CHAPTER THREE
Voices drifted in and out, but the banging in his head was constant. Illya rolled his head aside, and was rewarded with renewed pain and some fireworks behind his eyelids. He moved his hand over his face, and was rewarded with a whole new set of aches in his upper body. On top of that, it hurt to touch his face, and the handcuffs were very snug on his swollen, broken arm.
The buzzing of voices was somewhat steady now, and he was aware of lying on his back on a cold, hard floor. He groaned, and rolled to his side to push himself up to a sit. His ribs had other ideas, and he decided to stay on his side.
Then the voices stopped, and he heard a low chuckle. Illya cracked his eyes, one being slightly stuck closed by what he figured was dried blood.
"My old friend Illya Nickovich Kuryakin. Welcome home, comrade! We have missed you dearly!" The words were followed by another chuckle. "You have aged poorly, my friend. Your bones break easily!"
Another chuckle.
"Is this your idea of a homecoming party, Pietor?" Illya rasped, his throat dry. His vision settled enough for him to see the outline of General Asikov standing on the other side of the room, his foot up on a chair. There were two armed soldiers standing behind him.
"Homecoming party? You have picked up some bougious Western habits, Illya. There are no homecoming parties here; no one ever leaves!"
"I did," the dour agent corrected.
"Yes, you are correct. You did." The General pulled his foot down and walked over to the prone agent. "And now you are back! What a day this has been. Maybe it's a homecoming party for me! I've received all the gifts!" and he gave Illya a quick kick in the abdomen. "And you shall be my gift to the Kremlin. Everyone will be happy."
Illya blinked away the new fireworks and rolled onto his back again. "Not me, I'm afraid."
"That's alright. When you're dead, you won't be the wet blanket anymore. Meanwhile, that annoying American pilot insists that you get medical treatment. In the interest of international relations, I'm willing to allow medical treatment. I do want to make sure you make it to the Kremlin alive, after all."
Illya heard the shuffling of boots, and he was yanked into a sitting position. He didn't give his hosts the satisfaction of any groans of pain, and they pushed him back against the wall so he wouldn't fall.
The boots retreated, and the door opened, and through a fog Illya saw a familiar figure enter the room. The General told the guards to observe, and he left.
Trudy knelt by his side. "I knew there was something about you," she said quietly as she put down a bowl of warm water and began to wash Illya's face. "Why did you try and escape? Is it true what Captain Glenn was told? That you are Russian?"
"No," Illya said. "I was Russian. I'm an American now. I defected."
"That would explain their love for you," she commented, making Illya issue a painful smile.
"Don't make me laugh," he mumbled. "It hurts."
Trudy snorted. "I see. Let me check you over." She gave him as a thorough exam as she could, keeping a professional demeanor.
Illya watched her, giving himself time to think. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be because he wouldn't let it be.
"Well, your arm is still broken," she announced.
"Very funny. Anything else?"
"Concussion, some cracked ribs. This head would re opened, but looks under control now. Got a headache?"
"No. I have a head explosion."
"Not surprised. You'll live." Her tone was light, but her eyes told a different story, and Illya gave her a thin smile.
"Thanks."
"I get the feeling that you've been through this before. You have some...interesting...old scars, Mr. Haverstock." Her eyes shined as she grinned a bit.
Illya smiled, and tried not to laugh. "Illya Kuryakin. And don't make me laugh!"
"Whatever you say, Mr. Kuryakin." She gathered up her bowl, and glanced at the guards. "Captain Glenn is requesting regular visits to check on your health. Anything you need?"
"Yes. But I don't think you can get me what I need, so I'll decline the question." His eyes settled on her face as a thought crossed his mind.
Trudy's eyes sparkled again. "You may be surprised, Mr. Kuryakin. You may be surprised."
Just then he made his decision. "Not much surprises me." He glanced at the guards, sure she had followed his motion. "Your hair. May I ask a question?"
