Act I "Over the river and through the woods"
Illya Kuryakin didn't like going into the barn. Which was odd because he had spent a lot of time there when Mary was still alive. He had always loved following her in there, chatting and telling stories to her while she worked. He never helped her. Not that he hadn't tried. But she would never let him. "I'm the veterinarian," she would say. "This is my office. You wouldn't want me to come into your office and start messing with your stuff would you?" But then she died. The horse was sold. He managed to give all the chickens away, those he hadn't eaten. The cats stayed because they kept the barn clear of rodents. No, the barn was usually off limits. That was Mary's place.
But Christmas was coming and so were the girls. He had to get the decorations out and put them up before they got here. He didn't want them to think he'd turned into an old hermit. Well, he was old and he did live alone. And if they hadn't decided to visit him for Christmas he wouldn't have bothered with the decorations. Not because they were stored in the barn, he told himself ruthlessly. Just because Christmas had been Mary's thing. Too much bother. Yeah, right.
It took a couple of hours to move the totes into the house. There were seven of them, all numbered in Mary's neat block lettering. He had had to find them, dust them off and carry/drag them out of the barn up to the house. He finally wrestled the last one into the living room before sitting down on the sofa tiredly. He certainly wasn't as spry as he used to be.
He had no idea what was in the boxes. Mary had always issued the orders to bring them in and he would do so. A few hours later the house looked like magic. He had little to do with any of it in between. He smiled at a stray memory of Mary complaining that she needed to pare down her Christmas decor to one or two boxes. As if.
Tiredly, he dragged one of the totes toward him and removed the plastic lid. It was filled to the top with boxes of ornaments. Hot damn, he'd bumbled onto the right box first go around. He looked over at the tree standing primly in the corner and realized he would have to put the lights on first. That search wasn't as lucky-he found it in box five. Digging around, he found a multitude of light strands; far too many to fit on one tree. He let the wires drop back into the box.
"Ah, Mary, this is your job. I'm no good at it." But after a few minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he stood up, grabbed a strand of lights and started working.
XXXXX
Grace Kuryakin finished loading her car full of presents. The back seat was full, with a spill over into the front seat. Her luggage was wedged into the trunk. She knew it was stupid buying so much for what amounted to five people, but what the heck. It was Christmas. Wasn't it the joy of giving that was important? She closed the back door and ran back into her apartment building, dropping a twenty into the doorman's hand to keep an eye on her double parked car. She bypassed the elevator and clattered up the steps to her third floor New York City loft.
After a quick check to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she put on her coat and gloves and grabbed her purse. Then clattered back down the stairs.
The doorman smiled and held the door for her. "Merry Christmas, Miss Kuryakin. Going up to Vermont?"
"Yep. Going to see my Dad. It'll be our first Christmas since Mom died."
The doorman looked sympathetic. "I remember having to deal with my mom after my dad died. She was a handful."
Grace grinned. "I think my dad would give her a run for her money. Handful is putting it mildly."
She got in the car, fastened her seatbelt and pulled away, waving to the apartment building doorman.
Handful was definitely putting it mildly. She knew this was going to be a tough visit if the phone calls from her twin sister were any indication.
Dad was getting old. No, not getting. He was old. He would be turning 83 next spring. Fortunately he was in relatively good health, but lately things were getting tense. Last summer he'd fallen off a ladder while trying to re-caulk a window. The only major injury was a sprained wrist. But the bruises had been scary and he had been too sore to move for a day or two. And his once sharp mind was getting mushy. Nothing alarming, but sometimes he had trouble finding a word or phrase in conversation and tended to get frustrated and substitute his native Russian. Grace was okay with it but it drove Faith up a wall. Faith had never learned Russian and disapproved that Grace had gone out of her way to learn their father's native language.
Grace sighed. It was one more wedge between her and her twin sister.
And after last weekend's phone call from Faith, Grace was sure this was not going to be a good visit. It wasn't that she disagreed with Faith, but she just wished Faith would go slow. She was like a bull in a china shop when she thought she was right.
Grace sighed again. No one had thought that mom would go first. She had been ten years younger than dad and could keep him in line. But the diagnosis of stage 4 cancer had caught everyone off guard. She had lived only two months after the diagnosis.
Pulling onto I95, Grace turned on the radio and headed north. No, it was not going to be pleasant. But on the other hand, it would be so good to see everyone.
XXXXX
"Grace agrees with me," Faith said, perhaps for the tenth time.
