The Raven's Lair - The Three-Headed Eagle Affair

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF ADULT AND JUVENILE SEXUAL ASSAULT. THERE ARE NO GRAPHIC DETAILS PROVIDED FOR THE LATTER, HOWEVER, THE SUBJECT IS MENTIONED. IF THIS IS OFFENSIVE TO YOU, EXTRA WHITE SPACE HAS BEEN INSERTED TO ALLOW YOU TO SKIP THE RELEVANT PARAGRAPHS.
Where do I begin? First: in my universe, Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin's name has been emended/changed/corrected/taken in vain and he is now called Ilya Nicolaievich Kuryakin. Second: Be on the lookout for a Mary Sue original character. Relax folks, she doesn't get to marry either one of our heroes. She doesn't even get a kiss. However, she is really competent.

PAIRING: Napoleon Solo and Ilya Kuryakin (see Warnings above)
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: None to my knowledge, that would meant I stuck to my guns (canons).
ARCHIVE: Not without my permission.
DISCLAIMERS & SUMMARY: See Author's Notes posted below.

Act VI - "The Greeks Have a Word for It"

Napoleon and Athea worked on their cover stories for the rest of the afternoon. Napoleon would be assuming the role of Major Nathaniel Stephens, retired; a military consultant to the Pentagon employed by a private company that made its money from defense contracts. Athea would use her first name but employ her mother's family name: Leonides. At five o' clock, Napoleon went home to pack. Athea headed to Del Florio's. The proprietor's unclaimed dry cleaning was actually a wardrobe department for agents who had no time to pack before a mission, or whose own closets lacked appropriate clothing.

Athea quickly selected three more tailored suits, two cocktail dresses, and one evening gown. Following her teacher's example, she kept a suitcase with personal apparel and toiletries at the office. Three hours before their flight, the new team checked out the necessary strategic, surveillance, and communication equipment: exploding cufflinks and earrings, listening devices, and two communicator pens. They would receive their guns courtesy of the Athens UNCLE office. Stopping briefly to pick up their travel documents, they took a cab to La Guardia.

In keeping with their new identities, the two agents traveled first class. Athea looked around at the luxurious appointments giving every indication of someone who had not flown too often. About an hour after takeoff, she asked the stewardess for an air sickness pill. Napoleon rolled his eyes. Marvelous. His new partner was going to spend the duration of the flight with a barf bag in her lap. Athea took the pill. "Sir, I have a feeling I'm going to need all the sleep I can get." She showed him the tablet she'd palmed. "This way, when I doze off, no one will wonder why I'm not excited over the prospect of my first flight out of the country." Athea spoke softly as Napoleon grinned. Ilya's teaching methods would be sorely missed indeed.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Pyotr Kostoglotov had thoroughly studied Ilya's file. In spite of himself, he was impressed by the young man's accomplishments. Kuryakin's academic record was only a hair away from perfect. Although he excelled in more than one scientific discipline, Ilya had also turned out to be a linguist of rare skill. French, German, Arabic, Cantonese, English, and Spanish: six languages he spoke well enough to pass as a long-time resident, if not a native. Alexander Waverly had provided a précis of Ilya's field record as an UNCLE agent. In addition to a fine mind, Kuryakin possessed formidable physical skills. Kostoglotov rubbed his hands. He was looking forward to the challenge of breaking this paragon; transforming the model agent into an emotional and physical wreck.

Picking up his desk phone, Pyotr Ivanovich arranged to have the prisoner transferred to the Mavrino Institute.* Formerly a research facility staffed by gulag scientists, Mavrino now had a sinister reputation. Ostensibly a psychiatric hospital, its purpose violated every clause of the Hippocratic Oath. People weren't sent to Mavrino to be cured. Instead they left its walls to take up permanent residence in asylums for the hopelessly insane. Summoning his secretary, Kostoglotov dictated a memorandum requisitioning the personnel and other resources he would need.

The young KGB officer maintained a bland expression as he listed the items his boss required for the next phase of Ilya's interrogation. As he left to arrange for the procurement and assembly of the insanity-inducing components, he shuddered. Whoever this poor chellovek was, he was doomed. Mavrino had its own graveyard. The majority of its former "patients" were housed there.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Ilya was now very apprehensive. His foster father's briefing had included details of the predecessor to Mavrino and what took place within its walls. This time, the probability of Napoleon coming to his rescue in the nick of time, was all but zero. Unless Mr. Waverly's skills as a negotiator and his own resources prevailed, Ilya would die in the Soviet Union or join the catatonic inmates in one of its hellish asylums for the insane.

