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Yassen should have expected it. He should have expected that Hunter would abandon and betray him like everyone else he’d ever known.
His parents had lied to him, then thrown him to the wolves of the world. Fagin had led him into Sharkovsky’s jaws. But he’d thought Hunter had been different. Thought Hunter had cared.
But no. John Rider was like everyone else. For all his talk of helping Yassen, wanting a better life for him. He was a traitor. The entire time he had been lying to Yassen, planning to turn him in to MI6 with the rest of Scorpia.
It made Yassen want revenge. Want to cause Hunter the same pain he felt now. Let him see how it feels to be betrayed by someone you trusted with your everything.
But he knew he could never kill him. Not really. Pulling the trigger on nameless men had eluded him, much less killing the man he’s grown so close to.
———
Scorpia had noticed Yassen and Hunter’s resemblance from day one. Rothman had remarked that he looked so much like her favorite. And when he met the other man, Yassen understood why.
They could have been brothers. If they were the same age, they could have been twins. Scorpia used this to their advantage, usually sending them in as brothers, or occasionally as father and son. Any cover that played on their supposed family resemblance behooved them. It was uncanny.
Yassen had foolishly let himself fall prey to daydreams of being Hunter’s family. He’d lost his family, lost everyone he’d known. But John was kind to him and played the role of older brother or father so well.
It just made the inevitable betrayal sting more.
———
Helen Rider was a beautiful woman.
Her blonde hair, the same warm tone as John, not the ice of Yassen’s, floated around her face like a halo. She was at a pub with a friend, laughing at some joke. Her pink dress contrasted with her tan skin, again more like John than Yassen. She was full of the same life that the man was.
An hour and three drinks later, Helen’s friend left. She stayed at the bar, nursing the last dregs of something fruity.
Yassen made his move.
He slid into the seat beside her and offered her a charming smile. “Can I buy you another?”
Helen looked him over appraisingly. Yassen knew he was a good-looking man. At nineteen, he looked older than his years, and could easily have already graduated from university. He had filled out well, standing tall and strong, with striking features and a smile that had served him well in seduction training.
Helen was a woman under burden. To serve her husband’s career, she had given up almost everything. Her reputation had been dragged through the papers for the supposed ‘bar fight’ that had made John available for Scorpia. She’d dealt with purposeful poverty to give the appearance of desperation. And now she slept alone, waiting for her husband to return at an uncertain date.
If Yassen was successful, he wouldn’t be the first strange man she invited into her marriage bed.
Helen looked at him over the glass as she finished the last dregs, then maintained eye contact as she licked a drop of pink liquid off her lips.
“Certainly,” she said. Then she offered a well-manicured hand. “Helen.”
“Yasha.” He took her hand. “Charmed.”
The night proceeded from there. Helen invited him back to her home. To Hunter’s home. She took him into her bed, into Hunter’s bed.
The next morning, Yassen slipped away before she woke. He’d gotten his revenge. He’d been instrumental to Helen’s betrayal of John. But it didn’t help the hole in his heart.
———
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
———
Alex Rider was a thorn in Yassen’s side. Hunter’s child managed to interfere on more of his missions that any other agent, and was more successful than many adults. It would easiest to put a bullet through his head.
But Yassen knew he would never do that. He had originally spared Alex on that rooftop because of his connection to Hunter. But he knew now that he saw his younger self in the boy. A teenager thrown into a world he didn’t understand, his freedom and choice taken, forced into the work of uncaring masters.
He was the spitting image of Hunter. And that meant he was also a near clone of Yassen at that age, but with the warmth of appearance and spirit that both his parents had provided him.
John and Helen Rider had died almost a year after that night in London. He had never gotten the chance to throw Helen’s betrayal in John’s face, but that seemed so insignificant now. He hadn’t even known about Alex then, hadn’t known until Sayle had caught Ian Rider’s nephew spying on him.
Alex was a problem even now. Yassen’s employer had a teenaged son, and Alex had gained access to their home as his new friend. Yassen had, of course, recognized him from the moment he’d arrived to check on the assignment’s progress.