Her husband, Dan Leighton, kept his eyes on the road but his mouth tightened, doubting the veracity of that statement.
"We could remodel the garage fairly cheaply," his wife continued. "It would be perfect for him."
"Faith, you know he won't agree to that. He's said many times he doesn't want to be a burden on either of you."
"Then it's a nursing home for him!" Faith snapped. "He's stubborn but surely he won't choose that over living with us."
Dan grimaced. "I don't know that he needs a nursing home. An assisted living facility would probably..."
"You know what I mean," Faith interrupted. "The point is he can't stay on the farm!"
Dan sighed. She was right. His father-in-law was an independent, capable man-for a man in his 80s. But the farm was a scary place. It was isolated, an old house that needed constant repairs, which meant more circumstances like the time he fell off the ladder. He loved his father-in-law. He respected him. But how do you balance a man's pride and the need to keep him safe?
"We can't wait any longer. We have to convince him." Faith placed her hand on her husband's arm.
He looked down at her soft hand, smiled and removed one hand from the steering wheel, to take her hand in his. "I know, Faith. I know. I love him too." He raised her hand to his lips. "I just don't want to have to do it. It won't be easy."
Faith smiled sadly. "I know. I've been dreading this..."
"Quit it, you little brat!"
"I'm not doing anything to you!"
Both parents in the front seat glanced at each other and rolled their eyes in unison. Conversation over. Faith turned in her seat under the constraint of the seatbelt and looked back at her two children. God she loved them. But they were a handful. What would happen if she added her father to the mix?
"Stop it you two. You've coexisted back there for all of 30 minutes. We've got 3 more hours to go."
Emily, their fifteen year old, tore her ear buds out of her ears and glared at her brother. "He won't stay on his own side! He keeps touching me!"
"I did not! You keep moving your stuff over on my side!" Josh replied hotly.
"Oh, stop it," their mother sighed. She glanced at her husband, thoughtfully biting her lower lip. "Hey, kids, what would you think about grandpa moving in with us?"
Joshua spoke up immediately. "Cool! He could teach me Russian."
Emily glared at her brother. "What for? You can barely speak English, stupid."
"Don't call him stupid," Faith sighed. "What about you, Emmy. How would you feel about Grandpa moving in?"
"I dunno. All right, I guess. He tells fun stories. And he's willing to take me shooting."
"How come I don't get to go shooting," Josh grabbed onto the salient point.
Dan spoke up. "You're only nine."
"When did grandpa take you shooting?" Faith asked. She was going to kill her father when she saw him. Perhaps that would solve the issue.
"Well, he hasn't yet, but he said he's willing to teach me how to shoot."
"Well, in that case you can tell him you don't want to learn."
"But I do!" Emmy whined. "You guys never let me do anything I want to do." She put her ear buds back in her ears and grabbed her smart phone. Josh gave a last poke in her direction and returned his attention to his Nintendo 3DS.
Faith turned back to her husband. "It all sounded so good until now. What the hell was he thinking, offering to teach Emmy to shoot a gun? I'm going to kill him."
"Faith, your dad is a smart guy. He's not going to do anything that would be dangerous for Emmy." Dan reached for her hand again. "Look, if we're going to have him move in with us, we can't control him. He is who he is."
"Yes, a Russian pain in the ass," Faith snapped.
"Well, yeah." He threw her a smile. "Come on, Faith. He's not going to change just because you think he's too old."
Faith started to give a sharp retort but stopped. Dan was right. Dad was who he was. An old Russian who had been orphaned as a child during World War II, survived wretched Russian winters on the streets, and defected to the United States as a young man during the height of the cold war. He had worked as a laborer in order to get enough money to go to college and get his degree. Then got a job teaching physics at Bennington College. He was a survivor. And she loved him with all her heart.
"I hate it when you're right," she half laughed.
"Don't worry, I won't get used to it." She tried to pull her hand away but he just squeezed harder. "Faith, we'll get through this."
She smiled wanly. "I hope so."
"But first we have to get through Christmas."
From the back seat: "Mom! Tell Josh to stop!"
Act II Don't mess with the angry Russian
Illya checked the ham in the oven and reset the temperature and timer. It was cooking too fast. Mary wouldn't have made that mistake. He wasn't a bad cook. He'd survived fine for many years as a bachelor. But Mary had been a great cook and his skills had become a trifle rusty.
He went back into the living room and looked at the decorations. Not bad, if he did say so himself. Mary probably would have torn everything off and started over...well, no she wouldn't. She would have kissed him sweetly and told him how lovely it was, no matter how unlovely it was. God, how he missed her.
