A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Conversations and chaos this week. As always, I had a lot of fun writing this. Ten points to anyone who can spot my little homage to pongnosis's Devil and the Deep Blue Sea in this chapter!

P.S. Sorry, readers! I couldn't get the site to work right when I was posting and then sorta... forgot to check back on it. My bad!

O

Sunbleached mountains flickered by as the parched highway led them further from the city. When he'd decided not to prompt Alex in French, he'd understood that he was essentially relinquishing control over how much information the boy had and how he'd receive it. It didn't trouble him. Alex was better off understanding the danger and Yassen didn't believe what was said would contribute negatively to his mental state. Yassen made no effort to discuss what he'd overheard, however, already locked in his own thoughts and calculations.

Dealings with the mafias of the world were hardly unusual for Scorpia, but the proximity that this had to their destination could be problematic. If the Russians were hesitant to sign, Scorpia would absolutely muster their efforts to covertly force their hand, possibly using their own operatives. Yassen hadn't been remotely involved in Shackell's deal, but he'd been responsible for facilitating several similar financial transactions and assets. The lowest cost ongoing-services contract he could remember seeing with any criminal organization large enough to be called a mafia was for 10 million euros. It could easily be ten times that amount.

Yassen drummed his hands against the steering wheel, picking an eastern bearing highway at near random. It was impossible to be certain, but with Yu's Snakehead crippled and Rothman's European interests in flux, it wouldn't surprise Yassen if Shackell's deal made up the majority of Scorpia's income on the Eurasian continent.

The assassin on the cruise ship had mentioned the Russian mafia. It had seemed like a poorly formed lie at the time, but now he wasn't so certain. What did Yassen have to do with any of it? He had few interests in the region, had barely visited for work, and yet Scorpia had reason to connect them? Why?

A horrible thought occurred to him. His stomach actually churned.

Ferri had said many people within the organization had expressed a desire to support him in a bid for power. What if Dr. Three's goal on the cruise ship hadn't been to forgive Yassen, but to promote him to the board?

Alex was watching his knuckles tighten against the steering wheel with open anxiety. Yassen forced his grip to relax with a soft exhale. He wasn't delusional enough to think Dr. Three would allow him to return to the organization unscathed unless he was certain Yassen was under control. At best, by cooperating, Yassen would wind up a puppet executive meant to appease the old-school operatives. With the mafia breathing down the necks of the current board, Yassen would become a sacrificial lamb without any alliances to protect him: either he would establish a branch of the organization on his own that could handle the demands of the Russians or his failure would be used to justify the need for more "new blood".

Or Dr. Three wanted his actual blood, for whatever was swimming around inside it.

Yassen promised himself a cigarette the next time they stopped for gas.

Alex gnawed on his lip. Yassen had noticed that anxious habit forming, but said nothing. At least he was leaving his nails alone. "What's got you so worked up?"

Yassen's glance flickered over to him. "I'm fine."

Alex shifted in his seat, before letting out a sigh. "Is it because of the Russian Mafia?"

"How do you mean?"

Alex scowled and rubbed his arms. How could he be cold already? If anything the car was too warm for Yassen's liking. "I don't know how likely they are to recognize me after the Drevin stuff. If Scorpia and them are working together…."

Yassen shook his head. "That's not how contracts work. Yu's Snakehead had information on you because he was a board member. Shackell has ties to the mob, but those are simply relationships. They don't fall under his command directly. When it comes to clients, Scorpia will get the job done, but won't freely share information with anyone unless they are specifically paid to. It's bad for business if your clients can solve all their own problems." He spared a glance at Alex, noting that the tension hadn't entirely erased itself from his light frame. "I'm more worried about the odds of increased Scorpia operatives in the area," he admitted. "But even that's unlikely to be a problem."

"Why?"

"You heard Ferri. Scorpia handles their international affairs, not domestic. Normally speaking, most of their operatives would be anywhere but Russia. If they are spread thin, they likely won't be able to pull operatives already in the field."

Alex hummed, chewing that over in his head and sitting quietly for a few minutes. "What was that about people wanting you to be a board member?"

Yassen shrugged, wincing as the highway dipped slightly around a mountain side and threw the sun in his eyes. He dug around the center console until he found his sunglasses and slid them on. "Rumors, little Alex. Ferri has a vested interest in flattering his clientele."

Alex didn't so much as blink. "Do you think they're true?"

Sneaky little bastard. Yassen grimaced, caught in his misdirect. "Perhaps."

