"This one is a good candidate." General Grigor Vasilivich Lysenko, KGB advisor to Khrushchev, tossed a dossier file in front of Tupikov. The Soviet Union had recently become a member of the U.N.C.L.E. As such, the Premier had ordered a list of likely candidates for the requisite agent, a requirement for membership in the international organization, be compiled at once. The Colonel opened the file and glanced at the picture clipped onto the front page. Black and white photos didn't give a complete idea as to a man's coloring, but Tupikov knew it without looking at the typed description. Blond hair, blue eyes, dead stare. A shiver traveled down his spine. He rarely saw that particular look in his agent's eyes since it was generally reserved for those sighted at the end of his gun. "Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin," he intoned. "With all due respect, Comrade General, I don't agree."
Cold black eyes, colder even than those on Illya Nicovetch's dossier picture, glared at him from under bushy, iron-colored brows. Tupikov had once seen a shark through a glass tank. It had glared at him with the same intensity. "He is a valuable commodity to the State," Tupikov explained. "Too much so to give his talents to a Western organization."
"All our citizens are valuable to the Motherland," Lysenko growled, his voice sounding like the low rumble of an irate wolfhound. The flimsy metal chair groaned as he shifted his weight. He was a Clydesdale of a man, tall and heavily muscled. For a man of sixty, he was in excellent physical shape. Only the silver of his hair alluded to his age. "What makes this man more so than others?"
"He is a highly trained agent in many areas, Comrade General. Expert marksman, black belt in several forms of martial arts, well versed in the art of the knife, speaks several languages fluently. He is also our experimental subject in cross-training. His doctorate in Quantum Mechanics as well as degrees in other sciences have come in quite handy in the field." And because I have high hopes for his future accomplishments. Accomplishments which will reflect on his mentor as much as they reflect on him. He kept that thought to himself, however.
A baleful eye swiveled his direction. The man had shark genes in his family tree somewhere. "Surely you aren't suggesting we send a man who isn't well trained? He will be a representative of the strength of the Soviet intelligence community. Kuryakin . . . ." He slurred the name as though he found it distasteful. " . . . . fits that bill quite well. I know this man." A look of disgust crossed his hard, weather-beaten face. "Put his file in for consideration. On the top, I think."
It was not a request. Tupikov stifled a sigh as he added the dossier to the pile. It was another hour before they'd finished and Lysenko finally took his leave. Tupikov waited for several minutes to be certain the General did not return before he took Illya Nicovetch's file off the top and slipped it to the bottom. His thoughts churned on why Lysenko was so intent on sending Illya Nicovetch away. Lysenko had listened to his opinions on all the other candidates. Why, then, had he been so adamant about Kuryakin? Surely he would want the opposite? Routine intelligence reports on the Ukrainian revealed a friendship between Illya Nicovetch and Lysenko's son, Vasily Grigorovich. Perhaps the General did not approve. If that was the case, Tupikov hadn't a clue why.
He intended to find out.