"No!" Voelker was vehement as he spoke. " He belongs to the GDR and is my prisoner. He is guilty of espionage here in East Germany and we will deal with him as we see fit."
"And he was judged a traitor to the Soviet Union long before this most recent infraction. The KGB has prior claims and I will have him." Viktor Karkoff insisted calmly.
"And how is it that he is a traitor? His records indicate that he was sent by the military intelligence willingly to work for U.N.C.L.E.?"
"You are not privilged to the inner workings of the Directorate as I have been Komrade, trust me Kuryakin is a traitor to the people of the Soviet Union and I will see him punished for that."
"But wasn't he your protegée Komrade Karkoff and did he not cause you to lose face after a certain incident early in his career in Paris*...I understand you suffered quite a loss in favor at the Directorate and that is why you made the leap to the KGB?"
Viktor's face turned red.
"You see I was quite thorough in researching his backgound," Voelker smiled as poured a glass of vodka, offering one to Karkoff.
"Let us say that I have a personal interest in him myself...so perhaps in an attempt at mutual cooperation we share in the sucessful conclusions of both our personal agendas?" Voelker raised his glass in a gestured toast to his KGB counterpart.
Karkoff swallowed the burning liquid in a single gulp then crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I am listening Voelker."
"I will soften him up a bit for you, before I release him to you. So give me a little more time with him, will that suit you? After all, he really has no intelligence that I would deem useful to us."
"Only if I have your solemn word that you will not kill him?"
"That will most defintely not happen, although he may eventually wish he were dead? he smiled as he poured another round of drinks.
"And if you do not keep your word to me Komrade Voelker, then perhaps you will take Kuryakin's place in my plans?" he said as he raised the second glass to the German.
Karl Voelker lowered his eyes from the icy stare of Viktor Karkoff.
Illya was feeling dizzy, drained of all his energy and had a never ending headache pounding at the top of his skull.
He struggled to rise from his bunk as his guards arrived again, standing passively as they cuffed his hands behind his back. He tried to prepare himself for the the next onslaught, swearing to himself not to let Voelker get to him with any other comments about his past in Syrets.
He knew now that Voelker was tying to manipulate him for some reason, using the trauma of his childhood in the concentration camp against him, but for what purpose he did not know.
He was hearing voices in the middle of the night and suspected they were piping the sounds into his cell using some sort of speaker, and given the possibility that he was in some sort of drug-induced state from what was in the food...or perhaps even the water to enhance his developing sense of paranoia. He would have to stop eating the food, he could hold out doing that for a while...but not water? That would be a problem.
He decided he would have to bide his time as Voelker's game revealed itself. The man had still not tried to elicit any pertinant information from him, which he found quite had odd as he had ceased line of questioning as to why he was there in East Germany? What was it that Voelker was up to?
Guards bypassed the door to the usual interrogation room, leading him instead to a door at the end of the corridor.
Illya quickly surveyed it, seeing no table and chairs, but the the hooks and the chains that hung from the ceiling and attached to the floor beneath them.
"Ah, here it comes...the torture session." he thought as he steeled himself, getting ready for the pain that would surely come. "now would be a good time for you to show up Napoleon?"
He was made to stand beneath the ceiling hooks as his handcuffs were removed, and at that moment Illya chose to react. He lashed out grabbing one of the guards weapons wrestling him for it; pulling it free, slamming the man in the stomach with it and then with equal speed swung the butt of the rifle up into the chin of the other guard.
Then suddenly a chain was thrown around his throat from behind him as the first guard retaliated; beginning to choke the life out of the Russian. Illya was not able the breath as the chain was pulled tighter around his neck.
"Genug! Er is nicht getötet werden_Enough! He is not to be killed!"Karl Voelker ordered as he stepped into the room."Release him!"
Illya relieved of the pressure against his throat dropped to his knees gasping for air as Voelker snapped his fingers to the guards.
They pulled the Russian to his feet, re-cuffing his hands in front of him, attaching them to the length of chain on the hook in the ceiling. His feet were then shackled to a bolt on the floor, giving him a two to three feet diameter of movement. Illya's hands were then raised above his head. forcing his weight to be born by his legs and feet.
And there he stayed for hours, he could not sleep as he had to keep awake; if he lost his balance from exaustion he would feel the sharp restraining of the shackles.
He was already tired from his sleepless nights because of the dreams that haunted him and now being forced to stay away was making Illya more vulnerable to other stresses, especially as the inherent sleepiness as adverse affects upon the brain...confusing the mind's ability to think rationally.
The situation for the sleep deprived victim becomes deplorable as the mind and brain triggers the bodies defences to create a physiological "alarm reaction" as stress coping hormones are mobilised and prepare the body for possible traumas and even blood loss.
So even though Illya's mind and body were preparing himself for this, the exhaustion wore away at those defenses and he began after the long hours of being sleep deprived, to physically collapse.
By the end of day two he was beginnning to hallucianate. They offered him water, that practically ran out of his mouth instead of swallowing it...all he wanted was to sleep and the shackles did little to startle him to remain away now. So the guards took to beating him with leather straps, not enough to cause damage but enough to galvanize him, gasping awake.
