Collection 4 - Kolya's Son

by LRH Balzer

  "Oh." Norm stirred the gravy vigorously, humming to himself. Then slowly his hand stopped moving. The tune froze in his throat. "He's WHAT?"

  *****

  Illya slipped into his regular seat at dinner, without being summoned. It was his first time eating with the family since his illness, and while he said little, he seemed to take comfort in the new familiarity of the proceedings and surprised them with his appetite.

  He also took special care to pass food to Misha, even offering him his chocolate pudding.

  When Trish left for her meeting, he rose, without being asked, to help Tanya clear the table, awkwardly carrying plates and leftover food to the kitchen, putting himself quietly under the girl's willing supervision and tutelage. Standing at the sink full of soapy water, wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron, he washed the dishes and pots and pans, a new experience for him, scrubbing each with a determined frown before rinsing it and placing it on the draining rack. Tanya darted around the kitchen, taking great delight in her new position as slave-driver, and talking non-stop. With Tanya, one did not have to actively take part in her conversations to be considered a participant.

  Norm took Misha upstairs and put him to bed, and when he went down to the family room to read the newspaper, Tanya was explaining to Illya who the different characters were on the television show she was watching.

  He fell asleep during the show, curled at one end of the couch. Norm silently covered him with the afghan and went back to his newspaper, glancing over at him now and again as he tried to figure out what this meant.

  Spies do not fall asleep in enemy territory.

  8

  Thursday, June 29

  Summer had come to Washington with a vengeance, the 90+ degree temperatures and similar humidity levels had driven the kids out to the pool where they seemed noisily engaged in trying to drown each other. Home from work by noon, Norm loosened his tie before he was halfway through the door, came into the kitchen where Trish was making a salad for her lunch, and looked down at the courtyard below where Tanya and some of her friends were trying to displace most of the pool's water. "I'm glad they're having fun," he said dourly.

  "Bad day, darling?"

  "I can't understand how the forefathers of this great nation could be so stupid as to put the nation's capital here. The Tidal Basin is a fetid humid swamp."

  "The air conditioning is on."

  "We need a refrigeration unit to deal with this heat, not air conditioning." Norm mopped his forehead. "How can they jump around like that? It's like a sauna out there."

  "They are young."

  "They are crazy. Absolute lunatics. I think the sun has fried their brains. I think we should lock all the doors while we still have a chance. Once those banshees get in here, it'll all be over."

  "At four o'clock, Karen's mother is coming to get them and the whole lot are going to the Mitchell's place until tomorrow. Even Tony won't be back until tomorrow night; he's off canoeing with some friends. We can make sure Misha has a long nap and isn't grumpy at dinner. It'll be nice having it a little quieter for Alexander. Is that why you're home so early?"

  "The air conditioning, if you want to call it that, broke down in my office. Since I have to work this weekend anyway, I exercised my seniority and decided to come home. My calls will be transferred here. There's a few things I want to go over before I talk with Alexander, anyway. My esteemed boss won't be here until after seven... There's no sense in telling Illya ahead of time, he'll only fret and worry while he's waiting."

  "I haven't said anything to him about it."

  "How's he feeling today?"

  "He slept late, but ate a good breakfast. For someone who was so sick on Sunday night and Monday, he bounced back quickly. Still walking on eggshells, but I've been trying to coax him out of his room more. They've already had lunch and he's watching Misha for me downstairs."

  "He is, is he? Well, I'm going to spy on him," Norm said, wiggling his eyebrows.

  "Norman!"

  "You knew I was a spy when you married me, hon." Norm slipped down the side stairs and paused at the bottom, out of direct sight, curious to see how the young man behaved when he thought himself unobserved.

  Illya was stretched out on his stomach on the rec room floor, chin propped on his hands, his nose, as usual, in a book.

  Bored with his trucks and tanks, Michael came over to the young Russian and plopped down beside him. "Whatcha doin', Ilyusha?"

  Illya jumped, obviously startled. "I am reading."

  "You're always reading," the boy accused, getting back to his feet. "It's boring."

  "Maybe it's boring to you. I still have a lot to learn."

