My Brother's Keeper
by Charlie Kirby

"Will he be all right, Doctor?" Alexander Waverly watched the young man being transferred from surgery to recovery. There was a flurry of activity around him as nurses and orderlies made sure that lines didn't get tangled or pulled out.

"This time." Marcus Levy pulled the blood-stained surgical scrubs off and dumped them into a laundry sack. "But I won't lie to you, Alex. He couldn't have come much closer. He's going to be out of the field for awhile."

"I was afraid of that."

"What possessed you to name a Section Two as your successor to begin with?" Marcus walked to the room where the orderlies were transferring the still-unconscious Napoleon Solo to a bed. "Especially this one. Solo strikes me as a man with the shelf life of potato salad on a summer day. He's reckless, arrogant, and headstrong."

"Reminds me of myself in my younger days, I suppose." He studied the agent's chiseled profile. "He's also brilliant, dedicated, and fearless. Who better to run UNCLE when I no longer can?"

"Then take him out of the field." They started to walk back towards the front desk.

"I do that and I might as well plunge a knife into his heart. Mr. Solo is the type of man who will wither and die without the stimulation that field work provides."

"Then you better name a successor to your successor because at the rate he's going, Solo will precede you to the happy hunting grounds before he's forty. Look at how many partners he's gone through."

Waverly nodded absently as his mind was elsewhere. A name popped into his head and he smiled thinly at the thought. It would be a risk, but why not? Most of his life had centered on taking risks and weighing the odds. Why not now?

Waverly settled himself on a bench in the middle of Central Park. Pigeons fluttered around him, eager for hand outs. He looked furtively left and right, trying to spot the Section Three agents that he knew would be there watching and protecting him. There were easily a dozen people milling about, any one of whom could be one of his agents... or one of the enemy.'s This was an aspect of the job he loathed. He was never alone for very long.

As a man approached, Waverly took off his hat and fanned himself with it as he stared into the New York skyline. The sun was playing hide and seek in the clouds, but that didn't help lower the humidity. Summer had definitely come to New York.

"It's very warm," he said conversationally as the man sat beside him.

"It depends upon whether you are from the East or the West. In the East, it is cool." The man's accent was as thick as gravy on a Thanksgiving turkey.

"Not if you know where to look."

"And when."

Waverly offered his hand to the man. "Arkhip Gerovich, it is good to see you again, old friend."

"And you, Alexander." The accent fell away. "However, I will confess to being rather surprised at receiving your call. You and I, we are not the men we were."

"That's why you were tht perfect man to call in, Arkhip. I have a little problem that you are uniquely positioned to aid me with."

"I am now intrigued." Arkhip reached into his pocket and Waverly saw a young man reading a paper stiffen, his hand moving to reach beneath his windbreaker. A bum also seemed suddenly very interested in Waverly and Arkhip.

"Slowly, Arkhip, we aren't alone."

The man smiled, revealing several gold teeth. "We never are these days, my friend." Cautiously, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes and offered Waverly one. Waverly shook his head and took a pipe from his jacket pocket.

"For several months, my organization has been working with the Soviet government to bring in one of your men." Waverly packed the bowl of his pipe and lit it with a practiced hand.

"I have read of such things; I had no idea that was you." Arkhip lit his cigarette and took a long drag. "We are very close to making a selection." He let the smoke trickle out of his nose.

"I have an agent, top man in his field, my successor, in fact. I need someone to... look after him. I'd rather hoped we could kill two birds with one stone."

Arkhip's eyebrows arched. "You're asking me for a babysitter?"

"Of a sort, although I dare say I'd not refer to Mr. Solo as a child. The man would have to be uniquely positioned, for I would have to be assured of his complete loyalty to UNCLE. In short..."

"He would become yours and no longer ours."

"Yes, and this would have to be done quickly and quietly. If my man found out about it, I would fear for your agent's life." Waverly puffed on the pipe and watched a pair of young women walk by. The minute stretched into five before Arkhip spoke.

"I have just the man for you. He is quite young... just twenty seven."

"Good, my man is twenty eight. Anyone younger would be dangerous; anyone older wouldn't be able to keep up with him. He would have to be able to finish a course at our training facilities and be in position by the end of the year."

Arkhip nodded slowly. "This one could do that. Anything else?"

"I need a player, Arkhip." Waverly smiled, his face hard. "And he'll need to be able to take care of himself."

Arkhip patted Waverly's leg and then squeezed it gently. "Just as we played, old friend. Leave it to me."

