The bus that pulled out of the Greyhound depot was less than full, its passengers scattered in a manner that suggested none of them wanted to make new friends. Two of the people on the bus were especially in need of solitude.
Illya Kuryakin was wearing the same clothes he'd put on two days prior, his hair more askew than normal, with a bruise on his right cheek that was going to attract unwanted attention. A THRUSH guard back at the compound they had just escaped from was in worse condition, but the man was just one of several.
Napoleon Solo wore a tuxedo, the one he had on when he infiltrated a THRUSH soiree where all of the top Satraps of the Hierarchy had gathered for a night of self-congratulations and celebrations over the year's accomplishments.
UNCLE knew of the event, and Solo had easily gained access to the party while his partner was rigging explosives in the armory conveniently located in a large quanset hut a quarter mile away. THRUSH was nothing if not predictable, and part of the celebration was centered around the acquisition of a new weapon. It was in the armory, and Illya was intent on destroying it.
Everything was going according to plan until a young woman in a slinky green evening gown spotted a man she recognized. Once upon a time Vanessa Wu had been on the fast track to being THRUSH's top female operative; that was before she encountered Napoleon Solo. The man had thwarted a very important mission, causing her to be demoted to somewhere less than important and cast in mostly supporting roles in the various Hierarchy dramas.
Vanessa watched as Napoleon made his way through the room, shaking hands and laughing. He flirted with the women and traveled a course that she recognized now as a way to the upstairs office of the evening's host, Enrique Zapata. He was the New THRUSH; handsome, young and ambitious. This was Veronica's opportunity to get back in the game, and next to a man like Zapata she would be immune from those who might otherwise hinder her career.
Napoleon was operating on adrenaline and confidence. He was already at the door to Zapata's office when he heard a woman's voice calling him… by name.
"Oh Napoleon, where have you been lover?" A THRUSH sleep dart was all he felt as he landed in a heap on the floor.
Illya was finished and leaving the building when he saw the lights of approaching vehicles. Either he was made or someone was coming from the party for an impromptu tour. He stalled, undecided on a course of action. If he left now they would see him, but the alternative was to remain here and be blown to bits.
"Chyort!" He cursed out loud as he considered his options. There was little time left for him to get clear of the building, and it wouldn't do to try and dismantle the explosives. With a determination to not die tonight, Illya started running towards the wooded area beyond the blast zone. He was going to make it, his chest heaving at the exertion as he flew over a pile of rocks and dove behind them, hoping for shelter from what was coming next.
The blast was enormous, the armory's inventory lit up the night sky. If those men had seen him, they weren't in pursuit. It occurred to Illya that they might have been caught in the explosion, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. He was on foot now, and the next step in the mission was to meet up with his partner and take the items Napoleon should have stolen from Zapata's safe back to New York.
That was the plan.
What did happen was Napoleon was captured, interrogated, thrown into a cell beneath the big house and summarily rescued by his partner. And now they were on a bus, trying to look inconspicuous.
A plainly dressed woman wearing glasses and a rumpled hat had been observing the two men across the aisle and two rows up. She travelled on buses quite often, and had learned to recognize the ones who were hard up, living on the edge so to speak. These two certainly fit the bill.
"Bless their hearts'', she whispered to no one. Perhaps… The woman got up and sat in the seat opposite Napoleon and Illya. She had a big brown bag with her that cause only momentary alarm for the two agents.
"Excuse me sirs, but can I offer you a sandwich. I have extras, I always fix extras just in case I run into someone who needs to eat. You two, if you'll excuse me saying so, look a little hungry." She smiled, a kind face and a sincere tone to her voice causing Illya to wonder at the serendipity of being offered food. He was hungry.
Napoleon smiled at the offer, his instincts telling him she was just a civilian with a kind heart.
"Thank you ma'am, you have just made my friend's day. And mine as well. You are very generous to share your lunch with us."
Oh my, he was a little scruffed up but goodness, the man was very handsome. His friend was… well, he was sweet looking. Her granddaughter would say he was cute.
"My name is Agnes Ripley, I'm going to see my daughter in New Jersey. It's always exciting to take this bus, it goes through New York City you know." Her smile made Illya think of his babushka, and as she handed him a sandwich laden with meat and cheese on what he recognized as homemade bread, his heart sang a little song of gratitude and wonderment.
"Thank you Agnes, I thought I might starve completely." She caught the accent, recognized something in his eyes that spoke of a familiarity with actual hunger; the kind that gnaws at you and is never satisfied.
Napoleon thought he saw tears in the woman's eyes, then realized she was looking at Illya with that familiar expression of concern; that Russian was a magnet for mothering.
"Napoleon Solo, and this is my friend Illya. So tell me Agnes, do you have other children besides your daughter in New Jersey?" Napoleon was talking to her and enjoying the sandwich. She also had a thermos full of coffee, two spare paper cups with the fold out handles, although Illya found the openings too small for his fingers. Still, it was hot and strong. Gratitude kept springing up in his heart.
"I have another daughter back in Buffalo, and I used to have a beautiful boy.' She teared up again and looked once more at Illya.
