Rated: NC-17

Napoleon is putting away his shoes when I come out of the shower. Nice view. I fold the towel and place it over the bedside chair.

"Early day tomorrow." Napoleon flips back the sheets.

I move the alarm clock to my side and set it for five a.m. "Not that early." Not for our prior life, at least. Now? I am reassessing early rising as a virtue. Perhaps I will work on 'early to bed' instead.

"Too early to do this in the morning." He leans over and places a kiss at the base of my spine.

I freeze, not wanting to risk any movement that might take me away from those tempting lips. Continuing up my spine in a series of nips, he places both hands on my waist and guides me back to the bed.  When my knees hit the mattress, I allow myself to collapse on top on him. Such a warm resting place. So...accommodating.

"Far to early," he mutters again.

"So?" I make it a question although I roll over and indicate with my kisses on his shoulders that I already anticipate his answer. Anticipate it with great enthusiasm, in fact. Only one conclusion is possible, and I offer it gladly. "So we should do it tonight!"

"Illyusha," he answers, his breath catching on the words as I stroke him and wrap my tongue around his ear. "I have always admired your....strategic thinking."

He kisses his way down my chest, stopping at each nipple to taste and cherish. Then his tongue is at my navel, gently exploring, before I recapture breath enough to answer.  "I have always admired your...ohh..ability to improvise."

"Like this?" He takes one ball into his mouth with a gentle suction  that somehow gathers every nerve in my body into a single bundle.

"Yes...ohh. Exactly like that," I moan.

He releases it  in order to nibble his way up my swelling shaft. "Lucky you never have a problem getting...up..in the morning."

I feel his fresh hardness growing against my leg. "You are.....ohh...up already."

"So are you."

"Yess....", I hiss. "Now."

His lips brush the head of my shaft, moving to consume it. Pure pleasure, but... I open my legs in blatant offering. "No. Want you....in me.."

"OK." He slide along my body, teasing every inch as the tight curls of his chest catch and tickle.

The slide of a drawer, a hint of cold, and his fingers are on me. In me. Opening and preparing me.

"Now," I plead.

A flash of pressure and he is within me. Just the head, but that is enough to start the first hum of pleasure along my spine. Then more, inch by inch as he sinks deeper and I thrust up to meet him.

His hands circle my cock, stroking and squeezing in rhythm to each thrust until I somehow forget where he ends and I begin. At his deepest reach, the brush of hot flesh sends fire along each vein. Enveloping me. Consuming me. Reducing the world to two then opening it again in a sudden unsustainable glory of infinite pleasure. I accept my own release even as he floods within me, warming me somehow deeper then just in the body. Warming somehow the entire world.

As we rest together, Napasha pulls the blanket up and tucks it around my shoulders. "Rest, Illyusha. You have a long day tomorrow."

****

*Brrrring*  *Brrrring* Napoleon's portable phone rings as I am pulling on my boots.

"It is five-thirty in the morning?" I ask. "Who could be calling now?"

"Answer it," Napasha groans, rolling back into the pillows.

I pick it up and press the button."Yes?"

"Mr. Napoleon Solo, please." It is a man's voice from the other end. Considering the hour, he sounds obscenely cheerful.

I cover the receiver. "For you."

"What moron..?" he begins, but pushes himself up and holds out his hand.

I hand it to him without comment.

"Solo speaking," he snaps, jacking up the volume and holding the phone out so I can also hear.

"Excellent. Sorry to call so early, but I wanted to catch you before you went out for the day. I'm Joe Bierbaum, from Avian Solutions in Montecito. Right near Santa Barbara."

"Bill Vally's friend."

"Exactly. He called me last night, and mentioned that you might be down in our neck of the woods today."

"Yes?"

"Wonderful," The voice gushed. " Any chance we could get together today? Let me show you some of our set-up here. Perhaps take you out for lunch? I know a wonderful fish place."

"Let me check."

Napoleon drops the volume back to normal and places his hand over the mouthpiece.

"Why not?" I suggest. "If the lab is at all interesting I will probably have lunch with the faculty. If not - I will go to the library. If you drop me off at ten-thirty , you should easily be able to meet him wherever. And .... I would appreciate your company on the drive."

"OK," Napasha says, returning to the phone. "Lunch is good. Give me your address." He snatches a scrap of paper from the nightstand and scribbles. "Very good. I should be there by... shall we say eleven thirty?"

Napasha listens a moment longer, then says, "I'm looking forward to it as well."

"So am I." I  give Napasha a bright smile as I pull on my shoulder holster and unplug my phone.

"You get the car ready while I grab a shower," Napasha replies, reaching for the closet. "If we want to get there on time I had better get moving."

