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section7mfulink to chapter 1:http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/73064.html
___________________________________________________
Illya Kuryakin walked down the ramp from the Aeroflot jet, stepping down to the tarmac of the Heathrow airport. He was already familiar with it from his time spent in England studying at Cambridge, and functioning as a spy for the Soviet Union.
He carried only a small suitcase as the few things he owed, clothing, books, record, and an old guitar, he had left in storage before his return to Moskva...he had hoped he was going to come back from the U.S.S.R. and would not end up in a prison or one of the gulags. So the disposition of his meager belongings were not high on his list of concerns while worrying about the possibility of internment in the Soviet prison system.
But now his return to Great Britain was due to life giving him an unexpected boon. He was now an agent in training for a foreign agency, though somehow he felt he had been offered up to them as a "sacrificial lamb" by his superiors at GRU. The man, Alexander Waverly had told him to prove it otherwise to them and that did give him some sense of hope in this total upheaval of his life.
He was no longer a Soviet agent. He was still a citizen, yet Russia was no longer his home. It was a thing of the past and he could never go back to there again, unless he wanted to die. Mother Russia would be very accommodating to bring death to him, just as she'd given him life.
His possessions had been moved from storage to a small flat that had been arranged for him. That matter having been settled with no effort on his part left him now only to consider the remaining after effects of his hangover from the night before. With the help of some aspirin tablets and copious amounts of water; the symptoms had all but disappeared and he swore that he would not let his feelings or vodka get the better of him again.
He thought about the flat that he would live in; having discovered that certain agents, specifically Sections II to be precise, were given such accommodations as they were in the field frequently enough that keeping up with rent and so forth became problematic. UNCLE solved that issue by becoming both employer and landlord.
U.N.C.L.E, apparently was also in the real-estate business, owning their own apartment buildings to house their select agents. But given his experience with Soviet intelligence; he wondered if they bugged their agent's abodes, keeping them under surveillance as had his previous employer.
He walked through the airport terminal, stopping at a newsstand to purchase a copy of the London Times. And then waited for his contact to arrive.
People came and went buying their magazines, papers and other sundries, but still no one approached him with the password.
Illya began to get a little nervous but he showed no outward sign of it. He spied a strangely dressed man across the terminal watching him from time to time and wondered if that was indeed his contact.
Finally a half hour later the man, attired in a fur coat and a ushanka hat, approached the counter purchasing a packet of cigarettes." Mumbling..."I remember when these cost one rupee."
Illya recognizing the code and responded. " But tomorrow they could cost a two francs."
"Welcome back to England Mr. Kuryakin," the man smiled at him. " I am Harry Beldon," he said, tipping his impressive hat to reveal a completely shaved head.
Illya nodded in acknowledgement to him; taking mental note that Beldon had an accent, perhaps Slavic he guessed."
"I have a car waiting, if you will please follow me?" Beldon said.
He led Kuryakin to a black sedan parked with a driver a the curbside in front of the terminal. The chauffeur stepped out, and tried to take his suitcase, but Illya refused to release it.
"Roit, suit yerself mate;" the driver mumbled, giving him a nasty look.
Illya joined his escort in the backseat of the car. The Russian was reserved and remained quiet sitting next to Beldon as the vehicle pulled away into the heavy airport traffic.
"Would you prefer to go to your flat to freshen up or to go directly to headquarters?" Beldon asked him.
"Headquarters please," He answered coldly. " I wish to begin my training immediately, sir."
Beldon laughed. "None of this "sir" stuff if you please... call me Harry."
He reached to the side door and opened a mini- bar, offering Illya a vodka."Uhod z napitok_ care for a drink?" Beldon asked him in Russian.
Illya felt his stomach tighten at the thought and declined the offer with a wave of his hand.
"Spacibo...nyet_thank you... no."
"Ah! To work already? All work and no play can make Illya a dull boy!” Beldon smiled at him with a wink."You will find young man, if you just let yourself consider the possibilities that life here in the west can be most comfortable...certainly more so than your life in Russian had ever been; you will be quite happy here.”
"Happiness is not a consideration,” Illya thought as he was coming to U.N.C.L.E. to do a job and was not in search of something so ethereal. He ignored Beldon's words but asked him a question instead.
"Why did you wait before contacting me at the terminal? I saw you standing watching me for some time."
"Very good Mr. Kuryakin. Observant...patient. Perhaps I was just standing back to watch you and nothing more?"
Illya suddenly asked, " You are Slavic are you not, yet Harry Beldon is not a Slavic name."
Beldon hesitated..."Most people cannot pick that up from my accent, also very good Mr. Kuryakin." he nodded."My real name is Henryk Beldonski. I was raised in Krakow and emigrated here with my parents as a young man."
