Less than three weeks until graduation and Alex was sat outside the Principal's Office. The last meeting of the debating society for the Senior year had not gone as planned. The chosen topic had been Abortion, which was always a highly contentious subject, but Ms. Thompson had taken his ultra pro stance as a confirmation of his suicidal tendencies. All because he had used his birth mother's poor life choices as his example. He had rationalised she would have been better off choosing to abort him, considering her age, failing relationship, and poor choice of sperm donor; not any perceived wish to erase himself from history. Now he had to endure the fact Mimi-momma was on her way, probably with Dr. Nick in tow. He felt like laughing it was so absurd. If he wanted to die, he would be pushing up daisies as he had learned from the mistakes he made at Suvorov. He hated thinking of his fifteen year old self and his absolute certainty that death was the answer to all his woes, when he'd realised he would never fit in.
God, his last bit of stupidity had been just that, stupid. He felt like the week in the clinic at Middle River had been more surreal pampering than an actual medical necessity; as he compared it to the pure terror his stays in clinics in Russia still evoked. His extended family were fully supportive, to the point of wrapping him in cotton wool. No chance of abandoning him to his nightmares. No one was suggesting he was a liability to state security like MI6, to be erased from past, present and future. He was just a teenager dealing with trauma and its aftermath.
He fiddled with his Medical Alert bracelet. Overthinking this situation, as he was in serious shit over nothing, with another hiccup and the certainty of it being recorded for posterity in his school file. Fuck, Plan A had been to leave school with a clean bill of health. He was nowhere near fighting fit. His escape to semi-independence in Mexico was not going to be happening. He coughed as he could feel the crawl of anxiety make his chest tighten. He pulled out his emergency inhaler to ease his breathlessness.
In the back of his mind was his real bit of reckless behaviour. How would everyone react to his candid interview with an investigative journalist? Joe had assured him Mimi and Charlie would be cool, considering talking was meant to be therapeutic and they both had previously stated Blunt was on a one way trip to eternity in hell. Only Alex did not believe in heaven or hell. Life had taught him too many hard lessons to have faith in anything beyond his own abilities in the here and now.
Senator Graylow-Canterbury pulled into the school parking lot with a grim expression on her face. She had known something was troubling her darling son from another mother since his surprise stay at the farm. He was confrontational, which equated to guilt eating at him. She was also sure Sasha had confided in Joe. After two years, the teenager still was wary of them, expecting to be locked up and/or abandoned for being any less than perfect. Patience and providing home and security could only do so much. Discipline was a nightmare, when their son had been been brutalised and blackmailed before. Even Joe agreed that his brother's wobbles were all rather tame compared to his own. The incident with the razor had scared them all, but friends and family had closed ranks and been there for Sasha.
She was using well practiced breathing exercises to remain calm and was staidly walking not running, rather than alert any observers to her heightened state of distress. She slowed to observe Sasha, who was sat looking pale and wheezing with his inhaler in his hand. She softly instructed "Short sharp breaths, sugar; then a slow exhale."
The blond did as he was told, calming himself down. He had already decided to come clean about everything. The confession over the interview with Edward would wait until everyone was sat down for dinner tonight. Here and now he had to clear up about thus misunderstanding over his justified bitterness over the own past and his perceived relevance to the debate today. "I forget that not all the teachers are aware of my shitty first sixteen years on this planet. I was totally bitching about my birth mother, who's a complete stranger really; both her and the sperm donor. I only know half truths about her anyway. I can empathise way more with you. You wanted Joe and family so much. You and Charlie are kismet, in love, happy even with me, the unwanted addition threatening to fuck everything up. Helen chose to leave me behind with her arse of a brother in law. Abandoned, a second thought, even as a baby. Forgive my stupid big mouth and poorly thought through notes. Anyway, I need to clear the air about a few things later. Now lets go face the music with Principal Turner."
…..
Yassen Gregorovich had been summoned for a meeting with the infamous Dr Three, his only connection these days to SCORPIA; as Rothman, Kroll, Yu, Chase and Kursk had succumbed to unfortunate accidents due to squabbling over control of the organisation. The Russian's plan of sitting in the shadows until the victor emerged had saved him from awkward questions about loyalty, as he had none, he was a survivor not a follower. Dr. Three was well aware of the lone wolf's personal projects in the past. He had warned the man to target Blunt via non direct means. The leak of information had paid off. Blunt had returned to the political arena and the press now had an open target. His chosen plant Bulman had died, but the information had remained in the open, after MI6's sloppy attempt at clean-up and containment.
The small Chinese doctor was sat in his garden drinking tea. His personal assistant moved to a respectful distance allowing the two men to talk. There was no offer of refreshments as the old man was wise enough to know his guest would refuse. "I am in need of your services, would you consider a twelve month exclusive contract?"
