There were two buckets in his cell, one for his personal needs at the far end of the room, the other with a tin cup hanging from it for his drinking water beside the bunk.
No food seemed to be forthcoming so the water would have to do to ease Kuryakin's hunger. He checked it at first, wondering if it might have been poisoned and decided it was not. It just looked as if it had been standing for a while and he tried a small sip. It had had an earthy, musty taste to it that was rather unappealing but at least it filled his empty stomach for now. He downed several cups of it then returned to the discomfort of his bunk.
Several days passed without any further contact and then finally a small bowl of weak broth and a chunk of bread were slipped through a slot at the botton of the door. Kuryakin knelt down examining the food, checking for shards of glass, finding none he sniffed it, then made a face.
Though his partner thought otherwise, Illya did not love to eat everything. He had a special aversion to the scent of this particular soup, as it was the same as was served in the the concentration camp. The memory of that still remained with him all these years.
"Ugh...fish," he mumbled, "thinking again for a second there might be poison in it, then he shrugged; drinking it greedily anyway, dipping the bread in it to soften before he ate that too. It was gone quickly as there wasn't much and he was still left feeling hungry.
The dreams began that night. He could hear the whimpers of the men, women and the children, watching as they were herded in lines towards the extermination vans, their moans and cries muffled as the engine started, then the silence as it drove off. He saw the hollow faces, the darkened eyes of starved men staring at him. The look of death shadowing them as they walked toward him, reaching out with their bony hands trying to grab him.
Illya woke with a start, sweating and shivering as he had not had that nightmare in years. Then he heard voices, people wailing in the distance, then whispers and he wondered if he were still dreaming? He cocked his head listening, concentrating on the sounds he swore he could still hear. Then there was nothing, just the silence of his cell and the sounds of roaches as they scuttled across the floor in the darkness.
The next day the door creaked open, and the hulking guards appeared, handcuffing him without a word as they dragged him to off to the interrogation room.
Voelker was seated at the table waiting for him as they cuffed him to the chair again.
"Oh little one...you don't look so well. Not sleeping?"
"I would like to register a complaint with the management," he tried smiling, " my accommodations are substandard and my meals are atrocious. I will not be writing a good review of this place."
"Very funny little one."
"Stop calling me that."
"Why does it bother you? I have such a fond memory of you that night. You were a beautiful child, you really looked almost like a girl you know, you were so small and your long blond hair and those eyes of yours. They haven't changed."
"What do you want from me Voelker?"
"Nothing really, just to talk. I was quite surprised that you survived your escape from the camp. And I was so pleased when I realized it was you sitting here in front of me little one. Let's reminisce a bit perhaps?" Voelker modulated his voice, crooning softly at the Russian.
"About what?"
"Do you remember the camp little one?
Illya snarled at the man, losing his composure."I told you to stop calling me that!" he said, refusing to answer the question. He was tired and irritated and the man's voice was beginning to grate on him, much less the topics being addressed.
"That's alright if you don't answer. I know you do. You were such a good little boy, taking care of those other children. I watched you all the time. Acting the big brother and looking out for them...what was the name of that girl? The pretty one who was your friend... what was her name again?"
Illya stiffened at the mention of that, shifting his weight in the chair, not realizing that he was telegraphing his feelings to Voelker.
"Ah yes, I remember, her name was Irina wasn't it? Yes she was quite a good little fuck as I recall. Did you ever fuck her little one?" he taunted Illya now, " I did, a lot. Yes she was so young and tender, just like you were. It was a shame I never got to explore that with you, the night you left the camp."
Illya was glaring at Voelker now as he remembered what had been done to his friend Irina, he cared for her, she was his first 'crush." They had met in the ruins of Kyiv while trying to stay alive; he eventually helping she and the other besprizornyh detyei_street children to survive the cruelties of the Russian winter. He and Irina had been captured in the spring when the Nazis did their sweeps through the ruins of the city, gathering the orphans and taking them to work in the camp at Babi Yar.
Months later, they were the only ones left from their little orphan group brought into the camp. He remembered the day that Irina told him she had been raped by a German soldier and was pregnant, she never said which one did it to her...the next the day she was taken to her death in the extermination van.
"I was the one who got her pregnant you know," Voelker smiled. " you see I just don't like boys...it's children I like. Boys, girls, it doesn't matter as long as they're young and tender." Voelker smiled at I might make and exception for you. You see I was the one who sent her to the van as it wouldn't do having a useless infant in the camp?"
Illya jerked angrily in the chair as if his struggles would free him of the handcuffs. "I will kill you Voelker I swear it!"
"Poor little one, you are delusional. You see it is I will who kill you." Voelker said this as he pressed a buzzer on the side of the desk. Voelker huffed. "You have ceased to amuse me, so alas, it is time for you to go,"
The door opened and the guards again dragged Kuryakin not to his cell but down the hall to a large room and in the center of it was a guillotine. Illya struggled desperately as they pulled him towards it, with a look of panic in his eyes.
One guard kicked him behind the knees forcing Kuryakin down, then held his head to the block. Illya could see Voelker standing to the side, looking at him and laughing.
They raised the blade to the top of the scafffold.
"Abschied Kleinen_goodbye little one. Tun sie se jetzt_do it now." Voelker dropped his hand as he gave the order to execute Kuryakin.
