CHAPTER FORTY TWO
The trees on the road were heavy with hints of autumn, their summer freshness already giving way to the lustrous colours heralding the fall as Napoleon naturally thought of it. He shifted in his seat slightly, trying to alter the position of his arm to make it more comfortable against the side of the car while he drove. After a noisy beginning, all the other occupants of the vehicle had gradually succumbed to a sleepy silence; even Illya's eyes were now firmly closed, his head nodding against the strapping that held his arm firmly against his chest. Napoleon glanced in the mirror, surveying the all-female group behind him with a smile. In the middle Therese dozed a little, the baby pressed to her in a soft sling, her blouse open, revealing a little of the breast that the baby, with soft sucking noises, was firmly attached to, the two girls equally cemented to her on either side. He sighed before giving Kuryakin a sharp dig with his elbow, receiving a grunt and the usual inscrutable expression as his partner woke up.
'Yes?'
'Just checking, in case your snoring disturbs the girls.'
'Hardly likely, since I wasn't asleep in the first place.' Illya shifted himself a little to turn, a soft smile coming to his face as he took in the scene on the back seat.
'Are you sure you can drive with that injury?' he said, turning back and staring at Napoleon.
'Well I'm managing so far, aren't I, and besides, I'm the best of the bunch as far as I can see.'
Illya smiled and stared into the distance, the road relatively free of traffic on such a beautiful day. He calculated how long it would be until they arrived, how long it had been since they had last seen their boys. His mind raced back to the day of the car chase through Manhattan, the scene at UNCLE, and then all that had followed in Bermuda.
His injury had been a little more serious than he had thought, not that he had thought much about it at the time. Funk had done a good job suturing the wound, but the arm had had to wait until their return to UNCLE before an X-ray had confirmed the hairline crack caused not by the bullet, but by the flying debris following Illya as he raced for the safety of the stairs to the Spa. He had spent several days confined to a room shared with Napoleon on the third floor, Mitzi keeping guard and bringing regular reports of Therese's progress until he had been able to stagger to her room unaided.
By the time he saw her again, she had regained the colour in her face he saw drain away on the day of Sabi's birth, although for a while she seemed withdrawn into a world he was not given entry to. On Napoleon's advice, he waited patiently, rewarded by a smile eventually, as she regained strength and was able to take on the feeding of the baby, little Sabi's sheer lust for life bringing Therese out of what Illya feared might become a prolonged period of depressive introspection.
'She's as greedy as you are' she said, as he sat down gratefully on the chair next to her bed, the baby, tiny as she was, blowing diminutive raspberries as she settled in determinedly on Therese's breast.
'Mm. I suppose I'll have to take a back seat for the next few months' he complained, a mischievous smile illuminating his face. Reaching over, she grasped his hand, her eyes locking with his.
'Don't worry' she said, looking back at the baby. 'I know she's gone now. I just feel so sad that so many good people have been lost too along the way.' Illya squeezed her hand, unspoken memories and thoughts flowing between them as they looked at their daughter.
Napoleon had spent what felt like hours to Illya on the phone each day to Jo, Illya lying back on his pillow with his eyes closed feigning sleep as they talked. He had heard him describing Sabi in minute detail, her uncle obviously almost as obsessed by the baby as her own father was, Illya's heart sank at the conclusion he drew from his partner's feelings for the little girl. They had lain side by side in companionable silence for a while until Napoleon had said suddenly,
'I think she's hiding something from me.' Illya heaved himself up the bed a little and looked over to his partner, now more human looking after all the tubes had been removed.
'Oh, good or bad, do you think?' Napoleon continued to stare ahead for a while.
'Good. I'm sure of it.' He looked back at Kuryakin, lying with only a sheet covering him, the astonishing smoothness of his skin only marred by the damage inflicted by the bullet and subsequent explosion in the cavern.
'By the way, you didn't manage to get the recipe from Funk for all the silky smooth skin you're displaying, did you comrade?' he asked. Illya's expression never altered, his eyes closed against the bright light outside and his chin tilted upwards in silent contemplation of nothing.
'He said he'd send it to me, but I'm not holding my breath' he murmured, a faint smile altering his lips as he continued to lie immobile on the bed.
Something about that smile awakened another memory of the last few days in Napoleon. He turned onto his side, pulling the pillows behind him to support his arm.
'I noticed you smirk during that Central meeting' he began, Illya's eyes opening at his comment. 'Care to explain what that was all about?' Illya shifted a little uncomfortably and then turned to face him.
'It was so ironic that I couldn't help myself' he said. 'I hoped no-one else noticed, but of course I should have known you wouldn't be concentrating on the important issues.' Napoleon ignored the jibe and waited, watching Kuryakin's face flush imperceptibly. 'If you remember, they were discussing the plan for the release of the virus' he started.
'Not something one would normally smile about' Napoleon added.
'Exactly. However, cast your mind back to the meeting we had in New York with Dr Francis, when she got all excited about . . .'
'Your results.' Napoleon remembered it now. Illya had stopped Dr Francis in her tracks and with all that was going on, he had forgotten entirely about his results, assuming that they were the same as all the other victims of Hoang's mutant strain.
