin coloration disorder, and if
he lived past middle-aged, he would die a white man, even though he had been
born black. Those that didn’t like Nile offered referred to him as ‘the Zebra’,
an ‘ass with stripes’, and while Alex had never used the phrase himself, he
could see where they had been coming from. Nile’s skin was black and white. And
he was an arse.
“No, no, young Alex. I was talking about this mission. But while we’re on the
subject, did you really shoot a fourteen-year-old boy in the head at point
blank range?” Yassen jerked in his seat, eyes flicking to Alex and back to Nile
just in time for the man to burst into laughter. “Oh brilliant! Never knew you
had it in you. Especially since you were so vocally against dear Herod’s plan.”
“I have no problem killing children, singular,” the teenager said in return. He
raised his chin, keeping his eyes fixed on Nile’s face, and he blanked all
emotion off of his own. He wouldn’t give Nile whatever satisfaction he was
looking for. Then his eyes narrowed. “What mission?” he asked, remembering what
Nile had said. “I rescued Yassen. He was fine, before you shot him.”
“You failed to kill Rider.”
Yassen and Alex met each other’s eyes, both of them trying not to look as
shocked as they felt. “Y-You said,” Alex stuttered. He stopped, and cleared his
throat. “You said to kill him if Yassen had been injured or killed, and he
hadn’t been.”
“Oh Alex. You must not have been listening properly. Pity, since it’s going to
cost you your life, and his,” Nile said, baring his teeth as his grinned. “But
yours first.” He tugged the plastic off of the gurney and let it drop to the
ground. As blotchy fingers skimmed over the various toys laid out on display,
Alex couldn’t stop his feet from taking several panicked steps back. Above his
head the chains swayed heavily, and then went taunt. There was no more give
left in them, Alex couldn’t get any further away, and Nile had already chosen
his weapon of choice and was moving towards Alex with the scalpel held out.
Alex kicked, aiming for Nile’s hand, hoping to hit him hard enough to break a
few fingers. Nile must have been expecting Alex to lash out, because he twisted
his arm out of the way, and then dived forward as Alex went to draw his leg
back. The scalpel slashed along the boy’s ankle, and the unexpectedness of the
cut – the horrid stinging and burning that followed – made Alex cry out.
Nile grunted, lips twitching. “I hoped you wouldn’t break this easily.” He
sounded disappointed. He ran the tip of the surgical blade through the hairs
leading from Alex’s belly button down to his groin. “I had been looking forward
to this for a long time, Alex, and I want you to last.” Alex gave another cry
as Nile raised his hand; the blade caught him just under the eye, dragging down
over his cheek and splitting the skin open. As the blood began to flow, it
looked at first as if Alex was crying red tears, and Nile added another cut, a
matching one, to Alex’s other cheek.
Yassen hissed between his teeth, his narrowed in anger. Alex could see him
biting through his bottom lip, trying hard not to provoke the man who held
Alex’s life in his hands. But it was hard for him, Alex knew. Thinking of
Yassen, and not of himself, Alex resolved to try his hardest not to make any
noise. Nile didn’t deserve to know how scared he was, and Yassen didn’t deserve
to watch him suffer.
“Please, Sir, can I have some more?” Alex said, giving a breathless chuckle as
Nile’s eyes narrowed into slits.
“That’s more like it,” he drawled after a moment. “I think I want to play with
the pliers for a while now.” The elder man replaced the pliers with the bloody
scalpel, and Alex bit down on his tongue, preparing himself for what he knew
Nile was going to do. When the first toenail came off Alex barely managed to
stop himself from screaming, but he quite couldn’t hold back the horrible,
gurgling whimper that escaped from his throat. After the third toenail, Alex
was crying, sobbing desperately as Nile smashed the bone with the handle of the
tool. When Nile finally moved on to Alex’s second foot, Yassen had been forced
to turn his head away, unable to watch anymore. Alex was hanging in the chains,
his wrists and shoulders throbbing from the weight of him hanging limply.
“Stop it,” Alex whispered.
“Make me,” Nile said. He threw down the pliers, and paused, running his eyes
over the other toys he had prepared earlier. The gun would be last, so he
skipped over that one. Knives were Alex’s favourite weapons, and the irony of
breaking the boy using one (one he had stolen from Alex’s bedroom in Malagosto
to be even more ironic) would be fun, but it could wait until later. There was
something else Nile had always wanted to try.
