Chapter Text
Part I
Yassen was almost out of the building, explosives ready to go off the moment he started the detonation sequence through the remote he was holding, when the noise caught his attention.
At first, he ignored it. The building was old; there would be noises. If the noises had been from another direction, they could have been from one of the men he’d shot making some last desperate attempt to call for help with their dying breath. Or it could have been, if Yassen made such mistakes as leaving witnesses even partially alive.
And then the repetitive banging began again - weak, muffled by at least a few walls, but present. And Yassen was not incurious enough to ignore finding out what his previous adversary had trapped in his lair.
Yassen wasn’t sure how he managed to be surprised.
Of course, Alex Rider would end up here. It was one of many places the boy shouldn’t be, so he had to appear.
What surprised Yassen more than finding Alex, bound and tied to a pipe in the wall, however, was the thick and drying trail of blood streaking down the child’s neck.
The gag in Alex’s mouth prevented him from saying anything. But the immediate reaction that crossed the boy’s face - widening eyes, frowning as much as the gag would allow - said that Alex hadn’t expected to see Yassen here either.
Yassen undid the gag from around Alex’s head, and it was apparent at once where the blood down the boy’s neck had come from. Something sharp had more than scratched the back of Alex’s head, and a portion of his blond hair was matted with blood.
“I was hoping for someone helpful,” Alex muttered as soon as the gag was dropped to the floor. The implication being Yassen wasn’t the candidate he had in mind.
Luck didn’t always come in the form expected, in Yassen’s experience. He tilted his head, and said, “Let’s say I’m feeling generous.”
He didn’t ask if Alex wanted help, even from him. Alex may still say no.
And it didn’t really matter what Alex wanted. Yassen was going to help, this time, because the alternative was leaving the young spy to die in the havoc that Yassen would unleash soon.
Yassen wasn’t yet that cruel.
He used his pocketknife to cut through the bonds holding Alex in place. “Follow me,” Yassen instructed as he stood and turned for the door. He was halfway across the room before noticing that that Alex wasn’t following.
Across the room, Alex was standing with a pained expression on his face. His hand was raised to his head, gingerly touching a matted clump of hair near his head wound.
“This way.” Now was not the time for lingering around to survey the potential head damage. Now was the time to leave while inflicting damage.
“Sorry,” Alex muttered. He took a hesitant step, and it was immediately clear that the blood loss and head wound the boy had suffered weren’t ornamental.
The walk out of the building was far slower than Yassen would prefer, with Alex leaning against and holding his arm for stability. It was also, objectively, not a slow walk. Alex had been on enough missions to understand urgency, even if he didn’t, at this exact moment, understand what that urgency was for.
Although Alex may have been urgent for his own reasons. Yassen had found the child tied to a pipe in a building that the owner had known would be demolished soon.
Yassen wished, by the end of their walk to the car, that he had parked closer to the building. Still, the advantage of parking far away from a demolition site was that the site could safely be demolished once they were at the car.
Yassen keyed in the activation sequence, while Alex slumped against the headrest of the passenger seat. (The rental agency would be none too pleased by the traces of blood left on the seat, Yassen was sure).
Alex’s eyes flew open when the explosion began. Pale, the boy watched the explosion as Yassen started the car.
“Oh,” Alex said, softly.
“You’re welcome,” Yassen replied, grateful that at least the day hadn’t begun by inadvertently killing Hunter’s only child.
The drive down the winding forest road was quiet enough, although Alex occasionally winced when the car would hit a bump and Alex’s head banged against the headrest.
“Where is your handler?” Yassen asked as he brought them onto the highway.
“Who’s that?” Alex asked.
“The person in charge of your mission,” Yassen responded, impatient at the fact that Alex had been working for MI6 for a year and didn’t yet know the terminology. “The person who can then take you to a hospital.”
Alex didn’t respond for a minute.
“Could you just drop me off at a hospital?” Alex asked, after the minute had passed. “I can figure things out from there.”
If there was anything Yassen knew about America, it was that attempting to figure out the insurance alone would hurt Alex’s head more than the actual head wound.
“I’m not going to harm them,” Yassen promised, which was more than he would usually be willing to promise regarding an intelligence agent. “I told you I would help.”
Alex’s silence was telling. Of what, however, Yassen didn’t know.
Yassen kept driving, in the direction of the nearest hospital he knew of. If Alex wouldn’t tell Yassen where to find his handler, Yassen would leave Alex for his handler to pick up.
“I can call the CIA,” Yassen said as they neared the exit for the hospital. “Tell them about the foreign agent running around on their soil.” That was assuming they didn’t already know. Alex’s reaction to the threat would reveal that information.
“Don’t.”
“Or what?” Alex, despite his luck and skill, and despite Yassen’s what-could-be-called-fondness for the boy, had nothing to hold as leverage. Yassen could, and would, make threats if it got the name of his handler out of the boy.
Alex only shook his head. “I don’t want problems. Thanks for the ride, but I’ll be alright. Just leave me at the hospital.”
