Collection 4 - Kolya's Son Read online

  "I've treated him as an adult," Graham argued. "As a young man who presumably has and knows his own interests and -- If you don't stop that, I'm going to hit you."

  Lawrence stifled his chuckles. "That's your second mistake. He may be an adult, a multi-talented KGB agent, and all the other deadly things attributed to him, but I'd suspect Tanya has had more freedom than he's been given the last few years. I'll bet your youngest child -- Mike? -- feels more secure and confident of his place in the world. In fact, it's good that you have Michael around, because you're going to use him as kind of a guide."

  "I don't like the sound of this."

  "Work with me a minute. You've got kids; what's the first thing a kid needs to feel secure?"

  "I'm not secure enough right now to even make a guess," Graham mock scowled.

  "All right, I'll give this one to you, but it's easy. Simple physical security. The knowledge that they're safe. When they're very little, they need to know that they have someone looking after them. When they're a little older, they need to know they'll be supported in their efforts to look after themselves, that a mistake won't be a fatal one, that they'll be helped to stand on their own."

  "And Kuryakin doesn't have that," Graham said thoughtfully.

  "That's so obvious from just looking at him on the films, that it's not even an issue, and his dossier and his tests back that up. He's probably never had that security -- war tends to do that to children. And then, he was recruited so young into the KGB. When they weren't controlling every facet of his existence, with, I'm sure, perilous results if he challenged them, they were sending him into danger. They were trying very hard to keep control of him, rather than the other way around. Their goal was to make him utterly dependent on them for everything. The theme of the Soviet Union is 'Cradle to Grave'. They've spent millions of dollars drumming that into every man, woman, and child. 'Let us take care of you,' they say. 'We know better. We know what's best for you in every aspect of your life from cradle to grave.' And they ended up with exactly what they wanted, a nation of people with stunted growth."

  "So after all these years, how does he get that back?"

  "Well, Waverly was sharp to send him to you. It helps to put him in a family with kids. Humans are still pack-oriented enough that if we can get him to identify with them, he'll pick up their awareness of their security."

  "Are you saying my kids are pack animals, Lawrence?" Graham said sarcastically, twirling his drink in his hand.

  Grinning, Lawrence shook his head, declining the challenge. "The easiest way for you to communicate a sense of security to him, I'd say, is routine. Structure. If he knows what to expect, he'll have that much less stress. He has lived such a regimented and controlled life, that a predictable structure of activities will be a comfort to him. You probably already have a family routine. Mealtimes, bedtimes, things you do on a daily and weekly basis. Emphasize it."

  "Emphasize it?"

  "Talk about it. Just make a point of it in conversation. You want Kuryakin to feel confident about what to expect. And you'll want to set a schedule for him, without being too overt about it."

  "I thought the idea was to make him independent?"

  "Yes. But he's going to start small. Personalizations to his own routine. He can't do anything with a feeling of security until he knows the parameters. You want him to take control of his life from a feeling of confidence, not terror that there will be repercussions. In a way, it actually helps that he's sick. You have a good reason to take some of the control away that he was mistakenly given. Then you can relinquish it slowly, as he starts to gain confidence, when he's ready to handle the stress of managing his own life."

  Graham shook his bead. "I don't know. It sounds like I need a degree in psychology to understand this."

  "Stop thinking as an U.N.C.L.E. agent for a minute and think as a parent. Remember, I told you to use Michael as a guide. To summarize: First, you tell a child what to do. Then you start to give them choices, in small non-critical areas. Then they start asking you what they can do, in relation to what is considered 'free' and negotiable. The definition of what is free broadens as they get older. Eventually, they take control of their own lives. You'll do the same thing with Illya, just in an accelerated time span."

  "It sounds a little simplistic."

