Meanwhile, Ilya was pushing his breakfast around on his plate and trying to find a way to ask his partner a
              damning question.  His partner had a question of his own, however, and asked him first.

              “Did he seduce you?”

              “What?”  The question was so far from what he’d been thinking he was caught completely off-guard.

              “Did Quinn seduce you?” Napoleon repeated.

              “John? No,” he replied, finally getting a sense of the question.  “It was the other way around; I seduced
              him.  He’s been kind to me, taking me in, paying for the doctors and tutors, trying to help me.  Never asking
              for anything.”  'And now I must push him away, so my death will hurt him less.' He asked his own
              question.  “How many agents did I kill?”

              “You didn’t kill anyone, Ilya.”  He made the same move John had earlier, and got the same response.

              “Don’t.  If you wish to do something for me, there is something I want. Both the British and Soviet military
              have the same custom in these circumstances.  They leave a person facing disgrace alone in a room with a
              loaded weapon.  A short time later there is an accident.  It is considered the honorable thing to do.”  He
              looked at his partner.  “Leave me your Special, and my honor.”

              “I’m not carrying my Special at the moment,” Napoleon replied, “I’d have to go to my room and get it.  I’ve
              got an idea; why don’t you get cleaned up and dressed and you can show me around?  I’ve never seen a tea
              plantation before.”

              Ilya sighed, knowing what he was trying to do.  “All right, but we’ll pick up your Special before we leave
              the house.  The overseers carry pistols in case of cobras or rabid animals.”  He snatched up some clean
              clothes and they went to the bathroom.

              Napoleon followed him inside.  “Did you know more people die in bathrooms than any other room in the
              house?” he asked.

              “Stop it, Napoleon.  We both know why you’re here; to keep me from killing myself.”  At his partner’s
              stricken look, he relented slightly.  “Forgive me; to prevent an accident.”  He disrobed, showered, shaved,
              and dressed, aware of his partner’s presence the entire time.  Shamed by it.  “Shall we go now?” he asked
              tonelessly.

              They stopped by Napoleon’s room and retrieved his Special.  “You’d better use the regular ammo; I’m not
              sure how effective sleep darts are on rabid animals,” Ilya advised.  Napoleon frowned but did as he was
              asked.

              As they stepped out on the veranda to find their host and tell him where they’d be, a jeep pulled up in front
              of the house.  Two men escorted a third to where their host sat with Mr. Waverly.  They trotted over to see
              what was happening.

              The two arrived in time to see one of the men hand John several weapons and explain, “This gentleman
              wants to see someone called Ilya Kuryakin.  He set off the perimeter sensors, so we searched him, his
              driver, who we detained at the gate, and his vehicle, which also remains at the gate.”  Napoleon recognized
              the man, both from seeing him at the gate yesterday and from having worked with him a few years
              back.  He’d retired from the New Delhi office last year.

              The man in question, a short, swarthy fellow in a blue suit, looked at Ilya and said in Russian, ”You must
              pay for your betrayal, comrade.”

              Before he could reply John spoke, also in Russian: “I speak your language fluently; to be allowed to speak
              to him, you must deal with ME first.” Then, switching to English: “Who are you, and why are you here?”

              The man began to reply in Russian, and was stopped by his host.  “In English, please.  Not everyone here
              has the fluency with your tongue I possess.”

              He glared at the man but began again in English: “My name is Igor Petrov.  I am attached to the Soviet
              Embassy, with full diplomatic immunity.  I have been informed there is a Soviet national named Ilya
              Kuryakin staying here, possibly against his will.  I have been requested to speak to him and ascertain the
              facts of the matter.  This will require me to speak to him privately, possibly in his room.  You will return
              my weapon and allow this.”

              “Who requested you to speak to him,” Napoleon asked, “the KGB?”

              The glare shot to him.  “That is not your concern.”

              “You may speak to Ilya if he desires it, “ John said.  “You may even speak privately, if he wishes.  In his
              room, if he wants.  I will return your weapons when you leave, and not before.”  He returned Petrov’s glare
              with interest.  “Should anything unfortunate happen to him, either while you’re alone together or shortly
              afterwards . . . did you know I’m part owner of several local fishing boats?”

              Petrov looked confused.  “I don’t understand.  What do boats have to do with anything?”

              John and Napoleon both smiled, and neither one was nice.  John told him, “Anything that happens to Ilya
              will happen to you.”

              Napoleon said, “Except they’ll never find your body.”

              “Enough!” Ilya interrupted.  “In case anyone is interested, I’m quite capable of taking care of
              myself.  Comrade Petrov, if you will follow me?” He turned and stalked off without looking behind
              him.  Petrov followed after giving them a final smug look.

              Napoleon turned as if to follow, but John’s voice stopped him.  “He won’t appreciate that.”

              He turned back.  “I lost him once.  I don’t think I could take losing him again.”

              “Petrov won’t do anything himself, and Ilya will be told to let him get well clear before he takes any action,
              “ the older man admonished.  “He needs our trust more than our watchfulness.  He needs to regain his
              self-confidence; to know not only that we trust him, but that he may trust himself.”

              Ilya led Petrov through the French doors leading from the veranda to his room.  He allowed the man to pass
              him as they entered, and pulled the doors shut behind him.  Without turning around he asked, “How many?”
              in Russian.

              The other man didn’t have to ask how many what.  “6 we’re certain of; there may be others.”

              '6 KGB agents,' thought Ilya, 'at least.  How many UNCLE agents?  I’ll probably never know.'  “They
              wouldn’t tell me, you know.  You at least are brutally honest, and I thank you for it.”

              Petrov pulled a button from his shirt.  “It is a brutal business.”  He passed it to the other man.  “I trust you
              will wait until I am well clear. Your friends’ threats seemed quite sincere.”

              “Da,” Ilya agreed, “they were.  How long will it take you to get off the island?”

              “I can be on a flight to Samarkand within the hour.”  They shook hands, then embraced in farewell,
              exchanging brotherly kisses.

              “I will wait until after lunch.  That should give you more than enough
              time.”  He opened the French doors and escorted Petrov back to the jeep, watching him leave with an
              impassive expression.

              “What did he give you?” Napoleon asked.

              “Answers,” was his only reply.  “Did you still want that tour?”  The other nodded, and they went off
              together.

              They walked around, Ilya occasionally pointing out this or that, but mostly in silence.  Finally, he addressed
              the other man.  “Napoleon, you are being much too quiet.  Are you angry with me for earlier?”

              “No, I’m . . . curious,” he replied.

              The blond turned to face him.  “About what?”

              “What it would be like to kiss you.”

              “Would you be satisfied with just a kiss?  I think not, and I’m not sure I want to – or can – go any farther
              right now.  There is also John to consider.  I do not wish him hurt.”  'Any more than he will be.'

              “One kiss, and I’ll never ask again.”

              “Since you will pester me as long as I refuse . . . “   He turned his face up, opening his mouth.

              Napoleon took the offered mouth with his own, one hand running into Ilya’s hair as his other arm snaked
              around his waist and pulled him close.  He was gentle and thorough, exploring the mouth with his tongue
              and savoring the taste like fine wine.  The kiss was touched by an edge of desperation, as if he’d only now
              realized what he’d lost and would never have.

              Ilya felt the erection against him and wondered if his partner had noticed his lack of response.  It was all he
              could do to remain passive and not push him away.  His mind was full of Phillips kissing him, raping him,
              and burning him.  It became too much, and he starting fighting for release.  He broke free and staggered a
              few steps from the path to drop to his knees and vomit.