“I will leave you when your handler is around to ensure you rest.”
In the corner of Yassen’s eye, Alex grimaced.
“Having met you,” Yassen expanded, “it would be reckless to leave you alone, when you might decide your mission wasn’t yet finished.”
Alex sighed. It wasn’t a disagreement. “I can’t help you with a handler,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have one.”
For the second time that day, Yassen wasn’t sure why he was surprised.
It made sense, with what Yassen knew. The whole messy affair with Cray, no one had believed the boy. No one had helped him. And no one had been there to stop Sayle from taking Alex the day after it had all occurred, that first time they had met, in London.
Yassen wasn’t, despite his occupation, necessarily a violent man. Violence was a necessary part of the job. It was a job he did well. It wasn’t something he needed to enjoy.
If he was a more violent man, Yassen would be willing to add a few acts of precisely targeted violence to his resume, should he meet an agent from MI6 soon. Enough to send a message, and leave at least one of MI6’s apparently not-so-precious agents as a reminder of Yassen’s displeasure with the organization.
Alex wouldn’t want that. And Yassen, despite himself, cared enough about what Alex thought that he allowed the passing thought of retribution to leave his head.
“What do you normally do when you need help?”
“Hope I don’t die.” Alex said it without hesitation, as if that were how MI6 agents were supposed to be treated.
As if it was how adult agents were treated.
“On the bright side, usually someone turns up to help.”
Yassen frowned at that. “I’m not sure hoping that I will turn up and like you enough to leave you alive is a plan that will help you live a long life.”
He was sure. It wasn’t.
“It worked this time.” Alex replied after a moment.
Yes. With luck, this time the plan had worked.
If Yassen had been in slightly more of a rush to get on his way...
“If I leave you at the hospital, what will happen?” Yassen asked, abruptly changing tract from the direction his mind was taking him in.
“I’ll get ahold of my bosses. I have a phone number.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Maybe they’ll give me a bonus if I claim I blew up the building myself.”
Yassen pulled them up to the emergency room drop off point minutes later.
“Thanks for the ride.”
Yassen watched as Alex got out of the car. He needed to be going.
Alex closed the car door, and started towards the hospital entrance. He was walking better than before, but still slower than Yassen would expect from a teenager.
Yassen needed to be elsewhere by tonight.
He decided his next course.
He would need to find a parking space.
---
“They really shouldn’t let just anyone into patient’s rooms,” Alex said, when Yassen entered the small examination room he had been told to wait in.
The advantage of the incredibly rural hospital Alex had been dropped at was the lack of a wait to get into a room.
“I’m your cousin,” Yassen replied.
Alex frowned. “You expect me to memorize a cover right now? I have a head injury, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Yassen didn’t smile, but Alex was willing to bet the man was amused. “I’ve met you. Let’s say I believe in your abilities.”
Sure he did.
“Well, it’s good you’re here.” Not that Alex knew why Yassen was still here, but he would complain later. And only if the assassin did anything particularly egregious. “They want an adult. For reasons I don’t understand, and health forms.”
It hadn’t taken even a minute for Alex to learn that America did not, as it happened, have universal health care.
“Are you paying me back, with your bonus from blowing up the building?” Yassen inquired.
“Sure, I’ll pay you back my entire bonus on top of my salary,” Alex agreed. For a grand total of zero pounds, but that was a small detail.
According to the doctor, the injury wasn’t as bad as it seemed. After three very painful stitches, it was on its way to recovery, so long as Alex rested and avoided further head trauma.
Alex wondered if MI6 would listen to that advice.
The doctor had then, after ensuring his injury was treated to, asked Alex questions. A lot of questions. About where the injury had occurred, what had occurred, and, mainly, why Alex had waited until the blood completely dried before coming to the emergency room.
At that last question, the doctor even stared, pointedly, at Yassen.
Yassen had stared back, completely unreadable.
Eventually, Alex had broken their staring contest by asking the doctor whether he could play football - Alex had even remembered to call it soccer - in the next few weeks.
The doctor’s despair over the question left it clear that no, football would not be a choice for the immediate future.
Yassen was acting nicer than Alex remembered from previous missions. Perhaps it was the natural consequence of not waking a hired killer up by pointing their own gun at their head, or trying to ruin their terrible bosses’ plans. (Not that Alex was going to claim to be in the wrong for any of those incidents. And the anger at all the terrible things Yassen did for a living was still there. But there was the feeling that, now that Alex knew more about the man, he could see that they had enough in common to maybe not hate each other.)
Yassen even paid for the doctor’s visit when it was done.
“I should probably call MI6, huh,” Alex mused, after he’d taken soap and a clean shirt from Yassen’s bag and washed away the blood from his hair and neck in the hospital bathroom. Yassen’s shirt was almost not too large, another sign of Alex’s recent growth spurt.
“Yes, tell them that once again you have taken care of your job and the job of your handler.” The dark undercurrent of Yassen’s tone was masked, but it was there.
