Manfred Schnagel kept a small studio and office on the second floor of a run down block in Venice, Los Angeles. There was a dance school and rehearsal space also in the building. The office was always filled with the muffled sounds of music, dancers, children and the busy traffic outside. This was not the life his early career had promised. Pieces commissioned by ballet companies had given way to work on music videos and advertisements. He had lived in California for three years and honestly hated it. Manfred made enough money for a fairly lavish lifestyle but his creative drive had died and had been replaced by consumerism. Posters of his early works decorated his apartment and office.
He stood and looked out of the window to noticed a boy in rags copying the exercises from the class below from a viewpoint on the street. Manfred did something he had not done in a long time, he was impulsive.
He stood and corrected the posture of the boy.
Intense brown eyes looked at him.
"I'm Manfred Schnagel. I have a studio upstairs. You are welcome to use it".
The boy followed him and it was strange to see the filthy coat, hat, scarf and trainers being stripped off to reveal a slim figure in sweat pants and t shirt. The boy was a teenager by the look of him. Filthy and frankly quite rank. Manfred went through a standard class routine and the boy copied his movements perfectly. This continued through some basic choreography of steps and jumps. The boys posture and form were beautiful, such control and discipline.
The youth accepted Manfred's offer of food at the local diner, where he ate like he was possessed. Manfred remembered the ever present hunger from his first few years of being a dancer. This child had taken instruction perfectly without complaint.
"Who taught you to dance?"
A raspy voice answered in perfect German "I was taught by a russian I knew. He had trained at the Academy in Smolensk in classical ballet."
Manfred was surprised by the Berlin accent "You have talent."
"I have no money. No home , no guardians , no prospects." The boy intoned emotionlessly explaining his homeless life without hope.
"I can teach you". The second piece of impulsiveness in an afternoon.
"Really? What do you want in payment?" The boy replied warily. His body language showed the boy was ready to flee.
Manfred borrowed the words from Fame "Blood sweat tears." he then added "I will shape and form you into an angel. You will have to work harder than you have ever worked, experience pain beyond endurance. Then you will be a great dancer."
"I can handle pain." stated the boy grimly as a matter of fact.
"Good. I have been called a sadist by the best." added Manfred.
The boy actually smiled at this. "You can call me Sasha."
"Come Sasha. You need to be reacquainted with personal hygiene."
Manfred had a nice apartment in a converted warehouse. Minimal and open with a wall of glass overlooking the harbour in Pacific Palisades. Sasha's clothes were put in the laundry and the boy was left to get clean. Manfred went into the guest bedroom and removed the junk off the bed to change the linen. He could not remember the last time he had invited anyone into his personal space.
The boy was quite handsome under the dirt, but his body was covered in scars. Manfred was already plotting a trip to visit a surgeon. Manfred had a clear schedule for two weeks. He wondered if the boy could survive him 24/7. No one in the past had. Manfred had been called everything from an intense genius to a pedantic control freak and a complete psychotic nightmare.
Manfred pushed Sasha to work and he began to create again. The boy was his muse. He took all correction and pushed himself. Manfred fed the boy and told him about dance and choreography, different styles, dancers old and new, famous and infamous. He even took the child to performances of contemporary, classical and modern dance. Both their lives became an intense symbiotic relationship.
Manfred did not push for information. The boy cooked and cleaned. He accepted massages, hugs and easy intimacy of instructor and student. From the start Sasha had no hang ups about nudity or his body.
Manfred began to get more work. With Sasha's help, he worked better with the agency dancers, creating group, solo and various pieces for his usual and new customers.
Manfred told Sasha of his old instructor who had pushed him to be a choreographer. "She's old crone, a witch, completely evil, but she provides the best classes for the great and good in New York. She may not accept you. She has to be the most difficult person to get to know or to satisfy. She is the best and only accepts the best."
...
Maria Markarova was a former Kirov Prima Ballerina and Dance Instructor for over forty years. She had emigrated to the US in the early nineteen nineties when inflation had reduced her state pension to a pittance. She worked to live which had made her a bitter old woman driven to prove to all her students that you had to work hard. The wary boy Manfred brought with him reminded her of herself in Leningrad. She'd been an orphan of the winter war, found by Marek Veshin and taught to dance. The look in his eyes told a story of having to do things, awful things, to become a survivor. He was an old soul in a teenagers body. She too had had to grow up to fast, endure the unendurable and fight to survive both to live and the guilt of becoming a monster to survive. The boy introduced himself in russian. She chatted with Sasha and she detected colloquialisms only used by criminal underclass in Russia. The boy was a mystery. One she wanted to unravel.