The boy leaned against the window and propped his chin on his fist. "What's the matter? Wishing you hadn't retired now?"

"Hardly." Yassen snorted. "By getting hit with one bullet, I dodged another."

Alex grinned. "You're welcome. Anyway, I didn't realize you had such a hard time saying no to people. I'll remember that."

Yassen gave him a look, but it didn't seem to discourage the boy in the slightest. "Either answer would have been a death sentence. At worst, prison was boring."

Alex squinted at him. "A death sentence? I thought being a board member meant you'd be in charge. More powerful."

Yassen considered him briefly. There was no harm in explaining and it might soothe some anxiety. Minimize uncertainty, in Dr. Wood's terms. "Saying no would have made them question my loyalty. I can hardly argue I'm unqualified, after all, and they would have never believed the truth. Most assassins don't live long enough to retire, assuming they intend to in the first place. The profession doesn't exactly attract those who plan that far ahead. It would appear more likely that I was going to leave the organization to work for a rival. Any nomination from within would also require a majority board vote rife with the usual politics, so declining such an offer would, by definition, mean disrupting the plans of more than half of the current board. I'd be dead before the week was out."

"So saying yes would be the only realistic choice."

Yassen snorted a second time. "Not remotely. Whatever stability previously existed is clearly gone based on what you and Ferri both say. I worked under Julia Rothman more often than not and thus don't have any alliances with the remaining board. Any made after my nomination would come at my expense, given the obvious disadvantages I'd have. I'd be more puppet than leader, but possibly one with protection. Barring that, I'd end up a scapegoat or a casualty of someone else's agenda before I managed to build up enough actual support to stabilize my position."

"You've really thought this through." Alex said after a long moment.

"It's come up before," Yassen said shortly. "And it made me consider retirement."

Alex was quiet for a few moments. Squinting as the car rounded another curve, he shielded his eyes from the light and said, "Wait. I thought you were going to retire after Cray. He seemed to think you were. Wouldn't Scorpia have killed you anyway?"

Yassen shook his head. "I was to be listed as his permanent consultant on behalf of Scorpia. That was our deal. It's the only real way to retire without getting a kill order in return, apart from faking my death."

"That seems like a lot of work."

"Getting shot was easier." Yassen agreed. "Disappearing is the better bet."

"In Russia?"

"In Russia."

Alex gnawed on his lip a second time. "Which you're sure I haven't ruined?"

Ah. So that's what the boy had been anxious about. "You're only as likely to be identified by Scorpia as I am," Yassen pointed out. "Neither of us really makes it any worse."

The silence was easier this time. Rest stops and gas stations spontaneously appeared and disappeared along the side of the road as they went along the otherwise uninteresting highway. Red rock and flattened mountains erupted again in almost cheerful memory of the grand canyon as they crossed state lines amid the setting sun. Traffic picked up as they approached a handful of medium sized resort cities. Finding an exit, Yassen switched on his turn signal and merged carefully, mostly in an effort to not wake Alex.

He needed have bothered. At the change of direction, Alex rolled over in his seat and yawned. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he mumbled, "Where are we?"

"St. George."

"Where's that?"

Spotting a national bank, Yassen pulled in and turned off the car. "Southern Utah," he said, pushing open his door. He paused, realizing he should probably set some expectations if he was going to be gone longer than a minute or two. Ferri's payment might be a little time consuming, especially without the usual forms of identification. Managers would have to get involved. "I'll be back in a while. Figure out where we're going to eat."

Alex sat up in his seat with a yawn, glancing around. Yassen didn't even want to guess where Alex's convoluted food-selecting system would lead them to this time.

True to his prediction, managers did have to get involved: three, to be precise. Mostly this was due to his refusal to show them any actual identification, but once the representative of the Swiss bank assured them they would cover the liability for Yassen's account, the money was promptly withdrawn and routed with the American bank acting simply as an intermediary. Taking the chance to withdraw more cash for travel after paying Ferri, Yassen waited impatiently as the latest manager returned with the bills. It had only taken forty five minutes and Alex was more than capable of entertaining himself, but Yassen already had plenty of things to consider.

The middle aged woman bustled in, pastel pink pantsuit fluttering around her as she counted out the bills onto the surface of the desk. She rather reminded Yassen of a pepto bismol colored moth. "Will that be everything, Mr. Wexler?"

"Yes, thank you." Yassen accepted the bills and stood.

"Oh, you almost forgot this." She handed him the little white card Ferri had provided him with his routing information. "Have a good evening."

