Dimitry Ivanov had received fifteen derogatory emails from Joe Canterbury and four sarcastic ones from Paul Roscoe to temper the short goodbye written by Alex himself. Joe had included details of Alex's psych sessions. Had he misjudged Alex? Had his former friend's confession about perversion actually been a call for help as he was being abused? Joe stated Alex was sensibly not blinkered by gender, just trapped in a mindset as he had no access to girls. It wasn't like Dima had dated lots of girls, in fact he'd been on two dates. A pretty miserable total for a guy nearer to seventeen than sixteen. The Russian teenager did not want to ask his godfather for advice, so he emailed his former cellmates from Point Blanc. He was uptight and homophobic, because that was accepted and acceptable in Russia, and out and proud wasn't. Alex was as brave about his own sexuality as he had been fighting for their freedom and facing off against killers. He had driven his former hero to try to kill himself at school because of Dima's jealousy and his isolation caused the lie of being the dutiful son of Alexei Sarov. His stupid behaviour had driven Alex from Russia after he had ceased all interaction. Valentin had been quite firm that Alex deserved happiness, doubly so since he had left so Valentin could repair the strained relationship with his godson. The Canterbury's were fully accepting and well connected enough to keep the CIA and MI6 at bay. It was an all-round better situation for the former spy. Only Dimitry knew he was unlikely to rekindle the friendship with Alex. He had broken his trust and abandoned him at his lowest point.
He slowly wrote a round robin email to all the fellow losers from Point Blanc, apologising for being a jerk to Alex and saying he was just a juvenile delinquent driven by envy and jealousy. The truth was he had been blind to the fact Alex had been lost and miserable at school and had again failed to connect the clues when Alex had fallen under the influence and been groomed by a sexual predator in Siberia. A fact even his godfather had missed that. Guilt was an emotion Dimitry was well acquainted with after his father's murder. Now he had the sneaky suspicion the abuse had happened only because the teenager in exile had been completely alone.
He was almost finished grovelling when an email from Joe arrived with the subject 'HELP!?'. The Russian boy read it straight away and felt sick with worry. Joe's housekeeper had been brutally attacked and Alex was missing.
…..
It had rained. There were puddles on the sidewalk. The streetlights were reflected in the water, which distorted into patterns as he ran and glanced behind, making sure he wasn't being followed. Had it been one, two or three days? Alex was confused, after being kept in a windowless warehouse with no food nor sleep had left him completely confused. He was wet through, dressed in his jeans and thin t-shirt. No hoodie, no socks and no shoes. The bastards had ripped off his cast to put on some handcuffs and he now had shooting pains radiating from the break area. He ran and did not stop, wheezing alarmingly. Nothing looked familiar, as he ran towards the sound of traffic and hopefully street signs with information. It was America, possibly Washington DC, but nothing had been familiar so far. There was an intersection ahead and houses.
He stopped and could see a car park and a bar or was it a diner? They would have a phone. He could call home. Go home, to bed and to sleep. No eat and sleep. Sandwiches, tuna sandwiches and a glass of milk. Nice creamy and cold American milk. He stumbled by the door, exhausted. Shaking from the exertion. He felt like he had run a marathon but it had only been four blocks and over a railway line. He walked in a waitress was clearing tables and there were two old guys by the counter.
"Please, I need to phone home…." Alex started coughing uncontrollably, unable to get air. Overwhelmed he fainted.
….
There were FBI, cops and an ambulance in attendance. Bob McCarthy the cook had called it in. A kid in handcuffs had collapsed in T & D's Diner. The paramedic was assessing injuries for a primary survey. Difficulty breathing, defensive wounds to the hands and lower arms, wrist worn bloody from the cuffs, heavily bruised face and abdomen, possible internal injuries. The kid had bloody feet, wherever he had been, he had run from there in sheer terror. The FBI Agent came over to the attending medics, "His name is Alexander Canterbury. He was snatched on Tuesday. Bastards put the 62 year old housekeeper looking after him in the hospital after they ran over her. 16 years old, recent broken lower arm, had surgery four weeks ago. Of more concern, he has TB and has not had his meds for three days."
…
The scene in the home of Mimi and Charles Canterbury was organised chaos. The ground floor had been commandeered by the FBI and Agents from the United States Army Criminal Investigation Command. The adopted son of a General had been abducted. After three days, no ransom demands had been received and there had been no sightings nor any clues except the description from the housekeeper, of two caucasian males, medium height and build wearing blue boiler suits and blue baseball caps, driving away in a grey van. The number plate had been a stolen last week from van parked in Baltimore. There had been two CIA officers asking questions and giving a briefing to the team about the child with powerful enemies. A bouquet of flowers had been delivered from the Russian Embassy with an offer of full cooperation from all personnel and their prayers for Alexander and his family.
