October 31, 1974 Eighty years later

Illya limped across the cold, moisture laden stones of the cell floor where he and Napoleon had been guests for the past three days. His unconscious partner lay bonelessly against the far wall where the guards dumped him when they brought him back to the cell a couple of hours before.

At first, their THRUSH hosts had not realized who the UNCLE agents were and pretty much left the two alone taking them for the wayward campers the two claimed to be. However, during the second day, someone came in and recognized the two agents. It was then that the the interrogations began in earnest. As Illya had predicted, the interrogation took a particularly nasty turn for Napoleon when the idiots realized that they had Waverly's right hand man in their midst.

Illya reached Napoleon and gently patted his friend's face. "Napoleon." His voice was hoarse from shouting in pain. "Napoleon! Wake up, no more sleeping on the job." He shook the unconscious form. "Napoleon, I thought you were supposed to have my back." He checked his friend for injuries and took inventory of the damage. Probable concussion, broken leg and wrist, and burns across the chest. "Oh, Napoleon, I'm sorry moi brat. You are not going to be very happy when you wake up."

He sat on the floor and lifted Napoleon's head onto his lap trying to make him more comfortable. His partner didn't even react to the movement.

Napoleon Solo was indeed a very unhappy man when he regained consciousness. There wasn't any part of his body that didn't hurt. He cracked open his eyes and realized that his head was pillowed on Illya's thigh. "Hey, partner," he whispered. "Did you happen to see the truck that hit me?"

The Russian smiled, glad to see that Napoleon was conscious. He helped Solo to sit up and lean against the wall. "No, but if you feel up to it I think we need to plan how we are going escape from here. I doubt our hosts will be any more gentle the next time around."

On cue, two guards unlocked the cell door. "Happy Halloween, boys. Looks like THRUSH Central wants you as their treat." Seeing their captives sprawled on the floor and leaning against the wall, the guards assumed that neither man was capable of resisting or had the strength to escape. Shouldering their rifles, the guards entered the cell and reached down to pull the UNCLE agents to their feet. Illya exploded into action. Using his right leg he swept the closest guard's feet out from under him. As the man fell, Illya grabbed the rifle from him before handing the man off to Napoleon who grabbed the man in a choke hold.

The second guard stepped back to unsling his rifle only to find himself staring down the bore of the rifle held by one seriously angry UNCLE agent.

"I think I would rather give THRUSH a trick rather than be their treat," Illya snarled and with a fluid motion swung the rifle butt against the second guard's head. "Napoleon, I believe it is time to leave." He leaned down to help Napoleon up.

"Ah, I think you had better go without me, Illya." Napoleon's weak voice was tight with pain. "It seems that these goons did a number on my leg."

"Nonsense, we leave together. Mr. Waverly would not be happy if I came back without his second-in-command."

"No, Illya, I orde…" He never saw Illya's right hook before it connected with his jaw.

"Sorry, my friend. We do not have time to argue." Illya lifted Napoleon into a fireman's carry. His hip screamed from the abuse, but he ignored it as he carried his partner through the hallways.

Kuryakin was glad that the THRUSH post was lightly staffed as it enabled him to make it to the docks undetected. Several motor boats were tied up. He picked the one with the biggest engine. He stepped carefully into the boat and laid Napoleon down on the middle seat. He thanked whatever power watches over UNCLE agents when he saw the keys were in the ignition. Not wasting anytime Illya fired up the outboard and pushed away from the dock before pushing the throttle to its full open position heading in a northwest direction.

Without charts, Illya had to rely on his eidetic memory to know where the nearest inhabited island was located which was approximately ten miles to the northwest. He glanced down at his partner who lay semi-conscious on the seat and hoped that Napoleon could endure the pain as the boat traveled through the slight chop for that long of a distance.