And now Alex was running for his life through the woods next to the property. Yassen had ordered the guards to hold their fire, to bring him in alive. The security dogs barked, and the men shouted through their comms as they closed in on the boy.
Alex wasn’t far ahead. He had a head start and had the advantage of moving through smaller gaps in the old-growth trees. The guards, and Yassen, were gaining ground.
These woods were filthy, with old and new trash that had been dumped. Several old porcelain fixtures and and metal barrels littered the earth, alongside a sprinkling of smaller trash. Both parties were impeded by avoiding the tripping hazards.
The sound of the river in the distance grew louder as they followed the boy. Alex was running straight for it and the canyon it had carved into the earth.
That was his mistake.
He burst out of one particularly dense patch of trees, only to skid to a sudden stop as he was met with a cliff face.
They caught up with him in seconds.
“Don’t move,” one guard barked, pointing his rifle at Alex. But his alternative was to go over a forty-foot drop.
Alex was breathing hard, looking between the cliff and the guards. His eyes landed on Yassen, and he tensed further.
“This foolish chase is over, Alex,” Yassen said. He stood in front of the guards, ensuring they remembered his order not to shoot.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Alex shot back. He was still looking for an escape, but the guards had fanned out in a semicircle. There was nowhere to go.
Yassen strode forward and grabbed the boy’s arm.
“Hey!” Alex protested, struggling and wrenching his arm free. He broke Yassen’s grip, but in doing so, yanked himself back with too much force.
His heel slid over the edge of the cliff, and there was a moment that lasted eons. Alex’s eyes widened impossibly large, and he his arms flailed as he reached for Yassen.
Yassen lunged for the boy, but his hands only met air.
Alex cried out in fear as he tumbled over the precipice and fell into space.
There was the muffled sound of an impact a moment later, and then the sound of a body rolling through the undergrowth.
Then silence.
Yassen and the guards stood still. Then Yassen turned back to them. “Go back to the property and secure the perimeter. I’ll retrieve the body.”
The men followed his orders. And then it was just Yassen on the cliff.
It had been a long time since Yassen had experienced regret. But he desperately hoped that he hadn’t killed the boy.
He jogged down the trail, then hurried down a less steep portion of the bank at a diagonal. He used his hand on the dirt beside him to steady himself.
Once he got back to the original cliff, he allowed himself some sense of relief. Yes, it was forty feet of elevation from the trail to the river. But only the first ten feet were a sheer drop. After that, it was a roll down a steep hill.
Alex would still be injured, but he may have survived.
Yassen followed the trail of crushed foliage down the hill, going as quickly as he dared, pausing several times to regain his footing. At one point, he narrowly avoided slicing his hand open on a rusted barrel.
He was halfway down the incline when he saw speckles of red through the foliage. Alex was wearing a red t-shirt.
The rest of the descent was easier, as the slope flattened as it approached the river. And then, there.
Alex was laying ten feet from the water, curled on his side and clutching his leg. He was conscious enough for his breathing to be ragged with pain.
Yassen called out to him.
Alex’s head whipped around, finding Yassen with unfocused eyes. At least if he could move his neck that much, it was unlikely he’d suffered cervical injuries.
“G’way.”
Yassen hurried over and kneeled beside him. He could see why Alex was holding his leg. The khaki fabric was torn, and blood poured out from around his hands. The pressure Alex was providing was nowhere near enough to stop this kind of bleeding.
He’d likely sliced it open on one of the many sharp pieces of garbage on the hillside. Damned trash dumpers.
Yassen swung his pack off his back and quickly pulled his first aid kit out.
Alex was still staring at him fearfully, no doubt expecting to be finished off or hauled back to the property above. “What are you doing?”
It only took a moment for Yassen to pull his tourniquet from his well-organized pack. The black strap of fabric was military grade, and he unbuckled it with a click.
Alex flinched back and shook his head. His eyes were still worryingly unfocused.
“It’s a tourniquet. Let me help you, or you will bleed out in minutes,” Yassen explained brusquely.
For a moment Alex considered, looking down at the blood still oozing out from under his palms. Then he nodded.
Yassen moved swiftly. He buckled the tourniquet around Alex’s thigh and tightened it, studiously ignoring how the boy cried out in pain.
