Illya could feel a cold breeze on his face. Forcing his eyes open, he saw that
he was slumped over the steering wheel of the wrecked car. Every part of his
body seemed to be aching, and all he wanted to do was just lie there and wait
for help. But the smell of gasoline permeated his nostrils, and as he gazed
blearily through the shattered windscreen, he could see flames licking around
the engine. The driver's door was jammed shut against a rock, and his muscles
protested vainly as he forced them to climb over the empty passengers seat and
out the open door. It wasn't until he tripped over the dead body a woman in
nurses uniform that he remembered that he had had a passenger. Stumbling away
from the car, Illya tried to collect his thoughts. He had been driving...he had
been taking this woman...somewhere? She was a traitor, that much he
remembered...but he also remembered the gunshot that had caused him to lose
control of the car. Somebody had been waiting for him, he realized in
dismay...and nobody was supposed to have known that he had been making that
journey.

Illya glanced up the embankment and saw the broken guardrail, guessing that that
had been the point of impact. Even as he watched, a car skidded to a halt
beside it and two men jumped out. Acting on a sudden instinct, Illya scrambled
out of their line of sight and hid behind a rock, clutching his ribs in pain.
These men, whoever they were, had probably been sent to finish the job...well he
wasn't about to make things easy for them. Screwing the silencer on his gun, he
peeked out from beside the boulder and took careful aim...

------------------

Mr. Waverly slammed the file back on the table and fixed the unfortunate agent
before him with steely eyes. "Who is the agent responsible for this? Which of
the so called *experienced* agents that I assigned to backup Mr. Kuryakin
managed to let the assassin get off even a single shot?"

Agent Wilson was beginning to wish that he had been given an easier assignment
than to break the bad news about Kuryakin's mission. Something like taking out
THRUSH Central single-handedly. "Sir..." he began, before Mr. Waverly cut him
off with a wave of his hand.

"I want a full report on my desk within the hour," snapped Mr. Waverly. "I want
to know everything there is to know about that assassin. Most importantly, who
told him to be on *that* hillside at that particular time."

"That may be difficult, Sir." Agent Wilson quailed under Mr. Waverly's fierce
expression. "I mean, the doctors don't know if he'll survive..."

"I don't particularly care if he *does* survive...so long as he tells us what he
knows." Mr. Waverly knew that he was sounding uncharacteristically harsh, but
the circumstances were exceptional. An Agent had died, probably at the hands of
one of his colleagues...and he would stop at nothing to find the person
responsible.

---------------------

Screwing the silencer on his gun, Illya peeked out from beside the boulder and
took careful aim...he squeezed the trigger...and the car erupted in a ball of
flame. Illya smiled in satisfaction as he replaced the gun in its holster. By
the time they discovered that he hadn't perished in the flames, he would be long
gone.

It wasn't until he was about a mile away, that Illya stopped to wonder...where
could he go?

----------------------------

"Have they managed to...to recover Mr. Kuryakin's body?" asked Mr. Waverly,
trying to keep his voice and expression neutral.

"No sir," replied Agent Wilson. "The car was still burning...the last I heard,
they had to bring in the fire brigade. It'll be a few hours before it's cool
enough."

Mr. Waverly nodded in acknowledgement. A pang of guilt went through him at the
thought of yet another Agent having been sent to his death. Oh he could keep
saying that Agents were expendable, and that they knew the risks when they
signed up. But each death took a little of his own soul away, no matter how he
tried to pretend aloofness, and when the death was a result of a betrayal, well
that just made it all the worse.
"You're dismissed," he told Agent Wilson. "But remember, I want full updates."

Agent Wilson almost scurried out of the room, relieved to have escaped the
legendary wrath of the 'Old Man'. He was nearly knocked over by Napoleon Solo,
who stormed into Mr. Waverly's office without giving his secretary time to
announce him - or at least stormed as much as his aching body would allow him.

"Sir! Is it true? I heard...Illya, Mr. Kuryakin was...was..." Napoleon
swallowed hard.

"Sit down, Mr. Solo," said Mr. Waverly, a touch of weariness in his voice.
"Preferably before you fall down." He waited until the younger man had taken a
seat before continuing. "There was a sniper lying in wait for Mr. Kuryakin.
His car went off the road and burst into flames. His passenger was thrown
clear, but appears to have been killed on impact. Mr. Kuryakin...we believe was
not so fortunate."

Napoleon slumped in the chair, burying his head in his hands. He had been in
sickbay getting cleared to leave by the medic's when the news had broken about
the attack on Illya's vehicle. He felt Mr. Waverly's hand on his shoulder and
looked up.

"Go home, Mr. Solo," said Mr. Waverly, a note of compassion in his voice.

"Sir, I want to help..."

Mr. Waverly shook his head. "There's nothing you can do here now, not in your
condition. Go home and rest, that's an order."

--------------------------------

The first thing Napoleon did when he got home was to pour himself a drink. That
was also the second thing he did, and the third. Illya was dead and he should
have been there with him. That's what partners were supposed to do. And nobody
else had been willing to partner Illya. He shouldn't have been alone. In a
flash of anger, Napoleon hurled the glass at the wall where it smashed into
pieces, leaving a trail of Scotch dripping down to the floor. Caught up in his
anger, he almost didn't hear the sound of the doorbell, and when he *did*
realize what it was, he wasn't going to answer it. But the bell kept ringing,
and finally he stumbled towards the door, intending to take his anger out on
whoever had the bad timing to interrupt his guilt trip.

So caught up in his anger, Napoleon forgot all his training and yanked the door
open without checking to see who was there. The words of recrimination died on
his lips as Illya said "Napoleon?" before collapsing into his arms.

---

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