The cove was picture perfect and secluded, with no access for cars, so not attracting hoards of tourists, only walkers and boats. The water was azure. The waves gently rolled towards the pebbly sand beach at Playa Coll Baix. Alex was laid on his stomach on his towel, his fair skin covered in high factor sun screen. Alone for the first time in weeks as Jamie was sleeping off three nights clubbing at the villa and Dieter was playing golf. The teenager had walked from the town after getting dropped off in Alcudia by the early morning golf enthusiast. It had been early enough that the teenager had been the only person in the sea during his swim, he was now enjoying the mid morning sun drying his skin. In Europe, he could enjoy the freedom of bathing and sunbathing naked, with others of the same inclination. It was a habit he had acquired during communal banyas in Russia. It was something neither Joe and James would even consider. He had a suspicion that Dieter was more than he seemed, considering he had married a real fox twenty years ago and was getting it on with his sexy-strict housekeeper, without James' knowledge.
Too soon, as the sun reached is zenith, the alarm on his phone vibrated, it was time to walk back for his lunch appointment. He dressed, pulling on long shorts, loose cotton shirt and put on his trainers. It was a 45 minute walk back. Plenty of time to get there for one, when he was meeting up with James and their new friends.
The dusty trek back made Alex thirsty and gave his appetite an edge as the six hours since breakfast seem like eons since he had eaten. He arrived to see Jamie sat mooning at Nia. The ever present security today was Daniel sat at the bar, nursing a soda water, eyes on Dieter's only child and viewing all others are targets. Pixie was sat alone at another table, so Alex went to join her. Soon they were joined by the stragglers and the three girls and Alex were flirting with the waiter, ordering salads, bread, wine and sparkling water.
Pixie McDonagh was about to start her final year of medical school. She prided herself on being observant. During lunch she noted there were a series of scars on Sasha's lower arms, evidence of self harm and a suicide attempt. Jamie's quiet and charming friend with his sharp wit and dry humour was more than the well off teen without a worry that he appeared to be. As the man in question disappeared to the restroom, the bubbly blonde swapped tables to chat with the German.
She smiled and was open and friendly in her opening gambit for information, too polite to right out ask why Sasha was in need of overprotection "You are very keen for your friend to be included, you seem very close."
James had been waiting for one of the girls to figure that he was here for his friend first and dating second. "Sasha is the bravest person I know, but he has no sense of self preservation and tends to put everyone's happiness and wellbeing before his own. Does not help his boyfriend dumped him before Easter. There are eight of us, school friends from a while back, as close as family. Sasha and Paul started dating two summers ago and were the real deal, until Paul started his second semester at college and decided to play the field. So, my bro from DC has been really down, not helped by anxiety issues and his tendency to hide when he needs a helping hand. He's improving, chill-axing, even went to the beach alone this morning and he's been texting this guy, Johann, just as friends. My dad and Sasha's mom arranged this holiday, just to get him out of his mindset. His parent's are amazing, they're fully behind getting the best for him, long term with no compromises over support. Need to have that outlook considering they knew what they were taking on when they adopted Sasha."
It was a pure assumption on her part, but it sounded like the suicide attempt was from before his current placement. "My parents foster. I have had twenty seven part time siblings since the age of ten. So, I get where Sasha's coming from." Pixie then smiled at her friend and went with her game plan to cut the lovebirds some slack. "I think us singletons should go into Palma for some serious retail therapy considering your brother from another continent stated he was flush with poker winnings. Have fun with lover boy Nia as we're taking the car."
...
Dieter Sprintz reread the email from his secretary with the attached the scanned letter. Its contents had kept him awake. Krista was dealing with his business mail while he was on holiday, but had sent this confidential correspondence on despite his parting note that he was not to be disturbed except for a genuine crisis. A hand written letter from The Hon. Commander Grafton-Cuthbert, Court Equerry had written on behalf of Her Majesty. The gist of the missive was apologetic and conveyed that the British Head of State was appalled by the actions of a man while acting in her name for the security of all her subjects and then concluded there was little that could be done over money long since dispersed. They were not even offering any restitution or compensation to a child thrown to the wolves; nothing for his hurt and losses.
The financier could turn a profit of several million in a matter of days, when he picked the right target. In his sights were Blunt's close associates, those behind that man's return to the public eye. Nothing hurt those decent Home Counties sort of people more than markets turning bear, stock tumbling and jittery stockholders blaming their directors for their losses. Acting as a lone wolf, the financier could act with cold logic for both profit and revenge. It would take stealth and luck to bring down those highly placed right wing political movers and shakers. As a foreigner, rules stated he could not influence British Politics and he had no wish to hand funds to opposition politicians who were just as amoral. The gloves were off, he had tried to be a gentleman, but being a sneak would work just as well.
