"A man cannot free himself from the past more easily than he can from his body"
~André Maurois
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"The Dancing in the Dark Affair"
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"Perché devo sempre fare la parta del gondoliere_why do I always have to play the part of the gondolier?" he spoke out loud in Italian."Tu séi quello che è di originne Itlaiana, perché nonè vero_ you are the one of Italian extraction, why not you?"
"That's because you're skinny enough to look good in black and white horizontal stripes, they don't exactly compliment my manly figure and umm ...let's see you can sing, I can't, and mostly because I'm your boss," spoke his partner's voice in his earpiece. "Don't forget you owe me, last time I ended up in a Venice canal after you capsized the boat and I came down with a case of pneumonia."
"Mea culpa... Ci dispiace ma ricordo al momento ci si spara_my mistake... but as I recall at the time we were being shot at?"
"Hey you Giuseppe, we ain't paying you to talk to yourself!" The male half of a rather rotund American couple called out, testing the Russian's patience. They had engaged the services of his gondola even though he had insisted he was off duty, but he decided it was better to just let them board rather than make a public spectacle that would draw unwanted attention.
"And how about a song, my missus wants to hear one. Ain't you fellers supposed to serenade your passengers?"
Kuryakin rolled his eyes as he heard Solo laughing at his predicament, then he began a rather quiet version of O Sole Mio, ignoring the wise cracks that were now coming through his earpiece, insulting his singing as well as his accent. He finished the first verse then began the chorus, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the building on the far side of the canal where their target had entered.
"Ma n'atu sole cchiù bello, oje ne´_but another sun that's brighter still
O sole mio sta 'n fronte a te_It's my own sun, that's in your face
Il SOLO MIO sguardo è nel vostro viso_look MY SOLO, it's in your face!"
Illya suddenly began changing the words to the song not missing a beat, but now sang with a bit of urgency in his voice.
"Guardare l'deifico, c' è un uomo lì_look at the building, there's a man.
lui ha una pistolo, e lui corre ora_ he has a gun, and he's running now!"
Illya quickly navigated the gracefully arched gondola to a set of stairs leading up to the sidewalks that lined walls of the canal, throwing a mooring line on a red and while striped pylon as he hopped from the boat to the steps.
"Hey you we paid for a full tour, where the hell you going!" The gelatinous man shouted at him.
Illya stopped, tossing their money back to them, bowing his head then tipping his straw hat apologetically before dropping it into the gondola.
"Whats a matta you?," he said in broken English ."it's a mantatory Union a breaka!" Then he turned, taking off in the direction in which he'd seen his partner head out.
Illya ran at top speed, rounding a corner on one leg, teetering to keep himself from falling over. He had drawn his weapon from beneath his shirt, keeping it drawn but held discreetly close to his thigh as he sped after Napoleon, bounding up the stairs to a small bridge that crossed the canal beside the Church of San Barnaba to the plaza in front of the single nave church of the same name.
He took the eleven steps down from the terracotta and white stone bridge to the campo in three strides, still in hot pursuit of his partner and their quarry.
Illya stopped, looking for Solo as he had suddenly lost sight of both him and their target, the one carrying the microfilm, when he saw a small crowd beginning to gather in the plaza in front of the Italian gothic Chiesa di San Barnaba, it's neo-classical facade looming down over them like a somber greying mother.
As he approached the crowd, the Russian realized that Napoleon was laying on the ground with a gorgeous dark-haired brunette woman sitting on top of him, screaming at him at the top of her lungs. She was calling him among other names, the equivalent of a "masher" in Italian.
Solo had his arms raised, covering his face, doing nothing more than fending off her pounding him with her purse.
"La signorina mi può spiegare, quindi PER FAVORE smettere di picchaiare me_ Miss I can explain so PLEASE stop hitting me!" He called to her.
lllya seeing Napoleon's quandary laughed under his breath for a moment before trying to intervene, then reaching down; he pulled the woman up and away from his harried partner. Suddenly the woman grabbed him by the red kerchief tied around this throat then proceeded to slap him wildly on the head before he grabbed her by the wrists, holding her tightly at bay.
"Please madam, control yourself! " He growled at her in Italian, " I am sure this is all just a misunderstanding?"
