A Rocky Road
a Spooks story
by RoadrunnerGER
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.
Summary: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he had to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.
Chapter 9 – Devil in disguise
Click.
The sound sent shivers down Lucas's spine and the breath he had been holding exploded out of him. Behind him, Belyakov laughed wickedly. The men whispered to each other, which made it impossible for Lucas to understand what they were saying.
Then Lucas heard the cylinder roll.
God, they're playing Russian roulette!
Once more, the senior guard pressed the barrel against his skin. Was he running out of luck this time?
Click.
Yet again, the firing pin fell onto an empty chamber, but this time Lucas could not help but jump and his eyes flew open. The first thing he saw was the male corpse in the grave and bile rose in his throat. In vain, he tried to fight the panic down now and a shudder coursed through his body. His breathing accelerated.
The cylinder rolled.
The muzzle pushed against the back of his neck and this time, he could not just kneel and take it. Reflexively, he leaned sideways and scooted slightly backwards. At once, the guards grabbed his arms harder, holding him in place and the barrel once more pressed against his head.
Lucas closed his eyes
Silence.
Hearing approaching steps made Lucas tense. Still he did not dare to look around. Caring about who just arrived might be a mistake. Instead, he listened intently, but the grass muffled the footsteps beyond recognition.
I don't think anyone but Oleg could stop Belyakov. Not much to hear. C'mon! Say something!
The sounds still were ambiguous and Lucas strained his ears in order to catch everything. Then the gun was opened and the cylinder rolled another time.
Someone harrumphed.
Yeah, that could be Oleg, and he doesn't sound happy.
It was all Lucas could do to avoid a smile. Inwardly he cheered for the newcomer who put the other men in their places and he slowly opened his eyes to try and furtively look around. The unmistakable sound of a cartridge being inserted, the gun snapping shut, and the cylinder rolling made Lucas's blood run cold anew. He stiffened.
Am I mistaken agai…?
Before he could finish his thought, a shot exploding next to his ear almost deafened him. The grip on his right arm vanished, but he did not dare to look. Due to the ringing in his ears, Lucas did not hear the thump of a body hitting the ground. Another harrumph.
"Durak," someone spat and now Lucas was certain that it was Darshavin. Then the body of a guard rolled into the grave, slumping over the other corpse.
Oh, shit!
Shudders shook Lucas's body and he was breathing hard at the unexpected turn of events. The emotional tides left him exhausted and he could hardly comprehend now what happened. He also could not comprehend why he was suddenly shaking uncontrollably and choking. All he brought up was bile that burned in his throat. Gasping for breath, he tried to regain control, only to start when hands alighted on his shoulders.
"Get up."
The interrogator's harsh voice sounded familiar, but altered, as if its owner was making a real effort not to frighten him more. Despite his best intentions, though, Lucas could not make his body comply.
"It is over," Darshavin's tone softened, became cajoling. "Get up, Lucas." The hands slid down to his upper arms and tightened their grasp, gently urging, "Come on."
Unsteadily, Lucas stood and let himself be nudged forward. As the adrenaline ebbed away, he felt his knees go weak and he stumbled. Strong arms caught his potential fall and he leaned against his rescuer's side. His emotional uproar left him exhausted once more and he had to fight to move. Despite his mortification, he was infinitely grateful to Oleg Darshavin, even though he would never tell him so. The Chief FSB Interrogation Officer was the cause of many of Lucas's waking nightmares after all… and haunted him in his dreams as well. Right now, Darshavin led Lucas back into the building and down a corridor from where they entered what turned out to be a bathroom. Surprised, Lucas hesitated to do anything.
"Take a shower," Darshavin amiably told him. "You are muddy."
Indeed.
Lucas reached for the cord holding his track pants but his hands shook so much with the cold and exhaustion that he could not loosen the drawstring. Only to himself he admitted that a good bit of terror also came into the mix. His cheeks glowed with shame as he watched Darshavin's dirty fingernails delicately pick apart the knot. As it could hardly get any worse, he let him help remove his trousers. Darshavin gave them to a guard who stood by the door.
Naked now, Lucas stood in the middle of the room and could not make himself step into the shower.
"It is okay, Lucas," his interrogator told him, almost gently propelling him to the left one of three showers along the wall. "You must be cold. The days are getting warmer, but it's still chilly. Add the shock… Come on."
Another nudge persuaded Lucas to comply. When he had trouble with the water tap, Darshavin reached out to help again.
"I am sorry, Lucas," he said, his chapped hand resting on the tap. As a result, he trapped Lucas in the corner. "When I heard them discuss about who should do the digging, I told them that you could do with some fresh air. They were not supposed to scare you."
"Oh, really?" Lucas mumbled at the wall, but Darshavin heard him anyway.
"Yes, really."
Lucas did not feel compelled to believe him.
Supposed to or not, Belyakov surely enjoyed it.
Mock executions often were part of intensive interrogation and it was more likely than not that the men acted on Darshavin's orders.
Does it matter? Either way they did a good job.
