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Disclaimer:
This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.

Classification: T for Teen (or used to be PG-13 or so)

Author's Notes: Just because she's too good to be true, does that
make her a problem?

Time: 1967

Place: New York, San Francisco

Pairing: Unknown

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The three agents were a little disconcerted by the complete lack of knowledge or worry about the disruption of Cheri's room that was exhibited by the hotel personnel. Napoleon had notified the local office and the problems would be noted their reports when they returned to headquarters. If a bill for the destruction of a door showed up later, Mr. Waverly and Accounting would have the explanation for the charges, if not for the damage. They joined Caleb and his Cheri outside.

While the cabbie was stowing bags, Cheri decided that they really needed a way to designate the two of them that didn't include yelling "Cheri" and having them both turn in inquiry. "I don't suppose you've ever acquired a nickname ..?" The other shook her head in denial, although her face did one of those quick alterations that probably meant yes. Cheri quirked a smile at her. "Abomination isn't what I'd call a suitable nickname for anything that isn't horridly ugly and rising from the depths," she agreed conversationally. The other looked startled, her eyes widening in horror. Cheri reached across and just touched her hand gently. "It's ok. Twisted minds think alike," she assured her with a cheery look.

The rest of the trip to the dock passed in occasional comments dropped here and there. None were of any moment. Everyone was waiting until they had some privacy to address the questions they all wanted to ask.

As they piled into the boat after their luggage, Cheri took a quick look around. Yep, there was Darnall being inconspicuous as a dock hand on the other side of the quay. What was he up to? She drew Illya's attention to the lurking THRUSH agent. "Something's up, non?"

"Connection to Faversham?" he asked as the motor went from quiet idle to half throttle. He tossed the last securing line to the dock and settled into the seat next to her.

"He is, yes. Fav has an attraction to the Legacy."

Illya looked withdrawn as he digested this piece of information. "We should see if there is more than an attraction."

"And recall that Mr. Waverly said there is a connection to Dr. Ayala." It was disconcerting to get abrupt looks from both Caleb and her double. "I take it the name's not unknown to you?" she half shouted over the sound of water and engine.

"When we get to the house," Caleb called back. This discussion apparently called for a little more discretion than could be had while in transit on a speed boat.

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Angel Island, rising out of the settling fog of an evening, was mysterious and dark. Caleb took them past the cove harbor where they could make out pale sand glimmering against the dark sea. There were lights here and there over the island, the brightest area being the Immigration and Naturalization Service station on one point at the edge of the semi-circle harbor. The quay for the mansion was on the other side where the shore was rockier.

Illya helped tie up, leaving Napoleon to talk to the Cheris. The duality did not seem to discomfit his partner the way it did the
Russian. He examined his attitudes as he tied off the last line holding them to the small dock. Cheri had done nothing during their association to show that she was anything other than what she purported to be. She was a young, relatively untried agent who was doing her best to become the field agent every evaluation showed she could be.

Yet there was something wrong about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Having her side by side with the slightly older woman rattled his chains even harder. He scowled at nothing, wishing his thoughts had more order on this subject. He went over everything that set him off about her:

She was ... too good to be true. The refrain kept running through his head. There was almost a superstitious aura to his regard of her. He shook his head at that. He, the scientist, to be in superstitious dread of a woman, was foolish. Still, there was that chill along his spine when he dealt with her; the tingle of danger and the unknown. What was that "joke" she told him when they met? 102, born in another reality, over 60 years covert .... a shiver ran through him. The trouble with the joke was that it rang true in her voice and in his heart.

That was foolish. There was no way she could be what she said that day. It was a joke. Nothing more than a stupid retort to his suspicions. Watching the two women walk up the gravel path in front of him he stopped and saw more than he had before. Cheri, bouncy and elegant at the same time in a tailored business suit, skirted and high heeled walked with a lean, almost feline fluidity. Her counterpart, practically Old World adult in her all black garb and her hair pulled into a tightly coiled bun .... he broke off his inventory as he realized the woman moved with animal grace when she wasn't conscious of eyes on her. The impression first received of angular, ungraceful movement was a deception of the mind or, perhaps, an intentional disguising of ... of what? His thoughts became chaotic half conceived impressions.

Darting a look at his partner, he received a smile and nod. That confused him as well. Was that just comradely encouragement? The sort of thoughtless but appreciated thing his partner did so well? Or was there more? Was Napoleon seeing what he saw? Did Napoleon even understand that Cheri worried him badly for reasons he couldn't quite pin down?

