Alexander Waverly pressed the button on his desk which connected him to the main agents' entrance.

"Yes, Mr Waverly," came the voice of Marcia Wynn through the speaker.

"Has Mr Kuryakin left yet?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes Sir, he went home around an hour ago."

He cut the connection and called through to his secretary, Lisa, asking her call Kuryakin and put him through. A few minutes later, Lisa came into Waverly's office and explained that she couldn't raise the agent.

"Did you try his telephone?"

"Yes Sir," Lisa replied. "I tried a few times, and tried his communicator twice. He isn't responding to either."

"Have the communicator traced," Waverly instructed. "And ask Mr Solo to come here."

Although agents went off-duty or had down-time, they were all expected to be contactable at all times. One never knew when a global emergency would arise, so Mr Waverly needed to know he could call his people in at a moment's notice. The fact that Kuryakin wasn't answering his communicator, or his telephone, was a serious cause for concern. There had been the odd occasion when they hadn't been able to get a hold of Mr Solo, due to one of his all too frequent dalliances with a woman, but Mr Waverly did not believe Mr Kuryakin would ever be so lax. In fact, he'd once overhead Kuryakin admonishing the CEA for allowing a woman to distract him from his duty.

It was absolutely imperative that the Russian agent was contacted as soon as possible. The man's recent assignment to Germany had been declared a success, but Waverly had just received word from the Berlin office that one of Illya's targets had survived. From what could be ascertained, Max Hallanzi was angry about the destruction of his satrapy, and was out for revenge.

…

The very last thing Illya Kuryakin needed, as he trudged wearily towards his building, was a confrontation with his Soviet hating neighbour, Jed Casey. Following his month-long assignment, he wanted to get home and sleep in his own bed. First of all though, he was looking forward to sinking into a steaming bath, followed by a delivery from the Jade Dragon Chinese restaurant. Fate, however, had decided that he was to be delayed a while longer.

"So, you're back!" Casey snarled, as Illya tried to pass him. "I'd hoped you'd been thrown back to your own commie country."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Casey," Illya replied, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

He had faced many enemies who'd wanted to kill him, as well as colleagues who hated him because of his nationality, but there was something about Casey which wound him up more than anyone. He tried once again to pass the man, who was at least a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than he was, but failed. Casey stepped directly in front of Illya and, grabbing him by the lapels, he slammed him against the wall and held him there. The agent had to battle his every instinct to fight back. Beating the living daylights out of the man wouldn't help things in the long run, and he could almost see the look of dismay on Mr Waverly's face.

"Why are you here?" Casey demanded. "Why is a damn Russkie freely walking around the streets of America with decent people?"

"As I have told you many times Mr Casey, I am here because I live and work here," Illya explained, for what was probably the two hundredth time. "Now, if you would, please step aside. I would like to go up to my apartment."

"I don't like foreigners," Casey growled, directly into Illya's face. "Especially Russkies who take jobs from Americans."

Illya sighed and rolled his eyes. He'd had this argument with Casey more times than he cared to remember, yet the man seemed determined to replay it over and over again.

"The organisation I work for is multinational," he explained as calmly as he could. "I was actually hired by a European branch and was transferred here."

The sudden sound of screeching tyres drew the attention of both men, and they watched as a large black car stopped beside them. Illya recognised one of the three armed men who got out, as the second-in-command of the Thrush he'd defeated in Germany. He'd thought the man had been caught up in the destruction of the base, but clearly, this was not the case.

"Both of you, in the vehicle," Max Hallanzi ordered. "Kuryakin in the front, where I can keep an eye on you."

"A German?" Casey spat, seemingly more concerned with the man's accent than his gun. "I had enough of you lot twenty years ago."

"Are there any foreigners whom you do like, Mr Casey?" Illya murmured, almost to himself.

