The Bodyguard Affair
by Rosie
Reviewed by Anna and Anushka, with many thanks
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and make no money from my writing. I only wish to borrow the characters for a short while.
Paperwork was not the favourite task of Napoleon Solo; he much preferred to be out in the field, rather than in his office at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. It was, however his responsibility as Chief Enforcement Agent to complete the appraisal forms of the section two agents under his leadership. As much as he wished to, the tall, dark haired, handsome young man could not delegate this chore to any other agent. Perhaps the only thing that made the job bearable was the fact Karen Grey, a very attractive secretary, assisted him.
"I'm glad we have been able to share this time together." Napoleon smiled as he accepted the folder she handed him. He gently caressed her fingers. "I have been hoping for a chance to get to know you better."
"Mr. Solo," the beautiful, blonde woman began, "I am finding working with you... enjoyable."
"I'm very pleased to hear that." Napoleon rose from his desk so he could stand beside her. He placed his hands on her slim shoulders and drew her to him. Carefully he took her face in his hands and gazed deeply into her blue eyes. "Everyone," he breathed huskily, "calls me Napoleon."
"Mr. Solo!" The intercom on his desk blared into life, startling them both. "Report to my office at once!" The gruff unmistakable tone of Mr. Waverly echoed throughout the room.
"Yes Sir." Solo hastily acknowledged his boss. He sighed deeply as he switched off the intercom and addressed Miss Grey. "I have to go, duty calls." Without further comment he left the office leaving the young woman to stare after him.
On his way to see Waverly, Napoleon considered what his assignment was going to be. Mr. Waverly's summons had sounded particularly urgent. Unconsciously, he quickened his pace; it did not do to keep the Old Man waiting.
The door to Mr. Waverly's office slid open to allow Solo admittance. The debonair CEA noted that Waverly was not alone. Already sitting at the large, round desk was his partner, Illya Kuryakin.
"Sir," Napoleon addressed the stern looking gentleman also seated at the table.
"Ah... Mr. Solo, please join us."
Napoleon took his usual seat at the table, beside Kuryakin and smiled warmly at the younger man, "Hi," he greeted. Illya was the best partner he'd had in a long while, one of the best agents U.N.C.L.E. had, and his best friend.
"Hello" Illya returned briskly.
Solo chuckled to himself; he had grown accustomed to Kuryakin's curtness. They were so very different from each other. Whereas he liked to go out in the evenings, wining, dining and dancing in the company of beautiful women, Illya would rather spend the time in his apartment, content with his own company, reading science journals or listening to Jazz music. Yet during their two-year partnership, Napoleon had begun to rely on Illya, not just for his intelligence or skills but because the Russian seemed to understand him better than anyone else. While they may not enjoy the same pastimes they shared a deep trust and friendship, rare gifts in the spy business.
"Mr. Solo." Waverly's gruff tone drew his attention. "I have a special assignment for you."
'Saving the world again, no doubt,' Napoleon thought to himself.
"You will act as bodyguard to a foreign scientist, who is giving a series of lectures this weekend at the New York Science Institute."
Napoleon was momentarily stunned. Bodyguard duty was usually assigned to junior agents, or to senior agents who had fallen out of favour with the Old Man. Quickly casting his mind back Solo could not think of any incident that would warrant this punishment. "Bodyguard, Sir?" Napoleon discovered his voice.
"Indeed Mr. Solo. I realise this is a job usually assigned to more junior agents, but this assignment requires your expertise."
"I see," Napoleon responded, not seeing at all.
"Every year, the New York Science Institute highlights scientists who have published their work and have shown advances in their field of study. These scientists are invited to give lectures to explain their research. It has come to our attention that THRUSH likes to infiltrate this event in order to sway the scientists to join their ranks. Kidnapping has also occurred in previous years, so this year U.N.C.L.E. has been asked to provide security.
"I'm still not sure why I'm needed Sir." Solo glanced at Illya who sat silently beside him. "I'm sure Mr. Kuryakin can handle the security without me." Illya stayed quiet but he glared fiercely at Napoleon.
"Mr. Solo," Waverly continued, "we have been asked to guard this foreign scientist by his embassy, and they do not wish him to fall into the hands of any undesirable organisation."
"What nationality is he Sir?" Solo realised that Waverly was not going to relieve him of this duty.
"Russian, Mr. Solo."
"Hey! Someone you'll be able to talk to, Illya." Napoleon slapped his partner's arm enthusiastically.
Before Illya could counter, Mr. Waverly interjected. "Mr. Kuryakin will not be accompanying you on this assignment. He will be busy with other tasks. You will be teamed with agent John Howman.
Solo searched his memory but could not recall this man. As if reading his mind Waverly supplied the information about Howman.
"He is a young, new section three agent from our Los Angeles office. He recently graduated from survival school. His grades were only just acceptable and reports suggested he paid the barest attention to lectures but he is very keen. I wish to know how he operates in the field. This will be his first assignment and you, Mr. Solo, will evaluate his performance."
"Yes Sir." Having a new, inexperienced partner was not filling Solo with joy. "Isn't it a little unusual for the Russians to be sending over scientists to give lectures?"
"This particular scientist is currently employed in America, with the consent of both governments. I understand that in his spare time he conducted various research projects and experiments and had his findings published in an eminent scientific journal. I am given to understand that while the Russian government is pleased with his achievements, his American employer is not so enthralled. While he may have been using his own time, he was using his employer's laboratories and equipment and had his findings published without their prior knowledge. His actions have apparently caused his employer some considerable embarrassment.
"With respect Sir, can't Illya be pulled from his assignment and take over as the bodyguard? He'll be able to assess Howman and he'll have more in common with the Russian scientist..."
"I am the Russian scientist, you blockhead!" Illya exploded at his side.
"What!" Realisation dawned quickly for Solo as he stared at his irate partner. So this was why he hadn't said a word throughout the briefing.
"You're supposed to be guarding me!" then directing his attention toward Mr. Waverly, "Though I don't see why it is at all necessary."
"Should THRUSH operatives recognise you and I believe they will, then you will need protection young man! I would rather you did not attend this event but since the Institute approached the Russian authorities, expressing its fervent wish to have you attend, your government is rather keen for you to do so. You will therefore have a bodyguard! Do I make myself clear?"
"But...!"
"No more buts, Mr. Kuryakin! You are dismissed!"
Napoleon watched Illya and Mr. Waverly; both were clearly annoyed with each other and he wondered if Illya would continue this exchange of angry dialogue. He breathed a sigh of relief as he observed Illya almost visibly deflate before him and afford Waverly a soft "Yes Sir," before he stood and walked out of the office.
Solo was on his feet in an instant but was stopped by Waverly before he could follow his partner.
"Please remain Mr. Solo; I have not finished confirming the details of your assignment."
Obediently he returned to his seat; he had no wish to get on the wrong side of Mr. Waverly but he couldn't wait to catch up with Illya.
It seemed to take Mr. Waverly a lifetime to outline the schedule and security arrangements. Waverly was especially insistent that agent Howman was not to be told Kuryakin was an U.N.C.L.E. agent. The Old Man felt it would impede his ability to protect an innocent if he was aware the said innocent was well able to protect himself.
Napoleon shuddered; Illya was not going to like this arrangement.
Eventually Mr. Waverly was done with him and dismissed Solo from his office. He would tell Illya later of Mr. Waverly's directive not to inform Howman that Illya worked for U.N.C.L.E.