It was suddenly quite clear that he was never worried about her being a THRUSH mole. Nor was he concerned that she might better his and Napoleon's record as an agent. His true worry was something deeper, something he hadn't completely figured out, but that kept him on edge when they dealt with her. Now it was hovering around the edges of his reactions to her double.

This was completely unreasonable and unacceptable. He gave his momentarily inchoate thought process a good mental shake. They came out of the woods and into the trimmed lawn that lay across the front of the mansion. Were they absolutely certain this was not a THRUSH Satrapy? His first thought was that someone had built a castle. He caught a sly smile on Caleb as the latter noted his reaction. Perhaps he should school his face better. As he slid into his normally imperturbable, unreadable look, Caleb's smile broadened. Illya took in the abrupt scowl as Caleb noted the late model Mercedes sedan parked on the sweep of gravel drive.

"Rayne," he ground out.

Whoever "Rayne" was, Caleb seemed not at all pleased to discover his presence here and now.

Inside the foyer, the butler was still welcoming Winston Rayne and his son Derek. The young man, still in his early teens, was nearly as tall as his father with dark hazel eyes taking in everything around him while his father expressed his displeasure in finding the owner of the house not awaiting his arrival.

"I had business to conduct in the city. I'm sure you understand." Caleb was curt in his response.

Winston Rayne rounded on him to answer with some acerbity. He stopped as he realized there were strangers with Caleb. A short nod acknowledged Caleb. "I was unaware you had guests." As a statement, it was a very nice accusation.

Caleb seemed about to explode verbally, then caught himself. "You had not set a time to meet, yet. Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin and Miss Yuconovich have business with my companion. Due to indications that there may be some ... old entanglements ... I invited them to stay with me until our business concludes."

Winston's eyebrows rose slightly at the introduction. He noted the resemblance between the two women without comment. It was obvious that the younger Rayne was quite intrigued by the duplication of looks. He opened his mouth and then closed it, waiting for his father to continue.

"Very well. We will return tomorrow ..."

"The last ferry has left, Mr. Rayne," Caleb grated. Both men knew very well the time of the last ferry service leaving the island. Winston had deliberately come late so he could stay at the mansion over night and observe the house and its environs. "Seris House has enough room to accommodate all of us, I believe. Wharton,"

"Sir?" The very correct butler responded to his master.

"Rooms for my guests, as well as Mr. Rayne and his son."

"As you wish, sir. I will have staff attend to it." A majestic bow and Wharton, the butler, made his measured way out of the foyer.

Cheri picked this moment to giggle. The sudden observation of a half-dozen pairs of eyes did nothing to quell the mounting tide of hilarity. Struggling not to laugh out loud, she cast a look of entreaty toward her double who managed to figure out the polite and politic thing to do. She offered to take Cheri upstairs to freshen up. Cheri made it to the top of the grand stairway and disappeared into the upstairs hallway before the tide of giggles overwhelmed her.

The other Cheri showed her to a guest room and watched in amazement as her doppelganger collapsed across the bed laughing.

"I'm sorry," she gasped between spates of laughter. "It's just, the whole thing was so .... so divinely 18th century suddenly." She held her sides and continued laughing as the other watched her in bemusement.

"Eighteenth century?"

Cheri sobered slightly at that and shook her head. "The butler, Caleb's manner, the unwelcome intrusion on the welcome guests ... well, at least invited, if not welcome ... it was just .... I dunno."

That elicited a small smile. "It was ... amusing. Caleb does not like Mr. Rayne."

"Why?"

She gave that some thought and shrugged her shoulders. "They argue about who should have the house. You know how he came to own it?"

"No. Do tell."

Briefly, she told of a night of cards, somewhat like a scene out of a novel or a movie where the "good guy" and the "bad guy" faced off over a game with more than the obvious hanging on the turn of a good card. Caleb won. With his win came the deed to Seris House.

"So, who was his opponent?"

"Giles Faversham."

Cheri slammed upright at that answer. The THRUSH Council member had owned Seris House? What the hell? Her face as well as her reaction startled the other woman who flinched away from her. Cheri reached out a hand. "Sorry. Just, I don't think anyone knows that Fav used to have this place. Actually, it's kinda unlike Fav to have such an ostentatious place. How long has Caleb owned it?"

"I'm not sure. It was before I knew him." She read the question in the other's eyes. "He told me about it one night. You wish the bathroom?" Confidences were at an end.