'Let me guess' Napoleon continued, a wry smile coming to his face. 'This sounds like a cellular version of 'you can't put a good man down.'
'Or in my case, you can't put a good sperm down' Illya replied, 'which is actually rather unfortunate bearing in mind what I will have to do when I return home.'
'But not before all those good folks in one of our labs crawl all over you for a sample or two' Napoleon said, now not being able to contain a broad smile at his partner's expense.
'Yes, thank you for reminding me. So as you can see now, I knew at the meeting that their plans would come to nothing, as long as our scientists were able to make a vaccine, which according to Dr Francis they will be able to, not that that will help the poor men who have already been affected' Illya added, growing serious.
'Mm. So Sabi will be the last of this generation of Kuryakins' Napoleon said, regarding his partner, who in his present state looked more like a teenager than the father of so many children.
'Yes Napoleon. We are handing the reins of procreation over to you now.' Illya glanced over, and swore he saw the tiniest gleam in Napoleon's deep brown eyes.
'Perhaps' he said.
xxxxxxxxxx
By the time Napoleon and he were on their feet the consequences of Clark Hoang's plot were well in the process of being worked through by an UNCLE team working with the Bermudian police force. Illya stood behind one of the desks assigned to UNCLE, a Section Three colleague handing him a copy of a list of possible suspects he was working through.
'Mr Solo is at the other desk, so none of them should be able to weasel past, eh?' the Section Three man said, as Illya gratefully pulled out the glasses which had been sent with the UNCLE team, and perused the list.
'I hope not' he replied.
It had been quite a coup, the THRUSH Central members running straight into the arms of the US naval forces waiting for them in the boardroom. Apart from a few obvious names, the others were unknown to him. He frowned at the last few, only numbers were listed, the guards unable to give anything but the numeral assigned to them. Illya wondered where their future lay, now that their leader, or what remained of him, lay entombed beneath them. He moved over to the temporary screen that divided the desks and glanced round. Napoleon was also checking a similar list, another Section Three agent sitting patiently waiting in front of him.
'Is Funk on your list?' he asked, as Solo looked up. Napoleon looked down again, shaking his head.
'If he appears, tell me' Illya said, disappearing behind the screen. Napoleon frowned, but the appearance of the first interviewees prevented him pursuing whatever Kuryakin might be up to next door.
Illya sat down, and waited. He had nothing to contribute to the first few interviews, except to indicate clearly to his colleague the true identity of the two nurses who had manhandled him on the night of his capture. He could hear another nurse complaining bitterly next door, obviously extremely disappointed with his partner in some way. The Section Three agent handled the guards very professionally; obviously a strategy had been agreed and, after a brief explanation, they were removed to a secure facility Illya had vaguely heard of on a remote Caribbean island he hoped he would never visit. He sighed at the memory of wearing the same uniform, choosing to cover over the hated tattoo until something could be done about it in New York.
After a short break, Napoleon came through and drew up a chair next to Illya.
'There are only two left, Frank; we can deal with them' he said, indicating that the Section Three agent could leave. Illya consulted his list, wondering how his partner seemed to know what he didn't.
'I'll deal with the first one; you can add anything relevant, OK?' Solo said as Edvard Zoltan shuffled in.
He looked a pale shadow of his former arrogant self, his clothes battered and creased from the experience in the cavern and its aftermath.
'Name' Napoleon said flatly, 'for the record of course' he added, turning on the small tape recorder on the desk.
'Dr Edvard Zoltan' he replied, something within him giving him the strength to look Napoleon in the face with unconcealed hatred.
'That's not his name' Illya interrupted suddenly. 'Perhaps you might like to start again, this time with the truth.' Zoltan stared malevolently at him, before calmly addressing Napoleon again.
'I don't know what he means' he began. 'My name is Edvard Zoltan, chief of . . .' Illya stared back, a look on his face which even Napoleon found uncomfortable.
'His name is Sorin Brezeanu; I believe his rank was Lieutenant Colonel' Illya began coldly. 'On 16 October 1941 he was part of the forces capturing the city of Odessa in Ukraine after a two month siege. Unfortunately for the citizens of Odessa, a delayed Soviet bomb exploded on 22 October killing sixty seven Nazi and Romanian soldiers. In reprisal for that, Lieutenant Colonel Brezeanu here and his fellow officers rounded up nineteen thousand people and after soaking them with gasoline, set them on fire.'
Zoltan jumped to his feet, his face flushed.
'How do you know that? Were you there?' he shouted, suddenly silenced by the expression on Kuryakin's face.
'As a matter of fact I was' Illya replied calmly, feeling Napoleon's hand on his shoulder. 'Some of those that you murdered were children I went to school with. They were my friends' he added quietly, turning slightly to Napoleon. 'When this butcher and his so called colleagues had finished in Odessa they moved into the countryside where my uncle's farm was. They rounded up the Jews and Roma and put them in buildings with specially made machine gun holes.' Napoleon could feel his partner begin to tremble slightly under his touch.
'That's enough' Napoleon said, raising his voice and summoning two Section Three agents from outside.
