CHAPTER SIX
It was the better part of a day before Illya came around again. By then, Trudy had cleaned and probed the bullet wound as much as she dared. There were already signs of infection that mere cleaning wouldn't stop, and she told him as much. Still, he fought to sit up.
"It's hard to breathe with my ribs wrapped so tightly," he grumbled.
Trudy about slapped him. "You're lucky to be alive, mister. I'd stop complaining."
"I'm not complaining. I'm just making note. Where's the priest?"
"Gregory? He's out with his congregation." Trudy stretched out on the floor. "He has been very kind. I even learned the Russian word for 'water'!"
"You need to learn the word for 'gypsies'."
"'Gypsies'?" she repeated hesitantly. "There really are gypsies?"
"Yes, there are. And we need to find some to get to the train. It's the only way to cover the ground we need." He started to bend over the edge of the cot to retrieve the box under it, but wound up hissing in pain and slowly straightening. "I think you have designed an armless straight jacket."
Trudy reached over and plucked up the wrapped box with both hands and set it in his lap. "You need a straight jacket. I'll remember that the next time you're unconscious."
The curling of Illya's mouth on one side was the only indication that he had heard her as he unwrapped the box and examined it closely. "I need a power source," he mumbled.
She let out a short laugh. "The only power I've seen here is candle power. Don't they have electricity?"
"Sure they do. The power stations aren't too trustworthy, though, especially outside the major cities. They still rely of candles. Still, there must be an outlet somewhere."
He started to stand, waving Trudy back, when the curtain parted and Gregory the priest stepped in. "Brother Kuryakin! You shouldn't be up."
"We can't stay, Father," Illya replied softly in his native language. "We have put you in too much risk already."
Gregory's eyes shone with humor. "Yes. Injured field workers are certainly a threat to the authorities."
Illya couldn't help but grin. "Ah, yes. Exactly. I have an idea to get out of here, but first, do you have a place I can connect this?" He indicated the box.
The priest seemed to be weighing something in his mind as he regarded Illya with a tilted head. Then, he obviously made a decision. "Yes. Let me help you." He offered his arm, and Illya took it to stand. Once on his feet, he stepped next to Trudy.
"Oh, now you need me," she said jokingly. When Illya leaned on her arm, she could feel him shaking slightly. "You need food," she said seriously. "Ask Gregory for some broth. You need it."
"I'll be..."
"Ask him!" She ordered, cutting him off. "You won't get further than the front door if you don't eat soon."
With a sigh of resignation, he spoke to the priest, who replied immediately as he led them down a dark, narrow hall.
"It's all ready taken care of. You happy now?" Illya said through partially clenched teeth. It hurt more to walk than he cared to admit, even to himself.
"Fine." Trudy responded.
Gregory led them to a small room filled with books in bookcases. Trudy was impressed by the ancientness of the appearance of most of the leather bound volumes, many gold embossed, all well cared for. The priest motioned for them to stop, and stepped up to one bookcase. He felt along the wooden edge of one side, and one entire side of the case popped away from the wall. Gregory pulled the hidden door open, and motioned them inside.
"A secret room!" Trudy gasped, in awe.
"Not unusual, really," Illya stated, unimpressed. "My people have lots of secrets they keep from the Government." He followed Gregory into a tiny, dark cubicle that was filled with radio equipment.
"I'm sort of a ham radio fan," the priest admitted. "The antenna is hidden in the steeple. Will this do?"
Illya couldn't keep the grin off his normally stoic face. "Better than you know, Father! I would love to use this radio, too. I'll be very brief."
"Be my guest," the priest replied with a bow. "Now I will make sure the broth finds its way here."
"Before you go, Father. Do you know if any of the gypsy tribes are camped nearby?"
The priest's expression turned thoughtful. "One of my congregation told me there were some camped near his farm. If that is true, they will come closer to town soon. They always obtain supplies before moving on."
"You mean steal supplies, right?"
The priest sighed. "They are a lost people. I always visit them with the word of God when they are close by. It is my duty as a servant of God."
When Gregory left, Illya gave her the summation of their discussion.'
"Again, why gypsies? Isn't there a train station here in town?"
Illya fiddled with the radio for a moment. "Yes. A heavily guarded one. The General may be predictable, but he's not stupid."
Illya turned on the radio, and tuned it to the desired frequency. Before he broadcast, however, he set the green box on the table and fiddled with it. Gregory had a nice supply of tools for fine work, and Illya made use of them. The broth was delivered, and Trudy had to force him to drink it. Fine lines around the agent's eyes hinted to the pain he still felt.