Illya made note...too much personal information being offered. “And the man does not even know me. Are all these U.N.C.L.E. people this careless?" He wondered what he would truly be able to learn from this man.
He was taken to London headquarters and as he walked through it's simple grey halls, he was impressed by the sleek orderly appearance, not having a trace of the bourgeois trappings he had expected... that was until he was escorted into Harry Beldon's office, which seemed him to be the epitome of decadence!
The room was filled with antiques, Grecian statues, paintings and well as many over-sized plants and in front of the windows were draped heavy velvet curtain. It was a stark contrast to the simplicity Illya had seen upon entering headquarters. On top of everything, Beldon had a personal steam room adjoining his office and Illya was later sure that it was where one of the many women that seemed to grace Harry’s arms no doubt met him for their assignations.
“Would you care for a steam?” Harry asked.
Illya declined with a shake of his head and watched as Beldon disappeared behind the frosted glass steam room doors, leaving the Russian to sit and wait in one of the large red velvet chairs that adorned the office. Harry finally emerged, half naked and wrapped in a robe, threw himself onto a yellow divan, but not before grabbing a cut glass decanter and glass.
“You really must learn to relax. You are not in Russia any more.” Harry said, pouring a drink for himself.
Illya was simply amazed the man was able to function in the espionage arena as successfully as he was reputed to have been. He had done some research of his own on his new superior and found he had surprisingly, a successful reputation, but at the same time he was also known for his "eccentricities."
And so, in spite of the outrageous personality and tastes of Harry Beldon, Illya Kuryakin began to settle in to learning the ways of his new employer. He had been told by Alexander Waverly that he would not at present attend their field training session at a place called "Survival Island." That was to come later. And he was just to follow Beldon’s lead.
Illya learned to distinguish what was important and gleaned from Harry’s teachings what was useful. It became obvious to the Russian that Beldon had his own agenda, and he did not appreciate being caught up in it. Eventually Illya felt the man was simply using him as a means to an end.
That was three years ago and now Illya Kuryakin was being transferred to the New York headquarters. Once he completed his stint at Survival School, the last leg of his training; he would begin the next chapter in his new book of life that began the moment he became an agent of The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. What this new chapter held in store for him still remained to be seen...
___________________________________________________
Illya Kuryakin walked down the ramp from the Aeroflot jet, stepping down to the tarmac of the Heathrow airport. He was already familiar with it from his time spent in England studying at Cambridge, and functioning as a spy for the Soviet Union.
He carried only a small suitcase as the few things he owed, clothing, books, record, and an old guitar, he had left in storage before his return to Moskva...he had hoped he was going to come back from the U.S.S.R. and would not end up in a prison or one of the gulags. So the disposition of his meager belongings were not high on his list of concerns while worrying about the possibility of internment in the Soviet prison system.
But now his return to Great Britain was due to life giving him an unexpected boon. He was now an agent in training for a foreign agency, though somehow he felt he had been offered up to them as a "sacrificial lamb" by his superiors at GRU. The man, Alexander Waverly had told him to prove it otherwise to them and that did give him some sense of hope in this total upheaval of his life.
He was no longer a Soviet agent. He was still a citizen, yet Russia was no longer his home. It was a thing of the past and he could never go back to there again, unless he wanted to die. Mother Russia would be very accommodating to bring death to him, just as she'd given him life.
His possessions had been moved from storage to a small flat that had been arranged for him. That matter having been settled with no effort on his part left him now only to consider the remaining after effects of his hangover from the night before. With the help of some aspirin tablets and copious amounts of water; the symptoms had all but disappeared and he swore that he would not let his feelings or vodka get the better of him again.
He thought about the flat that he would live in; having discovered that certain agents, specifically Sections II to be precise, were given such accommodations as they were in the field frequently enough that keeping up with rent and so forth became problematic. UNCLE solved that issue by becoming both employer and landlord.
U.N.C.L.E, apparently was also in the real-estate business, owning their own apartment buildings to house their select agents. But given his experience with Soviet intelligence; he wondered if they bugged their agent's abodes, keeping them under surveillance as had his previous employer.
He walked through the airport terminal, stopping at a newsstand to purchase a copy of the London Times. And then waited for his contact to arrive.
People came and went buying their magazines, papers and other sundries, but still no one approached him with the password.
Illya began to get a little nervous but he showed no outward sign of it. He spied a strangely dressed man across the terminal watching him from time to time and wondered if that was indeed his contact.
Finally a half hour later the man, attired in a fur coat and a ushanka hat, approached the counter purchasing a packet of cigarettes." Mumbling..."I remember when these cost one rupee."
