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. 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 IX - Napoleon Invades Russia... Again

The last person leaving the showers paid no attention to the young agents assembled on the exercise court. Some were practicing falls, spotted by partners, while others were warming up. There was minimal surveillance in the gymnasium: a couple of cameras but no microphones. After this meeting, that policy would change.

"Okay guys, here's the drill." Athea called them to order. "Our boss wants his partner back. The diplomats are prepared to talk from now until the next century and our great uncle doesn't think they will succeed if given twice that time. We all know Mr. Kuryakin is as tough as they come, but even he can't hold out forever. We need ideas for a clandestine operation to get him home with a minimum of fireworks. For now, nothing is too silly. We'll hash out the details later..." The young people eagerly began making suggestions. A quiet young Asian wrote them down committed them to his photographic memory then tore up his notes.

"All right. We've got three good possibilities here. Personally..." Athea nodded at Ed Barrows, "I think the blackmail scheme is our best shot, cousins. I know the head honchos have been warned against using it, but Mr. Kuryakin's captors are expecting long distance communiqués. We'll bring the bad news to the targets in person. Robin, you start working on cover profiles for the six of us. I'll engage my partner in a little speculation to see what he thinks of our ideas."

"He'll shoot all of 'em down." Agent Summers grumbled. He was UNCLE's first American Indian agent. His Dakota name was "Dream Rider".

"No. He's desperate. Trust me, a few more weeks and Mr. Solo will probably fly his own bomber and land in Red Square."

"For a partner?" Agent Kyle shook his head and whistled.

"Yeah. For a partner." Barrows replied. "You heard Mr. Kuryakin. He was always telling us how important it is to be able to trust your partner. They've worked together for five years and are good friends. Besides, if we help Mr. Solo pull this off, he owes us...big time."

"Still angling for his job, Ed?" Agent Boniface asked in his crisp Oxford accent. At just under six feet two inches, only his closest friends called him Bonnie and lived.

"Yeah. In about twenty years, I should be ready." Barrows had learned his lessons and settled down. "Besides, the sooner Mr. Kuryakin gets back, the sooner I can get matched up with the best agent they've got." Ed nodded to Athea, who blushed. "Do me a favor, don't fall in love with Solo." He smiled.

"Trust me, Ed. Nothing could be further from my mind." Athea replied gravely.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Nikolai still had some friends so he and Irina were treated with cold courtesy. They had been allowed the unprecedented privilege of packing a few personal items while stony-faced KGB men waited in the living room of the apartment. The husband and wife said nothing to each other as their escorts accompanied them to separate vehicles. Irina was sent to Lefortovro while Nikolai found himself, had he known it, in Ilya's old cell in the Lyubyanka.

The Grigorievs politely admitted their knowledge of Ilya's background while maintaining they had no wish to take advantage of it.

"Comrade, why should we want to bring back those terrible days?" Nikolai asked his interrogator. "I have been very fortunate to have received an education and opportunities that would have been impossible under the old regime. Apart from that one regrettable incident in his youth, my foster son has conducted himself as a loyal adherent of our communist socialist ideals. He has remained true to the collective despite painful and tragic events in his past..."

"...He is a kind and gentle person, comrade." Irina paused and smiled fondly. "Although he was caught in the cosmopolitan snares of that disgusting dance instructor, our son has risen above his youthful mesalliance and made us very proud. Indeed, his trusting nature is probably what caused him to mistake that man's overtures of affection and friendship. The Rodina has no cause to fear our son making a ridiculously stupid attempt to reverse more than fifty years of glorious progress."

The interrogations would continue, but the Grigorievs stood firmly behind Ilya. Nothing was said of their daughter because she was now beyond the reach of any attempt to coerce or harm her.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Napoleon regularly visited Tatiana in Mr. Waverly's efficiency apartment. Apart from the people she'd passed in the corridors and Salvatore del Florio, no one realized she'd entered the building. Only Waverly and Solo knew she was in residence. Her only request had been to have a portable barre and dancing shoes brought to her. Unclaimed dry cleaning furnished the remainder of her spartan wardrobe.

