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There was wet blood trickling down from his head down past his ear to his cheekbone and then pooling on the floor. It was half dried and felt tight and crusty against his skin. When he tried to open up his eyes everything was blurry, the side of his head throbbed and the world was this all encompassing loudness that vibrated into his very bones.
He blinked, forcing his eyes to open anyway. He saw the black leather of the seats and the legs of the people sitting across from him. He was on the floor, arms pulled tight behind him. He wiggled his fingers, finding he could move them even though they tingled slightly as if the limbs are falling asleep. He worried momentarily about any potential nerve damage but quickly realized he had other things to worry about.
He went through the motions. First checking himself for injuries and then trying to buy himself time to figure out were he was and who he was with.
Alex’s shoulder protested in dull pain when he tried to rotate it. It could have been from the way it had been pulled behind him, or he could have sprained it. His head however, pounded fiercely, a headache that was growing stronger every second he was awake.
Alex lifted his head to get a better look at his surroundings. He could see that the legs across from him must have belonged to Sarov’s soldiers, because they are still dressed in their blue/black combat uniform. They were wearing headphones- and Alex realized from the loud buzzing sound was because they were on a helicopter.
His gut twisted. He knew what that implied. Sarov abandoned his plan or… more likely, Alex failed to stop him. But either way, Alex was still trapped with Sarov.
And, Alex couldn’t even remember! The last thing he recalled was Sarov clicking the handcuffs to the railing and leaving him to die.
Suddenly, he felt a kick to his lower back, so forceful that Alex felt himself topple forward, and the wind was knocked out of him. He rolled over again to get away from whoever just kicked him.
His back was now against the soldiers legs, but they did not dare move, not to avoid him nor to help him.
Alex looked across from him. Conrad had the largest smirk on his twisted face and seemed to enjoy Alex’s reaction. Sarov, on the other hand, seemed slightly annoyed if not disappointed. The same expression he had been wearing since Alex tried to escape the plane.
Sarov glanced at Alex, the look was full of disapproval, as if Alex was the one who was acting up. Then Sarov turned to Conrad and said something to him in harsh Russian that turned Conrad’s smirk into a grisly frown. There was no doubt in Alex’s mind that whatever was said was about him.
Then Sarov reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small sealed pouch. Alex had seen them before to hold single servings of medicine like paracetamol.
Sarov unlatched his seatbelt, and must have said something to the soldier Alex was against because suddenly they were holding him by the shoulders.
Alex wanted to cry out, but it took all his strength not too.
Sarov approached Alex and knelt before him. He grabbed the hollows of Alex’s cheeks and forced them into a pucker. Then he shoved the pill into Alex’s mouth.
Alex wanted to spit out the pill onto the dirty floor of the helicopter. No doubt that then the dirt covered floor-pill would be shoved back into his mouth. But before he could do anything Sarov’s hand covered his mouth and blocked most of his nose.
Alex could smell the gunpowder and blood that seemed to cover the man like a cloak. It was hard to breathe.
Whatever was in the pill was quickly dissolving. The pill turned into a mushy powder that stuck to his teeth, lips and roof of his mouth. It tasted like chemicals.
His first thought was, was it poison? His second thought was, would it matter?
If Sarov wanted him dead, he would be. And somehow, despite everything, he was still alive.
Sarov possibly realizing Alex’s chain of thoughts, or even now wanting to comfort him- spoke;
“It’s just for sleep. Just like the vodka.” Sarov said loudly, moving his hand away from Alex’s mouth to his hair. Alex felt Sarov brush back his hair, in the process pulling on the few stands that had become plastered to his forehead back. The dried blood flakes fell down past Alex's vision like dust- like fallout.
The hand moved forward and back three times before it got painfully tight, pulling on the strands of hair. Alex winced and cried out in pain.
This time Sarov moved closer to Alex’s ear and hissed an order, “Sleep”.
