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section7mfuPower corrupts
Short Affair challenge 16 October (Bend. Lilac).
Early days 5: Illya stands up to his chief
Berlin November 1957
Illya’s office was on the same corridor as his chief’s, whose almost-invariably open door meant that comings and goings and the booming voice were difficult to ignore. After a time, he got used to it and could cut himself off, even from that.
Harry Beldon was the most flamboyant and gregarious man he had ever met: always surrounded by beautiful young women. Girls were fair game, a perk of Beldon’s job. With his influence, and on his terms, he offered the opportunity of a decent life here for anyone willing to take it.
So, sometimes, it wasn’t noise but an unusual silence and the closing of Beldon’s door that disturbed Illya’s concentration. He had been walking past once when this happened, and had seen a young woman in the room before the door closed.
At the time, he had felt slightly envious. When his chief brought in fawning young women, or even young men, he could only try to ignore it. His present role brought him no girls and gave him no power or influence – of course, his nationality was a further hindrance – despite his good looks and appeal (of which he was largely unaware, in the circumstances).
The day came, however, when he was brought to see that using the perks of such power and influence, far from being a harmless pastime, might have not only a corrupting effect but also a victim.
*****************
Picking up the completed file from his desk, he went to the door, intending to discuss it personally with its recipient. As he stepped into the corridor, a young woman passed, almost running. She tripped trying to avoid him, and Illya was just in time to catch her before she fell.
“Let me go!” she gasped, trying to pull free.
“I’m sorry – are you all right?” he asked.
“Let me go…” she repeated, and he saw that she was dishevelled and crying.
“Come and sit down. Come and compose yourself. What’s happened?”
She looked up at him, saw only innocent blue eyes and concern, and helplessly allowed herself to be assisted to a chair in his room.
She couldn’t speak, just wept uncontrollably and pushed him away when he attempted a soothing pat.
“Stay there, I’ll get you a glass of water,” and he crossed the corridor to the little kitchen.
Her teeth chattered on the glass, but she drank some of the water and stopped crying. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.
“I can’t,” she said, “I can’t, it’s too awful.”
“I don’t shock easily. Tell me anyway. Perhaps I can help.”
It took some time to understand it through her tears, but he gathered that she had come, expecting to be interviewed for a job, and had been ushered into Harry Beldon’s office, only to be subjected to what she said were unspeakable suggestions and advances. She refused to elaborate, and cried harder when he asked.
After she had calmed down a little, she tidied herself, and he escorted her out of the building. She shook his hand reluctantly before going on her way – only slightly reassured by his insistence that none of it was her fault.
Then he marched back in and went to Beldon’s office.
It was quite a row – others heard the angry booming voice, though not the quiet replies – and then the outraged Beldon ordered him out and slammed the door. Illya returned to his office and went back to what he had been doing, and wondered if he would still have a job in the morning.
However, that seemed to be the end of it. The next day, and for some time, everything went on as if nothing had happened – the comings and goings, the booming voice, the ebullience, the unreasonable demands.
*****************
“Ilya Nikolaevitch!”
Harry’s bellow sounded down the corridor. Illya put down his pen, pushed his chair back, rose, and walked along to his chief’s office.
“Sir?”
“Come in and sit down. Bad news.”
Illya sat down and waited. Beldon gave him a slightly malicious look from under his eyebrows.
“The posting to London – it came through.” Illya maintained his expression of slightly interrogative indifference. It invariably annoyed Beldon, who wanted reactions to his dramatic disclosures. “But it’s changed,” he continued with a flourish. “No lilac blossom in the spring for you.”
Still no reaction.
“Don’t you want to know where you’re posted?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he said politely.
“Bah,” he growled. “It’s the comrades…” Beldon at last saw alarm flicker in Illya’s eyes and struck home. “You’re recalled.”
“Murmansk?” Illya asked, a little desperately.
“Moscow. Something to do with Sputnik, I expect.”
This provoked a cry, despite himself, of, “But I know nothing about the space programme!”
“Tell Mr Khrushchev, dear boy. Perhaps they’re planning to send up a cat or something, next time.”
******************
Of course, it was nothing whatever to do with the space programme. Arriving in Moscow, after an interminable train journey, Illya was fully debriefed and then sent to Murmansk – yet another lengthy train journey – back to the submarine base to resume his naval duties. He was given no idea how long for, nor whether he would be allowed back to the West. Whether this was Beldon’s revenge, or just a Khrushchev tantrum, either way it was unlikely that Khrushchev would bend to any request, let alone respond to any appeal in the immediate future.
Promoted to senior lieutenant, Illya was kept busy and his mind, if not his heart, engaged. It was a tense time and keeping his men trained and prepared for active service formed his main occupation.
A six-month tour of duty was followed by a month’s shore-leave, at the end of which he was called to the Commanding Officers’ headquarters. Khrushchev’s tantrum had passed, and he had agreed to accede to a long-standing request from UNCLE for a temporary return of this Soviet representative to their organisation.
Short Affair challenge 16 October (Bend. Lilac).
Early days 5: Illya stands up to his chief
Berlin November 1957
Illya’s office was on the same corridor as his chief’s, whose almost-invariably open door meant that comings and goings and the booming voice were difficult to ignore. After a time, he got used to it and could cut himself off, even from that.
