When the contact had sent the message stating he would be waiting at the middle chess table in the park, Napoleon Solo had been immediately suspicious; especially when he read the method of verification. It was far too much of a movie cliché for his liking, and he voiced his disquiet to Illya.
"I must agree with you, Napoleon," the Russian stated. "But maybe that is the reason such a place was chosen."
Solo shrugged. "Maybe, but I think we need to send insurance with you, to make sure we're handing the microfilm to the right person. I'll go with you, along with a few other agents. You'll know we're there, but the contact won't."
…..
So as not to make the rendezvous too obvious, Illya arrived in the park earlier than necessary and played several games of chess with the old men who were always gathered there. At the appointed time, he sat down at the middle table and nodded a greeting to the man in front of him. He didn't recognise him, but that wasn't unusual. Playing as white, Illya made the first move.
He'd been mildly impressed that the contact had chosen a particular chess game rather than a code phrase. When he saw which game, he was even more pleased. Illya had been in attendance when Polugaevsky had played against Nezhmetdinov in Sochi, in 1958. It was the first time he'd seen the Old Indian Defence (Ukrainian Variation).
Having memorised the game, Illya knew instantly the moment his contact made a mistake.
Sitting on a bench not too far away, Napoleon noticed his partner's look of confusion. Things obviously weren't going as they should. Before Solo could wonder any further, Illya's eyes suddenly widened, just before he slumped across the chess table; scattering the pieces every which way.
"The young man seems to be unwell," the contact said a little too loudly, in an accent Napoleon couldn't quite place. "I'll just check his pockets to see if he has any medication."
Without drawing any attention to himself, Napoleon swiftly made his way to the table.
"Oh my word, Nick!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was him when I was walking past. He's always having these sudden fits. He'll be alright once I get him home."
Leaning over to help Illya up, he positioned his mouth close to the contacts ear.
"There are three other agents in this park," he whispered. "You are going to walk away, and allow yourself to be apprehended. If you try to run, you will be stopped anyway. Checkmate."
From the tone of Napoleon's voice, the man was left in no doubt that his future survival depended on what happened in the next few minutes.
"I hope your friend recovers quickly," he said loud enough for the assembled onlookers to hear.
Making sure to keep his hands visible, the contact slowly walked away. Napoleon gestured with his head for the other agents to take him. He then turned his attention back to Illya. It was with a great sense of relief that the reason for his partners collapse was nothing more sinister than a sleep dart. He would wake with a dreadful headache, but would be fine.
…
Waverly entered his office and found his top team already there. Ordinarily, he would have disapproved of the dark sunglasses which Kuryakin was wearing, but let it go this time. Thanks to the sleep dart he'd been shot with, the poor man was suffering, and would be sent home as soon as the briefing was over.
"It would seem that your contact was a definite imposter," Waverly told them. "So far he has furnished us with his name, and the fate of the real contact. What he won't tell us is who he is working for."
"We've only had him a few hours," Napoleon commented. "I'm sure he will be much more forthcoming when my partner here recovers himself."
"Indeed," the Old Man agreed, "He can wait in the cells until Mr Kuryakin is ready."
"What did happen to the real contact?" Illya asked, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.
"We were told he'd been locked in a car trunk which was then sent to a scrapyard. Our people found what is left of him about half an hour ago."
Napoleon crinkled his nose in disgust. He was quite glad he hadn't been the one to find him.
"We still have the problem of handing off the microfilm," he said, trying to dispel the horrible image of a crushed man."
"A new plan is already being put into place," Waverly told him. "As for you, I think Mr Kuryakin is going to need some help getting home. Make sure he doesn't return until he is well enough to function."
As he helped Illya out of the office, he promised to keep him occupied.
"We could maybe have a few games of chess."
Even though the dark glasses obscured Illya's eyes, Napoleon could still feel the icy glare.