The Little Girl Lost Affair
By K. Anders
2010
Anya came home from school to find her house filled with
people she didn't know. She put her book bag down by the door and stood there
looking around at the activity. There were policemen everywhere. Anya noticed a
tall officer standing in the middle of the room and approached him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him. The man looked
down at her for a moment.
"You are to be taken to the state school. Go and pack a few of your things and get ready
to leave," said the officer gruffly.
"But why? Where is my father?" The
officer's face softened slightly.
"Your father is dead. I am sorry," he replied more gently. "Now, go and get ready to go."
Anya turned away, stunned and went to her room. Papa was dead? He couldn't be; he had been
fine this morning when she left for school. He'd never been sick that she could
remember. Anya sat down on her bed and looked around the room where she had
lived her entire life. Memories crowded in on her. It was not possible that
Papa was dead. There had to be some mistake.
She got up and wandered aimlessly around the room, picking
things up and then putting them down again. Questions whirled through her head.
Where were they taking her? Where had
they taken Papa? Anya pulled a small suitcase down from the shelf and
looked around the room again. She had no idea what to pack. Finally, she threw
some clothes into the bag, closed it, and started for the door. Turning back
for a final look she looked again at the photos hanging on her mirror. She
grabbed them as well as a small teddy bear and put them in the suitcase with
her clothes.
Entering the front room again, she went back to the officer
she had spoken with before. She set the case down and looked up at him.
"I think you have made a mistake. My Papa is not dead, and I
don't want to go with you. Where have they taken him?"
"I'm very sorry, your father had a heart attack," he replied
and reached for her suitcase. Anya picked it up and glared at him. "Come along,
now, you have a long journey ahead of you." He led her outside to his patrol car, helped
her into the back seat and then got into the driver's seat. Anya said nothing
more as the officer started the car and they drove away.
At the train station Anya was turned over to another
officer. They boarded the train to Moscow
and she was told where to sit. Anya watched out the train window as Kiev and everything she
knew faded into the distance. None of this makes any sense. Anya
thought as she stared out the window. If
Papa is really dead, why were they taking her to an orphanage in Moscow? Why
didn't they call her brother? She wiped away the tears that fell silently
down her face. As the train rolled on into the night, Anya fell into a fitful
sleep.
When they arrived in Moscow, the sun was high and the train
was met by a stern looking woman that Anya assumed must be the headmistress.
She spoke briefly to the police officer, and then signaled that Anya was to
follow her to her waiting automobile. Sensing no sympathy, Anya held her chin
up as she picked up her bag, and followed the woman. Neither of them spoke on
the ride. Finally, they stopped in front of an old building. They had arrived
at the orphanage that was to be her home.
"Come with me," she ordered. Anya followed her into the
large brick building and into a small office. The woman moved to sit behind the
desk before speaking again. "This will be your home from now on. The state will
now care for you and educate you."
"But I'm not an orphan," replied Anya. "I have a brother in
the United States.
And I do not believe that my father is dead. What have they done with him?"
"As you have been told your father passed away. He had a
heart attack. There was nothing the doctors could do. As far as your brother is
concerned, he is a defector and you will not speak of him again," said the
headmistress sternly.
"That's a lie! My brother is not a defector!" Anya cried
angrily and ran from the room. She ran toward the front door, not knowing where
she would go. She only knew she had to get away. She couldn't see the
headmistress press the call button on the side of her desk and was almost out
the front door when two older girls grabbed her arms and pulled her back to the
office. The headmistress was waiting patiently behind the desk, and a crying
Anya was deposited in front of her. She dismissed one of the girls with a wave
of her hand and turned her attention to Anya.
"You will stay here until you are old enough to work and
take care of yourself. Do not try to run away or you will be punished. Now,
Elena will take you to your room. You will unpack your things and then you may eat."
The headmistress waved them out and sat down at her desk.
Elena said nothing as she led Anya to the top of the stairs
and into a room with ten beds. She pointed to the bed in the far corner of the
room. "That is your bed and locker. Put your things inside. You must keep your
area neat and clean at all times."
Anya did as she was told. Within a few minutes she had again
met Elena at the door to the dorm. She followed the older girl down to a large
dining room. The other children had gone to school that morning. Anya ate alone
and returned to the room she would now occupy.
She looked around the room and noticed that none of the beds
or lockers seemed to have anything personal about them. This had to be a horrible mistake, she thought as she sat down on
the bed that was supposedly hers. Where
was she going to go to school? Did her brother know where she was? Had he even
been notified about their father? Anya awoke when she heard voices coming
into the room. Small groups of girls entered, chatting and laughing. She watched
as a tall dark-haired girl approached her.
"What's your name?" asked the girl.
"Anya," she answered. "And yours?"
"I'm Ekaterina." She leaned over and whispered, "If you have
anything you don't want taken, you'd better hide it before Elena comes to get
your bag."
"Why would she take my things?" asked Anya, confused.
"Oh, they don't want us daydreaming about what can never
be," answered another girl who had joined them. "I'm Inna." She held out her
hand and Anya shook it. Anya shrugged and pulled her suitcase toward her.
Opening it she took out three photographs and a small cloth bag.
"Oh, who are they?" asked Ekaterina when she saw the photos.
