Disclaimer: Alex Rider does not belong to me except in book form…

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Sarov accepted a drink from the flight attendant as he lounged languidly in a plush seat. His private jet was too risky to fly without being spotted, so he had opted for a first class ticket to Greece on a commercial flight. He had taken precautions so that he would not be recognized. Looking in the mirror that morning, he had again said how he looked like a peacock to the man who was responsible for making him look like a man of fashion. Covering his military upbringing was hard but the suit made him look classy and dangerous. If anything, it kept people from coming up to him and asking him questions.

Once in the airport terminal, Sarov looked for his men, all in disguise and speckled around the busy hub. He had sent his men through various transports to Italy so as not to draw attention. Bringing hundreds of men in a group and converging at a single location was stupid and would set off too many alarms for his liking. This way, they blended in and made his mountain complex ready for him. Greece was the perfect place to disappear in mountains. Though this was his last resort, without Alex and Yassen, he had been forced to retreat for the time being. Besides, when it was time for his plan to commence, he would be far enough away to be clear of the wreckage.

A green car awaited him outside the terminal with three of his assassins ready to whisk him away. No, plans had not gone the way he had envisioned. But change does not always mean failure. This could turn out better than he had anticipated.

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Blunt and Mrs. Jones sat debriefing K-Unit in an underground bunker, safe from enemy ears. Neither could believe the story they wove and were amazed at the players involved. They had thought they knew what was happening based on intermittent reports, but their knowledge was nothing compared to the large-scale vision General Sarov had implemented. Dread collected in their stomachs as the team concluded their report. The fact that Yassen had Alex was a problem but K-Unit was correct in assessing that the boy was in no real danger. However, knowing they had less than one week to stop a madman from blowing up half the world caused major issues. They had no permission to retrieve K-Unit from the Russian government, let alone to enact a military strike on their soil involving their nuclear waste…there just wasn't enough time.

Mrs. Jones incessant sucking grated on Blunt's already frazzled nerves. He held his hand out for another. The confounded woman had gotten him in the habit of eating peppermints when he was stressed. It was ridiculous but better than the alternative.

After thanking the team for their good work, Blunt stepped into the hallway followed closely by his second in command. "What orders should I pass on?"

Blunt ran a hand through his immaculate, steel gray hair, messing it for the first time Tulip Jones had ever seen. "I'm getting too old for this Tulip."

Glancing at her, Blunt was rewarded with a stoic face, sucking continually on her peppermint.

"Ready the teams. I will confer with the Russian government, then we'll ship out. We have to stop a catastrophe."

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Zeus paced the compound, looking for something to destroy. The fact that the boy as gone was degrading, but not as humiliating as the fact that it was on his watch. His team had been assigned to make sure he completed his mission and was transported back to the base safe and sound. Sarov had made it very clear that his lack of discipline had been the reason both Yassen and Alex were now who knows where. He should have known better than to follow Yassen's orders instead of his own gut. Instincts kept you alive in an organization like this. Assassins aren't lucky; they listen to their instincts.

Four men sparred in the arena Zeus had stalked into, his team. They were just as angry that they had let the little nuisance slip through their perimeter and were taking it out in the healthy way. At least, the trained killer's way.

"Any news about a retrieval mission?" One man, codename Apollo ceased sparring and turned to his leader. The rest of the team followed suit and took in the scowl that seemed to scream for vengeance.

"I believe Sarov has cut his losses and focused his attention on the events at hand. There is no retrieval mission," Zeus growled through clenched teeth.

One of his men, Ares, the largest and most ruthless out of the five, examined his meaty hand appraisingly. "Maybe he has not had an offer that suited him."

Too angry to play games, Zeus lashed out. "Speak plainly, Ares, or you will find yourself with a bullet between your eyes."

A slow smile spread across his face. He got the name Ares honestly. His anger was well known with the recruits and not many dared cross him. Too many people had died trying. "Why not offer our services to bring back the boy and Yassen. I am sure Sarov would appreciate getting his hands on his rogue partner. There are five of us and two of them. It should not be that hard to bring them in."

"Do you know who you are plotting against? The man who created this program and training exercises? Do not think to outwit him, brother, or you will soon be dead."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Ares looked at each of his teammates in turn. "Sarov thinks we cannot handle a child. By bringing him back, we will be back in his good graces and be top team once again. Is that not worth the risk?"

