Author's note: "First Kill" is the pre-quel to this story. Both can be read independently, but it does set up this story nicely.
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There are thirty seven bridges in Paris, many the rendezvous of lovers and spies alike. They say that if you kiss under " Le Pont Marie" and wish for eternal love, your wish will be granted...
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"The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"
Napoleon Solo was followed through the door to Alexander Waverly's conference room by his partner, Illya Kuryakin. The Russian was looking a little sleep-deprived, being a fairly new father and still becoming accustomed to the demands his four month old son, Demya. Illya masked another concern that he had,not letting Napoleon know that it weighed heavily on his mind.
Elliott Mc Gowan, fellow Section II agent and the child's mother was still out of the field at present, assigned to light duty at headquarters for the last three months, after being home for a full month of maternity leave. She was in the process of weaning her son, which would allow her to return to to the field.
Waverly had put the question as to that status to Elliott just a little over a year ago, before the birth of the child, letting Elliot know that it was her decision and hers alone as to whether she would remain a field agent. Elliott had made up her mind to stay in Section II and Illya was not very happy about it.
"Don't be such a chauvanist," she snapped at him, understanding his concerns, but not willing to give in to his demand for her to leave the field.
"Elliott,what if something happens to you?"
"What if something happens to ye?" she shot back at him, her Irish accent thicker when she became upset.
"What if something happens to us?" he said modulating his voice lower.
Elliott flopped down onto the sofa." Well ye should have thought about that before ye got me preggers then shouldn't ye?"
"That is not fair. It took two of us to do that if you recall, and it was an accident?"
Sure, it was wasn't it, and a pleasant one at that!" her eyes sparkled, remembering their drunken love-making that night at April Dancer's New Years party. "Illya why are we arguing about this? Ye know it's my decision to make. Ye have always respected my independence before so why do ye have to fight me on this now?"
"Because it is not just about you or me, it is about our son. I am sorry Annushka, I just do not want him to grow up without his mother."
"Illya isn't the possibility of losing his father of equal importance? How would ye feel if I demanded ye leave the field?"
Illya looked rather sheepishly at her knowing she was right.
"Yah, the shoe fits different when it's on the other foot doesn't it? Illuysha, we're in this together and we'll have ta do the best we can. We knew the risks when we got into this profession and we'll just have ta make up our minds not ta get killed then won't we?" She smiled.
That was an absurd statement. But then realizing that he had met his match when it came to stubbornness, Illya resigned himself to her decision knowing now that he was not going to convince her otherwise. He sat on the sofa next to her, taking her in his arms.
"Then I guess we will both just have to be more careful then enh?" he sighed, still unhappy.
"Thank you Illuysha." she smiled, kissing him on the cheek.
Illya left for headquarters to join Napoleon for a morning briefing, but not before he looked in on Demya as the child slept peacefully in his crib. He was a good baby and rarely fussed. The Russian gently touched his face, whispering to him.
"Horosho spat' moemu syn. Papa lyubit vas_sleep well my son. Papa loves you."
He kissed Demya on the head then left. Little did he know that he was about to be given an assignment that might change this private world of his forever.
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"Good Morning gentlemen, "greeted Waverly as they walked in." I believe you are both acquainted with Bill Klemm of the C.I.A?" The dark haired man sat beside Waverly, Solo took note the American agent was wearing a cheap "off the rack suit.
"
"Bill," acknowledged Napoleon, wondering why Klemm was gracing U.N.C.L.E. with his presence this time, as in the past it was usually to harass Illya in some way. He had thought that Waverly had finally reached some sort of understanding with the C.I.A. in that regards to their persecution of the Russian.
Illya remained silent. There was no love lost between he and the American agent. He knew Klemm hated him, always referring to him as the "pinko commie" or the "God-damned Russkie." He would not give Klemm the satisfaction of knowing that it angered him to no end, even though as a rule, he let comments such as these roll off him like water off a duck's back.
With Bill Klemm it was a little different, as he was someone who was constantly orchestrating Illya's harassment; having him dragged him in for questioning deliberately in the early morning hours, in spite of Alexander Waverly's protests.
"Kill em' with kindness." Napoleon had advised once."It was Oscar Wilde who said," Aways forgive your enemies...nothing annoys them so much."