Then he let go and Alex felt whatever motivation to fight drained away. He watched as Sarov took his seat again and buckled his seat belt.
Alex didn’t have the strength to hold his head up anymore. So he laid his head down on top of the soldier’s boot. Suddenly, the soldier moved his foot away, and Alex’s head thumped against the ground. He saw stars and light dance in his vision. A voice in his head, his own subconscious but it sounded like Ian’s, said that was not a good sign. He likely had a concussion.
Alex felt a tap on his shoulder and it took all of his remaining energy to glance up. The soldier must have balled up something- a jacket maybe and tucked it under Alex’s head.Despite everything, Alex felt just a bit of warmth from that basic human kindness. He just hoped the soldier who did that would not be punished for it.
With nothing else to do, Alex closed his eyes and let the drugs pull him into sleep.
Everything was a blur.
The helicopter landed in some remote area at night. He barely had a second to stand up let alone get a good sense of his bearings, before he was dragged outside of the helicopter.
Alex looked around them and noticed that there was a whole army here. Multiple helicopters, military vehicles, and supplies lined the grassy patch of farmland. There had to be a few hundred people here. Some were busy moving equipment, but the vast majority were moving towards the farmhouse.
Alex had no idea how so many people could possibly fit into such a small farmhouse.
Alex glanced behind him for a second, looking at the helicopter they had just come from. He made brief eye contact with one of the helicopter's pilots, before someone grabbed his arm and pulled him away.
The helicopter pilot seemed familiar to Alex, like he had seen the man somewhere before. That would be impossible. Alex didn’t know anyone here let alone someone working for Sarov. Yet the feeling nagged at him. He tried to glance behind him again, but by that point the pilot had vanished.
The two soldiers, who seemed to be assigned to watch Alex, pulled him to the farmhouse.
The door was open, and Alex got a glance inside. It was furnished just like a normal home. Maybe it was a bit dated like Tom’s grandmother's house, but it seemed like a home.
There was a small living room with a pink couch, a large antique radio and a photo of Stalin hung on the wall above that. Alex didn’t have much time to think about that before his escort moved him to the cellar door.
Alex nervously moved down the steps. The deeper he got the more the sounds of voices and shoes stepping on concrete carried up from the cellar. Alex reluctantly descended going much deeper than a normal. The steps led down about three flights of stairs, ending at a large tunnel.
The army, and Alex being dragged along with them, marched down the tunnel.
It took Alex a moment to understand where they were heading, because the fear about an atomic apocalypse was a product of the 1960’s. But, here they were in some kind of secret underground nuclear bunker. From the surface it would be impossible to know about this underground complex.
Alex’s heart sank. He realized two things almost at the same time. Firstly, no one would know about the complex and definitely wouldn’t know he was here. And Secondly, that there was no way he could possibly have stopped Sarov on his own. Sarov had planned this military coup with more resources than Alex could comprehend. It was well stocked, well planned, and well organized.
Alex caught a glance at Sarov in the tunnel ahead a few feet before the bunker's doors. Sarov was in a conversation with someone else. Alex did not see Conrad.
Both the crowd and the soldiers behind him forced him to keep moving forward. Soon he was through the threshold of the bunker's doors.
The inside was gray concrete walls, celling and floors. Despite that, it was decorated to look like a small entry foyer. There were symbols and words written in Russian that Alex didn’t understand.
There were two doors, ones that looked like doors to water closets. The one on the right was where the few women were heading into, and he was pulled into the one to the left.
Once inside, Alex saw that he was mostly right. Instead of a bathroom it had instead reminded him of his school's locker room. There where three shower heads on either side of the concrete room, six in total. There were no loos or stalls.
Everyone was taking off their clothes and throwing them in a large plastic bin by the door.
Alex felt the guard behind him unlatch his hand cuffs. Before Alex had a chance to react that same person was pulling his shirt off as well.