A few nods followed Ares' suggestion. What did they really have to lose?

"Sarov just arrived. We should pay him a visit," said Zeus, smiling mirthlessly for the first time since Alex Rider had escaped.

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"I will not act like your son! You cannot make me get on a plane with you. Unless you want the authorities to know you kid-" His arm erupted with staggering pain, his rant cut short. Vicktor watched Alex writhe on the floor, trying not to cry out. After a few moments, he released the button and let the remote fall into his pocket once again.

"Do not tell me what you will or will not do. You are not in control. Yassen has left you in my care and I am to get you on a plane as my son. I will incapacitate you and dress you myself if you will not do it willingly."

Alex knew the threat was not an idle one as he pushed himself off the hardwood floor. Though he knew arguing with the man was like arguing with Yassen, he could not bring himself to do what he said willingly. He could not admit defeat.

Snatching the bag of clothes from the assassin's hands, Alex strode to his room and slammed the door. He sat on the lumpy mattress and pulled off his shoes reluctantly. Vicktor had already dyed his hair and eyebrows much blonder than he was comfortable with had given him contact lenses that made his eyes look more blue than brown. A make-over was not what he was expecting from the Russians. Pain, yes. More training, yes. But having to act like a normal teenager with an assassin on a plane full of innocent people, no. Definitely not. Too bad he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Alex had woken up that morning to find Yassen gone and himself alone with Vicktor making breakfast in the kitchen. He had eaten little and watched the older man constantly, searching for a weakness. But he proved to be almost as unreadable as Yassen if not his equal. He had taken the same precautions that Yassen would have and did it all with his humorless grin. It was aggravating.

He had no idea where Yassen was, which made him uneasy. As much as he preferred Vicktor to Yassen for the company, he knew for sure where he stood with Yassen and that he would be safe. Vicktor was still somewhat of a mystery.

The floor creaked as Vicktor came to stand outside his door. "Little Alex, our flight will not wait for us. Either come out dressed and cooperative, or I will have to use this device again. I think you remember how unpleasant it can be." Though it was said lightheartedly, Alex recognized the threat for what it was. He would have to wait. Besides, the airport was full of people and he was sure there would be an opportunity to catch someone's attention if not get away from Yassen's twin.

The vehicle Yassen had left them was a minivan, inconspicuous and very unremarkable. The teen rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it. Who would suspect someone in a minivan?

Alex plopped in the front seat and buckled in at the man's insistence. His baggy shirt and jeans screamed rebellious teen and an oversized ball cap covered most of his face. If someone knew what he looked like before, they probably would not now. He had been told that one false move and he would be unconscious on the floor before he could utter a word. He didn't doubt it.

As they walked through the airport terminal, Alex tried his best to shuffle along beside his captor in his most convincing teen slouch. The hand at his back looked to be reassuring when in reality it was a constant reminder to behave. Despite Vicktor's presence, Alex surveyed the crowd to ascertain if there was an opening to get a message out. Most of the people milling about the building seemed too occupied with their own lives to take notice of the father and son. Alex would have to change that.

Ducking his head, Alex barreled straight into two girls who seemed to be about his age. One was tall and brunette with a nice smile, while the other was shorter with suspicion gracing her pretty face.

Mustering his thickest British accent and his brightest smile, Alex apologized profusely while holding out his hands as if to stabilize the two teens. He could no longer feel Vicktor's hand as he moved forward to engage his victims. Though they didn't seem to be his best hope, the spy decided he had to try and get away and for that, he needed the remote.

"So sorry, ladies, I have a habit of watching my feet instead of the beautiful view here." The girls blushed even though the compliment had sounded forced even to his own ears. Freezing the grin on his face, he leaned back, wrapping an arm around Vicktor and patted his chest with his free hand. "This here is my dad. He is taking me to see my mum in England. They don't get on, you know, but anything is better than a Russian winter, right?"

After a few more minutes of small talk, they went their separate ways. He had received some odd looks from the girls as they left, but he didn't care. That frivolous conversation had changed everything. Alex had his remote.

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The assassin watched the five highly trained operatives exit the plane, their frat boy attire failing to hide their prowess. Even if Yassen had not been the one to train them, their agitated state and false gaiety would have given them away.