Sound advise but not in this case. Illya chose not to show kindness instead he remained aloof, and as far as forgiveness was concerned; he thought not.
They sat at the conference table opposite Waverly and Klemm; Illya instantly slipping on his tinted reading glasses, drawing his attention to the file just passed to him and to hide his eyes from the gaze of the American.
The image of a woman flashed on the video screen behind Waverly.
"The C.I.A was recently contacted by this woman...Katiya Revchenkov, a member of Soviet Intelligence. She has indicated an interest in defecting to the west. In addition to her connections to the internal working of the GRU, she also has tenuous connections to a research project that would essentially reduce the size of a nuclear bomb to that of a small briefcase. She has in her possession certain research documents and has indicated that she will turn them over to the United States government in return for sanctuary.
Illya sat quietly with his hands pressed together on the table in front of him showing no reaction. He stared at the image...she had aged a little, But her eyes had not changed, those deep brown almond shaped eyes that had seduced him so long ago.
"Sir, excuse me," Napoleon interrupted," but what does this have to do with UNCLE, isn't this the concern of the C.I.A.?"
"There are special terms set for the defection by Miss Revchenkov... she has requested that Mr. Kuryakin help bring her back to the U.S. and turn her safely over to the C.I.A on American soil."
"Affirmative. Apparently she wants a Russkie Comrade to help her, doesn't trust us, even though she's willing to defect." Klemm said.
"You were acquainted with Miss Revchenkov from your days at the Sorbonne were you not Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly asked.
"Yes sir, we knew each other while students at University." Illya deliberately left out specific details of how he knew her and the real reason why he was at the Sorbonne, otherwise Klemm would have gone ballistic. The C.I.A. knew only that he was a former Soviet Intelligence agent before he came to UNCLE and nothing more, as details of his past were a closely guarded secret with the organization. UNCLE protected their own.
"Quite," Waverly spoke," Regardless of the circumstances of the acquaintanceship, Miss Revchenkov will only make the move if escorted by you Mr. Kuryakin. So I am sending you and Mr. Solo to Paris in response to the C.I.A.'s request for help in this matter, as it were. You will retrieve Miss Revchenkov, bring her here to the United States and you will turn her over to the hands of the C.I.A. at Langley."
"And their involvement?" Illya asked.
"We will be waiting for you with open arms in Virgina, Kuryakin," Klemm said," and you better deliver the package, otherwise the proverbial shit will hit the fan...you get me comrade?"
Illya's jaw tightened but said nothing.
"Cut the crap with the threats Bill!" Napoleon said sharply.
"That's right Solo, run to the defense of your Commie buddy?" Klemm retorted.
"Enough!" Waverly barked.
"Gentlemen," he spoke, lowering his voice as he tossed a pair of airline tickets to his agents. "Your flight to Paris leaves this evening."
And with that they were summarily dismissed. They rose from their chairs and walked from the office together, not giving Klemm another look as they exited.
"Look I know you're not happy about this...I don't like the idea of helping out the C.I.A. and Klemm, myself." Napoleon said.
"That is not what is bothering me."
"Is it something to do with the girl then?"
"Yes," Illya sighed," unfortunately it does."
"Why?"
Illyas face showed his discomfort but his partner had a right to know.
"I did not want to say this in front of Klemm, as Katiya Revchenkov was my handler. It was my assignment while earning my degree at Sorbonne to spy on the Soviet faculty and students and we were..."Illya paused, not at ease as usual at discussing his past.
"And...?" Solo prompted.
"Napoleon, Katiya and I were lovers. I was eighteen and homesick, she was Russian, beautiful, older and experienced shall we say in many ways. I let myself be seduced by her and eventually she betrayed me. To this day I am not sure why she did it."
Napoleon nodded. "Well looks like you'll get a chance to ask her my friend. I do understand why you're not happy about this...wow, your lover? You really hide these secrets well don't you? I can see why it happened though; she's a very beautiful woman."
"Elliott will not be happy about this." Illya mumbled as they finally walked into their office.
"Jealousy on the home front?" Napoleon quipped.
"Perhaps, I am not sure. Elliott as you know has quite the temper and can be somewhat volatile at times. I am unsure as to how she will react to this situation."