Berkeley to Santa Barbara is just over 300 miles - or about 4 1/2 hours if you drive like a maniac - which our boys ( and most other drivers on the coast road) do.

Chapter Thirty-Eight : Someday I'll be a Farmer

Rated: PG - 13

Napoleon reaches the car just as I am loading the hamper into the back seat. "Don't tell me David packed breakfast?"

"Mexican sweet bread. Organic fruit juice. Hot coffee." I hold up a thermos. " Also a list of recommended restaurants if we choose to stop for dinner on the way back."

"Not a bad idea." Napoleon opens the driver's door and holds out his hand for the keys. Naturally. "Either way it's going to be a late day, but a stop in the way back for a quiet dinner...?"

After a moments thought, I relinquish the keys. To have Napasha's company for the long drive? It is worth tolerating his driving. For all my complaints he is competent. Inclined to speed, perhaps, but competent. Our training requires that.

"We could take Highway One back." I take the passenger seat and set the filled coffee mugs in their special holder. "It is slower, but I have always enjoyed the ocean."

"Well, then." Napoleon starts the car and pulls out into the empty street as I fasten my seat belt. "Pick something nice off David's list and we'll celebrate your new education."

"You speak as if my attendance in Santa Barbara was already decided?" Not that I had not been impressed by my previous day's conversation with Dr. Decker, but I had long before learned to take no plan for granted. Not before every aspect was settled. Not even once it was in operation. Sometimes not even when finished. Finished operations had a lethal habit of becoming *unfinished* at the most inopportune times.

Napoleon accelerates as he approaches the freeway on-ramp. "If not, then we'll celebrate your new education somewhere else." His smile dismisses the distinction as unimportant. " Either way, today we're both bound to learn something."

"Also, we already have an appointment for dinner," I remind him.

"Oh, Thats right. Larry's"

Pulling around a truck to reach the fast lane, he hands me one of his recently purchased CD's. I hesitate, but...why not. We are in California, in a convertible, with the top down, driving towards the coast as the first pink light turns turquoise in the eastern sky. If there was ever a perfect time for rock and roll, this surely is it. Popping the bright rainbow disc into the player, I wait until the first notes begin. 'All you Need is Love'. How very true. I raise my coffee cup towards Napoleon.

"To... today."

***************

Once past San Jose, the city and suburb opens into a gentle countryside. Not the combine stripped wide plains of wheat or corn, but the well tended acreage of produce and fruit.

"Beautiful countryside." Napasha gives an accessing look as we pass a large mission-style stucco ranch-house flanked by pink-blooming almond trees.

I check over the fields. Strawberries perhaps? Some low-flowering crop. The rows are neat, the plants healthy. "It is rather nice."

Napoleon drives a few miles further, then looks over at me. "What do you think houses out here cost?"

"Quite a lot," I answer. "Everyone knows California real estate is expensive."

He turns his attention back to the road, but not after a final glance at the grove of peaches on our left. "Still. It is beautiful."

********

"I wonder what they are growing?" Napasha asked idly.

"Grapes," I answer, taking in the endless rows of wired greenery.

"Grapes?" Napoleon sounds surprised at my answer. Why, I do not know. I spent enough time in farm labor as a child to remember any number of crops.

"This is the coastal wine country." I point to the wire-strung rows of glossy leaves. "Those are grape vines. Probably pinot noir."

"Wine country?" Napoleon's gaze fastens on the passing countryside with a strange intensity. "Like in France?"

I am tempted to begin a lecture on the geographical differences. For all Napoleon's infinite knowledge of wines, it apparently has escaped his purview that the original produce must be farmed somewhere.  I settle for, "Much the same."

He looks over the flanking fields. "I wonder what it would be like to have your own wine?"

"Expensive." I answer.

"Yes, but.." he give a suddenly possessive look at the verdant landscape. "It is beautiful."

*************

We stop outside of Monterey for breakfast. The highway department has apparently built a number of delightful little parks right beside the road. Very convenient. In this particular instance unbelievably so, as a local club has for some reason decided to provide free coffee as well. Not as good as David's coffee, to be sure, but a major step up from the airlines.

The charming grandmother at the kiosk not only gives us fresh cups, she insists on refilling our thermos as well. Such kindness. We enjoy David's breakfast on a table overlooking the ocean. It is beautiful there. So peaceful as we sit in the shade of our ramada and watch the seagulls dive for scraps thrown out over the water. I can understand what Mark found here.

But today? I have an appointment. As does Napoleon. And those, more then the waves or the birds, will determine our futures.

