But that fallen angel had one chance in life that she was given.
This angel won't make the same mistakes she made before.
This angel will go down the right path that has been chosen for her.
This fallen angel knows what she has to do to be forgiven.
from "The Fallen Angel" by Jennifer Rondeau
"The Archangel Affair"
He stood off at a distance trying to stay out of the driving rain. His contact was across the road and had just gotten out of a taxi in front of St. Gallen-Altenrhein airport. Located in a country that was like a "safe zone" famed outwardly for it's neutrality and because of that spies liked to congregate here. There seemed to be an unwritten rule...no one was killed or taken in Switzerland but sometimes every rule gets broken.
He watched carefully for the direction the man would take as he walked to the edge of the busy road, when his contact stopped for a second, suddenly grabbing the left side of his neck, he lurched forward crumpling to the ground.
"Der'mo_shit!" he cursed in Russian, throwing his cigarette down; he ran across the road dodging cars as their horns protested his presence.
He touched his fingers to the throat...feeling no pulse, assuming the man was dead. There was a small dart proturding from the neck and Illya quickly deduced poison.
"You will no longer need these my friend," he whispered, taking the documents from the man's coat. A crowd had begun to gather as Kuryakin stood up quickly concealing them under his raincoat.
"Someone call an ambulance. I think he has had a heart attack," he announced, then melted away into the crowd of people that now surrounded the body on the ground.
He hailed a cab wanting to get away before he too became a target...he knew the assassin had seen him and wondered why he had not been picked off as well, but then smiled when he thought of another possibility.
He gave the driver the address of the UNCLE office in Zurich as the cab drove down the nearly flooded road leading away from the airport.
"Was war das überhapt_what was that all about?" the diver asked in German.
"I have no idea." the Russian lied.
Forty five minutes later the cab arrived at it's destination and Illya ducked out of the torrential rain into the clock shop that served as the front for the agents entrance. He headed straight to the office of Armend Zubbriggen,as the agent in charge had scheduled a video conference with Alexander Waverly for the Russian to file his preliminary report.
"Please Illya sit," Armend offered.
"Thank you, no." Illya refrained from sitting as he removed his raincoat, he was soaked through and realized he was leaving a puddle where he stood.
Illya let out a sneeze when his brief report to Waverly concluded, then the man spoke to him...
"Very good Mr. Kuryakin, at least you safely obtained the Thrush codes. Now go find yourself some dry clothes before you catch your death of cold. I will expect you back in New York tomorrow."
"Thank you sir, I will do that."
Waverly said nothing more and the screen went black.
"Illya you can use guest quarters upstairs to dry off. I'll send someone up with a sweatsuit for you to change into, then we can get your suit clean and dried.
Illya headed up to quarters, stripping off his wet clothes and wrapping a towel around his waist, he started to dry his hair when she simply walked in through the door.
She tossed him the sweats as she ducked a long wooden case out of sight behind the desk against the wall.
"Look at these clothes," she clicked her tongue," ye were soaked to the bone were ye not? I hope ye don't catch another cold...Demya has gotten enough of them from ye already."
"I might say the same about you...being soaked that is." he smiled.
Elliott was quite wet herself and began to remove her clothes to change into a pair of sweats as well.
"So what were you up to in the pouring rain...and why are you here in Switzerland?" he asked.
"Oh I just stepped out to get a pack of fags when I got caught out in the rain," she answered, ignoring the more important of the two questions."
"Cigarettes?" he said,"May I have one? Mine were soaked..."
"urm, sorry love...never got them. The tobacconist was closed due to the weather.
Illya smiled...knowing that everything she had just told him was a lie. She had her secrets too and he knew it was a sniper-rifle case she had hidden from his view.
He walked over to her, pulling her against his naked chest..."so who was your target, my contact or the shooter?"
"Shooter?" she smiled, answering his question, but not answering it.
"Thank you my love," he said, kissing her on the forehead," I was wondering why I had not been killed as well."
"Why Illuysha, what ever are ye talking about? she smiled at him.
They returned to New York on the same flight, filed their reports separately with Alexander Waverly, then headed home to the apartment they shared. Dimitry was still with his sitter Mrs. Orloff and they decided it was too late to pick him up. They were both scheduled off the next day deciding they would collect him in the morning.
