The room was brightly lit, the floor was freshly washed, making the place smell of a mix bleach and the underlying rank ness of decay. Strapped to a chair, the guest was awoken by the bellow of the jovial brute acting as host.
"Gino, Gino, Gino, we now have a full account of your misdemeanours from your Russian friends. We know everything. No lies to hide behind. No one else to blame. Time to face the consequences of your mistakes. The man who you extorted those bonds from, he was considering consequences when he told my boss he was doing unsanctioned business on his turf." The tormentor was using the age old technique of sleep depravation, psychological manipulation, thirst and hunger to break his subject. Only when fully mailable would punishment be meted out. Patience was needed, as too soon, you instilled righteous anger in your subject who would plot revenge. The punishment had to be measured, if you were too brutal and you had a corpse. A true lesson, for this subject needed to carry the burden of his guilt as a living, breathing, broken example to others; which was far more effective than a body in a morgue.
The interrogator had trained in Venice in the finer techniques of persuasion, now working freelance, he knew this man had been a possible student, but surmised he would never have graduated, as he lacked the primal survival instinct necessary for that gladiatorial arena of the assassin's trade and SCORPIA politics. The data he had gathered, the victim of the kidnapping plot was had been resourceful and resilience, catching his abductor unawares when the fool had relaxed too early. More intelligent by far, considering the kid had picked billionaires as friends rather than employers or targets. Sprintz had paid out the ransom because the kid had stood in for his son, after the idiot took the wrong teenager. It was more farce than criminal master plan.
...
Alex tensed as they entered the crowded restaurant, taking three quick, deep sharp breaths to calm himself. Like the doctor forebode, he was not OK, but not for any of the obvious reasons. He stood transfixed on Jamie's back as he walked behind the waiter showing them to their table; as bile rose in his throat. Anxiety driven by nerves, tomorrow he was travelling back to Britain, to Glasgow to see Jamie's grandmother. The fear of being arrested at the airport; ripped from his family and his love, to disappear, his hard earned happiness gone, which was stupid. How could they charge the son of the former president of the Russian Federation, who was a US citizen with treason or make him jump to their tune ever again. The legend invented by Joe Byrne had become his reality, as Alex Rider had been burned from British records before they knew of his survival in Murmansk. A kid hospitalised with elective mutism after the psychological trauma of Sarov's death, had been left to cope alone, while MI6 cut their loss to cover up their abuse of a teenager. Here, because his father had followed the directions of Maya, to cut the apron strings, to let his son seek closure with his past and his abusers and move on. He needed to touch base with the land of his birth, to be ignored by the spooks or to drive home the reality that he was not theirs to use, not after they left him high and dry.
...
Dieter immediately noticed Sasha was dealing with a moment of panic. He had been here before, when Jamie had returned from that school. His son still preferring his own company and his own space; only fully trusting those who had shared that awfulness with. The father was aware he would always be on the outside after one misguided decision. He had worked hard so they were closer now. He stood and softly touched the teenager's arm to guide him, not reacting to the noticeable flinch.
Having frequently corresponded with and become close friends with Boris, Dieter was well aware Alex was an expert in pretending to be normal, but here with friends as close as family, he did not have to put up the mask. In a soft whisper, he asked "Do you wish to return home? Jamie can visit Margaret on his own if you need to see your therapist. It is not a weakness to admit you need help."
Reading the melancholy mood of the young man, who admitted "If I go home now, it's me caving and using avoidance rather than confronting my issues. It's not my unexpected sojourn last week that's the problem, but the truth about how I became Sasha. I have to face the blackmail and the hurt from before. Who knows, I might even say thanks, because I have family and security despite them and their shitty choices and manipulations." Then he let Dieter help him to his seat, where he clasped Jamie's hand, wanting the comfort of touch to continue. Raised touch starved, trained to be a controlled sociopath, ultimately he had been a child who had craved love and family.
The German and his son spoke enough Italian to order their exact choices of wine, seafood starter and steak entree. Alex pondered the menu and added "sparkling water, I have a bit of an upset stomach, so soup and pasta in tomato sauce." Dieter knew Alex was self taught in this language, using genetic not specific terms, but he was not playing the game of pretending to be Italian, just another tourist. Enough Italian to get his point across. no desire to play spy games anymore. He was an adult, one who had yet to decide what he wanted in life, but it wasn't to be a professional liar with no friends and alone.
Sasha was open and seemed to really appreciate the dry wit of the financier and shared his love of games. The evening finished with a high stakes game of Monopoly, where Dieter was outplayed as his son's boyfriend showed him never to bet against the seventeen year old who had remarkable luck and a talent for winning, beating him hands down. He was almost tempted to offer Sasha an internship.
...
Jamie was aware that his love was still anxious and hyper aware for threats as they sat waiting for their flight to be called as they sat in the hard seats by the gate. Unable to sleep last night, they had talked instead. The German had napped in the ride to the airport, now acutely aware that they could not be affectionate in public and contact was set at side by side in close proximity seating for several hours and possibly the next few days if his grandmother took the news of his relationship badly. Empathy spiked, as this trip home was monumental to Sasha as well. The dark haired young man did not really get the therapy bullshit over closure. As the quick change of multiple identities and a life based on a dubious passport was game playing on a whole new level, where there were no rules and no winners, only maintaining the status quo of governments, beyond politics and economics. Jamie had been caught up once in the schemes of a madman, yet here the madmen were in charge of ruining Sasha's life, when everything became lies. He wanted to believe that spying was in the past, but once caught up in the Great Game, you were trapped by blackmail and manipulations.
The other passengers rushed to board, while the two teenagers sat and watched. In his bad Russian, the financier's son stated "it'll be fine. Your passport and your adoption are both legal. It would be an international incident for them to play games with you now. It's the Russians having a laugh letting you stir up trouble". He did not add his own ideal of hiring that Cossack bloke to be a sword of righteous justice. His dark thoughts were disturbed by messages on his phone from Cassian, lewdly enquiring on joining the mile high club on the short flight from Naples to a Glasgow. Alex chuckled reading it. "Not a chance flying commercial, babe. Your dad's business jet sure, in the cabin but forget getting it on in the loo. Never going to happen."