Upon their capture, THRUSH had relieved the agents of their tools including their watches. He guessed that they had been traveling for about a half hour and judging from the sun's position over the horizon, Illya estimated that there might be an hour of sunlight left. He did not relish the idea of traveling in the dark. Adding to his apprehension, he saw a fog bank forming dead ahead about two, maybe three, miles from their position. He knew that without a compass it would be too easy to get lost and lose his sense of direction.

The fog overtook the boat rapidly. The Russian had no choice but to slow down and attempt to steer a straight course by instinct. The last time he and Napoleon had been caught in thick pea soup fog was a decade ago during the Shark Affair. That thought did nothing to bolster his spirits. He glanced over to Napoleon, his partner was about the same, moaning softly and only semi-conscious. "Hang in there, my friend. We will get some help for you soon." He hoped those weren't empty words.

Illya resolutely continued on in what he hoped was the right direction. Daylight had abandoned him leaving darkness and fog pressing in on the boat.

The fog momentarily thinned allowing the full moon's light to filter through casting a diffused light. Illya watched as wispy tendrils of moisture rolled towards him and then receded much like fingers opening and closing. A slight breath of air pushed the fog away allowing Illya to see about 100 yards in the distance. With the help of the moon's soft light he saw an outline of an island off to the right, not more than a couple of hundred feet ahead. Over the noise of the idling engine the wake of the boat could be heard washing gently against the boulders that lined the shore.

Napoleon woke suddenly, leaned to one side and retched. They hadn't eaten for three days but that didn't stop his stomach from violently trying to heave whatever was left. Illya leapt to his side to steady his friend as Napoleon's body worked through the nausea.

"Easy, Napoleon. There is an island just a little ways off of our bow. I think it best that we land there and wait until tomorrow morning to continue."

Napoleon, gasping for air and trying to control his nausea, merely nodded his head. Illya moved back to the helm and steered the boat for the island.

As he motored within 50 yards of the island, Illya could see the outline of a small lighthouse. Odd, he didn't remember the charts indicating there was a lighthouse in the area. He continued towards the shore when he heard a feminine voice calling to him, beckoning with her arms to bring the boat to shore. Illya, glad that there was someone who could help him with Napoleon, gladly aimed the boat's bow towards where the woman was standing. It did not escape his notice that the fog bank had closed in once again staying about fifty yards off the island's shore.

Illya cut the engine and let inertia carry the boat to the large boulders. Leaping from the bow onto the rock he tied the painter to an iron ring that was bolted to the stone. He turned to greet the woman who had called to him.

"Hello, Madam, my name is Illya Kuryakin." He bowed slightly to the woman. As he did so the soft light of the moon glowing through the fog shone on his hair. He heard her give a slight gasp, but he continued, "I cannot tell you how glad I am to have found your island and you. You see my friend is badly injured and needs help." He pointed to the boat. "Perhaps you have some place where he can rest for a bit."

He was slightly unnerved by the odd way the woman was dressed and by her stare. At first she said nothing then finding her voice she said, "Hello, my name is Isabella. You poor dears. We must get your friend inside at once. Bring him into the Keeper's house."

"Is there anyone else on the island?"

"No…my husband is away on a supply run. He should be back soon." She turned and without looking to see if Illya followed she moved towards the house.

With no small amount of effort, Illya lifted Napoleon out of the boat and carried him over his shoulders to the Keeper's house. Isabella, holding an oil hurricane lamp, met him at the door and motioned him to follow her to a small bedroom. As he passed her at the room's threshold he shivered involuntarily as he seemed to pass through a cold spot in the room.

Illya carefully laid his partner down onto a feather bed. He looked his partner over, not liking the pallor of Napoleon's skin nor the cold clammy feel of it. He turned to Isabella to see her staring at him opened mouth. "Please, Madam, I need some cloths, cold water, ice, and as many blankets as you may have. My friend has gone into shock."

Isabella continued staring a moment before responding, "Of course, Elijah, I'll get them right away." She turned and left the room before Illya could correct her about his name. 'Illya - Elijah', it didn't matter. What mattered to him was Napoleon's deteriorating condition.

