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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. 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 X - Leave no stone unturned
Napoleon remembered Athea's description of her work in prison. He spent another
sleepless night trying to find some way to get leverage on the KGB. His mind
raced as he lay in their bed. Ilya's absence was like a wound. Athea's reference
to his heart being ripped in half had been uncannily accurate. Only Ilya,
and he suspected a young hot-shot, had seen through his smooth personality
to the vulnerable man inside.
"No more secrets, Polya. They are dangerous. The old saying was correct: 'The
truth will set us free.'"
He could see his lover's face as he whispered the words: "I trust my partner."
The orphanage had been a prison for its victims. However, you cannot have
victims without victimizers. The sick men who'd patronized the state-run child
brothel had to pay for their nauseating pleasures. To be able to afford it,
they had must been ranking officials or black-market profiteers protected
by their Soviet masters.
Ilya trusted Napoleon to save him. In turn, Napoleon would have to trust his
current partner to help him get Ilya and his family home. He didn't hesitate.
Grabbing his communicator from the nightstand, he called Athea. "Meet me at
the 80th Street gate to Central Park West. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."*
Napoleon arrived first. When Athea failed to arrive twenty minutes later,
he pulled his communicator from his pocket. "Sorry I'm late." Athea was out
of breath as she walked up. "This mugger took me for a civilian. I think a
month in traction should teach him the error of his ways."
"I know this may seem crazy but I didn't want us to be overheard." Napoleon
explained as they entered the park. "I think I know how we can get our blackmail
material. Let's sit down, this won't be easy for me."
Athea plopped down on a bench and pulled her coat tighter. "I never took you
for a cheap date, sir. Okay, I'm all ears."
Napoleon described Ilya's three years in hell. He hated revealing his partner's
personal memories but there was no other possible lead. After a few moments'
silence he looked up. Athea had tears on her face and was shaking her head.
"I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't told me. I know you didn't have a choice but..."
She fished in her pockets. Napoleon handed her some tissues.
"It's very probable Ilya was sent to that particular orphanage on purpose.
He was not supposed to survive. That means the State Security goons who orchestrated
this knew about the place in detail. We have the names of the three men who
killed Ilya's parents. None of them are alive, but the last one died less
than two years ago. He left the Soviet Union and was a high-ranking THRUSH
operative: Cyril Markevich. He's our starting point. We look up all known
associates and begin digging into their backgrounds. UNICEF may be able to
put us on the track of any kids who also survived their stay in that place.
However, we're going to need some help."
"I think I can lay my hands on at least seven other people." Athea blew her
nose.
"Who?"
"My five fellow trainees, Miss Dancer, and Mr. Slate. Mr. Slate can assign
some of us to archives to brush up on our researching abilities. The other
search requests can be handled through channels by you, sir."
Too keyed up to sleep, Napoleon went straight to the office. Two phone calls
later, and he had the cooperation of two former girl friends: one in Archives
and one in Technical. He explained what was needed and was mildly surprised
when both women eagerly agreed to help. By noon, a complete dossier on Markevich
was on his desk. He spent most of the afternoon jotting down names and last
known addresses.
Athea briefed Agents Dancer and Slate and obtained their assistance. Agent
Xiao Ping's offer to assist in transferring the Documents database to a newly
installed computer was looked upon as a gift from heaven. He was able to suggest
programming improvements which netted him a commendation. None of the other
technicians noticed his "backdoor" into the system. This division was responsible
for the passports and other travel documentation needed by field agents.
Ed Barrows had the critical job in Communications. Weeks before, Mark Slate
proposed a rotating internship program for the newest agents; pointing out
the combination of Mr. Kuryakin's scientific and field expertise had proved
very useful. If other agents with skills in more than one area could be identified,
it would enable UNCLE to double its personnel with no appreciable increase
in budget. Music to Alexander Waverly's ears-very sweet music indeed. So Ed
Barrows had the unenviable job of baby-sitting the Communications console
during the off-shift which covered most of the daylight hours in Moscow and
Leningrad. Part of his duties included logging in all overseas communications.
Needless to say, when the time came, he would forget to record a few of them.
Napoleon maintained his lugubrious demeanor. He routinely checked in with
Mr. Waverly for news of Ilya and his family. Mr. Waverly's personal assistant
supplied the last vital piece of information. While taking dictation from
her boss, Napoleon sneaked a look at her files containing the names and titles
of Soviets contacted in their efforts to obtain Ilya's release. He handed
the names over to Ping who immediately spotted a familiar one: Kostoglotov.
Archives provided the link. The current head of the Second Directorate had
been in Kiev before and during Ilya's incarceration in the orphanage located
just outside the city. Immediately following Grigoriev's rescue of the boy,
Kostoglotov left for Moscow and a promotion.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Mr. Waverly hung up the telephone and sighed. The State Department would expedite
the repatriation of Tatiana Nikolaievna Grigorieva. At least he could do that
much. The Soviet officials were not even acknowledging his calls. The time
for diplomacy was at an end. Napoleon wasn't the only one who needed cheering
up.
