Liz Pleasure was not a woman of extremes, she was by nature cheerful and easy going. Always a cup half full, not a half empty person. Her inner optimist had once again been proved thoroughly justified after years with no news and dire assumptions. Her foster son was asleep, dribbling onto the pillow. The nurse had explained about his extreme exhaustion. At 7:30, the patient's rest would be disturbed for breakfast. Liz had been allowed to sit with him outside of visiting hours, as a mother's privilege. All the staff were aware Alex had been missing presumed dead for years. The couple had arrived here at five, travelling overnight in her little Toyota from their house in Chiswick. Liz had driven most of the way, and headed straight to the hospital.
In 2003, the Pleasure family had returned to London, in hope of finding Alex after he ran away. It may have taken far longer than either of them had thought, but that did not matter. He was safe. Now they had the hard work ahead for getting their lost boy well, thriving and happy. She had spoken to Alex's boyfriend twice and Jan was lovely. She could not take her eyes off Alex, who still looked so young and very fragile. His hair an awful mess, from the photos he had really suited it long. The last few months had been the worst in a way for them all, knowing living as Marek their son had found home and happiness, but rather than talk to his friends, he had been terrified that being outed as Alex Rider once again would ruined everything. She could not imagine what he had lived through to be so afraid of discovery. The snippets they did know were horrific. She held his hand, her thumb softly stroking the soft skin, remembering promises made to look after a grief stricken boy in 2002, now a man struggling with his fears in 2008.
…..
After several stays in hospital and other periods of enforced sedation, Alex hated the leaden feeling on his limbs, the dry mouth and stuffy head that chemical induced rest left him with, as he drifted to consciousness. He lay still, awake, yet with his eyes closed, using his other senses to access the reality of several days rest and recuperation. He knew he had a visitor, as rather than the sour chemical cleanliness he'd expected to assault his nostrils, the scent of Rive Gauche invoked memories of holidays past and home in San Francisco. Sabina wore the same perfume, but the notes were subtly different for this visitor. The perfect mother had suffered a nickname curtesy of the cutting wit of her teenage daughter, named after the Witch-Princess of Oz: Mombi rather than the generic US Mom. One nickname only her children had ever called her.
The prone patient smiled and his tired brown eyes opened to see the only woman in his life to attempt to be a true mother bear for him. He would run for eons rather than let this kind, smart and effervescent woman succumb to the same blackmail, threats and misuse as Jack. "I have missed you so much, Mombi. I'm not asking for understanding, but I had to go, as those shits at Liverpool Street threatened you guys with the same fate as Jack." Alex wondered what she thought of his dark path. There was no one better to confide in about his new start, unravelling all the secrets and lies, hurt and loss, suffering and surviving. "I know Ed talked to Marco. My old boss was a mother figure in a way, not a bastard. Easy to call him one, but he helped me get perspective back, when I was really low. I was like a wounded animal then, trapped and losing hope, when he decided to offer me a hand up from the gutter."
With an easy understanding and the mix of joy and horror, Liz hugged her prodigal son. "So like, Ed. He tries to edit out the worst bits in a stupid attempt to protect us. I'm OK with reading between the lines. Sabina also went to meet your old friend. He told her you'd been in touch. If you need to keep secrets or need to embellish the truth or omit facts to to remain sane. Have no qualms, you first. None of this protecting us or running again. You picked the right guy to back you up coming here to Dusseldorf. Mr. Sprintz is a man invested in paying his debt to you and his dad has deeper pockets than MI6 and richer friends."
Alex knew there could be no lies or half-truths, if he wanted a future with family and friends.
After Liz escaped for her own breakfast, Edward sat failing to answer any cryptic crossword clues, thinking Alex was asleep. The patient was puzzled by the fact these practical strangers were still acting as his 'parents', even though he was far from being a child. That role would continue, whether he was in jail or living with Jan, rain or shine. Both accepted him as out and proud with understandable issues and that he needed them, end of story, no arguments. After his escape he knew the 'detain on sight' order had been downgraded due to the stink raised by the full anti-terrorism response in Holland. "When you guys went to see Grandma and left me at the hotel, Crawley visited. The Bank wanted me to go undercover as some psycho teen terrorist wannabe. Like every other time, they used tried and true threats. I ran scared as I was still grieving for Jack, helped along by a shit load of survivors guilt. Now, I don't fear MI6 and their bully tactics. Took me a while to reach that conclusion. Sure I could end up imprisoned, but that would be no worse than the last five years. I don't think Yassen is a problem either, since I'm no longer his possession and what I know about him is irrelevant now."