Illya could see her mind working behind her eyes, but she covered it with a relaxed smile. She saw Illya's eyes flick down to the cuffs on his hands, and back to her face. "Sure, ask away," she said slowly.
"How long does it take to pin it up? " Illya was fairly certain the guards didn't understand English, but he wasn't taking chances.
Trudy hesitated a second, then realized what he was asking. She reached up with a smile and patted the pinned up braid curled on the back of her head, slipping a hairpin out as she replied. "Not long. My husband always liked long hair." She made the motion of patting his hand as she stood, and slipped the pin in his fingers. "I suppose hair this long looks silly on a woman my age, but I like to think my husband is looking down from heaven in approval." She gathered the supplies. "Until later, then." She turned and marched sternly between the guards and out the door.
Illya gripped the hairpin and tried to make himself comfortable. Now he had to succeed; if they discovered the pin, Trudy would be in big trouble. He rolled so his back was to the guards and worked the pin. It was difficult work, and painful to his swollen wrist, but he pushed the pain aside and continued until he felt the lock slip. He loosened the cuffs just enough that he could slip them off, secured the pin in his waistline, and sat up, facing the guards. His head swam from the effort and throbbing pain, but he had to get his bearings. He had to move before backup guards arrived, or before Asikov removed him from the base under heavier guard.
The agent was trying to concentrate on a plan when the door opened and a guard spoke to the other two.
"The General will be removing this one within the hour. The nurse will be sedating him. After he is asleep, move him to the truck outside. The General will be riding along with him to the train station in a separate truck. He is loading up some things from the communications room now."
The two men nodded.
Asikov must be taking that device I saw; the one that brought the jet here. Illya filed that information away in his mind as he formed his escape plan.
It wasn't quite an hour before the door opened again. Trudy entered with a frown on her face. She obviously was not happy. She had a small tray covered with a towel.
"Captain Glenn is raising a real stink about this, Mr. Kuryakin." She said as she came closer and stopped. "That General is insisting on drugging you with morphine and taking you away. I'm here to administer the dose; my doing it was the only concession the General would agree to." One side of the woman's lip curled into a tight grin. "Captain Glenn has really been a thorn in that man's side!"
"Asikov needs thorns in more than his side," Illya said matter-of-factly. Then he met her eyes again, hoping she'd pick up on his signals. Trudy raised an eyebrow slightly; she's sharp, this one, Illya thought. "I need help sitting up and holding my arm still." He flicked his eyes to one of the guards, and raised his hands slightly so Trudy could see the loose cuffs. Her eyes widened, and she tried to keep from smiling.
She put the tray down and picked up the syringe, checking the dose. "This will knock you out fairly quickly," she said conversationally as she turned to the guards. "Hey, you! Some help here, please?"
The guards looked at each other, not having any idea what she was saying, but got the idea. One of them shrugged, slipped the slinged rifle around to his back and came over.
"Cushion," Illya said softly, nodding to the cushion on the chair next to Trudy. She plucked it up and sat it on his lap, covering his hands as he slipped the cuffs. He flicked his eyes from the syringe to the approaching guard, and Trudy's eyes gleamed in understanding. She tapped the bubbles from the syringe.
The next seconds went like they were choreographed. Trudy indicated that the guard should kneel to help her so his body would block the action from the standing guard, who was looking bored anyway. Illya mentally crossed his fingers and moved. His good had shot up and latched on the guard's throat with a deadly grip, quieting him as Trudy injected the morphine in his unsuspecting bicep. She was amazed at the power in the agent's hand. Illya grabbed the handgun from the guard's side holster as he sagged in his grip, then released him as he raised the muzzle to the other guard. He would have shot the other guard, but Trudy had sprung to her feet, a second syringe in hand.
"Tell him to hold still," she said quickly, not wanting any bloodshed.
