Author's Chapter Notes:

Now things are getting exciting. With only one chapter left to post (ok ok and there's an epilogue too!), I wonder if anyone has any idea what's going to happen next. Come on, give it your best guess!

Thanks for your encouraging comments, as always - quality, not quantity!

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Chapter 11

When Alex awoke he had no idea how much time had passed. It felt only like a few seconds, but must have been longer for he was in a car, sprawled across the backseat and bouncing around as the car bumped over an uneven road surface, its structure creaking and groaning under gunfire from behind.

Still groggy, Alex drew his hands over his head, like they would protect him from a stray bullet. Then slowly he creaked open an eye. They were moving at speed and there were no buildings in sight; only grey guard rails behind which stretched expanses of wintery landscape. In the front seats, the two surviving Scorpia executives. They were both silent, focussed on the road and on swerving to avoid becoming a predictable target. Alex could make out the tense set of the driver's shoulders. He knew he couldn't stay where he was, and that left only one option.

Despite, or maybe because of, his injuries, Alex felt strangely lucid, almost detached from the situation and from himself. He reached for the handle of the car. This was going to hurt badly, but it was better than all imaginable alternatives. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Alex opened the door and threw himself out. He hit a grass verge and rolled uncontrollably before finally coming to a halt.

He was in so much pain he couldn't even tell if he'd broken anything. But he was alive. And conscious. He managed to raise his head to look at the road. Only two cars were visible; the first had to be the one he had just escaped from; the second its pursuer. He could just make out several men hanging from the windows of the second one, shooting as both vehicles swerved madly.

And then both cars were gone, leaving Alex on his own on the side of a Serbian motorway.

He crawled further away from the road, into some bushes. It was cold. He was in pain. He'd been knocked out more times than he could count and he felt like giving up. If Yassen truly did care about Alex, then he could use the tracking signals to find him. For now, his resources were drained, gone. He welcomed the relief of unconsciousness.

***

Pain; pulsing, throbbing pain – how many times had Alex woken up like this in the last few days ... weeks ... months?

It was a wonder that he was still alive. For a moment, Alex felt as though he was floating. He couldn't hear anything; his head was thrumming. He had no idea if he had slipped into hypothermia at the side of the road or whether he'd been rescued by someone. Almost dreading what he would see, he opened his eyes. It took a considerable effort, but he was rewarded by what he saw: not a dark motorway, but a clinical, white room. It looked like a hospital. He was not restrained, though judging by the IV drip flowing into his arm, he was in no condition to get up and leave, anyway.

"Hello?" he called out. Tried to call out; his words slurred as his mouth refused to function correctly. It was enough to bring a tall figure to his side, however.

"Yassen," Alex acknowledged. "We made it?"

Yassen acquiesced. He seemed to be looking up and down Alex with some concern. "How are you feeling?"

"How do I look?"

Yassen shrugged evasively.

"Yeah, that's how I'm feeling. Like every part of my body has been through a grinder. I didn't think..." He looked away, embarrassed by his vulnerability. "Never mind."

"You did well, Alex. Like a professional. My contacts pursued Zeljan's vehicle, but they were headed off by a helicopter and were not able to complete their task."

"So Zeljan Kurst and Doctor Three are still alive?"

"Maybe. I think Doctor Three was hit during the escape. Zeljan will be no threat to us. Too many inside Scorpia have waited for an opportunity like this to take their funding and resources and leave without fear of repercussion."

Alex let the news sink in. The executive board of Scorpia, gone. "Is that it?"

"For you, yes. There are still files to destroy, buildings to blow up; but this is nothing to do with you. Maybe you will hear about it on the television."

"Where will I go?"

Yassen looked past Alex for a moment and Alex wondered what he could see in his memories. "As I said, I can protect you. Stay with me."

Alex snorted. "And as I said, I don't want anything more to do with you. I want to go to London."

"They will arrest you, Alex."

Alex smiled grimly. "Actually, this time I am one step ahead of them." He did not elaborate.

He stayed in the private clinic for several days before the doctors were happy to discharge him. He hobbled around the room, avoiding looking at his battered reflection in the mirror and wondering if he would be allowed to stay here forever if he asked nicely. Dosed up on morphine, the aches and pains of his adventures had disappeared. Yassen had visited him every day, but it was only on the third day that he'd finally said: "Alex, I will come with you to London. I will make sure you get home safely, and then, if you still wish, I will disappear from your life."

Alex did not respond. As far as he was concerned, he had no home. No Jack... Nothing. He didn't particularly want to see his friends again. Tom wouldn't understand; he always tried to glamorise Alex's adventures. And James... Well, that didn't even bear thinking about. Alex didn't think he'd ever be able to look James in the eye again.

