The Kuryakin Affair

By M. Klindt

I do not own these characters, but just borrowed them for fun. Reviews and comments welcome. This is first story in my "Lexi" series. I pulled my stories to fix obvious errors and hopefully show improvement. Thank you to all those who read my stories.

Chapter 1

Illya Kuryakin was sitting at the communications desk in Section One's office completing a profile of a suspected THRUSH agent when phone on the control panel buzzed.

"Kuryakin here," Illya answered by flipping a switch without looking up from what he was writing.

"You have an outside call." An unemotional female plainly stated.

"Send it through." Illya said, lifting his head, but didn't put his pen down.

"Your party is connected."

"Two o'clock." A familiar voice abruptly stated.

Click.

Looking at his watch, he'd just have enough time. It was one forty-five when Illya snapped the toggle switch off. He closed his pen, put it into his coat pocket, neatly closed the report he was working on, and filed it. After straightening his suit coat, he left Waverly's office and made it almost all the way down the hallway before Napoleon Solo turned the corner and made a dead stop right in front of him

"Illya, Mr. Waverly's office is in the other direction," Napoleon said brightly to Illya, who reluctantly stopped as well.

"I have to go and meet with an informant. I just got the call. I should be back in less than an hour. He wants to meet at two," he said in a impatient rush and continued to walk around his partner, not to be deterred. "Let Mr. Waverly know that I'll finish my report upon my return."

"I'll tell him, good luck." Napoleon said to Illya's fleeing backside as he continued on down the hall and then switching his concentration to the form of a pretty female office clerk sauntering in the opposite direction instead.

Illya walked into the Paradise movie theater and sat down in the back row; all the way to the right. The room was pitched dark and he had to feel for the wall to know when the row had ended. He unbuttoned his black coat and sat down. Suddenly, the movie began to play and the theater lit up with bright lights, loud music, and other rustling noises. He roughly settled himself into the seat to patiently wait.

A lady in a wide brim hat came up Illya's row and swept passed the empty red velvet seats to sit beside him. She was wearing a suit dress in blue with a wildly colored scarf wrapped around her neck in some exotic knot. She was a slim, athletic-looking woman with long, straw colored hair styled in the latest mod fashion. Even in the dark, her eyes sparkled as she snatched a glance down at Illya who sat up more attentively in his seat while she settled down next to him. He pulled out his thick, black-rimmed glasses and placed them on his nose. The lady placed her purse on the floor between them and leaned casually back in the seat.

Hidden in the darkness where no one could see, Illya had placed his arm on their shared arm rest and wrapped it around hers. She didn't object and warmly intertwined her fingers in his. Her other hand lightly squeezed his upper arm as well.

"I was surprised to hear from you. This isn't our usual routine, but a good unusual though. I've missed you very much. You've been gone a long time."

"Sorry, duty has kept me busy and now there's a situation." The lady said softly into his ear; close enough for Illya to feel her warm, sweet breath, and inhale her intoxicating perfume. "It'll involve you, Illya."

He turned slightly toward her and gave her a hard stare. They were quiet for a moment as the movie screen flashed even more blinding light into the movie theater.

"You've changed your hair, Alexana."

"Is that all you can say to me?"

"No, I want to know why you call me at this odd time. Work hasn't gotten in the way has it? Am I a marked man?" Illya asked lightly as they comfortably settled back into their theater seats.

"Not this time, but your name comes across my desk quite frequently, Napoleon Solo's name too. If they and you only knew…" Alexana's voice trailed off, then went stiff and formal. "No. This time it's about father."

"Father, what does he want, Lexi?"

"Nothing, he's dead," she blurted it out. "When you get back to UNCLE headquarters you will be told of his death and that you must fly to Kiev right away. It will be for his state funeral and reading of his will, because you and I as "cousins" will be expected to be there. But, I believe there is trouble for you and me."

"Father's dead?" Illya repeated to himself in a hollow voice full of shock. "Was it a natural death?"

"Who knows?" Alexana sighed in resignation. "What we don't know is who is going to replace him as leader and what they are to do with the rest of us when they find out about our summer school training sessions when we were young."

"What do you mean? The rest of us, only you and I are the only ones left from the very beginning. We know that, because father had you keep track of everyone that was in the group. Most of them working for the KGB were suicidal or killed. Only the "love" of your father kept you and me alive this long."

"'We're an experiment gone wrong,' to put in father's own words," Alexana quoted him. "That and we've had an ocean between us and the Soviet Union most of the time."

