Boris Koriyenko was counting his blessings, he was alive and in no danger of criminal charges, despite being forced to step down rather than face a full investigation over his involvement in his late friend's insane plot for power. He had been interrogated for a week, with the cover story of a mild stroke. The security services had placed their own man in power and were busy clearing house, with arrests across Russia. The former president was grieving for the man, who had once shared his goal of wanting Russia to be strong and free. Democracy would be the price of Sarov's foolishness.
His dacha outside Moscow was luxurious, but the one time factory manager had not entered politics for his own wealth and position but to steer the former Communist Leviathan to become a strong, prosperous state on par with their neighbours in Europe. To prevent the diverse and vast nation from the folly of falling back into the worship of strong man over the needs of the many, be they the divinely anointed Tsar, Revolutionary Zealot or Tyrannical Despot.
For the first time in fifteen years, he had no agenda, no appointments, no speeches or publicity. His failures meant he had no allies to fall back on and friends were thin on the ground. He was bored, kept indoors by the inclement weather. He picked up the phone to enquire about the possibility of a recuperation on the Black Sea coast. Even in a clinic to keep up appearances, lose a few pounds and dry out. The vodka stocks were plentiful in every room, as if they wished him to drink himself to death. The staff here were all new. None of his old guard remained, his beloved cook had returned to Siberia and his secretary reassigned god knows where, possibly Siberia as well. His call was transferred five times until a weary Colonel in Directorate Two at Murmansk of all places answered politely, "thank you for calling Your Excellency, contacting you was on my to do list. The main office stated you are wanting to transfer to a health resort. I can expedite your request, but first I must ask you if you are aware of General Sarov's last will dated two days before his death and filed with the ambassador in Cuba. He leaves a large portfolio of investments and two foreign bank accounts to his bastard son and custody to you or your daughters. I thought I would ask you first, I can understand if you wish to decline. Young Aleksandr Alekseyevich has been mute since witnessing his father's suicide. The child psychologist states the boy shows signs of severe neglect and abuse, shying from basic comfort and not understanding their kindness, even suspicious of food and drink served. An orphanage would be the worst environment for such a delicate child and yet psychiatric hospital is also deemed too harsh. The child needs a home and stability to learn trust. You, as a retired man in precarious health, may find raising a psychologically damaged child too demanding. You did raise two teenage daughters by yourself after the death of your wife."
Boris could just disappear into obscurity as it was distasteful to use this child to salvage his reputation. The Colonel has been clever to apply the emotional leverage of guilt. Widowed at forty, he would never have coped alone without Lena's and Loyshka's support. Mira had been a darling baby brother to Tasha and Ola. The strange boy in Cuba was the image of Vladimir at thirteen, with the exception of the solemn brown eyes. He recalled his last meal with Boris, no longer his friend worthy of the loving nickname, the cold bastard had only called the boy, Alexander. No diminutives suggesting any fondness and always in English. The boy had an American Accent. The facts fell into place, rumours heard in Cuba, the death of an American couple diving. He surmised these unfortunates were the mother and stepfather of the child, murdered by that henchman. Boris had spent several months with the UN, just after Vladimir's death, while Lena had stayed in Moscow. "Aleksandr's mother died in Cuba days before I arrived there, he may have witnessed her murder. Check if he had an American passport and he have been known by another surname. Better if he has family in America. If not, I will take custody."
...
In two weeks, Alex had listened and observed enough to pick up enough Russian to understand the bare basics of what was being demanded. The children's ward was locked tight with guards on all exits. The hospital located on a military base, a thousand miles from Chelsea. He was a patient not a prisoner, dressed in weirdly old fashioned pjs, with no appetite to eat the bad food served up four time's a day . It was obvious they thought he was nuts, attributing his silence to be caused by shock. Understandable in the circumstances, arrested after Sarov's death. He immediately felt like vomiting, best not to recall that horror. In his regular session with the shrink this morning, the doctor had spoken in English for the first time and he had answered her questions, keeping to his legend as Alexander Thomas Gardiner, son of Belinda and Tom Gardiner of Beverley Hills. It had been the most stressful two weeks of his life, he expected to be dragged off by the security services and sent to a Gulag. After that confession, he had broken down and cried like a baby. Cried until he had vomited bile, before the doctor had sedated him.
Laying in the private room, on a hard bed, always chilled to the bone, starving, yet unable to eat, bursting into tears for stupid reasons, maybe he was nuts. The reality was the worst, he could not tell anyone here the truth. Blackmailed by a top secret subsidiary of MI6 that pretended to be an international bank and lent out to a similar bunch of American spooks working outside of the federal restrictions in the CIA, quite happy to break international law, to deny any involvement and disavow any captured operatives. At fourteen, Alex Rider was no more and he was on his own. He had little to no chance of repatriation as he had no documents and no actual legal guardians to declare him missing. His stomach continue to roll. He would die of an ulcer from worrying about things he could not change. Was there any positives to this situation? If he was sent back stateside, Byrne would gave him back to Blunt. No longer usable as free labour, he'd be in a crummy cheap as chips boarding school until he was eighteen if he was lucky. The likelihood of long term care if a high security psychiatric hospital either here or there was more likely. If they sent him to a orphanage, he'd run away. Would he be placed with a foster family? That would be the best case scenario. He could go back to be a normal school kid. He did not care if it was in Russia, Cuba, America or back in the UK at the moment. If he was offered a normal life he would not fuck it up. Just pretend the last four months had never happened and use every trick Ian taught him to be a close approximation of a normal child, though the elephant in the room was his obvious psychological issues.
The nurse entered and Alex was tempted to pretend to still be sedated, but they knew the doses precisely even considering he was small, underweight and not eating properly.
The woman knew better than to try and wake the boy in Room 5, who reacted badly to the lightest touch. "Come, Sasha. Please change as your new father is here. You are being discharged." She knew the child would be questioned by the police, but it was good he had a family now. Orphaned, in a strange country and with only official visitors in two weeks, no wonder the boy had lost kilos in weight and looked like a nervous wreck.
In the family room, the woman from Family Services was a familiar face as she had visited three times. As the American boy entered, she smiled falsely like she cared. Thankfully this emergency fostering had been handled in Moscow so she did not have the paperwork to deal with. The chain of custody was precarious at best, his mother and her husband murdered in Cuba, the biological father had shot himself and left custody to his best friend, who was politically untouchable and so well connected to cut through normal procedures, local red tape and the international legal issues.