He was cold, shivering uncontrollably as he trundled along the sidewalk, he had no destination in mind, nor did he know where he even was. All he knew was that he needed to keep moving.
Everything around him seemed foreign and unfamiliar but that didn't matter either as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
Not dressed for the winter weather wearing only a dirty white shirt, black trousers and a pair of shoes but no socks; he wrapped his arms in front of himself, hunching over to brace against the biting wind.
It was painful as the gusts hit in his face, stinging sharp against his skin.
"Excuse me Mister? Do you need help?" A woman spoke to him from behind him, though he couldn't understand her.
He turned, looking at her with his blue eyes and staring into her brown ones; his demeanor told her there was no comprehension.
"Here take this." The sandy-haired woman shoved a blue and white paper cup into his hand.
He eyed it with suspicion, but it was hot and that felt wonderful, so he sipped it...coffee. It felt good going down his throat.
"Wait here Mister, don't go anywhere." She disappeared up a short flight of steps and through a shop door.
He heard a bell tinkling and cocked his head, feeling as if he knew that sound. So far it had been the only thing that had any familiarity to it.
Moments later the woman emerged with a blanket, a pink one, and she draped it around his shoulders. His lips were blue and he was probably near to being clicked her tongue as it had started to sleet, and that seemed to distress her. Though he couldn't understand her words he could see it in her eyes.
"You can't stay out here in this Bub, you'll freeze to death. Do- you-understand-me?" Her voice became louder, and he sensed the urgency in it, but was unsure how to react.
"Come inside with me, come on. Come?" She gestured with her hands, waving for him to follow her; that universal signal he understood.
Once inside the shop she sat him down, grabbing another blanket from the shelf and draped it over his shivering legs.
She gestured for him to stay, though he had no intention of leaving this nice warm place….what was it? A supply store of some sort.
He looked around, spying jars, cans, dry goods, bags of grain, tools, children's toys, just about a little of everything. He continued to sip his coffee, assuaging the hunger in his now growling stomach.
The woman went to a telephone on the counter but as she picked up the receiver, he stood, uttering his first words to her.
"Nyet, pozhaluysta, ne ... oni pridut!"
She was startled at first. By his reaction she guessed he didn't want her to make that phone call, though she had no idea what language he was speaking.
There was fear in his voice, that she could hear for sure.
"Are you hungry?" She figured maybe some food would calm him down and she made a gesture like she was spooning soup into her mouth.
"Food? Yes?"
He quickly nodded his head. "Da, pozhaluysta."
'Da'...she'd heard that word before. That's what her Irish friend Eileen called her father? Gaelic? Could he be speaking that? He didn't look like any Irishman she'd ever met before."
"Okay, you wait here. I'm going to get you something." Again she gestured with her hands for him to stay, and he seemed to get that, as he nodded again. It was almost closing time, so she locked the door and flipped over the closed sign. Nobody would be coming out for supplies now, not with the storm. In these parts everyone was pretty well prepared when it came to bad weather. The sleet had changed over to snow now, big flakes that were quickly covering everything in a blanket of white and creating a peaceful and picturesque small town postcard scene.
She went in the back room and opened a can of Campbell's condensed chicken noodle soup. She emptied it into a small aluminum pot and added a capful of water, placing it on an electric burner kept on her desk, used to warm up her lunches, as she couldn't leave the store to eat most of the time. It was just her now, as her husband had died two years ago. They had no children, just the general store that was his dream, and as long as she kept it up and running, a part of him was alive.
Looking at her other phone, the black rotary one on the wall, the woman knew she needed to make a call to Harve at the police station. This poor guy out front was in trouble, and needed help. That was for damn sure. Dialing the number, she waited patiently for someone to pick up at the other end and whispered when they answered.
"Loudonville Police."
"Harve it's Millie down at the general store. I have a young fellow here I found wandering on the street. No coat and near freezing. He doesn't speak English, can you…"
"Millie what does he look like?" The Chief interrupted her.
"Longish blond hair, blue eyes, kinda cute. I'd guess he's in his late twenties maybe, though I'm not a good judge of age.
"I'll be right there with the squad car to pick him up."
"Harve, you sound like you.."