Manfred was surprised when Sasha was accepted and how he quickly became a favourite of the old witch. Maria was famous for her cruelty and perfectionism. Manfred went back to Los Angeles and Sasha moved into Maria's crowded apartment just off central park.
The boy slipped into her routine joining her morning of classes every day and a couple of hours of private instruction three times a week. Her pupils assumed he was a wayward relative sent to stay with her after getting in trouble in Russia. Sasha tended to only speak russian in class.
She cooked little snacks and cakes for Sasha, complaining he was too thin. He was a strange child, careful, watchful and had obviously been hurt to the point of breaking emotionally. She taught him how to dance with a partner, how to lift and how to hold. She instructed him in classical steps of the great ballets. Sasha learned and learned. She bought him clothes to add to the pitiful few he had brought with him. She instructed the boy on how to behave. The boy already knew how to observe and to watch. He was a perfect mimic, picking up a New York American accent to go with his Moscow russian. He spoke perfect Spanish to the maid.
The russian emigres accepted the strange child, thinking him shy. The defectors and emigres came to take tea and reminisce on Sundays. Alex brought out glasses of tea, plates of snacks, watched and listened. He tidied up and massaged Maria's arthritic feet in the evenings.
Sasha opened up to Maria during a picnic at the park. She listened as he told her in hushed russian of his life being used and neglected by his uncle and abused by his later guardians. She was genuinely surprised when he told her his real name "Alex Rider". Bullied and treated as an outcast in school. A life of death, pain and betrayal. The death of his beloved Jack, more sister than parent, and how he had escaped to live with the Pleasures, but how he hated California. Happy American kids just remind him of Jack. He'd fallen in with petty criminals and had met a big bad russian who had taught him to party hard and to dance. He escaped for four months to a life of drugs and pleasure, moving from place to place, no connections with his past. His idyll had been spoiled because a fifteen year old should not live as a pet/fucktoy to a forty year old gangster. A sting operation during a drug deal had seen Sasha taken into protective custody. The look of pity in the federal agent's eyes had too much, so what that he was drugged up to his eyeballs and had been tied to the bed, he didn't need paramedics and psychiatric evaluation.
Sasha smiled as he thought about Misha. Dark, cruel, wicked and so beautiful. Misha had liked the games Sasha suggested. 'I'm you're hostage.. use me' was Sasha's favourite as he was forced to strip at gunpoint, tied up assaulted physical and sexually. The hospitalisation in Miami had been shit. He'd been stupid enough to give his real name and age during his initial evaluation by the paramedics, as soon as the drugs were out of his system Alex shut up. The cops tried to get him to tell them about Misha, who had escaped custody. He'd spat at the CIA agent who had tried to debrief him. He knew MI6 and he CIA had classified him as out of control. At 15, he was luckily sent to a the specialist teenage drug dependancy unit, not a full secure psychiatric unit. They were not up to keeping escape artist's like Sasha locked up. After his initial detox he left. He'd tried to find Misha back in LA, but he was long gone.
"So you lived as a mafiyaski's pet."
"Yeah, he loved me even though I was unstable and a bit nuts. He treated me like the most precious thing in the universe. He was so gentle when he took my virginity. He taught me to live for the moment. I loved him so much." stated Alex wistfully.
"Is he in prison?" the old woman asked.
"No, he escaped." Alex smiled, "So did I."
"So what was the attraction?" Maria wondered as little Sasha had not looked twice at any of the dancers in class.
"He was dangerous, moved like a cat, body of a dancer. He reminded me of Yassen."
"Who is Yassen?"
"He was a friend of my father's. He died when I was 14. He was hot."
"Hot?"
"Gorgeous and dangerous." Alex did not tell Maria that both Yassen and his father had been hired killers.
Maria would never have guessed the little waif was a boy born and bred in the west, in London of all places, with a childhood dragged around Europe. He acted like a street child. She had seen him casually lift a wallet of someone that had irked him in some way. He had told her of being taught to lie, cheat and steal by his Uncle. Losing himself piece by piece through blackmail and abuse at 14 and 15. Getting lost and then remaking himself. Tragedy and loss, hurt and hiding. All the signs of a great artist in Maria's point of view.
