Wise as Serpents, Innocent as Doves, Part 3, a man from uncle fanfic

Wise as Serpents, 3

1 p.m., Thursday

Illya, deep in the archives section, frowned and rubbed his temples. Having reported his conversation with Charlie to Mr. Waverly and, having endured another discussion regarding his status in Section 2, he realized that a fierce headache had overtaken him. Then, he noted that he had passed Charlie's four hour limit several hours ago. And, he remembered that he had not eaten lunch. Deciding to rectify the situation, he stood just as his communicator trilled. "Kuryakin," he answered.

"Mr. Waverly is requesting you," Kristianna said softly. Illya sighed, folded his glasses into his shirt pocket, tugged on his jacket, and paused at the door.

"Do not disturb the files I have pulled, Mr. Morrison," he ordered more than asked. 'Mo' Morrison glanced up, peering through his glasses, thick as the bottom of a Mason jar.

"'Course not, Mr. Kuryakin. They'll be waitin' for ya'."

Waverly did not look up when the door to his office hissed open. "Mr. Kuryakin, please be seated."

Illya paused in the doorway, a tight ball of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

The older man puffed quietly on his pipe. "Please be seated." Illya sat. "I have received this from Eligeus Trap." The elderly man sent the communiqué around the table. Illya read it quickly and stood.

"I will leave immediately."

Waverly frowned. "Sit, Mr. Kuryakin." Illya sat. "It has not been my habit to sacrifice my agents to the whims of an enemy, and I am not about to begin doing so now." Illya blanched.

"Sir, with respect," Illya began, "this is the perfect opportunity to …" Waverly held up his hand.

"It is the perfect opportunity to send my second top agent into harms way, Mr. Kuryakin." Illya stood and began pacing. Waverly ignored the blonds' agitation. "I, too, find the opportunity to retrieve Mr. Solo and Miss Dancer enticing, but it is unnecessary for you to be involved." Illya halted his pacing, standing before the blast-proof windows that looked out on the UN building.

"Your orders, sir?" he asked. Waverly smiled, reminded of the young Russian Naval officer he had met so long ago.

"Mr. Ahern and Mr. Slate are in the area and I am ordering an assault force from Quebec." The Old Man watched his acting CEA closely. "Of course, Mr. Kuryakin, you will be administering the entire affair." Illya turned and stalked toward the door.

"Of course, sir. As you wish."

April, arms pinned behind her back, stumbled up the stairs. "Care to tell me where we're going?"

"Dr. Trap decided to move you … upstairs," her guard replied, giving her a shove.

"A mind like a steel trap," she quipped, catching her balance on the wall. Her head throbbed; she was hungry, and exhausted. The guard opened the door and pushed her in.

"You're gonna stay up here now, till we get what we want." He released her handcuffs and left, locking the door behind him.

What's going on? Has Trap lost his mind? She wondered, standing at the large windows; looking out at the gardens through heavy grill work. What do you want?

Emerson took a deep breath, pasted on her best pastoral smile, and waited a nanosecond while the door to the conference room swished open. Her first group of UNCLE brides and grooms surrounded conference table.

"Thank you for coming this afternoon," she said, taking her seat at the head of the table. "I'm sure that you are consumed with plans for your weddings and dreams of your futures together and I appreciate your being willing to take time for these meetings." A young woman at the opposite end of the table, slight and red haired rolled her eyes.

"Not like we had a choice, now is it?" Emerson relaxed into her chair and grinned.

"You make a valid point, Dorinne." Her dark brown eyes widened in surprise. "Sorry, I've been provided with files on each of you, pictures included. That's how I know your name and that you're engaged to marry Agent Stephen Cathcart next March." Dorinne frowned.

"We were ordered to participate," she countered, her eyes hard and angry. "Our priest is also making us do marriage counseling. Honestly, I don't know why we have to do this one, too!"

Nothing like an overwrought bride,, Emerson thought, rising and walking to the credenza. "Help yourselves to the drinks and snack," she invited, pouring coffee and selecting cookies. She turned to Dorinne and smiled. "You and your fiancé are ordered to attend these sessions, Miss Edwards, in order that you have some idea of what it's like to be married to UNCLE." Dorinne, a bored look on her face, shrugged. Emerson smiled to herself and returned to her seat.

"For what its worth, Dorinne, I'm married to Illya Kuryakin, Section 2, Number 2. We've been married almost four years, and I promise you, whether you believe me or not, you're marrying UNCLE.

"I'm not marrying UNCLE, I'm marrying Steve!" Emerson chuckled.

"Ah, Dorinne, you may be exchanging vows and rings with Steve, but you're marrying an UNCLE Section 2 agent and, by extension, you're marrying UNCLE."

Eligeus Trap frowned and crumpled the telex, dropping it to the floor.

Verity Wexler, her face a mask of anger, frowned at Trap. "I told you, holding two UNCLE agents would never be enough to bring us Kuryakin!"

"I had so hoped," he answered, gazing out the French doors at the falling snow. "Solo is his partner … his best friend." He tapped his long, ugly fingers against the shiny top of his desk. "And, I'm told he's rather fond of Miss Dancer." Verity shook her head.

"You know how they're trained, darling." The tall, sexy redhead perches on the arm of his chair and encircled his bony frame in her arms.

"The same way we are," Angelique interjected, slamming the door to Trap's office. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Trap? Sending me on some fucking holiday?" She stormed the desk, pushing Verity aside.

"Mind your tongue, Angelique!" He rose and leaned across the desk. "You are not needed here." Angelique glanced at Verity; whose smirking smile served to increase the blonde's fury.

"You're sending me on holiday and keeping the poster child for paranoid-schizophrenia? Hell, she's not the only one crazy around here!" Angelique stumbled under the force of Verity's slap.

"You bitch! You whore! We're sending you away because we don't trust you!" Verity's face, contorted in rage, showed the truth of Angelique's diagnosis. "If you had half a chance you'd be helping Solo and Dancer escape!" The red head laughed. "Of course, you'd have to fuck Solo first, but after that …"

Angelique brushed the stinging handprint on her face and walked to the door. "You'll manage to make a mess of this, Trap," she said over her shoulder. "Kuryakin and Solo … hell, all UNCLE agents … are expendable." She paused at the open door. "If you think, for one minute, that Waverly will sacrifice Kuryakin for Solo and Dancer, you're crazier than even I imagined." The door closed behind her.

"Perhaps she is correct, Verity," Trap considered, frowning at the closed door. Verity smiled serenely.

"Don't worry, darling," she purred, settling herself on his bony lap and kissing his nearly bald head. "I have the perfect plan."

45 minutes later, Emerson glanced at her watch and smiled. "Again, my thanks to you for taking part in this process," she said, gathering her files. "Another part of being married to UNCLE, at least for some of us, is the reality of having to collect children from various and sundry activities." David Palmer, new to Section 2, took his fiancé's hand and grinned.

"Pardon, Reverend Cates, but how many children do you have?"

"Three girls and two boys," Emerson answered, pausing at the door. "At one point, when we'd been married less than a year, we had four children under the age of three." The women at the table groaned. "Now, we've got five under the age of six. You'd be surprised what you can manage with a housekeeper/cook and a nanny!" They laughed at that one.

"I'll ask Suzy, my assistant, to come in and make individual appointments for each of you over the next two weeks. Chances are that you won't all be meeting with me, but I'll receive the progress notes." The door opened. "So, see you in two weeks; next time at 6 p.m. Take good care!"

Suzy glanced up at the opening door. "All yours, Suz," Emerson greeted. "I'm off to collect the prima ballerina's from dance class." Suzie produced messages and grabbed her appointment book.

"There's one from Illya," she said, breezing past, "and your car is waiting." Emerson sifted through the messages.

"Oh," Suzy said, stopping outside the conference room door, "Benjamin Gardner cancelled his appointment this evening." Emerson frowned.

"Why?"

"Got the worse end of a knife fight in training," Suzy answered, grinning at her boss. "Your partner in crime stitched him up and sent him home." Emerson chuckled.

"Okay, then, all I have to do is call the husband, pick up the kids, and get on with real life!"

"Good luck," Suzy retorted, a big grin on her face. "Tell the girls I said, 'hi!'"

"See you tomorrow," Emerson said, picking up Suzy's phone and calling Illya's office. He didn't answer, but Margaret, the secretary he shared with Napoleon, did.

"Mr. Kuryakin's office," Margaret answered, surly as ever.

"Hi, Margaret. Happen to know where he is?" Margaret harrumphed mightily.

"In with the Old Man. Least that's what Kristianna says."

Emerson shook her head. "Thanks, Margaret, I'll catch him later." She paused. "When he comes in, tell him that I did return his call, okay?"

"Sure, I can do that." The line went dead. Emerson dropped the receiver into the cradle and laughed.

"Nothing like helpful support staff to make the cogs of espionage turn smoothly." She dropped the files and grabbed her purse.

2 p.m., Thursday

Napoleon groaned and rolled on his side. You're moving, Solo, his brain prompted. No restraints. He opened his eyes slightly and glanced around. He found himself lying on a large, soft bed in an equally large and well appointed bedroom. What the hell is going on? The door opened quietly.

"I'm sure that you have many questions, Mr. Solo," Eligeus Trap said, standing at the end of the bed, his bony arms crossed, a sickening smile on his face.

Napoleon pushed himself into a sitting position, noting that his broken arm was now encased in a plaster cast and he was dressed in street clothes. He dropped his legs over the side of the bed and ran his hand through his hair. "Any possibility of room service?"

Trap laughed, hollow and vacant. "I'll have Verity bring you something very special, Mr. Solo." Napoleon frowned.

"I'll just bet!"

The UNCLE staff car pulled to a stop in front of Madam Petrofsky's Academy of the Ballet Arts. Emerson could see lots of little heads, tufts of tulle, and ponytails bobbing in the long, narrow hallway and smiled, knowing that her three little ballerinas' were among them.

Finster stepped out of the car, his hand resting on the butt of his Walther P-38, eyes scanning the street. He opened the rear door and followed Emerson at a jog up the stoop. Anushka and her sisters ran to her.

"Mama," the little blonde giggled, "Tia was wonderful! Madam is very pleased!" Emerson kissed her oldest, hugged Tasha, and smiled at Tia.

"Ready for Balanchine?" she asked, helping Tasha zip her coat and collecting dance bags.

"Oui, Mama!" Tia answered, smiling broadly. "Madam said … 'très magnifique'!"

"Something we've always known ma petite fille." (my little girl) Agent Finster smiled, opened the door, checked the street again, and took the steps two at a time. The girls followed with Emerson coming last. As he reached the bottom step, two black sedans screeched to a halt, one in front of the UNCLE car and one in back. The back doors opened silently.

Emerson heard the unmistakable muted pop of a silenced gun and Agent Finster fell, blood pooling beneath his body. She herded the girls beneath the stoop. "Down! Stay down!" Taking cover behind the concrete newel post, she pulled her gun and dropped the first shooter. Carl Henderson slipped out the passenger side front door, gun drawn, and took cover behind the car.

"Agent down! Agent down!" he said quickly and quietly into his headset. "Innocents involved!" Emerson signaled '4'" and edged around the stoop, firing at a second shooter.

She heard Anushka's voice trying to quiet Tasha and Tia. "Don't be silly! Mama's here. We're safe." A searing burn high in her left shoulder knocked her back. Steadying herself, she managed to take out a second shooter. Carl, rose slightly and took aim, but fell as a sniper across the street sited on his exposed position.

