into a clever young man." Icoupov shrugged. "I'm hardly surprised. But listen to me now, I know who you really are-did you think you could fool me by continually changing your name? The truth of the matter is you've prodded open a wasp's nest, so you shouldn't be surprised to get stung. And stung and stung and stung."
He inclined his upper body toward Pyotr. "However much your father and I despise each other, we grew up together; once we were as close as brothers. So. Out of respect for him, I won't lie to you, Pyotr. This bold foray of yours won't end well. In fact, it was doomed from the start. And d'you want to know why? You needn't answer; of course you do. Your earthly needs betrayed you, Pyotr. That delicious girl you've been bedding for the past six months belongs to me. I know you're thinking that's not possible. I know you vetted her thoroughly; that's your MO. I anticipated all your inquiries; I made certain you received the answers you needed to hear."
Pyotr, staring into Icoupov's face, found his teeth chattering again, no matter how tightly he clamped his jaw.
"Tea, please, Philippe," Icoupov said to an unseen person. Moments later, a slender young man set an English silver tea service onto a low table at Icoupov's right hand. Like a favorite uncle, Icoupov went about pouring and sugaring the tea. He put the porcelain cup to Pyotr's bluish lips, said, "Please drink, Pyotr. It's for your own good."
Pyotr stared implacably at him until Icoupov said, "Ah, yes, I see." He sipped the tea from the cup himself to assure Pyotr it was only tea, then offered it again. The rim chattered against Pyotr's teeth, but eventually Pyotr drank, slowly at first, then more avidly. When the tea was drained, Icoupov set the cup back on its matching saucer. By this time Pyotr's shivering had subsided.
"Feeling better?"
"I'll feel better," Pyotr said, "when I get out of here."
"Ah, well, I'm afraid that won't be for some time," Icoupov said. "If ever. Unless you tell me what I want to know."
He hitched his chair closer; the benign uncle's expression was now nowhere to be found. "You stole something that belongs to me," he said. "I want it back."
"It never belonged to you; you stole it first."
Pyotr replied with such venom that Icoupov said, "You hate me as much as you love your father, this is your basic problem, Pyotr. You never learned that hate and love are essentially the same in that the person who loves is as easily manipulated as the person who hates."
Pyotr screwed up his mouth, as if Icoupov's words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Anyway, it's too late. The document is already on its way."
Instantly, there was a change in Icoupov's demeanor. His face became as closed as a fist. A certain tension lent his entire small body the aspect of a weapon about to be launched. "Where did you send it?"
Pyotr shrugged, but said nothing more.
Icoupov's face turned dark with momentary rage. "Do you think I know nothing about the information and matŠ¹riel pipeline you have been refining for the past three years? It's how you send information you stole from me back to your father, wherever he is."
For the first time since he'd regained consciousness, Pyotr smiled. "If you knew anything important about the pipeline, you'd have rolled it up by now."
At this Icoupov regained the icy control over his emotions.
"I told you talking to him would be useless," Arkadin said from his position directly behind Pyotr's chair.
"Nevertheless," Icoupov said, "there are certain protocols that must be acknowledged. I'm not an animal."
Pyotr snorted.
Icoupov eyed his prisoner. Sitting back, he fastidiously pulled up his trouser leg, crossed one leg over the other, laced his stubby fingers on his lower belly.
"I give you one last chance to continue this conversation."
It was not until the silence was drawn out into an almost intolerable length that Icoupov raised his gaze to Arkadin.
"Pyotr, why are you doing this to me?" he said with a resigned tone. And then to Arkadin, "Begin."
Though it cost him in pain and breath, Pyotr twisted as far as he was able, but he couldn't see what Arkadin was doing. He heard the sound of implements on a metal cart being rolled across the carpet.
Pyotr turned back. "You don't frighten me."
"I don't mean to frighten you, Pyotr," Icoupov said. "I mean to hurt you, very, very badly."