It was still early when Illya arrived at the railway station and, although the morning frost had given, a chill remained in the air. He pulled his collar up over his ears as the cold air was stirred up by the incoming train. Back home the temperature would have been classed as balmy but, after a few years living outside of his homeland, he had grown soft.
Leaning against the wall, Illya scanned the train as it came to a complete stop. He knew his partner was on the train but had no idea of which carriage he had chosen. The package which Napoleon was carrying was extremely sensitive and was being sent on a convoluted journey to New York in an effort to confuse any pursuer. Illya was the last part of an eight man relay team, and it would be his job to get the package to its destination.
As many bleary-eyed travellers stepped from the train, Illya finally located Napoleon. The plan was for him to start walking away as soon as his partner spotted him. Solo would then brush past him and hand over the package unnoticed. However, Napoleon gave him their 'I'm being followed' signal. This let Illya know that the plan had changed. Several contingencies had been built in, thanks to Napoleon's gift for strategizing. Solo would still brush up against Illya, and make it look as though the package had been handed off. The Russian would then take the tail on a wild goose chase while Napoleon carried on to HQ.
As expected, the man following Napoleon switched his attention to Illya. He tailed the blond for over an hour around the streets and stores of the city. After he had deemed enough time had passed for Napoleon to get back to headquarters, Illya stopped allowing the man to see him, and disappeared into the crowds.
Arriving back at the office, it didn't take him long to discover that Napoleon had not made it back yet. He wasn't unduly worried. In all likelihood, Napoleon was probably taking a convoluted route. However, when he still hadn't shown up two hours later, worry set in.
"Has there been no communication from Mr Solo at all?" Waverly asked when Illya took his concerns to him.
"No," the Russian told him. "And there is no answer when we call him."
"Have you tried tracing the communicator?"
"That was my next course of action," Illya replied.
Flipping the necessary switch on his desk panel, Waverly ordered the trace. The communicator was quickly pinpointed to a warehouse a few blocks away. Illya didn't wait for the order from his boss, and was out of the building within minutes.
The warehouse appeared abandoned when Illya arrived, but he didn't allow his guard to drop. There were plenty of places an attacker could ensconce themselves. After parking the car as close to the building as he could, Illya drew his weapon and began a search of the building. His instinct was to call out to his partner, but he pushed it down. He didn't want to attract attention to himself, plus, he would feel like an idiot if Napoleon wasn't actually there.
For several minutes Illya's search was fruitless until, finally, he found what he was looking for. Napoleon was unconscious and, judging from the blood running down his face, he'd taken a heavy blow to the head. Patting his partner's face Illya urged him to wake up. He was soon rewarded with a groan.
"It would seem you had two followers," Illya commented, as he helped Napoleon to feet. "I assume they have managed to get the package."
Napoleon shook his head, and immediately regretted in.
"No," he replied. "I took a ten minute cab ride. I hid it down the back of the seat."
Illya tried not to show his exasperation.
"It will take an eternity to search every cab in this city," he complained.
"I may have been pushed for time, "Napoleon replied, "But I did take note of the cab's number."
Rather than wasting time tracking down the cab themselves, Napoleon relayed the information to HQ. He also decided that was still a risk he was being observed so instructed that Mark Slate should be sent to search the cab.
"Come on then IK," he said Illya, as he tucked his communicator away. "It's out of our hands now."
It was another two hours before Mark arrived with the package. Everyone involved breathed a sigh of relief as he brought it Mr Waverly's office.
"Thank you, Mr Slate," said Waverly, taking the small envelope from Mark. "It is astounding how something so small could cause such kerfuffle."
"Are we allowed to know the contents, Sir?" Napoleon asked.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Solo," the Old Man told him. "This is for continental chiefs only."
Napoleon shrugged. Many secrets were held at different levels within U.N.C.L.E. One day, he hoped to be the one who was privy to them all.