"My family," replied Anya softly. "Well, they were my
family." She showed the girls a very old wedding picture, "These are my
grandparents, my father's parents. I have no pictures of my mother's parents."
Next she showed a more recent picture of a couple with a little boy. "These are
my parents. They say my father died yesterday." She sighed, and showed them the
final picture. "This is my brother; he lives in America. I haven't seen him in a
very long time."
The girls looked at the photos quietly and then Inna said, "You
need hide those away where no one can find them or they'll take them from you."
Anya nodded and tucked the photos behind the locker. The
cloth bag she put underneath her mattress. She would move them later when she
found a safer place for them. When the time came for the children to go to bed
for the night, Anya lay in her new bed crying softly. No one had yet come to
tell her that this was all a mistake.
Illya Nickovitch
Kuryakin had had very little contact with his family
since he left the Soviet Union. Other than a couple of assignments in which he
and Napoleon Solo had gone in and left before the government knew they were
there, he hadn't set foot in his homeland. He looked again at the letter in his
hand. It was from his sister who had still been a toddler when he left. He did
a quick mental calculation; 13 years old. He sighed as Napoleon Solo came into
their shared office.
"What's up, IK?" Solo asked, sitting on the corner of
Illya's desk facing him.
"My father has died."
"I'm sorry." Napoleon hadn't realized Illya's father was
still alive. In fact, Illya rarely, if ever, spoke of his family - Napoleon had
assumed that he was an orphan. "Will you be going home for the funeral," he
asked.
"No, the funeral was
two months ago. There is, however, something I must take care of," replied
Illya handing him the letter. Napoleon read through the letter - the
handwriting was neat and very obviously not an adult's. The letter was also
written in Russian, which Napoleon did not read well.
"Anya?"
"My sister. She is considerably
younger than I." replied Illya
reaching into his jacket and handing Napoleon a photograph.
"You have a sister?" It seemed there was a great deal about
Illya that Napoleon didn't know. "How old?" Illya thought for a moment.
"She has just turned 13. I haven't seen her in many years. She
was three when I was sent to study at the Sorbonne. As you know I've not been
back since I joined U.N.C.L.E."
"That is a long time in terms of a child's life. She must
remember you a little; she did write," said Napoleon
"I'm sure I am just a photograph to her. Not a real person.
But they've placed her in a state orphanage in Moscow. We have no other family. I have to
try to bring her here."
"And do what? How can you raise a child, especially a
teenager? We're gone on assignment most of the time."
"I don't know, but I know what the state orphanages are
like. She cannot stay there," said Illya adamantly.
"Well, you can't just go over and take her. I don't think
the government was very happy about our last visit. Mr. Waverly is still trying
to smooth that over. If the KGB catches you they may not let you leave the
country again."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"Maybe Mr. Waverly can come up with something. He's usually
pretty good at smoothing ruffled feathers," said Napoleon.
"Perhaps," replied Illya, his mind racing.
The orphanage was a dreary place at best and Anya spent most
of her time there trying to avoid being noticed. She had seen what happened to
children who were noticed. Anything could be called an infraction of the rules,
leading to punishment. She quietly went to school each day and came back. She
had made a few friends, but for the most part she waited for an answer to the
letter she had sent to the United States. It had been almost two months since
she had written to her brother and there had been no word. She knew it could
take time for a letter to get out of Russia, if it got out at all. Anya had
relied on a friend of Inna's to post the letter. Now she waited day by day for
Inna to hear from the friend with an answer.
Inna and Ekaterina came into the study hall looking for
Anya. The girls knew that if Anya couldn't be found anywhere else, she would be
here.
"You spend too much time with your books," said Inna
cheerily as the girls sat down on either side of Anya.
"We're going to go to the Vocational School anyway. It's not
as though you're going to go to University," added Ekaterina. Anya looked
sharply at Inna and then at Ekaterina. They just didn't understand. Illya had
gotten out of Russia,
surely she could too.
"If I don't go to University here, I'll go somewhere else,"
Anya replied looking back at the book she had been studying. Both of the girls
laughed.
"And where will you go to University, Anya Nickolaievna," teased Ekaterina pushing the other girl's
shoulder. "Do you expect your brother to ride in on a white horse and save you
from all of this?" Anya laughed a little
at the teasing.
"Ah well," said Inna. "You get the highest marks in the
class. Maybe you will go to University."
"Perhaps," she replied smiling. She knew her friends found
her to be too serious, but she couldn't help but hope that somehow she would
get out of the orphanage and out of the Soviet Union.
Ekaterina walked away and Anya turned to Inna and whispered,
"Have you heard anything yet?"
"Look under your pillow when you go to bed tonight," Inna
whispered back and left to join the other girl.
Her mother had died when she was born and her father had raised
her. In their small home in Kiev Anya and her father had done well. She was a
good student and her father was always very proud of her, just as he was proud
of his son. Anya didn't remember Illya well but Papa
had spoken of him often. He had been sent to work for U.N.C.L.E. when she was
very young and hadn't been back. She had heard occasional rumors that her
brother had defected but her father told her that her brother would never
defect and she believed him. If anyone could get her away from the orphanage,
surely her brother could, even without a white horse.