"Millie let's say I have a missing person report here on my desk that's out of New York City, and your description fits the subject to a tee. I'll be there in a two shakes after I put the tire chains on the cruiser. Looks like this storm is getting worse. We're in for a big one I think.."
"Okay Harve. I'm going to feed him some soup as he's pretty cold and hungry."
"I thought you said he couldn't speak English?"
"Hey, a woman knows these things. I'll see you shortly. The door's locked so just knock."
"Will do Millie."
The soup was ready and she poured it into a ceramic bowl, put it on a serving tray and added a few saltines on the side; walking carefully out to the front of the store.
Blondie was looking better. His skin was a bit more pink now, though he was pretty pale, and he actually smiled when he saw her, or maybe it was the soup?
"Spasibo." He took the tray from her, and balancing it on his lap, he lifted the bowl.
"Wait, this'll help." She grabbed a folding table, opened it and set it in front of him.
"Da, eto gorazdo luchshe, spasibo." He nodded to her.
Watching as he slurped up his soup, and draining the bowl rather quickly; he proceeded to eat the crackers, inhaling them like a starving man.
"You want more? More?" Millie picked up the bowl, gesturing with the spoon this time.
"Da, khotel by ochen' dobry. Kak ya mogu vyrazit' svoyu blagodarnost'?"
She chuckled. "I wish I knew what you were saying honey. I'll be right back with more soup." Returning, this time she added a few slices of pumpernickel bread rather than crackers.
"Chernyy khleb?" He grinned, pointing to the bread.
"Oh, pumpernickel...umm, black bread. It's black bread. Sorry I don't have any butter. I sold out of it. With this storm I probably won't get any deliveries for a few days, but you don't understand that do you?"
"Blok brrr-edd?" He repeated.
"Yes, black bread." Now there was some communication going on, good. "My name is Millie," she placed her hand to her chest."Mil-lee."
Blondie canted his head, trying to understand her.
"Millie," she repeated, then pointed to herself then him," And your name?" Repeating the process, it several times until there was a sign of recognition in his beautiful blue eyes.
"Oooo, daaaa. Menya zovut rad vstretit'sya s vami Milli." He paused, realizing she hadn't understood him. Perhaps he needed to say as she had, putting his hand to his chest, he spoke his name.
"Illya."
Millie smiled. "Hello Illya."
"Chh-allo Mil-yee."
There was a knock at the shop door, and instantly Illya's eyes widened with panic.
"It's okay, you're safe here, that'll be my friend Harve. Eat your soup before it gets cold...eat."She handed him him another slice of bread. "Now stay put, I have to unlock the door for him."
.
A green light on Alexander Waverly's console flickered, making him pick up the hand held microphone in preparation to respond.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Waverly sir, they've found him. They've found Mr. Kuryakin, in a small town called Loudonville just north of Albany."
The bushy eyebrows raised at that news. "Is he alive?"
"Yes sir."
"And where exactly was he in this Loudonville?"
"A local found him wandering the street outside the General Store and called the police, who were familiar with Mr. Kuryakin's missing persons report. He was taken by a team from the Albany office to our rehabilitation facility."
"Excellent news, thank you." He placed the mic down and looked to his senior agent seated at the conference table.
"Good news Mr. Solo."
"I heard sir."
"Well let's see how our wayward Soviet is doing shall we?"
"Get me Dr. Valens in Albany, video conference," he again spoke into the microphone.
"Right away sir. It may take a few moments to set up."
Minutes later, the communications tech again spoke.
"Everything is ready sir."
Waverly pressed a button on his control console and a view screen lowered from the ceiling. An image slowly appeared, revealing a bearded man wearing a white lab coat.
"Alexander."
"Winston, please tell me you have good news for me regarding Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Well, yes and no. I'll give you the good news first. Physically he's not in bad shape at all. He was suffering from a mild case of frostbite as he was found with no outerwear wandering the streets. Luckily the owner of the general store took pity on him and brought him inside. His vitals are fine, as are his reflexes as well as his appetite. However, his arms are pockmarked with multiple needle punctures."
"And mentally?" Waverly interrupted.