Alex twisted out of their grasp- only for someone else’s hand to grip threatening around his upper arm.
They were not taking any chances. Alex looked up at the soldier, nodding his head to shower then the basket. Even though they didn’t speak the same language, Alex hoped he got the message.
The soldier said something in Russian to the one who was escorting him and then the grip on his arm lessened.
Alex took a shaky breath and stripped before following everyone else into the showers.
The water was scolding hot, smelt of chlorine, someone dumped some kind of soap onto his head. Alex took a minute to use the soap to scrub out the blood, tangles and knots from his hair. Even the soap smelled of chemicals and burned his head injury.
They could have added some kind of sweet smelling smell to the soap but… no.
Alex must have been taking too long because the grip on his arm was back and he was being pulled out of the room. They moved to the next room. It looked like the first room, where they had to strip except there was a man in the far back handing everyone a bag with clean clothes.
When Alex got to the front of the line, the man handed him a set of gray joggers, socks, and a white T-shirt.
Alex hastily put on the joggers and the T-shirt. Both were too large for him. Alex noticed that the string was removed from his joggers so Alex couldn’t tighten it or use it to escape or whatever. Alex held onto the socks not wanting them to get wet from the puddles on the floor.
His two soldier friends were still next to him, and Alex was sure if he tried anything, someone would grab him before he could leave the room. Plus the only exit he saw was the way they came in, and if Sarov did manage to start a nuclear war then… where was he going to go?
Once the soldiers were both dressed in a new uniform, they marched him down a corridor. Alex memorized the route they took just in case he managed to escape.
They stopped at the end of one hallway, outside of a small door. The one guard opened it up and the other pushed him inside.
Alex looked around the small room. The walls were white concrete, solid and thick enough to survive a nuke. The right wall was straight and went back about a meter and half from the door, but the left wall curved downward progressively getting closer to the floor.
There was a single strip of neon lighting that ran above him. If Alex stood on the tips of his toes he could touch the ceiling.
There was a single padded mattress in the center of the room, the square thing took up almost all of the floor space. Next to the door, on Alex’s left was a bucket.
Alex had a feeling that they expected him to use that bucket. Alex cringed away, turning around to look at the door instead. He noticed there was no handle on this side of the door. It was not air tight, Alex could see a small amount of light coming in from the bottom of the door, but it was cut pretty close and reminded him of those metal doors you would find on a ship.
Alex assumed that this space must have once been some kind of storage space but someone had hastily turned it into a makeshift cell… for him.
Alex sat down on the foam mattress and tried his best to be strong. He thought of home of Jack and Tom. He hoped they were okay. Even though he tried to remind positive.
He shook himself off. Feeling sorry for himself was not going to get him out of here. He might be gadget less, but he can figure a way out if he looked hard enough. Then he could escape and find out what had happened when he was unconscious.
Alex might still be able to stop Sarov. If not, Alex could still tell the world what really happened in Cuba. He was not going to let Sarov be victorious.
Alex ran his hands along every inch of the room and he found not a single crack in the concrete.
Alex then thought about briefly using the bucket to try to chip away at the walls. That was an idea that Alex was not yet desperate enough to try. He even inspected the bed but it was pure memory foam and did not have any springs that Alex could use.
Feeling momentarily defeated Alex curled up on his side and thought back at what had gone wrong back in Cuba. He never really processed the deaths of Troy and Carter. He had tried to avoid thinking about it when he was too caught up in stopping Sarov. But now, all those thoughts and feelings he had shoved away were suddenly there again.
He couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes.
He wanted to see Ian again. Ian would know what to do.
He wanted to go home; see Jack, and Tom and all his school friends again. Part of him wished he was there right now, even if the world had gone to hell… he would rather have been with them at the end of the world, then here with Sarov.
It had been hours… if not a day since they threw him down here.
There was no way to tell time in the concrete neon lit room. No one came to give him food or water. No one came at all.
