Napoleon laid four files on the desk in front of Mr Waverly. Three belonged to Section 3 agents, Wilson Robertson, Jonathon Curry, and Herbert Cummings. The fourth was that of Reggie Cahill, a Section 2. These were the four men Illya was claiming had driven him to tender his resignation. Although Solo had no reason to doubt the Russian, he was accusing men with long service records. However, as he'd investigated, Napoleon had begun to see a pattern in their files. Each one of them had had several complaints made against them in the past; all of them before he had become CEA.
Waverly looked through the files with increasing frustration. When he finished he slammed the last one closed.
"I was not aware of any of these complaints. None of them were brought to me," he almost growled. "They certainly lend credence to Mr Kuryakin's accusations. How do suggest we proceed?"
"Illya is worried that it will look like favouritism if I do anything," Napoleon told him. "Besides, he is going to rise high in this organisation, so I think he needs to establish some authority early on. I believe the four gentlemen in question are in need of some explosives refresher training."
"I trust your judgement on this Mr Solo. When Mr Kuryakin returns, inform him he has a class to teach, but please stress the need for all agents to be alive at the end of it."
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Two weeks later, following several arguments with Napoleon about it, Illya pulled up outside the U.N.C.L.E. large ordnance test range. He had no qualms about teaching a class, as he had already done so after graduating Survival School. His problem though, was having to face the four people who had caused him to question his own self-belief. Before coming to America, he'd prepared himself for the negativity he would face; Illya had known it would take a while to be accepted. He'd been pleasantly surprised that most people didn't seem to care about his nationality. Naturally, there was a small element who would always view him as the enemy.
Sitting in his car, he could see his students milling around outside the entrance, waiting for him. He caught the eye of agent Cahill and forced himself to hold his gaze. Cahill sneered and pointed him out to the others. As all four tried to stare him down, something inside Illya snapped. He was a well-educated, highly accomplished ex-KGB officer; as well as a trained killer and gifted explosives expert. Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin was not going to let these bigots own him any longer.
"Don't bend, don't break, don't back down," he murmured to himself.
Fixing his icy glare in place he climbed out of the car and stalked over to the group. Before any of them could say anything, he held up a hand.
"From this moment on, you will give me the respect I deserve. I worked hard to get to where I am, and you do not have the right to belittle that struggle. Inside this facility, I am in charge and you will listen to every instruction. Failure to do so could lead to injury or death. Personally, I don't care if you blow yourselves up. However, Mr Waverly insists that you all go back to HQ alive. If any of you feel you are unable to take my class, feel free to leave, but be prepared to explain to Mr Waverly your reasons for doing so."
The four men glowered at him, but remained resolutely silent.
"Shall we go in gentlemen?"
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
"Apparently, you're even less popular with a certain group than you were before," Napoleon chuckled, as he entered his office.
Illya glanced up from a report he was typing and smiled. "Well, they should have listened to the instructions more carefully. I didn't kill any of them."
"Very true," Solo acknowledged. "We're all very grateful that your explosives were nothing more powerful than a cherry-bomb, but did you really need to lace them with dye?"
Napoleon didn't think he'd seen a grin as wide as the one the Russian was sporting.
"No, I didn't have to," Illya confessed. "But at least now I'm not the only 'Red' in the building."
The End.