Having just arrived from a flight from Greece, he assumed that was the secondary location Sarov was using as his base until his plan was set in motion. In little less than a week, Sarov planned to destroy half of Russia, and with it, plunge the world into a darkness that only he could bring them out of, or so he claimed. The assassin had never questioned the general outright; he had just been an avenue to his real prize. Alex Rider.

Though he would rather be with Vicktor and Alex journeying to safety, he knew they could not just disappear without some of the recruits being sent after them. He had trained them, after all. Trained them to be ruthless, relentless hunters. He would show them first-hand what that meant.

His disguise was uncomfortable, the gray mustache and beard agitating his smooth jaw, as he hobbled on his cane toward the men. People pushed at him from every side and he barely had the ability to walk with so many people crowding him. That worked to his advantage as they paid him no notice as he crawled by and out of their line of sight.

The recruit in the rear was his first target. A knife hidden in the handle of the cane sprang out at the slightest pressure from his thumb, embedding itself in the man's back. He turned to continue walking away from the men as their comrade fell forwards, lifeless. Confusion started to spread as the man was shaken, as if to shake off the mask of death.

Four more to go, thought Yassen, smiling inwardly.

The recruits had no idea that the elderly man they had written off was the one who killed their tovarish, and that death would visit them soon as well, if Yassen Gregorovich had anything to do with it.

One died getting into the cab that was to take them to their hostel, the bullet severing his femoral artery. Another died of poison that night. Yassen left two so that they could go back to Sarov again to explain that they failed for the second time. There was the chance they would continue on, but after three deaths in a matter of hours, they were too paranoid to be successful in a mission regardless.

By the end of the night, Ares and Zeus were the only two alive, both nursing battle wounds from an unseen enemy. Losing most of their team should have caused them to run back to Greece to lick their wounds. Instead, their hatred for their teacher only intensified. Instead of it being simply a mission to bring back a brat, they wanted, needed revenge.

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The crowd pressed in on them from all sides. Vicktor had switched to a death grip on his arm, his strong fingers able to reach all the way around. And Alex was not a scrawny kid.

Even with the crowd, Alex was finding it hard to come up with an escape plan. The assassin had said nothing about losing the remote, but that didn't mean he wasn't just biding his time. For all the teen knew, Vicktor could just be letting him hold it because he didn't need it and wanted him to feel in control. The spy became more frustrated as his thoughts swirled in circles.

Then he saw it.

An expensively dressed woman stood to his right, her fur coat and ears drooping with jewels fairly shouting that she came from money. She was busy speaking to a security guard and had left her purse just sitting on the ground. Easy prey for someone who needed a diversion.

Alex smiled inwardly as he quickly snatched up the purse, making sure to graze the woman with it so she would know it was gone. He took off running to the sound of the woman squealing and pursuit. But Vicktor was faster than the security guard.

Shooting pain up his arm caused him to involuntarily drop the bag. Collapsing to the ground, his face his the shagged dirty carpet as he tried to take a breath through the pain. Vicktor and the security guard loomed over him as he fought to keep his eyes open and dismiss the pain. It let up, slightly, as the Russian man started asking him questions in a language he didn't understand. Vicktor conversed with the guard for what seemed like hours as the pain continued until Vicktor ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Cautiously, Alex felt around in the pocket that the remote should have been in. His fingers found the rectangular bulge. So how-

"Get up, Alex," commanded Vicktor in his best father voice. Simmering anger was suppressed in his expression as he hauled the boy up easily.

"Are they arresting me?" His innocent question did not fool Vicktor, whose scowl only deepened.

"They are taking you to question you. It is out of my hands now." He took Alex by the arm with his back to the guard. "Do not think that you have escaped, little Alex. Yassen will be here any minute to join us for the flight and I have papers that prove that I am your father. You will not try to tell these men the truth, or we will have to shoot you out of their custody. I do not think you would like their lives on your conscious for the rest of your life." He slapped his cheek patronizingly. "Think on that before you try anything else, boy."

The guard handcuffed him behind his back as the woman stormed up to snatch her purse from the ground before yelling insults into his face. He had gotten away from Vicktor, which was his plan. But as he was led away by the guard who looked to be very new to his job, Alex realized he had made a grave mistake. By getting caught, he had inadvertently put more people at risk. And he knew Yassen would not leave him in Russia. The only thing he could do was escape so he wouldn't put anyone else in danger.

