CHAPTER THIRTEEN - "I Want To Be a Secret Agent!"
Illya and Trudy took advantage of Bratsk's drugged state and settled down for a rest. Trudy had no qualms about taking a hit or two of the home made vodka now, and didn't mention if it tasted anything like paint thinner. The agent doubted she even really tasted it.
"I will sleep first," Illya said. "Then I will be sure to be awake when our friend comes around."
Trudy nodded, glad for some quiet time to gather her wits. This had been a close call, and this wasn't even the guy that had a personal grudge against Kuryakin. What more could happen? Even though she felt a buzz from the vodka, she had no problem keeping awake because of the scenarios that kept popping into her mind. This is like being on a runaway horse! she thought, taking another slug to stop her hands from shaking.
After five hours she moved to awaken Illya and found herself studying him. Other than unconscious, this was the most relaxed she'd seen him. The fine lines of pain around his eyes were relaxed and gone, and his breathing seemed easier in spite of the punches Bratsk had landed. She tilted her head and looked at the fingers of his broken hand - good circulation there. She fought every urge to feel his forehead for a fever, knowing he would strike out blindly at her first touch. Instead, she gently tapped the bottom of his feet with her toes.
"Hey! Wake up!" she spoke, surprised he didn't respond to the kicks. When he jumped at her voice and his eyes blinked open, she realized that it was possible he didn't feel her taps. Now she had a whole new set of worries, and wondered if sleep would ever come.
"How long before Sleeping Beauty wakes up?" he said rubbing his eyes. It took him a few seconds to get his legs under him, but he managed finally and stretched when he stood.
"I'd say anytime," she replied, trying not to look like she was watching him carefully as she settled into his spot. Her fears of sleeplessness left immediately with a huge yawn. "Don't kill him while I'm asleep. Promise?"
"I promise," he said in a disappointed tone that made her giggle, and she was asleep in seconds.
Illya nibbled on some of their provisions and sat down directly across from Bratsk waiting for him to wake, and began to count down the thirteen hours remaining in this leg of their journey.
********
When Bratsk finally came around nearly and hour later it took him several minutes to focus his eyes and get his brain working. When he finally could see clearly the first thing he saw were two glacier-blue eyes that seemed to be searing themselves through to his soul. He only noticed the gag when he tried to speak.
Kuryakin's voice stopped him. "Sit still, be quiet, and you may live," he said lowly, eyes unwavering.
Bratsk sat for several ours, his watcher patiently guarding him. He wondered where his device was, and assumed it was hidden in the car somewhere since he didn't see it anywhere.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, the woman woke and spoke in English to his watchdog. She gave the prisoner several concerned looks and she and Kuryakin appeared to engage in an argument; they disagreed about something. She apparently won, as she started towards him, but the blond man stopped her with his wrapped arm. Pulling Bratsk's own handgun from his waistline, Kuryakin aimed it right between Bratsk's eyes.
"I never miss," he said simply in Russian, his hand a rock.
The woman rolled her eyes. Bratsk had no doubt about the comment.
She checked his feet and legs for circulation, then loosened the bonds until the feeling came back. She did the same for his arms. Kuryakin never moved or blinked.
The routine was kept up for several hours. The woman ministered to his physical well being as Kuryakin stood guard. At one point, Bratsk dozed, and heard the two engage in quiet conversation. He cracked his eye a bit and saw the agent looking out the window. He spoke again to the woman, and she pulled a syringe from her pocket. Bratsk knew they were about to do something, and this would be his last chance to get his device back. He had to move now.
Bratsk kept his eyes closed, hoping that the woman would loosen his hands just enough to roll the heavy sleeve up his arm for the needle. He smiled inwardly as she did just that, and he moved.
In an instant he had her in a choke grip with his elbow. By the time the agent raised the gun, Trudy was a shield between them. The agent was upon them a heartbeat later, but Bratsk had been able to roll back enough to kick his attacker soundly in the chest, and was rewarded with the sound of pain. It gave Bratsk enough time to get to his knees and with his back against the between cars door he squirmed his way to his feet.