Even though Illya's order was in Russian, Trudy had no doubt of the intent of the order. His tone alone was scary; the cold, gleaming look in his eye left no room for doubt. The guard froze, knowing his life was in real danger. She quickly injected him, too, and Illya was unmoving in his threat until the guard slumped to the floor.
Illya had shoved the sleeping guard off his legs, and painfully struggled to his feet. Stars floated in his vision as he tucked the handgun away and squatted to undressing the downed man. He swayed on his feet, fighting back the stinging pain his every breath brought.
Trudy was quiet for only a moment. "Here, let me help you."
Between the two of them they switched clothes with the sleeping man and Illya. Trudy bandaged the guard's head to cover the darker hair, then studied Illya carefully. "You'll never be able to get him out there by yourself."
"And I can't endanger you anymore. I'll need to inject you, too, so it looks like I overpowered you."
Trudy raised her eyebrow again as Illya grabbed his ribs and took a moment to rest. "You couldn't overpower a flea right now Mr. Kuryakin."
He managed a grin. "Illya. Please, call me Illya. And don't make me laugh. It hurts!"
Without another word, Trudy stripped the second guard and donned his clothing and weapons. Illya protested, but she shushed him with look. "Do you think it's going to be easy on any of us when this is discovered? I'm sure the passengers will eventually get home, but I'm not so sure about you. This way, at least I'm doing something other than sitting here on my duff. Subject closed. Let's go."
Still not happy but accepting the reply Illya stood and started to gather up the smaller of the sleeping guards. Trudy was at his side in an instant, and between the two of them, got the body gathered up. "Wait," Trudy bent down, retrieved the handcuffs, and snapped them on the guard. "Everything's in the details," she said softly as Illya shook his head. They moved to the door.
Illya kept his head down as they dragged the guard along. He concentrated on putting one painful step ahead of the other, and glanced around when they got outside. He saw two small trucks parked by the communications building, and saw a technician loading a device in the back of the lead vehicle. He hoped the keys were in the ignition.
He could hear a man arguing with Asikov inside the building. Trudy and Illya threw the guard in the lead vehicle, and as Trudy got into the driver's seat, Illya slipped out a hunting knife he recovered from one of the guard's boots and stuck it in two of the second truck's tires. Quickly, he moved to the lead truck. He opened his mouth as he got in the passenger's seat.
"No argument. I'm driving. I drove through battlefields in Korea," Trudy said as she fired up the engine. "I can do this."
Illya snapped his jaw shut, and instead, pulled the rifle around. "Fine. Just don't get a ticket."
Trudy let out a short snort as she gunned the engine and headed for the gate. Her sideways glance at Illya showed the fear she felt as they raced to the exit. Illya gave her a quick smile and a nod as he raised the rifle at the two surprised gate guards, picking them off easily. Trudy slammed the truck into the aged gate, and it collapsed without even slowing them down. They heard gunshots, shouts and the whistle of bullets over their heads as they left a trail of dust behind them.
*************************
Solo's first hours in Sapporo were busy locating the radio operator that had picked up Illya's brief call, and familiarizing himself with the office set up. He got a car assigned to him, and made sure it was ready to go, and arranged to have the radio man meet him at a coastal office with comparable equipment. Solo knew that aircraft were difficult to come by in Russia, and that his partner would most likely need a pick up by sea eventually.
There was a short break as he drove to the coastal office, alone. Illya was very tight lipped about his time in his home country, but Solo was sure he had ways of getting around. After all, he had worked under the government's nose in an underground railroad-type group, or so he'd heard from others, and Solo knew the abilities and extent of his partner's wiliness. Still, there was a lot working against him, and he was alone in a large, under developed area. It all came down to stamina and determination, both qualities Kuryakin had in spade. Solo grinned to himself, adding stubbornness to the list.
On his arrival at the coast, he was glad to have the chore of locating a sea-worthy vessel that could be ready to launch in an instant. Napoleon Solo wasn't one for sitting and waiting, and he knew that's where this would come down. He had to be ready.