"Well then don't tell her. That's easy enough?"
Illya dropped the airline tickets and the file on his desk then sat in his chair. He grabbed a box of paper clips and began flicking some of them with his thumb into a large ashtray on the far side of his desk, one of the few nervous habits he had when mulling something over in his mind. His aim was good, landing all but one before he stopped and finally responded to his partner's suggestion.
"Napoleon, Elliott and I have a very honest relationship with each other. The world we slide in and out of so easily is one of half-truths and deception. Truth must exist somewhere in our lives, otherwise the lies, the falsity of it all becomes the reality and what would we have then? No, I will tell her..."
"Illya you're definitely waxing a bit philosophical today... let's just bring it down a little? And this is speaking from personal experience," Napoleon smiled," It's not always a good idea to do that with with women. They tend to read into things too much, they think differently from men, and I don't mean in a bad way. I find them fascinating creatures and I love being around...say, you don't tell Elliott everything do you?"
"No, not everything. There are some secrets that must still be kept." he said with a wry smile." But it would be wrong of me not to tell her that I am going on an assignment to bring a former lover to this country."
"Well then good luck with that...speaking of luck, bad for me that is. I need to go cancel my date tonight with Dolores."
"Again Dolores?" Illya smiled, "Is there something developing that I should know of for once? You haven't regaled me with tales of your most recent ventures with the fairer sex."
"That's because you're too busy being Mr. Homebody. No, with Dolores it's strictly dinner and dancing,"Napoleon's eyes twinkled. "She's actually a lot of fun to be around and a good source of information of course. It's more of a "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours thing."
"Oh so she is an asset within U.N.C.L.E. then?"
"If you want to put it in less congenial terms...yes, she comes in handy and has given me the dirt on quite a few things." Napoleon looked down at his wristwatch." I'll meet you here at six?"
"No, at home please, seven o'clock? You understand." Illya tried hiding his smile.
"Sure." Napoleon winked. He walked away wondering how had a man like Illya, so quiet and introverted at times, ended up with a real firecracker of a woman like Elliott McGowan. That he would never understand. Illya had never been one for the ladies, dating infrequently and sleeping around even less or was he?
Napoleon pictured the image of the lovely Katiya Revchenko, momentarily distracting himself. He had all but sublimated the attraction he had felt for Elliott; filling his life with the attentions of countless other women as he always had.
He'd still catch himself daydreaming of Elliott once in a while though, but would then remind himself of how lucky a man his friend was, relinquishing Illya's sole right to her. At the moment though, it was the beautiful Russian woman with the dark, exotic features and sensuous eyes, who was providing him with a pleasant distraction.
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Illya walked into the the still apartment, finding Elliott sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, bathed in warm rays of sunlight that filtered through the delicate Irish lace curtains covering the window. She had her blouse unbuttoned, lowered to her waist; Demya suckling happily at her breast. She smiled at Illya as he walked up beside her, barely making a sound. Then carefully removing her nipple from the baby's mouth, she passed Demya to his father.
"Here ye pat him." she smiled.
Illya brought his son carefully to his chest, supporting his head, then gently patted him on the back, until the boy let out a a barely perceptible belch, then laid him in the crib on his tummy, covering him with a crocheted blanket that April had sent as a gift from England.
Elliott was pulling up her blouse when he spoke to her in French."Non, laissez-le...Je vous a dit ce qu'est une belle mère êtes-vous?"_ no, leave it... have I told you what a beautiful mother you are?"
He sat on the bed along side her, kissing her throat, cupping her breasts with his hands andhe brought his mouth down to her, tasting a bit of her milk."Mmmm...douce. Maintenant je sais porquoi mon fils qu'il aime tant_"Mmm...sweet. Now I know why my son loves it so ...magnifique, vous-êtes très sexy que vous connaissez_magnificent, you are very sexy you know." he whispered to her sotto voce.
"Ye are a terrible tease ye are..." she whispered to him, feeling aroused, she kissed him sucking his lip into her mouth, making him moan in anticipation.
They lay down together on the bed, their hands and mouths moving slowly...touching, caressing exploring each others bodies and desires. Gasping, sighing and breathing deeply as they rocked together, losing themselves in that perfect intimate connection.
