He walked the still busy streets of Prague with caution as there were just too many secret police lurking about. The political mood in around the country was in utter turmoil with different men jockeying for positions of power, and making for an unstable situation.
Their Soviet Masters were keeping a close eye on the region, as were other members of the Socialist Union, remaining wary as the unwelcome seeds of change were taking root. Those seedlings were being tended by the new first Secretary, Alexander Dubček...
Illya Kuryakin waded through the throngs of people on the narrow cobblestone street as they hurried to bow to their current favorite leader, as a band of demonstrators appeared out of nowhere; these impromptu gatherings with people of all ages carrying signs in protest of the political situation, and potential invasion by the troops of Leonid Brezhnev as well as those from the other member nations of the Warsaw Pact.
The people crowding the street were shouting rhetoric without truly listening to their own words, and were simply spouting back the rants of others; that was what it sounded like to him. He grew up in that sort of atmosphere and didn't miss it.
It really didn't matter what they were verbalizing at the moment, as Kuryakins focus had been the assignment he'd been tasked with, and that had now been completed. At the moment his mind was trained on the fact that he needed to get out of 'Dodge' as his partner Napoleon liked to say.
The weather was cold and damp, not like August was supposed to be in this part of the world, and he pulled up the collar of his black trench coat to ward off the chill. Illya rounded the corner, escaping the demonstrators and entering a lower class neighborhood; seeing political graffiti scrawled there on the walls and inside the doorways of the tenements. Here no one was outside since it was too dangerous, especially as the sun faded away.
He passed under the light of a street lamp, for a moment illuminating his golden hair, and he stepped away from its brightness, trying to remain invisible in the shadows. He shrugged his jacket, drawing it tightly about him, and suddenly became aware of of how quiet it had become. There wasn't a sound at all, giving him a nervous feeling, as if it were the calm before the storm.
The Russian's instincts served him well as the silence was shattered with a thunderous explosion, sending deadly shards of glass and debris cascading down on him. There were screams, and fires erupting around him with unexpected rapidity; the pulsating wail of sirens filled the air. He had to get out of here. Illya ran, heading down side streets one after the other, turning left and right until he was far away from the destruction that was taking place.
No doubt countless numbers would suffer this night, as surely more terroristic acts would take place. The country was a pressure cooker, ready to explode...or perhaps that was happening already?
Time passed slowly as Kuryakin crept along the streets, keeping to the shadows and alcoves until he finally reached his seedy hotel; stashing the microfilm he had procured earlier that afternoon in a safe place. Pulling his communicator from his pocket; he contacted New York. He was far enough from the turmoil for now, but he knew his night would not be a restful one.
"Open Channel D- Overseas relay, Waverly." He glanced at his wristwatch, calculating the time to be around six in the evening there, but the previous day, as it was near midnight here."
"Hi Illya, ummm, I mean Mr. Kuryakin," Dawn Montalbano in Communications answered the call.
"Yes hello, please put me through to Mr. Waverly. Priority."
There was no reply until he heard the Old Man's voice. "Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly cleared his throat. No doubt he was having his evening tea, like clockwork.
"I have the microfilm sir and will endeavor to get out of the country tomorrow morning by train. A substantial unrest is occurring at the moment, with bombs going off around the city. I suspect the military will be rolling in to intervene, if they have not already arrived."
"Not a surprise young man, as we are aware of Warsaw Pact troops staged along the border should they be needed. This dissention and attempt at reform, especially the decentralization of administrative authority, has not been well received well by the Kremlin. It's only a matter of time before military action takes place if it hasn't begun already. Yes, tomorrow morning at the latest Mr. Kuryakin. I do not want you getting caught up in any police action. Contact me once you've crossed the border to Austria. Waverly Out."
Illya spoke into his communicator once again."Dawn," he addressed the tech he suspected had been listening in,"please connect me with Mr. Solo."
"Umm sure Illya. When are you coming home...you promised me that dinner you know."
Kuryakin, a man usually able to control his reactions, blushed with embarrassment as he'd forgotten about the dinner date he'd made in haste with the girl… a thanks for her help with some information.
"My dear, you know I cannot discuss such matters. Trust me when I say, you will be made aware when I return as I will personally let you know. I am looking forward to a lovely evening with you. You decide where you would like to eat, and perhaps some dancing afterwards." He figured taking a page from Solo's playbook would work like a charm and so it did, as the girl was practically giddy at her end.
