by LRH Balzer
The Russian paused, half turned toward his bureau. "Carded?"
"You have to be a certain age to buy liquor. If you look close to that age, you might be asked to show your papers. Where are your identification papers? Anyway, kids in high school aren't old enough to buy liquor or go in a nightclub and no college student wears a high school team shirt. It just isn't done. Papers or not, they might not sell to you if you were wearing that shirt."
Illya nodded to show he understood. "I had heard much of the freedoms of America, but it seems they have been misrepresented in some cases."
"What, they don't have rules for kids in Russia?" Tony took the papers Illya handed to him and went through them quickly, looking for one that showed his age and that he was legally in the country. Fortunately, the one he found also had Kuryakin's picture affixed to it. "Here, put this one in your pocket. It will get you in there."
Illya shrugged, not willing to debate the point. "What about the door?"
"Door?"
"The alarms? We will not be caught?"
Tony stared at him. "Illya, only that one door is wired for emergency exit only, and that's just because it was added after the rest of the place was built."
"And the guards at the gate?"
"They'll wish us a pleasant evening. Remember what Dad said, you are allowed to leave the grounds. They won't stop you, especially if you're with me." Tony grabbed his arm, steering him up the narrow stairs to the kitchen, where he took down the pad of paper hanging by the wall phone and scrawled hastily.
Illya stepped closer, looking over Tony's shoulder at what he was writing. "What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving Mom a note."
"But you said --"
"We don't have a curfew," Tony said patiently. "But mothers still worry. When I'm living at home, I let her know where I'm going and approximately when I'll be back." He grinned slightly. "Usually. It's just good manners, Ilyusha."
The Russian nodded slightly, the reference touching a nerve as he remembered he had promised to do virtually the same thing in Graham's study a week before. "Should I leave note as well?"
"I left one for both of us. Come on, let's go."
They left the house by the kitchen door and walked out into the sultry night. Illya looked up as a security camera, activated by a motion detector, swiveled on its track and began to film them, making an almost soundless whir. Tony pulled his hand out of his pocket, the fist clenched, the index finger extended in the shape of a muzzle, and mock 'fired' at the device. Turning, he grinned at Illya's discomfort. "You'll get used to it real quick. Especially if you're going to work for U.N.C.L.E. -- then you'll get it night and day." Tony glanced over to his companion's slightly frowning face, and trying to lighten his mood, said, "It's no big deal. Don't let it worry you."
The subject was changed abruptly as they came up to the garage. Tony's little red car was parked outside of it, and Illya decided to ask a question before another was directed at him. "Do you really own this car? It is truly yours?"
"Yeah, I'm the proud owner of a bug, Ilyusha."
"An insect? A listening device?" The Russian looked puzzled.
"No, no. The name of the car is a Volkswagen Beetle. We call it a bug. I mean that it's not an expensive or fancy car. It's kind of an embarrassment, actually. Most of my friends drive muscle cars. But it goes good in the snow in Boston, while my friends' muscle cars slide all over the road. Anyway, to answer your question, yeah, it's mine. It was a gift, kind of a graduation present -- from high school."
"Is it common, in America?"
"Is what common?"
"Cars in Soviet Union are rare. One saves most of a life for one, and then waits to have it built. Is it common to own one, when still in school?"
"Yeah. Most of my friends have some kind of car -- you really need one to go anywhere around here. You'll probably get one soon, too."
"Me?" Illya looked startled. "I do not think so."
"You'll need one this summer, Illya. Everyone needs a car in D.C.. I suppose you could drive an U.N.C.L.E. car, after you get your license, until you pick one out. Don't worry, Dad and I will help you bargain for it. Maybe, if you get a cool one, you'll let me drive it."
Illya looked supremely uncomfortable and changed the subject again. "I do not have any more cigarettes and I do not know where one may buy them. Or where one buys vodka."
Tony laughed. "Well, if we ask the waitress at the nightclub nicely, I'm sure she'll supply you with those items."