Alexander Waverly had not been a good father. He'd loved his children but
his dream of an international agency which owed no allegiance to any government
or ideology had come first. In private conversations he would admit to paternal
feelings for his field agents. In his youth, he'd been a formidable force
in numerous dangerous operations. His incisive intelligence often precluded
the need for violent solutions. Nevertheless, when needed, his physical prowess
had been responsible for the premature death of many enemy agents.
Like Napoleon, Alexander Waverly had military experience. Both men had served
with distinction and knew the awesome responsibility for ordering friends
into harm's way. Office gossip had Napoleon on an inside track to assume Waverly's
position as head of UNCLE North America. Waverly could have surprised them
with the revelation that he had been counting on Ilya Kuryakin to assume the
post. It would be unprecedented for a Soviet to occupy the second most powerful
position in the UNCLE hierarchy.
His reasons for choosing the number two man were based largely on his approval
of Ilya's use of force. The Russian had a blood-thirsty ruthless reputation
which he did little to disavow. On many occasions Ilya had only to show his
face for the opposition to decide they did not wish to die that day and capitulate.
Most of Ilya's violence was channeled towards installations. His expertise
with explosives had deprived the enemy of precious scientific resources; not
to mention stockpiles of armaments. THRUSH was continually mounting criminal
operations to replace lost revenue. These operations when leaked to local
police forces resulted in further losses.
When not blowing things up, Ilya was quite content to tinker in his laboratory.
Many of his innovations were of no use to UNCLE but proved to be excellent
fence-menders. Missile tracking systems, radio telescopes, tools for surgery
and medicine: all owed their successful implementation to the bespectacled
quantum physicist who looked as if he never saw the light of day. Coupled
with his exemplary field experience, there was no doubt in Waverly's mind
that Kuryakin was the man for the job. Pausing before knocking on the door
to the apartment, Alexander Waverly made up his mind. He would turn Napoleon
loose. Ilya was too valuable a commodity to spend the rest of his life mining
salt or felling trees in some gulag.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
In a totally unheard of move, the Grigorievs were released with KGB "guards"
to ensure nothing happened to them. Kostoglotov was taking no chances with
his own survival. Nikolai had friends, two of which had hinted that without
results, the head of the Second Directorate would find himself unemployed.
Actually, he would find himself dead. He cursed Kuryakin. How could he have
survived the orphanage? He'd paid frequent visits to "check" on the boy; his
pleasure enhanced at the knowledge he was having his way with a prince. Sighing,
he considered his next move. He had to do something.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
"So they found out, after all." The old woman extinguished her cigarette.
"Should you be smoking?" Napoleon asked concerned. Ilya's grandmother was
thin, her skin yellowed by treatments for her cancer.
"No, but since I am dying why bother to stop? Ilyusha said nothing to me of
his stay in the orphanage. Indeed, our conversations were limited to chess
and crossword puzzles." The old woman's voice was deep. Ilya bore little resemblance
to this emaciated creature save for the set and color of his eyes and the
beautiful hands.
"Why did you tell him?" Napoleon asked sharply. He couldn't help feeling that
Sonya Samorova was responsible for this mess.
"I had not intended to, Mr. Solo. He knew his parents were murdered..." the
old woman winced.
"Would you like to rest?"
"Nyet. Ilya was correct in calling you a mother hen. You missed your calling;
you should have been a nursemaid. No, my physical pain is manageable. My regrets
however, are not so easy to live with. They forced me to abandon my son, Mr.
Solo. Ilya's father was shot and killed because I left Russia."
"They didn't leave you much choice, Madame."
"There are always choices, Mr. Solo. I chose wrongly and my child and grandson
paid the price. It is amazing how being on the threshold of death clears your
vision. Do not attempt to comfort me. Ilya asked me why his parents were shot
for attempting to send him to me. Under normal circumstances such offenses
were treated harshly but not with lethal measures. He'd told me what he could
about his work for your agency. I assumed he would be able to protect himself.
So, I told him the real reason."
"I'm surprised he believed you." Napoleon observed.
"He didn't at first. I saw you examining me for traces of a family resemblance.
I'm a very old woman and sick unto death; you won't find any similarities
by looking at my face and hands." The pale blue eyes gleamed suddenly with
intelligence. "However, if you were to undress me and managed to keep your
food down in the process, you would observe a birthmark on my right side.
My son had an identical mark as does my grandson." She sighed.
"I see."
"Be grateful that you did not. I was never a beauty, and now? No. I cannot
help you free my grandson from those monsters. Believe me, if I could, I would.
The best thing I can do for him is die quickly."
"Perhaps the doctors may find something..." Napoleon offered lamely.