Kuryakin scrambled to his knees and he raised the gun, his eyes squinted in pain. Bratsk tightened his grip and the woman's struggling grew weaker. He was slowly cutting off the blood to her brain; a bit tighter and longer, and she would be dead. With one eye peering around her head, he made his demand clear to Kuryakin without speaking: The device for her life.
The agent's eyes flickered for a second at the stand off, and he dropped his gun hand. With the other he reached into his shirt and pulled out the manual. His eyes never left his target.
"This is what you want?" he said calmly, ignoring the fear in Trudy's eyes.
Bratsk nodded and glanced at the gun. Kuryakin dropped it, kicked it in Bratsk's direction, and then raised both hands to head level, still gripping the manual.
"Let her go," Illya said in a tone that could freeze fire.
Bratsk grinned under the gag and tightened his grip just enough to stop the woman's struggling. Right now, she was beginning to black out. Bratsk held his grip, and stooped to pick up the gun.
Kuryakin didn't move.
Bratsk wiggled his hands out of the restraints, and reached out with his free hand to the gun. When he thought he was close to it, he dipped his eyes for a fraction of a second to guide his hand.
In that same moment his hand was skewered by a hunting knife thrown with unimaginable accuracy and power.
Bratsk screamed even through the gag and Trudy slumped to the floor. Illya tackled him with such force that it sent him careening off the back wall, and down the steep stairwell of the side door. With one well-placed kick, Illya sent him through the glass door and out of the train completely.
Breathing heavily and painfully, his face nicked by bits of flying glass, Illya Kuryakin watched his adversary hit the ground and doubted he would ever get up again. He turned to Trudy and knelt down to help her sit. Her eyes were watering and she was gasping for breath, but Illya knew she would be all right. She fell into his arms and cried.
He waited until he could breathe without seeing stars and her crying subsided before he leaned her back against the wall. When he had recovered the gun and stuffed it in his belt, he helped her to her feet.
"We don't have much time. Are you ready?"
Trudy nodded, brushing the last of her tears from her cheeks and her voice barely audible. "Yes."
Illya forced the broken door the rest of the way open and brushed the loose glass off the stairs. The train was moving at quite a clip, and he had to find a good place to jump. Trudy got the device and the remainder of the food and vodka and tied them tightly into a bundle. Rubbing her neck, she moved in as close as she could to the Russian on the stairs and waited without comment for his command to jump.
It was mid morning, and there were no signs of civilization in any direction. The hills in the distance still had a dusting of snow on their peaks, and the tundra was a dull mix of green and brown. They were entering a long curve in the tracks and could see a bridge going over a river in the distance.
"That's our route to the ocean." Illya noted. "We need to get off near there. " He studied the bridge. "Can you swim?"
She nodded, unsure of her voice.
"I think we'll jump into the river. It's deep enough, and we aren't that high above it. Here, let me have that." He took the bundle from her. "Get some of those blankets. We'll need them. And take off your shoes and wrap them in the blankets."
Trudy collected the blankets they had removed from one of the bales and handed everything over. They were very close to the bridge now, and Illya tossed the bundles out, and then took her hand with his good arm.
"We'll go together. Ready?" She nodded and decided to shut her eyes tightly. The train whistle blew just before the sound of the track changed. What once was a steady, firm clackity-clack now sounded hollow, and she knew they were on the bridge. She gripped Illya's hand so hard she wondered if it would break, and he spoke. "On the count of three. One, two, three!"
He pulled her arm and she pushed herself off and felt herself free fall. Opening her eyes she saw the water rush up, and she hit feet first, plunging deeply into the dark water. Instinct kicked in, and she paddled madly for the surface. A vision of her father insisting she take swimming lessons crossed her mind, and she kicked with renewed vigor.
When her head cleared the surface she sucked in a welcome breath and looked around. "ILLYA?!" She yelled, her throat raw and scratchy. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
Treading water, she let out a huge sigh of relief when a blond head popped from the water several yards away. After he, too, took in a welcome breath, he found her and nodded towards the shore. When they got there, shivering from the frigid water, Illya took her elbow and directed her to the area where he'd thrown the bundles.