Napoleon watched as Tatiana stretched her long legs against the wall. He'd seen Ilya perform a similar move: achieving a position known as the splits while standing. "How long did Ilya take classes?" Napoleon asked as Tatiana pulled on a chenille bathrobe. She and her guest were of equal height. Tatiana wore her thick brown hair in a braid which surmounted her head like a crown. She poured herself a glass of water and offered tea to Napoleon who refused.

"He's probably never stopped. We started dancing together when he was thirteen. Would you like to see a picture of us?" Tatiana gracefully leaned over to get her wallet. She flipped it open to a small black and white photo. Napoleon sucked in his breath. Ilya's eyes looked out of a pitifully thin face. The sleeveless undershirt and black tights could not hide that he was little more than skin and bones. Although his lips were curved into a smile, his eyes were haunted.

"He'd only been back with us for eight months. Shortly after my father brought him home from the orphanage, Ilya became very sick with pneumonia. Mother thought dance lessons would allow him to get exercise while keeping him indoors." Tatiana explained sadly. "Papa and Ilya never said much about the time he spent there, but it must have been very hard on him."

Napoleon nodded and changed the subject. They talked of the negotiations to free her family then Napoleon took his leave. He and Athea were scheduled to leave for another short assignment. The mis-matched pair made their preparations and flew to Amsterdam to provide protection for a scientist whose work with lasers had provoked interest from THRUSH among other hostile forces. Basically a baby-sitting job, the two agents had ample time to play gin rummy and two-handed bridge while their pet professor prepared his notes for an upcoming medical conference.

"You're cheating. You have to be." Napoleon groused as he shuffled the deck.

"Nope. I had a good teacher." Athea grinned. She'd won five games out of seven.

"Excuse me." Napoleon stood and headed into the bathroom. Athea could have kicked herself for mentioning Ilya. When her partner returned, she pretended not to notice the redness of his eyes.

"What do you want for dinner?" Napoleon asked as he dealt the next hand.

"Same as you. I'm not particular." Athea picked up her cards. The man seated across from her had lost weight. He looked like hell. "Do you want to talk about him, sir?" Both of them knew she wasn't referring to Professor Halvorsen.

"What's there to say?" Napoleon's attempt at his usual debonair grin was grotesque.

"Plenty, from the way you've been behaving. Anyone else and I'd be worried about their abilities to do their work. As it is, we've been on two baby-sitting jobs a couple of document pick-ups and one surveillance gig my aunt Nellie could've handled in her sleep."

"Are you bored, Agent Charles?"

"No. Concerned. However, I am also curious. What is it like to work with Mr. Kuryakin?"

Thinking of Tatiana, Napoleon didn't hesitate in his reply. "Like a perfect pas de deux. He always seemed to be one step ahead of me and he never put a foot wrong. We could almost read each other's minds." Napoleon sighed.

"Best friends can do that after a while." Athea said softly.

"I know I've been less than enthusiastic about my work lately..."

"That's putting it mildly, sir. You look like ten miles of bad road in a rainstorm." Athea acknowledged.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far." Napoleon objected.

"Okay, eight miles and it's cloudy."

Napoleon shook his head. He might as well tell her the full truth. Despite her somewhat sheltered background, Athea had proved to be virtually unshockable.

"It's true that Ilya is my best friend, but... I also love him."

"Friends have a habit of doing that." Athea observed wryly.

"No. I mean we're in love... we're lovers."

"That took you long enough." Athea grinned impishly. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever have told me."

"You knew?" Napoleon was surprised.

"Master's in Psychology, remember? Secret agent?" Athea tapped her forehead. "Come on, you've been walking around as if half of your heart had been ripped out. There's friendship but what you have with Mr. Kuryakin goes waay beyond that. You guys didn't give me much to work with but when the worldly, seen-it-all, Mr. Solo's eyes light up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas when your partner walks into a room, that's a pretty good clue."

"That obvious, huh?"

"No. Not unless you were looking for it. I'd heard rumors but you know me, I prefer facts. So, I did a little snooping. I mean you two are living together but that doesn't count for much. However, when you sent me to your apartment to pick up a report you'd forgotten, I noticed there was only one bedroom with a big bed in it. The couch doesn't fold out. QED."