Isabella brought blankets, left again and came back carrying a wooden bucket filled with water and some cloths. "There is no ice I'm afraid, but the water is quite cold."

She placed the items next to the bed. Illya nodded his thanks and turned his full attention on making Napoleon more comfortable. He could feel her staring at him as he worked on placing a cold cloth on his friend's head and checked his leg for any signs of a compound fracture.

He felt the hairs on his neck stiffen as he realized the woman was reaching for his hair to stroke it. He turned to face her, a questioning look in his eyes.

Quickly withdrawing her hand she whispered, "Forgive me," and turned quickly and left the room. She never came back to check on her two visitors after that.

Illya continued ministering to Napoleon's injuries. Fortunately, the break in his leg was not a compound break and seemed to only involve the lower leg, which meant he could rule out the fear of a tear in the femoral artery. He placed cold compresses on the bruise over the fracture.

Illya would shake Napoleon awake every five to ten minutes to make sure he was responsive. Unfortunately, the Russian was feeling the pain from his own interrogation sessions with THRUSH and had a hard time keeping his own eyes open. He sat on a hard ladder back chair and put his feet up on the bed and his left hand touching the American agent's shoulder. Slowly, he nodded off.

Napoleon opened his eyes and in the dim light cast by the oil lamp saw Illya sitting by his side with his chin resting on his chest sound asleep. He reached up with his good wrist and patted Illya's hand. "Illya," he croaked.

His partner's eyes flew open and he lifted his head. "Napoleon! How are you feeling my friend?"

"I've been better. Where are we, how did we get here?"

Illya spent the next five minutes filling his partner on what had been happening since their escape and how the island appeared out of the fog. He described Isabella and mentioned that something about her and the island seemed a bit …"off".

"Napoleon, if you think you can stay awake for a few minutes, I would like to explore the area around the lighthouse. Maybe I can find something to fashion into a splint for your leg."

"I'll be fine, Tovarisch. Go ahead, just be careful."

Illya smiled, "I will not be long." He stood and left the room. Illya stepped out of the Keeper's house

As Illya walked down to where the boat was tied, he took time to look around at his surroundings. While the dense fog obscured the view of anything fifty yards or so beyond the perimeter, on the island it had thinned to almost nothing allowing the moonlight to light his way over the boulders.

The island was relatively small. He would be surprised if it was more than a half mile square. The few trees that graced the island reached their dark leafless branches like empty fingers towards the lighthouse. Dormant clumps of straw-like grass moved silently in the slight breeze. The entire island was cast in a gray eerie shroud, not quite light, and yet not quite shadow either. Kuryakin stepped into the boat and grabbed one of the small wooden storage covers from the bow. He struck it against the flukes of the anchor and split it lengthwise so he could fashion a splint for Napoleon's leg.

Illya glanced to his left and saw Isabella standing on a point of rocks looking out to sea. She had changed from her long calico dress to a black one, such as one might wear when in mourning. Kuryakin started towards her when something to his right distracted him. His breath caught as two spots of light appeared on the other side of the Keeper's house. The ethereal lights shimmered then coalesced to form the outlines of two people, one male and one female. The Russian watched as the two became more defined. This is not possible! he thought. I must be more fatigued than I realized. Illya turned back to the Keeper's house to check on Napoleon.

Illya was encouraged to see that Napoleon was still awake when he returned, although he could see that his partner was in a great deal of pain.

He set the boards down and grabbed one of the more worn blankets and tore several strips from the bottom. "Napoleon, I need to set your leg and splint it. I am afraid it is going to hurt like hell, but it has to be done."

Napoleon nodded and grabbed the iron rails of the headboard. "Okay, Illya, I'm ready," he rasped.

Illya inspected the leg. "All right, I am going to count to three then manipulate the broken ends. Ready? One…two…" With a quick jerk he set the leg with practiced skill.

Napoleon screamed at the pain and the surprise of the unexpected timing. "What the hell happened to 'three'?"

