Alex never prayed or really thought there was such a thing as a divine influence, even the idea of luck was an anathema. He trained, both physically and with puzzles and games, because a body at the peak of physical fitness and an alert mind kept you alive, stopped you panicking, helped you adapt. It was a chore not to succumb to boredom when trapped in an warehouse unit somewhere in Naples, where his legend was to pretend to be Jamie, well the version of Jamie these fools expected. Sure their expected abductee spent a lot of time in his room, but that was where his boyfriend preferred to exercise. Inheriting his mother's Scottish genetics of extreme paleness, meant sun equalled going bright red, then freckly; never a golden tan. Pretending to sleep allowed Alex to slyly observe his prison, his captors and their by numbers plan, because they were so going down, especially Gino. The guy was off collecting the untraceable bonds Dieter was using as a trade and the Russians were pissed that they were not getting a bonus for a job well done and to keep their mouths shut.
A wave of homesickness welled up. Missing everyone and everything including the sour faced head custodian, who played chess like a demon. When he got out of here he was going to cook several of Ola's favourites and drink Lipton's yellow label tea laced with plum jam. Shame good home made vodka was something he could not procure here. The London born exile has clung to his family's insistence he had a Russian soul, he was going to cultivate it in exile. No point in sticking to Ian's code of conduct of blending in, he'd concluded that after three months in Russia.
Two days of being fed a couple of stale ration bars and warm bottles of water and a bucket for ablutions was pretty grim. The pair of monkeys hired to watch him must be seriously sleep deprived themselves or high on Benzedrine. He wouldn't say no to some chemical stimulants at the moment as Alex craved a decent coffee. The drug they had originally doped him up with had left him dizzy, nauseous and feverish. The two times he had fallen asleep he had been haunted by dreams of drowning, Sarov's blood and brains on his face, multiple Griefs intent on slow dissection and the deadly embrace of Sayle's many tenticked pet.
Like his hero Houdini, his lock-picks were concealed in the hem of his Joggers in preparation for his moment to escape. Ultimate proof of the half arsed frisking done when he'd been drugged senseless. He knew from looking out through the narrow gaps around the access, that this false room was constructed in the rear of a windowless unit with only one exit.
Such sloppiness annoyed him. Trained to think things through by a master of political manoeuvring, the abduction was a half baked plan from start to finish. He'd been quiet and respectful to the Russian pair of grumbling minions, who's own plan was to double cross the Italian for his inside job anyway. Rather than act instinctively, he followed the survival tactics taught in Moscow, he was letting events play out and only show his superiority, if threatened.
...
As the private business jet descended to the small private airstrip, Dieter had finalised the rental of an isolated villa with a fine view of Capri. His house was tainted with violence and was now up for sale. He had seen the pictures of the blood stained floor of his son's bedroom, where they had planned to take his son and had abducted a dear friend. Twice over he owed Sasha. There was no doubt the young hero had put himself in danger to save Jamie from that fate. Fully aware he was better trained to cope with such deprivations.
Jamie's dad was also an expert in playing games. Fools thought it was just on the markets and in currency trading. The German and Rudi Vries practised the slow path of revenge. Their weapons of choice were lawyers and financial ruin. His ex wife had tried to renege on the court agreed child support, as at the time of their quick divorce she had been the ruled the guilty party for her adultery and on paper the main breadwinner. The fifteen hundred pounds a month for her son was seen as an unneeded expense after Dieter worked like a demon, gambled everything on the short trading against sterling on Black Wednesday becoming extremely rich. In hindsight such penny pinching had hurt Jamie, who did not see his mother for two years as the litigation ground on through the courts, ending with the backlog of unpaid debt and all Dieter's legal fees to be paid by his ex wife, whose own career had all but stalled after she had been vilified in the press.
His son was pragmatic about it all now, putting blame where it was due as it had been Blythe who had erred as her behaviour then had destroyed any trust between mother and son. The erratic visits had continued and were a result of her habit of only seeking out Jamie when it suited her with no adherence to an agreed timetable of frequent visits disregarding fundamentals of child psychology. Jamie was planning on studying psychology, as he planned a career as a health professional. The financier had a good relationship with Blythe's mother. Jean had been a stable mother figure tohis son, who had helped over those difficult teenage years.
Dieter's car travelled into Naples, to a small bar. He had profited greatly by taking risks. His world was not one of pure theory of moving money with eyes only on the worldwide markets. Clients came in all forms and this meant he had crossed paths with individuals who business empires were based in the murky world of criminal enterprise. He knew precisely who's was in control of the underworld in the Sorrento area. Whoever had kidnapped Sasha had done so without Don Leonardo Rizzini's knowledge. The German financier was going to pay his respects and dig the grave of the misguided individuals who had failed to respect the local families.
The TV was tuned to the local news channel, currently discussing local initiatives to boost the tourist economy. The barman saw the business man arrive, not a local and definitely not a tourist dressed in a bespoke English tailored suit and Oxford brogues. The man cheated his thought and asked in accented Italian "excuse me, is it possible to book an appointment with The honourable Don Rizzini. Here is my business card. It's been a few years since we last conducted business."
He sat by the bar and watched the news while the man disappeared into the back room. The barman then showed him into the small private room. There were four men acting as guards while their boss was enjoying a late lunch. The head of the Naples crime syndicate, stood to shake Dieter's hand. "You honour me, Herr Sprintz. Please join me for a glass of wine from my estate. I have you to thank for my expansion into wineries and the service sector across Europe, all based on your helpful advice. I owe you a great deal as I have profited greatly, both financially and personally."
The German smiled and then sipped the offered light and fruity red wine. "The reason behind my visit is my son's friend is being held for ransom. Sasha was taken from my villa two days ago. They think it's my son that they hold. In my briefcase I have untraceable bonds. I fear this evil has been conducted here without your approval. I do not wish to hurt our cordial relationship by paying off these bastards and you finding out afterwards. There is a rather unfortunate complication, the boy they took is Aleksandr Kiriyenko, the son of the former president of the Russian Federation. I wish for this to be resolve successfully without their security apparatus being involved. Things could get very nasty, they are not known for mercy nor have they a reputation for subtlety."
...
The hostage was laid on the bed, his back to the only access. Gino could barely see the rise and fall of the teenager's chest as he entered the boarded off cell. The abductor looked at the lithe young man and knew he had no time for sating his desires. He had to get to his waiting boat and adhere to the carefully planned getaway route: Morocco via Spain. To a life of luxury, no longer following orders, with a new identity. As many young lovers as he wanted, this one was not worth jeopardising his timetable. The bonds in the car, no witnesses here late on a Saturday evening. Drop the kid off near the main road north as a false trail. The kid was boneless as he lifted him, as soon as they exited the room an elbow connected with his nose. Rather than falling in a heap, the supposedly drugged kid flipped himself gracefully and was stood on the balls of his feet in a fighting stance. Two fists connected with the surprised and dazed abductor and then a well placed kick to the head, and the victim was victorious and his abductor was unconscious on the floor, bloody and bruised. Alex smiled at picking the perfect moment to kick Gino's arse.