Alex lay on a towel on the white soft sand on a small stretch of private beach located on the outskirts of Anapa, a popular Black Sea resort. He had spent two weeks lying in the morning sun and swimming in the blue waters of the Black Sea. His routine after an early morning run with the General. His afternoons spent learning Russian. Today, the heat, blue skies and quiet soft break of the waves were perfect. Alex had finally relaxed. Alexei had told him not to worry, he would want for nothing. The General had generously provided for Alex's needs. He wore a pair of designer swim trucks. His new clothes were all rather conservative, but they reflected Alexei's taste. He drank from the bottle of water he had brought from the house. The sun was getting high, as it neared noon. Alex picked up his belongings and headed back to the steps that lead to the villa's terrace. He would shower and dress for lunch. Misha was stood watching as he always did. He patted Alex on his shoulder as he passed. Alex knew all Alexei's bodyguards now. All were ex-Russian Army. All were friendly to the boy, helping him improve his russian, even playing games with the child.

Alex stood in the bathroom and dried himself, failing in his attempt to accomplish the task at hand without looking in the mirrors. The room had a large mirror above the sink and the whole wall opposite was mirrored tiles. The endless reflections made it hard for the boy not to see the fading scars left by Conrad. His back and buttocks covered in fine lines from the belting he'd received on that awful day. Alex sniffed and rubbed his watering eyes, making their redness worse. He then bit his wrist hard, the pain focused him back to being a good Russian boy, not a London orphan and serial fuck up.

Alex put on a long sleeve shirt to hide the ring of deep bruising now colouring his lower arms. He took several steadying deep breaths and the wondered if anyone would miss a knife if he nicked one from the kitchens.

Alexei noted his son push the food around his plate at lunch. The fork went to the boy's mouth but no food was ingested. Alex then put down his fork and in a low voice, in English he spoke in a whisper.

"I have broken the rules imposed by the doctor. I... I suppose I shall be punished now." Alex felt sick. Bile rose in his throat and he could not stop himself as he dry heaved.

Alexei was up in a second and led Alex to the bathroom in the hall. He rubbed the boy's back as he vomited up his breakfast. Was this the problem? The doctor had spoken of Alex seeking control, by not eating and by hurting himself. The staff at the clinic had spoken of self inflicted bruises on the boys arms and legs, hidden beneath his clothes, but he'd been wandering around in shorts and t-shirts since the start of the holiday, except for today.

Alex stood looking at his feet in front of the desk in the General's office. The bite marks and bruises had been inspected by the old soldier and he was now talking to the psychologist in Moscow. Alex had spoken at length about his reasons for hurting himself. His hatred of himself. The fact he was beginning to relax, he had enjoyed himself so he had forgotten about his guilt, his hurt, his lost life back in London.

"You have been a good boy, admitting to your lapses. You should not be afraid of me. I promise I will not beat you, but you must not give in to these urges. You must come to me and tell me and we can work through this. You must be strong. I know you miss your friends and your old life, but that is in the past. I have told you, you cannot go back. MI6 have left you to your fate. You are lucky the men in power in Moscow see you as an innocent child and yes, Alexander, you are still a child. So your punishment is to write 100 lines. I must not hurt myself. Then you will have an afternoon nap and you are on hospital rations. Kasha for dinner to help settle your upset stomach. OK."

"Yes General. Thank you, General." Alex was so relieved, not be be beaten black and blue or to be sent back to Alan Blunt to an unknown future working for that man. He shuddered at what depths MI6 would go to, leant out to all and sundry. Alex had considered Blunt had sent him to Cuba on a suicide mission. Well that man no longer had to worry about Alex Rider.

"Come sit here and write. Remember your tenses and verbs in Russian, each line exact and neat. No sloppiness." Alex picked up the old fashioned pen with a nib, like from a Victorian school. He thouhgt and then wrote the first line in neat Cyrillic. "Is that correct?"

"Perfect. Now carry on."

...

At the beginning of August, Yassen Gregorovich had finally uncovered the truth about his friend John. He owed it to Alex, his friend's son, to find out the truth. Only, the boy had disappeared again. Yassen had a grim feeling about Alex's fate, as the house in Chelsea had been sold and cleared of personal effects and the housekeeper sent back to the United States. He had known John was a double agent, he had surmised his 'death' on Albert Bridge had covered his retirement. Yassen now knew the details of the death of Helena Beckett and her husband, John Rider. They had died in France. The light plane they were on had been blown up with a small plastic explosive device attached to the fuel tank of the plane.

Someone had lied to Yassen and in his own quest to be the best assassin he had let sleeping dogs lie. The Russian Assassin had pulled in favours this summer, he had saved the life of Levi Kroll three years previously and the Israeli was happy to oblige his colleague and dig the dirt on Julia Rothman and had told Cossack the details including the betrayal of Anthony Sean Howell on orders from the insanely jealous Julia Rothman.

Yassen was free to pick and choose his assignments. He had chosen to turn down the assignment to work for Damian Cray. The man was a protege of Julia, so Yassen used his inside knowledge to send a cryptic warning to the journalist Edward Pleasure to watch his back concerning that musician. The Russian was biting the hand that had fed him for fifteen years. He had come to realize John had not been testing him but genuinely been pushing him away from Scorpia. He had been a fool, but now he would travel south and destroy Ash and Winston Yu who had been hiding that treacherous piece of filth.

The next on his list was Julia Rothman herself and her nasty bodyguard Nile. He would personally destroy all those that had ordered him to kill Alex, one by one. Then he would go after the trail of the boy. The Russian had heard rumours of an operation in Cuba for the Americans.

...

Alan Blunt had ordered a cover up over the teen agent. Ian Rider's house was sold. All filing and details concerning the boy erased. The russians were quiet, no mention of them holding the boy. The last intel had been the boy's arrival in Murmansk. Alex Rider was burned as far as the Royal and General Bank was concerned. Missing presumed dead. The Russian had stated a minor terrorist attack had been foiled in Murmansk. The following week, the Russian President had stepped down stating ill health, and at the end of August, General Alexei Sarov had disappeared from the Dacha near Moscow, but the retired General was a multi-millionaire from arms deals in the late 1980's and early 1990's with several homes in Russia as well as in Cuba, Panama and Brazil. The old spymaster had seen a spying dynasty end with the death or imprisonment of a fourteen year old. He now had to endure the sour looks and biting remarks from his deputy and loose one of his best employees as the his Head of Technology, Derek Smithers had tendered his resignation.