Napoleon Solo was a man with convictions. He cared deeply about people, both those he knew personally and the ones he tried to save from the factions he had battled for most of his adult life.
The Innocent. That peculiar individual, or group of individuals, who routinely cried out for help, either knowingly or in complete ignorance, and for whom Solo had endured torture, deprivation and near death.
The Command: the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Alexander Waverly's nearly mythical organization, dedicated to an altruistic journey of righting wrongs and protecting that aforementioned Innocent.
And then there was Solo's partner, the inscrutable Russian for whom he had risked his neck many times, and whose own skinny neck had been nearly sacrificed for Napoleon in their joint efforts to battle evil and try to preserve a dazzlingly successful partnership. Illya was Napoleon's friend, the only man outside of Waverly himself who dared look behind the façade of charm and sophistication to see the man who lived alone with his private fears; saw beyond the dizzying line of women and the seemingly carefree attitude.
Napoleon Solo feared only one thing: losing himself. He feared only one person: Napoleon Solo.
Illya found his partner sitting alone in the far reaches of Headquarters, nursing a cold cup of coffee as he stared down the remains of a file. Kuryakin couldn't read the name on the folder, was not particularly curious about it. He did need to take Napoleon back upstairs though, to a meeting to which they were now going to be late. It wasn't like the CEA of UNCLE Northwest to be so careless about anything to do with Waverly, and this manhunt to find him was as much a matter of concern as irritation for the Russian.
"Napoleon? What the devil are you doing down here? We have a meeting with … ' Napoleon looked up at his friend with a wave of apprehension. He didn't want Illya to read his mind today, something he was habitually doing in the past few years.
"I have been looking in all the right places, my friend. Why is it that I find you here, in the basement?"
Napoleon managed a smile, the one he used when masking his true thoughts. Illya would most certainly catch that, except for the lighting that tended to diffuse intentions.
"Sorry Illya. I .. Well, I just needed some time to think. You know… just one of those days." The look he gave his partner was something that Illya would think back on in the coming months. At the time it was measured against the need for them to get upstairs and report to the Old Man, but eventually… the look would be remembered for what it concealed.
"I suggest we talk later and move now. Mr. Waverly sent me in search of you, I doubt he will tolerate us being any later than it is." Neither man spoke as they climbed the stairs, emerging finally in the corridor of the ground floor, behind Del Floria's. They headed into the elevator and finally, thirty minutes after the meeting should have started, the two top agents of UNCLE Northwest, perhaps the entire organization, found their seats in front of Waverly and his pipe.
"Gentlemen … Mr. Solo, I'm so pleased you could make it.' The reprimand was direct and warranted. One did not make Waverly wait.
"You have in front of you a file on a certain individual, someone you may recall from a previous affair…' Solo and Kuryakin opened the files and perused the contents. Each of them, simultaneously, came to the name of the certain individual to whom Waverly alluded.
"I see by the looks on your faces that you do recognize Mr. Sully."
Yes, Napoleon recognized the man who had remained in Europe to play the part of a dead spy named Raymond. Sully had been enthusiastic about returning to the field at an age when most agents were retiring; he had, in fact, been semi-retired due to something not ever fully revealed to either Solo or Kuryakin.
"Is Sully still playing his role as Raymond? Why are …' And then it dawned on Napoleon why they were being called into this now.
"Ah, I see you have surmised the problem, Mr. Solo. Perhaps your lateness is not necessarily indicative of your ability to perceive your assignment at least." Illya flinched slightly at the second reference to Napoleon's infraction of the rules. For his part, Solo never blinked, only smiled again that same guileless smile.
"I am assuming that our friend Mr. Sully has taken on his role rather too well then?" Waverly was nodding, his unlit pipe resting in his fingers. "Yes, and he has proven himself to be very good as playing against type, as it were. He is now heading up a syndicate of mobsters who have taken on the left wing factions that were formerly attempting to disrupt several governments. They are no longer a problem, but … ' Waverly's eyebrows shot up as his eyes became large and animated… "Mr. Sully, or Raymond, has made himself a target of not only those deposed factions but of THRUSH as well.
"You are both to go to London and persuade Sully to step down from this impersonation and close up shop. Immediately. He is to cease this charade and come back to New York where he will be … Just bring him back.' Waverly pulled out some airline tickets and pushed them towards his agents.
"These are you tickets. First class, but don't expect it to happen again. Good-bye gentlemen, and good luck. And don't come back without Sully."
