Chapter Text
Back in February, Alex had seen Yassen in the distance. Alex had been in South Africa for a mission, and at first he hadn’t believed his eyes. Yassen had died on Air Force One; Alex had seen it himself.
Yassen had disappeared by the time Alex finished his mission, but Alex had asked MI6 about him afterwards. They had been reluctant to reveal the truth, but Alex had nagged them until they told him what he already knew: that Yassen had survived the incident and was working again. Although it apparently wasn’t known whether he still worked for Scorpia or had started out on his own.
Looking at the man now, Alex decided that whoever Yassen was working for, they were treating him well. The Russian looked relaxed, perfectly at ease in his domain. If Yassen was surprised to see Alex, he gave no sign of it.
Another prod from the barrel of a gun, and Alex stepped forward into the office. Yassen moved around the desk with the same predatory grace Alex had noticed in him before and leaned against the front. Cool blue eyes took him in.
"There were no teenagers on the guest-list for tonight. And yet my men tell me they caught you sneaking around the hallways. What were you hoping to find?"
Yassen spoke in English, clearly determined to waste no time on small talk.
Alex stayed silent.
Yassen waited a few seconds, then shrugged. He turned to the guards and gave some orders, in Basque this time. The door to the office was pulled shut, leaving Alex trapped in the room with two armed guards and Yassen.
"Search him," Yassen said in Spanish. He had to know Alex spoke Spanish, which meant that he wanted Alex to understand.
The barrel of a gun still pointed at him, Alex turned out his pockets, revealing the sun lotion bottle and sunglasses. At least the beach towel was still back in the garden where Alex had left it.
Then, at another prompt from Yassen, Alex was ordered to strip down to his boxers. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the office with his arms wrapped around himself, as the two guards inspected his clothes.
Yassen was turning the bottle of sun lotion around with an air of idle curiosity. He opened it and sniffed the contents, but seemed reluctant to test the lotion on his skin.
"What does it do?" he asked.
"It protects your skin from the sun," Alex said.
Yassen glanced over at him. “Knowing your employers, I expect it does a little more than just that.”
Alex stayed stubbornly silent.
Eventually, the guards completed their search. Alex’s shorts and T-shirt were returned to him and he immediately put them back on, relieved to be dressed again. His shoes were left next to the desk. Maybe Yassen hoped the lack of shoes would stop Alex from trying to escape.
After that, Alex was blindfolded, guided out the door, and manoeuvred down a flight of stairs. The guards led him down a hallway, then past a doorway into another room. He felt the scratch of worn carpet beneath his feet as someone pushed him down into a chair. Once he was seated, his blindfold was removed.
The room was dimly lit by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, with no windows. This had to be one of the cellar rooms Alex was meant to be investigating. It might have been a storage room, but for now the room contained only a few wooden chairs and two crates by the back wall.
Alex caught a glimpse of the two guards keeping watch in the hallway, before the door was pulled closed and he was left with Yassen.
The Russian took one of the remaining chairs. He set it in front of Alex, then sat down. The room was quiet as Yassen leaned back in his chair, observing him with calm, blue eyes.
Eventually, he spoke. “Where is your partner, Alex?”
“I’m here alone.”
Maybe if Alex could convince Yassen of that, then at least Graham would be able to get what they needed. Perhaps Graham could even find Alex, and get him out. Or alert someone. Alex would take an arrest for trespassing at the hands of the Spanish police over being left at Yassen’s mercy any day.
“Are you?” There was no inflection in Yassen’s voice.
“MI6 doesn’t bother giving me a partner most of the time. You saw how it was with Cray. There was no time to give me a partner for this mission.”
“You weren’t working with MI6 then,” Yassen pointed out. “And I think that you are lying to me, Alex.”
Nearly a year ago, in what Alex had thought were Yassen’s last moments, the man had said he loved Alex. That he would never have killed him. Alex wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, now that Alex was once again working against Yassen’s goals. And Yassen could say that he would never have killed Alex, but Alex remembered the noise of the crowd cheering at the bullfight and Yassen’s hand pushing him forward into the ring.
Hearing Yassen speak now, his face near expressionless, Alex didn’t feel at all reassured by Yassen’s earlier words. Alex had once again barged into one of Yassen’s operations, and worse than that, he’d got caught.
“You are here looking for something,” Yassen stated. “This is not a mission for a child spy. Any adult operative could have taken your place and looked less out of place when apprehended. The only rational reason to send a teenager would be to provide cover for someone else. A family holiday, perhaps.”