The blonde teen was left in a small room that smelled stale. The chair and table were bolted down to the floor and a camera in the far corner sat stationary with dust blanketing it. Alex sat down moodily as if he was angry at being caught. He wondered who would come to talk to him.

So he waited.

And waited.

Two hours after being shuffled in, a short, burly man strode into the room, a file in his hands. He was wearing a guard uniform that looked to be too big, probably because of his short stature and a mean looking gun at his hip. There was no way it would be this easy.

Rough sounding Russian snatched him out of his planning as the man spoke to him in a harsh tone. Not understanding what was asked of him, the man switched to broken English.

"You-" The man stopped, trying to find a word and made a snatching motion with his hand.

"Grabbed?"

"Da, you grab bag..."

"Yep," he replied in his best teenage attitude. As much as he hated having lost his childhood, it seemed silly to act like this. In some ways, he was happy he had missed this part of his life.

Meaty hands pounded on the table. The calm face had been replaced by one of anger. Too late, Alex realized how precarious his situation was. Though it might not be very difficult to get the gun from the man, getting out of the airport without being recaptured in a country where he could barely understand the language would prove to be more challenging. He was sure he could figure out a way to get out. But somehow Vicktor still had the remote even though he thought he had swiped it and he couldn't chance falling unconscious who knows where. Maybe Vicktor was right; it would be better just to wait. Yassen would not give up even if he did manage to escape.

Slamming against the wall, he realized that the man had been pushed too far. Stars dotted his vision as his head crashed into the cement again. With his hands cuffed, there was little he could do to stop the man without hurting him.

Not worrying about injuring the madman in front of him, Alex drew his hands up between the two arms and jammed his fists into the thick neck. Gasping, the teen was released for a moment before a forearm was pressed painfully into his throat. Harsh Russian accosted Alex as he was pinned to the wall.

Using his legs, Alex kicked at the man's knee caps, hoping to loosen the hold the man had on his neck. The Russian fell heavily on his knees as his legs collapsed and Alex quickly snatched the gun out of the holster.

Leveling it at the surprised guard, Alex backed towards the door, trying to put on his most menacing face.

A hand grasped the back of his neck tightly, causing him to drop the gun in surprise. A voice filled with menace and calm assurance told him to pick it up slowly. An aching pain spread up his arm as he bent to grab the weapon. A shot sounded above his head and he watched the guard slump to the floor, his eyes staring at him with confusion.

With a jerk, the hand stole the gun from the teen's hands and propelled him down the long hallway. Alex had to jog to keep up with the pace Vicktor was setting. Two more guards littered the ground, their faces blank.

"Why did you-!"

"Nyet, not now. I warned you and you did not heed my words."

"That guard was attacking me! I was just fighting back!"

Fierce eyes pierced into his own. "I said not now. Be silent or others will die. I am not in the mood to deal with your antics."

To onlookers, it seemed that a father was reprimanding his son, despite the handcuffs. If anyone looked their way, they did not for long after a menacing look from Vicktor. No one knew Alex was a prisoner to an assassin. Or no one cared.

Once back to the minivan, Alex was buckled in tightly and his restraints remained. The blonde assassin whipped out his mobile. Within moments he was talking in his native tongue to Alex assumed to be Yassen.

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Yassen had been awaiting Vicktor's call for some hours and had assumed his charge had tried testing his captor. They had missed their flight and could make only one more this evening if they were not already on the flight. "Are you on board?"

"The package did not cooperate. We ran into some complications."

A pause followed Vicktor's statement. "Is it secure?"

"Da, tovarish. But the terminal is off limits."

"I see," was the Russian's reply. He had planned for this in case Alex decided to be difficult.

"Bring the package to the wharf. We will get ship it by another route." The line went dead.

Difficult, indeed. Vicktor was not one to be played the fool. Yassen trusted him with Alex's life. But nothing was ever easy with Alex Rider. Vicktor would be more cautious in agreeing to help next time.

The assassin got out of the cab and headed down the street to find a new ride. It would night before they all met up at the wharf. Little Alex would have to pay for causing problems for Vicktor.

Yassen smiled inwardly. He was enjoying having the teen around, if for nothing else but it made life more interesting.

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Sorry its been so long and I know people have given up on this story. But please review so I know if I should continue or quit this story. Thanks so much!

Cailean44