Chapter Eight.

Russia – Somewhere in Siberia.

Sunday 8th July, 1984 - mid afternoon

Yana Petrova paced anxiously up and down the small room, nursing her sore upper arm as she watched Mischa Ivanov carefully setting up his transmitting equipment on the other side of the room. It was almost time to send their report to headquarters, partly in response to the urgent message that Mischa had received earlier in the day, and partly routine, and she was getting more and more nervous as each minute passed.

Mischa tried to suppress a smile.

He found her very amusing ….

Amongst other things ….

Which was perfect for their cover as lovers, meeting in his small apartment above the garage where he was currently working as a mechanic.

The garage was located in the small town about 20 kilometres away from the base, and Yana had used one of the staff jeeps to get herself here after her shift on duty at the base, and had managed to grab a few hours of precious sleep before he had roused her in time to make the transmission.

She had already written down most of the information required to be transmitted …. confirmation of the American man's description, as requested in the last communiqué they had received, but she had told him to hold off on the rest while she thought about what to say.

She had been madder than a dune bug when she had arrived, still upset by the pompous Captain who had threatened and intimidated her ….

But also very unnerved by the American prisoner's antics.

Idiot ….

She had seethed.

What did he think he was doing ….

Could he have been a bit more obvious for God's sake ….

What if Gregorovich had witnessed their exchange more closely ….

Grown suspicious …

Even more suspicious!

Mischa had let her pace and rant for several minutes, handing her a shot of Vodka which she had downed in one go without even thinking about it, then pulled a sour face as the alcohol slammed into her stomach and burned her throat, and had then given her a glass of hot tea to wash down the Vodka, smiling softly to himself as he tinkered with his radio equipment, and watched her expend her anger and disbelief in her continued pacing.

He could see the way her mind was working, a mile a minute ….

All the time pondering on whether the crazy prisoner had guessed that she was a fellow American ….

Maybe even guessed that she was an agent undercover ….

Or if he had just been playing a wild card ….

Playing for sympathy ….

But why would he think that she could understand him when he spoke English and she was meant to be Russian ….

Had she somehow telegraphed it to him ….

But how ….

She had been so damned careful ….

And she had been here so damned long that thinking in Russian was second nature to her ….

It was thinking in English that stumped her!

How could he have known!

Surely he had just been playing a hunch ….

He couldn't know ….

Could he?

No ….

He couldn't have known ….

In fact, she would put money on the fact that he hadn't thought about it at all …. He couldn't speak Russian, so he had banked on her understanding his Yankee accent and ranting on about being Americanski!

It had been a long shot ….

And he was one lucky SOB that it had paid off for him ….

Lucky that it had brought him a reprieve from the experimentation ….

Instead of getting him killed ….

He watched all of this flash through her mind as she paced and ranted, with amusement.

However, despite his amusement, Mischa understood her reaction.

It had been foolish and risky …. But for a man in his position ….

Wonderfully courageous and audacious.

Still …

If he was on to her ….

Then it wouldn't be long before the Russians would be on to her too.

Yana's shock was understandable.

She had not considered that her actions might have those kinds of consequences.

She had merely been showing a little kindness and compassion to another human being ….

And a little Capitalist defiance ….

But …. she was right.

Dammit ….

They had to do something about him ….

Before he blew her cover and got her ass shot off.

However, that was not something they could send in a routine flash report ….

He had waited for the alcohol to start having a soothing effect on her and then he had suggested that she at least lie down …. Even if sleep eluded her.

She had resisted, but in the end, the alcohol and weariness had finally won out and, anger expended at last, she had fallen asleep on the couch, where he had draped a thick crocheted shawl over her body as she snuggled up against the arm of the couch and the fat overstuffed cushion propped up against it.

She had slept soundly for at least three hours, but then hunger had awoken her and they had shared a light meal ….

Over which she had again begun to get worked up over the incident during the night.

Now as their deadline approached, she was prowling around like a lioness ….

A scowl on her pretty face, and anger evident in her ramrod straight back, and the wringing of her hands as she paced.

"Will you settle down, you'll wear a hole in the floor boards …." He told her with a chuckle. "At least the guy has balls …." She gave him a sour look at this remark and he grinned again. "You know what I mean …."

"You'll be grinning on the other side of your face if his …. Balls .… Get us killed …." She snapped back. "I'm all for someone showing spirit …. But he just isn't in enough control of his thoughts or his emotions to realise the danger he could be putting both himself, and me in." She reminded him.

"Dammit, Mischa, he is a liability! And if someone doesn't make a decision soon, it will be too late …. Getting him out won't be an option, because he simply won't be in any fit condition to help us …. or to help himself …. Physically his condition is declining rapidly." She explained and paused to take a breath and a sip of a fresh cup of now cooling tea.