"You still have a headache, don't you?"
"It's getting better. Now hand me that screwdriver."
She knew he was lying.
Illya worked quickly, using what he could remember from the book he had read. He wished he had it now. After nearly an hour he lay the tools down. "Okay, now. I hope this works."
He checked the connections once more, plugged the box into the power source and turned it on. Other than a low humming noise, there was no indication anything was happening.
"Well, I was expecting more bells and whistles," Trudy said softly.
"I'm hoping that's at the other end," Illya replied.
"Excuse me?"
"If my partner is on the ball, as he usually is, he should be noting something at his end. Unfortunately," Illya reached over and disconnected the device as he spoke, "they'll note the same things at the place we recent left. They'll need at least two more readings to get a fix on us, however. We still have time." The shaggy blond looked particularly tired to Trudy. "One more thing, and we should close up here."
He checked the radio dials and frequencies once more and sent a brief message in yet another language. He repeated it twice over several minutes, and then turned the radio off.
"What was that? I don't speak Russian, but I know that wasn't Russian."
"Italian." Illya said tiredly. "I'm not very good at it. I thought it would throw off anyone monitoring this frequency." He had shut down the radio as he spoke, and gathered up the green box. He started to stand, but his knees wobbled enough to bring Trudy to his side instantly. He didn't say anything, but allowed her to help him close up the hidden room and back to the cot. He sank down on to it while she re wrapped and stored the box. He was asleep instantly.
************
Napoleon was having a guiltily delightful time going over maps of the Russian coastline with Stevie. She knew the seas in that area well, and some of the ports.
"We do not sell our catch to them very often. They usually contact us when they have a need, several times a year." She referred to the map again. "When we deliver, there is a train car nearby. You can see it from the dock. I don't know where the train comes from," she ran her finger along the indicated train line as she spoke. "But it looks like this line is the closest to our country."
Solo followed the line back and was able to make a wiggly, but fairly direct course from Habarovsk. "I'm guessing Illya will make it to somewhere in this area, then." He bracketed two sea ports with this fingers. "That cuts down the coastal area to about 75 miles. Better than 200 than I originally thought."
The flash of worry that crossed his expression wasn't lost on the astute Stevie. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "You worry that you are not the only one to figure this out."
Solo glanced up at her in surprise, and covered it with a bright smile. "You are very observant, Miss Inturi. I think you may have done this before!"
A soft beeping from the radar board caught their attention. Napoleon strode quickly to the technician's side. "Did you get that?"
"Yes, sir, I did." He was writing coordinates down as he spoke, the soft beeping continuing. "We have the degree of shift. Now all we need are two more readings and we'll have a line that will take us right to Mr. Kuryakin."
"It looks like your partner figured it out as you believed he would."
Solo patted her shoulder. "He hasn't let me down yet. You'll be meeting him soon, it looks like."
The beeping stopped, and the technician turned is attention away from the radar to log some figures. Napoleon waited a few seconds to make sure the beeping wouldn't start up again, and turned to go back to the maps. Just then out of the corner of his eye, Solo saw the technician sit up suddenly, and shoot his hand out to adjust a dial. Solo was at his side instantly.
"What is it?" he said lowly.
"I'm not....sure..." the man turned up the volume a bit. All Solo heard was static. "Wait.." the technician said, then the message came again.
Solo broke into a grin. "That's Illya. We're on the right track, folks!"
Stevie cocked her head and her eyebrows furrowed. "What is he saying?"
"It's Italian. He's saying something that only I would understand." Solo was grinning broadly now. Both Stevie and the tech were looking at him expectantly. "He's saying 'the pen of my uncle is at the beach.'"
Stevie blinked, confused. The tech said, "That makes no sense."
"It does to me," Solo said lightly. "He started to learn Italian on his own using an old high school textbook when we were on a stake out. The only sentence he learned before the book was, ah, damaged, was 'this is my uncle's pen.' "
"That's a useless sentence," the tech noted.
"Pretty much." Solo agreed. "But he just told us that he is, in fact, going to the coast. We guessed right. That sentence has finally become useful. Now if we only knew who was pursuing him."
Stevie's expression brightened. "You mean, the fact that he used a language and code aimed at you indicates pursuit."
"Yes, and the fact that he didn't wait for us to reply, which may make his location known. It would be nice to know if it's Thrush or the military after him. Knowing Illya, I would suspect both!"
