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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: Only a handful of agents went through Survival School with
better marks. Why does everyone seem to think she's a THRUSH mole when
no one questioned the others?

Pairing: Unknown

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Cheri turned to look at her companions. “Try that again?”

“A True Account of the Horror at Dunwich,” he repeated the title he was
given.

She blinked. “And you think King James the First of England’s “Demonology”
is real?”

That caught him. “You’re saying he’s recounting mythology?”

“Have you read the book?”

“No. The library here seems to think he’s non-fiction.”

She laughed at that. “OK, my categorizing him as fiction may have been my
understanding of his not recounting the real world as I understand it.
Although, I suspect very few people read his works as reporting reality, y’
know.”

“Beowulf was regarded as reality in it’s day,” Illya chimed in, sounding
tired. “A lot of people regard the Arthurian legends as reality, even though
the information given by each author or tale teller conflicts.”

“You’re supporting me?” She sounded surprised.

“I do not wish to believe there was a horror at … Dunwich? that was not of
human origin.”

“I am so with you on that,” Cheri agreed. “So, while the Miskatonic may
categorize Lovecraft as “non-fiction”, I’m not willing to make that leap.
Especially considering his general subject matter. Euw.”

“I’ll buy breakfast,” Napoleon offered, conceding that this particular
revelation had fallen flat. He missed the troubled look that crossed her
face as they exited the building.

Breakfast went without a hitch, after which, having paid their hotel bill,
they piled into the car and sped toward Bangor and a flight home. They
arrived in New York to discover that Cheri’s baggage had apparently headed
somewhere other than Idlewild.

She countered their looks with, “Hey, you were at the counter when they
tagged it.”

Napoleon sighed in agreement. “They lose luggage all the time. We’ll fill
out a lost luggage report. It should get back to you.”

Illya muttered something in Russian.

“And just how would I have done that?” she demanded. “Forgot I’m fluent in
Russian, right?” He gave her a darkling look. “I did not switch tags. There
is nothing in my luggage I didn’t want coming back here. You have a problem
with me, you face me with it.”

“You know too much. You’re too practiced. You’re lying,” he challenged.

“You have an inflated ego and you’re just jealous of a younger agent,” she
shot back, considering sticking out her tongue at him for emphasis, which
gave her the giggles as she suddenly saw how foolish this argument was. “I’m
sorry,” she apologized through the giggling. “This is just silly. I’m simply
very good at what I do, just like you and Solo are. I have incredible
aptitudes. So did the two of you. And how much esoteric knowledge do the two
of you carry around in your heads? Huh? To normal people, we’re all
overachievers in a very rarified area.”

“You’re 26. You have joint bachelors in Anthropology and History. Where did
you find the time to learn to shoot? To use explosives?”

“I’m talented and brilliant. What more could you want? I’m not a THRUSH
agent,” she assured him yet again. “Illya, I grew up on a farm. Papa taught
me how to shoot. And what not to do with dynamite. Both of which come in
handy …. Especially the what not to do,” she ended giggling again. “I’m
gonna go report my luggage …”

“What makes you look like that?”

“I was remembering what she told me at the school.”

Napoleon frowned, trying to remember what she might have said and when. He
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

“’I’m 102, born in an alternate universe and off and on covert for 70 years’.”
He paraphrased, trying to think of something rude to finish off with and failing.

Napoleon did a quick mental calculation. “That would put her birth about 1865.”

Illya rounded on his partner with an epithet in Chinese. “She is not 102.”

“And we didn’t just almost get killed by people who were using THRUSH for
their own ends,” Napoleon said softly. Dark eyes met blue for a moment
before Illya looked back down the concourse at Cheri’s rapidly diminishing
figure.

Illya did not like what he was thinking.“ We need more information.”

“Lovecraft?”

“We start there.” Cheri was hiding something and he was gong to figure out
what it was.