Napoleon got off the plane in Moscow and headed for the customs area. He
hoped their plan worked and that Illya's letter had indeed gotten to his
sister. If not there could be problems. He'd left Illya behind in Paris while he had gone
on to the Soviet Union. He had the picture of
the girl that Illya had given him. Needless to say,
at the height of the cold war, it was not going to be easy to get the girl out.
Defection was frowned upon, and Illya was still
technically on loan from the Soviets. Both men had a pretty good idea what
their plan would do to Illya's standing as a Soviet
citizen, but Napoleon had never seen his partner so determined with a course of
action. At all costs he wanted his sister out of the Soviet Union.
Anya looked again at the letter that she had gotten from Illya. Just as Inna had said, the letter had been hidden
under her pillow. He was sending someone to get her. She would be leaving the Soviet Union and going to America. She had no idea how they
were going to get her out of the orphanage. She hadn't tried to write to him
again; it had been too hard the last time to get the letter to someone who
would make sure it got mailed to the US and she had had to trust someone she
didn't know well. Until this letter had been given to her, she had no idea that
Illya had even gotten her letter. She lay in her bed in the dark room wondering
what to expect. Illya's letter had said that a friend would be coming for her.
Determined to be ready, she had hidden the photographs in the lining of her
school dress. The small cloth bag she had sewn into the hem of the same dress.
The dress now hung in her locker. She hoped that she would be able to change
into it when the time came.
After checking into his hotel, Solo studied the room for
listening devices. To be sure he went into the bathroom and turned on the
shower, then called his partner on his communicator.
"How are you, Napoleon?" Illya
asked.
"I'm fine. I'm supposed to meet with your friend in the
morning. Are you sure we can trust him?"
"We were in the Navy together. I trust him as much as one
can trust anyone. And he does have contacts in the KGB if necessary. I've been
in touch with him; he knows where Anya is and where she's going to school. Let
me know what happens after you meet with him, will you?"
"Of course. Better get some sleep.
Tomorrow looks to be a long day. Solo, out." Napoleon put away the communicator
and began to unpack. When he finished, he sat on the bed and pulled out the
photo Illya had given him before he left New York.
The photo showed a girl dressed in the traditional Soviet
school uniform. The dark wool dress, with its white collar and cuffs was very
different from the school uniforms in the U.S. where one could identify the
school by the uniform. In the Soviet Union the schoolgirls all wore the same
uniform.
The next day, Napoleon met Sergei Petrovich in the small
park across from his hotel. To keep from looking too suspicious, the two men
behaved like friends who hadn't seen each other for a long time. Napoleon had
dressed in casual clothing so as not to stand out. He knew he stood out anyway
but Sergei said nothing about his clothes. They strolled casually through the
park and spoke in low voices.
"Your Russian is very good, Mr. Solo." said Sergei smiling.
"Thank you, I don't get much chance to practice."
"In public, I will do most of the talking. That way we can
hide your American accent." Napoleon smiled back at the man.
The two men continued their stroll out of the park and along
a number of streets until Sergei called Napoleon's attention to the large brick
building they were passing.
"This is the orphanage," whispered Sergei. Napoleon looked
around at the children in the front yard. Many of them had come over to the
fence and were shouting to the men as they passed.
"And how do we get her out of here?" asked Napoleon quietly.
Sergei shook his head and continued walking. When they got to the end of the
block the two men entered a small coffee shop. They sat down and ordered
coffee. Napoleon finally spoke again, "Okay, what now?" Sergei looked at him
for a moment before answering.
"There are rumors that our mutual friend has defected. Did
you know this?"
"That's not true. Where would they get an idea like that?" replied
Napoleon.
"Who can say? At any rate the KGB wants him for questioning.
That's going to make getting hold of the girl more difficult," Sergei continued.
"Are you saying that you can't help us?" Napoleon didn't
want to try to figure out how to finish this mission on his own.
"No, only that it will not be as easy as first thought. They
are going to watch her closely to see if Illya contacts her. And they will
watch to make sure she doesn't run away. They could decide that she can be used
against him."
"That does make things complicated. How are we going to get
her out of there?" asked Napoleon.
"I don't know yet. I know some people who may be able to
help, but it will take a few days to set up."
"How few? I only have permission to
be in the city for ten days. You know how your government is about outsiders."
"Mr. Solo, it is possible that this will take longer than
you will be allowed to stay. I will know more tomorrow.
Solo stood to leave. "Tomorrow, then.
I will expect to hear from you in the morning." He left Sergei in the coffee
shop and took a taxi back to his hotel.
Hoping that Illya was right to
trust Sergei, he entered his hotel room and moved around it automatically
checking his security. He checked again for listening devices, and went into
the bathroom and turned on the water. Then, taking out his pen communicator, he
called Illya.
"Kuryakin," said Illya's voice over the speaker.
"Napoleon here," said Solo. "I've met with Sergei but there
seems to be a problem."
"What kind of problem?" asked Illya.
"Well, it seems that you've become very interesting to the
KGB. Something about defecting; probably with state secrets.
Your friend seems to think that they may be watching your sister closely. At
any rate he says it's going to take a few extra days."
"Churt
pobiery!" said Illya.
(Damn it!) "I need to get there, if the KGB takes her we may never find her.
They'll make sure of that."