With a final nod, Yassen strode out of her office and through the lobby. He glanced down at the card. Ferri often split payments between various accounts to minimize the risk of tracing should one of his clients try to burn him. The number would likely be useless in a day or so anyway. Stopping by a trash bin, Yassen folded it neatly in half.

A faint snap.

Yassen stared at the card in his hand, brows furrowed. The pretty bank secretary watched him attentively from her perch. A stab of paranoia erupted in his stomach. Had she marked him? It took him a moment to realize that the bank had simply closed five minutes previous and she was probably waiting for him to leave so she could lock the door. Hurrying out, Yassen returned to the car and studied the card.

Alex sat his seat up. "What's the matter?"

Yassen didn't answer. Instead, he trailed his finger over the crease he'd made in the small rectangle. There. A small prick, just the faintest hint of a jagged edge. Whatever he'd snapped in half was in the center. Most people wouldn't have noticed the snapping in the first place, but Yassen wasn't like most people. Peeling back the paper around it, he eventually exposed a tiny, flat square of circuitry, exactly the same color as the paper. Practically weightless.

Alex met his eyes. "A tracker."

Yassen tossed it out the window, seething with a cold fury that made him grit his teeth to keep it from spilling out.

Ferri had sold him to the highest bidder. Or planned to. If all had gone to plan, Yassen would have discarded it by midnight so whatever his location was worth, it would only have value until then. Someone would be here soon. Worse still, Yassen was out a quarter of a million dollars in a payment he now couldn't afford to halt. As much as he wanted to return inside and demand the branch manager to stop the transfer, getting the Swiss bank representative on the phone and going through the entire series of verbal identity verifications a second time would cost him time he and Alex didn't have.

Scorpia could be on it's way now.

Throwing the car into reverse, Yassen scanned every car and pedestrian as they sped back onto the street, headed for the highway. Concern for standing out was a thing of the past. Yassen would rather get stuck dealing with a police officer than stick around for whoever was prepared to intercept them.

Alex gripped the grab handle as Yassen sped over a speed bump without slowing, wincing as they bounced. "What does this mean for us?"

"It means Ferri double crossed us and whoever he did it for is already here," Yassen snapped.

"Scorpia?"

"Most likely."

"For fuck's sake," Alex said. The boy craned in his seat, obviously trying to get a good look at all of the surrounding cars for signs of pursuit. Unfortunately for them, rush hour had swept over this section of the interstate: while they weren't bumper to bumper, traffic was thick enough that Yassen couldn't speed much further beyond the legal limit without resorting to ramming another car. Alex's eyes narrowed as he pulled out his iPod. "Dodge Charger, three rows back. Dark blue and kind of roughed up?"

Yassen glanced in his rear view mirror. "Good eye. What else do you notice?"

Alex took his eyes off the car long enough to give him a look. "Are you really going to turn this into a lecture?"

"As much as I hope you live the rest of your life without needing to spot a tail, we just lost our planned identities. It will take a while longer." Yassen told him, merging sharply into the HOV lane and speeding up. He glanced over at the boy. "Also, seatbelt."

Alex groaned. Yassen heard his buckle click a second later. "There. Happy?"

"Marginally. At least you're not high this time."

"Kind of wish I was," the boy grumbled. Alex turned back around to look out the rear window, holding up his iPod's tiny screen to consult in real time. "Two men, both caucasian. Military, maybe. Definitely watching us. One's talking into a phone. Scouts? Infrared isn't doing so well with all this movement, but I think both of them are armed."

"How does the car itself look?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it look like all the other cars to the scanner?"

Alex frowned and swiveled the little device. "Yes?"

"Good," Yassen said. At least something was working in his favor today. "It's probably not armored. They must not have had much time to prepare. This will make things much easier."

Finally reaching the edge of the traffic, Yassen stayed in his lane long enough to shoot past a line of long haul truckers, before switching lanes abruptly. Shielded from sight, Alex turned towards the front of the car and gave Yassen a startled glance. The trucker now behind him gave him an annoyed blast of his horn, but otherwise didn't make an issue. Maybe it was because Yassen pulled out his handgun a second later.

Alex started as Yassen rolled down his window. "Watch the road for me," he told the boy.

"Wait," Alex snapped. "I'm not positive they're-"

"They are."

The Charger sped into sight a split second later, obviously trying to find their boring little sedan amongst the thinning traffic. The passenger's eyes widened as he took in Yassen, beretta ready, before a quick shot punched through the window and caught the side of the driver's temple.

It was a risky move with an enormous payoff.