Napoleon picked himself up, brushing off his clothes then discovered the shoulder of his suit jacket was torn; sighing as he could picture Waverly's face when eyeing the expense report for yet another ruined suit.
At that moment armed members of the Carabiniere with their trademark white diagonal leather sashes across their chests and huge gold motifs on their hats appeared beside them.
Illya released her immediately, taking a step back from her with his hands raised slightly in front of him.
"Arrest him officer!" the woman cried out pointing at Napoleon. " and his friend too! They're in this together, manhandling a poor girl like myself! That one with the dark hair he ...he assaulted me! He grabbed my breasts! And his friend grabbed me and held me by my wrists! My name is Cinzia Anzalone and I want to press charges!"
Illya gave Napoleon that what did you do now look before covering his eyes with his hand and a shake of his head.
"Officer," Napoleon explained in Italian, " I ran into the lovely signorina by accident, I put my hands up as an automatic response when trying to stop myself from colliding with her. I was trying not to knock her over. Please if could just show you my identification."
"Alto!" the policeman shouted as Solo went to reach for his wallet in his inside breast pocket. The Carabiniere reached inside his jacket, removing the Walther. Suddenly weapons were cocked and aimed at both he and Illya.
Kuryakin was searched and his weapons confiscated as well. The policeman's eyes opening wider as they found his Walther, two throwing knives, his backup pistol strapped to his ankle, explosive putty and fuses.
Once the search was concluded, their hands were pulled from atop their heads and were handcuffed and then they were unceremoniously hauled off to jail.
Thirty minutes later they sat in the dingy jail cell together not saying a word until Illya finally broke the silence.
"Well, I think it should be you that calls the Old Man and not myself," he said holding up his communicator. The police had allowed the agents to keep them, thinking they were nothing more than pens.
"And just why is that?" Napoleon answered with just a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
"Hey you groped her not I, and you let the target get away with the microfilm.
Solo growled. "It was an accident, and where were you by the way?"
"I was right behind you."
"Sure sure, that's what they all say?" A voice familiar to Solos spoke from the other side of the bars.
"Hannibal?"
"The one and only. I heard it on the grapevine about your little predicament and thought I'd come down to spring my big brother."
Illya cleared his throat, reminding his partner of his presence while he eyed the man on the other side of the bars. He had the same dark hair, cleft chin and Solo profile, but the eyes were different, they did not have the same look as Napoleon's. There was no spark in this man's eyes as Napoleon had in his, no twinkle that indicated a love of life and a sense of humor. This man's eyes were cold and brooding.
"Hannibal this is Illya Kuryakin, my partner. Illya, this is my brother Hannibal Artarius Solo."
"Oh so you're the Russian."'
"Hannibal?" Napoleon chided him for his tone of voice.
"Ah so you are the brother and Da, yarusskii. U vas yest' problemy etim?" Kuryakin challenged in a menacing tone, asking if Hannibal had some sort of problem with him being Russian.
"Illya!"
"Beh io non parlo Communista." Hannibal sneered in Italian, "and I don't speak Russian either."
"E'una vergogna, io parlo Italiano_ It is a shame I do speak Italian." Illya bristled, taking an instant dislike to the man.
"Knock it off you two, enough with the testosterone display," Napoleon said, " so Hannibal you getting us out of here or what?"
"You brother dear I can because you're an American citizen, your partner here though is a Soviet citizen so I'm afraid his card carrying comrades will have to help him out, unless your boss Alexander Waverly comes to the rescue?"
"Hannibal, you're starting to sound just like Dad."
"Something wrong with that?"
"If you condone bigotry then I suppose not? So you know what brother of mine, buzz off. I'll take my chances with my partner and my organization getting us out of here."
Napoleon crossed his arms in front of his chest, sticking out his chin with pride at his decision. He was sure that Waverly was already aware of their situation, even though they hadn't contacted him yet; knowing the Old Man he was probably annoyed at them having made the mistake of losing the microfilm and was letting them stew in jail as penance for their sin of failure.
