Chapter 17: Escape

Chapter Text

"It is easy to forget what intelligence consists of: luck and speculation. Here and there a windfall, here and there a scoop." – John Le Carré

Alex was almost certain he was interpreting the signs correctly. The clues were laid out like a trail in a forest at night – hard to see, but there, once considered.

Clue one: an unattended phone. Alex could have called anyone with that phone. True, there had been a guard in place, but that led to clue two. Yassen claimed he left the one guard with Alex because the guard would leave him alone. It was true that another mafia man might have felt the cruel impulse to bother Alex when guarding him, and Efram had not. But it was also true that another mafia member could have been a more competent guard. Efram had folded easily under Alex's attack.

Clue 3. A list of coordinates stuck to a laptop, in the same room as an unattended cell phone. Yassen was far from incompetent at his job, and his job required secrecy, guarding intelligence, and holding hostages in secure locations.

Yassen wanted Alex to escape. And to stop the production of this drug.

Why?

He had some sort of moral code. Yassen valued Alex's life. He had said as much. He could have shot Brandon but let him go – perhaps because the man didn't bother him. Yassen had tried to prevent Abhi from seeing the unnecessary bloodshed the other day.

All of these pieces of evidence were weak evidences of a moral code when stacked against Yassen's greater crimes – shooting a man on Sayle's dock for dropping the virus, putting Alex in the ring with a bull, working for Damien Cray, working for SCORPIA, working for the Russian mafia. Still, they did prove that some semblance of humanity lingered. If given a choice, Yassen wouldn't shoot a child. And Cray had said that Yassen would be hailed as a hero in Russia for destroying the poppy fields that led to drug production around the world.

So maybe Yassen actually didn't enjoy drugs. Maybe he had chosen to take the job with Cray. Alex had never made it far enough up the SCORPIA ladder during his brief time with them to figure out how jobs were assigned. Would Yassen have a choice in his jobs with SCORPIA?

If he did, perhaps the shred of morality he had allowed him to subtly work against drug production. Perhaps he was allowing Alex to attempt an escape because it would make Yassen's conscience lighter.

Fat chance.

Back to square one. Yassen had only a few morals, which stacked up poorly compared to the many general human morals he did not care about. He had cared about Alex's dad, and now Alex. Alex did have morals. Alex was opposed to drug production and the inevitable destruction drugs left behind.

Perhaps this wasn't about morals, but motivation? Alex had to admit he had not been particularly good at attempting to escape the past few days. Admittedly the situation had seemed hopeless. Still, he could have tried to escape. What he'd done in comparison was plan, plot, and despair.

Yassen knew Alex well enough to know that if he thought he had a chance of stopping a crime, he would. Yassen left easy to access coordinates near Alex, and left him nearly alone. Alex would escape and Yassen would be free of the one problem that would trouble his conscience—keeping Alex alive.

Alex glanced at the overcast sky through the window. He could hear the shower going from the restroom.

Should he say anything to Yassen when he came out? Assassin or not, he had kept Alex alive for the past week. He had refused to shoot him at what was almost the cost of his own life four years ago.

Alex didn't intend to see Yassen again after today. He was leaving before tonight, whatever the cost. Yassen was setting it up for him. Alex intended to take advantage of what he was given.

"I'm leaving."

Of course Yassen would know Alex was awake, even though Alex hadn't moved from his sleeping position yet. Yawning, Alex sat up. "What?"

"I'm leaving." Yassen repeated. His tone was final. Alex felt as if his suspicions were being confirmed. Yassen didn't expect to come back to see him.

"Ok," Alex said. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere else." Yassen looked Alex straight in the eye. "My boss and I are meeting some associates. We will be at least thirty minutes away."

That was definitely a message.

Yassen paused to pack his computer into a small laptop bag. "Did you get answers to all of your questions?"

Impulsively, Alex asked, "What did you do? Between your parents dying and joining SCORPIA?"

Yassen raised an eyebrow.

"I know you weren't playing Russian Roulette for five years. The odds aren't that in your favor."

"Only twice. Once it was even my choice."

Alex stared. The question he considered asking, are you an idiot, died immediately in his head. It wasn't the time to be sassy. Yassen was genuinely offering answers to questions, freely. Did he have any more? Certainly not many that could easily be answered.

Taking the pause as a request to elaborate, Yassen shook his head. "Enough about my youth. After 14 it was not pleasant."

