It was supposed to have been the agent's last night of their brief assignment in Spain and Napoleon, as usual, had fallen madly in lust with a local beauty he'd met in the hotel bar.
Illya opted to stay in their room, taking his meal there and listening to the Spanish news on television. He was familiar with Seville, having been here on numerous occasions, so the allure of the city was no longer there; he just wanted to relax before their long flight back to New York.
That rest for Kuryakin was just not meant to be as Solo and the woman he was seeing that evening, dark-eyed Señorita Mercedes Moncada Sevilla, had both gone missing.
It was one thing for Napoleon to spend the night elsewhere when a gorgeous woman had caught his interest, but he always checked in and he always returned in the morning.
He did neither.
A cryptic note arrived. Left for Kuryakin at the hotel desk telling him his partner and the girl and been taken by some unnamed entity. Clues would given, sending the Russian on a scavenger hunt of sorts.
Illya travelled through the many districts of Seville on his quest, following the breadcrumb trail of clues that were left for him, none of which made sense nor seemed to be leading him to Solo and the girl. He wasn't sure why he was being led on this chase, other than the fact that he was the mouse and a cat was playing with him as one does with its food.
Finally he received something definitive in the form of another note tucked under the windshield wiper blade of his rental car.
"If you want them to live, go to this address, alone.
If I see anyone following you, Solo and the girl will be killed.
This I promise you."
It was clear now, giving him specific instructions and an address and a chilling warning.
Pretty bold faced, whoever had written it; the style of lettering chosen no doubt to look frightening.
Illya had no choice but to go to where he'd been fact the writer used the first person singular gave him hope there was only one he needed to dispatch.
Surely this was leading him into to a trap, with Solo and the girl as bait. That didn't matter as they still needed rescuing. Countless times Napoleon had done the same for him, regardless; he had to find his partner and Miss Sevilla.
Illya drove to the address in the Casco Antiguo district in the old quarter of Seville, located in the center of the city on the east bank of the Guadalquivir river.
Arriving at the address; he found himself in front of an entrance to a Museo de Cera...a wax museum, advertised by a garish yellow sign.
The entrance was at the top of a flight of stairs, and looked anything but inviting, nevertheless Illya slowly climbed the steps. As he reached for the door handle, a dark wooden door slowly opened on its own replete with a long, mournful creak.
"What would Napoleon say about that?" Some sort of pun no doubt, but at the moment the Russian couldn't think of any. His mind was focused on the task at hand.
He drew his gun as he stepped inside to a small darkened lobby. No one there to greet him; there was only one way to go, and that was through another doorway with a sign above it. "Exhibiciones de esta manera...exhibits this way.
The lighting was dim inside and as he stepped into what seemed like a larger room, a spotlight popped on, most likely triggered by a motion sensor.
It revealed an alcove, containing a diorama of wax figures; Henry VIII and his daughters Elizabeth and Mary.
Another grouping was of the current Queen, Elizabeth in her regal attire. Beside her in an elegant cape was Philip, her husband.
Illya had seen their majesties up close once while working with an MI6 agent and the wax likenesses of the Queen and the Prince were uncanny. They seemed almost alive, which for some reason, unnerved the usually unflappable Russian.
Next came likenesses with whom he was very familiar ...Sir Isaac Newton.
Vincent Van Gogh and Albert Einstein…
As he moved forward, another setting was revealed, with a wax figure whose image sent chills down Kuryakin's spine.
Adolph Hitler, seated at a table, wating perhaps like animal caged during the final hours in his bunker.
Though publicly the body was never found; Illya knew exactly what happened to it; having been burned in the lab of a former Nazi scientist who was trying to reanimate the most evil man in history.*
Illya resisted the urge to rip the head from the figure, and moved on to another section of the museum.
In the next room he came to what seemed to be a reproduction of a Spanish plaza, with a running were figures scattered about, none of whom were recognizable to the Russian. He thought that odd for a wax museum, as their stock and trade was in reproductions of famous people throughout history, whether they were entertainers, heros or despots.
As he moved among them, at least twenty figures; he detected an odor, one he was all too familiar with, a bitter stale kind of smell; it was the unmistakable and distinct mustiness of old death.
The hairs on the back of his neck went up as he became concerned one of these ordinary looking figures was perhaps not made of wax and was the one who'd summoned him here.
As he looked from one statue to another, he realized these were not mannequins at all; to his horror, they were people who had been encased in wax; their eye balls flattened and clouded over in death.
They couldn't have died recently as the smell would have been putrid and overwhelming. No, these poor people, whoever they were, had died a long time ago and were essentially mummified in wax.
Why, and who had done this to them would have to remain a mystery. Illya's priority was finding Solo and the girl, and not get himself killed in the process. He presumed once his host revealed himself; th answers would come then.
That's when he saw it, the still figure of Napoleon; standing close to him was Mercedes. They were motionless, and as Kuryakin reached out, touching his partner's face; the coldness of it made him shrink back.
No, he couldn't be dead. "Please be alive?" Illya whispered.
He could barely hear it, but there was a muffled sound coming from within the figure, and Solo's eyes moved, looking at him in a desperate plea for help.
Illya was momentarily startled, but immediately he pulled his throwing knife from beneath the back collar of his jacket. He carefully sliced around the figure's mouth, and once the lips were cut away a piece of duct tape was there to gag his partner. He ripped it away.
"Napoleon, hang on, I will free you." The wax broke away easily enough, until Solo's face was clear.