  "Actually, we've just started. That's step one. I've told you physical security is the biggest thing, but, especially in Kuryakin's case, it applies to more than the monsters under the bed, bogeymen in the closets, and such that kids worry about. Kuryakin's monsters were not only real -- the bombs, the Nazis, the war -- but later on, his monsters were his own caretakers. He's already learned, from being in your household a short while, that you don't beat your kids, that they aren't scared of you. Even now when he's sick, he's probably lying in bed mulling over that he blew it big with you the day he ended up in the river, and you haven't taken it out on him... yet. And he's waiting for it.

  "You need to make very sure he understands how the checks and balances of misbehavior work in your household. That whatever they are, the punishment is fair and lovingly administered, not in anger, regardless of whether it is physically delivered or restrictive in nature. No TV, being grounded, a swat on the seat, extra chores -- whatever method is appropriate for each child. Because if he doesn't see what happens, if he doesn't see that your children are not abused, or frightened of you during or after, he's going to imagine something far worse. And worry about it. And this is a young man who has seen some pretty scary things."

  Graham nodded, looking slightly sick. "What else?"

  "The next thing a kid needs to feel secure, beyond personal security, is the awareness that his needs are going to be met. You've already done that with Illya, to a great extent. I understand he came to you without a spare stitch."

  "Compliments of our boss."

  "Yes, well, who knows. Maybe Alexander planned it that way. Sometimes our boss is too psychologically savvy for my own comfort. Anyway, you've given him a place to live. Fed him, clothed him. Told him he can come to you for any extras he wants or needs. You need to keep him confident that those things, at least the basics, are not going to stop. No matter what he does."

  "Like sending him away if he ticks me off?" Graham sighed. "At times, I think that's what he wants. I definitely don't see him worried about whether lunch will be served on time."

  "Don't believe that for a moment. Kuryakin is worried about everything. You're right, in some respects, he's probably not thinking consciously about the trivial stuff. Mercer has recorded that you described Kuryakin as walking around with a continual blank look on his face, but yet there is an undercurrent feeling that he is nervous, high strung. Worried. In your nice home with your happy kids.

  "Of course he's worried about why he's there and what's going to happen to him. Kuryakin has been under stress since before he can remember. The Nazis killed his family and burned his home at two. He spent the next eight years growing up hungry, cold, and in danger, dragged from place to place, even moving to a different country where everyone spoke a different language. His father is killed before his eyes. He's put with a family and spends the next ten years being exploited by his adopted father, Mikhail Zadkine, and the KGB...

  "You put him in a stressful personal -- not combative -- situation and those feelings just come flooding back. All of them. He can't deal with them all; he doesn't have time to sit and discriminate which ones are valid. Unconsciously, I'd say all his survival instincts are kicking in. We have to disarm every one. Let's make it easy on him, as well as ourselves, and make sure we get rid of the trivial ones. That way we can concentrate on the hard ones. And so can Kuryakin."

  "All right, assuming I decide to let him stay, I would try to convince him he's got a place with us. As well, I would make sure he knows where the cookie jar is, and warn Trish to let him at it... What about when we left him at the Safe House for most of Sunday?"

  "Well, he's probably quite hazy about that p
eriod. You did take him there, but he was sick, and that, after all is where the doctors are. When he came out of his illness, he was back in your house. He'll probably rationalize that in his own mind as being taken to the hospital. Kids don't like that either, but they're pretty resilient. I don't think that period will set him back. In fact, in a way, it's to your advantage. He broke one of your rules, right? And took a swing at you to boot. And you still are looking after him. Just make sure he feels comfortable that all that will still continue."

  "I'm going to have to make a choice soon. Trish is determined."

  'Don't do this just for Trish. For one thing, it won't work. Kuryakin is going to know if you don't want him there. It would almost be better if we did find him another place, than for you to keep him there grudgingly."

  Graham sighed. "I know. I'm not half as angry with Illya as I am at Alexander."

  "Then take the anger to Alexander. Make up your own mind that you're either going to accept Illya or send him away."

  Graham nodded. "Understood. I'll work it out."