"It is not illegal?" Illya questioned, mindful of his status.
"For a potential spy, you are awfully worried about staying on the straight and narrow." He noted Illya's confusion and shook his head. "Forget it, it's not worth explaining. But yeah, it's legal, Ilyusha."
He pulled up to the gates and waited while one of the guards came out and perfunctorily checked the car.
Illya froze, but the guard's eyes roved over him without interest.
"Coming back tonight, Tony?"
"Yeah, we'll just be gone a couple of hours, Charlie. Going to hit a few places in Georgetown. Want to come?"
"Take my shift for me?" the guard teased.
"Yeah, right. Dad says I'm the worst shot he's ever seen."
"Not much call for that lately. It's been pretty quiet. No guests in the Safe House to worry about." His eyes roved over Illya again, with mild curiosity. "You gentlemen have fun. Drive safe, now."
"Night, Charlie." Tony put the car in gear as the guard opened the gate. "You can breathe now, Illya. He didn't shoot you."
The young Russian colored, his mouth tightening to a narrow line, and turned to look out the window at the lights of the city.
Tony frowned a little, and they didn't speak for some time.
*****
Norm poked his head into the upstairs alcove where Trish was reading. "Want anything from the kitchen? I'm going to grab a drink before turning in."
Trish looked up from her book. "I wanted to finish this chapter first. Perhaps you could check on Ilyusha, see if you can coax him to change into pajamas and settle him more comfortably in bed."
"I won't wake him for that, but I'll check on him."
Norm went down the main stairs quietly and through the darkened rec room. Illya's door, as usual, was partially open, and Graham pushed at it and glanced around the edge carefully, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping lightly. And then stopped.
The room was empty. And not just empty, but neat as a pin. The afghan that had covered the boy was gone, and the quilt over the bed had been straightened. Norm backed up a few steps and peered around the corner into the rec room. The afghan was folded and in its usual place over one of the big armchairs.
"He couldn't have run away..." Norm murmured. Then, with a sudden certainty, he flung open the closet door. Nothing but Tony's old clothes, the new suit, and two shirts. The jacket Illya had worn coming to them was gone. The closet floor was bare, except for a pair of scuffed shoes and the dress shoes Illya had worn to the CIA.
"So, he took the sneakers. But hell, if I were on the run, I'd take the sneakers, too." Norm sat down on the bed, thinking. "Where the hell did he keep that rucksack? If it's gone..." But it had been on the bed with Illya, his arms wrapped around it. And now Illya was gone. He opened the bureau drawers but could find no sign of the rucksack among the borrowed clothes.
He knew the CIA interview had been traumatic, that Illya had severe doubts about his presence in this country and his place with U.N.C.L.E.. But he hadn't even considered that today's events would tip Kuryakin over the edge. Had he run away? Norm didn't even want to think suicide.
He went next door to Tony's room, and without preamble, flicked on the light. "Tony, wake up. Have you seen --" Then he stared around the room. It was considerably more disheveled, but just as empty. Empty. Tony gone. He hadn't mentioned going anywhere. If he was gone now, if they were gone together, what could it mean? That Illya had taken him as a hostage?
Norm bounde
d up the kitchen steps, toward the closest phone, and found himself face to face with Trish.
"What is it darling? You look like you've seen a ghost. I've heard some banging."
"What are you doing down here?"
"I decided some tea would be nice, after all. Norm, what is it?"
"Trish, sit down."
Norm hesitated, then decided he didn't have time for niceties. "Illya is gone."
"Yes, isn't it nice? I've been hoping Tony would finally take an interest in Ilyusha."
Norm stared. "What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you see the note?" She handed him the sheet of paper.
"Where did you get this?"
"On the table, darling. Where Tony always leaves notes."
"Are you sure --" He hesitated. "Trish, I don't know about this. Illya's room looks deserted. His jacket and his rucksack are gone."
"Gone? I could see Ilyusha taking that jacket by mistake. He is still not used to the weather here. But I don't think he would take that bag into a bar with him. He's very protective of it. I think he would be afraid to lose it."
