Mark Henridge was on the fast track promotions as a compliance manager in the State Department finance department, only he was also a mole for Russian State Security. Ten years since his considerable gambling debts had been paid by his college professor, ten years since the KGB had owned him body and soul. His data stick was left in its usual dead drop. In three days he's receive his payment and most likely lose it playing poker as his luck had been abysmal lately. Why did he still do this to himself, he could not play for shit. As he walked back to his car two men started following him, two more were stood by his car. The rollercoaster ride was over, the FBI had caught their leak, now they would squeeze him for every detail to turn him and bring down his support network. There had been a series of leaks across several departments, the lead investigator knew Henridge would be the key to finding the common thread in this espionage web.

…

"General, the chess master has been arrested. The CIA have said they will trade, as we have two of their agents in custody."

The Chief of Directorate One of Federal State Security was burning the midnight oil trying to savage his Washington operation. The chief recruiter at Georgetown had been arrested after 35 years of sterling work, luckily the replacement recruitment operation was already up and running, but that network was in its infancy. Their recruiter was an old man, planning on retiring in the Fall. Now, he was in prison. "I understand they want to free Gillings, but we have no other CIA agent in custody?"

The aide then stated the American's request "They want Sarov's son."

"But the boy's adoption was legal! Anyway, Alexander was blackmailed into operations by MI6. He's under our protection not arrest!"

"Shame we can't send them the imposter."

"Thankfully we don't have to worry about those clones anymore." Those lookalikes were just too much of a liability. "Find out more about why they want this boy back. I will not use him as a bargaining chip for them to force him back into spying."

….

His ward's bed had not been slept in, again. Alex had most likely gone over the wire again. Forest for hundreds of miles in all directions and two groups of guards on exercises poising a clear and present danger to the teenager. Last time, the boy had just gone hunting. This time the Colonel was not so sure it was something so innocent. The sixteen year old was both bored and lonely, a bad combination for one so active and bright. The situation exasperated by the fact Dima had again chosen to stay with school friends for the holidays, not his godfather nor his oldest friend. Ivan, the doctor had passed on concerns about Alex's loss of appetite, irregular sleep patterns and moodiness, indicating the young man was depressed. "No weapons are missing, I hope, Sergeant."

"All stores present and correct. No equipment missing. No reports of anything stolen. No rations missing from the kitchens either. Alex only has his normal clothes, no survival equipment."

The fifty-two year old FSB officer would wait 24 hours before sending out tracking teams. The man reached beneath the pillow and pulled out the boy's journal, the last week of entries filled with plans for fishing, hunting and ideas for entertainment to keep Dima amused, only for his godson to again decline the long journey east. This base was not home to either boy. Detested by the young son of the late General Ivanov as the most boring place in the universe and little more than a prison to the adopted son of the late General Sarov.

Valentin Levchenko was failing as a father figure to both boys. Alex stuck in limbo after that incident at school , without any friends, as Dimitry partied, dated girls and lived the life a teenager should. Alex only living at this top secret facility at the insistence of Dima. His godson had forgotten all his promises to be a good older brother to his one time rescuer.

…..

Alex had made it to the lake five miles east of base. Here was a basic shelter constructed last May Day by two firm friends, during their first few weeks in exile. They had swum, hunted, fished, cooked on the camp fire, slept under the stars. They had made up stories and talked of past adventures. Alex had lasted less than six weeks at boarding school, where Dimitri stuck with his old friends, ignoring Alex; whose only crime had been to excel at sports, the firing range and at all things military. After a few weeks in hospital the outsider had returned to deepest, darkest Siberia and the two friends and spent less and less time together. Colonel Levchenko had gone on trips with Dami to Moscow and Vladivostok, leaving Alex behind.

There were supplies, tins wrapped in plastic, still edible and unrusted after winter, but the sleeping bags were ruined. He picked up the tin of plums and tin of stew. The only rations here. He did not want to scavenge for his supper. He only had his swiss army knife and no rifle today, anyway. He crawled into the shelter as the first drops of spring rain fell and waited for the storm that had been forecast to strike.

Alex thought back over the last seven months, time spent ignoring his past and merely existing in the present. He had no illusions over the future, Dimitry had already broken his promise of family and Valentin was more jailer than father. It was only a matter of time before he was back in the psychiatric hospital again, probably for good. The teenager shuddered at his own stupidity which had resulted in exchanging boarding school for six weeks in hell. He looked at the scars on his wrists, a lifetime's reminder that he had tried to kill himself. How was he meant to react in a school of well adjusted pampered Russian kids, when he was the ultimate odd one out at war with himself, wanting to turn back tine and be back in Chelsea, but stuck pretending to be the son of a general. All at Suvorov comparing him to his adopted father and long dead perfect Vladimir, all understanding he was grieving. Guilt ate at him as he only thought of that man's death as freedom. He'd have been ok at school if Dima had stuck to the game plan, only his friend had fallen back with his old pals, forgetting Alex. Alone and isolated, unable to connect to his classmates, the London born imposter had stopped eating. Two weeks on he had collapsed during a cross country run, put on house report, when he'd taken his house captains words literally when told to be more like his father and brother. Both Sarov's dead, Alex had tried to join them.