"No, no, no, give us a couple more days. If they figure out
that you're anywhere nearby they're more likely to take her in order to get you
back into the country." replied Napoleon.
"Napoleon..." Illya growled.
"No, Illya. You stay put. That's an order. I'll get her out
of here one way or another. Sergei seems to have a plan or at least he says he
has friend who will help. I'll keep in touch." Napoleon closed the connection
and put away the communicator. He rarely pulled rank on his partner, but for
the time being he needed Illya to stay where he was. He could imagine his friend
pacing his Paris
hotel room like a caged animal. Finally, Napoleon undressed and got into the
shower that he had been running.
Illya put away his communicator shaking his head. This had
started out so simply. Napoleon would pose as a distant relative and take Anya from
the orphanage. Relatives often took children from the orphanages into their
homes. Unfortunately, if the KGB was
looking for him, they knew exactly where Anya was, which was why she had been
taken to Moscow in the first place. If they wanted Illya for questioning the
plan became much more dangerous, not only for Anya but also for Napoleon. The
question of his defecting would soon have to be addressed.
When the Soviet government had given him to U.N.C.L.E. it
had been as a Soviet agent in an international organization. He hadn't defected
but, he had gotten very comfortable living and working in the west. Napoleon's
willingness to go into Moscow and get his sister was one more sign of the high
regard the two men held for one another. That Waverly had gone along with the
plan had been even more surprising to Illya who had expected to be told that
Anya would have to stay where she was. The discussion had been straightforward.
Illya had gone to speak to Mr. Waverly surprised to find Napoleon already in
the Old Man's office. He had tried not to include Napoleon in this, telling him
and Mr. Waverly that it was a personal matter and had nothing to do with
U.N.C.L.E. Both men had made it their business. Waverly had given Illya and
Napoleon vacation time to, as he had put it, `do what you have to do.'
Now, two weeks later Illya wasn't sure Napoleon would be
able to complete the original plan. He had risked Anya's safety by sending an
answer through the go-between she had trusted. There was no way now, to let her
know that plans were changing.
Anya sat reading a book in a sunny corner of the yard when
Elena came up to her. She looked up when Elena's shadow fell over the page she
was reading.
"Headmistress wants to see you," said Elena. Anya closed her
book and stood to leave. Elena followed her to the headmistress' office and
knocked on the door. When they heard the headmistress call to come in, Elena
entered the room in front of Anya.
"She is here," said Elena.
"Thank you, you may go," replied the headmistress turning to
Anya.
"You wanted to see me?" asked Anya.
"Yes, I've received a letter from your Uncle. It seems he
wants to take you to live with his family. He will be here tomorrow." said the
headmistress.
"And I will be going with him?"
"Perhaps, if he is truly your uncle, it was my understanding
that there was no other family when you were brought here. I've also received
notice from the police that this man may be an imposter planning to take you
out of the country."
Anya tried to look shocked before answering sweetly, "Why
would anyone want to take me out of the country?"
The headmistress' lips pressed into a thin line as she
forced a smug smile. "Perhaps your brother wants you to join him in the United
States. You snuck a letter to him when you first arrived here did you not?" She
waited for Anya's response.
With composure beyond her years, Anya remained calm. "Yes, I
felt he should know about our father. But I've received no answer. I don't know
if he got the letter." She shrugged for added effect. "Even if he did, what
would it serve him to take me from here? He is much too busy to be bothered
with a child." She turned as the door opened behind her and two policemen
entered the room.
"You will go with these officers," said the headmistress.
"They will take care of you until it is decided if this man is your uncle."
"But I have done nothing wrong. Why can I not stay here?"
The two officers moved to either side of Anya. Taking her arms they led her
away. Anya began to struggle but stopped when one of the officers squeezed her
arm painfully.
Inna and Ekaterina were in the front hall as Anya was led
out of the office. Inna stepped into the path of the officers hoping to help
her friend.
"Where are you taking her?" she demanded. The officer
nearest her raised his hand as it to strike her. Inna flinched and backed away,
letting them pass.
"That is not your business," he said and with that they led
Anya out of the orphanage and into a car. The drive was short and soon the officer
driving pulled up in front of a building that Anya recognized as the police
station. The two men gestured her out of the car and escorted her into an
office just inside the front doors. The man in the office wasn't dressed like a
policeman or a soldier. Anya stood in front of the desk and stared at him.
"Miss Kuryakin, welcome," he said,
his voice conveying anything but welcome after the two officers had left. Anya
didn't answer, staring at him curiously. "I know you want to know why you've
been brought here so I will tell you. You see, your brother has been accused of
espionage against the Soviet government but, we're having a little difficulty
getting him back here. We had thought the death of your father would have
brought him here, if for no other reason than to make sure that you were taken
care of." The man shrugged.
"You killed my father?" gasped Anya.
"Of course not, child, don't be ridiculous. We merely went
to talk to him about your brother. His heart was weak. How were we to know
that?" replied the man. "For now you will stay here. When your brother comes to
find you he will be arrested and sent to prison for treason. Then we will
return you to the orphanage."
"But he has done nothing wrong! You sent him to work in the
US. He is not a traitor."
"That is not your concern," said the man sharply. "You received
a letter from your brother; when is he planning to come and get you and how?"
"I've received no letters. I don't even know where he is. He
has not been back for many years, why would he come back now?"
