Dimitri Ivanov read the group email he had been forwarded by Paul Roscoe and smirked. Captain Dimitri Ivanov was a Security Officer at Passport Control, Moscow Domodedovo Airport. He did not converse with any of the other alumni at Point Blanc, but he was always included in their emails. He was alway impressed that Paul was able to keep track of him. He enjoyed reading each missive, but he remained aloof of the conspiracy theories, the meetings and the gossip. He had no need to contribute as for the last seven years, he had known precisely where Alex Rider was and his new identity.

His kidnapping and imprisonment at the school had hardened the pampered and spoiled Russian prince, he would be the first to admit he had been an absolute brat before Point Blanc. His last words to his father had been angry and full of hate. His father had been murdered in 2001 as part of a terrorist plot to control Russia using a clone. That clone had died in an escape attempt in 2002. He was on the fast track for promotion as a diligent officer of State Security, following his father's footsteps. He had joined the KGB at 18 after military school. He had crossed paths with Alex in September 2006. His father had mentored Antonin Konovalov and Dimitri had not been surprised at an invite from the man to the 18th birthday party of his adopted son, Aleksandr Novikov. They were similar in age, background and Aleksandr had just arrived in Moscow from Siberia. Dimitri had recognised Alex straight away. It had been a surprise for both boys. It was also letting Dimitri in on a secret, as Antonin was going to mentor General Viktor Ivanov's son as he rose through the ranks. Dimitri had watched Alex at that party, and he would never have guessed that Aleksandr Novikov was anything other than a Russian boy newly arrived in Moscow, not a Londoner.

Dimitri had no illusions of working in operations, himself. He was still claustrophobic. Plus there were plenty of desk jobs that needed young officers to fill. He spoke French, German and English well, so Passport Control was an ideal placement for him. He was happy enough to keep Alex's secret.

He opened a new email and quickly replied that he would not be attending the meeting in Paris, as he had no leave due. It was a small white lie, but that episode in his life was over.

He stretched as his shift ended at 10pm. He shared a lift into Moscow with a Clerical Officer, but he did not go home but made his way to the Mossovet Theatre. His uniform and Security Pass got him backstage and he waited in the wings for the performance to end.

The curtain call saw the backstage area fill with cast and crew. Dimiti watched as Alex took a moment to recognise him. They had not socialised except for the few occasions at Antonin's.

Alex stopped and looked at the uniformed and grim faced officer of Russian State Security, who looked as tired as Alex felt after his three weeks on stage. "Dimitr Viktorovich, Are you keeping well?"

"Still working at filing reports on Undesirables, Smugglers and Terrorists. I enjoyed the last 20 minutes of your performance tonight, Alek." Dimitri noted Alex was thin. It was hard to tell if he was still unwell as he was covered in stage make-up.

"Last night tomorrow. If you'd contacted me I would have got you tickets." Alex had enjoyed his return to the stage. His first production in over eighteen months. His only work this year had been on television and working for his production company.

"No, its OK. I'm working evenings at the moment. Actually, I only came to see you as I got an email from an old class mate of ours this afternoon. I thought you might want to read it." Dimitri noted the tensing of Alex as Point Blanc was mentioned obtusely, the only time the two of them had been at school together. It had been a horror story for the Russian boy, but Alex's dealings with his clone had been much more traumatic. Alex had confessed that seeing Dimitri when he was 18 had nor caused any flashbacks as Alex had only known the real Dimitri. He had never been part of the group of different yet identical boys, Grief's abominations. The Ivanov clone had already been in place in Russia by the time the teenage spy had been shipped to Grenoble.

"Let me get washed and changed. Lets discuss the horror of school over supper." Alex had noted some of the other cast members loitering to listen in on their conversation, wanting to find out just who was visiting Sasha Novikov. He had hoped they'd had enough of gossiping about him over his nasty break-up with Katya a year ago and his near death experience after getting flu last December.

The security officer did not know if Alex was being particularly humerous in his choiceof late night eatery. Jean Jaccques offered fine french cuisine. He was still in uniform but enjoyed the fact Alex was paying.

A bottle of Pinot Noir had been opened and Alex read the email and laughed. "My friend from school in London, Tom Harris, went to see my last film. He recognised me." Alex wondered about both James and Tom living and working in Paris. Apartment 12b was not the type of film Tom would ever have gone to see willingly. Superheroes, spies and zombies were Tom's ideal cinema experience. Not a small ensemble piece about four characters interacting. "I've spoken to him twice on the phone. Next weekend I'm off for a short holiday in Paris. Looks like the rest of our class mates will be there as well. Are you going?"

Dimitri shook his head. He was not really friends with Alex, just an acquaintance. "No. I want no reminders of that school. Unlike you, I made no friends there. Paul and I got on only out of necessity of being imprisoned together, but we did not bond."

"I only talked to James occasionally afterwards and you know I cut all ties with everyone when I came to Russia." Alex truthfully had not thought about Tom or James in years. He had worked like a maniac over the last year. He really did need a stress free holiday. He needed to get laid.

The Secirity Officer was paid to notice body language. Alex was like himself, glad to put the trauma behind him. "How do you feel about being found?"

"I've been expecting it. Ever since I went to the Berlin International Film Festival in February. I did a fair bit of publicity and interviews. I even made it into the British press." Alex smiled at the horror of press junkets. "We got our distribution deals on the back of the good notices. I've made some serious money from that film. Enough top make another ten movies and we don't open in the States until December." Alex was more proud of his wheeling and dealing and his role of a producer rather than his performance in that film. He had only taken the part as the originally cast actor had dropped out, stating the film would do nothing for his career.

"I've seen it. In fac it wa sthe last film I saw in the cinema. You were good. I prefer the theatre."

"So do I, Dimitri. I'm planning on staging Journey's End next year. You must come. I will get you opening night tickets. You can keep Antonin company."

"Journey's End?" Dimitri had not heard of this play.

"A British play set in 1918 on the Western Front. I translated it out of boredom in hospital last December. I think its nicely depressing. The main character is a survivor."

"Sounds interesting."

"I bet we get an audience of about three." Alex knew the classics always got bigger audiences.

"Not with all those fangirls of that bad soap opera you were in. You were on huge posters all over Moscow. I even saw your face on a bus, Alex."

...

Alex hated traveling with a passion. Even for holidays with Antonin. It was the whole experience, starting with the chore of the packing and the nervous anticipation, which meant you never ever sleep well on the night before. The slow built of nerves to the full on crippling blind fear of being on an actual plane and then the slow tedium of arrivals, baggage reclaim and passport control. He waited by the departure gate for the Air France flight to Paris. He had been toying with his prescribed medication before swallowing the two tranquilizers. On top of his usual hatred of most public transportation came his apprehension of meeting Tom again. Tom, whom he had not seen nor spoken to since his friend been shot at school on the orders of Alan Blunt. Starting a chain of events resulting in Jack's death. Time had not healed all wounds. He was still deeply affected by her loss. Her murder had left a stain on his life of guilt and deep grief, a quiet sadness. He was glad to board. Even more glad it was First Class. In only five hours he would be at the George V Hotel. Alex had last been in Paris with Miss Stomachbag, he hoped this trip was better than his last.