Napoleon wondered where Kuryakin may have gone and was hoping he hadn't left the building. He was delighted to find Illya standing outside Waverly's office waiting for him.
"You're not going to yell at me, are you?"
Napoleon was not sure if it was meant as a question or a statement but was shrewd enough to realise that Illya was in no mood for his teasing. That could and would come later. Instead he laid a reassuring hand on the blond agent's shoulder but before he could say anything, Heather McNabb approached them. She looked extremely hot and harassed as she held several slim boxes.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I sincerely hope you are pleased with yourself!" she growled at the young man. "I've had to walk miles to get these and when he has chosen I'll have to walk miles back to return the ones he has rejected!" The irate woman did not wait for a reply from either man as she turned on her heel and entered Mr. Waverly's office with her parcels.
"I don't suppose you know what that was all about?" Solo inquired mildly.
"Tobacco pipes, Napoleon."
"Oh?"
Illya sighed deeply and shook his head resignedly. "When Mr. Waverly heard about what I had done, he was so angry he bit through the stem of his pipe."
Thursday 11:30 a.m.
For the two days following his meeting with Mr. Waverly, Illya Kuryakin had avoided U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. He was sure the Old Man would blame him for any problems that might occur, 'from the commencement of World War Three to the toilets not flushing properly.' He'd kept himself busy in his apartment preparing his lecture notes for the up coming science convention.
The young Russian was still amazed at how much trouble his little science project had caused and was not looking forward to being the centre of attention at the convention the coming weekend.
In the morning he was due to book in at the New York Plaza Hotel, adjacent to the New York Science Institute, his home for the duration of the convention, but tonight he was going to stay with the Russian Ambassador at his New York residence.
With a dejected sigh, Illya once again picked up the gold edged invitation that had arrived earlier that morning via courier. The polite words conveyed the message Illya should stay overnight so the ambassador could have an uninterrupted discussion with the brilliant, nuclear physicist. Illya groaned softly "The ambassador is going to blister my ears."
Napoleon Solo had himself been keeping a low profile at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, not wishing to suffer any 'fallout' from Waverly's anger at his partner. He was therefore dismayed when he received the summons to Mr. Waverly's office.
'Lord, I hope you haven't done anything else to annoy the Old Man, Illya.' Solo prayed as he approached Waverly's office door. Taking a deep breath and keeping his head held high, Solo marched in as the doors slid open allowing him access to Waverly's inner sanctum.
"Ah, Mr. Solo." Waverly greeted.
Napoleon was relieved to see the Old Man was not breathing fire. By habit Solo scanned the room with his eyes and was quick to see Mr. Waverly was not alone. Seated at the table was a man, someone he was not familiar with. Solo immediately noticed his ginger hair and moustache.
"May I introduce agent John Howman" Waverly continued.
Napoleon held his hand out in greeting. 'Bright red hair,' Solo mused, 'not good for night time operations.' Then chuckled to himself 'Yet neither is bright blond hair.'
Howman virtually leapt from his chair, grabbed Solo's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "Mr. Solo. Sir! I'm so very glad to meet you Sir! I've heard so much about you! It's an honour to be working with you. I never thought I would get the chance to...!"
"Yes, yes." Napoleon attempted to stem the gushing flow and extract his hand. He strongly missed the quiet reserved manner of his usual partner. "I didn't think you were due till tomorrow." Solo managed as he pulled free and took a step back. Taking stock of the man before him he deduced he was around the age of twenty five, due to the lack of wrinkles around his green eager eyes. He was the same height and build as Napoleon and strong, if his handgrip was anything to go by.
"I was Sir, but I couldn't wait." Howman remained enthusiastic.
"Keen isn't he Mr. Solo." Waverly observed, "I'm sure you will work well together."
"Yes Mr. Waverly." Napoleon gritted his teeth. Addressing Howman he asked. "Has Mr. Waverly explained our assignment to you?"
"Yes Sir. We are to bodyguard a Russian scientist this weekend, while he attends a science convention. Mr. Waverly believes he may prove to be a difficult character."
Napoleon regarded his boss sharply. "I'm sure we will discover other aspects to this man's character during the weekend. As I'm sure you'll agree Sir, not everyone is completely bad.
"Ahem." Waverly began; his expression stern then slowly a smile crossed his lips. "I'm sure you're right Mr. Solo. Just keep him safe and out of trouble. Understand?"
Napoleon smiled broadly. "Yes Sir."
Turning on his heel, Napoleon strode toward the door, calling to Howman. "Come along John, we have plans to make, and for goodness sake, call me Napoleon!"
Friday 9:00 a.m.
Napoleon waited patiently in the foyer of the New York building that served as the residence for the Russian Ambassador when he visited the city. It was a big room, dominated by an ornate staircase. Dark wood panelling covered the walls and portraits adorned them, likenesses of unsmiling, leading soviet citizens. Napoleon studied them for a while before turning his attention to the receptionist seated at a large oak desk. He smiled warmly at her, but she cast a frosty glance his way before returning her gaze to a sheath of paper in front of her. She had been just as unfriendly when he had first asked for Illya almost an hour previously. With a shrug of his shoulders Napoleon gazed at the three other occupants in the foyer. All men and judging by the way they stood ramrod straight and apart from each other, he suspected they were guards. Napoleon chose not to make eye contact with them, instead he stared at the paintings again.
Napoleon was beginning to wonder if Illya was ever going to emerge from the interior of this building, when he saw his young partner descend the staircase. A grim faced individual accompanied him and Napoleon couldn't help but notice the pallid complexion of his partner.
Stifling his concerns, Solo walked over to greet Illya. "Hi. How are you?"
Illya gave Napoleon a curt nod before he turned his attention to his companion. "Please thank the ambassador again for his... hospitality, Comrade Renoski."
"You will do well to remember his words, Comrade Kuryakin." Renoski intoned darkly. Without waiting for a reply the grim faced individual began to climb the stairs.
Illya watched him for a moment, before focusing on Solo. "Let's go."
"OK, partner." Napoleon answered as Illya hurriedly led the way out.
Catching up with Illya outside of the building, Napoleon draped his arm across the young agent's shoulders. "Had a rough time?"
"I've had better," Illya conceded, allowing a small smile grace his lips. "The ambassador spent most of last night reminding me I was a Soviet citizen and that any possible breakthroughs made by Soviet scientists should belong to the Soviet Union only."
"Oh." Solo squeezed Illya's shoulder sympathetically. "So when the New York Science Institute contacted the Russian Embassy about your achievements, the officials had to put on a show of being pleased and aware of your actions."
"Yes. Just as Mr. Waverly had to put on the same display of pleasure and awareness," Illya returned dejectedly.
"Come on, the car's this way." Napoleon pointed in the general direction his car was parked. "So that's why the ambassador left the Washington Embassy, to come and see you in New York. I thought you had become a rather popular guy."
"I'd rather not be so popular... Oh! Napoleon!" Kuryakin grimaced as he saw the bright red, open-topped sports car.
Napoleon bounded forward and leapt into the driving seat. "What's wrong? She drives like the wind!"
"I cannot see the point of having a car that 'drives like the wind' when there is a speed limit imposed." Illya remained standing firmly on the pavement glaring at the bright object. "And why do you have to drive something so... obvious?"
"You can always walk to the New York Plaza, my friend!" Napoleon was indignant.
A slow smile lit up Illya's pale face. "I could, but you'd have to walk too. You are my bodyguard after all."
