Life was a game with the odds heavily stacked against Alex, always some bastard saying 'Heads I win and tails you lose'. He was dreaming, hyper realism of the submarine base in Murmansk, the smell of the dock, the mix of diesel and rotten seaweed, the cold wind off the Barents Sea and the peculiar ozone smell and a bomb counting down to certain death and destruction. He could see the cold hard face of the General. He was beaten, physically and metaphorically, expecting dearth and pleading for the deranged megalomaniac not to irradiate most of Europe in his insane plan to make Russia great.

A shrill scream of pain followed by pitiful whimpers and pleading in Russian broke the silence in the base hospital at 3:10AM. The kid on isolation was experiencing one hell of a night terror. The teen had fallen out of bed and was making himself as small as possible in the far corner of his room. The nurse suited up as quickly as possible as she could hear hacking coughs interspaced by rasps of Russian.

Lisa did not touch the boy in case of a violent reaction but spoke in soft, reassuring tones, "Wake up Alex, its OK. You're safe. Come on. Sit up, that will help you breath."

Alex shuddered as he listened to the words of the nurse, but he made no attempt to move from his safe spot. He had noting to be comforted by and was petrified of his debrief tomorrow. Was it better to lie and leave them with their misapprehension he'd been in some gulag? There had been no forced labour, true the food had been barely edible, but he had sat down for three meals a day. It had been his choice not to eat. Trading his food, blow jobs and bet winnings for other items, such as cigarettes, opium based painkillers, hashish and really bad hooch. The soldiers thought his foster father overtly strict and the fifteen/sixteen year old only wanted entertainment during exile to the end of nowhere.

He felt the woman try and stroke his back in reassurance, but he flinched hard enough to smash his head into the concrete wall, and he croaked harshly "don't touch me!"

The nurse backed off, hands in view, non threatening posture and busy repeating her soft words to calm her distraught patient.

Alex then made a bold statement of fact "I hate sleeping, I hate my dreams and I hate my supposed father so so much. I dreamt about him beating me, forcing me to be his son, my bargain with the devil to stop him killing my friends, from murdering millions. Yet, you still call me by his name, I hate everything about Alexei Sarov. That man broke me before the FSB interrogators got to me."

There, he had broken his own taboo, truth was out in the open. He had been told to be blunt, now they all knew it had been a horror story from the start. The Russian authorities had used him, to entrap Sarov in his lies, but he had first been trapped by that bastard to play act being an knock off copy off his long dead and very perfect real son.

Four hours later, showered and dressed, the sixteen year old was debriefed, giving full details of the Cuban operation, the dead of the CIA team and his capture, interrogation and 'turning' by the FSB.

…..

In Washington, Byrne read the transcript of all that had befallen Alex. Tortured, manipulated, threatened and then adopted by the man who had visited all that upon him. That bastard Sarov had brainwashed a fourteen year old with the promise of family. It had almost worked, only Alex had been used by the FSB to keep Sarov under control. In his shoes, after a month of intense interrogation; Byrne was sure he would have crumbled and he been intensively trained to withstand such techniques. The kid's position completely untenable as he had no diplomatic or operational backup and Sarov had used the Russian family services system to adopt the orphaned teenager, helped along by the fact MI6 had covered up and denied the boy's forced employment and Blunt's guardianship.

The suicide attempts and self harm were completely understandable. Life for the teenager had been house arrest with his abuser for nearly a year, the Grief clone turning up, Sarov dying and then the fools had assumed that a brainwashed and traumatised child could just slip back into normal school life. Then the kid had suffered another stay in high security psychiatric clinic. Alex had been then 'home schooled' at an army base in the middle of Siberia. Using his body to supplement his drink and drug habit.

The kid was on suicide watch after Alex extremely candid debrief. The sixteen year old admitted to slashing his wrists at boarding school, then drinking, smoking, taking drugs when available and when not, starving himself and self harm, when he could get away with it.

The psychologist has written a note that the teenager needed guardians he could trust and was not to be treated like a child or hidden as a national security problem.

Byrne picked up the file, knowing the man he was going to see had the necessary security clearance and might just be able to help Alex, since the kid had just about given up on everything and expected the worst from everybody.

In the sub-basement of the Pentagon, was the offices of General Canterbury. The General in charge of a logistics budgeting of the US Armed Forces abroad across the globe, from weather stations to fully equipped battalion bases. In truth, he was a glorified accountant. His afternoon of number crunching over a huge spread sheet for the next financial year was broken by his assistant with an unexpected guest. "Sir, sorry to disturb you, but there is Deputy Director Joe Byrne to see you regarding the Grenoble incident."

This was not good, a spook had to use that awful school as code for Alex. Guilt still gripped him for wanting a quick fix for his son's rebelliousness. "Send him in, captain."

