Author's Chapter Notes:
So glad everyone liked the last chapter. It was necessarily to rough Alex up a little to help him gain some perspective. He's not invincible ... but he's pretty damn resilient! Hopefully I can keep up the pace now -- look forward to hearing what you all think! xx
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Chapter 7
The Gentleman did not return to the cabin for many hours, and when he finally came back, he did not look into the bathroom. Alex couldn't move from his face-down position, knees tucked up at an awkward angle. He tried to sleep but he was too cold and too shocked by what had happened. He could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the boat and imagined Steven's corpse floating around between icebergs. He was assaulted by terrible thoughts; of the Australian, The Gentleman ... his father... How many people had his father tortured? Would he care about his only son being roughed up like this, or would be think it was an important lesson that Alex had to learn?
The next morning, The Gentleman finally came into the bathroom and Alex was horrified to find his body shrinking away from the man, as though conditioned into fear by its near death experience. The Gentleman did not even look at him, however; he merely performed his morning ablutions and disappeared again. The water in the tub had long dried, but Alex still felt cold. And ashamed. He had been forced to relieve himself where he lay and the whole bathroom stank of urine. It stank of fear.
The Gentleman did not move, feed or even address Alex for the remainder of their cruise. By the end of the third day, Alex felt nauseous with hunger and shame. He'd been able to hold his bowel but the pressure was acute; almost as acute as the pain in his wrists and shoulders. The rest of his body hurt too; stiff with misuse and numb with cold, he wondered if his limbs were ever going to function again. He'd just about managed to stop tears from leaking from his eyes and it felt like he was holding onto the last vestige of his pride.
At long last The Gentleman turned up with the handcuff key. He released Alex and let him remove the gag. It came away with flecks of blood and dried skin stuck to it. Alex cringed when The Gentleman moved towards him again, but the man only examined his face, gripping his jaw in an iron grasp and running his fingers over his injuries and bruises before nodding. "Wash, Alex. We are arriving in a few hours. Here are some new clothes for you to wear. I expect you to look presentable."
Easier said than done, Alex thought as he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't recognise the hollow look in his eyes until he realised it was genuine fear. Greater fear, even, than he had felt for the Australian, who at least had admitted some form of open agenda that required Alex's continued survival. For the last twenty four hours, Alex's nightmares had no longer featured the Australian, but deep, dark, inescapable expanses of water…
Still, he managed to make the most of his shower, washing away the stench of blood and fear. His wrists looked mangled, flaps of skin hanging loosely over open wounds. His face sported numerous cuts and some impressive bruises. But he felt considerably more alive once he'd changed into the new clothes, which had evidently been purchased at one of the designer boutiques on the shopping deck. White shirt and black trousers complete with new underwear and shoes and a new black jacket. They were better than the filthy combats he'd been wearing since his escape. He emerged from the bathroom to find The Gentleman reading a morning paper. The man looked him up and down then nodded his satisfaction. "I trust you're not going to give me any trouble as we disembark?" he asked casually. Alex shook his head. He'd learnt that lesson for now.
Alex felt horribly subdued as he followed The Gentleman through the passport check at the harbour. He hardly recognised himself; he felt somehow small, insignificant. He knew that part of it was guilt over Steven's death. But another part was fear. Not just fear for the people around - The Gentleman would have no problem in taking out these happy families - but fear for himself. It was a new sensation and he felt almost ashamed of himself for keeping his eyes down as he handed over his passport.
Once on the other side, it was a just short coach journey to the centre of Tallinn. Alex had never visited the city before and he felt very far away from home. Despite knowing that his time was running out, he seemed unable to think of any grand escape; unable to make a move! His apprehension at meeting the Australian again was rising with every passing minute. The man would not be impressed by what had happened after Alex and Yassen's kidnapping in the Blackwall Tunnel. But his fear of defying The Gentleman was just as bad. He was forced to obey.
"Is he meeting us?" he asked, tensing against the quiver that seemed to try to take over his voice.
The Gentleman shook his head casually. "He will have sent a driver for you."
Alex saw the black limousine as soon as he stepped out of the coach. He suddenly wondered why he had been so stupid to comply when he should have been fighting for his life ... even if it cost him his life! The Gentleman seemed amused by Alex's sudden inability to take another step. "What has he done to you?" he mused aloud. Alex gritted his teeth. Good question. Why was he so scared of the Australian? Was it because the man had overpowered him so easily; had hurt him so ruthlessly? They were all the same, these Scorpia bastards, relying on fear and terror to get what they wanted.
With sudden resolve, Alex strode to the car and yanked open the passenger door. He glanced at The Gentleman for a moment and forced himself to think of Margreta and Steven; to remember how scared he'd been in the bath thinking he was going to drown ... and then die shivering in a pool of his own piss.
Yes. The Gentlemen was infinitely more terrifying than the Australian, he decided. The Gentleman smiled as cheerfully as ever, and Alex heard him say: "I'll send flowers!" And then Alex had finally had enough. He got into the car and slammed the door, heart pounding wildly against his chest.
