4. Dead Drop
I’ve been here nearly three weeks now and I know the routine perfect. John is the morning guard who interacts with me by bringing my food...breakfast and lunch...as well as accompanying me to the shower. John looks sixty five, but he’s overweight and balding. He has watery blue eyes and his face is splotchy in color. I think he drinks too much. Somehow that is comforting, because I think I can get him to talk to me.
His replacement in the evening doesn’t talk to me at all. He is black and very big. I do not think I’d win in a fight with him. I don’t remember ever having a guard of his color before. There is someone on duty from eleven to seven, but since I am usually asleep by then I rarely see him or, it could even be a her.
So of the three, I am cultivating John in order to get information about Sydney. The most recent one sent her to Siberia to hunt for the music box. I wonder if she obtained it or did Sark interrupt her. I decided to ask John when he brings breakfast which he does promptly at 7:30 a.m.
“Here you are Ms. Derevko.” He set the tray down inside the door as I stood in the corner by the desk. He shut and locked the door.
I walked to the tray, bent down and picked it up. “Is there any word about my daughter? I’m worried she might have had trouble.”
He grinned. “Now don’t you worry about her. Around here, Sydney Bristow is pretty special. She can get the job done and when they ask her to do something, she’s good at finishing the job.”
“Could you find out?” I flashed him the most beautiful smile I can manage.
He grins at me. “No problem. I’ll let you know when everyone else knows.”
“Thank you,” and I smile again. He nods and leaves me to eat.
When I next see him, John smiles, while picking up the tray. “She’s back and she’s okay.” He started to leave.
“Wait, John, I know she went after music box. Did she find it?”
He paused. “Yes, but according to what I heard, it was pretty corroded.” He walked up the hall and out of sight.
I wanted more information, but I was going to have to be patient. If the box was not useful, what now? Chyort! I hoped it was in good condition and either she or Sark brought it out into the world. I said nothing out loud and sat down, instead, on my bed. I still had a feeling that Sydney would need more information about it.
The next morning I was sitting on my bunk reading War and Peace by Tolstoy. The man told a pretty good story. Sydney came down the hall, found the chair and pulled it up to the window. She looks like she needed information.
“Klaus Richter is in SD-6 custody.” Oh God, I thought, they’ll kill him.
“I’m aware,” she continued, “that you refused to give the CIA details about this operations manual you had Richter hide away and I understand why. The knowledge contained in that manual is your only leverage. But now, having spoken with Richter, SD-6 is after it.
“Richter was found in the custody of Mr. Sark. We don’t know what Sark knows. He might already have the map in his possession. I’m here because SD-6 is sending me to Moscow. I’m going to retrieve the map at FAPSI headquarters. So if you want to help the CIA, as you claim to, you’ll give us any information you have that will facilitate the recovery of Richter’s map.”
I looked at her for a moment. “When I turned myself over to CIA, a pair of earrings were taken from me. They have sentimental value. I’d like them back.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Then in good faith, tell me how you plan on breaking into the library.” I studied her without emotion.
“I’m going in as a Major with medals that are actually keys I need. Marshal Flinkman is very good at op tech, probably better than any you’ve seen, or the CIA for that matter.”
I raised my eyebrows in slight disbelief, but she was so positive, I had to believe her. “Once you pass the security, what is your next move?”
“I am going to take the east wing’s stairs.”
“The east wing stairwell is an option. I can see why SD-6 chose that route. But there’s a better way to get to the sixth floor library. Write this down.” She flipped her notebook open. “Once you’re inside the building, don’t take the main stairs. You just look to your left and there’s a door.” I was making motions with my hands, helping her to visualize the area.
“Go through the door. It leads to a private elevator which can operate with any key your Marshall can devise. It will save you from meeting anyone or having to answer any questions. And Sydney...”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Sydney looked up and smiled. It was one of those wonderful warm Derevko smiles that can melt anyone’s heart, even mine. I smiled back at her as she gets up, smiles again, and leaves.
Moy bog, I remember that smile when she was little. I feel a tear trying to escape. Nyet, Irina, you cannot give in to emotion. You are a prisoner, walking a fine line, between life and death. One false step and they will rescind the immunity agreement and off you will go to prison for life or... I stop thinking about what might happen. I wish Sydney the best of luck on her mission.
The next morning I am doing some yoga exercises when I heard the buzzer go off and the gates being raised. Someone banged on the window. It’s Agent Vaughn. He’s got a cell phone to his ear.
“Sydney’s trapped in the Fapsi building in Moscow. She needs a way out now!”
“Where is she exactly?” I’ve turned to face him as he repeats the question to Sydney who is thousands of miles away.
“An office on the seventh floor.”
“Whose office,” I ask.
“General Vitali Siminov.” He answers after listening to Sydney’s reply.
“Ask her if there’s an abstract painting behind the desk. Tell her behind it is an activation switch for a private security door.”
He repeats my instruction. He’s waiting watching me watch him. Neither of us wants to say anything until we hear from Sydney.
Vaughn sighs with relief. “Copy, Freelancer, see you at home.” He hangs up and looks at me.
Then I ask a question, the answer to which I know. “How do you say ‘thank you’ to the woman who killed your father?”
“You don’t” He turned and walked back up the hall.
Smiling I shake my head and return to my yoga. Maybe someday I will tell him why I killed Bill Vaughn...and maybe not.
Sydney is back. She has a pad of paper and a color coded card, the map designed by Klaus to help me find my organization manual. She also has the earrings which she placed inside the drawer.
“They’ve been checked for hidden compartments, transmitters, passive sensors. Every sharp edge has been dulled.”
I don’t care. I have them back. I look at her. “I was twenty-one when I was given these at the graduation from the academy. My mother—your grandmother—put these in my hands. I cried. She said, “Sweetheart, wear them well.” You would have liked her. Had things...been different.”
Actually she gave them to me shortly before she died as well as the matching broach. She told me that they were family heirlooms, handed down from daughter to daughter. I wondered why she didn’t give them to Yelena or Katya.
“You are the one with a head on your shoulders, Irina. Yelena is,” she shrugged her shoulders, “...is difficult. Katya is frivolous and is chasing boys. You, little dove, are strong and will not be afraid when you discover their secret properties.”
I didn’t understand what she meant by not being afraid. Why would I be afraid of these earrings or the broach? It wasn’t until after he died that I first learned what was so different about them. It happened by accident, of course, but I hit the earring against the hiding place they were in and I heard a sound coming from the broach. I was only 15 then and didn’t understand what I had done or heard. It was later that I learned they could be used to transmit! However, I was not going to tell Sydney...yet. One day she would own them.
Now I could see how that affected Sydney. She realized that she’d had another set of grandparents...grandparents she would never see. I don’t even think I had a picture of either of them back home in Moscow.
Sydney put the map in the drawer with pad and pencil. I take it and start decoding the map Klaus had drawn after leaving my manual there. “Madagascar...close to Sambaba... latitude, minus fourteen degrees. Twenty-six minutes. Longitude forty-nine degrees. Fifty-seven minutes and twenty seconds.” I flipped the pad over so she can see it. “The building is clean. There are no explosives or anti-intrusion systems.”
“Thanks,” she says and leaves.
I hold the earrings shaking just a little. Everything depended on my getting those back from CIA. Now if Julian has the broach on him...
I figure if Sydney is going to Madagascar, it will take two days before she can return. I won’t be bothered until then. I don’t know what time it is, but I suspect since I had breakfast that Sydney won’t be able to reach the house until three or four tomorrow morning and it will be another eighteen hours before she is home.
Sark has responded and will await my orders. That is the hardest thing to do—wait. I don’t want to pace. I put myself through a series of aerobic exercises which I increased my heart rate and made me sweat. It was at least an hour before I deemed it worthwhile to stop. I need a shower, so I bang on the one way mirror.
John ambled down the hall, gates opening in front of him. “What?”
“Please, I want to take a shower.”
He nodded and walked out of site to the guard room. A couple of minutes later, he and another guard returned, carrying a towel, soap and wash cloth...and the handcuffs. Protocol he said, but I thought it silly since I wasn’t going anywhere...yet.
Once inside the shower I undressed and stepped into the shower. I turned on the cold water and let it run over me, cooling me down. I increased the hot water until it was steaming. As I stood there, I thought about Sydney. I was allowing her to find the manual which would do none of them any good, because it was encrypted. I smiled, but I did my part in good faith. I wonder what Sloane was thinking of doing. Julian was now operating with him as planned.
I turned on the cold water again to wash the soap suds away. I stepped out of the shower, humming an old Beatles tune. I dressed after toweling myself off and left the small room feeling immeasurably better.
I handed the towel, soap and washcloth to John and held out my wrists. Handcuffed I returned to my self-imposed glass cage. I was getting antsy. I wanted action. However the action I got was not what I wanted.
It was nearly nine that evening when I was meditating that I heard the buzzer go off. Sitting on the bunk I opened my eyes. Three U.S. Marshals were entering the room. They pulled me off my bunk. One put a handcuff belt on me and then locked my wrists to it. I was taken off guard and wondered what the hell was going on? They said nothing, but hustled me up the hall and up the stairs I’d been brought down a few weeks ago..
There was a van, whose rear doors were open. I was lifted up, seated, and my wrists were chained to the wall...my ankles shackled to the floor. Still they said nothing to me. One guard sat opposite me. I was panicking inside. What had happened? I felt a terrible shudder run through my body. This was not a part of my plan.
I looked at the guard who showed no emotion. No answers would come from him..
“Take her to Camp Harris for unrestricted interrogation.” The guard outside handed papers to the driver. “You can return as soon as you leave her.”
Camp Harris, I thought, was not going to be fun. Unrestricted interrogation—what had brought that on? What did I do? I maintained a calm exterior. I didn’t want them to think I was scared. Inside, however, my heart beat was erratic. I was in trouble.
5. The Indicator - Camp Harris
We drove for miles and no one spoke. The guard watched the driver, I watched the guard and the driver watched the road. Camp Harris did not sound like a pleasant place to spend a weekend at or even a day. The ominous words were unrestricted interrogation. I just didn’t understand. I had cooperated. I had helped Sydney. I may have an endgame, but it certainly did not involve my daughter.
What went wrong? I sighed softly. I guess I would know soon. The van made a sharp right turn and stopped. It was silent outside the van. I heard a door open close by and footsteps.
“Prisoner for interrogation,” said the driver, who handed the papers he had to someone outside. “Unrestricted.”
“Yes, I see,” said a man’s voice. “Irina Derevko. She Russian?”
“Yeah! Supposedly one tough cookie. Killed twelve CIA agents about 30 years ago.”
“All at once?”
“Naw...over a period of time, I think. You want more on her, call the task force.”
I said nothing as the guard inside unlocked my shackles and then the cuffs. “Stand up,” he said. I did and he shackled me again; raised me up and cuffed me. “Prisoner ready,” he called.
The outside doors opened. A flashlight caught me full in the face. I squinted, holding my wrists up to block the light.
“Get her down,” said the voice of her interrogator. “Put her on the post.”
The guard jumped down and pulled me roughly after him. I stumbled a little, but caught myself and maintained my balance. The driver joined them and I was led between the two of them to a wooden post about six feet high.
“Sit.”
I struggled to a sitting position, wondering what was coming next. The driver unlocked one shackle, pulling me roughly to the post which was a good one and a half feet in circumference. The other guard unlocked one cuff. I was then straddling the post. The chains were again locked. I was hugging the post and couldn’t move. My head was against the wood and I could barely move it.
“Thanks,” said the voice behind me.
The two Marshals jumped into the van and left. I still didn’t know why this was happening and wondered if the interrogator would even tell me.
“So, you’re a big shot Russian KGB agent?” The voice was now at my side.
The flashlight hit me in the face again and I closed my eyes. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I quit.”
Something struck across my back. I gasped. I knew it must be a baton of some kind.
“Don’t lie. It only gets you into trouble. Now, Ms. Derevko, you’ve been sent here for interrogation of the unrestricted type. That means I can do anything to you I want in order to get you to talk. Have you any idea what that means?”
“Yes.” I knew I had to cooperate. At my age, I could ill afford broken bones or a whipping. I had no idea now what CIA’s protocols were to make prisoners talk. I was sure they upgraded their methods just as the SVR had.
“So you’ll spend the night out here, before we take you to your cell. Oh, well, maybe we’ll stop for a little chat first.”
I said nothing. Don’t irritate him. Be careful. The light was extinguished and I heard footsteps retreat and a door slammed moments later. Leaning forward which was about all I could do, I moved my arms and legs, trying to get them settled in the best and most comfortable position I could. I judged it to be close to eleven, maybe a little before. I had absolutely no idea where we were.
It was extremely quiet except for what I took to be nocturnal animals—hooting and snorting. It was cold more so than it had been at the cell. Of course, it was air conditioned. I could move my head to the left and right and suddenly caught sight of the moon. It was half full and when higher in the sky might afford some light for me to see by.
However that was not to be, because I fell asleep a few minutes later.
I was awakened by icy cold water being thrown over me from behind. “Son of a bitch,” I yelled.
“Rise and shine, Ms. Derevko.” He leaned down and unlocked the cuffs and shackles; then pulled me from the post. I still couldn’t see him clearly as the sun was directly behind him. He locked the shackles and cuffs. “Get up!” He ordered.
I was in good shape for my age. I ran everyday that I could. I exercised strenuously also and especially since I turned myself over to the CIA. However, now I was almost unable to move. My arm and shoulder muscles had been pulled forward and they had stiffened. It was very painful and I wanted to cry, but bit my lip, rolling over onto my knees and pushing myself up onto some very stiff and painful legs. Those muscles too had been challenged and they didn’t seem to want to give me strength.
“Stand up!” He snapped.
I dared not to say anything. I was well acquainted with interrogators and their methods of intimidation and humiliation. I forced myself to stand straight. My legs though were shaking hard.
“Follow me,” he said.
Now I saw his back. He was a big man, maybe six three...a little taller than Jack, but he must have weighed two hundred twenty-five if not more. It wasn’t fat either. He was wearing a brown tee-shirt and the muscles rippled as he walked. His thighs and legs were muscular too. He was going to hurt me. I would have to keep him from doing too much damage.
I fell twice following him. I scrambled to my feet, willing my legs to stop shaking, but they wouldn’t and gave way again. The second time I had to take a minute to calm my legs when I was on my hands and knees. He didn’t want to wait and pulled me up to my feet by the back of my black tee shirt.
I was weaving on my feet. He gripped me under the left armpit and pulled me after him, over the dirt and up onto the porch of a medium sized building. He shoved me through the door and I fell again, my feet were tangled up with the shackles. I ached from head to foot. I said nothing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You must have been a piss-poor agent, Ms. Derevko.” He lifted me up to my feet and this time didn’t let go until we had entered a room with the required table and two chairs. He shoved me into one of the chairs. From under his arm, he took out a file folder and laid it down, opening it as he slid into the chair facing me.
“Now then, Ms. Tough-as-nails Derevko, I see here that your mission was to marry a CIA agent. You did. You had a child, Sydney,” he looked up and for the first time I saw him completely.
He looked like he’d been in hell and come back to tell the world about it. Two scars crossed a battered face: one from his right eye to the corner of his mouth. The other striped his face from his forehead, across his nose, across the other scar and curling, at least it looked like it, across his cheek to his jaw. His nose had been broken one time too many, and the right eye was puckered by the scar that began at its corner. His ears were battered and misshapen. He had grey eyes that were the color of steel.
“Now let’s get something straight. You’re a prisoner at Camp Harris. You may have noticed that we are located in the high desert, about an hour and a half from L.A. You won’t be going back to that fancy prison you were in, especially if you do not answer my questions.” He paused looking at me.
I was too busy trying to stay calm.
“So let’s start: I’m Major Mark Hanson formerly with military intelligence, but not any more.” He smiled a crooked smile. “You are Irina Derevko?”
“Yes.” I knew I would answer every reasonable question. That was a given for me in these circumstances.
“From this,” he looked at the file, “I see you turned yourself into the CIA saying you wanted to help them take down an organization called The Alliance as well as someone named Arvin Sloane?” He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“However that evidently was not what you intended to do, was it?”
“I don’t understand. I was helping.” I said it calmly.
His gray eyes regarded me coldly. “Why did you try to kill your daughter?”
“What?” I gasped. “K—kill my daughter? Is this what this is about? No...no I did not. How could I? I was in a prison cell.” I rose up. “Is she all right?”
Hanson shoved the table hard. It hit me just below my groin and I crashed to the floor. He was out of his chair and standing over me, caressing his palm with the baton, “Get your butt off my floor.” Hanson reached down, grasping my tee in his left hand, and hitting me in the left rib cage.
“I did not try to kill my daughter...I...did...not!” I gasped, feeling a sharp pain in my lower rib cage where he’d hit me.
He pulled me to my feet. “Johnson!” He yelled looking toward the door. A minute later, the door opened. Another man, shorter, heavier and definitely not an officer, ambled into the room.
“Yes sir?”
“Take her to the chair.” He gestured to the door.
“felgercarb, Captain, Sir, you ain’t plannin’ to do that to a woman, are you?”
Did they believe I’d done such a thing? I was in a cell without a telephone. What made them think I would kill my own daughter?
“I did not plan to kill my daughter, Captain. How could I? I was locked in basement cell.” I said it fast hoping he’d hear me.
“Take her, Johnson. I’ll be in as soon as I make a phone call.” He gave a key to the other man.
Two minutes later, I shuffled through an open door, Johnson beside me. The room was empty except for a box-like chair whose back was to the doorway. Johnson pushed me down into it and locked a wide metal cuff over both my wrists after taking the manacles off. He did the same to my ankles. Then he took wide leather belt and tightened it over my waist. I was unable to move much. I looked around wondering what was going to happen.
I heard footsteps; then a thick black hood was dropped over my head. A strap was tightened around my neck.
“We want to know how you planned the attack on your daughter. You will talk, eventually, Ms Derevko.”
Then water began cascading over my head, into my eyes, nose, ears and mouth which I kept shut for as long as I could. I had to breathe, but when I did, I only got water instead of air. I couldn’t move effectively to prevent it. I choked, gasping for air that wasn’t there or available...just water, a steady heavy stream of water. I struggled against my bounds. I really don’t know how long it was before the water stopped.
The hood was lifted and I saw Hanson in front of me. “Now do you want to tell me?”
I couldn’t speak because my lungs demanded attention and I took huge deep but sputtering breaths of air. My heart was pounding. On top of that, my clothes were soaking wet.
“I didn’t do it!” I heaved, re-filling my lungs with air. “I couldn’t!”
“The CIA believes you planned it before you turned yourself in to them.”
“I wouldn’t! She’s my daughter!”
He stared without emotion at me and then looked at Johnson who was behind me. “Again.”
The hood came down over my head. The strap was tightened and the water cascaded on my head and soaked down into the black cloth covering my face. The steady stream never stopped as I fought to keep from breathing it in until it became impossible. My lungs were crying out for air. I tried to move, but I couldn’t.
I felt as though I were drowning. Water sluiced into my nose and mouth, but no air. I choked. It was impossible to breathe. I strained against the straps holding me in place, but I couldn’t budge them. I could breathe. I was drowning. I lost consciousness this time, thinking I was truly being drowned.
I awoke on a bunk. I hurt all over and my chest felt as though it had been pummeled. I realized they had done CPR on me. I had no idea what time it was. The cell I was in had no windows. There was dimly lit light bulb over my head in the ceiling. Turning my head, I saw a camera on the wall outside the cell pointed, naturally, in my direction. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through that again, but I did not have any choice in what was done to me.
Govno, I thought, I am in trouble. Who would set me up? The answer was easy...Jack! He was the only one who didn’t trust my reason for turning myself into the CIA. I had a sinking feeling that it might be even worse.
It was.
The door to the hall outside opened and Hanson came to my cell door. “Hungry?”
“Yes,” I croaked.
He grinned. “Johnson, bring her food here.”
The private entered, carrying a tray with a cup and a bowl. He put it down on the floor inside the cell. Hanson shut and locked the door. “Bon a petit!” They left. I tried to swing my legs to the floor, but one ankle, my right one, was chained to the bunk. I swore under my breath because I just knew he was watching to find out what I would do. I thought for a moment; then got down to the floor. I couldn’t go very far because my right leg was tethered.
I had to reach for the edge of the tray and it took every bit of my six feet plus arm reach to touch it. My third finger on my left hand could just hook the tray’s edge. I pulled. The tray moved a little. It was heavy: metal instead of plastic. Deliberate I thought. I concentrated and pulled it about an inch. Now I could get three fingers on the edge, so pulled it much closer.
Looking inside the bowl, I saw some kind of watery stew. The cup held coffee in it. I swore under my breath. There wasn’t a spoon on the tray. I had to pick up the bowl with my hands. I edged back to the bunk and pushed myself up into a sitting position. Reaching down with my hands, I tried to lift the bowl. It didn’t budge.
“Those sons-a-bitches,” I whispered under my breath. If I wanted to eat, I had to put my face down into the bowl. I was hungry. I was not going to starve because of my pride. That was not productive. I steadied myself with my hands and began to eat. I knew they were taping this, but I didn’t care.
I wasn’t able to get all of the stew and my face was a mess. I could lift the cup. The coffee was terrible, cold, and I very nearly spit it out. I didn’t however, because I needed fluids. The water torture hadn’t allowed me to drink.
Captain Hanson put something in the coffee, because I very nearly fell asleep on the floor. Fortunately, I made it back to the bunk before I passed out.
I awoke in the morning, chained to the same post as before. I don’t even know what time it was when Hanson arrived. He crouched down beside. “Good morning, sleepyhead, time to wake up.” He stood and a bucket of water was dumped on me. It was ice water.
“Sookin sin!” I shouted, sputtering with indignation. Of course, I couldn’t move.
“Sorry!” He didn’t sound like it. “I guess cold water’s not your thing. How about this?”
A bucket of very hot water was dumped on me. I screamed. Fortunately I had not been looking up at him. My face and eyes were saved.
“Johnson,” Hanson yelled.
I took some deep breaths, prepping my lungs in case they were going to take me back to that—that room with the chair.
“Undo the chain from one ankle and one wrist; then lock her up again.” He left. “She can make her way to me anyway she can, even if she has to crawl. Don’t help her.”
I had the same reaction that I did when he loosened me yesterday. My arms were tight and painful from the many hours against the post. My legs were shaking as I tried to stand and it was worse than yesterday.
“Get your traitorous butt over here, Derevko,” Hanson snarled. “We have some serious interrogation to do today. I don’t want to waste time.”
I took a short step, then another and another. I must have taken a half-dozen before I fell. My legs ached and shook. My arms and shoulders were painful. I said nothing and pulled myself up, then stood on those shaking legs. I forced myself to take small steady steps as my mind willed them not to give way. There were two steps up to the porch which ran across the face of the building. I had to maneuver them one step at a time.
“felgercarb, Derevko,” Hanson grabbed my tee in the front and pulled me into the building, down the hall, to the door.
“No, please, I didn’t and wouldn’t hurt my daughter.” I would not allow myself to whine. I kept my voice steady.
He didn’t answer. He threw me into the room. I fell with a crash to the floor. The breath was knocked out of me. This man seemed to get pleasure out of his interrogation. His rough techniques were reminiscent of some I had experienced in training. However crude, he was causing me pain. Why wouldn’t I? I was not young anymore, although there were times when I didn’t feel my age. This was one of them. I felt older.
Hanson picked me up and shoved me into the chair. We were in the water room. He locked my wrists and ankles. He pulled the strap across my waist. He dropped the black hood over my head, but didn’t pull the strap across my neck.
“Look Derevko, we can keep up this water interrogation two or three times a day or you can tell me what they want to know. It’s your choice.”
I shook my head. He hadn’t heard anything I told him. “I’ll tell you.” I said quietly. I really hoped he’d listen this time.
“Go for it,” he said pulling out a small recorder and placing it on the table beside me Then he took off the hood.
So I carefully told him the entire story about my organization’s manual and why the CIA wanted it, but that SD-6 was after it also. I told him about my dear friend, Klaus Richter, who had followed my instructions, hiding it where no one would find it. I explained that my daughter had gone to Moscow to find the map and how I had gotten her out of a trap.
“She needed me to decode the map which I did. I gave her precise directions and I told her that the house was safe. I was in a prison cell. I had no phone and no outside contact. Major, I could not and would not set a trap for Sydney. My main objective when I put myself in CIA’s custody was to see my daughter and to help her get out of the spy business. I thought if I could help CIA to bring down The Alliance and all of its SD-6’s including Arvin Sloane, who killed Sydney’s fiancé’, she would resign.
“I simply wanted her to live a normal life. That’s why I gave myself up. I did not nor did I ever intend to kill her.”
He studied me for a minute. His cell phone rang. “Hanson.” He listened and then looked at me. “Okay. No, she’s not given us anything. Yes. No, she didn’t. Yeah, will do. How soon? She’ll be here.” He shut the cell phone off. “Your lucky day, Ms Derevko, the Department of Justice has decided to revoke your immunity agreement and put you on trial as a spy and assassin.” He walked out of the room calling Johnson. “Get the prisoner back to her cell. Someone’s coming to pick her up.”
Son of a bitch...now what? I could see no way out.
6. Salvation
They brought me to the women’s federal prison here in San Pedro. An hour after Hanson talked with someone, a van entered the yard. I was led out, helped into the truck and locked down again. I was a mess. I must have smelled terrible. My clothes were filthy, my hands and face dirty and unwashed. My hair was a tangled mess. I do believe I did not look like a glamorous spy and assassin...well, maybe an assassin.
The guard rode in front with the driver. At least I didn’t have to stare at someone who wouldn’t look at me. However I think he decided to ride up front after he got a load of what I smelled like. It had been two and a half days since I’d had a shower. The water torture had left my clothes dirty and my hair dried in a tangle. Then the next morning Hanson’s waking me up with a bucket of cold, then hot, made my clothes wet and muddy since the post was sitting in dirt.
However at this minute, I didn’t care. I was not going to be subjected to any further interrogation. Still I don’t know what Hanson made of my “confession” since the DOJ made its decision to try me for my previous crimes and not the one I was tortured for at Camp Harris.
The trip took two hours or more through heavy traffic. It was hot in the van and no air conditioning allowed for prisoners. I was curious about what awaited me. Who made the decision to try me; to void the immunity agreement? I knew that it had to be Jack who framed me and strangely enough, I understood it. I guessed I wouldn’t know the details anytime soon, if ever.
The van stopped and then started up again, drove a short distance and stopped again. A few seconds later, the guard opened the van’s rear doors, jumped up and released me. I was shackled and hand-cuffed again, helped out of the van. I stood for a moment blinking in the bright sunlight. Then I focused on the guards in front of me: two women and a man.
“Come with us,” said the man who led the way. The other two followed me.
They took me down a corridor and through two gates that had to be opened from the other side by guards. We stopped at a closed door that said ‘medical’ on it. “In here,” the man said. He stepped back as the two female guards followed me inside.
“Strip,” said one.
I did.
“Arms outstretched,” one ordered. “Wow,” she said as she checked my body. “Looks like you already took some punishment.”
I knew I had several bruises from the rough treatment I got at Camp Harris, especially the two hits I took from the Hanson’s baton.
“What are these?” The guard used her finger to trace the thin white scars running across my back.
“Scars.”
“I can see that, woman. What are they from?”
“Whips!”
There was a moment of silence as they thought about it.
“Can I put my arms down?” I asked.
“Yeah, and hop up on the table. The doc will be here in a minute.”
Naked and chilled, I did as I was told except the ‘hop up’ part. One of the women left the room. The other stood watching me. The door to her right opened and an elderly man entered, wearing a white coat which didn’t look all that clean.
“Take notes, Mabel, please.” He handed her a clip board. His examination was thorough and quick. I knew he’d probably done these a thousand times.
Just then the door opened and the guard returned with clothing and a pair of shoes. The clothes I’d been wearing were probably in a dumpster somewhere.
“You finished, doc?”
“Yes. She’s in good shape but for the bruises. They’ll go away...Ms. Derevko, is it?’ I nodded. “I do believe, however, that she needs a shower before anything else.” He took the clipboard from Mabel and left the room.
The two women took me out of the room. The male guard was gone. They marched me naked down the hall and stopped in front of another door. One guard opened it and I followed her inside. It was a room with a shower and toilet. There were no windows and no other exit.
“Take a shower and be sure to wash your hair. You stink.” Mabel handed me towel, washcloth, soap and a small bottle of shampoo. “You got about fifteen minutes.” She put the clothes she had on the chair. “Put these on when you’re through.”
“Thank you.” I stepped inside and for fifteen minutes scrubbed myself from top to bottom.
I put on the clothes they gave me—underwear and an orange jumpsuit, standard Federal prison wear. I left everything else inside and stepped again into the hall. They sniffed and grinned.
“Much better.” Mabel said and turned down the hall. The other guard whose name was Lisa held me by the arm as we walked.
“You’re going to be in solitary,” she said. “The prison population would be dangerous to your health.”
“Why?” I was curious. I wasn’t too keen about solitary.
“They may be a bunch of bad asses, but they are still patriotic and the warden didn’t want them to end your life here before your trial.”
“Trial?”
“I thought you knew. The DOJ is sending their prosecutor here to talk to you and to read the charges for which you are being tried.” She stopped and another gate opened.
We proceeded down a long hall. There were no barred cells, only iron doors. This must be solitary. The two guards stopped in front of the third door on the right. Suddenly the door slid open.
“In here,” and I was gently shoved through the opening.
The door slid shut behind me. There was one window high up, but even I would not be able to see out. The cell was practically dark. I looked around. There was a toilet in the corner and a bunk opposite. Directly under the small barred window was a sink. There was a shelf built over the bed on which prisoners could place their possessions.
It was empty now, except for one book. I reached for it. It was a bible. The pages were worn, so it had been used. How, I didn’t know, because it was so gloomy I could hardly read it. I replaced it on the shelf and lay down. The pillow was rather skimpy, but it was better than what I had the last two nights. I fell asleep.
I was awakened by my door opening. It was dark, or almost so. I could not see who it was. I waited.
“Ms Irina Derevko?”
“Yes?”
“The Federal Prosecutor is here to talk to you. Come with us.” He stepped back. The two women, Mabel and Lisa, were waiting behind him. They held shackles and handcuffs which they immediately placed on me when I stepped outside.
I learned later the man was Assistant Warden Jeffrey Barnes. He led the way back the way I’d been brought into the prison. I couldn’t walk fast, but managed to do better than I had at Camp Harris in similar circumstances. I was shown into a room where there was a table and two chairs. A young man waited there, his brief case on the table.
“Sit down,” said Barnes. He looked at the other man. “You want someone to stay in here with you?”
“Leave a guard, but I doubt the prisoner will do anything other than listen.” He sat down in the chair opposite me. He watched Barnes and Lisa leave. Mabel stood just inside the door. “Well now, Ms. Derevko, I’m here to inform you that you need a lawyer and should get one. If you do not have one, we will provide one.”
“I know one. Do you have a piece of paper?”
He reached in his briefcase and brought out a yellow scrap pad. “You want a pen?”
“No. Please write this phone number down.” I gave him the number of my contact here in Los Angeles. “I would appreciate it if you would call him. He will get my lawyer who is presently out of the country.”
He looked surprised. “How soon do you think he will come?”
“Tomorrow I think if you call now. Use the cell phone you have there.” I gestured to the briefcase.
“Why don’t you call?” He reached into his pocket and handed me the cell phone. “I don’t keep it in my briefcase. I’ll leave if you wish to talk to him.”
I took the phone from him. “Tell me what charges I’m being tried for and the procedures.”
“You are being tried as a traitor, as well as the murders of twelve CIA agents and 82 counts of spying.” He was not apologetic nor did I expect him to be.
“I was doing my job as a Russian spy. That is who I worked for.”
“Unfortunately for you, you married a US citizen which automatically made you a citizen. That was your mistake.” He walked to the door and pulled the guard out with him. “You have five minutes to arrange for a lawyer.”
“Thank you.” I punched in the number. “Hello, Aaron...”
The next afternoon my lawyer was in the conference room when I was brought there. He winced when he saw me. I don’t think he ever thought the great Irina Derevko would ever be put into this position on trial for murder and the other assorted crimes.
“Did you talk to the prosecutor?”
“Yes, Irina, and it isn’t good. Right now both your daughter and husband are testifying before the Senate judiciary committee. The trial will begin tomorrow. The number of charges makes me think the trial may last many months.”
“Months? Why?”
“Well knowing them, they’ll introduce every piece of evidence they have. It will take that long for them to present their case.”
I studied him for a long while and thought about the prospect of staying in my cell for that length of time. “Will it be in a closed court?”
“I doubt it. You, dear lady, are going to be made a lesson of, I think. They want the world and your countrymen, to know you received a fair trial. We’ll work every appeal we can to forestall any sentence.”
“Does that mean anyone could watch the court proceedings? Will they be on TV?” My mind was working hard figuring out each scenario. I didn’t like the answers.
“Open court and anyone can come. I’m not sure about television.”
“Then plead me guilty to everything except the last one. I did not try to kill my daughter.”
“Irina!”
“I mean it. I am not going to subject my daughter to all the evidence they could produce including pictures of the dead CIA agents. I don’t want to spend months in solitary either and that’s where I would be as the trial goes on. I want to plead guilty and there will be no appeals.”
“It means the death penalty,” Aaron said solemnly. “They’ll not wait long.”
I shrugged. At this moment, I didn’t care. It seemed that my plans had gone awry and I didn’t see any way out of my predicament.
“Get in touch with the prosecuting attorney. I’ll not be going anywhere. You can get back to me tomorrow.”
Aaron told me the next day that the prosecuting attorney was dumbfounded. He notified the judiciary committee who had planned to be present during the opening statements. Aaron also told him I would not appeal any verdict. That too was a surprise. I think the young man had planned on some great opening as well presenting the evidence that he knew would bring a guilty verdict.
“Yes, I thought so too!” I smiled. “Don’t worry, Aaron. Just tell me when it will happen.”
“You don’t want to be there?”
“Why? What good would it do?” I stood. “Call Katya and she’ll pay your bill.” I shuffled to the door and knocked on it. I wanted to be on my way. I was tired and I still ached from the Camp Harris interrogations.
He returned the next day to tell me that they would put me to death by lethal injection in three days. They would be moving me to death row shortly. I was thankful that Sydney would not have to testify because the government felt they had enough evidence on my spying and assassinations to warrant the death penalty. I hugged Aaron and wished him well.
I handed him the letter I wanted him to give to Katya. “It’s a farewell letter.” I gave him another letter. “This is my will. I’ve left everything to Sydney and Katya. She’ll be able to fill in the details.”
To Katya I’d written:
Dearest Sister,
When you get this I will be dead. I was arrogant to think that I would escape Jack’s fervent wish for revenge, but it seems he was smarter than I. Do not take any retaliation.
I am leaving all of my estate to you and to my daughter, Sydney Anne Bristow. It’s to be divided in half. Aaron has the will which is simple. You will have to give him all my financial information so he can legally obtain the rights for the division of property in various parts of the world where you have invested my money.
I wasn’t planning to die, but I have just a day left before they take my life. I suppose in many ways I deserve it. My life has not been a happy one although the years I was married to Jack and having Sydney were the happiest in spite of my job.
I’ve seen and talked with Sydney, but not as much as I had wished. She has turned out to be a lovely young woman. I only wish she were not working as an intelligence agent.
I love you, dear Katusha.
Rishka
They moved me that night into Death Row. I was the only one there and there were only two cells. The cell door wasn’t solid and I could look out. The accommodations were much better. There was a light. The bunk had a thicker mattress. They provided a small cupboard for essentials: comb, toothbrush and toothpaste and whatever else I wanted. Of course, I had nothing.
Besides the Bible, there was a pocket book of the romance type. Left there, I suppose, by the last inhabitant. I fell back on my bunk and started reading it. I thought I’d probably get through it, by the time...
I am through the book. Placing it back on the shelf I sit with my back to the wall. This floor is quiet as I am the only one here. This is the second day of my stay on Death Row. That means tomorrow is the day. The warden came to visit and said that the time of my demise (he didn’t say it like that) was 12:01 a.m. A guard came by and asked me if I had anything special I wanted to eat at dinner. I suppose that’s the traditional last meal request made by the prisoners here.
They really didn’t have anything I wanted because I knew they would not have any Russian food. I ordered salmon fillet, roasted new potatoes and beets. For dessert, I decided on a Crème Brule. My drink of choice was tea. It didn’t sound exotic and it wasn’t. Surprisingly it was very good. They gave me plenty to eat, but I wasn’t all that hungry.
A priest came by as I finished dinner and wanted to know if I needed him to pray with, but I declined the offer. I hadn’t been in a church to pray for over 20 years. When he left, I thought hard about when it actually was. I knew it was with Sydney, but I just could not remember when or why.
I laid on the bunk thinking about my daughters. Nadia would never see me or know me ever. She was lost to me as I was to her. Sydney though...I hoped that someday she would learn the truth. I never wanted to kill her...never. Jack, though, was another matter. I just know he did this and my heart is heavy with the knowledge of how much he hates me. Can I blame him? I think not, because I don’t know what he went through when the FBI told him about what I’d done.
Sydney! I wanted to know her better and I think we were making progress. Now she believes I tried to kill her! A tear escaped and trickled down my cheek as I was beginning to feel sorry that I waited so long to tell her I did love her and had thought about her, as well as Jack, almost everyday since my extraction. We didn’t get to talk much either and there was so much I wanted to hear from her. Now that wouldn’t happen.
I wondered what dying would feel like. Kashmir had been the closest I’d ever been to that—dying. There were a couple of times when I thought I wouldn’t make it, but I did. I had a terrible depression descend on me when I’d been raped so many days in a row and again when I was stuck in that dirt hellhole following the riot.
I think I was dozing off when I heard the door at the end of the hall slide open. Was it time already? I might as well get it over with even though there was the tiniest bit of fear in my mind. I stood at the cell door waiting. It was Barnes the assistant warden who walked up with Mabel and Lisa following. One had shackles and cuffs, the other a pile of clothing, although I didn’t realize it at first as I thought Barnes was coming to take me to the...the room.
“Ms. Derevko,” he said.
“Is it time already,” I asked?
“No and your sentence has been commuted.” He said.
I gaped at him, “What?”
“You are being sent back to CIA prison in Los Angeles. Put on these clothes and leave those on the bunk.” He walked back out of sight.
Mabel handed me the clothes. It was the uniform I’d worn earlier, but had been washed and pressed. I put on the slippers and stepped out. Lisa shackled me and Mabel put the handcuffs on, a smile on her face. “We’re glad they ain’t gonna do it to you. I hate when a woman is executed”
I smiled, hiding my elation. “Thank you. Me too!” I wanted to ask what happened or how it happened, but I knew she wouldn’t or didn’t know.
“Let’s go,” said Lisa.
We walked out through the prison and to the same place I’d been brought several days ago. The van was waiting, as was the driver and guard. It was raining like it had been when I was brought to Los Angeles, weeks ago. I thought it never rained in LA. Maybe it was my own personal karma. They shackled me down inside. It would be late when we arrived at the Joint Task Force center. The emotional let-down was wearing after being so close to dying. I was tired and sleepy.
It was after midnight when we arrived, still raining and still no umbrella. I was helped out and then marched to the cell. They removed the shackles and the handcuffs. I had only eyes for my bunk. It was still empty of bedding, but at this moment, I didn’t care. Sleep was all I cared about.
In the morning, I awoke to find Sydney sitting on the other side of the cell. She’d been there ever since I’d been brought back.
“Sydney!” I swung my legs over the bunk, looking at her with a smile.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“I put the earring you left in the box.”
“Thank you.”
“Vaughn is the one you need to thank. He found out what really happened. Oh, oh,” she glanced down at her pager. “I’ve got to go. I’ll come back later.”
I watched her go, knowing that a miracle had happened. Agent Vaughn saved my life.
*
SIDNEY AND KATYA
“Hello!”
“Katya, it’s me.”
“Sydushka! What can I do for you?”
Sydney sighed, “I just wanted to talk.”
“I take it Michael is still reluctant.”
“Yes, but I just finished a section of the journal where Mom gave up her rights to a trial and pled guilty. Did you get that letter she sent?”
“What letter?”
“Oh, guess Aaron was contacted about her sentence being commuted.”
“Sydushka, how did that happen? I don’t remember her ever telling me.”
“Oh I fibbed to a U.S. Senator and got away with it! He bought my story and commuted both Mom’s and Dad’s sentences. Dad was sentenced to prison for lying.”
Katya chuckled. “That man...your father would do anything for you, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes!” Sydney said quietly and tearfully remembering his ultimate sacrifice. “I think none of what happened would’ve happened if he’d been kinder to me while I was growing up after Mom left.” She sighed.
“Maybe, but there was your mother...” Katya sighed, looking at a picture of Irina which sat on her desk, along with pictures of Sydney and the children. “Do you think you could have handled knowing the truth about your mother if he’d told you, say when you were fourteen?”
Sydney thought about it. “No, I don’t think so...” She sighed. “I guess things will be what will be. I wouldn’t probably have ever met Michael or married him. I guess my fate was to be a spy. It is only conjecture though.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. How are Iz and Jack?”
“They’re both fine, but growing so fast. Jack’s almost two and Iz will be five next year. She’s in pre-school and...” Sydney paused, thinking about her daughter’s precociousness and mental acuity for a four year old, “...and is in a class by herself.”
Katya laughed. “Are you trying to tell me she’s a...a genius?”
“How did you guess?”
“Sydushka, both you and your mother had very high IQs. It stands to reason your children will also.” Katya laughed again. “Your mother was precocious too and nearly drove our mother wild until she went to school. My broker is on the other line. I’ve got to go. Good luck and I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up.
Sydney looked at the phone, sighed, and snapped the cell shut. She’d like to know more about her mother’s growing up. Next time she called Katya maybe she’d be able to coax a story or two out of her.
TBC -
