For the remainder of the lunch meeting, Karina felt the wall between her and Illya rise high enough to present an obstacle as impassable as the one separating the city of Berlin. She also recognized that, much like that now infamous wall, her ability to travel past its ominous presence would be nearly impossible, the effect deadly. A Russian within the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement would be unable to engage in a relationship with a Soviet agent. The possibility of a compromise on his part, or even the appearance of one, could ruin his position and, most likely, be the cause of his removal back to the Soviet Union. All of these things went through her mind as she sat with the two men, their conversation dwelling on the possible scenarios in which Putkin might be exposed. Her own sense of professionalism was drawing her back into the plans as she relinquished whatever hopes she might have entertained regarding her blond countryman.
"I don't think we're going to solve this dilemma sitting here, Napoleon. The rest of the company is at Carnegie Hall, waiting for Karina and the start of the dress rehearsal. I should be there…' He looked at her, his eyebrows skewed into a questioning expression that she recognized as a plea to be excused from that event.
"You don't need to come, Illya. I am more than able to handle this; my other teachers are on hand. Please…what you and Napoleon need to do regarding a strategy is of more importance. And, you both look as though you could use some sleep".
The waiter returned with a check and hopes for a large tip, considering the amount of time these three had been here. He must have missed at least one other table full of customers, and that was cash in his pocket.
Napoleon took out his wallet to pay, his easy manner and casual conversation with the man a sure way to ease any unbidden hostilities over their very long lunch. They were discussing baseball and the perfect stadium hot dog as his partner turned to Karina.
"Karina, I…' She put a finger up to his lips, shooshing him to stop.
"Illyusha, no… I understand. You weren't expecting to find another spy, at least not in ballet shoes'. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested his desire to smile at that. Why was life as it was? Why was it so futile to ask why?
"Our world cannot allow for the improprieties that we would represent should we… if we were to…"
He took her hand and kissed it, lingering a little longer than he might have several hours ago. When he looked up again into her eyes, the color reminded her of the Caspian Sea, deep and undulating; secrets that would never surface were hidden beneath the calm. Inwardly, she cried for him, knowing as only someone who had lived the same life could, just how many secrets there were.
Napoleon turned around from his business with the waiter to see this scene in progress. He was surprised at the catch in his throat, and the sudden pinch in his stomach, as though it were his own heart being broken.
The rest of the day saw the two UNCLE agents tending to their plan. Neither of them had had any sleep since the night before last, and in spite of their heightened abilities under most circumstances, the lack of it was beginning to show. Mr. Waverly had requested a report on their progress, and so found them in his presence, waiting for an opportunity to put on the table the inevitable question concerning the identity of the Soviet agent, Karina.
As they sat in their respective seats, waiting for the ritual of tamping tobacco and feigned inattention to their presence, Napoleon and Illya each considered their response to whatever answers their boss might give them. They had discussed the probability that the old man knew about Karina, and had sent them into this with more information than they had been given. Illya was unsure of how he would respond if this were confirmed; Napoleon was attempting to contain his anger at the situation. He was CEA, he should have been made aware. At the very least, it might have compromised his partner, and that was unacceptable.
Finally, having completed the round of preliminary activities that always surrounded the beginning of these meetings, Alexander Waverly turned to his two top agents and, clearing his throat twice, began to speak:
"Mr. Solo, what do you have to report?"
Napoleon cut his eyes in a quick glance to his partner before beginning.
"We have determined, sir, that the KGB agent Putkin is our Thrush. All indications are that he alerted the operation in London of Yelena's defection, and the resulting death of her brother Uri was due to the information that only Putkin would have had. We have eliminated all of the dancers, and the staff who work with Karina. And, as you probably know… Karina herself is a member of Soviet intelligence".