The journalist took off his reading glasses and pondered this statement detailing years of terror and abuse like just a normal rite of passage. "We knew at the time you'd run to escape your tormentors and to protect us from them as well. The lovely receptionist at Malmaison gave a detailed description of your unexpected visitor. When I confronted Ms. Jones, she was less than impressed with her deputy, who was working to Alan Blunt's game plan. My attempts to follow your trail got me to Moscow, but after that all I could do was believe in Liz's unwavering faith that you would return to us. You protected us, now let us protect you as the pen is mightier than the sword." All the easier when two indebted mothers controlled large media empires, the former school friend who had over three million followers on his blog and the three billionaires in the mix.
Alex knew he was a borderline sociopath, considering his uncle's desire to train him to be a spy and years living under Yassen's paranoia. He reached over to his few personal items in his locker. He pulled out a data stick and his journal. "For you, make copies. My own, my dad's and Yassen's stories. Sorry, but the notes concerning the last few months are handwritten. I've been honest. Brutally honest. I love, yes I'm still in love with that Russian bastard. For that reason alone I'm compromised. The killer, terrorist and one of the world's most wanted criminals let me go. A man who never makes mistakes over his safety. He was always playing a bigger game. He's a predator, who took MI6's wunderkind and made me unusable and left me as an example. There is no empathy in that man. He did not do it for me." Yassen had used him to take out Julia Rothman, but Alex did not begrudge that decision. The bitch deserved it. Now he lived to embarrass Blunt and Jones.
Their conversation was cut short by Liz, who returned with shopping. The pastime was the fashion writer's superpower. In the bags were two pairs of gender neutral pyjamas, a robe, slippers, along with skincare products, toiletries and cosmetics. All high end as she had exacting standards.
Alex slipped into the en-suite to change out of the hospital issue gown, but leaving the door slightly ajar. He overheard the ensuing interchange. "Don't worry darling", Liz confessed after she had kissed her husband passionately. "I have a Roscoe Communications American Express Black Credit Card, seemingly I'm on the payroll as fashion consultant. These are all approved necessities. We have a apartment arranged nearby and a personal assistant sorting out our lives while we're here."
…..
The international list of persons of interest included Alexander John Rider, current alias Marek Stepan and formerly Alexander Schmidt. Known associate of Cossack, also known as Yassen Gregorovich, a terrorist and killer for hire with arrest warrants issued in fourteen countries. The Federal Anti-terrorist Unit in Berlin had been informed of the reappearance of Mr. Rider by Dieter Sprintz himself, with the news the person of interest was in hospital, receiving treatment for malnutrition from suspected anorexia nervosa, self harm and undiagnosed psychiatric conditions. Heinrich Benz could make an educated guess considering he had investigated the work of Cossack several times and that Russian had ample reason to make an example that particular MI6 target. The teenager was probably besotted and in the man's thrall after years of expert conditioning. He made carefully notes, as his conversation with his equivalent in London would need to simple and direct to ensure they backed off. Dieter Sprintz was a man to be feared, as he had the means and motive to destroy international banking financial systems if provoked. He also knew his dutch counterpart would also be raising concerns considering his predecessor had just vacated the post.
…..
Jan van Vliet was stood in front of his mirror, trying to decide what to wear and what to pack. Procrastinating when he had only three hours to sort himself out and buy his love gift. Ria had told him to not to pressurise Marek, to give him time to heal and get his head sorted out. That it may be months of head shrinking before they could consider dating again. Like a good friend she had not mentioned any worst case scenarios, when he was alone and heart broken. He had to hope for the best and the best at the moment was Alex not Marek, alive and in hospital.
The tall dutch businessman decided on casual attire as it was three and a half hours on the train. His mother was not due for another hour, plenty of time to sort himself out. He went into the kitchen to make a coffee, to help relax and get his mind off worrying or the real problem of acting possessive and ruining everything.
…
The German Federal Police had informed Interpol that the missing person notice for Alexander John Rider had been rescinded. The Counter Terrorism Branch at the Metropolitan Police passed this matter straight to Head of Her Majesty's Secret Service. The file was marked as non urgent.