It was a rare occasion that they had the place to themselves free of a pair of prying, innocent eyes that belonged to their very inquisitive and above average twenty month old son.
Demya was a very active child, ahead of the charts both in development and intelligence, having a large vocabulary and able to converse in English, Irish and Russian. And he was ahead of the curve in his temperament as well...but not necessarily for the better. He could say "NO!" in three different languages and learning to say it in still more. A child throwing a tantrum in multiple languages was quite an amusing sight at first, but then became too much even for his parents to tolerate.
They realized that Demya could be stopped in mid-tirade and made to tow the line when his father would simple raise his voice slightly, warning him only Russian. When his father did that; he knew he was in big trouble.
When he was calm, he was an affectionate child, wanting to sit cuddling in his parents laps because he knew it was a time that he had their undivided attention...something he loved. He was curious, helpful and always following them around eager to help and to learn. Yet he had the brooding scowl of his father and the temper of his mother when he didn't get his way...it could be tedious at times to say the least. Yes, the terrible twos had arrived just a bit early...
Illya and Elliott dropped their bags and coats where they stood when they both realized they were very much alone...grabbing each other in a long embrace, they dropped to the living room floor and had passionate sex right there, moving to the couch...then to the dining table and then finally Illya flung Elliott over his shoulder as she giggled uncontrollably, carrying her to their bed. The session went on for hours... making love, resting then making love again...until something very unexpected happened.
A condom broke, ending the evening's frolicks instantly.
Oh Yebat'...ohk ebat', och jebat'_ oh fffuck!" he cursed in Russian, Ukranian then Belorussian.
Elliott dropped her head back on the pillow, covering her face with her hands"...oh nooo?" she moaned.
The next morning Illya left to pick up their son from Mrs. Orloff's home a few blocks away, not saying anything about what had happened the night before to Elliott...only time would tell if another Kuryakin had been conceived. What was the use of talking about it.
Demya rushed into his father's open arms and Illya hoisted him up into the air above his head making the him burst out into a fit of laughter. He brought the boy down, holding him in his arms.
"Demyachka, byli horoshilm dlya Tetya Olga_Demyachka, were you good for Auntie Olga?"
"Da papa. YA byl horoshim mal'chikom_Yes papa I was a good boy."
"Auntie Olga...is Demmy being truthful?"
"For the most part," she smiled," he is always a good by for his Auntie Olga."
"Look papa...I cut my knee," Demya said pointing to a small scrape on his skin.
"Oo...takoy lyap bol'no bylo moemu syn_aww...such a boo-boo did it hurt my son?"
"Nyet, I was very brave papa."
"Horoshiy mal'chik_good boy." Illya said proudly.
Illya's thoughts suddenly drifted to his own childhood.
"Shush, shush moya mal'chik" his father said to Illya picking him up from the ground as he cried.
"Papa mne bol'no_papa it hurts!"
Nicholaí Kuryakin examined his son's knees that were scraped and bleeding.
"Don't cry my Illushka...they are but small cuts and it will heal. You must try to be brave."
Illya nodded his little blond head, rubbing his tear-filled eyes with small fists.
"Yes papa I will be brave. It does not hurt anymore..."
"Horoshiy mal'chik_good boy," Nicholaí said proudly," your courage deserves a reward...would you like a slice of bread with jam and some tea?"
"Yes...Illya said out loud returning from his thoughts," Demyachka...your courage deserves a reward. Auntie Olga would you have some bread with jam and a little tea for our brave boy here?"
His communicator called his attention away from Demya.
"Kuryakin here."
"Illuysha, bad news. I've just been called out for an assignment. I won't be here when ye get home...heading straight out to the airport. Give Demmy a kiss from his mama for me? Eu te amo minha querida Rússia_ I love you my darlin' Russian." she said to him in Portuguese...a little clue to where she might be headed.
"Eu tombém te amo meu anjo_I love you my angel."
Little did Illya know that Elliott was being sent on an Archangel assignment to somewhere in the jungles of Brazil. He had suspected her involvement in the program, but was not sure...what he was sure of was that she did not know he was the Archangel designated as Gabriel.
