A Little Hear to Heart

Chapter ll

I have been asked to expand this little tale so here is the attempt. I want to thank everyone who is reading this. Especially those who have left comments and likes. They are so very much appreciated.

As always I am making no money on this endeavor. I own nothing pertaining to the Man From U.N.C.L.E franchise, neither the TV series nor the Movie. Za zda-ro-vye!(Cheers)

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Illya gave a firm rap on the exit door before stepping out onto the receiving dock. With Miss Dancer on high alert, the last thing he wanted to do was startle her in anyway. She cast a quick glance his way as he stepped through the door, then her attention returned to covering the alley.

"Is everything alright, darling?"

"Yes, it seems it was a bit of a false alarm."

"Well better safe then sorry, as they say."

Illya made no answer to that. He was wishing now that the meeting had been more private. That he had not left the channel open. But Ana had always had a streak of the flamboyant. She loved cloak and dagger. And now...what? Now there were people with questions that they would insist he answered and at the moment he was not in the mood for any of it. She had let loose a flood gate of memories that needed to be dealt with, put back in their dark little cubby-holes, locked away and forgotten once again.

But for all that, he had been glad to see her. To know that she was alright and doing well. Alive and well. That was all that mattered. The rest he would just have to deal with the best he could. But he needed time for that, and he was not going to be given any breathing space. Not with Waverly wanting to debrief then within the next few minutes. But he would get through it, he always did.

Once Napoleon retrieved the car and was approaching the the alley, he hailed Mark to let him know that he could now join April and Illya at the back of the restaurant. Within seconds he cruised into the alley beside the three other agents.

Solo was a bit surprised when the Russian stared Mark down for a spot in the back seat forcing the Brit to ride Solo's shotgun. Once settled in, Illya simply laid his head against the back of the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes.

"Cor, mate. You could have but asked." Mark muttered under his breath as he shut his door, unable to fully suppress a shudder.

Napoleon cast a quick glance in the rear view mirror. Illya shutting out and shutting down was never a good thing. Who ever this woman was, it looked like she was bad news. But then he flashed back. He remembered the image of Illya's face. So open, unguarded and all through their meeting, it had never closed.

Once they hit the parking garage the four piled out of the car Illya just walking away. Solo joined Dancer and Slate as they hesitated.

"I want you two to herd him towards Medical."

Mark's face when bland.

"Oh, but darling. You..."

"I'm serious here, April. That person he met with poured him a cup of tea and he drank it. I'm going to inform Mr. Waverly of the situation then I'll come and take over. I promise."

Slate huffed. "You bloody well better. Poisoned or not, he is going to be more then a hand full."

Mark trotted off with April hot on his heels.

"Yeah, unless he collapses on you." Solo muttered as he pulled out his communicator. "Open Channel D."

"Channel D open. Report, Mr. Solo."

"We're in the parking garage now, sir. I would like Mr. Kuryakin to check in at Medical. He and this woman shared a pot of tea. She poured...he drank it."

There was a silence lasting a few moments before Waverly spoke again.

"I think not."

The words hit Napoleon like a physical blow. "But sir..."

"You do trust Mr. Kuryakin's judgment in these matters?"

"Usually yes, but..." It was true. Illya seemed to have a sixth sense about these types of things but this jangled against his nerves setting him on edge.

"No, Mr. Solo. If Mr. Kuryakin was willing to share refreshment then I think it would be best not question at this time. Waverly out."

Napoleon could only stare at the slender silver rod for a moment before slowly capping it and slipping it away. Taking a deep breath he squared his shoulders as he mentally shook himself. All he could do now was pray that Illya and Mr. Waverly knew what the hell they were doing. The alternative didn't bare thinking about.

He found his three compatriots standing in a small knot with April looking both worried and concerned, Mark eying the blond agent with a wary apprehension. On the other hand, Illya's body language seemed to have relaxed some though he looked obstinate but far from sickly.

They all turned on Solo's approach. "All right, let's not keep "The Old Man" waiting. Shall we?"

He swept an arm towards the elevator that would take them up to Section One's main office as he breezed on by. Illya fell into step with his partner. April and Mark cast an alarmed look at Solo's back, then heaved a collective sigh and fell in behind. They paused outside Mr. Waverly's office door just long enough for Lisa to let them know that were expect and to go right through. Each agent thanked her as they filed by.

Alexander Waverly was sitting perched on the edge of the round table but stood as his agents entered. "Ah, gentlemen, Miss Dancer, please be seated. Any complications?"

Kuryakin spoke first. "None, sir."

None of the other agents could rightfully contradict this assessment so they remained silent.

"Very well. I want each of you to make your report separately, starting with you, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin, I believe it would be best if we hear from you last."

Illya gave a dip of his head. "Yes, sir."