Illya recognizing the code and responded. " But tomorrow they could cost a two francs."
"Welcome back to England Mr. Kuryakin," the man smiled at him. " I am Harry Beldon," he said, tipping his impressive hat to reveal a completely shaved head.
Illya nodded in acknowledgement to him; taking mental note that Beldon had an accent, perhaps Slavic he guessed."
"I have a car waiting, if you will please follow me?" Beldon said.
He led Kuryakin to a black sedan parked with a driver a the curbside in front of the terminal. The chauffeur stepped out, and tried to take his suitcase, but Illya refused to release it.
"Roit, suit yerself mate;" the driver mumbled, giving him a nasty look.
Illya joined his escort in the backseat of the car. The Russian was reserved and remained quiet sitting next to Beldon as the vehicle pulled away into the heavy airport traffic.
"Would you prefer to go to your flat to freshen up or to go directly to headquarters?" Beldon asked him.
"Headquarters please," He answered coldly. " I wish to begin my training immediately, sir."
Beldon laughed. "None of this "sir" stuff if you please... call me Harry."
He reached to the side door and opened a mini- bar, offering Illya a vodka."Uhod z napitok_ care for a drink?" Beldon asked him in Russian.
Illya felt his stomach tighten at the thought and declined the offer with a wave of his hand.
"Spacibo...nyet_thank you... no."
"Ah! To work already? All work and no play can make Illya a dull boy!” Beldon smiled at him with a wink."You will find young man, if you just let yourself consider the possibilities that life here in the west can be most comfortable...certainly more so than your life in Russian had ever been; you will be quite happy here.”
"Happiness is not a consideration,” Illya thought as he was coming to U.N.C.L.E. to do a job and was not in search of something so ethereal. He ignored Beldon's words but asked him a question instead.
"Why did you wait before contacting me at the terminal? I saw you standing watching me for some time."
"Very good Mr. Kuryakin. Observant...patient. Perhaps I was just standing back to watch you and nothing more?"
Illya suddenly asked, " You are Slavic are you not, yet Harry Beldon is not a Slavic name."
Beldon hesitated..."Most people cannot pick that up from my accent, also very good Mr. Kuryakin." he nodded."My real name is Henryk Beldonski. I was raised in Krakow and emigrated here with my parents as a young man."
Illya made note...too much personal information being offered. “And the man does not even know me. Are all these U.N.C.L.E. people this careless?" He wondered what he would truly be able to learn from this man.
He was taken to London headquarters and as he walked through it's simple grey halls, he was impressed by the sleek orderly appearance, not having a trace of the bourgeois trappings he had expected... that was until he was escorted into Harry Beldon's office, which seemed him to be the epitome of decadence!
The room was filled with antiques, Grecian statues, paintings and well as many over-sized plants and in front of the windows were draped heavy velvet curtain. It was a stark contrast to the simplicity Illya had seen upon entering headquarters. On top of everything, Beldon had a personal steam room adjoining his office and Illya was later sure that it was where one of the many women that seemed to grace Harry’s arms no doubt met him for their assignations.
“Would you care for a steam?” Harry asked.
Illya declined with a shake of his head and watched as Beldon disappeared behind the frosted glass steam room doors, leaving the Russian to sit and wait in one of the large red velvet chairs that adorned the office. Harry finally emerged, half naked and wrapped in a robe, threw himself onto a yellow divan, but not before grabbing a cut glass decanter and glass.
“You really must learn to relax. You are not in Russia any more.” Harry said, pouring a drink for himself.
Illya was simply amazed the man was able to function in the espionage arena as successfully as he was reputed to have been. He had done some research of his own on his new superior and found he had surprisingly, a successful reputation, but at the same time he was also known for his "eccentricities."
And so, in spite of the outrageous personality and tastes of Harry Beldon, Illya Kuryakin began to settle in to learning the ways of his new employer. He had been told by Alexander Waverly that he would not at present attend their field training session at a place called "Survival Island." That was to come later. And he was just to follow Beldon’s lead.
Illya learned to distinguish what was important and gleaned from Harry’s teachings what was useful. It became obvious to the Russian that Beldon had his own agenda, and he did not appreciate being caught up in it. Eventually Illya felt the man was simply using him as a means to an end.
That was three years ago and now Illya Kuryakin was being transferred to the New York headquarters. Once he completed his stint at Survival School, the last leg of his training; he would begin the next chapter in his new book of life that began the moment he became an agent of The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. What this new chapter held in store for him still remained to be seen...
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Date: 2012-07-06 02:08 pm (UTC)