"Culpum," the Latin verb for mistake popped into his head, prompted by by Illya having used Mea culpa earlier that day he supposed. He went right into the conjugation, thinking mea culpa_my mistake culpa nostrum_his mistake culpum_our mistake... "One big mistake," he mumbled, then turned away from his brother, trying to ignore him.
"Oh for cripes sake Naps, I was only pulling your leg, you're both out of here. Can't let my brother and his friend rot in an Italian jail, Mom would never forgive me."
Napoleon sighed; his baby brother now receiving a reprieve for his seemingly rude behavior towards Illya, but as he looked at his partner he realized that the Russian might not be so quick to forgive as he could tell the man's feathers were still ruffled.
The guard came forward unlocking the door to the cell, handing both agents their weapons and wallets as the three of them walked out together.
Napoleon decided to take the two to lunch hoping a good meal might soothe the savage Russian beast and get Hannibal to relax. Perhaps he'd figure out a way to weasel his smart-ass brother into paying for it as was his fault that Illya was now crankier than usual.
He wondered if Hannibal was telling the truth when it came to his alignment with their father's attitudes...he couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something different about his kid brother.
Once released Hannibal begged off on the lunch; Napoleon supposing it was for the better as he cold sense the continued tension between Illya and Hannibal and it looked as though it was not going to subside. There was no loved lost between his father Darius Solo and his partner, so it seemed obvious now that their father's prejudices had rubbed off on Hannibal as well, much to Napoleon's disappointment.
He shrugged his indifference to it, sitting back and watching with pleasure as food assuaged his partner's foul mood. Worked like charm every time, like music to soothe the savage beast, but in Illya's case it was a fine Venetian meal and a dessert called tiramusu.
Four hours later they were on their flight out of Leondardo da Vinci-Fiumicinp airport in Rome heading back to New York with their hats in their hands, preparing themselves for further mea culpas to the Old Man.
Illya was back to being his usual surly self, as opposed to his extremely surly persona that had been brought on by Hannibal Solo. Napoleon was surprised that this brother had set his parnter off as it was usually the Russian's way to just dismiss and shrug off people that bothered him.
"Tovarisch, why did he tick you off so much? I've heard people say worse things to you and you've let it go like water off a ducks back. What gives?"
Illya gathered his thoughts for a moment before he spoke. "Perhaps it was because it was your brother, and his physical resemblance to you is uncanny. It was almost as if it were you speaking to me, even though I knew that it was not. There is something about him that I must regretfully that say I do not trust."
Napoleon was taken back by that, knowing that his partner's instincts were pretty much spot on, he found that pronouncement unsettling but decided to say nothing and like his partner so often did, he just shrugged. But deep down inside he was feeling unsure of his brother as well.
The two agents settled into their seats on their flight returning them to New York. The stewardess came by, smiling and helping the passengers buckling up their seat belts. Napoleon requested drinks for he and his partner as soon as she was able to take care of that; his handsome smile and his puppy dog look got them their drinks not long after they jet left the ground and settled into it's flight plan.
The in-flight movie was an older film, and one that made Solo smile. "Hey this will be right up your alley. War and Peace...you know Napoleon invading Russia," he chuckled.
"Napoleon, please that movie hardly scratched the surface of Tolstoy's classic piece of literature, I found it somewhat sophormoric, and it glorified him as being a benign invader."
"Well I read the book and I thought the movie did it justice."
"Did you read it in English?"
"Of course, why?"
"Well I read it in the original Russian when I was but nine years old. Trust me much of the nuances were lost in translation. You should really attempt to read it in Russian some day?"
"You read it when you were nine...that's a massive book even for a nine year old to handle."
"I found it fascinating and decided that Tolstoy was one of my favorite authors. That book I refrained from burning for warmth, though some of the lesser Russian authors did not fare as well." Illya smiled.***
"And why would I want to watch such entertainment as this when I lived in that war-torn country and would not like to be reminded of it please? I am trying to distance myself of my...place of birth as it has not been my home for a very long time. There is no one there for me and there are too many painful memories so I do not need a reminder of it all. So no thank you."
Napoleon knew that Illya was referencing his survival in the streets of Kiev and decided not to continue to jab at this partner, leaving well enough alone since it seemed to be bothersome to him. The senior agent settled in to watch the movie anyway, while Illya decided instead to listen to the prerecorded music, hoping there would be something to his liking.
