Thlipsis

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, ??? ?????? .4 God, I can't wait to be home."  

"You should wait a few days, ????????? ?????,"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 – ??? ?????? is Russian for "my beloved". Let's assume Alex learnt Russian!

4 – ????????? ????? or Mladshaya anhel is Russian for "little angel" apparently, because I couldn't find the word "one" without the Cyrillic writing!   

* * *  

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.   

-

CONTINUE READING ...