Hearing Yassen lay the facts out so clearly, a chill went down Alex’s spine.
“No, Alex,” Yassen said quietly. “You are here with someone else. I want you to tell me where they are.”
Alex said nothing.
The silence stretched on, extending for a long minute.
“What were you looking for?” Yassen finally asked instead, switching tracks. “What do MI6 want with Ibarra?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Yassen’s face. “It is in your best interest to talk to me,” he said. “If you continue to hold out, I have other means of extracting information.”
He was talking about torture, Alex knew, and cold fear settled in his stomach at the threat. But he couldn’t let Yassen know about Graham or the mission. He’d just have to bear it.
Thankfully, before he could think of an answer, they were interrupted by a buzz of static. Yassen took the walkie-talkie that was hanging at his belt and brought it to near his face, listening to a voice speaking in Basque.
Yassen kept his eyes trained on Alex as he replied in the same language. Alex wished he understood what they were saying. Had something happened? Had they found Graham?
He got confirmation a moment later, when Yassen put away the walkie-talkie and got to his feet. “Your partner was caught breaking into the library. Perhaps he will be more willing to talk.”
Another, more severe chill rushed down Alex’s spine at the emotionless tone. This was bad. If Graham had been caught, there would be no one to complete the mission. No one to let MI6 know that Alex had been captured. Alex’s chances of being rescued–already slim–had just been reduced to zero.
He’d have to rely on himself to get out of here then, if he could. Yassen and his guards had been careful so far, and Alex had a sinking feeling that he may not be able to get out of this one.
Mixed with the horror was confusion. Wasn’t Graham supposed to be investigating Ibarra’s study? Alex had seen Graham's rough sketch of the mansion. The library was on the opposite side from the study. Had the plan changed?
Yassen knocked on the door, waiting for the guards to unlock it. He glanced back at Alex.
“Think about what I said, Alex.”
Yassen left. Alex got a glimpse of two guards outside his door, both standing with their hands on their guns, before the door closed again.
When he was sure Yassen had gone, Alex got up, looking around the room properly. Maybe there would be some way to escape while Yassen was occupied with Graham.
With more time to investigate, Alex was certain that this was part of the cellar. The air was cool, and a check of the back wall revealed that the room was likely carved into the mountain itself.
The crates turned up nothing. Maybe this had once been a storage room, and maybe they’d even held weapons once, but now they were empty. With the exception of the wooden chairs, there was also little that could be used as a weapon.
Eventually Alex was forced to conclude that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the room on his own. Even if he managed to pick the lock somehow, there would still be the guards.
The ones who had found and captured him had been young and inexperienced from what Alex could tell. He might have been able to disarm one and escape if it hadn’t been for the presence of a second guard. They had been surprised to see a teenager. Without Yassen around, perhaps they’d slip up. They wouldn’t be the first adults to underestimate him.
Deciding that it was worth a shot, he went over and knocked on the door.
“Hello?” he called. “Is anyone there? I have to use the bathroom!”
There was silence for a long moment, and he wondered if maybe the guards had gone. Then the lock turned, and the door opened a crack. Alex saw a drawn gun pointing at him, and raised his hands.
“I just want to use the bathroom,” Alex said. But he was already beginning to suspect his ruse wouldn’t work.
His suspicion was proven correct when the two guards shared a look, and at the prompting of one of them, the other made a call on their own walkie.
A quick question in Basque was met with a swift and short response. The static made it hard to tell, but Alex thought Yassen sounded almost annoyed.
“Get back from the door,” the guard said. “He said you are to stay inside.”
Of course Yassen did. Alex was thankful that his words had been a lie. He stepped back further into the room as the door was shut and locked, and found a place to sit.
It seemed he wouldn’t be getting out of here any time soon.
Time passed slowly. Alex didn’t have a watch, but it felt like hours had gone by before the door opened again.
When the door finally opened, a guard entered, pulling Graham along. The other agent was blindfolded, and he looked significantly worse for wear. He held himself stiffly, as if he were in pain, and a trickle of blood ran from his nose down to his mouth. By the look of it, someone had hit him, repeatedly, in the face.
Yassen stepped into the room behind them, in time to see the guard kick the back of Graham’s knees, forcing Graham to fall to his knees. Graham grunted, then blinked at the light as the guard pulled off his blindfold. At a gesture from Yassen, the guard left.
