Dimitri Ivanov was a junior cultural attache at the Russian Embassy in London. He liked his duties of shadowing opponents of the Russian state, while MI5 kept track of him. Young and independently wealthy, living in Mayfair, dining in the best restaurants, dating models and quite the image of a vacuous playboy. He liked paying his debts and he owed Alex Rider more than the his inheritance, as did all of Russia. He had been shocked learning of the Sarov treachery and Alex's involvement with the mad general.
Today the young diplomat was going to play messenger to the Head of SIS, not an official meeting at headquarters, but one in the park. The man in question was sat in St James Park at their agreed rendezvous point, reading Pravda as some sort of internal joke against the naive newcomer.
Dimitry sat down and rather than pretend to be just a casual walker or tourist. He went straight for the jugular. "I am very close to my godfather, Andrei is still smarting from the attempt by Grief to replace me and the fact that man ordered my father's murder. You have assessed me as an expendable junior attaché, but I am here to speak to you as the approved mouth of the Russian State and its security services. Keep your dogs at Liverpool Street on a tighter leash. Do not move against the man we consider a Hero of the Russian Federation and most highly regarded friend of the FSB." Dimitry then added with a cruel smile, "force Alex to run again and the Cold War will seem a pleasant memory. Your three assets in the Defence Department in Moscow were arrested his morning and should be before a military court about now." The young man just proved he was no green airhead, but a real player, one to fear as he had no qualms playing the hard and fast rules with full backing of his godfather, the real power behind the thin veneer of democracy in a global superpower.
Sir Charles Fellows watched the back of a new enemy as let out a long breath as his driver sat next to him and gave his assessment of that meeting "Fuck! Ivanov was a bastard but his kid has the makings of a future president. Andrei has been grooming him from the age of 14 for that horrific future."
"Young Dimitry will never be a friend of the western powers and that all boils down to how the monkeys at Special Operations destroyed my friend John's only child. They fucked me over when I believed the jackanory murder charge and dishonourable discharge. Ian was cut from the same cloth as that bastard Blunt. I want that man up on abuse and fraud charges. Every penny of John, Helen and Ian Rider's estate has disappeared, but I have a copy of the wills provided by Smithers and a list of the misappropriated assets. This will hurt Cissy, but I'll give her the heads up to stand by her man or use this knowledge to secure all her assets with a legal separation."
Back at his desk, the update on the status of Alex Rider stated he was in hospital in Düsseldorf and a ward of the Troublesome billionaire, Dieter Sprintz. The website run by Joseph Canterbury showed the photos of a skeletal and filthy young man in an ambulance, then cleaned up and sedated in bed. Sir Charles closed his eyes and thought of his own college age sons. The truth was John and Helen's son had been destroyed and could not function without his former owner, Cossack. The young Russian, John had tried to save, but had been SCORPIA's best assassin and torturer since his mentor's death. A man who had bought a fifteen year old son of his mentor, a traitor to SCORPIA and kept him as a slave. Alex had been blackmailed into operations, then his trust fund and properties stolen by the executor of his uncle's last will and testament.
….
Sir David Friend placed the phone receiver down, digesting the fact his wife was now providing TLC and an open house to her long time friend, Cissy Dumont, who had dropped her married name already and had filed for divorce in ground of Emotional and financial Abuse after 35 years of marriage. Their joint martial assets now frozen. The multimillionaire smiled that the cold bastard Blunt was getting his just reward for using friends and family in his game to be the ultimate patriot spymaster. Caroline had also received word through their daughter's friend, Sabina, that Alexander was in hospital in Germany. Blunt's house of cards was crumbling and it could not happen to a more thoroughly deserving cunt of the highest order.
Sir David messaged Dieter Sprintz the news of the downfall of Blunt, personal, political and through litigation. The supermarket magnet had already accepted the take over offer from the hedge fund in New York. He would live a quiet retirement, he had already donated large sums to Centre Point and the Terrance Higgins Trust in the wake of his one time son's appalling fate.
His daughter was now a fierce fundraiser herself, no longer listless and idle. Fi was now likely to be planning to visit her naughty little brother, maybe with his wife and Cissy in tow. The former Mrs. Blunt was the shy and homely type, but she was likely be lunching today with Caroline's normal crowd. The entirety of high society and the gossip mags would know Cissy Dumont, heiress of Dumont, Channing and Frears Investment's had been duped and her hopes of family crushed, that her husband had denied her the chance of being a mother again when Ian Rider had left her, not Alan, the custody of his nephew. Her almost son, that had been destitute on the streets and selling his body rather than attending Ampleforth and Cissy's actual ideal of a son taking holy orders.
…..
The psychiatrist attending at the University Hospital in Düsseldorf had been forwarded several files from security services in London, Washington and Moscow, direct from the word renown psychologist in Macau, Dr. Li. The learned specialist had also sent him a detailed psychological profile of the man who had owned his young patient. It made chilling reading. The assessment of Mr Rider provided spoke of his close attachment to his housekeeper, the pathological, but half hearted attempt at personality moulding by the uncle and the fact the young man would do anything, even jeopardise his health and mental well being to protect those he loved. Grief, ingrained Stockholm Syndrome, abandonment and deep self hatred formed from abuse during his formative years. The specialist in psychological trauma stated he was open to help and stated no child should have been forced to endure so much and not been provided with even basic care for his mental health by neglectful guardians. The grief therapist in San Francisco had not been equipped for her patients's compounded trauma, but she had been expecting a break in control. He had also been provided with a list of suitable clinics specialising in trauma and PTSD.