  Misha stood behind Illya, peering at the text. "Is that one of my books?"

  Illya flipped to the front of the book to read the inside cover, one finger holding his place. "Yes."

  "Will you read to me?"

  Illya smiled that corner smile they had glimpsed on a few occasions. "I thought it was boring to read?"

  "It's more interesting when someone reads to you," Misha informed him condescendingly.

  "All right. Do you wish me to start at beginning, or in middle, where I am?"

  "Beginning." Misha climbed onto Illya's back, wrapped his arms around the Russian's neck, and rested his chin on Illya's shoulder, peering at the page. "Read."

  Illya's lips quirked at the tone of command in the four-year-old's voice. "You should be a general, Misha." He flipped back to the front of the book, abandoning his place, and rested his chin on his hands again.

  Norm sat down on the bottom step and listened to the soft drone of Illya's voice as he read Winnie-The-Pooh, occasionally stumbling over an unfamiliar word. Misha listened for a while and then reached down and pinched Illya's elbow.

  The Russian yelped in surprise. "Why did you do that, Misha?'

  "I'm bored."

  Illya craned his head to look at the boy peering over his shoulder. "A moment ago, you said it was interesting having someone read to you."

  "I thought so, but I was wrong. I want to know why I should be a general."

  "You have the manner of absolute command." Illya rubbed his elbow. "And your soldiers get injured."

  "You're going to be a spy like Daddy, aren't you?"

  "Perhaps. If I survive you."

  "I want to be a spy like Daddy, too."

  "You have much time to decide that, Misha."

  "Tony's going to be a doctor like his first daddy was. Was your daddy a spy?"

  Illya frowned. "My real father? I don't know. I suppose some people would have called him that."

  "So that's why you want to be a spy," the child lectured calmly, "because your daddy was. That's why I'm going to be a spy like my daddy and Tony's going to be a doctor like his first daddy."

  "No, Misha. If I were going to... to do what my father did... I do not think he would consider joining U.N.C.L.E. to be correct." Illya sat up, turning Michael to sit across from him as the boy slid off his back. He frowned as he struggled to put his thoughts into words a four-year-old would understand. "Does your father tell you he wants you to join U.N.C.L.E.?"

  Misha puffed out his chest. "Daddy says I can be president."

  Illya relaxed a little. "There are many things that you can be. It is what is good about America."

  "But I don't want to be president. I was president of my pre-school class. It's a boring job."

  A droll smile touched the Russian's lips. "You are probably right. I think so, also. Misha, you have freedom to do what you want to do. When I lived in Russia, I tried to do what others wanted me to, and I was not happy."

  "Things your daddy told you to do?"

  "My adopted father. Not my real papa."

  It was the first time Norm had heard Illya refer to Nikolai by anything other than Nico, the Dutch form of his father's name.

  "Ilyusha, why didn't you tell your other daddy what you wanted to do?"

  "I did finally tell him, but..." Again the frown creased I
llya's forehead. It was not something he could talk about with a little child. "I think your father will let you be what you want to be."

  "Sometimes I want to be a cowboy."

  "A cow-boy?" Illya's suddenly expressive face lit up as he sorted out the odd combination of words. "Yes, yes. Kovboy, we say in Russian. I have looked at Italian cowboy movie. Riding horses…

  "Read to me some more." Michael swatted Illya's shoulder and the young man obediently turned back to their book, while Misha climbed onto his shoulders again, interrupting before Illya could start reading. "Sometimes I want to be a bank robber."

  "A bank robber... Rob? Is like steal?... You don't want that, Misha. Stealing is not good."

  "But what if I want to be a bank robber?" Misha said mischievously.

  "You would get captured and go to prison. Your mother and father would be very sad."

  "I wouldn't get caught. I'd be like Jessie James."

  Illya was unimpressed. "I have heard of him in Russia. He got caught, Misha."

  Misha gave up the idea. "Sometimes I want to be an astronaut."

  "A cosmonaut? Like Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin? I also wanted this... once." Illya's voice reflected his interest. "You have to study much math and science. Soviets must spend years in military and one might never be chosen for mission. But to see the Earth from space? To sail through stars like meteor? That would be good."