Once the bleeding was stopped, Yassen said, “You need a hospital.”
“I’ll call MI6,” Alex mumbled, laying his head down against the grass. His eyes were half lidded. Be it from blood loss or the head injury, it was concerning.
“We’re in the forest in Bulgaria. You’ll be out here at least a day,” Yassen countered. And from what he’d learned of Alex’s past missions, it could well be much longer.
Alex just shrugged one shoulder, his eyes slipping fully shut.
Yassen clenched his jaw. He couldn’t leave him here. Making up his mind, he stooped and carefully maneuvered Alex over his shoulder. He stood, holding Alex in a fireman’s carry, and set off through the woods.
------
If Yassen had been carrying a man, it would have been a brutal hike. But Alex was lighter than a man, and frankly lighter than a teenager should be. So it was difficult, but not impossible.
It took ten minutes for Yassen to reach a jeep on the edge of the property. A guard noticed him carrying Alex’s limp form, and he nodded at the man. The boy’s lack of consciousness and obvious blood loss worked in their favor. It very much looked like Yassen was disposing of a body.
He laid Alex out across the back seat and pulled a tarp down to hide him. Once he was covered, Yassen leapt into the front seat and gunned it for the road.
The hospital was a decent distance away, but Yassen paid speed limits no mind and made the trip in half the expected time.
The jeep skidded to a halt in front of the ER, and Yassen wasted no time gathering Alex into his arms and bursting through the door.
He shouted for a doctor in Bulgarian, and soon several people hurried over, recognizing the urgency of Alex’s blood soaked state.
“We were hiking, he fell down a cliff and cut his leg on the way down,” Yassen explained as he set Alex down on the gurney provided. He followed the gaggle of people into a procedure room, answering questions in Bulgarian about Alex’s age and condition.
“Are you his father?” A nurse asked him, and he shook his head.
“I served with his father. I’m a family friend,” Yassen explained. He stood off to the side as people were attaching various things to Alex and inspecting his wound.
“He’ll need a blood transfusion,” the doctor said to a technician.
Yassen cut in. “His father was O negative and his mother was B negative. He’ll have O negative or B negative blood.”
He had learned Hunter’s blood type when he trained with him. It was useful to know what your partner would need in a field emergency. And his research on Helen all those years ago had been extremely thorough.
“We’ll run a test,” the doctor said, in a tone that said he didn’t appreciate Yassen’s help.
A nurse placed a few drops of Alex’s blood on a card, and read the result aloud. “AB positive.”
Yassen’s eyes widened, and two nurses shared a knowing look.
Yassen was pushed aside as the professionals worked. He sat and watched and stewed in his thoughts.
He should have slipped away by now and left Alex in their capable hands. But he was too floored.
A pint of AB blood was pumped into Alex without incident.
John had O negative blood. This Yassen was certain of. There was no way for a parent with O blood to have a child with AB blood. This he was also certain of.
But two parents with B negative and A positive blood.... Yassen pushed the thought from his mind. Helen could have slept with any number of men who also had A positive blood. It didn’t mean that Yassen....
A nurse interrupted his thoughts. “So you were friends with his mother?”
He didn’t appreciate the insinuation in her tone. As correct as it may be.
“I served with his father. I knew his mother,” he said curtly.
“I imagine you knew her quite well,” the nurse tittered.
He fixed her with a death stare, and she swallowed and hurried to the other side of the bed.
Eventually the doctor declared Alex stable. Yassen met him in the hallway to talk.
“The blood loss was severe, but he’ll pull through. No major head injury or spinal injury.”
Yassen nodded. He was struck by the ridiculousness of standing outside an enemy agent’s hospital like a worried fath-
“Good,” he said. Then in a lower tone he asked, “How long would a paternity test take?”
The doctor kept a professionally straight face as he said, “Two to six weeks, usually. It’s a quick test to run, but there is a backlog.”
Yassen pulled 5,000 Bulgarian Lev from his wallet and asked again. “How long would a test take?”
The doctor’s eyes widened. Then he nodded and said, “It can be done by end of day.”