Napoleon managed to look at Illya as they rose from their seats, the expression on the blond's face a little less stony than usual. This was going to be an odd assignment, and probably not an easy one.
Three hours later they were in the air. Illya noted with some concern that Napoleon did not spend any time flirting with the stewardesses. It was not uncommon to sleep on the flights back to New York, but rarely did Solo miss an opportunity to make a date when heading away from home. It seemed to make him feel less restless if he knew there would be a woman waiting for him at the end of the affair, and he made the dates in advance of the danger he regularly courted. It was almost as though having the certainty of a date with one of these women made him even more determined to survive.
Illya considered all of this in a matter of a few minutes, although in truth he had concocted this theory several years previous. Working with Napoleon Solo had been an education of sorts, although nothing like the schooling he had endured in pursuit of his degrees at Cambridge and the Sorbonne. Physics, both theoretical and otherwise, paled in comparison to analyzing someone like Napoleon.
"I feel you watching me, you know." Napoleon wasn't sleepy, he just wasn't up to being charming. Something about it was making him feel old lately.
"I apologize, it's just that you don't normally nod off on the first flight out. Are you all right, Napoleon?" Illya was genuinely concerned about his friend, and with several hours before reaching Heathrow, he decided to risk the expected rebuttal and delve a little deeper.
Napoleon wanted to have this discussion, but something about his partner's loyalty to Waverly and all things UNCLE made him hesitate. How could he explain what he was feeling? Nearing forty years old and with the prospect of leaving the field, of assuming the process of preparing for Section I … his mind wouldn't settle down long enough to think of a way to broach the subject with Illya. Better to just let it go until later.
"Nothing serious, tovarisch, just a little tired I guess. I wonder how Sully will react when he sees us?" A change in subject would do nicely to get Illya off of this trail.
"I expect he will be unhappy to see us, especially when he understands our mission. I just hope … "
Napoleon knew what was next. Sully might not want to give up being Raymond.
"Yeah, me too."
The agents got through customs and were sitting in a taxi bound for Sully's business office in Saville Row. It was a strange turn of events that had transformed the slightly dowdy ex-agent into a man of considerable grace and, judging by the office space, good taste. The interior of the reception area was furnished in expensive modern furniture, and Illya noticed an original Picasso hanging next to a door that was clearly the office of Raymond/Sully.
"Excuse me sirs, may I help you?" the pretty receptionist was most anxious to do her job of receiving. Napoleon obliged her with a smile on his face that caused her to blush.
"Why, yes you can. We're here to see Mr. Raymond. He isn't expecting us, but …'' Just then the door to Raymond's office opened to reveal the man himself.
"Is that you, Mr. Solo? Please… oh, and you Mr. Kuryakin.' The two agents exchanged knowing looks while Sully addressed his receptionist.
"Patty, luv, please hold all of my calls while I chat with my old associates. Gentlemen…" With his arm pointing the way, Sully invited Solo and Kuryakin into his office.
"Sully …' At the glower on the other man's face, Napoleon amended his greeting. "Raymond… I see you've done quite well for yourself."
Illya was uncomfortable with this development. Sully was only supposed to infiltrate the group that had been conspiring to disrupt governments with their violent plans. Instead, it appeared that he had been building a small empire.
"What do you two want? I'm successful here, I've done what we agreed needing doing. I want you to leave, and tell Waverly that I'm not his employee any longer. I have a life here, and I'm doing just fine."
Napoleon was surprised but never completely taken off guard. He'd seen too much, heard too many stories from the good guys and the bad. Sully, or Raymond, was no different. He just wanted to live his life and be left alone. Too bad, it was unlikely he'd get his wish.
"Sully, you are consorting with criminals. Why did you think that UNCLE wouldn't find out?" Sully sat back in his chair, the leather creaking as he did so.
"I'm just bilking the criminals. No one gets hurt except the bad guys, so what does it matter to Waverly? I'm not leaving here, so you might as well just head back to New York and tell the old man that I'm glad we met but … No thanks."
Illya had refrained from saying anything until now. He was unable to ascertain how Sully had arrived at this lunacy.
"Mr. Sully … Raymond … You are in the midst of some very dangerous people. If we found out about your scheme and have followed the trail back to you, how is it that you think you will escape from the people whom you have, as you put it, bilked? They will come looking for you, and judging by this office, they will find you."