The ride to Mavrino had been lengthy. Once again, the driver of the transport van took a circuitous route. He was wasting his time. Ilya could have cared less about the location of the institute relative to the Lyubyanka. When they arrived, two men in white coats were standing just inside the prison gate. Here, no signals were needed to keep escorted prisoners from accidentally encountering one another. No one was allowed outside of his or her specially-designed cell. Head down, with his hands behind his back, Ilya entered a large room containing four narrow cots. In spite of himself, his eyes widened. He recognized the setting. The heavy door was shut softly. It, like the rest of the room, was insulated to prevent sounds from carrying into adjacent cells or the corridors.

Kostoglotov had immediately latched on to the most traumatic portion of his victim's past. The actors were in place, the stage was set. At nightfall, act one of his sadistic scenario would be played out.

NS*IK*Twenty years ago*IK*NS

Two years after Ilya had arrived at the gulag run by the man who would become his foster father, he was taken out of the barracks and moved into the commandant's home. Major Grigoriev and his wife did everything they could to make the small taciturn child feel welcome and, more important, secure in his new surroundings. The major gently explained that he and his wife did not expect to receive the love their young charge felt for his dead parents. The couple had no need to worry about the newest member of their household misinterpreting any kindnesses they offered.

Ilya had been an affectionate child of a loving father and mother. Each night, when Irina Grigorieva tucked him into bed, he did not have to force himself to hug and kiss her. Although he did not speak much, his small smiles indicated the depth of his gratitude for the Grigorievs' care and attention. Within a year, Major Grigoriev discussed the possibility of making Ilya a permanent member of their household. His wife and daughter eagerly agreed. Stalin could not have long to live. Nevertheless, until the mad butcher was dead and buried, any attempt on the Major's part to adopt the boy would have doomed them all. So Grigoriev waited and in so doing, came very close to losing Ilya forever.

Ilya frequently ran errands for the Major; carrying messages to the infirmary and mess hall. One dark afternoon in early winter he was stopped on his way to the infirmary by one of the inmates who told Ilya his friends, Vaska and Sergei, wanted to speak with him. Ilya accompanied the man to the machine shop where four other prisoners were waiting. Vaska and Sergei were nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, one of the infirmary staff saw Ilya being intercepted by a man who's pederastic activities were known. He ran to get help. When the guards arrived to break up the "party" Ilya had been spared the worst. Two of the guards re-dressed the now silent boy and carried him to their commander's home. The would-be rapists were put in the cooler prior to being shot.

Major Grigoriev blamed himself. He never allowed his daughter to leave the family compound unless he or a trusted guard armed with a rifle escorted her. He should have used the same precautions with Ilya. After apologizing to the child, Grigoriev wrote to his superiors asking their permission to have Ilya transferred to an orphanage. Hopefully this would make it easier for him to adopt the boy when the political climate improved. The decision to authorize the proposal to have Ilya transferred was made because it was hoped he would not survive. Unknown to Grigoriev; Ilya, accompanied by a guard who required medical treatments in Moscow, would be sent to an orphanage from which most of its inmates were truly adopted by Mother Russia in the form of six feet of earth.**

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Shivering, as he stood in his new cell at Mavrino, Ilya remembered the Major's words as he was put onto the train. "Ilya Nikolaievich, you are not being punished. But after what nearly happened to you, I think you will be safer in a place intended for children. When it is safe, I will come to get you and then you will always stay with us. We will not be permitted to write to each other. However, your new school will send me regular reports of your progress. I know you will be an excellent student." As he bent to lift Ilya into the arms of his escort, Nikolai Grigoriev whispered. "I couldn't love you more if you were my own child. I will pray for your safe return. Dosvidanya."

Shuddering, Ilya paced the floor. On his first night in the filthy state orphanage he was raped by a man who'd paid the director of the facility for the privilege of "breaking in" the new boy. Each night thereafter, he suffered the brutality of men whose disgusting appetites made them frequent patrons of what amounted to a child brothel. Now, it looked as if history was about to repeat itself.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

The VIP reception was in full swing. Philip Xenocrates hovered over Athea who, in turn giggled and blushed: an excellent performance fueled by one glass of champagne. Napoleon, a Grecian beauty on his arm, chatted amiably with Xenocrates's successor, Constantine Kritiatides.

