First steps - chapter two

Napoleon Solo pushed a folder aside and picked up the one beneath it, only to shake his head in awe. Now he understood why Norm's desk had always looked like a disaster waiting to happen. The paperwork of this job was staggering. While Waverly assigned the important and high profile affairs, Norm had assigned everything else, from simple courier jobs to bodyguarding an official to representing the organization's special interests at various meetings.

Napoleon couldn't help but wonder just how much more Section Three handled, although they tended to deal more with internal security. Still, if it was half as much as this, Napoleon could well understand why that Section head always looked as if he'd been locked overnight in a room of colicky babies.

Napoleon looked down at the folder in his hand. It was a fairly important assignment, going in to infiltrate a group that had THRUSH leanings, blend in and learn as much as possible before heading home. It would be perfect for Illya's particular talents, but instantly Napoleon dismissed him from the line up. Maybe Ryder could handle it. He'd had some experience in that area.

Napoleon's door slid open and he looked up at his partner. A lesser man would have cringed or at the very least fled for cover.

"We need to talk." Illya's voice was tight, as if it was taking all his self control to keep his temper reined in.

"Okay, partner, talk."

"Am I still on disciplinary action?"

"What? Of course not!" Last month, Illya had been placed on leave after he'd refused to identify three agents who had jumped him in the parking garage. "What makes you ask?"

"Why am I not being given any assignments? Have I become a security risk simply because I chose to take care of my own business myself?"

"Well… no… but –"

"Why am I being given jobs that even a rookie straight from Survival School would consider beneath him?"

That was a very good question and Napoleon wished he had a very good answer, but he didn't. The truth was that he didn't want to send Illya into the field without him. He told himself he was holding Illya back for any assignment that Waverly might have, but then when Waverly did finger the agent, Napoleon had various reasons why someone else should be assigned. If Waverly found the arrangement odd, he said nothing.

"Illya… ah… well, I've been a little… distracted…"

"Why aren't you delegating some of this to your Number Two?"

Another good question. Napoleon had serious qualms about Howie Zuccicello. The agent was, he supposed, a good man and deserved the promotion, but the truth was, he and Napoleon got on like oil and vinegar. For every suggestion Napoleon made, Zuccicello had a dozen reasons why the suggestion was a bad one. He was onerous, duplicitous, and conniving. Napoleon had no idea how the man had made it this far, but he had made no secret of his ambition to reach the top.

Napoleon glanced around the room and then jerked his head. "Я не уверен, что я доверяю ему(I'm not sure I trust him)."

"что (What)?"

Zuccicello walked in at that point and stared over at the pair. Napoleon handed Illya a file and nodded. "Take care of that for me, partner." The Russian came forward in a sharp bow and nodded. He glanced over at Zuccicello and again nodded.

"So what did you give him? Something dangerous, I hope." Zuccicello mumbled something else under his breath. It sounded like Godless soulless commie and Napoleon came to an abrupt realization that perhaps he was looking at one of Illya's 'special playmates.'

"I gave him something that suited his special talents and ability." Napoleon belatedly realized just what folder he had given Illya and made a mental note to retrieve it after work.

"The undercover thing, huh? He'll be good at that – hiding in plain sight is his forte."

"That could be said for a lot of people around here." Napoleon gathered up an armful of folders and dropped them onto Zuccicello's desk. "Take care of those for me, will you? I've got a meeting to attend."

"What? I –"

"Did you say something, Howie?" Napoleon looked over his shoulder. "I would think you would be glad to actually have some real work on your hands besides trying to instigate from within."

"What are you implying, Napoleon?" Zuccicello also stood and leaned forward on his knuckles.

"Implying? Me? Nothing? Why? Should I be?" Napoleon adjusted his tie and walked quickly out of the door. In spite of the fact that he was still worried those files wouldn't be handled properly, Napoleon had to admit that Illya was right. It was time to see what else His Number Two had to offer its chief.

