Chapter One—Not Just An Ordinary Picnic

To say that Mike Stoker was a man of mystery was putting it lightly. If only his shift-mates knew! But his was not a secret he would willingly share with anyone. Besides, at this point, he had no reason to. He had only been told that someday, two men would appear, identify themselves properly, and then, then, it would begin. Until then, his life was his own, to live as he saw fit, completely free of interference. Perhaps this is why he endured so stoically the gentle jibes about his lack of a love interest, or any deep person connections…Perhaps, although only known to Captain Hank Stanley and HQ, this was the reason Captain Stanley was listed as his next of kin, and there was less history noted in his personnel file then that of one John Gage. Although, after a while, it did grow tiresome, always living his life waiting for the proverbial other boot to drop…

Speaking of boots, Mike dropped his dusty boots and bunker pants by his bunk with a thump. He hated working long brush-fires, and arson fires were the worst! He had helped to ferret out the accelerant pattern on this one, based on the other fires that had been set, and cleanup had been long and exhausting. He knew all the other guys felt the same. He considered briefly hitting the showers, but knew from experience the absence of his bunkmates meant they were in the showers, which would leave no hot water for at least an hour or more. Nope, I'll catch one in the morning, he decided. Besides, he thought with a grin, we're going off-shift, and the annual picnic is tomorrow. Everyone else will stampede out of here, and I can have some peace, especially if I hit the showers at wake-up! With that pleasant thought, the engineer dragged his tired body into his bunk, and was sound asleep, snoring happily and loudly (!) before his shift-mates ever made it back into the dorm. Little did he know, the boot he had been waiting for was about to drop, right on his head.

~51~

Although Mike enjoyed attending the Annual Fireman's Picnic, it really wasn't his thing. He wandered around, catching up with old friends and enjoying some of the new equipment displays, but the family part…watching all the kids and families laughing and playing together…sometimes that was tough.

He headed off to where 51's had set up; hoping maybe the bachelors of the bunch would have a game of touch football going by now. The activity might pull him out of his funk. Gage had his sights set on something else…and for once it wasn't a pretty girl. "Will you lookit that!" He exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with glee. "A pie-eating contest! I could win that, nooooo problem!" He declared this smugly! Roy looked askance at his partner. "Sure, if it was open only to other firefighters, like last year. You won that one hands down. But they got smart, Junior! This year, they've opened it to all-comers! All-comers, Junior…like every teenage boy in the place—y'know, high school, college kids? You won't stand a chance!" Stoker just stood back, watching the fun.

Of course, Chet just had to get in on ribbing his pigeon. "Hey, Johnny, Check that little scene over there…looks like some father is trying to talk his teenager into taking a whack at it right now! Might make the competition interesting! I'll bet there's no way you could beat that scrawny little runt!" John's eyes narrowed as he regarded the Phantom with renewed interest. "Okay, Chet, name the stakes!" "Hmmm…loser does winner's chores for say, three shifts?" "Deal!" The grinning men shook, as the other men rolled their eyes.

Mike, ever the practical one, spoke up…"Guys, I think you forgot something." They both looked at him, surprised. "Does Gage have to win the contest, or just beat the skinny blond guy? There ARE other contestants, you know." "Oh," Chet grinned, "I'll go easy on ya, Gage. I just mean you gotta beat the skinny blond." Johnny looked at Chet incredulously. "Ok, but I'll still win, anyway."

He headed to the contest table, where the blond now sat, staring mutinously around him. He glowered angrily at the dark haired young man who took a seat at the other end of the table. Johnny was rather surprised by the boy's behavior. Weren't people here to have fun? He wondered briefly which firefighter the boy might be related to. He didn't look much more than 16 or 17. The competition was set to begin in 10 minutes, giving time for stragglers to join. The contest rules would be announced at that time.