His own dealings with Germans, during the war, had not been good, but he had learned since that he couldn't hate them all. Having spent a lot of time in Germany himself, he was more than aware that the people were very different from the evil sadists who killed his family.

Hallanzi waved his pistol at the two men. "Shut up and get in."

Illya stepped towards the vehicle but, instead of getting in, he abruptly turned and swung a punch at the German. His fist connected with a satisfying thump, but it was a futile gesture. Although he was able to cause Hallanzi to drop his weapon, there were still two others pointed at him. Illya was made extremely aware of one of them when he felt it against the back of his head.

"I suggest you comply with my instructions," Hallanzi said, with a quiet menace.

Illya held his hands up in surrender. Just before he climbed in, Illya was relieved of his gun and communicator; both of which were unceremoniously dumped into a nearby trash can. He enjoyed a brief moment of grim satisfaction at the look of horror in Casey's eyes at the sight of the weapon. If they got through this alive, maybe he would be a bit more respectful knowing that Illya was armed. Then again, he would probably just complain about an armed Russian walking freely around his neighbourhood.

"He has nothing to do with this," Kuryakin said, indicating his neighbour. "You don't need him."

"He's a witness," Hallanzi replied. "Besides, he may be useful as leverage if you become too stubborn. His life is in your hands, Kuryakin, and that includes throughout this journey. Try anything and I will not hesitate to kill him."

For the rest of the journey no one in the car spoke a word. Illya sat silently in the front passenger seat and ran through possible escape scenarios in his mind. In the back seat, Casey was frozen with fear, unable to take his eyes from the gun being aimed at him.

…

After establishing that Illya's communicator was in, or at least, near to his apartment, Solo was dispatched to determine why it wasn't being answered. Arriving at the building, he looked up to Illya's windows and saw that there were no lights on. It was feasible, of course, that the man had gone out somewhere since the communicator had been traced, but Napoleon's gut was telling him something different. If he had gone elsewhere, he would have taken the communicator with him.

Despite knowing with almost absolute certainty that Illya wasn't there, Solo went up to the apartment. At the very least, there could be a clue as to Illya's whereabouts. As expected, however, he found the place empty, and there was no evidence anyone had been there since Illya had gone on assignment four weeks previously. Assembling his own communicator he opened a channel to his partner's device. Napoleon wandered around the apartment, listening out for the familiar chirruping, but all he could hear was the traffic in the street below, and the sound of a television from the apartment above.

Switching channels, Napoleon asked HQ for another trace on Illya's communicator, only to be told that it was definitely somewhere in his location. As it was clear that it wasn't in the apartment, Solo had no choice but to search the corridors and stairwells between there and the street. It wasn't until he stepped out into the open air of the street that he heard the sound he was wanting to hear.

Following the sound to a nearby trashcan, Napoleon found the communicator, along with Illya's gun.

…..

Following a two hour journey, Illya and Jed were brought to a large building, which was quite some distance away from any other. The building was surrounded on all sides by high walls, and there were armed guards on the only way in or out. As the car drove into the compound, Illya took a careful note of everything; from the number of people he could see to the types of vehicles parked off to one side. When his escape came, he would need to know the layout of the area.

When the car came to a stop, the two captives were ordered out and were unceremoniously marched into the building.

"I will get us out of this," Illya whispered from the side of his mouth. "Stay alert, and be prepared to follow my lead when the time comes."

"Quiet!" Hallanzi yelled.

Reaching the end of a corridor, the German instructed one of his men to take Casey to a cell. Illya was taken off in the other direction. Jed, who was already scared, suddenly felt a terror he hadn't known for a long time. He'd served with the army during the Second World War, and he had spent most of it in a state of fear. Not that he would ever have admitted to that. This whole situation was bringing back the feeling of helplessness he had known back then. As the cell door slammed closed, Jed wondered if he would ever see his wife and son again.