"Well we have that in common," Alex bit out. Immediately he regretted the words. The Russian didn't look impacted, but Alex had no desire for their last meeting to be tinged with sarcasm. Their time together deserved a more fitting close. "I'm sorry about your parents, and that my dad wasn't who you thought he was."

"It was nothing to do with you," Yassen dismissed.

Alex bit his lip. "I'm sorry you're not a good person." The words should have been an accusation, but they weren't.

"That is also nothing to do with you," Yassen said, with evident amusement.

Alex watched with mixed emotions as the assassin swung the laptop bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.

"Stay safe, Alex," Yassen said.

"You too," Alex said before the words registered.

Yassen nodded and held the door open. One of Molotov's nameless grunts walked inside and exchanged a quiet greeting in Russian.

Without a backwards glance, Yassen left.

The nameless guard entered the room.

"Hi," Alex said. The guard glared. "Care if I set up a fire? It's a bit cold in here?"

Odds indicated that the guard didn't understand him, and when Alex moved to the fireplace the guard looked upset, and gestured back to the bed.

"Hey, relax," Alex said, showing both hands. "I'm not up to anything, cross my heart."

It was cold in the room, and the guard, with some shown reluctance, allowed Alex to build a fire.

"Can I get a light?" Alex asked. He pointed at the lighter by the window, to aid comprehension. When the guard shrugged, Alex

The fire flickered to life, as Alex sat and watched it grow. His idea from two nights ago sat strong in his mind.

Of all the painful deaths Alex had previously faced, fire wasn't even in the top ten. People tended to expire from smoke inhalation instead of burns. The pain could be worse. Still, Alex had the positive desire to not die anytime this year, which made this plot all the riskier.

Yassen had taken the paper with the coordinates written on it off the computer earlier. Alex had watched him do it. Alex walked to the desk and saw the paper there, in the middle of the desk. He would need to get that.

Alex nearly laughed when he saw what was next to the paper.

Yassen's watch.

Convenient.

"Sit."

"Alright, alright, I'm not doing anything," Alex said, putting his hands in the air in mock surrender. He went back to a bed and sat down. The time was almost a quarter to 9, if the watch was accurate. Five minutes to start a fire, a few minutes more maybe, and Alex had maybe twenty five minutes until Yassen and his boss were at the farthest distance away they would get to.

Alex needed to steal the information on drug production, procure a car, and go there. What had his team said? Alex had to get to Nizhny Novgorod.

"I'm cold," Alex said to no one in particular. The guard's eyes stayed on him as he walked to the bed and grabbed a blanket. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything rash," Alex muttered. He walked back to the fire. "I thought about it."

And he tossed half the blanket into the fire.

The guard took a moment to respond, stunned expression showing that he hadn't expected this. The guard then let loose a string of angry curse words and rushed to pull the blanket out of the fireplace. Alex picked up the fire poker and swung at the man.

The guard dropped. Alex fell onto him, looking for the gun that would be there. It was hidden in a side holster.

And now Alex had a gun.

No one was outside the room. Yet. When the fire began to spread and smoke began to spread, someone would come.

Alex looked at the blanket. The fire was creeping slowly along the blanket to the floor. This was slower than Alex had hoped. He needed a distraction, soon, if he was going to concentrate the guards wherever he wasn't.

Fires spread with air. And with paper. Alex looked to the duffel where Yassen kept his stuff. Quickly he opened it and pulled out one of the books in a foreign language the man had been reading earlier. He pulled several pages out, crumpled them, and threw them on the fire. As the kindling helped the fire catch, Alex began to fan the flames with a book. Soon the flames were on the floor and slowly spreading. Alex put the book on the floor and kicked it to the flames.

Halfway to be petty, and halfway for efficiency, Alex grabbed the rest of the books from the duffel and kicked them to the fire.

Alex went to the door and peeked out. No one was there. He could smell smoke though. If there was a fire detector, soon the rest of the building would be in uproar, and if not at least someone would smell the smoke soon.

Grabbing the watch and the papers in his left hand, and holding the gun in his right, Alex left the room.

Minutes later and a hallway down Alex heard shouts. His Russian was limited to a few words and an alphabet, but Alex had a good idea that he was learning the word for 'fire'.

Alex ducked into an empty broom closet and closed the door. He listened carefully with his ear pressed against the door. Men were running and shouting.

Would they call Molotov right away? Would they wait? Alex was counting seven minutes since his official 'escape' by knocking the guard out. In a worst-case scenario there was 20 minutes left until Yassen was here. And if he was here, he would do his job.

