Collection 3 - Year One

by LRH Balzer

  "Illya, report to me now." Napoleon left no room for argument in his tone.

  "I went to... to Amsterdam, as ordered..." Illya paused, fumbling with a pin, and Napoleon reached over and fastened it for him. "I saw... a scientist there who was... dead. I followed him."

  "Dr. Westin."

  "Yes."

  "Why did you follow him? Why not have someone in the local office in Amsterdam take care of it?"

  There was a long silence. Illya opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, giving instead a slight shrug, his eyes fastened on the baby. At last he offered, "There are reasons... I had an interest in his research."

  Napoleon arched an eyebrow. "Genetic manipulation? Are you saying this baby has been genetically tampered with?"

  "Perhaps." The baby was falling asleep, one chubby fist curled around Illya's little finger. "I went into the clinic posing as a researcher looking for employment, but someone recognized me." His words came quicker but he didn't look up. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I did not do a good job of this either. I should have prepared more before I went in, or --"

  Solo interrupted. "Don't apologize. I know you and I trust you. I know you did the best you could -- here and in Paris." He glanced over to Dancer, wanting to ask her to leave them alone, then deciding he didn't care. He turned his full attention to his partner. "Illya, don't let yourself be crippled with hindsight. We all make decisions based on the information we have at the time and I have confidence in your decisions. I am not faulting you. In fact, it is I who should apologize to you." He told him quickly what had happened in Paris and what Waverly's true words had been.

  Illya did not meet his eyes until he had finished and Napoleon saw hesitant relief broadcast. The tension in the narrow shoulders eased somewhat and he wondered what other burdens the Russian was carrying. "Tell me what happened."

  Kuryakin was obviously drifting now; his words had a monotone edge to them. "There were babies in the clinic... and they brought this one for me to look after... They left us locked in a room... with a stack of diapers and formula for Pasha ... and they brought food for me."

  "Do you know why they brought you this particular baby, if there were other babies there?" No response. Solo pulled out his backpack and removed another small box from it. "Here, take these," he said removing two pills from the tiny compartments. "Mega-vitamins. You haven't been eating properly. Are you hungry?"

  Kuryakin shook his head, but took the pills. The baby was asleep and he positioned Pasha on his side and covered him, then sat staring at him vacantly.

  "You look like you haven't slept for a week," Solo commented and Kuryakin gave a non-committal shrug. "Illya, I realize that talking is getting difficult for you, so either nod or shake your head to this: I have two men stationed outside watching these motel rooms and both you and the baby are as safe as we can make it. You don't want to go to U.N.C.L.E. H.Q. for some reason and you aren't able to -- or won't -- tell me why. I think you should get some sleep now and we can discuss everything in the morning. Is this okay with you?"

  Swaying slightly on the edge of the bed, Illya blinked a few times and summoned the strength to nod.

  Napoleon disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a few towels. They could hear the sound of water running. "Okay then, April, we're going to stay here overnight. Put your things in the adjoining room. Illya, listen to me. Don't worry about Pasha; April and I will take care of him -- you go have a bath." Please.

  Kuryakin stared at the bathroom door with heavy eyelids but made no attempt to move. Solo suddenly wondered if he could; Illya's muscles were still weak from the paralyzing dart. He watched as his partner wearily pulled off his shoes, the bare feet red and covered in painful blisters.

  After regarding Kuryakin's lethargic movements thoughtfully for a moment, Solo went over to Dancer and said softly, "Why don't you take Pasha and go find us some food? The motel clerk should know of a Chinese food place around here and she'll probably let you use the phone. Just order whatever you want for us and some won ton soup and rice for Illya. I doubt if he has eaten much lately and that should help."

  "Why can't I leave the baby here?"

  Must you question every order I give? "I have to clean Illya up. He obviously needs a bit of help moving and I don't want him to drown himself in the tub. I can't watch both of them."

  "But I don't know anything about babies!"

  "Okay then, no problem. I'll take Pasha and get the food and you bathe Illya." Napoleon handed her the towels. "Be sure and get behind his ears. Shampoo and a razor are in my suitcase."