"No one is ever going to believe my vacation this year," she croaked as she climbed up the incline to the open fields. Her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak, but she persevered.
"Maybe you should become a travel agent," Illya said between chattering teeth.
Trudy laughed at the idea, then thought back on the back-to-back-near death experiences, as well as the fire fights and general creeping around of the past days. There was some sort of rush to this kind of action, and she had to admit to herself that maybe she was an adrenalin junkie. "Travel agent my eye," she croaked. "I want to be a secret agent!"
Illya shook his head in resignation. Wherever he went, the Napoleon Solo types would find him. It had to be a curse.
************
This time of year was hardly any better than winter, the man thought as he rode his skinny barely-a-horse along the path to the river which paralleled the train tracks. At least I can be home by dinnertime with some fresh fish and not get frostbite. The animal snatched at a tuft of grass and the rider impatiently kicked its sides. Although it may be next winter before I get home thanks to this slovenly beast! He kicked it again and the horse pinned his ears and entered a slow jog. It was almost dark, and he still had some miles to go.
Suddenly, the animal's ears pitched forward and it came to a stop so suddenly it nearly unseated his daydreaming rider. "Hey!" the young man yelped. He almost kicked the horse again, but noted the tense ears pointed toward a lump in the grass. The horse wouldn't move any closer, so the man slid down, his heart pounding, and pulled the creature behind him. He got just close enough to realize it was the figure of a man when the frightened horse snorted and pulled back. When the animal was somewhat calm again, the man again faced the figure and walked towards it, the frightened horse following reluctantly. Eventually he noticed the army uniform, the odd angle to his neck and the out flung arm with a knife imbedded through the hand.
*************
Asikov was settling in for a meal in the Officers' tent when a runner came to him with the field phone.
"What?" snapped the General as his steak was placed on the table in front of him. "Where?" he barked, slamming the knife down on the table. "I'm on my way."
He returned the phone to the officer, picked up his knife and issued orders as he cut the meat. "We will leave immediately for the base at Peretyciha. Send for the helicopter, and have the patrols search both sides of the Anjui River. Dismissed."
Asikov finished his meal with zeal, knowing this hunt was almost over.
Illya and Trudy took advantage of Bratsk's drugged state and settled down for a rest. Trudy had no qualms about taking a hit or two of the home made vodka now, and didn't mention if it tasted anything like paint thinner. The agent doubted she even really tasted it.
"I will sleep first," Illya said. "Then I will be sure to be awake when our friend comes around."
Trudy nodded, glad for some quiet time to gather her wits. This had been a close call, and this wasn't even the guy that had a personal grudge against Kuryakin. What more could happen? Even though she felt a buzz from the vodka, she had no problem keeping awake because of the scenarios that kept popping into her mind. This is like being on a runaway horse! she thought, taking another slug to stop her hands from shaking.
After five hours she moved to awaken Illya and found herself studying him. Other than unconscious, this was the most relaxed she'd seen him. The fine lines of pain around his eyes were relaxed and gone, and his breathing seemed easier in spite of the punches Bratsk had landed. She tilted her head and looked at the fingers of his broken hand - good circulation there. She fought every urge to feel his forehead for a fever, knowing he would strike out blindly at her first touch. Instead, she gently tapped the bottom of his feet with her toes.
"Hey! Wake up!" she spoke, surprised he didn't respond to the kicks. When he jumped at her voice and his eyes blinked open, she realized that it was possible he didn't feel her taps. Now she had a whole new set of worries, and wondered if sleep would ever come.
"How long before Sleeping Beauty wakes up?" he said rubbing his eyes. It took him a few seconds to get his legs under him, but he managed finally and stretched when he stood.
"I'd say anytime," she replied, trying not to look like she was watching him carefully as she settled into his spot. Her fears of sleeplessness left immediately with a huge yawn. "Don't kill him while I'm asleep. Promise?"
"I promise," he said in a disappointed tone that made her giggle, and she was asleep in seconds.
Illya nibbled on some of their provisions and sat down directly across from Bratsk waiting for him to wake, and began to count down the thirteen hours remaining in this leg of their journey.