"Mama!" Anushka screamed, reaching between the thick concrete pillars of the balustrade. The little girl started to move.

"No! Stay down, Anushka!" Emerson shouted as blood from the wound in her arm trickled down her sleeve. "Stay down!" She pushed her hand through the railing and shoved the child back. Emerson's vision swam as a second bullet cut through her, lifting her off the ground. Her head hit the pavement with a dull thud.

The late afternoon sun cast spindly shadows through the naked branches of the trees that lined the sidewalk. They looked like giant arms reaching down to her. The cries of her children grew soft as the world went steadily from gray to black.

"Nikala," she whispered.

The children sat in the rear seat of the speeding, black limo, wedged between two large Thrush agents who, Anushka thought, looked decidedly uncomfortable. She wrapped her arms around her sisters and glared at the man on her left.

"Where are you taking us?" she demanded. Tia sobbed against her. "Hush, baby. It will be all right soon." The Thrush guard swallowed hard.

The guard on her right answered. "Don't matter where we're takin' you. Shut up!" Anushka sat a little straighter and took a deep breath.

"What is your name?" she asked the guard to her left. He blanched.

"Uh … Arnold," he answered, caught completely off guard. "And, uh … that's Orville."

Orville laughed. "You're Kuryakin's kid, alright," he said, grinning at the little girl. Arnold glared at his partner. "Just shut up and you'll be okay." Tasha wriggled on the seat to face him.

"Don't you talk to my sister like that!" She glanced at Anushka, turned to Orville, and sank her teeth into his hand, drawing blood.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelped, raising his wounded hand to strike Tasha. Arnold grabbed him.

"No! The Boss said no marks on any of 'em!" Anushka smiled to herself and hugged Tasha closer. "Don't lay a hand on 'em." Orville wrapped his handkerchief around his bleeding hand and frowned.

"Where's Mama?" Tia asked softly. Anushka took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head.

"She's with Papa and they'll come looking for us." Tia frowned. "Stop crying, Tia. We are fine. I'll look after you, okay?" The smallest blonde nodded and tucked her head against Anushka's shoulder.

"We're approaching JFK," the driver said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Get 'em ready."

Arnold pulled Tia onto his lap and she screamed. "Shut up, brat! I don't want no noise out of ya' … any of ya' … understand?" Anushka took Tia's hand.

"It's alright, Tia," Anushka said quietly. Tia blinked, seeming to understand her sisters' unspoken message. Tia looked up at the ugly face of her captor and offered a tear stained smile.

"I'm sorry, mister," she whispered, "I didn't mean to scare you." He looked out the window.

"Just keep quiet, okay?"

"'Kay." Tia grinned at Anushka who squeezed her hand and smiled. Tasha stirred and smiled at Tia.

At the gate, the car was waved through without question. Anushka insisted that Orville carry the ballet bags and took his injured hand as they walked across the tarmac. Arnold carried Tasha and Tia.

"Finally," a frumpy, middle aged woman standing at the top of the steps said, frowning as the passengers boarded. "I thought you'd never get here!" Anushka dropped a curtsey.

"I am Anya Dimitrieva Kuryakin," she said in a clear, strong voice. "These are my sisters, Natasha Dimitrieva Kuryakin and Tatianna Illyanova Kuryakin." The woman blinked. Anushka frowned. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Orville and Arnold chuckled.

"I'm, uh, I'm Dolores," she answered, glancing at the guards. "I'm … uh … I'm gonna to look after you." Tia, now standing next to Tasha, smiled. Dolores noticed Orville's wounded hand. "What the hell happened to you?" He colored violently.

"Got into a little altercation, that's all." Tasha frowned.

"I bit him," she confessed. Anushka frowned at her sister.

"What do you say, Tasha?" Tasha fluttered her eyelashes.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Orville," she said softly. He cleared his throat and moved away.

Tia looked at Dolores. "Miss Dolores, I'm hungry," she said, squeezing Tasha's hand. "We always have a snack after dance class." Dolores rolled her eyes.

"I joined Thrush to rule the world," the frumpy Dolores complained, heading to the galley. Arnold laughed.

"You'll be doin' good to rule these three!"

Charlie glanced up at the flashing red light and frowned. "I'm sorry, Agent Dickerson," she excused herself, "I'll be right back." At the nursing station, she took the proffered telephone receiver.

"Dr. Charles."

"This is Air Evac 1, Dr. Charles. We've just received a call from Communications. Agents down and innocents involved." Charlie pressed a red button on the console.

"Air Evac Crew A is enroute to the heliport. Notify me immediately of the situation." She handed the phone to Sindy. "I'll be with Mr. Waverly." She paused. "Oh, and send someone into finish Dickerson's bandage."

Charlie rested her forehead against the cool, steel walls of the elevator. "This is just fucking perfect," she said to herself. Her communicator trilled.

"Charles."

"Air Evac 1, on scene. Three agents down." She heard the doors of the chopper squeal open and the sound of equipment being unloaded. The pilot spoke to one of the paramedics and then to Communications.

"UNCLE CenCom, dispatch a truck to this location, stat." Wanda, managing communications that afternoon, acknowledged. Charlie stepped out of the elevator and ran to Waverly's office. Kristianna, surprise on her face, watched the slender doctor disappear behind the sliding door.

Alexander Waverly glanced up from the large round table and frowned. While his Chief Medical Officer had immediate and unquestioned access to his office, it was rare to see her on short notice. "Dr. Charles …" he began. Charlie's hand came up to stay him.

"There has been an incident. Three agents down. Air Evac 1 is on scene and they've ordered a truck."

"Air Evac 1, Dr. Charles."

"Go Air Evac 1."

"Advise Mr. Waverly that the following personnel are wounded: Agent Carl Henderson, Agent Joel Finster, and Agent Emerson Cates."

"Shit!" was Charlie's response.

3 p.m., Thursday

Peter Wilson watched his colleague pace the conference room, stopping to review files and scribbling notes on a large yellow legal pad. The fury poured off Kuryakin like summer heat off a New York sidewalk. The blond, Australian agent glanced at his watch.

"Jack and Mark should be in Quebec by now, Illya." As if on cue, the radio sounded.

"Kuryakin." Illya's tone was sharp and hard.

Jack's voice, ignoring Illya's unfriendly tone, filled the room. "We're meeting with the Quebec team now, Illya. Looks like a dozen of their best. Mark and I will divide them between us and take it from there." The dark, Aboriginal Australian shot his partner a look. Mark took the communicator.

"Got anything new for us, Illya?" Illya scowled and nodded to Pete.

"G'day, mates, Peter here." The steel door slid closed as Illya stormed out of the room. "Illya's in a bit of a snit," he explained. "Can't quite deal with being here where you blokes are there." Jack nodded. "'Course, I can't quite deal with it either."

"Colder than a witch's tit," Jack commented. "You'd hate it." The door opened and Illya walked in, a little calmer, a cup of fresh coffee in hand.

"The information I sent should be sufficient to get you into the compound," Illya said, leaning against the polished wood table. "Mark, you will have to go in alone. Trap is expecting me and, unless there is a Quebec agent who better resembles me, you will have to make do." Mark chuckled.

"Jack and I drew straws and I got the assignment. I've requisitioned an all black 'Kuryakin costume'. With a watch cap over my hair, I should look enough like you to get close." Illya shook his head.

"Timing is critical, Mark. Trap will be waiting for you. April and Napoleon should be with him. Bring the chopper in away from him. As soon as you touch down, wave Napoleon and April onto the craft and take your time walking to Trap."

"Trap's never seen you, has he?" Mark asked, watching the light snow thicken.

"Only my photograph," Illya answered. "Make sure that April and Napoleon are in flight and then signal the assault team to land."

Mark pointed at the increasingly heavy snow fall and pressed his finger against his lips in a 'don't tell Illya' message. Jack nodded.

"Got it all strapped down here, IK," Jack said, keeping his voice light.

"Take care, gentlemen," Illya said, his voice strained. "Report in every 15 minutes … without fail. Understood?" Pete grinned and quickly hid it behind his coffee mug.

"Roger, team leader," Jack said, saluting the communicator. "Have the drinks ready. We'll be home by midnight."

April moved slowly around her suite, wondering what was happening. Large, arch topped windows looked out on the back garden, now covered in several inches of new fallen snow. The view was obstructed by thick steel grates. "Nothing like having trust in your guests," she murmured.

A queen size bed dominated the room decorated in an unmistakably feminine style; Chintz drapes, two side chairs upholstered in the same material, as well as the bed spread and pillow shams. The thick carpet repeated the mauve color scheme. She wandered into the bath and found matching towels and bath carpets. The closets were empty save a bathrobe and matching slippers. A door on the opposite side of the room opened to a small sitting room with a love seat, two matching chairs, end tables with lamps, a coffee table, and more Chintz. A fire crackled in the hearth. The door opened and her two guards entered, one carrying a dinner tray. Frick looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Dr. Trap offers his apologies, ma'am," he muttered, placing the tray on the coffee table and removing the towel. "Under other circumstances, he would be honored to have you join him in the dining room, but …" April shook her head.

"Where's Napoleon?" Frack laughed.

"Still around," Frack answered, "but, don't worry your pretty little head." Frick glared at his partner.

"Come on," he ordered, "we've got stuff to do." Frack grinned at his partner, but followed him to the door. He paused.

"'Til later, then, Miss Dancer." The door snicked closed behind them. April glanced at the tray, her stomach growling at the smells and sights.

"Right, Frack," she said, cutting the chicken breast in white wine sauce, "'til later. You bastard."

Illya sat at the conference room table, head in his hands, waiting for Mark to check-in with the finalized plan. He jumped at the sound of the radio.

"Kuryakin."

"Illya, Mr. Waverly wishes to see you immediately." Kristianna, her voice calm and professional as always, brushed away tears.

Waverly stood as Illya entered; his pipe clattering to the crystal ashtray. The slight blond stopped in mid-stride. The look on Waverly's weathered face spoke volumes.

"What has happened?" Illya said, his voice sounding strangely hollow in his ears. Waverly walked to his side and rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Emie was collecting the girls at ballet class," he explained, shepherding his acting CEA to a chair. "They came under fire and Emie and the other two agents were wounded." Waverly paused, watching Illya's impassive face grow paler by the second. The older man cleared his throat and continued. His pale blue eyes, watering, he was sure, from the pipe tobacco, wandered to the windows.

Illya took a shuddering breath. "The girls?"

"Missing," Waverly answered softly.

Illya rose unsteadily, gained control of his body, and moved quickly toward the door.

"I will be in medical, sir." The slight Russian stopped at the door and turned. "Thereafter, I will be leading the search for my children."

Kristianna Blackstone entered carrying a dispatch. "From Dr. Trap, sir," she said, trying not to look at Illya.

"Mr. Kuryakin …," Waverly began and then stopped, realizing that he was talking to empty air.

Napoleon stood at windows similar to those in April's suite, watching the snow deepen, softening the glow of the heliport lights. His dinner tray rested on the coffee table, barely touched. "What the fuck is going on?" he asked aloud. The door opened.

"Ah, my darling Napoleon," Verity said, frowning at the nearly untouched dinner tray. "I am so disappointed that you haven't eaten." She moved to his side and smiled. "No matter. We have much to do, you and I, before you are returned to your UNCLE." Napoleon stepped away from her.

