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section7mfuLink to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/69953.html
____________________________________________________
Illya arrived at Katiya Revchenkov's apartment not far from the Champs-Elysées. He felt uneasy, realizing that killing Ivanovich truly bothered him, and that was very unsettling.
His service in the Navy aboard the submarine "Moskva" had prepared him for dealing with many unpleasant things and people, his intelligence training taught him stealth, how to lie cheat and steal, how to survive and to kill even with his bare hands. But none of this helped to prepare him how to deal with the emotions felt after taking the life of another human being.
Such a thing was dismissed by those around him and never given consideration; now he wished sorely that it had been.
He was feeling guilt and he didn't like it. As an operative for Soviet military intelligence he was supposed to be hardened against such things. Now he discovered he was not, yet he realized he still had it within him to kill and do it easily. Maybe his fellow agents were lying about not feeling anything, maybe they too felt the pain and remorse of guilt. That made sense, lying after all was taught to be second a nature to them.
These feelings were something he knew enough not to share with anyone; if it became known that he had them, it could cause a great deal of trouble. He had enough concerns about it being discovered that he was sleeping with Katiya.
She was a few years older than he and an exotic beauty, half Kazak with dark skin, long black silky hair and almond shaped brown eyes that a man could get lost in. She was experienced in many things but she was especially gifted in matters of the flesh.
She eventually seduced him though he let her do it, even though he knew it was risky having your handler as your lover. Illya knew that she could betray him at any time, but once he was in bed with her, his fears were lost in her embrace.
When he first arrived at the Sorbonne to begin his studies, he was given the task of spying on other Soviet students and professors. He watched their movements, who they studied with, who they made friends with, made note of all their activities, suspicious or not. He received his instructions weekly at "dead drops" located at the university, and delivered his reports there in the same manner.
Finally one day there was a knock at his door. A woman's voice spoke the proper password he and gave her entry.
"Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, so you are novobranets_the rookie they sent me," she said eyeing him suspiciously.
"Since you know who I am Comrade; you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, and you are...? He asked cautiously.
"I am Katiya Revchenkov, your handler," she answered sharply. She strutted around him with her hands clasped behind her back, looking him up and down. "You are too young...how could you be attending Sorbonne?”
Illya straightened himself standing to his full height, but the woman was still taller than he. "I am 18 years old Comrade Revchenkov" and I have been told that I am of exceptional intelligence. My sponsor Captain Karkoff of the Directorate requested I be sent here to continue my education as well as to gain experience as an operative."
"Ah, yes Viktor Karkoff," she smiled, "You have a guardian with a reputation. So you are the protégeé," she then mused. "Be sure you do not disappoint him; he does not take kindly to that. So do you have anything to eat or drink in this place?" She suddenly changed the subject looking around at his shabby room. She had already made mental note how thin he was and suspected that he had nothing to offer her.
"A bit of vodka," he apologized."But nothing more. My monthly stipend ran out a few days ago."
"What have you done for food?"
"I have not eaten much. My landlady was kind enough to give me some bouillon yesterday, but her kindness is extended only as long as the rent is paid," he shrugged. "That, I am afraid sometimes comes before food."
"You are too skinny, that will not due," she pronounced. "You won't be of much use to me if you get sick or starve to death. Come, Illya Nickovich we go get something for you to eat, da?”
Illya relaxed just a little. "Spasibo tovarishchu Revchenkov."
She placed her palm against Illya's chest and felt his heart race. "Do not call me Comrade," she whispered." Her breath smelled of cinnamon to him.
"You call me Katiya, I am student such as yourself. If questioned about our meetings; we are simply studying and nothing more. Is this understood?"
"Yes, Com..Katiya." He corrected himself with a nod of his head.
She took Illya to a boulangerie, purchasing several baguettes of bread, then stopped at another shop for fresh fruit, cheese, tea, the makings of porridge and lastly a bottle of white wine.
"That should tide you over until your money arrives," she smiled at him."So tell me Illya Nickovich, where are you from?" She then asked as they strolled along the river munching on a piece of the crusty bread.
"I am from Novgorad," he lied to her.
"Ah good, you are not quick to tell the truth. This is good that you do not feel lulled into a false sense of security even with me, eh?"
Illya simply nodded to her.
"And where is your family?" She continued probing, knowing full well his personal background.
"My mother works in a factory at home in Novgorod, my father is dead."He answered matter of factly, but understood that she knew it was another lie.
"Good. Always keep your cover story simple, you will have less facts to keep straight. Never offer information that is not asked of you and remember, the less people know about you, the longer you will live."
.