He turned automatically to the fireplace and the photos closest to him. He smiled sadly at Mary's photo. "Why'd you have to die, Mary?" He then looked past it to the man whose picture was next to hers. "Don't look at me like that, Napoleon. You weren't supposed to die either."
He decided that a fire in the fireplace would be perfect and went out to the porch to fetch the wood. As he stooped to retrieve the small logs from the stack he was interrupted by the sound of an engine pulling up the long drive. He smiled widely and stepped down the few steps to meet the car as it braked to a halt in front of the house.
"Grace!" He called as his daughter emerged from the car.
She grinned and trotted up the walk to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Dad!"
He hugged her back warmly. "It's so good to see you, Myshka."
She giggled. "I guess I'll always be your little mouse, huh?"
He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Always." He looked over her shoulder at the car. "How many people are you expecting? You have enough gifts for an army."
Grace looked embarrassed. "I know, but I just got carried away. Come on, help me carry them in."
It took several trips but the packages were finally piled under the tree and the suitcases retrieved and placed in Grace's old bedroom. They went back downstairs to the living room where Illya excused himself to check on the ham. Grace wandered around the room, looking at the haphazardly placed ornaments on the tree.
She smiled to herself. It wasn't mom's tree for sure. She reached up and straightened the star that drooped to one side. Well, at least he tried. And for some reason it touched her greatly.
She stepped over to the fireplace and looked at the pictures on the mantel. They lined the shelf like soldiers; her mother and father at their wedding, looking happy and excited, Uncle Napoleon beside them; at least a dozen photos of her and her sister, alone and together; Faith's husband and kids. And there at the end the two photos that never changed. One of her mother, circa 1975, looking beautiful and serene, and the other, Napoleon Solo, looking dapper in his younger years. She stared at the photos. It was a one-two punch her father might not recover from. His best friend died two years ago and his wife one year ago. She sighed and shook her head. And now they were going to take his home away. God, life could be so unfair.
"I got some diet ginger ale for you. Canada Dry, just as you like."
Grace turned at her father's voice and took the can of soda that he offered her.
"Thank you." She popped the top and took a sip. "Thanks for remembering."
Illya smiled as he opened his own can, beer, not soda. "Your mother was very good at remembering what you girls liked and she taught me like a trained seal to do the same."
She laughed. "She was good, no doubt about it." She looked back up at the mantel. "Josh and Emmy are getting so big."
"That they are," Illya replied. "It'll be good to see them. I promised Emmy I'd take her out target shooting."
Grace looked surprised. "With what? I thought all you had was the shotgun?"
Illya chuckled. "Well, the shotgun is mine, but your mother had a handgun."
Grace could not have been more shocked. "What? Mom?"
He reached for Mary's youthful photo and picked it up. "Yes, she always had one. She kept it locked up."
"I didn't even know she could shoot, let alone that she owned a gun!"
"She was a fair shot in her day," Illya said proudly. He replaced the frame back on the mantel. Grace watched as he stared at her mother's photo. She couldn't imagine the pain.
"Dad? Can I ask you a question?"
He turned to her expectantly. "Of course."
"How did you meet Uncle Napoleon?"
A look of surprise crossed his face followed by one of caution. "Napoleon? What brought that on?"
Grace ducked her head in embarrassment. She truly didn't know why she had suddenly asked that. "Uh, I don't know. I just wondered." She braced herself inwardly. She'd gone this far. "I mean. I just wondered why we all called him Uncle Napoleon. I know we're not actually related."
Illya looked nonplussed. "Well, I suppose it was because he was always around when you two were little and we had to call him something."
"Well, how did you meet him?"
Illya stared at her curiously. "I met him in college. At Columbia. It's where I met your mother, too."
"Yes, I heard that story before. I guess what I'm saying is how did you two get to be such good friends. You're different as night and day."
Her father chuckled and relaxed. "Well, I can't argue with that. I guess it does seem a little odd for a successful international entrepreneur to be such good friends with a bookish college professor."
They sat down on the couch together, Illya holding her hand. "What brought on the questions about Napoleon?"
"I don't know. I just saw the photo again."
"Well, it's no secret that our friendship was quite unusual for several reasons. We were very different. Which I couldn't be happier about by the way. His womanizing used to irritate the devil out of me."
Grace smiled. "I remember. There was a different girlfriend every Thanksgiving and Christmas."
