A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger last time; I couldn't resist. Well, on with chapter 19! I hope it's length and . . . events, will make up for my gross misconduct previously *humble bow to reviwers* Oh, and I know that Sarov is quite out of character towards the end of this but, well, he's nuts, isn't he? That's my excuse at any rate. Same one for everything in his long rambling speech that isn't logical as well.

P.S. My apologies for the Russian in this; I don't speak it (unfortunately) and I've got it off google translate, so it's no doubt atrocious.

A fireball erupted above their heads with a great roar of fury, the door splintering and firing chips of wood in all directions. The building shook violently, the metal staircase vibrating so it almost seemed to sing. Bits of concrete and dust rained down from the ceiling. K-Unit cringed beneath it all, their hands over their ears to block out the racket and keep the damage to a minimum, waiting for it to be over. It seemed an eternity until the roar finally dulled down and they dared to peep around the perimeters of their refuge cautiously.

"I think that's it." Snake suggested, slowly easing himself out of the cramped space. "Is everyone okay?"

A chorus of assurance was sounded as each member quickly checked over themselves and each other for injuries of any kind. Once that was settled, Wolf stepped forward, taking charge once again. "All right then, let's keep going. Fox, will you scout ahead to make sure there aren't any more traps like that?"

The soldier agreed and, again, the squadron set off.

XXXXX

Alex remained sat in his designated chair, silent and still. Since the phone call, Sarov and Sokolov had lapsed into a quiet conversation in their native tongue. Given it was one Alex had not been taught, he was left free to contemplate his plan. Or at least he would, if his thoughts would divert from the fates of Wolf and the rest of K-Unit for one damn moment!

He ran a finger along the needle that had broken off the syringe when he'd landed so heavily on it before. His mind was screaming at him to pick the lock and free himself from his handcuffs now. Images of overpowering Sokolov (which would likely prove extremely difficult, if their previous scuffles were anything to go by) and Sarov (definitely a breeze given the man's current physical condition) getting away and finding help, finding the safe house, finding Wolf, raced through his head.

. His instincts, on the other hand, were telling him to stay put, to wait for the right opportunity and he was inclined to listen to them, no matter the panicked state of his heart. After all, even if he did get past the two veteran soldiers, who were constantly glancing over at him as if to pin him down with their combined gaze, who knows how many guards were lingering in his house? Could he really overpower them all? And his cheek was still stinging from Sokolov's almost frenzied attack before. He knew that a second attempt at defiance, if unsuccessful, was not going to be forgiven as lightly as the first.

Alex focused back on the man in question completely as he took out his phone for the second time and began to call someone – his associates, presumably. Apparently, they were not answering, as a look of surprise and slight anger flashed over his face, his eyes locked on the device in his hand as if he were mentally ordering it to work.

Another failed attempt made him drop the mobile in disgust. Sokolov stalked around the bed Sarov rested on to an ancient radio stuffed away in the corner. Alex hadn't noticed it before; he watched curiously as the older man began to fiddle with the dials, filling the room with screechy static. 'Did they actually set-up their other hideouts with radio-communication?' the teenager thought dubiously. What an old-fashioned – and rather paranoid – idea.

He jumped as, without warning, Sokolov threw the mechanism to the ground where it skidded across the floor, his face angry. From the way he was working his jaw, he appeared to be grinding his teeth. His expression changed to one of vague discomfort as he looked at his leader. Sarov rasped a quiet command, "Idite i posmotrite, kakiyeduraki delayut, Sokolov."

The man in question started and answering quickly, shot Alex a dirty look, so he could only assume it was about him. "No, ser, kak naschet malʹchika?"

"YA budu iskatʹ, eto to, chto drugiye za." Sarov waved his hand, dismissive. Sokolov heisted a moment longer, but it seemed a decision had been made. He squared his shoulders and nodded, before striding out of the room purposefully. He gave Alex a look that sent a chill down his spine. Not as strongly or as chilling as the intention behind his movements did, however. Where on earth was he going?

"It may be that your friends are somewhat more resilient that we had originally counted upon." Alex jerked back around in his chair to face Sarov, after unconsciously shifting to follow the other man's exit. "There is no reply from the warehouse they were lured in. Meaning either my men were also culled by our defenses or they have been engaged by this "K-Unit"."

"Of course they're okay," Alex couldn't stop himself from snapping. A layer of pride laced itself on his voice, surprising the both of them. "They're the SAS, the best there is. And K-Unit is exceptional, even for them. I ought to know that."

