Chapter Text
The sun was shining and it was warm but with a cool crispness to the breeze that hinted at Autumn. Napoleon Solo felt good. He automatically smiled at each pretty woman he passed. Life was good. He and Illya had completed their last assignment and had been given a week off by Mr. Waverly. They had spent an unsuccessful, and for once an injury free, though exhausting, month in Europe. They had been following rumors of a new THRUSH drug “Z-7” that would wipe a person’s memory rendering them totally subservient, a zombie. Both he and Illya had finally been called back to New York by their boss. Mr. Waverly had decided that he no longer wanted to spend time and money on what he considered to be a wild goose chase.
Napoleon had spent his weeks vacation at home enjoying the pleasure of working his way through several pages of his little black book. The only thing that had given him a moments pause had been his lack of contact with Illya. They usually spent one or two evenings together when they had several days off but he had not heard once from his partner. Illya had informed him that he had several scientific journals waiting in his apartment to catch up on. Napoleon could think of many things more exciting to do than spending an unexpected vacation reading. He hadn’t contacted his friend thinking that Illya had needed to spend his time in solitude, something his partner craved more than Napoleon. He missed the notoriously private Russian but wasn’t worried knowing he’d see him this morning at the office.
Skipping down the steps into the tailor’s shop Napoleon waved at the current “Del Floria” and stepped into the changing booth and turned the hook that opened the secret door into headquarters. Napoleon whistled under his breath as he pushed into the agent’s entrance of U.N.C.L.E. His whistle turned to a wolf whistle as he stepped up to the receptionist and smiled. “Jenny you are a sight for sore eyes my sweet.” he leaned down so the pretty redhead could pin his badge on his lapel.
“Oh Napoleon, keep that up and I may just have to say yes to you.”
“How about dancing and dinner?” Napoleon held his arms out and did a couple of dance steps.
Jenny laughed, accustomed to the agent’s constant flirting. “I think it best if you see what Mr. Waverly has in mind for you this week, don’t you? He wanted you and Mr. Kuryakin to report to his office as soon as you arrived.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I finish with the Old Man.” Blowing a kiss to her he started towards the elevator but turned before he got there, “Jenny, what time did Illya get here?”
“He hasn’t arrived yet Napoleon.”
As Napoleon entered the elevator he felt the first stirrings of unease. Illya always arrived before he did. He was as dependable as the rising of the sun.
As Napoleon entered the reception area to Mr. Waverly’s office he nodded to Lisa Rogers, Waverly’s assistant. The lovely brunette nodded and waved him in. “You can go in now, he’s expecting you.”
Napoleon entered and stood before the large round table while His boss studied some papers, seemingly unaware of the agent’s presence. Without looking up Waverly nodded to the chair in front of Napoleon “Oh do sit down Mr. Solo.” He glanced up “Where is Mr. Kuryakin?”
Napoleon sat. “Reception indicated he hadn’t arrived yet Sir, which is unusual.”
Waverly raised an eyebrow, “Yes, it is unlike Mr. Kuryakin to be late.” He spoke into his intercom “Miss Rogers, please contact Mr. Kuryakin, remind him of this meeting please.”
“Right away sir.”
Napoleon tried to keep the feeling of unease from growing as time ticked on well past what it should have taken for a simple communicator call. Finally Lisa Rogers entered a look of concern on her face. “Mr. Waverly we can’t raise Mr. Kuryakin on the communicator. I had communications try to locate him but they were unable to triangulate a location. No one has had any contact with him since he left headquarters a week ago.”
Napoleon stood, “I’ll go check his apartment sir. Maybe he overslept.” He knew that this was impossible. Illya was never late.
Mr. Waverly frowned, “You didn’t have any contact with your partner over the past week?”
“No sir” Napoleon knew he should have checked on Illya, he usually did even if it meant disturbing his solitary friend. He hadn’t this week, every time he thought about it something, or someone, had come up and he went on his dates and dinners, his partner far from his mind.
“Go and find your partner Mr. Solo, report back as soon as you have any information.”
Napoleon was already out the door.
Napoleon made it across town to the Village in record time, his unease growing with each moment. He ran up the four flights of stairs, once more wishing his partner would move to a better apartment with an elevator. Standing to the side of Illya’s door he took a deep breath, vowing to work out a bit more, and knocked. No answer. With his special in hand he reached out and turned the knob. The door, unlocked, swung open. He entered slowly scanning the quiet room. His breath caught as he surveyed the cluttered living room. Illya’s old coffee table was tipped on its side, several cartons of Chinese take-out littered the floor, their gelled contents cold and showing signs of mold. A bottle of Stoli lay broken by his suitcase. There was a large dried blood stain on the carpet next to his partner’s shoulder holster and gun.