"And Easter and Independence Day and Memorial Day..." Grace's laughter interrupted him. He laughed with her. "A very good man. But his lifestyle never allowed him to settle down. I always thought that was a mistake. Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. I always thought someone could have tamed the tomcat. But quite frankly that wasn't him."
Grace leaned her head thoughtfully against his shoulder. "How well did you really know him?"
Illya pulled back and eyed her warily. "If you're going to announce that you were one of his conquests, I'll have to get very angry."
Grace feigned outrage. "Dad! He was old enough to be my father!"
Illya snickered. "That wouldn't have stopped him." Suddenly he sobered. "He tried to date your mother, you know."
Grace was shocked. "What?"
"The operative word was tried. She wouldn't go out with him. Probably one of the handful of women to say no to him. I guess I felt I had to snatch her up before he tried again." He was thoughtful for a few moments. "He once told me he thought I had won the woman lottery"
Grace started to respond but was interrupted by the sound of another car pulling up.
Illya stood up, pulling her up with him. "That's them!"
They hurried out to the porch in time to meet the rushing onslaught of Josh and Emmy as they charged up the steps, with shouts of "Grandpa!" The younger Leightons wrapped themselves around their grandfather. Illya hugged them happily. "My little vnuchata! Merry Christmas, my loves." The kids also exchanged hugs with their aunt as their parents joined them on the porch.
Faith embraced her father, "Hi, Dad! Merry Christmas!"
"Hello, Faith! My kotenok. I'm so glad you're home". He hugged her fiercely. He traded a manly handshake with Dan as the little family made their way into the house.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of four people removing coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, Illya and Dan managed to retrieve luggage and packages from the car. When he finally closed the front door and allowed Dan to take the suitcase he was carrying, Illya smiled as he listened to the general racket of his family's conversation. He watched in total contentment as the twins added the gifts to the pile under the tree, Emmy plopped herself on the sofa and turned on his TV, and Josh chased after one of the cats. Dan came back downstairs after taking their suitcases to their rooms.
"Something smells good," Dan commented as he stood next to his father-in-law.
Illya looked up at him. "Oh, the ham!" He disappeared into the kitchen.
When Illya returned to the living room, he rescued the cat from Josh and tossed the thing out the front door. Delilah was the only cat tame enough to be indoors but even this small crowd made her nervous. "There are plenty of mice out in the barn. Go eat some." He closed the door and ruffled Josh's hair. "Delilah hates to be picked up. I saved you from a few stitches." He grinned at him.
Josh grinned back. "Spasibo," he said.
Illya laughed in delight. "Pozhaluysta."
Josh promptly ran over to Illya's easy chair and settled in. His mother caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. "Josh, get out of grandpa's chair," she barked.
"Oh, don't do that, Faith. He's fine." Illya sat down on another chair-Mary's chair. He tried to look comfortable. "I can sit anywhere."
Grace smiled. "Now you tell us. Mom used to chase us out of your chair constantly." She was sitting on the couch next to her twin and elbowed her playfully.
Faith added: "She made us think you'd get really mad." She snarled theatrically. "The Angry Russian would come out."
Everyone laughed, including Illya. "Well, the angry Russian made his appearance all too frequently as I remember, since you two girls were d'yavoly."
Grace hooted. "Faith, I think he called us devils!"
Faith grinned. "Well, he has us there."
"Speaking of devils, we are going to midnight Mass," Illya stated. "No argument." He eyed Grace.
"Dad, I'm still Catholic. I just don't get to church as much as I used to."
"Well, you're going tonight. Your mother would come back and haunt us all if we missed midnight Mass. So we'd better get dinner ready and the presents opened before we leave."
"Good idea."
Both Faith and Grace rose. "We'll help with dinner," Faith said.
Grace nodded. "What time is midnight Mass?"
Everyone paused to look at her.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. You know good and well different churches have it at different times."
"Midnight Mass should be at midnight!" Illya stated. "Fortunately Fr. Frank agrees with me on that issue. It is at midnight," he said to Grace.
The twins laughed. Their father loved to argue theology with Fr. Frank. Leave it to a late in life convert to take on a Catholic priest. But then dad loved to argue.
Dinner was ready in about an hour, all the family recipes having been pulled out and prepared. Illya was relieved that the ham was not dried out-that's your mother looking out for me-and the meal passed pleasantly. Yet he couldn't help but notice the significant looks that passed between his daughters. It was either their twin shorthand communication or they were arguing about something. He and Mary had discovered early on that the girls were the complete opposite of each other. Grace was thoughtful and measured as opposed to Faith's hot headed stubbornness. He loved them both completely, but it was definitely easier to deal with Grace than Faith. And he knew that though they were close to each other, they tended to squabble. Nothing serious, but he and Dan had learned to stay out of it.