With everything in the open, he could confront straight on any denial and avoidance. The insomnia and inability to eat when stressed rang true for PtSD, paranoid depression and their underlying cause disassociation from the Stockholm Syndrome. Dieter Sprintz would bring all recommended specialists here to Dusseldorf rather than move his ward anywhere out of his direct control.
….
Dr Three appraised his current project. Cossack had always proved to be an excellent case study, one who was no longer burdened with infatuation of his former slave. He had to give the man credit for removing board members most efficiently using the boy as his tool. Blunt had been a blind fool not to complete that boys conditioning, by using him without controlling him. The doctor had always found Hunter to be a delight as well, a man who played all with perfect ease. What a tool his son could have been, if used correctly. The uncle had barely an idea of the boys real potential, but his haphazard parenting had by accident rather than design provided the basics of everything Alex had needed to survive in spite of MI6s and SCORPIA's blunders. Dr Three knew mistakes were made. Hunter's wife should have kept secure and in luxury. He himself had made that same mistake back when still a mere PHD student in Hanoi. That tragedy had led him down the cold path of revenge, a game still in play.
He would watch the fallout from Alex's decision to get well and reclaim his name from the comfort of his clinic as Cossack would now oversee the school for operatives and a sleeker and less megalomaniacal freelance agency for espionage operations.
Dialogue with the team in Germany would keep him in the loop regarding Young Alex's progress. Best not muddy the waters with several high profile possible clients paying for that medical miracle. Help not hinder, not that he had ever taken western medicine's oath of do no harm. Sometimes you needed to break something already broken completely to sufficiently repair it to be useful or just outwardly functional.
The do-good fools were not aware Alex was only letting them see what he wanted them to see. That young man was as wily as a fox and had the ability to fly free from nothing but ashes of his past. The seduction of that judge's son was well played, then his tip off to the Anti Terrorist division about his own Interpol notice, a pure Machiavellian move to create chaos . Now playing the broken abuse victim. The Russians so eager to be heavy handed in their response to the British establishment's misuse of one child. Those who had murdered hundreds to create Cossack.
…..
The visit to the hospital in Düsseldorf was nothing Jan expected. The journey had seen his mother keep him entertained, as he was worried sick. They arrived to find Alex was asleep with his foster mother sat beside his bed. The dark haired, fashionably dressed Liz Pleasure introduced herself to Jan and his mother. "It's so good to meet you after our phone conversations and Skype calls. Alex is in quite a state. It's not his first spin of the wheel with anorexia. When we first fostered him after Jack died, he was incredibly fussy over food, we were relaxed at first, but it was very worrying. He had a ECG earlier, and now has arrhythmia. He's on six small meals a day at the moment, but he is sleeping lots as well. Please don't push him or expect too much. He's at rock bottom and needs to take stock. I'll go get a coffee, go sit with him Jan, he'll know it's you."
Jan stood in the doorway of the private room to see his love's new look with the close cropped hair and emaciated face. It looked like Liz had given him a basic manicure. Alex had destroyed everything that reminded him of home and happiness in Amsterdam. Rather than wallow in what ifs and maybes, Jan sat down and revisited his ideas of a holiday. Not soon and not for just a few days. He could not be selfish with his wants and needs anymore. His lover was done, physically and mentally. He'd been a fool not to see it before.
Twenty minutes later a small tray of food arrived for Alex, minute portions of soup, crackers and something soft and beige. Jan pondered the unappetising meal, then noticed Alex was awake.
"Not found a new unbroken lover yet?" The patient was perplexed, but still held his boyfriend's hand
Jan stared at the man who was not Marek, "can I kiss you? I ache for you, it's been the worst six weeks of my life."
Alex kissed his lover, soft and chaste, and it felt like home, because this was love. Then he started crying. "Fuck the gestapo nurses will be in with the keep calm and carry on pills." Wiping the tears away. "This is me saying I want you back, but I want my life back more. You need to get to know Alex, not the facsimile that was hiding in plain sight."
Jan kissed the hand of his love. "Will you date me, when you're well enough?"
Alex smiled tiredly and relaxed, "Raincheck, cause they're on to me here. I have serious control issues. Me not eating was only thing I think Yassen did not notice, or just didn't care. It kept me looking like the waif like teen I was in London. Food was the only thing I had control over and I was super sneaky about it, even in Amsterdam. I'm seeing a cardiologist this afternoon, they think the six years of being a psycho about eating has affected my heart." Though after Alex had been shot in 2001, he'd never had any follow up appointments, which might have more to do with it. Frowning, Alex began to eat his lunch, not bothered that it tasted shit. Four years with Yassen, he had not allowed himself to be anything beyond what his owner wanted. "I miss the Vietnamese place in Noord, the best pho and spring rolls."