'You need to sign a deposition' he said, looking at Illya, as the two agents came in. 'Take him to a secure holding cell and make sure he is not left alone at any time, you understand?' Zoltan lunged forward towards Illya, and spat at him, bellowing a string of words that Napoleon had no wish for his partner to translate.
Without speaking, Napoleon handed Illya his handkerchief. Kuryakin slowly wiped his face, his whole frame rigid for a few moments until eventually he regained more control and sat down.
'I recognised him at the meeting' he said quietly, breathing out in a long, sad sigh. 'Those memories, I had hoped they were . . .'. He sighed again, pushing the hair from his face and covering it with his hands for a moment.
'Perhaps in order for them to be laid to rest, this had to happen' Napoleon said. Illya looked up.
'Yes, perhaps.'
There was a stir behind the screen and then a familiar face stood in front of them. Illya looked up and then stood, Erik Funk's usual fake smile now firmly attached as the two men eyed each other across the desk.
'Napoleon, I can deal with this alone. Perhaps you could make sure Dr Zoltan has been dealt with' Illya said, maintaining his gaze in Funk's direction. Napoleon looked at the two men, and then moved towards the screen.
'I'll be back, Illya' he said, giving Funk a last look before leaving.
When he returned, Illya was sitting at the desk alone.
'Before you ask, he's gone' Illya said immediately. 'I respected your judgement over Korbel and now I want you to respect mine over Funk.'
'Perhaps if you'd explain what happened it'd be easier to understand' Napoleon said, drawing up a chair. Illya leaned back slightly, the strain of the last half hour showing on his face.
'We came to, well, an agreement' he began, looking down. 'I traded his life for those of my wife and daughter' he said blankly. 'If you want to report me to Waverly, I'll understand.' They sat in silence for a few moments before Napoleon got up.
'I understand they've got a new à la Carte menu at the main building' he said. Illya looked up, his eyes brimming with too many memories, both recent and distant, or so it seemed to Napoleon as he looked down at him. For a moment Solo saw the child in the man, glimpsed his pain, before, with a long sigh Kuryakin stood up, a faint smile attempted.
'Thank you Napoleon; I'd like that' he said.
Illya had spoken to both his other daughters on the phone once he was well enough, but despite their pleas, he had insisted they wait until their father and mother and baby sister were well enough to join them. He had paused too long when Pascale had asked after Anya, his usual skills at deception deserting him when speaking to his eldest daughter. She had been silent for a few moments, before saying,
'Papa, when we were at home, I thought some very bad things about Anya. Do you think she forgave me?' Illya pursed his lips, his arm suddenly throbbing in some kind of sympathy for the ache in his daughter's heart.
'Anya loved you very much Pascale' he said. 'You were very special to her, very special, and I know she wouldn't have wanted you to feel sad.'
'Oh but I do feel sad, Papa, because I won't see her anymore.'
'Well, when we return home, perhaps we can do something to remember her; perhaps you and Tasiya can think of something you'd like to do' he suggested, the knowledge of Anya's death suddenly causing him to reflect on the other two women in his life who had loved him and now were also lost to him because of the actions of another, altogether more evil member of the same sex.
Illya twisted back, writhing a little in his seat, before glancing at Napoleon and then surreptitiously sliding his good hand inside his trousers.
'What the . . .' Illya good humouredly removed his hand and re-buckled his belt before settling into the seat.
'If you had had done to you what I had done to me, and then several weeks had passed, you would be doing what I was just doing' he said elliptically.
'Oh, right' Napoleon said, suddenly looking in the mirror and smiling. He nodded to Illya and jerked his head back slightly. 'Take a look behind. Is that who I think it is?' Illya with a slight groan twisted back again, as Therese looked up.
'Who is it?' she said, gently lifting the baby onto her shoulder and faintly rubbing her back. Illya frowned, before a crooked grin lit up his face.
'Get ready for a scene from 'Gone with the Wind' he said laconically, turning back and giving Napoleon a sideways glance.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
They had travelled back in an UNCLE jet to New York, both Petula and Brent accompanying them on the relatively short journey home. Illya had spent the entire time from take-off with the baby in his arms reading a book, until Therese had suddenly appeared guitar in hand. The seats were rather advantageously arranged in a group, Napoleon instantly taking the hint and the baby from his now scowling partner.
'Where did you find that?' Illya growled, as Tess sat down opposite him.
'Oh, Steve collected up a load of my things from the house and this was one of them' she said lightly, winking at Petula, who still seemed to be recovering from the shock of finding out who Tess really was. She played a few chords, and then leaning towards the now slightly less miserable Illya, whispered something into his ear. He sighed, before putting down his book.
'Please don't, you really don't have to do it' Petula said, her face saying something entirely different.
'Oh but he does' Napoleon said; 'he is, after all, a man of his word.'
'You mean a man of your word' Illya mumbled, before sitting forward slightly as Therese, faintly at first, but then more powerfully, began to play the first chords of a tune Napoleon had last heard her singing what seemed like centuries before in the house at Grove Street. Illya's face became more pensive; he turned his body to face Petula, and then began to sing.
Black, black, black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are something wondrous fair,
The brightest eyes and the bravest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.
I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground whereon she goes,
And if my love no more I'll see,
My life would quickly fade away.
