As official emails go, at least it was brief and to the point. After landing at Sydney on the 23rd, he was to be interviewed by ASIS regarding his past interactions with a suspected terrorist. Who the hell was calling Misha a terrorist? Mikhail was a fixer, a criminal pure and simple. Never a freedom fighter or a man of the people, the only thing guiding his path had been money and pleasure. Revenge was purely a hobby, that never got in the way of his first two life goals.

As the last hour of his long flight from JFK to Sydney approached, the passenger in Seat 6A washed and had changed from loose travel clothes into his nicest suit and a Che Guevara t-shirt. He was back seated in his luxurious chair and pondered putting on make-up. Maybe just a touch, to give the right impression of international ballet star.

The steward came forward after the plane had landed and was taxi-ing into the terminal. "Mr. Makarov, can you please remain seated as a member of Airport Security will be meeting with you."

"Yeah, sure. That's what was all agreed. Thanks." His visa dependant on passing this interview.

A short drive to a nondescript office building on the outskirts of Sydney proved CAD operated like their CIA counterparts, using temporary offices using suspect company names. They were playing nice, so no cuffs and no hood. He was not surprised to know his interviewer. He held out his hand in greeting. "Mr. Damon, I hope my visit to Australia this time will not be as eventful."

"May I introduce my colleague Dr. Kat Bellman, Alex or do you prefer Sasha?"

The ex-spy knew he could be awkward and request they call him, Mr. Makarov, but he wasn't that much of a dick. "Either's fine. I told my psychiatrist back in London that. Alex is probably better as you're not here to discuss dancing."

The woman smiled and asked "Is there a distinction between those diminutives for Alexander?"

Guessing the session of word play had started, Alex sat down. "Pyotr is the only one who gets to call me Aleksandr, but he does it to piss me off. He hates being called Petrushka as much as I hate my full name. Sasha is what most people call me. I left the name Alex behind in California many years ago. It makes sense that Marc calls me Alex because I was Alex Rider when we were working together." He looked at Marc Damon. "I'm sorry about Ash being the biggest scumbag on the planet, but I'd rather not talk about him."

The woman interceded again "Ash?"

"You have read my file. Well, the unedited and non-redacted version. Ash AKA Anthony Sean Howell, my godfather and man that murdered my parents. I should elucidate, I have no beef with him killing my dad, but killing my mother, that was just vindictive. She was not a player and was supposedly his friend. May he forever be tormented in the lowest pits of hell." He smiled as the woman's face flicked with momentary uncertainty. "Dear old dad was an assassin for SCORPIA, reporting back to MI6, so technically a good guy; but he made his choice. His wife did not."

"Technically a good guy?"

"After getting water boarded by the CIA in Cairo when MI6 were using Jack and me as bait, which all worked out so well. I can honestly say you guys suck." Alex drank from his bottle of water. "So, nice chat over with. Let's start with 20 questions. You get the same boon as the Russians, you can use as much chemical enhancement as you want, but no real torture, please."

"So the Russians did dose you with SP-117?"

"Made me as sick as a dog. Could have gotta gold medal at the puke Olympics afterwards. On a drip for a day afterwards. Nice stuff." Alex looked at the video camera recording this session. "What do you want to know about Misha?"

After three hours of going over questions, Alex felt grim even without getting drugged up. He had been left to stew as they discussed his Q&A session with the analysts and shrinks when the Australian spook came back into the room and sat down. "Your heart rate spiked during the more personal questions. Why? Your answers were detailed and very frank."

Alex again smiled sadly. "No fifteen year old is entirely sane when hormones are involved. I started sleeping with Misha because he found me attractive. I thought I was hideously repulsive, still do. Scarred freak. I auditioned for the American Ballet Theatre Company when I was seventeen for the corps de ballet. I was already junior soloist for Vladimir's dance company then. The Artistic Director called me disfigured and unwatchable because of my scars. So, Misha seduced me and I fell so hard. He was my moon and stars. He asked me to party, we partied. I let all his friends fuck me, spit roasting, taking turns. I started taking drugs so I did not give a shit. He said I was so pretty when he watched me take it." He paused with a frown on his face, "The problem with interviews is you guys never ask the right questions."

"What are the right questions?"

"Do you even know anything about Mikhail Brezkhin as in why he picked me up?"

"We have a detailed file on his activities."