This was how the two often spent their meetings together, he giving his reports, she giving him advice on the finer points of being a spy. Many of which he had not been taught during his training back in the Soviet Union. These were things one learned through experience, or from a mentor such as Katiya.
It was late in the spring when they found themselves sitting on a bench in Le Bois de Boulogne, discussing his latest report. The park was filled with with rowers, joggers, strollers, bicyclists, people playing games of pétanque, picknic-ers and of course, lovers.
It was there under the warmth of the afternoon sun, beneath the lush greenery that Katiya Revchenkov suddenly leaned over and without warning kissed him on the lips. It was long... passionate and Illya didn't hesitate to respond, sensing that she had known of his growing attraction to her. They went to her apartment and made love for the rest of the afternoon and into the night.
.
And now Illya returned to his Katiya with the bloody finger of Ivan Ivanovich. He let himself into her apartment with his key, laying the handkerchief on the window sill like a cat presenting the prized mouse he had just caught. She ignored it and continued to look out the window.
"It is done." he said coldly.
"Ochen' horosho_very good," she answered. "I knew you could do this." She turned wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.
One by one she proceeded to undo his buttons, pulling his shirt down in such way that he could not move his arms. She ran her tongue across the skin of his chest, then kissed it tenderly, then bit playfully. Illya moaned, rolling his eyes and she lead him to her bed.
The next morning he found himself alone, a note written in Cyrillic left on the pillow beside him.
"Встретимся в полдень на 34 Рю де ля Конкорд. Позвольте себе дюйм ... доверять никому_meet me at noon at 34 Rue de le Concorde. Let yourself in...trust no one."
Illya bathed, dressed, and left to meet Katiya, tucking his pistol securely under his belt, hidden beneath his shirt.
When he reached the address at the designated time, he did as instructed and let himself in. But looking at the lock on the door as he entered; he noticed it had been tampered with. He walked inside cautiously looking for her, but there was no sign of Katiya anywhere.
Something was wrong...the rooms seemed disheveled as if they had been ransacked.
Illya quickly decided that this was not a good place for him to be and headed back towards the front door. But it was too late. Just as he reached it, the door opened and he came face to face with a Gendarme holding a pistol aimed directly at him.
"Arrétez-vous monsieur!_Stop where you are sir!" The constable ordered."Mettez vos mains sur votre téte s'il vous plait_put your hands on your head, please? Then he asked politely," Excuse me Monsieur, but do you have a weapon?"
Illya almost laughed aloud at the Frenchman's manners. "Oui, sous ma chemise. Agent, il ya euune erreur. Je peux vous explique_yes, beneath my shirt. Officer, there has been some mistake. I can explain."
"Non Monsieur, no mistake." The Gendarme answered as he relieved Illya of his Tokarov. "We received a report of a man fitting your description breaking into this, the East German Ambassador's residence. So please if you will permit me Monsieur?" The Gendarme held out a pair of handcuffs.
"Der'mo!” Illya cursed in Russian. Katiya had set him up, but for the life of him he could not understand why?
The blond agen slowly lowered his hands in front of him, allowing the handcuffs to be put around his wrists, and he led outside into a waiting police van.
He was permitted to make several telephone calls once he arrived at the police station, and after quite a bit of maneuvering on the part of Viktor Karkoff and the Russian Ambassador, Illya's release was secured. He was ordered to leave France immediately. Luckily his Masters studies had been completed, and he half-expected to be transferred anyway, but just not under such circumstance as this.
Twenty four hours later he arrived at Heathrow Airport in Great Britain, having been given his new assignment. He would now attend Cambridge University to earn a doctorate in Quatum Mechanics and was instructed to spy on the scientists that he would be working with, much to his relief.
It was not the assignment he expected, and thought he would have received something more harsh as punishment for nearly causing an international incident.
Word eventually reached him that Viktor Karkoff had been demoted due in part to his "former" protegée's foolish mistake. Illya wondered what, if any retribution would some day come his way from Viktor? Caution and practicality would govern his life more than ever now.
He never heard from Katiya again. And was happy that he had not, as he was angry at her betrayal. He had blinded himself to the fact that he always knew it could happen, but never really believed it would.
Better to stay away from women he decided; lesson learned. Katiya words rang so true... trust no one.
And so Illya buried himself in his work, making his reports, sending detailed information about any interesting finds made by his fellow scientists. Two years passed quickly and when his studies were complete; he was granted his Doctorate.
Illya Kuryakin expected another transfer, but what was presented to him in the spring was something he could never have anticipated.