A hint of rueful humour wormed it's way through him as, despite the inappropriateness of the moment, he once again registered the irony of his budding friendship with the men who he'd been intimidated by at Brecon Beacons. He had to squash that thought down violently before the thoughts of one member in particular started to hurt him again. It wasn't a good idea to get his hopes up; it wasn't unfeasible for Sarov to dangle that possibility in front of him only so he could snatch it away again.

"You care for them." Sarov stated tonelessly, his face kept carefully blank. "You would be upset if anything were to . . . happen to them, yes?"

Despite his attempts to keep his face neutral, Alex felt his jaw tighten into a hard line and knew he eyes had gone dark without having to see them. Sarov nodded absentmindedly as he saw the expression on the teenager's face. "Vladmiri cared for his men as well." He paused, his mouth working as if he were chewing over his words. Eventually, he said softly, "Perhaps, you will soon wish you had not cared as much."

XXXXX

Wolf was on the verge of punching the wall in rage. They'd scoured the building top to bottom and been there for the better part of an hour and there was no sign of Cub, just more guards that were swiftly dealt with and even they were few and far between. It was an incredible stroke of luck for them that there had been a fault in the fuse. If the explosive had been working properly, they'd have all been decimated as soon as they stepped into the room. Sarov must've assumed that the bomb would finish them off and would have kept as many men away as possible. He needed all the resources he could get, after all.

"Wolf," came Snake's low voice from behind him. He turned on his heel to face his unit and found all three of them looking at him, faces grim and worried. "We've looked everywhere. He's not here."

A cold hand gripped his heart at his friend's words. He'd just been contemplating that notion himself but somehow, hearing someone else say it, validate the theory, made it all the more real. A mercurial mixture of fury and fear rocketed up his spine and he wanted to scream. Wolf tried to remain calm as he asked, "You made contact with the other squadrons, Eagle?"

"Yeah," the man answered, looking more unhappy than his leader had ever seen him before, "Same as us. Nothing."

". . . Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"That's right." Eagle continued uneasily, lowering his gaze to the stone floor. Looking into his friend's eyes as he delivered this news made him feel like his heart was breaking. "The Head's sent a message, too. They reckon that all of it was some kind of elaborate red herring to keep us busy, possibly while they left the country."

Fighting desperately for control, Wolf choked out, "And what are they going to do about it? What do they want us to do? Do they have another location for us to check out? Some kind of lead that wasn't set up for them to fall for? Anything?!" His voice had risen progressively louder and louder as he demanded orders that Eagle didn't have until he was nearly bellowing. His teammate just looked at him with sad eyes, shaking his head gently.

Wolf clenched his hands into fix, trying not to stop them shaking and failing miserably. He'd never felt so powerless, so clueless, so useless. All his effort, his determination, none of it was helping Alex and it was tearing him up inside. There had to be some kind of hint they could determine from this place, something that would lead them –

"Wolf, look out!"

The man in question only just registered that Fox had shouted before he was brutally tackled to the floor. He clamped down on his instincts to fight back when he realized that it was Snake who was pinning him to the floor. A gunshot shattered the air around them and he jerked his head around to search for the position of the shooter.

There. An almost-invisible alcove where the two edge of a wall didn't quite match up, a short stretch of space from the final corridor. His hand leapt for his holster as the man popped out again, already aiming, when he was hit by a hail of simultaneous gunfire from Eagle and Fox. Blood spurted onto the floor as he slipped and fell off the slightly-raised stone mount and landed heavily on the grey stone. It was rapidly stained from the pool spreading beneath his body.

Pushing his way to his feet passed Snake, Wolf crossed the space between him and the man with three broad strides, reached down to grip his shirt and hauled him to his feet, the tangle of material around his throat half-strangling him so he emitted a horrid, gurgling sound. He hissed in pain, the blood dripping out of his shoulder and wrist, his arm hanging ineffective by his side, as he was shoved backwards until he collided with the wall. The cold barrel of a gun was forced against his neck and he stiffed up, awaiting his fate.

"You're Sarov's right-hand, aren't you?" Wolf snarled, bringing himself closer to the Russian. "Sokolov. What are you doing here?"

It was an effort to get the words out with the edge of the gun jammed against his throat. "The guards weren't answering. I came to see if you were dead or not."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we're a lot harder to get rid of than that."

Both Wolf and Sokolov ignored Eagle's comment, focused entirely on each other. "Where's Cub?" Wolf hissed.