Manfred kept in touch and visited often. It was like Manfred was waiting for Alex to grow and mature. Alex guessed he was attracted but did not like little boys. With the dance training and Maria's cooking Alex was slowly loosing the starving teenager look.
Alex when not training with Maria roamed around New York drinking in the different cultures. The world in a city. He learned not just classical ballet but every other form of dance, music and art. Maria had told him to study and get his high school equivalency test at night school.
The may after his seventeenth birthday, Maria fell ill. The bottom fell out of Sasha's world. One of the emigre's, a former star of American ballet theatre took Sasha in after Maria's funeral. He accepted the boy because he saw the potential as Maria had. Sasha, the boy who went to AA meetings, who was a bit wild still, wandering around the city at all hours. Sasha quickly settled into Vladimir's family when Luci, Vladimir's young wife laid down the law. It was the first time he had heard Sasha loose his temper... "You are not my mother."
"If you live in my house, you must follow my rules. I have young children, you must respect our schedules. Maria may have let you have along leash but you are still a child" Luci stated exasperated.
"I may technically be underage but I have not been a child since my uncle died a month after my 14th birthday." Alex countered.
The young American finally lost her temper, "I'm sure whatever trouble you got into in Russia is forgotten about now. Go back to your parents."
Sasha with a cold and emotionless stated "My parents died when I was three months old. I have no home, no relatives and I've experienced foster and state care. They suck. My last foster parents could not hack having an emotionally damaged kid to look after. I have lived fine without shrinks and social workers for 18 months." Sasha did not add that he was not russian. Maria had let everyone think he was her great nephew, grandson of her brother, Yevgeni. Maria had shared her secrets with Alex. Yevgeni had died in prison camp in the late 1950's after years in and out of prison. He had abandoned Maria to her fate after their parents had died in 1941. Maria still knew many in the russian underworld in both america and back home.
Vladimir had then proceeded to placate his annoyed wife. Vladimir took Sasha under his wing.
At eighteen, Sasha travelled back to London to live with Manfred again. He had a lovely new American passport, high school certificate with good SAT scores just in case if he wanted to go to college or university. He was now Aleksandr Ivanovich Markarov, Maria had adopted him through the Russian courts. The passport had been a coming of age gift from Covert Operations at the CIA. Alex was quite amused that they had kept track of him.
London was both the same and very different. Manfred had moved back six months previously and had bought a house with rehearsal space in Deptford. Manfred had met Sasha at Heathrow and wanted to use him for several commissioned stage pieces. Manfred was a proper choreographer again. He even talked about forming a company and touring. Not that they got much work done in the first few days. Alex introduced Manfred to his love of giving blow jobs and the fact he was no blushing virgin.
They travelled to Dusseldorf, which was Manfred's home town. Manfred's cousin was a plastic surgeon. Sasha's scars were reduced and treated. Alex had five days of treatment in hospital followed by two weeks rest, only light exercise. His hated bullet wound looked like a strange half moon scar now. The lines etched in his skin by torturers and circumstance were greatly reduced.
They went to visit Manfred's brother and family. Manfred's family were used to him coming on holiday alone, for him to bring a partner was big deal. Manfred's older brother was shocked meeting Manfred's very young lover. Bernd Schnagel smiled a brittle smile as Manfred introduced the young man to Bernd's wife, Katya and his three grown up children all older than Sasha. Sasha spoke perfect German and dazzled with wit and good humour making light of Manfred saving him from living on the streets when he was 16.
Everyone in the house heard the argument that evening between the two brothers. Well, it was more Bernd screaming, Manfred did not raise his voice...you are fucking a child... I don't care he's over 18, you could be his father... Love!...God Manfred...you deserve some happiness. Anyone can see that Sasha has been abused. Lars has already told me you paid to have his scars removed. He mentioned a bullet wound and signs of torture. Be careful, brother.
"Do you love me, Sasha?" asked Manfred that night after they had made love, making his feelings be known through his slow seduction.
Sasha moved and chastely kissed Manfred's forehead "I love you." He kissed his cheek "I need you." and his lips "I want you." Sasha then deepened the kiss and smiled "I especially love your cock." He moved down the older man's neck "I love your mind." His chest "I even love your bad temper." Sasha then looked Manfred in the eye "You have given me life, passion and shown me true beauty. I dance for you and you alone. I do not want fame." With an intense distant look the young man whispered "I would die for you. I would kill for you. You are my universe."