He picked up the screwdriver, rolling it between his palms as he walked around
Alex to stand behind the boy. He had to wrap an arm around Alex’s neck, keeping
the boy’s head bent forward so that he wouldn’t be able to head-butt him. His
other hand reached up, holding the screwdriver, and he pressed the tip of the
tool against the webbing of Alex’s hand. It took a lot of force, and quite a
lot of time and jiggling about, for Nile to force the tip of the screwdriver
through the thenar space of Alex’s left hand. Muscle and nerves tore and
ripped, and this time Alex really did scream. When Nile finally had the
screwdriver pushed all the way through, Alex had already lost consciousness.
XXX
April 9th 2001.
When Alex woke next, there was no gurney in sight, but his back and his ribs
and his chest hurt like a bitch. He looked down, and all of the skin he could
see in the places that hurt were a mixture of black, blue and purple bruises.
Nile must have worked Alex over while he was out cold. He twisted his neck,
trying to look over his shoulders to glimpse his back, but it made his arm
sockets and his ribs grind painfully, so he stopped. It was harder to breathe
that it had been yesterday, and Alex was rather afraid that Nile might have
fractured or broken one of his ribs.
If Alex got out of this mess alive it was going to be an unpleasant experience
having his broken bones re-broken and set again. At least he would have
morphine in a hospital though, he consoled himself.
“You’re awake,” Nile said, standing behind him. A hand grazed the base of
Alex’s spine and the teenager jumped forward, ignoring the pain it caused him,
needing to be out of Nile’s reach. “Now, now,” he was chastised, “don’t be like
that. We had fun last night didn’t we?” The hand was on him again, except this
time it had drifted lower and the tips of Nile’s fingers were dipping between
the cheeks of his arse.
Alex kicked backwards, missing Nile completely, but feeling better for having
tried to hurt the bastard. His arse didn’t feel sore, and his thighs weren’t
sticky, so he knew he hadn’t been raped… yet. The fact that Nile had even
thought to taunt him with the idea of having been violated and not being able
to remember it made Alex’s stomach churn. No one had touched him like that
except Yassen, and that was the way he liked it. Nile mentioning it meant he
had considered it, and Alex panted in fear, whimpering low in his throat as
Nile stepped closer to him, bringing Alex’s back flush to the man’s bare chest,
and Alex could feel something poking at his backside.
God no, he thought. “Oh please no.”
“If you touch him, I will kill you,” Yassen hissed. Alex’s eyes snapped to the
other man’s, and it was obvious by the bruises on Yassen’s face that Nile had
beaten him unconscious last night too. He had only woken up, and Nile made sure
to grin at Yassen over Alex’s shoulder as he pushed two fingers into the boy’s
entrance.
“Tough words from the guy tied to a chair,” Nile taunted. He used his free hand
to unzip his trousers, pushing them lower and lower down his hips until his
cock sprung free. “Alex wants it, don’t you baby? You don’t mean ‘no’, do you?”
He twisted his fingers, dragging them across Alex’s prostate and the teenager
could help the gasp that left his mouth or the interested twitch his cock gave
in response. “What he really means is ‘god yes, but he’s not supposed to want
this’. Isn’t that right, love?”
Alex’s whole body froze. Nile had just said the exact same thing Alex had said
to Ian. Nile must have been listening, spying on them. God, he must have seen
the whole thing: him and Yassen fucking, him kissing Ian and threatening to
shoot himself. He had known where they were all along, Alex betted, and had
been lulling them into a false sense of security, allowing them to think that
they were safe from him. Alex gasped, his chest heaving as he tried desperately
not to cry again. All he had been doing for the past two days was crying or
screaming and he was getting sick of it. He had never felt more stupid in his
life.
“Get your hands off of him!” Yassen snarled, lurching forward in the chair. He
breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring in anger, and he swallowed
all of the abusive words he wanted to hurl at the man assaulting his lover. His
energy would be better spent trying to wriggle free of his restraints. He had
almost gotten one arm free, the rope nearly loose enough to slip his hand
through, and when that happened it wouldn’t be hard for Yassen to untie the
rest of the knots without Nile noticing.
The other man was rather occupied.