On the third day he began to have waking dreams about Sryets and the terrors he witnessed there. He was outwardly weeping, begging for the corpses from his past nightmares to leave him alone.
Ne trogaiy te menya! Uhduite! Vy mertvy _do not touch me! Go away! You are dead all dead!" he cried out in Russian.
Then by the weeks end he had lost all sense of orientatation, place and time. He had begun to have conversations with people who weren't there. He spoke to babushka, his grandmother and other members of his family long since dead. Calling to his mother begging her not to leave him, then crying out that he was sorry to his baby sister Katiya."**
All the while, not one question was put to him, until Voelker finally appeared appeared asking him why he was here?
Illya spoke in a very small, almost child-like voice, calling him Uncle Vanya. "I am here to be a partisan, I am going to fight with you, papa and Dimitry."
"That's right Illya you are a good little partisan and what is your mission here?"
The Russian refused to answer as he could barely hold up his head.
"If you tell me Illuyshenka...then you can sleep, and you would like so very much to sleep wouldn't you?" he crooned softly.
That promise called out to Illya like a beacon; wanting it more than anything, more than food more than water and for a brief moment he returned to reality.
"To rescue the man." he mumbled.
"Which man is that little partisan?" Voelker spoke very gently to him.
"The American"
"An American?" Voelker hesitated, " Which American is that?"
"James Crowleeeey with the C.I.A." Illya's voice began to trail off.
Karl Voelker cursed, wondering how the Russian had been able to resist. There was no American in their custody, much less an agent from the Central Intelligence Agency.
He signalled for the guards to lower the Russian down, cuffing his hands behind the man's back again, but leaving his feet shackled.
Illya was asleep as soon as he was laid on the cold floor.
Voelker left him there for an hour then returned waking the groggy Russian.
He grabbed Illya by the chin forcing him awake and to look him directly in the eyes. "Tell me Kuryakin who are you here for! NO lying this time! What is your mission? You tell me and I promise you can have a nice long interrupted sleep."
Illya was barely able to open his yet he repeated the name Crowley and C.I.A.
"Kleinen bastard_little bastard!" he hissed at the Russian.
He knew his time with Kuryakin was at an end and now had to turn him over to Viktor Karkoff as promised, but not before Karl Voelker had his fun. No he promised himself that little victory over the little one.
He took the scalpel from his coat pocket again, cutting away the flimsy pants that Illya wore.
Illya's eye went wide in horror as he realized what was coming next. All his life he had fought against being raped and succeeded in preventing it but the almost phobic fear of it overwhelmed him now. " No Voelker...please no, please?" he begged.
"No little one, I plan to finish what I was deprived of doing to you so long...the irony of this is so sweet, though it's a shame you aren't still young, that would make this all the more sweeter." he smiled as he undid his belt, unzipping his trousers...
Illya Kuryakin trembled as he lay in his bunk, dazed and in pain from the attack by Voelker. He was so exhausted that he simply fell into a dreamless asleep, a blessing in itself as it allowed him not to think about the degradation of being raped.
He woke up two days later, thirsty hungry and his entire body cried out to him in pain. He felt disheartened and the humiliation of being violated was nearly overwhelming to him; his will to survive was slowly draining from him. Illya had lost track of all time and was convinced now there would be no rescue this time by his partner. UNCLE probably had no clue where he was or who had taken him...
The guards arrived, throwing a new pair of pants at him, He barely had the strength to put them on and once he was dressed; they handcuffed him. Then practically carrying their weakened prisoner down to interrogation.
This time seated in the chair was not Karl Voelker but another man, one Illya knew all too well.
"Viktor Sergeivich." he mumbled.
"Illya skaazal vam, kogda my vstrechalis' posledniy raz. chto ya hochu, chtoby vy snova kogda-nibud'_ I told you when we last met that I would have you again someday. And now that day has finally arrived." Viktor leaned back in his chair, smiling in satisfaction.
Illya's head sagged forward a little, still tired and in pain, he said nothing.
"No witty comeback? How unlike you Illuyshenka. Then again perhaps you finally learned that smart mouth of yours always got you in trouble."
"Whatever." Illya spoke as if he were disinterested in what his former mentor had to say.
"I had such high hopes for you Illya Nickovich but you were such a disappointment to me and caused me as your sponsor to the GRU great humiliation because of your stupidity."
"Get over it Viktor...I know I did. I was but a means to an end for you, just another stepping stone for you to use on your way up the ladder of promotions at the Directorate."
"There you are wrong Illya Nickovich. I cared for you like a father."
"YOU were never a father to me Viktor!" Illya growled.
The KGB agent leaned across the table, backhanding Illya across the face. "YOU will not raise your voice to me." he snarled.
He leaned back in his chair, calming his momentary outburst of anger.
"I have plans for you Kuryakin. You will pay for what you did to me, that I promise you."
Karkoff snapped his fingers to the guard that stood nearby. A black hood was place over Illya Kuryakin's head and he was lead out the door. Where Vikor was taking him, he had no idea...
* reference to "First Kill" ** reference to "Beginnings"