____________________________________________________
Illya arrived at Katiya Revchenkov's apartment not far from the Champs-Elysées. He felt uneasy, realizing that killing Ivanovich truly bothered him, and that was very unsettling.
His service in the Navy aboard the submarine "Moskva" had prepared him for dealing with many unpleasant things and people, his intelligence training taught him stealth, how to lie cheat and steal, how to survive and to kill even with his bare hands. But none of this helped to prepare him how to deal with the emotions felt after taking the life of another human being.
Such a thing was dismissed by those around him and never given consideration; now he wished sorely that it had been.
He was feeling guilt and he didn't like it. As an operative for Soviet military intelligence he was supposed to be hardened against such things. Now he discovered he was not, yet he realized he still had it within him to kill and do it easily. Maybe his fellow agents were lying about not feeling anything, maybe they too felt the pain and remorse of guilt. That made sense, lying after all was taught to be second a nature to them.
These feelings were something he knew enough not to share with anyone; if it became known that he had them, it could cause a great deal of trouble. He had enough concerns about it being discovered that he was sleeping with Katiya.
She was a few years older than he and an exotic beauty, half Kazak with dark skin, long black silky hair and almond shaped brown eyes that a man could get lost in. She was experienced in many things but she was especially gifted in matters of the flesh.
She eventually seduced him though he let her do it, even though he knew it was risky having your handler as your lover. Illya knew that she could betray him at any time, but once he was in bed with her, his fears were lost in her embrace.
When he first arrived at the Sorbonne to begin his studies, he was given the task of spying on other Soviet students and professors. He watched their movements, who they studied with, who they made friends with, made note of all their activities, suspicious or not. He received his instructions weekly at "dead drops" located at the university, and delivered his reports there in the same manner.
Finally one day there was a knock at his door. A woman's voice spoke the proper password he and gave her entry.
"Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, so you are novobranets_the rookie they sent me," she said eyeing him suspiciously.
"Since you know who I am Comrade; you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, and you are...? He asked cautiously.
"I am Katiya Revchenkov, your handler," she answered sharply. She strutted around him with her hands clasped behind her back, looking him up and down. "You are too young...how could you be attending Sorbonne?”
Illya straightened himself standing to his full height, but the woman was still taller than he. "I am 18 years old Comrade Revchenkov" and I have been told that I am of exceptional intelligence. My sponsor Captain Karkoff of the Directorate requested I be sent here to continue my education as well as to gain experience as an operative."
"Ah, yes Viktor Karkoff," she smiled, "You have a guardian with a reputation. So you are the protégeé," she then mused. "Be sure you do not disappoint him; he does not take kindly to that. So do you have anything to eat or drink in this place?" She suddenly changed the subject looking around at his shabby room. She had already made mental note how thin he was and suspected that he had nothing to offer her.
"A bit of vodka," he apologized."But nothing more. My monthly stipend ran out a few days ago."
"What have you done for food?"
"I have not eaten much. My landlady was kind enough to give me some bouillon yesterday, but her kindness is extended only as long as the rent is paid," he shrugged. "That, I am afraid sometimes comes before food."
"You are too skinny, that will not due," she pronounced. "You won't be of much use to me if you get sick or starve to death. Come, Illya Nickovich we go get something for you to eat, da?”
Illya relaxed just a little. "Spasibo tovarishchu Revchenkov."
She placed her palm against Illya's chest and felt his heart race. "Do not call me Comrade," she whispered." Her breath smelled of cinnamon to him.
"You call me Katiya, I am student such as yourself. If questioned about our meetings; we are simply studying and nothing more. Is this understood?"
"Yes, Com..Katiya." He corrected himself with a nod of his head.
She took Illya to a boulangerie, purchasing several baguettes of bread, then stopped at another shop for fresh fruit, cheese, tea, the makings of porridge and lastly a bottle of white wine.
"That should tide you over until your money arrives," she smiled at him."So tell me Illya Nickovich, where are you from?" She then asked as they strolled along the river munching on a piece of the crusty bread.
"I am from Novgorad," he lied to her.
"Ah good, you are not quick to tell the truth. This is good that you do not feel lulled into a false sense of security even with me, eh?"
Illya simply nodded to her.
"And where is your family?" She continued probing, knowing full well his personal background.
"My mother works in a factory at home in Novgorod, my father is dead."He answered matter of factly, but understood that she knew it was another lie.
"Good. Always keep your cover story simple, you will have less facts to keep straight. Never offer information that is not asked of you and remember, the less people know about you, the longer you will live."
.