*******

The final  miles past Santa Maria twist through the foothills. Not tall, they are still enough protection to soften the salt of the air and shield the fields from the colder ocean winds. Here the fields are again green and white with the alternating plantings of orange groves and vineyards, broken occasionally by a pasture of glossy-coated horses.

I let my eyes wander over the red-painted barns and white -topped greenhouses. The rose-planted fences banked by wildflowers.  The large brick and stucco houses set to catch the high ocean breezes. This is farmland, but *rich* farmland. Not only in its produce, but in its people.

As I finish my survey, a blue flash catches the corner of my eye. Is it? Yes. "Napoleon?" I hold up my hand.

"Yes, Illya?"

"Do you see that car behind us?"

Napoleon makes no betraying movement, but his eyes go at once to the mirrors. "The blue one?"

"Exactly," I confirm. "It has been behind us since we passed Atascadero."

"Probably just a coincidence."

"Perhaps," I grant.

He checks his seat harness. "Maybe I should speed up a little?"

"Maybe you should slow down?" I suggest, taking the cups from their holder and securing them under the seat. Then I check my harness as well.

"That would work too." Napoleon lifts his foot slightly, and the car slows imperceptibly but inevitably.  "What are they doing?"

"They are still behind us." I recheck the side mirror. "About the some distance."

"Bad sign." He clicks off the music.

"Very."

I am about to suggest acceleration when a brightly painted sign catches my notice. 'Wine tasting - two miles on right.'

"Napoleon?"

"Illya?"

I point slightly at the sign. "I think we should go to that wine tasting."

"Good idea." Napoleon accelerates and moves into the farthest lane.  "Hold on", he adds unnecessarily. Waiting until the last second , he cuts over into the rose-bordered driveway.

The driver behind us is good, clearly a professional, but Napoleon has left him no time to strategise. Move or lose. He chooses to spin sharply and follow us. Tail confirmed.

"Remember," I add as Napoleon races through the vine-decorated parking lot. "April did not want us to shoot anyone."

Napoleon glances back at the blue car, still in unyielding pursuit.  "Not if we can avoid it." A sudden left has us plunging through the rose hedge and on to a dirt road.

Pulling on the harness straps, I spin in my seat to face the trailing car. No need for discretion. They know we've seen them. And that we care. And they're still coming. The only question is why?

Sliding out my pistol, I brace my wrist against the neck rest. Hard to aim with the car bouncing so, but....they are not firing yet. A whiz past the window and a ping on the door. Make that *were* not firing. Between the movements of the car and Napoleon's evasive tactics it is hard to get a clear target.

The front passenger leans out, bracing for a shot. I stay tight and fire along the car. Two rounds. The first one misses. the second hits. Low arm, I think. Pistol falling, our attacker jumps back into his seat. Disarmed, but not disabled. Problem. I have to assume he has a backup weapon.

I have six rounds left. My partner has ten, perhaps eleven if he has loaded the barrel. Not enough for a fire fight with  three men. Nothing to waste on mere deterrence.  I will need to pick my shots carefully.

"Hold on!" Napoleon shouts as he corners sharply, slapping the branches of one of the oaks bordering the rows of vine and scattering twigs and leaves in our wake. The furrow track is narrow - barely wider then our wheels- and grape flower and leaves splash across the windows as he accelerates between the green boundaries.

Our pursuers copy, but not quickly enough. They clip the oak and land on a post. For a moment I let myself hope they are out of the game. No. A roar of motor and tires and they are back. Farther back, but still....

The end of the row. A sharp right and we are back on the farm road, heading around and back to the winery. I look at Napoleon. He gives the  sign *hold fire*. Very well. I brace myself. Our car slows a bit. Not enough to be noticed, but... The other car gains on us rapidly. The driver is almost on our back fender and I can see the rear driver aiming when...

A quick flare of red lights, as Napoleon stomps the brakes and cranks the steering wheel, sending the car into a tight spin.

The pursuit driver freezes, brakes, evades. He misses our hood... but not the irrigation ditch to their left. Impact at fifty. The passengers are flung forward, while the nose of the car forces itself deep into the thick red mud. I check out the window. No signs of movement.

Restarting the motor, Napoleon carefully pulls past them and drives on.

"Amazing." I look at the twisted metal behind us, and at the oblivious groups of tourists now leaving the winery. " You did not wreck the car."

"Of course not." Napasha manages to sound shocked at the suggestion.

One of the vineyard workers apparently spots the wreck, because he herds the tourists rapidly back. Several of the brightly dressed figures ignore the man, running though the fields for a better look.

As we pass the parking lot, I hear the first sound of sirens in the distance.

Napoleon restarts the music. "Do you think we should go back and explain matters?"

