The Russian ran his eyes over Alex, as if weighing him up. "I have no instructions concerning you," he said.
"You're not going to shoot me too?"
"Do I have any need to?"
Alex Rider stood on rooftop overlooking the helipad and stared at Yassen. The wind buffeted them both. They seemed to be at an impasse standing next to the corpse of Herod Sayle. Yassen had no reason to kill Alex. Alex had no reason to push the assassin, but then he opened his big mouth. "So, do you work for yourself or do you have some prick like Blunt pulling your strings"
That gained Alex a raised eyebrow "I am a freelance, I work for who pays."
That kinda answered the question that Yassen was not working for Sayle but that was another story.
With nothing left to loose Alex boldly stated "You owe me."
"I owe you?" Yassen stated slowly appraising the youngster in front of him "Pray little one, what do I owe you?" A smile crossed over Yassen's handsome face.
"I was told you killed my uncle. His death kinda left me at Alan Blunt's beck and call. I don't want to be MI6's puppet, but I have no choice since their now my guardian. He tells me to jump and all that jazz, otherwise its some crummy institution for delinquent teenagers for me. I like the idea of being my own boss, which is not an option for me because Blunt owns my ass" Alex had said all this really fast. Alex paused, composing his thoughts he then took a deep breath and went for broke "I really have nothing going for me here. I either try the streets or you could take me with you. You get a tea-boy, gopher, apprentice?" Yassen looked at Alex blankly, so he continued to talk, fidgeting " Maid, cook; not that I can cook much. Or ..." Alex stilled and looked at Yassen straight in the eyes, "how about I could warm your bed."
Yassen turned, showing nor outward astonishment on what Hunter's son had just offered him, and pointed to the helicopter. "So come."
Alex wondered which option he had just been signed up for. What did it matter, anything was better than Blunt.
Yassen was quiet as he flew the helicopter to a small deserted airfield. They landed and transferred on to a lear jet. Alex even got to sit in the cockpit next to his new boss. Yassen started asking questions of Alex. Hobbies, sports, interests, what he was good at at school, what languages he spoke, and then the questions on MI6, his special ops training and Stormbreaker. Alex had no reason to lie so told him everything. It was like being debriefed all over again.
"My My little one, aren't you just fascinating. Such potential. What do you really want, Alex? What drove you to take a one way ticket with a known terrorist."
"I'm not stupid. Realizing Ian, my dear departed uncle, has sold me to the devil and had been preparing for me to follow in his footsteps since I started to walk and talk has made me feeling just a little angry and betrayed. I was sent to Cornwall by Blunt and he expected me to die. I didn't. I'm just expendable, they're just looking at an excuse to get rid of me. I'm only around as long as I'm useful. So fuck them. You can use me as you will, I don't care just as long as its bad for Blunt. I want him to hate the name Alex Rider."
"So like me. I think this will be the start of a wonderful relationship." Yassen liked the idea of embarrassing MI6, but more than that, he owed John to look after his son. Alex had been desperate to make the choice of leaving all he knew behind.
Alex went into the plane's cabin and fell asleep, only to wake as the plane landed. Alex was thirsty and hungry as the plane taxied into a hanger, it looked warm outside and barren. Alex kept quiet. No grumbling. No questions. Yassen and Alex left the hanger after a brief rest stop and clean up.
Yassen had let Alex carry his bags, then later unpack, start the laundry and clean his guns. He instructed Alex exactly how he liked his belongings packed away and cared for. Over the next few days, the assassin spoke to Alex in russian, which Alex quickly picked up. Alex cooked basic meals, cleaned, trained and exercised with Yassen. Alex even slept in Yassen's room, on a blanket on the hard floor, go figure. Alex had become an apprentice/trainee as Yassen waited for a new assignment to come in. Wherever Yassen's compound was, it was isolated. Some arabs came with supplies once. They looked at Alex as he read a book on basic Russian grammar, but did not talk to him.
Alex did not ask questions of Yassen. Yassen corrected him on his pronunciation and engaged him in conversations about inane things, computers, poetry, politics, history, geography. It was like school. Then reality hit back.
As if talking about the weather Yassen said "Blunt is making enquiries about you. Offering quite a bit of money for information."
Alex's heart sank. The idea of going back was more frightening a prospect than a future with Yassen. "I think we should send your friends at MI6 a postcard."