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It was a fisherman’s village. The people who lived there were hardworking, humble people. Their only church, a small Catholic parish called St. Raphael’s, was more than a house of worship. It was a sort of town hall, a place for kids to play basketball and perform piano recitals. Bits and pieces of village life cluttered around the main building - boat pieces, a wreath from a funeral, a life preserver painted with the name of the church on the side.
Napoleon Solo had not been to St. Raphael’s in over a year, and he hoped the man he was looking for was still the minister here. He saw the tiny sign outside the entrance and noticed the name listed at the bottom. Father W. Brigham Baltz. Napoleon smiled - good, he was still here. He opened the door and walked into the sanctuary.
He had heard from the villagers that today was a time for private reconciliation. He looked around, hoping that there wasn’t a person waiting to make their confession. He needed time to speak to the priest himself, although it wasn’t a confession of his own.
Luckily, there weren’t any parishioners in the pews. Napoleon walked to the confessional, slipped in and opened the divider between him and the priest.
“Bless me, Father, for I‘ll probably sin in the next week or so.”
On the other side of the divider, Napoleon heard a muffled snort. “Solo? Is that you?”
“Yes, it is. How’s it going?”
“Fine and dandy, son. I’ll be right out.”
Napoleon left the booth and sat in the nearest pew. The priest walked out of his side and toward Napoleon. He reached out and gave the man a hearty handshake. Father Baltz was a tall, sturdy looking man in his mid-forties. He had hair the color of old carrots and bright green eyes. He walked with a stiff gait that spoke of many injuries.
Napoleon smiled. “Time’s been good to you, Father.”
The priest laughed. “My flock keeps me young. It’s a pleasure to serve such wonderful people.”
Napoleon looked around the empty church. “Do you mind if we talk somewhere other than the sanctuary?”
“Not at all. We’ll walk to the manse and talk there.”
The two men left the church and walked to Father Baltz’s home. They entered the living room. The priest sat opposite of Napoleon, a kind look on his face. “So. Who died?”
“It’s that noticeable, huh?”
“Kid, I’ve known you for years. I know you wouldn’t be here unless something bad happened. Is it your partner, the Russian? I hope not, I really liked that one.”
Napoleon shook his head. “Oh, no. Illya is fine. He’s on assignment in South America, and I’ll meet up with him in a week. It was an innocent, Brig. She…”
“Ah. She. What happened?”
“Wrong place, wrong time. THRUSH. I was a little slow, believe it or not. And she caught a bullet for it.”
“I’m sorry. But I know it wasn’t your fault. Ultimately the fault lies with the THRUSH agent who fired the shot. You must not beat yourself up over it.”
Napoleon was quiet for a while as Brig’s words echoed through his mind. He thought about the innocent’s death, the THRUSH agent who shot her, her blood on his hands. Napoleon stared at his hands. He could almost see that red stain on his fingers as her life force bled out onto his new suit.
Napoleon stood up, paced the floor. “Brig, why did you leave UNCLE? You were the best agent I ever worked with. You taught me so much, and you left it behind for what? A fishing village?”
Brig, his green eyes sparkling, smiled. “Solo, you are a man of peace. I am a man of peace. However our paths to peace are two separate yet important paths. You believe in justice meted out by human hands. I believe in justice being divined by Providence.”
“That’s fine and dandy, Brig, but you could have still followed that path at UNCLE. You were on the fast track in New York, and I know you would have been CEA.”
“And instead, you are. Remember, kid, I know how you think.” he said quietly. “Are you considering leaving UNCLE?”
“No. I could never do that. Like you said, Brig, I believe in justice provided by the law, and I like being the hands and feet of that law. I just need to find peace about this whole affair.”
The priest looked thoughtful, then smiled. “Are you normally at peace, son?”
“Yes. I am.”
Brig patted Napoleon on his back. “We find peace in various ways. I find it through ministry. And I believe you find it in what you do.”
Solo sat down on the edge of the couch, massaging his temples. “Illya would tell me that I am being overly emotional, but I can’t help but think had I been faster, if I had figured it out sooner, that girl would still be alive. I know her family doesn‘t blame me. I am not at fault as far as Mr. Waverly is concerned. But can I find forgiveness for myself, from myself?”
The priest rose from his chair and sat beside his friend, his hand clasping Napoleon’s shoulder. “Son, you cannot receive atonement for a sin you did not commit.”
The two men were quiet for a while. Brig squeezed Napoleon’s shoulder again. “There’s never a correct word to say. I’ve learned this in the last fifteen years. The only thing I can do is pray for you and your innocent. That’s my job. And your job is to keep the world safe and free, so that I can do what I do best.”
“Maybe you are right, Brig.”
“Maybe? Try definitely. Now, let’s have a beer and a crab boil, and you can tell me the latest about that partner of yours!”
Napoleon couldn’t help but smile. He still felt sad and slightly guilty about the innocent’s death, and might always feel that way, but deep down he knew Brig was right. The best way to gain atonement was to defeat THRUSH, keep the world safe for people like himself, Illya, all those innocents…and Brig.