The rather soothing sounds of Mantovanni were playing, though not really his taste in instrumentals, it would do to help lull him to sleep. He closed his eyes and just beginning to doze off when the music jarred him awake.
"When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies. Don't you want somebody to love..." the song came blaring through the headphones, waking the Russian with a start as he pulled off them away from his ears.
"What's wrong?" Napoleon asked.
"An annoying song that came on just as I was falling asleep. Why would they put such a thing as in-flight music when most people try to sleep is beyond me," he said as he tossed the headphones aside in annoyance.
"What was it?"
"I believe it was a group called The Jefferson Airplane, and definitely not my taste in music."
"Well sorry but I don't think they probably have any Coltrane or Miles Davis just for you," he chuckled, returning his attention back to the film. "Oh this is the good part, see...Napoleon is on screen," he teased.
His partner crossed his arms in front of his chest, turning his head away and ignoring him as he closed his eyes again.
The stewardesses brought around their meals, the smell of which woke Illya instantly. The cabin was filled with the scent of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes with gravy and carrots. It was a shame there never was a large enough portion to suit him, and knowing this, Napoleon got the stewardess to bring his friend a second serving as there were always extras. And ironically, dessert was a pastry called a Napoleon.
Their return to New York found them empty handed with their heads bowed in contrition for having failed to complete a simple mission. They also bore the embarrassment of having a green section III agent from the Rome office catching up with their quarry and relieving him of the stolen microfilm. But at least it had been recovered and surely that had to soothe some of Waverly's annoyance with them.
Regardless of their failure, reports still had to be filed. Illya typed out his and had his copy done and now stood in his partner's office waiting for Napoleon who as usual was procrastinating on his paperwork.
"Please do it now, I would like to go home and cannot until the full report has been filed. We are at least lucky that Waverly does not want to de-brief us on this one, as he most certainly would ream us new ones, if you catch my drift... I am saying that correctly am I not?" Illya was feeling a bit peevish as the assignment in Venice was his return to active duty, having been duly punished by Waverly for having gone after Kiril Andropov in direct violation of his order not to do so.
For that Kuryakin had been given every possibly shit job there was in headquarters, though the worst of which was being stuck in the basement day after day reviewing and shredding out-dated paperwork going back at least five years.
Illya barely saw the light of day, except on his days off, and then he spent those in the park with his children, fending off the advances of women thinking for some reason that he was a single father, since it was normally a mother's task to take their children to the park.
If there was anything that had been a greater unintended lure than his fake marriage band that he worn for years, it was his own children, but even more so. It seemed to take forever for these women to leave him alone, but then mothers with their children playing in the park just had to attempt discussing parenting skills with him, thinking he was on his own and in need of advise. There was no peace to be had.
He was not sure where that was coming from, and wondered if they were thinking that the way he took care of his children was somehow wrong, even though he knew it wasn't. Then he supposed that tackling that poor man who had gotten too close to his daughter's carriage had been a bit over the top?
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"Yes you actually are...my heart be still? "Napoleon's comment pulled him out of his thoughts.
"I am actually what?" Illya asked, having lost track of the conversation for a moment.
"You've finally have an understanding of American colloquialisms." He said having spoken some Russian and had a similar sort of remark tossed at him by this partner at the the end of the affair involving Kiril Andropov, not five weeks ago.**
"I have been attempting get them, as you say and my studies of American history and culture for citizenship have helped, though I wonder why I should continue doing so as it seems as though my gaining citizenship will never happen, if the C.I.A. has its way."
"C.I.A. still blocking it?" Napoleon asked, as he finally crossed the last T in his hand written report, or more correctly scrawled report, then handed it to his partner.
"I will type this up for you to expedite matters, Gina still has not gotten the knack of reading all your chicken scratch yet...I have to say I miss Janet." Illya sighed.
"Me too partner of mine but give our new secretary a chance, she'll get the hang of it." Solo answered, then reached for his receiver as the telephone rang.
"Hi Lisa. Yes he's here...I'll relay the message.' He then hung up the phone. "You're wanted in Waverly's office.
