Zoltan Abdujian sat in a high backed chair, looking like a king upon his throne. He was a big man, bare chested except for a small fur lined vest that he wore on his upper torso.
His head was completely shaved, but the lack of hair on his head was more than made up for by the large drooping moustache that he sported.
On his wrists were wide silver cuffs and he wore no less than six hulking gemstone rings on his fingers.
To his right, sitting uncomfortably on pillows as they drank wine from their silver goblets; Napoleon Solo and his partner Illya Kuryakin nibbled on tidbits of roasted goat meat and other delicacies offered to them by scantily clad women.
They had arrived at the warlord's palatial home to negotiate a trade...cash for documents that had come into Abdujian's possession. Though it was unknown how that happened, Waverly still felt it worth a shot to try to get hold of the information, whether they had to buy it or steal it. As long as U.N.C.L.E. got it before T.H.R.U.S.H. was able to do so.
Solo practically snarled as he looked across the room at two other guests visiting the warlord; Miko Miklos and his cohort in crime, the scarfaced agent known as only as Tiny; though the man looked nothing of the sort.
Tiny stood at least seven feet tall and that was about the number of his IQ as well. He was pure brawn and no brain…. the higher intelligence quotient was the purview of Miklos. Regardless of their mental capacity or lack there of, it didn't matter to Napoleon and Illya; they were the enemy. The two men were agents of T.H.R.U.S.H. and were there for the same purpose as Solo and Kuryakin.
"This is not exactly what I call negotiations," the Russian leaned over towards his partner, pretending to sip his wine and enjoy their host's entertainment, as an exotic beauty clothed in vibrant red silks drifted nearby as she danced away, trying to flirt with him and the American.
Illya liked a good belly dancer as much as any man, but now was not the time to be paying attention to the jigglings and wigglings of a very talented woman who was nearly done performing the dance of the seven veils.
Napoleon was grinning at the performance as one by one the veils were removed, drifting to the floor and leaving very little left to the imagination. He would have been hard pressed to say he wasn't enjoying the view, but still he knew the mission had to come before pleasure.
Zoltan stood, towering over his guests as he clapped his large hands together, signalling an end to the night's entertainment.
The girl gathered her veils, disappearing before she'd removed the last of them, much to Solo's disappointment.
"Gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed the evening," Abdujian stood. "Tomorrow I will make my decision and you all will be notified. Sleep well."
He disappeared through a curtained door, escorted by his muscular bodyguards, each armed with Kalashnikov rifles. From the looks of them, to Illya, they were leftovers from World War II.
"That went well," Napoleon whispered sarcastically as they and the other guests were escorted to their rooms. At least their host had the brains to keep the T.H.R.U.S.H. agents in a location away from the men from U.N.C.L.E.
Napoleon and Illya each had separate bedrooms situated next to each other, and though close by, they both would be sleeping lightly with their guns in their hands.
"Good night chum," Solo saluted as he opened the door to his room, glancing at Illya as he did the same.
"I have my doubts about that my friend," the Russian replied before disappearing for the night.
As Napoleon turned on the light switch, his other hand went immediately to his Walther, drawing it and aiming it at the rather sumptuous bed. There was someone, or something in it and it was moving.
The creamy silken sheets slipped aside, revealing a very naked woman... the voluptuous dark haired beauty who danced at the banquet.
"Please do not shoot me?" She pleaded, obviously frightened when se saw the gun in Solo's hand.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He demanded.
"My name is Amaris and I am a gift sir, from the Master for your evening's pleasure. He saw how much you enjoyed my dancing."
"Really," Solo cocked an eyebrow. "Give me a second, would you?"
He backed towards the door, still holding his gun as he stepped out into the hallway. Napoleon's intent was to knock on his partner's door, but he discovered very quickly it wasn't necessary.
He saw a half naked woman of equal beauty to Amaris, wrapped only in a sheet being unceremoniously shoved out the door by the arm of one surly Russian. That settled that...
Napoleon shrugged, putting his gun back into it's holster with a sigh...still who was he to refuse a gift? Better one of them not insult their host.
The next morning Solo's meeting with Zoltan Abdujian was amicable enough. It was hard to read the man and he wasn't sure if things were going their way. Illya was the backup plan just in case, his burglary skills might have to be put to good use if all else failed.
