Yassen watched through a small gap in the curtains as a fourth police car drove up the narrow street. Two armed officers jumped out and took up positions behind the impromptu barrier, joining the other eight already stationed there.
Based on their movements, they were fairly organised but unused to this kind of work – local police instead of specialised units.
Any further reconnaissance was made impossible when the officers turned on two large spotlights and pointed them at the house, effectively blinding him.
Walking out the front door was not an option, and as the houses on this side of the street all leaned on the edge of the cliff, there were no convenient gardens and hedges to act as a cover to escape that way either.
Yassen had contingency plans, of course – He had bought the safe house specifically for its inaccessibility.
None of those plans incorporated the presence of a child.
An inexcusable oversight he could only blame on himself.
Furthermore, there wasn't enough time to hire backup or put pressure on the right people to make the problem go away.
It left him with few options – and none which didn't involve high risks.
The safest option for them both was for Yassen to escape on his own. The police would get Alex safely home, though it also meant he would be back in MI6's grasp.
The probability of Alex surviving MI6's schemes another week or two was still higher than sending him abseiling or paragliding down the cliff at night.
Yassen would find another way to get Alex away from his minders. Now that Yassen was reasonably sure the child genuinely wanted out of the world of espionage, and wouldn't run back to London at the first opportunity, there were options.
Maybe a pair of good counterfeit passports for Alex and his housekeeper and a boat to the mainland?
Yassen would figure something out when they weren't surrounded.
He glanced back at Alex, who was staring thoughtfully at the supply closet. Yassen would have to act quickly before the child initiated whatever plan he was currently brewing.
Unlike what Alex might believe; neither of them was the protagonist of a low-budget action movie – They couldn't rely on fire and luck to get out of every single dangerous situation.
Yassen strode around Alex and into the kitchen, where he knelt to remove the false wall in one of the cupboards, revealing a large duffel bag.
He felt more than heard Alex step up beside him.
"Wait five minutes after I'm gone, then shout for help," Yassen said. "The officers will get you home."
Alex's heavy gaze didn't leave him, as Yassen pulled out his abseiling equipment from the bag and checked it over. Everything looked to be in order.
"If you leave me here, I'll tell them about the missile plans," Alex said.
Yassen looked up, letting his hands follow the practised movements of securing the harness. Alex's expression made it clear he would go through with it.
"This is not a time for idle threats, little Alex."
Yassen attached the belay to the gear loop on his harness. He could have the line secured and be on his way in less than a minute. Another five, and he would be in the spare car he had parked on a side street below the cliff.
He opened the window. Even though sitting only an arm's-length below him, the iron ring attached to the outer wall of the house was invisible in the darkness.
"I'll tell them you're going to the airport," Alex said, and – when Yassen ignored him in favour of leaning out of the window to fix the rope to the anchor – added, "and that you have a bomb."
"That would be unwise," Yassen said calmly while checking the rope. Satisfied it would hold, he went back to the duffel bag and pulled out a pair of leather gloves.
Alex stepped in front of him, blocking his direct way to the window. "It would stop you."
Even accounting for the faster travel at night, there was a high chance Alex was right.
Dealing with a station-worth of ill-prepared police officers was an undesirable situation. However, storming into an airport during an active bomb threat was not something Yassen would even consider without suitable preparation and backup.
"If you do," he finally said. "MI6 will succeed in getting away with the missile plans. You trust they'll not use them?"
"No." Alex shrugged. "But it's still better than letting your employer get them… whoever they are."
Yassen glanced outside.
Every minute they talked increased the likelihood of the police simply storming the house. They hadn't given any indication they knew about Alex and were unlikely to take the same precautions as in a hostage situation.
Yassen wanted to sigh. Loudly. His job had been a lot easier before children insisted on doing the job of adults.
He stepped around Alex and closed the window.
"What do you propose?"