Napoleon glanced into the office he'd shared too briefly with his partner. Illya's desk stood neat and empty of any personal effects. Indeed, it was hard to tell anyone sat there at all. He sat down in the chair and propped his elbows up on the blotter. So much had changed in the month since he'd become the chief enforcement officer. He was tied to his desk and hated every minute of it. There had to be a way to balance the two aspects of the job. Illya was so quick to file reports that Napoleon frequently forgot it was part of the assignment until he was given his copy to initial off on. Too bad he couldn't foist some of the paperwork off on Illya. Problem was some of the files were eyes only for the two top agents in the division.

Napoleon picked up a pen and stared at it. He remembered Illya tucking it away in his pocket during their last assignment. Napoleon had given him a bad time about no honor among thieves… without meaning to he slipped the pen into his pocket and returned to his own desk.

It had been a tense few days, but once Zuccicello had realized Napoleon's seriousness, he'd attacked the files with relish. Every morning, he would gather his available senior agents in and they had a short briefing on any on-going assignments, those completed and the ones that needed to either be kicked up or down the priority ladder. Napoleon was a little surprised at the brevity of Illya's called in reports, but the Russian wasn't known for his chatty messages.

Napoleon was actually congratulating himself on being able to see the top of his desk for the first time in a month. He was even thinking about shaking free of these chains and asking Waverly to put him back into the loop.

Rose, a pert little brunette that Napoleon so wished he could get better acquainted with, tapped on his door just then and told him Waverly needed to see him.

Napoleon happily adjusted his tie and walked to the elevator, punched the call button and rocked back on his heels. He was just starting to get the hang of this.

Waverly's secretary waved him in and Napoleon entered.

"You wanted to see me… sir?"

The men at the table turned to study Napoleon and he resisted the urge to gulp.

"Where is your partner, Mr. Solo?" Waverly's voice was carefully neutral – never a good sign.

"He's been assigned undercover work, infiltrating and observing a group of interest."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"We get routine check in messages from him every twelve hours."

"No, Mr. Solo, when did you last speak to him?" A trickle of sweat crawled down Napoleon's spine.

"Well, not directly since I gave him the assignment, nearly ten days ago."

"We ceased getting any messages from him nearly seven days ago."

"What?"

"It was only because of Miss Hawkins's attention to detail that anyone was made aware of that fact." At that point, a second agent was dispatched."

"Who?"

"Gary Sutherland."

"By whom?" The sweat gave way to a ball of anger, growing in his gut. He'd suggested that Norm assign the agent to a refresher course at Survival School, but apparently the order had never happened.

"Your second-in-command." Waverly reached for his pipe and exchanged glances with the rest of his contemporaries. "It's time to get your ducks in a row, Mr. Solo."

"I intend to do far more than that." Napoleon didn't wait for Waverly to dismiss him, not that it would have mattered.

Zuccicello flicked a look up and then sat back. It was apparent that he knew the game was up.

"If you check, you will see that I never claimed the reports were coming from your little buddy."

"You are a fool, Howie, and you have chosen to challenge the wrong man." Napoleon came around the desk and smiled tightly. "Before I return, you had best decide where you want to transfer to because I never want to see your ugly mug in this building again because I might just kill you. And I swear to God above, if anything has happened to Illya during this little game of yours, I will personally track you down and unravel your DNA, strand by strand, no matter where you go or how you try to hide."

"You have no right -!" Zuccicello was on his feet and Napoleon had him pinned to the wall before he could even finish his sentence.

"Neither did you! You want to talk about rights, what gave you the right to jump Illya in the parking structure? Or send in an agent to assist him who was a known agitator who would rather see Illya dead than living? What right did you have to lie to me each and every morning? What right do you have to even draw a breath? Tell me that, Zuccicello! From where I'm standing, I'm not seeing it."

"That would be murder!" Zuccicello whined.

"An eye for an eye. Look it up!" Napoleon abruptly released the man and Zuccicello half collapsed. "And pray like you've never prayed before. This may well be your last day on Earth."

Napoleon backed away from him, grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the office. Truth be known, he was starting to feel more alive than he had in weeks. He just hoped his partner could make the same claim.