"Hmm…"

"Illya," Alexana said after a couple of minutes of shared silence. Each one reflecting on their own thoughts of what her father's recent death meant to them.

"Hmm…?"

"I have copies of father's papers and will. Others will eventually find the files on us, the formula, and the use of conditioning…not much is missing from the experiment."

"Do you think it's been found already?"

"It's tough to say at this point. You'll be focused on more than me, because you're considered an outsider; living outside the country for so long. You, much more than me I'm afraid because, I go back and forth and still do the Soviet Union Government's business…in an indirect way."

"I am very loyal to the Soviet Union…" Illya stated angrily as he started to shift around in his seat.

"I know you are," Alexana said firmly to calm him down and gave his hand another hard squeeze. "But, do you think that really matters with these people, when they know what we are and who you've been working for?"

"We need to stop this once and for all," Illya said slowly in renewed determination. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, it's time. Here, drink this." Alexana handed Illya a soda in a paper cup. "It'll help."

"You know that I don't like carbonated drinks." Illya said in disgust, but drank it down quickly anyway.

"Carbonation stabilizes it in your system longer."

"It does help to know that you have a PhD in inorganic chemistry, a little."

"Yes, it does. Hopefully, this will be over soon. You had better get back. You'll be leaving soon," she twittered for a moment and then dramatically heaved. "Oh, to spend a full day with you…."

"Soon Lexi, very soon," Illya gives her arm one more squeeze before grabbing a small packet of papers from her purse, got up, moved past her, and left the theater.

Illya entered the section one's office to meet up with Mr. Waverly and Napoleon Solo in less than an hour as he'd predicted. The meeting with Alexana had taken 20 minutes and another 15 to read the papers before destroying them. He went back to the area where he had placed the file he was working on and placed it on the circular table in front of Mr. Waverly.

"Here is my report of the debriefing of the THRUSH agent. He proved to be insufficient source to exploit."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Kuryakin." Mr. Waverly picked through the file and placed it back on the table. "I have just received some rather serious news while you were gone. Oh, I do want a report on your unexpected meeting this afternoon, but first, I have to inform that your government has called us this afternoon."

"Sir," Illya straightened up and looked surprised.

"Yes, I'm afraid that I must relay to you that your uncle, General Boris Kuryakin, Mr. Kuryakin, has passed away. You're ordered to attend his state funeral and reading of his will in Kiev. They want to you leave this evening. One of the most interesting men I've met, your uncle..."

"Yes, he was," Illya agreed and then grimaced with concern. "I have not seen the General in an extremely long time. He was a very powerful man within the highest levels of the Soviet Union.

"Yes, I knew your Uncle." Mr. Waverly said softly in self-reflection. "Preferred the rank of General to Admiral."

"Sir," Illya asked inquisitively, looking up to Mr. Waverly from the tabletop where his eyes had been focusing on. His thoughts and expressions hooded in absent-minded concentration until then.

"Oh, yes. I'm surprised that I never really talked about him. To you, that is. He has very engaging personality, especially toward the end of his life. By continuing to allow me to have you work for UNCLE, all and all, instead of the Soviet government."

"Sir, I volunteered to work for UNCLE…." Illya interrupted.

"Yes, yes, but your Uncle Boris allowed it. He chose his daughter to stay in the KGB. He said that you two were thick as gypsy thieves when you were younger. He hated splitting you two up... You two could have ruled the Soviet Union in his mind."

"You have a cousin?" Napoleon asked Illya. It was the first time he had learned the Illya had much of a family; let alone a potentially close cousin.

"Alexana Kuryakin is her name." Mr. Waverly finished for Illya. "She's high ranking officer in Naval Special Operations for the KGB along with Boris."

"One part of the government's inner circle," Illya said flatly as he unconsciously twisted his gold ring around his finger and felt the weight of the medallion around his neck getting heavier.

"Well said, Mr. Kuryakin, well said," Mr. Waverly agreed. "You'd better be on your way then. Finish your report on that informant and file the one on the THRUSH agent. Check in with me when this situation in Kiev is over. I'm most curious what Boris has left you in his will if you chose to reveal it. Send my condolences to your cousin. I may come to the funeral myself. Schedule permitting, of course..."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." Illya nodded as Mr. Waverly turned away from the table to his desk in the back part of the office, telling the two agents the meeting was over.

"Illya," Napoleon said, trying to catch his friend's attention while he was getting up from the table.

"Yes, Napoleon," Illya stopped with an exasperated tone; knowing that he was going to say something derogatory.

"You never told me that you had a cousin, a female cousin at that. Is she good looking or does she look like you?"

"Just like me." Illya smirked and decided to keep his attitude in check for now. "Do you blame me for not telling you about my cousin, with your reputation? I will report in when I get there."

Napoleon smiled at their banter, nodded his head, and swiveled in his chair as Illya batted him lightly with his files as he returned his farewell nod and left. Napoleon was just about to get out of his chair to leave when Mr. Waverly turned back around as soon as Illya had cleared the automotive doors.

"Mr. Solo."

"Oh, yes, sir?" Napoleon quickly sat back down again.

"I want you to go to Kiev tonight."

"Me, sir," Napoleon asked in surprise.

"Yes. This whole affair seems rather odd. General Boris Kuryakin's involvement within the Soviet Union Government was not very publicized. He's dealt with counter intelligence for most of his career. I was a bit confused with the communication channels used to report his death. I just talked to Boris a week ago and he alluded to a problem from the past coming back to a head, very strange. He's never call me just to check in on Mr. Kuryakin's wellbeing before, odd, very odd, indeed. Their relationship has been more of a "military politeness and respect for rank" toward each otherthan one would have for an immediate family member. Caring shows weakness…if you agreed with Boris."

"Sir, why didn't you tell Mr. Kuryakin that I was to come along?" Napoleon asked awkwardly, hesitantly smoothing his hair with his hand.

"Because, I know that he wouldn't be pleased with our interference, he may try to keep you from coming and succeed. No, I want him in a position where he can't refuse."

"What am I to tell him?" Napoleon asked diplomatically.

"Tell him you are going to his uncle's funeral as a representative of UNCLE, which I couldn't make it. You're only there as a delegate and won't interfere with what he needs to do. The Soviet Union's government will have him sequestered for most of that time. You may only see him is at the funeral and at his uncle's home. I'll call ahead to Boris's housekeeper, Naddya and I'll have them put you up in my usual room."

"Yes, sir…," Napoleon said quietly, wanting to ask more questions about this affair, but thought the better of it. "I hope that your instincts are wrong this time."

"Me too, Mr. Solo…well, you had best be going. Oh, you'd better brush up on your Russian. It's very poor taste to go into the Soviet Union without attempting to properly speak the language. They might mistake you for an American."

"Yes sir." Napoleon solemnly stood up, nodded to Mr. Waverly, buttoned his coat, and left the office at a quick trot.

Illya had just settled into his aisle seat on the commercial flight to Kiev with a book to read, when he could sense someone was standing by his seat.

"I'm fine. I don't need anything else. Thank you," Illya rudely said and purposely didn't look up from his book to further drive the point home. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and everyone around him was getting in the way. He was trying to remember the last time he saw his Uncle Boris: his house in Kiev, Lexi, and picture perfect weather…Sasha... He was just about to fall asleep, but that person standing by his seat didn't move from his periphery.

"I thought that you'd tell me more information about your cousin, Alexana wasn't it? It's going to be a long flight and everything. You never tell me anything about your life behind the iron curtain unless I pull it out of you like a rotten tooth."

"What!" Illya snapped more awake by the sound of his pig-headed partner's voice. "Napoleon!"

"Hi there, move over, Illya." Napoleon waved at Illya, who looked at him in shock and then, just as quickly, a flash of anger ran across his face.

"What are you doing here?" Illya said in a harsh, hushed voice, but got up grudgingly and moved to the window seat.

"Mr. Waverly wanted me to be UNCLE's delegate for your uncle's funeral. It was decided just after you left, sorry. He was going to go, but couldn't make it, so he sent me instead. I didn't want to intrude, although it seems that neither you nor I have a choice in this matter."

An upset, blond man glared at his partner, who was leaning over the seat as he was talking to him while he sullenly nodded. Napoleon took this pouty jerk of his head as the biggest peace offering he was going to get from the respondent Illya and sat down in the pre-warmed airline seat he'd just vacated.

Illya hated sitting by the window, it made him feel even more trapped in Waverly's decision to have Napoleon come along on his trip to Kiev. He was a cornered rat on a sinking ship.

"Illya," Napoleon said softly after a long silence.

"Hmm…" Illya mumbled as he tried to focus on Napoleon instead of his pressing thoughts, not moving his half laden eyes off the seat in front of him.

"I'm really sorry for your loss." Napoleon shifted in his seat from sitting for a long time in one position. "I didn't realize that your family and Mr. Waverly were connected."