Illya closed his eyes when he heard the rattle of the chain as it was pulled, releasing the razor sharp steel blade to drop, bringing an end to his life.
Then there was nothing. He was shaking as he opened eyes, seeing the blade in front of his face. They had rigged it to drop, missing him; it was an optical illusion.
The guards pulled Illya to his feet but the shock of the mock exection had momentarily drained the strength from his legs and he was unable to stand. That was when the guards began to beat him, hitting with their rifle butts, kicking him as he lay on the guillotine platform.
When they were finished they carried him back to his cell, dumping Illya on the floor, slamming the door without a word.
No food arrived again that day. Illya lay curled up in his bunk, unable to find a comfortable position because of his sore and bruised muscles. He finally drifted off to sleep, but it was fitful as he dreamt of Irina, their first innocent kiss, her pretty face smiling at him. She appeared in his dreams at first with an innocent face, but then it changed abruptly into the face of bloated, ghostly corpse staring at him with clouded, lifeless eyes. She was calling him to come to her. He was filled with guilt that she and the others had died and he lived.
The nightmares were making it harder and harder for the Russian to sleep. And he woke again hearing the voices, the screams of an infant crying and Illya covered his ears with his hands, thinking that he was beginning to lose his mind. He curled himself up in a ball, rocking himself as he tried to keep in thoughts in the real world, thinking of Elliott and Demya, but then a few tears escaped his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.
"Napoleon where are you?" he called out softly.
Napoleon Solo sat in the commissary eating lunch with his financée Bella Graziani. She worked not far from headquarters and now had been become a regular, joined Napoleon when he was not off on assignment. She had special privileges as a visitor; being the adoptive niece of Alexander Waverly and of course the intended bride of the Chief Enforcement Agent.
He had been quite surprised by her admitting to the fact that she knew Waverly and that resulted in quite a lengthy discussion between the two of them regarding secrets being kept. Napoleon realized that he was not the only one keeping them, but his ommisions were for her protection.
They both agreed to keep as little as possible from each other, and now Napoleon finally understood what Illya meant when he spoke about telling Elliott the truth and keeping honesty in the relationship. But like the Russian had learned; that was not always possible or wise to do so. Idealism and reality made for harsh bedfellows.
Alexander Waverly called Solo to his office but it was not to give the man good news. Illya Kuryakin had been missing for ten days now and was sure that the Russian was in the hands of the STASI, or so the C.I.A. had informned him. Though he was quite annoyed they had taken their time about telling him that bit of news.
"Yes Mr. Solo, apparently Mr. Kuryakin was arrested by the Secret police before he was able to meet with his C.I.A. contact. Unfortuantely they have not been able to discern his location as of yet."
"Sir should we be relying on them at this point, I mean they were the ones that got Mr. Kuryakin into this mess in the first place. They've never been pleased about his presence here, perhaps this was a deliberate ploy on their part to simply get rid of him and let the STASI take the blame?"
"Yes Mr. Solo, the conspiracy theory had crossed my mine. But in the long run it was my decision to give Mr. Kuryakin the assignment. I hold myself soley responsible for this debacle." The man dropped his pipe to the table with disgust. " I suppose we had best inform Mrs. Kuryakin at this juncture."
Waverly flipped the toggle switch on his intercom, speaking into it. "Miss Rogers would you please send Mrs. Kuryakin in?"
The conferece room doors opened a moment later and Elliott Kuryakin walked in, seeing her husbands partner standing beside the conference table. Waverly was seated at his usual place beside this console.
"Yes please Miss McGowan, please be seated."
She thought that odd, as the old mand had not called her that in a long time. She looked at Napoleon as he pulled the chair for her to sit, but remained standing by her side instead of seating himself at the table. That did not bode well with her for some reason, prompting her to speak out, not waiting for Waverly.
"Ye two are looking like the cat that ate the mouse. What's going on?"
Alexander Waverly sighed as he relayed the details as he knew them of her husband's disappearance.
Elliott's face reddened with anger. "And ye sent him in there knowing this could bloody well happen?What the hell were ye thinkin'...bad enough if it was for one of our assignments but for the feckin' C.I.A.? They've never given a rats arse about Illya and I think this stinks to high heaven of a set up. How could ye have done this to him?"
Normally this sort of language would have angered Alexander Waverly but given the circumstances and feeling the guilt of having sent Kuryakin into it; he let her tirade slide.
"So what are we going to do about it?" she demanded.
"At present, nothing."
"Excuse me sir, but the longer they have him, the more damage they could do to him and to U.N.C.L.E.? If he were to break...perhaps we need to be a little more proactive here?" Napoleon said.
"I understand both your concerns. But at this point I think it is best to be patient and let the C.I.A. investigate further. They have agents in place and claim they are pulling out all the stops using their assets to locate him. We would have no clue where to start looking for Mr. Kuryakin, best to let the matter unfold with their help. But I assure you, WE will become involved when there is enough intelligence to launch a mission to extract him."
Elliott stood abruptly, glaring at Waverly then turning her back on both of them as she left, not saying another word.
"That went reasonably well?" Napoleon said, yet in his heart he agreed with Elliott, they shouldn't wait.