Other than making a few stops to relieve himself, Illya made it to Novgorod in just over seven hours. He had never visited the city before and as was his habit; he read up a little on it before leaving.
Standing on the Volkhov River, Novgorod, like Moskva had its own Kremlin called Детинец_Detinets, once it was filled with medieval monuments and buildings but during the war the city was occupied by the Germans and the Kremlin was heavily damaged and historic monuments were systematically annihilated. When the Red Army liberated the city, fewer than 40 buildings remained standing of the original 2,536.
One of the most outstanding structures that survived the occupation was the cathedral of St. Sophia, but it too suffered damage. The large cross on the main dome had a dove attached to it, symbolic of the Holy Spirit but it was removed by Spanish infantry known as the Blue Division... División Azul, officially designated as División Española de Voluntarios by the Spanish Army and Infanterie-Division in the German Army.
It was a unit of Spanish and Portuguese volunteers who served in the German Army and it was these soldiers who took the cross back to Spain, where they still kept in Madrid's Military Engineering Academy Museum.
The cathedral gave Illya a sense of familiarity when he saw it, as it was modeled on the design of the St. Sophia cathedral back in Kyiv, though he hadn't been there since he was a child. Since the practice of religion was banned by the Soviet government, or at least the public display of it, the cathedral now served as a museum.
Novgorod itself was a reconstruction project, and at the same time industry grew because of it. The city seemed to be growing and thriving, at least that was what the reports said.
Illya parked his car up the street from the address he had been told was where Alexandrov was living. It was in a ramshackle building in the middle of the block, surrounded by even more dilapidated structures that served as homes. Perhaps Novgorod was not in as good a shape as he had been led to believe, thinking it was more of the usual State
Standing on the corner; he watched the door to Alexandrov's abode. Several minutes passed and a young blonde woman emerged through the door, carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms. She tied a babushka around her hair, looked cautiously to the left and right, then hastily crossed the street, disappearing around the next the corner.
He paid her no mind; she was not his target, Alexandrov was. Now there was the question that bid answering, did he wait hoping Nicholaí would come out as well, or should he just knock on the door? Was he even there? There was only one way to find out. Making his decision, and hoping the man was inside, he approached the door, thinking it was better to do the deed within, out of sight from prying eyes.
Kuryakin paused, taking a deep breath and knocked on the door with several hard raps. It opened slowly, and the face of Nicholaí Alexandrov appeared.
"Илья? Илья Николаевич_Illya_Illya? Illya Nickovich?" He was shocked at first, but then grinned from ear to ear.
This was not going to be as easy as Illya had hoped.
"Да. Здравствуйте Николай Иванович_Yes. Hello Nicholaí Ivanovich."
"My God Kuryakin, what are you doing here?" He hesitated for a moment "Come in please!"
Illya diverted his eyes from Nicholí as he walked through the doorway, glancing away before they could betray him. It would take but a moment for him to draw the prototype Makarov pistol and end it right here and now.
The weapon was new, not in mass production and was being issued to military intelligence and of course the secret police to test. It was the Главное артиллерийское управление_ GAU, the General Artillery Department of General Staff's version of the Walther PP type weapon.
Illya liked his Tokarov better, even though it had its problems and was able to keep it as a backup. The new pistol, despite being relatively simple and powerful, showed significant deficiencies, some of them quite serious, such as the lack of a positive safety.
Nicholaí held his hand out in greeting, taking Illya off guard and momentarily distracting him. He reached out accepting Nicholaí's hand in response.
"How have you been?" He politely asked his target.
"I am as well as can be expected in this hell hole, but this is where I am assigned and this is where I stay until otherwise told by Directorate."
He suddenly looked questioningly at Illya." How did you know where I lived?" He glanced down, eyeing the weapon in Illya's shoulder holster.
Illya gave him a shy smile, one that Nicholaí knew well. "Remember, I am in GRU just as you?"
Alexandrov gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, that is true. Come, I am making tea, join me." He said, diverting his attention away from the weapon, but not his suspicions.
Illya followed him through the tiny apartment to the kitchen, where he saw a pot of water boiling on the small propane stove.
The domicile was not as spartan as Illya expected it would be. He spotted obvious feminine touches, lace curtains, an embroidered table cloth, and in the middle of the table a vase with a small bunch of what looked like violets.
"Please have a seat, " Nicholaí said, sliding back out one of the plain wooden chairs at the table.
Illya obliged as a glass filled with piping hot tea was set down in front of him.
"I am sorry," Nicholaí apologized, I have no jam or sugar. Things are a bit tight here."
He received a nod of understanding as his surprise guest sipped his tea.
"I understand, remember I have the same employer as you." Illya noticed that Nicholaí kept his right hand under the table, holding his glass with his left hand, but he recalled the man was right-handed. No doubt he had a weapon taped beneath, just in case.
"So Illya Nickovich, why are you here?"