Dinner was almost over when Faith leaned back in her chair decisively and told Emmy and Josh to go in the living room and sort the Christmas presents. The two youngsters started to protest, but Dan supported his wife by repeating the order. They left, casting dark glances over their shoulders.
Illya pushed his plate back and leaned forward on the table. "All right. Obviously something is going on. What is it?"
Grace looked embarrassed but Faith looked determined. "We need to talk, Dad."
Illya raised an eyebrow. "Fine. What about?"
But no one spoke. Dan sat gazing down at his lap, Grace looked uncomfortable, and Faith was looking increasingly annoyed.
"I have been told that talking involves talking." Illya said dryly.
"This is hard, Dad," Faith said testily.
"Fine. Tell me what this is about and I'll be glad to help you."
"It's about you living here alone." Grace blurted.
"Subtle, sis," Faith snapped.
Illya stood up. "Well, I'm glad that's over with." He picked up his plate and flatware and headed for the kitchen.
Faith stood up. "Dad! Stop!"
Illya spun around. "You want to see the angry Russian? Well, here he is. I do not need to be trundled off to a nursing home. I'm still quite capable of taking care of myself."
Grace grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her back down. "We did not say anything about a nursing home."
"I will not leave this farm."
Faith took a deep breath. "Dad, you need to be reasonable. You are getting too old to stay here alone."
"I am not leaving this house! This is your Mother's house!"
Dan suddenly spoke up. "We're just worried about you, Illya. That fall off the ladder scared us all."
"I wasn't hurt!"
"You were lucky."
Illya threw the plate back on the table angrily. "I'm not near death! Despite what you think. I am not ready to give up my independence!"
"You don't have to," Faith said. "We want you to move in with us."
Illya glared at her. "So you can take care of me like I'm a child? No, thanks!"
"We're worried. You are out here all alone. If you fell off a ladder, or something else, and injured yourself, you could lie there until you died!" Faith returned his glare. "You think we want that to happen?"
"Oh, you want me to wear one of those 'I've fallen and I can't get up' buttons. No thanks!"
"No, Dad," Faith retorted. "We want you to live with us."
"Thank you for the invitation, Faith, but the answer is no."
Faith started to respond, but Grace stopped her. "That's enough. Both of you." She stood up and faced her father. "You need to face facts, Dad. You are 83 years old. You cannot stay here alone. This place is too far from civilization."
"Nonsense. There's a neighbor just down the road."
Faith half laughed. "Oh, great! Old man Murphy! He's even older than you!"
Illya snatched up the plate again and stalked off into the kitchen. The other three could hear him banging dishes angrily.
Grace sighed. "Well, that went well."
Faith turned to her angrily and started to give her an angry retort. They were interrupted by several Russian swear words from the kitchen. Faith looked at her sister. "Do I want to know what he said?"
Grace shook her head with a half-smile. "Absolutely not."
Dan smirked and Faith smiled ruefully. Grace sat back down and they all looked at each other and listened to the angry rattling and mumbling from the other room.
Act III The family that fights together stays together
"Where's Grandpa?"
Everyone looked toward the doorway to the living room. Josh stood there, looking worried and a little scared.
"Josh?" Faith began.
"There're some people outside."
Grace sat up straight. "Josh? What are you saying?
Josh looked toward the kitchen worriedly . "I went upstairs because you guys started yelling. I was looking out of the window. I saw some men out there. They have guns. Where's Grandpa?"
"What?"
Illya appeared in the doorway. "How many, Josh?"
Josh fretted. "I don't know. Maybe 5 or 6."
"Back yard or front?"
"Front."
Grace was on her feet and reaching for the light switch as Illya leaned back into the kitchen and turned out the light there. "Get Emmy in here," Illya said tersely.
Dan darted into the living room, returning a few moments later with his daughter. "What's going on, Illya?"
Illya ignored him. "Faith, you're closest. Turn out the lights in the living room."
Faith gaped at him, her eyes wide. "What-"
Grace pushed past her and soon the house was dark. She joined her father at the window. "Do you know what's going on?"
"No."
"Who are they?"
"Haven't a clue."
As they watched, two men sprinted across the yard toward the barn. They were carrying automatic weapons.