  Dancer stared at him in confusion, wondering if he was joking, but when he reached for his coat, she made a leap for the bed. "I'll take the baby. I guess I'd better try, right? It'll be good experience for later. I'll just carry Pasha around for a few minutes before I go down. Get used to him." She gingerly picked up the baby. "What kind of name is Pasha, anyway?"

  That grabbed the Russian's attention. "Put him down. No, give him to me. Watch his neck." He took the sleeping baby from her possessively, cradling him.

  Solo shrugged, giving up. "Go on, April. Just get the food." He waited until she left, then lifted Pasha carefully from Illya's arms and managed to resettle the baby on the bed without waking him. He placed pillows around the child, then crouched in front of his partner, trying to meet the blank eyes. Your light is on, but you're not home, my friend. He pulled Illya to his feet, steering him toward the bathroom with a firm but gentle grip.

  My Uncle said there would be days like this.

  * * * * *

  8:30 p.m.

  The Chinese food arrived as Illya emerged from the bathroom half- dressed. Napoleon tossed him a clean T-shirt. "Put that on, then eat before you crash. Dinner is now being served in the dining car."

  Now that the layers of dirt were gone, Illya's skin was pale, his eyes rimmed in dark circles. He struggled into his clothes, rejecting any help this time, then wandered into Dancer's room and sat in the chair pulled out for him. He drank the soup mechanically, ate the rice, picked at the rest, and fell asleep at the table until the baby's cries roused him and he stumbled to the adjoining room.

  "He's usually a better conversationalist," Napoleon offered, refilling his plate.

  Dancer wrestled with the chopsticks. "He's not what I expected."

  "Oh? What did you expect?"

  "I don't know. A mercenary. An aloof foreigner. I guess I thought he was inhuman. I wouldn't have believed he would know how to take care of a baby."

  "He doesn't kill people every day. Just some days. And some days he helps little old ladies across the street. He does what needs to be done."

  "He's just a little different."

  "These aren't normal circumstances either. Right now he's teetering on the verge of physical collapse from exhaustion and stress. Under normal conditions I would have had you order three times the amount of food. He'll pull out of it. He always does."

  She concentrated on eating, half listening to the rest of Solo's monologue about the best Chinese food restaurant in New York City.

  When they finished, Napoleon cleared the remains of their meal off the table and glanced at his watch. "It's just after nine. Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

  He could see Dancer was distinctly uncomfortable, but she nodded anyway. Television reception was passable on two stations, so they wrapped the bedspread around their shoulders in the chilly room and settled in to watch an old movie.

  After the third time of Napoleon getting up during a station break to check on the other room, Dancer asked, "Are you worried about the baby?"

  "No."

  "Illya?"

  Napoleon nodded slightly, then decided to tell her. How else was she going to learn? "Something's not quite right. Go look at him and tell me what you see."

  She came back a minute later, puzzled. "He was so tired, I thought he'd be right out of it, but he's not. He's asleep, but he's restless, tossing back and forth. He looks like he has a fever,
but I touched his forehead and he's not hot."

  "No. He is holding something back from me, though."

  "He is? How can you tell?"

  He shrugged. "I can tell. Usually he doesn't open up right away, but he should have talked more tonight. His concentration was split between the baby and not telling me something."

  "Something crucial to the case, do you think?"

  "Not to the case as such -- he wouldn't have kept that to himself. No, this is personal and he tends to shy away from emotionally-laden information until he can get the facts out without betraying himself. We've had several opportunities to talk alone and he's said nothing."

  April smiled slightly. "I admit I'm rather shocked at seeing him with the baby, how he takes care of him so well. I mean, he's a Section Two agent -- and a bachelor -- and yet he's really good with Pasha."

  "He is, isn't he?" Napoleon grinned. "My partner is, as Churchill put it, 'a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.' Always full of surprises."

  "I think that's a good description." She was quiet for a while as the movie came back on, then turned to the Chief Enforcement Agent, her voice still quizzical. "I saw how you handled him, before. He's not just your partner, is he? He's your friend, too. Is that common?"

