When he'd been called to Mr Waverly's office, the very last person Illya would have expected to find there was his Commander from the Russian navy.
"Admiral Volkov?"
"Lieutenant Kuryakin, it's good to see you again."
The Admiral's accent was very thick and he was only using English in deference to the other two men in the room. Alexander Waverly and Napoleon Solo watched Illya closely. Both men knew that the Admiral's presence would not be welcomed. Volkov held his hand to shake Illya's, but the younger man ignored it.
"I am not a lieutenant," he stated, before sitting down on the opposite side of the large, round table.
"My apologies, Illya Nickovitch," Volkov conceded, choosing to ignore the snub.
"May I ask what is going on Sir?" Illya asked, as he turned to Mr Waverly.
The Old Man gestured for the Admiral to sit down, and then told Illya that the older Russian had an offer for him.
"I am here to tell you that the rank and position of captain in our navy is yours," Volkov announced. "We will give you two weeks to tie up your affairs here, then we will welcome you back to your home."
"My home is here."
"I realise you have an affection for America, but it is very much misplaced," the Admiral told him abruptly. "This is a place of vice, both secret and open. You should not be exposed to such decadence"
Illya glanced at Napoleon and could see that his friend was bristling. Solo tried to send a telepathic message to his partner; attempting to let him know that he had his back.
"I will always be tied to Mother Russia," Illya countered. "My heart is bound with chains I never want to break. However, America has given me more than Russia ever can. I have freedom, I have relative security and I have meaning."
"Freedom?!" Volkov spat. "What freedom do you have? Your life is at the beck and call of U.N.C.L.E."
Illya lost patience. He stood and began pacing. Napoleon kept a close eye on him; he'd seen Illya in this state before. He could do anything in this frame of mind and Solo wanted to make sure he was ready to stop a fist fight, if it happened.
"You want me at your beck and call instead?" he growled in the direction of the Admiral. "I swore my life to UN.C.L.E. and will gladly give it when the time comes."
"You owe your life to Russia!"
"The only person I owe my life to is Napoleon! He has saved it more times than I care to count," Illya was becoming angry. "I love my country, and dearly wish to see her again. Unfortunately, I probably never will. The life, the friends and the freedoms I have here, have more of a hold on me than my home has. I have nothing left there to go back to."
"What about your loyalty to Russia? America has made you prideful and self-indulgent."
Illya dropped his head sadly, before storming out of the room. Napoleon jumped up and followed him.
"Tovarisch," he called out.
Illya stopped and turned back to his friend. Napoleon had never seen an expression like the one Illya was wearing. All at once he looked angry, upset, mournful and embarrassed.
"Why did Waverly let him in here?" Illya demanded.
"Diplomacy," Napoleon replied. "For what it's worth, I made it clear that I was against him being here. However, he is a representative of your government and we need to keep the peace. You should also know, before you came in, the Old Man told Volkov that the decision was entirely yours and he wouldn't interfere."
"Does he want me to go?"
"What do you think?" Napoleon said, with a laugh. "He doesn't want to lose his second best agent."
That brought a smile to Illya's face. "Let me guess who the first is."
"Come on chum," Solo encouraged. "Go and send the Admiral back to the Motherland."
"Call me suspicious Napoleon, but I don't believe his offer to be genuine."
"Me neither," Napoleon agreed. "I have the feeling that, if you go back, you'll never be heard of again."
"I also suspect that this won't be the last we hear of Admiral Volkov."
"Don't worry Tovarisch. He won't get this close again, if I can help it."
The two men re-entered the office. Napoleon returned to his seat while Illya stood in front of Volkov, with his arms folded.
"Russia will always keep me a prisoner in my mind, but I will not be returning," he stated. "I am declining the offer of a captaincy and I would appreciate it if you did not make the offer again. If you don't mind, I have date in a couple of hours and we will be enjoying an evening of western vice and decadence. Mr Waverly, please excuse me. Good evening, Napoleon. Da Svidanya, Admiral."
With that, he walked out of the office with much more dignity than the last time. Waverly found himself struggling not to smile. He really didn't like the pompous Admiral and was quite proud of the way young Kuryakin had dealt with him. Napoleon was openly grinning while Volkov was apoplectic with rage.
"This is not the end of this Waverly," he snarled.
"Mr Kuryakin seems to have made his decision," Mr Waverly replied calmly. "Mr Solo, would you kindly escort the Admiral to his car and ensure he leaves the premises."
As soon as he was on his own, Mr Waverly allowed himself a small smile. He was in no doubt that Volkov would rear his head again, but he had faith that his resident Russian would take it in his stride. To be on the safe side though, he would have a dossier drawn up of the Admiral. Kuryakin would probably need all the help he could get.
The end.