The by-now bored "teenager" at the table was practically livid, though he struggled to hide his emotions. Illya Kuryakin hated not being in control on a mission, especially one as ridiculous as this one. It was supposed to have been a simple initial contact. They could have met their target at his apartment and been back in New York by now. But noooooooo! Napoleon thought this picnic would be a grand idea! And now this, this contest! Of course, he would easily win, eating pie any day of the week. This was not a contest. Why, Napoleon was even smiling when he talked him into sitting up here! He told him to observe the crowd in order locate their contact. Ah, the view. That must have been what he meant. Well, fine. He could observe with the best of them!

Illya's eyes grew wide as the rules of the contest were announced. And that was precisely when Illya Kuryakin knew he had been had by Napoleon Solo. Again. He sought out his partners dancing eyes. He had time for only one murderous glare. Especially when he spotted their unaware contact standing right behind Napoleon Solo—and Solo grinning at Illya innocently.

"Hands behind your backs, gentlemen!" The announcer, Chief McConnike shouted. "As you can see, the volunteers from the Ladies' Auxiliary are placing whole pies before you. There will be no cheating! Bandanas are being placed loosely around your wrists as reminders. Crusts in the center and sides must be eaten, but rim shots are not necessary." An appreciative chuckle ran through the crowd and the contestants alike. "First man to finish the most pies, naturally, is the winner. We have, ahem, necessary bags…" here he paused delicately as a groan worked its way through the crowd. "But once that happens, said contestant is disqualified. No do-overs!" That got an out-right laugh from the good-natured firefighters and their families and friends.

At this point, the Chief Engineer himself took the stage briefly. "Only a blind man wouldn't be able to see all the betting going on out there, and you know the department's policy about gambling." Here a rather loud collective groan went up, which was quickly silenced by a number of stink-eyes from various station captains and battalion chiefs, some of whom could be seen hurriedly replacing their wallets.

The Chief smiled at this, and continued. "Now, I know our reigning champ is up here, defending his title, but it looks as if he may have some heavy competition this year. Therefore, the policy is rescinded, just for today. So, I ask only one thing…Regardless of who wins, if you make a bet, please consider donating some of your winnings to the Injured Firefighters, Widows and Orphans Fund. After all, that is why we're here today." And to thunderous applause, "The Old Man," left the stage.

And with no more ado, the contest began.

Illya sighed, and then brightened as he saw the only silver lining…his pie was—chocolate cream! He dug in with gusto…

Napoleon Solo was so enjoying the sight of his normally reserved partner dousing himself in chocolate that he nearly forgot why they were there. He had known the man was behind him earlier, but wasn't worried when he moved off into the crowd. He was surprised, however, to find his quarry sitting over amongst quite a crowd of chattering, betting men. The man was writing in a small notebook, and seemed to be taking bets both for and against Illya and the dark haired "champion" in the contest.

Mike Stoker was not a stupid man. He had realized quickly what would happen as soon as the Chief opened up the floor for betting. So, he opened an informal betting pool. He wasn't playing bookie, just offering to record and hold the stakes. That way, nobody lost track of who said or did what. It would make for less confusion later. Also, it was mathematically pleasing to Mike to be able to quote the odds. Ok, so maybe he was playing bookie, but it wasn't for profit. It was just for fun.

He glanced at the table, where the competition between the paramedic and the mysterious blond was still going strong. The others had dropped out long ago. Roy had made a small bet and was now watching with professional interest. Mike snickered. He was probably hoping he wouldn't have to transport either competitor!

As the betting slowed down to a trickle and stopped, Mike closed his notebook and stood up. He was surprised to see a dark-haired man in an expertly tailored suit staring at him intently. For some reason, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He was polite, but he knew there was something odd here.

"May I help you?"

"No, but I would imagine you have been longing to meet your Uncle. Have you not?"

In all the times he had been contacting sleeper agents, Napoleon Solo had never had one react in quite the way this young man did. And for once in his life, Napoleon Solo was completely unprepared. Michael Stoker dropped like a rock. He was as unconscious as if Napoleon had darted him. Kuryakin, who had seen the whole thing, was also taken aback, and was barely able to stay in his assigned role.

