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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?

Pairing: Unknown

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Cheri took the elevator down to the lobby and located the restaurant.
Breakfast was excellent. She was just finishing when a shadow appeared over
the table. She looked up expecting to see one of her partners. Instead, the
looming shadow belonged to the man who denied being Royke Darnall. Without
invitation, he took a seat next to her.

“Uh … hi. Whoever you are.”

The disturbingly opaque dark eyes met her gaze directly. “You were correct,
Miss Yuconovich. Not many people know who I was. How did you?”

The laughter just bubbled up and wouldn’t stop for a few minutes. “Oh, dear.
I’m sorry. Really. Not laughing at you. It’s just … shit, I have no idea how
to explain this.”

He didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the laughter. The granite face
softened a bit. “You are a puzzle, Miss Yuconovich …”

“Cheri.”

That got an odd look. Maybe he wasn’t used to being on a first name basis
with the opposition. “Cheri,” he conceded. “Two places at once. Two
histories. Two paths.”

“Two paths?” she brightened and grabbed onto the information source.

“You don’t know.” The concept seemed outside his comprehension. “You know
about me, but not about your twin?”

“Namesake and look-alike, maybe. Not a twin.”

“Look-alike, then. You do indeed look alike, although she is thinner,
perhaps older.”

“So you’ve actually seen her?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She could think of a lot of answers, but the
one she received wasn’t one of them.
“You’re not afraid of me.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “What has that got to with … Why would I be afraid
of you?”

This was not the answer he was apparently expecting. He stared at her for a
long moment. “You know my name … “

“Royke Darnall, assassin, Irish extraction, wanted in … dozens of countries,
even if they don’t know who they want,” she elucidated her knowledge softly.
“I missed something?”

“The massacre at el-Dabari.”

“The massacre at … I’m a little confused here. I mean, it’s nasty, but…” She
rapidly reviewed everything she knew about the massacre. Out of that debacle
engineered by an idiot who did not understand the desert Arab logic and
honor codes, came the Wind of the Desert and the loss of the Johannesburg
Satrap almost to a man. Wiping out a tribe came at great expense. She was
curious to know how THRUSH viewed this and was certain Darnall, as usual,
followed orders, not giving them.

“The Wind of the Desert. The focal point of every disaffected Arab who does
not follow Allah in the Middle East.”

“And a lot who do, but are tired of the Imans telling them what the Koran
says. Literacy breeds change.”

He nodded. “What passed at el-Dabari is small compared to what I created
that day.” He looked up surprised as she took his hand in sympathy.

“Did you give the order?” she asked seriously.

“No.”

“Not that I approve,” she assured him. “And if I’d been there, I’d have done
my best to stop you. Probably succeeded, but just as others have done, you
were “just following orders”. Hideous orders,” she caught a flicker in his
eyes. Remorse? Oh, yeah. There was so much more to Royke Darnall than one
expected. “You weren’t the only one there, you didn’t tell her to do what
she does. You didn’t foment the trouble in the Middle East. It lives there.
I mean …” She stopped and thought for a moment. “Look at the 6 Day War? What
do you expect? Besides, when someone survives a massacre, you should expect
crazy things to occur. Why would that make me afraid of you?”

He stared at her in complete wonder. “I don’t scare you. THRUSH doesn’t
scare you. What does?”

“You don’t want to know. Look, this is fun, but to what do I owe the visit?”

“You need to be careful. Don’t laugh.” It was too late, she was already
laughing. “Faversham has his eye on you.” There was no doubt the warning was
sincere.

She sobered. “Faversham. He always does,” she agreed with a sigh.
“Connection to my look-alike?”

For a moment he looked like he regretted coming. She was too sharp. “The man
she companions is loosely connected to something called the Legacy. Mr.
Faversham is interested in the Legacy, he is interested in Mr. Moorecock and
his companion and he is interested in you. That’s a dangerous combination,
Miss Yuconovich. We’ll be seeing each other again.”

She sat there sipping coffee refills for a while, mulling over what he’d
said. THRUSH had a connection to the other Cheri. The Legacy? For cryin’ out
loud. How much more tangled could her life get? She did some furious mental
calculations and realized that Derek Rayne was a child of 13 now; a child
only beginning to come into the psychic abilities that would shape his
future. Winston Rayne was still alive, twisting his son’s life to suit the
Legacy’s purposes. Not something she could do anything about, of course.