"I trust you enjoyed your evening Mr. Solo?" The warlord poured them each a goblet of wine, waiving off his servant for the moment.
"Your gift was much appreciated," Solo diplomatically smiled.
"Your Russian friend though refused my offering...he does not like women? Had I known I would have sent him a suitable male."
"No it's not like that at all, Mr. Kuryakin likes women very much, but he prefers to interact with them, shall we say, on his own terms. He's a bit shy that way."
Zoltan laughed. "I find that hard to believe as I have have never met a Russian who was shy when it came to bedding a woman. Women, they are like beautiful blossoms in a garden that need constant tending by men. And we are like the honey bee who must go from one flower to the next to see to their needs, and ours. Do you not agree?"
Napoleon side stepped answering that before it went any further by offering a toast.
"Here's to women and the men who love them," he raised his goblet, and this time it was instantly refilled by one of Zoltan's female servants.
"I like the way you think Solo," the warlord laughed. "I have made my decision. The documents are yours, for the price we discussed of course."
"Of course," Napoleon smiled.
After another toast and handshakes sealing the deal; Solo pulled his communicator and spoke into it.
"Open Channel D-Overseas Relay. Mr. Waverly please."
"Yes Mr. Solo? How goes the negotiations?"
"A little, shall we say, unorthodox? However, Lord Abdulian has accepted our offer sir. We just need to wire the money to his Swiss bank account. Solo smiled, liking the fact that a warlord had joined the modern age.
"Very good, consider it done."
Napoleon gave his boss the account number and minutes later another servant appeared, confirming to Zoltan the deposit had be completed.
Solo received the documents and drank one last toast to his host before leaving and meeting his partner who was waiting for him nearby.
Illya was on the prowl, anticipating Miklos and Tiny to make some sort of move.
"How did it go?" He spied a folder tucked under his partner's arm.
"Fabulous, and thank goodness your refusal of Zoltan's little gift last night didn't insult him. As a matter of fact he found you quite amusing."
"Amusing? In what way?"
The two stepped outside into the courtyard and were greeted by an unexpected sight. Miklos and Tiny, were dead, hanging from a scaffold.
"What happened?" Illya asked one of the guards.
"The infidels refused the Master's gifts…"
Kuryakyn swallowed hard.
"...and they attempted to steal from him, "the other guard added.
Illya sighed, though he wasn't completely relieved.
"I think we need to get out of here and quickly before our host changes his mind,' he whispered to his partner.
"No kidding pal," Napoleon said as they quickly headed to their jeep.
As they drove down the narrow mountain road, Solo finally spoke up.
"Maybe next time you won't refuse a host's gift when it's been offered. Just think, it meant all the difference in getting what we needed or not because I didn't refuse something as simple as…"
"It was hardly simple, and I refuse to have sex with a woman to please a twisted warlord's objectification of women. The girl was not something to be bartered as if she were a mere piece of property. She was a human being and should have been treated with respect and dignity."
If it hadn't been for the fact that he was the one doing the driving, Illya would have had his arms defiantly crossed in front of himself.
"Oh yes the way you shoved her out the door last night was definitely respectful. And what's with the holier than thou attitude, I mean, you've been with prostitutes before?" Napoleon jabbed.
"That is none of your business," Illya retorted, but let something slip unintentionally. "They were not forced.."
"So you admit it then," Napoleon grinned."You've been with a hooker, and generally don't they have a pimp?"
"I admit nothing, and...and I have never been with any woman who has been...pimped."
"Yeah right. You know tovarisch you can be a real stubborn and evasive son of a bi…"
"And proud of it. Now unless you wish to walk down the rest mountain, you had better drop the subject."
"Fine, but don't lie to me."
"Fine by me as well," Illya snarled. "And I am not lying."
"Fine!" Solo gave his partner the cold shoulder.
The rest of the trip long home remained silent between the two men.
That little disagreement continued for over a week, and set everyone around the American and the Russian on edge, until it took an order from Alexander Waverly for them to end it or have their partnership dissolved, and be sent to Iceland to boot.
That was the first and last time the two men had such a disagreement, at least in regards to women and sex...