“You want me, don’t you Alex?” Nile’s free hand caressed Alex’s stomach,
sliding lower, picking at the scabbing wound he had left on Alex’s lower belly
with the scalpel the night before, until his fingers finally closed around
Alex’s cock. He stroked, with long, harsh tugs, ignoring the way Alex tried to
squirm away from his hands. “Just like you wanted your uncle to kiss you back,
hmm?” He dropped a wet kiss to Alex’s neck, laughing lowly as Alex drew in a
sharp breath.
“I don’t have an uncle,” Alex whispered.
“Are you really so fucking stupid?” Nile shouted. Both hands removed themselves
from Alex’s body, and Nile grabbed Alex by the shoulders, shaking him.
“Ian Rider is your fucking uncle!” He slapped Alex hard across the face, and
the boy’s head rocked to one side and back again from the force of the strike.
Alex blinked slowly, his eyes tearing up, but he didn’t mind. Nile could hit
him as much as he wanted, just as long as he wasn’t touching Alex there again.
“Ian?” Alex whispered, looking over at Yassen with wide eyes.
Yassen refused to meet his gaze, and Alex lowered his eyes to the floor,
feeling stupid and foolish for having been the last to know that his own uncle
had murdered his father. Why had no one told him?
“He tried to tell you the truth, didn’t he? But you wouldn’t listen. Perfect
protégé Alex Rider, too stubborn to listen to others. Son of the great John
Rider, so of course he must be brilliant. Pig-headed and immature too, but
everyone simply overlooked that, didn’t they, Alex? And look where it’s gotten
you!” Both hands closed over the sides of Alex’s face. The blood dried on his
face flaked off beneath Nile’s fingers as the man’s fingers dug into the flesh
of his cheeks. “You don’t know anything, Rider. But look at you, so angry at
the world, so vengeful, and so very misguided. Though I can’t really blame you
for that; all of your misplaced anger is Yassen’s fault, isn’t it? He was the
one who told you bedtime stories about how sweet revenge against Ian would be,
how you would one day welcome Tulip Jones’ violent death, how brave and loyal
your father was. But your father was a traitor, Alex. He was nothing but a
traitor.”
“LIAR!” Yassen screamed, angrier than Alex could ever remember him being. In
Alex’s whole life he had never witnessed something as scary as the look on
Yassen’s face. He looked almost ready to peel the skin off of Nile’s face with
just his nails, tearing and gouging and hurting, until Nile was dead or mad
from the pain.
“I’m not lying, Gregorovich. You should have let your uncle explain, Alex. Your
father worked for them. It was a family business, you could say, John and Ian
Rider together, and maybe you as well one day? Julia called it deep cover. MI6
ruined John’s career, sent him to prison and fucked up his life, and all so
that he would be more valuable to Scorpia. None of it was real.” He turned and
narrowed his eyes at Yassen, “none of it.”
“That’s not true. He saved Yassen’s life. He took care of him. That was real.”
Alex tried to meet Yassen’s eyes, but the Russian kept his face turned away,
purposely avoiding looking at Alex. Alex’s whole life revolved around John and
Yassen’s relationship. Without it, John would never have died, and Yassen would
never have kidnapped Alex and grown to love him. If none of it had been real…
it didn’t bear thinking about.
“You foolish, naive little boy,” Nile mocked him cruelly. “None of it was real.
Not even his death. They faked it all. Albert Bridge and the handover, swapping
John for that Government-brat.” Yassen’s attention was back on Nile as he
spoke, eyes fixed firmly on the discoloured face. “All of it was fake.”
“Shut up.” Alex clenched his fists above his head, willing the chains to
disappear so that he could land one right in the centre of Nile’s smug face.
“Your father didn’t die on Albert Bridge. He and your mother snuck out of the
country a year later, and you were left with a nanny because of an ear
infection. Ash planted the bomb. Julia detonated it.” He grinned widely, the
brightness of his smile made Alex wince, and the boy squeezed his eyes closed
trying to block out Nile’s face. “Scorpia killed your parents. All these years,
Alex, and you’ve been fighting for the wrong side. It’s all Yassen’s fault, you
know. He brought you here. He handed you right over to us, to the people who
murdered your father. I wonder if you will ever forgive him?”