“I will leave you both to reconsider your position,” Yassen told them. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
He locked the door behind him.
Alex stepped closer cautiously until Graham noticed him. “Are you all right?”
The man seemed not to have heard him. He was staring at Alex, sharp eyes taking him in. There was something ugly in that look, something unsettling that made Alex hesitate.
“He didn’t hurt you?” Graham’s voice was rough, as if he’d overused it.
Alex shook his head. “He just threatened me, said things would get worse if I kept refusing to talk.”
Anger flared in Graham’s eyes and Alex had to force himself to stay where he was. He was suddenly not so sure that he wanted to be alone with the other agent. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice - they were stuck in the room together.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked again.
The question seemed to be too much for Graham. “All right? Am I all right? You ruined everything,” he snarled. “Everything I went through and he didn’t even hurt you.”
“What?” Alex took a step back, eyes wide.
“I'd hoped Gregorovich would have the decency to beat you up before he killed you. They say he’s a psychopath, but look at you. What, he doesn’t want to hit little kids?”
At Graham’s disdainful words, the pieces finally clicked into place.
Graham hadn’t made a mistake when he’d told Alex there were no guards stationed in the back of the house. Alex remembered the odd glint in the man’s eyes as he’d told Alex the plan and knew he’d meant for Alex to get caught. And Graham must never have intended to go to the study. Why would he, when he expected Alex to be caught and tortured by Yassen? He wouldn’t have wanted Alex to give up his location.
“Why?” Alex asked. “Why would you set me up? Because you don’t like me?”
“Don’t like you?” Graham laughed. ”I hate you. From the moment I saw your face, looking so much like him, it made me sick.”
Dread settled in Alex’s stomach, knowing who Graham must be referring to.
“Do you even know what your father did?” Graham demanded. “My brother, Oscar, he wasn’t even twenty, still just a kid, and your father tortured him for hours before he shot him. All because Oscar had information he wanted.”
“No,” Alex said, not wanting to believe it. “He wouldn’t…”
But he wasn’t so sure about that any more. Neither MI6 nor Mrs Rothman had ever mentioned anything about his father torturing people. Blunt had said his father was a good man, had said that most of the assassinations were faked.
But Blunt had lied to him before.
Graham was warming up to his rant. “You know, when I saw Gregorovich, I thought it was meant to be. It would have been such poetic justice too, Hunter’s apprentice torturing and killing Hunter’s kid. It’s not quite the revenge my brother deserves, but with Hunter dead it’s the closest that I could come. But he didn’t even touch you.”
Before Alex could defend himself, Graham suddenly lunged forward, hitting Alex hard across the face. With a cry, Alex fell backwards, and then Graham was on top of him. Ears still ringing from the blow, Alex tried to push him off, but Graham was too strong and pinned his wrists to the ground.
“This whole mission has gone to hell now,” Graham said, panting slightly. He sounded calmer now, but there was still a crazed look in his eyes, and Alex struggled to free himself. “He’ll kill me, there’s no doubt about that. Gregorovich won’t need me after he’s got what he wants. But you won’t be there to see it - I’ll make sure of that.”
With that, he released Alex’s wrists, wrapped his hands around Alex’s throat, and squeezed.
Alex’s eyes went wide as he struggled to breathe. He panicked, clawing at the hands around his throat, fighting against Graham’s grip with all he had. Distantly, he was aware of the door flying open, but he couldn’t focus on that - his whole world was the hands above him, strangling him, and the burning in his lungs.
Yassen’s voice, far away, gave an urgent command. “Get off him. ”
Graham wheezed a bitter laugh, his fingers pressing into Alex’s skin. “Why? Because he’s Hunter’s son? Are you really that soft, Gregorovich?”
His grip around Alex’s throat grew even tighter. Alex pulled again at the hands, trying to dislodge them, but Graham was stronger and Alex was growing weak. Black spots began to appear in his vision.
From the corner of his eye Alex saw Yassen raise a gun, and realised what was about to happen before it did. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see.
There was a gunshot, loud and immediate, and a spray of something warm on the side of his face. Alex flinched back, pressing himself against the floor.
Graham’s grip on his throat relaxed slightly, but then his body sagged forwards, pressing heavily down on Alex. Alex gasped for air, shaking under the full weight of Graham’s body.
Deadweight.
It was that thought that finally pushed him through his shock and into action. He pushed frantically at Graham’s shoulders, trying to roll away from under him. Yassen moved to him, pulled Graham’s body to the side, off of Alex.
