>>However, his worries seemed moot, as Illya merely nodded and waited to
follow him out.<<

Illya couldn't help the smile that turned his lips as he entered his meager
UNCLE-owned apartment. //Ah, such a time,// he thought, only lending half an
ear to the inner voice that told him that he was acting like a love-addled
schoolgirl. Lunch in Napoleon's office had led to his American superior
asking him if he would like to walk off the meal as the day was going so
slowly. The simple walk had become a tour of the city, both by foot, by bus,
and eventually by Napoleon's car. Napoleon seemed to want to show him
everything, brushing aside his concerns about getting back to UNCLE H.Q. by
telling him that Waverly had told him to "familiarize" the young Russian
with the city and its working...and Waverly had never said that he couldn't
do so by seeing the sights.

Afternoon had passed into early evening and dinner at a jazz club that had
left Illya in awe of the expressive music, and the smoky and yet strangely
intimate atmosphere of the place. Illya felt as if he had been treated like
someone special...a prince.

"I take it you had an excellent time, Tovarisch."

Illya was not so far gone in his personal bliss that he did not react with
all the speed his training could afford him at the sound of that unwelcome,
unfamiliar voice. His personal side-arms was in his hands and pointed at the
towering figure in his doorway. "What do you want now?" he hissed, cursing
himself for having let his guard slip even a little -he should have heard
someone coming up behind him, someone opening his door.

The large man, his apparent KGB contact from before, made a dismissive
wafture of his hand. "Put the gun away, Illya Nickovetch...or do you intend
to shoot me as yet another common burglar in this crime-ridden city? That
would be most difficult to explain to our superiors, would it not?"

For a fleeting moment, the thought *did* occur to the Russian UNCLE agent,
but only for a moment and not seriously. He lowered the weapon. "You should
not have snuck up behind me -as you say, this city has its criminal
element." Ice-blue eyes met ones of slate grey. "And you did not answer my
question, 'Tovarisch'...what do you want?"

"You seem to be getting along well with American -Napoleon Solo, is it not?"

"So..?" Illya replied cagily.

"Our dossiers on UNCLE New York's personnel indicate that he is an agent of
great promise...perhaps one day to assume the position that Waverly himself
holds now."

Illya suddenly realized that he did not like the direction that this
conversation was going -it was all too familiar. "Bah!" he muttered. "He is
a young agent with delusions of grandure -that is all."

"*I* do not think so...my superiors do not think so." The visitor's smile
had turned cold. "We want him in the fold, Illya Nickovetch."

Illya's mouth dropped open. "You must be-- He is loyal to UNCLE and only to
UNCLE."

"Even a so-called 'loyal' man can be turned by the correct persuasion." A
gloved finger was drawn through the cornsilk strands of Illya's hair. "It
should not be a difficult assignment for you -you have done it before and he
seems to like you. So there should be no difficulty in coaxing him into your
bed...and taking a few pictures to assure his compliance in the future."

"Nyet!" Illya jerked away from the man's touch. "This was not my assignment!
Our superiors would not--"

"Circumstances change as we all know," the visitor interrupted coolly. He
turned towards the door and then paused before meeting the slighter man's
angry eyes. "And should you be thinking defiance, Tovarisch, remember that
you also made many very pretty pictures in your past assignments. Until
later..." With that, the man left and Illya Kuryakin remained there, shaken
to the core.

**********

Napoleon Solo's eyes narrowed in concentration as he peered through the
windshield of his convertible. He had been about to leave after an
absolutely glorious day with his new partner when a familiar sight had
caught his eye -that new agent that he had set eyes on earlier, parking his
car in front of Illya's building. He couldn't put his finger on why he had
followed the man, but he had...far away enough not to be noticed, close
enough to note that the man had entered Illya's apartment.

He hadn't been able to hear what had been said in there, but the tones of
their voices had *not* indicated pleasure -Napoleon had dashed back to his
car and waited. The "visit" hadn't been long -twenty minutes at the most.
What the Hell was going on? As the mystery visitor drove off, oddly enough
*not* in an UNCLE-issue vehicle, Napoleon activated his communicator. "Solo
reporting in. Mitzi, my sweet, is that you?"

"Of course it is, smooth-talker," the reply. "You would know -you must have
the schedule of every female in UNCLE memorized."

"Only because I'm interested in beauty every hour of the day," Napoleon
purred. "Mitz', I need the use of your exceptional skills."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Yes..." Napoleon glanced at the lighted window where Illya's apartment was.
"I want you to check out a license plate number for me."

---

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