Sweat beaded up on Napoleon Solo's forehead despite the damp chill of  the night. He felt a strong hand grip him firmly though gently by the arm. "Napoleon..? Perhaps we should stop for a time. You are still..."

"*No*!" Napoleon hissed urgently, regretting at once the sharp tone of his voice. "No, `tonia..." he whispered, flashing a weary grin of reassurance in response to his sister's frown of concern. He *was* hurting, more than he cared to let on, but since Antonia had told him the truth...since she had told him about Illya...the need to find and protect his soulmate had grown a thousand fold. "I'm...I'm fine. Let's just move on..."

Antonia Solo scrutinized her brother suspiciously and then curtly gave the camouflaged troop of rebels behind them a series of hand signals, whereupon, the wary men and women nodded in silent acknowledgment and ensconced themselves amongst various clumps of the surrounding forest foliage. "We rest. Fifteen minutes. We have traveled without respite for hours and *you* need it more than we." Seeing her brother's sharp, open-mouthed look of outrage, she added, in a tone that brooked no argument: "You are with us against my better judgment, little brother -don't make me regret my decision and have one of my men deliver you to Father Waverly as I had intended."

Swallowing his initial response, Napoleon nodded reluctantly. Antonia was right and more than that -he needed to think, to reason beyond his desire to find Illya and...not just protect him...protect him from *himself*. He had long suspected his little Russian to be special, but until Antonia had pressed him to read a series of recently stolen files, he'd had no idea of *how* special. It was almost too much to comprehend -his mission, unknown even to his late hated father, had been a farce. It had been Illya, and only Illya, all along.

Illya Kuryakin -his little Russian- was the result of a genetics' experiment that had started before THRUSH had taken power...in an almost desperate race to create the perfect killer...the one who would be the ideal supreme leader of all THRUSH of a future age.

A triumvirate had controlled THRUSH at the time and while they had agreed upon the need, they had not agreed upon the means. Major Antonius Solo -and then his son Don Julian- had opteed for carefully controlled selective breeding amongst his own family, hoping to forge a dynasty -Napoleon thought of his sister and himself- a failed attempt. Obviously. The other two members of the triumvirate, Colonel Maximillian Nexor the Second and Prime Leader General Ivan Kuryakin, Illya's grandfather, had decided instead to breach new territory: genetic engineering.

Cloning.

The result had been two survivors ultimately, each one from two separate groups of twelve carefully genetically manipulated offspring. One possessing the genetic material of both Colonel Nexor *and* Prime Leader Kuryakin...and one created using only Ivan Kuryakin's genetic material...essentially an identical twin, a true clone. One, named Maximillian Nexor the Third, artificially matured to avoid the pitfalls of normal development. The other raised for a time by surrogate parents until they were killed and he grew up, alone, at an experimental concentration camp until he murdered and took the name of a guard he did not know was a cousin placed there to oversee continuation of the plan -Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.

Solo could still see the downloaded photographs in his head: Maximillian Nexor the Third, lying madman Commander-In-Chief of THRUSH...and Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, street urchin and rebel troubleshooter. Triumphs in THRUSH genetic manipulation. Both created to kill. So alike... *Too* alike. Matter and anti-matter -if two identical particles should meet...

Did it mean mutual destruction for both men?

Or, as Napoleon was beginning to suspect, would it be the realization of an experiment that was coming to a close only now?

An experiment that would, in truth, produce...

...*one* survivor.

...*one* perfect killing machine.

...the sire and lord of a new breed of THRUSH.

Napoleon shuddered and pushed himself to his feet.

He had to get to Illya *now*...

...or dead or alive, he would lose the man he loved forever.