From outside came a voice, distant but clear. "Kuryakin!" It called.
"Chyort!" Illya muttered quietly.
"We know that you are in there. Come out and no one will get hurt."
Grace's lips compressed into a line. "We need to get the kids to safety."
The voice from outside continued. "You have something we want, Kuryakin. THRUSH will not wait forever to get it from you. We know you're UNCLE."
Illya stood back from the window, making sure he was in the shadows. He was thinking hard. "Come with me, all of you."
Grace shook her head. "You go ahead." She started to reach for her purse.
Illya grabbed her by the arm. "Everyone," he said tersely.
He led them into the kitchen and into a walk-in pantry. He lifted up the plastic runner from the floor, revealing a trap door. He wrenched it open with a loud creak of dry wood against dry wood.
"Down the stairs!"
Dan and the kids hustled down the stairs. Faith looked scared and puzzled. "I didn't know..."
"Shut up!" Illya hissed. "Down the stairs!"
Faith hesitated only briefly. She hurried down the steps.
"Grace, hurry."
"Dad, go ahead. I'll be right there." She stared hard at him through the murky darkness. "Trust me."
It was clear that he didn't. "Don't be long."
"I won't."
Illya scrambled down the steps.
It was a small space; barely bigger than the pantry. Illya went immediately to a shelf full of dusty canned goods and began pushing it to one side. "Dan, give me a hand!"
Dan was immediately at his side and the shelf was moved to reveal a door. Illya opened it. In the background he could hear Grace coming down the steps. He also heard her gasp as she saw what was in the closet.
It was filled with weaponry. Rifles, pistols, assault weapons, grenades and boxes and boxes of ammo. Illya didn't stop to explain. He pulled two assault rifles out and began loading them.
Grace pulled a pistol from her pocket. "Dad? What is all this?"
"Grace, it's me they're after."
"No, it's me."
There was a beat and they said, almost together: "You work for UNCLE?" and "You worked for UNCLE?"
In a split second decision, Illya tossed one of the assault weapons and a box of ammunition at her. He stuffed a pistol in his belt and grabbed his own assault rifle.
He and Grace started for the stairs. He turned to look at the others. "Stay down here whatever you do, or hear."
Faith's eyes were wide with shock. "Dad? Grace?"
Grace hugged her sister. "Faith, it will be okay. We know what we're doing. Stay down here."
The two of them trundled up the stairs and the trap door was dropped into place.
Faith grabbed her two children and held them close as Dan grabbed one of the guns and pointed it at the stairs.
XXXXX
Grace went to her purse and retrieved her cell phone. "You have one?"
Illya shook his head. Grace sneaked into the living room and returned with another cell phone. "This is Emmy's." She called the phone from her own and handed it to Illya. "Keep it on." Illya took the cell phone from her and she bounded up the stairs to the second floor.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"There are three men that I can see. We saw two head for the barn, so I'm guessing they're still in there."
"Where is the speaker?"
"He's standing right in the center of the yard."
Illya peered out of the corner of the window. "I see him, the idiot."
"He needs to be taught a lesson."
"On five."
Illya counted down silently and pointed his rifle at the window. At zero he pulled the trigger and sprayed the yard with bullets. He knew that Grace was doing the same from upstairs.
When they stopped, the return volley began. Illya threw himself flat on the floor. Bullets rained overhead, crashing through glass, curtains, and walls. He estimated that all five men were firing, judging from the amount of fire power and the carnage surrounding him. They kept it up for a full two minutes.
Illya prayed that Grace was unharmed and breathed a sigh of relief as he heard her pad down the stairs and lower herself to the floor beside him. They began to reload their guns.
"Kuryakin!"
Illya grimaced. "I really wish he'd be more specific."
Grace grinned. "My guess is that it is me. I do indeed have something they want. I have a thumb drive that I'm supposed to deliver to Montreal. I was going to do that when I left here."
Illya chuckled softly. "Gone are the days of microdots, eh?"
She winked. "Everything is encrypted and emailed. The only reason I'm delivering this is because we think THRUSH has decrypted the code." She sobered immediately. "However, I don't understand them coming after me here. I didn't think it was that sensitive."
"I mean it, Kuryakin. Come out with your hands up and no one gets hurt," came the voice from outside.
"Well, Kuryakin," Illya addressed his daughter. "Let's give him part two of our answer."
Grace grinned. "My pleasure, Kuryakin."
"On two."