Once he was free, Alex scrambled backwards until he hit the wall, hands curled protectively around his bruised throat. Every breath hurt and his cheek ached where Graham had hit him.
Yassen was crouched by the body. Alex watched him, terror and adrenaline racing through him. The gun was still in Yassen’s hand, and Alex couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
After a moment Yassen rose and surveyed the rest of the room, eyes pausing on Alex for a moment. He turned to the open door and rattled out a number of orders in Basque.
A pair of guards hurried into the room, towards the body. Alex couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, his attention drawn by the sight of Yassen approaching him. He pressed himself further against the wall, but there was no escape.
Yassen crouched down in front of him and reached for him. Alex flinched away, trying to evade him, but the man wasn’t deterred. He caught Alex’s wrists and pulled them down.
“Show me,” he said. “I need to assess the damage.”
Alex stared at him, still trying to catch his breath.
Yassen’s grip around his wrists was like a vice, but the fingers that touched his chin to tilt his face up were surprisingly gentle. The man traced the bruised skin of Alex’s throat and Alex shivered at the touch.
With the expected violence being absent, the immediate panic was beginning to fade, leaving exhaustion in its wake. After a moment, Alex slumped in Yassen’s grip. There was no point in resisting. If Yassen wanted him dead, it wasn’t like Alex could stop him.
After a careful inspection, Yassen released him and got to his feet again. He put a hand on Alex’s arm to tug him up and Alex went without protest, letting Yassen lead him to one of the chairs.
The body had been removed, but there was still a pool of blood on the worn carpet. Someone had tried to dab it dry, but to no avail.
Alex didn’t notice Yassen coming back until he pulled up a chair in front of Alex’s and sat down. A bowl of water and a towel rested on the crate to the side–one of the guards must have fetched it for Yassen. Alex looked around and realised that they were alone again.
Yassen wet the towel in the bowl and wrung it out before starting to clean Alex’s face.
The towel was soft against his skin and the water luke-warm, the touch oddly soothing. Yassen’s movements were methodical but not rough, and his fingers felt warm against Alex’s chin when he turned Alex’s head.
Alex looked down at his hands while Yassen worked, his mind still working to process the revelations of tonight.
Graham had tried to kill him. Because his dad had tortured and killed Graham’s brother. Alex knew his dad had killed people, but MI6 had said some of the kills were faked. They hadn’t mentioned torture. More lies, then. Alex wondered if he would ever get to know the real truth about his father.
It was worse, somehow, to learn his father had tortured people. Alex had accepted that his father had been a killer, had consoled himself with the idea that the killing had been for the sake of his mission and that not all the assassinations had been real.
A good man, Blunt had said. This revelation put all that into question again.
Alex remembered the fear he’d felt when Conrad had interrogated him in the old sugar mill, threatening to crush him if he didn’t give up the information the man wanted. He knew the terror Oscar must have felt and felt sick to his stomach at the thought of his dad causing it.
Warm fingers, surprisingly gentle, touched his chin and tilted his head up. Yassen.
Yassen had known his father, had been the one to tell him John Rider was a killer. Yassen may not have known about Alex’s father working for MI6, but he had wanted Alex to know the truth about John Rider. If Graham had been lying, Yassen would likely know.
“Graham said my dad tortured his brother.” Alex’s voice came out hoarse.
Yassen paused before wringing out the towel again. The water in the bowl had turned a pale red.
“I heard,” he said quietly.
“Is it true?” Alex asked. He could hear the desperation in his voice and wished it wasn’t so obvious. “What Graham said. That my dad hurt people."
Yassen’s eyes flickered over to Alex's. Appraising him. "I wasn't there for this specific incident,” he finally said. “But yes, there were times when Hunter would use torture to obtain information."
Alex fell silent.
"Sometimes it is necessary," Yassen added. His voice seemed almost softer now. “For what it is worth, I don’t think your father took pleasure in the act.”
Alex looked down at his clenched fists.
Was that any better? Yes, Alex had to admit to himself. Maybe not for the victims, but for his own peace of mind. Better to know that John Rider hadn’t been a sadistic man who tortured people just for fun. It didn’t take away from the horror of what his dad had done, but Alex had known his father had had to keep up his cover. Apparently that just went a bit further than MI6 had let Alex believe.
A minute passed before Yassen spoke again. “What was Graham’s plan?”