He bit his lower lip, trusting his instincts, he told Nicholaí the truth.
"I have been sent to kill you."
Alexandrov brought his right hand out into view, holding his own Tokarov and aiming it directly at Kuryakin. "Why?"
"I was told that you are suspected of preparing to defect. Your execution was ordered base on that assumption."
"And do you intend to complete your mission?" Nicholaí stated coldly.
"Nicholaí Ivanovich, I could have easily killed you the moment I walked in the door, if it had been my intention to follow through with the order. Why would I bother to tell you the truth if it I was going to actually kill you?"
"One would think for sadistic pleasure, but you were never sadistic Illya Nichovich," Nicholaí answered, "But just to be on the safe side, put your pistol on the table and slide it towards me. Slowly please."
Illya complied, looking the man in the eyes. "I am trying to figure out how to save both your life and mine. I am sure the order to kill you is simply a test of loyalty for me on the part of the Directorate. I have no family with which they can ensure my allegiance, and hence this test to kill someone I know without question or reservation. They must be preparing to send me on a mission and want to make certain I will not turn."
"And what makes you not want to do it Comrade? If I were in your place, you would have already been dead."
"Perhaps, but I am not the one with a family. I observed a woman leaving here not long ago, she carried a wrapped bundle with her, a baby I suspect. You are married are you not Nicholaí."
"Yes I am. Her name is Nadezhda, and the baby is my son, Grigori. He is only a month old. We did not apply for a marriage permit from the State, we were wed in secret by a priest. Some of us have not given up their belief in God like you have Illya Nickovich."
Illya shrugged his shoulders to that statement, looking intently at the man still aiming a pistol at him. "Directorate does not like its agents going off and getting married without authorization. I suppose your subterfuge has somewhat annoyed them. Perhaps that is why you were chosen as the target."
"So if there had not been the woman and child, you would have completed your mission then?"
"That is no longer the relevant."
They both heard a noise coming from the front of the apartment. "Nicholaí?" A woman's voice called out.
Alexandrov grabbed Illya's pistol, tucking it under his shirt and hid his underneath the table again, "No sudden moves," he warned.
Nadezhda Alexandrova walked into the kitchen holding Grigory in one arm and a small paper sack in the other. "Oh, Kolya we have company?"
"Yes, an old friend from school."
Illya stood slowly, smiling at her. " My name is Illya, Illya Kuryakin, here let me help you with that." He reached out slowly, taking the sack from her and putting it on the table.
"It is nice to meet you, though I do not recall Kolya mentioning anyone named Kuryakin."
"It was a long time ago," Nicholaí said, tucking his pistol behind his back without her seeing it and taking the baby from her arms in one swift motion.
"This Illya, is my son Grisha." He beamed, holding up the dark-haired chrubic infant for him to see.
"He is a handsome child, may he grow up strong and healthy as the tree I am sure you planted in his name." Illya smiled, stating the old Russian tradition for a father to plant a tree for his child.
"Though we have no garden, I did plant a sapling near St. Sophias." Nicholaí blushed. " I did not think you honored the old ways Illya, you never struck me as that sort of person."
"There are many things that no one knows about me, and that is the way I prefer to keep it.
"Illya, I hope you are going to stay and share food with us?" Nada asked. "You look like you could use a good meal, if you do not mind me saying. You are a skinny one."
"So I am constantly told," he smiled, glancing at Nicholaí. " I would be honored to break bread with you."
Nada quickly set about making a meal for the three of them...a cold soup called Tyurya, made with bread soaked in kvass, a fermented beverage made from rye bread. It was commonly consumed during rough times and by poor peasants. Then she made Kotlety, small pan-fried meat balls made of white-fish, no doubt caught in the nearby Volkhov river that flowed out of Lake Ilmen north into Lake Ladoga. Lastly she cooked up a plate of potatoes, turnips and carrots, spiced with herbs and green onions.
It was a poor man's meal yet still hearty. The three of them ate together quietly, and Illya out of politeness ate slowly and did not seek a second helping. Nada insisted though, again repeating he was too skinny.
She cleared the table of the dishes, after which she brought out a bottle of State approved vodka and two glasses. "I will leave you two to catch up as it is Grisha's turn to be fed." She gently picked up her son from his basket, disappearing into another part of the apartment to breast feed him.
Nicholaí opened the bottle, pouring each of them a glassful and reached across the table, offering the drink to Illya.
"So now what Comrade Kuryakin? I have fed you, you have met my family. Are you still willing to save my life...our lives, or have you changed your mind and decided to try fulfill your assignment? Should I kill you and do what I am being accused of and defect, since I am now targeted for death. Better to try than just stand helpless and be killed like they did the Jews during the pogroms and the war."
"Escape yes, Nicholaí, try to kill me...no. I am the means of your escape and you would never make it without me," Illya flashed a feral smile.
.