Sokolov raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Alex!" the soldier half-shouted. "I know you took him! I don't care how or why, but I want to know where – tell me!"

Sokolov remained silent for a heartbeat. Then, "If you are going to kill me, I suggest you stop wasting your time and get on with it."

Wolf's eyes flashed dangerously and with a dark, almost inhuman growl that rivaled his namesake, he suddenly let go of the arm he'd been using to pin the Russian to the wall, and seized his injured wrist instead, twisting and squeezing so the man's blood slid through his strong fingers. Sokolov let out a gasp of pain, followed by a distorted moan. For all his resilience, he was not a young man and in the later stages of his life, pain appeared to be felt far more deeply than before.

"Where is Sarov taking him?" Wolf demanded, his voice as tight as his grip.

"Nowhere!" Sokolov groaned, his face scrunched up against the pressure.

Wolf frowned in confusion, "What do you mean, "nowhere?" What's he up to?"

Sokolov bit his lip, as if to physically keep himself from giving information. Wolf's face darkened and his bent his captive's wrist so suddenly and violently that a loud crack echoed in the mostly empty room. The ex-soldier cried out in agony and slumped against the hard wall as much as he was able to with Wolf hovering so closely.

He breathed in and out heavily for a few moments, then began to speak so quietly that Wolf had to drop his head down a little bit to hear him clearly. "Sarov is very ill and not likely to live long. He decided that he would rather take his death into his own hands than waiting around for the inevitable and he wanted the young spy with him when he did so."

Wolf pulled his head back slowly, a frown etched on his face, the expression torn between disbelief and relief. "That's why he took Alex? Why all this then? Why the chase, the bombs?"

"He was hoping to make something of an impact on the government who ruined his plans and reduced him to such a state." Sokolov replied, his voice breathless but filled with malice. He raised his head so his eyes met Wolf's, their depths totally pitiless. "Beyond robbing them of their so-called "secret weapon". MI6 will have to find another child to use."

Alarm shot through the SAS member. He involuntarily increased the pressure on Sokolov's wrist as a horrible possibility occurred to him, not noticing when the man gasped in pain yet again. "I thought you said he wanted to commit suicide?" he met Sokolov's eyes again and his heart turned to stone and sank within his chest. His voice was no more than a whisper as he said, "Murder-suicide?"

The man didn't answer and Wolf didn't need him to. He craned his head over his shoulder to address his team. "Cub's in serious danger, Sarov is go – "

With his attention diverted, he was unprepared for Sokolov's rapid spring, hand none-injured hand diving into his hidden pocket and producing a hunting knife. Angling his hand, he sent flying towards Wolf's ribs, aiming to drive it up into his right lung. But Wolf was much younger, stronger and faster. He leapt back to avoid the blade, then seized his elbow, twisted it around so that his whole arm was pinned behind his back and threw him to the wall once again, his other hand holding the nape of his neck in place so he wouldn't struggle. Not that he didn't try, thrashing around for a few moments before realizing the futility of such an action and going limp.

As Snake moved in to disarm the man of his knife, Wolf leaned in again, his mouth against the man's ear. "Tell me where he is."

"What are you going to do if I don't?" It was a challenge, but the man couldn't quite hide the fear he was feeling from Wolf's ferocious eyes.

Wolf closed in and said so softly Sokolov almost had to lean forwards to hear him, "You have no idea what I'm willing to do to you for Alex's sake."

Somehow, the veteran soldier thought he did know.

XXXXX

It all happened with surprising speed. One moment he was sitting in the chair he had been allotted, formulating his escape and the next Sarov had bolted upright, seemingly snapped out of the clouded stupor he had slumped into and called for "Ilya!" at the top of his lungs.

The door swung open seconds later and a hulking, stout man pounced into the room. Alex took his profile in uneasily. Arms the seize of iron beams, shoulder's slumping crookedly form what was obviously some kind of past injury, perhaps a broken bone and oddly vacant, almost sightless eyes. They glanced at Alex warily while making an inquiry of Sokolov.

Alex got the gist of the old general's answer when he was suddenly dragged from the chair by the front of his shirt and spun so that his back was against Ilya's chest, those massive arms wrapping around his chest and stomach in a crushing, malevolent bear hug. Even as he struggled, he was unceremoniously dragged from the room. Looking around, he saw about half a dozen raggedy "soldiers" loitering around his old home. A few glanced up as he was manhandled past them. Most ignored him and his captor.

