The Man From U.N.C.L.E: The Thief From Moscow

Chapter 30: Bar Talk

Illya sat himself down in the crowded bar, led by the bored-looking waitress. 

"Can I get your order sir?" She huffed and took out her notepad, her eyelids drooping from lack of sleep.

"Just a beer, please," he smiled at the woman sympathetically and hunched down in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible to the people around him. It wasn't easy to do such a thing when you were six-foot-two.

He was starting to lose himself in the buzz of joyful talk and the taste of beer, when three sinister men strolled into the pub. They took the table behind Illya and leaned in to talk to each other in a whisper. Illya could just make out what they were saying. 

"We got Kosygin, stupid Bastard." 

They laughed and thumped the table, bringing attention to themselves. The waitress approached them nervously, avoiding their glances at her legs.

She attempted to smile at the rowdy pack of men. "Can I help you?" 

"Three vodka shots and more to come." The men chuckled again as the waitress quickly scurried away to get their orders.

"His daughter's probably with the secret service, so that's useless I suppose." One of them slurped on their beer noisily. "She would've been a nice pass time."

"Gets a bit boring in the basement..." Another man agreed. "I wish Albert would let us bring a few girls down there."

"I saw this girl down by the Kremlin talking to Albert's brother, Sergei." The man grinned. "The legs on that thing." All the men chuckled and nudged each other.

Illya's neck tensed up as he knew they were talking about his Gaby. He had to stay calm though. 

"You're not on about Gaby Teller?" One of the men tutted. "Old Teller's daughter, Nazi."

"Yeah, I heard she was in Moscow too."

"Albert's going to be excited." The men laughed as they downed their beers. "The last time I saw her, she was a little girl in Germany."

"Nice legs even at that age."

Illya wanted to kill them. Individually and slowly. He wanted to hear them in pain as he realised what they were talking about. They were talking about the man who had stolen Gaby's innocence when she was only a thirteen-year-old trapped in the walls of Germany. He bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming out loud. 

"We have a couple of new people joining the group though," one of the men rolled their eyes. "We're going to have play nice with them and show them around."

"Huh," a man responded through his drunk haze, "there's new guys joining?"

"Albert's always going on about expanding the group and stuff." One of the men chuckled sarcastically. "It's like he doesn't trust us to do a good job."

"I wouldn't trust you."

The table erupted in laughter as one of them punched their teammate drunkly on the shoulder. "We're all too drunk to walk back."

"You kidding? It's Albert's house, two miles out of Moscow. No way am I walking there through this shit weather."

The snow was falling heavily on the city outside. It was the peak of the Russian winter time. Illya pulled his coat closer around his shoulder. He started to get up and he put down a couple of Russian Ruble notes down on the table for the waitress.

He escaped the bar and into the streets of Moscow. At this time, there was only a handful of civilians around walking to midnight bars and clubs. The words of the men were ringing in his ears. He couldn't tell Solo and Gaby. He didn't want Gaby going near that place.