"Stay where you are, cousin!" Fydor commanded.

Illya froze. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Fydor grinned, evilly. "Solo."

The Russian's jaw tightened. "For what purpose?"

In answer, Fydor raised his hands. "Speak, my brothers!" he cried out to the surrounding darkness.

"Sacrifice!" answered unseen voices.

"Speak the name of him our Master chooses!"

"Napoleon Solo!" the chorus replied.

"No!" Illya contradicted. He pointed his finger, accusingly, at his cousin. "YOU ordered this. I warn you..."

Fydor laughed, a sound that bode no good. "Hold your tongue, cousin, least your words bring him a quick death."

"Take me then."

"Nyet- that is too pure an offer. That would place too much power on your side. No. I want to see how far I can push you; to finally convince the people how that this man will cause you to betray them."

"Meaning?"

Fydor's smile was predatory. In answer, he gestured to the four men holding the American. "Tie him to the warhead", he ordered.

"I demand the Rite to bid Pierun farewell" Solo called out.

Fydor fumed, knowing he couldn't refuse to request. "Speak then, and have done with it!"

Solo looked down into the face of the man when he loved beyond life. "Forgive me for pulling rank on you at this last, beloved; but I give you this final order."
 

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