"Thank God you found us tovarisch...now I know how you felt when you were wrapped up as a mummy. **
Illya said nothing as he proceeded to free one of Napoleon's arms.
"The girl, take care of her first," Solo ordered.
As Illya reached to free Mercedes' face, he felt himself falling, a trap door had opened up beneath him. He landed hard, crumpling as he hit the floor.
"Ah, welcome Mr. Kuryakin." A voice spoke from the shadows. and It was one with whom Illya was very familiar.
It was Venganza de Sangre.
He stepped out into a spotlight, wearing a white mask in the likeness of Guy Fawkes. The only thing Illya could see of him was his long dark hair and equally dark eyes.
"Very good Mr. Kuryakin, you did exactly as you were told...foolish of you, of course. You are ever the loyal friend to a fault. Now both of you will pay the price for your continued interference with my plans. I'll add you to my little collection, alongside Mr. Solo of course, the young lady, shall we say, was a bonus."
"Why must you do this?" Illya looked up at him. "Is it not money that you prize above all things? You will gain nothing from our deaths."
"Because I can. As to the reason I will do this to you; it should be clear, you cannot be that blind."
"Enlighten me. The fake bomb in London, what was the point of it?" ***
"Anarchy reigned supreme that night and I didn't have to destroy anything to cause it. Panic ensued, and I watched as your and Solo's desperate search to find my little device, and you did as I expected you would. I was merely playing with you, and nothing more."
"You did that for our sakes… a game?"
"Why yes, and it was glorious watching the two of you work at a frenzied pace; quite amusing. A little bit of revenge for you interfering with my plans. However, you now have become tiresome. Time for you and Mr. Solo to die."
Illya propelled himself forward, diving at the man, hitting him in the legs and taking him down. Seconds later Kuryakin felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and fell limp.
"Do you think I am that foolish?" De Sangre laughed, holding up a syringe.
When Illya came to he found himself naked and suspended above a vat of white goo, feeling the heat rising from it. His toes were nearly touching what he assumed was wax, and every now and then there'd be a bubble that would burst; he felt it splash onto his skin. Not burning hot, but warm enough to keep the wax in a liquid state.
"So Mr. Kuryakin," De Sangre's voice echoed over a speaker somewhere in the darkness. "time for you to join your friend Solo. You will spend eternity together, so that should be a pleasant thought for you at least."
Illya heard the whirr of a motor and ever so slowly he was lowered into the wax. It's warmth actually felt surprisingly good, like a nice hot blanket on a cold night.
"This is but the first layer, and it will require several more immersions before the final product can be posed. For that phase you will have to be rendered unconscious."
The wax was now up to Kuryakin's chest but still he said nothing, which seemed anger De Sangre.
"No snarky comments or comebacks? That is very much unlike you Mr. Kuryakin."
"Beg pardon, I was not paying attention to you. You know you could make quite a good living from this as a spa treatment. It is quite relaxing and seems to be soothing my sore muscles. It is actually a wonderful feeling."
"You like it?"
"Yes, it is quite nice. I am sure you could make a fortune marketing this to the wealthy and well to do who are always looking for such treatments for their ailments, or just simply because it is the chic thing to do."
"You really think so?"
"Absolutely."
The motor suddenly stopped, leaving Illya in complete silence, suspended in the wax. He was hanging there, immersed up to his neck.
"De Sangre?" He called out, but there was no answer.
Illya was stuck there in the warm wax for what seemed like an eternity when the motor came to life again. This time he was lifted out of it, allowing the wax on his skin began to harden.
"So you having fun hanging around tovarisch?" Napoleon stepped into the light.
"Watch out for De Sangre!" Illya called out.
"Not to worry; he's gone. I'd just finished freeing myself of most of the wax, and he came rushing by. He ran out the door; I followed out to the street, but he'd already disappeared. He dropped this." Solo held up the Guy Fawkes mask. "Illya have you ever seen his face? You've had a few more dealings with him than me."
"Never, he has always remained anonymous. Now could you please get me down from here?"
"Oh sorry." Napoleon swung the arm of the metal scaffold from which Illya was hanging; setting his partner free.
Though the wax was hardening, it wasn't heavy enough to keep the Russian from moving and he quickly started to pull it from his skin. With the help of his partner, most of it was gone within a few minutes.
He didn't quite get it all as there were certain ummm, body parts that would require closer attention, but not here. Still there enough of the wax was gone to enable him to dress in his clothes that de Sangre had folded neatly and put aside; no doubt to use on the final 'product.'
They walked upstairs, moving cautiously among the wax figures as they still made the agents uncomfortable.
"Napoleon where is the girl?"
"I freed her and told her to get away. I'm sure she went back home. I'll have to check on her once we get a crew in here, and the police. There's still the matter of the poor souls De Sangre mummified in wax. I think it best she's not involved any further. So why do you think de Sangre ran off in mid-plan?"
"It might have been something I said to him...let us say it was way to make a lot of money, legally."
"Really?"
"Yes, though at first I thought my idea was merely waxing poetic. I only came up with it to stall for time, but I guess he took it seriously."
Solo shook his head; he'd been out-punned by the Russian. He'd eventually think of something, but now was not the time. Eventually Napoleon found a telephone and made the needed calls.
In the meantime while they waited, Illya would have to have some explaining to do regarding this money making thing he'd suggested to de Sangre...
.
* ref. "The Deadly Games Affair"
** ref. "The See the Pyramids Along the Nile Affair"
*** ref. "Vendetta"