The door locked automatically and Alex risked a look at his driver. The bloke looked exactly as Alex would have imagined: tall, bulky and expressionless.
"Where are we going?" Alex tried. The man did not seem to hear. His eyes were focussed on the road ahead, his face impassive and uninterested.
It was a silent journey. They drove for about thirty minutes. Outside, a pale sun cast elongated shadows across frosty fields. The inside of the car was warm, but no fire on earth could have melted the ice curling in Alex's veins. He felt stiff with apprehensive anticipation. While in military custody, he'd imagined what he would say if, or when, he crossed paths with the Australian. He'd decided he would blame Yassen for everything. He would say the distraction hadn't been his fault. Not really. And since MI6 didn't want him anymore, maybe he would offer to work for Scorpia. He bit back a sob. No. He would never work for Scorpia. He'd rather die. He just hoped they wouldn't torture him first. He could feel his fingers curling at the mere thought of it and another hysterical sob threatened to bubble to the surface. But he refused to cry. Not now. Not here, in front of this huge oaf of a driver! He needed to stop working himself up, so he stared out at the frosty landscape and tried to memorise their route. Just in case.
Alex wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; maybe some fancy Scorpia stronghold like the one in the Irish Sea. But whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. The building they pulled up in front of looked like an ordinary farmhouse. It was surrounded by snow-sprinkled fields and it smelt of cows. The driver unlocked the doors and grunted, pointing towards the door of the farmhouse.
"Aren't you coming?" Alex asked, but once again it was like talking to a wall. The driver sat motionless, watching as Alex slowly made his way to the single storey house. Once there, Alex wondered if he should knock, but the door opened of its own accord. He stepped inside, turning in time to see a glimpse of the driver just as the door closed again, leaving him in some kind of small antechamber. It was chilly inside the house. And quite gloomy, a stark contrast to the light winter sun outside. Alex stood still for a moment, lost and confused. Then he took a tentative step forwards. He felt a little queasy. There were three wooden doors to choose from, and the situation reminded him too much of the real world video game in which Damian Cray had forced him to fight for his life. Here he felt that same uncomfortable loss of reality.
"Hello?" he finally called out, unsurprised when there was no answer. He took another step, finally deciding on the middle door. The knob turned easily in his hand and the door swung open. Immediately a rush of heat greeted Alex and he could see he had stepped into a kitchen. An old lady stood by an Aga cooker. She looked up and stared straight at Alex for a few seconds then went back to stirring something in a large pot.
"Uhm. Hello?" Alex said, more confused than ever. Maybe the Australian was testing him? Or just playing with him...
"Sasha," she finally acknowledged, not looking up again. Alex's mouth felt dry. He knew that 'Sasha' was the Russian diminutive for 'Alexander'. What the hell was going on here?
"Sidet," the woman said, gesturing towards a wooden bench. Alex sat down. "Ghditye," she ordered and Alex assumed he was to stay where he was. The woman nodded in approval when he didn't move. She went back to the Aga and emptied the contents of the pot into two bowls. One she placed in front of Alex, also handing him a spoon. If Scorpia intended to poison him with onion soup, Alex thought they'd gone through an awful lot of trouble to get him here! It was probably safe to eat. And it was delicious too, warming his cold body from the inside, making the aches and pains go away. She smiled as he ate, and Alex couldn't help but think it was a genuine smile.
He'd almost finished his soup when he heard the front door close with a bang. Instantly alert, he scanned the kitchen for a knife or something ... anything! But he didn't even have time to get up before the new arrival strode into the kitchen. And Alex could have cried when he saw who it was.
"Yassen!"
Yassen Gregorovich looked as impassive as ever, but Alex thought he recognised a small hint of relief in his pale blue eyes. "You are here at last."
He had a very brief conversation in Russian with the woman. Alex couldn't catch a single word; they simply spoke too fast. Then the woman left and Yassen turned back to Alex. "You are injured?" he asked, staring pointedly at Alex's beaten face.
"Not really. Wasn't the most pleasant journey."
"I am sorry. It was necessary to bring you to me."
Alex snorted. He savoured the last mouthful of soup. "So you had me kidnapped? Again? You could have just called. I'd have come, you know."
"Would you? You did not seem so keen on our association last time we met," Yassen responded. He picked up the second bowl of soup and joined Alex at the table. "You walked away from me, little Alex."
"Yeah. That was before MI6 branded me a terrorist. They think I'm no better than you. How did you know I was escaping? The Gentleman," Alex shuddered, "he was at the airport. He knew I'd be there."
Yassen smiled a little then. He looked pleased with himself. "Alex Rider. You emit two signals everywhere you go. And your housekeeper was very helpful too, once I explained that I had your welfare at heart."
"Can Scorpia still track me?"
