The Raven's Lair - 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 V - "Only the lonely..."

Napoleon gathered his papers into their appropriate folders as the section heads' meeting drew to close. At a signal from Mr. Waverly, he remained seated while the others filed out of the conference room. Miss Suda, gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Throughout the meeting Napoleon had avoided looking in her direction. Although he liked the woman, the sight of anyone else in Ilya's chair was painful.

"Mr. Solo. I have assigned you a new partner." Alexander Waverly watched his best agent closely. "She has completed her training and is now ready for field work. Here is her file. Please study it and report back here in one hour."

"Yes, sir." Napoleon got to his feet. He refrained from asking his boss if any progress had been made in obtaining Ilya's release. If the old man had any news for him he would have said so. Napoleon picked up the file and was not surprised to see Athea Charles's name on the flap.

When he reached his office, he poured a cup of coffee, wincing as the bitter concoction hit his empty stomach. He was living on the stuff. Popping an antacid lozenge into his mouth, Napoleon opened the file. Athea's grades had been excellent. She graduated at the top of her survival school and enforcement training classes. Napoleon flipped back to examine her college transcript. Once again, she had finished well: Summa cum laude in Psychology. However, despite her excellent academic record, Agent Charles was a small-town mid-westerner with only one previous trip out of the United States.

Napoleon frowned. The last thing he needed was a raw recruit who would be spouting truisms from guide books about the diverse cultures and cities her work would require she visit. As Napoleon idly leafed through the file, he caught sight of Ilya's handwriting. Blinking to clear the moisture that suddenly dimmed his eyes, he read his lover's evaluation of the young woman. Ilya's assessment cited her level-headedness and willingness to ask for information. "Great." Napoleon sighed. Instead of armchair travelogues, he would be pestered with a million questions. Reading further he was surprised when Ilya summed up his report by stating Agent Charles showed every indication of surpassing her teacher's formidable skills as a field agent.

"Bullshit!" Napoleon sat up. Glancing at his watch, he decided he had time to grab a sandwich before returning to meet the wunderkind. When he re-entered the office belonging to Number One, Section One another surprise greeted him. Agent Slate was also present.

"Ahh, Mr. Solo. This is Agent Charles." He gestured to the young woman. Instead of the slightly disheveled young girl Napoleon had been introduced to in the cafeteria six months ago, he found himself staring at a sophisticated young woman. Athea's black hair was put up into a French roll. Small gold earrings glinted at her lobes. She was wearing a tailored suit that set off her figure admirably. Sheer stockings graced her legs.

She nodded gravely towards Napoleon and extended her hand. "We've met before, sir." She said before returning her attention to the materials in her lap.

"Mr. Solo, Miss Charles is not experienced enough to fill the position of Number Two, Section Two."

I should jolly well say not. Napoleon thought to himself. Now, Mark Slate's presence made sense.

"I have assigned Mr. Slate to that position. I suggest you set up a time to meet with him this afternoon so he can become more familiar with the administrative side of things." Mr. Waverly filled his pipe. "We intercepted a THRUSH signal four hours ago indicating our feathered foes are planning a major offensive in Europe, specifically Greece. It seems the monarchists have enlisted the aid of this man..." Waverly handed out photos to the assembled agents. "...Colonel Phillip Xenocrates, to act as their liaison. If THRUSH succeeds, Greece has little chance of maintaining their remaining vestiges of democracy." He handed files to Solo and Charles.

"You are booked on the late evening flight to Athens. Xenocrates has two weaknesses: his own ego and women. He is to be compromised; his credibility destroyed. His successor is more amenable to reason. If he is fully briefed on the THRUSH organization's less attractive side, the military coup d'etat will fail. Any questions?"

"No, sir." The three chorused.

"Excellent. Miss Charles, gentlemen, you have work to do."

"Can I meet with you in an hour?" Mark Slate asked as they headed for the elevator.

"Fine." Napoleon said as Agent Charles preceded him into the elevator. They rode down in silence.

"All right, Agent Charles, do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes sir, but their number will be reduced if I spend some time in Archives. I assume you need to prepare for your meeting with Mr. Slate. With your permission, I'd like to use this time researching the background of the parties we'll be dealing with."

"Be my guest." Napoleon went to the outer office to request certain reports from his secretary. When he returned, Agent Charles had jotted down a few notes and a list of names of military leaders from Europe and Asia including the two Greeks. At Napoleon's quizzical look, she explained what she was doing.

"Sir, I was taught to assume the worst-case scenario in all situations. By requesting files on these other guys, no one in Archives will be able to tell we are interested in Greece."

"Carry on, Agent Charles."

"Yes, sir."

"And by the way, you can call me Napoleon."

"Thank you, sir, but I'd rather not. I haven't had a chance to thoroughly review our assignment brief, but I figure your rather distinctive first name will not be in use on this trip. I'd prefer not to accustom myself to using it." The young woman nodded and left her new partner shaking his head.

The meeting with Mark did not take long. As the Englishman left to return to his own office, Athea reappeared. She got herself a cup of coffee and opened the mission brief. Fifteen minutes later she looked up at her boss.

"Questions?"

