The blond tourist ran past another ugly roundabout, that seemed to infest this town of planned housing and industrial estates. Tomorrow he'd run round Calderglen Park, for some greenery and less concrete jungle. It was early enough to be quiet on the streets, as he ran a full the circuit around the town. It was not a place he would choose to live, yet Maggie McCudden had refused her son in law's offer of a new house in a more salubrious location. As a devote catholic, Jamie's grandmother viewed her daughter as still married and had remained friends with Dieter, not just in a effort to stay close to James. As he noted his location, knowing it was another couple of kilometres back to the two bedroomed ground floor flat in the four storey council owned block. He felt like a third wheel, as Jamie was biding his time on his big reveal, so Sasha was just 'the friend', though he knew the old woman was on to them. Hell, they could be sharing a bed in the next room to hers as BFFs, but she was not hard of hearing and the bed had creaked alarmingly when the pair had christened it last night. This morning he was pondering another circuit to avoid the tension and give his lover time to come clean or keep his poker face with his grandmother.
Alex pondered the car he had seen two streets ago as he veered through the subway and across the recreation ground. Same number plate, driver and passenger obviously tailing him. He then approached the final climb he
saw a familiar old man reading the Herald Tribune at the bus stop on Westwood Hill.
Breaking into a beaming approximation of a Hollywood smile and with perfect American accent, Alex greeted the man who had sent him into exile like he was his bestest friend ever, "Morning Uncle Joe. I thought you were exiled to the back end of beyond. Are you here on vacation as well?"
...
Her grandson was in the bath as she followed her usual routine of tidying around her guest bedroom. After making the bed, she noticed the two passports on the dresser. One German and the other American, puzzled having been told this Sasha was from Moscow, she read the details of his birthplace and birthdate. This strange boy with a Russian name was 17 and only just and had been born in Los Angeles in California. From her conversations with Dieter she knew Jamie had been pining for his friend Dimitry's little brother for three years. The young man in question was very polite, and from the fact the guest room was not a disaster area, very neat as well.
She sat on the bed. This was hard. Jamie was happy to proudly show off his love to her. With her brother and his son coming for tea this afternoon, she guessed that would be when he chose to come out as her grandson liked to be dramatic, one trait he inherited from Blythe. Oh, she knew it was love not lust, by the passion, deep devotion and almost symbiosis between the pair. She had fallen hard at seventeen for her Desmond, only to loose him nineteen years later. How many times had she beseeched Jamie to grab happiness with both hands and fight with all your might to keep it true as it could all disappear in an instant. Her own grief had driven a wedge between mother and daughter. This relationship it would not be marriage in the church's eyes, but love was love. Common sense rather than doctrine would prevail. In all the years she'd known the bairn, he'd had never once looked askance or blushed at any other men or boys. Sasha was special and maybe her grandson's one and only. Time would tell. First her brother had to be warned so he did not upset the apple cart with misguided opinions. It was too easy to break a relationship with harsh words and harder than granite to mend them.
...
In the small kitchen, the table was covered with toast, cereal, tea and condiments. On her second cup, Maggie smiled as her grandson joined her. Aware that the boyfriend had been out for over two hours, surely he could not still be running? "Where is Sasha, this morning?"
Busy pouring milk on Frosties, Jamie shrugged "Messaged me he got a bad stitch and is walking back. He's been a bit poorly, so I guess he pushed himself too hard on his first run in two weeks. He's scarily fit, brilliant at everything physical. Even likes ballet. He used to train with his brother's girlfriend, she is studying dance in Ekaterinburg."
"Oh, Blythe used to love dance class. I had foolish dreams of her becoming a ballerina, like Margot Fonteyn. Tell me more about Sasha's family."
She listened to what was said and read between the words to surmise the fuller picture by what was not being said, that Sasha had gone to live with his father at the age of thirteen and the time before was not discussed. No mention of his mother at all. As bad as her daughter had been, what had Sasha's mother done to become a non-person. Her grandson loved, protected and adored Sasha, empathising with another who had endured a horrific childhood, worse even than the trials caused by Blythe.
...
At eleven the rain started lashing down and Sasha returned like a wet stray. He had covered his tracks, as he arrived back with a box of cakes from the posh patisserie in the town centre. Smiling he gave his package to his hostess, more gifts after arrived yesterday with a large bouquet of roses. "Guys, you have to see this place, the coffee is amazing. I'm wired after four espressos and their almond croissants are just wow. Sorcha, the master baker, is just so brilliant." He then pulled off his wet shirt. "I really need to get showered. If you'll excuse me."
Jamie was sat on the bed, joint his roomie after his quick wash. "Spill, about the other three hours plus unaccounted for. You could have run to Kilmarnock and back in the time you've been out. By the way, Gran is horrified about your scars. Did you show her your back on purpose?"
Alex dried his hair with a towel as he looked out at the window, speaking in Russian rather than English or German in case he was overhead "rather than ask the same question your asking, she now knows my life is completely fucked up. It's all connected anyway, Uncle Joe wanted to debrief me about Cuba and Sarov. He lost a good team because of that psycho. Don't worry, Aunty Tulip does not know he's on this side of the pond. He kind of thinks she and Her predecessor were dicks over burning me. He wishes me well and offered me a boon if I need it. Now I have friends in high and low places in Washington. Thankfully he did not offer me a job. Said I was better off well away from his world and to always choose love over lies."
...
Alex dumped two spoons of sugar in his tiny cup of espresso as Byrne drank his down neat. The coffee shop did not open for an hour. The staff busy in the back and only the two minders watching over the street. The blond teenager then bit into the croissant and decided this working breakfast was better than dragging him to the embassy in Edinburgh for the full official debrief.
Sitting back Alex began in a soft monotone, "I remember every detail of my parent's deaths." He smiled bitterly at that statement, "Let's face it, officially they became mom and dad as soon as my legend became kosher. I have no idea what the Cuban's investigation concluded about their disappearance, never cared to ask. I was not in the water when they died. Sharks got rid of all evidence. I'd checked over their tanks before they went in and I knew their air was running low when I followed their trail right into the full on feeding frenzy. I still have nightmares over that. Then Conrad, Sarov's delightful henchman, happened when I surfaced. The captain already dead."
The CIA deputy director did not interrupt, recording every word. Far from the teenager merely acting as cover for his two agents on a simple surveillance job, it had been a full on FUBAR from that moment. This kid had survived by the skin of his teeth and stopped the bomb being detonated. He had read the reports from the team in Moscow over the failed coupe. The Embassy had been copied into the medical reports from Murmansk about Alex, then the monthly reports from the psychologist treating Him for PTSD and survivors guilt. The psychological damage bad enough from the events leading up to Sarov's death, then made worse by London doing a full clean up and leaving the kid high and dry living a lie. Thank God, Boris was a decent guy and had done his best for the kid by adopting him. In the long run, it had been the best outcome possible as Alex was a better off far from him and MI6.