Alex was bored. He gone over every escape plan he could conjure up, reviewing them not once but twice. There was nothing to do. With no distractions of diversions to occupy his restless mind, his mind grappled with haunting thoughts.
A chilling wave of fear began to grip Alex. What if they forgot about him? What if he was going to die in isolation? Trapped in this small room forever, till he starved or dehydrated to death?
Yet at the same time, he was on edge. Waiting for something anything to happen. For Wolf and K-unit to break down the doors and rescue him, or for Conrad to coming to antagonize him, or even Sarov making good on his promise and punishing him.
The constant worrying and fear was leaving Alex feeling exhausted. He probably had felt every emotion known to humanity in the span of the hours he was locked down here.
At first he was angry; at Sarov, at Alan Blunt, at Ian, at Yassen Gregorovich, and at himself.
Once his anger boiled down, Alex felt… hopeless.
He had no idea what happened in Murmansk. No idea if Sarov won or If the world was now in some kind of nuclear winter. Or if Sarov failed and ran to the bunker to hide from the outside world, dragging Alex down with him.
Either way, Alex knew what he knew. He was a prisoner in a bunker with the remains of Sarov’s well supplied army.
Alex just wanted to be normal. Not to be used as a pawn, or someone on the run from people out to hurt him.
He just wanted to be a kid again, to have his biggest worry be if he remembered to do his maths homework or not. Instead of stopping the latest bad guy from his world conquering child killing plot.
The anticipation was punishment enough. Something was bound to happen, and Alex hated waiting. Given the care of his current living arrangements, Sarov’s grace had run dry. Yet, he was still alive.
Nothing happened.
More hours passed.
The concrete of the room seemed to eat away at any sounds from the outside. Occasionally he heard a scuffle of a boot or a cough, that reminded him that there were other people around.
Alex’s mouth was painfully dry. He pinched the skin on the back of his hand, like Ian had shown him. He watched the skin slowly descend back to normal. That test proved he was starting to get dehydrated.
Alex had tried to avoid using the bucket but it got to the point were that was his only option.
It was humiliating. He felt like an animal locked up in a cage. Heck, most caged Animals were treated much better then he was.
He laid back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Out of lack of anything else to do Alex once again drifted off to sleep.
He woke up to the sound of metal scraping against metal, and a lock being undone.
He opened his eyes to see a bearded Russian man put down a plastic plate and a bottle of water.
The man looked at Alex and then his room. Neither person moved. They just locked eye contact. Alex swallowed, he was salivating at even the slight hint of food.
Then the man spoke;
“Take pills- for radiation” he said, his voice was deep and his Russian accent was thick and coarse. Nothing like the smooth hardly there accent of Yassen, or the refined almost upper class accent of Sarov. “Bucket by door. Empty plate by door. I give you fifteen minute.”
He started to close the door, but Alex called out.
“What happened? What’s going on outside? Did Sarov set off the-“
“No speak.” He said, “Little english.”
Then the door closed. And, Alex was left to decipher what that meant. Was it addressed to him- the "no speak” like an order and then he was being described as “little English”, or was the guard saying that he could not speak to Alex and that he had little English skills?
Alex had tried to keep track of the days but… every one blurred into the next.
If he fell asleep he had no idea how much time had passed. It could be fifteen minutes or an hour or even eight. Part of him wanted to stay up constantly just to rein in a sense of time, the other half of him wanted to sleep because it took away the hours of loneliness.
Alex was really starting to feel that they threw him down here to rot. It would have been much kinder if Sarov had shot him.
It was not that Alex had wanted to die. He didn’t, but the longer he stayed here the longer he longed for anything to happen. He could not stop his mind from wandering into dark recesses.
The door was always locked from the outside and Alex assumed it was always guarded.
He once spent hours picking at the door till his fingernails were bent and bloody, but there was no way to open it from this side.