"Once we arrived close to Mr. Kuryakin's location, I delegated Mr. Slate to a roof top overlooking the restaurant and surroundings. It sent Miss Dancer to the back of the restaurant to cover the alley, loading bay and back door. I went in through the front. Mr. Kuryakin was standing facing a woman who had her back to me. She was 5'10', dark blond hair worn long. She was dressed in a beige belted coat, a camel calf length skirt, tall black leather boots and held a large wide brimmed hat. I could clearly see his face. It was open, unguarded, vulnerable. Also, they never touched. None of the hugs or kissing on both cheeks most Europeans use as a customary greeting. I was able to get a table where I could observe both of them. Mr. Kuryakin had his Walther drawn and laying in his lap. She very deliberately placed her own arms on the table, clasped her hands together under her chin. Except to pour their tea and to handle the tea cup, they never moved. But their conversation was animated enough. They shared smiles, laughs, and a few blushes by Mr. Kuryakin. But the meeting did seem to unsettle him. She left in less then thirty minutes. But when I approached him, he said that I was not to ask any questions. He refused to sit in the front seat. Once he was in the back he shut his eyes and turned his head away shutting the rest of us out. I think that pretty much covers it."

Waverly glanced at the blond agent who gave a slight nod of his head, eyes calm.

"Mr. Slate?"

"Nothing suspicious on my end, sir I saw the woman Mr. Solo just subscribe leave, she walked to Lexington, grabbed a cab. No one met with her or seemed to be following her or to have been even watching."

"I see. Miss Dancer, your report, please."

"I have nothing to report, sir. No one entered the alley or loitered near the entrance."

Waverly paused to toy with the ever present pipe, before he slowly charged and lit it. "As you are unaware, Mr. Slate, Miss Dancer, Mr. Kuryakin left his channel open so that I would be privy to what transpired during this meeting in case it was enemy action. Apparently it was not, but there are points that need to be clarified. Especially, since it was made clear in their conversation, that she is a citizen of the Soviet Union and she knew, in some detail, Mr. Kuryakin's relationship with the GRU and KGB."

He turned his full attention to the Russian agent. "Are you willing to answer my questions, Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya's eyes met his own still placid but his chin came up."I will make answer to all your concerns, sir."

The older man nodded. "Right, then. When and where did you meet..."

"Miss, sir."

"Very good, thank you Mr. Kuryakin."

"I met Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky at a time and place when outward shows of affection, even mere friendship, were tantamount to betrayal. Subject to manipulation, blackmail at the very least. We do not greet each other as it is part of the pact we made. Never to touch or be touched. Two old men playing chess in the park, two students sharing a table in the library but not speaking. The same in a cafeteria. Sitting under a thick shrub, seemingly alone, reading Chekhov or Tolstoy aloud. That was all that was needed. Just to know that there was someone near who cared and was cared about."

He felt no need to continue even when the silence began to lengthen.

"When was the last time you saw Miss Dvoretsky?"

"At the University of Georgia. She studied mechanical engineering and Astro-physics."

"Mr. Kuryakin, you stated that you did not know that she was in the U.S. Does she usually communicate with you when she is outside of the Soviet Union?"

"Only in token. A postcard with only her initials, a souvenir trinket of some sort. Not always, and never a return address or message of any sort."

"You also started to ask her something but stopped, quite abruptly, I might add. Why?"

"Because,sir. Our country's are engaged in not only a Cold War, but also what is called the space race. Of late there have been nothing but token signs of cooperation between your NASA and the Soviet Vostok. There are those in the scientific communities in both America and the Soviet Union that believe that such endeavors should transcend political boundaries and difficulties and that the cooperation become joint missions. I was not sure if she was still a part of this, but she confirmed that she was."

"I am as you last saw me."

"Exactly, sir."

"So it appears she is a scientist with the Soviet space programme."

"Yes. That is also how she knows of my work in the GRU and KBG. Being who and what she is, she would be given escort, a body guard. An agent to not only protect but to make sure she did not defect. For awhile, I was her shadow."

The Old Man's eyes fairly twinkled. "So, no doubt she would among those that would welcome you back with open arms, so to speak."

One of those rare smiles played on the Russian's lips. "No doubt, no, sir."

"Somewhere in this city is a KBG agent sincerely wishing he had drawn a different assignment that shadowing your Miss Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky. Since it seems she has given him the bum's rush."

"Being someone's bodyguard does have its tense moments, Napoleon. Especially when your charge is as skilled as Ana at disguises and she takes it into her head to take an unchaperoned tour. No, I do not envy his position at all."

Mr. Waverly made a sudden shooing motion. "I think that is enough for today. You all have work to do, I am sure. I know I have."

The four agents stood and headed for the door. Just as Illya started to leave, he paused then turned back.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Kuryakin...something you need to add to our little discussion?"

"Sir, I said that she would often send me trinkets that had no message at all. I think perhaps this time it is different. She left this."

Illya held out his hand and Mr. Waverly held his out palm up and a small cluster of charms landed softly into his hand. Two charms depicting spaceships, one of the U.S and another the Soviet Union, and between them a peace sign."

Yes, yes indeed."