section7mfu | A Leaf Moves ~ chapter 1 (Reply)

Inspired by chapter 6 of my half drabbles series: “The Randomness of Life,” prompted by the poem,”Some Advice To Those Who Will Serve Time In Prison” by Nazim Hikmet. Spoiler Alert if you go back and read chapter 6...
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“You'll put your foot down and live. It may not be a pleasure exactly, but it's your solemn duty to live one more day to spite the enemy. Part of you may live alone inside, like a tone at the bottom of a well. But the other part must be so caught up in the flurry of the world that you shiver there inside when outside, at forty days' distance, a leaf moves.” ~ Nazim Hikmet.

Illya Kuryakin walked at a good pace down the darkened street in Belgrade; poorly lit as the street lamps were irregularly placed.

His assignment was nearing its end with having secured copies of documents from the office of the Director of the Secret Police, proving of a plan to cleanse Yugoslavia of its ethnic Serbian population.

Bojan Popović, his Montenegrin contact, helped him to gain access to the building, letting him know where the documents were kept. Though Popović’s language was a Serbo-Croatian dialect, he also spoke Slovak making for ease of communication between the two men as Illya was fluent in that language.

The country of Yugoslavia consisted of a number of languages and dialects due to the fact it was actually made up of the smaller countries of Bosnia, Herzegovnia, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Slovenia and that, Illya supposed, added to the tension between several factions, not everyone spoke the same language. Croats lived in Serbia, and vise versa along with Bosnians and others, and each of them had radical groups wanting all others out of their lands, citing the need for racial purity.

That reminded him of the Nazi policy, which of course, nearly destroyed so many innocents across Europe. It didn’t work for Hitler, so what made these new brands of ethnic purists think it would work for them. It was astonishing to the Russian how the human race consistently failed to learn by their history

In spite of being under the one flag of Soviet backed Yugoslavia, the diverse backgrounds of its people made for tension between the different ethnic groups, so much so that some wished to eradicate others, in a sort of hate-driven ethnic cleansing. There was constant fighting and killing going among certain groups over nothing but their background and where they lived.

For that very reason, Illya wanted to get in and out quickly. The last thing he needed was to get caught in the crossfire of some ethnic feud.

“Buďte opatrní,” Popović, told him. “keď sa dostanete do bočných dverí ako je sledovanie kamery tam.” Pohybuje sa pomaly a vracia každých pätnásť sekúnd. Budete musieť otvoriť zámok rýchlo. Akonáhle ste vo vnútri sa do chodby vpravo, na riaditeľa úradu._be careful when you get to the side door as there is a surveillance camera there. It moves slowly and turns back every fifteen seconds. You will need to open the lock quickly. Once you are inside take the corridor to the right, to the Director’s office. There you will find what you need in a safe behind Marshal Tito's portrait."

The operation went off without a hitch as Illya got inside easily, cracked the combination on the simple safe using a stethoscope, photographed what documents he needed, tucked everything back into place and exited the office within minutes. It went surprisingly well, perhaps too well, as he did not encounter any sort of guards or security measures.

But no matter, he was out of the building now, heading back to his hotel; soon he would be boarding a train and getting out of the country, heading to Austria, where Napoleon was waiting for him.

Illya walked quickly down the main street Knez Minailova, as it had begun to rain,but a few minutes later he heard footsteps dogging him from behind, and casually looked back to see a man dressed in a dark trench coat and hat following him. The hairs went up on the back of his neck; from the looks of him, he was UBDA , Uprava državne bezbednosti Uprava državne sigurnosti... a member of the State Security service who was following him.

Illya quickened his pace, finding his shadow doing the same and suddenly out of the darkness another similarly dressed man stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Illya spun on his heels, crossing the street and dodging a few cars that hit their horns in protest. A third man appeared, and now the Russian quickened his pace to a trot, turning around the next corner which he immediately regretted, as it was an alley with only one way and that was in.

The men were joined by several others, and silently they appeared behind him, lining up across the opening to the alley, blocking his only way out. One by one he could hear the sound of their pistols being cocked. “Click, click, click...”

Illya pushed his way back into the darkened alley, hoping to find some side door, but there were none. He tossed the mini camera into a pile of trash, hoping they wouldn’t find it, and the last thing he did before raising his hands in surrender was to activate the homing beacon and distress signal in his communicator pen.

He gave them no resistance as they cuffed his hands behind his back, holding onto him as they lowered their prisoner into the backseat of a dark sedan that appeared on the street in front of the opening to the alley.

Two of the men sat on either side of Illya, dwarfing him as he glanced up at them in silence.

“Chto vy ishchete u vas malo korotyshka_what are you looking at, you little runt.” One of them said to him, speaking Russian.

“Nichego osobennogo , po-vidimomu_nothing much, apparently.” There was no reaction as his little insult seemed to go over their heads. He suddenly wondered how they knew he was Russian?

The passenger in the front of the car turned back to him. “You think you are so smart, you Soviets...trying to steal our secrets.” He held up his hand, displaying the mini camera that Illya had tossed.

“Chyort.” Illya swore under his breath.