"You look pleased with yourself." Doyle remarked as he fell into step next to his partner.

"Yes Sunshine I am. Finally had that chat with Illya."

"Really?" Doyle quirked up an eyebrow as he grabbed his partner’s hands and studied his knuckles.

"I didn’t know you wanted to hold hands in public." Bodie took a step closer to his partner.

Doyle dropped his hands in disgust and stepped away. "I don’t, was just looking for the evidence."

"Ray," Bodie smiled as he leaned too close in the hallway, "I didn’t hit him, we talked."

"Ah." Doyle smiled and pushed his agile body into that of his partner. "We are in the middle of CI5 H.Q. maybe we should adjourn this to a place more private."

"Despite the fact that I shall probably regret this," Bodie rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You were right."

Doyle brightened. "I was?"

"Yes. And don’t be an irritating sod. Illya forced me into shooting him because he knew I would not aim for the heart, if he had of pulled the trigger first he would have had to kill me or face a firing squad. This way he let us both get on with life. Gave us both a chance."

Doyle nodded and smiled. "So you two are reconciled?"

"In a way I guess. I carried a lot of guilt over that for years Ray, too much it seems. And then when I found out that he was on assignment it made it harder to cope with. Made me make stupid mistakes."

"Such as?" Doyle slowed his pace and pitched his voice low as they talked.

"I nearly lost you over it."

"Nah, I think maybe you nearly lost yourself. I’m glad it’s over, and I will be even happier when we catch this creep and find Murphy."

Bodie nodded. "Father is bringing in Helena this afternoon to find out what she knows about her ex-lover."

"Good, I suspect he will put her and Amy under protective custody until we tidy this mess up."

"UNCLE have offered the services of a secure environment at our HQ. For the lady and child." Solo said as he fell into step with them.

"Helena isn’t involved." Doyle was adamant.

"Yes we know. But she is in danger and so is Amy." Solo countered quietly.

"This Igor Gregorian, do you intend to let him live?" Doyle asked.

Solo’s smile was pure malice as he turned to look at the CI5 agents. "But of course, Mr. Waverley and your Mr. Cowley will look after him personally."

Bodie smiled, "Oh well he’s in the very best of care then."

Doyle chuckled, "You know I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard then."

"Almost," Solo answered, "but not quite."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Murphy moved his legs, shaking feeling back into the cramped and stretched muscles. Prying open his eyes he looked about his gloomy cell, the boy’s body still curled in a foetal position where he died illumined within the pale glow of the cell.

With aching slowness Murphy raised his hands to his face and wiped, the drugs were wearing off. The white-hot pain in his ribs lanced into him with caustic suddenness and he gasped, the fetid air reeking with the dead body and his own soiled clothes. Slowly he rolled onto his side and managed with difficulty to get his legs underneath him. Swooning he rested his hand against the slimy residue on the walls as pain seared through him again.

His only thought, the vague reference to his wife and child and somewhere he wondered how he had fallen so foul of such a psychopath. Offering prayers to what he hoped would not be a too silent God he began the inexorable exploration of his tomb.

CI5 did not employ cowards and one way or the other, Michael Murphy, one of the Major's finest, was going to die fighting.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya dressed for effect. The black turtleneck trapped the firm muscular body in a tight hug enhanced the strength of the man, belaying any doubts that he was capable. The long black leather coat whipped around the heels of the high boots and Illya smiled at his prey.

Igor Gregorian, mid-fifties, balding and with a ruddy complexion that screamed his lifetime abuse of vodka and cigarettes, that would cause heart failure at any moment. Beady pale eyes studied the menace clad in black. Dark as the night, silent as the death he feared and Igor Gregorian knew that without doubt he would soon pay for his idle excursions in the abuse of this man.

Ironically the child would not cry nor beg in his pitiful bed at the orphanage and neither would the man, his retribution would be swift and sure, the lucidity of the moment caused the older Russian to wince as he drew near.

A back alley, dirty forgotten and lonely. The most feared agent the KGB ever spawned stalked slowly up to him flanked by two men. Both tall and dark, both impeccably dressed and both hard, with cold eyes that promised soul-searing pain.

"Tovarisch." Igor swallowed hard as he poked a pudgy hand toward the blond. Illya ignored the hand with disdain and the first of his escorts stepped forward. With a minute wave of the Illya’s hand Napoleon also stepped back.

"It has been a long time Igor." Illya’s voice was as cold as the arctic tundra he was spawned from and Igor shudder.

"Da. Yes. A long time. You said you needed my help." Terrified Igor backed away and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"No, I said I was calling in a debt. You remember the debt don’t you Igor?" Illya’s voice rolled quietly through the darkened alley.

Colour washed the old mans’ face and just as quickly drained leaving only a sweating white ball of fear in it’s wake. "That was a long time ago Illya."

The hand that struck the old man cut through the air like lightening, finger marks appeared almost instantly on the cheek as blood trickled from the almost assuredly broken nose. Illya inspected his hand and absently rubbed at the knuckles. His eyes never once left the forlorn and broken creature.