"If you think that Illya's going to deliver himself to you, you're wrong," he said, moving toward the door. Verity laughed, low and evil.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, mon ami," she said, relaxing on the small sofa and pouring a cup of coffee, "but, the stakes have been raised." She sipped the coffee and smiled. "Considerably." Napoleon felt the blood drain from his face.

His attention was drawn to the sound of a helicopter landing. Verity's eyes fixed on him. "Our guests are arriving." She excused herself and Napoleon moved to the windows. He watched the helicopter discharge its burden and leaned his head against the thick glass closing his eyes.

"Jesus H. Christ!"

Illya stood in the door of Exam Room #3, his eyes never leaving Emerson's still, ashen face. He startled as Charlie touched his arm. Illya glanced at her briefly.

"Here's what we're dealing with, Illya; two gunshot wounds; one to the upper left shoulder and one to the right chest through the upper right quadrant of the abdomen. The bullet on the left missed all of the important stuff, but it did fracture the clavicle, dislocate the shoulder, and finally exited." Illya turned to Charlie, his eyes filled with worry and pain.

"And the other?" Charlie's shook her head.

"A high-powered sniper bullet entered through her back. She has a hemo-pneumo thorax … the lung collapsed and the chest cavity filled with blood and fluid. A chest tube has managed that problem for the moment. Second, the bullet pierced her liver and then exited." She squeezed Illya's arm. "As soon as we get her stabilized, we're going to surgery." Illya shuddered.

"She's bleeding to death."

"Not if I can help it!" Charlie answered grim determination in her voice. "And, I can." She squeezed Illya's hand and offered a smile. "We've got plenty of O neg and we're pushing fluids big time." She ran her hand through her curly, brown hair.

"Dr. Charles, we're ready to move to surgery," Dr. Evan Manville said, snapping off his gloves. Charlie gave Illya a light shove and he made his way to Emerson's side.

"Emie, I love you," he whispered, his eyes searching her face. Her eye lids fluttered open briefly. He brushed her hair from her forehead. "Everything will be fine, moj vozl'ublennyj (my beloved)." Kissing her cheek he whispered, "YA l'ubl'u Vas, Em, navsegda." (I love you, Em, forever.)

In the hallway, Illya slumped against the wall and covered his face with his hands. A passing nurse doubted that she had heard a choked sob coming from the Ice Prince of UNCLE. She shook her head and continued on her way. Couldn't have been, she mused, not from Illya Kuryakin!

Thursday, 4 p.m.

Eligeus Trap watched as the three little girls were lifted from the helicopter and carried into his home. Some part of him had to admit that they were beautiful children, wheat blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes, but the greater part celebrated their value and he would not waste it.

"Sir, where do you want to keep them?" Orville asked, lowering Anushka to the floor. She squeezed Orville's hand.

"Pardon, Mr. Orville," she said, smiling up at him, "will you introduce us, please?" Orville frowned down at the little girl.

"Uh, sure, okay." His eyes shifted to Trap who stifled a chuckle. "This here is Dr. Eligeus Trap, my boss," Orville announced. "Dr. Trap, this is Anushka, Tasha, and Tia Kuryakin." The girls curtsied. Trap cleared his throat and walked to stand before them.

"It is rather … refreshing … to discover children possessed of such sterling deportment in this day and age." His gnarled hand patted Tia's head distractedly and Tia rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Anushka responded, moving to stand between her sisters, taking their hands. He was impressed with this self-possessed little girl and her sisters.

"Where shall I keep you, Miss Kuryakin?" he asked, smiling at the child, "where, indeed?" The door opened and Angelique swept in, ignoring the children.

"I had no idea you like children," she said, sashaying her way to the bar.

"I don't, my darling," he said, frowning at the intrusion. "These belong to Kuryakin." Angelique dropped her glass in her haste to turn toward the children, remembering the photograph Illya had kept in his rooms.

"My god, Eligeus, you have lost your mind!" He laughed.

"Not at all, my dear." He picked up Tia, who smiled and patted his cheek. "They will bring their father directly to me and with him, the plans he holds in his mind." Anushka caught Tia's eye and the little girl nodded imperceptibly.

"Papa is coming here?" she asked innocently. Trap nodded.

"No, he won't," Anushka said quietly. "Papa will not be tricked by you." She glared at Angelique who shimmed her way across the room, a huge grin on her face.

"What is they say, Eligeus," she asked, kneeling in front of Anushka, "'out of the mouths of babes'?" Anushka stepped back and bumped into Arnold who reached down to steady her.

"It's okay, 'Nushka," he whispered. "Miss Angelique won't hurt you."

"'Nushka, is it? How sweet, Eligeus. Your top henchmen, captivated by three little girls." She laughed and took Tasha's hand. "You may want to review your hiring practices." Trap glared at Angelica.

"Take the children upstairs and make them comfortable. See to it that they are fed and cared for." Orville lifted Tia on his arm and took Tasha's hand from Angelique. Anushka slipped her hand into Arnold's and squeezed.

"Will Miss Dolores take care of us, Mr. Arnold?" Arnold's reassuring squeeze was not lost on Trap.

"Have Dolores make whatever arrangements are necessary." He turned his back. "And, gentlemen, you are relieved of your responsibilities." Tia laid her head on Orville's shoulder and sighed. The door closed behind them.

Angelica laughed and poured another drink. "You have out done yourself, Eligeus," she said, pouring a Scotch for the old man. "You think that Kuryakin will do anything for his children, even sacrifice himself." Trap took the glass and sat behind his desk.

"That is precisely what I expect, Angelique." She shook her freshly coiffed head.

"You're dealing with the Russian now." She sipped her drink. "I'm almost sorry to miss it."

April banked the fire and watched the snow continue to fall. She had also heard the helicopter land, but couldn't get a clear view of what was happening below. The door opened and April glanced up.

"Auntie April!" the three little Kuryakin's shouted, running into her arms. April blinked and then hugged them and kissed them.

"Are you all right?" she asked, trying to take a careful look at each little girl. "You're not hurt?" Anushka shook her head.

"They shot Mama!" she sobbed. The three little girls dissolved into tears and April folded to the floor, pulling them close.

"I'm sure that Mama is going to be okay," April whispered, hoping her voice was more convincing to children than it was to her own ears. "You know that Auntie Charlie will take good care of her." Anushka sat up, wiping away her tears.

"I was so scared, Auntie," she said, her voice catching. "I didn't know what to do!" Tia and Tasha nodded in agreement. "Mama pushed us down the stairs and made us hide."

"Uncle Joel and Uncle Carl … they're both hurt, too!" Tasha added, cuddling with Tia. April felt the tears in her eyes and willed them to stay.

"Tell Auntie what happened," she said softly, settling Tia on her lap and encircling Tasha and Anushka with her arms.

Anushka took the lead, explaining about ballet class, Emerson coming to collect them, the bad men in the black cars, the shooting, and the men grabbing them and pushing them into the car, the flight, and the helicopter ride. Her voice stronger, fueled by anger and frustration, she grinned at Tasha. "Tell Auntie what you did, Tasha." Tasha beamed.

"I bit 'em." April's eyes widened.

"You bit whom?" Tasha, now on her feet, jumped up and down, excited to tell her tale.

"I bit Orville, the man who grabbed us." April laughed.

"Good girl! What else happened?" Tia wriggled in April's lap.

"I scared 'em!" April hugged the little girl.

"What did you do?"

"The bad man grabbed me and I screamed! I scared 'em!" She paused, her blue eyes dark in the fading light. "I 'pologized, though." Tasha nodded. "Tasha 'pologized, too. For biting Mr. Orville." April laughed and hugged them close.

"I think some food is in order, don't you?" April asked, leading the trio to the bathroom.

"I think that Miss Dolores is supposed to be taking care of us, Auntie," 'Nushka offered, wiping Tia's face with a damp wash cloth. "That's what the ugly man downstairs said." April washed Tasha's face and watched the confident little blonde tend to her baby sister.

"Who's Miss Dolores?"

"She's the lady on the plane," Tasha explained. "She's 'posed to take care of us."

"I see," April said, taking them back to the sitting room. "But, I'm thinking that you should stay with me. We could have a … a pajama party." The three little girls squealed their delight. April picked up the in-house phone, which was immediately answered by Frick.

"Ah, Frick," she said teasingly, "would you see to some food for three little girls, please? And, they'll need appropriate night clothing as well." Frick stared at the receiver.

"Uh, hold on a sec." April could hear a muffled conversation, some shouting, and a woman's voice.

"This is Dolores. What can I do for ya'?" April rolled her eyes.

"I understand that you are responsible for the care of the Kuryakin girls," April charged. "They are hungry and tired. Please send up supper immediately." April paused and grinned. "And, if they are staying the night, I will need three cots, bed linens, and appropriate night clothes for children."

"What makes you think they're stayin' with you?" Dolores asked, snubbing her cigarette on the edge of the kitchen sink. April covered the speaker on the phone and winked at the girls.

"Seems that Miss Dolores doesn't want you to stay with me." Anushka grinned and the three little blonde's sobbed passionately. Dolores cleared her throat.

"I'll see what I can do." The frumpy woman rang off and glared at Orville and Arnold. "They're stayin' with the woman agent. Thank god I don't have to deal with the brats!" She frowned at the cook. "Get some food up there … what ever little kids like to eat." The two men chuckled.

"And you two worthless bastards," Dolores yelled at Frick and Frack, "find me three cots and some bed clothes, and haul 'em upstairs … now!" The two men jumped and scurried out the door.

Dolores shook her head. "Now where the hell do I get pajamas for little girls?"

Thursday, 5 p.m.

Alexander Waverly dispatched Section 2 and Section 3 agents to retrieve the remainder of the Solo and Kuryakin households. He ordered extra security in Medical and sent for Illya. He was not surprised to see the Russian enter his office dressed in black and carrying a kit bag loaded with armaments. Waverly lit his pipe and nodded.

"Your children, housekeeper, and nanny are enroute as I speak, along with the Solo children and their nanny and housekeeper. They will reside here until this situation is resolved."

"Thank you, sir." Illya dropped the kit bag and poured a cup of coffee. "I have ordered Mark and the assault team to stand down awaiting further orders." Waverly sent Trap's latest communiqué; the one Kristianna had delivered as Illya rushed to Medical.

"Dr. Trap will be expecting you," the Chief of UNCLE North American explained. "There is a jet standing by at JFK. A helicopter is prepared for you at the Quebec office." He puffed quietly on his pipe and watched the gears turning in Kuryakin's head.

Illya crossed the space to the large round table and reached for the kit bag. Waverly stayed him, resting his hand on Illya's.

"You will read the communiqué first, Mr. Kuryakin." Illya blanched at the hardness in the old man's voice.

Alexander, Illya read, surprised at the tremor in his hand, I now realize the folly of my plan … thinking that you would allow Dr. Kuryakin to sacrifice himself for two of your agents. I fear that Angelique was correct, that while your agents are considered expendable, you would not permit such a waste, even for agents such as Mr. Solo and Miss Dancer.

So, I am forced to take another tack. I now hold Dr. Kuryakin's daughters, Anya, Natasha, and Tatianna. I am prepared to, how is it said, 'sweeten the pot'? Illya imagined his children, terrified and alone, in the clutches of a mad man, and his blood burned within him.

Dr. Kuryakin is to arrive alone by helicopter not later than 9 p.m. You have the coordinates. Upon his arrival, I will release Mr. Solo, Miss Dancer, and the children. They may depart in the same helicopter if that suits.