"Why you little...!" Solo growled but stopped when he saw that Illya was laughing. It was the first time Illya had laughed in a long while and it was good to hear. "Just get your body in this car before I forget my assignment and beat you soundly!" Napoleon commanded, his grin robbing any trace of threat from the words.
Obediently, Illya climbed into the car. "Drive on; I want to get this weekend over with."
"You have one more surprise, my friend."
"Oh?"
"My temporary partner, John Howman. He is, shall we say, keen. Mr. Waverly doesn't want him to know you are an U.N.C.L.E. agent, he believes it will impede his performance as your bodyguard. He's at the hotel now checking your room. I think the two of you will get along fine." Napoleon suppressed a smirk.
Recognising Napoleon's look, Illya grimaced then closed his eyes and sank deeper into the car seat. How he wished this weekend were over!
From the moment Illya entered the hotel lobby, he was caught up in a whirlwind of activity. The Chairman of the convention, Professor George Stewart, had been waiting eagerly to meet him. He greeted Illya enthusiastically, and then introduced him to the other members of the convention committee who had also been waiting for the arrival of the Russian scientist.
Napoleon followed dutifully, proud at how his usually private partner dealt with the endless questions directed at him. Especially when the questions that were asked were more of a more personal nature, rather than of his scientific studies. He was also aware Illya's Russian accent seemed more pronounced than usual and wondered if it was deliberate or accidental.
"There is going to be a small cocktail party this evening to honour yourself and the other three guest speakers," Prof. Stewart informed Illya. "A chance for you all to meet before the convention begins tomorrow."
"In that case," Napoleon interrupted the conversation. "May I suggest Dr. Kuryakin takes this opportunity to rest in his room."?
"We do have more to discuss," Prof. Stewart stated but one look at Solo's determined expression caused him to change his mind, "but it can wait."
"Thank you Napoleon," Illya expressed, truly grateful to be standing outside the door of his hotel suite.
"Anytime, Dr. Kuryakin," Napoleon teased as he unlocked the door and entered the room.
Illya rolled his eyes at the unnecessary use of his title, and started to follow Solo into the room. He was knocked back as Solo fell against him. "Ouch!" He would have berated Napoleon for his action but was suddenly aware Napoleon was staring down the barrel of a gun.
"I'm a friend!" Napoleon growled at the owner of the weapon.
"Mr. Solo! I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you! Sir, are you hurt?"
"Will you put down your gun!"? Napoleon was acutely aware the barrel of the gun was still pointed in his direction. "Dr. Kuryakin, may I introduce you to my partner, John Howman." Napoleon continued to stare at the gun until it was finally lowered.
"I am very sorry Mr. Solo," Howman sounded both apologetic and dejected, "but you didn't use the code we devised..."
"Then it is hardly your fault, Mr. Howman," Illya suddenly declaimed. He then addressed Napoleon, "Are you really the best U.N.C.L.E. has?"
"Yes he is, doctor." Howman rallied to Solo's defence before the scowling senior agent could reply.
Illya could barely contain his grin. "May I enter my room?"
"Yes doctor, I checked it thoroughly," Howman announced proudly and stepped aside to allow Illya entry.
Illya's grin faded fast as he surveyed his room. The furniture was in disarray. Pictures had been taken off the walls; tables and chairs had been upended. The bedding had been stripped from all of the beds and cushions removed from the armchairs.
"I searched everywhere for bugs Mr. Solo but I didn't find any. I was about to put everything back, when you arrived." Howman once again sounded apologetic.
Napoleon was standing beside the amazed Russian, when he addressed Howman. "I don't suppose you found any diamonds in the furniture, did you?"
"No Sir, was I supposed to?"
"Oh, sometimes it happens." Napoleon said innocently, feeling Kuryakin's glare.
"I hate cocktail parties!" Illya whispered to Napoleon as he struggled into his tuxedo.
"You hate any parties," Napoleon whispered back.
"Agreed! So I don't want to go!" Illya whispered urgently.
"Mr. Waverly would want you to go. Would you like me to contact him for you, so you can ask him yourself?" Napoleon teased.
"Don't bother." Illya sulked.
"You'll enjoy it." Napoleon began to fuss with Illya's bowtie.
"I won't." Illya pouted but fell silent as agent Howman emerged from the bathroom.
Napoleon glanced over at his temporary partner. "John, may I suggest you get some rest while Dr. Kuryakin and I are at the party?" He adjusted his own bowtie. As always Napoleon looked dashing in a tuxedo.
"Yes Sir," Howman agreed, then hesitantly he spoke to Illya. "Doctor, may I ask you a question?" Howman appeared to be plucking up the courage to speak, as he stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Yes," Illya agreed warily.
"It's your, name Sir. Kuryakin sounds familiar to me."
Napoleon spoke before Illya had a chance. "I'm not surprised John, Kuryakin is the equivalent in Russia to the surnames Jones or Smith. No doubt you have read it frequently or heard it when matters pertaining to Russia have arisen. It is a very common name." He could not miss the opportunity to tease his friend, while he adverted a potentially difficult situation.
"Of course!" Howman enthused brightly.
Illya ground his teeth as he silently prayed for strength to get through this weekend.
Standing at the side of the room, Napoleon was able to watch the party in full swing. Illya was proving to be popular with everyone, especially the ladies. He chuckled at the way Illya continually backed away as a female approached. When he was cornered he responded to them in a curt, unfriendly manner but these attempts to rebuff them only encouraged them more.
Napoleon had just decided it was his duty to deflect these amorous ladies from his reluctant friend, when a young bellboy approached him.
"Excuse me Sir, but a gentleman just came into the lobby and asked me to hand you this note."
"He came from the hotel or from outside?" Napoleon took the note from the boy.
"From outside Sir."
Napoleon withdrew a coin from his pocket and as he handed it to the boy asked, "Can you remember what he looked like?"
"No Sir."
"Off you go." Napoleon wasn't surprised, the bellboy probably saw a hundred faces during the course of his job, but he was none the less disappointed.
As the bellboy scurried away, Napoleon opened the note. He was not disappointed with its contents and sighed deeply as he read the words written in capital letters:
'PROTECT HIM IF YOU CAN, BUT BE ASSURED WE WILL GET HIM!'
Napoleon carefully folded the note and slid it into the pocket of his tuxedo. As he did so he glanced around the room and his heart leapt when he couldn't see Illya. He was about to surge into the throng of party guests when a quiet voice at his side stilled him.
"What did the note say?" Illya stood at Napoleon's shoulder.
"What note? Napoleon tried not to sound too relieved that his friend was safely beside him. 'Some bodyguard I am. I can't even keep tabs on him when there are less than thirty people in the room!' he mentally scolded himself.
"I saw the bellboy give you a note and by the expression on your face as you read the message, it was not of the 'good luck' variety."
"You were watching me? I thought I was supposed to be watching you?"
"Force of habit." Illya held his hand out for the note.
Reluctantly Napoleon retrieved the piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to him.
In silence Illya read the threatening message then carefully re-folded the note and returned it to Napoleon. "I wish I wasn't so popular." Illya sighed deeply. "But it is nothing we haven't dealt with before, Napoleon, and I can protect myself!"
Napoleon had to smile at the defiance in Illya's tone. "Usually, but you will be distracted by giving lectures over the weekend. You are vulnerable, as well you know."
"I hate it when you are right," Illya had to concede.
