The wig was hot and scratchy and Irina questioned if it was human hair at all. It felt more like horsehair; but as long as it gave a good impression to the video camera she didn't mind. Her hair hadn't grown sufficiently yet to be presentable during the debriefing, according to Khasinau. She had been allowed to shower and was given new, well at least to her, clothing to wear. For the past few weeks, she had been receiving enough food to remove the sunken cheekbones and the dull eyes she had inherited from months of KGB hospitality. The videotape of the debriefing would undoubtedly be studied by psychoanalysts and sent up the chain of command.
She wondered how often she needed to say that she never loved Jack and Sydney, that their family was only a mission, until she could convince herself. Irina was certain that it would take a long time, a lifetime. She only hoped that she was convincing enough for everyone else.
The interview was so well rehearsed that it breezed by without effort. As soon as she walked out of the room the niceties were stripped from her and she was informed that she would be spending the next five years in Kashmir, in a "rehabilitation facility".
Apparently she wasn't convincing enough and the KGB needed to get her back in the right frame of mind. Hard labor would be her constant companion for the duration of her stay in that hellhole. But Irina knew there was always a way to work within the system, and was an expert at finding those ways.
Five years.
***
As soon as Cuvee saw her he vowed that she would be his and he wasn't one for making idle threats. First he thought he'd try to make her come to him willingly. She was like a feral cat and he felt he was the one to tame her. If that didn't work, he was not, in any way, opposed to using force. It had worked well for him in the past.
She had been in America many years and he understood that when she first came back from that assignment she had been subjected to what the KGB politely referred to as "re-acquaintance therapy". To his recollection, this therapy usually turned the recipient into a fairly docile sort. This didn't seem to be the case for Detainee 789342, Irina Derevko. But underneath her untamed exterior he saw a bit of something poking through. The closest word he could come up with was longing. Longing for what, he wasn't sure, but he knew enough to take advantage of that.
He watched her carefully, Irina observed, more so than any of the other women in the prison. Then again, those other women had been here for years and neatly stripped of most of their dignity and humanness. She knew he wanted her and she had come to the brutal conclusion that he may be the only way to make it through her captivity here, if those other women were any indication. So she began to leave him clues, baited the hook and drew him in. Hook, line and sinker.
Every time he approached her, one phase popped into his mind.
"Here kitty, kitty, kitty."
She was sitting on what passed for a bed in her cell, reading the tattered copy of Anna Karinina he had left in the dining area. Pages were missing, but he thought that probably didn't matter to her. He approached her cell cautiously, prepared to offer her a chance to escape from the hard labor, a figurative bowl of cream.
"I have been assigned the task of conducting research and translating communiqué's for the regional command and I have decided you will help me, as you are one of the only ones here with any intelligence whatsoever. We'll begin in the morning."
Irina's head stayed bowed over her book as he talked, a small smile playing at her lips. She waited several moments after his proclamation to lift her eyes. She narrowed them briefly, nodded her head and returned to her book.
Cuvee was dejected by her reaction, having envisioned her gleefulness upon receipt of his generous offer. He felt summarily dismissed. She would need to be taught a lesson, and soon.
He turned on his heels and walked off.
Irina lifted her head again and a smile flickered across her face.
***
"This pile is satellite images. Go through them and identify our facilities, the local government and American facilities. Classify each as benign, potential threats and definite threats. List each by coordinate and plot on the corresponding topographic map." Irina eyed the 2-foot pile of aerial photographs with veiled enthusiasm.
The look on Cuvee's face told her that he didn't expect her to get through the stack anytime in the near future. She, on the other hand, had enjoyed this task in training and had become fairly proficient at it. She looked forward to surprising him.
He watched her bend over the pile and she began to organize the photographs. She pulled out a stereoscope and set up her space with pens, paper and grease pencils. She dove right into the task without question, baffling him. He soon tired of watching her work and started reading through the pile of memorandums from Red Square.
She worked steadily in silence the entire morning and into the afternoon without stopping to eat. Cuvee brought in his remnants from lunch and put them on the table next to her. She gingerly picked at the food without raising her head or acknowledging his actions. Frustrated, Cuvee returned to the missives and tried to ignore her.
The dinner siren sounded and Irina finally stood up and stretched. She made neat piles of the work and walked out of the door without looking at him. Cuvee stood and went to the door and watched her walk down the hall. He stood there for a long time after she turned the corner to the dining room.
He turned back to the office, lit a cigarette and went to the window.
"In time, kitty. In time."
He took a heavy drag off the cigarette and stubbed it out on the back of his hand.