The clinic had treated him as depressed and grieving, not understanding that Alex had no idea who he was anymore, nor what he was meant to be. Exile in the far reaches of Siberia was like burying everything and just existing day by day. Helped by the fact he was treated like a lucky mascot by the soldiers in exile with him.

It rained for nearly a day and a half. Maybe he would get back in time for dinner tonight. Then see what punishment was in store. He had so few privileges left. No TV, no radio, no internet, not that Dima not answering email or texts, so he did not miss his computer nor his phone. He was cold and hungry. Only a mile to the road, no need for stealth when returning. If he was really lucky he might even get a lift.

Aleksandr Sarov was tall and thin, his short cropped blond hair hidden under a black wooden hat, dressed in black trousers and jacket. He used the deer path to travel south to the road, The mud crept up to his mid calf, making it slow going. He was shivering and throughly miserable. The escape to the forest had been no fun on his own. His clothes soaking, his boots wet through as well.

He had forgotten about the drainage ditch beside the road. Luckily their narrow plank bridge was still there. In his mud caked boots, the wet plank was treacherously wet. He had almost made it to safety, when he slipped. His arm hitting the concrete edge of the ditch and his head hit the plank. He woke and took a lungful of black rank water. Coughing as he surfaced, his mind active on how to get out of this death trap. A tree stump was in the ditch 50 metres away, he could use that to climb out.

In the twilight, the weekly supply truck made its way from the main army base fifty kilometres north-west of Telemetry Station Beta. Inside was the intern, Lieutenant Grishkov and the usual driver, Konstantin Hursa. As the last rays of the sun hit the wet tarmac, the keen eyed former paratrooper slowed down wondering what the black lump was, too small to be a bear. He prayed it was not Sasha, all at the base knew the boy had gone wandering. Surely he would have returned home yesterday.

The nineteen year old officer, fresh from the Academy, woke with a start as the truck door slammed shut. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he noted the darkening trees. The driver stepped back into the cab he queried sharply "Why have we stopped?"

"There's someone lying in the road. Its the Colonel's ward." The driver was on the radio, using code words for a medical emergency and their location. He then turned to the youngster, his supposed superior officer and started giving firm suggestions. "Got any medical training? Time for your first real life emergency. Hand me the kit under your chair and bring the blankets from the overhead cabinet."

…

Ever polite and well connected, Roman Petrushkov was the player behind the Prime Minister and the President of the Russian Federation. A man that did not give media interviews nor held any public office, but one that wielded real power. This morning he was taking tea with His Excellency the Ambassador of the United States of America. Accompanying him was Boris Kiriyenko, the former President, and personal friend of President and the Secretary of State; also acting as Alexander Sarov's guardian angel.

Small talk and pleasantries passed between the men, all speaking English. It was Boris who started playing hard ball. "It is barely a year since my good friend Alexei Sarov passed, why does the CIA still think they can play God over his son?"

The Ambassador had the cold feeling that he had been kept out of the loop on Washington dirty dealing, "Please tell me what the hell is going on?

….

Roman Petrushkov phoned his protégée Valentin Luchenov, to sound out the proposed trade that would send Sarov's adopted son back to America. The political player already knew Alex was not happy with his present living arrangements, he never directly complained, but the boy's depression was a key indicator that he was misplaced and very lonely.

"Good morning Valentin Illych it's been months since we last spoke, does exile suit you?"

"It is always good to hear from you Roman Nikolayevich, as always both yes and no. I fear Dimitry hates it here. However I enjoy my work and I have an excellent team. I was going to call you today anyhow. Alex had an accident yesterday. He fell into a ditch breaking his arm, cracking several ribs, bashed his head and losing two teeth. He needs to transfer to a hospital for surgery on his arm, it's a mess, both bones broken twice. He may have other complications as well from numerous leech bites.."

The general asked the most pertinent question "Is he well enough to travel long distance?"

"The doctor assures me he'll need medical assistance, but yes he could travel to Moscow."

"A jet will be standing by at the supply airstrip at 2, have him transferred there. You have done your best but I think a change in guardianship is recommended. I will look into having you posted to Odessa, closer to Dimiyry. Do not worry about Alexander, he will be receiving the best medical attention."