"Rubbish, young man. I have no desire to go on living with my memories. That
drunken degenerate of a monk was correct. We are not nice people. We managed
to kill our children by forgetting the duty we owed to all children. I failed
to convince my brother that change was needed and he and his family were butchered
like hogs. My cowardice condemned my son and his wife. And now, my sole surviving
descendant is in the hands of the KGB. Why don't you leave? I am tired." The
old woman feebly raised her hand and made a shooing motion. She was surprised
when Napoleon rose and kissed it in farewell.
"Ilya does not blame you, Madame. And neither do I. Faced with your choices,
I probably would have done the same thing. I also do not have clean hands,
Madame. It would be the height of folly for me to judge you." Napoleon smiled
and took his leave.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
"Sir? We may have something." Athea was seated in Napoleon's office. "When
the orphanage was closed, most of the inmates were sent to other facilities.
The 'special' kids were sent to the camps where it was hoped they would die."
"How on earth did you find that out? I didn't think the Soviets would keep
records of something like that."
"They didn't. One of the survivors is here in the city. He lives in midtown.
During the period of leniency that followed Stalin, he was allowed to be adopted
by foreigners because an ignorant Soviet doctor said he was dying. We obtained
his name from our Moscow office. The KGB would have apoplexy if they knew
how deeply we've managed to penetrate their regional archives. If this had
happened in Moscow or Leningrad we'd be up against the Iron Curtain but good.
But Kiev? Some of those kids were adopted locally; a couple of clandestine
interviews and voila."
"I want to talk to him." Napoleon reached for his jacket.
"Way ahead of you, sir." Athea smiled. "You did tell me being partnered was
like dancing. I have a bad habit of leading."
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Andrei Kalenikov was a pleasant-faced young man. He stood and shook the agents'
hands then sat down again. "Mr. Kalenikov?" The former Soviet citizen was
surprised at the quality of the man's accent. "We'd like to ask you some questions."
"Of course. At least in this country, you are not forced to answer."
"Quite so. Unfortunately, these questions pertain to your time in an orphanage
outside..."
"Kiev." The man's face was no longer pleasant. A look of muted horror clouded
his eyes.
"Could you tell us about your experiences?" Athea spoke in a soft voice.
"Miss, you should not hear of such things."
"I already have, Mr. Kalenikov. From another survivor."
"There is such a person? Ahhh, yes. It must be the little blond one. He is
responsible for my survival. Until he came, I was, how should I say?... the
'favorite', yes?" The man looked to be only a few years older than Ilya. His
brown hair curled about a face that was delicately modeled. "I never knew
his name. The patrons called him 'Golden Boy.' We were in the same 'salon'."
Andrei said the word as if it tasted foul.
"Do you remember anything at all about the patrons?" Napoleon barely managed
to keep his voice even.
"One I'll never forget. My successor became his pet. It goes without saying
that our visitors were not good people, but this one..." Andrei unashamedly
wiped his eyes. "He enjoyed hurting us. Usually those types were not permitted
frequent visits, they damaged the merchandise... Everyone was afraid of him
with good reason. He would amuse himself by telling his victims that one word
from him and they would be shot."
"Did you ever learn his name?" Athea asked quietly.
"Yes. One of the older girls was waiting in the hall outside the director's
office when he arrived one evening. The director called him 'Comrade Kostoglotov.'
We thought the name was a sign from God that this man was the devil."
"I don't understand." Napoleon said.
"In English, the name means bone-chewer." Andrei explained. "There is an old
Russian fable about an evil giant with teeth made of iron. This man was tall
and very cruel. His victims soon learned not to cry. He liked it when we showed
our distaste because then he got to 'punish' us. As if what he was doing wasn't
punishment enough."
The interview was almost over when Andrei sighed. "None of us thought we would
leave that place alive. I'll never forget the night, the golden one was taken
away. They must have assumed his rescuer was a patron. God only knew what
he thought. This man was tall also, but with kind eyes. When he came into
our salon, I already was at 'work'." Kalenikov said dryly. "The tall man took
one look at what was going on and I prepared for the shot. I have never seen
such anger. Instead he said quietly, 'Comrades you have five seconds to leave
this place and pray I do not remember your faces.' Unlike the others, he wore
his uniform. We would have laughed at our patrons trying to pull up their
trousers and run at the same time but the tall man was crying." Kalenikov
smiled sadly at his rapt audience.
"He went over to the cot and said malenkaya. The next thing we knew he was
holding our friend and kissing him like a proper father should kiss his son.
When the little one said "I knew you would come for me, papa.', the big man
broke down. He actually apologized. All of us dreamed of such reunions, very
few of us ever got them." The interview concluded and Kalenikov was escorted
from the building.
"We have him, Mr. Solo. Chances are, that bastard's still victimizing people
and probably using his rank to smooth the way." Athea said sadly.
"I agree. He must have made enemies on his way to the top. Have you given
any thought as to how we're going to get into Russia?" They were back in Napoleon's
office.
"Yes, Professor Solo. Some university students, accompanied by their instructor
have been given permission to travel to Moscow. I think we should take their
place."
"When do we leave?" Napoleon grinned.
* My New York City is a state of mind; mine. EP