Though, as it turned out, Illya had won by one pie anyway. Johnny had admitted defeat, amazed at the kid's ability. What amazed the agent was the other man's immediate ability to leap over the table and shift into paramedic mode when he spotted his partner and his downed comrade. Illya felt as if he could barely move. The sugar rush had overwhelmed his system, something he had, for once, neglected to factor into his performance calculations…damn Napoleon! This was the last thing Illya remembered thinking, before slumping unconscious to the ground. His metabolic system had completely gone haywire on him.

When a shout went up from McConnike to the two closest paramedics, John looked up, seeing the skinny kid passed out on the floor behind the table. He checked with Roy, who seemed okay with Mike. "Go ahead, Johnny, He's coming around. See to the boy."

At Roy's words, Solo whirled around, seeing Illya on the floor of the stage for the first time. His brow furrowed with worry, as he realized there would now be major complications. He was sure he knew what was wrong with Illya, but it would be difficult to explain, given their cover, their true relationship, and their assignment. Also, he knew Illya was going to be giving him hell for this one for at least the next ten years! They could not just do an extraction with this agent…not given to how badly he had reacted…what was that all about anyway?

A civilian ambulance as well as a red rescue truck pulled up. It would have to do for the moment. The delicacy of their situation required they maintain their cover for the time being. He just prayed that Illya would not revert to speaking exclusively Russian, as sometimes happened when he came out of one of his metabolic episodes. He knew better, for God's sake! He wasn't supposed to try to win the damned contest! Just observe and eat a couple of pies! Not what- 9 or 10! It was times like this Napoleon Solo cursed his partner's innate competiveness. Oh, tovorisch,* I promise you will never live this down!

He thought fondly of how vehemently opposed to playing college students his 30ish partner was. With his extremely youthful, blond, blue-eyed good looks, plus the fact that a metabolic disorder gave him a very slender build (while he had a huge appetite, he never seemed to gain any weight). Illya had grown his hair out a bit longer than usual, and was dressed to fit the rebellious role he was currently playing.

Illya Kuryakin was, after all a master of disguise. Couple that, with the fact that he was a was a certified genius with several Ph.D.'s, was a brilliant scientist who preferred field work, had an eidetic ** memory, a gift for languages, was a weapons and an explosives expert; an incredible marksman with lightning-quick reflexes; then add in his Soviet military training, and you had one very dangerous agent on your hands.

But—he could still pass for a college freshman any day of the week—and often had. And it irritated the hell out of him that his current role was that of a bored high school senior, especially since Napoleon was playing the role of his father!

Speaking of which, Napoleon ran to the stage, having run through all his options and thoughts in just the short time it took him to react to seeing Illya fall, and for the dark haired paramedic to reach Illya. Some of Napoleon Solo's special talents, among many, were thinking very fast on his feet, and being able to convince anybody of just about anything, anytime, anywhere. Very handy talents when in a tight situation!

Solo looked at the other man "I'm his father. I know what's wrong with him. I was distracted. I didn't realize he would take the contest too far. His metabolic rate is very high, but he shouldn't have eaten so many carbohydrates and so much sugar all at once. It's-it's my fault…I wanted him to participate in something… but I-I didn't expect this." He put his head in his hands wearily." "It's hard for him…"

Knowing they would have to transport and do tests, he stuck with a semi-truth. Because of his own demeanor and stylish clothing, Solo could come across much older than his 35 years, although he didn't generally need to. Now if only the sleeper agent, the joker in the deck, would keep his mouth shut, as he had been previously warned to years ago, contact might still be possible. And this whole mission might not blow up in their faces—literally.

TBC

*tovarisch: The Russian term for "comrade" Often used by Solo and Kuryakin when speaking or referring to each other, in much the same way Roy and Johnny refer to each other as "Pally" and "Junior." In some aspects, their partnership is very similar, which is where I got the idea for this story in the first place.

**eidetic memory: a literal photographic memory; a person with this type of memory retains everything they have ever seen, read, or heard. They basically forget nothing. This can be both an advantage and a disadvantage for a field agent…