Just like every Thursday, when he sat inside that pleasantly lit, magnolia office, the pale, inexpressive eyes of Dr Padash searched Alex's face for hidden words, for the things Alex didn't say but kept trapped deep inside him. Alex resented the intrusion. There wasn't much left to those secrets now.
Dr Padash was too good at her job.
Uncle, parents, guardian, authority figures. People with the task of defending the country. Each and every one of them had been discussed and dissected in this office. The pleasant pot plants, the calming framed prints on the walls, the typical smart and comfortable furniture contrasted perversely with the conversations shared by Alex and the short, quiet woman in her fifties, who looked at his face and knew exactly when he was lying.
On a certain day, a few months after his seventeenth birthday, Alex thought for the thousandth time, that this woman could extort whatever she wanted from him. It was probably a blessing that Alex was now so broken he would never possess enough to make extortion worth her while.
As always she spoke in a gentle, professional manner. A probing question, but spoken without judgement. Alex never felt vilified or absolved by Dr Padash. Just heard.
"These desires," she said, "Do you think they stem from the experiences you had as a teenager?"
This conversation had Alex blushing even without her condemnation. "What do you mean?" he asked. His throat was dry. He swallowed saliva, but there was none in his mouth. He coughed.
Dr Padash's gaze held firm, as it always had and always would. Not necessarily on his eyes, but any body language could give him away at any moment. "I'm suggesting that the desires to be hurt, to be captured, and your linking of those ideas to your sexuality, could have originated with your experiences working with MI6," said Dr Padash. "Do you think it's possible?"
Alex tried to lick his lips but there was no moisture on his tongue. "People have those desires without the background I've had," he said. "I've seen it on the internet."
Dr Padash nodded, "Of course."
"I know the realities of being held against my will," said Alex stiffly, "Shouldn't that make me want to stay away from anything remotely violent."
"Maybe," said Dr Padash, "But when your peers were discovering their first sexual encounters, you were discovering your first hostage situations. It would be understandable if you've associated sexuality with danger."
Alex shrugged and looked away from her.
"Are there any figures from that time that you found sexually attractive?" Dr Padash asked.
Alex shook his head, his lips gluing themselves together.
Dr Padash checked her notes. "You've described a number of people you knew then as good looking," she said, "Julia Rothman, Tamara Knight, Wolf, Fox, Yassen Gregor…"
"No," said Alex. "Julia Rothman was a psychopath. Tamara, Wolf and Ben were good people, but I would never have looked at them that way. There was always too much else going on."
Dr Padash looked at him steadily, waiting for him to qualify his denial of the other name on her list. There may have been more, but she would have noticed the one that made him jump to his negative.
"And Yassen Gregorivich?" Dr Padash prompted, when Alex failed to continue.
"Is dead," Alex said, stiffly.
"So is Julia Rothman," said Dr Padash.
Alex shrugged again. But he knew Dr Padash would get the answers she wanted from him. It was inevitable. It always was.
…
Ben Daniels, Fox, appeared opposite Alex in the library towards the end of his first year of college.
Alex hadn't seen him coming. He'd been focusing on his essay, and had looked up without paying attention, expecting to see another bleary eyed student, trying desperately to cram for the finals. When he'd seen the face, the five years showing only in the tiniest of lines at the edge of the eyes and a slightly higher hairline than he remembered, he had done nothing but look for full minutes.
"Hello Alex," said Ben.
"No," said Alex.
Ben smiled, sadly, "I thought you'd say that," he said, "but I hoped you'd hear me out anyway."
"I haven't finished college," Alex said, plainly, "When I do, I might try grad school. When I'm done with that, if I want to get involved with any of that again, I'll apply through the website like a normal person."
Ben didn't look even slightly offended. Nor did he look like he'd given up.
"Alex," he said, "It's been five years since anyone called on you. That's a huge amount of time in this business."
"Yes, it is," said Alex, "I put on fifteen pounds this year. I'm out of shape."
Ben rolled his eyes. "Five years since we called on you, not five years since we checked on you," he said, "We know you're on the mixed martial arts team, we know you run every day…"
"Well you shouldn't fucking know," Alex told him.
"Maybe," Ben agreed.
"I've got exams," said Alex.
"I know," said Ben.