Just as he was beginning to get his bearings, the thug reached the door liking the garage to the main house and threw it open. A brand-new looking dark green Range Rover that definitely did not belong to Alex was parked there, innocently. Picking him up like a sack of potatoes, he was half-dragged, half-carried to the vehicle and deposited into the passenger seat, forced to jerk his legs inside properly to avoid having the door slammed into them. Moments later, the driver's side door opened and Sarov began a painful struggle to climb in, with some far more gentle assistance provided by the man who had accompanied them.

Once he was settled on the leather seats, the Russian turned to his associate, choking out between heavy breaths, "Thank you . . . Ilya. Go and . . . dismiss . . . the others."

A wordless nod, some thudding footsteps and then they were left alone. Trying to block out the disturbingly difficult gasps shoving their way out of Sarov's throat, Alex's brain worked at high speed, trying desperately to deduce what had elicited the change of scene and what it meant for him. He needn't have bothered, for a several minutes later the man regained his composure – or, at least whatever composure he could claim while gallons of sweat drenched his paper-white skin and his teeth ground against each other brutally in defiance of his agony – and said, "Alex. Do you understand why I went to all the trouble of apprehending you? Of keeping the forces who'd seek to liberate you from me occupied for as long as possible? All this despite my condition?"

"Because you'd like to kill me personally?" Alex asked in a deadpan tone. So sarcasm probably wasn't the best idea at a time like this, but that was true of many human defense mechanisms people boasted and he was no exception.

Sarov shook his head gently, as if exasperated. Not quite the reaction Alex had been expecting. "No, no. I think you've been dealing with fools for too long; such an insult, how short-sighted of MI6 to ask you to match wits with foes who are so clearly beneath you. You needn't look at me so strangely," he added, noticing Alex's expression. It was indeed an odd one, a mixture of disbelief, confusion and consternation. "Is it so perplexing that I would pay you a compliment?"

Alex opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could think of several replies to that, but given what he perceived as Sarov's fragile mental state, he decided not to voice any of them.

His hypothesis seemed confirmed when the man suddenly lunged forward, seizing him by his shoulders, an alarming gleam in his eye. It was all Alex could do not to flinch and meet his gaze head-on. "I speak to you now with complete honesty, Alex. I know that you are disappointed in MI6 and dissatisfied, indeed unhappy with your life as a whole. Let us forget what has occurred between us in the past, all is forgiven, I swear to you. I have very little time left on this earth and before I go, I want to be certain that you will change."

"Excuse me?" the phrase forced it's way past Alex's lips, independent of his will. He honestly believed Sarov had lost his mind.

"I need a successor, Alex! It must be you, do you understand? It must be you. There is no one else!"

"What about your mate Sokolov?" the teenager asked, mystified and surprisingly annoyed at his turn of events.

"Kazimir will assist you. He has already promised me that he will show you the same level of loyalty and devotion that he has me."

"Oh, I doubt that." Alex muttered.

"And now I must hear it from you, an oath that you will lead in my stead, continue my work. Think carefully! One day, I predict, someday soon, you will wish desperately that you could split from British Secret Service, free yourself from their stranglehold on you. This opportunity may have come early, it may seem sudden, but you will not regret it. You can be ready, if you choose to be so. Well? What's your decision?"

The atmosphere in the small space was near-unbearable. Sarov's breathing was once again labored due to his enflamed ranting and Alex's face ached with the effort it took to keep it expressionless. Eventually, he took a quick breath and looked the Russian straight in the eyes. "You're wrong, General. I am not wholly dissatisfied with my life. I've found something incredible and I would rather die here and now, at your hand, than live in your stead without it."

It seemed to take a moment for Sarov to comprehend the meaning behind his answer. When he did, his skin went, if at all possible, a shade whiter, his bloodshot eyes grew more prominent and he turned to the car window, screaming, "ILYA!" at the top of his exhausted lungs, high-pitched and strangled, as if the rejection had caused him unbearable pain.

Alex had barely recovered from the sudden shock, wincing, when he heard the garage door open and Ilya lumbered into view at Sarov's side. "Sir?"

"The others?"

The soldier grinned rapaciously and Alex finally noticed the bloodstains that tainted his clothing and face. "Yes. "Dismissed", as you ordered, sir."

"Good." Sarov stated and shot him.

The gunshot echoed in the mostly empty area. Ilya frowned and peered down at the red pool spreading out across his shirt, looking a tad confused at what had just happened. He was dead, slumping down on the dirty concrete, eyes still open, before he figured it out.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Alex demanded in shock.