It was the better part of a day before Illya came around again. By then, Trudy had cleaned and probed the bullet wound as much as she dared. There were already signs of infection that mere cleaning wouldn't stop, and she told him as much. Still, he fought to sit up.
"It's hard to breathe with my ribs wrapped so tightly," he grumbled.
Trudy about slapped him. "You're lucky to be alive, mister. I'd stop complaining."
"I'm not complaining. I'm just making note. Where's the priest?"
"Gregory? He's out with his congregation." Trudy stretched out on the floor. "He has been very kind. I even learned the Russian word for 'water'!"
"You need to learn the word for 'gypsies'."
"'Gypsies'?" she repeated hesitantly. "There really are gypsies?"
"Yes, there are. And we need to find some to get to the train. It's the only way to cover the ground we need." He started to bend over the edge of the cot to retrieve the box under it, but wound up hissing in pain and slowly straightening. "I think you have designed an armless straight jacket."
Trudy reached over and plucked up the wrapped box with both hands and set it in his lap. "You need a straight jacket. I'll remember that the next time you're unconscious."
The curling of Illya's mouth on one side was the only indication that he had heard her as he unwrapped the box and examined it closely. "I need a power source," he mumbled.
She let out a short laugh. "The only power I've seen here is candle power. Don't they have electricity?"
"Sure they do. The power stations aren't too trustworthy, though, especially outside the major cities. They still rely of candles. Still, there must be an outlet somewhere."
He started to stand, waving Trudy back, when the curtain parted and Gregory the priest stepped in. "Brother Kuryakin! You shouldn't be up."
"We can't stay, Father," Illya replied softly in his native language. "We have put you in too much risk already."
Gregory's eyes shone with humor. "Yes. Injured field workers are certainly a threat to the authorities."
Illya couldn't help but grin. "Ah, yes. Exactly. I have an idea to get out of here, but first, do you have a place I can connect this?" He indicated the box.
The priest seemed to be weighing something in his mind as he regarded Illya with a tilted head. Then, he obviously made a decision. "Yes. Let me help you." He offered his arm, and Illya took it to stand. Once on his feet, he stepped next to Trudy.
"Oh, now you need me," she said jokingly. When Illya leaned on her arm, she could feel him shaking slightly. "You need food," she said seriously. "Ask Gregory for some broth. You need it."
"I'll be..."
"Ask him!" She ordered, cutting him off. "You won't get further than the front door if you don't eat soon."
With a sigh of resignation, he spoke to the priest, who replied immediately as he led them down a dark, narrow hall.
"It's all ready taken care of. You happy now?" Illya said through partially clenched teeth. It hurt more to walk than he cared to admit, even to himself.
"Fine." Trudy responded.
Gregory led them to a small room filled with books in bookcases. Trudy was impressed by the ancientness of the appearance of most of the leather bound volumes, many gold embossed, all well cared for. The priest motioned for them to stop, and stepped up to one bookcase. He felt along the wooden edge of one side, and one entire side of the case popped away from the wall. Gregory pulled the hidden door open, and motioned them inside.
"A secret room!" Trudy gasped, in awe.
"Not unusual, really," Illya stated, unimpressed. "My people have lots of secrets they keep from the Government." He followed Gregory into a tiny, dark cubicle that was filled with radio equipment.
"I'm sort of a ham radio fan," the priest admitted. "The antenna is hidden in the steeple. Will this do?"
Illya couldn't keep the grin off his normally stoic face. "Better than you know, Father! I would love to use this radio, too. I'll be very brief."
"Be my guest," the priest replied with a bow. "Now I will make sure the broth finds its way here."
"Before you go, Father. Do you know if any of the gypsy tribes are camped nearby?"
The priest's expression turned thoughtful. "One of my congregation told me there were some camped near his farm. If that is true, they will come closer to town soon. They always obtain supplies before moving on."
"You mean steal supplies, right?"
The priest sighed. "They are a lost people. I always visit them with the word of God when they are close by. It is my duty as a servant of God."
When Gregory left, Illya gave her the summation of their discussion.'
"Again, why gypsies? Isn't there a train station here in town?"
Illya fiddled with the radio for a moment. "Yes. A heavily guarded one. The General may be predictable, but he's not stupid."
Illya turned on the radio, and tuned it to the desired frequency. Before he broadcast, however, he set the green box on the table and fiddled with it. Gregory had a nice supply of tools for fine work, and Illya made use of them. The broth was delivered, and Trudy had to force him to drink it. Fine lines around the agent's eyes hinted to the pain he still felt.
