Chapter 22
KATIYA
The helicopter flight was not a long one. No more than fifteen minutes or so, but it was enough to start both men wondering what would await them when they reached their destination. Kir Yuriyev Kossov might have been an absentee father, Napoleon mused, but it seemed obvious he had no intention of being an absentee grandfather. The response they had received from him back at the satrap communications array was more that of a concerned relation, than of an enraged senior officer to an underling. His appeal to `Mikhail' was that of a parent appealing to an errant son. So would he receive them as members of THRUSH, or as family? They would soon know.
Soon the chopper started to spiral slowly down to land. Napoleon and Illya glanced out and saw they were coming down on a specially built helipad situated on the broad plateau at the top of a hill. Woodlands covered much of the lower slopes of the hill, and rolling fields as far as the eye could see. At the foot of the hill, a large, very beautiful lake reflected the blue of the sky. They could just make out a tiny jetty with a couple of boats bobbing beside it. Half way down the slope, where the ground evened out a little, a large house made of white stone sat smiling across the countryside. Behind the house, they could just make out part of a paddock containing several ponies grazing placidly.
To Napoleon's great surprise, the THRUSH general himself was waiting at the edge of the helipad to greet them in person. Whilst it was too much to say he greeted them with beaming smiles and arms open wide, he certainly wore a genuine smile, and Solo thought he detected a certain frankness in his manner. Not exactly what he had expected of a THRUSH general. Illya at his side seemed tense, but quite on top of his feelings; at least for the time being.
"Mika, my dear boy, Welcome. Katiya was really excited when we told her you were coming. If you don't mind, she is not here just at present. I thought we should have a little space to talk, so her nanny has taken her out for a ride on her pony. They will be back within the hour, I assure you."
"Papa."
Illya allowed the older man to embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks, and returned the gesture.
"This is my aide, Boris Abramovich Popov."
Kossov's eyebrows furrowed.
"I seem to remember someone of that name…a kid your great grandfather adopted. That brother of yours used to follow him around like a faithful puppy when you two were kids."
Illya nodded.
"Well we don't know his true name. He came out of Korea with barely his life and almost no memory of who he was before. He has never spoken since the day he awakened in the field hospital. I gave him the name because it was the one name that came readily to mind."
"Oh, really?"
"The original Boris would keep poking his long inquisitive nose into my business. This man though is loyal."
"Loyal to whom? To THRUSH?"
Illya shook his head pointedly.
"No, he is loyal to me."
Kossov nodded, with a guarded smile.
"Ah, he is your protection then."
"If necessary, yes. He fulfills that function for me, as I do for him. He speaks…or rather he understands Russian, French and English."
"So if you know nothing of his background, he could well be English or French for all you know."
Illya nodded.
"Yes, that is true. But he could well be the Russian he claims to be. Enough of this please. I'm sure you have something to discuss more important than my associate here."
Kossov nodded.
"Of course my dear boy. I'm forgetting my manners. Come into the house."
Inside, the house itself was as grand as it appeared on the outside, and yet the décor seemed a great deal more down-to-earth than Napoleon had expected. It felt…homely. Rather than filling the place with expensive statues, and paintings by Vincent Van Gogh and Ilya Repin, the furniture was simple and attractive, the walls covered with photographs of the local scenery, and drawings made by some childish but still surprisingly recognizable hand.
"Come into my study, where we can talk in private."
Kossov's study was bare, even austere, without anything at all to indicate the owner even knew what a child was, let alone was an apparently devoted grandfather. They sat on hard wooden chairs, whilst Kossov poured a glass of vodka for each of them. Kossov and Illya swallowed theirs in a single gulp. Napoleon, realizing he had no choice, followed suit. Immediately he was refilled, and was relieved when it seemed he would not be called upon to repeat the performance. He was sure he would not be able to swallow his vodka down a second time without coughing his lungs up. He regarded his partner thoughtfully. Illya seemed to be waiting for something, and he was not in a hurry. Finally, the other realized that Mikhail was not about to open the discussion himself and sat back in his chair in a relaxed way, although the way he watched his two visitors indicated he was not as relaxed as he appeared.