"He was blond, like you, and the sweetest thing ever. He passed away two years ago… cancer."
Napoleon put his hand on hers, recognized the agony only a mother could feel at the loss of a child.
"I'm so sorry Agnes." What else could he say?
"Oh, I know he's in a better place now, free of the pain and suffering. What about you two, where are you from?" She asked that and then realized the blond, Illya, might not want to talk about his home.
Napoleon wondered at how much to say to Agnes. He knew she wasn't THRUSH, just a mother traveling to see her daughter. He certainly didn't want to put her in any danger, which knowing about him and Illya could create.
"Illya and I are, as you can see, a tad rumpled. We were in a car accident…' Agnes immediately looked alarmed.
"Oh, we're fine. Our car was totaled however, and we had to catch a bus to get back to New York. You saved us from starvation with your generosity, we owe you lunch in the city." The smile melted Agnes' heart. Her other daughter, Cindy, was still single. It wouldn't hurt to mention it… maybe later.
Agnes decided to bite the bullet, so to speak, and try to find out a little more.
"Illya sweetheart, how long have you been here in America?" She was emboldened by their congenial attitudes, and hoped he wouldn't think her to be rude. Nothing like a pushy American to some poor immigrant.
Illya swallowed his last bite and took a sip of the coffee. There was no getting out of it, his accent betrayed him.
"I have been here three years. I came over on a student visa and found myself enamored of the American dream. Napoleon and I work for the same company, and that has allowed me the privilege of remaining here." He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't delve any deeper into his past.
"That's a nice story, I'm so glad you found a home here. You sound British." Something made her stop there. A look in his eyes told her she didn't need to know more. Napoleon took over from there.
"Agnes, I meant what I said about lunch in the city. Here's my card, and I want you to call me before you head back to Buffalo, and we can repay you for your kindness."
"How sweet of you boys to offer. Honestly, this is nothing special, but people get on these buses and travel across the country, and sometimes they need a little extra hospitality shown to them. Like you two, just a little something to let you know you're not alone." Agnes folded up the paper bag, happy to have been able to feed the two men. She suspected there might be more to their story, but she wasn't going to worry about it, or ask more questions. They were good boys, she could tell.
"Ooohh, there's New York City. I can see the Empire State Building." Illya craned his neck to see the spire in the distance. They'd be back in Headquarters pretty soon. Agnes picked up her things and moved back to her seat, patting Napoleon on the shoulder as she did so.
The rest of the trip was short, and as the two agents stepped down into the terminal parking lot, they waved a farewell to Agnes. She would be at her destination soon, her life going on as though she had never encountered the two men from UNCLE.
They, on the other hand, would think of Agnes and how kind she had been to feed them, to share a little of her life. Napoleon wondered if she would call.
A week went by before a package showed up with a note, addressed to Napoleon and Illya. Apparently Agnes had called while the two were out on a short mission. Unable to make a date with them before she headed home, Agnes had sent them a little remembrance.
Illya was at his desk with the package in front of him. He was in the process of opening it when Napoleon walked in.
"What's that?"
"A package, from Agnes. Remember her, the woman on the bus?" Napoleon nodded, of course he remembered Agnes.
"So, what's inside? Open it, Illya." Was that impatience in his voice?
Illya untied the string that bound it, and began peeling away the brown paper. She had turned grocery bags inside out and used them to wrap a box that, when opened, made Illya's mouth water with anticipation. Wrapped in foil were several mounds of what turned out to be cake, bread and banana bread muffins. It was a treasure of home baked goodies from a woman they'd met for only an hour or so.
"Wow, this looks wonderful Illya. All we need is a pot of coffee to go with it." Even Napoleon was pleased, a pleasant memory of the delicious sandwich and the homemade bread Agnes had given them.
"I will divide this equitably, I assure you. She seems to have made everything in double quantity. Is there a return address on this?"
Napoleon looked and, sure enough, Agnes had given them a way to contact her. Sometimes an innocent, as they were designated in official UNCLE-speak, were people best left alone and never contacted again. Once in a while someone like Agnes came along, someone who you wanted to treat like a good friend, or family.
"I suspect we will call on Miss Agnes and thank her for this. I must say, this bus ride gave me a glimpse of an America for which I am very grateful. She wasn't afraid, she wasn't reticent to share what she had with us. In many parts of the world that type of generosity would be stifled by a fear of a police state, spies who turn on their fellow citizens… ' Illya let that hang in the air. His own memory of life in the Soviet Union rife with the kind of fear that causes alienation and suspicion.
"I am very grateful for that bus ride Napoleon. This entire mission was worthwhile for having met Agnes."
Napoleon agreed, and he knew for his friend to express such things was an indication of how deeply he had been moved by the experience.
"I think we'll find just the right time and go to visit Agnes, make good on that lunch offer." Napoleon meant that, and would have elaborated had not the phone jangled his thoughts on the subject.
"Yes sir, right away."
Illya put everything back in the box, determined to take it with him if he had to. America was in that box.