"Are you sure you're only twenty-four?"

"And a half. Why don't you order dinner? Then you can tell me how you managed to break the news you were in love with your partner without getting your head bashed in."

Over the first meal Napoleon had enjoyed in months, he talked about Ilya. He didn't need Athea's assurances that she would say nothing about her boss's relationship with his Russian partner. In the morning the professor would present his paper on using laser technology to perform delicate eye operations. Afterwards, Napoleon and Athea would fly with him to the States where he would take up residence at a secure UNCLE laboratory and continue his work in peace.

Athea turned out the light on her bedside table. "Mr. Solo? Thank you."

"For what?"

"For talking with me. What you guys have sounds like something from a fairy story." Too late, Athea realized what she'd said. It didn't matter.

When he finally got his laughter under control, still chuckling, Napoleon said, "It does doesn't it?"

As soon as they returned to New York, Ed Barrows button-holed Athea. "I think we've got a plan."

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

Pyotr Kostoglotov was not a happy man. He now had three people under interrogation and so far, had learned nothing. His superiors were demanding results and he was forced to admit his lack of progress. Nikolai Grigoriev had not done anything to disenchant his supporters. His record was spotless. Two senior party officials and the Under Secretary for State Security summoned Kostoglotov to a meeting.

"You are not making any progress, Pyotr Ivanovich?"

"It's too early to expect results of a trained professional, comrades. In another month we should have all the proof we need." Kostoglotov passed out his report. He needn't have bothered. These men had their own spy networks and were intimately familiar with every phase of the interrogations.

"You've been working on Kuryakin for over half a year. At this rate, he'll die of old age before you learn anything substantive." The Under Secretary frowned slightly and Kostoglotov shivered.

"Why did you arrest Grigoriev and his wife?"

"They obviously told their daughter to defect. This is evidence of a guilty conscience, comrade."

"I've read their last communication with the young lady. There's nothing in it. Your technicians now have the original and have done everything but submit it to clairvoyants. I'll admit the timing looks suspicious, but no mention was made to the girl about her foster brother. She probably decided to stay in the West and become rich. You know these girls. One look at a capitalist clothing store and they immediately forget all about ideology." The party official spoke smoothly.

"Yes, and as for Kuryakin declaring himself the Tsar of all the Russias; I don't see any evidence that he would behave so stupidly. Even under truth drugs, he's terrified of the idea." The second party official observed dryly.

"What's all this about a curse?" The Under Secretary wanted to know.

"You've heard the legend. Supposedly the mad monk cursed the Imperial family shortly before he was murdered." Kostoglotov explained.

"Ahh yes, Rasputin: an alcoholic half-dead from their first attempts to poison him with doctored vodka. Some curse. The man was raving." *

"Nevertheless, Kuryakin believes it. His mother was part gypsy." Kostoglotov insisted.

"Rubbish." The first party official shook his head. Secretly, they all believed the old story. The last Tsar and his family had been butchered; Ilya's parents were shot; the old woman in New York was dying of an inoperable cancer-Rasputin probably had the power to revenge himself upon his murderers. No wonder Kuryakin was reluctant to claim his inheritance.

NS*IK*NS*IK*NS

"So there you have it, sir. It's a good plan. Risky I'll admit, but none of us signed up for Section Two because we longed for a quiet life." Athea sat back and watched Napoleon carefully.

"Agent Charles... Your heart is in the right place but this is impossible. What information can be powerful enough to make the KGB run scared? According to Ilya, they wrote the book on deniability, plausible or not."

"Yes, and that's what's going to bring them down. Of course the poor worker bees will never get wind of scandals in high places. Mr. Kuryakin's 'hosts' are not scared of the people, it's their colleagues that are the threat. When your ability to keep your job and all its perks rests on your willingness to praise the emperor's new suit, you'd better make sure your own duds are highly visible and absolutely correct." Athea smiled sadly. "The men in power are scared for good reason. 'Find a dog who'll eat a dog.' Caligula supposedly said that. The parallel is exact, sir."