Alex finally managed to catch Yassen’s gaze. When Alex opened his eyes, those
familiar blue orbs were fixed directly on his face. Yassen’s mouth was half
open, his face slack and pale, and Alex could see him swallowing convulsively,
struggling to speak. “Alex…?” he finally muttered, voice breaking. The truth of
what Nile had said struck him deeply, like fire running through his veins, it
filled him up and hurt him. Heart beating frantically, fingers tingling, and
vision swimming slightly, Yassen watched Alex watch him, and had to tear his
eyes away. He had caused this. He had done this to Alex.
“It’s not his fault!” Alex hissed. “He didn’t know. Yassen didn’t know, don’t
you dare blame him for anything!”
“Hmm, you’re right, I suppose. He hadn’t known so it wouldn’t be fair to blame
him for bringing you here. But for letting me do this to you? Should he have
tried harder to stop me?” Those hands were on him again, and Alex tensed
immediately.
He tried to ignore the way his skin crawled as Nile touched him. “He’s tied to
a fucking chair. What do you want him to do? Magic the ropes away?”
Nile chuckled. “You’re chained to the ceiling and you’ve still managed to get a
few good hits in.” Nile rubbed his chin, and Alex’s eyes narrowed on a faint
bruise that he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t even remember giving it to the
other man. “He should have done more to help you, Alex. I hope he can live with
himself.”
“Shut u-ah!” Alex broke off into a cry.
Nile’s fingers were inside him again, and he jerked forward, swinging from the
chains, trying to pull away from the other man. Nile simply moved to stand
behind him, forcing Alex to stand on the balls of his feet or to lean
backwards, resting his weight on Nile’s chest. “Tell me you want this?”
“Get off! Get off of me!”
“Tell me you want this,” Nile repeated. He thrust forward, and Alex sobbed
lightly as he felt the brush of the other man’s cock against his arse. “Tell
me, Alex, and I’ll make it good for you.”
“Go to hell!” he spat, taking deep breaths, gasping softly as Nile pulled his
fingers out again. He waited, tense and terrified, for what was coming, trying
to brace himself for the pain and the humiliation Nile would no doubt inflict
upon him. He squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to look at Yassen as he was
being raped, and he waited.
A ‘phut’ echoed through the room, the noise familiar and comforting, and still
Alex waited, heart pounding through his chest. Nile gave a grunt, loud and
shocked, and he pressed forward suddenly, leaning heavily on Alex. The teenager
cried out, expecting an intrusion that never came. Instead, Nile slid to his
knees, his face pressed to the back of Alex’s thighs and the blood from the
bullet wound left a streak of vivid red down Alex’s back.
“I believe he told you to go to hell,” someone said, his tone clipped and
furious.
Ian. It was Ian Rider, standing in the doorway, with a gun hanging limply from
one hand. “Alex, are you ok?” He ran to the boy, one hand lightly rubbing the
dried blood from his face, as the other started tugging at the chains, trying
to untangle them from the hooks that kept them attached to the ceiling.
Yassen was trembling in his chair, his eyes unable to stop roaming over Alex’s
abused body. His face was paler than normal, from blood loss and shock and
anger, and Alex honestly felt terrible, but he was willing to do a lot of
things to make Yassen happy.
“I’ve never been better,” he lied, and smiled as the corners of Yassen’s mouth
twitched once in amusement.
“He needs a hospital. As do I,” Yassen informed him stiffly, one hand finally
free. He began to untie his second hand, watching avidly as Ian lifted Alex out
of the chains and slowly rotated the boy’s wrists and arms, working the blood
back into the stiff joints. “Assuming you aren’t just going to have me shot.”
“I’ll take you to whatever hospital you like, I’ll make sure they ask no
questions that are irrelevant to treating your injuries, and then you’ll both
disappear. Deal?” It hurt Ian to offer it, knowing that it was likely Alex
would jump at the chance to escape from MI6 and himself, but Alex deserved to
be happy. Considering the crap couple of days the boy had lived through, what
happened next would be Alex’s choice.
Alex was taken by surprise. He hadn’t expected Ian to let him go. Ian must have
known they were related, but then again, Alex had kissed him, several times,
and touched him seriously inappropriately considering that they were blood
related. The guy was probably freaking out just being in the same room as a
naked Alex right now. The teenager snorted. He wasn’t sure to be amused or
disappointed, but he decided he’d think on that at a hospital, after he was
given some morphine.