"I know and it happens so often." Napoleon laughed and continued quickly. "We should leave this party; your room will be safer. Do you think you could fake a headache?"
"I don't need to fake one!" growled the Russian and leaving Solo behind, strode over to a distinguished looking gentleman who was in deep conversation with two ladies.
A brilliant smile crossed the man's face as he saw Kuryakin approach. "Dr. Kuryakin, do come and join us. I was just speaking about you to these ladies. They can't wait to talk to you."
Illya greeted the ladies with a slight bow, before addressing the gentleman. "Prof. Stewart, I will be leaving the party now. I have my schedule for tomorrow. I will not be late."
As Illya made to leave Stewart's startled voice stopped him. "But so many people wish to speak to you, Dr. Kuryakin...!"
"I have no desire to speak to anyone and if you wish me to be at my best tomorrow you will allow me to retire to my room." Not waiting for a reply, Illya marched off with Napoleon in tow.
On his way to the elevator Napoleon caught snippets of conversation and was amazed that Illya's cold, almost rude behaviour only served to fascinate the partygoers more. However, Napoleon was not impressed by the way Illya stormed through the crowd leaving him behind.
It was only at the elevator that Napoleon finally caught up with him. "I would appreciate it if you would wait for me in the future. I am supposed to be guarding you!"
"You'll have to learn to walk faster!"
"Suppose I shoot you in the foot to slow you down!"
A smile crept across Illya's lips, "Mr. Waverly wouldn't like it." The elevator doors slid open and Illya checked the interior of the car before he stepped into it.
"Don't bet on it!" Napoleon cautioned as he entered the car after him.
Illya sat on the sofa, in his suite, agent Howman sat closely beside him. Since being shown the threatening note by Napoleon, John felt it was his duty to stay close to the Russian scientist. "Don't be afraid Dr. Kuryakin, we will protect you. U.N.C.L.E. agents are highly trained and Mr. Solo is the very best."
"Thank you," Illya tried to edge away from John but the enthusiastic agent stopped him by placing his hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to him.
"Really, you mustn't worry!" John attempted to reassure Illya. "I know this must be all very new to you but truly, you will be safe!"
While Howman continued to reassure Illya, Napoleon was in one of the bedrooms reporting to Mr. Waverly, via his communicator.
"So THRUSH have made their first move." Mr. Waverly noted. "Keep that young man safe Mr. Solo, I don't want to be having to deal with the Russian Government if he goes missing."
"Yes Sir." Solo knew the Old Man well enough to realise he was worried about Illya's safety but was not going to admit it. Signing off, Napoleon returned to the lounge area to hear the conversation John and Illya were having.
"You are Mr. Solo's regular partner?" Illya's words were full of mischief.
"No, Doctor. His regular partner is on sick-leave."
"Wounded in the line of duty?"
"No Sir, in-growing toe nails."
"What!" Illya spluttered.
"It's a condition where the nail grows into the flesh..."
"I know!" Illya growled. He glared up at Napoleon who tried to look innocent.
"Napoleon says his partner could use this time to study, he's still learning you see." John continued helpfully.
"Mr. Solo is training him?" Illya spoke in a low, dangerous tone.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Solo said he has taught him everything he knows. I hope to learn a lot from him myself."
The glare Illya fixed Napoleon with would have frozen hell but Napoleon was unperturbed. There was not a lot the Russian could do at this moment. As if reading his thoughts Illya mouthed the word 'later' at him.
So intent in his praise of Napoleon, Howman didn't seem to notice the silent exchanges between Solo and Kuryakin. "What did Mr. Waverly say?" he inquired of Solo, remembering he was on an assignment.
"We are to continue guarding Dr. Kuryakin closely. To this end I suggest that between lectures you remain in your suite, Dr. Kuryakin. Meals can be sent to your room. It will be easier to maintain your safety, this way."
Illya nodded in agreement; he would have liked to have heard the other guest speakers and joined in lively debate with the other academics but his agent's training confirmed Solo's recommendations were correct.
"Right," Napoleon declared after checking the time on his watch, "it's well after midnight, I suggest you get some sleep, Dr. Kuryakin."
Rising to his feet, Illya walked over to Solo and whispered, "So now you are sending me to bed?"
"You'll want to be at your best tomorrow." Napoleon adopted a paternal tone.
"From now until forever you can write your own reports!" Although just barely audible, pure venom oozed from every word.
The night passed without incident. Illya was able to have a reasonable night's sleep once he got used to John prowling around his room during his spell of guard duty. His bed was comfortable and his dreams were of how he was going to get even with Napoleon. So at peace was Illya that he ignored the alarm clock that demanded he wake up.
"Hey! Rise and shine!" Napoleon yelled just inches from his left ear.
Illya flinched and pulled his pillow over his head. "Go away, evil one!" his muffled voice pleaded.
"No, no my Russian prince, it is time to greet the day. If you had gone to bed at a reasonable time..."
"Go away papa!"
"I have ordered breakfast." Napoleon played his trump card and as he expected, Illya emerged from under his pillow.
"Well, why didn't you say?"
"You have about ten minutes to shave and shower before it arrives," declared Napoleon as he left the Russian to properly wake up.
Illya was wide-awake and dressed by the time the waiter arrived with the breakfast trolley. He watched as Howman checked the trolley thoroughly before allowing it into the room and fervently hoped he wouldn't upend the food onto the floor. Illya was hungry; the food at last evening's cocktail party had been wholly inadequate; so was greatly relieved when he saw Howman wheeling the trolley into the lounge area with the breakfast intact.
Seated on the sofa was Napoleon and John manoeuvred the trolley over to him then sat beside him. Trying not to appear too eager, Illya sat the other side of Napoleon. With a flourish Solo removed the lids from the plentiful dishes on the trolley, revealing a mouth-watering display of food. Each man took a plate and helped himself to the tempting feast.
As Illya attempted to take his first bite Napoleon stopped him. "The food may be drugged Dr. Kuryakin." He then proceeded to take Illya's fork from his hand and ate the piece of sausage it held.
With wide-eyed disbelief Illya stared speechlessly at Solo. He soon regained his voice however, when Napoleon stabbed at a piece of bacon on Illya's plate, giving the impression he was about to munch through the entire breakfast. "Please do not think I do not appreciate your concern for my well being but I would prefer to die from poison rather than hunger!" Snatching back his fork, Illya commenced eating ignoring Napoleon's soft chuckling.
Saturday 11:00 a.m.
Standing at the back of the auditorium, Napoleon listened to Kuryakin giving his lecture. Solo would be the first to admit he hadn't a clue what his Russian friend was talking about but was proud and delighted to see Illya had his audience spellbound.
Intently Napoleon studied the room for anything or anyone that looked suspicious.
Howman was stationed near Illya so he could rush the young Russian to safety if need be.
Napoleon hated this time, the auditorium in darkness, the platform on which Illya stood, brightly illuminated and people, lots of people, too many to keep under observation. Yet Napoleon was resolved to keep his stubborn, brilliant friend safe. If THRUSH attempted anything he was going to do his damnedest to thwart them, even if it meant dying in the process.
Kuryakin was experiencing a freedom he seldom felt. Being able to expound his scientific theories to like-minded individuals was intoxicating. At first he had been reluctant to speak; by nature he was a reserved individual and did not enjoy being the centre of attention. He had decided he was simply going to read from the notes he had previously prepared but the questions he was asked by the delegates as his lecture progressed were intelligent and stimulating. To simply be a scientist involved in lively, thought-provoking debate, was both rare and invigorating.
