Illya returned to the girl's cell the next day, trying to get a conversation going with her, still continuing to speak in Russian though he knew she spoke English. Keeping things in her native language might help make her feel more comfortable.

Illya sat cross-legged on the floor a few feet away from her. This time her straight-jacket had been removed.

"YA znayu , chto eto takoye byt' odna v mire. YA ostalsya sirotoy , a takzhe. YA znayu, kak vy lechilis' , morili golodom , i ya uveren ... protorennoy_I know what it is like to be alone in the world. I was orphaned as well. I know how you were treated, starved and beaten. I am sure of that."

She looked at him, wide-eyed for just a moment, and he thought there was finally a connection.

"Lzhets_Liar!"

"It is the truth. I was in an orphanage for ten years... at the Moskva School number 7 before they finally closed it. I was sent to a better school for gifted students thought still beaten and mistreated, and it was there Viktor Karkoff found me. He was my sponsor to military intelligence and it was he who gave me to the Directorate and stole the rest of my childhood away from me."

"Russia was your mother, and yet you turned on her."

"It was mother Russia who turned on me. I was offered up as a sacrificial lamb of sorts by GRU to UNCLE. The Directorate told me I no longer had a country, though I still could retain my citizenship and only would be permitted home if a time of war existed," Illya smiled, knowingly. "They thought I would not survive a single year with UNCLE, and yet I have flourished. Their deal was simple, provide a warm bodied agent in exchange for UNCLE intelligence. If I died, they would replace me with another warm body."

"That is not the truth," she snarled. "You defected, that is what they said you did."

"That is KGB talking, is it not? I did no such thing. I did as I was told by GRU. I had no choice in the matter, if I did not comply, they most likely would have had me killed."

Ivanna stared at him, becoming silent again.

"Admit it, KGB found you in an orphanage. It was they who told you about me and Napoleon, was it not?"

"Da," she said timidly this time.

"Ivanna," Illya took a leap of faith in his logic, "Did they threaten to kill you if you did not cooperate?

That question must have struck a nerve and she shut down, burying her head to her knees again.

"Enough for today," Illya said in English, "Tomorrow we will talk again, and perhaps if you behave yourself, in a few daysI will take you outside for a walk in the park. I think you might enjoy that, da?"

"You would do that for me?" She responded in English.

"Of course. I know what it is like to be a prisoner, and to long for the outside world...and freedom. It would be good to no longer be under the thumb of another would it not?"

"Da," came her muffled answer, though she still did not look up at him. That one word was an indirect admittance to him, she had indeed been recruited by KGB.

There was something that struck him odd, and that was her accent. She'd just spoken enough for him to get a handle on it. It was definitely not a that of Muscovite, though that is where her parents and she were supposedly from.

Illya couldn't quite put a finger on it, there were traces of Moskva in her speech patterns, but Leningrad? He was hearing other things as suddenly had an idea..."Avez-vous faim?" He asked her out of the blue, speaking in French.

"Oui. Je voudrai..." She stopped, catching herself. "Nyet," she switched back to Russian.

He smiled, thinking a new piece to the puzzle had now been added. Was Ivanna truly who she said she was?

Illya asked Medical to run tests on the girl as he suddenly suspected she might not be sixteen years old as she had told them.

The next day her tests came back, revealing she was most likely closer to nineteen years of age. After doing more research on the late Laslo Kurasov, Illya found out the man's daughter should have been sixteen as Ivanna had first told them.

The prisoner had been moved to a regular cell, complete with a bed, and a table and chairs. Illya returned to her, this time armed with hard facts, ones that a pragmatist such as he thrived upon. He stood in front of her, not sitting this time, looking down at her curled up on her bunk.

"Dobroye utro, Ivanna, yesli eto deystvitel'no vashe imya. YA dumayu, chto vy ne byli pravdivymi nam_good morning, Ivanna, if that is really your name. I think you have not been truthful with us." Illya kept his voice calm but firm, not wanting to frighten her into silence.

"Menya zovut Ivanna Kurasov_my name is Ivanna Kurasov!" She insisted rather loudly. His eyes told her she was nervous though, as she began fidgeting, twirling a strand of hair around one of her index fingers.

"And how old are you?" Illya knelt on one knee in front of her."

"Sixteen. I told you that already!"

"Lzhets_Liar." He parroted back what she had called him the day before.

"Nyet!"

"YA dumayu , vy znayete, kto yavlyayetsya real'nym lzhets zdes' _I think you know who is the real liar here," Illya shot back at her.

It was then Ivanna began to cry. That was the first sign of her acting like a normal, frightened young girl...well, a nineteen year old.

"Was it an act?" Illya asked himself,"Was she merely a trained operative of KGB and putting on a show?"

"You said we could go outside today," she sniffled.

"I said if you were a good girl, which you are not being at the moment. Ivanna, I want the truth from you," this time he spoke coldly, the icy blueness of his eyes staring at her.

"Was Laslo Kurasov really your father?" Illya asked her point blank.

Her expression became one of fear.