Alex sat back and relaxed on the narrow bunk bed in the transitional housing center, his home for the night. It was nice, polite name for the noisy and bleak shelter, but Alex guessed this was his future as he did not want to be fostered again. Communal living was not ideal, he was still uptight and jumpy and had not slept, just listened to the coughing fits, occasional shout, mumbling and snores of the others sleeping in this dorm. Doug yesterday had spoken about the possibility of an apartment, but that was a long shot as Alex first had to prove he was capable of coping alone. He dreaded the thought of the doctor's appointments this morning. Then again, the thought of going back to school was enough to make him walk out and disappear again. He had nothing in common with his classmates in California and he had no guarantee that was Las Vegas going to be any different. The demographic here might cut him some more slack, he would just be one of many at the bottom of the pile.
There was movement in the dark room at six. The early risers showered and shaved. Breakfast was served at seven thirty. Doug was arriving at eight to take the new kid to get evaluated.
…..
He had not expected anything different from the doctor's assessment. He was not surprised to be told he was dehydrated, underweight, exhausted and run down. The doctor at the center had examined him and Alex had not lied to every direct question, no matter how personal or embarrassing. On paper he was a runaway, his uncle had abused him, he had been misused and abused by a series of adults including being 'groomed' for sexual abuse. Alex could argue until he was blue in the face that his 'boyfriend' meant the world to him, but the cold hard truth was that Yassen had been thirty-five when he had declared his love for a fourteen year old. The fact was Alex was weird about eating, jumpy about personal contact, down right paranoid about adults in general, with a bad habit of not sleeping and self medication meant he ticked al the boxes as a potential suicide. Not helped by his near miss three days ago. It was Christmas and there were no 'funded' beds in any clinics, psych-units or any suitable programmes in Nevada. As a danger to himself, and possibly others, he was now stuck on a General Ward of University Medical Center of Southern Nevada. Alex had been officially handed over to State Child and Family Services, and was waiting his full psychological assessment before either placement, most likely in a group home. So here he was sat in a room with two ancient old crones playing the waiting game. He dreaded lunch as the doctor had insisted he be 'assisted' to eat properly. Being on the streets, it was guaranteed you could not eat three meals a day.
He was still pretending to be American, Alex Gardiner from Long Beach. The name had just popped out as that legend was closest to being a real Californian and he could just about remember the relevant details of that fake life. Dead parents, dead uncle, dead foster mother, failed last placement, unwanted. There was a very slim chance that the name would alert his former abusers to his real identity as Doug had guessed he was lying about his name and other details. Alex doubted there were any 'missing person' posters posted anywhere for Alex Rider.
As he sat and tried to read his battered copy of 'the Puppet Master's'. He had an itchy feeling that maybe he should have stayed under the radar. Getting help, even with a fake name, date of birth and family history was just going to get him back to square one and back under the thumb of Tulip Jones and ward of the Royal and General Bank.
….
It had been months since Cossack had placed his odd request for the protection of the Rider boy. Only Hunter's son had run and successfully disappeared in late October. Yesterday, Dieter Sprintz had hired not one but three Las Vegas private investigators to find Alexander John Rider. This information had alerted Scorpia operative, Daniel Loretti, on where to concentrate his search. He then ran a check on the shelters and children's services for a fifteen year old runaway and noted the similarities of his target to the most recent 'at risk adolescent', and then noted down the where and when 'Alex Gardiner' was going to be in the next few days and notified Dr. Three of his findings.
…..
A medical technician and a smartly dressed young woman walked up to Room 343 with a wheelchair, a vehicle was waiting in the carpark to transfer the teenager to a specialist clinic in Reno. They had official transfer forms and correct ID's, if questioned about their intensions, all of which were excellent forgeries. The only problem was their target. The stupid would dismiss a fifteen year old as a possible threat, but Rider's operations history meant this 'child' was very dangerous indeed and very unpredictable as he was psychologically unstable as a result of untreated PTSD and paranoid depression. They were well aware they may have to tranquillise their patient, but his own medical history meant this would not be seen as unusual.
The ward nurse complained that the contact on file from Southern Nevada Child and Adolescent Services was not overseeing this transfer, as per protocol, but it was the middle of the holiday season. She signed the paperwork and accepted her copy was meant to have been emailed an hour ago. The harassed nurse was then called to another patient as the transfer team went to meet Alex to let him know he was being transferred to a clinic, as a space had just come available due to a transfer of another patient out of state.
Alex looked at yet another social worker, better dressed than this morning's dour and uninterested thirty-something who did not want the hassle of dealing with his esteemed colleagues in LA on Monday. The teenager worried and wondered what would happen when they found out he was actually English. Probably drive him to the nearest embassy and dump him their for the Brits to deal with. He should have stayed in London, only he had wanted to get as far away from Blunt and Jones as possible.
It could have been a combination of his hangover from hell, or the bucket of medication shovelled into him on arrival here, but Alex did not question this unexpected transfer. He was going with the flow. These two were definitely not overworked, underpaid and working for the higher ideals of doing the right thing. These were cool, calm professionals. Alex suspected they were either CIA or homeland security, but at this moment in time all he wanted was rest and uninterrupted sleep whether it was in a detention centre or a clinic he frankly did not care.
At 4:19, Doug Colraine arrived to see if Alex had settled in alright, only to find out that the kid had been transferred two hours ago, but there was no paperwork on the hospital system and Ms. Luang had promised a copy would be emailed within the hour. The contact assessor for the Southern Nevada Mobile Crisis Intervention had never heard of Ms. Luang. He was on the phone to the Reno Clinic as soon as he guessed this was no paper trail snafu. There were no scheduled transfers of any patients until the 2nd of January and they had no patients called Alex Gardiner on their system. Doug then called the FBI and State Police. This was a very professional abduction. Everything then clicked into place, the fact Alex had lied about his background and name. The kid's paranoia was no delusion, he had been running from someone seriously bad and somehow getting help had alerted the people he had been running from. Doug could bet the kid was already dead and buried in a shallow grave in the desert.