"No, that's the wrong answer. Misha knew my dad, when he worked for SCORPIA. Trained him in assassination and interrogation techniques. I thought meeting him was fate, but he came looking for me. Primarily to ask about how Yassen died. Offered me a job because he knew I was SCORPIA trained, even if I did fail my first assignment. We had five glorious months as lovers and he still sold me to Juan Cortez because I broke the rules and had become a cocaine addict. He did not even have the guts to put a bullet in my skull. I heard Cortez paid him big bucks to fuck MI6's teen spy superhero. Funny, the CIA and MI6 made no offers to get me back, they hoped I died and got forgotten." Alex looked at the ceiling, "I fail your test because if Misha was here right now, I'd beg for him to take me back. I would go back to being his well used whore if he wanted me. Only this time I would not fuck it up by getting high."

Alex watched as the spook left the over emotional burned agent wallow in his past mistakes. Dr. Bellman then returned and went through a series of questions about Ian, his dancing, his thoughts on his past adventures, his other lovers and finally working for Paul McAlaster.

"Paul's great. I worked for him on and off between the ages of 18 and 22. Stripping, couple of video shoots, you know porn, never starring roles, just orgy scenes and the like, then as an escort after Manfred died. I was lonely and the guys he set me up with were all sweet. Older, not into any heavy sadism or real perves, just light bondage and submission. Everyone liked the fact I was bendy and still tight. I preferred oral sex and hand jobs with Manfred."

…..

The psychologist finished her assessment of Aleksandr Makarov, the former teenager MI6 operative and her conclusions were damning. 'Depressed, severe control issues, confirmed disassociative personality disorder. Probably heterosexual, has had positive relationships with two ballerinas in Russia. Last relationship failed after being blackmailed by Maxim Lukov. Probably left Novosibirsk to protect his this former fiancee Homosexual relationships are all related to deep self hatred and self-image issues. High probability of self harm/suicidal episodes.' Kat had interviewed most recruits to ASIS in the past five years. She gave her assessment to the Head of ASIS, "If that young man was applying for a job he'd be committed to mental health not cleared for duty. Reading between the lines, I take he was not well after the events at Dragon 9. My conclusions reflect those the Russians sent through, its only a matter of time before Sasha breaks. He should be home with his family in New York , not half way around the world following the career chosen for him by a bitter old woman. He's picked the perfect profession for his control issues as over exercising and minimal eating is the norm. Please offer him counselling, if only to keep an eye on him."

"Lets get back on track, is MI6 right, is he the Kremlin assassin?" asked the Director of ASIS over the speaker phone.

"A slim possibility only, considering he broke after the events in Cairo, any further killing would result in a full psychotic break and then Alex would disappear only to resurface for jobs and being the ghost he was trained by MI6 to be. The fact he reverted to his love of dancing and is functioning within normal parameters points to the fact whoever did the hit was using Alex as a decoy, whom the entire intelligence community have latched on to. We've been played and I think it was MI6 who played us as they have the most to gain if Alex is silenced permanently."

Marc Damon entered the interview room to let Alex know he was free to go to find the twenty-five year old asleep sprawled across the table, drooling onto his hand. The kid must be knackered to fall asleep here, then again what did he have to fear, he had been completely open with them even suggesting the link between Brezkin and MI6 and smart enough to offer them full use of truth serums to check his stories. Alex still had a smart mouth, suggesting they weren't asking the right questions. Had the Russian been under orders from MI6 to destroy their out of control teen operative, that was a truly horrifying thought.

With a snort Alex woke and wiped his hand on his trousers. "Sorry, I'm shattered. Are you wanting to ask more questions?"

"No, I was going to drive you to your hotel." The kid had booked into the Four Seasons in a Junior Suite for two nights.

"Yeah, I have a massage booked for the morning. Do a bit of sight seeing. Get acclimatised. The start work on Monday." Alex put his jacket back on. "You have my baggage and I guess you checked out the stuff I had shipped over?"

"Yeah, we need to discuss your apartment and portfolio at some point. I'll text you."

Alex pondered this "No rush, let me settle in, then we can lunch. I'm sorted until Christmas."

…..

