A Little Heart to Heart

The blond haired Russian knew that he had picked up a tail within two blocks of his apartment building. Now all he had to do was ascertain to what not so secret organization the this person belonged to. He knew he was being watched by the CIA, FBI, KGB. But then there was T.H.R.U.S.H but it made little difference. Who ever this was very inept, but then, what if he wanted Illya to know. The person was trying hard enough to be inconspicuous, or was it? But, in what ever case, evasive action was called for. Although The U.N.C.L.E agent was getting more then a little peeved at being harassed by all sides.

He slipped on his sunglasses then made his way to the nearest phone booth. On entering, he casually leaning against it's side keeping his supposed tail in sight out of the corner of his eye. As he expected the tail turned and backtracked to seemingly do some window shopping. Illya pretended to drop some coin into the phone as he activated his communicator.

"Open Channel D. Mr. Waverly, please."

"Right away, Mr. Kuryakin."

In second's the familiar voice of the head of Section one rasped in his ear.

"You are in danger of running a bit late, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Yes, sir. That is why I called. It seems I will be missing this morning's briefing. I have picked up an extra shadow and wish to rid myself of it before advancing any further."

The Russian could almost feel the Old Man come to attention. No doubt the other person in the room did as well.

"Do you have any clue as to whom this person might be?"

"No sir. Not enough data at this time. Only that it is female and either she is woefully inept at the task of trailing someone or she is wants me to be aware of her presence."

"Could she be providing a distraction, Illya?"

"Unknown at this point, Napoleon. But I will be keeping a wary eye out for more such shadows in the very near future."

In fact the blond agent was now scanning the sidewalks and streets around him as well as casting sharp glances toward rooftops even as he spoke.

Mr. Waverly returned to the line

"What is your present location, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I am in the phone booth at 5th and W. 30th St., Sir. But I intend to to make a change of venue as soon as I end this call. There is a restaurant just north and east of my current location."

Waverly cast a glance at his CEA and Solo acknowledged with a nod as he stood. He knew exactly the place Illya spoke of. Kuryakin continued.

"Perhaps they serve an early breakfast and there I can have a little heart to heart. I will leave this channel open, of course."

"Very good, Mr. Kuryakin. Back up is being dispatched even as we speak."

"I will eagerly await their arrival with baited breath. I am on the move now."

Illya slipped the communicator out of sight then hung up the receiver and headed for the restaurant.

Once out of Waverly's office, Napoleon patched through to Mark Slate's office.

"Mark, I need you and April on the double. Illya's picked up some uninvited company and we are going to make sure whom ever it is conducts themselves in a very civilized manner."

"Right you are, mate. When is now, but where?" He and April armed themselves, April heading for the door.

"Parking garage, the car will be running."

"On our way."

A sign on the door said that the eatery was now opened, so Illya swung the door towards him, then paused just a moment using it as a mirror. A quick glance told him that the woman was also crossing the street towards him so he moved inside. Choosing a table in a corner he quickly drew his Walther. Keeping his hands under the table, he clipped the sleeping darts and attached the silencer.

"Would you like a menu, sir?"

"Not at this time, thank you. But I will have two cups of tea with raspberry jam, on the side, please."

The waiter gave a slight bow and moved away.

Napoleon slid the car into a side alley just up from where Illya sat.

"I want one of you on a roof top overlooking the restaurant, the other in the alley behind it covering the back entrance. I'll take the frontal approach. Be careful. We don't know who this is or how many others may be lurking. Out you go."

The three agents split up, Napoleon heading for the front door. What he saw when he entered brought him to a stand still. His partner was standing facing a woman with long dark blond hair, dressed in a black leather trench coat. It was the look on Illya's face that perplexed him. A myriad of emotions seemed to be chasing themselves across the Russian's face. His blue eyes riveted on her face. Slowly Napoleon took a seat and mirrored Illya's earlier actions in arming himself.

Illya glanced up as the woman entered. She paused only a short moment before walking slowly towards his table. His body stiffened as he watched then he slowly stood, carefully placing the gun on the chair out of sight.

"Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky*"

This brought a smile to her lips. "You always were a wonder at remembering faces and names as well, Illya Nickovich Kuryakin"

He didn't register Solo's entrance. So many memories flashed through his mind at the sight of this woman from a time of his life he tried to give so little thought to. The spell broke when the waiter approached with a tray with a tea service balanced upon it.

He actually blushed. "Please, forgive me. I am being remiss. Sit. As you see there is tea. Would you like to order something more substantial?

They sat down together is if in one fluid motion. Anastasia glanced at the tea service as she carefully clasped her hands together and rested her chin upon them.

"And in the Russian style as well. But no, I need nothing more. I have already breakfasted."

She moved to pour them both a cup stirring a bit of the jam into the steaming liquid before taking a sip. Illya did the same.

"I did not know you were in America, Ana. Are you still..."

He took sharp breath and stopped himself cold. "No. That... was unforgivably clumsy of me..."

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping softly, almost a whisper. "I am as you last saw me."

He studied her features for a moment then nodded.

She straitened back up. "What of yourself, Illya. How do you spend your time?"

"I am in imports and exports, a novelty company. Here in the City."

"Do you ever miss it, Illya? The GRU? KGB?

"Nyet, not at all."

"There are some who would welcome you back with open arms, you do know that."

"Da. I also know that there are others who would gladly see me shot as a traitor to Mother Russia." He allowed the heat bleed into his voice. But as quickly as the anger had come, he released it.

"No, Ana. My loyalty now lies in this country. With my company and my colleagues, no matter how I feel about the land of my birth. But I would never betray her either."

She nodded seeing the truth in his eyes. At first sight they had been warm as a clear sunny day. Now they were icy and hard. "Then I will not bring it up again. I never intended to."

He started to protest but she shook her head as she held up a hand to silence him. "I should have let the topic drop as you did. The only reason why I am here is because I saw you and it was like a breath of fresh air. A familiar face but one so totally unattached to my work. I just wanted to talk, about inconsequential things."

"I think I can understand that."

"I think you do. You were always a good listener and someone who could be trusted. A rare commodity in these time." She shook head with a light laugh. "I really must stop. Tell me, Illya, do you get to sing often?"

"Ana, your voice is far superior to mine. But yes, once in awhile. I learned to play the guitar."

Her laugh was pleasing and genuine. "Not the balalaika? You are a man of many facets. But you were always that. Never change."

"I do my best."

She stood. "Would that we could do this often, but I think we both know it would not be wise."

He stood, with his half smile in place. "I am glad to see you well."

"Take care, Illya. Our paths crossed, perhaps, not by chance. May we be so graced again."

She spun gracefully on her heels to weave through the tables and slipped out the door.

"Mr. Kuryakin."

"Yes, sir."

"I will expect you in my office, along with Mr. Solo, Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer as soon as you can make that possible. Waverly out."

Kuryakin capped the communicator then sat to disassemble the Walther and holster it.

He glanced up as Napoleon sat across from him. The dark haired man seemed on the verge of speaking then changed his mind.

"Out the back, tovarish. April is there. I'll keep Mark on the roof until I enter the alley."

Illya nodded and stood.

"Ask no questions, my friend. Waverly wants to see us all. I will only tell this once." With that Illya turned and was gone.

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*Anastasia Antonova Dvoretsky. A school mate of mine who died far to young and far to tragically. I cannot for the life of me remember her father's first name. But I had a Russian uncle by marriage so I borrowed his first name for Ana's middle name.

I was ready to scrape this story until she kind of took it over. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Comments welcome.

R.I.P Moy drug. Vy ochen' ne khvatat'

(R.I.P My friend. You are greatly missed.)