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"Her nakedness is evidence of her degradation. We will take her as she is."
"No you fucking won't."
"Stand aside."
"You stand aside. She's going to get dressed." Volodya stepped into the hall and stood in front of the three agents, holding his arms out so that Zoya could pass behind him.
As she moved, Ilya reached past Volodya and grabbed her arm.
Volodya punched him in the face, twice. Ilya cried out and staggered back. The two men in leather coats stepped forward. Volodya aimed a punch at one, but the man dodged it. Then each man took one of Volodya's arms. He struggled, but they were strong and seemed to have done this before. They slammed him against the wall.
While they held him, Ilya punched him in the face with leather-gloved fists, twice, three times, four, then in the stomach, again and again until Volodya puked blood. Zoya tried to intervene, but Ilya punched her, too, and she screamed and fell back.
Volodya's bathrobe came open in front. Ilya kicked him in the balls, then kicked his knees. Volodya sagged, unable to stand, but the two men in leather coats held him up, and Ilya punched him some more.
At last Ilya turned away, rubbing his knuckles. The other two released Volodya, and he crumpled to the floor. He could hardly breathe and felt unable to move, but he was conscious. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two heavies grab Zoya and march her naked out of the apartment. Ilya followed.
As the minutes went by, the pain changed from sharp agony to deep, dull ache, and Volodya's breathing began to return to normal.
Motion eventually returned to his limbs, and he dragged himself upright. He made it to the phone and dialed his father's number, hoping the old man had not yet left for work. He was relieved to hear his father's voice. "They've arrested Zoya," he said.
"Fucking bastards," Grigori said. "Who was it?"
"It was Ilya."
"What?"
"Make some calls," Volodya said. "See if you can find out what the fuck is going on. I have to wash off the blood."
"What blood?"
Volodya hung up.
It was only a couple of steps to the bathroom. He dropped his bloodstained robe and got into the shower. The warm water brought some relief to his bruised body. Ilya was mean but not strong, and he had not broken any bones.
Volodya turned off the water. He looked in the bathroom mirror. His face was covered with cuts and bruises.
He did not bother to dry himself. With considerable effort, he got dressed in his Red Army uniform. He wanted the symbol of authority.
His father arrived as he was trying to tie the laces of his boots. "What the fucking hell happened here?" Grigori roared.
Volodya said: "They were looking for a fight, and I was foolish enough to give them one."
His father was unsympathetic at first. "I'd have expected you to know better."
"They insisted on taking her away naked."
"Fucking creeps."
"Did you find out anything?"
"Not yet. I talked to a couple of people. No one knows anything." Grigori looked worried. "Either someone has made a really stupid mistake . . . or for some reason they're very sure of themselves."
"Drive me to my office. Lemitov is going to be mad as hell. He won't let them get away with this. If they are allowed to do it to me, they'll do it to all of Red Army Intelligence."
Grigori's car and driver were waiting outside. They drove to the Khodynka airfield. Grigori stayed in the car while Volodya limped into Red Army Intelligence headquarters. He went straight to the office of his boss, Colonel Lemitov.
He tapped on the door, walked in, and said: "The fucking secret police have arrested my wife."