“I hurt all over,” he whined. Once Yassen was free, the man stripped Nile of
his trousers and pulled them on himself. Nile’s shirt was on top of one of the
crates and Yassen helped Alex into it, pulling it down to cover as much of the
boy as possible, before Ian swung him into his arms, carrying him bridal style
out of the warehouse.
Once he was seated in the car, leaning against Yassen, comfortable but aching
at the same time, Alex zoned out. He might have slept, but he didn’t feel
refreshed when they arrived at the second hospital Ian had stopped at (Yassen
refusing to get out at the first for some reason). He couldn’t remember the
drive to either hospital.
“I need drugs,” Alex mumbled, saying his thoughts out loud. “Sleep isn’t
enough. I need drugs to get better. And doctors. Lots of doctors. And morphine.
Or Pethidine, that’s good too.”
“Ok, you little druggie,” Ian said, chuckling, as he helped lay Alex down on
the bed a nurse had wheeled over to him. “The doctor will get you something in
a minute. Go to sleep.”
Alex felt the prick of a needle on the back of his hand, and he smiled softly
as the blackness dragged him away.
XXX
April 12th 2001. Russia.
Alex woke up three days later. He was in Russia, in a house that he had never
seen before.
“Do you like it?” Yassen asked softly. He was lying beside Alex, on top of the
duvet, with his head propped up on his hand. The other hand moved towards the
boy, hesitantly, as if afraid that Alex would reject his touch. When Alex
didn’t flinch or protest, Yassen cupped his cheek lightly and turned the boy’s
face towards him. He leant forward to press their lips together briefly. “I
thought you might like it. It will give you a chance to improve your Russian.”
The television was turn on in the background, mounted on the wall opposite the
bed with the volume muted. Alex’s eyes lingered on the framed photograph of the
late Michael J. Roscoe as the news reporter recounted his death. He drew his
eyes away, allowing them to linger instead on Yassen’s healthier looking face.
“It has been a while since I’ve had a chance to practise,” Alex agreed lightly.
He leant forward for another kiss. Yassen wasn’t Nile. He would never be Nile.
Alex loved and trusted the elder assassin, with his heart and his life and his
body. He had no reason to be afraid or skittish around Yassen. While Alex knew
that what Nile had done to him would affect his life in profound ways later
down the line, tomorrow or the day after or maybe in a year’s time, it would
never change how he felt about his lover. “I love you.”
“And I you, Alex. Very much.” They kissed lazily, just several brushes of their
lips and gentle flicks of their tongues. “Rest more. You have much to heal
from.”
A needle pricked his arm. Alex tried to glare at Yassen before he lost
consciousness, but he didn’t think he succeeded very well. The last thing he
heard was Yassen amused laughter, like bells, light and free. Then he was
sleeping again.
XXX
April 14th 2001.
They had argued about this several times already. Yassen didn’t think Alex was
ready for it, and Alex had agreed that it was too soon after he had first tried
to leave the bed without help. He had been shaky and he had tired easy, and
Yassen had needed to carry the child back to bed. But when Alex was well enough
to walk unescorted and unaided from the mansion, isolated in a small forest, to
the nearest town and back without complications, he had insisted he couldn’t
wait any longer.
He needed to see Ian Rider.
Alone.
Yassen hadn’t been happy of course, but he had allowed it in the end. Like Ian,
he believed that it was Alex’s choice to make. It was Alex’s future that needed
to be decided upon. Neither adult could make the selection for him, and one of
them knew they were going to lose him. Yassen had let Alex go, and he prayed
that Alex would come back home.
Standing outside of Ian’s house on Cheyne Walk, Alex couldn’t feel any of the
determination and desire he had felt when arguing about this with Yassen. There
had been a need then to sort through this part of his life, to learn about who
he could have been had Ian raised him, about what his life might have been like
instead. But now there was only terror. What if Ian didn’t want to know him? He
had killed the man’s housekeeper? Girlfriend? Live-in friend? What if he was
making a mistake, and this relationship wasn’t what he wanted. If – No, when he
returned to Russia, what if Yassen was gone?
He took a deep breath.
“Don’t be stupid,” Alex told himself. Yassen would wait to hear his decision.
