Tulip Jones reread the internal security report on Damien Hargreaves. The man had gleefully confessed to killing their SCORPIA mole. Finally caught out after an anonymous tip off to the CIA. The truth was six months ago he had set Alex Rider up. Hargreaves had been the handler, who had used his position to set up the assassination of their teen agent along with three agents and their Polish contact. Alex Rider had somehow survived that shootout, but was now missing presumed dead. There was a negligible chance he had been on the run and disappeared after the kill order was in place. Last sighting in a mafia hang out, the fifteen year old had entered but not left. With no backup, no savings, no friends to rely on, he had run for three days before the trail went cold. The real traitor had painted the situation that Rider had been a loose cannon. She had believed the tampered psychological assessment, which had portrayed the teenage hero as paranoid and unstable. As the Head of MI6 Special Operations dug deeper, the removal of the teenager from his former foster parents had been as a result of a fabricated threat assessment written by Hargreaves, which had forced Rider back to England.
Without any sightings or rumours concerning Alex in six months, she closed his file. There was no point organising the funeral, there was no one left to mourn Alex. Not when the Pleasures had washed their hands of him without a fight. Tulip sat back and unwrapped another mint, another sweetie to mask the bitterness of failure. She had failed John and now Alex. Maybe it was time to hand over to Crawley and work with numbers and files, not send agents and children to early graves.
….
After fifteen years as a hitman, Yassen Gregorovich had planned his own demise, using the fact Cray was both dangerously unpredictable and deranged. It had not be hard to push that man's buttons, considering his plan for a glorious new world was doomed to failure. Cossack was marked for termination if this project failed, anyway. He had already blotted his copy book, when he had not eliminated Alex Rider when instructed. He had alternative employment arranged, with a Ukrainian passport and complete legitimate background, assuming a dead man's identity. It paid to plan meticulously when you only had enemies.
SCORPIA did not forget and did not forgive. The only way to escape a certain death for attempting to retire was to make them believe you were already dead. The one factor in Cossack's favour was Alex Rider. Sending the boy to Julia Rothman would be the catalyst for the organisations fall. The teenager would uncover the truth, as that bitch had orphaned Hunter's only son. In the power vacuum left by the death of Max Grendel, the organisation had been strategically weakened as the directors were pitted against each other and the current chairman had not consolidated her position. Yassen knew Alex would not fail, that boy was even more deadly than his father, as the teenage asset was no patriot and had no loyalty to MI6 or the CIA; who had used him so ruthlessly. He did not even feel guilty for sending Alex to Venice. Rothman would only see the boy as a means to enact revenge on a man dead fourteen years, a man who had never loved her; as Hunter had ultimately been loyal to his wife.
Escaping from the chaos after the crash at Heathrow had been easy. Alex had been believed him dead and would pass on that information to his former employers when he found Malogosto. MI6 would assume a backup team from SCORPIA had recovered their incriminating evidence and despised of the assassin's body accordingly. It wasn't as if Yassen officially existed anyway. All of Estrov had been wiped from history. Now he would start anew once again. In a year or so he would be settled, with all his old contacts dead or in hiding.
…..
Roman Petrushkov liked his head of security. An old friend from their days as street kids in Moscow. Roman now ran money laundering, drugs, prostitutes and arms through his clubs in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Odessa and the Black Sea resorts with links to Western Europe, North and South America and the Far East. Yasha now went by the name Yakob Blenkin. His old friend worked hard, never complained and offered salient advice. His operation was now effortless efficient and feared.
The crime lord was well aware that Yasha had formerly worked for SCORPIA. Roman was keen to exploit the expertise of an expert in slow and quick deaths, accidents, interrogation and who enjoyed his work. He also knew of the ex-assassin's private life. The man had an apartment in Moscow, a villa in North Cyprus, a yacht in Yalta and a cabin in the woods south of Donetsk. He moved as needed, his homes shared with a sixteen year old English boy: lithe, blond and very handsome. The gangster was not one to disapprove of unusual sexual practices, not when he himself enjoyed liaisons with both women and men. Yasha was also possessive and protective of his toy.
He had blurry photographs of the sixteen year old wearing designer shorts, a diamond encrusted ankle bracelet and who took all his master dished out considering the scars on his flesh . Roman had watched the pair fuck on a grainy video. Yasha open enough to allow his friend's voyeurism, but with the understanding of looking but no touching. The surveillance all known of by the security expert. The bugs had provided no background for the boy, who did not talk of his past, only interested in Yasha, who was his everything, like a good slave.