"He's alert and talkative but, here's the kicker, he's not speaking English There seems to be some memory loss too. He knows his name and can perform everyday behaviors, but not much more than that. He's a bit agitated or perhaps afraid is the more apt word to describe his emotional state. We had to sedate him in order to draw blood. We're trying to analyze what's in his system, but there's seems to be quite a cocktail of drugs, so it's going to take some time. I'm not sure if and when the drugs dissipate Mr. Kuryakin will regain his memories or not, or whether we'll need to come up with some sort of counter agent or antidote. It's all up in the air right now."
"He is out of danger correct?"
"Physically yes. He doesn't seem to be losing any of his faculties other than his memory of who Illya Kuryakin is right now, and well, a good portion of his language skills. He responds to Russian, Ukrainian as well as German and French, but nothing else. I've been running cognitive and math skills and he is excelling at those. Still there's something odd about his demeanor that I can't quite put my finger on."
"Is he well enough to travel?"
"I wouldn't recommend it sir. I think a stable and comfortable environment is what he needs at the moment until we can find out what's happened to him. We're in the middle of a bad snowstorm so for that reason alone, travel is ill advised."
"Psychiatric examination?"
"I don't think he's ready for that just yet either. My suspicion, but don't quote me to the Psych Department, is that he's reverted psychologically, but that's only conjecture."
"Very well Winston, keep me informed. Waverly out." The vid screen went dark.
The Old Man returned his attention to Solo.
"Thoughts?"
"I find it odd that Illya...Mr. Kuryakin now speaks only his mother tongue. He did tell me once that as a child his grandmother taught him to speak German and French. He was raised in Kiev so speaking Ukrainian would be a given, I suppose. Honestly I've lost track of the number of languages he speaks, but it seems to me that he may have somehow regressed to a pre- U.N.C.L.E. and GRU time period in his life before he spoke English and all those other languages in his repertoire.
"It would seem logical, but to what purpose?"
"Good question sir."
"That will have to remain unanswered until Mr. Kuryakin can be brought here and examined by our psychiatric staff as well as Medical and Research and development.
Four days later Illya arrived via ambulance, with an U.N.C.L.E. translator in tow. He was brought up to the Medical wing where Napoleon was waiting, and once his partner was settled in his room, he peeked around the corner.
Looking up, Illya smiled and for one brief second Napoleon thought there was a sign of recognition, but it wasn't so.
"Hi there," Napoleon spoke, walking toward the bed, but snapping his finger he remembered Illya couldn't understand English.
"Zdravstvuyte_hello."
"Vy vrach ?"
"Nyet, ya ne vrach_ no I'm not a doctor.
"Vy ne Rossii. Ya mogu skazat' vashemu aktsentu . Eto ne ochen' khorosho_you are not Russian. I can tell by your accent. It is not very good."
"Lost your memory and you still insult my accent huh, tovarisch?" He shook his head.
"Tovarisch?You are Communist?"
"No, I'm an American." Napoleon continued to respond in Russian.
"Amerikanskii? Where am I, no one will tell me."
"You are Illya Kuryakin, but you know that already. You're in the United States, at the Medical wing of the New York headquarters of our employer, an organization called the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."
"I am?"
"You've lost most of your memory and we're trying to find out why. What's the last thing you recall...no scratch that. What do you remember before you were found and helped by Millie Peterson?"
"Mill-yee? I do not remember anything before that other than being very cold and hungry. I was wandering on the streets but I do not know how I got there."
"Illya you disappeared over three weeks ago. You went out for lunch and never…"
"Wait," Illya raised his hand in protest. "You know who I am, but who are you?"
Napoleon felt strange at that question. "My name is Napoleon Solo and I'm your partner and ummmm, we're best friends."
"So why do you call me Comrade when you are not a party member?"
"Just a term of endearment."
Napoleon could imagine the wheels turning in Illya's head as he formulated each question.
"And how long have we been in this partnership?"
"Three years, five months and two days."
"What year is it?"
"1963."
"No it cannot be. You are lying. It is 1950."
"Illya how old are you?" Napoleon asked.
"I am sixteen." His eyes suddenly welled up with tears.
"No you're not. You're thirty years old.'
"No not possible. I live in Moskva, at State School. No, no no…leave me alone, please. No more!" Illya's monitor began to beep wildly as his heart rate rose, along with his blood pressure.