A long time ago Yassen had said he would never hurt Alex, but then he'd put him in an area with a live bull. So he lied or he expected Alex to do what he did best—survive.

Well, Alex planned to keep surviving. And he would do it on his own even if he'd grown used to the backup of a team.

Guards were patrolling now, they had noticed the flames. Where would they not go?

Alex recalled a memory. On a ship, guards looking for him, and the certainty that the guards would search every room – except one. No one wanted to mess with the bosses living quarters. It worked with Major Yu, it would work here.

Where was Molotov's private residence?

It was instinct that made Alex find the stairs and go up them. He opened every door in the hallway, conscious of the fact that men were looking for him right now.

The third door was right. Alex saw children's shoes inside the doorway, as well as a pair of high heeled winter boots.

The children. Fuck.

"Hello?" A woman's sweet voice called down the hall. "Honey? Are you back?'

"папа?"

Dad.

Alex gritted his teeth and walked into the room.

"You!" Molotova jumped out of her chair. The nanny looked up from one of the two toddlers next to her on the couch, and Abhi looked up from a kid's electronic toy.

"I need to leave here, and no one will be hurt." Alex said, aiming at the gun carefully at the woman.

Abhi looked between his mother and Alex, captivated. "Mum?" He didn't sound afraid, yet.

"If you touch my son, every painful thing my husband and Gregorovich have done to you will seem like a luxury. You will be alive for months before I let you die, and each one of them will be worst than the last." The woman bit out.

"I don't hurt people for fun," Alex said. "Unlike you."

"I haven't touched you," Molotova retorted.

Alex glared. "Your husband has been torturing me for the past few days."

"You were trouble. My son was injured because of you."

Alex had heard enough. "Your son is alive because of me!" Every megalomaniac he had met blamed their own family troubles on Alex.

"My son—"

"Shut up." Alex looked at Abhi and the nanny. "Back up, both of you. Stay in the room. Abhi, listen to me, everything is fine, but I need you to do what I say. Your parents have been doing bad things and I need to make sure they stop."

"Mom?" Abhi looked scared now.

"Listen to me," Alex addressed Molotova. "I'm not pointing this at your children because I'm not a monster. But if you shout for your men, if you make any noise, know I'll shoot you," Alex said tersely.

"And you said you don't hurt people," Molotova sneered, her face distorted into a vicious sneer.

"Desperate times," Alex responded. "Handle my conditions and I'll be out of your hair for good."

"My children leave the room."

Alex shook his head. That couldn't happen. Abhi was old enough to run for help, and the nanny was old enough to understand the situation and communicate exactly what was happening. She would want to go with the twins. "They stay."

"There's a closet. Let them hide in there."

Alex glanced in the direction of the door she had pointed out. He inched closer, keeping the gun raised on Molotova. When he was close enough, he shifted to open the door with his left hand. It was a closet inside, with winter jackets, shoes, and a few toys on a shelf.

"Abhi, you and your nanny and siblings need to go in here for a bit." Alex aimed for a calm tone.

"Mom," Abhi said.

"Now, please," Alex said, stress showing through.

He watched as the children and nanny crept into the closet. The silent woman closed the door behind them, and for all purposes Alex and Molotova were alone.

Alex aimed the gun at her heart. His hand was steady, and he made eye contact with the woman who had helped make his life hell for the past week.

"I need a car."

-AR-

"You let him walk out?" Molotov asked. Molotova sneered in response, and Yassen had to restrain himself from smiling.

"No, I did not just 'let him walk out'." Molotova said. "He held a gun at my head and we walked out together to the car, and then your guards let him go. I told them to shoot the wheels out but that boy sped away before your idiots listened to me." And then, as Yassen had been sure would happen, Molotova turned to him.

"Your prisoner escaped!"

"I wasn't with him," Yassen said. "Or here."

"I told you not to let him out of your sight," Molotova snapped. "What happened to that? This never would have happened if you had been with him."

"I needed him elsewhere," Molotov said. "We had business to attend to, and early sales to procure. We sold portions of the drug across central Europe. The money is half in our hands, now we need only to deliver the product."

"And that is worth the life of your wife and children?"

This tension would need deescalating, Yassen knew. If his boss's wife became enraged enough, she would hire men to take Alex out. Nowhere the boy went would be safe if he kept insisting on using his own name. A false identity would be safer.

"Alex would have never hurt your children."