Alex looked at him levelly. He took a breath. "What is it?"
"I'd like to discuss this somewhere more private," Ben told him, quietly, but Alex just looked at him. Ben sighed, giving in. "A few years ago we managed to turn an agent," he said. "Former Scorpia, expert in his field. It was his accepting of our offer that allowed us to leave you alone for so long."
"And?" Alex said, in an attempt to be as rude as possible.
"And," said Ben, "He's gone AWOL. Failed to show for a scheduled meeting, failed to respond to multiple attempts at contact…"
"Eaten by a shark?" Alex suggested, "Stung by a monster jellyfish? Poisoned? Shot? Stabbed? Harvested for organs?"
"We can find no evidence that he died," said Ben. "It's possible, but we believe he is still alive."
"Good for him," said Alex, "Is there a reason you're talking to me about this?"
Ben leaned forward. "We have reason to believe he might try to make contact with you."
Alex sighed. "Let me guess. It turns out he secretly still loves Scorpia and wants to kill me?"
"We don't know," said Ben.
Alex frowned. "What?"
"We don't know if he wants to kill you," Ben repeated, "He may do, but we think that's not it."
"Then… what?" said Alex. "Who is this man?"
Ben leaned closer. "We believe that you knew him as Yassen Gregorovich."
A penetrating blue stare, distinctive lips, lithe as a dancer but vicious and powerful.
"Yassen Gregorovich died," said Alex.
Ben frowned. "Is that what they told you?"
"I saw him die," said Alex. "He was shot, right in front of me. He died."
"He was shot," Ben agreed, "more than once, I believe…"
"By Damian Cray!" said Alex. "I saw it happen!"
Ben spoke slowly, carefully, "He was in hospital for a long time. MI6 wanted the information he could offer. They wanted him alive."
Alex turned away, glaring hard at the window to their right. Was that a figure in the building opposite? It couldn't be.
"Alex," said Ben, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but we believe he was watching you before he vanished."
Of course he fucking was, Alex thought.
"We believe he may have accessed your file, found your address. We need you to move."
"Move?" Alex snapped, "I go to school here! You want me to drop out because you were dumb enough to believe a Russian assassin could work for the British government without an ulterior motive!"
"We'll post a security detail here," said Ben, "At the end of the year, we'll transfer you, and give you a new name."
"Oh, fine!" Alex hissed, "I'll just switch schools, no problem. It's not like I spent ages finding the courses I wanted at the campus I liked. It's not like I've made friends."
Ben didn't reply. Alex didn't blame him. This was a stupid teenaged tantrum, and Alex wasn't a teenager anymore. He groaned.
"Fuck!" he said, and ran a hand through his hair.
Ben nodded in solidarity.
"What about the Pleasures?" Alex asked.
"We've posted security for them as well. Edward Pleasure was offered a new name before, but he is a public figure of sorts, and turned it down. We don't think Gregorovich will interfere with them, but if he does, we'll be waiting."
Alex looked away again. He was angry, and bitterly disappointed. This was a life that he'd found. It wasn't perfect, but it was the start of something. He had made friends, he had even had some casual flings. He was working towards a future free of MI6. It was all being stolen, again.
And Yassen was alive. How was Alex supposed to react to that news?
"Fuck," he repeated, quietly.
"I'm sorry," Ben repeated.
The essay was not going to be finished that night.
…
"See?" said Alex to the sceptical barman, "21!"
He held his ID. Alexander Hyde. Born eleven months before Alex Rider, and legally allowed to drink in the USA. He'd pointed out to Ben that if he were still in Britain, he'd have been legally allowed to drink for the last two years. Ben had shrugged, and winked.
The barman took the ID and checked it carefully. It was a real ID. It was Alexander Hyde that was fake.
"Beer," said Alex, taking his ID back with a grin.
The barman fetched his drink, and Alex looked around himself. The club was packed. Hundreds of people, dressed in their highest heels or best shirt, coiffed and smelling of a hundred different perfumes, writhed on the dance floor or crammed around tables or leaned against walls or pillars. In England, they'd called this 'on the pull'. In America, the nearest term he'd found was 'looking to get laid'. He almost never did it himself, but he figured Alexander Hyde could have more differences to Alex Rider than just a name and a date of birth.