"It will do you no good to lie to
me, girl. I know you got a letter. What is his plan for getting you to the
west?" He leaned across his desk causing Anya to back up a couple of steps. He
pushed a button on the desk. "Take her away," he commanded the two men who
answered his call.
She stared at him across the desk, saying nothing. If he
knew about the letter, why was he asking her? Surely he must have intercepted
it and read it before it ever got to her. The two guards grabbed her arms
roughly, pulling her from the office.
"There is nothing you can do! I don't know where he is." She
shouted.
The cell they took her to was small with only a cot and a
toilet. There wasn't even a sink in the cell. And it was cold. Anya didn't
usually mind the cold as she'd always had warm clothes, but she had not been
given the chance to get her coat. She sat on the cot, running her hand along
the woolen blanket that covered it. She listened to the sounds that filled the
air around her. Voices mostly, some screaming, some yelling
and swearing, some crying. None of the voices made any sense to her,
they just added to her terror. Would they
really keep her in here? After a time she lay down on the cot and pulled
the blanket over her in an attempt to get warm and block out some of the noise.
There seemed no way that her brother would find her now.
Hours later, Anya awoke when someone yanked her roughly from
the cot. The blanket fell off of her and she looked at the two guards who were
now standing in the cell. One of them still had hold of her arm. She tried to
pull away, but he held tight and laughed.
"Ah, we have a feisty one here," he said leering at her.
Anya was afraid but knew not to show it.
"What do you want?" she asked, still trying to pull away from
him.
"Well, I thought I might just be able to coax you into
telling us how to get to your brother." He had let go of her arm and was moving
his hand across her breast. Anya shoved his hand away and backed away from the
two men. The second man grabbed her arm again.
"I don't even know where he is." Anya struggled with the
guard who had hold of her arm, trying to get free. "You have more information
than I do about him. Leave me alone." The
first guard grabbed her again and began to kiss her. Anya continued to struggle
until the second guard let go of her. The first guard held her tightly and
began to run his hand underneath her jumper. The feel of his rough hand on her
bare skin caused Anya to fight harder and she began to scream. "Let me go. I
don't know anything." She kicked so much that he finally let go of her and she
fell to the floor. He knelt down next to her.
"I can make your stay here pleasant or miserable. It's your
choice. I don't care whether or not you know anything about Illya
Nickolaievich, but I do like you. I'd like to make
you happy here." he said sliding his hand up her leg again. He grinned as Anya
pulled away from him, then he stood and left the cell. Anya lay on the floor
and stared at the door as it closed again.
The phone rang in Napoleon's room and he answered it as
though he didn't know what it was. "Yes?" he said carefully.
"Mr. Solo," said a voice Napoleon recognized as Sergei's.
"We need to meet. The park across from your hotel, fifteen minutes." The phone
clicked in Napoleon's ear. He'd never gotten to say anything. Putting the phone
down, he wondered again about Illya's friend Sergei.
How far could they trust him? He put his jacket back on and headed toward the
door. He would meet with Sergei, but he wanted some definite answers. He
couldn't stay in Moscow
indefinitely and he needed to find a way to get to Illya's
sister.
It was completely dark when Solo entered the park this time
and there were very few people there. He went to the same place he had met
Sergei a couple of days ago. The other man was already there when Napoleon
silently walked up behind him.
"All right," he said quietly. "What's going on?" Sergei
started at the sound of Napoleon's voice in the darkness then turned to face
him.
"The KGB has taken the girl from the orphanage. They picked
her up this afternoon. I know some guards at the KGB that we might be able to
bribe to get her out but we have to work quickly." said Sergei. Napoleon
nodded.
"What do we do?'
"I will get forged papers, if you can get money. You will
buy her as a bride. The false papers will get you across the border into Poland. I have
contacts there that will help you get to the west." Napoleon stared at him in
the dim light from the street.
"Buy a bride? She's a child," he said incredulously.
"It is not unheard of here. All other ways will take too
long and you have only a few days left on your visa. People will begin to ask
questions about your business here. You don't have to marry the girl, simply
pay for her. What you do with her when you get her to the west is up to you."
"All right. How much are we talking
about?" asked Napoleon, still uncomfortable with the idea and he was beginning
to get annoyed with Sergei.
"One thousand American dollars for the papers two thousand
to get her out of KGB headquarters, and probably another thousand when you get
to Poland. And for my difficulties, two thousand. Is
fair, no?" Sergei replied with a smile. Napoleon leaned closer and grabbed
Sergei's shirt collar.
"No, is not fair, but I don't see any other options at the
moment. This had better not be some kind of set up Sergei, because if I don't
kill you, I promise, my partner will. Nothing is to happen to the girl. Is that
very clear?" Sergei nodded, looking at Napoleon with genuine fear in his eyes.
"Get everything set up. I'll get the money. You will get your payment when I've
gotten her out of Poland.
I'll let you know where to pick it up. Three days Sergei, that's it, three
days." Napoleon let go of the other man's collar and walked away.
Sergei signaled to the man waiting in the shadow of a large
tree, spoke to him briefly. When the two separated the man again took his post
following Napoleon.
Napoleon returned to his hotel room. The man who had been
following him since he arrived was further behind him than usual. Napoleon was
sure it was KGB. After all, he was a westerner in the Soviet
Union.