  "For partners to be friends? It's not necessary, but it happens. If we weren't friends, I never would have understood his cablegram. As I explained before, each clue was based on a movie we had seen together -- usually ones I have dragged him to while we're on assignment. Like us watching this movie now. I'll always think of you and Maine when I watch 'Twelve O'Clock High'."

  "You're very different from each other."

  "And you are wondering who they would put you with... what if you didn't like them, or get along with them, or a million other things."

  "But he really seems to trust you. He never questioned why you shot him down."

  "He knew I had a good reason. It wouldn't occur to him to ask me. That's why --" He broke off when a low moan from the other room interrupted, but it wasn't repeated.

  Dancer spoke up before he continued. "Can I ask you again about the last part of the cable? I understand about the James Cagney and Cary Grant codes, but what does Zorba Tonto mean?"

  "The first part is from 'Zorba the Greek.' We saw it on the plane on the way back from London." He glanced up at her, almost hesitantly. "Have you seen the movie?" She shook her head and he continued. "It's about two men who are very different and a friendship that is formed despite the odds. We had a bit too much to drink on the plane and we ended up talking about our friendship. He hasn't had many friends in his life; he regards friendship almost sacredly. I on the other hand, have had too many friends that I haven't taken seriously at all. I've learned to value our friendship."

  "Friendship. Friendship, Maine. That's where you planned on meeting him."

  "Today. Friday."

  "Tonto means Friday? Oh, Lone Ranger and Tonto. Robinson Crusoe and Friday."

  "Very good. Yes, someone called him Tonto once and he didn't understand the reference so it was explained using Friday as an example."

  "That's amazing. In that short telegram, he told you that he was somehow involved in the fire, and would head northeast to Friendship, Maine, and would be there Friday." April stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "Friendship... Strange. I never thought it was possible to be-- to be human in this profession."

  She was quiet until the movie ended, so Napoleon left her to her musings, said goodnight, and retreated into the other room with the local newspaper.

  Day Four - Saturday Secrets Left Unsaid

  Two are better than one alone,

  for if they fall, the one will lift up his companion.

  But woe to him that is alone when he falls,

  for he does not have another to help him up.

  When one alone would be overcome, two will put up a resistance.

  Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

  I will not be afraid to shelter a friend,

  Nor will I hide from his face.

  Ecclesiastes 22:25

  It was one in the morning and still raining. Solo was almost asleep when he heard a slight gasp from the next bed.

  There was a faint creak and Kuryakin sat up. His legs swung to the side of the bed. A whispered word disappeared into the darkness. He stayed for a moment, his face buried in his hands, then his shadow moved around the room, ending up at the window. The curtain pulled back revealing his face; Napoleon could see dark lines across the white skin and wondered if he should say anything to him.

  Motionless, Kuryakin stared out at the water running down the window pane. There were sounds of pickup trucks pulling out of the parking lot of the closing tavern across the street; Kuryakin watched the regulars call to each other and drive off in their shaky weekend stupor. He stood long after they had left, his forehead against the cool glass, staring out at nothing until the baby woke with a cry.

  Napoleon closed his eyes as Illya crossed back to the bed, listening to the mumbled words in Russian crooning the child to calmness. Through slit eyes, he watched his partner change the infant, then pick him up and rock him, holding Pasha close to his face. The infant nuzzled against Kuryakin's neck and he smiled at it, one hand lightly patting Pasha's back.

  Illya pulled a chair to the window and settled down in it with the baby, his feet up on the bed. He stared passively at the drops of water on the glass lit by the red neon sign of the motel, still flickering 'Vacancy'. Some of the stress lines seemed to vanish as he silently rocked the child. After several long minutes of guarded scrutiny, Napoleon let himself go to sleep.

  He woke later to see Kuryakin still sitting at the window, the baby back on the bed. Lightning crackled across the sky, followed a few moments later by a roll of thunder in the distance. The luminous hands of his watch said it was two-thirty in the morning. "Illya," he whispered softly, "why are you still awake?