Driver limp across the wheel, the car immediately shot to the side, bumper slamming into Yassen's side of the sedan before ricocheting off into the concrete barrier that divided the interstate. Metal crunched and shattered as the Charger spun beneath the big rig, rolling under the massive wheels. The semi rose, it's enormous tires spinning on air before abruptly turning onto its side. Breaks shrieked and squealed, horns blaring as the cars around them responded in panic.

More metal impacting metal.

The wind snatched the sounds of chaos away as Yassen withdrew his gun, refusing to slow.

"Jesus," Alex muttered beside him. "Now I know why it's called riding shotgun."

Shuddering, the sedan blazed forward, though Yassen was certain it didn't have more than another few miles before it gave out. Most of the damage was to the body, but the shuddering let him know that at minimum the suspension had been damaged, if not snapped an axle. He'd have to take his chances and get off at the next exit to switch cars, but for now they weren't actively observed. Unless Ferri had managed to plant a second tracker, the only way their pursuers had to find them now was to make visual contact.

Alex rubbed the side of his head. It must have slammed against his closed window when the charger struck him. "How many cars was that? Eight?"

Yassen winced. He was such an idiot. Just how much could such small but regular impacts like that might complicate the boy's neurological health? It certainly wasn't the first time Alex had gotten bumped in the head because of Yassen's driving. How could he have forgotten? When he'd made the decision to shoot, he'd only considered which side of the car would impact and since it wasn't going to be Alex's, had assumed it was worth the cost. Whiplash hadn't even occurred to him.

Yassen set his jaw. He had to be more careful.

The next exit materialized. Yassen swerved across three lanes to make it, which was unshockingly easy given that the majority of cars were now piled up a quarter mile back. On the edge of town, this exit offered a main road which branched into a residential farming area and a gas station. Driving another minute would probably take him somewhere with more options, but Yassen wasn't willing to waste a second. The risk of the car failing them on some stretch of the highway was too great.

He pulled into the gas station and slammed on the brakes. "Out."

Alex didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed both duffel bags as Yassen strode up to the only other car, a shiny black pickup truck with a multitude of custom painted flames and shiny rims, parked in front of the convenience store.

It was hardly ideal, but it would have to do.

A fat bearded man with a Utes baseball cap sat in the driver's seat, bored and obviously waiting for someone inside. He was thoroughly unprepared to have Yassen rip open the door and snap the exact same command.

"Don't-" Alex hissed from behind him. Yassen didn't bother looking behind him to respond.

Eyes widening in outrage, the man took in the Beretta aimed at his chest with just enough time to avoid saying something he'd regret. He would never know how lucky he was: Yassen was thoroughly prepared to shoot anyone causing him delay. Alex could get upset all he wanted later- a panic attack and some trust issues were infinitely better than capture by Scorpia.

The man essentially fell out of the car in his hurry to abandon it. "Don't shoot! Just take it!"

"Other side," Yassen ordered Alex, noting that the keys still in the ignition. That saved him some trouble. Climbing in, he kept his gun in sight of the backing up man and checked his surroundings. Through the glass window, a woman crouched in one of the aisles as the cashier spotted what was going on and reached under the counter to hit some kind of alarm. Leaving witnesses was sloppy, but Yassen didn't care. Time was more valuable right now than secrecy. The CIA could have all the surveillance footage they wanted so long as Alex and him were long gone by the time they connected them to the carjacking.

As soon as Alex's door slammed shut, Yassen was off, headed for the highway and pushing the stupid truck as hard as he could. They were at the gas station for less than a minute in total, but Yassen found his sense of urgency growing. This truck was a nightmare. It had been recently gassed up and could drive, but there the list of benefits ended. The pickup's appearance was one of the most ostentatious displays of male insecurity Yassen had seen on their little American road trip thus far. Driving a glow stick would have been less conspicuous. As irritating as it was, it was his only option; he'd just have to swap it out another few towns from here.

So far, no signs of their pursuers. With their change of ride, Yassen figured he had another ten minutes to put some distance between them and their pursuers before they popped up on their radar again. Every minute counted.

Alex, meanwhile, had shut his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Yassen was almost tempted to think he was asleep, except his lips were moving, forming inaudible words.

"What?" Yassen demanded, not realizing how furious he still was until the word has left his mouth with all the grace of a snarl. He tried again, managing to even out his tone to something less aggravating. "I can't hear you."

"One, two, three, four," Alex murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "One, two, three, four."

Yassen gripped the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. It was fine. He'd handle it.