"I know you have come here to take your daughter away Mika, but I must beg you not to do so."
"Leave my daughter alone?"
"Hardly alone, Mika. I am her grandfather."
"I am her father."
Illya felt a sudden flutter inside him even as he said the words. The truth of his partner's pleas hitting him suddenly like a sledge-hammer.
"But Mikhail, you have no permanent home of your own any longer, you live wherever THRUSH puts you. Now my daughter has died, the house she was living in has been taken over by other tenants, so you do not even have that place to return to. How on earth would you be able to provide for the child?"
"The same way any loving father provides for their child. I remember Anna telling me when we were young how much she missed her papa being away such a lot. I don't want my daughter to ever have to say that about me any longer."
"You don't have to Mika. You move in here too! Katiya can have you here all the time, and she would have us, this house, her pony, the boat on the lake…"
"With her papa and her dedushka members of THRUSH? Destined to grow up in the family business, papa? THRUSH have now betrayed me twice. How long will it take them to betray you once they realize that you have decided to settle down and become a family man rather than a dedicated general? Or are you still planning to bow to THRUSH's demands now you have my daughter on your hands? You think they will let you sweetly retire? You know THRUSH better than that."
Illya sat back and took a discontented swig from his glass. Kossov looked at the younger man thoughtfully.
"You know the THRUSH procedure for retirement? That is classified information."
Illya grunted derisively.
"To THRUSH minions maybe, but I'm not just another foot-soldier. Besides, THRUSH policy is common knowledge to members of UNCLE, and remember, I was undercover at UNCLE for more than a month before THRUSH ruined everything."
"That's pretty impressive. UNCLE'S top agent Napoleon Solo was your brother's partner wasn't he?"
Illya nodded.
"Even he never spotted me for who I really am. Up to the moment he died. He died believing with all his heart that I was his best friend and partner, Illya. Hah!"
The older man sat regarding Illya thoughtfully.
"Illya's dead…you know this for certain?"
Illya nodded.
"UNCLE Moscow have his body in their morgue. They believed for long enough that it was me, of course. When they learned that the body was that of their favourite, Illya, they released who I was and I had to make a run for it. You should have seen Solo's face."
Illya laughed derisively, taking care not to look at his partner. Kossov nodded.
"I don't suppose you know how he left his WILL? You're not a beneficiary are you? I was thinking, if he made you his beneficiary, that would give you ample to live on…and somewhere to live."
Illys's heart leapt into his mouth for a moment. Kossov knew about that? Even Mikhail had known nothing about that…the only person alive who knew was Illya himself…or so Illya had always believed. He had to make out he didn't know…Illya was dead. DEAD! He was Mikhail. He shook his head.
"How would I know anything about it? I seriously doubt I am even mentioned in passing. Illya and I had not seen each other in years."
"You kept tabs on him…"
"Yes, but he never kept tabs on me, I'm sure. Illya was always far too trusting. He probably believed me dead years ago. Illya's probably got no more than his meagre savings and whatever pension UNCLE offer these days."
"He was the sole beneficiary of the former Count Alexei Andreievich Dorokhov. You didn't know that? He received all the former count's money, his country dacha, and three villages in the Kyiv area."
Illya's eyes closed briefly, and he shook his head and spoke in almost a whisper.
"No, I didn't know it. How come you do?"
"Because THRUSH make it their business to know those things. THRUSH wanted the ownership of those villages, and Dorokhov knew it. He was a clever solicitor and he found a way to make sure that we were unable to get our hands on that property in perpetuity…unless Illya Nikovich Kuryakin chose to gift it to us."
"He would never have done that."
"How do you know that? I believe if he could have been captured alive, he could have been…coerced."
"Coerce my brother Illya? After all the occasions I know of when THRUSH had him under lock and key and were never able to force him to cooperate?"