This was how the two often spent their meetings together, he giving his reports, she giving him advice on the finer points of being a spy. Many of which he had not been taught during his training back in the Soviet Union. These were things one learned through experience, or from a mentor such as Katiya.
It was late in the spring when they found themselves sitting on a bench in Le Bois de Boulogne, discussing his latest report. The park was filled with with rowers, joggers, strollers, bicyclists, people playing games of pétanque, picknic-ers and of course, lovers.
It was there under the warmth of the afternoon sun, beneath the lush greenery that Katiya Revchenkov suddenly leaned over and without warning kissed him on the lips. It was long... passionate and Illya didn't hesitate to respond, sensing that she had known of his growing attraction to her. They went to her apartment and made love for the rest of the afternoon and into the night.
.
And now Illya returned to his Katiya with the bloody finger of Ivan Ivanovich. He let himself into her apartment with his key, laying the handkerchief on the window sill like a cat presenting the prized mouse he had just caught. She ignored it and continued to look out the window.
"It is done." he said coldly.
"Ochen' horosho_very good," she answered. "I knew you could do this." She turned wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.
One by one she proceeded to undo his buttons, pulling his shirt down in such way that he could not move his arms. She ran her tongue across the skin of his chest, then kissed it tenderly, then bit playfully. Illya moaned, rolling his eyes and she lead him to her bed.
The next morning he found himself alone, a note written in Cyrillic left on the pillow beside him.
"Встретимся в полдень на 34 Рю де ля Конкорд. Позвольте себе дюйм ... доверять никому_meet me at noon at 34 Rue de le Concorde. Let yourself in...trust no one."
Illya bathed, dressed, and left to meet Katiya, tucking his pistol securely under his belt, hidden beneath his shirt.
When he reached the address at the designated time, he did as instructed and let himself in. But looking at the lock on the door as he entered; he noticed it had been tampered with. He walked inside cautiously looking for her, but there was no sign of Katiya anywhere.
Something was wrong...the rooms seemed disheveled as if they had been ransacked.
Illya quickly decided that this was not a good place for him to be and headed back towards the front door. But it was too late. Just as he reached it, the door opened and he came face to face with a Gendarme holding a pistol aimed directly at him.
"Arrétez-vous monsieur!_Stop where you are sir!" The constable ordered."Mettez vos mains sur votre téte s'il vous plait_put your hands on your head, please? Then he asked politely," Excuse me Monsieur, but do you have a weapon?"
Illya almost laughed aloud at the Frenchman's manners. "Oui, sous ma chemise. Agent, il ya euune erreur. Je peux vous explique_yes, beneath my shirt. Officer, there has been some mistake. I can explain."
"Non Monsieur, no mistake." The Gendarme answered as he relieved Illya of his Tokarov. "We received a report of a man fitting your description breaking into this, the East German Ambassador's residence. So please if you will permit me Monsieur?" The Gendarme held out a pair of handcuffs.
"Der'mo!” Illya cursed in Russian. Katiya had set him up, but for the life of him he could not understand why?
The blond agen slowly lowered his hands in front of him, allowing the handcuffs to be put around his wrists, and he led outside into a waiting police van.
He was permitted to make several telephone calls once he arrived at the police station, and after quite a bit of maneuvering on the part of Viktor Karkoff and the Russian Ambassador, Illya's release was secured. He was ordered to leave France immediately. Luckily his Masters studies had been completed, and he half-expected to be transferred anyway, but just not under such circumstance as this.
Twenty four hours later he arrived at Heathrow Airport in Great Britain, having been given his new assignment. He would now attend Cambridge University to earn a doctorate in Quatum Mechanics and was instructed to spy on the scientists that he would be working with, much to his relief.
It was not the assignment he expected, and thought he would have received something more harsh as punishment for nearly causing an international incident.
Word eventually reached him that Viktor Karkoff had been demoted due in part to his "former" protegée's foolish mistake. Illya wondered what, if any retribution would some day come his way from Viktor? Caution and practicality would govern his life more than ever now.
He never heard from Katiya again. And was happy that he had not, as he was angry at her betrayal. He had blinded himself to the fact that he always knew it could happen, but never really believed it would.
Better to stay away from women he decided; lesson learned. Katiya words rang so true... trust no one.
And so Illya buried himself in his work, making his reports, sending detailed information about any interesting finds made by his fellow scientists. Two years passed quickly and when his studies were complete; he was granted his Doctorate.
Illya Kuryakin expected another transfer, but what was presented to him in the spring was something he could never have anticipated.
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Date: 2012-06-30 10:48 pm (UTC)I look forward to part three! :)
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Date: 2012-06-30 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-30 10:52 pm (UTC)