Alex shrugged. “You were probably as close to a handler as I’m going to get, if I’m understanding what a handler does correctly.” He offered a half smile. “Thanks.”
Yassen didn’t return the smile. “It’s not my job to rescue you.”
What did the man want Alex to say to that? No, it wasn’t his job, but the assassin had done it!
“Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” Alex retorted.
Yassen frowned. His next words seemed measured. “You are not an inconvenience. Your employment is inconvenient, both for my recent employment history and for your own survival.” Yassen paused only a moment, as if he suspected his words would not be taken well. “You should stop working for them.”
There wasn’t a need to stop and think, after that.
“No,” Alex said. Because it wasn’t that easy, and there were lives at risk - always - and he could help, and because, as Mrs. Jones had told him recently, he was addicted to danger. “No. And you can’t make me.”
“I rather think I could,” Yassen replied, in a low voice. And Alex felt the shiver that went down his spine whenever the madman of the day threatened him.
“You’re not going to, though.” Despite the fear, Alex was nearly confident that he was correct. Yassen hadn’t just rescued him and brought him to a hospital only to turn around and grievously injure him.
Cold blue eyes gazed back at him for a moment. “No. I’m not.”
Alex smirked, but it wasn’t a victory. More of a hollow “I told you so” where neither party won.
“You should call MI6,” Yassen said. “They’ll pick you up.”
“Alright,” Alex agreed. There wasn’t much more to say, he thought, not if Yassen wanted to turn this into a grand “abandon MI6 all ye who talk with me” speech.
And Yassen had already tried to turn Alex from MI6 once. That hadn’t ended well either.
“Alright,” Yassen echoed. He looked at Alex, again impossible to read, and shook his head. “I’ll be around, if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I suppose I will be around to help you when MI6 leaves you in the hands of people like me,” Yassen responded.
Alex didn’t have a clever retort to that. MI6 had left him in the hands of villains, after all, so many times.
“Take a vacation at least. It’s what the doctor ordered.” With those final words, Yassen left.
Part II
Yassen was beginning to lose count of how often he’d saved the young spy’s life at this point.
And maybe technically Alex might argue that Yassen not having his men shoot him didn’t count as saving his life.
Yassen disagreed.
“Hold fire,” he said, clearly, into the walkie as he looked down the street at the familiar blond boy running his way.
His men didn’t fire, but they also didn’t lower their weapons. By the time Alex had skidded to a stop in front of Yassen, at least five firearms were loosely aimed in his direction.
“Hi,” Alex gasped out between ragged breaths.
Yassen, bemused, ordered his men to focus on holding their position. When one of his men - a young German named Charles - didn’t understand that his words meant stop aiming at the boy, Yassen fixed him with an icy stare.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Alex said. His breathing was starting to even out.
“You didn’t expect to see me in in Turkey, or you didn’t expect to see me at the end of this street?”
Alex shrugged. “Bit of both, really.”
It had been at least a year since they’d run into each other in America. Alex looked slightly older, taller, and at least a little as if he’d recently run a long marathon through a bag of dust.
“Your people were chasing me. I really hoped you could tell them to stop.”
And indeed, at the end of the end, two men had appeared. They saw Yassen and his men, all armed, and stopped.
“No.”
Alex frowned. “You can’t tell them to stop?”
“I doubt they’d listen, as they aren’t my men.”
Alex looked over his shoulder to see his two pursuers halted mid-chase.
“Oh. Well then, other people were chasing me. And I hoped you’d tell them to stop.” Alex smiled, cheekily. “It looks like it worked.”
“For the moment,” Yassen agreed. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, and tightened his grip, enough to be a warning. “Would you care to tell me why those men are chasing you? And why it seems rather as if you’re running away from the embassy that my people have an interest in?”
Alex’s smile faded slightly. “In fairness, a lot of people have an interest in that embassy.” He, seemingly for the first time, noticed the armed men standing around Yassen. “But I don’t know anything about that. I don’t even watch the news.”
Yassen raised an eyebrow at his second in command. “Hold him.” He pushed Alex none-too-gently towards the man. Then he looked towards the two men standing at the end of the street, and waved them over.
The two men, nervously, stepped forward. By now they were no doubts aware of the snipers on the rooftops and the armed men with Yassen himself by the truck.
“You really don’t need to talk to them,” Alex said. His tone sounded calm and almost cheerful, but it was wrong. Faked.
The child had a reason to be worried.
“Really,” Alex said, as the men approached. “I’m good. Thanks for the help, appreciate it, but I’d like to be going now. My, uh, my friend will be wondering where I am.”
Only a poor spy would bring a friend into such a contested city. “No, I don’t think so,” Yassen replied. He meant about the friend, but if Alex understood his remark as ‘no, you aren’t going now’, that would also be correct.
Alex frowned. “My handler then. They gave me one of them now, you know.”
“How kind of them.”
If Yassen’s men were untrained, Alex’s scheme to free himself and jump behind the truck to run would take them by surprise.
His men were not untrained.