Alex seemed stumped for a moment, clearly taken aback that Yassen was willing to listen, but quickly recovered. "We destroy the plans." Yassen raised a brow, and Alex added, "Your employer doesn't need them anyway."
"What makes you say that?"
Alex leaned back against the table in a clear attempt to appear poised. The dark rings under his eyes undermined the image.
"You planned on shooting Martín," he said. "If you really needed the plans, you would have kept him alive long enough to question."
Yassen smiled. "Getting the plans would be… more favourable."
Alex rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive without the bonus."
It was a very nice bonus – but yes, the base salary would be enough for what he had planned.
"Very well," Yassen said. He paused until Alex had relaxed marginally, then added, "for a price."
"I can't pay you."
"No money," Yassen promised.
"Then what?" Alex asked warily.
"You follow my instructions without complaint, and after you get home, you keep your mind open."
Alex scrutinised him for a long moment, before agreeing. "Fine."
"Good."
Yassen could work with that.
Yassen opened the front door, careful to keep his body out of the direct line of sight of the officers.
"We're coming out," he called in Spanish. "Do not shoot."
He waited another moment before gesturing for Alex to step out. Better to send the child first to avoid any misunderstandings and not risk an officer getting a nervous trigger finger.
They exchanged a glance as Alex passed. The child's hands were shaking, he clenched them once before stepping into the spotlight.
Yassen waited for Alex to clear the police barrier. One of the surprised officers quickly guided the child to the side, where he got a half-hearted pat-down before being led away.
Yassen grabbed a small plastic container about half the size of a matchbox hidden behind the row of shoes, wiped off the worst of the dust and slipped it into his mouth. Only then did he step out onto the porch, arms raised.
Though he kept his eyes lowered, the spotlights blinded him. He focused on his other senses to keep himself informed of what was happening around him.
The night smelled of rain and burned rubber. Officers shouted at him in rapid-fire Spanish, and he followed their instruction to kneel with his hands on his head.
He made no move to resist when an officer roughly cuffed his hands behind his back and padded him down, well aware of the guns pointed at his head.
Yassen had lined his own weapons up on the dinner table. The police would ransack the whole house regardless, but it was the thought that counted.
They led him out of the spotlight, and Yassen blinked to get his sight back.
The sky was clear above him. While light pollution hid most of the stars, a few still winked at him from above. He enjoyed the slight breeze ruffling his hair as he was marched towards one of the waiting police cars.
Yassen considered himself neither an optimist nor a pessimist – those were terms anchored in wishes and fears. If anything, he was a realist; someone who calculated the odds of each outcome before making their decision.
The chance of him never feeling the wind on his face again was small although not nonexistent, so he committed the moment to memory just in case.
A small crowd had gathered behind the police tape – Curious neighbours too naive to consider the dangers of getting too close to a possible shootout.
No journalists. Not that Yassen had expected any. With MI6 involved the police would want to keep the operation out of the news – easier to make him disappear later.
One of the officers kept herself between Yassen and the crowd the whole walk. He still turned his face away. The police weren't the only ones interested in keeping any phones from getting a clear shot of his face.
The police car was stuffy and the backseat smelled faintly of sweat and alcohol. Yassen sat squeezed between two male officers, both middle-aged, alert, and in reasonable shape. Neither carried a weapon.
As they drove, Yassen kept his eyes on the officers instead of the road. He knew where the nearest stations were located, and based on the direction they were going, had a good idea of which one he was being taken to. Evaluating who he was up against was much more informative.
The driver was a young man in his early twenties. He had a white-knuckled grip on the wheel and kept his eyes fixed on the road. Every time Yassen shifted, the man would twitch in his seat.
Beside the driver sat an older woman. She calmly met Yassen's gaze in the rearview mirror but kept one hand resting beside her holstered gun.
He nodded at her and relaxed back into his seat – making the driver jump once more.
Yassen wouldn't be getting any sleep for at least another day, so he might as well get a little rest while he could.