"Not right now," Yassen explained. "My ... colleague's EMP took out their signal. And the MI6 tracker is still scrambled. I am the only one who can decode it now, so I am the only one from whom you cannot hide."
"Perish the thought," Alex muttered. And then he was struck by a terrible realisation. "You didn't hurt Jack, did you?"
"Alex, my little Alex. I did not need to hurt her. It was clear to me that MI6 were not going to be releasing you any time soon after what occurred in London. She helped me to organise your escape. Not the fine detail of course; but I planted the seed in her mind, made sure your fake passport was still valid..."
Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks, I guess. Why?"
"Because we are the same. I have made an enemy out of my people. You have made an enemy out of yours."
"We're not the same," Alex retaliated sharply, but Yassen only smiled.
"Seriously. People died to get me here. Nice people. I'm not happy about that."
Yassen's smiled dropped then. "In a war there are casualties, Alex. You will learn to accept this."
"Right, we'll see. What happens now?"
"Now? You help me destroy Scorpia of course. I thought you'd already worked this out? As long as Scorpia is functional neither of us will be safe."
Alex felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. Destroy Scorpia. Once and for all. He couldn't even fathom what that would entail. All he knew was that as a fugitive from his own government with more enemies than friends on the ground, he had no choice but to do whatever Yassen wanted him to.
Nevertheless, he slept surprisingly well that night. He had his own room, admittedly only one door down from Yassen's, but it was the first comfortable privacy he'd had in days. The mattress was soft, the duvet and pillows were real down, and he was so exhausted from the discomfort of a week spent in restraints, drugged, beaten and gagged, that he was asleep almost as soon as he lay down. He slept for a long time too, for the sun was already high when he awoke the next day. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the house, only partly tarnished by the smell of cows that seemed to permeate every inch of the farm.
Yassen was already in the kitchen, eating breakfast. It seemed strange to Alex that assassins – The Gentleman, Yassen ... probably his father – should eat meals like normal people. He watched as Yassen used a completely unsuitable sharp knife to smear butter onto his bread, struck by the knowledge that this man would have no problems using that same knife to take someone's life. Slice their throat, maybe, or stab them in the heart and watch the life bleed out of them...
"Could you kill me?" he suddenly blurted out, instantly regretting his words. What a stupid thing to say!
Yassen swallowed his mouthful. "Kill you? Why?" He looked genuinely confused.
"I mean. You get paid to kill people. Yo—"
He couldn't say it. Keeping his gaze averted he tore off a chunk of bread and bit into it. "If ... could you kill me?" he managed to mumble around the bread, the words so fast they blurred into each other. He felt sick suddenly, and put down the bread. He traced the vicious bruises on his arm, trailing a finger along the damaged flaps of skin left by the cutting edges of the handcuffs. The Gentleman would have happily killed him. How could anyone ever trust an assassin?
But Yassen was laughing, his head thrown back and his entire body shaking with mirth. "You are a very strange boy, little Alex. Of course I would not kill you."
"That's not what I asked."
And Alex's tone was so deadly serious that Yassen sobered up, his face returning to its usual hard lines. "Then ask again. Clearly."
Alex pressed a fingernail into a particularly deep cut on his wrist. Even as he winced, he said: "Could you kill me. Could you do it? If you had to. If I was going to kill you or something? I don't know. Could you do it? Take my life?"
Yassen frowned, then made an almost imperceptible head movement. "Yes. If I had to, I could take your life."
"Like you took Ian's."
The temperature in the kitchen seemed to plummet. Then Yassen assented. "Yes, Alex. Just like that."
Yassen's words echoed The Gentleman's after he had killed Margreta and the conversation had clearly run its course. So had breakfast. Alex didn't feel hungry any more. He continued examining the bruises on his arms. He could feel matching bruises on his face, on his torso. The aches and pains were creeping back and he wanted nothing more than to stretch his legs. "Can I go for a run?" he asked, already sure of the answer. But to his surprise, Yassen put down the remainder of his bread and nodded. "I'll come with you."
The countryside was beautiful, white with a dusting of icy snow. It was cold, but Alex soon warmed up. It was no surprise to him that Yassen jogged at a fast pace with seeming effortless grace. And that was after breakfast. They'd covered only about two miles before Alex started feeling the familiar pressure in his lungs. His legs burnt with lactic acid. He broke into a walk, embarrassed. "Haven't had much exercise recently," he snapped defensively before Yassen could say anything. "And I've had surgery on my knee. And that bastard who kidnapped me for you wasn't exactly kind to me, either." He added the last part as though to remind Yassen of his role in Alex's condition.
"I would always do everything in my power to not have to kill you," Yassen suddenly said, ignoring Alex's not so veiled accusation. He'd turned to look at Alex as they walked and he appeared thoughtful. "But to bring down Scorpia is a risky operation, and there is a high chance that one of us, or both, will not survive."
Alex knew it of course, but hearing it so bluntly made him feel cold inside. He started jogging again. "What's the plan?"
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Chapter End Notes:
To be continued ...