I warn you, Alexander, make no attempt at retrieving Dr. Kuryakin. Be assured that I take the phrase 'expendable' extremely seriously.

Dr. Eligeus Trap.

Illya dropped the telex and collected his kit bag. "I will depart immediately," he said striding toward the door. It did not open as he expected. He wheeled on his superior, fury in his face. "Sir?"

"You will transmit on Channel Q, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said softly. "You will, of course, wish to be apprised of Emie's condition, am I correct?" Illya colored.

"Of course, sir."

"And, you will be in contact with Mr. Slate and Mr. Ahern. Mr. Wilson will accompany you to Quebec. They will lead an expanded assault team as soon as you give the word." Illya nodded and the door opened.

"Miss Blackstone, I have need of you," Waverly called, watching Illya evaporate down the hall.

Napoleon, reading by the fire, glanced up as the door to his suite opened. His nose detected the unmistakable scent of Chanel No. 5. "Angelique, come in."

The blonde, wrapped in her full length mink, hurried into the sitting room and knelt beside him. "'Pasha, darling, you must believe me when I tell you that I had nothing to do with any of this." Her sapphire eyes held a pleading look, completely unlike Angelique. Napoleon smiled.

"If I didn't know better, darling, I'd say you're scared." Angelique nodded.

"'Shitless', I believe, is the more common phrase." He pulled her onto the sofa and rested his arm around her shoulders.

"I know you aren't involved in this, Angelique," he assured, running his fingertips through the thick fur. "You might employ all sorts of nefarious plans, but kidnapping innocent children isn't one of them."

"I despise children," she said, cuddling close. She chuckled. "I hope Kuryakin's brats are giving Trap hell; the stupid bastard."

"What's the plan, Angelique?" Napoleon lifted her face and stared into her beautiful, troubled eyes. She sighed.

"Oh, 'Pasha," she began, fussing with her black leather gloves, "the dour Russian is going to deliver himself into Trap's nasty fingers." Napoleon managed to mask the anger that coursed through him. "Once the Russian is on the ground, Trap will release the children, Miss Dancer …, and you." Napoleon stood and walked to the windows.

"No. I won't allow Illya …" She laughed.

"A hell of a lot of good you'd be to him," she said, pointing to the cast. "I know it's not your dominate hand, 'Pasha, but you'd only be in the way." She shimmied her way to his side. "There's nothing you can do, darling, except wait to be rescued."

"I can't, Angelique." She turned him toward her and frowned.

"You're a fool, 'Pasha," she countered. "Do you think, for one lousy second, that this is going to end well? Do you think that UNCLE isn't going to fall on this place like a plague?" Napoleon ignored her. "The Russian is going to come in here, rescue his children, Dancer, and you, and then the cavalry will sweep in and reduce this place to rubble." She shrugged. "Not that I give a rats ass, you understand." Napoleon chuckled.

"So, where are you going?"

"The Island's," she answered, a seductive smile on her pretty face. "I've packed a little, tiny bag full of little, tiny bikinis." She kissed him, nibbling on his lower lip. "You wouldn't care to join me, would you?"

Napoleon hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, Angelique, I'm otherwise engaged."

Angelique smiled. "No, I guess your little doctor would never understand."

He laughed. "And, I'd never take the risk of trying to explain." Angelique stepped back and traced his cheek with her gloved finger tip.

"I am still disappointed in you, 'Pasha," she pouted, turning toward the door. "I can understand … sort of … the dour little Russian marrying that equally dour little reverend of his." She blew him a kiss. "But you, darling," she shook her platinum blonde head, and winked, "Unforgivable!"

"Travel safely, Angelique," he said, grinning at the blonde bombshell.

She paused at the door, turning her head and smiling. "You know, darling, hope spring eternal." She sighed dramatically. "Perhaps, one of these days, you'll see the error of your ways …"

"Good bye, Angelique," he said, turning away. The door closed quietly behind him. "We will meet again … soon."

Verity Wexler paced the drawing room smoking a cigarette and watched the snow fall unabated. She was ready for this fiasco to be done. She was ready to escape this frozen wasteland with Eligeus and head for warmer climes. She was, in a word, bored. The pocket doors opened and Eligeus walked to her side.

"My darling," he cooed, resting his head on her breast, "what troubles you?" She brushed her fingers over the thinning gray hair of his head and smiled.

"I am bored, my darling," she answered, leading him to the sofa. "I have Solo where I want him and I have no interest in the Russian. He is your project, not mine." Trap shook his head.

"As soon as I retrieve the information from Kuryakin, and I doubt that it will take very long to do so, you and I shall jet away to some place warm and delightful." He kissed her hand.

"Promise?" She sounded like a little girl, and Trap smiled, pressing her palm to his hollow chest.

"I swear it, my love." She kissed him deeply. "Perhaps, you would like to begin packing now," he suggested, resting his hand on her well shaped thigh. She smiled and took his hand.

"I'd rather spend some time, alone, with you." He offered a raspy, gurgling laugh and allowed her to lead him toward the master suite.

Thursday, 6 p.m.

Illya sat in stone silence catching glimpses of the thick forests of the Northeast below. Snow that had started as an irritating squall had turned into a full-blown storm.

"Rotten weather, mate," Pete offered, watching Illya's impassive face and wondering at the turbulent emotions that he was sure roiled beneath the surface. Illya turned to face his partner and nodded.

"Not what I would have ordered." The flight agent appeared with coffee and sandwiches, quietly offering them to her charges. Illya shook his head no, but Pete interrupted.

"What say you leave them, Sheila?" he asked, winking at the pretty, young agent. "We'll call if we need anything else." She smiled, blushed prettily, and returned to the galley. Pete turned his attention to Illya. "Look, Illya, you gotta eat something." Illya ignored him.

"Come on, IK," Pete urged, "I'm not gonna' tell Mother that I let you starve!" Illya rotated his seat and glared at Pete.

"I am more than capable …" His voice died and he smiled. "My apologies, Peter," he offered, reaching for a turkey and Swiss on whole wheat, "I am … not myself." Pete laughed, helping himself to a sandwich and bag of chips.

"Like hell you're not," he answered, grinning at the Russian. "You're just as goddamn surly as ever. I almost pity that poor bastard, Trap, having to face you." Illya's face darkened.

"You should pity him, Peter," he said, sipping his black coffee. "I will consign him to the fires of hell." Illya paused, a look of banked fury unlike any Pete had ever seen. "And, I will accompany him, if need be."

Charlie stood at the foot of Emerson's bed, jotting progress notes, the myriad of monitors beeping and flashing in a satisfying rhythm.

"When do you expect her to awaken?" Alexander Waverly asked, frowning at his goddaughter. Charlie glanced at the elderly man and smiled.

"I would guess in the next three hours or so. We're already weaning her from the vent. Once she's conscious and able to understand and respond to commands, we'll remove the tube and leave her on oxygen." Waverly nodded. "Let me warn you, though, I doubt she'll be up to conversation."

"May I wait here?" Charlie chuckled.

"Sir, you may wait just about any place, but surgery." He offered a smile, a rare thing indeed. "I'll have a comfortable chair brought in, pillows and blankets, too, if you like."

"Thank you, Dr. Charles," he said, moving to Emerson's side and taking her hand. "And, may I suggest that you have dinner with the children?" She smiled.

"Sir, if I may ask …" Waverly did not glance up.

"Mr. Kuryakin is on his way to Quebec. He is expecting word from you on Channel Q."

Charlie chuckled as the door opened and she reached for her communicator.

Mark paced the small conference room in the Quebec UNCLE office, glancing at his watch and then at the continually falling snow. Jack snorted.

"Ya' think you're gonna' speed things up by wearin' a path in the carpet, mate?" he asked, watching Mark make the circuit again. Jack's communicator sounded and Mark hurried to his side.

"Ahern."

"Jack-o!" Pete greeted, teeth chattering in the cold, "You could've mentioned the snow!" Jack laughed.

"I told ya' it was cold, Pete. I told ya' you'd hate it." Pete nodded and climbed into the UNCLE taxi, stealing a look at Illya.

"We're on our way in. Illya wants to go over the plan with the assault team and us, so lay in the coffee and sandwiches." Illya offered no acknowledgement of the conversation. "We'll arrive in … 20 minutes or so."

"Gotcha', mate," Jack laughed. "Lots of black coffee and some food, too. Tell the Russian that I know he's got a hollow leg … still can't figure out where it puts it!" The connection closed and Pete returned the pen to his jacket. He took a deep breath and turned his gaze to Illya. "You okay, mate?" The chill in Illya's ice blue eyes made Pete shiver.

"I am fine, Peter."

Thursday, 7 p.m.

"Open Channel Q," Charlie ordered, pushing the elevator button impatiently.

"Kuryakin," Illya answered, trying to school the tremor in his voice.

"She's out of surgery and resting comfortably in ICU." Charlie smiled at the audible sigh from the Russian.

"How is she, Charlie?"

"Sleeping, which is a gift for the rest of us. When she wakes up and discovers that she's intubated, the war will be on." Illya nodded and ran his hand over his face, hiding his tears of relief. "We managed to control the bleeding, remove the bullet, and neaten things up a bit."

"Thank you, Charlie," Illya said, his voice a soft whisper. "I don't know how to …" Charlie smiled, always amused when Illya, the master of multiple tongues, struggled with language.

"You're welcome, Illya," she said, brushing an errant curl from her forehead. "We've got a ways to go before she's out of the woods." She paused, a frown on her pretty face. "I'll keep you posted until … until your assignment begins."

"The children; have you seen Nicky and Alexi?" Illya asked, his voice filled with fresh worry.

"I'm having dinner with them in a few minutes." The elevator door hissed open. "I'll give them your love, Illya."

"Thank you, Charlie …"

"And, Illya," she said, wiping a tear from her cheek and straightening her back for the onslaught of small children, "be careful. Please."

"I will, Charlie. See you tonight."

Verity knocked softly and then entered Napoleon's rooms. He turned away from the windows, having just watched Angelique's departure.

"Do you miss her already?" Verity asked, crossing her arms. Napoleon chuckled.

"It would be difficult not to miss Angelique, in an odd sort of way." Verity frowned.

"I doubt that you will miss me, Napoleon," she said, reaching for his hand. He felt a pin prick on the underside of his wrist and grimaced. "But, this may help you remember me."

April sighed, Tia nestled in her arms, fast asleep and Tasha and 'Nushka cuddled next to her on the sofa. "I don't remember this course in Survival School," she said aloud.

The tray of milk, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, and cookies lay in a jumble on the coffee table. April congratulated herself on her mothering skills, figuring that the girls were hungrier than they knew. And that once feeding them, they would be exhausted. She gently moved Tia to the sofa and covered her with a blanket.

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, April watched the children sleep, some part of her brain wondering if she would one day have her own children. She shook her head. "Get a grip, April," she murmured. "UNCLE and motherhood don't mix." The door opened and Verity entered.

"What do you want?" April demanded, covering the distance to stand between Wexler and the children. Verity held up her hands in mock surrender.

"Nothing, Miss Dancer. I have no interest in the children. They are merely a means to an end." She followed April to the matching chairs, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down. "I must admit, though, they are very pretty little girls." She smiled wistfully. "My sisters' and I were once like that … sweet and innocent." Verity frowned.

"Must have been a difficult childhood," April observed, wondering what sort of family would breed such children as the Wexler sisters.