There, he had said it. Illya blanched at the nearly accusatory tone in Solo's delivery of that sentence. Taunting the enemy was one thing, but to do so with Waverly…
The head of UNCLE Northwest set his eyes on Napoleon, the steel grey beneath his wiry eyebrows reflecting the walls that surrounded the men at that table.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Solo…Mr. Kuryakin. I have been aware of her position since this affair began. I would not have sent you into this environment without having thoroughly investigated the personnel, especially the woman in charge. It has been to your advantage, I assure you, for her to hold the position that she does. Am I to take it that you disapprove?"
Napoleon held the old man's gaze as he quickly formulated his response. He suddenly couldn't recall why he had been upset about this.
"No…um..no sir. I do not. Karina has been very helpful, insightful even. We were just…surprised, I suppose…when she told us about her..job".
Illya spoke up now, his interest in this was obviously personal as well as professional. He wasn't even certain there was a difference any longer.
"Sir, I was initially concerned due to…well, the implications. I felt as though there might be a misunderstanding about the nature of…"
Waverly held up his hand to stop him. Shaking his head, he knew how his agent had viewed this.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I assure you that there is no need for concern. I sent you into this with full knowledge of the woman's position with her government…your government. No one is watching. You are quite safe from outside scrutiny".
The blond head nodded in understanding. It wouldn't change the rules, of course. After this affair, there could be no further contact with Karina.
"Mr. Solo, do you have a plan for handling Mr. Putkin? Less than 24 hours remain before the performance of the two dance companies at Carnegie Hall. The man must be exposed to the Soviet authorities as a Thrush agent before anyone sets foot on that stage. He is responsible, not only for infiltrating a member country, but for the death of Uri Ivanov. His sister has taken the news very badly, and, in fact, has asked to see you, Mr. Kuryakin. Unfortunately, for now, that is impossible. I do not relish the idea of retribution, as it were, but leaving Mr. Putkin to the Soviet process of…justice…will be good enough for this man. That is all, gentlemen".
With that, they were dismissed.
Hours later the two men in charge of this affair were satisfied with their plans for the next day. Copious amounts of scotch and vodka had fueled their abilities as they set down the steps they would follow; but now the effects threatened to flatten all resolve to action. Each man was weary and sleep deprived; something that alcohol conspired with as the clock ticked past midnight. Napoleon stretched out on his sofa and fell very soundly asleep, even as his friend lay on the floor, his face lovingly embraced by the luxurious fingers of the shag carpet. Neither of them woke during the remaining night hours, and only daylight and their perfectly wound internal clocks prodded them into wakefulness and the din of nearly identical hangovers.
"Chyort!"
Illya was a mass of clinched muscles, none of them cooperating with his efforts to emerge from the position he'd slept in. No carpet was plush enough to make a floor truly comfortable for six hours, and the still untended rib injury from yesterday meant he would pay the ultimate price today. Not good planning, considering the importance of what they were facing.
By the time Napoleon had showered and changed, Illya had made the trip back to his apartment and done the same. He was waiting at the curb for his partner to pick him up when he detected something, or someone, approaching from the stoop of the neighboring building. In spite of the previous night's vodka and the lack of a good night's sleep, his senses were on alert as he prepared to respond to whatever was coming. At the sound of footsteps he turned, every motion producing a sliver of pain in his ribcage and head.
It was a child, heading for school and blissfully unaware of the un-played scene in the blond man's mind. Illya watched the boy as he headed down the block, his hand clutching a metal lunchbox decorated with characters from a much loved television show.
"Pishchi. Mne nuzhna pishcha". The lunchbox reminded him that his stomach was empty. Food would help him to concentrate.
He was considering breakfast options as Napoleon pulled up in front of him. He carefully ducked into the front seat, the grating of the injured rib now combining with the growling in his empty stomach. So far, it was a completely miserable day.
"I'm escorting you to medical, Illya. No arguments".
He wasn't going to get any. They knew what had to be done today, and living with the pain wouldn't help them accomplish their task.
"I need to eat". Simply stated, Napoleon recognized his partner's approaching plunge into a foul mood.
"The canteen will be open. Medical first…"
Illya let his head rest on the seat back, the hunger arguing with pain over which of them would gain the first round of attention. He reasoned that the hunger was making his ribs more uncomfortable, so food should be his first order of business.