********
When Bratsk finally came around nearly and hour later it took him several minutes to focus his eyes and get his brain working. When he finally could see clearly the first thing he saw were two glacier-blue eyes that seemed to be searing themselves through to his soul. He only noticed the gag when he tried to speak.
Kuryakin's voice stopped him. "Sit still, be quiet, and you may live," he said lowly, eyes unwavering.
Bratsk sat for several ours, his watcher patiently guarding him. He wondered where his device was, and assumed it was hidden in the car somewhere since he didn't see it anywhere.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, the woman woke and spoke in English to his watchdog. She gave the prisoner several concerned looks and she and Kuryakin appeared to engage in an argument; they disagreed about something. She apparently won, as she started towards him, but the blond man stopped her with his wrapped arm. Pulling Bratsk's own handgun from his waistline, Kuryakin aimed it right between Bratsk's eyes.
"I never miss," he said simply in Russian, his hand a rock.
The woman rolled her eyes. Bratsk had no doubt about the comment.
She checked his feet and legs for circulation, then loosened the bonds until the feeling came back. She did the same for his arms. Kuryakin never moved or blinked.
The routine was kept up for several hours. The woman ministered to his physical well being as Kuryakin stood guard. At one point, Bratsk dozed, and heard the two engage in quiet conversation. He cracked his eye a bit and saw the agent looking out the window. He spoke again to the woman, and she pulled a syringe from her pocket. Bratsk knew they were about to do something, and this would be his last chance to get his device back. He had to move now.
Bratsk kept his eyes closed, hoping that the woman would loosen his hands just enough to roll the heavy sleeve up his arm for the needle. He smiled inwardly as she did just that, and he moved.
In an instant he had her in a choke grip with his elbow. By the time the agent raised the gun, Trudy was a shield between them. The agent was upon them a heartbeat later, but Bratsk had been able to roll back enough to kick his attacker soundly in the chest, and was rewarded with the sound of pain. It gave Bratsk enough time to get to his knees and with his back against the between cars door he squirmed his way to his feet.
Kuryakin scrambled to his knees and he raised the gun, his eyes squinted in pain. Bratsk tightened his grip and the woman's struggling grew weaker. He was slowly cutting off the blood to her brain; a bit tighter and longer, and she would be dead. With one eye peering around her head, he made his demand clear to Kuryakin without speaking: The device for her life.
The agent's eyes flickered for a second at the stand off, and he dropped his gun hand. With the other he reached into his shirt and pulled out the manual. His eyes never left his target.
"This is what you want?" he said calmly, ignoring the fear in Trudy's eyes.
Bratsk nodded and glanced at the gun. Kuryakin dropped it, kicked it in Bratsk's direction, and then raised both hands to head level, still gripping the manual.
"Let her go," Illya said in a tone that could freeze fire.
Bratsk grinned under the gag and tightened his grip just enough to stop the woman's struggling. Right now, she was beginning to black out. Bratsk held his grip, and stooped to pick up the gun.
Kuryakin didn't move.
Bratsk wiggled his hands out of the restraints, and reached out with his free hand to the gun. When he thought he was close to it, he dipped his eyes for a fraction of a second to guide his hand.
In that same moment his hand was skewered by a hunting knife thrown with unimaginable accuracy and power.
Bratsk screamed even through the gag and Trudy slumped to the floor. Illya tackled him with such force that it sent him careening off the back wall, and down the steep stairwell of the side door. With one well-placed kick, Illya sent him through the glass door and out of the train completely.
Breathing heavily and painfully, his face nicked by bits of flying glass, Illya Kuryakin watched his adversary hit the ground and doubted he would ever get up again. He turned to Trudy and knelt down to help her sit. Her eyes were watering and she was gasping for breath, but Illya knew she would be all right. She fell into his arms and cried.
He waited until he could breathe without seeing stars and her crying subsided before he leaned her back against the wall. When he had recovered the gun and stuffed it in his belt, he helped her to her feet.
"We don't have much time. Are you ready?"
Trudy nodded, brushing the last of her tears from her cheeks and her voice barely audible. "Yes."