The dynamics of the Australian Company was different from Siberia. The pecking order reminded Alex of the Bolshoi, where he had barely been tolerated by his fellow dancers, seen as a mere trophy or a circus act, never as part of the team. He had his own repertoire there and had only danced with the main company twice. Here, he was seen as an interloper, an unwelcome addition, a person not deserving his place in the starting line-up. He had no friends and no backers. He was in for a rough ride. He noted that he was down to dance in all the traditional ballets. The existing principals were down for the more contemporary pieces. Again, Sasha Makarov would have to open his own doors. He sighed taking in the very slight and petite ballerinas, he know he was weird liking tall, striking and unusual partners. Give him Alia or Tania any day. He was three inches taller than the other male soloists and principals. He was going to stand out like a sore thumb, unless restricted to solo pieces or until he got himself a true amazon.

The artistic director, Martika Lopez watched as her new addition danced on the main stage for the first time, as part of the full dress rehearsal of Sleeping Beauty. She loved his lines, his strength and the perfection of his form, he was charming and beautiful and his chosen partner was being pampered and gently coaxed by him. Russian polish from this American street kid. He stood after the run through patiently awaiting criticism as the stager, the choreographer, the director and the costume designer passed judgement.

Martika was the last to pass comment in accented English she smiled at the lead dancer, choosing to damn her with faint praise, "Clara, foot perfect as ever". Sleeping Beauty was the dancer's preferred piece. The director then spoke in Spanish, quick and fluent to the male lead. "She needs stretching to become less staid, less comfortable. You outshine her."

Alex apologised in equally fluent Castilian "Forgive me, I will adjust my performance."

"No you won't. I need you to push our established star, make her fight for the spotlight and her place as principal. Either she works with you or gets replaced. Clara is too complacent with her style, happy to keep to her comfort zone. If only Alia had been five years younger and still interested in a stage career, I would have signed her up in an instant." Martika then turned her attention to the choreographer and spoke in English "I think more fluid forms need working in. A less structured core and more emotion."

David, the choreographer, thinking her comment was for the new boy and went to pull Sasha aside.

"No David, Sasha knows both American, British and Russian styles. Ms. Bryant needs to flow. She's trying to emulate the Russian style and well, no. It needs to be softer. Let him lead for God's sake, but remember you're a free spirit not a marionette. Sasha's dear departed adopted mother beat into him never to outshine his partner. Do not think about him. Concentrate on your own performance, darling. It needs to flow, to appear effortless and like the fairy tale it is."

…

Clara made her way to her co-star's dressing room. She entered to see him naked except for a towel around his waist with his left lower leg in a bucket of ice water.

She sat completely unphased by his nudity. "Sasha, darling, I'm here to apologise. I have been a bit of a bitch, but Mitchell, my usual partner, well he feels a bit put out and he's a close friend."

Alex laughed "Don't worry, I'm used to the silent treatment. So all is forgiven. I never got on with the dancers in Moscow and well, Tania and I were like terrible twins in Novosibirsk. Christ, I miss her. There's no rule that says you have to like me. We only have to give the illusion of that on stage and well, you'd make any red blooded male crazy with desire. So, its easy to imagine us together in that story of love conquering all. Better than reality when love dies on you or runs off with a billionaire oil magnet, as in Rouble billionaire… not nice hard currency."

The woman looked at this hard and bitter loner. "Would you have stayed in Russia, if it hadn't gone sour with Titania?"

"That was my plan. I had bought her a fucking ring, Tiffany yellow diamond marquise cut. She was all for the full New York bridezilla wedding in Central Park. I was even going to get Russian citizenship. There was scope for me to start a contemporary company at the Novosibirsk theatre, doing Twarp, Bourne and maybe even Schnagel or my own pieces. In my nice future, the only thing I did not factor in was Tania wanting babies. I'm fine her getting pregnant, just not with my genetic material. I suggested adoption or the usual semen donor trick with a turkey baster. Well, that was the nail in the coffin of our relationship. She was OK with me seeing guys, I was Ok with her seeing girls. It, on paper, was perfection. She wants little ballet stars of her own, now she'll have to make do with her jumped up factory manager's suspect sperm."

There was a whole essay on a complex relationship, where both participants openly bi-sexual. "Was she trying to make you jealous to change your mind on fathering kids?"

"I'm sterile… I shoot blanks. Had myself snipped at 18. I've seen enough horror and poverty and kids getting fucked about, which I mean literally; to ever burden the world with any misbegotten progeny like myself. I did not lie when I screamed across the room in Moscow that my bitch of a birth mother should have aborted me. If you're pro-life, sorry, cause well I'm really pro-choice. My body, my choice. Its just too easy for guys to sow their wild oats and never think on the consequences. I love kids, but.. I've too much baggage courtesy of my dear old dad to ever consider another generation of my delightful family. It was the best decision I ever made walking away from his legacy and all he represented." Alex then pulled his leg out of the bucket and guessed Clara and Mitch were more than dance partners or just friends. "So enough about me ranting. Are you and Mitch serious?"