Alex met Yassen’s eyes. The question had been asked in the same quiet, calm tone as before, but Alex knew without a doubt that this was an interrogation. He should refuse to answer, not give Yassen anything, but he was so tired.
It wasn’t like there was any point protecting Graham any more. The mission was already a failure. And the still patience in Yassen’s eyes told him that the man would keep asking until he got his answers.
“He lied to me,” Alex said. “He said he would go to the study, that he would look for what we needed there. I was supposed to sneak in through the back. But he wanted me to get caught all along.”
Yassen’s fingers were warm against his chin as his face was tilted to the light. “What were you looking to find?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. He was talking too much, but he couldn’t stop. “Proof that he was smuggling weapons. Proof that he was helping terrorists.”
“Why did they think they would find the proof here?”
“I don’t know,” Alex repeated. “They didn’t tell me much. I only got half the briefing, Graham probably knew more than me.”
“Probably,” Yassen agreed.
But now Graham was dead, his blood staining the carpet.
"Are you going to kill me too?"
The words had slipped out before Alex could stop them.
Yassen didn't speak for a long minute. "You shouldn't have come here, Alex," he finally said.
Alex knew he should be scared, but instead he just felt drained. Too much had happened, too many extreme emotions overwhelming him until he was left feeling numb. His throat hurt where Graham had tried to strangle him, and he just wanted to sleep for days, except he wasn’t sure if he would even be alive to see the day after tomorrow.
Yassen wrung out the towel one last time, then got to his feet. He cast a look around the room before focusing on Alex.
“I’ll have someone bring you a pillow and a blanket,” he said. “Get some rest.”
He left, taking the bowl of water with him.
A while later, a guard came by with the promised pillow and several blankets. He even helped Alex push together the two crates to create a makeshift bed. It wouldn’t be very comfortable, but it was better than the floor.
Alex watched from his improvised bed as two other guards started rolling up the blood-stained carpet. They were getting rid of the evidence, he knew. Soon, there would be nothing to show that someone had been killed in this room. Graham’s body would be disposed of somewhere, and no one but MI6 would suspect Ibarra.
And Alex may well join him in whatever unmarked grave they’d find for him.
With that morbid thought, Alex closed his eyes and let exhaustion claim him.
It couldn’t have been more than a few hours later when Alex woke, Yassen’s hand shaking him awake. As soon as Alex’s eyes opened, Yassen left him, going to a bag at the door. He pulled a pair of trainers out. They were Alex’s.
“Put these on,” Yassen said, setting them down in front of him.
Warily, Alex did as he was told. Uncomfortable as his rest had been, he felt better for having slept. Most of the numbness after last night’s emotional turmoil had faded, and a steady hum of adrenaline ran through his veins, giving him new energy.
He couldn’t help the spark of hope at being given back his own shoes. Was Yassen going to let him go? Surely Yassen wouldn’t give him back his shoes to kill him?
When he finished, Yassen gestured for Alex to join him next to the lamp. Alex wasn’t surprised when the man reached for his chin again. Firm fingers tilted his face to the light so Yassen could inspect the injuries.
There was no mirror in the room, but Alex imagined he didn’t make a pretty sight. His throat still hurt, and his left cheek felt swollen. It had probably started to bruise.
Yassen’s fingers were warm where they touched his skin, but his expression was coolly detached. Alex couldn’t help but tense at having the assassin’s hands so close to his throat. It wouldn’t take all that much effort for Yassen to break his neck.
Alex forced himself to speak up to hide how unnerved he was at Yassen’s close scrutiny.
“Are you taking me outside?”
Yassen’s pale blue eyes flickered to him. Surprisingly, he answered. “Yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“What time is it?”
Yassen shook his head. “No more questions now.”
He pulled a jacket from the bag. Alex recognised it as one of the sports uniforms he had spotted teams wearing when he’d gone for a walk. Yassen handed the jacket to him and put on a similar one himself: a coach’s jacket.
Of course. There was some sort of competition going on in town. Alex could already see how it would play out. No one would think too much about an athlete and his coach going for a walk, and if they did, they would remember a teen wearing a sports jacket.
The red and white jackets marked them as Team Denmark–not a cover that would hold up to any scrutiny. All Alex would need to do was speak to break the ruse.
“I’m more of an England supporter myself,” Alex said.
Yassen didn’t respond. He gestured again for Alex to put on his jacket. Alex did so, and then held very still as Yassen pulled the zipper up all the way, covering the bruises on his neck.
