Chapter I

The knock on his front door was familiar and expected. Right on time, he thought before calling out, "Use your key, Illya, I've got my hands full!"

The Russian came in and reset the alarm system before heading into Napoleon's dining room. The table's leaf had been removed, reducing it in size to a circle with six chairs around it. It was covered with a green felt tablecloth and each chair had a coaster in front of it. The sideboard held paper plates, napkins, cups and forks. On the opposite side of the room was Napoleon's bar complete with two ice buckets, mixers and various bottles of liquor and wine. The five cubic foot refrigerator underneath the counter held several varieties of beer. He smiled approvingly when he noted the absence of vodka and went to Napoleon's freezer to retrieve the bottle he knew would be there. He went to the bar and jammed it into one of the ice buckets and walked back into the kitchen to watch Napoleon who was busily putting the finishing touches on a platter of cold cuts.

"Illya," he clucked disapprovingly, "that ice is for drinks. Why are you sticking your vodka in it?"

"Expediency," came the answer. "I do not wish to hold up the game constantly going to the freezer to refill my glass."

Napoleon chuckled. "Point taken, my friend."

"What time are April and Mark supposed to be here? I am starving," Illya complained as he eyed the tasty – looking meats and cheeses Napoleon had arranged so nicely on an oval platter. On another platter, there were rolls, rye and wheat bread slices and bowls of mustard and mayonnaise.

"I knew you would be, Tovarisch, so you are more than welcome to fix sandwiches with the cold cuts that are still in the fridge. There's potato salad and pickles in there, too. I expect them anytime now."

As he happily went about the business of fixing a "snack," Illya said, "I am starting to like the idea of Poker Night more and more. Who else is coming?" He stuck his sandwich in his mouth and took the platters Napoleon held out to him into the dining room. He grabbed a plate after he put the platters down, put his sandwich on it and took the seat closest to the bar.

"April asked me if she could invite Agents Lozada and Ferraro. They're the new transfers from UNCLE South America; the Buenos Aires office. I've heard good things about them, but I don't know them very well so I thought this would be a good, non – threatening way to get to know them better."

"I have to admit, I am surprised that you have invited strangers to your home. I would never allow someone I did not know into my apartment."

Napoleon shrugged as he finally finished his preparations and joined Illya in the dining room. He poured himself a scotch, pointed at the vodka and then poured some into a glass when Illya smiled. He sat down and slid Illya's drink to him. "They're not exactly strangers, Tovarisch, they're fellow UNCLE agents. April has developed a budding friendship with them and I trust her judgment. She would never have suggested they come here if she felt either one was untrustworthy."

The intercom buzzed then; it was the doorman alerting Napoleon that his expected guests had arrived and were in the elevator. A moment later, his doorbell rang. Ever cautious, Napoleon checked the peephole while the Russian had his hand on the grip of his Walther. He relaxed when Napoleon nodded and unlocked the door.

Mark and April stood there smiling; behind them, stood New York HQ's newest Section IIs. Celia Lozada and Vincenzo Ferraro were Argentineans of Spanish and Italian descent, respectively. She was five feet seven inches tall and wearing a navy blue pantsuit with low – heeled shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a rather severe bun. Her partner was dressed in the usual black suit, white shirt and skinny black tie that hung neatly on his six feet three inch frame.

"Hello, all. Come in, come in. Celia, Vincenzo, welcome to my humble abode! Make yourselves comfortable. You remember my partner Illya." He helped Celia off with her coat and hung it up in the coat closet and then passed hangers to his other guests.

"Your home is beautiful, Mr. Solo," Agent Lozada said as she walked farther into the apartment and waved at Illya.

"Thank you and please, call me Napoleon."

"It is about time you decided to show up," Illya huffed in fake annoyance as he waved hello.

Mark laughed as he clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. "In a hurry to lose your money then, are you? April love, let's see if we can accommodate our mate here. C'mon, boys and girls: Grab your drinks, grab your seats and let's play cards! Celia, what don't you sit next to Illya? You won't bite 'er, will you, mate?"

As the Russian began to shuffle the cards, he replied coolly, "The night is still young."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

Hours later, Napoleon and Illya sat relaxed and drinking in the living room, the brunet on the couch with his feet up and the blond stretched out in the recliner. The card party had wound down about an hour earlier. Illya had helped clean up and had accepted Napoleon's offer of the guest bedroom rather than making the trek back to the Village.

Napoleon swallowed more of his scotch and looked at the Russian who was enjoying yet another sandwich and helping of potato salad. Where does he put it? Exhaling loudly, he said, "Well?"

Illya stopped the fork halfway to his mouth. "Well what?"

"What do you think of Celia and Vincenzo?"

"Ah," Illya responded. He took in his last forkful of potato salad, chewed and swallowed before downing what remained in his glass. "I think that April is correct in her assessment. They are both very pleasant to be around. Celia and April seem to have bonded. It probably helped that between the two of them, they won the most money. They were both unreadable."

"I can't believe I let Celia bluff me out of a pot when she only had a pair of nines! I had two pair and the way she was betting, I thought she had at least a straight. Vinnie was much more conservative in his play. It kind of makes me wonder, when they are in the field, if they are the same way; Celia being a risk – taker and Vinnie being more cautious in his approach."

"They have been given assignments that were difficult for their level of experience and were successful. What do their mission reports indicate?"

Napoleon snorted. "They indicate what they want me to know! Tovarisch, how many reports have we given the Old Man that omitted actions we took? If the mission is successful, that's all that matters. If one of us gets captured and rescued, Waverly doesn't need to know the other one risked the mission to do so. We all do it; Celia and Vinnie are no different. My concerns as CEA are: Does Celia engage in an inordinate amount of risky behavior and if she does, is she endangering her partner?"

Illya refilled his glass. "You got all of this from a few hours of playing poker?" he asked incredulously. "Do you not think you are being overly dramatic?"

"Perhaps you're right, Partner Mine. The thought occurred to me that maybe I'm over – thinking this because she is only the second female to graduate Survival School. One of the reasons she and her partner were transferred to North America is because the culture of machismo in Argentina was affecting her ability to do her job; many of the agents and support staff treated her like an interloper. She and Vincenzo were in the same class so he is well aware of her abilities and skills, but he couldn't convince his fellow agents and they mistreated him for standing up for her."

Illya poured one last drink. He was getting sleepy and the bed in the guestroom was calling him. "I think you also relate to them because you did the same thing when I arrived here. No one trusted me; no one wanted to work with me. You were the only one to offer a hand in friendship." Gliding gracefully out of the chair, he picked up his plate and glass and announced, "I am going to bed. Napoleon, do not worry. If she appreciates her partner's friendship and loyalty half as much as I do, she will not do anything in the field to endanger him. Good night."

"G'night, Partner Mine." As he watched the Russian head to the kitchen to place his dish and glass in the dishwasher he thought, I hope you're right.