"Yes, sir. How on earth are we supposed to pass me off as a Grecian native? I don't speak the language. I've never been there, or anywhere else outside of this continent for that matter. I don't think this will work."

"We are allowed to adjust our profiles." Napoleon had been wondering the same thing ever since he read the details of their assignment. "Any suggestions?" This should be interesting.

"One, sir. Let me pose as an American of Greek extraction. That happens to be true by the way. Since you are to be covered as a military consultant, I can travel as your secretary. If I'm to be the embarrassing bait for Xenocrates, my performance as your somewhat naive secretary who's never been to Greece before, will be a lot more believable. You only recently hired me, so any unfamiliarity with my job will be explained. In addition, this will cover any glitches that arise from your never having worked with me before. It will be easy to imply I wasn't hired for my skill in taking shorthand." Athea smiled briefly. "Will this work?"

"Very well." Napoleon agreed. Just what he needed, making goo-goo eyes at a girl who looked young enough to be his daughter. Without thinking, he sighed.

"Sir?" Athea spoke quietly. "I know I'm a lousy substitute for Mr. Kuryakin. I promise I will follow your instructions to the utmost of my abilities. This arrangement is only temporary, he will be coming back."

Napoleon smiled sadly. "I seem to remember a hot-shot young agent telling me always to assume the worst-case scenario... I'm sorry. That didn't come out quite as I meant it to."

"No offense taken, sir. If I were in your shoes, I'd be frothing at the mouth. Let's face it. I've never been anywhere apart from a high school field trip to Canada. I'm a hick. The only thing we can do is make this an asset rather than a liability."

"Well you certainly don't look the part." Napoleon grinned.

"I asked Miss Dancer for a few pointers, sir. Mr. Waverly allowed me to cheat. He told me I would be assigned to you two weeks ago. I used the time to prepare myself. Frankly I prefer more casual attire, but with your reputation, I could hardly go around in jeans and a sweat shirt."

"So you are aware of my reputation."

Athea grinned. "Sir, I said I was a hick. I didn't say I was dead. Believe me, only a corpse would be oblivious to your reputation."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

'I don't. You have a notorious reputation. I didn't say I believed it."

Napoleon smiled as Athea returned her attention to the brief on her desk. In spite of himself, he was looking forward to spending time with this young lady.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

"Well Nikolai, it seems as if you have done an excellent job with Kuryakin." Pyotr Ivanovich Kostoglotov* turned a leaf in the thick file. Unlike the bogus file used by Ilya's interrogator, this was genuine.

"Thank you sir. He hasn't turned out too badly. May I ask how the boy is holding up?"

"Not bad for someone who's spent nearly a decade in the West. UNCLE training, though not as thorough as our own, cannot be taken lightly it seems. Ilya Nikolaievich has apparently convinced his employers of his value. Alexander Waverly has been most cooperative: offering his assistance-virtually a carte blanche for any intelligence we may require."

"Hmm, that could prove useful. The intelligence he provides should give you excellent insight into their hidden agendas." Nikolai pulled on his lower lip.

Kostoglotov laughed. "You are even more suspicious than I, old friend. I told the Premier we would accept a sample of Waverly's largesse and analyze it carefully. You can learn a lot about your opponents from the lies they attempt to force on you. By the way, it seems Kuryakin has been in regular contact with Samorova..."

"Then he probably knows about his parentage." Nikolai replied immediately. "That is most unfortunate. Has he confessed?"

"No. His interrogators do not have the full story. When the time is right, I shall question him."

"Excellent. If he is harboring any sympathies with the royalist cause, you will be able to discover them." Nikolai smiled warmly while inwardly he cringed. Kostoglotov's current position had come to him as a result of his skill in interrogation. Interrogations that usually involved torture. Nikolai stood and reached for his coat. "Thank you for seeing me, Pyotr Ivanovich. I and my family will cooperate with your staff fully."

Nikolai headed to the old-fashioned elevator, maintaining his pleasant expression as former comrades greeted him. Outside, he allowed himself the luxury of a sigh, then hurried to the university. It would not do for him to be late. "Dear God, please don't let them hurt my son too much." He prayed silently. He knew better than to hope Ilya would survive his confrontation with Kostoglotov completely unscathed.

Ilya also was worried. The friendliness the guards and inquisitors showed towards him could only be an attempt to lull him into thinking all was well. This meant they would soon be bringing harsher weapons into their arsenal. Chemical aids to confession did not concern him too much. UNCLE routinely "vaccinated" their staff making them immune to most of the common truth drugs. The Soviets had a relatively limited array of veridicals they could use on him; all of which he'd been prepared to withstand while seeming to yield to their influence.

No, physical and emotional torture were the wild cards. His childhood and UNCLE's training had prepared him as well as could be for the latter. However, since his encounter with Mother Fear, Ilya was all too aware of his susceptibility to physical abuse. There was only so much a body could withstand. Death or confession were the only possible outcomes.

* I couldn't resist borrowing this family name from A.I. Solzhenitsyn's novel: Cancer Ward. According to the novel's translator, the name means bone-chewer. I couldn't come up with a more fitting name for a sadistic interrogator if I'd thought it out with both hands for a month.