"Yes." Illya sighed. "I too was unaware of the connection. Neither of them talked to me about the other. I just thought that Mr. Waverly liked me better than you. Still, it doesn't seem to get me out of the usual trouble you get me into or special treatment."

Napoleon and Illya smiled knowingly at each other and settled back into comfortably still surroundings of the darkened cabin for the rest of the night flight to Kiev.

At the Kiev airport baggage claim it was easy for Illya and Napoleon to find their suitcases, because the flight and terminal was nearly deserted. The room loudly echoed with every step they took on the shiny, smooth cement floors and walls. It was clean, plain, and eerily empty. This airport was mainly used as a military drop off point. Even the small coffee counter was closed on this particular day.

"We'll find a car to get you to your hotel room and settle you in, Napoleon." Illya stated casually, lifting up his suitcase while waiting for Napoleon to grab his. "Then I will go to the General's home, change, and then meet with Admiral Putin."

"Well…" Napoleon started to say something when he was interrupted.

"That will not be necessary, Comrade Kuryakin." A young officer in a crisp, new Soviet Union Naval uniform called out to Illya and stopped in front of them with two other soldiers flanking him with rifles.

(Rest of the conversations while in Kiev will be in Russian unless stated)

"Lieutenant," Illya looked sharply at the young soldier's insignia ranking with a new stiffness and commanding voice. "I know that it is against protocol to call out to a superior officer without acknowledging his rank. Surely, if you were given this detail, then you would have known that I was a Captain Lieutenant in the Soviet Union Navy and I demand respect and salutes, now!"

"Yes…Yes, sir!" The brash soldier stuttered back at Illya, surprised at his presence despite his slim figure, saluted, and all three soldiers stood at instant attention. "My sincere apologies, Cpt. Lt. Kuryakin, second in command for Admiral Putin, Cpt. Lt. Sasha Noustovich, made it sound that you were no longer in the Navy. That you weren't welcome back to the Soviet Union since leaving for the United States. I thought that since you're not wearing a uniform my assumptions were correct. You're speaking English and you have an unauthorized person with you, sir."

"I understand now. Yes, I am still in the Navy and have my credentials on me. This is a delegate from UNCLE, Mr. Solo. I am to get him settled and change into my uniform at General Boris Kuryakin's home before I report to Admiral Putin, which he, I might add, is well aware of my actions, Mr. Solo's, and directed responsibilities upon my arrival to Kiev."

"Yes, sir," The young officer nervously nodded. "My orders are to escort you to the Admiral's office once you have landed. We're required to take you both to where you need to be; Cpt. Lt. Noustovich orders."

"Of course Lieutenant, lead the way to your car," Illya said with a curt nod and then motioned Napoleon to follow him; anger still flushing his cheeks.

"Cpt. Lt. Kuryakin," Napoleon whispered softly to Illya while they walked. The two bulky, armed guards brought up the rear, tightly holding their rifles to their chest. "Is this a welcoming party or a prison detail?"

"It's a personal issue between Cpt. Lt. Noustovich and me," Illya said in a low deadly tone through clinched teeth. "What hotel did you say you were staying at?"

"Well…I didn't." Napoleon said in hushed English to Illya and slowed down hesitantly as the landing party stood at the airport entrance before plunging into the pre-dawn light. "Mr. Waverly has me staying in your Uncle Boris's house with you and your cousin."

"What!" Illya stopped in his tracks. Napoleon sheepishly smiled at him; stepping

out of his friend's strike zone while he explained. "Another one of Waverly's ideas, not mine. But think of it this way, I'll get to meet your cousin. One big happy family, so to speak…"

"Fine," Illya grunted out, gave up trying to win this battle against his boss's grand plan, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the Russian officer. "Lieutenant, take us to General Kuryakin's home in the facility at the south at the end of town. Mr. Napoleon just saved us a trip to a hotel."

"Yes sir, the vehicle is around the corner. Please follow me, sir"

When the car that Illya and Napoleon were riding in came up to a palatial mansion with extensive gardens, Napoleon nudged Illya in his side.

"House? It looks more like a palace to me. I thought you detested shows of wealth and power." Napoleon teased Illya as he looked around.

"This was once one of the summer palaces of the Romanoff's before the Revolution. Now it is a Special Naval Operations Development Center. General Kuryakin was given a set of rooms and the main office while in command. I know that the new commander will want to take possession within the next few days. I'm sure that Cpt. Lt. Kuryakin has started…"

"Isn't that you?"