He sighed deeply. "I'm not going home. I'm going to London. I sent some letters from the hotel in St Petersburg. I just want to make sure they arrived."

Yassen looked curious, but he did not pry. Instead he shrugged, non-committal. "In that case, I will get you into the country."

"Good."

It turned out that Yassen's offer was very good. Alex hadn't anticipated or even considered the difficulty of travelling on a fake passport in the aftermath of a big terrorist attack on Belgrade. Flying out of Nicola Tesla was out of the question; not with Alex looking like he'd done three rounds with a pro boxer and every country's secret agents milling around the area. Someone would have been sure to recognise him. After all, MI6 were keen to have Alex back.

So they travelled by car, first heading south and crossing the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina. Yassen was sure that most of the world's secret service attention would be to the north of Serbia, with the obvious escape routes through central Europe. Instead, Yassen wanted to wait for the furore to die down. They spent three nights in a pleasant little hotel in Sarajevo. From there Yassen used his encrypted laptop and mobile phone to organise the rest of their transit to England.

"So is this how you live?" Alex had asked on the first night. "Always assuming that someone is out to get you? Always looking over your shoulder?"

"For me, it is normal to travel like this," had been Yassen's response.

Alex found it hard to imagine living on the run forever. Surely at some point, one's luck would run out? Like his father's ... captured by MI6. Yassen had seemed to sense his scepticism. "I have contacts in many European countries, especially around here where there has been plenty of work over the last ten years. It is not so lonely as you imagine."

... from the man who'd killed his lover ... Alex hadn't bought it.

Travelling with Yassen was less uncomfortable than he'd expected, however. He wasn't Yassen's prisoner; he was here of his own free will, and that made a huge difference to his morale. Of course, it helped to know that the Australian would never again be able to hurt him. If ever there was a death that did not weigh on Alex's conscience, it was surely Christian Hale's. Though it was another reason he would never be able to look James in the eye again.

After Sarajevo they'd headed south-west to the coast. They'd handed the car over to one of Yassen's many contacts, a brash Russian man who'd seemed curious about Alex but knew better than to ask questions, and headed to a private marina.

Alex had recognised her at once. The Fer de Lance.

She was bigger than Alex remembered; white with a grey strip running along her massive bow. The tinted windows set her apart from the other exclusive yachts at the marina and gave her a slightly sinister look. Yassen's expression had softened as they'd approached the impressive yacht.

"You remember her?" he'd murmured, though he clearly hadn't expected an answer...

It turned out, though it probably should not have come as a surprised to Alex, that Yassen was able to handle the large yacht on his own and she was now cutting through the quiet silver waters of the Adriatic at thirty-five knots. Alex loved every second of it. He had put the knowledge of all the illicit meetings Yassen must have had on board out of mind; he refused to think about the assassination contracts, the drug deals, the terrorism and torture.

No.

He was a fifteen year old boy and he had free run of an amazing boat! He spent hours exploring every nook and cranny of the yacht and then joined Yassen in the cockpit.

"How long have you had it?"

"It? Oh, the Fer. She's been with me for many years now."

"Did my fathe—"

"No. She came to me after your father died. Ian on the other hand..." Yassen trailed off and Alex could have sworn his cheeks had reddened a little. He imagined Ian on the yacht. Yes. It fit. He must have loved it here.

"Who looks after it – her – while you're ... away?"

"I have—"

"Contacts," Alex completed.

Yassen smiled wryly. "Exactly."

Alex decided that nothing quite compared to the rush of cold air against his face, the faint line of the horizon in the distance. This was amazing. Maybe he should stay with Yassen? Maybe he could live on the Fer de Lance forever? But the fantasy came to an end all too soon. Two full days and nights of sailing and they'd arrived at Portbou, tanned by the reflection of the sun on cold waters. Alex recognised the coastal town immediately and a rush of nostalgia filled him.

It had been a strange two days; they hadn't really talked much after the first day. It was almost like there had been nothing left to say, yet their silence had turned companionable and as much as Alex hated to admit it, he felt completely at ease in the presence of the Russian assassin.

"I used to live near here," he now couldn't help but point out.

"I know," Yassen responded. "Why do you think you spent so much time in Portbou?"

"Wind surfing?" Alex murmured, but his mind had gone back into the past, remembering all the times Ian had dropped him off for a day's wind surfing. He'd only been ten years old, but Ian had left him with an instructor and gone off ... to work? To meet with Yassen on this very yacht?

Alex wanted to be angry with Ian for all the secrets, but instead he found himself smiling fondly and wondering if he would be able to recognise their old house in Barcelona. Perhaps he was finally understanding Ian and his choices.

-

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued ...