I nodded, crouched down on my haunches in front of the flames, feeling the heat work itself into my clothes. Steam was already rising from Alena's shirt and jeans.
She used a poker on the logs, repositioning them, saying, "Are you going to be able to do this?"
"We're already doing it," I said.
"You know what I mean."
The flames danced in the fireplace, famished, eating the logs. "He's going to give us what we want. He'll tell us what he knows."
"Without question." Alena turned the poker, nudging another of the logs. Sparks burst and then vanished. "I'm asking you how far you are willing to go to achieve that."
"He'll tell us what he knows," I repeated, after a moment. "One way or another."
She finished fiddling with the fire, replaced the poker in its stand, then turned her attention to me.
"Dan can do it," Alena told me. "You don't need to."
"It doesn't matter who does what, Alena. We're all guilty for what happens to Illya next."
"Just as he is guilty for what happened to Yasha and Tamryn and Natalie Trent."
"I haven't forgotten."
"I didn't think you had." I looked away from the fire to her. "The empty thing feels nothing," she said.
"And you are not an empty thing," I said.
"Neither are you."
"I know," I said.
I was just afraid of becoming one. Dan and I were in the room when Illya finally woke up, each of us seated in chairs at either side of the bed. We'd been waiting with the lights off-my idea, not Dan's-and the only illumination came from the hall, a spear of gold that dug into the darkness. Outside, the snow was still falling steadily. If it didn't let up soon, we could find ourselves snowed in, and I didn't like that idea. I wanted to get this over with quickly, to get it done and then to get gone.
He came up slowly, as if he knew what was waiting for him when he was finally awake. I listened to his breathing change, the regular and gentle cadence becoming more rapid, more broken, and then the bed creaked, and creaked again. I knew he was moving, that his eyes were now open, that he'd realized he couldn't move his hands or his feet. Then the memory hit him, what had happened, and the panic followed, and he cried out, inarticulate, and the bed creaked again, louder, and knocked back against the wall as he began thrashing about.
The lights came on, and I'd been ready for it, but Illya hadn't, and he cried out again, wincing and trying to shield his eyes with his bound hands. He wasn't a big man, perhaps four inches or so shorter than me, not handsome so much as pleasant-looking, with a broad face that seemed more inclined to laughter than to curses. His hair was black, and his brown eyes were so dark they might as well have been, too.
Then his vision returned enough to see Dan, and then he saw me, and Illya froze, and the look of fear and despair that flared in his face was heartbreaking.
It made me furious. It made me want to get out of my chair and take hold of his throat in one hand, and to punch him again and again with my other, and to ask how fucking dare he try to make me feel for him, care for him. It made me wish I could open my mind, that I could dump the memory of Natalie into his, that last vision of her, with bone and brain and blood on a New England dawn. To scream at him that he had done this, and in so doing had killed any hope of sympathy or mercy from me.
Dan, still seated as before, said, "Hello, Illya."
Maybe because the words were so very innocuous they seemed to terrify Illya all the more.
"Dan…" he said, in Russian. His voice was hoarse, whether from fear or disuse, I didn't know. "Oh God, Dan, please-"
"You don't want to be talking to me," Dan told him, switching to English and looking at the pistol he was holding in his right hand, as if noticing it for the first time. It was the same gun we'd taken from Illya when we'd made the snatch ten hours ago, a cheap Taurus semiauto. "You want to talk to him."
Illya twisted his head back towards me, much the same way the Next Victim turns to look over her shoulder in horror films.
"Depending on what you say to him and how hard he has to work to get you to say it, then you'll want to talk to me," Dan told him. "So you better tell him what he wants to know, Illya. If you want anything from me at all, you better fucking well tell him what he wants to know."
Illya swallowed, then nodded. "I…I didn't know what they would do."
I stared at him, doing my damnedest at keeping anything that I was thinking, anything that I was feeling, from my face. No fury, no sympathy, no hatred, nothing. Trying to let him supply all of those things, instead, to put on me what he feared and what he hoped.
"You don't…you don't believe me," Illya said to me. His English was only mildly accented, as if he'd been working on perfecting it at the same time I'd been trying to master Russian and Georgian. "I know you don't, I can tell you don't. But I didn't know, I swear."
I looked at Dan. Dan sighed, then leaned across the bed towards me, handing over the Taurus as Illya eyed it with visible alarm. I took the pistol and nodded to Dan, and Dan got out of his chair and left the room. Illya didn't know where to look, bouncing his eyes from the pistol to Dan to me, and it was obvious that the panic he was struggling to keep at bay was gaining ground, and quickly.
It gained more ground when I racked the slide on the Taurus. I didn't point the gun at him; I didn't need to. I pointed it at the floor.
"Oh God," Illya said, switching to Russian. "Oh God oh my God please don't kill me."
Alena entered the room, moving around to stand behind me in my chair. Then Dan returned and took his seat once more, Vadim following him, picking a place at the foot of the bed. Illya struggled to sit up straighter in the bed, backing further against the headboard, as if hoping he could melt himself through the wood and the wall to freedom.
None of us said a word, all of us staring at him.
Illya began to tremble. Tears started filling his eyes, then began to spill down each cheek.
"I didn't mean to, oh God, I didn't mean to," he said, and he was unable to look at any of us, so instead he studied his hands, the duct tape wrapped thick around his wrists. "They picked me up, I was at Millat's, I was just doing some shopping and they grabbed me when I came outside, they said I had to go with them. I didn't have a choice! They showed me-they showed me IDs, like that, not…not badges, but cards. They knew who I was, Dan! They knew who I was, everything, they said I was an illegal, that I was a criminal, that they were going to arrest me!"
He twisted in the bed, focusing on Dan. His hands came up, as if to implore him.
"I didn't have a fucking choice, you understand, don't you? You have to understand, I would never have betrayed you for anything, but they had me, they had me, they were going to put me away, send me back!"
Behind me, I felt Alena resting her hands on my shoulders. It was a subtle movement, but Illya was strung out on his fear and his adrenaline, and he caught it, twisting back in our direction, terrified.
"This is what they said, okay? This is what they said, what they wanted, they didn't want me, they said they didn't care about me, they wanted my help, that's what they wanted. They just wanted to know where the two of you were, that was all. They just wanted me to tell them where you were, when you would be there, then they wanted me to go away. They gave me money, they told me fifty thousand dollars if I did this.
"I tried to tell them I didn't know what they were talking about, I tried to tell them they had made a mistake, but they knew! You understand? They knew about you and about her, that she was somewhere around New York, that you two were together, working together, that Dan was helping. They said that was all they wanted, only the two of you, they said Kodiak and Drama, that's what they called Natasha, they said that was it, just the two of you, that was all I had to do, just tell them where you would be, where and when you would be there. If I did that, they said that would be all, they would take care of it. I swear to God I didn't know they wanted to kill you!"