"I think you should just drive. Slowly and carefully."

We reach the exit, and he pulls back out onto the highway. "Slow and careful. Good idea."

Chapter Thirty-Nine : (I Get By)  With A Little Help From My Friends

Rated: PG

The freeway is open. Ocean on one side, asphalt and fields on the other. Very few on ramps out here. This is poor territory for an ambush. Even so, we stay alert.

"Who knew we would be here?" Napoleon opens his jacket and readjusts the holster.

"Every spy in California ....if they were at the party last night."

I check my clip. No extra ammo. Perhaps it would be worth a stop in the next town? The next little city is named Los Alamos. Not the significant one, however. Otherwise we *would* be in trouble.

"Even if *they* weren't there themselves," Napoleon adds, "Everyone seemed to have friends..who have friends."

"I am beginning to question the sincerity of such friendship."

"You don't say?" Napoleon checked his tie in the mirror, at the some time reviewing the road behind us. Two pickup trucks and a older sedan. None of them behaving suspiciously. I had already checked. Holding up fingers with the count, he continues: "Valley was CI. Miss Davis was CIA. Mrs. Peel was something British. Dumas didn't say, but he's clearly overseas French.

I nodded. "Grustov is GRU, Hans Streck is *not* Stazi, and Fleming is a blue-blood from MI5. Dan Briggs looked like a freelancer, but either American or Canadian. Shapiro is openly Israeli. The Smiths are mysteries, even for that crew."

"Seven countries just from our drinks list." Napoleon takes the off ramp, pulling over a few minutes before taking the paired onramp back up to the highway.  "That does tends to make for a wide field."

When we reemerge, the three car I had seen before were now far in front of us. Good. I do not see anything else that looks like a threat.

"Maybe we should call April?" I suggest. "Someone does not seem to respect our retirement."

"Do you remember her number?"

********

Napasha clicks off the music while I dial. There are three rings, then the line picks up.

"Director's Office, Mari speaking."

So this is indeed April's direct line. Excellent. "April Dancer, please."

"Who shall I say is calling?"

"Illya Kuryakin."

"Just a moment, sir."

She apparently remembers the name - or else has a secure callers list. Either way, the next sound I hear is the click and hiss of a line scrambler coming on. Then a series of beeps. Likely my call is being transferred. It is only a few seconds before a more familiar voice comes from the phone.

"Illya." April's tone is pleasant. "How are you doing?"

"Interesting question." I turn up the volume so Napoleon can also hear the call. "At the moment I am alive, but I believe someone just tried to alter that."

"What?"

I clap my hand over the speaker. Amplification plus her shout combine a bit too loudly in a small car.

"Three men in a blue automobile just tried to run us off the road," I reply.

"Are you sure?"

"Reasonably." I look at Napoleon, who signals 'why not'. "If you would care for another opinion, perhaps you could ask the other driver? Or either of his overly armed passengers? We left them in a ditch, and from the sound as we left they should be in police custody by now."

"Where are you?" An added hum in the background tells me that our conversation is being either recorded or shared. Perhaps both. " What road? What county?"

"Why?" I ask

"So I can send a team out." More clicks. I would bet that team has been dispatched even without my consent. "It's probably just industrial, but...... I very much want to know what is going on." A pause, and the dead air of a phone set to mute. Only a few seconds, and then April is back. "But you are all right?"

"Yes."

"Is Napoleon with you?"

"He was driving."

That brings a chuckle. "And it was the other guys who ended in the ditch?"

"April." Napoleon takes the phone. "That was cruel."

"You forget, my dear Mr. Solo - I've seen you drive." Her voice sobers as she gets down to business. "You don't have my phone, so..."

"How do you know that?" Napoleon interrupts.

"Because Major Hovsepian shipped it back to me, of course. Give me your number, and as soon as we learn something I'll have someone call you. Unless you want to come in? I could send a team.."

"Please, April." Napoleon's voice takes on hard edge. "Just when did you decide we were incompetent?"

********

*brring* *brring*

I unplug my phone and flip it open.

"Yes."

"Ah, Illya," April Dancer's soft soprano comes from the speaker. "With such a charming greeting, that must be you."

"Yes." I am neither charming or charmed.

"I have some good news and some bad news."

"What is the bad news?"

I again turn off the music and set the volume so Napoleon can hear.

"We found a photo in the car. Apparently they were in fact after you two. Professional thugs. Not too high level. Kidnapping run, we assume, although we haven't gotten the name of their employer."

Napoleon leans over. "What's the good news?"

"Ah, Napoleon. The incident let me wrangle you full sanction authority. You are both now in at Policy Level One."