"Dawn?"
"Yes Illya I'm sorry. I'm just really looking forward to getting together with you, that's all."
"As am I," he lied,"...now, please. Mr. Solo?"
"Oh sorry...bye Illya."
"Good bye Dawn.
"And which Dawn would that be?" Napoleon's voice answered."Dawn in the secretarial pool, Dawn in Section VII, Dawn in Communications or is there one I've missed."
"Napoleon, you hardly miss a trick when it comes to the ladies at headquarters and as to which one; that is none of your business," Illya quickly changed topics. "Things are getting very dicey here. Lots of explosions going off throughout the city and fires burning as well. It is time to get out of the country, and quickly my friend."
"Thanks for the head's up. Nothing's happened here as of yet, but Waverly warned me that troops have moved nearby for a quick occupation. All we can do is make a hasty retreat. Stay safe tovarisch."
"You as well my friend. I suggest we maintain our anonymity and keep to radio silence. See you in Austria. Kuryakin out."
There was nothing Illya could do but wait out things out in darkness. Sirens continued to sound around the city. Like an old friend, the night would keep him safe until the morning arrived, allowing him to make his way to the railway station at Praha Masarykovo nádraží located in the New Town area of Prague.
He stared out his hotel room window, keeping his face back to the shadows; holding his Special against his chest as the flashes from more explosions and fires lit up the night sky. A storm blew in later on, adding lightning and the rumblings of thunder to the cacophony in the streets; soothing raindrops would at least help to quench the flames. The rhythmic sound of the rain falling finally lured him to sleep.
Illya closed his eyes as he propped himself up with his pillow in his bed, half-dreaming of the speeches of a tyrant who mesmerized the German people into nearly destroying Europe. It was like a cancer that spread across the continent…. was that happening now or were there changes taking place for the good? Only time would tell he supposed.
He woke up in the middle of the night with a gasp as a loud boom shook him from his sleep, though it was only a sharp thunderclap. Dreaming he was back at the little red dacha his family lived outside of Kyiv, he was leaning against the stone wall outside in the back that his father had never completed.*
The sky was glowing red from the city as it burned. There were loud explosions from the heavy artillery of the Germans as they advanced on the poorly defended Kyiv, as most of the Red Army tasked with saving the city had abandoned it, though not before setting numerous booby traps.
As a child, he was fascinated by the concussions from the shelling, he could feel them resonate throughout his body, though they were far away, reverberating in the ground beneath his feet.
"Come inside Illyusha," his babushka called," You do not want to see our city die do you?"
Illya hadn't dreamt of his grandmother in a long time, and that emotion mixed with a loud clap of thunder woke him, making his heart pound.
Silence returned with the rising of the sun, and the U.N.C.L.E. agent stepped out to the deserted streets; he raised his nose, sniffing the air as he detected the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder.
During the night, tanks had rolled in, sending the city into a frenzy. Many of it's citizens though ill-equipped, were fighting and protesting against the occupying troops, though a number of people were welcoming them with open arms and flowers.
This Russian hurried his way to the railway station hoping it was still intact and that he could even get out for that matter. If travel were shut down, he would be hard pressed to find an alternate means of transportation. Automobiles were no doubt being stopped at checkpoints, and if he were spotted…he would be screwed. The KGB would surely be lurking there, with their lists of most wanted, those deemed traitors and Illya's name would definitely be on that list.
Though his transfer was authorized by Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye...the GRU, the secret police refused to acknowledge it. They were dealing now from a position of strength within the Kremlin, as GRU was not in favor at the moment. The fact that Kuryakin was told by this superiors at GRU not to spy on U.N.C.L.E. or the Americans was ignored and KGB insisted he do so. His refusal sealed his fate in their eyes, and for that reason they had been dogging him on and off for years...
Carrying nothing with him but a rolled up newspaper tucked under his arm and ignoring the rumblings of his hungry belly; Illya finally arrived at the station. It had taken more time than he'd anticipated as it was slow going. Not everyone was abandoning the city and life was continuing in spite of the previous nights terror. There were surprising numbers of people on the streets as some fires still raged, and of course there were now the omnipresent Soviet tanks and armored vehicles.
