Illya had been on the train for days. He could have slipped away from his guards, jumped off the train, escaped, but all he could think about was seeing his father again. Well that, and Gaby, he wished he could be in two places at once, but he would have to depend on Waverly and Solo to protect her for now.
All the other passengers had disembarked at the last station, so he knew they were almost to their destination. No one spoke to him. He had been stuck in a cramped compartment for most of the journey. Every time he made a trip to the bathroom, he gathered things that could be useful. He was grateful to Solo for helping him perfect his lifting technique.
The guards never suspected a thing. He had a fresh pack of cigarettes, some food, a flash light, a small pocket knife, a flask of whiskey, some money, and snuff box. He wasn't sure if the items would be any help, but they would at least be good for trading with other prisoners He thought it was ironic that he was becoming a thief so that he could rescue his father from a prison he had gone to for being a thief.
As they walked into the camp, Illya felt sick. He had heard about the gulags of course, but nothing truly prepared a person for the stench of rotting death that emanated from the place. Even the guards took an involuntary pause at the gates. The guard in the tower shouted for them to keep moving. It was apparently a common reaction.
They hadn't put him in hand cuffs, so it almost looked like he was actually leading them through the camp, if you didn't notice that the two smaller men had guns trained on Illya's back. He looked out into the vast fields were the prisoners were working in the blazing sun.
He wondered if he would even recognize his father after all these years. His mother had hidden or destroyed any photos of the man after he was taken. What she hadn't gotten rid of, the government had taken. Even Illya's horse and his first edition copy of Treasure Island. The only thing Illya had been able to hold on to was his father's watch, and that was only because he had hidden it under a loose floorboard.
Now he had left the only thing that could prove his identity to his father half way around the world. Thoughts of the watch led to thoughts of Gaby once again. What was she doing? Was she safe? Had she found the watch? Had she understood what he was trying to say? He had no way of knowing, but he hoped some day he would be able to find out.
Before he would put one boot on the steps of the Wardens porch, the man himself came sauntering out.
"A new recruit, this is good. Winter is coming and the old ones are no longer worth feeding," the warden commented as if he were remarking on the weather. Illya suppressed a twitch. He had to be careful. Letting this man know his weaknesses would get him killed.
"Oleg sent your file Kuryakin. I recognize the name of course. What is it the American dogs say about apples and trees?" the warden continued, now obviously trying to provoke him. Illya would not be bated though. He stood at perfect attention waiting for orders.
"I see you still have hope of life after this Kuryakin. Do not worry it will be gone soon," the warden laughed humorlessly. "You may escort him to building three and then return to the train," the Warden said to the guards.
The building were all numbered except the Warden's house. Illya had been able to pick it out because it was the only building with electric lines and looked pristine while the rest of the camp looked like it was held together with mud and a prayer. He put his bag in an empty foot locker and locked it with a combination lock Solo had give him. It was supposedly impossible to crack or cut.
The guards left, and a camp guard carrying a machine gun turned up with a jump suit for him. He changed and was marched out to the fields. The men were weeding and Illya put his head down and got to work, keeping a watchful eye out for any clue as to his father's location.
He worked in the fields until long after the sun had gone down. Everyone else worked without question, so he followed suit. The first rule of being undercover was to follow everyone else. He listened, watched and kept his head down. Finally a whistle blew and the men around him stood and marched back to main camp. A man stood by a large stew pot handing out broth. Each man was given a bowl and they sipped them hungrily it was probably their second meal of the day.
Illya sipped his broth like everyone else, though it tasted like spoiled meat. If it was the only meal they would get, he would have to eat it. Keeping his strength was one of the most important parts of his plan. When he was finished, he put his bowl in the stack with the rest of the men and headed for building three.
He was almost there when someone grabbed him and dragged him into an alley between buildings.
"Are you Illya Kuryakin?" the younger man asked. The man had dark hair and eyes as black as night. He was only about fiive foot eight, but well muscled meaning he hadn't been in the camp long.
"Who wants to know?" Illya snapped back. He knew he could break the mans neck in a few seconds, but he didn't want to cause a scene on his first day.
"Answer the question!" the man insisted, looking over his shoulder nervously.
Illya narrowed his eyes and tried to remember if he had sent anyone to the gulags recently. If someone was looking for revenge, he was in trouble.
"Who wants to know?" Illya asked again dangerously, taking a step toward the man, as the red haze started to cloud his vision.
The little man's started to panic.
"Enough!" came a gravely voice from the darkness. Illya grabbed the little man by the throat and flip around to using him as a human shield.
"Illya, release him," the voice demanded, as an older man walked into the dim light. The new man was about the same height as Illya if not a little shorter. He was skinny, his cheeks gaunt with malnourishment, but he still stood with perfect posture. His hair was mostly gray, but there was still bits that were sandy blonde. His eyes were as blue as the Adriatic Sea. It had to be him.
Illya's grip loosened but other than that he didn't move.
"Daniil was following orders, son. Release him, he meant you no harm," Ahab Kuryakin said again. This time Illya did as he was told, pushing the little man away from him.
"Father," He said conversationally, as if it hadn't been 20 years since the last time they saw each other.
"Son," the old man returned. "Let us go for a walk. Daniil will keep the dogs off."
Illya wasn't sure if it was a metaphor or not, but he followed his father into the darkness. They walked for some time, until they were deep in the woods on the far side of the camp. There, they came to a small meadow where several large trees lay on the ground like benches. There was a small fire in the center of the benches and several men sat warming themselves.
"I had hoped that you had escaped," Ahab sighed as he sat down. "Oleg has made a point of telling me your bigger exploits. I had hoped when you started up with the German and the American that you would finally wise up and get away from them."
Illya's hands clenched at the mention of the German, but he said nothing.
"They are using you son. You know that, right?"
Illya gave a stiff nod.
"Then why have you come back?"
"To save you," Illya said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
His father laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh. "Oh my boy, you were always such an idealist. I have missed you."
"I do not understand."
"I did what they accused me of. I am guilty, but I have found new purpose here. The government, they tell us that they are communists, that they want what is best for the people, but then they use the people. They get rich on the backs of hard workers like these men. In my time here, I have learned the error of my ways. I have come to love these men. It is my duty to protect them."
"So, you do not want to be rescued?"
"No, my son, but it is good to see you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances."
"But how did you know it was me?" Illya asked.
"Oleg has sent others pretending to be you. He hoped I would tell them the secret of how I have survived so long, when others died in their first winter. I knew it was you, because you were smart. You kept your head down. You watched, but didn't draw attention to yourself. And of course you have a scar on your neck from the time you fell out of the cherry tree and broke your collar bone when you were five."
Illya smiled reflexively. His father knew him even after all this time.
"Now, my son, we must figure out how to get you back to your Miss Teller," his fathered grinned. "Otherwise I will never give your mother those grandchildren I promised."
Illya blinked and looked very shocked.
"You think you are the only spy in the family," his father laughed again and for the first time in weeks, Illya like everything might actually work out.