Illya left Mrs. Orloffs later in the afternoon...she insisted that he stay for lunch. She was an excellent cook, preparing mostly Russian dishes so there was no need to ask him twice.
He returned home with his son, spending the rest of the day with him playing, teaching...napping together on the couch. Demya was accustomed to the comings and goings of his parents so he did not seem to miss his mother at the moment, until his father had to say one word to him. "No."
Dimitry wanted another cookie before his dinner.
"But I WANT another cookie!"
"I am not going to say it again, Demyachka...no."Illya told him calmly.
"I want mama! She would give me one! I want mama!"
Demya proceeded to throw a temper tantrum.
"Believe me...I want mama too but she is away at work" Illya spoke to him calmly," so no mama and no cookie."
Demya let loose with a plaintive wail, tears falling down his cheek with his lower lip trembling. Illya knew the boy was hungry and tired, just like his father, he got cranky when hunger called to him. He fed the child his dinner early and put him down in his crib for the night. And Illya not feeling like reading, did the same... he went to bed early, and just like Demmy, he missed Elliott as well.
Illya woke up early, moving quietly to check upon his son sleeping peacefully in his crib. He glance at the clock it was five in the morning...a little earlier than his usual time to rise but close enough.
He walked into the kitchen, putting the kettle on for his morning tea...then leaning with his back to the counter looking out into the small apartment. Thinking of the broken condom... if Elliott had gotten pregnant they would have to move, it would simply be too small for a family of four. Four? He shook his head at the thought...Waverly had let them slide on a lot of things...but a second child? That would surely be a problem.
Their meager belongings barely filled the place but children needed space...he and Elliott needed their space and privacy as well. Eventually they would have had to move to a larger place as Demya got older, as it would not do for him to be in their bedroom and he would need a room of his own. Illya had just not anticipated the possible need to move this soon.
The chirping of his communicator on the kitchen counter called to him.
"Poshol k chortu_go to hell!" he mumbled, not wanting to be bothered to answer.
"Kuryakin here." he responded reluctantly.
"Good morning sunshine...saw your light on."Napoleon answered cheerily.
"Where are you?"
"Right outside." There was a coded knock at the door to the apartment. Illya checked the security camera before letting his partner inside.
"So what are you doing up this early?"Illya asked.
"Haven't been to bed yet. Waverly had me up all night going through Thrush communiqués...that man definitely does not sleep!"
The kettle began to whistle as it boiled on the stove.
"Tea?" Illya asked.
"Coffee would be better?"
Illya shook his head no...
"O.K. tea is fine, thanks."
"Breakfast Napoleon...scrambled eggs, sausage...toast?"
"Sure why not, right now that sounds good? Elliott's cooking right?" he said trying to cover up a yawn.
"No...she is out on assignment. So I will cook,"he smiled,"once my son is awake I will not have time for much of anything."
He spoke as he prepared their breakfast with one hand, the other he use to open a cabinet above his head, taking out several jars of baby food, letting the eggs set for a second while he grabbed a pot from on top of the stove, put water in it, popped the lids off the jars, then placed the pot on the lit stove...all without missing a beat.
Napoleon laughed as he watched the man once known as the "Ice Prince" behaving so domestically.
"She's gotten you trained quite well hasn't she ? When I first met you...you couldn't even boil water."
Illya blushed..."Wait a minute. I could so boil water?" he protested.
"It's just a figure of speak for not being able to cook."
Illya smiled." Yes that was true...but no longer! Et Voila!
He scooped up the eggs and sausage, adding a slice of tomato onto a plate, the toast popped up from the toaster and he buttered it, then handed the plate to his partner, then prepared one for himself.
Napoleon tasted the food, cocking his eyebrows.
"Very good...I remember when you used to live off cereal and commissary chow."
"Those days I do not miss my friend, although the commissary food now is quite palatable thanks to Tillie...have you heard the news by the way? She is expecting." he said quickly finishing up his breakfast.
"You little matchmaker you...look what you're responsible for now?"
"Excuse me?" Illya took Napoleon's comment the wrong way simply because of the mishap with Elliott he night before.
"Napoleon you do not think I have gotten...soft? Do you?