  Kuryakin shook his head without turning, one hand massaging his temples. "Go back to sleep, Napoleon. It is just a headache. It is nothing."

  Right. Next you'll be trying to sell me the Borodinsky Bridge. Solo slipped from his bed and sat on the edge of the far bed near his partner. "I'm awake now. Do you want to talk?"

  "I'd rather have some vodka."

  Oh, we're being Russian, are we? So what aren't you telling me? And what are you trying to forget? "I don't have any vodka, but I'll listen to you, my friend." He spoke in Russian, keeping his voice unthreatening. "Have you had many headaches these last weeks?"

  "No. Just a few."

  "I was wondering about that. The doctor I spoke with in Amsterdam said you would probably have some intermittent pain for a while, especially if under stress. Right now, you're overtired and you're worn out from pushing yourself so hard and from the weight of responsibility you accepted in caring for Pasha."

  "Yes, doctor."

  Napoleon smiled. "Okay, I had that coming -- but at least I haven't tried operating on anyone." It didn't produce the reaction he had hoped for; Kuryakin remained distant, his face still turned away in the darkness. "Relax a little, Illya. You're both safe now." He placed a hand on his partner's shoulder and made a guess at the problem. "You haven't said anything about the fire at the clinic."

  A sharp intake of air, but no words.

  Napoleon leaned closer. "If you talk about it we can deal with it. What happened at the clinic?" He couldn't see Kuryakin's face, but the rest of the body language was easily read. He was on the right track. "How did the fire start? Did you start it?"

  "No." The word came quickly, the rest followed slower. "Thrush set several fires. They wanted to torch the place."

  "With you in it?"

  "Yes."

  "And the baby?"

  Kuryakin was silent, his hands twitching on his lap. He turned slightly and the red glow caught the pain on his face.

  "Illya?"

  "I knew something was happening. For two days I could hear them packing, moving boxes. I made
the sling for Pasha and put together a bag of emergency supplies. I knew they would come for him."

  "And when they came?"

  The pale eyes blinked, then squeezed tight. "I killed the guard and took Pasha. The fires were already started. I tried to get to the other -- to the --" Illya leaned forward abruptly and his feet came off the bed. He buried his face in his hands, gasping at the increasing pain of the headache.

  Napoleon didn't move. "The other what?"

  "There were four other babies. In the clinic nursery." His voice was muffled.

  "You tried to save the other babies?"

  The blond head nodded, the face averted. "I could hear them in their cribs in the nursery but I couldn't get close enough," Kuryakin whispered, shivering in the chair. "The flames were – already – I -- I couldn't get close enough. I tried. I tried, Napoleon. I -- I had Pasha with me and if I had stayed, he would have died. Like the others. I let them die." His face was twisted in grief as he rocked blindly, one hand trying to knead the pain from his forehead. "I let them die. I let them... " His voice trailed off. He hunched forward on the edge of the chair, the heels of his palms pressing into his temples.

  Perplexed, Napoleon shook his head wordlessly. What are you talking about? There were no other bodies. Without hesitating, he pulled his partner closer, feeling the resistance to his presence dissolve as he held him firmly. For a brief moment, he also felt the other's pain, like sharp knives burning through his skull, and he realized that Illya's conviction that he had once more failed was compounding the agony of the migraine.

  Damn. It wasn't you who failed, Illya. I was the one who lied to you and called it a joke and the ripples from those words haven't stopped yet. The slight body convulsed, moaning softly, and memories of carrying the Russian out of Omegar surfaced. I'm here, friend. I'm not going anywhere. He could see the throbbing pulse ripple across Illya's temple with each beat of his heart. Let someone else carry your load for a while, partner. I'm not backing away from your pain this time, physical or otherwise. He had learned that lesson, at least.

  But there were no other bodies found at the site. All the reports agreed on that. They would have told him immediately if the bodies of four babies were found. The media would have had a field day with it. There were no other bodies, but Illya was convinced there was. What can I possibly say to you now? Try and forget about the fire? Get a good night's sleep and you'll feel better in the morning?