Apparently satisfied, Yassen stepped back again. Alex wondered where they would be going, but everything suggested it might be a place where they could be seen. This might be his chance to escape.
Reaching behind him, Yassen pulled out a gun, and Alex’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. It was a Grach MP-433, the same gun the Russian had had in the south of France. The same model that Alex had held to the man’s head on the Fer de Lance. The same gun Yassen must have used to shoot Graham hours before. Was Yassen going to kill him now too?
Yassen bent down to take something else from the bag. A silencer. To stop the sound carrying when he aimed it at Alex’s head and pulled the trigger?
Alex could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, trying to get in as many beats as possible before it would stop forever. But there was nothing he could do if Yassen did want to kill him. Even if he attacked the man now, he would never even reach him in the time it would take for the assassin to raise the gun.
And then it would be his blood spreading in a pool on the rough carpet.
Yassen made no attempt to hide his actions as he attached the silencer and checked the gun in front of him. Then he met Alex’s eyes, and slid the gun into the shoulder holster he wore under his jacket.
Alex let out a slow breath.
It seemed Yassen would not be killing him just yet. But the message was clear: Yassen carried a suppressed gun, and he wanted Alex to know it. There would be no easy escape.
After that, Yassen brought out a familiar blindfold, and Alex resigned himself to the fact that he’d never see more of the cellar than glimpses of the hallway. He was starting to suspect that if he’d been able to get down here without the guards catching him, he’d have found the evidence MI6 had wanted.
With Yassen’s hand on his shoulder he was led out of the room and back up the flight of stairs. He heard some guards talking quietly in the hallway as they passed, but it was in Basque and Alex understood none of it. It was unnerving, not knowing how many people were around them or if they were armed.
Yassen never spoke. The only sign of his presence behind Alex was the steady hand on Alex’s shoulder, directing him with firm pressure to keep moving.
At last, they came to another door and Alex was met with the taste of fresh air. It was a relief after the slightly musty smell of the cellar.
The blindfold was removed and Alex found himself at what appeared to be a service entrance off the side of the building. It was still dark outside, but the sky was starting to lighten in the east. It must have rained sometime during the night, because the grass of the small lawn was glistening in the light of the garden lamps.
Even at this early hour it wasn’t really cold this time of year, but Alex was grateful for the jacket as a cool breeze brushed past his bare lower legs.
Yassen brought out a baseball cap and put it on Alex’s head, pulling the visor down low to hide his face. He inspected the effect by the light of the door, then nodded.
“We are going for a walk. Don’t try anything.”
Yassen didn’t mention the gun, but then he didn’t need to. Alex nodded.
They walked in silence through deserted streets down to the boulevard running along La Concha Bay. When they reached the sea, Alex paused for a moment, staring out over the dark blue water.
Yassen stopped as well, eyes scanning the boulevard. At this early hour, there was still no one on the beach, and they were alone.
In the east the sky was brighter now, the sun would be coming up soon.
With a glance at Yassen, Alex took off the baseball cap, enjoying the feeling of the early morning breeze pulling at his hair. He closed his eyes.
“Put the hat back on,” Yassen told him, after a few seconds.
“There’s no one around to see us.”
“Alex.”
Reluctant, Alex did as he was told. It wasn’t worth risking Yassen’s anger over this when he still didn’t know what the man was planning.
They started walking again, circling the bay. Yassen set a faster pace now, and Alex suspected the Russian wanted them to get to their destination before the sun came up.
As they were nearing the middle of the bay, they finally ran into another person. A middle-aged man approached them from the other direction, walking a dog. In just a minute or so they would cross paths on the boulevard.
Adrenaline rushed through him. This could be his chance to escape Yassen. He forced himself not to tense in anticipation, to keep walking as he had.
Yassen must have read something of his thoughts on his face, however, because he put a hand on Alex’s arm, squeezing in warning.
“Don’t be foolish, Alex,” he said quietly.
Alex met cold, expressionless eyes, then followed Yassen’s gaze down to his jacket, where Yassen’s other hand was holding something hidden from view. The Grach.
If he tried to draw attention to himself, Yassen would just shoot the other man. He wouldn’t be happy about it, Alex knew, because even with the silencer the noise might draw more attention and the body would cause a stir when it was discovered. But he would do it without hesitation if Alex forced his hand.
