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The Three Headed Eagle Affair |
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The Three Headed Eagle Affair |
WARNING: Where do
I begin? First: in my universe, Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin's name has been emended/changed/corrected/taken
in vain and he is now called Ilya Nicolaievich Kuryakin. Forgive me, but my
many Russian friends would double over whenever they encountered the canon
version of this name. Second: Be on the lookout for a Mary Sue original character.
Relax folks, she doesn't get to marry either one of our heroes. She doesn't
even get a kiss. However, she is really competent.
PAIRING: Napoleon Solo and Ilya Kuryakin (see Warnings above)
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: None to my knowledge, that would meant I stuck to my guns
(canons).
ARCHIVE: Not without my permission.
DISCLAIMERS & SUMMARY: See Author's Notes posted below.
Act Four - How long 'til I be done and rid...?*
Napoleon left his meeting and headed back to his office. He was startled to
find Athea Charles waiting for him inside. "Sir, the Soviets are not going
to let him go are they?"
Not trusting his voice, Napoleon nodded.
"So, we go and get him."
"Impossible."
"Difficult, but not impossible, sir."
"Let's hear your idea." Napoleon sat down. This should prove entertaining
if nothing else.
Athea pulled a file folder from behind her back. "I should apologize, sir,
for not coming to you sooner." Ilya had been gone for nearly three months.
"I'm sorry if I'm exceeding my brief but I needed help and I didn't want to
get anyone's hopes up until I was reasonably sure my idea could work." Athea
kept her eyes focused on the file folder to allow the Chief Enforcement Agent
a chance to pull his face straight.
"Go on, I'm listening."
"I asked Miss Suda in the lab to help me with the technical part. Mr. Kuryakin
said she was the best; after himself of course. Anyway, these pages represent
all the details on project Aerie."
"I'm not familiar with it."
"No one is, sir. Ms. Suda made up the whole thing. THRUSH should love it,
sir. Ostensibly it is a plan to arm a space platform with nuclear warheads
as a kind of ultimate deterrent. These pages have all of the bells and whistles
to make Aerie seem genuine, sir. I thought we could leak a few of the details
along with the fact that with Mr. Kuryakin in the hands of the Soviets, the
project has been scrapped. We could let slip that he took a solution to erase
sensitive data from his memory so he'd need the file to reconstruct his work."
"So we give THRUSH a reason to want Kuryakin released?"
"If we bait the trap with enough juicy details, they won't wait until he's
released, they'll break him out. Let's face it, when it comes to playing dirty,
they beat us hollow, sir. But rescuing Mr. Kuryakin from THRUSH has been done
before. Although not an easy task, it would be easier than getting him out
of a Soviet prison."
"I'll give you points for trying, Agent Charles." A ghost of the old charming
smile flickered for a moment, then vanished. "First, if the Soviets get wind
of this bogus project, it will give them even more reason to stash my partner
somewhere where no one will be able to find him. Second, as long as Ilya's
family is in the Soviet Union, he is vulnerable. How do you think they got
him to return? Third, if THRUSH wades in with all their guns blazing, too
many innocents stand to get hurt. Believe me, I appreciate your concern, but
this is best left to the diplomats." Napoleon shook his head. Ilya would have
loved this.
"I see, sir." Athea frowned. "I didn't think it through. I should have known
the Soviets would have leverage on him. With your permission, I'll give it
some more thought." She placed the file on Ilya's desk and started for the
door.
"Wait, what about this?" Napoleon pointed to the file.
"Sir, there's some good stuff in there. We might as well treat it like gold
dust. Even if we can't use it as I originally planned, it's still good bait,
sir. This office has secure cabinets."
"And an excellent lock on the door. How did you get in here?" Napoleon thought
he must be slipping. He should have asked that question first.
"Mr. Kuryakin trained me, sir." She winked and left.
For the first time since his partner left, Napoleon chuckled. Smiling ruefully,
he ordered Security to change the locking codes on his door.
"Did it work?" Vashti Suda asked as Athea pulled up a lab stool.
"Yeah. He smiled for a minute." Agent Charles grinned. "He looked almost human.
Besides, the diplomats may not be able to pull this off. At least he'll now
be thinking of some alternatives. Thanks for letting me into their office."