Illya rolled his eyes. "Why do I have bad feeling?" he said as he walked out the door."I wonder if I am being banished back to File 40?"
He arrived at the entrance to the Old Man's conference room within minutes and paused, straightening his tie and cuffs before entering. As the doors opened silently, he did not expect to come face to face with Bill Klein of the C.I.A. sitting at the table with Waverly and made no attempt at masking his obvious displeasure at seeing the man.
The last time he had spoken to Klein was when he had been sent on a bogus mission brokered by the man to help the Central Intelligence Agency and that resulted in major traumatic events while in the custody of the Stasi, as well as his near death at the hands of his former Soviet mentor and then KGB agent Viktor Karkoff.*
"Mr. Kuryakin, stop your bristling and come sit down please?" Waverly asked.
It had been a long time since U.N.C.L.E. had tolerated his ilk walking their halls and Kuryakin wondered why Klein's presence was being permitted again.
"I know that you are well acquainted with Mr. Klein...let us get down to brass tacks. The C.I A. has approached us regarding the defection of a Russian scientist and has asked our assistance."
"Oh and I suppose my help is being requested again? No thank you sir, I respectfully decline." Illya said with a wave of his hand as he rose from his chair.
"Sit down Mr. Kuryakin and please let me finish?"
Illya did as ordered, then Waverly flicked a switch on his control panel and a man's image appeared on the video screen.
"Mr. Klein if you would be so kind?" Waverly asked.
"This is Vasya Kvantrishvili, a scientist in the employ of the Soviet government and currently stationed within the city of Gorky. He's expressed interest though our contacts that he wishes to defect to the United States, but given the current political tensions between the Soviet and American governments our handling that defection would be very difficult at this time. Many of our operatives have been identified in the Soviet arena and can't take so much as a piss without the Kremlin knowing about it."
We need for this defection to take place as the man has vital information that will help maintain the balance of power in the arms race between the the United States and the Soviet Union."
"And that is?" Illya asked.
"Sorry, classified. And you can't be read in until you guarantee you're on board."
Illya was incredulous at what was being asked of him again, and was equally as shocked that Waverly was even permitting it. "Surely you are joking? You expect me to help you after what your people did to me?"**
"Mr. Kuryakin," said the Old Man, " I have had our intelligence division investigate this matter thoroughly and they have ascertained that it is indeed legitimate, but given your last experience with the C.I.A I completely understand your not wanting to work with them again."
Bill Keln looked directly at Illya as he spoke. "Look I know we did wasn't right and I'm sorry for it, but in the end it was a necessary evil and did take an unexpected turn which wasn't our doing. Remember, we did get you out so that has to count for something?"
"Got me out? I was the sacrificial lamb in that deal. You didn't give a damn about me, I was but a means to an end of getting your double agent in place and nothing more!" Illya raised his voice at the man. He never had the opportunity to voice his anger at Klein, and at the moment out of respect for Waverly, he was restraining himself.
"Well that agent is the one who got us the request by Dr. Kvantrishvili to make his defection. Look I know we did you wrong, so here's the deal. If you help us with this operation, then I have authorization to see to it that your request for citizenship be granted upon the completion of the mission. Just think, you'll no longer be a foreign national operating on U.S. soil and will no longer be a person of interest to the C.I.A. or any other American intelligence or law enforcement agency. And that will be put on paper as a written guarantee. You have my word on it."
That was a real kick in the stomach to the Russian. He raised his eyebrows for a moment before he spoke again. "And why can your own operatives not extract this scientist?"
"Because things are too hot for us now and the security in Gorky is tighter than a skinflints ass. We can't make a move without the KGB and GRU crawling up our own butts. However, there's a situation that the Soviet government is unaware of as of the moment and it's one we can use to our advantage and that is the fact that your brother, Kiril Andropov is dead."*
Illya Kuryakin cocked his head, his interest now having been piqued at that statement.
"And what exactly does that mean?"
"We propose for you to impersonate your late brother, who we all know was a member of the Soviet KGB."
Klein's statement made the Russian's brow furrow with concern, but that didn't stop him from wanting to hear more.
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* ref "The Sins of Our Fathers Affair ** ref "The Gambit Affair" *** ref "Beginnings"