The 'Don't I Know Your Brother?' Affair – Part I

Napoleon was scowling at the telephone on his desk. Illya, his at times almost excessively punctual partner, was more than two hours late getting to work. Worse, Illya had just flown back from an assignment lending a hand to the Paris branch last night and from all appearances, had never made it out of the airport. Napoleon was still holding out the hope that the wily Russian had spotted something suspicious and altered his expected route. But even if that had been the case. he would have expected Illya to be here first thing. Or at least call to let them know what was going on. Hence his dirty looks in the direction of his telephone.

Then, the intercom and a demand for him to report to Mister Waverly's office on the double. That mixed with the empty chair in the office gave him a sinking feeling as he got to his superior's office as quickly as he could without running. The tense look on the face of Miss Rogers, Mister Waverly's secretary, was all that was needed to send him into the office without knocking.

Mister Waverly waved Napoleon over with the hand holding his briar pipe as he spoke to the speaker on his desk.

"Mister Solo is present. Please begin again if you would so that he can hear what you have to say."

"Certainly, sir. My apologies for the rather melodramatic call, but I believe you have an agent missing."

Napoleon frowned a bit. The voice was firm, female and delicately accented with British tones as well as a hint of Russian. Not a voice he recognized though. He realized that Mister Waverly had been watching his face to see if there was any recognition before he spoke again.

"Might I ask you how you got this number?"

"From Ill… Mister Kuryakin. While I don't have all of the details, I can explain what has happened, sir. But not over the phone. I would prefer to meet Mister Solo face to face for this. In person, I can prove to him what I am saying is the truth."

The two men exchanged a glance. Napoleon pointed to the speaker, then to himself and Waverly nodded his approval.

"Can't we speak with Mister Kuryakin directly?"

"I sincerely wish that you could. However, he can only speak to you through me for now."

"And how are we to know that this isn't a trap?"

"If you are not comfortable meeting me alone, Mister Solo, I could also accept the presence of Agents Dancer and Slate."

Mister Waverly's eyes narrowed and Napoleon winced internally for his partner. Not only did this woman have Waverly's name and number, but the names of at least four of his agents. Illya would be lucky not to be shipped back behind the Iron Curtain. His voice had an edge of ice as he spoke again.

"Agreed. Noon. Pier 25. How will we know you?"

"I will know you."

The click ended any other question. Though Napoleon might have bet money that it wasn't possible, Mister Waverly's scowl grew deeper.

"Miss Rogers. Contact Agents Dancer and Slate. Tell them to report to Mister Solo's office immediately."

His eyes then fixed on Napoleon.

"I don't believe that I need to tell you that Mister Kuryakin had best have a very, very good explanation for all of this. Report back to me as soon as the meeting had been concluded. And if at all possible. I want this woman brought in for debriefing to see what other information Mister Kuryakin might have given her."

"Yes sir."

Napoleon exited quickly before Waverly decided to ask for Illya's head on pike. Mark and April were already at his office by the time he got there himself. Closing the door, Napoleon quickly filled them in on what little he knew.

Mark let out a low whistle.

"I'm surprised the old man's pipe didn't burst into flame from the heat he was putting out."

Shaking her head, April leaned forward in her chair.

"There's something very wrong. I can't imagine Illya giving out that much correct information even under torture. And you're sure you didn't recognize the voice?"

"Yes, I'm positive I didn't recognize the voice, but at the same time? There was something that struck me as familiar. Her accent reminded me of Illya's. That British with Russian undertones."

"Hold on... do you think that T.H.R.U.S.H. managed to get their hands on one of Illya's relatives?"

"I wish I knew, Mark. Hopefully we'll get some answers in about an hour. April and I will be out and obvious. I want you ready as backup. Now, let's get going. I want a good look over the area before the meet."

It was decided that Mark would drive himself to the area so that he wouldn't be seen with Napoleon and April. It was still half an hour until the appointed time as April took Napoleon's arm and they began to stroll.

"Quite the variety of people out here. Other than female, no clue what our mystery lady looks like?"

"Nothing. Not age, not height, not hair color. She said she'd know us."

"You'd about stand out in this group by not standing out. Pink hair, mini-skirts. And there's a woman that looks like she could be Twiggy's older sister."

Napoleon gave a glance over to the thin woman wearing a diagonally striped yellow and black mini dress as well as a vibrant yellow floppy hat.

"Yes, very stylish, I'm sure. But I prefer a woman with a bit more meat on her bones."

It was almost as if the woman heard them, because her eyes suddenly fixed on Napoleon and she started over. April frowned a bit.

"Turn off the Solo charm, dear. We don't have enough leeway in time for you to add to your little black book."

Napoleon was about to make a remark back to April when the woman stopped suddenly about ten feet from them. Holding up the brim of her floppy hat, she began to look around, stopping after a short search. April followed the woman's line of vision and froze, giving Napoleon's arm a squeeze to signal him. The woman was looking directly to where Mark had positioned himself.

The woman quirked a smile noting April's expression, dropped her hand down from the brim of her hat and carefully moved closer. There was something about the woman's stride that was off. Napoleon frowned a bit. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that wasn't exactly right.

"Early. Must be April's influence. Can we please go somewhere a bit less open? I do not know if I was followed. I do not think I was, but this dress would be hard for them to miss even at a distance."

"Then why did you wear it? And you can call me Miss Dancer. You are?"

The face, still in shadow from the brim of the floppy hat, turned toward her and April got the slightly annoying sensation that the woman was a bit amused by what she'd said. The tone of the woman's voice confirmed that amusement, though the voice also had a languid quality to it. As if the woman were bored – or possibly exhausted.

"I was not given a choice. It was wear this or nothing...Miss Dancer. And... and you would not believe me."

The woman looked up and they got their first decent look at her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes had the same icy blue tone as Illya's. That struck them about the same time. It also struck them that she was looking slightly ill and not quite steady on her feet. Napoleon was immediately concerned - this was possibly his only lead to finding his partner. He offered her a hand. Maybe that was what had been off on the woman's walk?

"Let's go sit you down out of the sun. Then we'll have a long talk."

After a hesitation, the hand was accepted and he could feel the tremor running though her body, but he could also feel the firm muscles beneath that soft skin. This was not a hand unused to work.

"Sorry... sorry. I do not know exactly what they did to me, but the side effects are many."

April gave Mark the signal to join them, then the four of them walked like two couples heading for lunch, the thin blonde keeping a tight hold on Napoleon's arm for more than just the sake of appearance. All three agents were looking for signs of a trick, but if the woman wasn't really weak, she was an actress that belonged on Broadway. Napoleon led the group to a place he knew of nearby where for a few dollars slipped to the bartender, they could get a little privacy along with a cool drink.

Once in the back room, the woman accepted both a chair and a drink gratefully. Even the little matters of how she sat in the chair and how she picked up the drink were striking Napoleon as wrong somehow. All of these little nagging inconsistencies weren't helping his impatience in the least. Napoleon didn't wait for her to set the glass back down to start his questioning.

"Now, let's get down to this, shall we? You requested to see me face to face to explain this, so start explaining. I want my partner back."

"I am not quite sure where to begin, but believe me, I want you to have your partner back more than you do."

"I doubt that."

The woman took a long drink, eyes flickering briefly from Mark to April before focusing on Solo.

"Tovarich... I am you partner."