Charlie was tired when he grabbed the smoothie Sasha had left for him in the refrigerator. Umm, strawberry, apple and mango, it was ice cold and absolutely perfect. That vitamin infusion gave the Los Angeles Police Department detective enough of a boast to entertain the visiting journalist, after only three hours sleep.

Ted was deep in conversation with the English guy when Charlie joined them. "Mr. Pleasure, a pleasure. I'm Charlie Crews." The tall red haired host then sat on the sofa and took in the details of this writer and investigative journalist. "I have to warn you I met Roman on only a handful of occasions and I never met or observed any English kid."

"Alex was no ordinary kid. He had been trained by his uncle to fit in. He had grown up all over Europe, fluent in five languages, an accomplished pickpocket, an expert shot, a black belt in karate."

Charlie then broke the man's detailed speech about his missing foster son, when the detective made a connection "Sasha teaches Karate. What is he, Ted? Seventh dan black belt? Whatever that entails, I have no idea. Sasha likes the zen of it. I get that. Peace through movement, breathing and control." Charlie fought in a more primal but just as efficient way.

"Will I meet Sasha? He's your significant other, isn't he?"

"Partner, lover, my everything. My soul mate." Charlie looked at Sasha's photos of the surf and felt at one with his beautiful surfer. "He took those photos. He is at Reece's place, trying to sweet talk her into coming over to talk to you, Ed or do you prefer Edward?"

"Either, Charlie. I would think she is still traumatised by her incarceration by Mr. Nebikov."

"Reece is a strong woman, the best. A better cop than me. She got over that within three days. Threat was neutralised, Roman was dead. She's changed priorities, no longer a detective, now a lieutenant running the day shift over in Topanga. Nice area, nice crew. She actually likes all that admin stuff." Charlie smiled at Ted. He had started a pool betting on the arrival of Reece junior. Danni wasn't the wedding type, but kids that was a certainty.

With a low rumble and a screech of well worn brakes, the ancient truck pulled up behind the hire car parked on the driveway. Reece got out an exclaimed "Crews, Ted or Olivia are driving me home. You drive like a a maniac."

"All people in Moscow drive like this. In Paris, they drive much, much worse."

"Remind me never to go to France." Danni stated as she strode to the open front door.

"Not France, just Paris." Sasha grinned. "In the Alpine regions its all very polite and sedate, just watch for tourists."

"So when did you visit Paris and the Alps, Sasha?"

"My uncle took me on holiday twice, sometimes three times a year. Always abroad, so I learned about other languages and cultures. We were not poor peasants. He was a officer in state security. I had a very privileged upbringing, just no love or affection. When at home he worked and had no time for me. Enough about my childhood. Now we must be polite and answer questions about Roman."

"Do you want a coffee?"

"Yeah, brew it like cop style sludge. Strong enough to strip paint. Then again do you have that nice blend, what was it Columbia?"

"No from Guatemala. I have some genuine Italian espresso, if you'd prefer that?"

"Sold, you better have those Italian cookies, like you promised."

Sasha was busy grinding beans when Ted breezed in and the reporter immediately stopped in his tracks.

Edward Pleasure was sure the young man making coffee had once gone by the name Alex Rider. He'd done his research into Crews and then sidetracked down the rabbit hole of the survivor of the infamous St Saviours Church incident of five children trafficked from social care in Russia. The background provided by the Russians and timeline ticking enough boxes to match with Sarov, the murder of Ian and Jack and finally being sold into the sex trade in Moscow by MI6 Special Operations. He was fully aware those cunts had buried an empty casket and neatly solved their teen agent problem, by creating the fiction of just another teen suicide.

The young man continued to make espresso. The journalist noted the Italian beans and reverence of a trained barista. There was intricately sliced fruit tray on the counter and a home baked lemon drizzle cake, Edward's favourite. He would play this from the cues given by Sasha. Happy to keep this secret until death.

The cup placed on the counter by the breakfast bar. "Sit yourself down old man, it's parky and your leg must be aching something shit, I known my ankle and right arm is".

Further cups were handed to Ted and Danni.

Ted and Danni looked surprised at the London accent of a kid they thought was Russian/cuban. The change made sense in a weird way as Sasha only spoke of his past in generalist typical of someone in witness protection.

The ice broken, all lies in the past Edward sat down and fully relaxed for the first time in years. "It's good to see you whole and happy. I guess you may know someone to ice that bastard Crawley, cause nothing would make me happier."

Alex smiled and went to the fridge to pull out the vintage champagne he'd bought. "No, no, that's far too subtle for him. Write the truth to his neighbours, wife and daughters. They think him a boring banker, not a pathological lying, child abusing, murderer and psychopath."

Danni clenched her fists, whoever's this Crawly was he was behind the trafficking of kids to fates worst than death, yeah let then play their character destruction, then you went in for the your pound of flesh.

Crews then walked into the kitchen. "You guys started the fun without me". He then took the bottle to open it. "Welcome to mi familia, mi case su casa."

…

The old Scotsman lived alone in suburban Nice, his home for the last two years, but he was getting itchy feet. His neighbours thought he was basque. The only illusion to his real roots was his occasional glass of malt. There were a few photos on his mantle. One of a teenager with a black border. The teen had given him, Walker and the potion's mistress the heads up to escape Dodge before hell rained down on SCORPIA. Alex had already got his revenge on Nile and Rothman, but the pair had deserved it. Ross had warned them not to play games with the wunderkind of 'fatal accidents' and overall top student. He knew Dr Three had also not been surprised at Hunter playing the game, because it hadn't stop Kroll's close relationship with MOSSAD.

He wondered into town for some messages and to check his postbox. A single postcard today showing a desert scene in southern Californian. The sloppy block letters stating 'Wish you were here, you're own special chaos bunny." Signed with an anarchist symbol.

The old man smiled, he'd liked Hunter, but that player was boring compared to his son. The kid was picking up the favour owed. He would not miss France.