His first lecture had started at nine o'clock and should have finished at midday, but due to the many questions it was well after one o'clock before Illya was able to leave the platform.
Napoleon smiled proudly as the applause echoed throughout the auditorium after Illya's presentation. Reluctantly he stepped forward to retrieve his charge before eager scientists engulfed the young Russian, demanding more time with him. Solo knew that Kuryakin would like to stay and enjoy further debate but the risk was too great. It would allow THRUSH an opportunity to attempt a kidnapping. It was imperative Napoleon escort him back to the hotel and the comparative safety of their suite without delay. Acting as shield and protector, Napoleon took Illya by the arm and steered him out of he building and back to the hotel.
Although he knew it was for his safety and he had agreed it was the best course of action, Illya disliked having to leave. He wanted to hear the other guest speakers; he wanted to continue debating with the scientists. But he didn't want to make Napoleon's job even more difficult, he knew his partner was worried about him so he allowed Napoleon to lead him away. Sighing deeply to himself Illya accepted he wasn't going to like the 'house arrest'; the thought of spending the rest of the day in his room did not fill him with enthusiasm.
The journey to the hotel was short and went without incident. Howman had gone on ahead to check the room. "Don't forget your 'special knock'," Illya teased as he and Napoleon approached the door to their room. "We don't want agent Howman trying to shoot you again."
Napoleon made a face but dutifully tapped on the door, using the code he and John had devised.
The door opened and Napoleon ushered Illya inside, "After you Dr. Kuryakin."
Illya winced; this was going to be a long afternoon leading to a tedious evening. He wasn't going to be able to relax as he normally would with Napoleon. John would no doubt try and chat to him but they had little in common with which to sustain a conversation for any length of time. Except of course they both were agents for U.N.C.L.E. but that was a forbidden subject.
Glancing at the bedside clock, Illya was dismayed to see it show only 3:00 a.m. He couldn't sleep and was annoyed due to it being purely his own fault. In order to stave off boredom Illya had slept through most of the afternoon and evening, now he was paying the price.
Howman's gentle, regular snores did nothing to improve his humour. He glared with envy at the man asleep in the armchair beside his bed. 'I could always wake him.' Illya thought but quickly decided that wasn't very fair. Instead the young Russian slid quietly out of his bed. Years of training gave Illya the ability to move in total silence, in almost complete darkness.
Firstly he made his way to the room where Napoleon usually slept but found it empty. Concern flooded Illya as he stared at the neatly made bed, then he began to remember a brief conversation with Solo earlier that evening, while he was still half asleep. Napoleon had prodded him awake to say Mr. Waverly needed him back at headquarters.
Illya growled as he recalled Napoleon scolding him for sleeping so long and suggesting he should try and stay awake so he would sleep that night. How he hated it when Napoleon was correct.
Shaking his head, Illya decided he wanted vodka, no, needed vodka. Heading back to the lounge area, Illya sought out the cocktail cabinet and withdrew a bottle of vodka. At the same time he reached for the ice bucket and discovered it to be empty. A frown crossed the countenance of the young man, of course he could drink warm vodka but he preferred it cold. It took only a moment for him to reach a decision; he was going to go down the hall to the ice machine and get his ice, then drink himself to sleep.
Illya glanced back at Howman, knowing he should wake him to accompany him but the ice machine was only a few feet down the hall and once John was awake he would probably want to talk and Illya did not want to engage in conversation.
Cursing the gods of sleepless nights and warm vodka, Illya left John asleep and crept from the room, taking only the room key and ice bucket with him.
Feeling decidedly free, Illya scooped ice into the bucket. It was only the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his ribs that halted his momentum but only for a brief second. Whirling toward his assailant, Illya hurled the ice in his bucket into the face of the gunman. The man dropped the gun as he scraped at the numbingly cold projectiles that landed on him. Illya launched himself at the man sending him to the floor with a sound punch to the jaw then completed the defensive attack by pinning his would be assailant to the ground with his knee.
"Who are...!"? Illya demanded but the words died on his lips.
"Get off me Rasputin!" A low unmistakably dangerous voice growled from underneath him.
"Napoleon?" Quickly Illya released his prisoner. He was about to offer his hand to Napoleon to help him off the floor but thought better of it when he could clearly see Solo's expression. Instinctively he backed away.
"For someone as intelligent as yourself," Napoleon retrieved his gun then slowly began to rise to his feet, "you are without doubt incredibly STUPID!" He punctuated each word by flinging ice at Illya. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Getting ice." Illya regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth and winced as Napoleon grabbed his upper arm tightly and pulled him sharply towards him.
"I could have been THRUSH!" Napoleon was furious "So help me I ought to...!" Solo suddenly stopped his tirade as a thought struck him. "Where is agent Howman?"
Not expecting an answer Napoleon turned towards their room. Not releasing his grip on the Russian's arm he pulled Illya along with him as he stormed towards it.
Ignoring the pain from Napoleon's vice-like grip Illya attempted to calm Napoleon.
"John is not to blame, I am the one at fault!" His words fell on deaf ears.
Solo released him so he could unlock the door and push it open. He glared at Illya, "Inside!" Illya wisely didn't disobey and quickly entered the room; Napoleon followed him in and slammed the door shut.
Howman leapt from the armchair as if struck by a cattle prod, he groped for his gun but Solo was already at his side pressing his gun against his head before Howman's fingers even touched the handle of his own weapon.
"BANG! You're dead!" Napoleon roared "And so is Dr. Kuryakin! What kind of a bodyguard are you?"
John was still bewildered but had sense enough to realise Napoleon had already assessed his ability and was not wanting an answer. Instead he waited for Napoleon to continue his tirade.
"I just found Dr. Kuryakin in the hallway, alone!"
"As I said Mr. Solo, it was my fault. I didn't wake Mr. Howman and I can be very quiet when I want to be." Illya made another attempt to reason with Napoleon but was once again ignored.
"And you, Mr. Howman, were asleep! Explanation please!"
"I have none, Sir" Howman was at least honest.
"You can expect disciplinary action at the conclusion of this assignment, Mr. Howman." Solo finished.
"You don't have to do this!" Illya felt his own anger rising.
Finally Napoleon acknowledged him, "I fully accept you have not been helpful by acting in a foolish manner; however, Mr. Howman is an U.N.C.L.E. agent assigned as your bodyguard. He should have known you had left the room. He should not have let you leave the room!" Solo's eyes narrowed as he dared the Russian, "Of course if you still disagree with my handling of this situation you could always appeal to my boss, Mr. Waverly."
Seldom had Illya seen Napoleon so angry so chose to back down.
Mr. Howman," Napoleon once again addressed the agent "from now on, do not leave Dr. Kuryakin's side. You will go everywhere with him and I mean everywhere. It is clear Dr. Kuryakin does not appreciate the probable danger he is in and we must endeavour to save him from himself. Now I strongly suggest we all get some rest." Solo strode off towards his room.
Howman returned to his armchair but he was not going to sleep this time.
Illya crawled into bed and lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. He felt even less like sleeping now and he still didn't have his vodka.
Sunday 08:00 a.m.
Napoleon, John and Illya met in the lounge area of their suite for breakfast. The atmosphere was decidedly frosty; not one of the three men uttered a word and all avoided making eye contact. The events of the previous night were still very fresh in the memories of each man. Napoleon was angry with both John and Illya. John was extremely angry with Illya but also with himself for not doing his job, causing Napoleon to be disappointed with him. Illya was only angry with himself for being the cause of this unrest.