Black, black, black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Petula, whose expression had become completely enraptured by the song and the singer, did not notice it, but it was the woman next to her that Illya's sole attention was directed towards, her delicate and expressive accompaniment of the Joan Baez song adding to the power and strength of his voice. He smiled a sweet smile as he finished and she rushed across to thank him.
'No Petula, I think we all owe you a great deal' Illya said. 'A great deal.'
Waverly was characteristically gazing at papers in his office when they arrived, as if they had only just popped out minutes before.
'Ah gentlemen, I trust your return was greeted with a suitable show of shock and amazement from your colleagues' he began, not looking up, disarming them with a rare attempt at humour.
They had indeed been greeted with reactions varying from mild shock to near collapse, the girl on the reception desk screaming uncontrollably when she saw Kuryakin and having to be taken off somewhere to recover. Napoleon could see that the Russian was beginning to enjoy it, breaking into an almost broad grin as Darryl Moore appeared at the door of their office. He looked flushed already, a look of delight and horror somehow combined on the broad features of his face as he stared at the two agents sitting companionably having coffee together.
'Ah Darryl' Illya said, standing up, 'do come in. Coffee?' Darryl stumbled into the room, accepting the cup gingerly before sitting down next to Napoleon.
'I . . . um, well, gee I'm . .' Napoleon began to grin before putting down his cup and patting Darryl's knee.
'Next time, try not to be so, well, accurate Darryl' he said.
By the time he had explained what had happened to the junior agent, Illya had disappeared, a cryptic message indicating he was with Waverly left on his desk. Another hour had elapsed before he returned; his usual avoidance strategies in full force.
'We should be going' he said. 'I'm going upstairs to collect Tess and the girls from the clutches of Mr Shearer, so I'll collect you from your house at five.' He walked off without further comment, Solo going to Waverly's office for his own interview before finally making his way home to await the Kuryakin tribe later.
xxxxxxxx
The final part of the journey led them down a narrow road, more like a track really. On one side a thickly wooded area stretched away while on the other side the road ran very close to the lake, a breath taking view afforded them across the water towards the mountains beyond.
'Ah' Napoleon sighed expansively, 'Blue Mountain Lake. Let's hope the cabin lives up to expectation.'
'Stop; pull over' Illya suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward. Napoleon hit the brakes fairly gently to avoid consternation in the back before Illya heaved open the door and with difficulty got out and stood at the edge of the shelving ground leading to the beach below them. The car behind pulled round and continued on the road, as, to Napoleon's surprise, he heard Illya shout something and uncharacteristically wave enthusiastically with his good arm. Nothing happened for a moment until he saw two figures in a boat out on the lake begin to wave back, one standing up and causing a scarily violent rocking movement in the little craft until he was pulled back down into it again.
All of a sudden there was another shout from the beach before two more diminutive figures, both entirely nude except for their rather jaunty hats, could be seen hurtling towards the Russian full tilt.
'Oh look girls, the boys are here!' Tess shouted, as she wound down the window and the girls started shouting through it, Tasiya standing up and having to be restrained by her mother. Illya knelt down as the boys approached, thus able to take the joint force as they both hurled themselves into his free arm.
'Those boys has got no clothes on!' Tasiya cried out, assuming her usual role, as Pascale climbed out of the other side of the car and rushed to her father's aid, scooping up Misha as Illya carried the squirming Valya back up to the car.
Therese managed to get the car door open as they arrived, Tasiya dancing around her father as the boys now clamoured towards their mother. Napoleon got out and relieved Illya of Valya as his partner grabbed hold of Tasiya, all of the family now gathered round to look at the smallest Kuryakin.
'Now, let me look at my new grandchild please.' Illya turned as his mother approached and kissed him, taking in his injury with a frown before turning her attention towards Tess. The baby, as if aware of someone new but important in her life cooed sweetly before gazing gently at her grandmother. Marina took her into her arms, a smile so like Illya's sweeping across her face. 'Well, I think this one is like her mama' she murmured, stroking the baby's face gently with her finger. Illya came up beside her, his arm gently encircling his mother's waist.
'Her name is Sabina Grace Illyevna' he said. 'Sabi, meet your babushka.'
They all walked the few hundred yards to the cabin, Illya noticing that the rowing boat was now moving rapidly towards the dock just beyond it.
'Peter is showing Marvin how to fish' Marina said, smiling, 'Josefina has been bringing him here every weekend you've been away.' They could see that the car which had overtaken them was now parked in front of the cabin, a luxuriously large building with a delightful verandah stretching across its frontage. The sound of a 'cello, sweet to Illya's ears, could just be heard as they approached, Napoleon bringing up the rear and parking the car, before mysteriously disappearing down the hill towards the lake. Marina gathered the children round her as Tess sank gratefully onto a long sofa on the verandah, the girls helping her to force the twins into their clothes, as Illya slipped noiselessly inside.
Pablo's body was characteristically sloped over the instrument as he played, Misha accompanying him on the piano. Brian Pearson stood just behind him, his hand placed lovingly on his partner's shoulder. Illya stood by the door until the piece was finished and Pablo looked up, an expression of joy filling his face as he put down the instrument as quickly as he could and stood up.