Kossov smiled.
"There are always ways my dear boy…but unless he has left everything to either you or THRUSH, then that is a path we must abandon. The fact remains, you have nothing in the world to your name except that which belongs to THRUSH, and you can't…dammit man, she's a child! Not a commodity! You are welcome to live here and be her father, be the one to make all the important choices, everything a father ought to be, but you can't take her away when you have nothing. That isn't fair to her. She needs stability at least. Life with you would be a life of forever moving around, losing out on schooling, unable to ever make friends because papa's being moved on again…unless you intend leaving THRUSH. In which case, what would you do to earn money? You're good at being a rebel, but that pays very little, son."
"I have money Papa; you can rest easy on that!" Illya retorted. "There are things I can do which someone will pay me for…I have the right to take care of my own daughter!"
"And yet you refuse to move in here with me, where you can have the best of both worlds, and I wouldn't have to lose her?"
Illya knew in his heart what his brother would choose to do at this point, but he couldn't. He frowned. If he did take Katiya away, he knew he would have no trouble finding employment or somewhere to live; that was not the issue. Katiya would lose all of this luxury, and this old man clearly doted on the child. If he was going to insist on being with the child himself, the kindest thing for Katiya would be for him to move in here with her and her grandfather as per his suggestion. That would mean he would have to become Mikhail forever. Illya would be truly dead. He couldn't stomach living in so much luxury that obviously came ultimately from THRUSH coffers. Perhaps the kinder thing would be to leave any decision for the time being and take time to get to know the child first. Katiya was about six years old, so perhaps she would know herself where she would prefer to live…
At the back of his mind, Illya was aware that it would be totally unfair to expect a child to make that kind of momentous decision, but for the time being he refused to think about that. Time. Perhaps time would present another, more acceptable solution. Or perhaps Napoleon would bully him into doing what was actually the best thing…the right thing, however Illya might feel about the idea. Illya felt himself being torn into two. His logical, sensible nature at war with his human feelings. Usually he was able to suppress the emotional side of his nature, as being too unstable and unreliable; but right now he was finding it an effort. The sensible answer was there, sitting beside him in the shape of Napoleon Solo. He knew what he ought to do…but that great amorphous splodge of emotion; grief, loneliness and fear prominent among them, sat inside of him, like a great, grey fog. Seeing anything clearly through it was becoming more and more difficult.
Kossov could see the uncertainty enter the younger man's eyes and he picked up the Vodka bottle to top up their glasses.
"Well, let's leave the subject for now eh? We can all sleep on it. The babe…I mean Katiya should be getting home about now. Shall we go and see if we can find them?"
Napoleon squeezed his partner's elbow as Kossov turned his back to them to exit the room. He too could see the uncertainty in Illya's eyes, and the uncertainty was real. His partner was beginning to lose his way. His emotions were roiling; Solo could see that much clearly. Illya had never been the demonstrative type. Napoleon had had to learn how to read his partner, because Illya was never one for vocalizing what was on his mind, either. Now, Napoleon could usually tell by looking at Illya whether his emotions were raging internally or not. Looking at him right at this moment, the term `raging' hardly described what he saw in Illya's eyes. Illya paused for a moment, let his eyes meet those of his partner, then he turned away and followed Kossov from the room.
As they came out into the great hall, they could hear the clatter of feet and excited voices. The front door swung open and in rushed a little six-year-old girl in riding clothes talking excitedly at the top of her voice to someone behind her. The nanny, a handsome woman of around thirty entered a moment later, in the process of removing her jacket and remonstrating with the child to slow down. Illya stopped suddenly, causing Napoleon to cannon into him from behind. The little girl looked up and saw her grandfather strolling towards her down the length of the hall and a broad smile spread across her face.
"Deda!" She ran to him as fast as her little legs could carry her, and he swung her up in the air and swung her around before setting her back down on the floor.
"Did you enjoy your ride my little kitten?"