"I'm not sure what you mean." Napoleon was interested in spite of himself.

"Caligula and Stalin were both mad as six hatters. Caligula heard voices, conducted conversations with the thin air. He even made his horse a member of the Senate. Come to think of it, that may be his most enduring legacy. The voters are still electing horses' asses to Congress." Athea grinned. "Anyway, the point is; that pathological specimen stayed in power for nine years until he began to piss off the nobility. Stalin died of natural causes before his destruction of Lavrenti Beria brought about his own demise through other means. If he'd avoided that stroke, the State Security folks would have arranged one for him. Who knows? They probably did." **

"Okay, so we dig up dirt on senior party members..."

"No. They're going to be the stick we threaten the KGB with. The heads of the directorates have probably amassed several dossiers on the men of the Presidium. So, we need to find something really disgusting on the KGB guys which will prevent them from pointing fingers in their turn. In the hierarchy of criminals, there are some crimes even the most cold-blooded murderer will deplore."

"Such as?" Napoleon leaned forward.

"Well, I did a paper as an undergraduate on the psychological effects of long-term incarceration. To find suitable interview subjects I was allowed to examine the vital statistics of the men in Rahway Prison. I soon noticed that quite a few men with long sentences died after being in jail for only a few years. When I cross-referenced their rap sheets, I discovered they were all convicted of child molestation. Their fellow prisoners evidently feel very strongly about the fitting punishment for child sexual abuse. Prison officials also don't object too strongly when one of the 'short eyes' winds up dead in the showers." Athea nodded grimly. "'I may be a wife-beating, drug-dealing murderer, but I'm not that bad.' This point of view reflects most ODCs..."

"What?"

"British cop talk, sir. ODC: Ordinary Decent Criminal."

"So you think we can find some real perversions and force the KGB to let Ilya and his family go.?"

"No. I hope we can find them, sir." Athea frowned. "It won't be easy. The Soviet Union has elevated paranoiac secrecy to the level of fine art. Blotted copybooks will be very carefully hidden. It's not like we can invoke the Freedom of Information Act and demand copies of their service records. Someone will have to be able to help from the inside." ***

"Then we're as good as dead before we start."

"I said it won't be easy. I didn't say it would be impossible. King Midas's barber whispered his secret down a hole in the ground and it still got out. Somewhere along the line one or more of these top dogs grabbed for some forbidden meat. Meat they couldn't digest or destroy. We find a fairly high-ranking victim and we're three-quarters of the way home."

"So what do you need from me?"

Inwardly, Athea whooped. Then she started listing the things they would require. Neither of them downplayed the difficulties. Napoleon, armed with their shopping list headed for UNCLE Archives. There were one or two of his former "girlfriends" working there. It was payback time.

* Rasputin's psychic abilities are still being debated by historians. His unprecedented power in Tsar Nicholas's court stemmed from his ability to bring relief to the Tsarevich from the pain caused by internal bleeding. Prince Feliks Youssopov and several of his friends murdered the mystic monk by giving him poisoned vodka. When that failed they bludgeoned him. When this failed, he was stabbed, then shot. Finally, they shoved the still-breathing Rasputin through a hole in the ice-covered River Neva where he drowned. Before dying, Rasputin predicted that if the people killed him, the Romanov dynasty would last another three hundred years. However, if members of the nobility executed him, the Romanovs were doomed. Some have interpreted this prediction as the curse of the so-called mad monk.

** Lavrenti Beria was the chief administrative architect for Stalin's purges during the height of his mad paranoia. A cross between Uriah Heep, Heinrich Himmler, and Niccolo Machiavelli: everyone went in fear of the Russian Robspierre. Eventually, his colleagues realized they too were vulnerable to the ruthless little man. A few whispers in the Wise and August Stalin's ear and Beria succumbed to a .44-calibre cerebral hemorrhage. It has been suggested that his downfall led his destroyers to considering the premature death of his boss.

*** I'm playing fast and loose with history in this story because I'm too lazy to look up all of the facts. I have no idea when the Freedom of Information Act was passed. EP