Napoleon Solo didn't relish playing the sex game for work, but sometimes he was called on to seduce an enemy agent. If anyone in the Command could be relied upon for the task it was almost unilaterally accepted that Solo was the man for the job.
Unless the woman hated Americans, detested smooth talking Romeos and had already killed a man who looked disarmingly (and disturbingly), very much like Napoleon. Alexander Waverly was hesitant to proceed on the path being laid before him and his agents, but he had no choice in the matter as of today.
"Ahem, Mr… um.. Kuryakin…' The bushy eyebrows rose up nearly to his hairline as the Old Man addressed his Soviet agent.
"You are going to be the man who must bring us Natasha Petrov. She is former KGB, recruited by THRUSH into their Eastern European operations. Miss Petrov has already assassinated two high ranking officials from Western nations, casting the suspicion on the USSR by those unaware of THRUSH and their heinous pursuit of world dominion. To be sure their greatest threat is the Soviet Union, and the use of agents like Petrov are a bold move from the Hierarchy."
Illya listened intently to his boss' narrative. He dreaded encountering this woman, she reeked of the worst aspects of his homeland. He himself had been recruited by GRU, a less ominous, perhaps less murderous branch of the Soviet infrastructure. Working for UNCLE had helped him forget the constant intimidation that all agents faced when the penalty for failure was a gulag in Siberia, or worse.
"Sir,' He finally spoke up when it seemed opportune, "Do we have a current location on Miss Petrov?"
Waverly fussed with some papers before handing a report to Kuryakin.
"Here, look it over and discuss a plan with your, with ummm… Mr. Solo. I expect something by morning, your flight leaves for Vienna at seven tomorrow evening.' He paused to level a stern gaze at his men.
"Please be aware that this woman is deadly and without remorse for her actions. She is someone to fear, gentlemen, for her complete lack of morality. Be careful. That is all."
With that last word they were dismissed. Illya was holding onto the folder with a grip that would have defied anyone from demanding it. Napoleon felt both relieved and worried; he was accustomed to playing this part and, even though Illya was capable he wondered if his former life might possibly make him more vulnerable.
As the two strode through the corridors of UNCLE Headquarters, each man was considering the coming days. Illya would be staying in the same hotel as Natasha, hopefully making their meeting as natural as possible. Napoleon and a team of Section III agents would be monitoring the affair from another location, all in an effort to create a successful outcome to this harrowing mission.
Forty-two hundred miles later, courtesy of a non-stop flight from Kennedy to Vienna International Airport, found the UNCLE team preparing to disembark from the ten hour flight. Illya had continued to study the file on Petrov, finalizing his own identity as a professor of neurolinguistics at the University of Innsbruuck. His cover story had been thoroughly vetted and with the closest of scrutiny should still stand as true.
Illya would be heading for the Hotel Capr which was where Natasha was staying. It was a new establishment that had a manageable number of rooms on each floor, not more than twelve and on hers, only nine. She was traveling alone, something that drew less attention in 1965 than it would have in previous years. Her cover on this trip was as a book editor for a German publishing house. Like Illya, Natasha spoke several languages well, making her an unlikely target to be misled unless it was at the hands of someone like the Russian agent.
She was also, as Napoleon quickly pointed out, very beautiful.
"I wonder at a woman who looks like that and can kill you without remorse." He shook his head in bewilderment at the strange combination of beauty and ruthlessness.
"And yet you yourself are a capable assassin when need be. Surely a woman is just as capable as a man when it comes to such things." Illya said it with a straight face, unaware of the five pair of eyes staring down on him at such a cavalier statement. He looked up when no one responded to him.
"What? After everything we have each witnessed, how are you still amazed that there are bloodthirsty women willing to work for organizations such as THRUSH?" Matt Selman, one of the Section III agents, huffed out a disdainful breath of air.
"And for the Soviet Union as well, eh comrade?" Napoleon could have punched the guy. Instead he averted any bloodshed before they met Natasha by segueing into another thread of conversation.
"All right, so we agree that Natasha is dangerous. Now, before we head for our separate accommodations… ', Napoleon looked at his partner and leveled instructions with no room to wiggle.