"They're feeding him next to nothing …. His clothes are so thin they can't be giving him much in the way of protection from the cold …. He's dehydrated and hypothermic …. They're keeping him isolated from every one and everything …. Sensory depravation they call it …. Just him, alone with his thoughts in a dark, silent, cold, tiny concrete cell …. If that didn't make him crazy to begin with, then the drugs, the lack of sleep and the beatings would just about put the icing on the cake …."

She grew solemn then.

"It's such a damned shame …. I guess under all that stubble and grime …. He's quite a handsome fella …."

"Ah ha! A rival …." He grinned at her.

"As if …." She stopped pacing for a moment, regarding him with sad dark grey eyes, and sighed impatiently at him when she saw the soppy look on his face.

"There is something in his eyes …. A passion to live …. Intelligence …. Sometimes …. The rest of the time …." She shrugged absently. "The rest of the time, he looks like he's off with the little people …. And good for him, if it's what is helping to keep him sane …." She let out another deep sigh. "Frankly I don't know how he's doing it …. But, one thing I am sure of …. he can't hold out for much longer …."

"And, I've been thinking about it and I've come to the conclusion that he can't just be some ordinary Joe, stationed in Berlin or Great Britain …." She reasoned.

"He's too important to them …. Dimitriov and Sevchenko check on his progress, personally, every day …. and every day they write up a higher dose of that damned poison they're pumping into him like its going out of fashion …. I tell you, Mischa, the things that they are doing to him are inhuman …." She paused then, a shudder running down her spine and a look of distaste and disgust clouding her pretty face.

She was quite a handsome woman, petite and slender, just past forty with dark grey eyes and the prettiest shade of red hair Mischa had ever seen.

But there was no doubt that in her case, appearances were deceptive.

She was a strong willed and stubborn woman.

With formidable powers of reasoning and perception and quick intelligence.

She could think on her feet and was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done ….

Not so much as flinching at the idea of having to take a life ….

To save a life ….

Or even to give her life ….

She could certainly look after herself ….

He did not doubt it.

But she was also warm and compassionate and kind and gentle and understanding and funny and sassy ….

And she had a temper to match that flame red hair ….

It was a real pleasure to work with her.

"If Control do give us the go ahead to get him out of there …." Another shudder ran down her spine and he frowned at her then.

"That's not going to be pretty …." She pulled a sour face. "Getting him off the stuff …. He'll be in a worse mess than someone doing cold turkey to get off heroin …." She explained patiently then.

"It's pretty powerful and noxious stuff …. And he's been getting higher and higher doses …. Exposed to more and more of it …. When he stops getting it, he's going to get very sick and very unpredictable very soon …." She warned. "Nausea, disorientation, paranoia, hallucinations …. Geez …."

"Terrific …. That's why you doctor, me mechanic, you brains, me brawn …." He flexed his arm revealing a huge bicep muscle bulging under his thick plaid shirt while he grinned at her. "Me Tarzan, you Jane?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, resisting the temptation to thump his chest with his fists ….

But she chose to ignore his innuendo.

"I tell you, Mischa …." She grew serious then. "Killing him would be a merciful release …." She sighed deeply.

"Somehow I doubt he would agree with you, Yana …. He seems to be doing his damnedest to cling to life …." He reminded her and she smiled softly back at him. "Just make sure you bring plenty of the knockout drops …."

"And then there's that damned man, Gregorovich …. I'm sure he is suspicious of me …. I don't think he likes my face …."

"And it is such a pretty face …." Mischa interjected, drawing a scowl from Petrova. "But my sweet, I think it has more to do with the fact that he does like your pretty face …." He pointed out then.

And more besides ….

"I haven't done anything to attract attention to myself …." She wailed. "…. on the contrary, I've been trying to blend in with the décor …."

Mischa let out a shout of laughter at this.

"Fat chance …." He chuckled.

She was a very attractive woman, even if she herself did not recognise it and she would always stand out from the crowd ….

He could well understand the Russian Captain's interest in her ….

She gave him a pointed look and let out another deep sigh.

"The cold shoulder treatment just isn't going to work on him …. I can feel it." She sighed deeply. "He's not the kind to take no for an answer …. It's probably not even in his vocabulary …. I really don't need this, Mischa …. It's hard enough being careful and watching my back as it is, without having to constantly be on the look out for that damned predator …."

"Then perhaps I should have a word after all …." He suggested tactfully. Having never been the kind of man that attracted that kind of attention from the opposite sex, he could not empathise with Yana, although he understood that the man's unwanted advances were both frightening and frustrating.