He looks at me. I say nothing.

"You are still headed to Santa Barbara?" April asks. "One of our people will meet you at the police office in Goleta.  And Illya? Try not to shoot anyone unnecessarily. I do not need the political hassles. Really I don't."

**************************

Goleta is a small town. Rather convenient in this case, as it renders the police station easy to locate. Sitting between the courthouse and the post office, it was a rather drab concrete building with federalist pretensions in the details.

Napoleon, with his usual flare for such things, pulls into a metered parking space directly in front of the main steps.

"Illya? You have a quarter?"

I start to reply with my automatic complaints, then stop. This day has been long enough already. And I no longer have the hope that it will soon be over.

Our contact is waiting by the reception desk. A fit-looking Asian man in black jeans, black undershirt, and a black and white printed shirt worn loose enough to cover the shoulder holster. Just the thing for a relaxed afternoon funeral. The distinctive black glasses are unchanged, and behind them I can discern little expression.

I look at Napoleon.

"California casual?" he whispers.

I reply, "At least we will not need to ask for directions."

"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?" The young man approaches us with one hand outstretched.

"Lee. Regional Control Officer. I believe these are for you?"

I begin a handshake , only to stop when I realize his palm is not empty.

The shiney black cards have our names engraved on the surface.. and nothing else. As I give mine a careful inspection, Mr. Lee explains. "Magnetic encryption. Also an implanted chip. If necessary, the public information can be read on any credit card machine. Not that we hope you'll be showing them to too many people. Company policy is to keep a low profile."

"Yes, well. " Napoleon gives the man an impatient look. "That was my policy until about an hour ago. Now I have a new policy. One that involves *not* being shot at. If at all possible."

"We are proceeding on the assumption that Agent Kuryakin was the target. Most likely as the result of the altercation on the Warsaw Express. Not that there is yet any direct connection, but it's the best motive me can come up with. And the only likely target. He had the appointment, and there was no way for anyone to anticipate that you would be in the car."

"With the exception of Vally and Bierbaum. Also possibly his employer."

"OK. We'll check them out. But it's a long shot. Too tight a time frame to hire the muscle. Unless you're suggesting Avian keeps thugs on their payroll?"

Why not? I thought. Everyone else seemed to be hiring. Fortunately I have considerable experience in keeping my opinions to myself. I contented myself with asking, "Will it be safe to proceed  with our appointments?"

"I don't see why not." April's officer shrugs. "If these guys wanted Decker, they could get him any time."

I put the card in my pocket and start to turn.

"Before I forget." He calls us back. "You'll also want these." He reaches down and produces two flat black cases from a paper grocery bag stashed under the desk. Laying then on the desktop, he directs. "Place your right hand on the surface and pronounce your full name."

I do so. The case springs open to reveal a dead black pistol devoid of markings. Beside it in the eggshell foam lay  several snap-ons. Silencer, I assume. Sight. Several colored cases I assume are clips.

"The firing operation is fairly straightforward," Lee continues. "Two hundred shots per clip, more penetration and less recoil then you are probably used to. The red clip is explosive.The blue is sleep darts. Other then that?" He give us an unreadable look. "If you know how to shoot, you know how to shoot."

"Although." He gives me a careful inspection. "If you could avoid any further shoot outs we would all be most appreciative. It's really not done these days."

"Indeed?" I ask, closing the case. "And how does the other side feel about that?"

As we settle back into the car Napoleon turns to me. "I hope Dr. Decker won't mind that you're a few minutes late."

"I will blame it on the traffic," I reassure him. "Every delay in California can be blamed on the traffic."

*********

With his usual driving style, Napasha gets me  in front of the Fig Memorial Sciences Building only a few minutes after my scheduled time.

I step from the car and walk over to Napasha's side. "You have your phone?"

He pulls back his suit jacket to show the flat case clipped to his belt. "Yes, Illya."

"Good. I have programmed in April's number. That is number two. The local office is number three."

"What are you, Illya?"

I give him a wide smile. "I, lyubovnick ,am number one!"

"Always!" His eyes sparkle, and I suddenly regret we must part even for an hour. Foolish thought.

"I will expect you at two? Call if you are delayed. If you get here after two, I will be at the library."

"You always are." He starts the motor.

As he presses on the gas I suddenly say "Oh, and Napasha?"

Expecting another question, he looks up. And I bend down and place a kiss on his cheek. "Have a nice lunch."

As I watch him drive off, I think, 'That was incredible'. Which it is. Something I never would have *thought* that I might do before these days. Even if I have to study for a hundred years...It will be worth it.

END CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Authors love feedback! Email Direct