'Papa!' He ran towards Illya and buried himself into the Russian's chest, Illya trying hard not to cringe with pain too obviously for the second time in the last few minutes as the boy embraced him. Misha stood up too, coming over to Illya and kissing him in the Russian fashion, before looking him up and down critically.
'What is this, Illya Nikovetch?' he said playfully, touching Illya's hair. 'Trying to ape your brother?' Illya assumed a pained expression as Pablo released him.
'I was forced into it by my sister in law's doing' he said, not succeeding in keeping a smile from his face, 'but I have two weeks holiday during which time I am hoping it will grow to a more acceptable length.'
He looked round the room, which seemed immense, a huge fireplace dominating the space, and the piano, a baby grand, placed strategically in front of an immense panoramic window looking out onto the lake.
'Did you have this checked out?' he said with an arched look, glancing round. Misha raised his eyebrows.
'Yes, Illyusha. Your brother in law and his partner have been guarding us very effectively since you two disappeared on your mission. Now, far more importantly, where is my lovely sister-in-law, and where is my new neice?'
xxxxxxxxxx
The evening sun was in its final gasp over the lake as Napoleon plonked himself down on the sofa outside, a feeling of utter happiness flooding his soul despite the events of the last hours. After he had parked the car he had left the others to themselves and followed a hunch of his that his own family would be nearby. He found them on the beach, the two of them standing facing the lake and skimming pebbles across the water. His wife looked as she always did; the essence of elegance, a cream coloured sweater over some elegant navy capri pants, whilst Fabian frolicked in the wavelets at the edge of the lake, his thick curly hair blown about by the breeze. He looked up suddenly and then, dropping the stone he was preparing to throw, sprinted back up the beach shouting 'daddy!' the sound echoing off the far distant hills as he ran towards his father.
He saw Jo turn round and smile, before slowly following their son towards him. They walked up as far as the cabin, before sitting down on the sofa, Fabian barging his way into the house, where they could hear a chorus of voices greeting him. Jo looked at him, before tracing her hand down his arm.
'Was it bad, this time?' He gazed at her and shrugged.
'If you mean this, then not really. There were worse things' he said, gazing at the lake. 'What about you?' She smiled again, her face uncannily relaxed as she nestled into his side a little.
'It's been an interesting time' she began, 'revealing even. But I expect you know that if you've been back to the office.' He nodded, thinking of Darryl and others who had made their true feelings about him and Illya apparent after the scene at UNCLE HQ, much to their evident chagrin on Solo and Kuryakin's return.
'I don't mean that' he interrupted, fixing her with a prolonged but gentle stare. She maintained his gaze, before saying, 'the twins have worn us out. They are the worst combination of your partner and my sister that they could ever have contrived to create. When I have the next examination, just pray that there is only one baby there and that it has at least the calmer traits of both sides of our families.' He continued to stare at her, before a grin spread slowly across his face. After giving her an immense hug, he sprung up from the sofa and headed inside as quickly as his son had just done, Jo laughing gently at the loud cheer that emanated from inside the cabin after a few moments, before Marina and Peter and Brian and Misha burst out again, smiling at her fondly before getting into Brian's car and heading off towards town.
Jo wondered on many occasions afterwards what might have happened if she had joined Napoleon at that moment. Then she would not have seen the two men arrive at the deck, their black uniforms just unusual enough to be noticeable in the gathering gloom of the evening. She had stood up, the binoculars casually slung onto the floor by the sofa hastily caught up and trained onto the men long enough to tell her that they had come for something more serious than a harmless fishing trip. Leaping up, she had run into the cabin, forcing herself to explain calmly and accurately what was happening at the lake.
The response from both Illya and Napoleon had been instant. Withdrawing guns from places she had never noticed them to be, they both calmly ushered Tess, Jo and the children up the open staircase towards the rooms which were on a mezzanine area overlooking the room and where the children, apart from Sabi, had beds in two adjoining rooms.
In all the excitement Illya had not enquired as to the whereabouts of Vaz and Fernando. It was too late now; he shrugged and then, turning off the lights, headed for the kitchen area at the back of the cabin, Napoleon remaining behind a sofa near to the front door. An eerie silence immediately enveloped them; only the crackling of the fire could be heard, its flames casting weird shadows across the room after Illya had hastily shoved a fireguard in front of it before he disappeared. Napoleon's arm was working reasonably well, the wound almost healed, but he frowned at the state of his partner, whose arm was encased in a light plaster cast, hindering him from being as effectively deadly as he usually was. He prayed that whatever way they entered the building it would not be through any of the upstairs rooms.
Illya crouched down in the darkest part of the kitchen, his back thrust against the wall at the side of the large range cooker, his eyes trained on the door and windows facing it. He had discarded his sling as he reached his position, not wanting to restrict his movements even more, but he estimated his chances of success in any fight as pretty low, knowing the capabilities of Hoang's guards as he did. He slid the safety catch of his gun back, resting it for a moment on his knees as he waited. Jo had alerted them to the two guards, but there was no knowing whether more could be lurking, though he doubted it. Thinking of them reminded him of cases he had read about where Japanese soldiers had been found in remote jungle areas years after peace had been declared, not knowing it, their war still being waged until someone told them different. These guards had obviously been dispatched before Hoang's death, their mission now futile, but still deadly to their intended victims.