"It is of no concern," she snapped, sitting the coffee cup on the tray. "Get them dressed and be ready to depart around 9 p.m." She walked to the door and paused. "There father is coming for them … and for you and Mr. Solo."

April glanced at the sleeping children. "They've found your Papa's weakness," she whispered. She walked to the bedroom and began sorting their school clothing. "What they don't realize is that they've also found your Papa's passion."

Thursday, 8 p.m.

Charlie kissed Liz and tucked her into the crib next to Alexi's, pausing for a moment and wondering where the cribs came from. She glanced at Tony and Nicky, asleep on two small cots near the cribs and slipped out of the room.

After a shower and dinner with the children, she was exhausted. Pouring a Scotch on the rocks, she dropped onto the sofa and pulled her legs beneath her. The tears came without warning.

"Waverly was right, Em," Charlie said to the four walls, "UNCLE is no place for wives … and seriously not a place for children!" Her voice broke and she took a deep drink from her glass. "Oh, sure, Em; we were so damn cocky. Certain that if any two women could do this it would be you and I." She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and shook her head. "Fools, Em. That's what we are. Fools." The security buzzer sounded, startling her. She pressed the button. "Who is it please?"

"Lina Waverly; may I come in, Charlie?" The door opened silently and Charlie found herself in Lina's arms, sobbing like a baby. Lina led Charlie to the sofa and sat down with her, cradling her like a child, patiently waiting for the storm to subside.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Waverly," Charlie said, pulling out of the embrace, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Forgive the outburst, please!" Lina chuckled.

"Lina, dear. You really must call me Lina." She dabbed at Charlie's tears with a lace trimed hankey. "I thought that I might be of some assistance and, of course, I'm certain that Alex would agree." The older woman busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee and sliced two pieces of Devil's Food cake. "And, I hate to pass up any opportunity to spoil the children." She smiled warmly at Charlie. "I had the cake sent from my favorite bakery. I find chocolate most comforting in trying times."

Charlie excused herself and washed her face and hands, leaving her robe in the bathroom. Lina poured coffee and delivered the cake plates to the small, round kitchen table. Taking her seat, she looked at Charlie and took the young doctor's hand.

"I'm not here to relate harrowing tales of my life with Alex or of my life in UNCLE." Charlie smiled her thanks and took a bite of cake. "Nor am I here to say 'I told you so," because, if you recall, I didn't."

"I remember our visit, Mrs. Waverly, ... Lina ... and I deeply appreciate you coming to be with me tonight." Charlie sipped her coffee and closed her eyes. "I feel like an idiot. I just never thought that something like this would happen." Lina nodded.

"We never do, my dear. It's simply too much for the human mind and heart to imagine." She smiled. "But, here we are. Your husband is being held by a maniac, your best friend has been shot, and your godchildren have been kidnapped."

"That just about covers it," Charlie agreed, spearing another bite of cake. She chewed thoughtfully. "And, Illya's sacrificing himself." Her shoulders slumped at the thought.

"Ah, but he isn't, Charlie," Lina corrected. "Illya would never 'sacrifice' himself. I am convinced that there is a complicated plan afoot; a plan to bring Napoleon, April, and the children safely home, and to return Illya to us as well." Lina took a bite of cake and glanced at Charlie who offered a tired smile.

"Em calls it the 'Alexandrite Encyclical.' We never know anything about what's going on. Hell, I wouldn't know that Napoleon had been captured except that Illya thought I should be told." Lina laughed.

"Emie would call it an encyclical, wouldn't she? And, you know that Alex keeps things to himself thinking that he's protecting you." She sipped her coffee. "He's never learned that 'protecting' people sometimes causes the most harm." Charlie rested her elbows on the table.

"How did you manage, Lina? How did you live through this sort of thing without going stark raving mad?" Lina collected the plates and refilled their cups.

"Who says that I didn't?"

Illya entered the heliport conference room dressed entirely in black and smiled. Jack, Pete, and Mark stood in the midst of three assault teams, giving their final briefings. Mark glanced up.

"Agents, this is Illya Kuryakin, Section 2, Number 2, North American Headquarters." The young men and women came to attention. "Illya, we're ready for your briefing." Illya walked to the chalk board and dropped his kit bag.

"Please be seated." He waited while the agents took their seats and his friends joined him.

"How's Em?" Jack asked, worry etched on his handsome face.

"Charlie tells me that she is 'resting comfortably,'" Illya replied. Mark chuckled at the phrase.

"That means she's unconscious. I've never seen Em in medical doing anything but trying to make a break for it!" Illya glanced at the assault team and Pete rested his hand on Illya's arm.

"We'll bring everybody home, Illya. Safe and sound." Illya smiled and the tall, blond Australian agent. "Everybody." His friends stepped aside and Illya began his briefing.

Charlie rolled out of bed, reaching for her communicator. "Dr. Charles."

"Your patient is awake and very angry," Jamilla Llewellyn laughed. "I told her I'd call you." Charlie smiled at the mental picture of Em, right arm restrained for just this instance, unable to talk, yet registering her anger.

"Thanks, Jamilla; I'm on my way. Tell her I said to calm down or I'll leave the damn thing in place!" The older nurse shook her thick, platted braids and laughed.

"I'm not tellin' her a thing, Doc Charlie. I don't get hazard pay!"

Napoleon slowly opened his eyes to his darkened bedroom. Someone had carried him to the bed and he felt his right sleeve now rolled above his elbow. He switched on the light and took a look. Fresh needle marks.

He rolled carefully into a sitting position, allowing his legs to drop over the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead. The leavings of a headache cowered behind his eyes, but otherwise he felt good. Closing his eyes for a moment, a brilliant image of Angelique materialized and his gut clinched. Of all the women I could call to mind … he thought, pushing off the bed. Standing slowly and gaining his balance, an equally vivid image of Illya materialized. He shook his head. "You need a drink, Solo."

Pouring a drink and walking to the windows, he glanced back at the alarm clock and frowned. It was nearly 9 p.m.

April gently awakened the girls and got them dressed. As they returned to the sitting room, Anushka stopped her.

"Is Papa coming for us?" the very old little girl asked pointedly. April glanced away from the penetrating stare.

"Yes. Papa's coming and then we're going to leave; you and your sisters, Uncle 'Pasha, and me." Anushka frowned.

"Is Papa coming with us?" It was blindingly clear to April in that split-second why she didn't have children. She knelt next to the child and held her hands. "Papa will follow us very soon, 'Nushka. Uncle Mark, Uncle Jack, and Uncle Pete are coming and he'll leave with them."

Anushka considered April's answer. "But, Papa will come home, right?" April pulled the little girl into an embrace and said a silent prayer. A prayer of hope that Illya would return and a prayer for absolution should her response be a lie.

"Anya," she answered, looking directly into the little face dominated by huge blue eyes, "you know that we'll do everything … absolutely everything … to make sure that he comes home safe and sound." Anushka smiled.

"Papa has to come home, Auntie," she insisted, pointing to a front tooth. "My tooth is loose and I want him to catch the Tooth Fairy for me!"

Mark Slate grinned at the computer printout showing every move Illya made on his way to the Trap estate. "We're in, ladies and gents," he said, turning to his cohort of agents.

Jack and Pete gathered their teams, running one more check of armaments and reviewing the plan one last time. "Ready?" Mark asked, heading for the door to the heliport. Jack grinned, punching Pete in the shoulder.

"Let's go get ourselves a rabid dingo, mate."

Thursday, 9 p.m.

"Hey, Em," Charlie greeted, checking the monitors and opening Emerson's chart. "You're doing very well." Emerson waved her right hand, irritated at the restraint. Charlie grinned. "Didn't want you pulling anything loose," she said, releasing the restraint. "I know how you are about these things." Emerson signed for a pen and paper.

"Out! Now!" she scrawled. Charlie glanced at Jamilla and chuckled.

"Impatient as always, Jamilla. I'd say our patient is ready to be rid of this thing." Jamilla checked the dials and raised the head of the bed. "Okay, Em, you know the drill. Deep breath in, hold it, and we'll do the rest." Emerson pulled in a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Charlie. The syringe holding pressure on the tube was released.

"1, 2 …, and 3!" Charlie counted, pulling out the tube. Emerson gasped and coughed, grimacing at the pain shooting through her belly and her shoulder. Jamilla pulled her forward, allowing her to rest against her.

"There, there, darlin'," she murmured, "all better now." Emerson groaned. "And, Doc Charlie's got a little somethin' for the pain."

"No!" Emerson was even more irritated to find a voice barely a whisper.

"Em, you've got to be uncomfortable." Charlie reached for the IV tubing and Emerson grabbed her hand.

"What?" Emerson whispered, allowing Jamilla to settle her against a mound of pillows.

"What happened?" Charlie asked. Emerson nodded.

"You were shot on the street outside the ballet academy," she said, averting her eyes.

"Girls?" Emerson took Charlie's hand in hers. Charlie grimaced.

"The girls are missing." She squeezed Emerson's hand. "The Old Man wants to talk to you." Emerson frowned.

"Now. Now!" Jamilla, catching Charlie's glance, pushed the morphine.

Illya piloted the black UNCLE helicopter over the snow cover country side, his face grim with determination and the light of a slightly mad man in his eyes. His communicator sounded.

"Kuryakin."

"We removed the tube and the vent," Charlie reported, standing outside Emerson's room. "Right now she's got morphine on board and sleeping like a baby. When she was awake she was suitably pissed." Illya allowed himself a slight smile.

"You have told her?" he asked, checking his compass.

"I told her what had happened and about the girls." She paused. "Mr. Waverly will be in later and tell her the rest."

"Thank you, Charlie."

"Illya, please …"

"Tell her that I will see her tonight. Kuryakin, out."

Eligeus Trap checked the grandfather clock in his study and smiled. Soon, Eligeus, very soon you will have all the power of Thrush in your hands.

"Pardon, sir," the guard said, standing in the door of the study, "there's a transmission for you." Trap nodded and waved the guard away.

"Dr. Kuryakin," the gaunt old man said into the radio microphone, "how good of you to be prompt."

"It is my nature," Illya replied, his knuckles glowing white against the stick.

"Please turn on your receiver." Trap heard a click followed by a steady pinging. "That is the landing beacon. You will find the pad cleared of snow and ready to receive you." Trap coughed convulsively and then caught his breath. "Do take care, Dr. Kuryakin. I await your arrival." Illya's headset crackled as the connection ended. He smiled into the darkness.

Yes, Dr. Trap, he thought, listening to the dull ping of the beacon, I will take great care.

Orville and Arnold stood silently watching April button Tia's coat and tie on her cap. "There we go. Snug as a bug in a rug!" Tia frowned.

"I'm not a bug." April laughed at the quick witted toddler.

"No, you're not, Tia," she said, quickly checking the buttons on Anushka and Tasha's coats and helping them tug on mittens. "It just means that you'll be nice and warm." Orville stepped forward.

"I'll take the little one," he offered, reaching for Tia who willingly allowed him to lift her into his arms. "Arnold, you take the other two." Anushka stiffened.

"We will go with Auntie," she pronounced, reaching for April's hand as Tasha did the same. "You, Mr. Arnold, can carry our ballet bags." She paused a second, "If you would, please?" Arnold tried not to smile and dutifully collected the bags.

Illya set the chopper down gently, following the abandoned plan he had outlined with Mark. He leaped out of the craft on the side opposite the estate, slung his back pack over his shoulder, and opened the bay door. The rotors made lazy circles causing a downdraft that disturbed the snow.