The career soldier could see his guest was not wearing his usual game face; in fact he looked beyond tired. "Good afternoon, Director Byrne, I take it you have a proposal concerning MI6's teen spy."

Byre sat and passed over the file. "Read and please tell me how to fix this. I thought I was just getting the kid for two weeks as cover for my agents. He's been nearly two years in exile, under close supervision mostly, but with two stays in psychiatric clinic. The first a cover for intense interrogation and reprogramming. Alex is still in danger, because Blunt wants him back and is offering much to get his own way."

Charlie Canterbury rarely swore, but he exclaimed "That bloody bastard! He tried to swap one of those fucking clones to get back his weapon! Please tell me that Joe's doppelgänger is safely under lock and key."

"Not useable, luckily Joe had a growth spurt and is now 5'11", the Grief's are all short and their anti-psychotic medication means that Joe-Grief is 50lbs overweight." Unlike Joe, Alex was still a petite and alarmingly skinny 5'7. "Is it possible for you to foster him? You and Mimi are the picture perfect married couple, with a foster brother Alex might even relate to and no treat like a fucking prison guard. Joe might even bring that kid I liked so much back from wherever Alex has stashed him."

…..

For the third day in a row, Alex woke with a nightmare, luckily before the nurse on duty had been aware of his distress. He was too hot, the sheets soaking and his gown was stuck to his skin. The teenager was bone tired and his heavy gasps for breath were catching in his throat. His attempts to regulate his breathing caused a coughing fit and before he could get a handful of tissues, he was hacking up lumps if disgusting phlegm into his hand. Everything was reduced to gasps and coughing. When his fit eventually subsided, the nurse was beside the bed and silently helped him clean up.

"I'll wrap your arm up so you can have a shower, then I can change the bedding and get you a clean set of scrubs." It was day seven in isolation and Alex knew the routine. At 10, the base chaplain would drop by and bring magazines and a couple of DVD's. Not that Alex watched any of the stupid kids or teen films. His plan was to ask if he was allowed to write to Valentin, Dimitry and Kolya. Not that he expected any of them to write back, as he had no idea where he was headed after he stopped being a germ factory.

It was 5:30 and Domingo, the day shift nurse would arrive with his bad renditions of Latin Pop songs and steady stream of base gossip. The sixteen year old was sure, the real gossip was him, only he kept his mouth shut about everything since his intense Q&A session with the spooks.

It was difficult to wash, but the hot water itself was amazing. At the Communications Base in Siberia, the water was a lukewarm dribble at best. The banya on base never quite steamy and never truly hot enough to drive away the perpetual winter chill. The only thing he missed were his illicit meetings with Kolya. The wily petty officer in supplies, who was a crafty black marketeer, smuggling in contraband and requisitioning surplus for a steep profit, either as barter or cold hard cash. Alex had been his informer, getting info from Valentin's diary and overheard telephone conversations about noted irregularities, planned inspections and crack downs. It also helped that the 26 year old from Irkutsk was handsome, very blond and bisexual. Alex had called it dating but it was just getting off as his boyfriend was engaged to a nice girl back home. Alex had initially thought his prolonged sick leave had been a euphemism for being arrested. TB meant a medical discharge. Alex had seen a scramble as others try to mimic the Siberian's effortless wheeling and dealing. Three unfortunates had fallen foul of Valentin's inspections as they had treated the Colonel's ward like a leper he was.

Alex listened as Father McGuinness prattled on about organising a picnic and other worthy deeds. As the team of spooks had gone back stateside, the teenager had no idea how or to whom he needed to gain permission from, to write home. Only Russia was not and never had been home. He had called it home during his chats with the base psychiatrist and the bastard had taken detailed notes of his patient's classic Stockholm Syndrome. When in fact, his life was just a series of unfortunate events. Now he was sure he'd be sent back to London and probably then on to some grim bedsit if he was deemed unuseable, borstal if he was viewed as a threat or worst of all, Breacon for retraining if he was placed back on the books. He had to write to Valentin to get his copy of his General School Certificate, which he had passed in February with fairly decent grades. He wanted to finish school, even if he had no wish to actually socialise with other teenagers.

"Is it Ok to write to my former guardian and my friends? I can give you their names and addresses. My former temporary guardian has my school accreditations. No one has told me wether I'm going back to school or being tutored again." Alex smiled showing off the gap left by his missing teeth on his left hand side of his upper jaw.

The priest looked uncomfortable, as the psychiatrist had told him this unfortunate boy had constructed a detailed fantasy to explain his imprisonment in a Siberian Camp as staying with his appointed guardian, being home schooled and spoilt. When he had arrived here grossly underweight, beaten and severely ill. "I'll pass your list into the base commander."