Mimi was making coffee in the kitchen. Joe was at his grandparents, safe from the unknown threat. Charles listening to all news reports and reading up on kidnapping and abduction cases in his office in the basement. After the 48 hour mark had passed, there was little chance Alex would be found alive. Was it someone from his past? The CIA had discounted the involvement of Yassen Gregorovich as he was last active in Korea last week. There intel suggested he was affiliated with Dr. Three at the present time. Alex had been targeted by the triads in England in 2001. There was the possibility this was a contract killing. Their son, adopted only four weeks ago, was gone. The career soldier wanted to wail and scream, but Mimi had hope. She was waiting for Alex to come home. She had always been so strong. Charles hoped he was a pessimistic fool and his wife was right.
…
Connie had described the abduction to the federal agents over a dozen times. She had gone over every detail herself, trying not to feel she failed that poor boy, just when he had finally settled into home and began to trust.
For the past two weeks, Sasha had been discussing his life in exile with a priest at Russian Orthodox Church, whom he had befriended. Three days ago, Sasha had taken her to meet Father Simeon Orlov. A man in his late twenties, born and brought up in Georgetown, but used to tales of brutal repression from exiles. He was happy to mentor Sasha, telling him of local groups and activities including the LGBT outreach at the local community centre. The young priest had charmed Connie over glasses of hot sweet tea and small almond cookies.
They left the church and she had approved over the changes in this troubled teen. Sasha had relaxed, happier now he was making his own friends not living in the shadows. His overall health was picking up too. As they exited the Church of the Holy Saviour, they paused on the sidewalk, as Alex pondered that life here truly encompassed the freedom to choose. He smiled and asked Connie's advice. "So, I think going to some groups is a good idea. I can't crowd Joe out. Plus I want to explore the fact I'm not straight."
"Making your own friends will help you settle in. You have had a couple of hard years. Now, you have family and need to find your niche here. Whatever makes you happy and safe. No more falling in ditches, you have enough trips to hospital already."
As he turned to walk to the parked car, Alex noted two guys in boiler suits by a van holding a street map. The nearest guy approached them to ask directions. Only then, did the hairs on the ex-spy's neck raise up and he saw the side of the van open. It was a classic snatch and grab scenario.
In Spanish Alex tried to steer the housekeeper out of harms way "Connie, get to the car as quick as you can. I'm going to run." Alex then pushed the guy out of the way only to be faced with a gun pointed not at him, but Connie.
"Be a good boy and get in the van and we won't shoot your minder." The guy stated.
Alex let himself be pushed into the van.
The housekeeper watched as the two climbed in, gun pointed at her and closed the door. Without thinking she stepped forward fast to stand in front of the van only to get knocked over. She had hit the sidewalk hard. Alex was gone with the squeal of wheels. Making a note of the numberplate had been worthless. The feds and the cops had no idea who had taken the sixteen year old.
…..
Alex woke taking a huge gasp of air, sitting straight up and ready to run. Someone was calmly telling him he was safe at The University of Maryland Trauma Centre. He saw all the medical personnel take a step back, their priority to calm their patient. It was bright but the light did not hurt. The teenager started to cough. Then he rationalised that he was safe, he had escaped. Lessons learned from Yassen in Moscow had helped him remain calm and grasp his chance, when he had been left alone with one guard. His train of thought was drawn back into the horror, shaking and he closed his eyes remembering the pain, the questions, the insinuations. The doctor must have drugged him as he relaxed and the pain relented. He lay back down and was no longer frightened of the past nor his uncertain future. He was still awake and comfortably numb as they assessed him, took x-rays, a CT scan, put a new cast on his arms and dressed his wounds.
As his poor abused feet were swathed in soft cotton, Mimi and Charles Canterbury arrived to see their son. They had already been made aware that Alex had been tortured. Grimly the Colonel in charge of the investigation told them the sixteen year old had been deprived of sleep, food and water, waterboarded, beaten, was missing several toenails and had broken fingers. The fact was it had been a professional interrogation.
The doctor smiled wanly as he brought Alexander's parents up to speed, "Senator, General, just to make you aware Alexander has been sedated. He was very distressed when he regained consciousness during his initial assessment." All the injuries and treatment was discussed in detail and they fact Alex was again asleep. "He has been put on intravenous fluids and antibiotics. There is fluids on his lungs and a high danger of developing pneumonia. He will be here for several days. After such a traumatic experience, I would strongly recommend he sees a specialist therapist."
Mimi knew that all the progress they had made was likely to have been undone. The teenager would be guarded, emotionless and distant; seeing all as a threat. "Alex is already a patient of Luke Majors. He… he's no stranger to traumatic situations."