Sully shook his head. These people had never understood him, had never truly believed he was capable of succeeding. Now that he was at the top all they wanted to do was bring him down. He wouldn't allow it.
"No. The answer is no. I am staying where I am, doing what I've been doing. And, I might add, I've done it without any help from UNCLE." Napoleon was shaking his head, disbelieving the conversation.
"Sully, what you've done is illegal. The people you deal with are criminals, fugitives from the law; the contraband you contract for is also illegal. You're breaking the laws of several countries, and UNCLE wants you to stop. If you don't…' The threat hung in the air for several minutes.
Sully looked around his office at the walnut cabinets that lined the walls, the aubusson carpet beneath the furniture. He had accumulated some very fine things in the past four years, and without thinking his eyes went to the photograph on his desk. Napoleon saw it too.
"Bryn… are you and she…?" Sully's face went nearly ashen.
"No. She didn't like the direction this was going; she called it my masquerade. I couldn't give it up, though, not even for Bryn." Illya snorted in disgust at that.
"You are a fool, Sully. Bryn was correct and you should have heeded her advice. She was the only thing worthwhile in this entire gambit."
Napoleon was surprised at his partner's outburst, it was unlike him to be so demonstrative of his opinions. He was right, though. Sully was a fool for letting Bryn Watson get away. And all of it for what? This life of intrigue and deception was not worth…
"Mr. Waverly wants you to drop everything here, leave it and return to New York. There are no other options, no point in your continuing on with this act. It's over Sully."
"You really don't get it, do you Solo. Or you either, Illya. I have something here that makes me feel … alive. I'm in control of something that determines the course of financial institutions and even a few countries. I am Raymond, and I am the master of my own destiny." His face was red from the emotional upheaval, but one thing was certain: Sully wouldn't give this up without a fight. The question was, were the two UNCLE agents expected to put up that fight, and to what degree?
"Mr. Waverly is willing to expose you, Sully. You'll be ruined anyway once your compatriots, and your victims, find out that you've been a fraud all along. Are you willing to face that?"
Sully was angry but not yet defeated. He understood that rules had been broken, vague boundaries of ethics and legalities tampered with in pursuit of what he now embraced. But, what good would it do to ruin him?
"Why? Why must I quit doing what I'm doing if it has no bearing on UNCLE's business? Why risk everything that I have done for the sake of … what is it? Territorial imperative of some sort? Tell Waverly that I reject his ultimatum. I am willing to risk it, because I have enough allies who don't care what my real name is. Sully or Raymond, they like doing business with me. Tell Waverly 'No'."
Napoleon started to say something but Illya's hand on his arm stopped the tirade. It was useless, the man's mind was set.
"Let us depart, Napoleon. We have delivered the message and the warning. The only thing left to do is wait for the eventualities that will surely come.' Illya looked at Sully, his memory of their first meeting and the subsequent trip here to London, of Bryn… all of it flooded him before he finally said goodbye.
"Good luck, Sully. Goodbye." Napoleon took Illya's lead and rose from his chair, turning once more to look at the man they had come to London to retrieve.
"You'll live to regret this decision Mr. Sully. Sooner or later you're going to wish you'd done the right thing. Goodbye."
Both men turned away and towards the door. Mr. Waverly had said to not come back without Sully. Surely the old man hadn't expected cooperation on the part of their target.
Sometimes there was failure to contend with. Sometimes there was a little disillusionment on the job. Napoleon mused on the Sully situation as the plane lifted into the air on its return trip to New York. Illya seemed to be upset still with their lack of success; perhaps more so because Sully could have had a life with Bryn but had chosen, instead, the false identity to which he had grown accustomed.
Sitting in the plane, not interested in flirting with the stewardesses or people in general, Napoleon caught a glimpse of his friend deep in thought.
'Why am I hanging on to something that will most likely get me killed? I need to talk it over with Illya, clear the air. Maybe he's thinking the same thing…'
On the edge of discovery is a perilous place to be. Illya turned to look at his friend, the one who regularly saved his life or needed saving. Something was different, and he didn't know just how to interpret this new mood of Napoleon's.
Solo looked into the Russian's eyes, and he saw it. He saw the apprehension, the doubt. For possibly the first time in their partnership, Illya had doubts about Napoleon, and it showed.
"Is there something that you wish to tell me, Napoleon?"
"What? No, well, maybe that the blond stewardess up there would like for you to ask her out." The sly wink and ready smile were back.
The masquerade was still on.