"Thank you, Mischa, but I think that would probably just draw even more attention to me …. Besides, speaking of drawing attention …. our American friend isn't helping matters …. doing enough of that for both of us …. Americanski! Americanski!" She mimicked.

"He must think I am some soft hearted yokel who will fall for his charm if he just bats his big ole baby blue eyes at me, and promises me the recipe for his Mom's home made apple pie!"

"Give the guy a break, Yana …. In his mind, he is trying to do all that he can to survive …." Mischa reminded her gently. "You are probably the only one there who has shown him even the slightest kindness or consideration …."

"Mmmm. See what I get for my trouble …." But she was smiling softly at him now, to take some of the sting out of her words. "I will deal with Greogorvich, if I have to …. when the time is right …. Gladly …." She continued to smile at him.

Ivanov was a good man.

He had been the perfect gentleman and very polite and tolerant of her sometimes arrogant and high handed attitude.

Six feet and three inches tall, he towered over her, a big bear of a man with a bushy black beard streaked with grey, big brown doe eyes framed by long smoky lashes, and ruddy cheeks.

He was strong and solidly built.

He was steady and reliable.

And calm.

She trusted him.

She even found that she liked him ….

Just a little ….

Even though he had a tendency to take their cover too literally some times.

Their cover was that they had been lovers for years and that when she had been transferred, he had quickly followed, finding the first job he could so that he could be close to her.

The two of them had spent as much time as they could together, when she was not required to work at the base, which as she was a civilian and not military personnel meant she had quite a bit of free time between shifts, and he had finished his shift at the garage.

They were becoming a familiar couple around the small town, which also played host, from time to time, to the soldiers and scientists from the base ….

Getting to know their new neighbours ….

Gaining peoples' trust ….

And learning all that they could about the base and the personnel stationed there, through local gossip.

Most of the locals were afraid to say too much ….

But others had some very weird ideas indeed about what they believed was going on at the base ….

UFO's ….

Alien autopsies ….

For crying out loud ….

"Ok …. I take your point, Yana …." He conceded. "But can't you see that it shows he has guts …. back bone …. That he is strong willed and determined not to give in. After all you've just told me, I think it's remarkable that he has enough wits left to have realised that you were trying to help him."

"It doesn't matter, Mischa …. The stuff they are pumping into him will destroy him in the end …. No matter how hard he tries to fight it …. It will eventually fry his brain …. and anything of the man that he used to be will be obliterated …." She told him candidly.

"Its lethal stuff, Mischa …. GKP …. whichever way you look at it …. If they use too much …. It overloads the brain …. There are some terrible side effects …. Irrational behaviour, violent mood swings and aggressive behaviour …. Just one drop too much can turn a man into an imbecile …. Retarded …. Make his brain implode …. Tip him over the edge into madness …."

"Do you think that they know that?"

"Probably not …."

"How do you know so damned much about it, anyway?"

"How do you think? You honestly think we'd let our friends play with stuff like that without having tried out something like it ourselves first?" She arched an eyebrow at him and he nodded in understanding.

Whatever the Russians had, the US had to have too, and vice versa ….

It made for a level playing field at least ….

"But I doubt that they would even care …. They seem so determined to either break him …. Or kill him …." She concluded.

"Seems to me, that you just made a pretty good argument for extricating him."

"I hope so, Mischa …."

"Despite what you just told me about what could happen …. The trouble and hard work it could cause for you?"

She nodded.

"There is something about him …. Something …. Different …. Something that instinctively tells you that this man is important …. A presence …. An aura …. Something that tells you that this man is special …. That this man is worth saving."

"He must be something else to have made such an impression on you, Yana …. And, if he's that important …. Then maybe Control will ask us to do just that …. Save him …."

"I hope so …. The other option is never very …. Pleasant …." Again she shuddered. "Besides, the fact that they are going to so much trouble is good enough reason for me …. Anything to pee on their parade and slow them down …." She grinned then.

"They seem so determined to break him …. Or destroy him. I don't know what he did …. But he has sure pissed off someone royally …."

"It's time we were getting ready …. Have you decided what you want to add to this report?"

They had a time slot allocated in which they would transmit their message to another agent based in West Germany, who would then scramble their message and relay that signal on through another agent in the UK, who would also scramble the message and relay it on to the US where it would eventually be decoded and passed on to Control.

However, Ivanov's equipment was old and notoriously inefficient, and it often took them several attempts to make contact with their counterpart in the West.

"Mmmm. Take this down …."

Sunday 8th July, 1984.