His attempts to steady his hands failed and he still felt shudders course through him all the same. He heard how Darshavin turned the tap, but still Lucas started when the water rained down on his skin. It felt so strange… and hot. At first, the steady stream seemed to scorch his skin as his body was so cool. Only slowly, he began to warm up again.
I hope I won't get sick.
The thought terrified him. His incarceration was bad enough as it was already.
As he shifted his weight, he felt his muscles ache. His feet and lower legs were sore from finding and providing the best stand for digging. Especially his left ankle was hurting. Lucas suspected that it would get worse over the next days. He would have to work out in order to ease his aching muscles.
And it was not just that. His right foot burned and when he looked down, he saw a thin trail of red running into the drain.
Shit!
Gritting his teeth, Lucas tried to ignore it, but anxiety already knotted up his insides again. Even a tiny wound, if left untreated, could lead to infection, and his last tetanus jab was long out of date. Did they still have enough interest in him to grant him the privilege of medical care?
After their extended sessions, they had to send me to the hospital ward in order to get me back in shape for further interrogations. So they'd do it again, right?
Another shudder coursed through him as he still was cold.
How long will Oleg allow me this luxury?
Every now and then, he shifted his position uneasily, still on edge from the cruel joke Belyakov had played on him. He would have loved to curl up here under the hot stream and not move away for the next several hours. Knowing that that would not happen, he enjoyed every second of his unexpected treat.
"Lucas?" Darshavin interrupted.
When Lucas turned to him, he saw him hold up a bottle of shampoo and as he held out his hand, Darshavin squeezed a dollop onto his palm. Gratefully, Lucas worked it into his grimy hair. It had been ages since he last could take a shower. In his cell, he lacked as much as a washing bowl and he hated how filthy he became. Massaging a bit of the foam into his beard as well, he decided that asking would not hurt.
"How about a shave?"
"Not this time," came the immediate, almost regretful reply.
I guessed as much, Lucas thought ruefully and washed the foam out. The shower will be over soon as well.
'He's just giving you a false sense of security,' devil Harry whispered.
'You think allowing him to shower is a trick?' angel Harry hissed at his counterpart. 'What would he gain out of it other than a clean captive?'
'His trust,' devil Harry snarled, poking with his fork.
Don't worry. I don't trust Oleg as far as I can throw him.
Devil Harry snorted derisively. 'You're calling him Oleg!'
'Well, he's got to call him something!' angel Harry complained.
'Oh, I could offer you a couple of better fitting names.'
'Which he can't use without getting himself into trouble, you sulphur-stinking, armour-tailed twat!'
'Are you sure you're the angel?' devil Harry teased.
A smirk tugged at the corners of Lucas's mouth and he lowered his head to hide it from view, but Darshavin had already noticed it.
"What is so funny?" he asked conversationally.
"Nothing," Lucas shook his head. "Just a last surge of adrenalin."
Darshavin nodded. "You should get finished."
Right, Lucas expected as much. Once more he turned under the steady stream, relishing the last seconds, then he turned it off and accepted the bath towel Darshavin gave him. Toward the end of his shower his muscles began to relax, but as he dried himself off now, he noticed again how sore he was. Reaching his right foot, he winced as it still burned.
"What is wrong?" Darshavin's tone was solicitous, almost as if he actually cared.
"A small cut," Lucas explained. "I must've stepped on something sharp."
Holding out new trousers to his captive, the interrogator demanded, "Let me see."
Lucas accepted the trousers and slipped them on. They were not new, rather worn to be exact, but they were clean. He sat down on a bench and lifted his foot onto his left thigh. Darshavin examined it closely before he ordered the guard at the door to go and get a med kit. Once more Lucas felt grateful.
'Be careful,' angel Harry murmured which made Lucas smile furtively again.
"A penny," Darshavin offered affably.
"What?" Lucas absently replied.
"Is that not what you say, a penny for your thoughts?"
"That's the correct idiom, yes," Lucas told him guardedly.
"I would like to know what is on your mind," Darshavin prodded.
"Nothing of interest."
"It seems to amuse you," the interrogator kept pushing.
Lucas did not intend to fall for the blunt attempt, but he had to offer him an explanation and the only thing he could come up with right now was, "I recalled a moment with Elizaveta."
At the same moment that the words left his mouth, Lucas felt a sharp pang as exactly those memories returned to him. They had been working in the garden behind the house they just bought and were both dirty from digging around. Once their work was done, they had shared a shower that was heated from more than just the warmth of the water. Afterwards they towelled each other off and went to bed early to pick up where they left off in the shower. It had been a rare moment of normal life that Lucas knew to relish even more knowing how special that was for a spook.
"Fond memories then."
"Yes," Lucas answered flatly.
"Do you believe she is still thinking of you?"
Once more, a sharp pang hit Lucas's insides as Darshavin voiced what he had so often wondered about in the loneliness of his cell.
"I'd like to think so," he murmured, hoping but knowing all the same that it was unlikely.
"She has not tried to contact you."
The statement was another blow to Lucas's system.
"She has forgotten about you."
It stung. Lucas could not deny that. Still he did not bow to the interrogator's attempt to demoralize him.
"I don't think she did," he told him. "But I could understand it if she decided to move on." Somehow, the words sounded hollow to his own ears.
