It was as if a switch inside the blonde Russian's head had been flicked -the
change was so fast. Napoleon knew that his partner was a good fighter -a
damn good fighter- but this was some thing even he had not expected as Illya
seemed to turn into a whirlwind of hands and feet that took their assailants
by such surprise that they did not have time to react. Even he could do
little more than watch in amazement.

The gun in Bobby's hand went flying as his ribcage received a punishing
kick, sending the man flying backwards, gun landing and skidding along the
streaked linoleum floor. He immediately tried to rise from his crumpled
position, but could not as he was wracked by a sickening wet cough that had
his lips stained in bright red.

Napoleon recognized the signs -the blood, so bright, and the way the man
shakily cradled his torso- Bobby had either a cracked rib or ribs and at
least one had punctured a lung.

Igor's face went pasty pale as he saw the fate of the other man. He had
always suspected that it would be a mistake to take Kuryakin on
directly -now he knew it. Kuryakin was known among the KGB as one of their
premiere assassins and no-one really wanted to deal in person with the agent
their superiors had dubbed "the Reaper". Igor, therefore, decided to take
the wiser course of action left to him -he turned to make his escape...and
stopped midstep as he  heard the familiar click of a handgun being cocked.
He glanced over his shoulder and recognized the Mauser that Agent Solo had
retrieved and had trained on the spot between the large Russian's shoulder
blades. "Ah, ah, AH!" Solo chirped "Leaving the party so soon?"

Igor sighed heavily and raised his hand in a gesture of defeat.

Napoleon winked in Illya's direction. "Not bad, eh? We...work well
together."

Illya nodded wearily - he had not missed Solo's double-entendre. Yes, they
worked *very* well together -in more ways than one. "Da," he said, "we-- 
MOVE!!"

Kuryakin had seen the glint of silver metal from the corner of his eye as
Bobby had reached with a trembling hand and pulled a hidden blade from the
folds of his suit jacket, throwing it with his remaining strength at the
senior UNCLE agent's head.

Time seemed to slow as like a scene in a kung-fu movie, the Russian reaching
for and catching the weapon, ignoring the pain of contact -and threw it back
at its owner, the blade imbedding itself in Bobby's chest with a sickening
thud.

Illya nodded to Napoleon. Da. We are *very* good together."

---

This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.