Vashti Suda nodded. As Ilya's chief assistant, he'd given her his codes to
his Section Two office. "I'll bet he changes the codes."
"No takers." Athea smiled.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Napoleon let himself into his apartment and sighed. For the billionth time
since Ilya left, he wondered how his partner was, or even if he was. The KGB
was not known for gentleness when it came to handling wayward citizens of
the Workers' Paradise. Fixing himself a tuna sandwich, Napoleon forced himself
to eat. "Oh, God. Ilya, I miss you."
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Ilya's interrogators had finally begun to realize they were dealing with a
professional. as the weeks dragged on. Ilya's guards began waking him whenever
his eyes closed. This made no difference.
In the gulag, Ilya had mastered the knack of sleeping with his eyes open.
That is, resting his mind and body while seeming to be awake. Using a modified
yoga technique to focus his awareness, Ilya imagined himself back in New York.
He'd take himself through a typical daily routine; omitting no detail. He
was in the midst of pouring himself a drink and talking with his partner when
the door to his box clanged open. Sighing, he got to his feet and followed
the silent guard.
The Lyubyanka was a fortress, the oldest portions of which were built during
the time of Catherine the Great. Its labyrinthine hallways baffled new recruits
who frequently became lost in the maze. An eidetic memory proved a useful
aid to navigation. Five left turns followed by three to the right, then two
more left turns, and Ilya found himself back in the interrogation room.
"Family name, first name and patronymic..."
For the hundredth time, Ilya supplied the information. Peripheral vision revealed
the presence of two doors leading into the room. While routinely answering
the endless trivial questions, Ilya wondered which of the two doors really
led somewhere. There was only one way to find out. Ilya lunged across the
battered table. The second door flew open and two guards entered the room.
Grinning sheepishly, Ilya sat down again. One question answered: actually
two. If one of the doors led to a place where guards were stationed, the other
presumably led elsewhere. This new question kept Ilya occupied as he was roughly
escorted back to his box.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
"My foster son has no idea who he's descended from." Nikolai Grigoriev stated
flatly. "And if by some chance he does know, he'll say nothing about it to
anyone."
"You seem very sure of this boy."
"I have every reason to be. With the exception of a brief indiscretion while
an undergraduate, Ilya Nikolaievich has conducted himself very well indeed.
On more than one occasion he has been very helpful to our government. After
your examination, I'm sure you will find he can be trusted in this matter."
"I hope for your sake this is so. You may leave. But remember, we will be
watching."
"And I thank you for your diligence." Grigoriev saluted the man who headed
the Second Directorate and left the office. His wife was waiting for him in
the lobby. Since leaving Siberia, her hair had turned a lovely shade of silver
which set off her dark eyes.
"You are getting fat, Niko." She observed wryly.
"I know, dearest. I have not been exercising."
"Well, there is no time like the present to resume healthful habits." Irina
took her husband's arm and walked with him to their small car. "I think a
twenty minute walk in the park before supper will be beneficial." She smiled
as her husband held the door for her.
They discussed trivial matters; fully accepting the probability their car
was under electronic surveillance. Nikolai Grigoriev drove well and after
a brief ride through the early evening traffic, they pulled into the parking
area bordering Gorkii Park. Irina sighed. "I have a mountain of papers I should
be grading."
"As do I, dear heart." The couple entered the park holding hands.
"Did you get to see him?" Irina's voice was tight despite her pleasant facial
expression.
"No. They are still interrogating him. Until they are satisfied, no outside
contact will be permitted."
"Did you have any idea who he was?"
"Not at first, no." Nikolai grinned and waved to some children playing on
the swings. "It's a good thing, too. Otherwise we would not have been allowed
to take him into our home."
"I keep wondering why they didn't murder him as well as his parents."
"I'm sure they intended to. Sending a small child to the camps... by all rights
he should have died." Nikolai observed softly.
"Do you think he knows?"
"Probably. According to surveillance reports he was visiting his grandmother
regularly."
"She's a cold one. How on earth could she have left her child behind?"
"She was forced to at gun point. I'm positive she had every intention of getting
him out, but fate ruled against her. One hint of what she was attempting,
and the child would have been liquidated."
"I hope our boy will be able to survive this."
"We can only pray, Irinichka. We can only pray." They finished their walk
in silence.