“Open channel D. Mr. Waverly”
While he waited Napoleon did a quick search of the rest of his partner’s small apartment, but saw nothing out of order.
“Yes, Mr. Solo?”
“I’m at Illya’s sir. He’s gone, it looks as if he was taken as soon as he got home.”
“An unfortunate turn of events Mr. Solo.”
“Sir, can you send some Section Three agents to interview Mr. Kuryakin’s neighbors and to go over his apartment. I’ll get out on the street and see if I can pick up a lead.”
“No Mr. Solo, return to headquarters immediately.”
“Sir, I need to find….”
Mr. Waverly interrupted. “Mr. Solo we won’t know where to even begin looking until we have more information, return to headquarters.”
“Yes, sir.” Napoleon grabbed Illya’s gun and holster and reluctantly left the apartment, locking the door behind him. “I’m sorry partner, I should have been here”.
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Illya woke to pain and confusion, he managed to get one eye open, his vision blurry. He was lying on the cement floor of his cell naked, shivering and alone. He tried to get his mind to focus. He’d been here five days maybe seven, he wasn’t really sure. He knew he had to try and escape again. He thought he had tried several times already. Obviously none of his attempts had been successful. He gasped as he tried to sit up. His battered, bloody and bruised body was not cooperating at all. He gave up on his attempt and lapsed into unconsciousness. Illya woke again, he wasn’t sure how long he had been out, he’d been fading in and out of awareness a lot lately.
The last thing he remembered was returning to his apartment, anticipating a week off with his journals and his favorite take-out food. He had collapsed, exhausted on his second hand couch looking forward to his dinner from Chen’s and a bottle of ice cold Stoli. His next memory was coming awake, strung up by his wrists, naked, and being thoroughly beaten by a couple of very large THRUSH goons. He had no idea how he had gotten there. He thought back fondly on the cartons of Chinese food. He’d give anything for them, even if they were probably moldy by now. He had only been given a little water since he’d been here and he was feeling the weakness that comes from hunger. He was not sure how much longer he’d be able to hold out. Napoleon could come rescue him any time, he was ready to go. He knew as soon as he was free he’d face a prolonged stay in medical. Illya had a couple of broken or cracked ribs and possibly some internal damage. He knew the signs of concussion well enough to add that to the list.
He was unable to hold back a groan as he heard the door to his cell creaking. The two large THRUSH goons whom he had come to dread entered along with Michael Santino the self proclaimed brains of this satrap.
Santino grinned as he looked at the UNCLE agent “You’ve looked better Kuryakin! Not so tough now are you little man?”
Illya remained silent. The THRUSH didn’t seem to care if he talked or not. They hadn’t asked him any questions, not one, which bothered Illya. He knew in a perverse twist of logic that it was easier to withstand torture if you knew why you were being tortured.
Santino kicked the agent in his stomach which caused him to grunt and fade out once more. Santino laughed as he watched Illya struggle back to awareness. “I think we are about ready for the next step in my plan.” Illya was grabbed under his arms by the two guards and dragged from the cell.
“Come on comrade!” Illya felt a slap and then ice cold water splash his face. He struggled to raise his head. He licked the ice water from around his split lips, grateful for the moisture. He was strapped in a straight backed metal chair unable to move. Santino slapped his face again “You with me, Ruskie?” Illya nodded.
“Hey I thought you might like to know that your partner, Solo, finally discovered today that you were missing.”
Illya tried to focus his attention on Santino. “What?” he croaked “Napoleon?”
“Yea,” Santino grinned, ”I thought you two were close, that you had each other’s backs. What kind of partner would let his friend stay in enemy hands for a week. Bet old Napoleon is feeling kind of guilty right about now. What do you think?”
Illya shook his head, “Not his fault.”
“Loyal to the last, huh Kuryakin? How noble of you. Well, I’m going to make sure that he won’t ever look for you, and that Napoleon Solo will no longer be a problem for anyone, ever again, especially me.”
Santino grabbed Illya’s face by the chin and placed a dirty rag in his mouth and taped over it with duct tape. “Stay with me Kuryakin, you hear? Watch, pay attention!”