"Be careful Illya. This woman is dangerous, and she has no remorse concerning the people she has killed. If she has the slightest notion…"
"She won't. I know her, or her type. As Mr. Selman so eagerly put forth, the Soviet Union does has its cadre of assassins, both male and female.' Matt colored slightly at the reference, slightly sorry now that he had made the comment.
"I was not KGB, as some have conjectured, but I know how they operate. Thank you Napoleon, but I assure you I will be fine. As always." He winked at that, hopeful alleviate any unnecessary anxiety on his behalf. Partners watched out for each other, but this mission was on him and his ability to seduce and disarm a dangerous assassin whose target might upset the balance of power should she succeed.
"I'll keep you informed, and you have the tracker on my glasses, yes?" Napoleon nodded.
"Okay then, off you go. We'll rendezvous at St. Stephen's Church tomorrow at four in the afternoon. That way you will have opportunity to entertain the lady, and I use that term loosely, later in the evening." Illya smiled at the inference.
"I shall see you tomorrow." With that illya turned and left. He would catch a taxi to the hotel, check in and begin his journey as Professor Ian Denham, linguist extraordinaire.
Natasha Petrov was a woman accustomed to being admired. Her beauty was undeniable, could be transformed into a hollywod star, or so she had been told. Of course that man was now dead, the idiot had defied THRUSH Central and attempted to set up his own empire in the hills above Los Angeles. She had taken great pleasure in luring him into the bedroom and then ending his life with the garrote. Natasha didn't hate men in general, just the ones who overlooked her superior abilities in most things.
She was watching people enter the hotel lobby when the blond arrived. He was bookish looking, but in a way that prompted her to unconsciously lick her lips; like a lioness waiting for prey, the lovely Natasha was immediately on the hunt for Illya. As he spoke with the desk clerk Illya was aware of the room, of people coming and going but, most particularly, of a dark haired woman with a striking resemblance to the actress Audry Hepburn. Natasha didn't look like an assassin, more someone's elegant hostess for an evening of canapés and champagne.
The two Russians took stock of one another without being obvious, and only Kuryakin knew the status of things at the moment. Hopefully Natasha would not uncover the ruse he was embarking on in order to bring her to justice.
"Thank you, Herr Denham. Please, let us know if you need anything more." The clerk was a pretty girl, blonde and blue-eyed, ready to be of help to the handsome professor.
"Danke, you have been most kind." He nodded his head in an appreciative manner, took a quick look around the room and let his eyes settle in a subtle way on Natasha, who was pretending to not look his way. Illya smiled, that timid smile he knew was like catnip to the women who waited patiently to receive it.
For her part, Natasha felt a sudden flush, something for which she immediately chastised herself.
'Nyet, not even for him Natasha.' The look he gave her was trademark Kuryakin; a cut of his eyes and the sharp profile was all it took to make Natasha want to know just who he was. His attention on her did not linger, it was a flash that only she measured as longer th an a few seconds. He was on his way before she shook herself back into the proper attitude.
Perhaps, she thought, I will simply find out who he is and what he is doing here. Dinner with him might be pleasant enough; after all, a girl had to eat.
Illya was satisfied that he had sparked a reaction in Natasha. He knew how the women talked about him, was more confident than his friend would ever know. Napoleon needed to be the reigning cock of the walk at Headquarters, and by rights he truly was. But Illya had been in many beds not his own, and had a trail of broken hearts behind him on more than one continent. He was not indiscriminate, but neither was he a monk.
UNCLE maintained an office in Vienna behind a bakery that produced traditional Austrian fare near St. Stephen's Church. As Napoleon walked through the little establishment he was taken in by the aroma of yeast and cinnamon, of coffee and just a hint of anise. Something wonderful was going on and he hoped they delivered to the staff behind the double doors marked Nur Angestellte (Employees Only).
Setting up a surveillance team involved equipment as well as personnel. Illya was being tracked by the homing device in his glasses. Matt Selman was registered in a little hostel across from Illya's hotel, allowing a view of everyone who entered or left that establishment. Napoleon and Neil Strotman would monitor from both headquarters and the field. Neil was a German national, therefore able to converse easily and mix in with the crowds around the target areas. Napoleon's German was passable but, once more, his partner's expertise in several languages was one of the reasons he was cast in the role of a linguistics professor.
