In the dreary and dark realm of the basement, or as Molokov called it, 'the dungeon', Svetlana was once again considering her options. By her latest count, it had been thirteen days since her television interview fiasco, and nothing indicated any impending changes for the good, but rather several for the worse. At least she was physically comfortable- the basement was finished as a small apartment, complete with a miniature kitchen and a full bathroom. However other than that, there was little else to be at the very least satisfied about.
She had not been told much, other than she was currently under supervision and that she was on probation. Her two daughters were currently staying with her aunt, an elderly old crone entirely devoted to the USSR. Every once in a while an agent would fetch her up from the basement, lead her to an office upstairs, have her sign some papers, and then return her to her prison. Svetlana didn't even care enough to read what she was signing, nor did she ask what was going on. Other than her children, she asked no questions. She said nothing, did nothing, and had no opinion. All she knew was that Anatoly had made it to England, and that he had been reunited with Florence. Here on this fine afternoon, she sat.
Svetlana was examining her fingernails when the door to the basement opened, throwing a precious beam of sunlight down into her abyss. She lurched forward and sat up, trying to peer around the corner to see who was coming.
Near silent footsteps padded down the wooden stairs, catlike and perfect. It was the absence of the commonplace creaking noise that set things into place for Svetlana- there was only one man she knew that could be so silent on this elderly staircase. Alexander Molokov's polished shoes touched down on the rug with an equal lack of auditory stimuli, immediately setting his blonde captive into a foul mood. For whatever reason, Svetlana found her temper finally rising, welling up within her at last. After thirteen days, she wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
"What do you want, snake?" She hissed, not unlike the likeness of a serpent she associated with Molokov.
Molokov glared up at her in return, with such an anger that Svetlana felt as if she would melt under it.
"Sit down, my dear." He said pleasantly, brown eyes narrowing.
Svetlana chose not to sit, knowing that her superior height irritated him.
"I want answers, Mr. Molokov." She demanded.
"Then you shall have them."
Svetlana continued to glare into his disgusting face, resisting the urge to spit into it.
"What do you want to know, my dear." He asked, although it didn't seem to be a question. HIs voice was sharp and unemotional.
"Why are you keeping me here? What are you planning in revenge against me, or Anatoly? Why have I not been allowed to see my children?" She fired crisply.
"I would think that the reason we are keeping you here is quite obvious, my dear. You have betrayed your country and need supervision so you don't do anything else... foolish. Also, we do not plan revenge, what would give you any idea that we would partake in such a vile act? Your children, as you have been told, are staying with your aunt, and you will be returned to them as soon as you are deemed responsible enough to handle yourself." Molokov sneered.
Svetlana was a mixture of ice and fire, a flaming temper combined with a frigid, cold soul, all wrapped up in a hardened dull shell that had become her persona.
"Since when... is it the right of the government to decide whether I am fit to raise my own children? And don't you give me that we don't plan revenge shit... I have already experienced your revenge first hand... I'm certain you remember how you assasinated my father... all for some stupid weapons deal... and now... you're keeping me hostage because I set my husband... the man who I love... free from your boundaries... free from your cruel and sadistic practices. And now, here you stand, lying to me... Mr. Molokov... I hope you realize that there is nothing more I will be assisting you with until you return me to my children and get the hell out of my life." Svetlana fumed, slowly and distinctly, her hatred accumulating like rain clouds before a storm. She found she was shaking, quivering in the red haze of anger.
Molokov was slightly stunned, he had to admit. He had never once expected Svetlana to address him in such a tone, particularly after the events concerning her father. Of course he did remember, and he also saw the truth to her words, yet he did not care. He was ruthless, as she suggested, and he was good at it. After spending years as an agent, the emotional woes of sentimental women did not phase him.
"If that is how you really feel I cannot agree, but I will promise you this: if you do not cooperate, you will never see anything other than this basement for the duration of your life. I will go now, to leave you to think about your choices. I will be back later to discuss options with you, my dear." Molokov finished, exiting the basement as quietly as he came.
Svetlana held her tongue and did not reply to his statement, but secretly vowed to herself that she would find answers, not only for herself but for Anatoly, and Florence. She wanted to know why Molokov wanted her father, why he had not released Florence's father, and why they were so adamant about keeping Anatoly within the confines of The Soviet Union. Svetlana Sergievsky was a woman propelled by her anger, and she would have answers, in whatever form they took.