"She did not write once."
At that a crooked smirk split Lucas's features and he challenged, "And if she did, would you have given me her letter?"
He looked Darshavin right in the eyes as he asked his question and it became painfully obvious to him that the other man had not expected to be put on the spot. Arkady would've come back with an indignant 'Of course! What do you think of me?' The moment passed, though, and Darshavin remained silent. As it was, he even threatened to lose their staring duel but the guard returning with the first aid kit interrupted them. Without a word, Darshavin took the necessary items and tended to Lucas's foot. His calloused hands were rough against Lucas's bare sole and scratched rather than tickled. A sharp hiss escaped Lucas when Darshavin applied disinfectant to the cut. His captor looked up at him with a broad grin, showing stained and crooked teeth before he returned to treating the wound.
Guess my reaction amused him. Well, it is kind of amusing. I lived through horrendous tortures after all.
"Well…" Darshavin said as he put the disinfectant down, "aside from the prank… did you enjoy your time outside?"
"The fresh air was very much appreciated," Lucas replied. The details of the activity not so much.
"Maybe I can arrange another outing," Darshavin suggested as he began to wrap dressing around Lucas's foot. "I have seen cranes out in the marshes. They're brooding here. Too bad you don't get to see them with their hatchlings. They're too shy."
Oh, really? I wouldn't show my kid to you either, Lucas thought bitterly, and managed to give an indifferent shrug.
"I would have expected a bit more enthusiasm," Darshavin teased. "Or are you worried about your foot?" He eased it off the thigh and Lucas set it down. "No? That would hardly keep you from a good long walk, right?"
What do you expect me to do? Beg for an excursion? Even though he yearned to get out of these walls, begging would be the last thing he did. The prospect of a walk alone was like a reward, though, and Lucas did not want to jeopardize it.
"Oh, come on," Darshavin prodded. "It may not be the wild Yorkshire moors of the Bronte novels, but I thought you loved our walking-tours. Remember how you discovered the great bustard?"
"Yes."
And vividly so. Wish it would've been big enough to carry me away from here… or me small enough to ride on its back like Nils Holgersson did. Is that why you're telling me about watching cranes, Oleg? To make me more miserable about being caged here?
"Would you like going bird watching again, Lucas?" Darshavin prodded coyly.
"Sure," he agreed lightly. "Why not? I don't have other plans." Are you trying to hint at more than just a walk? Lucas wondered as he was reminded of how Dasharvin had once told him that maybe they would be watching birds at the Thames estuary one day. Did he want to imply a possible return to England? If you were, it was a clumsy attempt.
"Oh, really?" Darshavin tried to sound surprised. "Do you not plan to return home anymore?"
Very clumsy, indeed.
"It can be hard to recognize sarcasm in one's second language," he replied, keeping his tone perfectly level, betraying nothing.
"I recognized your sarcasm easily enough, Lucas," Darshavin told him with an air of superiority. "You know I am an enthusiast of British literature. I prefer reading those books in their original language and the works of Anthony Trollope are full of sarcasm. Are you familiar with Trollope, Lucas?"
"No," he lied. But if I were, I'd bloody well know the difference between satire and sarcasm, you oaf!
'Careful,' angel Harry warned him. 'You don't want him to see you angry.'
'Oh, heavens no!' devil Harry astonishingly agreed for once, then added, 'He might actually need a reason to torture you some day.' Then, blinking at angel Harry he asked, 'Sorry? Was that sarcasm or satire?'
Lucas literally had to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at their banter. Pipe down, you two, or you're liable to get me in trouble.
Once more, he saw Darshavin smirk and realized that he actually was trying to imitate Kachimov. He was trying to be gentle, clever, and suave. Those traits, though, were nothing that Lucas would attribute to him. No matter how hard you try, you never will be like Arkady. You lack finesse. Just for a second he felt sorry for the other man. You can read as much as you like, educate and refine yourself… you're still always going to be a barbarian. Arkady's placidness is a gift you don't possess. You're a peasant… and will never be anything else.
Arkady Kachimov, though a skilled and persistent interrogator, was the only person he had met in this hell hole whom Lucas thought of as a good conversation partner. They would spend hours talking about all the world and his brother before Kachimov subtly directed the conversation to the questions he wanted to get answered. More than once Lucas had been close to getting caught in the verbal traps. Yes, with Kachimov he had to be attentive and careful.
"You should read Doctor Thorne, Lucas," Darshavin chummily advised. "I will lend you my copy."
Oh, yeah. That'll be really useful when there's no bloody light in my cell! Even though he remained calm on the outside, Lucas could have exploded and screamed with suppressed rage.
"Well," Darshavin said as he rose to his feet. "Time to go."
Lucas stood.
Darshavin gestured him to go ahead and follow the lead of the two guards by the door. Lucas complied readily. What else was there to do? Nothing.
Upon reaching his cell, Lucas cast a look at his interrogator. He would not mind being questioned for another couple of hours. At least he would not be alone.
No such luck. Darshavin opened the cell and shoved him in. The door closed with a metallic clonk and Lucas was once more plunged in darkness.
tbc…
durak = fool/moron