"I could feel you tensing up as I counted so I did not wait." Illya placed the planks on either side of the leg tying them in place with the cloth strips. Already he could see improvement in the color of Napoleon's leg.

"You need to get some rest, my friend. We are still fog bound and from what I am able to discern the night is still quite young. When it is daylight we will evaluate what to do next."

"Can't you make a call for assistance?"

"Neither of us has our communicators and this island has no modern conveniences, so I am afraid not. Now try and get some sleep."

Illya watched as Napoleon fell back to sleep. His own eyes grew heavy from fatigue. He sat down and hiked his bad leg on the bed and soon was asleep as well.

The Russian woke with a start. He felt the cool caress of somebody's hand upon his forehead. He quickly sat up. Before him stood a young woman dressed in the same old fashion attire as Isabella. Her long brown hair fell softly against her shoulders. She had a simple beauty about her.

Collecting his wits, Illya said, "Hello, I was told there was no one else on the island. I am sorry, did we take your room?"

She laughed gently, "Oh no, we don't live here. We're infrequent visitors to the island. My name is Amanda and this," pointing to a young man standing behind her, "is my husband, Elias."

Illya stood awkwardly to introduce himself. As he looked at the man, he gasped for standing before him was an individual who could easily pass for his brother. The man was the same height and build with piercing blue eyes, a shy smile, and longish blond hair.

"I am pleased to meet you. My name is Illya Kuryakin. And this is my friend and business associate, Napoleon Solo."

"Oh, dear, how did he get injured?" Amanda knelt down beside Napoleon and put a damp cloth on his head, replacing the one that Illya had put there some time ago.

"We were camping and he fell hard on the rocks."

Elias spoke. "Amanda is a nurse, she can help you take care of him. And you, Sir, look exhausted and injured yourself. Why don't you take a few moments to go back to sleep. I'm sorry we woke you."

"No, I must stay awake and keep an eye on my friend. I…"

Elias laid a hand on Illya's shoulder. "Sit down and sleep, Sir."

Illya could no longer keep his eyes open and did just that.

"Illya. Illya. Wake up Tovarisch. Illya!"

Illya opened his eyes and bolted upright. He hadn't realized that he fell asleep. "Napoleon." He saw the hazel brown eyes watching him with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Napoleon, you are awake!"

"And that's why you are such a good spy, IK. You're so observant."

Illya ignored the snarky remark. "You look like you are feeling much better! How is your head? Your leg?"

"That's the strange thing, Illya. I feel much better. My head is clear, my bruises are almost gone, and although my leg still hurts it's not nearly as bad as before! I've never experienced anything like it. I think my friend, that you are in the wrong vocation. With your healing touch you should be a doctor!"

"It was not I, Napoleon. I did nothing except set your leg and keep you awake."

"If not you, than who?"

"I am not sure. I had a dream that there were two others who came in. One of them, the woman, was a nurse." He looked at his friend. "Napoleon, although I am happy that you are better, there is something about this island that does not make any sense." He shook his head as if to rid himself of cobwebs from his brain. "I think I need a bit of fresh air. I'm going to the lighthouse to see if the fog is lifting off shore. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Napoleon nodded. He had known Illya for a long time and never saw his friend so addlepated and unsettled. "Okay, Illya, but don't be gone too long."

Illya climbed the stairs to the top of the lighthouse and stepped onto the catwalk, breathing in the cool moist air. The fog still hovered offshore, a solid wall seemingly waiting for permission to come closer to the island. Illya hoped the fog would be gone soon as he didn't relish staying any longer on this island than was necessary.

Illya spun around when he felt a cool hand upon his shoulder. He had not heard any foot steps on the metal platform of the catwalk, but standing before him was Amanda, the woman in his dream.

"I'm sorry, I did not hear you coming. I…I thought you were part of a dream." He continued, "I suppose it is you I should thank for the improvement in my friend's condition. I reall…" He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw a terrified urgency in her eyes.

