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The Andaman Affair Chapter 3
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Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
“I had thought that Mr. Kuraykin was no longer an issue Hassan, care to explain that to me.” Madam Sinesta was not known for her tolerance of failure and yet she could not explain how things had escalated beyond her control so quickly.
Hassan took the brunt of the accusation quietly; his dark eyes surveying her exotic looks dispassionately and nodded. Relieved that he found himself totally unmoved by the large green eyes or jet-black hair that framed a deceptively sweet face.
“The matter is in hand Madam, we shall have the bishop well and truly
cornered by his own knight within a matter of days. His former masters of
the KGB have applied pressure on the UNCLE for his sanction, it is, as I
have said only a matter of time.”
“Time we can ill afford, should the shipment be compromised Hassan I will
take your lovely head as a trophy for failure.” She slipped long red
satin-gloved fingers through his hair and smiled sweetly. “Such a pity to
loose something so pretty.”
High heels clicked against the oriental tile floor and out into the stifling
air. With cold eyes he watched her go and shuddered as he pulled his long
dark hair back into its habitual pony tale.
“I see her lady ship is enamoured of you Hassan.” Pieta laughed as he poured
a glass of water from the carafe on the table and flopped into the deck
chair on the balcony. Redolent of the days of empire and strikingly native,
the dark teak was carved with mythical gods and creatures, the likes of
which made the Russian smile seductively down into the cool liquid.
“Her ladyship is growing impatient.”
“And you’re not?” The soft Russian accent drifted across the broad room and
Hassan smiled thinly.
“Illya was a friend.”
“Yes, I know, it is why I choose you, such deception with one like our
little Illya would not have succeeded if he didn’t trust his lover. The
partner was unwilling and perhaps unable to fulfil our needs.”
“Your needs, since when does the KGB have needs?”
“Astute as ever, we don’t, however THRUSH does, and her ladyship is aware in
the scheme of things she will be sacrificed to the greater good, should it
be our whim.”
“As is my demise.” The ill humour was obvious as Hassan lit a cigarette and
drew heavily on the unfiltered tobacco.
“You’ve served well Hassan, with your looks and talents I have no doubt we
shall make use of your considerable assets again.”
“So kind of you Pieta, you’ll make me a whore for the KGB.”
“In this place I would have thought the pay was better, perhaps you could
enlighten me.” Pieta stood up abruptly, annoyed and bored with the
conversation.
“Since you know the going rate for whores I’ll allow you to be the judge.
Besides I have no delusions about my future.”
“Are you suggesting that I do?"
“I thought you said Illya was a friend of yours as well.”
“Perhaps friend is a little too sympathetic for what we were.”
“Lovers perhaps?” Hassan closed the distance still drawing on the black
tobacco and blowing fragrant wafts into the air.
“Lovers?” Pieta laughed harshly. “There is no love lost between the brat and
myself.”
“Tell me more about the partner.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know if I am to finish this.”
“Yes, you do.” Pieta opened the leather attaché case and dropped a thick
file onto the table. “Napoleon Anthony Solo, CEA of UNCLE NY. Be careful of
him Hassan, his true weaknesses are not so obvious.”
“Alright Illya enough is more than enough.” Solo spoke softly as he rounded a corner into the market place. The heat overwhelmed him and he looked up at the darkening sky, wishing for the cool breeze and a moment of respite. But the heat like the country was relentless driving him in ever wider circles and finally indoors to pick out what rest he could. He needed to think, he knew it was all very wrong and without doubt he would find the answer, if he could speak to Illya. If he knew what the fuck he was doing. Either way it was time to stop and in doing so the hunter became the hunted.
Madam Sinesta knew her quarry, had been briefed and saw to it that her masters would be pleased especially with the choice of consort. She watched and waited. Her charge a pretty student with long dark hair running in rivers down her back and slanted eyes the colour of ebony that blinked from under impossible lashes was currently dispatched to intercept. She careened oh so expertly into the dapper American in the lobby of the hotel, scattering papers in her wake, and for a second she thought maybe he would not stop and help the lady in distress. But smiled, low and feral as he crouched elegantly and began to tidy up.
Lin bit her bottom lip and smiled sweetly. The former child bride was an expert in seduction and appeared as a welcome breath of fresh air in the fetid midday of Bangkok. Far from innocent she exuded an aura of vulnerability that the American was hard pressed to ignore.
“My apologies.” She said softly.
“Mie pen lie.” Napoleon chanted softly in Thai, the meaning, no problems was a catch cry in the region and she smiled again.