His ears strained to hear any unusual sound until an incredibly bright light trained in his direction suddenly temporarily blinded him. He stood up, his eyes focusing on a figure in the doorway which he aimed for.
'Illya stop.' Illya's finger relaxed on the trigger as the light disappeared and the kitchen light came on. Napoleon stood in the doorway, a guard behind him, the look on his face alerting his partner to something serious. He stood up and followed them back into the living room.
His beautiful twin boys lay inert on the sofa. For a moment the very worst nightmare seemed to be unfolding before his eyes before Napoleon signalled otherwise.
'They're drugged' he managed, before the guard standing next to him, the number 32 tattooed on his hand, unleashed a savage blow onto his arm, causing him to cry out with the pain of it. Illya stared at the children before turning and gazing at the other guard.
'Take these to the car and then go upstairs and tell 12 to bring the other ones' he said mechanically, the orders sounding like a reference to objects rather than Illya and Napoleon's most treasured children.
'Stop' he said, stepping between the guard and the boys. 'You don't understand.' For a second, Napoleon was sure that the guard would kill his partner. He had unholstered his gun and Napoleon could see that the safety catch was off. He brought it up towards the Russian and then, after a few seconds, he heard the click of the catch again. 'Your orders, they are . . . . not required anymore.' Both guards exchanged looks before the guard who was numbered 27 spoke.
'Explain' he said, calmly staring at Illya. Illya, who had gambled on the men being recruits who had not been given the drug Somatex, looked up, something he had seen beyond the two guards apparently giving him inspiration, or so it appeared to Napoleon.
'Your leader, Clark Hoang, is dead' Illya continued. 'His operation has been wound up by UNCLE and your remaining colleagues have been moved to a secure place for, retraining' he added, glancing at Napoleon, who seemed to have recovered from the blow and was standing next to the other guard. Holstering his gun, but reaching behind for some other weapon, the guard frowned slightly, as Illya edged a little towards the sleeping twins.
'And what proof can you possibly offer of that fact?' Illya pushed up his sleeve slightly and taking hold of the plaster on his hand, ripped it off. The number 3 tattoo stood out clearly on the pale skin, as both guards stared at it and then at him.
'3' the guard 27 said calmly. 'We were told you were to be terminated with Miss Day.'
'I survived' Illya said, growing more confident, 'my wife survived, but Hoang did not. Now give up your weapons and call off whoever is upstairs. It's all over.' The two guards gazed at each other silently for a moment, before finally, there was an ominous click from the other guard's gun just at the moment Illya stared into 27's eyes and saw the tell-tale blankness dwelling there.
There was a sudden explosion of glass breaking and a low thud as a silenced bullet brought down the guard facing Illya, but not before he had lunged forward, bringing the Russian down by the side of his children. Instantly, Napoleon threw himself sideways onto the other guard, as his gun discharged loudly, the bullet harmlessly embedding itself into the beam above them. From upstairs, he could hear the sound of fighting, before a figure loomed over him, and with a ruthless crack he saw Fernando chop the back of the guard's neck until he lay doll-like over Napoleon's legs. Fernando raced upstairs as Napoleon stumbled to his feet and reached Illya, who was slumped over the top of the children, blood pouring from his hand.
Grabbing a towel which had been fortuitously thrown on the back of the sofa, Napoleon wrapped Illya's hand, noting with a certain amount of irony that the guard's knife had pierced the skin cleanly through the tattoo. Kuryakin stirred a little as he worked.
'Lie still, he stuck you in the hand; a Bullseye on your little number there.' Illya groaned a little and then mumbled something incoherent.
'They're alright' Napoleon said, not sure at all but bargaining on the fact that Vaz had dealt successfully with whoever was upstairs. After a few minutes Illya sat up shakily, before looking across at the still sleeping boys by his side.
'Well at least they don't seem to have to have witnessed anything' he said, fondly reaching out towards Valya's sleeping head, his hair, almost white now with the summer sun, splayed out on the sofa.
'Yes, they look really quite cute like that' Napoleon added, looking at Illya. 'It's amazing how deceptive a sleeping person can be.' Illya gave him a rather gentler glare than normal before craning his head round as the other two agents came downstairs.
'Those chaps that should be alive are alive, and the chap that shouldn't, isn't' Vaz said in his usual incomprehensible public schoolboy accent, plonking himself down in a chair and putting his feet on the coffee table.
'The girls are putting the children to bed' Fernando added more sensibly. They said that the guard must have got upstairs before and was waiting for them, complete with darts for the children. So hopefully, they'll sleep it off by tomorrow.' As if on cue, Josefina and Therese came downstairs, Tess carrying the baby in a wicker carrycot. They put her on the coffee table, all of them gathering round except Illya, who had laid back on the sofa, eyes closed. Therese suddenly looked round, her pale demeanour worsening at the sight of the two guards and her husband's hand, now leaking blood again through the towel.
'There's a large first aid box in the kitchen' Jo said helpfully, getting up. 'Napoleon make some coffee while Nando and Vaz clear up the unwelcome visitors' she continued, pulling Napoleon up and taking him off while Tess sat with Illya slumped against her.