Only picking at his breakfast Illya thought over his actions of last night and quietly berated himself, he had acted foolishly. He would have reacted the same as Napoleon, had their roles been reversed. Poor agent Howman, he was trying his best to do a good job and he'd managed to get him into serious trouble with Solo. Giving up on trying to eat Illya sat back in his chair and silently agreed with Napoleon's assessment that he had behaved stupidly.
Glancing at his watch Illya determined he had about two hours before he was to give a lecture. He felt very tired due to getting no sleep at all and desperately wanted to escape the hostile atmosphere of the lounge. He was ready to go into his room and crawl into bed; however, Illya reasoned that in his current mood Napoleon would probably haul him back out of the bed and drag him to the lecture hall by the scruff of his neck. Illya therefore decided to remain where he was and stay very quiet.
It was Napoleon who broke the strained silence, "Agent Howman, you will remember not to leave Dr. Kuryakin's side today?" Although phrased as a question it was clearly an order.
"Yes Sir." John sounded dejected as he answered Solo.
The strained silence returned and Illya decided he had to escape it by going to the auditorium a little earlier then he'd planned to. "Mr. Solo, I will be leaving for the Institute in a few minutes, if that is alright with you. I have a few experiments I need to set up." Illya lied smoothly.
"Very well." Napoleon answered without looking at him.
It was soon very clear to Illya that John was going to follow Napoleon's orders to the letter. When he went into his bedroom to collect his lecture notes, Howman followed him closely. Illya understood he was going to have to accept his 'shadow' without complaint.
"Mr. Howman, you will accompany Dr. Kuryakin to the lecture hall." Napoleon ordered before going into his own room. Once again he pointedly did not address the Russian.
The short walk from Illya's suite to the elevator was accomplished in silence. While Howman scanned the surroundings like a hawk searching for prey, Illya walked at his side, intently staring at his lecture notes though not actually reading them. He wanted to apologise to John but surmised the agent was in no mood to accept it. He disliked Napoleon being this annoyed with him and hated this darn lecture he was suppose to give. His head was crammed with whirling thoughts, he allowed himself to be distracted by them.
As they reached the elevator Howman pushed the button that would summon the car. Illya leant against a wall with his eyes closed, rubbing his forehead in an effort to try and ease the headache that was building. The elevator doors slid open and Illya ignored the two men that stepped out of the car
John Howman didn't, he saw the two men draw weapons as they noticed Kuryakin. Reacting instantly he grabbed Illya by the arm and propelled him through a door by the elevator marked 'STAIRS'.
Totally unprepared, Illya found himself thrust onto a narrow landing. Unable to check his momentum he started to roll headlong down the flight of stairs and landed in an undignified heap at the bottom. John had followed him through the door and raced down the steps at top speed. Without breaking his stride he grabbed Illya by his arm and pulled him to his feet and started to drag him down another flight of stairs.
Although initially disorientated Illya was able to quickly compose himself and matched John's speed as they fled down the stairs. He mentally decided he would worry about injuries later. As to why this sudden burst of activity, the sound of gunfire and bullets thudding close by him was more than enough of an explanation.
Howman and Kuryakin didn't stop running until they reached the ground floor, their pursuers hot on their heels. John decided this was where he was going to make his stand. Quickly scanning the area he saw a door; wrenching it open he noted with satisfaction it was a broom cupboard. Hurling Illya inside it he growled, "Do as you're told! Stay in here!" then slammed the door shut.
Finding himself surrounded by brooms, mops and buckets Illya drew his gun. He didn't want to annoy John but he was not going to stay in the cupboard. Gingerly he opened the door, he could see John had found a little cover by the banisters and was returning fire.
Now that the two assailants didn't have to run and fire their weapons at the same time, they were able to display their true ability with a gun. Working as a team they fired alternately at John and changed position so the U.N.C.L.E. agent could not get a good shot at them.
Illya conceded they were good; but he was better. Choosing his target he aimed, waited then fired at the same instant as John. The bullet penetrated the assailant's forehead and he dropped like a stone. Exploiting the second man's shock at his partner's demise, Illya aimed his weapon at him, noting John was also aiming at him. Again Illya discharged his gun at the same time as Howman and the second assailant joined his partner in death. A neat hole between his eyes resulting from Illya's bullet.
Returning his gun to its holster, Illya silently slipped back into the cupboard and closed the door. Sitting back against the brooms and mops, he waited for John to retrieve him. Once again he rubbed his head; his headache was throbbing painfully.
It seemed as though several minutes had passed before John opened the door of his sanctuary. As he clambered out he saw the area was now full of people. The gunfire had drawn their attention but had also held them back until the fight was over.
"Thank you for staying put," John breathed, he was flushed with excitement, "it's over now I have... despatched them."
Illya allowed himself a little smile.
"Let's get out of here." John was becoming dismayed at the growing number of people entering the area and wanted to get Illya to a less public place.
Before they could move a man burst through the crowd and grabbed Illya firmly by the shoulders. John reached for his gun but stopped mid action as he recognised Napoleon Solo. A huge relieved grin spread across his face.
"Are you OK?" Napoleon studied the Russian intently, his voice full of concern, any trace of his previous anger now gone.
"I am uninjured Mr. Solo, thanks to Mr. Howman. You have a good agent there." Illya reassured his friend.
Napoleon had already seen the bodies of the two dead men and had recognised the handiwork of his Russian partner. He smiled broadly and gave Illya's shoulders a gentle squeeze. "So it would appear Dr. Kuryakin."
"Mr. Solo, I suggest we find somewhere a little less busy." John announced firmly.
Nodding in agreement Napoleon gently steered Illya through the crowd with John following, watching out for any further trouble.
"Of course the lecture must be cancelled." Prof. Stewart declaimed. "It must have been an awful experience for you, Dr. Kuryakin." His words were full of concern as he spoke to Illya.
The conversation was taking place in Prof. Stewart's hotel suite. Illya had insisted upon seeing him immediately so he could explain the recent events, before distorted versions of the gunfight reached his ears.
"Prof. Stewart I appreciate your concern but I can assure you I am quite well. I would prefer to give this lecture and agents Solo and Howman have shown they can protect me." Illya gestured to the two men sitting either side of him on the sofa.
Napoleon was not happy with Illya's decision to go on with the lecture but was well aware the stubborn Russian always liked to complete things he started and there would be no reasoning with him.
"Dr. Kuryakin, I'm not sure..." Prof. Stewart attempted again to dissuade Illya.
"I am and I insist on giving the lecture." Illya stared defiantly at Stewart. It was a look Solo was very familiar with.
"Very well." Stewart conceded "Your bravery is to be commended Dr. Kuryakin."
Illya rose from the sofa "I will go to the lecture hall now; it is a few minutes after 10:00 a.m. and I do not intend to keep anyone waiting for any longer." Illya was determined. "Mr. Solo, Mr. Howman, I am ready to leave."
"I will accompany you also Dr. Kuryakin." Prof. Stewart announced as the three men moved to the door. "I will need to make a brief apology about the lateness of your presentation. May I say that I am grateful you are going to continue with your lecture, you have proved to be a very popular speaker."
'Perhaps a little too popular for some.' Napoleon thought darkly. Quietly he whispered into John's ear. "You continue to escort Dr. Kuryakin and Prof. Stewart to the lecture hall while I contact Mr. Waverly and report the current situation.