"No, Cpt. Lt. Alexana Kuryakin. She was one of his assistants and commanding officers.

"Just how many Kuryakins are there?" Napoleon asked trying to keep all the players straight in this game of Russian roulette.

"Just three, now two," Illya said matter-of-factly. "All people in the Soviet Union are part of a bigger family." He'd said the last part more for the soldiers sitting in the car accompanying them, who nodded in agreement silently so they could continue to listen to their conversation without interrupting.

The car stopped in front of the grand stone staircase at the entrance of the stately summer palace. The soldiers with the rifles got out first and the Lieutenant in charge opened the car door for Illya and Napoleon to get out. The sun was up, but the air still smelled of wet grass and sweet flowers from the well-groomed gardens. A quick walk to the steps over the damp crushed gravel left a thin layer of tan mud on their shoes when they reached the first step.

"Be prepared," Illya said to Napoleon in English as he opened a small door within the massive wooden entrance at the top of the steps and walked in; not waiting for the soldiers to precede him.

"Illya, my little mouse, you're finally here!" A big-chested, older lady called out to the group as she finished coming down the grand staircase in the ornate entry. She had gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and was dressed in a housekeeper's dress; including an apron.

"Naddya," Illya met the woman at the base of the carpeted steps, planning to give her a formal handshake and nod, but she scowled at him, threw her arms open, and drew him into a big, bone-shaking hug.

"I will hug you even if you will not hug back. Oh, I have missed my Little Mouse!"

"I am good," Illya said after he recovered from being thrust into her ample bosom and the air knocked out of him. "I have missed you too."

"Let me look at you, still slim as ever. You may even be smaller than your cousin right now. I'll have to fatten you up. And look at your hair. Do all the men in America wear their hair like this? You look like a gypsy beatnik; not a proper soldier of the Soviet Union. You'll have to get it cut."

"I will, Naddya, I promise, just as soon as I meet with Admiral Putin." Illya agreed, although not too happy at the thought of cutting his hair. He liked his hair this length and was a little vane about it as he ran his fingers through it out of habit.

"Naddya," Illya changed the subject, bringing her attention to his American partner. "This is Napoleon Solo, he is here as a representative of UNCLE. He is to observe the General's funeral and report back."

"Yes." Naddya turned stiff and unyielding while she studied Napoleon's person, who politely smiled even though a chill went down his spine by the hatred in her eyes. "I was called by Mr. Waverly. Ah yes, the great man, Mr. Waverly, for him not to come to his friend's funeral in person is very disrespectful."

"Well…"

"No, Mr. Solo, I understand. Duty calls him away. We all know what duty means. You will be allowed only in non-restricted areas of this facility and your room. If you are found in areas that you are not allowed, you will be shot and killed. Understood?"

"I…ya...yes, ma'am. I will only go where I'm allowed."

"Good, Mr. Solo. I run this house and it's my job to see that rules are followed. Welcome to the Soviet Union and this facility."

"Thank you." Napoleon said formally, now understanding what Illya meant by being prepared.

"You two," Naddya called the soldiers behind Napoleon and Illya. "Grab their bags and take them to their rooms. Mr. Solo in room number 24 and Cpt. Lt. Kuryakin in his usual room number 3."

"Yes, ma'am," the soldiers said in unison and started to grab both bags, but Illya quickly took a hold of the handle of his suitcase.

"I'll go straight to my room. I have to quickly change and go see Admiral Putin. Thank you, Naddya. I will be back to eat afterwards. I hope the cook has some lunch available upon my return, morning." Illya said hurried rush over his shoulder as he trotted off to change in his uniform. "I will see you later, Napoleon."

"Your second uniform is pressed and ready for you in your room." Naddya called after him and Illya waved his understanding as he disappeared around a corner.

"Now, Mr. Solo, you must be tired from your trip and hungry." Naddya turned back to him again. "Go to your room, clean up, and I'll have some breakfast sent to you. General Kuryakin's public viewing for the masses starts this afternoon and is held until eight o'clock. The funeral will be at ten sharp in the morning and reading of the will at two in the afternoon. Your plane will depart at six in the evening, any questions?"

"No, Ma'am." Napoleon said formally and nodded. "Thank you."

Napoleon and the soldiers turned and went to his assigned room. He noticed that it was in another wing away from Illya's room's general direction. A shower, food, and nap would be a good idea right now. Then, a tour of the facility; what he is allowed to see of it, of course.