In the grey pre-dawn light, Dieter switched on his computer and started to draw up a list of companies on the FTSE 100 associated with the ultra right wing in . From several holding companies, using an algorithm, and a moderate slush fund, he would slowly amass share blocks when the market price dipped 5% below average. It might take him two or three years to amass enough to hurt. When he had enough shares on the next rise in London he would dump the lot, causing a panic. He would spend twenty to thirty million, turning an substantial profit and hopefully get all Blunt's friends outed by their own boards in the ensuring freefall. Cutting many heads off the hydra at once. Not the man directly, but he had heard from Alex that a journalist already had the ex-spymaster in his sights.
Already in his portfolio were a large block of shares in Sir David Friend's various holdings, held as he could not decide if the man was just a pawn or complicit. He had made a note in the society pages his ex-wife in the company of the chairman of the supermarket chain with his wife, daughter and Mr. and Mrs. Blunt at the Epsom Derby in June. It all linked back to the school. Guilt still ate at him over his role in trying to deal with his alienated, difficult son. It had been Blythe who had first suggested Point Blanc as the perfect solution for their son, who hated his mother for leaving and had grown distant from his father at boarding school. Dieter knew he was equally to blame as he had thrown himself into work to deal with his own sense of abandonment, failure, hurt and resentment over the divorce. Blunt may have been working on information supplied by Michael Roscoe, but he placed another innocent in danger, to be threatened, exploited and nearly killed rather than act directly and responsibly. Using Alex had cost no actual MI6 operatives, as the loss the fourteen year old would only have enriched the man as the next named recipient in Ian Rider's will. After Alex's brief imprisonment by the FSB in Russia, Blunt had burned all references to Alexander John Rider in their files. There had been no review of the loss within his department, just the cleaning up of their records as if Ian Rider's nephew had never crossed their path, saving thousands during his brief career in espionage.
…
Snippets of information regarding his time in operations and in Russia had started the slow drip towards revenge from several quarters. His parents knew all about the true horror after his two years in family therapy, which had undoubtedly influenced his mother's decision to move over to the State Department, so she had direct influence on future US foreign policy, a woman with her eyes on their allies for dirty tricks as well as their enemies. His dad played golf with several members of the National Security Council, where his adopted son was known as a former underage asset traded back in 2003, when granted full protection for services to national security. The teenager had purposely cultivated a friendship with James' cold and analytical father. In the process, finding out that Dieter Spritz was plotting to financially ruin for all who had a hand in hurting his son, Now the billionaire he had added his son's true friend and saviour into his plans as the best way to liquidate years of ill gotten gains. As a logical trade off, the former spy had dated Paul Roscoe as part of his game plan, as was his decision to work to remain close friends after their break up.
The unhappy thought of following Grief's grand plan made him feel dirty, as he made the same connections those clones had been created to exploit. The thought of being anything like Julius was guaranteed to keep him awake at night. Trying to distract himself from his machiavellian plotting, Alex pondered the wild card of Edward Pleasure's book as he drew a very early morning bath. Publication, not in the UK where litigation over national security was a cert, but in the USA under the auspices of freedom of speech and public interest. CIA black ops or the FSB's tactical use of the teenager were not the target as Alex had been Blunt's chew toy in the first place. The Royal and General Bank worked in the shadows, but were still accountable to SIS headquarters at Albert Embankment. Blunt deserved his comeuppance for using Julius in his bid to erase Alex from history.
Nearly two AM in the morning, the eighteen year old lowered himself into the piping hot water to try and scrub himself clean.
…
The villa was under discrete round the clock surveillance, under instruction to access and counteract external threats. The monitors were located in a office above the garage with an entrance to the house via the kitchen. All a bit basic compared to the set up in Switzerland as the operatives had to stick to a cold packup and flask. No full time housekeeper here leaving you treats to wile away the dead hours, which in turn necessitated the guards spending extra hours in the gym to burn the excess calories off.
Kip was on the graveyard shift as he occasionally appraised the monitors and did his two circuits round the grounds before his change over at six. Another night when no cars came near, so he could read the sport pages several times over. A well paid and easy end of a long career as grunt with three tours with the SAS, then a less savoury stint as a mercenary, before settling for close personal protection detail for the paranoid Mr. Sprintz. He was well aware that the yank kid had clocked all of the cameras within ten minutes of arrival, and made a game of spotting each guard that followed the oblivious Jamie. Eighteen with better instincts than most of his colleagues, the crippling insomnia and too many nightmares as a result of escaping two kidnapping ordeals. Tonight, Sasha had settled down at three and would be out for a run as Kip went to his own bed. He made a note of the bath, then the kid muttering in Russian about hunting as he slept. The tall welshman was putting on his coat at five for his final perimeter check when there was the crash of a breaking ornament in the guest bedroom. With the silent grace of a seasoned professional, the bodyguard was in the house and up the stairs in seconds.