Kuryakin had put on his wire-rimmed spectacles, trying to look as innocuous as possible, and was wearing a tweed jacket along with his usual black turtleneck and trousers.
The microfilm he carried, safely tucked within the hollowed-out heel of his shoe would remain invisible if he were stopped and searched. Though carrying his gun could cause him trouble in the long run.
As expected the railway station was busy, bursting with people; there was military police presence and soldiers everywhere. Anyone boarding a train was being being searched.
He hated to do it, but it was time to abandon his gun and holster. Illya went into the mens room near the platform and removed it, burying it in a trash can. After purchasing a round-trip ticket that seemed more expensive than it should have been, he stepped up in line, waiting to be searched.
"Papíry, prosím?"
Illya handed over his false passport and travel documents identifying him as a professor at the University there in Prague.
The military police officer looked at his face scrutinizing it and the photo in the documents.
"And why are you going to Austria...trying to escape are you?" He reached out pulling Illya by the lapels and stared at him.
Kuryakin changed the sound of his voice, taking on a soft spoken, near epicene tone. His instincts told him to remain calm but as a civilian there would be a near panic if someone had lain hands on such a person.
"Please…" Illya's eye went wide. "I have done nothing wrong and I am not trying to escape. As you see I have a return ticket in four days time. I am a guest speaker at a symposium being held at the University of Vienna. When that is concluded, I am returning home. I have a wife to see to and I do have classes to teach at our University...which I hope will be still here when I return. This protesting and violence are terrible. Did you know a young man recently resorted to self-immolation as a means of protest? Can you imagine that….setting oneself on fire? The thought of it is most unsettling. I do hope all this will be over quickly."
It seemed as though Illya's attempted chatter was being completely ignored, giving him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and that made him nervous, but he held his ground, maintaining his cover.
"You have a wife?" The policeman looked at him almost laughingly.
"Yes I do. Her name is Jolana and she is expecting our first child in a few months." Illya decided that would be as much information he would add to his cover story, otherwise too many details could potentially trip him up into making a mistake. That tidbit about a wife, however, his interrogator found amusing and the man let out a momentary belly laugh as he released the agent's lapel. Illya supposed he'd made himself look mousy enough for the man to think no woman would have him.
"And what is it you are speaking about in Vienna?" The officer asked, though there was still a look of suspicion on his face.
"Shrödingers cat...having to do with quantum physics," Kuryakin answered blandly, holding up a brochure for a science symposium, the date of which had been torn away.
"Schrödingers cat? You are talking about a cat?" The man nearly choked on his words.
"It is merely the name of a theory, not a real cat," Illya confidently smiled as he began to babble on again.
"It is a thought experiment, sometimes described as a paradox. It was devised by an Austrian physicist named Schrödinger and illustrates what was seen as the problem of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics applied to everyday objects, resulting in a contradiction with common sense. The scenario presents a cat that may be both alive and dead, depending on an earlier random event…."
"Enough, enough," the policeman interrupted him, waving his hands in surrender. He decided he hated intellectuals with their way of talking down to people, attempting to make them feel stupid. " You have no luggage with you?"
"I keep some clothing at the University apartments in Vienna, as I travel there frequently...Officer Jelinek," Illya casually glanced at the man's name tag pinned to the left breast of his green uniform along with his badge." The blond agent looked him straight in the eye, not in a challenging fashion, but one filled with honesty and innocence.
"Very well, everything seems to be in order," Jelinek huffed." You may board now."
Illya was handed his papers and after nodding his thanks, bowing a few times; he turned to hurry along onto the train.
Jelineck called after him,"You are lucky Professor, this it the last train to Austria, as service here is being shut down at noon. They are investigating those bombings last night; so many people were injured...I will make no statement as to who the guilty parties are, though I curse them." He waved Illya off with his hand. "Good luck with your speech."
Kuryakin again nodded his thanks as he climbed the steps, breathing a sigh of relief, and settling himself into his seat. A short while later the train finally lurched and his journey to Austria began…or so he thought. The only thing Illya heard now was the clickety-clack of the metal wheels on the track; inside the car itself things had settled into the sounds of silence, allowing him to doze off, this time into a light but dreamless sleep.
Barring any unforeseen incidents, the Russian would meet his partner just over the border in Austria. That thought put him at ease as he closed his eyes.
*ref: "Beginnings" s/6767104/1/Beginnings