Walking toward the front of the craft, he saw April shepherding Anushka and Tasha, a man carrying Tia, and a second man laden with ballet bags. He nearly smiled at the sight. Then he noticed Napoleon moving more slowly, his left arm held at an odd angle. The guards stopped at the walkway handing Tia to April along with the bags. They waved at the little girls and returned to the house.

Anushka and Tasha rounded the front of the chopper and he dropped to one knee, welcoming them into his arms. Tia squirmed away from April and joined her sisters.

"Papa, come home with us!" Tasha demanded, pulling on his arm. Anushka, her blue eyes darkly serious, kept her silence. Tia threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

"Papa! Let's go! Now!" she demanded, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. He hugged the baby and found his gaze returning to 'Nushka.

"Papa will be home soon, moi dorogiye docheri (my dear daughters)." 'Nushka's eyes never wavered from his. He stood Tia on the deck and helped Tasha in after her. "In your seats, now. 'Nushka will help you with your seatbelts." He turned to his oldest daughter. "YA pridu domoj skoro, Anushka. YA obeschayu. YA l'ubl'u Vas, moyego angela." (I will come home soon, Anushka. I promise. I love you, my angel.)

"Papa, YA l'ubl'u Vas. Bud'te ostorozhny, pozhalujsta!" (Papa, I love you. Be careful, please!) Illya kissed both of her cheeks, now cold and stained with tears, and lifted her into the chopper.

"Look after your sisters, 'Nushka. Make certain their seatbelts are tight." Illya closed the bay door and turned into April's embrace.

"They're fine, Illya. I kept them with me the whole time." He kissed her cheek and smiled.

"Thank you for looking after them." He offered his hand to assist her into the cockpit and she frowned.

"What makes you think that I'm going anywhere?" she asked, the gleam in her eye as malevolent as Illya's.

"April, I do not have time …"

"You're right; you don't have time." Napoleon stood behind the two, an amused look on his face. Illya glared at him. Napoleon offered a truncated shrug.

"Since when has she ever listened to me? Hell, I'm not even CEA at the moment." April disappeared into the cloud of snow. Illya turned to Napoleon.

"Are you able to fly this craft, Napoleon?" His friend and partner smiled jauntily.

"I can fly this thing with my teeth if I must." Illya shook his head in consternation.

"'Pasha …"

"Tovarisch," Napoleon said his voice thick with emotion and pain. He draped his uninjured arm around Illya and hugged the smaller man. "Come home safe." Illya smiled and assisted Napoleon into the craft securing the door. He tapped the chopper twice and stepped away.

The last Napoleon saw of Illya was his face, impassive as the helicopter lifted off into the cold snowy night.

Thursday, 10 p.m.

I smell baby powder, she thought. Baby powder? She cracked open sleep matted eye lids.

"Uncle Alex?" Waverly smiled, remembering the days when the child Emerson called him that. Alexi slept in his arms, his small fingers in his mouth, head resting against Waverly's chest. Emerson shifted and groaned as a wave of pain washed over her body.

"You should not move, Emie," Alexander Waverly cautioned. She blinked, opening her eyes wider. Alexi stirred and opened his eyes sleepily.

"Alexander, why is Alexi on your lap?" The elderly man smiled and patted the baby's pudgy leg hidden beneath a blue thermal blanket.

"He was … fussy as Mrs. Waverly calls it. I decided to take him for a walk," he grinned at the baby, "and, we ended up here." He returned his gaze to Emerson. "There is much for us to discuss," he said, brushing a kiss on the top of Alexi's head. Charlie slipped through the door and frowned.

"You," she said, pointing at Emerson, "need to rest."

"I have been resting, Charlie!" Emerson retorted, realizing that her voice didn't have much power to it, but got the point across.

Charlie shook her head and turned her attention to Waverly and Alexi. "But, the boss needs to talk to you and Alexi needs his crib." She took the baby and paused at the door. "Keep it brief, sir, if at all possible." The door closed behind her.

Emerson fixed her boss, godfather, and dear friend with a menacing glare. "Let me tell you what I remember," she began her voice even more raspy. She reached for the cup of ice chips. Waverly was instantly at her side.

"Let me help you, Emie," he said, spooning the chips into her mouth. After a second spoonful, he sat the cup on the nightstand and absently brushed her hair from her face. "I'm so sorry, Emie." She blinked, surprised at his behavior and tone.

"I was shot, Uncle Alex, trying to protect my children," she stated flatly. "Where are they?" Waverly sat on the edge of her bed and reached for her hand. She withdrew, frowning at him. "Save the hearts and flowers and tell me the truth. All of it." Waverly shook his head in resignation.

"Anya, Natasha, and Tatianna are being held by Dr. Eligeus." He paused, taking in the expression on her pale and drawn face.

"He has April and 'Pasha, too?" Emerson coughed and then caught her breath sharply. The concern on Waverly's face deepened and he took her into his arms. The spasm passed quickly.

"You should rest, Emie," he whispered, settling her against the pillows, concerned that she looked even more ashen. He rose from her bed. "We will talk later." She grabbed his wrist.

"You'll stay and talk … now," she rasped. Waverly returned to his perch on her bed and closed his eyes.

"Dr. Trap believes, mistakenly, that Mr. Kuryakin still retains the information regarding the space based missile system." He opened his eyes, noticing that what little color remained in Emerson's face drained away.

"You've sent Illya?" Waverly shook his head. "He's not cleared … he's not supposed to be …"

"Trap sent a communiqué stating that Miss Dancer, Mr. Solo, and the children would be released in exchange for Mr. Kuryakin." He looked away, finding it impossible to face her.

"And you sent Illya," she said resignedly. She closed her eyes, trying to stem the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Waverly squeezed her hand.

"Mr. Kuryakin was not assigned, Emie." She nodded.

"But, you didn't try to stop him, did you?" Her raspy voice still held enough condemnation to unsettle the Chief of UNCLE North American.

"What would you have me do, Emie, toss him in the brig, allow Dr. Charles to sedate him?" He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "The lives of your children hang in the balance. The lives of his partner and fellow agent." His pale blue eyes met hers. "He would never allow anyone else to take this assignment."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Alex," she said, her voice a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion. "You're right." She closed her eyes and sighed. He stood and pulled the blankets closer to her body. "Thank you," she murmured as sleep overtook her. The old man made his way slowly to the door.

"Don't thank me yet, Emie," he whispered, his eyes clouded with tears. "Thank me when your children are safe in your arms … when your husband walks through this door."

Illya watched the chopper carrying his children and his partner disappear into the night. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he signaled the other choppers that waited just beyond the perimeter of Trap's estate, silently cursing April for her impromptu change in his plans.

Trap stood at the doors of his study waiting. The Russian agent made the pretense of waiting for the snow cloud to settle before taking his first step. The blond agent frowned. The nearest shelter, if it could be called that, was a stone and brick wall about 3 feet high that surrounded the patio. It will have to suffice, he thought, taking his first steps toward the house.

As he reached the edge of the flagstone patio, Trap opened the door and smiled. "Ah, Dr. Kuryakin," he said, pulling his coat closer to his skeletal frame, "allow me to welcome you to my home."

Illya paused, shoving his hands into his pockets and then stumbled slightly. As he fell, the compact incendiary ball rolled from his fingers toward the open door, followed by the unmistakable sound of helicopters overhead.

As small arms fire broke out, Illya rolled behind the low wall and grinned as April joined him.

"You can have Trap," she shouted, dropping a Thrush guard. "I'll take Verity."

Thursday, 11 p.m.

"You okay back there?" Napoleon asked. The three little girls nodded in unison and Tia yawned. Napoleon, straining to look over his shoulder grinned. "We'll be in Quebec in no time."

Anushka wrapped her arms around her sisters and smiled bravely. "Go to sleep now. Uncle 'Pasha will take care of us." Tia snuggled against her and fell asleep. Tasha frowned.

"Papa will be okay?" Anushka smiled and hugged her close.

"Of course, Tasha," she promised. Tasha rested her head on 'Nushka's shoulder and joined Tia in sleep.

Anushka, through tear filled eyes, watched the frozen landscape disappear below them. "Sv'atoj Otec, Zaschitite nashego Papu i nashih druzej. Privedite domoj ih k nam. Amin'". (Holy Father, Protect our Papa and our friends. Bring them home to us. Amen.)

Alexander Waverly, pleased with the report that the exchange had gone as planned, stopped just inside the door to his private study. "My dear!" Lina smiled up at him.

"It seems that you are in dire need of my expertise, Alex," she said, holding out her hand and inviting him to join her on the leather couch. "You have two young women, one seriously wounded, whose husbands are also in extreme danger." Waverly sat close to her, draping his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head against him. "Really, Alex, whom else do you know with such expertise?" He chuckled for what seemed the first time in eons.

"None, my love. Only you." She patted his vest and lifted her face.

"Alex, you smell like baby powder."

After checking on the children, Charlie, still dressed in scrubs, crawled into bed and closed her eyes. The memory of her confrontation with her father flashed into her brain.

Think about this, Elizabeth Mercer Charles, her father's voice cautioned, think about this very carefully!

I love him … and, he loves me! Her father was not impressed. She frowned, walked to the windows of his study, and crossed her arms. I am not a child, she snapped. I am an adult. I am a respected physician in my own right. She wheeled on him. I am the Chief Medical Officer of UNCLE North American Headquarters, Father! I'm not asking your permission to marry Napoleon Solo. I'm telling you that I'm marrying him!

Do not take that tone with me, Elizabeth! He stood and leaned on his mahogany desk, watching his oldest daughter walk calmly to the door. She paused.

I love you, and Mother, but I love Napoleon, too. I want you both at my wedding, but the choice is yours. Her eyes, so much like his own, expressed sadness at this turn of events. The door knob turned in her hand.

Elizabeth! Please … He hurried around the desk and took her in his arms. I … I don't want to see you hurt. She rested her head on his shoulder as she had done so often as a child, his scent filling her head. Solo may well love you, darling, but I know his reputation. She stiffened and pushed away. His hands gripped her wrists. He is a spy, Elizabeth. Risking his life in all sorts of nonsense! And, he is a rake! What sort of husband will he make for a woman such as you? He frowned and shook his head. She pulled out of his grasp.

He's the man I have chosen, Father. I trust him and I love him, flaws and all. She stepped into the hallway and smiled at him. Please, come to our wedding. Walking toward the wide, marble staircase, she paused. I know you won't want to miss being a part of the life of your first grandchild.

She awakened with a start, the sound of her communicator insistently demanding her attention. "Charles," she answered sleepily.

"Dr. Charles, I have Mr. Solo on Channel D."

Illya made his way toward the rear of the house while April laid down covering fire. At the doors, he paused and pulled out another small, round explosive. Glancing over his shoulder he watched April take the left flank. Illya tossed the device through a broken pane and turned his back. A cloud of thick red smoke filled the room and Illya entered the room followed by April.

Small fires burned around the room, but no one was there. Hand signals sent his April to another door he slipped into the hall and trotted toward the entry way scanning for signs of life. A sound to his left caused him to change course.

Pushing open the door, he found Trap, illuminated by the chopper light, standing at an open wall safe. The old man turned and fired.

"You see, Mr. Kuryakin, no one double crosses me and lives."

Midnight

Jamilla checked on Emerson, made some progress notes, and quietly left the room.

