"The Assignment" for the Impromptu Challenge 4/8/16

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The (gorgeous) prompt:

It was official, he was not to use the cover of the impoverished student at least for this assignment. He’d returned with his instructions from the Directorate. ‘Wear a suit they said; borrow one if you have to...which is exactly what Illya Kuryakin did.

“Go to Gorky Park at noon. Your contact will meet you there there near the amusments."

That was it, no details but that came as no surprise to the young GRU agent, and he did as he was instructed without question.

Illya had been waiting for that contact, sitting on a bench in the park that was crowded with families, visiting the space ship ride spinning round and around.

He swallowed hard, not wanting to look at it as he heard the squeals and screams of those riding it. Just looking at it churned his stomach, as he was prone to motion sickness; that had not been a good thing while he had active service in the navy. Though serving on a submarine did make a difference.

Still when patrolling the rough northern seas, others became seasick as well when the Moskva surfaced. That helped hide Kuryakin’s infirmity as at times there was safety in numbers.

Illya patiently watched for Ivan Ivanoff to arrive, as he assumed it would be his regular handler.  Since he was given no password, the person he was meeting would have to be someone he knew.

It seemed strange though having been summoned to GRU headquarters in the Aquarium, as it was known, located at one side of Kodinka airfield in the center of the city.   He was given little information other than to go to the park at a certain time, sit on this bench and wait for his contact.

Why did they not give him his assignment then and there? Still, bottom line, it was not his place to question how his superiors handled their business.  His job was to follow his orders without question, going where he was told and doing as he was told.

A man wearing a trench coat suddenly appeared, though he looked nothing like Ivan.  He flopped down on the bench in a huff before taking a newspaper from under his arm. Not unfolding it; he appeared for a moment to be reading from one column on the front page of the The Moskva News, the oldest English-language newspaper in the country.

Illya recalled practicing his English while reading it, yet he thought it was odd as one did not see anyone dare reading that paper in public.

Illya watched as the man lowered the paper to the bench and shove it towards him.

“Go to this address," hw whispered with a distinctly British accent. “The password is Moskovskiye Novosti.”

The man slowly rose and walked away, not looking back.

Kuryakin waited a few minutes before picking up the paper and opening it. Scribbled on bottom of the front page was an address. Leninsky Prospekt, building 2 apartment 3. 10:00 a.m.

He knew it well, as it was a large complex of sterile concrete buildings constructed through the Stalinist era.

The Stalinki apartment blocks provided housing for the elite Moskvich. Built from the end of the Thirties to the mid-Fifties; they were predominantly in the neo-classical style, and their principal characteristic was a sense of space and enormous size. Yet behind the grand facades lurked room partitions made from poor-grade materials that deteriorated over time, as well as the wooden overhangs between stories.

He entered the building lobby; hissing his discontent as he found the elevator was broken. Slowly he climbed the three flights of stairs, thankful he wasn’t to go to the top.

When he finally arrived at the floor, he headed to the apartment, looking right and then left before he knocked. No one was visible which made him feel less tense.

“Who is it?” A voice called out in Russian, although from the accent Illya knew the person wasn’t a native speaker.

“Moskovskiye Novosti.” Illya gave the Moskva News password.

The door opened a crack, and one blue eye peeked out at him.

“Well are you going to let me in or not?” Illya asked.

The door opened and there stood a small man down in the darkened hallway. The place was looking quite run down, and in need of a good cleaning and a coat of paint, some of the plaster was chipping from the ceiling.  So much for elite housing.

His contact, a balding fellow wearing thick glasses eyed him up and down.

“Well it’s nice to see you fellows cleaning up your act a bit. The suit is borrowed I will assume?”

“Sir I am not here to make small talk.”

“Ahh that’s more like it. Proving my point that you cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” he spoke in English

“What are you talking about?”Illya asked, switching to English as well.

“Oh it is like the Russian saying you cannot make something beautiful out of a material that is of poor quality.”

“Comrade I have no idea what you are talking about, now please our transaction?” Illya was becoming impatient.

“Fine, have it your way.”

The agent was led into a sitting room piled with books and papers.

“Would you care for a vodka? Sit, sit, it’s not often I have company.”

“Nyet. Please cease with the pleasantries. Why was I sent here?” Illya asked politely but firmly.

“Right down to business aren’t you young man.”

Receiving no response the man gave up trying to get some conversation out of his visitor.

“Very well.” He reached over to a table, picking up a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied off with a piece of twine.

“Take this to Comrade Colonel Bezukladnikov; he is expecting it.”

Illya tucked the package under his arm and turning, he quickly exited the apartment, listening to laughter coming from the sitting room.

He knew where the Colonel had his office hidden in Kitaigorod, the merchant quarter just off Red Square. People had no idea these undercover offices existed in the most innocuous of places.

Kuryakin entered through the plain wooden door with no markings on it and climbed another set of stairs to the top floor. He knocked on the door that had no number on it, nothing to indicate what it was.

“Enter,” a voice called out, seemingly unconcerned as to who it was.

Illya stepped inside and there sitting at a desk in a sparsely furnished room sat the Colonel. He was not dressed in uniform and looked up from a book without concern.

“Comrade Lieutenant Kuryakin, good to see you again...you have my package?”

“Da Comrade Colonel Bezukladnikov.” He stepped forward, setting it down on the desk and then stood at attention. He would never presume to make the men reach out and have it handed to him.

“You did not look inside the package?”

“Of course not sir; it is not my place to do so.”

Bezukladnikov let out a laugh. “Always by the book are you not?”

“Da Comrade Colonel.”

“Well, let me show you what you so skillfully retrieved for me.”

Bezukladnikov undid the twine, and pulled away the brown paper to reveal four cartons of what looked like cigarettes. The label said ‘Pall Mall.’

The Colonel opened one box, dumping a couple of red packets onto his desk.

“There is nothing like Amerikanskii cigarettes, would you not say Comrade?” Bezukladnikov eye him carefully.

“I would not know sir, as possession of such black market items is illegal.”

“Are you saying I am committing a crime Comrade Kuryakin?”

Realizing he’d just put his foot in his mouth; Illya tried not to show he instantly regretted saying that.

“Nyet, sir. I am merely pointing out that someone of my status would not be privy to such things.”

“That is better Comrade,” the Colonel laughed. “Rank does bring some privileges. Now here, take this as a reward for a job well done.” He offered a pack of cigarettes to Illya.

“No thank you sir. I do not smoke.”

The Colonel knew that was a lie, but let it go. “Very well Comrade, you are dismissed, and of course you know to say nothing of this to anyone.”

“Da Comrade Colonel,” Illya saluted and turning; he left.

Colonel Bezukladnikov opened one of the packs, tapping it until a cigarette slipped out. He took his lighter, the one with the enameled GRU emblem emblazoned upon and lit up.

Taking a long drag and exhaling slowly, he nodded his approval of the taste as well as the young agent who had just left.

“Despite what Directorate says, I think you will go far Comrade Kuryakin.”

Comments

[gevaudan1986.livejournal.com]

Was looking forward to reading this and it didn't disappoint! A nice look at a young IK!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you sooooo much! Glad you enjoyed it.