Natasha was herself well educated and, as mentioned at the briefing, fluent in at least five languages. She would have an immediate affinity with Illya based on her background and interests. The field of neurolinguistics was related to the brain's reception of language, a trigger subject for the Soviet beauty. It wasn't a stretch to imagine her curiosity about a man fluent in languages and science. As of the current assignment, there really had been no other choice save Kuryakin.
"Neil, keep your ear to the task. As soon as Illya makes contact with Natasha we'll go and try to keep an eye on them. Matt is across the street, so he's in charge of watching the front door. Everyone else is back up for the take down as soon as we have her in the right spot." Napoleon left Neil to his job while he checked in with the chief of operations in the Vienna sector. Normally Harry Beldon would have been on hand to oversee this mission, but he was detained in Berlin by some business he hadn't shared with Waverly. It was odd, but then Beldon was an odd duck by any standard.
In his place was a man not of Napoleon's acquaintance. As he made his way to the office where Otto Lapinsky was tending to business, the only thing on his mind was wondering how Illya was getting along.
Natasha watched Illya go up the stairs to the second floor and then down the hallway. So, he was on her floor. That was … convenient. She considered the possibility that it was too much of a coincidence, but then she remembered his face and… No, he didn't look like a spy. There was just enough of the intellectual about him… Yes, just enough.
Illya walked down the hallway to his room, unlocking it with the hand not carrying his suitcase. He was traveling light, all the better to look like the short trip it was supposed to be. His story would be that Vienna was irresistible as he made his way to Innsbruck from London. All of his other belongings were already at his new flat near the University. Should Natasha want to go there it would be a trip already charted, the flat hastily furnished with everything a visiting professor might need.
Hopefully that trip would not be necessary. His job was to get her into a compromising situation in which her only recourse would be to give up the details of her assignment from THRUSH. Just how he intended to do that… He needed to meet her first. Without that connection he hoped for, the mission would fail.
It was still forty-eight hours away, the 'assignment' that had brought Natasha to Vienna. The man she was instructed to kill would arrive with an entourage on the day after tomorrow, and her role as a book editor from this politician's publisher would give her the entrance she needed. Once inside his circle her plan was to seduce him and get him alone, not a difficult task for someone of her talents. The man was a foe of THRUSH and all that it stood for, and his immediate demise was what Central wanted. They didn't care who was blamed, chaos was in their favor. Natasha would do her best to make as much trouble as she could.
First though, perhaps a little pleasure was in order. Natasha changed into something less literary, opting for a simple red sheath with a low cut back. Her figure was fit more than voluptuous, so that she easily slipped into the dress without needing a bra. She was bare legged, and her kitten heel shoes insured she wouldn't be too tall for the blond man she was stalking. She ran her fingers through her short hair, bit her bottom lip to plump it up and give it some color. She wore no make up, her skin was flawless and her eyelashes naturally long and full. This was the image of a woman who would appeal to the man she had seen in the lobby; her instincts about these things were flawless.
She had taken note of the room key as he took it from the desk clerk: 7. Natasha thought back to an assignment in Las Vegas and remembered that the number seven was lucky.
Illya was just getting out of the shower when someone knocked on the door. He hadn't ordered room service, and it didn't seem possible that … or did it? He went to the door with a towel wrapped low on his hips. He felt a ripple of anticipation go through him and without so much as a moment of indecision he opened the door to the lovely Natasha.
"Oh, hello, I… I thought you were room service. Please, forgive my… well, my lack of clothes." His smile was disarming and she believed that he was truly embarrassed. She feigned her own brand of reticence before diving into the reason she was his door.
"I am so sorry, do you … I mean should you…?"
"Get dressed? Perhaps, but I am very curious now to know what it is I can do for you." There was a twinkle in the blue eyes that very nearly made the worldly Natasha blush. Here was a man she couldn't bear to kill, and she was very glad no one had asked her to.
"Oh dear…(she giggled), I really am sorry. Um, well you see, the desk clerk mentioned that you are traveling alone, as am I. It seemed a pity that we should both eat alone, so… well, unless you're with someone…' She waited for an indication that he had a wife or a girlfriend, but nothing was forthcoming.