…

The room Illya was taken to was nothing more than a bare concrete box, with a floor to ceiling post in the centre. The post had iron shackles attached to it for a prisoner's neck, wrists, and ankles. Illya was pushed against it, back first, and the neck and ankle shackles were fastened on to him. With his hands already behind him, the wrists shackles were left empty.

Hallanzi unsheathed a knife, which was hidden beneath his trouser leg, and deftly cut the jacket, shirt, and undershirt from Illya.

"I fully intend to torture you for U.N.C.L.E. secrets, but that will wait for another time," Hallanzi said, leaning close to his captive. "But for now, you are going to pay for the mess you have created for me. Central will blame me for the destruction you perpetrated, and O am not prepared to let you get away with it."

Jutting his chin out in defiance, Illya braced himself for the torment he was about to endure. It wasn't going to be easy but he was determined not to let his captor break him.

His suffering lasted for a full hour.

From the minute he had dismissed the guards from the room, right up until he sent Illya to the cell, Hallanzi didn't utter a single word. He quietly, and methodically, used his knowledge of torture techniques to inflict as much pain as he could to his victim, without causing any permanent damage.

The German was careful not to allow his immense anger to inform his actions. He'd seen too many of his colleagues get sloppy and make mistakes when they allowed emotion to affect them. The only change in Hallanzi's dispassionate demeanour was the whisper of a smile which crossed his lips when he finally got Kuryakin to cry out.

….

Jed stared in horror as Illya was thrown into the cell with him. The Russian's face and torso were now a mess of bruises, burns, and cuts. He was left lying on his side, with his hands still cuffed behind him, and he was very still. Casey couldn't tell if the man was dead or just unconscious.

From the moment they had been snatched from the street, Casey's mind had been reeling over just who his neighbour was. He'd never liked the man simply because, as a Russian he deemed him to be his foe, but now things seemed worse than he'd thought. Casey had no way of knowing what Illya did for a living, and hadn't really cared enough to enquire, but he'd always figured it as something nefarious. Given the obviously powerful enemies Kuryakin had, this opinion had been galvanised. Whatever crap the guy was involved in, Casey was willing to bet that it was far from legal.

Illya groaned as he returned to consciousness. He opened his eyes and found Jed staring at him. He'd almost forgotten about his co-captive, and inwardly groaned that he had been caught up in everything. Thankfully, the man appeared to be unhurt. For all he disliked him, Illya didn't actually wish him any real harm. Casey's attitude was a result of his upbringing. Had he found himself living and working in Russia, Illya's countrymen would treat Casey just as badly as Casey treated him; probably a lot worse if he was being honest.

"Did they do anything to you?" he gasped, as he tried to move.

"No. No thanks to you! What did you get me involved in?"

"If I could have done anything to prevent Hallanzi from bringing you, I would have," Illya told him, as he struggled onto his knees, biting back a yelp of pain. "You are a complication I really could have done without."

Wincing as his body reminded him of the torture he had just endured, he slipped the hidden lock pick from the heel of his shoe and swiftly removed the cuffs from his wrists. He allowed himself a brief time to stretch the life back into his shoulders, before releasing Casey.

"If you want to survive this, you must do everything I tell you," he warned.

"Just who are those guys?" Casey demanded. "And why should I trust you?"

"They are the people from whom I stole the plans for a devastating weapon," Illya snarled back. "And honestly, you don't have to trust me. However, I am your only chance of getting out of here alive, and if you do anything which causes me to fail, I will be even less happy than I am now."

Casey opened his mouth to tell Kuryakin just what he thought of him, but was stopped in his tracks by the man's icy blue glare. He'd never seen such a terrifying look of pure steel. There was also an edge to his voice which promised retribution if his instructions were ignored.

….

"We may have a lead, Mr Solo," Waverly told his CEA as the younger man entered the office.

After his discovery of Illya's equipment, Napoleon had relayed the find to Mr Waverly. The Old Man had ordered his CEA back to headquarters so that they could begin to build some sort of strategy.