Voices drifted in and out, but the banging in his head was constant. Illya rolled his head aside, and was rewarded with renewed pain and some fireworks behind his eyelids. He moved his hand over his face, and was rewarded with a whole new set of aches in his upper body. On top of that, it hurt to touch his face, and the handcuffs were very snug on his swollen, broken arm.
The buzzing of voices was somewhat steady now, and he was aware of lying on his back on a cold, hard floor. He groaned, and rolled to his side to push himself up to a sit. His ribs had other ideas, and he decided to stay on his side.
Then the voices stopped, and he heard a low chuckle. Illya cracked his eyes, one being slightly stuck closed by what he figured was dried blood.
"My old friend Illya Nickovich Kuryakin. Welcome home, comrade! We have missed you dearly!" The words were followed by another chuckle. "You have aged poorly, my friend. Your bones break easily!"
Another chuckle.
"Is this your idea of a homecoming party, Pietor?" Illya rasped, his throat dry. His vision settled enough for him to see the outline of General Asikov standing on the other side of the room, his foot up on a chair. There were two armed soldiers standing behind him.
"Homecoming party? You have picked up some bougious Western habits, Illya. There are no homecoming parties here; no one ever leaves!"
"I did," the dour agent corrected.
"Yes, you are correct. You did." The General pulled his foot down and walked over to the prone agent. "And now you are back! What a day this has been. Maybe it's a homecoming party for me! I've received all the gifts!" and he gave Illya a quick kick in the abdomen. "And you shall be my gift to the Kremlin. Everyone will be happy."
Illya blinked away the new fireworks and rolled onto his back again. "Not me, I'm afraid."
"That's alright. When you're dead, you won't be the wet blanket anymore. Meanwhile, that annoying American pilot insists that you get medical treatment. In the interest of international relations, I'm willing to allow medical treatment. I do want to make sure you make it to the Kremlin alive, after all."
Illya heard the shuffling of boots, and he was yanked into a sitting position. He didn't give his hosts the satisfaction of any groans of pain, and they pushed him back against the wall so he wouldn't fall.
The boots retreated, and the door opened, and through a fog Illya saw a familiar figure enter the room. The General told the guards to observe, and he left.
Trudy knelt by his side. "I knew there was something about you," she said quietly as she put down a bowl of warm water and began to wash Illya's face. "Why did you try and escape? Is it true what Captain Glenn was told? That you are Russian?"
"No," Illya said. "I was Russian. I'm an American now. I defected."
"That would explain their love for you," she commented, making Illya issue a painful smile.
"Don't make me laugh," he mumbled. "It hurts."
Trudy snorted. "I see. Let me check you over." She gave him as a thorough exam as she could, keeping a professional demeanor.
Illya watched her, giving himself time to think. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be because he wouldn't let it be.
"Well, your arm is still broken," she announced.
"Very funny. Anything else?"
"Concussion, some cracked ribs. This head would re opened, but looks under control now. Got a headache?"
"No. I have a head explosion."
"Not surprised. You'll live." Her tone was light, but her eyes told a different story, and Illya gave her a thin smile.
"Thanks."
"I get the feeling that you've been through this before. You have some...interesting...old scars, Mr. Haverstock." Her eyes shined as she grinned a bit.
Illya smiled, and tried not to laugh. "Illya Kuryakin. And don't make me laugh!"
"Whatever you say, Mr. Kuryakin." She gathered up her bowl, and glanced at the guards. "Captain Glenn is requesting regular visits to check on your health. Anything you need?"
"Yes. But I don't think you can get me what I need, so I'll decline the question." His eyes settled on her face as a thought crossed his mind.
Trudy's eyes sparkled again. "You may be surprised, Mr. Kuryakin. You may be surprised."
Just then he made his decision. "Not much surprises me." He glanced at the guards, sure she had followed his motion. "Your hair. May I ask a question?"