Nikolai's excellent record had protected him and his family from joining Ilya
in prison. Although no longer officially working for the KGB, he was called
in from time to time as a consultant. His former colleagues accepted Grigoriev
at face value. In his case, appearances were not merely misleading, they were
the total antithesis of Nikolai's true self. His exemplary service to the
Party made him a rare commodity: someone in whom the apparatchiks could place
their trust.
He'd been permitted to adopt Ilya with the understanding that if anyone could
ameliorate the boy's unfortunate heritage-turning him into a model Soviet
citizen-he would be the man. His superiors had yet to discover the scope of
Nikolai's betrayal of everything they represented. Even as Ilya's interrogation
dragged on into its fifth month, his jailers assumed the iron fortitude and
serene non-compliance with their demands were the result of UNCLE's training.
If the true state of affairs had been known, Nikolai would have been summarily
executed.
Seated in his study after a light supper, Nikolai looked up from his students'
essays, remembering a trip to the family dacha outside Leningrad shortly before
Ilya left to continue his education at Cambridge. The young man's formal silence
had returned in the wake of his tragically aborted first love affair. The
two men spent a week in the country house. During that time, Nikolai fully
briefed his brilliant foster son with the information that was now preserving
his sanity while driving his inquisitors nuts.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
"They will not permit you to develop a routine, Ilyusha. But they have one
of their own." These conversations were held as they walked in the woods.
"So, use this tactic against them. Find a routine in their seemingly chaotic
harassment. Rest whenever you can. Let them tire themselves out trying to
get information. Keep your answers to routine questions as short as possible.
If the opportunities present themselves, nod or shake your head. If you feel
yourself tiring, ask them to repeat their questions. Above all, speak politely
in a monotone. Eventually, they'll either release you, or more than likely,
send you to a camp."
Day after day, the briefing continued. "If they bring you breakfast at ten
o' clock in the evening, and dinner at six AM, go along with their manipulations
of time. New prisoners are never held where they can see or hear the outside
world. By accepting their cock-eyed re-scheduling of a normal daily routine,
you force them to try something else. New challenges will prevent your mind
from becoming dulled."
Step-by-step, Nikolai coached his pupil, providing a detailed description
of the interrogation process and the techniques utilized to break a prisoner.
This highly subversive briefing was contrasted with their conversations in
the dacha. Nikolai automatically assumed every word would be listened to,
so he spent most of the time lecturing Ilya on the evils of same-gender liaisons
and how such decadent urges would have to be eradicated.
"Ilya, you are young and inexperienced. That is the only thing that prevented
your arrest and subsequent punishment. I did not bring you into my family
for you to repay us in this fashion." The voice was stern, but Nikolai's eyes
were warm. His primly puritanical lecture was mitigated by his lopsided grin.
"I'm sorry, sir." Genuine sorrow over the fate of his incarcerated lover leant
sincerity to Ilya's apology. "It will not happen again."
"Good. See that it doesn't."
At night, Ilya frequently walked alone under the trees. The tears he would
never allow another to see would then be released. Nocturnal inhabitants of
the forest soon grew accustomed to the sight and sound of a young man seated
in a small clearing, sobbing as if his heart would break.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
These memories, despite the pain associated with them, gave Ilya a plausible
excuse to explain his tears in prison. This time he didn't weep for Pavel
Andreivich, but for Napoleon. His box was kept extremely warm, so Ilya rarely
had to dry his face; the evidence of his silent sorrow had usually evaporated
by the time his escort came to take him to the showers or the latrines.
The guards were only human. Ilya gauged the passage of time by their changing
shifts. Nikolai's assessment was correct. He was fed approximately once every
twelve hours. Trips to the latrine occurred at six-hour intervals. He was
interrogated every forty-eight. Two years in a labor camp had been the beginning
of Ilya's acting career. He always looked startled when the door to his cell
opened. The bright light had also been a blessing in disguise. His eyes were
red-rimmed and swollen. Despite his hunger, he forced himself to leave a portion
of his rations uneaten. This stratagem had two purposes.
First, the sooner he became accustomed to a semi-starvation diet, the better.