"You have more than I do then," Solo replied, sitting down at the circular table.

Napoleon was trying not to let his concern show, but it wasn't easy. Illya was missing and he had no way of knowing where he was, or how to go about finding him.

"Witnesses reported seeing a blond haired man, and a dark haired man, being bundled into a vehicle, by three men with guns," Waverly explained, pushing a file round to Napoleon. "The dark haired man has been identified as one Jed Casey."

"That's Illya's neighbour," Solo told his boss. "They have had a few run-ins in the past over Illya's Communist roots."

Mr Waverly chewed on the end of his pipe. It was a clear indication to Napoleon that his boss was far from happy. Having an agent in danger was one thing, but now there was an innocent involved.

….

Illya had picked the lock of the cell with practiced ease and was leading Casey through the corridors of the building they were being held in. He had no idea of the full layout but, thanks to Hallanzi not bothering to blindfold him, he knew where the building was located. If he could get them both out of the building, Illya figured that they could get away quite quickly.

"Keep a watch behind us," he instructed. "I can't look in two directions at once."

"What did that guy mean earlier when he said I could be used as leverage?" Casey asked, as he followed closely behind Illya.

"Hallanzi was planning on torturing me for information about the company I work for," the agent explained. "He would have eventually realised that I would not give them anything, so they would have threatened to torture you to get me to comply. They know I would not allow any harm to come to you."

"But you hate me. Why would you not just let them do what they want?"

"Being tortured in the line of duty is part of what I get paid for," Illya told him, peering around a corner before stepping into the next corridor. "Another part is protecting you and getting you to safety. Now, please be quiet before you draw attention to us."

They carried on in silence, quickly making their way to the next turn. A guard suddenly rounded the corner they had just come from and called for them to halt. Illya immediately positioned himself in front of Casey and whispered for him to find a way out.

"What are you going to do?" he hissed back.

"Buy you time to escape. Go! Now!"

Jed hesitated slightly, but did as Illya instructed. He had only just reached the door when he heard a gunshot ring out, causing him to duck involuntarily. Turning back, he watched in astonishment as Kuryakin punched the guard into unconsciousness. He would never have thought a little runt like that would have it in him. Especially when you took into consideration the heavily bleeding bullet wound in his side. Casey ran back to his neighbour, arriving just in time to catch him as he fell.

Casey lifted Illya and half carried, half dragged him out of the building. Once outside, Illya told him to aim for the vehicles he had seen when they'd come in. The first one they came to was a Buick Invicta Convertible, and Casey deposited Illya in the back seat. Jumping into the front, he expertly hot-wired the engine and roared away; breaking through the wooden gate of the compound.

"Stay off the main roads," Illya gasped, as he tried to put pressure on his wound. "And keep a look out for a telephone."

They travelled for twenty minutes, taking as many turns as possible, before a telephone was found outside a gas station. Casey pulled up as close to the telephone as possible so that Illya wouldn't have to go far. He tried to listen in on the call, but the injured man spoke too quietly. The few words he did pick up seemed to be in code.

…

Mr Waverly was on the telephone, trying to get any information he could about the abduction of his agent. None of the eye witnesses had taken notice of the licence plate. Four of them had given a description of the vehicle, but all four were entirely different. Across the room, his CEA was pacing. The man was a master strategist, but that meant nothing if he had nothing to strategise with.

The door to the office opened and Lisa Rogers entered. Seeing that Mr Waverly was on the telephone, she handed to note she was holding to Napoleon.

"Sir!" he called out as he read the words written on the paper.

Alexander Waverly, responding to the urgency in Solo's voice, immediately ended the phone call and took the note.

"Take the helicopter," he instructed, as he picked the telephone up once again. "I'll send send medics up to meet you. Bring him home, Mr Solo."

…

"Help is coming," Illya told Casey after hanging up. "It shouldn't be too long. I've given our location, so we just need to wait here. Keep your eyes open for a helicopter."