The wound, when Marina inspected it later that evening, turned out to be less serious than they had imagined, though she was unhappy at the thought of her son's refusal to seek any further medical help until his holiday was over. He lay on the sofa while she worked, his head on Tess's lap, while Fernando and Vaz stepped outside with Napoleon.
'We saw two of them last week' Fernando began, staring into the distance. 'They looked very like any casual tourists round here at first, but after a while, there was a sort of pattern to their visits which set off a few alarm bells. Vaz did a rekky in the woods to the west side of the lake and found their camp. We've been watching them ever since. We made a big show of leaving when we knew you were coming, and we've been doing our own spot of camping out ever since.' Vaz, who was standing looking at the blackness of the lake as well, turned round and leaned against one of the posts supporting the verandah.
'We thought they'd make their move soon, and when Kuryakin's ma and pa went out with Misha and Bri, we guessed they'd think it was the most opportune time. I hid in the roofspace just above the hallway this afternoon, where it was easy to just swing down when I judged they were on the point of doing something serious.'
'And how did you judge that?' Napoleon asked, looking between them. They smiled at each other, reminding Napoleon wistfully of the relationship he and Illya had begun at their age.
'Sorry old chap, but we bugged the place. We had a horrible feeling at one point that Illya would start nosing round and discover them all, but he doesn't quite seem the ticket at the moment, or so we thought.' Napoleon smiled at their assessment.
'Well you can put it down to loss of blood and the fact that he's just had a baby' he said, his heart racing slightly at the memory of Jo's news before he re-focused his thoughts on the two younger men.
'We were party to the goings on upstairs and down' Fernando said, but I knew Illya was playing for time when he saw me outside. It was enough for me to cue Vaz in, and the rest you know.' He got up suddenly at the sound of a car, the unmistakeable sound of Tess' old car coming up the drive. The beetle swung round across the front of the building and Frankie Portelli leapt out, Fernando running down the wooden steps and embracing her, before the two of them walked away into the darkness.
'He knew she was coming, but he warned her not to come too early' Vaz said. Napoleon stared into the darkness for a while as Vaz sat down next to him.
'So those two . . .'
'are engaged, but don't tell Kuryakin as she wants to break it to him herself.'
'Right.' As if on cue, Illya emerged from the cabin, his hand bound with a seriously professional bandage to add to the cast on the same arm. Vaz got up and went down the steps, yawning.
'I'm just going to gather up our camping stuff, so I'll leave you two old chaps to chew the cud together' he said, a faint smirk on his dark face, as he disappeared into the woods at the side of the cabin.
Illya plonked himself down with a sigh as Napoleon shifted round to be able to see him more clearly.
'OK?'
'I suppose so. My mother has bandaged me up like an Egyptian mummy which is the price I have to pay for not being carted off to the hospital I imagine' he moaned, squinting slightly at the figures he could just see in the distance.
'Illya, we need to talk in the morning'. Illya turned towards his partner, for the first time, feeling able to simply relax with the person who was probably closest to understanding him in the world, beyond even his wife and mother he sometimes thought.
'If it's about next year, then let's talk about it now. We all need to enjoy this holiday, Napoleon' Illya said seriously, still trying to work out who exactly it was down by the beach.
'OK. And by the way it's Fernando and Frankie, so can we concentrate on our lives now?' Illya smiled and nodded, before looking at his partner again more seriously.
'I have to . . . take a break from all this, Napoleon. What has happened, we need to have some time as a family now, without my job getting in the way.' He realised he was making little sense. He pursed his lips and began again; sure that Napoleon knew the facts, only needed him to explain the reasons.
'I haven't resigned from UNCLE, I'm just taking leave of absence for a year. After that, well, we'll see' he said quietly. 'I've been offered a research post in the Physics Department at NYU; I'll be starting in October.' He hesitated, waiting for any response from his partner, but Napoleon's calm silence encouraged him to continue. 'I know it's very soon, but the post became vacant, Waverly agreed to it and it'll allow me to, well, finish one thing and start another.'
Napoleon, who knew about Kuryakin's plans from his talk with Waverly earlier that day, frowned.
'I'm sorry, I'm a bit beyond riddles' he said, sounding as kind as he could. Illya bit his lip slightly, before beginning again.
'If you think I was rash to come to that deal with Funk, believe me Napoleon, I had to. Tess nearly died, there was so much blood … ' He characteristically ran his hand through his hair as he leant forward, the memory flooding back as he talked. 'However, he did save her, and it was without having to perform a hysterectomy.'
'Which is good for her . . .'
'But leaves me with a decision to make, particularly since Dr Francis' revelations' Illya replied with a slight grin.
'So that is the thing you need to finish, I presume.' Illya nodded. 'I don't really have a choice. Unless I take a vow of celibacy for the next twenty years, I have to make sure that this can never happen again. Besides, I think we've proved ourselves to be a good Catholic family in that regard; six children seems like a good number.' He sighed deeply and sat back, the trauma of the last hours suddenly washing through him like an engulfing wave.