Emerson's eyes opened and she fished the communicator that Charlie had hidden from beneath her pillows. Using her uninjured right arm and her teeth to open it she pulled out the antenna with her teeth and grinned, thinking of the all the time and expense her parents had put into straightening her teeth. She offered a silent apology.

"Open Channel D," she rasped.

"Emerson, is that you?" Wanda asked, frowning at the unfamiliar voice.

"It's me, Wanda." She drew a ragged breath. "I'm being held captive in Medical." Wanda laughed. "Find Napoleon for me, please."

"I'm not supposed to …" Wanda paused and thought it over. "They're operating on Channel A. I doubt you'll raise anybody, but that's the channel." Emerson grinned.

"So, Open Channel A, please." Wanda expertly flipped switches and turned dials.

"Solo," came the crisp reply.

"It's Emerson." Napoleon opened his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing with a communicator?" he demanded, his voice carrying above the sound of the rotors.

"I'm a goddamn agent, Solo, and I want to know what the hell is going on!" Napoleon chuckled. Even with a raspy, whispery voice, Emerson could instill a certain level of authority.

"We're enroute to Quebec, Em, landing shortly. The kids are asleep in back." He heard Emerson sigh.

"Are they okay, 'Pasha? Those bastards didn't hurt them did they?" She felt her heart pounding in anger and decided to calm down before she set off the alarms and Jamilla returned.

"They're fine, Em. Seems they charmed their guards into allowing them to stay with April." She sighed.

"Thank God," she whispered "'Pasha, where's Nikala?" Napoleon closed his eyes. "'Pasha?"

"He's at the Trap compound, Em. Mark, Jack, Pete, and three assault teams should be arriving soon." Emerson allowed tears of fear and frustration to fall.

"Tell them I want to hear his voice as soon as they find him."

"Will, do, Em. I'll make it an order. Closing Channel A."

As he came in on final approach, he stole a glance at the sleeping children and sighed. He suddenly recalled April's favorite retort when he sulked about the less pleasurable aspects of being CEA; "That's why you make the big bucks, boss."

"Right now, April, I'd give every cent I've got … will ever have … to be anyplace else," he said, setting the chopper down on friendly soil.

Illya lay propped against the wall, his leg numb and bleeding. Trap shook his head and grinned.

"Mr. Kuryakin," he said, turning on a large lantern and allowing his gun to hang casually at his side, "were circumstances more conducive, you and I would be preparing to collaborate on the most incredible plan ever conceived by Thrush." Illya snorted.

"Fortunately, Trap, circumstances are exactly the way I prefer them."

"You prefer to have a gun aimed at your head, Mr. Kuryakin?" Trap raised the gun slowly. "It is a pity that I must kill you, but you understand."

The wall behind Trap exploded, burying both men in the ruble.

Friday, 1 a.m.

Napoleon sat on the exam table, frowning at the impossibly young physician who was peering at an x-ray of his left arm. "I really need to be cleared, doctor," he insisted, scooting off the table. The doctor did not turn.

"Stay where you are, Mr. Solo, or I shall be forced to restrain you!" His eyes never left the x-ray. "It appears as if they did a passable job of setting the fracture." Dr. Jean-Paul LeClerc turned to face his patient, pushing wire-rimmed glasses onto his forehead. "However, I am concerned about how well you will regain full function." Napoleon rolled his eyes.

"Don't be. My wife is Chief of Medical UNCLE North American." He dropped to his feet. "I'm sure that she can handle any problems." He glanced around the spare room. "So, where are my clothes?" Dr. LeClerc frowned.

"You are not cleared, Mr. Solo," he said, crossing his arms and standing in front of his patient. Napoleon smiled his best 'buddy' smile, the one he used on men rather than women, and leaned against the exam table.

"See, Jean-Paul, here's the deal. I'm CEA of UNCLE North American, which includes Canada." Jean-Paul didn't move. "Which means that I don't need permission … I don't need to be cleared. Vous comprenez?" Jean-Paul shook his head and laughed.

"Dr. Charles warned me about you. I'm sending in a nurse and a phlebotomist, Mr. Solo. I want some blood work and I want you to rest. Please cooperate." He paused at the door. "And, your French accent is horrid."

Napoleon pushed up on the exam table and lay down, pulling a blanket to his chin. "Everybody's a critic!"

Peter's team deployed on the roadway and fanned out toward outbuildings. "Blue Leader, White Leader," Peter radioed, "Red team is deployed. The perimeter is secure."

Mark landed at the rear of the house and his team poured out of the chopper returning fire as they ran. "White team deployed." He ran toward the house, as his team followed.

"Open Channel A. Dancer to Slate."

"April?"

"Yes, Mark. What's your location?" Mark glanced around the room.

"Looks like a library."

"Check on Illya, Mark. Through the doors and straight ahead. I'm heading that way now."

Jack's chopper hovered above the front lawn, his team dropping by rope. Thrush guards fell, either by hand or by gun. Jack didn't much care. "Blue Team deployed," he reported.

"Copy, Blue Leader," Mark said softly. "April, I think I've found him." He opened the door a crack and peered inside. Trap stood near an outer wall, gun in his hand. Mark could see the top of Illya's head and frowned. From this angle, any shot he took to wound Trap might very well hit Illya, and moving into the room would only increase chances that Trap would shoot.

"Jack," Mark whispered, "check my signal and launch one RPG 20 degrees south."

"One RPG coming up," Jack answered, "take cover now."

The whine of the missile was the last thing Illya heard.

Friday, 2 a.m.

Charlie sat bolt upright, her brain trying to decide what was happening. In an instant, she had her communicator open. "Charles."

"Hi, lover." She smiled.

"'Pasha! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She heard voices behind his and chuckled. "I'm surrounded by blondes."

"Small blonds, I hope."

"We're on our way home. I thought you might want to tell Em."

"She's sleeping courtesy of the wonders of chemistry," Charlie said, rolling out of bed. "But, if I don't let her know she'll be more pissed off, if that's possible." She slipped her feet into clogs and walked into the bathroom. "I went to sleep in my scrubs, makes getting dressed a whole lot easier."

"Fond memories of residency days?" he asked, holding Tia on his lap. "Hey, blondie, don't you think that you should at least have a nap?"

"Nope, not sleepy!" she answered, grinning at her sisters. Charlie laughed.

"Tia," Charlie said, "Mama's asleep. Nicky, Liz, Tony, and Alexi are asleep, too." Charlie brushed her hair and frowned at her exhausted image.

"You're not 'sleepin', Auntie Charlie," she said. Anushka offered her hand pulled the toddler off Napoleon's lap. He laughed.

"She has a point, Charlie," he said, watching 'Nushka lead Tia and Tasha to the sleeping berths. "'Nushka's taken charge of things," Napoleon explained. "Looks like a nap is in order no matter what Tia thinks."

"Any word on the raid?" Charlie asked, walking toward Medical.

"Radio silence," Napoleon replied, reclining his seat and yawning. Charlie entered the ICU wing.

"Let me know, 'Pasha, as soon as you hear anything." She stopped outside of Emerson's room. "I love you." Napoleon smiled.

"Love you too, baby." He closed his eyes. "See you soon."

Lina Waverly slipped through the suite assigned to Charlie, checking on the children and adjusting blankets. Nicky sighed in his sleep, his blue blanket clinched in his fist. Tony slept on his tummy, a well loved bunny tucked under his arm.

Liz curled into a little ball at one end of her crib, an old diaper beneath her head. Alexi wriggled as she tucked him, his eyes slowly opening. Lina patted his bottom.

"Back to sleep, little one," she cooed, tucking his blanket around him. The baby sighed and yawned, closing his eyes.

"GiGi?" Nicky asked, his blond hair glowing in the dim light. Lina went to him.

"Yes, baby." He reached for her and she held him, rocking gently.

"Is Mama okay?" She tipped his face and smiled into his dark blue eyes.

"Mama's okay, Nicky. She's sleeping as you should be." Nicky rubbed his eyes and cuddled against her. "Is Papa coming home?" Lina closed her eyes, remembering similar questions from her own children.

"Soon, baby, soon. Uncle Mark, Uncle Pete, and Uncle Jack will bring him home." Nicky sighed.

"It's my fault, GiGi." His small voice caught and she felt the sob roll through his body.

"What's your fault, sweetie?"

"I dreamed it," he said softly. "I dreamed the girl's got 'napped." Lina brushed his hair away from his face.

"Ah, I see. You had a dream, a nightmare, Nicky." She kissed his forehead and smiled.

"Big trees in the park that grabbed 'em. And, I looked for 'em, like Papa would, but I couldn't find 'em." A sob caught in his throat and Lina held him close. "It's my fault that the trees … that the bad men … 'napped 'em." Lina thought that her heart would break.

"Nicky," she said softly, "you had a nightmare. You didn't do anything to cause your sisters to be kidnapped, baby. It's not your fault. Not at all." Nicky pulled away and looked at her.

"Honest?" Lina held his hand and crossed her heart.

"Cross my heart." He grinned and hugged her.

"I told Mama 'bout it and you know what she said, GiGi?" She smiled and helped him settle beneath the covers, blue blanket firmly in hand. He yawned. "Mama told me that even Papa has nightmares. Bad ones with monsters and stuff." Lina tucked him in.

"And, I asked her who stays with Papa and keeps the monsters away and ya' know what else Mama said, GiGi?" Lina shook her head. "Mama said, ""I do, sweetie. I do.'" He closed his eyes and Lina kissed his cheek.

"I'm sure Mama keeps all the monsters away, baby."

"White team," Mark called, "report to the first floor immediately. Agent down!"

April halted her search of the master suite and guest rooms and joined Mark. "What the hell happened?"

"Trap was about to kill Illya," Mark explained, rising unsteadily to his feet, shaking plaster dust from his hair. "I had Jack fire a RPG." April steadied her partner.

"You okay?" She pushed at the door and then applied thermite to the hinges. "This'll open the mother." She pulled Mark around the corner and the door dropped open.

The room, a small study, was a shambles. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lay across the room, covering a sofa and desk with splintered wood and burning books. Beams, boards, and plaster hung from the ceiling. April began to pick her way across the room.

"Where were they, Mark?"

"Near the area of the collapsed bookcases," he answered, tossing boards out of his way. Six agents appeared. "Get your lights set up and start clearing this debris.

"Illya!" April shouted. "Illya! Answer me!" She turned to Mark. "Get the medics in here, too. We'll need them." Mark nodded.

April crawled across a bookcase that was propped up by the remains of a desk. She dropped to the other side, her foot landing on something warm, soft, and wet.

"Shit!" she yelled. "Where are those medics?"

Alexander Waverly stood in the center of Communications, listening to the radio traffic from Trap's estate. Arms crossed and puffing on his pipe, he looked every inch the commander.

"Get me Mr. Solo," he ordered. A technician flipped a switch.

"Open Channel D. Mr. Waverly for Mr. Solo."

"Sir?" Napoleon asked sleepily.

"The assault is underway, Mr. Solo and progressing as planned." The elderly man paused, tapping the stem of his pipe against the edge of the console. "You will take charge upon your arrival." Napoleon grinned.

"Yes, sir. Any reports yet on casualties?" Waverly frowned. This was not the sort of information he cared to report, but had no choice.

"It would seem that there have been some relatively minor injuries among the assault team." Napoleon waited. "And, there was an explosion. There are agents trapped. We will not know whom or the extent of injuries until they are recovered."