His strength was waning fast, and he could feel his life slipping from him. Lying down in the back seat of the vehicle, he closed his eyes. They opened again when he felt something being draped over him. It turned out to be Casey covering him with his jacket.

"You were shivering," the American explained, with a shrug.

"Thanks."

"What was the weapon?" Casey asked, in an attempt to keep Illya conscious.

During the war, he had sat with many men who were wounded. Some had lived, while others had died, but Jed had always felt that trying to keep them awake was the right thing to do.

"Terrible weapon," the Russian replied, his voice beginning to fade. "It would kill so many. So many."

"How?"

"Ultrasonic waves," Illya told him. "Set to a frequency which disrupts the human brain."

Casey was aghast. He was hardly a naïve man, and was well aware that the world was full of evil, but the weapon Kuryakin described was nothing short of diabolical.

"Is this what you do?" he asked. "You stop people like that from killing us all?"

"Da."

Illya finally lost his battle against unconsciousness and slipped into blissful darkness.

Jed stared at the man, who seemed to look so much younger than he had when conscious. Everything he was certain of had been turned on its head, and he was now facing a new reality. This man, who he had been told was his enemy, was actively working to protect people; even those who hated him. There were few things Jed Casey regretted in his life, but he was beginning to have second thoughts about everything he'd thought about Kuryakin.

For almost half an hour Casey watched the sky, looking for any sign of a helicopter. He was getting very concerned about the amount of blood Kuryakin was losing and spent the time pressing against the wound, in an effort stem the flow. Try as he might, Jed suspected his efforts weren't going to make any difference. Kuryakin was going to die.

Finally, the 'whump, whump, whump' of rotor blades could be heard and Jed tried to rouse the unconscious man. Illya groaned but didn't wake. As soon as the helicopter came in to view, Casey jumped out of the car and waved both arms at them. At the same moment, Max Hallanzi arrived, having scoured the countryside for the absconding pair. Jed froze on the spot, fully expecting to be shot down within the next few seconds.

He closed his eyes to await his fate. When several gunshots rang out, he felt certain he must have been hit, but could feel nothing. Jed opened one eye, and then the other, and was amazed to find he was unscathed. The same couldn't be said for Max Hallanzi. The German, and the three men with him, were all lying dead.

When the helicopter finally landed, the medics immediately got to work on Illya, while Napoleon called HQ for a clean-up crew. Casey stood motionless and watched with increasing bewilderment. Eventually, after dealing with business, Napoleon came over to him.

"Jed Casey?" he asked.

The other man nodded.

"Illya has told me a lot about you, Mr Casey," Napoleon continued. "None of it good."

"His opinion of me is well founded," Casey replied, seeming to recover himself. "I can't blame him for hating me. Especially as I have no real reason to hate him."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows in surprise. Whatever had happened to them both, it had certainly had an effect on Casey.

"I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that," Solo stated.

A signal from one of the medics let him know that they were ready to go. As they lifted Illya into the helicopter, Napoleon instructed Casey to get in. He hated leaving the bodies unattended, but he knew that HQ would have informed the local law enforcement of their presence. His priority was to get Illya back.

….

The familiar sounds and smells of medical greeted Illya as he returned to the world. As was customary, Napoleon was positioned in his usual chair by the bedside of his partner.

"Did you get Hallanzi?" Illya asked, his accent thickened by drowsiness.

"We did," Napoleon told him. "I won't bore you with the details right now but, rest assured, he is no longer a problem. Also, as a bonus, the facility he took you to was an unknown satrap. Section 3 are having fun taking it apart and rifling through anything they can find."

Illya smiled weakly. "At least something good came from it all."

"Maybe not the only thing."

Illya gave Napoleon a questioning look. He couldn't imagine that there was anything else which was remotely positive about the whole affair.

"Jed Casey," Solo stated, by way of explanation.