"I need to eat. Go and get us some breakfast and we can eat in your office after I get my ribs wrapped. We still have things to discuss concerning today's activities".
Napoleon thought that a reasonable course of action, so after escorting his partner to Medical, he headed for the canteen to order some breakfast and then check in with Mr. Waverly. He was impressed that so much was being accomplished within the first half hour at headquarters. If this were an indication of how the remainder of the day would go, he felt confident that everything was going to work like a charm.
Dr. Morgan was on duty. He scowled at the approaching man, knowing full well that if he was coming in voluntarily, he must be in pain. If he were in pain, regardless of the doctor's efforts to help him, the Russian's moods were never pleasant when he was in for treatment or salvaging. He was, by all staff reports, the worst patient in the entirety of UNCLE. What a bad omen for the day's potential.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you look a little worse for wear. Why…"
"I think I have a broken rib. It happened yesterday". The doctor motioned for him to take off his shirt and was not surprised to see evidence of more than an injured ribcage.
"That's quite a bruise you have on your back, Illya. Have you passed any blood…"
Once again he was cut off. Speed and less talk was preferred.
"No, doctor. No blood. Just the rib, and as quickly as we can make this. I'm in the middle of something rather urgent".
"You should have x-rays".
The physician watched as the blond head came fully up from the hunched posture, blue eyes boring into his with purpose and…was that threatening?
"Jack…Dr. Morgan…I promise you I will return and let you x-ray, probe and otherwise invade my body for the purpose of healing me of whatever is broken. But, not today. I just need you to wrap this up so that I am at less risk than I am at present'…
Not threatening. Tired and determined.
"I promise you. Just, please, today let's make it simple".
Jack Morgan knew when to relinquish control to these men. The mission superseded personal well being, and he recognized that now was one of those times.
"All right, but I want to see you back here as soon as you are finished in the field. Do you understand?"
A nod…
"Yes, doctor. I understand".
Illya met Napoleon as they had planned, and his breakfast was laid out and ready to be consumed. His torso was so tightly bandaged that now he wondered if he could eat more than a few bites. He had allowed for one painkiller, but nothing that would interfere with the day's work. As the two men sat and ate, they reviewed the plan from the previous evening. There were only a few things that needed coordinating from here at headquarters.
"Oh, just out of curiosity'… Illya had been wondering about something, but had never had time to question his partner.
"The other night, when I was collecting Yelena, you were supposed to be waiting for me. How is it that you came into headquarters from a date?" Not that it mattered now, but must Napoleon always be testing his patience on this particular subject?
The brown eyes took on a wounded expression, as though he were being accused of something truly sinister.
"Why, Illya, I was waiting outside…well, down the block. I was with Eloise, from translation. I didn't see any reason why I couldn't wait with someone pleasant. Besides, I was hungry, and you only had to signal me. She understood I might need to leave, so…"
Illya rolled his eyes, which made his head hurt even more.
"Napoleon…"
It didn't matter. Today was what mattered, and by the end of the day, KGB agent Anatoly Petreivich Putkin would be exposed as a Thrush operative, subject to the whims of Soviet discipline and justice. Illya wondered if the man truly deserved such a fate, but then recalled Yelena and her dead brother. Thrush had claimed the scientist and then disposed of him, and Putkin was the agent who had provided the death sentence.
"Yes, he deserves his fate".
"What was that?" Napoleon looked across the desk to his stern looking partner.
"Oh, I was thinking of Putkin, and what he has ahead of him. It is a grim future, if any at all".
"He does deserve his fate. Hardly anyone connected with Thrush isn't deserving of whatever he or she gets. Don't waste time on…I know you have reservations about sending anyone into the hands of the KGB, but there isn't any point to it'. Napoleon did understand some of what his friend was thinking, and how he had dreaded this assignment from the beginning. They didn't have time for it.
"Now, how early will Karina and the others arrive at the venue?"
Napoleon was down to the plan, and they were going to need every minute of this day in order to execute it properly.