'OK, I understand the finishing, so what's with the starting?' Napoleon pressed, seeing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion creeping over his partner, but not wanting the moment to end inconclusively between them. Illya remained in a semi-recumbent position on the sofa, his eyes almost closed.
'I'm going to convert, Napoleon.' Napoleon's lips curled slightly as he watched his partner, for a moment having no idea what he meant.
'Sorry, Illya, you're going to . . .'
'Convert. To Catholicism, Napoleon. You know, that place at the end of our road you occasionally darken the doors of.' Napoleon turned from him slightly and looked out over towards the darkness, the two of them listening to the steady ebb and flow of the lake on the beach.
'Why?' Napoleon asked eventually, not moving from the now comfortable positions they had both assumed.
'For only one reason' Kuryakin replied. 'Because I believe it to be true. I haven't had a conversion experience or any such sudden enlightenment believe me; in fact I've done everything I could not to take this step.' He sat up suddenly, turning towards his partner, a look of relief washing across his tired face. 'When we lay on that bridge and it looked so, well, hopeless, I realised then that everything, all my life had been leading to this moment, and that whatever happened afterwards, I had to acknowledge it. I've spent a lifetime studying things, Napoleon, and I thought that if I studied this religion I would exorcise it, put it on a shelf with the other subjects I've ticked in my list. But unlike them it took hold of another part of me, and on that bridge I realised that I couldn't pretend any longer.' There was a silence between them, Napoleon aware that the Russian looked suddenly tense.
'What's wrong?' Napoleon murmured. 'Afraid it might come between us?'
'A little. Yes.' Napoleon smiled a little ruefully.
'You don't need to. I've been expecting it, just forgot that you'd have to take the long route via the collected works of St Thomas Aquinas, St Augustine and every Papal encyclical for the last two hundred years, comrade.'
'Being a Catholic doesn't mean you have to leave your intellect behind' Illya replied a little huffily before he noticed his partner's expression and smiled.
They returned to their former positions, their breathing slowing almost simultaneously as the rippling sound of the lake washed over them in the darkness.
xxxxxxxxx
The sun seemed low in the sky from the position he lay in, its warmth penetrating his exposed skin, including even his closed eyelids just enough to make him feel utterly at ease with his surroundings. He could hear from nearby the sounds of enthusiastic splashing, identifying the different voices, young and older of the people he most cared about in the world, all brought together in this place at this time. Much nearer than that, a snuffling sound threatening to develop into something far less pleasant forced him to open his eyes.
'Ah, Sabi, tu as faim, herrison?' The baby, nicknamed 'hedgehog' by her father after her amazingly thick baby hair, stared back, her diminutive lips smacking together in answer to his question. Illya sat up and blinked rapidly, before reaching into the basket and gently lifting out his baby girl. He could not tell yet what hue her eyes might finally become, but in every other way, his prayer had been granted; she was indeed a near replica of his beloved Tess.
He felt her slide into place next to him, the flat curls of her hair swinging onto his shoulders and her skin giving off outdoor fragrances of sea and salt and pine woods as she reached across and he passed the baby between them. Therese smiled and pulled down her swimming costume, the baby latching on with a kind of delighted abandon that her father understood very well, her tiny hands steadying herself on the breast as she sucked. Illya leaned back and pulled an assortment of large cushions behind his wife, before leaning back again and surveying the scene.
The boys, all five of them, were engaged in building a sandcastle of monolithic dimensions, orchestrated by Napoleon and Fernando, a kind of primitive water filling line by means of buckets established from the sand to the sea in order to fill the moat. Illya watched his partner's patient attempts at restraining the twins, who, predictably to their father, had not grasped the fine points of architecture and were now running round the moat at full speed, much to the fury of their sister.
'Wait for it . . .' he murmured almost to himself, as with a tremendous shove Valya pushed Misha, the slighter twin falling headlong into one of the curtain walls surrounding the castle.
Thunderous feet, accompanied by shouts of 'Papa papa' heralded the arrival of Tasiya, who fell headlong into her father, tears flowing.
'Tasiya, calm down, what is it?' Illya enquired, watching Fernando swing the twins onto his shoulders and set off down the beach with them, Fabian running behind.
'Papa, come! Those boys are spoiling Unca Poly's castle!' she blarted through her tears, her legs drumming onto his as she grabbed him round the neck. He put his good arm round her comfortingly and pulled her round a bit, as her breathing slowed and she began to gaze at her baby sister. After a while, she looked up at him, her purple eyes huge. 'Papa, do you still love me now that I'm big and we have a new girl?' she said, a serious expression making her frown. Illya sighed and stroked the flaming hair back from her face.
'I will always love you Tasiya, even when you're a very big grown up girl' Illya said, as she nuzzled him before with a mighty leap and a quick glance at the baby, she rushed back to the reconstruction of the wall now being attempted by Marv and Pablo.
Therese put the now replete baby back in her basket and pushed Illya onto his back.
'Happy?' she said, stroking his hair back from his face.
'Mm' he replied; 'I will be in a few weeks' time.' She leaned over him, her breasts rubbing his chest delightfully as he caught hold of her.
'Sure?' she said, her eyes questioning his as he gazed happily upwards.
'Sure' he said.