Illya could see her mind working behind her eyes, but she covered it with a relaxed smile. She saw Illya's eyes flick down to the cuffs on his hands, and back to her face. "Sure, ask away," she said slowly.
"How long does it take to pin it up? " Illya was fairly certain the guards didn't understand English, but he wasn't taking chances.
Trudy hesitated a second, then realized what he was asking. She reached up with a smile and patted the pinned up braid curled on the back of her head, slipping a hairpin out as she replied. "Not long. My husband always liked long hair." She made the motion of patting his hand as she stood, and slipped the pin in his fingers. "I suppose hair this long looks silly on a woman my age, but I like to think my husband is looking down from heaven in approval." She gathered the supplies. "Until later, then." She turned and marched sternly between the guards and out the door.
Illya gripped the hairpin and tried to make himself comfortable. Now he had to succeed; if they discovered the pin, Trudy would be in big trouble. He rolled so his back was to the guards and worked the pin. It was difficult work, and painful to his swollen wrist, but he pushed the pain aside and continued until he felt the lock slip. He loosened the cuffs just enough that he could slip them off, secured the pin in his waistline, and sat up, facing the guards. His head swam from the effort and throbbing pain, but he had to get his bearings. He had to move before backup guards arrived, or before Asikov removed him from the base under heavier guard.
The agent was trying to concentrate on a plan when the door opened and a guard spoke to the other two.
"The General will be removing this one within the hour. The nurse will be sedating him. After he is asleep, move him to the truck outside. The General will be riding along with him to the train station in a separate truck. He is loading up some things from the communications room now."
The two men nodded.
Asikov must be taking that device I saw; the one that brought the jet here. Illya filed that information away in his mind as he formed his escape plan.
It wasn't quite an hour before the door opened again. Trudy entered with a frown on her face. She obviously was not happy. She had a small tray covered with a towel.
"Captain Glenn is raising a real stink about this, Mr. Kuryakin." She said as she came closer and stopped. "That General is insisting on drugging you with morphine and taking you away. I'm here to administer the dose; my doing it was the only concession the General would agree to." One side of the woman's lip curled into a tight grin. "Captain Glenn has really been a thorn in that man's side!"
"Asikov needs thorns in more than his side," Illya said matter-of-factly. Then he met her eyes again, hoping she'd pick up on his signals. Trudy raised an eyebrow slightly; she's sharp, this one, Illya thought. "I need help sitting up and holding my arm still." He flicked his eyes to one of the guards, and raised his hands slightly so Trudy could see the loose cuffs. Her eyes widened, and she tried to keep from smiling.
She put the tray down and picked up the syringe, checking the dose. "This will knock you out fairly quickly," she said conversationally as she turned to the guards. "Hey, you! Some help here, please?"
The guards looked at each other, not having any idea what she was saying, but got the idea. One of them shrugged, slipped the slinged rifle around to his back and came over.
"Cushion," Illya said softly, nodding to the cushion on the chair next to Trudy. She plucked it up and sat it on his lap, covering his hands as he slipped the cuffs. He flicked his eyes from the syringe to the approaching guard, and Trudy's eyes gleamed in understanding. She tapped the bubbles from the syringe.
The next seconds went like they were choreographed. Trudy indicated that the guard should kneel to help her so his body would block the action from the standing guard, who was looking bored anyway. Illya mentally crossed his fingers and moved. His good had shot up and latched on the guard's throat with a deadly grip, quieting him as Trudy injected the morphine in his unsuspecting bicep. She was amazed at the power in the agent's hand. Illya grabbed the handgun from the guard's side holster as he sagged in his grip, then released him as he raised the muzzle to the other guard. He would have shot the other guard, but Trudy had sprung to her feet, a second syringe in hand.
"Tell him to hold still," she said quickly, not wanting any bloodshed.