All Alex would get from the stunt was an innocent bystander’s death on his conscience and Yassen’s fury directed at him afterwards.
Alex swallowed heavily and nodded.
Yassen eyed him for a moment longer, then let go of him. He removed his other hand from his jacket, but left the zipper open, and Alex knew he would be able to draw his gun in an instant if he had to.
They continued walking along the boulevard, body language casual. They were just a teenage athlete and his coach going for an early morning walk, nothing more.
“Good morning,” Yassen greeted as they came close, his Spanish now laced with just a hint of a foreign accent to match their cover.
“Good morning.” The man gave them a friendly nod, keeping an eye on his small dog as it approached Alex, sniffling curiously.
Alex tried to keep his face averted and his head down. If the man noticed his bruised face and stopped them to ask questions, Alex wasn’t sure what Yassen would do. He wondered if the dog could sense something was wrong. Was it able to smell his fear?
“Come, Luna, leave the boy alone,” the man said, and again nodded at them as he passed them, pulling the dog along with a gentle tug at the leash.
Alex continued walking, wishing desperately he could warn the man and let him know Yassen was holding him captive. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good, but it still felt wrong to just let the opportunity pass him by.
Yassen’s hand took hold of his arm again. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was a warning, and Alex heeded it.
It took them another ten minutes to reach the small marina that turned out to be their destination. Yassen led him across the jetty to a dinghy, and gestured for him to get in. With no other option available to him, Alex climbed into the boat, stepping over a large bundle of sail to sit down on a bench in the front.
Yassen untied the dinghy from the jetty and then stepped on board. Another man might have struggled to find his balance on the tilting surface, but Yassen moved as easily as he had on the jetty and sat next to the outboard motor.
The sound of the motor was loud in the pre-dawn quiet.
Yassen must either not care that they were heard at this point, or had decided that it was a necessary evil. Probably the latter, Alex decided, glancing at the expressionless look on Yassen’s face as he steered them out of the marina.
Alex wondered where Yassen was taking him. Out to the open sea, apparently, as they were heading past Santa Clara island. But what for?
Behind Yassen the town of San Sebastián grew smaller, and with it any chance of escape. Alex tried not to think about it. He looked around the dinghy. It was a small boat, with perhaps room for two or three more people to sit between him and Yassen. There were paddles lying on one side in case they had to row, and a jerry can with extra petrol was standing by Yassen’s feet, next to the man’s bag.
A large bundle of rolled-up sail was lying along one side of the boat. Alex had stepped over it to get in the boat, but not really paid attention to it. Now it struck him as odd. This wasn’t a sailboat, there was no reason to have so much sail aboard.
A horrible suspicion grew in his mind as he considered the size of the bundle.
It was nearly two metres long, large enough to conceal a large person. Ibarra’s guards had been trying to get rid of the evidence and what better way to dispose of a body than to dump it overboard on the open sea and let it sink to the depths?
Was that what Yassen was planning for Alex too? The fact that he was still alive now meant nothing, it was far easier to kill someone on the open water with no potential witnesses around. It was what the Salesman had intended to do to Tom Turner back in Miami, but Alex suspected that there would be no one around to blow up a boat to save him.
Still, there was no escape. They were already past Santa Clara island, the larger waves of the open ocean making the dinghy move up and down. If Alex jumped out now, he would probably drown.
And there was still a chance, slim as it might be, that perhaps Yassen wouldn’t kill him. Alex clung to that thought, and tried to pretend the nausea he felt was due to seasickness.
It was another twenty minutes until their destination became clear. Yassen hadn’t said a word, but the moment Alex saw the white yacht appearing on the horizon, he knew.
As they got closer he saw that it wasn’t the Fer de Lance, the yacht Yassen had arrived in the south of France on. Perhaps this was Ibarra’s yacht, or perhaps the Fer de Lance had never been Yassen’s at all and he’d simply chartered it.
The sun was fully up by now, but it was hidden behind a cover of clouds. Ahead of them the yacht loomed larger and larger, a bright white in dark-blue water.
Things seemed to go very quickly once they reached the yacht. They were clearly expected. A rope ladder was thrown down and at a gesture from Yassen, Alex climbed aboard. He was helped the last metre by two men dressed as deckhands, who pulled him up and unceremoniously handcuffed him to a railing out of the way. He was promptly forgotten.
The yacht was a world on its own, only open ocean in all directions, with a hint of land at the horizon. There were no other ships around, and the only sounds came from the crew and the constant crashing of waves against the hull of the ship.
