Alex got a taxi to the large detached house on Necklenbroicher Strasse where Dieter and James Sprintz lived. The house had a large wall, entry barred by automatic gates with intercom and was surrounded on all sides by a tall wall segregating the other large houses owned by rich and successful businessmen and professionals on all sides. Alex did not even get to speak when the gate opened and Herr Kraus, the gardener, welcomed the young man who used to talk to him. Most guests ignored the staff. Alex had mistrusted most of Dieter's staff, but the gardener had a very interesting past. The man had escaped from East Berlin in the sixties. The exile had accepted the boy who had grown up in Schoneberg, a suburb of West Berlin. Alex also talked about living rough in Weissensee, long after the fall of the wall, located not far from where Martin Kraus had grown up. Alex had long since realised his connection with Jack had been close as she had been an army brat, moving often with an absent, distant and authoritarian father. Jack had lived in Germany, Korea, Japan and Guam growing up. Not so different from Alex. Only she had grown up to be a normal, well adjusted, if a bit hippy and Alex was always going to be dysfunctional at best.

At seven Dieter arrived home with James. Then Alex went to face the music. He was moving abroad. Changing his whole lifestyle again. Alex guessed it would not be for the first time. Yassen would never settle down into a set routine. Within a year it would be somewhere else, somewhere new. Alex wanted to make Dieter understand that working was going to help him recover. A warm climate would lessen his problem with persistent pain in his joints.

After supper, James had excused himself to have a long conversation with his American girlfriend. The financier was alone with the boy he wished he had adopted in 2001. Dieter listened carefully as the 20 year old outlined his plans, a job offer in Tunis with a 'business associate' of the mafia boss Alex had worked for in Paris. The grey haired German had the hard task of accepting Alex had to live his own life and make his own choices. He could not wrap him up in cotton wool or lock him up against his will to keep him safe.

"I have talked to your friend Dimitri Stepanov on several occasions. The man has even offered me tips and suggestions for broadening my portfolio. He is a tricky customer, one who works both legally and in your world of shadows and lies. Look after yourself and I hope your new employer looks after you. I will email you often, like a nagging grandmother, to remind you to eat well, sleep, take medication, see your doctors and to follow advice. Remember you always have a home here. Long term or just a few days to relax or take stock. James would say the same as would any in our circle of friends. All of us almost destroyed by Hugo Grief owe you more than we could ever pay. My son's life, your life and happiness, is worth more than gold, stocks or bonds. I know I sound like a broken record. I wish you a happy, long life. You deserve it more than I do." Dieter drank the glass of superb red wine. "Come, let us go and have a cigar outside. James is busy and therefore cannot tell me off for being a hypocrite or for corrupting you with such an evil habit. All things in moderation. Smoke occasional but only the finest cigars. Drink only the best champagne, cognac or wine but only when you have reason to celebrate. Tonight I welcome back my prodigal son. You are like a son to me now. So, you must take my criticism and advice with good grace like a good boy."

…..

Alex was sat sunning himself on the beach on the beach west of Monastir. He was not alone. Mustafa, the son of the housekeeper Madam Soussi, had accompanied him and the man was smoking and drinking tea underneath a parasol within arms reach. Alex suspected the twenty-nine year old Tunisia was armed to the teeth and only pretending to read the newspaper on his lap. Yassen was taking no risks with his love. Alex was always accompanied when he left the security of home. Alex liked the old widow who ruled the household with a will of iron, even treating the Russian assassin as a naughty school boy. He was happy to go on errands, shopping here was not a chore. Alex enjoyed learning arabic, but most spoke french.

The sun was wonderful, heating his bones. He was relaxed and happy. He did very little work for Yassen, only helping occasionally with his portfolio. Suggestions from Dieter had made the Russian richer and more secure. Alex could afford to relax as Dieter was also managing Alex's funds.

In the cool of the late evening, Alex was laid on his modern adjustable, electric bed. He was glad of his own room, study and bathroom. The house was more a sprawl incorporating the widows house, Yassen's accommodation with office, bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. The building nearest the road had a communal living room and dining area, separate kitchen and store and an annex for guests, where Alex lived, all around a central courtyard. There was a large garage as well. Located within 5 kilometres of the coast.

Alex opened his laptop to read what sage advice Dieter was passing on today. James had warned his friend over his father's very annoying fussing. As he replied, Alex had a revelation. He had stopped moving, running, hiding and avoiding. He had made no secret he was here, living a quiet life as a not quite PA. His pain management helped by Yassen's expert knowledge of Chinese medicine, learned from his days at Malagosto from the infamous Dr. Three. The torturer was also a physician teaching pain relief as well as pain infliction on chi points. His dependance on painkillers had lessened in the dry heat and with holistic medicine. Even Madam Soussi brewed him special medicinal teas, taught to her by her Berber grandmother.

He had finally stopped the game of cat and mouse, to catch or be caught. He was happy. Tomorrow he would tell Yassen this. That and how he loved Yasha. The past was in the past. He would ask his reason for living for a massage and take things from there.