“Alex,” Yassen warned, “If you try what you are planning, you will still be here in five minutes, but your wrist will be broken. And I’m not taking you to a hospital this time.” That remark earned Yassen a glower, but it was true. Alex was sixteen, and apparently now had someone to watch him on his missions.
Good. Yassen wasn’t the boy’s caretaker.
When the approaching men reached spitting distance of the truck, Yassen held up a hand for them to stop.
His exchange with the men, in Turkish, was enlightening. Alex’s furrowed brow indicated the boy was hoping it wouldn’t be.
Requested information received, Yassen dismissed the men. They walked away with an alarming speed.
Alex was the only one who flinched when they were shot through the back immediately before they could duck into the alley they’d emerged from.
“Put him in the truck,” Yassen ordered. “There’s no excuse for him to escape.”
Alex was swiftly bundled into the back of the truck by Yassen’s second. He could be dealt with later. After the ambassador’s men were run into this road off the main (cleared) path from the embassy, Yassen would talk with the little spy who had somehow managed to steal the information that half a dozen countries were now desperately vying over.
The ambassador’s men were run into the road not much later, and, seeing the ambush that awaited them, immediately surrendered.
Yassen left his men to hold the ambassador’s personnel there, as he got into the truck with his second and Alex and began the drive towards the rendezvous point where they would be meeting the ambassador’s wife.
There were many people around the world with unpleasant marriages, from what Yassen had seen in his lifetime. Not all unhappy marriages were as destructive as this one.
A small nation’s ambassador to Turkey had defected to a third country not three days ago, leaving his wife of 32 years behind in a city that was little more than an active war zone, which even the Turkish military didn’t claim to fully hold. In return, she had attempted to sell high ranking information that her husband had gained access to, through creating a system of bids where representatives of numerous countries could compete. It was information on Turkish tactical plans for the fighting in the region, and the ambassador’s wife should never have been close to touching it. But now she had a copy, and it was Yassen’s job to retrieve the information before it ended up in the wrong hands, a phrase which here meant ‘other hands.’
The other team working for Yassen had gone to the embassy to destroy any duplicate copies of the information stored there.
Obviously, if what the men had told Yassen was true, the other team had failed. Yassen had taken note of their failure. The boy should never have gotten into the embassy, let been able to retrieve a copy of the plans.
The survival of the small cafe where they were meeting belied the state of the city. After parking in the street, Yassen ran a critical eye over the tables poking half outside the cafe’s roof. Few people were seated at the tables. None looked to pose a threat, although several had knives or pistols. So long as Alex - and the ambassador’s wife – cooperated, then the handoff would be smooth. Then Yassen would be left with two copies of the information, and one foreign spy.
Yassen put an arm on the headrest of the passenger seat, and twisted around to face Alex. “We’re going inside. You’re going to sit there - quietly - and cause no problems.” There will be problems elsewise remained unstated.
“Ok,” Alex agreed, far too fast to be genuine. “Can I order a Coke? I’m parched. Watching people get killed does that.”
Yassen’s second in command slapped Alex around the back of the head. “Quiet,” he instructed. Alex blinked in shock more than in pain. When the boy looked at him, almost offended, Yassen struggled to not roll his eyes.
“Quiet,” he agreed, getting out of the truck. “It won’t hurt you to keep your mouth closed for a while.”
They took a seat at a table against the wall of the restaurant. When the waitress took their order, Yassen ordered coffee. Alex glared at Yassen’s second. Then, in faltering Turkish, he asked for a Coke.
When the ambassador’s wife arrived, flanked by a tall and obviously armed guard - although, in this city, anyone who wasn’t obviously armed was at least subtly so - Alex showed no signs of recognition. That was one relief. Yassen didn’t need the trouble that came from people knowing each other.
“The embassy is being cleared now, without your husband’s men in the way,” Yassen said in lieu of a greeting, as she sat down.
Alex’s eyes narrowed, at that.
Yassen was distracted from figuring out what Alex knew by the sounds of horns beeping suddenly in the background. The sound alone wasn’t unusual, in a city such as this. What was more unusual was the silence that followed.
Occasionally Yassen would, often in times when it was least expected, sense that danger was near.
There should be no reason to suspect danger now. Everything - save the detail of Alex - had been sorted. The wife had no reason to cause problems. Her husband was gone.
"Someone knows we are here," Yassen said, calm. He stood, slowly, so the man with the ambassador's wife wouldn't be alarmed. Then Yassen grabbed Alex and shoved him to the ground.
Alex, shocked, had no time to fight back. Yassen drew his gun and stood against the wall while the woman he had come here to meet and her guard starting to run away.
The shooting started moments later, as the truck of armed men arrived on their section of the street.
Like most moments of violence and bloodshed, it finished quickly. The men who'd ambushed them began to drive away after bodies littered the road and café, Yassen's second and the ambassador's wife included. And then a man in the bed of the truck that was driving away held up a section of pipe.
"Alex, run, now," Yassen ordered, reaching down to pull Alex off the ground.
They were barely out of the café, Alex stumbling over his feet, when the bomb exploded.