“Good. Do that.” He pressed half the money into the man’s hand.
The doctor tucked the money into his pocket and then hurried down the hall. Yassen watched him go, checked his watch, then went back into the room and settled down beside Alex’s bed.
Yassen texted the head of security at the compound and let him know that he had successfully disposed of the boy’s body. And that he would be meeting contacts in the city, so they shouldn’t expect to see him until the next day.
Alex was still unconscious when a nurse came in with two swabs and vials. Yassen opened his mouth for her to scrape epithelial cells from his cheek, and then she moved to Alex and gently opened his mouth and did the same.
It was the same nurse who had tried to gossip with him before, and she was trying and failing to hide her smug expression as she swabbed his cheek. He gave her a cross look, and she quickly dropped the swab in the vial and labeled it with the false name he’d given.
Once she had left, Yassen pulled his tablet from his bag and began stonily reviewing the administrative data he needed for this job. Better not to let this be a total waste of time.
After an hour, he tucked it away again. What was he doing here? There was no reason he should waste his time at this bedside. His plan had been to leave as soon as he knew Alex would be cared for, and let MI6 sort out his retrieval and pay for his treatment. But when he’d heard the doctor say his blood type...
After Yassen had learned of Ian Rider’s nephew and met Alex on that rooftop, he’d looked into him. He’d initially spared the boy because of his connection to Hunter, one last favor to pay off his life debt. Then, when he’d learned of MI6’s exploitation of the boy, it had become more personal. He saw himself in Alex. And after their encounter in Spain, he respected him even more. He was brave and cunning, so much like his father. Or, so much like Hunter.
He had of course learned Alex’s birthday in his research, and saw that it was 42 weeks after his night with Helen. But John had come home four days after that night, and no doubt she had given him a warm welcome. Yassen had been cautious that night and had no reason to suspect anything had come from their dalliance.
But apparently, something had.
Yassen should leave. He should go back to his assignment before anyone got suspicious, and he shouldn’t even look at that test result. He shouldn’t let this change anything.
But his curiosity was getting the better of him. He had to know.
He took a walk around the hallways. He went to the cafeteria and got a coffee. He took a phone call from his neurotic client and talked him off the ledge of cancelling this operation for the umpteenth time.
Yassen had to assure the man that this operation would be successful, and he wouldn’t be hauled off by NATO forces. If Yassen didn’t want to be made a liar of, he should kill the spy who had stumbled upon their operation. Or at least not be giving him medical care. Perhaps he could salvage this with an interrogation to see what MI6 knows.
He’d consider it.
Eventually he wound up back at Alex’s bedside. The staff had told him that he likely wouldn’t wake until the next morning. Pale from blood loss, he looked less like his mother. More like a pallid version of John. More like Yassen.
And finally, five hours after their arrival, the doctor returned. He again kept his face carefully neutral. No doubt this kind of test result elicited a wide range of reactions.
Yassen stood to meet him. “Well?”
The doctor offered him a folder, which he took. “The Y chromosome test showed paternity with 99% certainty. He is your son.”
Yassen stared mutely at the paper in the folder. It showed that there was a 99% chance that Alexei Radeva was the son of Yordan Georgieva. That Alex Rider was Yassen Gregorovich’s son.
“Sir?” the doctor asked after a moment.
Yassen looked up and remembered his part. He took 2,500 Lev from his wallet and gave it to the man. “Thank you, doctor.” Then he pulled another 2,000 and pressed it into his hand. “Ensure your staff tells no one of this. Not even what caused his injuries or our descriptions, do you understand?”
The doctor nodded and again tucked the money away. “No one will hear a thing, you have my word.”
Yassen nodded his thanks, and the man left. And then Yassen collapsed back into his chair.
He stared at the unconscious teenager before him. At his son. At his son whom he’d been ordered to kill so many months ago. Whom he’d made fight a bull. Who’d tried to kill him. Whom he’d taken a bullet for, and almost died for. His son.
What was he supposed to do now? Did he tell Alex? He knew he had to keep this a secret from the world. Scorpia would have a field day with this information, and MI6 would doubtlessly use Alex as bait to capture him. Or try.