Unlike before food was more regular. Someone showed up probably everyday or every other (Alex was not sure) with a bottle of water and some food. He was never given anything other than plastic. No utensils or bags or strings that he could make something with it. Often the food he was given was cold, or the bread stale and moldy.
And those ugly disgusting tasting iodine pills.
Alex had no idea if a week had passed. It felt like it had. But, between being knocked out the first time distorting his sense of time and having no idea when it was night and when it was day.
He judged it off of the meals he had- five. But he knew more than five days had passed.
His clothes felt looser and his hair was a clumpy tangled up mess. He wanted a shower and a real loo instead of the bucket. He wanted to talk to someone instead of being alone.
Alex spent the day staring at the wall. There was one thing about the concreate that fascinated him. It was not perfect, and little groves dotted the surface and casted hardly there shadows. It reminded Alex of the stars, in its own way.
He started to pick out clusters of the specks, giving each one a name and story.
There was the “Tall man” a cluster of specks that almost looked like stick figure except it had a really really long neck.
On the ceiling there was the “triangle”, and on the right wall was the “smiley face”, both named by their resemblance to the shapes.
During this intense study of the walls, Alex came to realize that white was actually a really pretty colour. Forget blue or green. White was his new favorite colour.
There was so much to the colour. Joy and fear. warmth and cold. It was all- encompassing, like a comfortable blanket.
He now understood why Herman Melville dedicated a whole chapter in Moby Dick to this colour. That and uh… maybe to represent how Ishmael was slowly going insane…
Alex once read that mantis shrimp have 16 cone receptors in their eyes. That meant they could see all the secret colours trapped in white. Alex was a bit jealous. He wanted to see a new colour that no human had seen before.
Now, that would be an accomplishment.
Sometimes he had visitors,
At first they were just glances out of the corner of his eyes. A whisper mixed with the creaking of the doors, or the air conditioner blowing cold stale air around.
Like the moment before he fell asleep when Sabina kissed his lips, he would open his eyes and see her smiling down at him. But when he blinked she would vanish.
Sometimes it was Tom, who was dying of radiation sickness, who would sit next to him on the mattress. They would talk about everything and nothing at all. The taste of anchovy pizza sat heavy on his lips. But, even then Alex knew it was in his head but he found himself not caring.
Mrs. Jones stopped by once to debrief him. She asked him why he failed, accusing him of actually wanting this to happen, of joining sides with Sarov, of letting him win. He was starting to believe that it was his fault. All he wanted was a family after all.
Then there was Yassen. His uncle's killer. A man who he had first seen delivering shipments for Sayle. A man who later killed Sayle and saved his life. Sometimes Yassen was there in the corner of the room watching him, dressed the same way he was when they first met a black shirt, bullet proof vest and combat trousers. His strawberry blonde almost ginger hair blew in a non existent breeze.
Other times, Yassen would walk into of the corners of Alex’s vision. When Alex would turn and try to get a glance at him Yassen looked different. His hair was now dark brown, almost black with stubble and a scar across his cheek. Alex was not sure which version of Yassen was real… if either were at all.
Lastly, there was Jack who was mourning for him. Alex was sure someone had told her he was dead. He tried to comfort her, to tell her he was okay, but his words never reached her. The sobs kept him awake. He felt dead and could not tell if he was trapped in purgatory or hell.
Then came the breaking point.
The guard opened up the door and dropped off the food and took the bucket, just as he had done a number of times before.
Except this time, as the door was closing Alex ran over to it. Alex was not even sure what his plan was- he really didn’t have any plan. By the time he got there the door was already locked and closed.
Alex pounded the palms of his hands on the door. He found himself begging the guards in both English and broken Russian he did not even know he knew, to let him talk to Sarov.
There was no response from the other side of the doorway as they continued to ignore him.
Alex took a few steps away, sliding down the wall onto the mattress and pulling his knees to his chest. His breathing shallow and quick, the start of hyperventilating- of panic.