  "One problem you will definitely have to work on is his defensiveness, if that kid is as hand-shy as I've heard."

  "It's rather obvious," Graham said. "He won't let anyone near him -- within arm's reach of him -- if he can help it. He's more tolerant with the kids, but he freezes if either Trish or I touch him. And worse," Graham shook his head, and flicked open his jacket slightly, so Lawrence could see the Mauser X-38 tucked in the holster, "I still go armed at work." He shrugged. "I always have, and there are still too many times when I need it. Anyway, I usually have it on when I come to breakfast, under my suit coat, like now, and of course when I come home in the evening. Illya always checks. It's almost eerie, when I walk in a room, his eyes flick to me to see if I'm armed. My own kids don't do that. Trish doesn't do it. It's making me self-conscious."

  "Your own wife and kids don't need to worry about whether you're armed."

  "So, how do I stop him from checking me out?"

  "Oh, he'll stop. Right after he stops freezing under your hand."

  "Great. That'll be never."

  "Sooner than that. What you have to keep in mind is that he has no idea what is or isn't safe. Everything is suspicious to him. He can't make a spontaneous decision yet about so many things at once. He survived so far being that suspicious of everything. He needs you to narrow all this confusion down. And start small."

  "How?" Graham asked skeptically.

  "First, make it very clear that one gesture is always safe. Get him used to that and eventually he'll start looking at things more objectively. So pick a gesture -- anything that's uncomplicated for you. Probably the easiest will be something you do with your own kids. In fact, for consistency's sake, it should be exactly what you do with your own kids. Patting him on the shoulder, a quick hug, tousling his hair, whatever. Always use that one gesture for affection. At first, of course, he's going to be as hand shy with that as with any other gesture, but eventually, he's going to mark it as safe. And you, too, when you use it."

  "Do you really think this will work?"

  "By tomorrow? No, of course not. But eventually, if you narrow down the scope of his choices to what he can handle, if you eliminate at least some of his unconscious fears, if you get him comfortable with what to expect in your household, and get him to trust even one small gesture, or in one small area, you'll have something to build on."

  Lawrence noted the skepticism on Graham's face. "Remember Kuryakin's background. He's an expert at impersonation. He scored off the scale on those pattern matching tests. That means he's expert at recognizing patterns, not just patterns of squiggles on paper, but patterns of behavior. You can use that skill to your -- and his -- advantage. If you treat him exactly as you treat your own kids, he's eventually going to respond to you as they do. Treat him differently, with suspicion or grudging acceptance, and he's not going to fail to notice. That conflict will rouse his suspicions and eventually tear him apart. That's why you have to make up your mind one way or another, and soon. You won't have much luck fooling him, and I wouldn't recommend lying to him."

  Graham's expression didn't betray his decision one way or another. "What about Alexander's plans to make him an U.N.C.L.E. agent? It sounds like you've given Kuryakin a pretty small chance for that now."

  "I don't agree. Consider what Kuryakin has accomplished in the hell that's been his life so far; if we get him past this, if we handle him properly, he's going to be phenomenal. I mean it. Phenomenal. I can understand why Alexander is doggedly hanging on to putting him in Section Two."

  "Still, it seems so calculated."

  "Yes, it is. The KGB controlled virtually every single facet of his life. That's what he's used to. We want to give that control back to him, but to get there, you're right that we have to use some of their same methods. But our goals are different."

  Graham was silent, lost in thought.

  "Still want to keep him?"

  "I was just thinking that Alexander was assuming we'd take on an awful lot. And sending you down here." He shook his head quietly. "That's damage control on an impressive scale."

  "Oh, I wouldn't be too hard on Alexander. Chances are, he was hoping Illya would never need any of this, that he'd settle down right away with a little warm family life. That's probably why he kept me far away from Kuryakin at first and only called me in when it became clear you had some serious reservations about him. I can't really blame Alexander for hoping for the best, and while I don't know the content of the work Illya's done for Alexander the past few years, I do know the scope and the frequency. With that kind of record, I'd assume the young man was competent, too. Alexander certainly should have briefed you better before sending Illya to you; still, I have a lot of faith in his ability to judge character. There's no question Kuryakin's been through hell and it's scarred him. But he's a survivor, a tough character, and it doesn't appear that the core of his personality has been touched."