He’d have to change how he behaved. Couldn’t let anyone suspect he had a connection to Alex. Or if they did discover it, he couldn’t let anyone suspect he cared about the boy.
Yassen had told himself he didn’t care about Alex. That he felt an obligation to Hunter, and that was it. That he was merely being honorable when he let him live, or just didn’t like to kill children when Cray had ordered him to kill the boy.
But he was not an honorable man. He had killed many men for posing less of a threat to him than Alex had. And he had killed many more children than he ever wished to think about.
That decided it. He had to treat Alex as anyone else if he wished to keep them both safe. No more sitting at his bedside like a worried father. He was no father. And next time he encountered Alex, he wouldn’t kill him. But he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him, torture him even, if it came to it.
Mind made up, Yassen stood. He left the hospital without a backwards glance.
------
Yassen didn’t have a conscience.
He’d learned that many years ago. He could kill people. Could lie and steal and cheat. Could torture mercilessly. And not lose a wink of sleep.
Once a mission had given him pause. He had to torture a sixteen-year-old girl in front of her parents because her father had robbed his client. But he had pushed through and done his job. And after one night of uncharacteristic heavy drinking, had pushed it behind a wall and never let his mind rest on it again.
He didn’t have a conscience.
But then what was pulling at him and telling him to go back to the hospital? What made his feet heavy as he walked away?
He’d told the head of security that he wouldn’t be back until the next day, so he booked himself into an inn. In the morning, he’d head back. But for now he would shower, change, and sleep.
The next morning came, and again he was beset by the strange feeling within himself. He felt he owed something to Alex. Which was ridiculous. He had saved the boy when he should have killed him many, many times. And he’d done far more than he should have last night.
Going back would be foolish. It would endanger them both and do no good. He shouldn’t do it.
Yassen got in the jeep and pulled out onto the road. He turned towards the hospital.
------
He strode back through the hospital wing to the room where Alex had spent the night. He hesitated outside and heard the gossiping nurse speaking in broken English.
“Call him? You call him?”
“I don’t know his number. And he doesn’t want me to call him.” Alex was awake and sounded fully aware. Good.
“No. He want you call. Promise.” He could hear her wink.
And he could hear Alex’s confusion in response. “He doesn’t. Promise.”
Yassen took that moment to re-enter the room.
The nurse straightened up and smiled like she’d won a bet. And knowing nurses, she may well have. “See! Here he is!”
Alex looked at him warily, one hand gripping the blanket on his lap fiercely. “I see.”
And Yassen felt *awkward* as he stepped inside. This was, if anything, further evidence that he shouldn’t be here allowing this knowledge to change how he acted. His last rash decision had only made him a slave for four years. How bad could this one be? (He ignored the voice saying he was currently looking at the result of his actual last rash decision.)
“Alexei,” he greeted in the same Bulgarian accent he’d been using for the staff’s benefit. He turned to the nurse and asked in her language to give them a moment alone. She happily agreed and popped out of the room. No doubt to tell the other nurses he had returned. He would have to have a discussion with the nursing staff itself after this.
The door closed behind her, and Alex scooted back against the headboard. He looked around the room with wild eyes, looking for an escape or weapon.
“You can’t hurt me here. I’ll scream and they’ll hear.” His breathing had quickened with fear. No doubt he’d concluded that Yassen had only come back to interrogate him about why his mission.
The doctor had told Yassen that the debris had cut deep into the muscle and he likely wouldn’t be able to walk for up to a week. If it had been any worse, they would have taken him in for surgical repair. As it was, Alex had twenty internal stitches and fifteen external and was completely unable to flee. If he had needed protection, screaming would be his only option.
But Alex didn’t need protection from Yassen, at least not today.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured him. “I’m not here to interrogate you.”
Alex looked at him distrustfully. “You better not. I’ll scream and tell them I fell running away after you kidnapped me. SCORPIA probably won’t like you winding up in a Bulgarian prison.”
Yassen chuckled and shook his head. “No, they would not.” And Alex wouldn’t like the people Yassen would kill to prevent that, but he felt no need to point that out and sour things further.