Waverly watched Solo as he sat at the circular table. The man had finally been cleared for field work. Waverly had to admit he'd dragged his feet on giving the final approval, although Solo didn't know that. He just knew he'd been assigned to what Waverly was certain the young man felt was an endless term of desk work.

Solo tapped the desk blotter with his thumb and studied the file. By now he'd have had the thing memorized a dozen times over, so Waverly was sure he was just using it as a means of killing time.

"This new agent, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Solo."

"UNCLE is certain he's... with us?"

"I am certain, Mr. Solo, and that is all I need."

There was a soft chime and a moment later the door slid open. Waverly watched Solo to see his reaction. Like him, his CEA was startled. The Russian looked very young and almost fragile. Waverly knew that it was window dressing. He'd watched the agent take down five men twice his size and go looking for more. That the Russian could handle himself, this was certain. Whether or not he could handle Solo, that was another matter.

"Mr. Solo, meet Illya Nichovetch Kuryakin. Mr. Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo."

Illya bowed slightly, then took Solo's hand for a handshake.

"Sir. Mr. Solo." Again, Waverly watched surprise dance across his CEA's face. He'd been expecting a thick Russian accent, not English. Waverly motioned him to a chair and Kuryakin slid into it gracefully.

"You are to be partnered with Mr. Solo. He will, in turn, show you the ropes."

"There is tying involved?" Kuryakin seemed genuinely puzzled. "I was expecting guns and bombs..."

Solo chuckled and immediately relaxed. "Yes, lots of tying -- of us, usually. It just means I will show you your job."

"I understand. Forgive my confusion, I am still uncertain of your American idioms." Kuryakin sat quietly, his hands folded on the table before him.

"That's quite all right." Waverly gave the young man a smile. "You are dismissed."

Just as they reached the door, Waverly cleared his throat. "Mr. Kuryakin, a moment please."

"I'll just wait for you out here then?" Solo hesitated, but when no invitation to stay was offered, he walked swiftly out of the room.

Waverly waited for the door to close and gestured Kuryakin back.

"Sir?"

"What do you think?"

"This is the man I am to protect?"

"With your life, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand." The blue eyes were unblinking.

"He'll kill you if he finds out."

"Of that I have no doubt. Then I shall have to be very certain that he never finds out. Good day, sir."

Waverly watched him leave the room, watched Solo greet him as he exited and he released a breath he didn't even know he was holding. This might just work.

"I don't believe this." Napoleon had a dozen or so files spread out over the circular conference table. It had been almost two months since Waverly's funeral and Napoleon's ascension to Section One and he was just getting to the point where he had both the time and the desire to start digging through Waverly's personal files.

Illya glanced over at his long time partner, frowning at Napoleon's open-mouth gape. "What don't you believe, Napoleon?"

"You were brought on board as my bodyguard?"

Illya's smile grew as the memory came back to him. "It had been so long, I'd forgotten, but, In part, yes, but also as the Soviet Union's contribution to UNCLE."

"You were my bodyguard?" Napoleon closed the file with a firm hand, a look of disbelief washing over his features. He brought a hand to his chest. "You were my bodyguard?"

"As that is your third repetition of that statement, I think we can concede to the fact that I was originally your bodyguard. Initially, that was my assignment with UNCLE. Mr. Waverly wanted to protect his investment."

"Me? Seems to me that I was doing a lot more protecting of you than the other way around."

"Appearances are always deceiving, especially when one is close to the source." Illya flicked a fast look at his watch. "And if you will excuse me, I have a staff meeting to attend."

"How is it going?"

"I will admit that there is more to being the head of Section Three than initially meets the eye. The actual boredom factor is considerable."

Napoleon gestured to the table overflowing with paper. "Now you know why I stayed in the field as long as possible. The danger, the beatings, the close calls, those I could handle. Staff meetings, paperwork, and the routine, just cut my throat and be done with it."

Illya stood, chuckling. "When will I see you tonight?"

"Early, I think. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister at two and another one with the newly elected head of Mozambique, but I'm free after that. Maybe around five. We can grab some dinner or are you cooking?"

"It rather depends upon whether or not I need to beat someone into submission. I'll let you know." Illya gave Napoleon's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Try not to blow up the world."

"Not without you." Napoleon watched his partner walk from the room and then shook his head and shivered as a whisper of air caught the back of his neck. "I have to hand it to you, though, you sly old fox; if anyone had to watch over me, you couldn't have made a better choice. Thank you." And he returned to the task of safeguarding the world.