Illya, somehow managed to put on a condom, taking her from the side, then he climaxed with a soft groan. Not being selfish, he teased Elliott with his fingers until she shuddered with a long moan of pleasure. They lay still wrapped together with their arms and legs intertwined catching their breath, when Illya finally told her the news.
"Annushka, I have to leave tonight for Paris with Napoleon."
"I was wondering why ye were home so early?" she whispered,"How long do ye think ye'll be?"
"I anticipate not being gone long. We have to supervise a defection for the C.I.A."
Elliott rolled over to her stomach, facing him as they spoke.
"C.I.A.? Why is UNCLE involved, don't they usually want to handle their own affairs."
"The person defecting is a Soviet agent."
"And I repeat, don't they take care of their own affairs?"
"Her name is Katiya Revchenkov, and I was requested-she was my handler when I was at Sorbonne. We were, shall I say, "involved" for a while."
"Ye were lovers then?"
"Yes." he answered without a trace of emotion as if he had just been asked a question about the weather.
"It was a long time ago...she set me up and betrayed me."
Elliott laid down closer to him, playing with the hairs on his chest absent-mindedly, wrapping the chain of his medallion around her finger, as her head rested on his shoulder.
"Annushka, there is nothing there, I assure you."
"At least not in yer heart," she thought to herself. Elliott had been an agent long enough to know that sex was merely a tool to be used or not...that was the reality, The truth of the matter was the thought of him being with another woman did bother her, as she suspected it bothered him that she could sleep with another man, both doing it in the name of duty.
They had never spoken about that part of their past lives before; the intimate liaisons and lovers whether their involvement was part of the job or not. Those were things better left unspoken and she was surprised he felt the need to tell her of this woman Katiya.
"Ignorance is bliss...what ye don't know, cant hurt ye," Elliott ran through a list of trite proverbs in her head, but none of them really made her feel better. She thought it wiser to deflect any such further talk and suddenly attacked her Russian lover in the one place on his body where only she knew he was ticklish. They tussled together as they rolled laughing across the bed, then shushed themselves to a whisper, looking over to the crib to make sure Demya was still asleep. She pulled Illya under the covers with a giggle, and they made love again.
She wanted to ask him if he could have refused the assignment, but that would have made her seem insecure and stopped herself from saying it. There was a reason why it had to be her Illuysha, deciding it was best to leave it be.
The showered together, enjoying the hot water as it cascaded over them, lathering each other with soap, then giving into their urges, they had sex one more time, rinsing off before they dried and dressed themselves.
They enjoyed a nice quiet candlelight supper together, then after cleaning up, it was Demya's turn to be fed, this time a bottle of formula; his father taking his turn at feeding the baby and giving Elliott a moment to relax.
She could hear Illya in the bedroom, humming, then when Demya was finished with his bottle, he gently rocked his son to sleep in his arms, quietly singing a lullaby.
"Bayu-bayu shi bayu. Ne lozhisya na krayu, Pridoyot serenkiy volchok, I utashchit vo lesok, Pod rakitovy kustok_ Baby,baby, rock-a-bye. On the edge you mustn't lie, or the little grey wolf will come, and nip you on the tum, tug you off into the wood, underneath the willow-root."
"That was rather horrific", she thought, wondering why some children's lullabies had such frightening words, remembering her own father singing "Rock-a-Bye Baby," to her her when she was very little.
It came time for Illya to leave, yet no words were spoken between them as he packed a small bag readying to leave for the mission. They never spoke much when it was time to leave for any assignment as that would be an acknowledgement of the fear that was lurking in their hearts. They both used to be fearless, but it was their love for each other and now their son that weakened them, making them vulnerable and now it put them at risk.
She supposed that was the reason why UNCLE had their rules and wondered why Alexander Waverly had gone against them when it came to she and Illya, seemingly brushing off the regulations as if they meant nothing.
"Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or..." Elliott stopped herself before she said the word, thinking it instead, "die." It gave her a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.
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Illya left, walking downstairs to meet the yellow checkered cab carrying Napoleon and Elliott watched out the window has she had done in the past, until the taxi disappeared from view down the block.
The next morning Mrs. Orloff the sitter, arrived to watch Demya. The woman was vetted by UNCLE, having worked with British Intelligence during the war with Alexander Waverly, and would care for the baby when she and Illya were working.