Sergei had been true to his word. Two days later he called
Napoleon telling him they would be meeting a KGB guard outside the city. At
that point Napoleon would pay the guard and take the girl. Illya
had gone on to New York
and Napoleon decided not to let him know what was going on; he would contact
him when they arrived in the west. Sergei drove to a wooded area outside of Moscow and pulled to the
side of the road.
"He will bring her here. Do you have the money?" he asked.
"Of course. Is she alright?"
"As far as I know, yes. My friend
managed to keep her away from another guard who was overly interested in her."
Napoleon felt himself shudder at the thought of what could have happened to
this girl.
Finally, he caught
sight of headlights in the rearview mirror. Sergei saw the lights too and both
men watched as the car passed them by and stopped about fifty yards ahead of
them. Sergei signaled Napoleon to stay in the car while he got out. The two men
approached one another. Napoleon looked but couldn't see any sign of the girl.
After the men spoke to each other for a few minutes, Sergei waved to Napoleon
to get out of the car. The other man walked back to his car and opened the
passenger door.
Napoleon approached Sergei as the other man led a young girl
to them. In the dim light, Napoleon could see that she looked very much like
his partner. She wasn't blond but had light brown hair pulled into a messy
braid that almost touched her waist. He didn't need to check the photo. He
would have recognized her anywhere. Her eyes were the same color as her
brother's and the facial structure was the same. She seemed small to him, but Illya wasn't particularly tall either.
Napoleon noticed the
distrust and fear in her eyes as she watched him reach into his jacket and pull
out an envelope which he handed to the man standing next to her. He took the
envelope, nodded and pushed her towards Napoleon saying,
"You go with him now." Then he turned to walk away.
"You will notify me when you arrive in West
Germany." said Sergei as he also turned. Napoleon looked at him
with disdain.
"I'll be in touch." he replied then turned to the girl in
front of him. "Do you understand English?" he asked.
"Da, yes." she replied softly. She
looked at him.
"My name is Napoleon Solo. You will come with me. Do you
understand?" She nodded and moved to follow him. "What is your name?"
"Anya Nickolaievna Kuryakina." Napoleon nodded and led her to the car that was
waiting by the side of the road.
Napoleon drove them towards the border occasionally looking
over at Anya. She fell asleep almost as soon as the car started to move. She
did not say anything more to Napoleon, not even to ask about her brother. He
planned to get in touch with Illya once they got
across the border into Poland. Even with the forged paperwork, he didn't want
to call attention to them. For this part of the trip they were a father and
daughter going to Poland
to see relatives. Once there Napoleon would contact the people Sergei had told
him about and get to West
Germany.
Hours later Anya awoke as she felt the car stop and the
engine shut off.
"Are you hungry?" Napoleon asked. She nodded and he reached into the back seat
and pulled forward a basket. From the basket he handed her some bread and
cheese. Then he took out a bottle of juice and poured some into a cup for her.
"Thank you," she said as she took the food and drink he
offered her. It was more than she had been given in the KGB headquarters and
she was very grateful. She watched as Napoleon cut bread and cheese for himself
and began to eat as well. She could tell he was watching her. Was he trying to decide if he had gotten a good
bargain? Would she make a good wife? The thoughts raced through her mind.
She didn't want to be married to anyone, least of all to this American
gentleman. Perhaps she could find a way to repay him for taking her out of the
Soviet Union that would not include being married to him.
About three days later, they arrived in Poland. No one had
questioned Napoleon's papers and they had been allowed to drive uninhibited to
the small village where Sergei's friend lived. The jolly man had taken one look
at Anya and hustled both of them inside.
"This will not do at all," he said. "They will stop you
before you enter Germany if they see her dressed this way." Napoleon and the
man looked at Anya
The school uniform she still wore was dirty and wrinkled.
Napoleon had convinced her to remove the filthy collar and cuffs and she had
washed up as much as was possible during one of their stops. She refused to
talk about the bruising he had noticed. Napoleon had finally stopped asking
about them. Now he looked back at the villager who would help them get to the
next border.
"She has no other clothing," he said to the man. The man
smiled kindly at Anya and then addressed Napoleon.
"I still have some of my daughter's old clothes. I think
they will fit." With that the man rose from the table and went into another
room. Napoleon turned to Anya who had said nothing beyond hello. She sat now
looking at the table in front of her.
"When he comes back you can go and get washed up and change
clothes," he said. Anya nodded still not looking at him.
Napoleon went outside the house to contact his partner. He
had not called Kuryakin in the last two days and knew
the other man must be worried. He took out his communicator and began to speak
as discreetly as possible.
"Kuryakin, here.
Napoleon what is going on?"
"So far, so good. We've arrived in
Poland and the gentleman that Sergei put us in contact with is asking no
questions. Which is a good thing, since your sister is a
little worse for the wear. I don't know what they did to her in the KGB
headquarters but when I got her she was filthy and bruised."
"She is not hurt?"
"I don't think there's any permanent damage. Sergei
mentioned a guard that was more interested than he should have been, but
nothing else. The bruising looks as though she was smacked around, probably
trying to get information from her that she doesn't have.
