It seemed as soon as they had confirmation of partnership of Alex and his 'owner' as freelance operatives, the two had disappeared again. Cossack was no longer working. The usual contacts took the queries from the CIA had and came up empty. Joe Byrne packed up his desk, he was retiring and of all the items on his agenda left for his successor, Alex Rider was a very personal failure. The sixteen year old had deserved a good placement for the rest of his High School Years. It had been a certainty that the boy would have returned to the fold at 18 or 21, after he had healed and gotten some closure on his very intense period of work in 2001 and 2002. The boy was probably training, somewhere off radar. Maybe the Middle East or Africa. At such a critical time in Alex's development, psychologically the kid had needed to take stock, get himself sorted out, relax back into normal life. Most operatives lead very dull life during their down time, Alex had previously had that with Jack Starbright. The fact his time with the Pleasures had not worked out was still puzzling. They were a stable family unit. Then again, Alex had never experienced that before, they should have placed Alex with a similar set up to the one he had grown up with, a single housekeeper in a fairly loose 'unusual' family unit.

...

Alex sat in the internet cafe in Pireus, two streets from the port, the ferry was in an hour to Rhodes. They were traveling as two tourists were for all appearances, French. Alex had had fun becoming a bit of a cat burglar, only stealing cash or traveller's cheques for ease of operating without a fence. Some days they both worked a crowd, picking pockets. Burglary was easier, whether targeting apartments, hotels or cars. They were a team, even if Yassen kept his cards close to his chest.

Alex had a float of over ten thousand Euros. Enough to tide them over for the year if they lived frugally. In three weeks or so, they would be in Goa. From there, who knows. They would keep to the tourist traps so maybe as far as Phuket or Bali.

Alex looked up the web pages set up by Tom, Cassian and James. Three sort of old friends who had made a game of where's Alex. He read on Casdian's page 'Not so dead after all. Good Luck as your Russian's Fuck Toy Al.'

The teenager was so tempted to contact Tom, but those friendships were firmly in the past. Alex decided on a different course of action, just to let Tom know he was OK but using an indirect approach.

For months, GCHQ had been listening in on and tracking the phone calls and emails to Edward Pleasure, Tom Harris and Marco Spinelli. The Rough Trade Club in Soho had not changed. Marco still had his office there. His more shady business dealing were kept to a series of less up-market locations across the capital, using cheap pay as you go, easily disposable cell phones and an ever-changing array of email addresses. Any who worked for Marco knew better than to use his official land line or computer access.

Derek Mathers had been the bouncer at the club for twenty years. He was ex-Army, a Falklands vet and he knew everything going on around Soho. If you wanted gossip, you went to him. Derek had a personal mobile, for his three daughters to keep in contact, not that they were little girl's anymore. The youngest was twenty-four, and worked in the city. He had made damn sure he was a good dad even after his divorce. Mind you he'd stayed friendly with his ex. The break up had been the slow falling out of love and just being complacent, Minnie was now very happy with her taxi driver. She hadn't married him, but they were as good as. Times had changed.

Derek's phone rang as he was helping out at the bar. The number was foreign, he was tempted to not answer but it may be one of his old regimental buddies. "Morning?"

"Derek, its Alex... I used to work at the club last year. Is it possible to speak to Marco?" The bouncer knew precisely who was on the phone. The kid was still alive. Well, Marco would win the small betting pool on that. He'd always said the kid was a true survivor.

"Sure thing Kid, Give me a moment."

Marco was sat in the club watching several potential artiste's audition. He noted Derek approach and he took the offered phone. "Marco Spinelli..."

"You owe me Marco. I'm calling in my favour." Marco smiled as he recognised his one time live-in submissive on the end of the phone.

"What do you need, firecracker?"

"Get a message to Tom Harris, an old school friend of mine from Brookland. Tell him I'm OK, in fact I'm doing really well. Me and my russian friend are just chilling. Getting by, things got a bit hot, so we are off the radar. Might see you around at some point, might not. I'll have a different name and a different face. Such is life, Caio, Marco. It was fun knowing you guys." At that the phone went dead.

...

Tom Harris was late for college, he was trying to dress, eat his breakfast and pack his bag at the same time and failing to do any of those given tasks. He the door bell and knew he'd have to get it, his mum was at work. He had managed to pull on his fleece as he opened to door to see three wise guys standing there.

"Umm, I think you guys have got the wrong house."

"Mr. Harris? Tom Harris?"

"Umm, Yeah?"

"My name is Marco Spinelli. Alex, well I knew him as Alex Schmidt, his real name is Alex Rider, MI6's little secret weapon. He contacted me yesterday. He wanted me to deliver a maessage. Shall we go for a short stroll and I'll fill you in."

Tom knew all about Yassen Gregorovich from his long conversations with Alex when they were best buddies, their friendship had faltered after Jack's death. He was not placated by the fact that Alex was running with that bastard, but if Alex thought he was OK, happy even, it was better than the alternative, dead. Alex was getting by using all his hard learnt skills. Tom Harris stood his ground with the hood, Marco. The dark haired teen wanted to blame all of this on Marco for exploiting Alex, but the string of events leading to Alex disappearing could purely be laid at MI6's door. Tom hated the fact his friend had been reduced to being a stripper and a whore to get by. Tom thanked his lucky stars for having a decent home, family and stability. Was his best friend now just like that Yassen? He hoped not. He had a lot to talk over with Jerry, James and Cassian. He'd let James tackle Edward Pleasure. Tom walked home after Mr. Spinelli got into his very bling Range Rover and drove of back to hoodsville. All thouhgts of college forgotten today. Alex had left a message to say goodbye. It was closure. Alex was never coming back. Their friendship was in the past. Time to move on for both of them.

...

Edward Pleasure had secured a deal with the CIA. He did not worry about MI6, the book gave no direct details of the Royal and General Bank. He had written a book on Alex Rider, which was closure for the journalist and revenge on the British Secret Service for them destroying a child in their games. He had made good use of his data on Scorpia, the files from Harry Bulman and he even got personal interviews with some ex-SAS and the mysterious Smithers. The retired CIA head of Covert Operations had written the book's foreward, it gave the book a stamp of authenticity on a frankly unbelievable tale of blackmail and abuse. The Russian's had also supplied a copy of their files on Yassen Gregorovich and Alex Rider. Both had been heavily censored but it proved that MI6's actions were viewed as suspect even within the espionage community.

In his heart he had written the book to salve his conscience. He had failed the broken boy, not noticing Alex withdrawing. He had thought the argument and upset between Sabina and the grieving foster child had been a minor one. Sabina regretted her cold attitude and spitefulness to her very ex-boyfriend but that had been in hindsight. Coming back to London for Christmas in 2002 had seen Alex just leave, not wanting to be an outsider in their family anymore. Alex had a good heart, he was sure he would not become the cold ruthless assassin or terrorist, but apart from that Edward wondered if their paths would cross again.

...

The small villa was rented from the ex-pats who lived on the hill. Alex made enough to get by with a little translation work and a sideline in fixing computers, mixed with a little bit of hacking and programming. He liked his less than legal work best. Smithers had taught him well. It paid well enough and meant he could work when he wanted. Yassen had a bar on the water front, the man was a good listener, always noted the relevant details and liked to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The island was a polyglot, they both fit in, sort of, not local but not out of the ordinary. Lots of ex-pats from all over. Quite a few homosexual couples as well. It had become home. Yassen had made no indication of wanting to return to his former life and Alex had no life to go back to.