Dubbed Tetya Olga_ Auntie Olga by Illya, she had a smiling rosy cheeked face that reminded him of the babushkas back in Russia, though she was quite capable of handling a weapon and was very familiar with security procedures.
Elliott went down to records at headquarters, letting her curiosity get the better of her; she pulled the dossier for Katiya Revchenkov, staring at the woman's photograph. She was striking, not at all what she had expected, darker complected, with long black silken hair, her eyes were a very distinctive deep brown with an oriental look about her.
She thumbed through the file...her mother was from Kazakhstan, her father a Russian and she was a trained assassin with the GRU.
Elliott hoped this enticing looking woman would not try to rekindle the romance with her former lover, knowing that temptation was a powerful weapon for a woman and men easily manipulated by it.
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"Here we go..." Napoleon said.
"I have the yo-yo,"Illya quipped, giving his partner a fake code as a joke.
"And I've got the string," he replied, not missing a beat, then Solo, dressed in a dark trench coat worn over his stylish designer suit, stepped from the black Mercedes in front of the UNCLE safe house in Paris.
Kuryakin waited behind the wheel of the car while his partner approached the door.
Solo rapped on it...three knocks, two, then one, then three again.
"Oui?" a voice responded from behind the locked door.
"Il pleut, Il pleut à verse et Je suis trempé jusqu'aux os _ it's raining, it's pouring and I'm soaked to the skin,"* he spoke the code, though there wasn't a cloud in the dusk sky.
"C'est votre faute_it's your fault, came the response.
The door opened slowly and Kuryakin stepped from the v ehicle clothed on a long black leather coat over his usual black suit and turtleneck, following Solo quickly into the building.
"Messieurs, bienvenue_ welcome gentlemen, the French section two agent greeted them."This way,"he said leading them to the sitting room."By the way Monsieur Du Champ sends his regards." He was the head of U.N.C.L.E. Paris and had worked with them on the Mind Control Affair.
They were shown to where Katiya Revchenkov sat, draped across a white chaisse, dressed in a sleeveless, shimmering red Oriental-style dress, slit up to her thigh, revealing her slender arms and legs.
When he saw her, Illya realized how little she had really changed, her body looked a little fuller, more voluptuous than his memories of her served him. She had to be in her forties now and was very much curved in all the right places. Seeing her somehow made his made his anger with her soften rather unexpectedly.
"Illya Nickovich," She smiled, gliding from the chaisse to greet him. She tried to kiss him on the cheek, but he avoided her, moving aside.
"Katiya, this is my partner Napoleon Solo. We," he said, emphasizing the word, "will be escorting you to the United States and to the C.I.A in Virginia."
"Mademoiselle enchanteur_ enchanted Miss, he bowed, kissing her hand ,drinking her in with his eyes...she was like a sip of cool water to a thirsty man. "If you will excuse me for a moment as I need to go over the security arrangements for our trip to the airport." Napoleon flashed his smile at Katiya and their eyes met for a brief second.
Illya and Katiya were now alone.
"So no welcome for an old friend Illuyshenka?" She smiled at him seductively.
"Katiya," he said refusing to use her patronymic name, normally spoken between acquaintances," my last experience with you was hardly one of friendship as I nearly ended up in jail. I was ordered out of the country and lucky not to end up in some gulag." he said without emotion.
"Oh Illya darling, that is history...what is past is past. Now you will take me to my new life in America," she crooned to him, walking over to a small record player; she switched it on, lifting the arm to the the black vinyl record. Illya recognized the music instantly, a recording of an old romantic Russian melody called "I Met You." It was a very soulful version done on balalaika and guitar.
She poured each of them a glass of vodka, handing him his drink, toasting in Russian.
"Dlya staryh druzyey i lyubitelyey_to old friendships and lovers." she smiled as the balalaika played softly in the background.
"Illya brought his glass to his lips, swallowing the vodka, but not raising it to her toast.
"Oh Illuyshenka, is it so bad to see me again? We did have such wonderful times together, you cannot deny that?"
"No Katiya, that is true," he smiled at her ever so slightly, pouring himself another vodka and downing it.
She reached for him, placing her hand on his chest, kissing him on the lips, using her tongue to tempt him.