Manfred took his beloved Sasha to an expensive restaurant in Dusseldorf when they returned to Germany.
In the bar, Sasha came face to face with his past life.
"Alex?" says a tentative James Sprintz.
"Hello James. How are you?" smiled a tall, fit and healthy Alex Rider.
"I'm good." James stated, "I tried contacting you three years but you disappeared."
"Yeah, I discovered sex, drugs and rock and roll. I've given up the drugs, but I'll introduce you to my boyfriend, Manfred."
James was a little shocked "I never pegged you as queer."
Alex was amused by this, "I'm bi. I prefer older male partners. Girls are just to clingy for my tastes." Alex made a sour face remembering Sabina and her whining.
"So you still work as a spy." enquired James, touching on their shared past.
"God no. I live for the moment. Manfred's good for me. I keep him entertained."
"You sound like a courtesan."
Alex smiled at James comment, life as Manfred's muse was anything but easy, "So you into banking yet."
"I'm studying economics and finance at the Sorbonne next year."
"Making your dad proud."
"Yes, I never did thank you for all that happened at Point Blanc."
"Don't worry about it. I don't." Alex dismissed the offered thanks and suddenly smiled broadly as a man in his fifties approached then, "Oh here he is. Manfred, this is James we went to school together for about six weeks when we were fourteen."
James did not know what to make of the Alex he had just met. Gone was the serious capable spy and now there was a slightly off pleasure seeker. It had been over three years since they had last met. Alex had no mobile phone, no interest in email or social media. He was happy in a world consisting of the slightly creepy Manfred, who was as old if not older than James' dad. James would ask his dad to look into it.
Dieter Sprintz looked at the file his detectives had hacked and pieced together from various sources. Edward Pleasure had been glad to hear Alex was alive and had provided most of the information. The FBI file was the most recent. Alex had been found during a sting operation against a Russian Mafia drug operation in Miami. Alex had been listed as missing by the Pleasures in September 2002 after he had dropped out of school and had not come home in San Francisco at the age of fifteen. The fifteen year old Alex had been drugged and tried up in bed with a Mikhail Ulyanov in January 2003. The FBI had hospitalized Alex as a victim of statutory rape and drug/alcohol addiction. Alex at the time fit the profile of troubled young virgin western boys, who were abducted, sold, addicted to drink and drugs to become highly prized pets among certain members of the russian underground. Alex had disappeared from his drug treatment facility within days. The intervening two years was a bit of a mystery, Alex was now known as Aleksandr Makarov, adopted son of the late prima ballerina Maria Makarova. Manfred Schnagel was a dancer and choreographer of much early promise. He was a known homosexual with a handful of previous partners. His relationship with Alex was a bit of a mystery. Manfred had always dated his dance partners in the past. Alex was a lot younger than Manfred's usual preferred partners. Alex had lived a hard life. If Manfred was good for Alex, he would not spoil his happiness. He sent a copy of the files to Edward Pleasure, stating Alex had seemed clean, happy and sober with his older lover.
Working was a problem, to dance professionally Alex needed a union card, to get a union card you needed to work professionally. No card, no company would hire you, nor could you work legally. Alex got his equity card by working as a stripper in a club in Soho. His set had him dressed as a soldier, which he used to explain his scars as a left over from Iraq. One of the john's had gone as far to try and get him into a half way house thinking he was a poor lost soul.
He had gone to an open audition at the English National Ballet at Manfred's insistence. His style was influences by both Russian classical and American modern from Vladimir's and Maria's expert instruction. Alex was surprised when he overheard the rumour that he was Vladimir's bastard son.
Alex was not surprised that he did not cross paths with anyone from the Royal and General Bank. Alex was not even tempted to go to Liverpool Street. He worked hard with Manfred. Manfred's dream was now to put on a show comprising of his compositions. Manfred pushed his beloved Sasha to be the soloist and Alex found three other young talented dancers to form a company of misfits. A small theatre was hired for a week. Everything hung on this. Manfred had worked so hard for over a year. He told Alex that he had given him dreams again. Alex had influenced in small ways with DJ's and street dance and other ethnic influences.