"Must I teach you obedience as well as common sense? Never have you earned the right to use my name, nor address me directly, do you understand."

Igor got up and nodded. Napoleon winced and Bodie squared his shoulders, this vision of a man he thought he knew disturbing and yet wholly satisfying.

"Krasanskii." Illya narrowed his eyes; the old Russian blanched again. "Ah. I see you know him. Then you also know I want him. Where is he Igor?"

Igor’s eyes darted for an escape as his back collided with the cold wall, Illya stalked forward slowly, advancing on him one step at a time.

"Nyet. It is worth more than my life," Igor wailed piteously.

"You forget, that it is your life we are discussing now. Either tell me or I shall make you tell me."

Igor shook his head terrified beyond words. Illya smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. With infinite care he put them on.

"Thank you Igor. I had hoped you would refuse." Illya leaned forward and Igor fell to his knees amongst the rubble and detritus of a civilized world.

"Please. An address, I’ll give you an address and his last orders. Then let me go."

Illya bent down and stared at the old man’s face, capturing it in a brutal hand and he squeezed the fat cheeks. "Tell me Igor," Illya purred. "You know you want to."

Feeling faintly nauseous Bodie prowled back towards the car, his eyes fixing Doyle with a disgusted stare.

"Not good?" Doyle whispered as he hitched a hip onto the bonnet of the car.

"Too good. That’s the problem."

"I’d enjoy it too mate, if it were me." Doyle said quietly jade eyes still intent on the man grovelling at Illya’s feet.

The blond head nodded in agreement to an unheard conversation and pocketed a small data disc before he stood up.

"Please Tovarisch I’m sorry, please I never meant for this," Igor begged.

"Yes you did, tell me you did not enjoy your exploits in the orphanages, beating and raping children for the fee you paid. A tiny sum against the pain that was their lives. You took their innocence the only commodity that they possesed, you cannot deny that which I know so well. I was there Igor."

A hand snaked forward and grasped the old man’s adams apple between strong and confident fingers as he hoisted him upright, the old face turning blue and gagging and he tried to free himself from the iron grip.

"My colleague here wishes that this meeting not become a diplomatic incident, however, you are an embarrassment to our KGB masters, which means there will be no diplomatic repercussions. Igor, you have lived with the fear that sooner or later I will come for you and when I do you will learn what type of man your whore became. Tonight, I am not without mercy and I will end that fear for you, and know as you die, you have been sanctioned."

Illya dropped the man and turned on his heel, stalked past Napoleon and left the crumpled body laying prone on the ground, his eyes open and his mouth agape.

"Enjoy that?" Napoleon’s voice was pitched low as he watched the tense shoulders lift in supplication.

"Yes." Illya whispered his reply and tossed the data disc to his partner. "Krasinskii’s address, his orders and his travel documents. According to Igor he has Murphy but has not yet killed him."

"Excellent. Will he talk to Krasinskii?"

Illya shook his head. "No he won’t."

"How can you be sure?" Napoleon frowned.

"Because Igor Gregorian is dead." Illya continued to walk.

Napoleon stayed his step and turned around, a cruel rose blossoming on the white shirt under the cheap suit of the man slain in an unknown alley, by an unknown assailant for crimes against humanity that should never have occurred. Without regret Napoleon turned around and pulled out his pen communicator calling in a clean up crew before he slid into the car beside his partner.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Och Laddie, you’ve done very well," Cowley beamed as he read the documents.

"It’s my job sir," Illya said quietly, in fact since they had left the alley two hours ago, he had said little more than ten words.

"I take it your friend met with an unfortunate incident," Cowley put the glasses back on as he continued to read.

"Igor Gregorian, was never a friend of mine sir." The quiet menace in the voice made all sets of eyes swivel towards the enigmatic young man dressed completely in black.

"Aye lad. Napoleon, as senior agency here how do you want to handle this?"

Grateful for the shift in direction Illya eased himself back against the battered couch and unclenched his fists, listening to the conversation flowing around him.

"Sir, I think a strike force will be the best, if your man is still alive he’s likely to remain that way till Kransinskii blows the building."

"A bomb?" Bodie looked over their shoulders as Cowley laid out a floor plan of the abandoned office.

"Yes, it would seem to be his MO, as far as we can tell every satrap he leaves or every burrow he vacates he razes to the ground."

"Aye and he’s on a recall so we have what? Just over fifty hours before he is required to leave the country." Cowley offered.

"Purchases indicate that explosives and detonators were also made available to him from the KGB offices here in London," Solo pointed at several locations on the floor plan and continued his conversation.

Doyle watched the young Russian; signs of wear and distress lining his implacable face. He sat next to Illya, bumping his leg over with his own and Illya looked up, pain and anger filled the luminous blue eyes as a warm hand covered his own for a brief moment and was then gone.

Doyle nodded, saw, and understood, some ghosts were best left to rest. Illya rested his head against the sofa, this time he closed his eyes and fell into a deep restive sleep as the voices drifted around him. Ray Doyle's warm body offered the much needed contact and support, the simple touch that let him know he was still alive and unsullied by the nights events that left him impossibly cold.