They both rose to their knees and sprayed havoc out into the yard.
When the din died down, they could hear the sound of breaking glass in the back of the house. They both swung around and waited for the interloper to enter the dining room. Several seconds passed and Grace signaled to her father to head for the living room while she took the kitchen. He nodded and crawled away, regaining his feet as he reached the door. He crept into the room, stooping low with his assault rifle aimed before him.
Grace barely took notice. She did the same for the kitchen. It was not empty. She fired her weapon at the two men and watched in satisfaction as they dropped to the floor. She heard gunfire from the other side of the house and ran to help her father. She burst into the living room to see two more bodies on the floor.
Illya was reloading. "If our count is right, there's only one left and that must be our bigmouth."
Grace nodded. "Where?"
Illya shook his head. "We need to find him."
"No we don't. I called Uncle while I was upstairs. They'll be here soon. All we have to do is wait."
Illya peered out the window. "Sounds good to me."
They sat down on the floor, leaning back against the couch. The wreckage caused by the exchange of gunfire was incredible. There was not a stick of furniture left undamaged and the far wall was filled with holes. The wall behind them was also so Swiss cheesed that light from the barn light was shining through the individual holes. They sat with weapons poised for action.
"How long have you been an agent?" Illya asked.
"Uncle Napoleon recruited me right out of college. Not including all the training and the probationary period, about 10 years. He never told me about you."
"Napoleon?" Illya said angrily. "I'll kill him!"
"He's already dead."
"Well, I'll dig him up and kill him again!"
Grace chuckled. "You know, I could never figure it out. Obviously I knew that Uncle Napoleon was head of Section 1, but I just couldn't figure out how you knew him."
"He was my partner for many years. I retired when I married your mother-who, by the way, was also an employee of UNCLE. She was a nurse in the medical department. I ended up getting to know her quite well from all my visits. Napoleon stayed with UNCLE and took over when Mr. Waverly retired."
"I've heard the name Waverly," Grace said. She frowned in puzzlement. "But I never heard yours."
"That was my special request to Napoleon. I asked him to keep my existence confidential. I didn't want someone coming after me and threatening my family." He half smiled. "Sort of like what just happened."
"Well, at least it all makes sense now."
"Is that why you were asking about Napoleon earlier?"
"Yeah, I..."
The sound of someone stepping on glass brought their heads and guns up, trained toward the door. A man stood there, gun in hand. It was the loud mouth from the middle of the yard and he had the drop on them.
"Throw your weapons over here."
After a moment they did so. The gun wielder kicked the weapons aside.
"Kuryakin, I want that drive."
Illya looked at his daughter. "Oh, it was you."
Grace sighed. She started to dig into her pocket but the THRUSH agent reacted by raising his gun threateningly. "I'm just getting the thumb drive." She pulled out the memory stick and held it up. "Is this what you want?"
The man practically cackled. "Yes! Throw it here."
She started to throw it but hesitated, looking at the drive curiously. "What the hell is so important?"
"It has the location of THRUSH headquarters, if you must know," the man sneered.
"Hmmm. Well, that would be important." She tossed him the flash drive. He caught it with one hand. "If we didn't already know that information."
The man had definitely not been expecting the taunt. He looked at the thumb drive in his hand and practically snarled. "NO!" He pointed the gun straight at Grace.
There was the sound of a single shot and the man looked mildly surprised as the hole in his forehead oozed blood. He fell forward as if in slow motion. Illya lowered the gun he had pulled from his waistband.
"Don't shoot at my daughter, you bastard."
Act IV The truth will set you free
UNCLE arrived very shortly afterwards, with a helicopter, trucks, and a veritable swarm of agents. Illya had gone to the hiding place in the pantry to retrieve the rest of his family. Dan and Faith and their children emerged into the carnage wide eyed and weak with shock. The UNCLE team busied themselves with the crime scene details and interviews. Grace dealt with the team efficiently and effectively.
The house was an absolute disaster. Totally unlivable. The upstairs wasn't too bad but unusable because of the instability of the lower level damage. It was freezing as the darkness deepened. They all stood around with blankets draped over their shoulders.
It was left to Illya to explain to his other daughter that he had once been a spy, that Grace was now a spy for the same organization and that the dead bodies were the bad guys and that he and Grace had been the ones who dispatched them.
Two hours later the bodies had been removed, the crime scene processed, and the UNCLE team was gone. Efficient, fast, businesslike.