"Yes Mr. Solo." John Howman seemed more confident and less brash.
Napoleon followed the three men out of Stewart's suite then slipped discreetly away in order to find a quiet area where he could communicate with U.N.C.L.E headquarters undisturbed.
John Howman carefully checked the elevator car before allowing Kuryakin or Stewart to step into it. Prof. Stewart continued to express his delight at Illya's decision to continue with his lecture.
"I'm so glad you are going to speak Dr. Kuryakin." Stewart enthused as the three men got into the elevator, "I'm so looking forward to hearing you talk."
As the doors slid shut Stewart lashed out at Howman with his fist and knocked him out cold. Before Illya could react Stewart had drawn his gun and aimed it at his chest, "And I'd like you to hear you talk about U.N.C.L.E."
Smiling evilly Stewart pressed the button for the basement. Illya inwardly cringed at his expression and as he raised his hands above his head Illya had the uncomfortable feeling he was not going to enjoy the next few hours.
Two large thugs were waiting to greet Illya as the elevator doors slid open at the basement level. Without ceremony they each grabbed hold of the Russian and dragged him over to a pillar. Illya chose not to struggle against the two muscular men. He had no doubt he could defeat them in a fight but Stewart had a gun trained on Howman and Illya feared he would fire it at the agent if he resisted.
The thugs were none too gentle despite his compliance. As one secured him to the pillar with a length of rope, the other roughly searched him for weapons. Illya tried not to wince as the binding cut into his wrists causing his fingers to become numb.
Confident the Russian was secure and without weapons, the thugs moved on to John Howman who remained unconscious in a crumpled heap on the floor of the elevator. Stewart had lingered at his side in case he 'woke up' while holding the elevator car at the basement level. He watched as his henchmen removed John's gun then lifted his limp form roughly and removed him from the elevator. They all but threw him into a corner of the basement. Stewart stepped out of the car after releasing the 'hold' button and the doors slid shut behind him with a gentle hum.
With a smug expression on his face Stewart gazed at his two captives, then slowly walked toward Illya until he was standing directly in front of him.
Staring back at Stewart, Illya kept his expression neutral. Inwardly he was seething at the way they had treated Howman. "We are a little exposed here aren't we?" He noted calmly and nodded toward the elevator and staircase "We could have visitors at anytime."
"My dear boy," Stewart addressed him "no one comes down here. Look around you, this area hasn't been used in months."
Illya had already surveyed the area and was reluctant to admit that Stewart did appear to be correct. The place looked abandoned, it was dirty, damp and littered with crumpled boxes and tattered yellowing pieces of paper.
"Of course, should we have any visitors, via the elevator or the stairs, my companions or I will simply shoot them." Stewart oozed smugness and gently began to stroke Illya's face.
The U.N.C.L.E agent tensed and held his breath 'he's going to slap my face,' Illya thought miserably, 'it always happens when people stroke my cheek.'
"Not that we are intending to stay here for any length of time dear boy, but our departure is being delayed due to that little gunfight earlier. The hotel management has insisted on involving the police. I also suspect Mr. Waverly will increase the number of U.N.C.L.E. agents in the area. It was most unfortunate you encountered my men before they had got into their correct positions, thus thwarting their kidnap attempt. You must have left earlier for your lecture than anticipated. Oh, you have been quite a nuisance, you naughty boy!" Stewart slapped Illya hard as the Russian had predicted.
"Almost ready Sir." One of the thugs called to Stewart. He was now dressed in white overalls with the logo 'Brilliant Bright laundry service' emblazoned on the top pocket. His partner was struggling into an identical pair of overalls.
"Ah, good." Prof. Stewart grinned "It won't be long before we are ready to take you to your next destination, THRUSH Central. That's where you will be giving your next little talk, Dr. Kuryakin. I'm sure it will be very informative. THRUSH has a whole arsenal of items to help you with your presentation: drugs, electricity, violence..." Stewart lashed out slapping Illya on the cheek once again.
The blow was hard, causing Illya's head to rock back violently but Illya remained stoic not wishing to give Stewart the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt him. Instead he calmly asked, "Why work for THRUSH?"
Stewart smirked at his captive and slowly began to walk around the secured Russian.
"I believe that the scientists I introduce to THRUSH lead more fulfilled lives as a result. Being chairman of the Science Institute committee allows me the opportunity to select scientists who would be useful to THRUSH and invite them to attend this annual event. Persuading them to join THRUSH is sometimes a simple affair but kidnapping swells our ranks effectively. I, of course, am handsomely rewarded for my endeavours, THRUSH is most generous." Stewart now stood in front of Illya having circled him like a shark closing in on its prey. "Now you, dear boy, are a gift from the gods. You can't imagine my pleasure when I saw your name submitted to the committee for approval. I shall be well rewarded for bringing you to THRUSH Central."
During Stewart's speech Illya attempted to loosen his bonds, "If it's all the same to you I'd rather not go."
"I suspect you are hoping that homing device you U.N.C.L.E. agents wear will be helping your colleagues to track your whereabouts?" Stewart once again stroked Illya's face, "I regret to tell you dear boy, I rendered it inoperable when we first met on Friday in the hotel lobby. I used a devious little device that I will be happy to show you when we get to THRUSH Central."
The squeaking wheels of a laundry skip interrupted Stewart and he turned to see the two thugs were rolling it toward him. "Ah, your transport has arrived Dr. Kuryakin. If you would just step into it after we untie you, we can be on our way."
Illya rolled his eyes as the skip came closer, he could see it was partially full of soiled linen. 'Why does it always have to be dirty laundry?' he thought sadly but out loud he politely asked "And If I should decline?"
"I will knock you unconscious instead of giving you the painless sleeping gas that I had planned and my assistants are well able to throw you into the skip. In the long run it will be much more comfortable for you if you comply."
"Will Mr. Howman be coming?"
"I regret no; while your little sleep will be temporary, his will be permanent."
The two thugs laughed out loud, enjoying Illya's discomfort. Stewart addressed them, "Gentlemen, please untie our guest and assist him into the cart. I am sure he will decide to co-operate."
Eagerly the two henchmen set about their task. Stewart trained his gun on the young Russian.
From his position Illya was able to see that John Howman was beginning to stir. His three captors had not noticed and Illya hoped the agent would not draw their attention. "What am I going to get out of this?" Illya demanded in an attempt to keep Stewart and his men focused on himself while Howman came fully to his senses.
"Why, the knowledge that you have assisted THRUSH and a nice easy death."
"That's not a lot," Illya sounded like he was sulking.
"Good heavens," Stewart chuckled "young people today expect so much."
Now untied, Illya rubbed his hands vigorously, trying to encourage feeling back into his fingers. "Must I really get into that skip?" He spoke loudly.
"Indeed you must!" The reply from Stewart was harsh.
Howman was now fully alert and was quickly assessing the situation. He was dismayed but not surprised to discover he had been relieved of his gun. Slowly he began to edge toward Stewart, reasoning he could tackle him to the ground. He was the only person holding a gun and the other two were occupied with trying to encourage Illya into the linen skip.
Illya observed Howman's actions and hoped stealth was one of his better qualities.
Unfortunately it was not. Howman's shoe touched some paper that littered the floor and caused it to rustle. It was enough to alert Stewart. The professor turned and levelled his gun at John intending to shoot.