"We went right round the lake. My pony had to walk through water right up to her knees! She neighed at me!" the little girl informed him with a giggle. Her deda hugged her.
"Perhaps the water was cold. Kitten, we have a visitor…someone has come to see you!"
"Papa!" shouted the child, and looking round the hall, spied Illya and Napoleon stood beside the study door.
"Papa!" she shouted again, even louder, and she started to run towards him as fast as she could, her arms outstretched. Suddenly, reality hit Illya with an awful clarity.
What was he about to do to this child? How could he pretend to be her dad? His reasons were real, but they were entirely selfish. How could he do this to her?
He dropped to his heels, but to his, and everyone else's surprise, she stopped short just out of reach, and appeared to be staring at him full of surprise and curiosity. She slowly walked towards him and reached out a hand to touch his face. She wiped away a tear that escaped his eye and ran her hand down his face, tracing the contours. Illya closed his eyes, trying to hold it together. He almost succeeded…almost.
"You look just like my Papa!" she told him in a surprised but interested tone of voice. "You're not my Papa at all…but you look just like him. Why do you look like my Papa?"
The tears fell down Illya's face, and he hugged the little girl closely. God, how she looked like Mama!
For a moment, Napoleon, Kossov and even the child's nanny stared in wonder at the scene, then Kossov sprang to action. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a gun and pointed it at Napoleon.
"Nina, take Katiya to her room for a rest before supper, please."
The nanny hurried across the hall and took the child out of Illya's arms and hurried her up the stairs and out of sight. Kossov waited until they were out of earshot and his voice hardened.
"If you're not Mikhail, then who the devil are you? You…Boris? Get over there beside him. Hands in the air."
Illya felt Napoleon tensing up beside him and he looked at him directly. He shook his head.
"Cooperate with him." He told him in English. Napoleon arched his eyebrows, but he forced himself to relax. Kossov ordered them to remove their jackets, and then their shoes and watches, and then to turn their pockets inside out.
"Walk forward." He ordered them. He made them walk ahead of him through a door, along a corridor and through a second door that opened out on to a staircase heading down. Down they went, into the cellars. Not really to their surprise, they found that one of the cellar rooms had been converted to a cell, with no windows and a strong, studded oak door with the largest padlock Napoleon had ever seen. Once they were in there, Illya was made, at gunpoint, to lock his partner into a set of strong looking manacles. Once Napoleon was safely locked up. Kossov quickly secured Illya and then holstered his gun and sat back against the furthest wall, sitting on his heels. If anything, he looked disappointed.
"So now you are secured, you can tell me who you are."
"Never!" Napoleon snarled. Illya ignored his partner.
"Who do you think we are?"
"The only person you could be is Illya…but if you are Illya… where is my son-in-law?"
Illya's face betrayed him for a moment before the mask was back, but Kossov did not miss it. He blanched.
"You…you said that Illya's dead body was in the UNCLE morgue in Moscow. If there is a body there…that must mean that…"
Illya nodded.
"I am sorry Kir Yuriyev. It was Mikhail's body that was fished out of that mine. I was murdered whilst on duty in America… almost."
"So you came undercover as your brother? To do what? Find out who killed you…who tried to kill you? So what are you doing here? You have no right to that little girl! She is my daughter's child."
Kossov got to his feet and was almost at the door when Illya spoke very quietly indeed. Kossov stopped as though he had been shot.
"Yes, Kir Yuriyev, and family is more important than anything."
Kossov turned to face him and saw a tear streak down Illya's face before he quickly swiped it away.
"Mikhail was my brother, and Katiya is his daughter too…like many of our people I lost everyone I ever loved during the war…even Mika was torn away from me. Katiya is all the family I have left in the world…She has both of us. I have only…"
Illya's voice cracked, and he subsided and slid down on to the floor, his knees in the air. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face.
Kir Yuriyev Kossov stood for some time, staring silently at his two prisoners, then he turned and left the cell.