  Misha shrugged, slightly miffed that his friend had thought longer on the subject than himself, and turned back to his standby. "And sometimes I want to be a spy like Daddy." Michael grinned. "Or maybe a general." He swatted Illya again. "Read, soldier."

  "Yes, Comrade General," Illya said, and complied.

  From the alcove by the stairs, Norm hesitated, then left them deep in a tale of bears and honey trees. An hour later, when he went down to get Misha for his nap, he found them both asleep, Illya with his head pillowed on his arms, the book forgotten beneath, and Misha still stretched out across his friend, his face snuggled in the curve of Illya's neck.

  Norm stole back up the stairs and got Trish, whispering quietly, "I think we may be making strides. Come, look at this."

  She joined him, delighted at the sight. "They both can certainly use the sleep. Despite how comfortable he looks, Misha should be in his own bed. I want him to get a good rest so he doesn't drive us crazy when Alexander is here tonight. Ilyusha should get some rest now, as well." She plucked Misha off Illya's back. The little boy moved sleepily into his mother's arms without waking, but Illya rolled over with a gasp.

  "Easy, buddy." Graham crouched down and held his shoulders. "Trish is just putting Misha to bed."

  "Norm, why don't you take Ilyusha upstairs and get him something to drink? There are some antibiotics he has to take on the kitchen counter," Trish spoke softly over her sleeping son's blond head. "Then you should get some rest, Ilyusha."

  "I am fine," Illya said, edging out from under Graham's fingers and climbing to his feet.

  "Come on. Whatever Trish and the doctor want, they get. I'll make you some of my famous iced tea."

  "With no cinnamon sticks, yes?" Illya said, following him up the stairs.

  Norm looked back at him in surprise. There was no expression on the young man's face, but the blue eyes stared back a trifle more calmly. "You're catching on."

  *****

  At four fifteen, Norm and Trish had barely seen Tanya and her friends off, and were just sitting down to a glass of iced tea when Norm's communicator sounded. He spoke into it softly, then snapped it shut and he studied his wife across the table. "Well, if we were going to relax, we've got about five minutes to do it. Alexander just came through the gate in a cab. I guess his meeting with the Attorney General was shorter than he had anticipated."

  Trish looked around at the disheveled kitchen and sighed. "If Alexander is going to be rude and come early, he must take what he gets. I wasn't planning on dinner for him, as well. Maybe spaghetti. And lots of broccoli."

  "Be nice, Trish. Remember, my boss isn't young anymore."

  "I am always nice, darling."

  "I'll remind you of that," he said, taking the iced tea jug back out of the refrigerator and setting it on a tray with several glasses. At the distinctive knock on the door, Norm opened it to admit his friend and took Waverly's ever-present umbrella, a holdover from England. "Alexander, welcome. We weren't expecting you so soon."

  Trish came up behind him and took their guest's hand. "It is good to see you again, Alexander."

  "And you, my dear."

  "Can I offer you a cup of hot tea? Or perhaps some iced tea in this heat?"

  "That would be most welcome" Waverly answered.

  Norm shook his head at Trish behind Waverly's back as she led them to the living room, but she only smiled sweetly and ignored him, detouring to the kitchen for the refreshments.

  "I must thank you personally for looking after my displaced agent," Waverly said, sitting down and looking around. "Where is he, by the way?"

  "I'm sorry, but he's sleeping at the moment, Alexander. We had expected you later. Illya doesn't even know you were coming -- we were going to tell him when he woke." Graham took the tray of glasses and pitcher from his wife, set it on the table, and poured the drinks.

  "Nonsense, no reason to apologize. After all, it is the reason I sent the young man to you. Good for him, to get some rest. To get over this illness and unsettledness." Waverly accepted his drink with a distracted nod. "Actually this gives us a chance to discuss some matters. I trust Mr. Kuryakin's behavior has improved somewhat?"

  "Ilyusha is an angel, Alexander," Trish held out a plate with a few biscuits on it. "We may be reluctant to send him back to you," she added archly, with a glance to her husband.