And Yassen took a moment to gather himself. Then he asked, “Can I trust you?”
“No,” Alex admitted plainly.
Yassen pushed down the cross feeling. Alex continued to be a pain. “Let me rephrase. If I tell you something that cannot leave this room, will you tell anyone else? If my employers *or* your masters were to discover this, it would likely get us both imprisoned or killed.”
Now Alex frowned. “Seems like you shouldn’t tell anybody then.”
“Will you tell anyone else?”
Alex considered for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I won’t tell anyone. What is it?”
Yassen sighed ever so slightly, unsure of how to proceed.
He opened his bag, noting how Alex tensed, and pulled out the folder the doctor had given him. He opened it to the English printout and handed it to Alex.
Alex took it hesitantly and read it, his confused frown growing. “I’m Alexei Radeva, right? And you’re Yordan...” He frowned and stared at Yassen uncomprehendingly. “Is this a paternity test? Are you trying to convince them we’re father and son?”
Yassen grimaced. He’d need to use words.
“When they tested your blood for the transfusion you received, I noticed something odd. You’re type AB.”
“Okay?” Alex asked, shaking his head slightly. He didn’t get it.
“Your fath- John Rider was type O negative. An O negative father cannot have an AB positive son. It’s genetically impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Alex,” Yassen said sternly, calling his attention sharply. “It made me suspicious. So I had them run a paternity test on the two of us.”
Alex blinked. Yassen could practically see the thoughts running through his head. “You think I’m your- that you’re my- why would you even think that’s possible?” And then his eyes went wide as saucers.
”Did you shag my mum?!”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, borderline hysterical. “When?!”
“Forty-two weeks before you were born,” Yassen explained stoically.
Alex shook his head in utter disbelief.
“I seduced her to get back at your father for betraying me to MI6.”
Alex shook his head and scoffed. “You’re not my dad.”
“No, I’m not,” Yassen agreed, earning himself a cutting look. “But I am your biological father.”
“This is a trick. You faked this,” Alex accused. There was some desperation in his voice, like a child trying to rationalize the terror out of a ghost story.
“Either I faked that in five hours, or I had this whole trip to the hospital planned from the beginning. Both of which are ludicrous,” Yassen countered. “Talk to the staff, to your doctor. You’ll see I am telling the truth.”
Alex’s shoulders slumped. Again he shook his head, weakly this time. “I don’t want to be like you,” he mumbled.
Yassen sat down and pulled his chair across from Alex. “I wasn’t born like this. My parents were good people, scientists who tried to cure diseases. They raised a good son until they died. I was made how I am by years of circumstance and cruelty. Nothing I do reflects on your character. The sins of the father are not visited upon you.”
Alex looked at him helplessly. “But so many of my dad’s have been.”
Yassen had tapped out his compassion. Now it was time to focus. “Imagine if everyone who used you or hurt you because of John Rider knew that I am your father.”
“You’re not—”
“Imagine,” Yassen ordered, cutting off his weak protest. “You deserved to know this. But you cannot tell a soul. Do you understand?”
Alex looked miserable and confused, but he nodded. He picked at the blanket as he answered, “Yeah. I won’t tell anyone. Especially not MI6.”
“Good,” Yassen said. He looked at Alex for a long moment before dropping his head. “I... am sorry. For how I have harmed you in the past.”
Alex frowned at him, if anything more surprised by this than their relation. “You’re only sorry ‘cause I’m your son.”
“Yes,” Yassen said plainly. Wasn’t that normal? That it was worse to visit harm upon your own children?
Alex looked away sullenly. But after a few moments, he turned back and mumbled, “You’re still a bastard.”
Yassen huffed out a small laugh. That made two of them. “I must return to my assignment. Call MI6. Go home. Heal. And remember—”
“Don’t tell anybody. I got it.”
“Goodbye, Alex. I don’t we don’t meet in similar circumstances again.” He stood and turned to leave. But just as he opened the door, a call stopped him.
“Wait.”
He turned around, and Alex was looking at him with a nervous look. “Uh, thanks. For telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
And then he left. Alex would go home, he would complete his assignment. Their worlds might have been shaken, but the earth would keep on turning.