A woman in a blue dress had made eye contact more than once. She was sat with some friends at a table, but Alex doubted she could hear any of them over the music. The barman passed him his drink, and Alex wished he'd waited and offered her one, too. That would have been a good opener. He'd have to come up with something cool but funny. Witty. Smarmy. He was a spy, it should be easy.
He turned back to the bar. How did normal people start conversations in bars? He shoved a hand into his pocket to pay for his beer, but the barman had gone to the next person. He didn't care.
The man next to him turned towards him. Alex didn't pay much attention. He was wondering if using a line from a film was funny or pathetic. He didn't even look at the man until the gun was pressing into his belly.
Alex froze, still facing the bar, which was probably hiding the gun from other customers. He turned his head, very slowly so the owner of the gun wouldn't suspect he was up to anything.
"I think you can guess who would do this, little Alex," said Yassen Gregorovich.
Alex breathed out slowly, then back in again, the air shaking as it travelled. "There are people watching me from MI6," he said, speculatively.
"No," said Yassen. "One had a sudden emergency he had to deal with and the other has fallen asleep in the car outside. You no longer warrant their more competent employees."
"What do you want?" Alex asked,
Yassen leaned in close to his ear. "We can walk out of here and to my car, and I'm sure you'll find out."
Alex frowned, petulant even as his heart raced. "I was about to pull," he said.
"Pull?"
"It's English slang. It means I was about to get lucky. With a girl." He nodded his head in the direction of the woman in the blue dress. Yassen glanced over quickly.
"No, you weren't," he said. "Come on."
As he moved to leave, Alex took another look at blue dress. She was happily talking to a guy. Alex groaned.
He was pushed in front of Yassen. The gun was no longer pressed against him, but he knew well enough that it was within easy reach for Yassen and his reflexes. He saw the exit, an awkward squeeze through a lot of people, but he could still run when they got outside. The club was on a busy New York street. There would be other people around, but not enough to block his way.
The second they got through the door, Yassen's hand had formed a harsh circle around his wrist. The gun was not obvious enough for Alex to try to take it. He didn't really have a choice but to follow where Yassen led.
"Well?" he said, "We're outside. You can tell me what you want, now."
Yassen turned them down an alley, without replying. Then further still. Then the next street and the next. Eventually he said, "Trunk or bondage?"
"What?" said Alex.
Yassen stopped next to a black BMW. "Americans say trunk, British say boot. You can go in there, or you can be tied up. Which would you prefer?"
"Neither, really, thanks all the same," said Alex.
Yassen looked at him. "I think bondage," he said, and pulled open the passenger door. "Sit."
He didn't really wait to see if Alex obeyed. He tugged Alex into the position he wanted him. Yassen still had a few inches on him and a lot of extra strength. And a gun quietly waiting in a shoulder holster on his left side. Alex spotted it and went for it at the same second, but Yassen saw that coming anyway. He caught Alex's exploring hand. "No," he said, simply, then clipped a handcuff onto that wrist. He pulled the other hand towards him, too, and it met the same fate as its opposite. Alex stared at the metal encasing his wrist. He hadn't had something like this happen to him since he was fifteen. He was scared, but also humiliated. He couldn't get those stupid conversations with Dr Padash out of his mind.
Yassen dropped Alex's trapped wrists, and then used a hand on Alex's head to push him onto the seat. Alex didn't even resist. Even when Yassen bent down to press his feet legs together and caught them with a cable tie. Adrenaline was blossoming in Alex's stomach like a drug. He blew out another breath, then bit his lip.
"No fight, Alex?" Yassen asked. "You were not always so."
Alex went to stand, but Yassen merely pushed him back down. A rope passed over his head, and fix around his middle, holding his elbows to his side and his torso to the car seat. Alex gasped.
"Struggle," said Yassen.
Suddenly Alex did just that. It was nothing like his training. It wasn't a careful picking of the handcuff lock, it wasn't even a search for a tool. It was a visceral struggle against his bonds, as though he could shift them with just his own will and the violence of his movement. His breathing was hard and fast, his body bruised by each piece of bondage within seconds and his blood was ringing I his ears. He bit his lip, and looked at Yassen's eyes. He gave up.
Yassen smiled at him. "Oh, yes," said Russian. "This is how it was meant to be."