Sarov shrugged, not looking at him as he manually cranked the window back up and set the gun back into the holster hidden beneath his jacket. "Clearing up loose ends. We're all ready." He gestured vaguely behind him.

Alex craned his neck to see and felt his heart jump into his throat. A long, fat grey hose was squeezed in through the rear window on the driver's side, where he had noticed it. Instinctively, he knew it was connected to the exhaust pipe.

"You made your choice, and I mine," Sarov state flatly. He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life.

XXXXX

Fox clung to the dashboard, his nails scraping over the stiff plastic, as Wolf ran yet another red light. A pedestrian swore and waved his fist after the Jeep angrily as the vehicle came tearing past. None of the soldier's would've been surprised to learn that Wolf's mind hadn't registered the man at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eagle flinch as they came tearing round a corner, briefly mounting a corner and sending a basket of daily newspapers flying through the air, gouging deep score marks in the car's paintwork due to the very brief but significant time it was in contact with the machine.

Three of the four-man unit were nearly strangled as Wolf stomped on the breaks violently, sending the car to dangerously sudden, screeching halt. Without pause, he kicked the door open and threw himself onto the driveway, sprinting to the front door. Snake's shout stopped him, "Wolf!"

He fought the urge to ignore his teammate and go charging in. That never ended well, in his experience. Still, his look of smoldering rage did not abate as he faced his friend. "What?!"

Snake wordlessly pointed to the garage door. Thick, dark smoke was curling out from beneath its edge. Wolf gave a short, sharp hand signal, leaping to stand side-by-side with his unit and, as one, they opened fire with their machine guns, carving a huge semi-circle into the surface with their bullets. Two strong, simultaneous kicks, provided by Fox and Wolf, had the barrier dropped.

For a second, the four men were overwhelmed by the noxious fumes, noses burning and eyes stinging. Then, the evening air provided a reprieved and they stood, horror-struck, at the sight of a crazed Sarov sitting behind the wheel and Cub sat beside him in the passenger seat, visibly green and choking on the poisonous exhausts he'd inhaled. They only had a few precious seconds to look before the penny dropped and Sarov stomped on the accelerator, forcing K-Unit to dive to safety as he sped past them, performed a risky maneuver to turn and bolted away.

Wolf let out what could only be described as a roar of rage. He was in the car almost as soon as you could blink, giving chase before Fox had time to close the passenger door and when Eagle was still half-hanging out of the car, clinging to Snake's arm to avoid falling out.

XXXXX

The deep coughs kept rattling in his chest, making his lungs ache despondently. He tried desperately to clear his head but the fumes seemed to swirl behind his eyes, making it next to impossible to concentrate. Sarov, from what he could see, seemed to be almost unaffected by what he'd absorbed, eyes fixed unblinkingly to the road ahead.

A car horn shattered the fog in his mind and the teenager managed to crane his neck over his shoulder, peering around the edge of his seat to look out the rear window. A huge black Jeep was following them, the distance between the two adjacent bumpers closing rapidly.

Alex didn't know how he knew, but he did. 'Wolf!'

Scrabbling, his fingers came into contact with the broken needle he'd procured earlier. Before the inhaled poison had begun to overpower him, he'd set the point perfectly, now he just needed to twist just so and –

Cursing furiously, his gaze on the rearview mirror, Sarov cranked down the mirror and plucked his gun from his lap.

'NO!'

With that desperate thought, Alex wrenched the thin strip of metal and pulled one hand free. It was all he needed. He leapt on the steering wheel, forcing Sarov back against the seat and knocking his arm so that he lost his grip on the gun, sending it spinning out the window. The Russian soon fought back, snarling in fury, trying to shove him aside and reach the wheel himself. Alex barely noticed the car zigzagging all over the road, the pedastrians in the immediate area staring at them in mortified fascination as they wrestled, or the ground underfoot get rougher as they skidded off the road and into one of London's few designated park lands.

One of Sarov's flailing elbows caught him on the collarbone and his hands grew ever so slightly slack as pain shot through him. He was abruptly thrown off the wheel and back into his seat as the Russian took advantage of his temporary distraction. Alex noticed the ancient oak a fraction of a second before the front of the car smashed into its trunk and the world was filled with the sound and sight of shattering glass.

A/N: I credit Coronation Street for Sarov's murder method. Only Corrie saga I ever watched (actually, just the final episode this took place in) and it was the only one I ever actually liked.