Images began flashing in his head of his family, so many horrible images, the city of Kyiv in ruins, Irina...a concentration camp*. The Orphanage...Natasha.* He saw her being murdered.* He saw his beautiful Cossack horse die, heard the screams of the slaughter…* Wait, where did those memories come from? Natasha murdered, dead Cossacks, horses?"
"Nyeeeeet, " he moaned, holding his head with his hands as images from his life pierced his brain like a hot poker. Now there were images of dogs snapping at him, it was during his training.* Yes, GRU. Valery, his friend was sent to the blast furnaces. It was coming back to him now, like a rush of cold water slamming into him and he gasped for air.
A nurse came rushing into the room.
"Napoleon what have you done to him?" She snapped.
"We were only talking."
"Well I think he's had enough, you better go."
She quickly drew a syringe and prepared to inject Illya with a sedative.
"Nyet! Ne snova . Pozhaluysta ? Nyet_ nо! Not again. Please?" He pleaded, then lashed out, knocking the syringe from her hand. Illya dove from the bed, scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees, finally backing himself into a corner.
"Illya, stoi!" Napoleon barked in Russian."It's all right. No one is here to hurt you. She was only going to give you medicine to calm you down."
"Noooo, the needles they hurt. They would not stop sticking me with them. What they gave me made me sick. I remember the pain, and being dizzy but, but I would not tell them what they wanted to know. I made myself go away…"
A pair of burly orderlies rushed in but Solo waved them off.
"That was very brave of you Illya." Napoleon spoke softly, dropping to his knees, and positioning himself close to his partner. He opened his arms. "Come on my friend, shush it's all right. You're safe. I promise."
Illya looked into Solo's eyes, seeing nothing but reassurance and trust in them. He moved forward, allowing Napoleon to envelop him in his arms.
He felt safe there. Everything about the man was so familiar, he somehow knew those eyes, and that voice.
Illya fainted.
Kuryakin woke, finding himself back in bed, though he was now held down by restraining straps across his chest, and wrapped around his wrists and ankles as well.
"Hi there...oops," Napoleon smiled."Privet_hello."
"Hello to you too," Illya answered in English this time."Napoleon why am I being restrained?"
"Who are you?"
"Illya Kuryakin, do you not know me?"
"What organization do you work for?"
"U.N.C.L.E. but why…?"
Solo cut him off and that stands for?"
"The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Why are you asking me this?"
"Let's say you haven't exactly been yourself lately."
Illya shook his head. "Will you please stop being cryptic and tell me what is going on. And please could you release me from these straps, I have an itch and a terrible need to scratch it."
"Where? I'll scratch it for you?"
"I don't think you want to do so where I am itching."
"Oh,"Napoleon chuckled,"Never mind then"
Dr. Walsifer came in and after a thorough examination he deemed it safe to order the removal of the restraints.
"Can you tell us what happened to you?" He asked.
"I decided to eat lunch outside of headquarters and was heading towards Neidermeyer's Deli when a white van pulled up alongside the curb. A woman opened the window on the passenger side and excused herself, asking for directions. That is the last thing I recall until I woke up in a darkened room."
"I was lying strapped to a metal table, with a bright light shining in my eyes. I was questioned about Project X. I refused to tell them and they kept," Illya poised, composing himself…."questioning me, keeping me awake and injecting me with drugs. I told them nothing."
"You did good tovarisch."
"Yes I know, but I still was afraid. Deep down I knew I was losing myself, regressing. If I had not been brought to the rehab center and then to here and you; I think I might have been lost forever."
"Nah. You're stronger than you think Illya. How did you escape from them?"
"Napoleon, that I do not remember just yet." Illya stared at the wall. It was not like him being unable to recall details.
"It'll come back in time. The important thing is that you're back and on the road to recovery," Napoleon placed a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder.
"Thank you. It was you, your voice and very presence that called me back my friend. I owe you my life and my sanity yet again."
"Hey, I need to keep you around buddy boy; who'd type up all my reports for me?"
"Oh, please!" Illya rolled his eyes yet again, a sure sign he was on the mend.
"Good to see you're back to being yourself tovarisch,"Napoleon laughed.
Dr. Green, the head of the Psych. Department had been standing outside Illya's door, eavesdropping on everything.