"You must go. You must leave and take your friend, now! Isabella is…"

A blood curdling scream interrupted her. They both turned towards the sound only to see the enraged Isabella standing and pointing an accusing finger at Illya.

"You, womanizer! You lecherous bastard! I knew I couldn't trust you!" she shrieked. She screamed again rushing towards him while cursing someone named Elijah. Illya had no time to react to the sound of her maniacal screams as a bitter cold blast of air violently pushed him over the railing.

"Your friend needs your help!"

Napoleon had dozed off and jumped at the sound of a man's voice. He looked up and saw a young man who could easily have been mistaken for Illya if not for the old fashion style of clothing and the lack of an accent. "Pardon me?"

"Hurry there is no time. Your friend is in great danger. He needs your help or he will die."

Napoleon didn't wait another second. He climbed out of bed and limped towards the lighthouse stairs. The pain in his leg combined with the encumbrance of the splint made climbing the steps difficult and frustratingly slow.

As he reached the catwalk, he saw a woman screaming and rushing towards Illya. Before Napoleon could shout a warning, a violent, cold blast of wind knocked Illya over the railing.

"No! Illya! Oh god, no."

The woman turned to see Napoleon and faded from sight. The American agent had no time to think about what had happened. He rushed to the railing, afraid that he would see Illya below dashed upon the rocks.

"Illya!"

"Here, Napoleon!" Illya's strained voice came from just below the railing. As he went over the railing his reflexes enabled him to catch hold of the bottom bar. Normally, he would have been able to hoist himself up and back onto the safety of the metal platform. However, the strain of the last several days had left his energy depleted and unable to do more than hold on for dear life.

"Hang on, Tovarisch!" Napoleon lay down on the platform and reached with his good arm. He grabbed Illya by his shirt collar and pulled. Inch by inch the Russian climbed up the railing closer to safety. Napoleon made a desperate grab for Illya's belt and heaved. Both men landed on the decking too exhausted to do more than catch their breath.

"That was too close, Illya. I was afraid I'd lost you."

"Yes, well suffice it to say I thought I had lost me, too! Thank you, my friend."

As they lay there they both heard a voice. "Listen well."

"That's Amanda," Illya said. "She's the one you helped you, Napoleon."

"You must leave this island immediately. Look! The fog is coming in. When the island is shrouded by the fog all who live will die and the dead will be doomed to stay forever."

Illya looked over the railing. The fog was indeed moving in at an alarming rate. He reached down to help Napoleon up. "We leave now, my friend."

As they descended the stairs Amanda's voice followed them urging them to move faster.

"Do not go into any of the fog that comes ashore. Run, get away while you can."

Neither man needed further encouragement. When they reached the motor boat, Illya all but threw Napoleon into it. "Start the engine, Napoleon, I'll untie the boat." As he reached down to untie the painter from the iron ring, he felt extreme lethargy overtake him. Illya looked back over his shoulder. Tendrils of fog were coming in from the far side of of the island and a wisp of it wound itself around his leg.

"Illya! Come on, now. Jump into the boat."

But Illya didn't move. He heard a singsonging voice calling. "Elijah, forgive me. I'm sorry. Stay here with me." He turned to move towards the voice enchanted by its siren quality. He felt his life's energy ebbing away, but he didn't care. He wanted to move closer to the voice.

"Illya! Come back!"

A sudden invisible force knocked Illya down hard onto the rocks momentarily distracting him. It was enough to break Isabella's spell. He scrambled to the boat and pushed off. Napoleon immediately threw the engine in reverse and opened the took the helm allowing Napoleon to sit and rest his leg. Neither man spoke as the fog lifted and they headed back to Naubinway.

Behind them the fog surged over the island completely shrouding it. When it receded several hours later the island was gone as if it had never existed. If someone happened to pass by early on November 1st, they might have heard the wind soughing across the surface of the water and they might have heard the sound of a woman calling, "Elijah!"