Second, the resulting weight loss buttressed his jailers' belief that years
of sybaritic luxury in the West had weakened him.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. As he paced his small cell,
Ilya put himself through a series of isometric exercises to keep his muscles
honed. His stoic endurance finally paid off. When his escort came for his
next trip to the latrine he was the one who couldn't resist speaking. "Is
it true you're really a prince?"
Inside, Ilya laughed at the guard's seeming ingenuousness and outwardly played
along with it. "Of course not, comrade. A bunch of royalist fools approached
me hoping to use greed on my part as a means to embarrass our government.
I told them they were wasting their time. Nevertheless, I understand this
incident must be investigated. Western leaders are always looking for so-called
evidence that we Soviets are unhappy with our way of life. Well, if I have
to stay here for fifty years, it is nothing if it makes them look like fools."
In spite of himself, the guard was impressed. He dutifully reported this conversation
to Ilya's interrogator. This time, when Ilya entered the room, the dour-faced
man was smiling. "So you don't consider yourself the long-lost heir to the
Tsar of all the Russias?"
"No, sir."
"These people who approached you, do you know any of their names?"
Ilya pretended to think. He had no intentions of informing on anyone. Looking
up he smiled innocently. "Surely, sir, our government keeps a careful watch
on its citizens when they are abroad. How else can we insure that malcontents
seduced by the pleasures of capitalistic regimes do not engender false impressions
of our country? I'm sure if you consult my file, the names of those royalist
idiots are already listed."
"The other agents in UNCLE call you 'the Ice Prince.' Why?"
"More than likely because I refuse to enter into their obvious schemes to
distract me with their so-called harmless diversions. I do not socialize with
them. Nor do I share their tastes for hedonistic behavior." Ilya smiled. "They
are like foolish children playing on the edge of a volcano with no idea how
close they are to disaster. Perhaps I should have pretended to be persuaded
to adopt their pastimes and foolish extravagances with an eye to gaining more
useful intelligence for our government..." Ilya paused. "If I am permitted
to return, perhaps my orders will allow me to do this."
"You were working for us?"
"Comrade, I will not betray my trust by speaking in detail of these matters,
even to one such as yourself. Instead ask yourself this question. Why else
would I have been permitted to enlist with UNCLE?"
"For five months, you've said nothing. Why are you talking now?"
"I needed to determine how much you had been told of my assignment. To speak
before this could have jeopardized the integrity of my brief. I did not wish
to place you in the awkward position of receiving information that was not
mine to divulge." Ilya said. If they believe that one, they are almost as
stupid as those crazy royalists in New York. He thought.
"So, you do not claim to be the heir to Nicholas II."
"No more than any other citizen of our country. After all, when the Imperialist
regime died, I, and every other Soviet, became heirs to freedom from oppression,
improvements in our way of life... to that degree, yes, I claim to be an heir
of the Romanovs. Had they survived I would not now be able to proudly claim
citizenship in a state that truly cares for it people." Ilya easily slipped
back into the florid propagandist style of the fifties.
The interrogating official all but purred. "So you have no interest in the
millions of pounds sterling that are yet to be claimed by a legitimate heir?"
"For myself, no. Nevertheless, that money belongs to our country. Our people
sweated blood to provide the aristocrats their luxuries. That money can set
the final seal on our plans to convince the world a state created by workers
and governed by them is the only viable system."
"You have no sympathetic feelings toward the late Tsar and his family?"
"Comrade, we are Russians; sensitive people. The thought of people being executed
is not pleasant. However, our leaders at that time were trying to make a new
nation. They were forced to make harsh decisions for our benefit. If the demands
of socialist historical progress had been otherwise, perhaps that family could
have been rehabilitated to serve their new country. However, the father had
the blood of millions of our young men on his hands. In joining Europe in
its mad race to annihilation, Nicholas left a heavy burden on those who had
to rectify his terrible blunder. The Great Patriotic War would never have
touched us, had our population been allowed to grow in keeping with the benefits
provided by enlightened socialist rule." Horseshit! Ilya thought. What the
hell, it was what his jailers wanted to hear.
"Thank you, Comrade Kuryakin. Guard, please convey this citizen to his quarters."
Ilya was hard pressed to keep from laughing as he was taken back to his cell.
The tables had been turned.
* How long 'til I be done and rid of all the wrong my father
did?
How long 'til spade and hearse, put to earth my mother's curse?...
T.H. White-The Once and Future King