"There are nightmares, Illya, but
she refuses to talk about them. She wakes up in the night calling for her
father and the only thing I can do is sit with her until she calms down."
"Very well, when do you expect to arrive in Germany?"
Napoleon could hear the worry in Illya's voice.
"We should be there in a couple of days. She could use a
good night's sleep so we'll leave tomorrow. I'd better get back inside. We'll
call when we get to the hotel in Munich." He broke the connection and returned
to the house.
Anya stood as Napoleon came back into the room presenting herself for inspection. Napoleon nodded to her and motioned
for her to sit down before addressing himself to the man.
"I would like to leave in the morning. Have you a map?"
"Yes, of course," replied the man. "You will be safest if
you stay away from the cities." Napoleon nodded. "The country roads will take a
little longer but you will draw less attention. And now, we eat so the child
can go to sleep," he stood and went to the stove where a large pot was
simmering. "You still have a long journey ahead."
"Thank you." Napoleon turned to Anya, speaking in Russian.
"You should get rid of that. You won't need it anymore. We'll get you some new
clothes when we get to Munich." Anya put her hand on the neatly folded dress
she held on her lap.
"No, it is mine. I will keep it," she declared. She still
had her photos and the small cloth bag hidden in the dress and wanted to keep
them secret from these strange men. Napoleon let the subject drop.
[K1]
The rest of the trip to West Germany had been surprisingly
uneventful. They would spend a few days
in Munich waiting for the next flight. Anya looked around the suite they had
just checked into. She had never seen anything so elaborate. Whole families
lived in spaces this size at home but it seemed that she and Mr. Solo would be
alone here. She wandered around the bedroom of the suite noticing only one bed
and sighed. Well, he did pay for a wife, she
thought. Unfolding her old school dress she pulled the photos from the lining
and the small cloth bag from the hem and began to tuck them under the mattress. She did not see or hear Napoleon enter
the room behind her.
"Anya," he said gently. She turned to look at him. "You
don't have to hide your things anymore. No one is going to take them away from
you." He was amazed at the ingenuity of the girl having hidden these things
from the KGB. She stared at him for a moment, holding the small bag. Finally,
she seemed to have made a decision. Holding the small cloth bag out to him she
said,
"Mr. Solo, I want to give you these as payment for all you
have done. I will repay you everything you have paid for me. Please do not make
me marry you." The last statement rushed out and Anya covered her mouth as
though to take back what she had said. Napoleon looked at her shocked.
"What?"
"I am grateful for all you have done. I don't believe I would
be a good wife for you. I do not know about being a wife." she said even more
softly hoping he wasn't angry with her. Napoleon smiled, and then chuckled.
"Come with me, I think it's time we had a talk," he said gently
taking her arm and leading her into the front room. He sat down on the couch
and patted the chair next to him. She looked at him curiously.
"These are all I have, but they are yours. I...I..." she stopped
as tears began to fall. Napoleon put his hand on her shoulder and waited. A few minutes later, Anya wiped her face with
one hand. "I have Mama's wedding ring and Baba's wedding ring. They were given
to me after Baba died. I never knew my Mama. There is also a gold necklace with
a cross on it. Baba gave that to me when I was baptized." She stopped and
looked around the room as though expecting someone to overhear. "That is a
secret. I'm not supposed to tell anyone." Napoleon smiled gently.
"I understand. I'll keep your secret. Now I must explain
something to you. I should have told you at the beginning but you didn't seem
to want to hear anything. I know what you were told by Sergei about why I was
taking you away, but I have no interest in marrying you." Anya looked down, it
was true then, she wasn't good enough. Napoleon lifted her head up so she was
looking at him again and continued,
"Anya, you are a thirteen year old girl, a child. You have a
long way to go before you'll be ready to marry anyone. The only reason that I
came to Moscow was to get you and take you to your brother in New York. He
didn't want you to grow up in a Soviet orphanage." Anya looked doubtful. "It's
true. You don't owe me anything. Do you understand?"
"But, Sergei said..." she began and Napoleon interrupted her.
"I don't care what Sergei said. It was the only way we could
think of to get you out of KGB headquarters. And it sounds like he got to you
just in time." She nodded again and smiled at him shyly. "Now, we have some
shopping to do before we go and get some dinner. When we get back I'll call Illya and you can talk to him, okay?"
She nodded and Napoleon stood and offered her his arm.
Anya's face was flushed when they returned to the suite
after shopping and dinner. She had never seen such glorious stores. The
restaurant had been the most amazing. She was able to eat anything she wanted.
Napoleon smiled at her as she took her packages into the bedroom and set them
on the bed to unpack them.
Napoleon called Illya and then
handed Anya the phone. Napoleon half listened to the conversation going on in
Russian. She spoke to her brother with a formality that he expected would
subside as she got to know him. Chuckling as she described the shopping, the
restaurant, and the hotel, Napoleon picked up a newspaper so she could have a
little privacy. Finally, she hung up the phone.
"Illya said to say good-bye to
you. He said we should not run up a phone bill."
"Well, your brother is very practical. And, we have an early
day tomorrow so you need to get to bed." Anya looked at him.
"Where will you sleep, Mr. Solo?" she asked curiously.
"Watch this," he replied and pulled out the bed hidden
within the couch. "And now I have a bed too." He smiled as Anya giggled at him.