"Oh because you can cook a little and can take care of your son...you think that?" Solo laughed." Please don't be ridiculous."
"I am worried about that and other things." Illya spoke softly."Napoleon it is not easy being an agent...and partner to Elliot as well as a father to Demmy. Granted Elliott and I went into this with open eyes but the theory and the reality are really quite different...do not get me wrong. With Demya coming into the mix...not that I regret anything, he is a wonderful child."
"Illya...Illya! Napoleon interrupted him, " you're rambling. I have never heard you ramble...ever?"
Illya stopped instantly realizing his partner was correct.
"I am sorry...there are a few things on my mind."
Illya turned off the stove, looking at his watch, then suddenly started to count out loud 5-4-3-2-1"
A few seconds later Demya cried out from the bedroom.
"No, you didn't just do that...how did you do that?" Napoleon asked in disbelief.
"I have to change Demya's nappy. Care to assist?" Illya offered.
"No thank you," Napoleon said crinkling his nose.
Illya shrugged, then disappeared into the bedroom, then appeared a few minutes later with his son in his arms...the child was a miniature version of his father, right down to the icy, stubborn stares.
Unca Poly!" Demya greeted Napoleon.
Illya handed his son into the waiting arms of his Uncle Napoleon.
"Hi ya...little chick a dee!"
"Nyet ne kuritsa_not a chicken Unca Poly...I a wolf cub Grrrrr!"
"Ha!" Napoleon blurted out a loud laugh, " Demya, you are your father's son!"
Illya set up the high chair next to the table, then taking Demmy from Napoleon, he placed the boy in it. He spooned out the warm baby food from the jars to a bowl, plus some scrambled eggs on a plate and put it before Demmy, but not before putting a bib around his son's neck. He fed Demya a few spoonfuls, then handed the utensil to the child.
"Have at it Demyachka, you know how to do it...show Uncle Napoleon what a big boy you are, da?"
Napoleon watched with a wry smile as Demya devoured the food, not missing or spilling a drop until it was completely gone. Illya then handed him half a banana.
"My God!"Napoleon gasped, "He's a miniature you Illya!"
"Thank you. I take that as a compliment," the Russian beamed with pride.
Solo finally looked at his watch. It was now six-thirty in the morning. " I hate to eat and run, but I need to get some sleep. I have to be back at headquarters this afternoon."
Elliott Mc Gowan was pinned down by gunfire from the security teams that had been guarding her target.
"This is hilo 6-Alpha what is your status Azriel...I repeat what it your status?"
"Taking on heavy fire...ye need to take them out for me boys?"
"What is your position?"
"In a ditch 30 degrees south...feck! She cursed as a hail of bullets came too close for comfort." Hurry up! Ye need to get here and get these damn guns out now!"
Suddenly the helicopter crew heard a large explosion over the radio.
"Azriel...are you O.K. Do you copy?"
"Copy...taking on heavy rocket fire...need extraction now. I repeat need extraction now!"
"Copy that Archangel...ETA 10 minutes."
"Affirmative...waiting with bated breath boyos!" Elliott yelled over the radio.
The helicopter arrived laying down cover fire while Elliott scrambled into it, then took off gliding forward, then going vertical as the pilot avoided a near miss from another rocket grenade.
She pulled her communicator."OPEN CHANNEL R-OVERSEAS RELAY-AZRIEL" she spoke loudly over the roar of the helicopter engine and the distinctive chuga, chuga, chuga chuga of the blades as they whipped the air.
"Report Azriel?" said Alexander Waverly.
"MISSION WAS A WAS SIR. UNABLE TO GET NEAR THE COMPOUND FOR SOLUTION PLEASE ADVISE." Elliott shouted as the helicopter began to shake violently from the continuing rocket fire.
"Repeat again Azriel, you are breaking up?"
Waverly could hear the radio man in the background.
"HILO 6-ALPHA MAY DAY MAY DAY...WE HAVE BEEN HIT. WE ARE GOING DOWN... LATITUDE 23˚ 31' 60 South, LONGITUDE 4˚ 3' 0 West. MAY DAY MAY..."
"Azriel? Are you there? Azriel?"