He knew he should calm down, to try to remain calm but he could not help the overwhelming feeling inside. The feeling of being isolated and trapped. The walls seemed way too close and getting closer and the only thing he could do to protect himself was to curl up tighter.
Just when the shaking stopped and his breathing was kinda controlled the door creaked open. It pulled all of Alex's attention to the present and he sent a glance to the door.
Standing in the doorway was Sarov. He said something to the guards in Russian then took a step forward closing the door shut behind him.
Sarov looked the same way he always did. Tall and menacing, the presence of a leader, and his very stance spoke of authority.
Alex noticed that he was wearing a white T-shirt and gray pants. Sleepwear. The same outfit that they had fitted Alex with when they arrived. If it was sleepwear then it must be the middle of the night. This was the first real sense of time Alex had in this hell….
“Alex,” Sarov said, turning to look at him, his expression completely unreadable, “what do you want?”
Alex could not even help it, even though he had just regained his composure, he started crying again. He was unable to even form the words needed. Just sobs. He knew he looked pathetic.
He felt the mattress dip down and an arm around his shoulder pulling him close.
“I’m sorry” Alex said over and over again, unsure of what he was apologizing for but feeling like he had too. For waking Sarov up, for breaking down like he was, for running out of the plane at the airport, for going to Cuba, for agreeing to investigate (Even though he realistically had no choice), for upsetting the triads, for Greif and Sayle, for not appreciating his childhood more. Because that’s what he was still- just a child. Yassen was right-
Sarov held him in the half hug as Alex’s sobs and heavy breathing slowed down.
“I’m sorry.” Alex said again.
Sarov hugged him. The first human contact Alex has had in days if not weeks. Alex found himself leaning into the touch.
Just as suddenly as Sarov appeared he let go and stood up. He looked down at Alex.
Alex whipped some of the tears and snot off of his face.
Sarov turned and took two steps to the door, knocking on it.
The guard opened it.
“Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be your perfect obedient son. I’ll work for you. I’ll be a soldier- whatever you need. Please don’t leave me here.” Alex found himself desperately saying something-anything that would get Sarov to stay, “I want you to adopt me. Please, papa.”
Sarov pauses halfway through the threshold of the door. He turned back to look at Alex.
Sarov shook his head no, and cold heartedly said, “you had your chance.”
The words stung Alex like an icy knife to his chest.
Sarov turned and slammed the door shut behind him, once again locking Alex inside.
Alex didn’t know how long he laid on the mattress of the cell. He didn’t really care.
The guard had opened the door a few times to check on him.
Alex assumed he was giving Alex another chance to eat the stale roll, because the third time the guard returned he took the roll and the still full cup of water out with him.
Alex didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing to do. Unless someone finds out he is down here no one is going to come save him, and there was absolutely no way he can possibly escape.
Alex was not normally one to give up. He just felt more hopeless then he did before.
He curled himself closer.
The door opened once again. Alex looked up, expecting to see the bearded Russian or even Sarov.
Except it was neither.
Standing in the doorway, dressed in the same combat uniform like the rest of Sarov’s men, was Yassen.
The figure of Alex’s imagination drew closer. And Alex retreated tighter pulling his legs closer to himself, as if making himself small would protect him.
“Alex.”
Off all the visitors Alex saw before, Yassen was the only one who didn't speak- till now.
“Little Alex?” The image asked again
Alex ignored it, he did not want to be taunted, or bothered or… he really was going insane.
“You're not real.”Alex repeated in his head.
“I am real.” the figure said, crouching down to Alex’s height.
Alex opened his eyes and looked at Yassen.
Yassen held out his hand palm up offering it to Alex.
Alex hesitated. He didn’t know why his brain chose to create the image of Yassen. He could close his eyes and when he opened them Yassen would be gone, or he could take the figure hand and see were it would lead.
Anywhere was better than here.
Alex reached out and took Yassen's hand.