Illya forced the broken door the rest of the way open and brushed the loose glass off the stairs. The train was moving at quite a clip, and he had to find a good place to jump. Trudy got the device and the remainder of the food and vodka and tied them tightly into a bundle. Rubbing her neck, she moved in as close as she could to the Russian on the stairs and waited without comment for his command to jump.
It was mid morning, and there were no signs of civilization in any direction. The hills in the distance still had a dusting of snow on their peaks, and the tundra was a dull mix of green and brown. They were entering a long curve in the tracks and could see a bridge going over a river in the distance.
"That's our route to the ocean." Illya noted. "We need to get off near there. " He studied the bridge. "Can you swim?"
She nodded, unsure of her voice.
"I think we'll jump into the river. It's deep enough, and we aren't that high above it. Here, let me have that." He took the bundle from her. "Get some of those blankets. We'll need them. And take off your shoes and wrap them in the blankets."
Trudy collected the blankets they had removed from one of the bales and handed everything over. They were very close to the bridge now, and Illya tossed the bundles out, and then took her hand with his good arm.
"We'll go together. Ready?" She nodded and decided to shut her eyes tightly. The train whistle blew just before the sound of the track changed. What once was a steady, firm clackity-clack now sounded hollow, and she knew they were on the bridge. She gripped Illya's hand so hard she wondered if it would break, and he spoke. "On the count of three. One, two, three!"
He pulled her arm and she pushed herself off and felt herself free fall. Opening her eyes she saw the water rush up, and she hit feet first, plunging deeply into the dark water. Instinct kicked in, and she paddled madly for the surface. A vision of her father insisting she take swimming lessons crossed her mind, and she kicked with renewed vigor.
When her head cleared the surface she sucked in a welcome breath and looked around. "ILLYA?!" She yelled, her throat raw and scratchy. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
Treading water, she let out a huge sigh of relief when a blond head popped from the water several yards away. After he, too, took in a welcome breath, he found her and nodded towards the shore. When they got there, shivering from the frigid water, Illya took her elbow and directed her to the area where he'd thrown the bundles.
"No one is ever going to believe my vacation this year," she croaked as she climbed up the incline to the open fields. Her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak, but she persevered.
"Maybe you should become a travel agent," Illya said between chattering teeth.
Trudy laughed at the idea, then thought back on the back-to-back-near death experiences, as well as the fire fights and general creeping around of the past days. There was some sort of rush to this kind of action, and she had to admit to herself that maybe she was an adrenalin junkie. "Travel agent my eye," she croaked. "I want to be a secret agent!"
Illya shook his head in resignation. Wherever he went, the Napoleon Solo types would find him. It had to be a curse.
************
This time of year was hardly any better than winter, the man thought as he rode his skinny barely-a-horse along the path to the river which paralleled the train tracks. At least I can be home by dinnertime with some fresh fish and not get frostbite. The animal snatched at a tuft of grass and the rider impatiently kicked its sides. Although it may be next winter before I get home thanks to this slovenly beast! He kicked it again and the horse pinned his ears and entered a slow jog. It was almost dark, and he still had some miles to go.
Suddenly, the animal's ears pitched forward and it came to a stop so suddenly it nearly unseated his daydreaming rider. "Hey!" the young man yelped. He almost kicked the horse again, but noted the tense ears pointed toward a lump in the grass. The horse wouldn't move any closer, so the man slid down, his heart pounding, and pulled the creature behind him. He got just close enough to realize it was the figure of a man when the frightened horse snorted and pulled back. When the animal was somewhat calm again, the man again faced the figure and walked towards it, the frightened horse following reluctantly. Eventually he noticed the army uniform, the odd angle to his neck and the out flung arm with a knife imbedded through the hand.
*************
Asikov was settling in for a meal in the Officers' tent when a runner came to him with the field phone.
"What?" snapped the General as his steak was placed on the table in front of him. "Where?" he barked, slamming the knife down on the table. "I'm on my way."
He returned the phone to the officer, picked up his knife and issued orders as he cut the meat. "We will leave immediately for the base at Peretyciha. Send for the helicopter, and have the patrols search both sides of the Anjui River. Dismissed."
Asikov finished his meal with zeal, knowing this hunt was almost over.