It was the first time since he had met the girl that she seemed to be exactly
what she was, a young girl.
Anya took in the sights and sounds of the airport. Like most
kids on their first flight she was fascinated by the planes landing and taking
off outside the window.
"How do they know where to go?" she asked as they waited for
their flight to be called. Napoleon pointed out the window.
"See that tower over there?" She nodded. "There are people
in there who are in contact with all of these pilots. They keep track of where
each plane is and where it needs go."
Just as Anya began to ask another question, their flight was
called and Napoleon led her to the gate where they would board the plane.
Anya stared out the window as the plane touched down in New
York. She had been fascinated by everything during the flight from Munich and
had even gone into the cockpit to meet the pilot and co-pilot and asked many
questions. When she came back to her seat next to Napoleon she proudly wore
wings on her blouse given to her by the stewardess. Napoleon smiled as he
watched her excitement at being on a plane for the moment overruling the fear
and nervousness of coming to a new country to live with a brother she barely
knew.
Illya was not at the airport when
they arrived but Anya did not seem concerned. In fact, Napoleon had been asked
to bring her to Illya's apartment to allow him to
finish preparing for her arrival. Napoleon led Anya to the baggage claim and
collected their luggage, and then guided her to the row of taxis parked in
front of the terminal, and after putting their luggage into the trunk got into
the back beside her. They rode in silence as Anya had looked out the window at
this city that was to become her home.
The taxi pulled up in front of an older building. She smiled
a little at the sight of the building. Inna and Ekaterina had told her that her
brother probably lived in a huge mansion. The three girls had spent evenings
trying to imagine what it would be like to live in the United States.
This didn't look much like a mansion. In fact it looked a little like some of
the older buildings in Kiev.
Napoleon came around and opened the car door for her. Both
of their bags had already been taken from the trunk of the cab. He paid the
driver, picked up both bags and headed toward the front door. He stopped at the
top step to the building and looked back to see Anya standing on the sidewalk
hesitantly.
"Well, let's go," he said smiling. "You and your brother
have waited quite long enough I think." At last, she followed him into the building
and then into the elevator. They got out of the elevator together and Napoleon
walked to a door slightly down the hall from the elevator. He reached over her
to knock on the door. When the door opened Anya saw the brother she only knew
from photos.
"Well, we're here," said Napoleon. "It was quite a trip." Illya stood to the side and motioned for them to come in.
Anya stared at Illya for a moment before going
inside.
"Illya?" she said softly. He
nodded and then closed the door behind them. Putting his arm around his sister
he turned to Napoleon.
"Welcome back, my friend and thank you."
Napoleon set Anya's small bag down next to a closet in the
entryway. "Look, I'd better be going," said Napoleon a little awkwardly. "Let
me know if you need anything." At that Anya turned to Napoleon.
"Thank you, Mr. Solo," she said.
"Well, it was a pleasure traveling with you, young lady." He
turned and left the apartment.
Illya
picked up the suitcase Napoleon had left and gestured to his sister, "Come with
me, I'll show you your room and then we can talk." He led the way through the
front room and down the hall. "Your room is here." Illya
went into the room and set Anya's suitcase on the bed.
Anya looked around the room, surprised at the size of it. Her
friends had been partly right, this was almost a mansion. There was a large bed
with a matching chest of drawers on opposite sides of the room. On another wall
there was a desk and chair, she wished they could see all of this.
Illya watched his sister wander
around the room, touching things hesitantly. He had been equally overwhelmed when
he first arrived in the West. He went to the door, then
turned back toward her.
"Unpack your things and then we will talk." Anya nodded and
watched him leave the room before moving to her suitcase on the bed. She sat on
the bed for a few moments. Finally, she opened the case and began putting
things away. She was no less confused than when they had come and taken her to
Moscow.
Anya finished putting her things away and sat on the bed
wondering what to do next. She couldn't begin to fill the closet or the dresser
with the few things she had brought with her. Except for the pictures and the
small cloth bag of jewelry she had nothing personal from the home in which she
had grown up. She glanced up when she heard a light tapping on the door.
Illya did not wait for his sister
to answer his knock, but entered the room and sat on the bed next to her. "Is
your room acceptable?" he asked.
"It is very nice," she replied shyly. "It is much bigger
than my room at home." She paused. "Oh, you know that," she laughed self
consciously. "It was your room first." Illya smiled
at her. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, now."
"Then we will figure it out together. You were very young
when I left, so I'm sure you don't even remember me."
"I always had a photo. Papa made sure I knew who you were,
but you're right, it's not the same as having grown up with someone." Anya
looked off into some distance only she was aware of and a single tear rolled down
her cheek.
Illya pulled her close and held
her. "What is it?" he asked, gently stroking her hair. She shook her head
before speaking again.
"No one would tell me anything," her voice broke. "They...they
came and took me to Moscow and I don't even know where Papa is buried. Then Mr.
Solo came and paid for me to marry him..."
"Shhh, I know," he said softly. "It's
over now. Everything will be all right." He held her as she wept. There did not
seem to be any more for him to say. She
had had so much happen to her in the last few months. Now she had a whole new
world to adjust to and he was the one who would have to take over where their
father had left off.
[K1]This
needs to be expanded considerably.
|
|