Yassen lost Alex in the explosion. The blast had knocked him off his feet, and Yassen's head rang. Blinking, Yassen glanced back. He should never have allowed Alex to fall behind him.
Alex wasn't in a bad condition. Just, worse.
Bloody yet shallow cuts on the boy’s hands and a scrape on his forehead were the main outward signs of injury. But Alex almost certainly had a concussion, even if physically he looked unimpaired. His pupils were large and he was, from what Yassen could see, just slightly off kilter.
“Get up,” Yassen commanded, even though he could barely hear himself while the ringing in his head faded. He pulled Alex up and began to walk them away from the site of the devastation. There was no point in staying here.
Down the street, only a cat dared wander freely about. Everyone else who had been going about their day in the city street had fled when the truck of armed men appeared.
Behind them, the devastation would probably be noisy. But by the time Yassen could properly hear again, they were a few streets away.
Yassen wasn’t sure that he didn’t feel guilty about taking the boy with him. He wasn’t guilty, because Alex was alive and in a safe enough condition that no emergency room was needed. But dragging the boy along when his main goal was still to repossess Alex’s intel could have come with less guilt if Alex wasn’t clinging to his sleeve for balance.
“This only happens when you’re nearby,” Alex mumbled, in his first words after the explosion. “I was nearly blown-up last time. I got hurt on the plane. There was a fucking bull in France.”
Yassen almost smiled. “This only happens when I’m nearby?”
He put an arm around Alex’s shoulders to balance the boy. Yassen could get them to a safe place within thirty minutes, and could have the intel from Alex in thirty-five, if there was a rush.
There wasn’t a rush. Even if there had been, this didn’t require force. Alex would give up whatever he had - a drive, a disk, or a phone, most likely - easily enough. Not unless MI6 had put Alex through RTI courses. Not for the physical torture, but the mental resistance.
Maybe now that Alex had a handler, MI6 was finally taking the boy’s health seriously.
Speaking of handlers, Alex’s would need to know his charge was still alive.
Yassen stopped in the alley, and leaned Alex up against a wall. “Where’s your handler?”
“What?” Alex responded, dazed.
“How do I contact him? Is there a number I can call? An address to drop you at, after this all is done?”
Alex was silent just a moment too long. He fixed his unfocused eyes on the stone ground of the alley they’d stopped in.
“You should learn to lie better, if you want to be a spy,” Yassen said, after a moment.
“Fooled you, though,” Alex muttered.
“You fooled someone who wanted to believe you.” His tone was cooler than Alex deserved, possibly, but Yassen wasn’t pleased. Years of experience meant that Yassen was the fool to have fallen for such a simple lie.
Brown eyes peered at him cautiously, pupils far too overblown for the middle of the day. Alex needed rest, and, with this new information processed, it was clear there was no one to make sure he got it.
“What was your exit plan? A phone number? You were being chased by men who wanted to kill you.”
“Run into someone who liked me enough to not kill me.”
“No, that was not your plan. Your plan was to hope for luck.”
Alex defended himself. “It worked! Mostly.”
“Mostly,” Yassen agreed darkly, thinking of what they still had ahead of them. Alex wouldn’t be happy to return the information he’d stolen. Injured and threatened, Alex would also not be able to stop Yassen from taking the plans. MI6 were bigger fools than Yassen had been to send Alex here, alone, and think he could defend what he’d acquired for them.
Alex was quiet the rest of the way. By the time Yassen had gotten them to the compound his men were based out of, the boy was walking by himself, his dizziness seemingly gone.
“Sad for a fortress of evil,” Alex mumbled as they were let in.
Yassen led the boy to the empty kitchen. “Sit down.”
Alex sat down at the small table in the corner of the room. “Is it snack time already?”
“No.” Yassen’s attention wandered to the cooking knifes. He didn’t go for them, but he spent enough time pretending to consider the option that Alex could easily see it was a possibility.
“Bit rude, hurting someone you rescued.”
Despite the many ways in which it was clear that Alex was only sixteen, he was still impressive. If the boy was scared, he didn’t sound it. If anything, he sounded only slightly winded from the walk they’d taken while he was not in the best condition.
“It would be rude.” Yassen glanced at Alex. He willed the spy to understand that it was also not an option Yassen was rejecting, should the boy turn uncooperative.
Alex folded his arms. “I don’t know what you think, but I don’t have anything helpful on me.”
“The plans could be hidden somewhere else, it’s true.” Although Yassen doubted it. “But it doesn’t matter where the plans are, little Alex. Because you don’t have a handler keeping you safe, and your safe passage out of this country depends on me.”
“Sounds like you’re a bit full of yourself. Anyone could help me leave the country.”
“Not when they can’t find you.”
“Why couldn’t they find me? I activated my tracker beacon ages ago.”
It was a clever and bold lie.
Yassen said as much.
Alex held out his left wrist to show a beaten and dusty watch wrapped around it.
Yassen reached out to take hold of the watch. Alex moved to draw back his wrist, but Yassen held his wrist in place and undid the watch. He pried the back off.