"General, I have never been to your country before." Athea smiled as her host "accidentally" brushed her bosom with his free hand.

"Then I must see to it personally that you take back some wonderful memories of your first visit."

"What should I see first?"

"The Acropolis by moonlight."

"Mmmm. Sounds scrumptious. Shall we go?"

"You don't waste time, do you?"

"No, your excellency. My boss will be tied up in meetings for most of the week. Then, we return to the States."

"Perhaps, I can persuade him to stay a little longer."

"You can try." Athea sighed as Napoleon came up on her left.

"Are you enjoying the party, Miss Leonides?"

"Oh yes. The General was very kindly suggesting historic sites for me to visit."

"Too bad you won't have the opportunity." Napoleon frowned giving the impression of a jealous boss. "I think it's time you went back to the hotel. Our first meeting is at eight in the morning."

"Yes sir." Athea looked disappointed. "Thank you for your lovely offer, General Xenocrates. Maybe on my next visit..."

The General bent and kissed Athea's hand and came up smiling. She had slipped him her hotel room key. Napoleon took his secretary by the arm and headed for the door. "Well?"

"The Acropolis by moonlight. He's running true to form." Athea murmured as she pretended to stumble over the edge of the carpet. Napoleon caught her roughly and propelled her from the room; furthering the impression that he was displeased. They went over their plan for the last time during their ride back to the hotel.

"Oh hell, I forgot to bring my key." Athea fished through her purse. "I must have left it in my room." She went over to the front desk while Napoleon headed to the elevator. One hour later, a soft knock sounded at her door. Athea opened it and slipped out, locking the door behind her.

"Where is your employer?" Xenocrates smiled.

"Asleep." Athea giggled. "He wanted to give me some late night dictation, so I slipped a sleeping pill into his ouzo."

"Very resourceful."

"I might not get this chance again. I was not about to miss the Acropolis."

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Ilya prepared himself as best he could. The old cynical observation about rape had some basis in truth. Although lying back and enjoying it was impossible. Relaxing was the best defense against incurring excessive trauma to the affected tissues. Ilya ate his evening rations: watery potato soup and a small chunk of black bread. He knew what was coming and was not surprised when he suddenly found his eyelids closing.

As soon as the prisoner fell asleep, the Mavrino staff went to work. Three undersized male homosexuals had been transferred from other Moscow prisons. Cautioned under pain of execution to remain silent, they quietly entered the cell followed by three other men who'd been arrested for the same "crime." The first trio were dressed in clothing made to resemble the undergarments issued to state orphans. The other actors in this little drama wore expensive civilian clothing.

The last man to enter the cell was a trained KGB operative. He silently signaled the others into position. So it was when Ilya came out of his drugged sleep, the nauseating sounds of intercourse surrounded him. Before he could fully focus his attention on the other couples, his head was shoved against the mattress as his undershorts were wrenched down. They must have changed his clothing while he was asleep.

Ilya went limp; trying his best to distance himself from what was about to happen. The searing pain of unwanted penetration brought him back to the sickening reality. Hot breath scented with cheap vodka blasted against his neck as his assailant roughly took his pleasure. The KGB man took pride in his stamina. Despite his best efforts, Ilya could not remain silent. His groans only intensified his attacker's enthusiasm. Twenty minutes after the last of the others finished, Ilya felt the stinging pain as the KGB man ejaculated, the saline content of his semen burning the bruised and lacerated anal tissue of his victim.

The four rapists left the cell. Ilya's silent companions had no difficulty falling asleep. They were inured to the unwanted attentions of cellmates. Ilya was not so lucky. Lying half naked in his own blood, he rubbed his face against the mattress wiping away silent tears he'd been powerless to prevent.

* Once again, A.I. Solzhenitsyn has provided the name of this facility. It was originally given to the sharashka containing the inmates featured in his novel: The First Circle.

** I must acknowledge the theft of this portion of Ilya's past from Mistress Ravenschild's MFU-Professionals cross-over tour de force: The Remember Me Affair. This dark and dramatic tale is archived at her own elegant website and on the File 40 website. Bookmark it, dear cousins. You'll be very glad you did.