Harry Beldon was the most flamboyant and gregarious man he had ever met: always surrounded by beautiful young women. Girls were fair game, a perk of Beldon’s job. With his influence, and on his terms, he offered the opportunity of a decent life here for anyone willing to take it.
So, sometimes, it wasn’t noise but an unusual silence and the closing of Beldon’s door that disturbed Illya’s concentration. He had been walking past once when this happened, and had seen a young woman in the room before the door closed.
At the time, he had felt slightly envious. When his chief brought in fawning young women, or even young men, he could only try to ignore it. His present role brought him no girls and gave him no power or influence – of course, his nationality was a further hindrance – despite his good looks and appeal (of which he was largely unaware, in the circumstances).
The day came, however, when he was brought to see that using the perks of such power and influence, far from being a harmless pastime, might have not only a corrupting effect but also a victim.
*****************
Picking up the completed file from his desk, he went to the door, intending to discuss it personally with its recipient. As he stepped into the corridor, a young woman passed, almost running. She tripped trying to avoid him, and Illya was just in time to catch her before she fell.
“Let me go!” she gasped, trying to pull free.
“I’m sorry – are you all right?” he asked.
“Let me go…” she repeated, and he saw that she was dishevelled and crying.
“Come and sit down. Come and compose yourself. What’s happened?”
She looked up at him, saw only innocent blue eyes and concern, and helplessly allowed herself to be assisted to a chair in his room.
She couldn’t speak, just wept uncontrollably and pushed him away when he attempted a soothing pat.
“Stay there, I’ll get you a glass of water,” and he crossed the corridor to the little kitchen.
Her teeth chattered on the glass, but she drank some of the water and stopped crying. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.
“I can’t,” she said, “I can’t, it’s too awful.”
“I don’t shock easily. Tell me anyway. Perhaps I can help.”
It took some time to understand it through her tears, but he gathered that she had come, expecting to be interviewed for a job, and had been ushered into Harry Beldon’s office, only to be subjected to what she said were unspeakable suggestions and advances. She refused to elaborate, and cried harder when he asked.
After she had calmed down a little, she tidied herself, and he escorted her out of the building. She shook his hand reluctantly before going on her way – only slightly reassured by his insistence that none of it was her fault.
Then he marched back in and went to Beldon’s office.
It was quite a row – others heard the angry booming voice, though not the quiet replies – and then the outraged Beldon ordered him out and slammed the door. Illya returned to his office and went back to what he had been doing, and wondered if he would still have a job in the morning.
However, that seemed to be the end of it. The next day, and for some time, everything went on as if nothing had happened – the comings and goings, the booming voice, the ebullience, the unreasonable demands.
*****************
“Ilya Nikolaevitch!”
Harry’s bellow sounded down the corridor. Illya put down his pen, pushed his chair back, rose, and walked along to his chief’s office.
“Sir?”
“Come in and sit down. Bad news.”
Illya sat down and waited. Beldon gave him a slightly malicious look from under his eyebrows.
“The posting to London – it came through.” Illya maintained his expression of slightly interrogative indifference. It invariably annoyed Beldon, who wanted reactions to his dramatic disclosures. “But it’s changed,” he continued with a flourish. “No lilac blossom in the spring for you.”
Still no reaction.
“Don’t you want to know where you’re posted?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he said politely.
“Bah,” he growled. “It’s the comrades…” Beldon at last saw alarm flicker in Illya’s eyes and struck home. “You’re recalled.”
“Murmansk?” Illya asked, a little desperately.
“Moscow. Something to do with Sputnik, I expect.”
This provoked a cry, despite himself, of, “But I know nothing about the space programme!”
“Tell Mr Khrushchev, dear boy. Perhaps they’re planning to send up a cat or something, next time.”
******************
Of course, it was nothing whatever to do with the space programme. Arriving in Moscow, after an interminable train journey, Illya was fully debriefed and then sent to Murmansk – yet another lengthy train journey – back to the submarine base to resume his naval duties. He was given no idea how long for, nor whether he would be allowed back to the West. Whether this was Beldon’s revenge, or just a Khrushchev tantrum, either way it was unlikely that Khrushchev would bend to any request, let alone respond to any appeal in the immediate future.
Promoted to senior lieutenant, Illya was kept busy and his mind, if not his heart, engaged. It was a tense time and keeping his men trained and prepared for active service formed his main occupation.
A six-month tour of duty was followed by a month’s shore-leave, at the end of which he was called to the Commanding Officers’ headquarters. Khrushchev’s tantrum had passed, and he had agreed to accede to a long-standing request from UNCLE for a temporary return of this Soviet representative to their organisation.
================================
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Date: 2017-10-16 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-10-17 07:14 am (UTC)The original episode in which Harry Beldon appears seemed to me to be making the same point, without actually saying so. Instead, by making him repulsive, it showed how grotesque power is used to exploit the weak. UNCLE was quite interesting in that respect - subtly subversive sometimes. Also absurdly non-PC at other times, but that's another matter.
Thanks for the encouragement - I'm still working on this series on Illya's early days, hope you continue to enjoy it.