  "Indeed?" Waverly turned to Norm with a questioning look, and the Washington U.N.C.L.E. chief smiled wryly and shrugged. "Because it is about Mr. Kuryakin that I have come."

  "Is something wrong, Alexander?" Trish inquired quickly.

  "In a manner of speaking, yes. My original plan was that Mr. Kuryakin's case would be settled fairly quickly and that he would begin his formal agent's training within the week. However --"

  "Problems with the CIA?" Graham asked.

  "If it were only that," Waverly said broodingly. "I had hoped that Mr. Kuryakin's past history and activities for U.N.C.L.E. would weigh in his favor, but in the paranoia of the times, they seem to count for little. The CIA, the FBI, even the rest of Section One of U.N.C.L.E., persist in being adamantly opposed to his joining U.N.C.L.E. as an intelligence officer, or even to work in this country at all. It may take several months to work out an acceptable compromise. You have been very helpful to take Mr. Kuryakin on such short notice, but I never intended him to discommode you for more than a few days. As it now appears his case will not be settled anytime soon, it seems I must make some long-term arrangements."

  "What sort of arrangements?" Trish said warily.

  Waverly glanced at her, and then shrugged slightly. "I cannot send Mr. Kuryakin for training, nor can I employ him in any respect until this situation is settled. Nor can I simply release him to his own devices; I am personally responsible for his actions. There are visitor apartments at our Headquarters where Mr. Kuryakin can stay, suitably supervised, and avail himself of our research libraries. I trust that will provide enough of a temporary occupation."

  "I don't think so. You gave him to us, Alexander. It is one thing for him to leave here for training or employment -- that is what we have been expecting. But simply to pack him up to move him to some security-ridden prison, all alone -- I absolutely forbid it."

  Norm Graham had seen presidents and kings back down to the head of U.N.C.L.E. North America, but it was Alexander Waverly this time who seemed uncertain as he met Trish's unyielding hazel eyes. "My dear lady, you do not seem to understand that this situation could drag on for months. I am very appreciative of what you have done so far for Mr. Kuryakin, but you have your own children, your own family to care for,
and you hardly need this extra burden. And there is the question of suitable occupation. I understand he has required a reasonable period of convalescence after his ordeal last Sunday, but I expect he will soon fret at being confined without activities."

  "Illya is becoming part of our family and is hardly a burden. He reads constantly, and we certainly can provide access to the same journals and texts that are available in New York. Soon Tony's summer work will be over and he'll be around all day, so Illya will have company his own age. He is just beginning to become acclimated to American life and he will learn that very well here, much better than if he were isolated in New York. He stays, Alexander."

  Waverly turned to his Washington Chief. "And are you in consensus on this? Do you also wish Mr. Kuryakin to stay?"

  Norm's face was solemn, serious. "You remember, when you first put this to us, I let Trish make the decision, knowing she'd be doing most of the work. Then we received Illya's dossier," Norm didn't mask the irony from his tone, "and I can't deny that I have had my doubts about this situation. But after much deliberation, I've come to agree with Trish -- we made a commitment, and we need to see it through. For what it's worth, I like Ilyusha. Our kids have accepted him. As Trish said, he's just beginning to settle in here and I'd hate to see him moved now. At the moment, I don't see any reason to make other arrangements."

  "Even though it may take months?" Waverly warned. "Not that we can't make other provisions at any time, but if you intend to keep him until his employment situation is finalized, that is the time frame we are looking at."

  Norm glanced at Trish and nodded. "Months is fine."

  "Well." Waverly seemed surprised, his bushy eyebrows raising and lowering. "I suppose I have a second plane reservation to cancel. That being the case, there is a flight that leaves for New York in one hour that I will avail myself of. I would like to speak to the young man first, however. If that is satisfactory to you, my dear?"

  Trish smiled thinly at the courtesy, knowing it was only that. They knew that if Waverly wanted to speak with Illya, speak he would. If he had truly found a better place for the Russian, he would have taken him regardless. "I will get him for you, Alexander. You will give him a moment to wake up?"