Still in shock, Faith stumbled through the room. She stopped at the mantel, picking up her mother's picture. "It survived," she said numbly. "The rest are shattered, but this one survived."
Illya went over to her and put his arm around her, taking the frame from her and placing it back on the heavily damaged mantel. "Of course it did, kotenok. This is your mother's house." He hugged her close.
"What there is left of it," Dan muttered, looking at the bullet ridden walls.
Illya nodded. "Well, it's been in better shape."
Josh's eyes were wide as saucers. "There's bullets everywhere!"
Grace bent down next to him. "Bullet casings, Josh. The actual bullets are probably in the walls."
"How can you be so blasé about this?" Faith suddenly yelled. "This is horrible!"
Both Illya and Grace turned toward her. "Of course it's horrible, Faith. That's why they need agents like us," Grace said.
"The bad guys are out there, Kotenok. There have to be good guys."
Faith just shook her head helplessly. "But you shot those men! You killed them!"
"And if we hadn't they would have killed us and very likely you and your family," Grace replied calmly.
Faith shivered. "Spies!" she hissed. "You were…are…spies! That's just crazy!"
"I can sympathize with your surprise, but it's true," Illya said.
"Dad, I can't believe it! You were a spy! You!"
"I was quite the dashing character in my youth. Yes. I was a spy, as you say. Although we prefer the title agent."
"How could you have let Grace become one?" she accused.
"I didn't know about it. Not until today. It seems Uncle Napoleon recruited her." He glanced at the shattered picture on the mantel.
"Uncle Napoleon? What the hell?"
"It's how we met. He was my partner. He became head of Northwest UNCLE after I left." Illya explained. "He's always been an agent. Even dandling you girls on his knee he probably had a gun strapped on. He did love you girls just like an uncle."
Faith just shook her head. "This is so hard to take in."
"No kidding!" Dan agreed with a heartfelt shudder.
It took Emmy to bring them all back to reality. "Grandpa, you don't have a house anymore. Does that mean you'll come live us?"
Illya surveyed the destruction. "I guess it does," he said quietly.
Josh suddenly looked worried. "Does that mean someone will come and shoot up our house?"
"No, Josh. That won't happen. What happened tonight was a fluke. You'll be perfectly safe. Besides, it will only be until I get this house fixed."
Both Grace and Faith said "what!" in unison.
"What good will that do, Dad. You're still 83, you're still living in the boondocks and you're still not safe here!" Faith said heatedly.
Grace added, "Dad, you need to move on."
But Illya shook his head stubbornly. "Didn't I just save your life?"
Grace swallowed hard. "Yes, but…"
"I think I proved tonight that I can take care of myself." He held his hand up in a stop motion as both women started to speak. "But I tell you what. I'll compromise. The house is probably going to have to be rebuilt from scratch. I'll have a state of the art alarm system built into it. I'll even arrange for the senior citizen call button. And it probably wouldn't hurt me to hire out some of these household repairs. Now I'm not saying that I'm too old. I'm just saying that I don't want you to worry about me."
Grace let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Those words are music to my ears."
Faith nodded her head slowly, still thinking through his proposal. "No climbing ladders?"
Illya shook his head. "No climbing ladders."
Dan spoke up before his wife could think of a reason to criticize what her father proposed. "Sounds good to us."
"I assume the offer to stay at your place is still on the table. Just until the house is rebuilt, you understand."
Faith hugged him. "Oh, God, yes! As long as you want."
Emmy spoke up. "That means you can finally teach me how to shoot."
Faith started to protest, but Dan cut her off. "I think that can be arranged young lady. I don't think there is anyone better qualified than your grandfather to introduce you to target practice." He held out his hand to his father-in-law. "Thank you, Illya. Thank you for protecting my family."
Illya just nodded and shook his hand.
They all stood there for a few moments before Illya glanced at his watch. "It's nearly 11:30! We have to hurry to get to midnight Mass."
Everyone gaped at him in surprise. "I'm moving back here after the house is rebuilt. I don't need your mother haunting me because I let you all off the hook."
There was surprised laughter. Illya looked at the picture on the mantel. He knew Mary would be proud of her girls. He also knew his agreement with Faith and Grace was just a temporary stopgap. Time would do him in. Where THRUSH had failed, time would eventually take him down. But that thought didn't bother him. Death didn't bother him. Because wherever Mary was couldn't be all that bad.
myshka - mouse
vnuchata - grandchildren
kotenok - kitten
spasibo - thank you
pozhaluysta - you are welcome
d'yavoly - devils
chyort - damn