"I thought perhaps we could have dinner together, just two travelers who need to eat." The invitation was charming and entirely innocent seeming, if only Illya hadn't known the woman would just as likely kill him as serve him his meal.
He smiled at her and hitched his towel a little, something that seemed to cause a catch in Natasha's throat.
"That sounds like the best idea I've heard in days. I'm just in need of some clothes, and you look marvelous already. Give me a few minutes and we can meet downstairs. How does that sound?" She nodded her head and smiled.
"Yes, that sounds wonderful. Ich werde sehen Sie unten."
"Ja, ich freue mich darauf." And he was looking forward to it, more than he probably should.
Matt Selman spotted Kuryakin and the girl as they exited the Hotel Capri. The Russian had his arm around her waist, something that caused him to whistle in admiration.
"Well comrade, it looks like you're definitely the man for the job."
"Did you think he couldn't handle it, Matt?" Selman was surprised at the question, more so that he hadn't heard Napoleon enter the room.
"You need to be careful with Illya, he's more than competent for any job Mr. Waverly gives him." That was his partner, and Napoleon didn't like to think of any man on his team being less than respectful to him. That didn't keep him from watching with interest as Illya and Natasha walked towards the little cafe just down the block from the hotel.
"I think I'll take a walk myself, to check out Natasha's room. Let me know if they head back this way, okay?"
"Sure thing boss.' Matt nodded at Solo before adding,
"And I'm sorry about earlier. I respect Illya, I do. I just want you to know that." Napoleon appreciated it, but there was more.
"Maybe you ought to let him know that. Think about it.''
Napoleon made quick work of getting into Natasha's room, checking for surveillance and booby traps. If she was anything like his partner then she would know how to blow things up, something he wasn't going to oblige if he could help it.
It was a deft hand Napoleon used to lift garments, search through drawers and bathroom items. He found a spot to hide a microphone where she wasn't like to find it. Of course if she scanned the room for bugs it might not get past, but it was the best and latest from the UNCLE labs, so hopefully THRUSH wouldn't have caught up with the technology just yet. He finished his search, planted the bug and left just as surreptitiously as he had arrived.
Farther down the street, Illya and Natasha conversed in several languages as they ate a light meal. It was early still and chances were that they might find a spot later on for a midnight snack. They hit it off, and for a few hours the two spies were merely young people in search of romance. Natasha rarely had opportunity to simply be a woman, there was always the job. Her life had always been like that, first with the Soviets and now with THRUSH. She had seduced and left so many men that, being here now with Illya, whom she knew as Ian, Natasha almost felt innocent.
Illya could sense her vulnerability, something that both surprised and pleased him. He needed for her to trust him, to let him in long enough to be deceived regarding his intentions. And in thinking that way, he found himself chastising the spy for dealing so harshly with this lovely woman. She was a product of the system, just as he had been. The difference was that she was drawn in by THRUSH's empty promises, and he had been taken in by Alexander Waverly. That his fate seemed kinder only made him have a greater sense of guilt at what he was about to do.
The couple spent the evening exploring nightlife near the hotel, enjoying the perfect weather and the interesting crowds around them. Towards midnight it was beginning to feel inevitable that the two would land in one or the other's rooms. There was a palpable heat building between them, and Natasha began to feel slightly nervous about being with this man. He made her feel virginal and innocent, as though being with him might truly make her a woman for once.
Illya wanted to be in her room, among her things and close to whatever plans might be uncovered. He drew her to him, fitting her slight frame closer so that when he whispered in her ear the warmth of his breath sent shivers through her. She wrapped her arm around his waist just they reached the door of the hotel, seemingly pulling at him to hurry up the steps. She loosened her grip on him as she searched for her keys in the small bag she carried, giving them to Illya and looking up into his eyes in a way that made his heart race.
He had to make love to this girl, this… woman. Had she been abused as a child, had she suffered loss as he had? KGB was a brutal place for someone like Natasha; no wonder she had defected to THRUSH. He was beginning to know her, to understand her. That was dangerous for him, because as soon as he sympathized with her he was as good as dead.