Inside the case, a device that might well be a tracker was hidden.
“You don’t even have a handler. Why should I worry about this?”
“I don’t have a handler. I do have backup.” Alex grimaced. “The guy’s annoying, but he probably wants me back alive and unhurt.”
Was it only one agent then? The compound security could deal with that threat.
“He has others with him,” Alex said. “If you were wondering.”
That was annoying. Yassen had no desire to deal with a team of English spies. Alex was nuisance enough on his own.
“And I don’t have the plans on me,” Alex admitted. “You can check. I really don’t. I’m not idiotic enough to carry a flash drive of valuable information to you twice.”
After a moment of looking over the boy, Yassen believed him. Alex was telling the truth.
Which meant MI6 retrieved the plans the moment they had Alex back.
“I guess they don’t win, you know, if you kill me.” Alex’s cheek implied he knew that was not a possibility.
Yassen had lost the plans.
It was time to bargain, then. He might not be able to completely salvage the situation, but at least he could get something in return for handing over the boy to MI6.
What did Yassen want that he could ask for in exchange?
---
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Alex complained. Across from him, Mrs. Jones sat behind her desk.
“A handler isn’t a babysitter,” she said. “They’re support, and you could use one.”
The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh. “You know you don’t have to follow through on this deal, right?” Alex asked. “No one expects you to listen to the advice of rogue assassins.”
“He was probably right in requesting supervision for you,” Mrs. Jones admitted.
This was all Yassen’s fault. Alex had been fine without someone putting a leash on him. He’d finally worked out a contract that he liked with MI6. Jack was even, somehow, putting up with his continued employment with the agency.
“Your handler is genuinely nice, Alex,” Mrs. Jones assured him.
“Fine.” It wasn’t as if he’d thought Mrs. Jones would listen to his objections anyway. And some part of Alex even hoped that a handler would finally be helpful in arranging for impromptu hospital visits. “When does he start?”
Part III
All of four months had passed since Yassen had saved Alex from near certain death in Turkey, so at first Yassen wasn’t willing to believe that the tall, blond haired teenager across the room was Alex. And then the boy shifted, and Yassen, internally, grimaced.
British summer holidays were happening now, he realized. Alex wouldn’t even be missing school on whatever mission MI6 had sent the boy on this time.
Yassen had the feeling that whatever mission involved Alex being at the elaborate birthday party of a multi-millionaire in Venezuela would somehow have the impact of affecting his own goal in the country.
They didn’t run into each other for a while. Yassen stayed close to his employer while the man made his rounds, greeting everyone he knew and introducing himself to those he didn’t. Alex, in contrast, was sequestered in a corner with a gaggle of seemingly mostly bored teenagers.
Only after the attention of the whole room had been gathered for a large round of a Happy Birthday sung in Spanish - despite most of the room being American businessmen - and the dessert table was opened did the chance for them to meet occur.
Yassen ignored the cake offered to him by a waitress. He’d never enjoyed sweets after another, much earlier, life where there had been too many desserts to taste. And he was aware enough that a birthday party such as this was a high-profile target. Poison wasn’t common, but it occurred.
The gaggle of teenagers who’d previously been sulking on the wall was now laughing merrily, jabbering away in the mixture of Spanish and English that came from children who had lived in multiple countries. And they were on the other end of the long dessert table, grabbing plates of cake for themselves and younger siblings.
“You should try some,” Alex said, after he caught Yassen’s eye. The boy took another bite of his slice. “It’s really good.”
“Have we met?” Yassen asked, because he supposed he ought to give Alex at least the chance to stay undercover and out of trouble. Failing that, at least Yassen could avoid the guilt of knowing that he had committed Alex to years of confinement in a Venezuelan prison – if the boy blew his cover and was outed as a foreign spy, it was his own fault.
“Nope. I’m Alex,” Alex said, reaching out to shake Yassen’s hand with his right hand while balancing a plate of cake on the other.
Did MI6 bother to try to disguise Alex? “Nice to meet you,” Yassen responded.
“Don’t you have a name?”
“Not one you need to know.”
The boy shrugged, the gesture made awkward as he shifted to avoid bumping into the crowd of people around them. “You never know what information will be useful. Maybe I could use your name at some point.”
“If we’ve reached that point, you should stick to remembering your own.” Yes, his warning could have been more subtle, but Yassen suspected no one around would understand.
Alex’s gaze shifted to Yassen’s employer, and the two guards staying next to him. “Hi!” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Alex.”
Yassen’s employer was not a kind man, but he was a politician who wanted to avoid public scandal or offending the sons of the businessmen who supported him. Rojas shook Alex’s hand and introduced himself.
“Who are you here with?” Rojas asked.
“Oh, no one,” Alex said. “I’m a friend of the family.”
“Sanchez’s family?”
Sanchez, the man who owned the residence and the grandfather of the two-year-old who’s birthday was being celebrated, had a vast family. At least three of his grandchildren could plausibly be in Alex’s age range.