"You still have a headache, don't you?"
"It's getting better. Now hand me that screwdriver."
She knew he was lying.
Illya worked quickly, using what he could remember from the book he had read. He wished he had it now. After nearly an hour he lay the tools down. "Okay, now. I hope this works."
He checked the connections once more, plugged the box into the power source and turned it on. Other than a low humming noise, there was no indication anything was happening.
"Well, I was expecting more bells and whistles," Trudy said softly.
"I'm hoping that's at the other end," Illya replied.
"Excuse me?"
"If my partner is on the ball, as he usually is, he should be noting something at his end. Unfortunately," Illya reached over and disconnected the device as he spoke, "they'll note the same things at the place we recent left. They'll need at least two more readings to get a fix on us, however. We still have time." The shaggy blond looked particularly tired to Trudy. "One more thing, and we should close up here."
He checked the radio dials and frequencies once more and sent a brief message in yet another language. He repeated it twice over several minutes, and then turned the radio off.
"What was that? I don't speak Russian, but I know that wasn't Russian."
"Italian." Illya said tiredly. "I'm not very good at it. I thought it would throw off anyone monitoring this frequency." He had shut down the radio as he spoke, and gathered up the green box. He started to stand, but his knees wobbled enough to bring Trudy to his side instantly. He didn't say anything, but allowed her to help him close up the hidden room and back to the cot. He sank down on to it while she re wrapped and stored the box. He was asleep instantly.
************
Napoleon was having a guiltily delightful time going over maps of the Russian coastline with Stevie. She knew the seas in that area well, and some of the ports.
"We do not sell our catch to them very often. They usually contact us when they have a need, several times a year." She referred to the map again. "When we deliver, there is a train car nearby. You can see it from the dock. I don't know where the train comes from," she ran her finger along the indicated train line as she spoke. "But it looks like this line is the closest to our country."
Solo followed the line back and was able to make a wiggly, but fairly direct course from Habarovsk. "I'm guessing Illya will make it to somewhere in this area, then." He bracketed two sea ports with this fingers. "That cuts down the coastal area to about 75 miles. Better than 200 than I originally thought."
The flash of worry that crossed his expression wasn't lost on the astute Stevie. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "You worry that you are not the only one to figure this out."
Solo glanced up at her in surprise, and covered it with a bright smile. "You are very observant, Miss Inturi. I think you may have done this before!"
A soft beeping from the radar board caught their attention. Napoleon strode quickly to the technician's side. "Did you get that?"
"Yes, sir, I did." He was writing coordinates down as he spoke, the soft beeping continuing. "We have the degree of shift. Now all we need are two more readings and we'll have a line that will take us right to Mr. Kuryakin."
"It looks like your partner figured it out as you believed he would."
Solo patted her shoulder. "He hasn't let me down yet. You'll be meeting him soon, it looks like."
The beeping stopped, and the technician turned is attention away from the radar to log some figures. Napoleon waited a few seconds to make sure the beeping wouldn't start up again, and turned to go back to the maps. Just then out of the corner of his eye, Solo saw the technician sit up suddenly, and shoot his hand out to adjust a dial. Solo was at his side instantly.
"What is it?" he said lowly.
"I'm not....sure..." the man turned up the volume a bit. All Solo heard was static. "Wait.." the technician said, then the message came again.
Solo broke into a grin. "That's Illya. We're on the right track, folks!"
Stevie cocked her head and her eyebrows furrowed. "What is he saying?"
"It's Italian. He's saying something that only I would understand." Solo was grinning broadly now. Both Stevie and the tech were looking at him expectantly. "He's saying 'the pen of my uncle is at the beach.'"
Stevie blinked, confused. The tech said, "That makes no sense."
"It does to me," Solo said lightly. "He started to learn Italian on his own using an old high school textbook when we were on a stake out. The only sentence he learned before the book was, ah, damaged, was 'this is my uncle's pen.' "
"That's a useless sentence," the tech noted.
"Pretty much." Solo agreed. "But he just told us that he is, in fact, going to the coast. We guessed right. That sentence has finally become useful. Now if we only knew who was pursuing him."
Stevie's expression brightened. "You mean, the fact that he used a language and code aimed at you indicates pursuit."
"Yes, and the fact that he didn't wait for us to reply, which may make his location known. It would be nice to know if it's Thrush or the military after him. Knowing Illya, I would suspect both!"