Such a teenager, bought as a virgin, must have cost thousands.
….
Alex finished the third volume on the Psychology and Physiology of Pain by Dr. Three. Not a thesis normal sixteen year old would read, but the next book on his list was the Processes of Rapid decomposition and concealment of remains by the same author. It was a fact that Yassen had no normal books and the teenager was in no position to impose for anything beyond the basics of living and breathing and the price that came with. His obedience and payment in kind were his only options as he had no friends, no money and no other choice.
Seven months ago he was sure he was about to die, cornered by enemies and out of options, when once again Yassen refused to kill him, for the mere fact Alex had stood his ground and not flinched when expecting a bullet. Had he attempted to run he would have died. If he ran now, it would be only hours until Yassen finished the job he had postponed since March 2001.
The flat had no radio, no TV, just a kindle loaded with books that would make normal people vomit. Rather than continue and read, the sixteen year old went to the treadmill, for a warm up before the programmed runs all brutal and intense. The life setting for both occupants of this space, a burned MI6 agent now assumed dead and an ex-SCORPIA assassin who faked his own death two years ago. What would Mrs Jones think of him, hiding out with a third rate gangster's main enforcer. Roman's little piece of the action was below the radar of the intelligence agencies and with bribes in place the local cops; all were happy with the status quo. In a decade or so, Yassen would retire to his yacht and villa and live off the bonds, savings and investments accrued though pain and suffering. Alex no longer championing or saving anyone, not when MI6 put the shoot on sight order on a fifteen year old. He had used up the last of his nine lives, when the spray of bullets had killed the contact and team of agents, bastards who had ignored and ridiculed Alex in Krakow. They were dead he was not. Alex pounded for another half hour, planning his tactics for close combat training, knowing he would lose. He had won three times in six months. Life was mostly studying, keeping fit and trying to figure out what Yassen gained from this relationship. The former spy surmised it was possession of the one thing the killer loved more than killing, he was a kept man. Better than being a corpse.
As a pragmatist, Alex knew full well all his options for a normal life disappeared in 2001, when he'd attracted the attention of Alan Blunt. All because his uncle had pathologically conditioned him to be a spy. He was never going to finish school, date or marry. His conditioning meant his personality was fluid enough to accept even the most oppressive situations and life here was far from oppressive. Rules were simple and the sex was good, Yasha was a considerate lover and Alex was happy to be his sub. They were compatible. It brought into sharp focus just how wrong life had been in San Francisco, when his call back to London had come as a relief to both him and the Pleasures. Yasha did not consider him broken and unfixable, just a realist. Life had definitely given Alex Rider a sackful of lemons, luckily he preferred sour to sweet.
…
Yassen Gregorovich knew Alex would be kneeling in meditation as he opened the door to his small apartment. No fancy security needed, not with two trained killers living there. Alex had no qualms about killing now. One of Roman's competitors had tried to break in two months ago. None the wiser, Yassen had returned home to find a corpse wrapped in plastic ready for disposal and the unlucky survivor waiting for interrogation. The memory brought a smile to the Russian's face. In the eighteen months he'd worked for Roman, he'd relaxed a lot. There was honour and camaraderie with a fellow survivor of the streets. Both men were equals, Roman fighting his way up to be as his own boss with an uneasy alliance with both fellow mafia and the state.
Just before Christmas, Yassen had been with Krakow for a few days relaxation when Alex had crossed his path. Every instinct told him killing him would have been easier, kinder even; he had never expect the teenager to suggest this, a relationship or as close to one that both of them could function with. Roman thought he had bought Alex as a virgin.
After fourteen hours of the usual mix of boredom and routine, Yakob was happy to relax. What would Alex request tonight? Pain? Sensuality? Pleasure? He loosened his tie after checking the hall, door and neighbours, noting nothing unusual. He silently entered his home and smiled as Alex was dressed for close combat training, the furniture moved to allow maximum range of movement. It was a signal that Alex was likely to loose the match, the boon for the winner was free reign until dawn. Yasha was in need of a good work out. He knew all of Alex's weaknesses, all would be exploited for his victory. Tonight, would be spent pushing Alex's boundaries: exploring both his pain and pleasure responses and expanding his exposure to bondage and sensory depravation.