The notices were good. A financial backer promised to promote a tour across Europe. Another two weeks of performances in a small arts space meant more good reception. Alex was beginning to shine as a dancer.
Alex laughed when Immigration called him in. "I understand what your saying its just that I do not have a visa to work, because I don't need one."
"And why is that Mr Makarov." asked the stony faced immigration officer.
"I was born in London and my parents, god rest their souls, were english. I was adopted through the Russian courts by Maria Makarova when I was seventeen. No one objected to the adoption. I lived with her until she died, when Vladimir Stravenkov took over my guardianship. My birth name is Alexander John Rider, my parents names were John Rider and Helena Beckett. Up to the age of 14, my guardian was my paternal uncle Ian Rider. Here is my paperwork and my parent's paperwork, birth, marriage, death certificates, my adoption paperwork with a translation into english and my american citizenship paperwork. I don't have a copy of my British passport. I lost that when I ran way at 15."
"You ran away?" queried the man, who stopped studying Alex's paperwork.
"Yeah, my foster parents emigrated to California and it sucked. I was a bit of a mental case at the time and I fell in with a bad crowd, alcohol, sex, drugs. I went into rehab and I had just had enough, I dropped off the radar. Maria and Manfred gave me something to work and live for." Alex explained.
"We have to check all this out Mr. Makarov or should I say Rider."
"Makarov. My equity card and American passport are in that name." With that Alex was left alone in the interview room.
The clerk came back. "Mr Makarov, you or should I say Alexander Rider is still listed as a missing person on Interpol. A police officer is coming from Scotland Yard to interview you."
"Umm, Ok. I expected it would take a bit of time to sort out."
The officer added "Your adoption should have triggered a response with interpol. This is very strange."
"I was adopted in St. Petersburg in absentia. Maria organised it all. It was the best birthday present ever. I presented my adoption papers when I got my American passport. Maria was already a citizen." Alex did not add that his American Citizenship had passed with no fuss by the CIA.
The Police Inspector arrived and Alex told his story. By the time he left Alex got his National Insurance Number and he was now a legitimate taxpayer.
It was an unexpected reminder of his unhappy time in Wales when a young girl asked for a autograph after their last performance in London. Cindy was at the Royal Ballet School and she just gushed about dance and the beauty of their performance as the four dancers including Sasha Makarov as he signed her programme. Alex recognised her uncle, who stood back looking bemused. "Hello Sargent."
"Cub? Is that you? I wasn't sure." said the man taking in Alex's grown up features, "Your not a little shrimp anymore."
"No. I'm not. So, Cindy is your daughter?"
The soldier chuckled "Niece. I treat her to theatre tickets every time I can get away."
"Do you have to get back or would you like to join us, we're off for a late supper at a cafe around the corner?"
Cindy then piped up "Oh please, oh Please."
Mark then asked.. "So Sargent, where did you met Sasha?"
"Short sharp shock army camp at 14." Alex lied smoothly. "Two weeks of hell. Better than borstal but only just. Caught breaking and entering."
Mark was confused "So you're not russian."
"I was born in London. My parents died when I was a baby. I was brought up by an uncle. He taught me how to break into cars, houses, how to pick pocket. All really useful stuff."
"He was a crook."
"Worse."
"Ahh mafia."
"Complete and utter bastard actually. He sold me to the fucking devil when I was 14."
"Christ."
"I survived." was all Alex said.
The army worked on a basis of rumours and whispers. The legend of Cub, former star MI6 agent, who had brought down Scorpia at 14 had filtered down from MI6. Retired at 15 after the shit had hit the fan about the Bank using a kid for operations.
Sargent Cooper got back to Brecon to greet the Leader K-unit. "Guess who I met in London?"
"Someone famous?" Asked the gruff and uninterested Wolf.
"Infamous, actually. I met Cub. 18 and a handsome young man. Working for a modern dance company."
"Christ I would never have pegged Alex as a dancer."
"He learned after he left MI6. Wanted to do something completely different. He's good. I think my niece fancies him."
"Oh Oh warn him off did you."
"No need, as queer as they come. He asked me if I was bent. I was flattered of course."
"I'd have loved to have seen that" laughed Wolf. "So he's turned out alright. Rumours that he was a bit of a headcase after his last job in Egypt."
"He was relaxed, happy. On stage he was the same intense kid. I'm glad he got away from those bastards at MI6."