Authors' note: we suggest you listen to and/or read the lyrics from the song "Don't Pay The Ferryman" by Chris DeBurgh.
Warning! This is a slash story. If you are not into that sort of thing or under 18, please don't read!
Pairings: Illya/OC, Illya/Napoleon
Series: Full Circle
Disclaimer: We do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E., Napoleon, or Illya. More's the pity but there you go.
Chapter 1
It was pitch black, clouds obscuring what little light from the full moon that might have penetrated the thick jungle canopy. No town near enough to give the faintest hint of light in the night sky. With the darkness came cooler temperatures which when combined with the humidity of the day formed a dense fog along the Usumacinta River. Thick or not, Illya would have to cross the water barrier in order to get to Tuxtla Guttierez, Mexico where Napoleon waited for him.
His mission to recover the maps and blueprints of a THRUSH rocket storage facility had taken him from Southern Mexico into Guatemala. Now that he had what he wanted, it was time to find his way back. Easier said than done. The car he'd come in had been stripped of parts while it sat waiting for the three days it took him to complete the mission and return. Now he was on foot with THRUSH chasing after him. They weren't too close for the moment. Unfortunately he thought he heard dogs earlier, so he expected them to catch up eventually.
He didn't spare the possibility more than a passing thought. His work was fraught with peril. It was one of the constants of his job. Little things went wrong all the time and improvisation saved his life on many occasions. It might now. It might not. Although he would fight tooth and nail to survive anything thrown at him, he wasn't afraid of death. Had faced it too many times to worry about it now. All of his training-from a youth barely surviving the war to the special education he'd received from the KGB-brought him to this time. This place. There was no one better suited for this job and he never questioned who was right or wrong, but followed his orders and tried his best to succeed. He did count himself lucky to be owned by the U.N.C.L.E. now instead of KGB. U.N.C.L.E. at least had ethics, or at least as much as an intelligence organization could possess.
He also had the luck to be partners with Napoleon Solo, his best, and only, friend. He had a number of people, mostly colleagues in U.N.C.L.E, with which he was friendly, as far as he could be, at any rate. Only Napoleon held the title of FRIEND. Only Napoleon had earned the right to see behind Illya's icy façade that he showed the rest of the world. Only Napoleon would have waited around for as long as he did, convincing Waverly of the need for his continued presence in Mexico long after the Old Man, not to mention everyone else, gave Illya Kuryakin up for dead.
Illya smiled as he thought of the conversation they'd had only an hour ago. Illya had managed to find his communicator while rummaging for the maps. No gun, but the communicator was almost as handy. "Open Channel L," he'd said after he'd found the useless car, using the channel reserved for him and Napoleon.
"Illya?" came the instant and breathless reply.
Anxious about his missing friend or he'd called his partner at an inopportune time, which usually meant Napoleon was entertaining a lady? Illya suspected a bit of both.
"Where in the hell are you?"
"Guatemala."
Only Illya would be able to hear the surprise and concern underneath Napoleon's calm tones. "Decide you needed a vacation?"
"THRUSH decided I did. I decided I didn't care for their choice of locales, so I am on my way to your location now. Unfortunately, the natives liberated pieces of my car for their own uses, so I have to find another way to get there."
"Want me to send a helicopter?"
Illya glanced around at the jungle surrounding him. "No place to land."
"Pursuit?"
"Some, but relatively far away for the moment. Maybe once I get across the river I will be able to find a clear area. I'll call you when I find a way across."
"All right."
Napoleon didn't say to be careful, but Illya had heard it anyway. It gave him an odd feeling to know someone actually cared what happened to him. On the one hand, it was terrifying. On the other hand, he found he rather liked it. He shook his head, deciding now was not the time to think about it. He doubted there would ever be a time to do so, either.
He put it out of his mind and continued in what he hoped was the direction of the river. He could hear the slosh of water so he felt reasonably sure. As he broke out of the jungle, he could barely see the edge of the river in the heavy fog. He paused, trying to decide which direction to take in the hopes of finding a bridge or some other way to cross. Sounds amplified in the fog and he tilted his head. It sounded like the water was breaking in a different pattern upstream. And he thought he picked up the sound of creaking. A boat? He listened intently for several minutes before choosing a direction. Fog not only amplified sound, it made it echo and something coming from one way could seem to come from another.
He hadn't walked far when a dark shape loomed, bobbing on the edge of the river. Illya approached cautiously. A man shape moved around on the surface of what he could now see was a ferry.
~What luck~ The silent thought quickly passed through his mind as he crouched in the edge of the woods to see if it was safe. If he was right, just across the river would be a road leading to Tuxtla Guttierez. He could call Napoleon to pick him up.
A growing static hiss invaded Illya's ears. Rain fell through the trees, making his journey that much drearier. His stomach growled and he imagined sitting down to a hot meal tonight, his first in several days.
As he watched, the boat disgorged a couple of people who hurried down the road to get out of the rain. Illya stood up before the boat prepared to leave. He waved to the ferryman and trotted over even as a dog barked upstream from them. THRUSH bloodhounds hot on his trail, no doubt.
He didn't speak the native tongue of the Chiapas. Hand signals would have to do.
Hidalgo Rios looked up warily at the stranger. He seemed to want to cross the river. Hidalgo nodded and stepped back indicating for him to get on. With the bad weather approaching it would be his last trip tonight and he pulled his hooded cloak tighter around his neck as he cast off. He angled the rudder steering them across the river and primed the motor to get moving. Then he sat down and pointed at Illya. A slight glint of gold in his tooth flashed as he laughed and said, "American?"
Illya shook his head. "Russian."
Hidalgo shrugged. He did not know that word. "You... uh... tourist?"
Illya smiled and gave a slight nod. That was close enough he supposed. He just wanted to get out of the rain.
"Kuryakin!" a voice called from the shore.
Someone in THRUSH must have recognized him in the escape. No matter. He was far enough out into the river that they couldn't reach him and the fog hid them reasonably well. He ignored the sound, shrugged to the ferryman and shook his head as if he didn't understand the voices in the dark, trying to convince the man they had nothing to do with him.
The ferryman nodded and lashed the rudder to hold it on course. Then he moved forward in the boat and pointed out over the water as if to show Illya something.
Illya turned his head and squinted into the darkness trying to see through the fog. That was all he could recall.
An oar clubbed the blond man just above the left ear. It dropped the man senseless into the bottom of the boat. Then the ferryman picked up a lantern and signaled into the fog. He turned off the motor and waited, taking the time to search the pockets of the unconscious man. His reward? Some papers that looked like maps and drawings; useless and tossed into the river. A handful of pesos and a money clip with American dollars. He pocketed those for himself. A pen and cigarette lighter. He could sell those for more money. A pocket knife. He could use that since his was old and the blade worn to almost nothing.
He finished stripping the man of his belongings just as a larger boat loomed into view through the fog. A line was tossed down to him and he tied up alongside. Two men climbed down a cargo net and wrestled the limp form into a large sack. They hauled the blond man aboard the vessel as the Captain paid the ferryman for the new acquisition.
"You didn't hurt him much, did you?" the Captain asked as he counted out the coins.
Rubbing his scruffy jaw, the ferryman shook his head. "No. He was easy. Just a bump on the head. You will get a good price for that one." His eyes gleamed at the coins. With what he found in the pockets tonight would be a good night. He'd buy a bottle of the best liquor and celebrate his good fortune.
After climbing aboard his river freighter, the Captain ordered a course set for their transfer point at the mouth of the river. This shipment should fill the hold with the required numbers needed for this trip. The cargo ship was scheduled to leave the next afternoon.