"It's not in his room."
"You searched his room?" She sounded faintly shocked.
"Trish, I think he's run away."
"Nonsense. He's with Tony. Are you sure that bag is gone? He keeps it in his bottom drawer."
"I looked."
"Under the sweaters."
Norm glared at her and walked down the steps, Trish following. He kicked open the bedroom door, opened the bottom drawer, and lifting an armful of clothes out, dumped them unceremoniously on the floor.
"There. You see?" she pointed.
Norm stared. Pushed far in the back, the missing jacket wrapped tightly around it, was the rucksack.
Trish sighed, and kneeling on the floor, began to fold clothes. "I wish you hadn't done this. He might notice his things have been disturbed and I'd hate for him to mistrust us."
"Heaven forbid that he not trust us," Graham said sourly. "How did you know where he kept it?"
"I saw it when he gave me some pants to be hemmed. He didn't seem too concerned about it. But then I suppose he realizes that we've had plenty of time and opportunity to search it or take it from him. He probably just hides it out of habit." She finished folding the clothes, put them carefully in the drawer, and closed it neatly. "Come on, darling. You look like you need more than tea. How about a drink?"
"I've been needing one since this whole thing began. That kid is trouble." He followed her upstairs and studied the note while Trish fixed him a scotch. "Well, it looks okay."
"Of course it is."
"Easy for you to say. What if Illya kidnapped Tony?"
"Why would he do such a thing?" she asked in astonishment.
"To get out of here. To use Tony's car to escape."
"If he wanted to leave, we've made it clear he could walk out of the grounds. Also, he could have taken any number of cars; most of the keys are in plain sight on hooks in the kitchen."
"I'm still going to check with the gate guards."
Trish sighed as be reached for the phone and dialed.
"Charlie, did Tony leave here awhile ago?
"Yes, sir. According to my log, Tony drove through at 9:52p.m."
"And was he alone?"
"No, sir. He had your guest with him. The blond young man. Kuryakin."
"Did you talk to them?"
"A bit. Tony said he was going to a few places in Georgetown. Invited me, as a matter of fact. Course, he was just teasing."
"Tony didn't seem nervous? Or upset?"
"No. Not at all. Same as usual. The Russian boy, though, he was a mite nervous. Kept still as a mouse as I checked out the car. His hands in plain sight. Your boy teased him a little about it."
Norm sighed. It looked as if Trish was right, and Tony had finally decided to befriend their guest. But what a way to start. "You did the standard checks on the car?" he asked lamely.
"Yes, sir. Infrared and visual. No one else in the car or trunk. No weapons." The guard hesitated. "We would have called you sir, but your orders were to only notify you if the Russian was out of his room without a family member. Since he was with Tony, well --"
"No. It's all right. Tony hadn't mentioned going out, so I was a little worried."
"I'm sure he'll be home soon, sir."
"Right. Thanks, Charlie."
"Are you satisfied, darling?" Trish asked, as he hung up.
"I will be," Norm said heavily, "when they get home. It really is like having another kid. I've barely gotten used to Tony as an adult and I thought I had a few years to go before I had to go through it all again."
*****
Georgetown wasn't far, particularly in light, late evening traffic. Tony found a parking space and then they walked back to their destination, a one-time warehouse, now converted into a club that catered to the young. The bouncer at the door took Graham's money and stamped his hand without comment, but he held up an arm barring Illya. "You got some ID?"
Kuryakin flung up his chin and took a step back, scanning the bouncer's clothes for any sign of a weapon. Seeing none, and seeing Tony shaking his head slightly, he very carefully removed the folded legal paper from his pocket and reluctantly handed it over.
The bouncer glanced at the document quickly without reading it and handed it back. "Foreign student or something, huh? Okay." He took Illya's two dollars and stamped his hand.
Illya studied the ink smeared across his skin and frowned, following Tony into the darkened club. "How did he know I was foreigner?" he hissed.
