Tense, elated and finally free of the man who had turned his life into a nightmare. Alex got a take-out Madras curry with side order of poppadoms and lime pickle intent on celebrating with the endorphin rush from chillies as Si wasn't available to fuck him into the mattress and would not be back until Sunday. Frankly wanking had lost its edge compared to having a truly wonderful, caring and sexy partner to fulfil your wants and desires.
Alex was now released from his past, tomorrow he planned on booking an appointment with an accountant to sort out his tax affairs, pay NI and finally emerge from the shadows. The genie was out of the bottle, the only stumbling block now was the family he truly cared about, the Pleasures. He could send Sabina flowers, to say 'finally my abuser is dead. I love you, but I don't regret my survival strategy', but his contact with Tom had shown him Alex now was not the person they had been friends with. He was a true Rider and a bit of a bastard, as he was hard enough to stick to his principles that this was his life, his choices, this is me, deal with it; because he had no room for hurt or modifying himself to accommodate other peoples controlling attitudes. Sab cared for him deeply, but she still thought of him as that broken, lost sixteen year old who could and would not deal with his traumas. It may have taken years but he was now on the road to normality, whatever that final destination was.
It was late as he ate his Indian, musing on things he could not change. He would write himself a note to discuss with Damian on Monday. Moving forward, becoming a fully paid up member of society. Joe Byrne had assured him with austerity, even the security services had to account for every penny. Alex Rider was on nobodies action list, Joe Byrne had always had the missing man on his personal checklist, to make sure Alex was not completely damaged by the work he had been forced to do. The soon to retire CIA man would keep in touch, happy that Alex was in a good place, having finally moved on from the hurt and trauma.
…..
Andrei Budeyev ordered a bottle of good burgundy, he had already chosen his dinner off the menu. Now, he was waiting for his guest. The Savoy Grill was oh so very English. It had been many years since he had last dined here. He would enjoy every bite of starter, entree and dessert. It was a coincidence that his visit to in England coincided with the death of Blunt. He was here for a holiday with his old friend, Mikhail Shalikov, who was a wealthy oil-tsar, now living in Chelsea and celebrating his seventieth birthday this weekend.
He had a lot of time on his hands just to enjoy life, as he had retired as Director of Division Two of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation last year.
He had crossed paths with Joe Byrne over the Sarov incident in Murmansk. That man's ruthlessness and tenacity had formed a grudging tentative alliance and then friendship between the opposing forces. They met for dinner or lunch when their busy schedules allowed. The international fight against terrorism had made old enemies allies in the twenty-first century. He had not attended Alan Blunt's funeral for the simple reason that he was a long term objector to that man's abuse of a teenage boy, forcing a child to work as an operative, without pay, adequate back up or any care for the boy's health and well being. So his thoughts strayed to Alex Rider, who at fourteen had saved Russia and most of Europe from a nuclear catastrophe. A fact only a handful of people were aware of. He was one who could never pay that young man back for his courage and resourcefulness. With that sour thought, he raised his glass in tribute to that brave boy who had chosen to disappear in 2005. If he had been Russian, that child would have never had to lift another finger, his medical problems would have been treated in the finest clinics abroad. The scandal over using a child in operation had led to Alan Blunt's early retirement and had not been helped by the publication of the book detailing Britain's dirty tricks under his tenure. The fact was Mr. Pleasure's book had also uncovered the Estrov Incident, detailed from the testimony of the only survivor, the son of the biochemist Artem Gregorovich.
Tonight he would gossip with Joe Byrne, enjoy his meal and look forward to his safe and secure future, not the mistakes and misfortunes of the past.
Joe was running late, but he knew Andrei could amuse himself. He normally was quite happy to let the older man moan and reminisce. Tonight he had news that would cheer the old curmudgeon up.
"Evening, Andrei. Sorry, my meeting at the Embassy overran. Nothing sinister, just more fine tuning of the ever shrinking federal budget." He ordered a martini, needing the jolt of pure alcohol after such a long and tedious day. The grill menu offered a fine selection of food his doctor stated he should steer clear of. After a life of dodging bullets, bombs and knives in the back, Joe ordered a 16oz T-bone steak with all the trimmings. If he keeled over with an aneurism or heart attack now, he could pass with the knowledge he had lived his life full on, no half measures and no regrets. It was too late to walk the middle road of moderation, not with the blood on his hands and the fact he had run out of luck around 1982.
Food ordered, Andrei had raised an eyebrow, when the American had ordered champagne after downing his martini. "To celebrate both our retirements. I'm spending the first six weeks sightseeing the National Parks, camping and living out of my car. I've spent the last twenty years using my vacation time to catch up on my sleep."
"So, you went to Blunt's funeral." The Russian grimaced. "I thought the wine was to toast that man."
"Blunt is on a one way ticket to Hell. We both know that. I might have news to help us both sleep easier. There was an observer of the funeral. I talked to him afterward. I do not use the word mourner because I think Cheryl Blunt was the only person there to genuinely to grieve for her husband's passing." With a glass raised and a smile worthy of the money he had spent on dentistry. "Alex Rider was there to close the door on his past and see his abuser six feet under. He looked fit and well. A fine young man, settled and happy. He's in a steady relationship, a homosexual one, which threw me. Shows that our psychological assessments aren't that accurate when assessing teenage boys."
"Umm, we knew that his relationship with Cossack was a complex one. The trauma's suffered would have shaped his psyche to accept love in any form. So, what is he doing with his life now he is no longer homeless?"
"He's a bartender, works at a pub in South London. Told me to drop in on Sunday evening to meet his partner, Simon."
Andrei processed the fact the elusive Alex Rider had finally ended his self-imposed internal exile. "It is a shame, but my commitments mean I cannot join you. Please send along my congratulations and good wishes to Alexander."
…..
Joe Byrne paused outside the Pub overlooking Wandsworth Common, the place was crowded, the tables outside all occupied. The bar was dark and cool inside, compared to the bright evening sunshine and sticky August heat. Only a few were waiting for the lone barman to serve them. He had his choice of four stools but sat next to the only other drinker sat up front. He waited for minute and then greeted his former operative "Evening Alex." The man then turned to see the grey haired, tall handsome man he was sat next to, who had a half drunk pint of Guinness in front of him, just as Alex had described his boyfriend. "I assume you're Simon? Hi, I'm Joe Byrne."