Illya came to sitting in a straight backed chair, hands bound behind him and a buzzing in his head that indicated some type of abuse. As he opened one eye and then the other the image of a large man came into focus.
Wham! That's right, he was being used as a punching bag by this giant named Jameson. Illya's ears were ringing, probably not a good sign.
"So blondie, what do you know about Mr. William's business? You really ought to reconsider this strong silent act you're putting on."
Wham! Not an act, you Neanderthal.
"I have no information. I've only ever just played tennis with…"
Wham! Wrong answer.
"You've been snooping around for two weeks, you know something."
Wham!
Illya passed out. Again.
Napoleon Solo had a date to get ready for, but he was worried about his partner. Illya hadn't reported in on time and that usually meant something had gone wrong. Williams' estate was not an easy target, and the opportunity to place Illya there as a tennis instructor had been a stroke of luck. That luck seemed to be waning, something that was becoming increasingly the plight of Kuryakin. Chances were that he was locked up somewhere enduring some form of physical punishment. Napoleon just naturally assumed the worst when it involved his partner; experience was beginning to dictate a pragmatic approach where the Russian was concerned.
Solo decided to take a drive out to Long Island and check on his missing partner. The date with Eileen would have to wait; Illya would be very upset if Napoleon let a woman stand in the way of a rescue, assuming that one was necessary.
Before Napoleon turned the key in the ignition, his communicator began to warble.
"Solo here." A woman's voice on the other end had a message.
"Someone named Angelique called to say you might need to see about liberating your vodka from the wine cellar. Do you know what that means, Napoleon?" Wanda was a smart girl, but the message was a little bit cryptic, even for her.
"Yes, I certainly do understand. Please tell Mr. Waverly that I'm going to go and retrieve Illya from the clutches of the evil THRUSH on Long Island. We should be back before midnight. I hope. Solo out."
So, Angelique was involved somehow. Napoleon had to smile at the memory of their last rendezvous. The woman was intriguing, beguiling… intoxicating. Just his luck to be smitten with a woman like her. Yes, just his luck.
Illya found himself in the dark, with only a glimmer of light coming in from a small window above a small alcove. He seemed to be in a wine cellar. Jameson was gone, taking a break probably. It was hard work beating up a man who was unable to fight back. Illya began to pull at the bindings, tugging first one way and then another. He made no headway with his efforts. A sound diverted his attention from the struggle, and the click clack of stiletto heels alerted him to the presence of the woman responsible for him being in this situation.
"Hello Angelique. Have you come to gloat?" Ice wouldn't melt in this room with that tone of voice chilling the air. The woman winced a little at the ill will indicated.
"Honestly, Illya, I didn't mean for you to be brutalized like this. What was I to do? You are in the business of spying, and I am in the business of protecting the interests of THRUSH. We are, as they say, at an impasse.' Kuryakin was still glaring at her through the eye that wasn't swollen shut. "Please, don't look at me like that. Really, the Cyclops effect is most unsettling."
Illya was livid, but not as much with Angelique as himself. He should never have been in this situation; he had been sloppy. Obviously.
"Napoleon will not be pleased with your complicity in my situation, you know that. I expect he will be here shortly; are you going to betray him as well as me?"
Angelique had the nerve to smile at that. "For your information, I have informed him of your predicament. At great risk to myself I might add. If Williams ever gets wind of this, he will…" She didn't get to finish that sentence as Nicholas Williams entered the cellar, hot on the heels of the woman he mistrusted so intensely.
"If Williams gets wind of what, Angelique? Of you aiding and abetting the enemy? Tsk, tsk… I'd say you are in a bit of trouble now, my dear."
Just then Jameson stumbled through the door, a sleep dart clearly protruding from his neck. He collapsed in a giant heap, revealing a well dressed man with a gun.
"Oh, Napoleon darling, how good of you to show up just now. I'm quite certain that your friend here is much in need of a rescue." Angelique purred her pleasure at seeing Napoleon again, in spite of the disapproving glare on Williams' face.
"You are a traitor, Angelique! I'll make sure Central knows about this, and then…"
"Daddy? Daddy, what's going on here? Oh! Ian, oh my God, you're hurt." Janice had found her way down to the wine cellar, following after the stranger she had seen drive up earlier. To her horror, the blond of her dreams was bruised and bloody, and her father seemed to be responsible.
"Janice my dear, don't come in here!" It was too late. Janice was untying Illya's bonds, crying at the distressing sight and the thought of her father tormenting the beautiful young man just because she was in love with him.
"I knew you disapproved of Ian, but daddy… O I never thought you'd go this far to keep us apart." Illya looked puzzled by this outburst, but Napoleon was smiling in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Janice would really be upset when her father was hauled off to jail for his criminal activities.
Illya, for his part, was struggling to stay upright. The beating he had taken at the hands of Jameson was taking its toll on the slender agent, and he accepted the support of Janice as they made their way out of the cellar and up the steps to the floor above.
Napoleon was busy calling in to Headquarters; a crew would be out shortly. He handcuffed Williams and left him attached to a large column next to a row of French wines. Nicholas Williams hated the French, and Victor Marton and Angelique LeChien… the entire lot of them could rot in hell as far as he was concerned.
Napoleon escorted Angelique upstairs where they were met with the sight of Illya being given some type of first aid at the hands of Janice Williams. Two more THRUSH guards were sleeping in a heap near the front door. It seemed all was under control.