Illya opened his eyes to find himself in a very familiar place, a THRUSH holding cell. He had a splitting headache, and he quickly realized that he was lying on a cot with his hands and feet bound. His mind raced, trying to remember the circumstances that had led to his capture. The last thing he remembered was entering his apartment in preparation for...what? A relaxing evening at home before a busy day at work? They must have been lying in wait for me and attacked me as soon as I was inside, he told himself grimly.
Presently an attractive blonde arrived with a Styrofoam cup of ice water and a straw.
"To what do I owe this latest demonstration of hospitality?" he asked sarcastically.
"Don't be afraid," the blonde said smoothly. "We're not going to hurt you. We just need you out of the way for a few days."
"Dare I ask why?"
"We have a new plan to infiltrate UNCLE headquarters and gain access to its most closely guarded secrets, and this time, our plan is foolproof."
Illya felt a stab of fear at the base of his spine. Whatever new diabolical threat THRUSH posed this time, Napoleon would have to be able to combat it on his own...unless he, Illya, could find some way to escape.
It was a gorgeous day, and as the blond knew of a longer route to Del Floria's tailor shop that went through a park, he opted to go that way today. He was about halfway through the park when he heard someone calling his name.
"Illya!"
He saw that it was her. The young woman in the photograph he'd found on the floor of his apartment. She was even more beautiful in real life. He noticed that there were braces on her legs, but that only added to her mystique.
"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she told him.
"I must go to UNCLE headquarters right away," he told her. "I must collect important information for..." He drew a blank. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't remember the name of the organization that needed the information. "For an important organization," he finished.
"I've missed you so much!" The young woman looked so sad that the young man was touched. Unused to emotion, he wasn't sure what the correct way to deal with this situation would be, but intuitively he felt that the young woman's obvious distress was much more important than the information he knew he had to retrieve for the organization whose name he couldn't remember.
"Would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked her.
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed.
Napoleon was beginning to worry. It was very unlike Illya to be late for work. The possibilities of the various things that could have happened to his partner kept running through his brain. He tried calling Illya's apartment but got no answer. He sincerely hoped that, whatever was going on, THRUSH wasn't involved.
Hours passed. Illya drifted in and out of sleep. The pain in his head had dwindled to a low throb, but he was very hungry and, more urgently, his bladder felt as if it were about to explode. Too proud to admit his dilemma to his captors, he'd been struggling for hours to loosen his bonds, but had had no luck. The blonde came back to check on him again.
"How are you doing?" she asked with just a little too much saccharine in her fake voice. He only glared angrily at her.
"Is there anything you need?" she asked him.
"My freedom!" he grunted through his teeth.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's out of the question, at least for now," she replied. "Can I help you in any other way?"
To his immense distress, Illya realized that he felt a sneeze coming on. As desperately as he tried to suppress it, he was ultimately unsuccessful in doing so, and a moment later, the front of his pants was soaked. Deeply shamed, he turned his head away from her as he heard her chuckle.
Dr. Victor couldn't imagine what was causing the delay in the return of the clone to the lab. The newly-formed man had been programmed to report back to the satrap as soon as he'd stolen the information from UNCLE, and he'd had plenty of time to do that by now. Dr. Victor couldn't imagine the reason for the delay...unless Napoleon Solo somehow had something to do with it.
Napoleon was about to go crazy with worry. Illya should have arrived at work hours ago, but still there was no sign of him anywhere. He'd searched the entire building, and no one had seen nor heard from him. He'd tried his partner's home telephone number several more times, but had yet to get any response. He'd even checked at all the local hospitals, but none of them had admitted an Illya Kuryakin, nor even a petite blue-eyed blond with a Russian accent. He wondered whether it might be time to get the local police department involved.