Even though Illya's order was in Russian, Trudy had no doubt of the intent of the order. His tone alone was scary; the cold, gleaming look in his eye left no room for doubt. The guard froze, knowing his life was in real danger. She quickly injected him, too, and Illya was unmoving in his threat until the guard slumped to the floor.
Illya had shoved the sleeping guard off his legs, and painfully struggled to his feet. Stars floated in his vision as he tucked the handgun away and squatted to undressing the downed man. He swayed on his feet, fighting back the stinging pain his every breath brought.
Trudy was quiet for only a moment. "Here, let me help you."
Between the two of them they switched clothes with the sleeping man and Illya. Trudy bandaged the guard's head to cover the darker hair, then studied Illya carefully. "You'll never be able to get him out there by yourself."
"And I can't endanger you anymore. I'll need to inject you, too, so it looks like I overpowered you."
Trudy raised her eyebrow again as Illya grabbed his ribs and took a moment to rest. "You couldn't overpower a flea right now Mr. Kuryakin."
He managed a grin. "Illya. Please, call me Illya. And don't make me laugh. It hurts!"
Without another word, Trudy stripped the second guard and donned his clothing and weapons. Illya protested, but she shushed him with look. "Do you think it's going to be easy on any of us when this is discovered? I'm sure the passengers will eventually get home, but I'm not so sure about you. This way, at least I'm doing something other than sitting here on my duff. Subject closed. Let's go."
Still not happy but accepting the reply Illya stood and started to gather up the smaller of the sleeping guards. Trudy was at his side in an instant, and between the two of them, got the body gathered up. "Wait," Trudy bent down, retrieved the handcuffs, and snapped them on the guard. "Everything's in the details," she said softly as Illya shook his head. They moved to the door.
Illya kept his head down as they dragged the guard along. He concentrated on putting one painful step ahead of the other, and glanced around when they got outside. He saw two small trucks parked by the communications building, and saw a technician loading a device in the back of the lead vehicle. He hoped the keys were in the ignition.
He could hear a man arguing with Asikov inside the building. Trudy and Illya threw the guard in the lead vehicle, and as Trudy got into the driver's seat, Illya slipped out a hunting knife he recovered from one of the guard's boots and stuck it in two of the second truck's tires. Quickly, he moved to the lead truck. He opened his mouth as he got in the passenger's seat.
"No argument. I'm driving. I drove through battlefields in Korea," Trudy said as she fired up the engine. "I can do this."
Illya snapped his jaw shut, and instead, pulled the rifle around. "Fine. Just don't get a ticket."
Trudy let out a short snort as she gunned the engine and headed for the gate. Her sideways glance at Illya showed the fear she felt as they raced to the exit. Illya gave her a quick smile and a nod as he raised the rifle at the two surprised gate guards, picking them off easily. Trudy slammed the truck into the aged gate, and it collapsed without even slowing them down. They heard gunshots, shouts and the whistle of bullets over their heads as they left a trail of dust behind them.
*************************
Solo's first hours in Sapporo were busy locating the radio operator that had picked up Illya's brief call, and familiarizing himself with the office set up. He got a car assigned to him, and made sure it was ready to go, and arranged to have the radio man meet him at a coastal office with comparable equipment. Solo knew that aircraft were difficult to come by in Russia, and that his partner would most likely need a pick up by sea eventually.
There was a short break as he drove to the coastal office, alone. Illya was very tight lipped about his time in his home country, but Solo was sure he had ways of getting around. After all, he had worked under the government's nose in an underground railroad-type group, or so he'd heard from others, and Solo knew the abilities and extent of his partner's wiliness. Still, there was a lot working against him, and he was alone in a large, under developed area. It all came down to stamina and determination, both qualities Kuryakin had in spade. Solo grinned to himself, adding stubbornness to the list.
On his arrival at the coast, he was glad to have the chore of locating a sea-worthy vessel that could be ready to launch in an instant. Napoleon Solo wasn't one for sitting and waiting, and he knew that's where this would come down. He had to be ready.