The ex cop was happy to be back on home turf, even if he was on stake-out, trailing the party of five teenager's sightseeing accompanied by three bodyguards. The Empire State Building first thing, now the Museum of Modern Art. He bet it was the Guggenheim next or maybe Central Park, though he should not discount shopping on Fifth Avenue, considering all their parents and guardians were rich. The team dynamic clearly had all protective of the blond kid, slightly shorter than his brother and the others. Skinnier, frailer and the youngest, they deferred to his slower pace, the need to sit and catch his breath. The bodyguards were conferring with the Roscoe heir. The group moved on and Alex stayed looking at the wall of soup cans with one guy loitering. The teenager then got up to stroll around the other Warhol's before he backtracked and stopped by Sonny Troy.

…..

Alex had noticed the tail. Igg, Ook and Ogg were completely unaware of the old guy shadowing them. The teenager observed the guy, no camera so not paparazzi, hanging back and observing so probably not a reporter; then the guy stretched his neck to the left, a mannerism he knew from his one time mom from three summers ago. Was this guy Belinda's dad? If so he had tracked Alex down with next to no clues. Knowing the bastards who ran black ops the old man probably had no idea his daughter was dead, nor in what circumstances. Alex wiped his face and held his breath for ten seconds to avert panic after being drawn back into the memory of his last diving trip. Joe of course, noted his momentary freak out straight away.

Joe helped his bro to a viewing couch and hoped there would be no repeats of barfing. "Paul, I think Alex needs a major time out. Maybe, we should head to the restaurant and chill for a bit."

Alex smiled and gripped Joe's hand. "No, you guys wanted to check out the Dali's, the Lichtensteins and the Picasso's. I … I'll go to the Italian place on my own or i can call Mom to come and get me. Its meant to be a guy's day out. I just need a bit of a breather."

Paul stared as Joe fussed his brother, Alex's eyes closed and his breathing distinctly odd as their hero held his breath again, staving off panic. Was it soup can's or the bright colours? "Dino, take Alex straight to Il Gatopardo, get him a drink of water and a snack, something light, maybe one of their excellent cakes."

"Good thinking, Paul. Alex's meds are hardcore. Mom and dad always carry raisins and rice cakes. I'm not so organised, neither is baby Sasha though. You go get your blood sugar sorted out and no barfing near the million dollar artwork, OK?"

"Sure mom" Alex answered cheekily. Now he just had to loose Ogg and he could chat with Grandpa.

….

Ogg got off his phone, happy to go back to his job. "Your mom is on her way. Stay put. No wandering from here. She'll be 10 minutes tops. I'll let the gallery security over there know to keep an eye on you. If you feel ill go straight to him, he has my phone number."

Alex nodded and acquiesced with "Yeah, thanks. I guess a rest is just what I need."

He watched the guy go back to babysitting Paul, the security in the corner was surrounded by a gaggle of Japanese tourists, so Alex got up and circled his prey.

The wall of screen printed portraits was where Alex stood next to his shadow. "Good Morning Grandfather."

"What the fuck?" The gruff guy exclaimed in shock, but had enough spyycraft to not betray their off the record conversation.

With a grim smile, Alex told this grieving father just how dirty espionage was. "Belinda was my mom for two weeks. Only the second woman to have that dubious pleasure." Not that Alex had any illusions that either the CIA spy nor Lady Caroline Friend

had any maternal feelings for him. "So, I have about seven minutes before my very protective mother in every sense arrives to drag me away to an early lunch."

"Is my daughter alive?"

Alex closed his eyes and sighed. "Langley told you nothing?"

"The CIA denied employing my daughter. So, I have pieced together that you, my daughter and her partner were masquerading as the Gardiner family. You went on holiday to Cuba and then Aleksandr Sarov travelled to Russia. No sign of Belinda or the other guy."

"My very fake dad was Tom Turner. She and he were investigating Sarov. They were killed diving at the Devil's Chimney near Cayo Esqueleto. I was there. I went to investigate when they overran on their dive. The blood… the blood had attracted great white sharks. It had been a trap, so yeah, Tom and Belinda both died. I nearly did… the fact Sarov did not kill me was my resemblance to his dead son. I spent a ten months with a sadistic nutter for a father and it was another year before the CIA got me out in an exchange of spies. If I had been an adult I would have been tortured to death in Cuba. I was tortured, brutally. I.. I survived only because the Russian's treated me as an abused child who the CIA should not have endangered. I also kept tabs on Sarov for them. I had no choice, but to do everything the FSB wanted. As you know everyone denies everything when its the blackest of black ops. Sarov was well connected. His best friend was Boris Kiriyenko, he was the one to push for the CIA to leave me alone. I'd love to tell you all about Siberia, but our time is up. If you want to have a proper chat, I'll be at my real grandparent's in two weeks. Two Creeks Farm, Buck Road, Harrisburg. Fran and Bill are friendly and will understand. Closure is important." Alex walked back to the bench.