The communicator went dead. Waverly hurriedly flicked a switch on his console, "Communications...I want the location of the last transmission from Hilo 6- Alpha immediately?"
Napoleon Solo walked into Alexander Waverly's office, having received a summons to report immediately. He was in the commissary having a cup of coffee to wake himself up, and to congratulate Tillie on her big news. He seated himself at the conference table with out saying a word.
Waverly looked up at him."I'm afraid we have a situation in São Paulo Mr. Solo...one of our agents has gone missing. I'm afraid it is one of the Archangels ."
Alexander Waverly had briefed him over a year and a half ago on the existence of the Archangels...
"As CEA of Northwest you have been given top clearance for access to much of UNCLE's classified information. One program that you are not familiar with is the "Archangel" project.
"Napoleon answered cautiously," I've heard the name...but that's about it."
"Mr. Solo, The Archangels are a highly select team of U.N.C.L.E. assassins who's services are used in shall we say "unique" situations.
Napoleon was surprised at this."Doesn't assassination countermand UNCLE's precepts?"
Waverly lit a match to his pipe, filling the air with the faint scent of sulphur before the odor of the tobacco filled the room.
"Let us say it pushes things to the limits," Waverly said,"Assassination is a nasty business and it is used by us as a court of last resort...and only after it has been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the target has been turned by Thrush without possibility of the target is one of great influence, especially in the political arena. Could you imagine the havoc that Thrush could wreak if they were to control an entire country... perhaps a world power? The consequences would be catastrophic."
Waverly relit his pipe again, taking a few puffs on it.
"The identities of these agents are highly classified for their own protection...they are known strictly by their code names and like you Mr. Solo are privy to more information than the average agent, hence the need for secrecy..."
Napoleon remembered from the briefing with Waverly that there were seven operatives given the "archangel," code name; he quickly ran through the designations in his head. "Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Azriel, Uriel, Remiel and Sabriel."
"Which one sir?"
"Azriel."
"That was the name of the "angel of death" in the bible." Napoleon realized... and like his namesake, Azriel was the most prolific of all the Archangel operatives.
"Yes sir, what do you need me to do?
"I need you to find her Mr. Solo."
"Her sir?
"Yes, "her" Mr. Solo. The operative known as Azriel is Miss Elliott Mc Gowan. Her target was a mysterious military figure and Thrush associate, who has virtually taken over parts of Brazil. He is known only as "the General." We have been tracking him for quite some time... going as far back as Mr. Kuryakin's mission from "The Lost and Found Affair." It was his shipment of weapons from Thrush that went down on the Hakudu Maru. He has since however armed himself heavily and is rumored to be preparing for a military coup.
Napoleon tried to hide his surprise."Will Mr. Kuryakin be involved in this mission?"
"No. Mr. Kuryakin will not. I need my top agent on this retrieval."
"Why not sir? Illya...Mr. Kuryakin has worked assignments with her in the past, just because they are living.."
Waverly cut him off..."not in this case Mr. Solo...if Miss Mc Gowan cannot be rescued, then I must reluctantly issue an order to terminate. I cannot ask Mr. Kuryakin to to that to the mother of his child...I do have some consideration for them."
Napoleon's heart sank to the proverbial pit of his stomach. "Terminate sir?" he swallowed as he said the word.
"Yes, Mr. Solo. Terminate...with extreme prejudice...keeping collateral damage to a minimum of course." Waverly repeated with a coldness to his voice. "Well Mr. Solo am I understood on this?"
"...Yes sir."
He could sense the hesitation in Napoleon's voice.
"I am however not without feelings on the matter Napoleon, bring her back alive,please by all means but I need to know that if you cannot bring her back then you will complete this mission without hesitation."
"Yes sir...I accept the assignment," he said biting his lip." If it has to be done, then I should be the one to do it... rather than anyone else."
"Need I remind you that this mission is highly classified. I understand your friendship with Mr. Kuryakin complicates the situation but under no circumstances are you discuss any of this with him, nor are you to get him involved in anyway what so ever. He does not know of her affiliation with the Archangels and I expect it to remain that way."
"There is no reading between the lines on this Mr. Solo, no semantics, no game playing is that clear?"
"Crystal."