"We are on final approach at JFK, sir. I'll be at headquarters in less than 45 minutes." Waverly nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Solo." He glanced at the clock. "A helicopter will await you. There will be a car and caretaker for the children. Channel D, closed."

He paused at the door and turned to the technicians. "Send any further calls regarding this affair to my suite."

Melanie Foster, new to headquarters shook her head. "Cold bastard, isn't he?" Wanda frowned.

"Don't be too hard on the Old Man; he's mostly all bark and no bite," she frowned at the expression of doubt on Melanie's face. "He'll not sleep until he knows that his agents are accounted for."

Friday, 3 a.m.

April watched the med techs care for Illya, bandaging the wound in his thigh, worried that he was still unconscious. Mark hoisted Eligeus Trap to his feet and cuffed his wrists behind his back.

"I demand medical attention!" Trap yelled, trying to pull away from the British agent. He fell silent as the muzzle of Mark's gun pressed against his ribs.

"I suggest, Trap, that you shut up now or I'll do it myself," Mark growled. Trap laughed.

"You wouldn't!" Mark stepped in front of his prisoner and grinned.

"Care to place a wager, mate?"

Napoleon jumped from the helicopter and ran to the elevator. "Open Channel D. Wanda, what's the report?"

"Illya's being air evaced to Quebec," she answered. "Gunshot wound to the thigh. Blood loss. Unconscious." Napoleon punched the button to communications.

"Anything else?" Wanda smiled.

"Trap's in custody." Napoleon grinned.

"I'm on my way to communications now. I'll want to talk to Mark as soon as I get there."

Melanie blushed at the thought of having Napoleon Solo join them in the small, windowless room. Wanda laughed.

"Save it, Mel. A few years ago you would've been at the top of his list." She shrugged. "Now, you're just window dressing."

April held Illya's hand as he was carried to the med evac chopper. As the team carefully loaded him into the cargo bay, his eyelids opened. She smiled.

"You're headed to Quebec, Illya," she said, kneeling next to the stretcher. "Got yourself shot and Jack caused a little explosion that pretty much destroyed the room you were in." Illya blinked.

"Trap?"

"With Mark. If he's a good boy, he'll live to see New York." The senior med tech caught her eye and she relinquished his hand. "If not …"

"Agent Kuryakin," Senior Med Tech Kathleen Shea said, adding an extra blanket to her patient, "we're taking you to Quebec. Just rest and let us do the work." She injected his IV line and smiled. "Agent Dancer, he'll do fine."

"You lips to God's ear," she said. As she turned away from the rotor wash something caught her eye; something moving very quickly toward the woods. She pulled her gun and chambered a round.

"Keep running, Wexler," she muttered, giving chase. "I love a good hunt."

"Emie," Charlie called, taking Emerson's hand in her own. "Wake up." Emerson's eyes squinted open and then widened. Charlie smiled reassuringly.

"The girls are on their way in from JFK. Napoleon's already here." Tears streamed down Emerson's cheeks.

"They're fine. No injuries of any sort, but I'll check them again, personally." She wiped Emerson's tears and perched on the side of the bed.

"'Pasha managed to break his arm but the Old Man assigned him to manage this affair until everyone's home." She shook her head. "I'm heading down now to get a look at him." Emerson squeezed Charlie's hand.

"I want to see my girls, Charlie," she rasped, her voice still weak. "Nikala?"

"Haven't heard anything yet, Em. As soon as I hear something I'll let you know." She stood and stretched. "As soon as the kids clear medical, get something to eat, and catch a nap, I'll bring them for a short visit." Emerson smiled weakly.

"Remember, Em," Charlie said, standing at the door, "a short visit."

"Sure. A short visit." Emerson closed her eyes, smiling at the thought of how long a short visit could be.

Nurse Carrie Winkler smiled as agents carried the three Kuryakin children into medical. She waved.

"Hi, Carrie!" Tia called, reaching for the young nurse.

"Hi, yourself, Miss Tia." She took the toddler in her arms as Anushka and Tasha hugged her legs. "Auntie Charlie wants us to check you out, okay?"

"The doctors in Quebec already did," Tasha noted. "We're fine." Anushka nodded her agreement.

"Okay, then, how about I look in your eyes and ears and then order something to eat?"

"Ice cream," Tia suggested. "With chocolate, please."

Friday, 4 a.m.

Verity Wexler ran through the forest that surrounded the Trap estate, heading for a small building that held an equally small car. She was certain that no one had seen her escape, but she wasn't taking any chances.

April stopped for a second, listening to the footfalls of her prey. "Good, Verity," she growled, "I know exactly where you are." The auburn haired agent opened her communicator. "Mark, I'm in the woods about to capture Verity Wexler." Mark laughed.

"Please tell me that you have darts in your gun." April chuckled evilly.

"Why must you always take the fun out of things?"

Jack lifted Eligeus Trap into the chopper, fastened his seat belt, and grinned. "Sorry I'm not going to be the one to haul your skinny ass into headquarters, Trap."

"I shall never be taken into UNCLE headquarters, young man," Trap retorted, struggling with the shackles that bound him hand and foot. "I will die before that happens." Jack nodded and pulled his gun.

"You going to make all my dreams come true?" Trap's jaundiced complexion blanched dead white.

"You wouldn't!"

Jack chambered a round, pointed the gun at Trap and smiled, holding the gun nice and steady. After a few seconds, he flipped on the safety.

"Nah," he said, grabbing the latch of the door and pulling it nearly closed. "There's always time to kill the likes of you."

Charlie stood in the hall outside of Communications and watched Napoleon in his element. She smiled and tapped on the glass. Napoleon smiled and joined her.

"Oh, baby," he whispered, holding her with his good arm, peppering her face with kisses, "it's so good to hold you." She ran her hands over his body and then relaxed.

"I'm fine, Charlie," he said, smiling down at her. She laughed and hugged him.

"I'll be the judge of that, Agent Solo," she said, her fingers tracing the angle of his jaw. "I want you in medical ASAP." He shook his head.

"Not until I get everyone home." He released her and walked to the door. "See you soon, promise."

She slapped his butt on her way past. "You bet your sweet ass you will."

Lina Waverly entered her husbands' private suite and smiled. The aroma of Isle of Dog No. 22 wafted from the small kitchen.

"Alex, are you brewing tea?" He smiled, laying his pipe aside.

"I thought, perhaps, you might enjoy taking tea with me." She stood behind him, wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"One day, Alex, you're going to have to give this up, you know." He turned in her embrace and kissed her temple.

"Yes, darling, one day," he answered, his voice rumbling deep and low in her ear. "but not today." She nodded and released him.

"I had a nice long chat with Charlie and another with Nicky," she said, filling a tray with a plate of biscuits and cups and saucers. "Charlie asked how I managed to live through things like this without going stark raving mad." She carried the tray into the sitting room. Waverly frowned.

"And what did you tell her, dear?" he asked, sitting the steeping tea pot on the tray. Lina grinned.

"Nothing; yet."

Friday, 5 a.m.

Illya Kuryakin sat up in bed, a full-blown scowl on his face.

"I'm not approving your transfer to UNCLE New York until I'm damn good and ready!" Dr. James Plinkton said, a similar scowl on his face.

"Do you think, Doctor, that this is the first time I have been wounded? Do you think that I am incapable of judging the fitness of my own body for travel?" Plinkton shook his head.

"Yes, Kuryakin, that's precisely what I'm saying," he fumed, "I've seen the scars you carry and I'm completely convinced that you are incapable of rationally judging your condition." Illya tossed aside the bed clothes and dangled his legs over the edge. The fact that his face drained white was not lost on the doctor.

"Look, Kuryakin, give it a few hours. If your vitals are consistently acceptable, I'll have you transferred." Illya expertly removed the IV needle and tested his ability to stand unaided.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Goddamn it, Kuryakin," Plinkton yelled, advancing on his patient, "get your ass back in that bed!" Illya glared and the doctor would have sworn that the temperature dropped 20 degrees.

"Where are my clothes, please?" Illya asked. "If they are unusable, I will dress in scrubs or sweats, but I am leaving even if I must wear this." He picked at his hospital gown as if it were poison. Plinkton shook his head and walked to the door.

He opened the closet and pulled out a set of sweats and Illya's black jacket. "This is all we salvaged." The jacket, torn and dusty, appeared to be perfectly usable to Illya. The blond agent smiled.

Illya hobbled to the chair and began to slowly dress. "I will need shoes, too."

He ducked as a pair of sneakers flew past his head and landed on the floor.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, listening to the door close behind the retreating physician. "And, good riddance!"

Verity leaned against the rough planks of the building, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "Almost there," she whispered, reaching for the latch of the doors. She pulled hard and the door swung open, creaking and squealing on its rusted hinges.

Stepping into the musty darkness of the garage, she stretched out her hand feeling the sleek contours of the Jaguar. She smiled, running her hand along the car, finding the door handle. As she opened the door and reached beneath the seat for the keys, she heard a noise.

"Nice car, Verity," April said, illuminated in the glow of the dome light, her gun leveled at the tall redhead. "Very nice."

Wexler wheeled on the agent, swinging her arm in a wide arc. April stepped back and caught her arm, twisting it behind her back.

"Shall I break it now, Verity, or shall I wait for interrogation?" April slammed her across the low hood of the car and added pressure. Wexler cried out.

"Aw, am I hurting you, Verity?"

"Yes," she hissed, struggling against April.

"You can dish it out, uh, Verity?" The agent pressed the muzzle of her gun against Verity's neck and leaned in close. "But, you can't take it, can you?" Verity groaned and wriggled.

"Ya' know, Verity," April growled, "I'm told that I have a very quirky sense of humor. I'd be more careful if I were you."

"Please …" Verity whimpered. April pulled the trigger and Verity jerked and began to relax, the sleep dart serum coursing through her body.

Friday, 6 a.m.

Mark grinned at his partner as their chopper lifted off. April quirked an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at?"

"I'm just wondering why you're here." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm an UNCLE agent, darling, remember?" He laughed.

"No, when I saw you with Illya I thought, 'Bloody hell! What's she doing here?' April grinned.

"I just wanted a night out with the boys, that's all."

Emerson stirred, angry that she had slept so long. She pressed the call button. "Jamilla!" she shouted.

"Please, Em, do not shout. It has been an incredibly long day and I have a horrid headache." She turned so quickly that a gasp of pain escaped before she could stifle it.

"Nikala?" She flipped on the indirect lighting and smiled. "Nikala!"

Three weeks later …

Napoleon sat at his desk, reading the myriad of reports generated from the assignment. Suddenly, he laughed out loud.

Illya, his leg resting on an open desk drawer looked up at his partner, raised eyebrows hidden by his long hair.

"Rarely do you find humor in assignment reports, Napoleon." Napoleon nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. "Even in my assignment reports, providing you actually read them before you sign them."

"I do read your reports, IK," Napoleon said, trying his best for a wounded expression. "And I've been meaning to tell you that they do lack humor." Illya shook his head.

"Listen to this, IK. It's from April's report. 'Agent Slate asked if I had found anything interesting in my search of the Trap estate.' He broke into another fit of laughter, one that nearly teased a grin out of his Russian partner.

"Continue, Napoleon," Illya suggested. "The suspense is killing me."

'I answered, 'Do leather and chains count as interesting?'

"In future, Napoleon, I will edit April's reports," he said, grinning at his partner who was still laughing. Illya stretched and yawned. "Leather and chains, uh? That is interesting."