Sanchez was also the man who Yassen’s boss was here to negotiate with. By the time they left this party, Rojas was going to be significantly richer, and Sanchez would possess a bundle of papers that he could use as blackmail over his enemies. Many of Sanchez’s enemies lived in the United Kingdom. Reluctantly, Yassen accepted that Alex and himself were again at odds on a mission. No doubt Alex was here to try and retrieve the papers that could harm powerful British citizens, even if he didn’t know that was his purpose. And Yassen was here to hand those papers off.
Turning Alex over to the authorities was the immediate solution, but Yassen had already dismissed it as not a choice. His identity revealed, Alex would be hauled to prison. Venezuelan prison was not a pleasant place.
Annoyed, Yassen decided to play it by ear.
“Yeah,” Alex said right before taking another bite of cake.
“You know his eldest grand-daughter?” Rojas guessed.
“Yeah. Catrina. We’re good friends.”
Alex wouldn’t have been here long enough to be good friends with any of the other teenagers, but he may have been here long enough to have truly received an invitation.
Rojas smiled. “She’s a beautiful young woman.”
“She’s great at school,” Alex rebutted. “I wouldn’t want to be on her wrong side once she’s a lawyer.”
“I’m sure.” His employer looked up and caught the eye of a man he knew across the room. “It was nice to meet you.” Then he wandered off, his bodyguards trailing surreptitiously behind.
It was time to pull Alex aside to talk. They were crowded in here, with people moving and shuffling around the table to grab cake and engage in conversation. “Have you seen the paintings in the hall?” Yassen asked
“I’m not much into art history,” Alex rebuffed. “I’d rather watch a movie. Something exciting.”
“Oh yes? Are you into James Bond movies?”
“Not really. He’s always so cliché. And if I watched too many of his movies, it would make the real villain lairs seem boring in comparison.”
“Probably,” Yassen agreed. “Walk with me a minute. I’m sure you will find some of the art exciting enough. There’s one I have in mind where a young man is executed after being caught spying in the Spanish Civil War.”
Alex frowned. “Sounds a bit ghastly to me.” Nevertheless, he followed Yassen to the corridor that led to the garden, throwing what was left of his cake away on the way there. The corridor was filled with paintings and Yassen stopped in front of one, randomly. The boy didn’t even pretend to the look at the art. “You could have just said, ‘try looking at the nice art with me,’” Alex offered.
“My words worked well enough.” The boy was out here after all. “What are you doing here this time, and why do you keep getting in my way?”
Alex hummed a short note before admitting the truth. “They knew you were here. My handler said I’d be the best person to handle you.”
“That’s a pity.”
“For you?” Alex asked, sounding hopeful. “Because you’re going to go away now that I’m here?”
“It’s a pity that they gave you an idiot for a handler.”
Two children ran by, clearly playing tag, before an adult grabbed one and admonished them both. Yassen watched the scene. Alex looked over, as well.
“He’s nice enough, my handler,” Alex defended.
“Apparently. It was nice of him to volunteer you for this, knowing that I’ve helped you before. I will note, however, that I have never had reservations about hurting you. I will repeat, nicely: why are you here?”
Alex stayed obstinately quiet about his mission objective. As a child’s wail filled the hall, he took a step back. “Nice to catch up. I always appreciate the threats. They really suit you. But I have stuff to do, so I’ll see you around.”
Yassen allowed the boy to walk away, neatly swerving around a waiter and avoiding the now squabbling children as he ducked back into the main room.
Back inside the hall, Yassen kept an eye on the boy until it was time for his employer’s meeting to take place. Then he went to the car and retrieved the briefcase with the papers from the armed man waiting there. Briefcase in hand, Yassen went to meet Rojas and his guard in the man’s private office.
Sanchez didn’t bother with guards inside his office. This was his estate, and he knew that if anything happened to him, his death would be avenged swiftly.
Yassen was just about to close the door to the office so no small child wandered inside by mistake when a man pushing a caterer’s cart came to the door. The cart had an expensive bottle of wine in an elaborately carved wine casket on it. “Pardon, sir,” the man said in English. “This was a gift to your granddaughter, but it’s quite expensive. I thought I would leave it out of sight in here.”
Sanchez waved the caterer in; his office was certainly spacious enough for the large cart. The man left the cart along the wall and left.
The deal was agreed quickly enough; it had been largely pre-arranged, after all. Soon Sanchez was holding he briefcase with the receipts that he needed safely inside, and Rojas held a bag of cash.
“If I am double crossed with fake papers,” Sanchez warned, “I will send my men after you, Rojas, and all of your men as well.”
Rojas promised, “There will be no problems. My man can stay with you for a moment while you check the papers, if you want.”
“No. That’s not necessary. I know where to find you.”
Sanchez dismissed them, and Rojas led his men out of the room.
Yassen hesitated as the men began to cross the hall and head for the exit. “Go ahead,” he told Rojas and his personal bodyguards. Then he doubled back into Sanchez’s office.