“I should not have been so clumsy.” She chided herself.
“On the contrary, perhaps it was a plot.” Napoleon flirted gently.
“I do not understand, my English is not so good.” She lied smoothly.
“Oh but it is charming. Perhaps it was I who bumped into you to meet such a lovely lady.”
“Your very kind?”
“Napoleon, and you are?”
“Lin Ho.” She stood and smoothed down the sedate suit and pushed stray tresses of raven hair back from her face.
“Well Miss Ho, perhaps if you are not busy this afternoon you could allow me to apologise over high tea.”
“I would be honoured.” She bowed politely and moved to the offices upstairs, Solo tracked her every movement and in turn was observed by a pair of cruel eyes from the far corner.
Favours had never sat well with the recalcitrant Russian distrusting them at best, and hating himself for the need to call them in at worst. He felt weak and restrained and in truth he was. Memory guided his steps as his body trembled with the last of the drugs as he sought out the solitary figure. He was charming, old world and old school denying himself none of the luxuries his former employers would ever consider appropriate.
Brilliant in his hey day the former Soviet Professor spent days in idle luxury amidst the gentle people of South East Asia. His reputation proceeded him and it was with no short of true delight that he greeted the slightly dishevelled figure at his door.
The night impossibly close and dark settled against Illya’s shoulders as he was pulled passed the carved teak door and into the sitting room, a sense of foreboding clung to the small desperate frame and with a sense honed from years of service in mother Russia, Vasily shut the door against the oppressive night.
“Illya?”
“Thank you Professor, I was unsure of my welcome.”
Vasily fussed and propped him in a deep cushioned chair, a small blanket wrapped comfortingly around the frame wracked with shudders and poured a glass of tea from the still warm samovar.
“Have we fallen so far from grace young one that you would be uncertain of me?” Vasily pressed the glass into his hand, sat down opposite and waited for his guest to speak.
“Perhaps I have.” Illya finally answered as he sipped the cherry sweet liquid.
“How so?”
“I need a favour Professor.”
“No doubt.”
“Do you still have contacts in the KGB?”
“Of course.”
“I need to know.”
“No you don’t. Illya what has happened to you?”
“I’ve been disavowed haven’t I?” The wide blue eyes shone with an inner turmoil as he spoke the words he knew in his heart to be true.
“Yes. I was warned two days ago to watch for you.”
“Will you turn me over to them?”
“To be shot? I think not, you have always been a great deal more important to me than that. We have risked death together little one too many times to not stand shoulder to shoulder again. But, first you must tell me what has befallen you.”
Bright eyes closed over the glass as the warm steam eroded the last of his defences and Illya slumped in the refuge.
“It is a long story full of treachery.”
“Then let me brew more tea it sounds as though we will have a long night of it.” Vasily reached forward and found the shoulder under his hand thin to the touch. In all the years he had known Illya he had always found the child who became a man under the harsh glare of brilliance of the KGB fostered for their brightest hopes, to be stronger than those around him gave him credit for. It was no surprise when he won the right to study in the west, nor was it a surprise the KGB would press him into immediate service when he returned home to Moscow.
Through all the years of teacher, mentor and professor Vasily had remained constant, and his loyalty did not go unrewarded when he himself fell victim of the establishment. Instead Illya had orchestrated his return to favour with the help of UNCLE and he in turn took the punishment posting to the Russian embassy in Bangkok.
Glory days long gone and retirement loomed so he spent his days teaching English and Russian in the International School and made a better than average living as advisor and guest speaker on the growing lecture circuit.
Content in his environment and lifestyle he faded into the background of a well worn tapestry but there were times like all dispossessed people when he longed for home, when he missed the companionship of his own kind. And Illya with his golden hair and quick wit was one he missed most.
He was not surprised to return to the sitting room to find his guest curled into the armchair, his head rested against the high winged back and his knees drawn close to his chest as he sighed softly in sleep. Unable to resist the call of the silken strands he reached a hand forward and gently brushed it against the cap of gold, marvelling at the texture and down to his own hand, gnarled and worn, his fingers thick with age and use and knew that time was no longer a friend he could count on.
Something stirred in him and he pulled the covers over the somnambulant Russian and stood looking down for long moments before he stepped back and resumed his work at the heavy oak desk of marking papers for the morning class.
The dark cloud of discontent hovered restlessly over him and swapping his tea for vodka later in the night kept his vigil as his one time student shivered in a tormented sleep.
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