Illya tried to focus and watch Santino. The room he was in was rather large with an area set up like a film studio. There were lights hung from the ceiling, a camera facing away from him and a microphone on a boom. The lights came on, blazing. Illya’s vision seemed to fade in and out as he watched Santino stand in the light, one of the goons manned the camera while another dragged in a semi conscious man and stood holding him in front of Santino. Illya noted that the injured man was about his height and weight. From the back it could have been him with shaggy blond hair, damp and stringy with sweat. The guard held the man by his under arms. Santino punched and kicked the Illya look alike, who grunted and moaned. Santino laughed gleefully “This is going to be great!”
Fearing what he thought was going to happen Illya found enough strength to throw himself against his restraints. He was unable to make any sound through the gag and he knew his efforts would not help at all but he still had to try.
Santino hit the man in the stomach and kicked him. The man cried out in pain. “Hey, Solo.” Santino looked at the camera grinning “I thought you’d love to have an opportunity to say goodbye to your partner. He’s been asking for you, wondering why you’ve abandoned him. I thought you two were great partners, tight, inseparable.” Taking a knife from his pocket he swiftly sliced across the man’s throat, blood spurted and the goon let the man fall to the floor. “You had a week to find him Solo, a week where he cried for you and cursed you. You were too slow. Now it doesn’t matter.” Santino laughed, obviously pleased. “Get rid of this garbage” he poked the body on the floor and signaled for the camera to be turned off.
Santino bent over and Illya watched as he grabbed his double’s hair and stuck the point of the blade into the corpse’s eye. Illya’s vision went dark as he fainted. The THRUSH walked over to Illya, taking a syringe out of his pocket he took the cap off and pressed the needle into the unconscious agents arm. “Two more injections of Z-7 Comrade and you won’t know up from down, left from right, let alone your name.”
“Clean and patch up Kuryakin and stash him in a holding room. I’m going to get my package ready to send to Solo.”
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Napoleon was in his office, reluctantly going over the interviews the Section Three teams had taken from Illya’s neighbors. No one had seen or heard anything. It was a waste of time. Napoleon knew if he could just get out on the streets he’d be able to find some sort of lead. His luck and innate connection with his partner would lead him to something. He knew it would. The longer time passed without leads the less likely it was they would find Illya, he knew this but refused to let the thought stay in his mind.
The intercom on his phone blinked. “Solo.”
It was Lisa Rogers, her voice sounded strained. “Napoleon, please come to Mr. Waverly’s office, immediately.”
Napoleon ran for the door.
Lisa was standing waiting to shepherd him in as soon as he arrived. She followed Napoleon into the office,
Mr. Waverly was sitting holding his brier pipe staring out the window as Napoleon entered. On his desk was a large flower arrangement of black roses. Have a seat, Napoleon.” The old man using his first name made Napoleon’s stomach drop and he felt a chill flow over him as he sat. “These” Waverly pointed to the flowers with his pipe “and a film were delivered to Del Floria’s a few minutes ago. Mr. Kuryakin’s communicator was in the flower arrangement. The film, well….please play the film Miss Rogers.”
The lights dimmed, a wall opened to expose a screen. The film started.
A slim, dark complected man stood looking at the camera. He punched and kicked Illya whose back was toward the camera. He was being held by a large THRUSH guard. “Hey, Solo.” The man grinned into the camera “I thought you’d love to have an opportunity to say goodbye to your partner. He’s been asking for you, wondering why you’ve abandoned him. I thought you two were great partners, tight, inseparable.” Taking a knife from his pocket he swiftly sliced across Illya’s throat, blood gushed from the wound and he slid lifeless to the floor. “You had a week to find him Solo, a week where he cried for you and cursed you. You were too slow. Now it doesn’t matter.” The man laughed. “Get rid of this garbage” he kicked the body on the floor and signaled for the camera to be turned off.
Napoleon was numb. He found it hard to breathe as the film came to an end. He turned to face his boss. Waverly’s face was pale. Napoleon couldn’t believe what he had just seen. “Sir….”
Mr. Waverly leaned forward suddenly and stared at the bouquet of black roses, “What the devil!” Napoleon and Lisa both grimaced as they saw a drop of blood slowly leak out of a bloom, its petals held closed by scotch tape. Napoleon reached forward and pried the tape off the bloom. Springing open it revealed a familiar blue eye, Illya’s eye placed into the center of the bloom. Napoleon faced with the proof that he didn’t want to accept grabbed his mouth and was sick.