Through the door as one, their lips clung together as hands began to unzip, unbutton. She unbuckled Illya's belt and unbuttoned the shirt. He unzipped the red dress and drew in a breath as it fell to the floor, revealing a body both feminine and fit. Her breasts were not large but firm and alert, the nipples drawing his mouth down until he was full of her. Natasha groaned in a delicious agony as she pulled at his clothes, the great satisfaction that would be hers already fully engorged.
Their lovemaking was frantic, athletic… they were a perfect match as she traded dominance with Illya. He was beautiful, and aroused as he was she thought him the most sensual being she had ever seen. She handled him with care and abandon, satisfying him in the most ardent fashion, delighting when she thought his eyes would roll back into his lovely skull. For the first time in her life, Natasha was glad that she had these skills and could make a man happy. For Illya's part, he intended to make her remember this night for a very long time.
As they lay in the afterglow of sex, Illya hoped that his partner had been enough of a gentleman to turn off the sound on the microphone he knew was planted in this room. Fairly confident that was so, he leaned over and kissed Natasha full on the mouth, running his hands over her body like a whisper, circling the hardening nipples until they were once more erect, down to her naval and then swirling the hair he had been glad was still present beneath. His fingers were magical, causing Natasha to shriek in delight as he worked his way inside, twirling and teasing until she came full circle into an orgasm that she thought would cause her head to explode. It was utterly unbelievable that Illya then began kissing his way down the same path as his fingers had traveled.
Her breasts were like tender dumplings and he consumed them until his tongue found the firm buds. Natasha squirmed beneath him but he held her down, sucking and twiddling until her head was swimming. Farther down he went, all the while his fingers were inside of her, driving her nearly insane with pleasure. When he had reached the length of her she opened her legs and let him take her in a way she had never experienced. No one had ever cared for her during the act of sex. This truly was making love, and she began to weep for the sheer joy of how it made her feel.
Illya kept at it, his face buried in the plumped clitoris, his tongue speaking a language unknown to any but those that hear it with their bodies. She was wracked with desire and pleasure, her eyes were wet with tears and her heart… was full. How had this never happened to her before?
Illya withdrew from between her legs and positioned himself to go in and relieve his own needs. He was enchanted by Natasha in spite of who she was. He understood what he was doing to her, for her. Considering what would come next it seemed the right thing to do, because after this her world would change forever.
He began to pump and thrust, the force of it causing Natasha to gasp. He was driven now by lust and greed and everything that life had given him, both good and bad. He was relentless as she stifled her shrieks; it wouldn't do for the entire floor to hear this, but she could barely refrain from yelling at the top of her lungs. She wondered if he could go on like this for much longer as Illya willed himself to not yield. He had to keep going, to stall the inevitable as long as possible. He needed to remember this night as well.
Natasha was spent by the time her lover spilled into her in one final, gloriously forceful thrust. They both felt the impact as their bodies imploded simultaneously, the drama of sex like the story of their lives; each one full of fury and dedication to one, solitary cause.
Illya fell over, his body swathed in sweat from the extreme effort he had expended. Natasha got up and went to the bathroom and wet a towel in the basin, wrung it out and brought it back to help clean up and cool off. She ran it over Illya's face and chest, blowing on him to help circulate some air. He then took it from her, spread her legs and cleaned her of the spilt semen and vaginal fluids. She cried again at the sheer tenderness of that act, mingling a Russian lullaby with her tears as she let him tend to her.
When he was done, Illya lay down beside her and drew her into an embrace, playing with her nipples now in a way that calmed her. He sang to her, another Russian lullaby that sent her into a restful sleep unlike any she had experienced for years.
When she was fully asleep, Illya relaxed, his mind racing towards the inevitable end of things. They had Natasha, and in the light of day UNCLE would come in and take her into custody. She had been caught off guard, and had acted out of character for someone so well trained. Illya wondered if she knew, on some level, that he was an agent. He decided that she did not, but the ease with which she had succumbed to his seduction made him wonder if she was as ruthless as had been assumed.
Natasha stirred as she slept, dreaming of a home somewhere near the forests where she had lived as a child. In her dreams the man she loved was blond, with blue eyes and a kind heart. And he had an uncle who could save her.