The cop watched the kid put his head in his lap. Pale, shaking and obviously an absolute mess after his misuse by those bastards in Virginia. His daughter had taken a kid into a communist country as cover, where discovery had lead to the kid's torture and imprisonment. He obviously did not know that bitch at all. He had thought of her as a victim and she had been as bad as those that had sent her to her death.

He stood and watched a smartly dressed woman in her early to mid fifties with a mousy brown bob approach and sit next to Alexander. She coaxed the boy into a hug and then the pair walked off to the elevators. The kid had a family now and did not need a bitter widower to drag his name through the mud, not when he was still recovering and possibly still in danger from his former abusers.

…..

With the boys, minus Alex, watching movies in Paul's room. Alex was already asleep, with the help of his tranquillisers and a hectic day. It had been the first time Alex had taken his anti-anxiety medication without a fuss.

At lunch Alex had no appetite and had eaten half a roll and a glass of granita, when the other boys had wolfed down three courses. Dieter had offered to join the boys and sit with Alex, while his son and the others went iceskating and both had returned home rather than carry on with Paul's itinerary showing off all the great things about Manhattan. The dour German was proficient but not fluent in English. Preferring to make conversation with James and Alex in his native tongue. In the kitchen, he made coffee and got a box of kokosmakronen from his guest room. "I find American cookies both bland and too sweet. James says I'm boring and parochial. Look at the variety of donuts, give me a berliner any day."

Alex helped himself to the delicate coconut morsel covered in bitter dark chocolate. These were not cheap supermarket fodder, but the product of a very good quality bakery, probably round the corner rom the Sprintz's home. "I'm not meant to drink coffee, but this is heavenly. The stuff they called coffee in Siberia was like mud and Sarov never touched the stuff."

"Viennese blend. Better with whipped cream on top, but I'm watching my weight. I limit myself to my snacks on special occasions and celebrating my son's health and freedom with the boy who rescued him is one such occasion. Your health, Mr. Canterbury." Dieter sipped the bitter drink and savoured his own snack. "You can ask anything of me, up to half my fortune and I would willingly part with it. James says you'll defer and keep the boon for when you most need it. If I had known you needed rescuing I would have made sure you free. The letters from Dimitry said you were happy with Sarov, yet you do not cal him father?"

"Happy? Caged more like. I was a pet in his zoo. He tortured me into submission. I'm too young to hate, but he was a psychopath. Prison in Siberia was heaven compared to 24/7 pretending to be the image of his perfect son." Alex seemed to be spending today reminiscing in the worst of times. "It was worst than Point Blanc and they threatened to dissect me alive there. Its so different here. Easy, calm, accepting. I have a wonderful psychologist and I'll keep him on his toes for the next few years. Then again, Joe sees him as well. I take it James is still in therapy?"

"So am I. I… I was…. I am a hard businessman, ruthless even, but so sheltered from true evil. Those clones, Grief and Sarov were evil." The German was at a loss, wanting to comfort the teenager sat across from him, when Alexander seemed older, wiser and more world weary than he or any of the adults here. "You must bother me if you need quiet or just a decent cup of coffee. My open offer, I am rich enough to buy a lot of things and now my eyes are open, you can pay for anything if you know the right people."

Alex sighed. "Don't go there, Mr. Sprintz. You need to concentrate on James and your future and not worry about the world I was briefly caught up in. I have decided my health is my most pressing problem and I'm getting excellent care courtesy of the United States Government. In a year I hope to be fit as I can be. My lungs are damaged. I will never be a threat to anyone again. I would suggest you obtain proof over the events at Point Blanc and make sure James clone never is in a position to harm either of you. Mine and Dima's clones are dead. Joe's and Paul's clones are in a maximum security federal prison. I have no idea about the others. I daren't ask James, Hugo or Nicholas, considering mine still fuels my nightmares."

The fifty year old pondered his response, but settled on the brutal truth for this capable young man, "Umm, in a French Military Facility. One similar to Guantanamo but in the Pacific. Top secret, very remote and thoroughly suitable for those abominations."

…..

Yassen Gregorovich had traced two mercenaries to a not so safe house in Rosarito. The two were drinking with whores, unaware they were prey to the deadliest and most accomplished executioner and torturer on SCORPIA's books. Dr. Three had wished him happy hunting. The poison added to the air conditioning unit would incapacitate all in the house. The would regain consciousness in two to five hours, if given the antidote; if not they would wake tomorrow and die a slow agonising death over several days. A death far too merciful for his new victims. While unconscious they would be transferred to the hold of a Malaysian cargo ship. There the student of Dr. Three would conduct his experiments in a specially converted container during the long journey across the Pacific. None of the crew would venture near, nor hear the screams in the hold far from the accommodation unit.