"I'd like to be. He's more of an open relationship kind of guy. I know, I should move on."

"Or make him jealous… how about a small romantic supper after the show tonight. I hear the food trucks on the harbour are great. I have yet to try fusion." Alex hoped she was up for company. He was a bit lonely and missed the buzz of his social life in Moscow, London and New York.

Clara decided she liked Sasha Makarov, that he was going to be a good friend. Quite chatty once you got him talking. "Let's dazzle Sydney's hoi polloi first. Then dim sum in Chinatown, that's my favourite." She was going to be a real princess tonight, take on board the criticism and relax into soft and flowing movement and her Aurora would channel Martha Graham.

Mitch threw the newspaper down in disgust, then went to read the international notices. Sasha Makarov's opening performance in Sydney had made it into the American, English and Russian media. Every single arts correspondent said it was the ticket to get this season. All stated Clara had never danced better than with her Russian prince. The shit was getting all the publicity the company had wanted, but not for being a bad boy or difficult. No, he worked hard and everyone on the management team loved him. Sasha was now on everyone's A list and was being invited to the parties Mitch wanted to go to. Tonight his ex-girlfriend was on TV with the Russian sap. All week the two of them had been conspiring and giggling about it. Yesterday, they were both on This Morning, holding hands and sly coy looks playing up a budding romance.

He arrived at practice to see Sasha reading an article intently, before handing his copy to the Ballet Master. Jay speed read the piece. "Lovely photos of your family Sasha, isn't Nina a sweetie. Do not give me that look, they are your family even if you are a stray."

"Make me sound like the pet dog!" the dancer exclaimed. "What about the cover shot? Mira says it makes him look distinguished."

"Vladimir Stravenkov could wear a sack and make it look designer. He looked good with a mullet, back in the day." The woman laughed. "So, Vanity Fair cover star next month, the boss will be pleased."

Scott came in and took one look at Mitch, "The green eyed monster look does not suit you. None of us should be jealous of Sasha, because I for one would not want to have walked in his shoes."

"What, the adopted son of a ballet superstar?"

"No you ninny, badly abused growing up, the thing with the paedophiles at boarding school and being a rent boy/coke addict at 15. Hard road, even though he looks harmless but he has mafia friends. The type of people that will break your legs for owing a bit of money." Scott had been at the Royal Ballet School, before his family emigrated when he was 17. He had been class mates with ten present members of the corps de ballet and two soloists in London. "Paul McAlaster in London and some mafia guy in Miami. Sasha is also well connected in Russia. His supposed father, General Alexei Sarov was an exile in Cuba. The Mirror, Mail and Sun over there ran the photos of Aleksandr and Sarov taken in 2001. He has an older half brother who died in Afghanistan. They look so alike they could have been twins. Boris Kiriyenko is practically his fairy godfather."

"Who?"

Scott looked at his friend in disgust. "God, you are an ignorant pig. First, post-communist, elected president of the Russian Federation. Big league politician, friends with Bushes and the Clintons. Pretends to be a buffoon but is a wily nasty old devil. His biography was a wonderful read. That Sarov fellow was his best friend. Sasha may be a bastard, but he's a well connected one. Just think, as soon as he surfaced in New York at 16, the Russian exiles all rallied around to protect him."

"Its all bullshit. He's just trouble. What does Clara see in him?"

Scott then twigged what the real problem was, "He's oh so very gay. The lovely ballerinas in Russia were acting as beards, darling. His boyfriend in London was a nasty bit of rough, some bouncer/bodyguard/ex-con type. He was Manfred Schangel's live-in lover for three years. The delightful Ms. C is a fag hag and is pulling your chain for being on the fence. Either you get serious or she'll move on. Word is Sasha is taking her to a very swish party tomorrow on a yacht the size of a small island, with a guest list that includes several billionaires. Just the type of man a ballerina needs." The young soloist could see his friend was not convinced. "Trust me. I'd flirt with him but he likes older men. Kiki will be game though. Let me do a bit of matchmaking, I'll get Sasha laid and then you can work your way back into Clara's life."