It was a dreadful flight on BOAC, from Miami Beach; he hadn't gotten to bed last night and was not only bone tired but he's spent most of the time with the airsickness bag on his knee.
He felt sorry for the woman sitting next to him for having to listen to his gagging and retching,; still she was most gracious, offering to get him some ginger ale from the stewardess.
Her accent was Georgian and once Illya Kuryakin had gotten past his air sickness, they struck up a conversation. She too had attended the University of Georgia and they had some of the same professors for classes, even though she was a bit younger than him.
It was good to know some of his old teachers were still alive and well. Her name was Sofiko Donauri. She was a pretty and intelligent; her area of study at the university was agronomy.
Sofiko had been granted permission to visit a family member in America; the person had died and there were legal matters to attend to, precisely the will. She was to inherit a small house outside the city of Svetitskhoveli back in Georgia, but the State had already confiscated the property since the owner had defected. In essence her trip was for nought.
"Ahh, were there not two ruling Georgian princes named Donauri?"
She blushed."My father says we are descended from one of them, though such things are not of importance now."
"I understand," Illya replied. He was the grandson of Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin, but all his life he had to hide that fact. Nobility was looked down upon by the Bolsheviks, and his grandfather died in the gulag because of it.
If it had ever been known when Illya was in training for GRU, life would have been much harder on him, and it had already been difficult as it was.
As the flight landed, Kuryakin sighed deeply. It was good to be home, back in the U.S.S.R.
He'd been gone a long time, being sent from country to country on simple courier runs. His brief stay in Miami while escorting the Soviet Ambassador there to play a game called golf with the American Ambassador seemed pointless and rather decadent.
The place was uncomfortably hot and humid too and Illya was thrilled when he was finally ordered back home after completing his assignment. He'd be happy if he never saw America again.
Moskva was his home, and he never saw enough of it. He missed the people, the food and the scenery. He'd heard rumors he was to be sent to France next. He sighed about that, but it was not his place to question his superiors. Illya had learned his lesson about doing that after he'd opened his mouth too many times while in training. There was a time and place to say things, but back home it was best to remain silent and simply be obedient.
Sofiko invited him to come visit her at the farming collective where she lived He liked the idea and told her he would. It would be nice to see the snow peaked mountains...
Thinking about Ukrainian girls who were so beautiful, and the women of Moskva who loved to sing but the girls from Georgia to him were exotic beauties. Yes, he would go visit her when he was free.
He'd leave it to tomorrow to unpack his suitcase as he laid on his cot in the apartment he shared with four others. Someone was softly playing the balalaika in the next room.
It was good to back home.