Sasha Kiriyenko hated change, today he was technically no longer a child, but his independence was not welcomed. He had sat his final exam the day after his fake 17th birthday. Exams taken at the International School, where he'd taken his GCSEs in 2003. Biologically he'd reached 18 in February, though officially he was barely seventeen, still stuck in legend four years after Operation Skeleton Key. Boris was moving in with Ola today, an action to cover the ex-president from any official backlash using the rouse of old age and failing health. His adopted son was heading straight to the conscription office this afternoon. His Russian residency was precarious, which could be rescinded at any moment and there was no guarantee he could serve in the military here. Dimitry had been exempt from conscription because of his chosen career as a Federal Security Officer. He had been lonely since Dimitry left last summer. Letters and phone calls weren't the same as sharing a room.
Alex did not want Federal Security to use him nor treat him as the tainted foreign asset, untrustworthy because of MI6's and the CIA's blackmail of an orphaned child. He had the option go back to America, he had a full adult passport. His Russian residency was only that, he was foreign born and raised and there was no guarantee of anything anymore. This is the limbo Jack had found herself in after the death of Ian.
The teenager's resume had several years working in the kitchens at the Kremlin, ten GCSEs, now A levels in French, German, Spanish and Russian with the expected A grades across the board and the High School Equivalency Exam taken last month. He had a belt and braces approach to his future. He wanted to belong here, even though he was not Russian. The option to study, work and live in Moscow. There was nothing in London, even the name Alex had been consigned to the past as everyone, even old friends called him Sasha. He tried hard not to be nostalgic for his former self. It was a melancholy young man who entered the conscription office. The man on reception took the offered ID card, typed in the details and frowned at the information on the screen "Presidential Exemption dated yesterday". The man stared at this boy, the alert message on screen meant this boy was not conscript material, but already under by Directorate surveillance. The well dressed and groomed seventeen year old son of Boris Kiriyenko was obviously cultured member of the Intelligentsia. His father was not a traitor. Was his son an American spy or an anti-government agitator? Such worries were above the official's pay grade and another department, he just passed the message on, "You need to see Colonel Andreyevich at the Lubyanka about your residency permit extension."
...
After being served tea, the junior officer closed the door of the large office. Alex broke the ice, "I feel I owe you guys, like for everything. You allowed me to finish school, have family. Boris, Ola, Tanya and Dima are family more than my uncle ever was. This is home. You have been wonderful to a foreign kid caught up in shitty circumstances. What can I do to pay you guys back?"
The colonel sat and drank his tea, relaxed and observing this young man, still too young for MI6 or the CIA to use as they had four years ago. "My counterparts in London disavowed you and stole your name and your past. You must thank the Americans who gave you a legal passport and a plausible background legend for you to fall back. Boris was the one who insisted a family home was payment for a child who prevented the catastrophe in Murmansk. You cannot go back to being Alexander Rider. We require no boon from you as the injured party of Sarov's foolishness nor the CIAs illegal operation in Cuba. You saved us, so we in turn did the right thing in protecting an abused child."
Alex drank his own tea. "Is my residency expired, now?"
The colonel smiled, "It is traditional to travel before college, a gap year. Explore and grow, we will be welcome here if you decide to return to work or study here. I doubt the CIA will use you. We will both see if MI6 try to recruit you again. If they do, send me a message if you wish to seek revenge." The man handed over a bus ticket to Berlin. A city familiar to Alex, he had lived there twice. "You deserve our highest honours, but actions are more relevant than trophies. Good luck, Sasha."
...
There was a slight bitterness, but issues over equating adulthood with evolving into a liar, bully and abuser had been resolved by hours talking with Ola, Boris and Maya. This morning, he had said goodbyes to his family properly, giving flowers and handmade chocolates to Ola, Tanya and Boris. The future was secure due to the Financial independence provided by a dead general with delusions of fatherhood. Ola blamed Sarov for as good as killed Vladimir, but by claiming Alex as the son of his heart he had saved the teenage spy from a future used by MI6 and the CIA. Rather than revisit friends and loved ones he'd already said goodbye to, Alex visited the grace of a boy long dead, who died in 1987, just before his 18th birthday.
The photo etched on the marble, looked remarkably like Alex. The tall imposter put his bunch of roses bought at the florists by the gate. "Hi, Vladimir. Ola says a we're alike. She talks of our spirit, longing for love and to belong, sense of mischief and soul deep scars from loneliness and neglect. I'm leaving, not like you to fight in a war, far from home, for dubious reasons. I get why you were there, I really do. I now go to live the life robbed from you by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I get that too. I should have died in Murmansk. Your dad was done for anyway. He pissed off bad people, the people who topple governments, assassinate those who stand in their way, torture, steal, bribe, murder school kids, and bomb shipyards. He never paid for the fissile material they stole for him. Money I now have control of. For you, I shall endeavour to avoid the path of vengeance. Your inheritance is now mine. I will not squander it, I promise. Sleep well, big brother."
The bright sunshine warm sunny afternoon, the leaves in the trees cast shadows and rustled in the breeze. Blond hair blew into Alex's eyes, this was an ending and a beginning. He owed the past nothing. The dead had no hold on the present. A four year respite, had not changed his mind. At fourteen he had not wanted to be a government agent, even if his uncle had trained his nephew in skill set for espionage work from the cradle, Ian has taught him to survive. He was a survivor. Now he was going to live, hopefully a long and happy life, with his eyes open to the reality that there was no black and white.
His short term plan was to meet up with James in Switzerland then head south to Italy. To be a teenager, not a hero, Alex was happy to have passed the baton to others.
...
Edward Pleasure was a successful author, his last book on the Paul Drevin kidnapping and the wider conspiracy behind it was awaiting final approval. The young man broken by his father's betrayal and who had been the star prosecution witness against the failed space entrepreneur. Paul read the last chapter of the edited manuscript and put the printout down on the coffee table. "When I escaped my kidnappers, I sought you out. You asked nothing of me, but told me the story of a friend of your daughter's in exile. Explaining how he healed after being kidnapped, like me he had lost trust in the world and I took your advice to talk, rebuild a relationship with my family, as my mother and grandmother were not part of my father's sick schemes. I am stronger and healthier now. You gave me a list of questions to make me aware of repercussions of my involvement in your book. You wanted me to be aware you would be brutally honest in your assessment of Nikolai Drevin's criminal psychology."
The pale, dark haired eighteen year old took a sip of water. "I like your style of writing, abrupt and with no sympathy for your subject or sentimentality to soften the reality of his evil deeds. What I find amusing is that my father has no rights to stay in the US once he completes his sentence and Russia have started extradition proceedings for further prosecution. The courts have safeguarded his remaining assets for me. Helping you write this book has been cathartic and may lead to further charges of terrorism and murder. I applaud the fact you are scathing of the CIA and FBI as well."
Edward had an odd correspondence with Sasha, who had offered advice based on his own recovery from four months in operations, "The undercover operative used you, put you in danger and blackmailed a child to stop your father, saving thousands does not stop their actions being morally repugnant."
"Tamara Knight was quite hot though, even though she was screwing my father at the time. You missed that out of your book, damn you and your excuse it's hearsay."
The guest picked up the postcard on Edward's desk, depicting the Berlin wall and read the brief message, "Hey, Ed, standing where Checkpoint Charlie used to be. Coming in from the cold and off to the land of Cuckoo Clocks. No lost uranium, murdered deep cover agents, attempted coups or the grisly demise of the evil masterminds with teenagers in tow. Absolutely no spooky business involved. From Russia with Love, Sasha."