The Russian was passed an envelope. In silence he pondered the more than generous remuneration, terms and conditions.
His prospective employer continued "Your planned reunion with John's son is best placed on the back burner. The young man is playing his own game at the moment. You are aware he has spoken to the journalist, Mr. Pleasure. Give him his moment to watch Blunt be devoured by the wolves. I assure you his closure over past misuse will strengthen him and ensure his future independence from government agencies."
The assassin relaxed his posture, "You have always been amused by my personal projects. I will accept your position. I too will watch and enjoy MI6's discomfort."
The doctor had long studied their most accomplished operative and approved of his methods and practicality. "With a position on my staff, personal attachments are not a liability; just a small consideration for your future plans. The Board needs to evolve and be more flexible. Rothman did far too much damage in her failed grab for power. Eighteen months of instability, before I rationalised the shattered remains. We have lost numerous clients to our competitors. Fear and awe will be needed to re-establish our credentials."
Yassen also knew the infighting had made most security agencies expend their resources elsewhere, as their analysts had projected the decline in influence and relevance of SCORPIA in the bigger picture of the War on Terror.
"As always, you may pick and choose your assignments, teams etc and I expect you to be as exacting in your standards. With your agreeing of terms, any freelance assignments would need to be assessed for conflict of interest." The Doctor was sure the assassin, if approached delicately would move up to sit on the Board, as he was a ruthless operative, yet one willing to take suggestions, to stay his hand and to learn from past mistakes. As a practitioner of the fine art of revenge, the old man appreciated Gregorovich's approach to righting perceived betrayals and honouring his debts to his friend and mentor, John Rider. Julia Rothman's past mistakes had almost cost SCORPIA another fine operative. "As a small incentive, here is Mr. Howell's file. He betrayed our South-east Asian operation to ASIS after the death of handler, Ms. Rothman. I leave his punishment up to you. As with Mr. Blunt, a holistic approach is sometimes its own reward."
…
Charlie was sat up in bed, not watching the ball game, but thinking of Sasha being brave and reckless enough to confront the secrets and lies to tell a journalist the truth about Alan Blunt. He had not read either of Pleasure's sensationalist books on that musician or that murderer. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the familiarity of Mimi brushing her teeth. For the first time in seven years, the couple had a romantic holiday planned to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. He was having second thoughts. No, Fran could manage with Sasha. He could already imagine the pair being arrested while protecting some trees or some such. Mimi's mom had used her grief to reignite her passion for fighting injustice.
Mimi came in and broke her news. "I emailed Dieter Sprintz. He's been having issues with James. Maybe Sasha can visit them rather than be stuck at the farm this summer."
Her husband nodded, Charles had learned the hard way to listen to his wife about disciplining Joe. Sasha had already accepted he was grounded for the summer. The three months in Mexico had in reality been off the cards after his breakdown. He pondered the idea of sending a troubled eighteen year old to Switzerland was likely to be just as problematic. "Persuade me, love. I think Sasha needs us now more than ever."
"Trust me. He needs to find his feet. We're just giving him a small shove in the right direction. Staying with the Sprintz's is getting him away from his comfort zone, but we can be comforted that he is well protected as Dieter is paranoid about security. No journalists will trouble him there. Sasha can be super sneaky when he puts his mind to it. Even Joe had no idea that Sasha had been in contact with that man until after the fact."
The General was glad his wife was thinking outside the box. "Do you think Sasha'll go to college like Joe?"
"No, I fear that young man will run off to join a peace camp. Once he decides its cool to be himself, he'll be raising hell about anti-globalisation or nuclear weapons." The woman smiled, "I can just see the headlines about Sasha if I take up that State Department post. I'm tempted just to change jobs so both our sons can raise hell and keep the press corps in complete shock. It makes me wish I was 18 again. Remember demonstrating against all things Nixon. Those were the days."
…
Joe had his earphones on, but Alex knew the game he was currently playing from the snippets of bad music he could hear. He was laying on the futon set up for sleepovers, pretending to sleep. In a few weeks, this would be a rare occurrence. His brother had a job and would have to keep normalish hours, though the gaming company did not enforce nine to five. Sasha was unsure how his grounding would work. If he went to the Farm, Grandma Fran would let him do as he pleased. She had already suggested he try out for local jobs. Though he could not see himself as a farmer or helping out at the church. He could already guess Mimi would organise something weird and wonderful as a reward for honesty and openness. There was a woman who should have been blessed with a houseful of children. Maybe he could pass that thought onto Joe, as he had to carry the responsibility of many future grandchildren. With that perfect way to poke fun at his brother, Alex fell asleep after weeks of crippling insomnia.