"I don't understand."

"He can't stop singing your praises," Napoleon explained. "Even though he's been debriefed, and is free to go, he insisted on talking to you before he left."

Illya didn't have any particular wish to see his annoying neighbour, but figured it would be better now than later.

"Give me an hour," he mumbled, as sleep began to take him. "I'm tired."

He was still dozing when Casey poked his head around the door. Napoleon, who had called security to bring him down, beckoned him in and offered up his seat.

"I'll be outside when you're done," Solo whispered him. "Don't take it personally if he wakes up grumpy. He isn't a fan of being in medical."

For a couple of minutes Jed watched the slow rise and fall of Illya's chest as he slept. Shifting his gaze, he was once again struck at just young and vulnerable his neighbour looked. The man seemed so far away from the demon he had always been warned about. When he had bumped into his neighbour, only a few short hours ago, he had felt nothing but contempt for him. Since then, his opinion had altered completely.

Illya began to stir into wakefulness and, momentarily forgetting his injury, gasped in pain as he stretched. The removal of the bullet had been fairly straightforward but, because of the location, it would still mean a stay of a few days in medical for him. The nurses were in for a difficult week.

"Mr Kuryakin?"

It took Illya a few seconds to comprehend who was speaking. He knew the voice wasn't Napoleon's, nor was it any of the medical staff. Opening his eyes, he realised the voice was actually that of his hateful neighbour.

"You have never addressed me as mister before," he mumbled.

"I didn't respect you before."

"And you do now?"

Casey truly did have a newfound respect, and admiration, for him. He had been witness to a tiny part of what the man did for the sake of world safety. That was the kind of thing which was impossible to ignore.

When the helicopter had returned to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, Illya had been whisked off to medical, while Casey was delivered to Alexander Waverly. The old Englishman had explained to Jed what the organisation did, and what Illya's part in it was. Without going into detail, Waverly had recounted several instances where Kuryakin had been directly responsible for saving thousands of lives.

"Let's just say I have seen things from a different side," Casey said in reply to Illya's question. "That doesn't mean I have changed my mind about your country. I just know, now, that I shouldn't judge a person because of his background."

Illya laughed, and then winced as the sudden move sent a wave of agony through his torso.

I have never been a believer in miracles," he said, after the pain had subsided. "But you have given me cause to question that."

"There's still one thing I don't understand."

Illya tried ignore the voice in the back of his mind which was telling him there was probably a great deal Jed Casey didn't understand. The thought was unfair and uncharitable, given the circumstances.

"What would that be, Mr Casey?"

"You told me that it was your job to get me to safety," Casey began. "Given how much crap I've given you while we've been neighbours, why did you even care if I was safe or not?"

"I don't care for you particularly," Illya replied "But it is my sworn duty to safeguard innocents, whoever they may be. Besides, I know from terrible experience what it feels like to lose your father at a young age. I have held less than favourable of opinions of you but, I would never knowingly leave your son without his father."

"How old were you?"

"I was eight," Illya replied, his voice beginning to slur with exhaustion.

Before Casey could ask anything else, Illya had drifted back to sleep. He left the room and found Napoleon waiting, as he said he would.

"Ready to go home?" Solo asked him.

"Er . . . yeah," Jed answered. "It's been long day."

"Okay, I'll arrange for someone to take you."

Napoleon escorted Jed to the exit and, before he left, warned him not to give away what had happened, or what Illya did for a living.

"I won't say a word," Jed replied earnestly. "Although, many people will notice a difference in my attitude towards him."

Napoleon smiled. Sometimes the smaller battles were more important than the big ones.

"Goodbye, Mr Casey," he said, as he shook the other man's hand. "Take care of yourself"

As the car pulled away from outside the unremarkable tailor's shop he had just come through, Jed Casey reflected on the day. It had been one filled with fear, yet he somehow felt more at peace with himself than he'd ever been.