At the same instant Illya lunged at Stewart pushing him to the ground. As the professor hit the floor he turned the gun toward Illya and fired. The bullet tore into the flesh of Illya's left upper arm.
Although the pain was intense Illya had to ignored it as a THRUSH goon joined the battle. As the thug attempted to grab him Kuryakin punched him hard. The man was unconscious before he fell heavily to the floor.
Howman tackled Stewart and rendered him senseless with one blow to the chin. The professor was not used to rough stuff. John seized Stewart's gun and trained it on the remaining thug, who was now attacking Illya, hoping to get a clear shot.
The blond Russian battled with the enraged henchman but the pain in his arm was hampering him and his assailant was able to land several painful blows. Stars and flashing lights permeated his vision and intense nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Illya wrestled to keep his senses but it was a struggle he was likely to lose. Ready to exploit his weakness the thug raised his fist to strike the Russian but a bullet from Howman's gun halted his attack.
Illya stared as the man collapsed to the floor and John raced over to him. "Dr. Kuryakin! Are you alright Sir?"
"I'm fine" It was Illya's usual response to that particular question although he looked deathly pale and ready to collapse.
The roar of gunfire exploded around them, John pushed Illya to the ground and shielded him with his body. He raised his gun at the footsteps that were hurrying towards them. In the background he heard the elevator door whine open. John was going to make a fight of it despite the growing number of bodies entering the basement.
"Are you two alright?" A familiar voice boomed out.
John visibly relaxed as he recognised the concerned voice of Napoleon Solo.
"Mr. Solo!" John didn't try to hide his relief as he struggled to his feet to meet his superior. "I'm OK but I'm not sure about Dr. Kuryakin."
Napoleon looked at the blond man now attempting to stand up. "I'm fine!" He heard the stubborn Russian growl.
"Secure the area." Solo instructed the U.N.C.L.E. agents who had entered the basement with him. "I'll take charge of Dr. Kuryakin. Mr. Howman, you did well."
John was staring at the thug Illya had laid out with a punch; only now he was dead from a bullet hole in his head, put there by Solo as he arrived in the basement. The dead man was clutching the gun he had earlier removed from Howman.
"He was aiming in your direction John, so I shot him." Napoleon supplied the answer to his unspoken question. "A lesson to be learnt Mr. Howman. Be SURE the enemy is out of action before you let your guard down." The words were spoken kindly.
"Yes Sir, thank you."
"You look exhausted John; I want you to return to headquarters with agent Torrance."
Napoleon gestured to a tall dark haired man by the elevator. "Report to medical for a check-up."
"Yes Napoleon." Howman strode over to agent Torrance
Solo grinned as John finally called him by his first name. "I'll see you later." His grin faded as he looked at Illya. The Russian was clearly dazed and blood was trickling into the palm of his left hand.
"So you're fine?" Napoleon stood directly in front of him his voice conveying he didn't believe Illya's statement.
"How did you find us?" Illya pointedly ignored Solo's comment. "Stewart said he had neutralised our homing devices on Friday when we were introduced to him"
"Only yours and mine, not John's. Stewart didn't meet him, he was checking your room, remember?"
"Oh yes." Illya rubbed his forehead.
"When you and John failed to arrive at the lecture hall we were able to trace you, by using his homing signal."
"Oh good." Illya was starting to sway.
"Now, if you have finished causing trouble, I suggest you be a good little Russian and pass out."
Illya favoured Napoleon with an exasperated glare, just before his eyes crossed and he pitched forward into Napoleon's arms.
Wednesday 10:00 a. m.
John Howman and Napoleon Solo sat in Mr. Waverly's office waiting to discuss the events of the previous weekend. Howman felt nervous at being in the same room as Mr. Waverly but Napoleon appeared calm and collected.
Mr. Waverly looked up from the papers he was reading and glanced at the two men seated at his table. "Well gentlemen, I have read your reports. I am pleased the outcome was successful. Prof. Stewart has been most helpful to us, since you brought him to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters." The Old Man slowly began to fill his pipe. "Mr. Howman, I have read Mr. Solo's appraisal of you performance during this affair."
John found himself holding his breath, as Mr. Waverly's eyes bore into him.
"From his account it would appear... you have the potential to be a fine agent. I expect this good work to continue."
"Yes Mr. Waverly, thank you Sir and thank you too Mr. Solo." John felt himself blush.
"Mr. Solo," Waverly addressed the senior agent "I'm pleased to inform you, your usual partner is back from sick-leave, I expect him to join us at any moment."
As if on cue, the door to Waverly's office slid open to allow Illya admittance. The young agent had his left arm in a sling but looked much better than he did a few days ago.
"Welcome back Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Waverly greeted "I trust you are ready to resume your duties here at U.N.C.L.E.?"
"Yes Sir."
The startled look on Howman's face was priceless. His wide eyes stared at Illya and his mouth dropped open in a silent gasp.
"Hello Mr. Howman." Illya spoke softly a tiny smile graced his lips.
"Dr... DR. Kuryakin?" Howman managed to stammer.
"Yes and no." Illya began, confounding the bewildered agent further. "I have a doctorate but I choose not to use the title. I prefer to be called Illya by my friends."
"Oh no!" John groaned as realisation dawned, "Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. Of course I know your name. I should have remembered! I am so sorry Mr. Kuryakin!"
"Please call me Illya. Thank you for protecting me and may I also say that you have shown great patience in being able to put up with Napoleon..."
"You'll become a patient if you're not careful." Solo warned his blond partner.
Before the banter could continue a pretty secretary entered the office carrying a sheet of paper and a bundle of letters. She smiled warmly at Illya as she passed by him.
Napoleon was a little put out that this beautiful female seemed to favour Illya but it was his partner's reaction to her presence that enthralled him. Illya blanched, his eyes widened and he became very nervous shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Illya became increasingly unsettled as she offered the sheet of paper to Waverly.
"What's this Miss... um?"
"Taylor Sir," the woman finished for him. "As you know poor Mr. Kuryakin has hurt his arm and is now unable to type so he asked me to assist him..."
"Excuse me Sir," Illya abruptly interrupted "but I have to be... somewhere!" and he dashed out of Waverly's office.
The occupants of the room were frozen into stunned silence; this was not the usual behaviour of Napoleon's partner. Solo was just about to say something when Miss Taylor continued speaking to Mr. Waverly.
"Mr. Kuryakin asked me to type this for you. He said he would collect it later this afternoon and give it to you then but as I have these other letters for you I thought I would bring it to you now to save poor Mr. Kuryakin the trouble."
"I see." Mr. Waverly accepted the paper from Miss Taylor and placed it on the table in front of him. After carefully lighting his pipe and enjoying the first few puffs, the Old Man picked up the paper and began to read.
Meanwhile Solo and Howman exchanged bewildered glances. Illya's behaviour was bizarre. Agents, especially Illya, did not suddenly run out of Waverly's office and certainly not without waiting to be dismissed.
A loud crack drew their attention back to their superior. Red-faced he spat out the pipe stem he had just bitten in two. "Where is that darn boy?"
"Sir?" Napoleon began meekly.
Waverly held aloft the paper he had just read shaking it with barely controlled rage. "I asked Mr. Kuryakin for a list of any other projects he was engaged in during his spare time. Well, this page not only lists two current projects but three completed and published research papers!"
Napoleon rolled his eyes, he could feel the annoyance radiating off Mr. Waverly. 'Oh boy, Illya if you have any sense, you'll make that somewhere you have to be The South Pole.'
The End
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