Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator. He rushed up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door, simultaneously. No answer.
The young neighbour...
-Are you looking for Mr Kuryakin, sir ? He isn't here.
He wasn't in their office. He wasn't in the lab... Medical... Cafeteria... Waverly's office.
-Mr Kuryakin is... missing, Mr Solo.
And ? Napoleon Solo respected the Old Man. Period. But sometimes, he hated him.
-And, sir ?
-And... nothing.
-What happened, sir ?
Alexander Waverly had shaken his head with an unusual resignation. Illya Kuryakin just went back from an assignment, in France. The Wrong Letter Affair. A successful one. He had reported... Then, he had left the HQ, without a word to anybody. Four days ago.
Napoleon Solo had the uncomfortable feeling that the Old Man had « forgotten » to tell him something. The apartment was desert. Tidy. Really tidy. It was... He looked at the bookshelves, opened the cupboards, the closet : empty. His partner wasn't missing. He was gone. Waverly would tell. He had to. A letter ? What sort of letter ? Blackmail ? And Napoleon Solo shivered.
-Who ?
-Illya, sir. Illya Kuryakin. You told me that he was missing.
-Who ? Mr Solo, your behavior is quite unusual. Strange. Who is this Kuryakin ?
Napoleon Solo was abashed. Was that a Waverly's trap ? Did he suspect something about them ? Had he fired Illya ?
-Illya, sir. My partner.
-Your... partner ? Mr Solo, you don't have any partner. You don't want to. You made it clear.
And the Old Man dismissed him. He went back to their office and gulped. Their... ? No. One desk. One chair... Then... Mark Slate. Concerned. Standing in the doorway.
-Mark ? Tell me. What happened to Illya ?
The young agent entered the office and closed the door behind him. He felt uneasy.
-Napoleon... I ... I am so sorry. Waverly told me.
Napoleon Solo went white. His hands were gripped to the edge of the desk. He knew.
-Is... is he dead, Mark ? Is Illya dead ?
Mark Slate frowned. He came up to the older agent.
-Who, Napoleon ? Who is this Illya ? You ask about this man, but who is he ? We worry about you, my friend, all of us.
Napoleon Solo got up and threw his chair aside.
-Go away. Go away, immediately !
Mark Slate stared at him with an obvious compassion. Napoleon Solo cursed, and stormed out the office. They wanted to play ? Okay. He pushed the door of the Archives room.
They had erased him. Illya had vanished into thin air. No a word about him. No Russian agent in Uncle. He left the HQ, aware of all those people peeping at him.
Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator. He rushed up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door, simultaneously. Someone barked harshly, and the door opened. An infuriating old lady looked daggers at him.
-What the hell do you think you are doing, man ?
Napoleon Solo took some steps back. The old lady was still abusing him. And he could peeked at the apartment. And... it wasn't Illya's. It... It had never been.
He felt a cold feeling spread though his chest.
Who was Illya ... Illya Kur... Kuryakin ?
This place was amazing. Vaguely familiar. A perfect Thrush nest. He shook his head, and headed to his car. As he was opening the door, a ball hit him.
-Oh, I am sorry, sir. I didn't intend...
A little boy, with long fair hairs – too long – and wide blue eyes was looking at him sheepishly.
-That's okay, boy, that's okay.
The boy caught his ball and went away. Napoleon Solo sighed. He didn't really remember why he was there. He got into the car and switched on the ignition. The kid stood next to the car. He wasn't a kid. He looked so worry. So ... familiar. And the car blasted.
Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator. He rushed up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door, simultaneously. No answer. He knocked again, and again. The door opened. A hand grabbed him and pulled him inside.
-Napoleon ? What are you doing ? It's... 3 p.m. Did you intend to wake up the whole area ? Napoleon ?
-Are you...
Napoleon Solo paused to breath... and smiled. He ran his hand through the blond hair. Yes. He was. Illya Kuryakin. His partner. And a little more than that.
-Napoleon ?
-Nothing, partner mine. Just... I'll talk about the wrong letter to the Old Man. He'll fix it.
-The wrong... letter... ? Oh, no, Napoleon, that was a joke !
-No. A mistake. A is an unfair mistake. E is a beautiful letter. Man... Men... We are The Men from Uncle, aren't we ?