Knightsbridge, Headquarters of the Firm.

Committee Room – 03.00 Hours.

Flash:

Origin: Siberia- USSR.

Log In Time: 02.30 Pacific Standard Time.

From: Minstrel.

Subject: American captive.

Description:

Sex: Male.

Ethnicity - Caucasian.

Age: Approx mid 30's.

Height: Approx 5ft 11".

Weight: Approx 160 – 170 pounds.

Hair: Brown.

Eyes: Blue.

Physique: Slight, athletic and tanned.

Message:

Subject continues to undergo daily exposure to GKP.

Physical condition deteriorating rapidly, although remains spirited.

Could prove to be an inconvenience as is drawing attention to operative on the ground.

Request next step. Eliminate or extricate? Please confirm ASAP.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III read the sheaf of paper handed to him by Marella and wore a thoughtful expression.

Interesting.

The description could certainly fit Hawke, but ….

There were thousands of American servicemen stationed in Europe with the exact same statistics ….

Always on the move, so no way of verifying that one of them had gone AWOL for personal reasons or had simply just not shown up where he should have been ….

And even if they didn't show up where they should have, it didn't mean that they weren't just dead drunk in a gutter some place ….

Tucked up in bed with some nice warm, fat whore ….

Had taken the wrong train and wound up in France or Spain ….

Or wound up in some rural European jail, with no money and a sore head, cooling their heels on a drunk and disorderly charge, and trying to figure out what they would tell their CO's so they could avoid a Court Martial ….

Or more importantly ….

Their wives ….

To avoid the divorce courts ….

It didn't mean that they had been spirited away by Russian agents.

It could be Stringfellow Hawke ….

Or it could be someone else entirely ….

There was no way to be absolutely sure.

However ….

His gut was telling him that it almost certainly was Stringfellow Hawke.

Firstly, there was the location and the fact that it was the place where Sevchenko was based ….

And then the communiqué it's self ….

The way it was worded ….

Two things practically gave it away.

Spirited.

That was agent speak ….

Code for explaining that the man was making life as difficult for the people holding him captive as he could ….

And that was certainly Hawke's style ….

Giving them holy hell ….

Archangel sincerely hoped so ….

It was good to know that he still had some fight left in him.

Still had some fire in his belly ….

Not like the quiet, emotionless, insipid look-alike, who was currently ensconced in Dominic Santini's home ….

Biding his time ….

To do heaven knows what ….

The other thing ….

His drawing attention to Gypsy ….

If the man was Hawke, and he had found someone he hoped might be sympathetic to him …. might help him to escape ….

If he had worked out that the lady doctor wasn't giving him the same amount of dope as the other doctors, and had decided that she was a good mark for helping him ….

A weak link ….

A soft touch ….

Someone who might be sympathetic to his plight ….

Yeah ….

That sounded like Hawke.

An irritant and a nuisance to the Russians ….

And a threat to the cover of two of the Firm's best agents in the Soviet Union.

He read the memo again and the frown he was wearing deepened.

GKP….

What the hell was that ….

Some kind of new, experimental drug?

"Well, Archangel …." Zeus' weary voice carried over the speaker phone which was placed on the large round Committee table before Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, and he pulled his thoughts back to the present situation.

The telephone conference with his boss, Zeus.

"What does it say?"

"The description fits Hawke, Sir …. But …."

"It matches about half the guys in the Army, the Navy and the Air Force too, right? It could be him, but …. You can't be absolutely sure …." Zeus sighed heavily.

"No, Sir …. Not absolutely sure …." Archangel agreed.

"But we can't take the risk that it is him, either …." Zeus mused.

These words were music to Archangel's ears.

"Ok …. Get him the hell out of there, Michael …. ASAP, and if Minstrel and Gypsy can put our Red friends out of business up there, then even better still …. Nasty business, whatever it is they're doing …. Tinkering with a man's mind …. Personality …. Tell them to shut them the hell down if they can, but, remind them that their priority is getting Hawke out first …. Preferably alive …. Oh and Michael …. Keep that damned monster helicopter out of the picture …. And Santini with it …. Do I make myself clear on that? I think we're deep enough in the quagmire as it is without giving the Russians another target to aim at …."

"Sir …."

"Get it done, Michael …. And get it done soon. The longer they have him the more chance there is that he will crack under the pressure, and tell them what they want to know …. As for the look-alike …. what is it your English friend called him …"

"A ringer, Sir."

"Ah yes, as for the ringer …. You know what to do. Quickly and quietly …. No fuss, no muss …. Preferably without bloodshed, but, if there has to be any blood shed, make sure it's his and not one of our own …."

"Yes Sir …."