From his position at the railing, Alex watched as ropes and weights were lowered down to the dinghy, where Yassen tied them around the bundle of sail. With the ropes pulled right, the shape of the contents became obvious.
Yassen checked that the knots were secure one last time, then rolled the body overboard. It quickly sank beneath the waves, pulled down by the weights. They’d never find Paul Graham’s body.
The clean-up handled, Yassen climbed aboard the yacht. He said something to one of the deckhands, then stretched, all urgency seeming to have left him. Scanning the deck, his eyes landed on Alex and he strolled over.
“We’ve come to the end of the line, little Alex.”
Alex looked up at him. “Are you going to kill me now?”
Yassen considered him for a moment, then shook his head. Relief crashed over Alex with such force that he almost missed the man’s next words.
“But I can’t allow you to report back to your employers just yet. You will have to stay out of the way until then.”
“What do you mean?”
Yassen gestured to the rope ladder, where Alex saw one of the deckhands pulling up the jerry can of petrol that had been on the dinghy. Another man was sitting in the boat next to the motor and was doing something with a tube and a second jerry can. It took Alex a moment to realise he was draining the petrol from the motor and transferring it to the jerry can.
“No,” Alex said, horror filling him as he realised Yassen’s plan.
They were very far out on the sea: land was nothing more than a line of green in the south. And Yassen was planning to put him on the small dinghy and leave him without a working motor. There were still paddles on board, but Alex doubted that would be the case for long. He’d be set completely adrift.
“You will reach the shore eventually,” Yassen said, without a hint of mercy. “Or the coast guard will find you. Either way, my employer and I will be far away by then.”
“Or there could be a storm,” Alex said, already imagining the waves crashing over the little dinghy.
“Or there could be a storm,” Yassen agreed easily. “But the weather is fine today. I do not think it is likely.”
After that, Alex gave up protesting. There was nothing he could say to change Yassen’s mind.
He watched from the railing as the men brought up the remaining jerry can of petrol and the paddles. Then Yassen unlocked his handcuffs and had Alex take off his jacket and baseball cap. Alex assumed they would be disposed of somewhere along with Yassen’s jacket.
To his relief, Alex was given a life jacket to wear, so at least there was no imminent risk of drowning. Dehydration would be an issue, but Yassen had also allowed him two 1 litre bottles of water.
“You will likely be on the water for a while,” he told Alex as he handed the bottles to one of the deckhands to load onto the dinghy.
Alex stood by the rope ladder, looking down at the small boat with dread. It was better than being shot in the head, but that wouldn’t make the experience any more pleasant. Or less dangerous.
The sea was calm now, but who knew how long it would take for the tides to bring him back to shore? There was a very real risk he would run out of water or get heatstroke if the cloud cover broke.
Yassen came to stand next to him at the railing. “One last thing,” he said, pulling something from his pocket.
“What is it?”
“To protect your skin against the sun.” Yassen tossed him a bottle of Nivea sun lotion, SPF 50+. Judging by the weight, the bottle was half empty. “You’re familiar with the concept, I know.”
Alex stared at him. Yassen’s face was as expressionless as it usually was, but Alex thought he saw a glint of amusement in the man’s eyes.
One of the deckhands approached Yassen then, saving Alex from coming up with a response.
“We’re ready to depart as soon as you give the order,” the man told Yassen in Spanish.
Yassen nodded, then turned to Alex. “It’s time for you to climb down now, little Alex.”
With another despairing glance at the small dinghy, Alex steeled himself and stepped on the ladder.
Yassen leaned on the railing, watching him descend the first few steps.
“Goodbye, Alex,” he said, making Alex glance up. “I hope that if we meet again it will be under better circumstances.”
Yeah, Alex wouldn’t really recommend this as a holiday experience either. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to run into Yassen again. The man had saved his life in that cellar, Alex could acknowledge that now. And in the end the man had perhaps not been as horrible as he could have been, but Alex had still spent the better part of the time since last night wondering when Yassen was going to hurt or kill him. He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.
Not sure how to reply, he settled for a nod.
Maybe one day they could meet when he wasn’t on a mission and Yassen wasn’t working for yet another rich person with evil schemes. Maybe then their meeting wouldn’t end with Alex on a drifting dinghy left alone with thoughts of his dad torturing people.
But for now, here they were. With a final glance at Yassen, Alex began the rest of his descent.