He knew that the man wouldn’t just up and disappear without telling him. There
was no question of being abandoned by the blond assassin; it was just a stupid
idea thought up by his panicking mind.
He had wanted to do this. He had claimed he needed to do this. Yassen would
never ask, never. But Alex knew the other man wanted to know the detailed truth
about John’s fake death and real death, just as Alex did. Perhaps it would be
easier for the Russian to hear if the truth came from Alex’s mouth, rather than
from the enemy?
Before he could talk himself out of it again, Alex raised his hand… and
knocked.
XXX
April 17th 2001. Russia.
Yassen moved on top of him, thrusting his hips lightly as Alex moaned and
arched in desire. They both ignored the phone that lay ringing on the bedside
locker. They were too caught up in their physical activity to care about
whoever was trying to contact either one of them. Yassen came first, grunting
softly before collapsing on top of his lover. With one hand he reached for the
phone and pressed the answer button on the mobile. He held it up to Alex’s ear,
smirking. His other hand fisted Alex’s cock faster. Yassen felt rather smug as
Alex cried out in orgasm, and the person on the other end of the phone abruptly
stopped talking.
“That was very cruel of you, Yassen,” Alex teased. He panted lightly and turned
to lie on his back as Yassen moved off of him. Alex held his hand out for the
phone.
“They should not have interrupted us.” He said, handing the phone to his lover.
The blond lay back on the bed and tugged Alex against his side.
“Hello?” Alex called down the phone.
Someone on the other end cleared their throat. “Alex Rider, is that you?”
“It is. Who is speaking?” Brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. There were only a
handful of people who had this number. Close associates of theirs, people who
could be trusted upon to help them out when they desperately needed it and had
the money to pay for it. And Ian.
“It’s Alan Blunt. Ian gave me your number, though it took quite a bit of
persuasion. I do believe he is quite eager to see you again, Alex.”
Alex and Yassen traded looks. Neither of them was working for Scorpia anymore.
Though, strangely, and rather worryingly now that Alex thought about it because
it must have been MI6 (who else could it have been?), someone had contacted
Scorpia and made some sort of deal with them. Alex’s involvement with the
organisation would never be known. Mrs. Rothman would be punished internally
for her crazed plan rather than hunted down and brought to stand trial in the
United Kingdom like Ian wanted. Nile’s body would be sent back to Italy for
burial. In return, Scorpia had agreed to forget that Alex Rider and Yassen
Gregorovich had ever existed.
Personally, Alex had thought they had gotten the better deal. But now that he
had Alan Blunt on the phone, Alex was starting to rethink that. Maybe Scorpia
were the lucky ones?
“What do you want?” he asked coolly.
“I suppose you’ve been watching the news. A man known as The Gentleman murdered
Michael J. Roscoe a few days ago. Then he sent the family some roses. Quite a
pleasant fellow if you ignore the issue of killing innocent people. However,
his son is acting rather suspiciously, and it isn’t an isolated incident.
Several other young men, all sons of prominent businessmen who have all died
suspiciously in the last year or so, have all been behaving quite out of
character. We’re rather worried, Alex, as I suspect you can imagine.”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Alex tensed up. Yassen’s arms tightened around
him, and Alex felt himself relaxing into the elder man’s side.
“We have a mission planned, Alex.” Mr. Blunt paused, purposely drawing out the
silence. It made Alex impatient, and he leant forward hunching over the phone
as he waited. Alan spoke again, “And you’re the perfect boy for the job. How
soon can you get to France?”
Alex flopped back against Yassen. He handed the phone over to the blond,
throwing his arm across his face with a desperate moan.
Why him?
When Yassen asked the same question Alex had just thought, Mr. Blunt answered
plainly, “Because he’s Alex Rider.”
The End
6 – Paraphrased from: “They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends,
his [sweetheart]. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his
conscience.” - Joseph Conrad 1857 – 1924.
7 – Judge Doom, the sadistic judge of Toontown District Superior Court, is from
‘Who Framed Roger Rabit’. He melted to death and it wasn’t pretty. http:/
/ media . photobucket . com / image / judge % 20doom / scalpod / Judge_Doom .
jpg
 
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Thanks for reading.
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On a more positive note ;) I'm back to work, and finished with exams (unless I
failed any/all of them) :D
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