He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what – or who – he would find inside. After all, how convenient of the food cart, with room for a teenager to fit underneath the tablecloth while crouching on the bottom shelf, to have needed to be pushed into the room right in before their meeting.
There were no surprises inside the office. Alex, a gun in his hand, was standing in the middle of the room. Exactly where Yassen had hoped the boy wouldn’t be.
“Alex,” Yassen warned, after he had raised his own weapon. “Put it down.”
Alex whirled around. “You were supposed to be gone,” he accused.
“What is this?” Sanchez asked. ”You both know each other?”
Sarcastically, Alex retorted, “Yeah, we’re best friends. It’s why he’s pointing a gun at me.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Yassen said. “The child is making a mistake. I will deal with it.”
“You won’t,” Alex said, before Yassen crossed the room and pressed his own gun to boy’s temple. The boy’s brown eyes jumped up. Sounding increasingly less confident, he repeated, “You wouldn’t.”
“No,” Yassen agreed. “But you wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, either.” Then he reached for Alex’s right arm and yanked it to so the gun was pointed at the ground.
Alex, glowering, dropped his gun. Sanchez dropped the briefcase he’d been holding and lunged to the ground to grab it.
“I’ll take him and make sure he’s not a problem anymore.”
“Yes,” Sanchez demanded. “The boy was pretending to be friends with my Catrina! Make sure he doesn’t have the chance to come close to her again.”
The boy would never have been a threat to Sanchez’s granddaughter. He wouldn’t even have posed a real threat to Sanchez himself, although the man didn’t know it. Still, Yassen promised, looking at Alex’s paling face as he did so, that he would hurt the child bad enough to send a message to whoever had sent him.
The party was still in full swing as Yassen, hand firm on Alex’s arm, marched him out of the party and to his car.
Alex slammed the passenger door when he got into the car.
“Let me guess,” he said with a glare. “You want my handler.”
“Or I can do what I said inside.”
Under his breath, Alex muttered an address from a nice neighborhood.
The address belonged to an international coffee chain. Yassen got himself a coffee and Alex a tea, and sat them both on the second floor.
When Alex finally said, “That’s him,” and made to stand, Yassen pushed the boy back into his seat.
“Stay here.”
Yassen recognized the handler. And from the handler’s shrewd eyes, the man recognized him.
“Take a seat,” Yassen said when the man reached them. It wasn’t a kind invitation.
The man sat. “I know who you are.”
“And I you. You were the caterer.”
“Yes.”
“You left him in a room with many armed individuals, all of whom would kill him without a second thought.”
“Well,” Alex said, with an odd look. “Maybe not all of them.”
It was amazing what selective hearing could accomplish. Judging from the handler’s calm stare, he hadn’t heard Yassen’s accusation.
Yassen decided he hadn’t heard the boy’s statement either. Instead, he said, “If you put Alex in a situation where he could lose his life and he does, or is injured in any serious way, you will answer to me.”
“That’s not fair,” Alex protested.
“You are not his handler,” Alex’s handler said, separating each word with a measured pause, as to emphasize the point.
Wasn’t he? At this point, it was difficult to tell.
“I’m the man who asked for Alex to have a handler. Meaning that if his handler fails to protect him, I will take it personally.”
“You aren’t going to kill me.” Alex’s handler smiled. “I protect Alex. From what I hear, so do you.”
“I repeat,” Yassen said softly, “If you fail to protect the boy, you will have no further use to me.”
The man considered his words, and then nodded. “Ok.”
“Accidents happen,” Alex protested. “This isn’t right.” A nearby table glanced over, and Alex lowered his voice. “You don’t get to say you’re going to hurt someone because I made a mistake and got hurt.”
“Maybe if I do, you will be less likely to make mistakes.”
“That’s not fair.”
Bemused, Yassen shook his head. Many things weren’t fair. It was easy sometimes to forget how young Alex was, but the boy’s protests were enough of a reminder that despite all he had seen, the young spy still saw the world as predominantly black and white.
“You’ll get used to it.” Yassen looked back at the handler. “I’m giving you my number. If he gets into trouble and you can’t help him in time, perhaps if you call me with enough time to do something about it, I will spare you.” Then Yassen let his tone freeze. “A final warning. Do not send him after me again. I’m not his babysitter, but more than that, I am not going to be his executioner.”
“Agreed.”
Alex’s handler extended his hand for a handshake. Yassen raised an eyebrow.
The teenager slouched down in his chair, an annoyed expression on his face.
The handler dropped his hand.
“You wanted to give me your phone number?”
“I’ll call the bank, and leave it in a message for Alex.” Yassen stood. He cast a final look at Alex. “Don’t forget. The next time you’re offered a fun adventure, remember this man sent you into a lion’s den. And I know his face.”
“Yeah, you’re a terrifying and overinvolved babysitter who will shoot whoever hurts me,” Alex said. “I get it. Now I’ve got two people telling me to wipe my shoes on the mat and not blow everything up.”
“Good.” Yassen smiled. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
He left Alex with his handler, confident that his last words were correct.