"He didn't know. You showed him your identification. Then he knew."
"He did not ask for your papers."
"I told you that you probably would get carded."
"Why did he not ask for your papers?"
"First, because I've been here before. Lots of times." He looked over the young Russian and sighed, deciding the situation would come up somewhere else. "Second, because I look over twenty-one. With you, it's harder to tell."
Illya was stunned to silence for a moment, apparently having expected a much different explanation. "Oh."
"Not that you look that much younger," Tony said placatingly. "I'm sure, after a --"
"It does not matter," Illya cut him off. "I am not offended. Has been useful in my work to look younger."
"Oh." Tony wound his way through the crowded room, aware of Illya sticking close behind him. It was hard to find a spot in the strobe-lit club, and he darted quickly to his right when he saw a table suddenly vacated. He dropped into his chair, smiling at their incredible luck of finding one at the railing, overlooking the dance floor.
Before Illya had even taken his seat, a waitress came up to the table. "Something to drink, boys?"
"Whatever you've got on tap." Tony glanced at Illya. "And a vodka."
"Right. Do you want a pint or glass?" she asked Tony.
"I'll have a glass."
"What is pint?" Illya whispered to Tony.
"It's a big glass, like that over there." He pointed to a large mug on a neighboring table.
"I'll have pint," Illya said, turning to the waitress.
The waitress looked over her tray at him. "You want a pint of what, Blondie? Draft?"
"Vodka."
"Cute." She turned to leave, swiveling her hips.
Tony stopped her before she could get away. "My friend wants some cigarettes, too."
"Brand?" the waitress asked, pencil poised, chewing her gum.
"What brand, Illya?" Tony turned to the Russian. "Oh, right. You probably don't know. Um… do you like filtered or unfiltered? Mentholated?"
Illya shrugged. "I don't know those words," he said.
"Oh, forget it. Get him some Camels. Two packs. And matches, too."
"Right." She looked over at Illya. "I know they carded you out front, kid, but, for the future, it's more convincing when you know what you want to buy."
Tony was silent for a moment, and then his a
musement got the best of him and he started to laugh, while his companion stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I'm sorry, Ilyusha," Tony finally choked out, between gasps.
"Sorry?"
"It really isn't funny, but it is."
"Yes?" The vodka was placed on the table. Illya frowned at how small it was and finished it in one gulp. He caught the waitress eye, and she nodded and headed to the bar for another. "Is private joke?"
"No, not private. But you'll probably want to deck me," he chuckled. "I can read the headlines: DANGEROUS RUSSIAN SPY CARDED IN GEORGETOWN BAR." He fought to catch his breath, and started to laugh again as the second vodka was delivered. "WAITRESS THINKS HE'S TOO YOUNG TO BUY CIGARETTES."
Starting on his second drink, Illya relaxed enough to smile a little. He gave a small shrug, looking at Tony over the rim of his glass as he sipped it. "But I am spy. CIA thinks dangerous. And is good cover to look young." He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and leaned back with a sigh of contentment, diverting his attention to studying the room and the people.
"Do you think that way all the time? What looks like a good cover?" Tony asked, thinking how different Illya's English sounded when his defenses were down. And he didn't feel he had to impress someone.
Illya shrugged, but didn't seem to have an answer for him. "I have been spy long time," he said, after a few minutes.
"Why?"
"Shtoh?" Illya shook his head to clear it. "What?"
"Why be a spy? Why that career?"
Illya face darkened. "You may be Russian, but you have not been Russian for longtime, if you ask that."
"I know you didn't have much choice then. But now? Now you can be anything you want. Why keep on being a spy?"
"I could ask you same question."
"Me?" Tony looked startled. "I'm going to be a doctor."
"Da. Doctors hurt people. Defenseless people. Make best torturers. At least spies only shoot other spies."
"Doctors don't hurt people here in America. They help people."
"So I noticed in your CIA. As I was helped?"
Tony scowled. "My point was, you don't have to let them push you around, just because you're young."