  "Trish says, 'He's a nice boy.'" Graham gave a wry smile, meeting Lawrence's eyes.

  The physician leaned back, his face showing interest. "Why does she say that? What has he done to gain that label?"

  Graham shrugged. "He's been kind to Tanya, to Misha. Little things."

  "Little things can be telling."

  "They also can be easily outweighed. I'm more worried about his training. And his motivations. He's a very experienced agent and he didn't get to that point without effort on his own part."

  Lawrence's eyes held acknowledgment of Graham's worries. "Believe me, Norm, I understand. Trish may be Russian, but you're the one who really understands the work Illya did -- for the KGB, for the GRU, for Alexander. But by the same token, you're an agent, too. Do the things you've done in your career disqualify you for a family?"

  Graham sat back, clearly startled at the comparison. "At one time, I thought so," he said thoughtfully, "but not any more."

  "Well, there you are," Lawrence said. "So why should it disqualify him? Now... can I please look at your simulator game?"

  *****

  Trish looked up from her book to see weary blue eyes regarding her. "Hello, Ilyusha. Good afternoon." She put the novel down and moved over to his bed. "I was going to wake you up soon. You've got some medication to take."

  She sat him up, his weakened body unable to fight. Only the eyes moved, watching her every action. Pillows propped him up enough to get the pills and some water into him. She saw his eyes flick to the pills in her hand, and she showed him the bottle and the vendor stamps on the capsules.

  "You see, they are only antibiotics, to keep you from pneumonia. You have been very sick. Norm and I have been worried about you."

  She opened the blinds to let in filtered afternoon light. His eyes cautiously looked around the room, resting briefly on the pictures on the walls and the stuffed animals, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking about.

  "Is it a bit easier to breathe sitting up?" she asked, surprised when he looked back to
her after a moment and nodded faintly. "Good. I'm going to get you something to eat. You need some energy."

  She returned to the room in ten minutes to find be had drifted off to sleep, but as she sat on the edge of the bed, the slight motion brought him back with a start. She began to feed him the nourishing broth, smiling encouragingly when he took the spoon from her and shakily fed himself. He gave up after five mouthfuls, but let her feed him a few more until a coughing fit left him exhausted, sinking deeper into the pillows.

  "You'll be okay soon. You're over the worst of it now. I used to be a nurse and worked a great deal with pneumonia and fever patients," she said, in explanation. "In Moscow. Botkin Hospital."

  He stared at her, then, almost reluctantly, pointed to his side.

  "What is it? Are you in pain?" She pulled the blanket back and lifted his night shirt to look at the bottom of his ribs where his hand rested. A scar, from a knife wound probably, cut across the skin. It looked a few years old, standing out in sharp contrast to the pale, smooth skin surrounding it.

  "Moscow. Botkin Hospital." Illya leaned back against the pillows and studied her.

  "Is that where they fixed you up?"

  He shook his head. "That is where I was knifed."

  Again, he stared at-her, his face empty of emotion. Waiting. His arms were folded across his chest, appearing defensive and vulnerable, but it was a learned action; she could see that he was ready to strike if needed. For a moment, she felt afraid of him and his eyes registered the fear immediately, his chin rising to challenge her. She could feel the tension, a tangible scent in the air. If ever she understood he was a Soviet agent, it was in those few minutes.

  And if she let him win this one, he was lost to her. She purposefully locked his gaze, staring back, trying to look beyond the agent to the young man. The calmness about him was deceptive. He used it as a shield, was expert in its use, but it looked foreign on him nevertheless. He adamantly refused to belong in this room, the room of someone who was loved, surrounded by stuffed animals.