He entered and made an announcement that didn't sit well with either Solo or Kuryakin.
"Excuse me, but given the fact the Mr. Kuryakin was in a regressive state and had a near psychotic episode; I don't think it's quite safe to say he's himself. I'd like to know who authorized removing his restraints?"
"I did Doctor," Napoleon answered, not mentioning Dr. Walsifer.
"And since when have you earned a medical degree Solo."
"That's Mr. Solo and as CEA I have the prerogative of making decisions regarding my agents."
"We'll see about that There is the distinct possibility that your partner has compromised Project X without remembering doing so."The doctor stormed off in a huff.
"There's a perfect example of why Section II agents hate the doctors in the Psych Department," Napoleon chuckled.
"I did not compromise Project X," Illya said."That I am sure of...you do believe me?"
"I do. Now why don't you take it easy."
"I am rather hungry. Could you get me something to eat?"
"What do you want?"
"Pastrami on rye; I never made it to Neidermeyer's Deli."
"Sure partner, my pleasure."
A few days later Kuryakin was released from Medical, but was ordered to light duty. Though he wasn't happy about it, he agreed to a fully Psych workup and when it was completed he was found to be fine.
There appeared to be no more after effects from the drugs that had been in his system, his memory was fine and there was absolutely no sign of any psychological conditioning or hypnosis and Kuryakin was finally released from Medical under protest by Dr. Greene;
Though Illya denied revealing anything about Project X Waverly deemed it wise to throw his captors off the scent as it were. It was assumed it had been THRUSH who'd taken the Russian, and therefore false communications using an older code regarding the project were sent out over UNCLE frequencies. The messages stated Project X was a failure and was being cancelled, when in reality it was not."
"That should do it for now,"Waverly concluded in his briefing with Solo and Kuryakin. "We'll send them on a wild goose chase, giving them bad intelligence reports on another project, this one will end up being a formula for floor wax." The Old Man chuckled.
"Excuse me sir, but I think we already used that ploy in the Strigas Affair," Illya chimed in.
"Yes, well...ahem,"he cleared his throat."I suspect our feathered friends will be none the wiser," Waverly smiled before lighting his Briar pipe.
A week later Illya took a drive to the town of Loudonville, specifically to the general store. The familiar brass bell tinkled as he opened the door; Millie looking up, broke into a wide smile as she spotted him.
"Hello Millie," he smiled back at her and stepping to the counter, he held out a large bouquet of colorful flowers."These are for you, just a small gesture to thank you for your kindness and helping out a stranger."
"Illya you speak English now?" She was a bit taken aback at first.
Without revealing any specific details he told her he'd been injured and was suffering from a rare form of amnesia. He'd reverted to the language of his childhood and that was Russian."
"Russian and here I thought you might be speaking Irish,"she laughed.
Illya cocked his head to one side, the way a dog does when it doesn't understand. "Irish?"
"Long story and not important. So I take it you're all right now?" She accepted the flowers from him with a sigh."Can't tell you the last time I received flowers and how nice they smelled."
"Millie, might I convince you to have dinner with me tonight? I will be in town until tomorrow to follow up on what happened to me."
It was her turn to cock her head to the side."Wow, all this because I gave you soup and some blankets?"
"No because you helped someone in need in spite of a language barrier and you would not give up. You should be proud of yourself."
"Why thank you Illya. I only did what any decent person would do. I don't deserve any praise or rewards really."
"Does that mean you will not let me take you to dinner?"
Millie smiled."Oh I think you can twist my arm..."
.
* Ref. "Beginnings."- Irina was girl with whom Illya had his first innocent kiss.
* Ref. "The Orphanage" after the war Illya spend 6 years in a Moscow orphanage, there he met Natasha with whom he lost his virginity.
* Ref. "White Nights" Illya, during his GRU training days meets his lost friend Natasha, but eventually witnesses her murder. He seeks his revenge upon her killer.
* Ref. "Zaporoche" Before entering the Navy, Illya spends time with a Cossack clan and witnesses their murder by Soviet troops, ordered by Stalin.
* Ref. "Petrushka" mentions Illya's training for Soviet Intelligence.
A/N thanks to susanpr for suggesting Illya go thank Millie!