"You want him alive." Molotov accuses. "And now my child has been held at gunpoint."

"Yes," Yassen said simply. "Although I doubt very much that that a gun was ever aimed at your children." He looked to Molotova for confirmation, and she looked away.

"I'm not staying here. The boy knows where it is and he has the government on his side." Molotova glared at the room. "The children and I are going somewhere safe."

Molotov and Molotova locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.

"Fine," the husband conceded. "We'll clear this place out. Gregorovich, make sure the building is secured and then talk to our government contacts. Find out if your pet project is still in Russia. If he is, bring him to me." Molotov held up a hand before Yassen could refute the order. "I'll let him live. But first he is going to learn a lesson. If it takes a week to beat it into him, or a month, or a year, so be it. But he will leave me when I have decided to make a deal for his pitiful life."

-AR-

Ben Daniels entered Russia with no problems. An MI6 informant met him at the airport and gave him a gun, with no problems. He rented a car with no problems. He drove that car to a church at approximately the coordinates MI6 had found, with no problems. At the church, the problem began.

It was Sunday at 1:30, perhaps a bit late for a church in session. Ben didn't expect to walk into an orthodox service and see people in pews singing hymns. He was surprised to see several women in long skirts and covered heads exiting the church at such a late time, all holding overpacked carpet bags.

Ben slipped into the church after they left, looking around the large room clearly meant for holding services. A golden portrait of Jesus frowned down at Ben from above. Ben walked through the

An archway led into a back hallway. Ben walked inside, and began peeking into rooms. There were stairs to a basement, two empty rooms, stairs to a second floor, and a hallway to another set of rooms. All were empty.

Ben took the hallway to the second set of rooms.

There was a sound. Slight, almost imperceptible. Ben pressed himself to the wall and listened carefully. It was in the next room. Slowly, Ben inched towards the door. He pulled his gun out in front of him, and entered the room.

A blond, lithe man looked up.

"You're Yassen Gregorovich."

The man, Gregorovich, did not respond.

Ben pulled his gun, and found another gun pointed at him in return.

Alright, time to defuse the situation. It was talking time, if the Russian would only return the favor.

"I know Alex," Ben said tentatively. The Russian tilted his gun slightly, pushing Ben to elaborate. "I don't think you killed him." And if I'm wrong and you have, I'll kill you.

"No." Yassen's lip twitched. "I didn't kill him, but I am going to stop him."

"Stop him?"

"He's going to try and destroy several drug manufacturing compounds in Russia."

Ben frowned. "Why are you telling me this? I could kill you right now and continue that same mission."

"Perhaps," Gregorovich mused.

"And you think you can kill me." Ben said

A smile flickered across Gregorovich's face. "Many have tried to kill me. The last who did so is currently on foot across Russia."

"Alex?"

"You should find him. Stop him, before I need to."

Gregorovich holstered his gun at his hip, and hoisted a duffel bag over one shoulder. Ben tracked the movement with his eyes, and lowered his gun as well. "If I find him first, blood will be spilled. His, or mine. I won't kill him, but he won't stop unless he is physically unable to continue fighting me." The Russian hesitated. "I'd like to think he wouldn't kill me either, but that may be incorrect. I would like to leave this situation alive as well."

"I could solve that problem now," Ben said.

"Yes, you could try." Gregorovich smirked. "But it would be better to let me tell you his destinations. The others my boss would send are not willing to spare Alex's life."

"You know where he's going?"

"I left several addresses for him to find. He will be on his way to the closest now."

Ben's head spun. None of this was making sense. "Why would you do that?"

"Alex has a habit of turning powerful people against him."

"I know. I've worked with him before."

"MI6?"

"Yes."

Gregorovich nodded. "Alex and my boss were having several …painful…disagreements. I thought perhaps Alex could use the push to leave."

"Painful." Ben echoed.

"For Alex."

"What do you mean by that?" Ben had a few guesses, and none boded well for Alex.

Gregorovich shrugged. "The orders my boss were giving relied on torture."

"Who was your boss giving those orders to?"

Gregorovich raised an eyebrow.

Ben felt his anger rising. "You gave him a push to escape yet you let him be tortured? You won't kill him but you'll stop him? What, you care about him, but not enough to not hurt him?"

The corner of Gregorovich's mouth twitched. "Your government uses children as spies. Perhaps you shouldn't claim moral authority."

Ben gritted his teeth. Point Gregorovich. "Where is he?"