Illya Kuryakin woke up in sumptuous surroundings, next to a beautiful woman who, under other circumstances, might be considered a danger to his health rather than the recent recipient of his considerable skills as a lover.
He wondered if this was how Napoleon felt most of the time. There was something to be said for not always being the one waiting on the stairs.
He eased out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom; a hot shower and a clear head was what he needed now. Serena had made a deal with him, and his body had been the bargaining tool; this was something that was neither completely new, nor entirely comfortable. It was exactly the type of thing he usually avoided, passing these kinds of opportunities, such as they were, on to his partner. Their views on this type of liaison differed, although his opposition was not quite so staunch at the moment.
He made quick work of the shower, drying off inside the bathroom rather than risking more exposure to Serena. He wanted the information she had promised and nothing more. In spite of the pleasure they had shared, and it was pleasurable, it was getting late. Napoleon had probably been sweeping the city to try and locate him, perhaps had even checked the hotel. He stopped momentarily, looking at his reflection in the large mirror.
He wondered if Napoleon would know; he knew Serena, therefore it was likely he would hazard a guess at her methods of securing something in exchange for the promised piece of evidence.
Why should that be a problem? It seemed unlikely that his partner carried any real emotional attachment to the woman. Still, he might not approve.
"Maybe now he'll understand how I feel about these things".
The reflected image didn't respond verbally, but instead raised an eyebrow and assumed a look of censure.
"You're losing it, Kuryakin. It was sex…it was business".
He finished dressing, finger combing his hair as he exited the bathroom. Serena was curled up in the chair where he had originally encountered her. Her robe hung precariously over her body, and she exuded an animal like sensuality so pervasive that he had to make a determination to not get too close. Once was enough, and he needed to conclude this transaction. They had a deal.
"Illya, you look as though you are not inclined to linger here with me. We could, perhaps, call for a meal to be brought to the room…"
It was almost a question, but with a small shake of his head she saw that the man was back to business. Pity, she had found him a very able lover and wondered when or if they might meet again.
"Serena, you made mention of a piece of evidence that would be useful to ending agent Putkin's career with the KGB. Now would be a good time, I think, for me to take possession of it. I believe I have fulfilled my part of our…for lack of a better word…bargain".
She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him; full lips conveying another bargain was available if he so desired. When she noted his lowered eyes, his body posture that spoke louder than words, she relented and deemed the episode satisfactory but, sadly, over.
"Yes, Illya, you are right about that. I will give you the evidence, but not now. Tonight, at the performance".
She almost laughed at the momentary surprise on his face; it disappeared too quickly and she was reminded of his self-control; it permeated everything about him.
"I should have known better than to think a Thrush agent would be as compliant as to simply surrender the agreed upon document. Perhaps you are waiting to seduce Napoleon as well".
Did he sound petulant, disturbed? She thought so, and it made her feel powerful and satisfied that there was, perhaps, a twinge of jealousy that might someday work in her favor.
"I have every intention of handing over the information to you. However, it will be much more effective to wait until tonight. Putkin feels very confident at the moment, and believes that he has outwitted you and all of UNCLE. He thinks that he is laying a trap for you, my love. It will be a most satisfying experience for all of us to wait and confront him later. I promise you. You trust me that much, surely".
Illya thought he must be mad, because he did trust her to do this thing. She had no reason to betray him; his instincts assured him she would not.
"Serena…"
"Yes, Illya"
"It was a pleasure"
"Yes…it certainly was"
Napoleon had been concerned when he lost contact with his partner. He knew Serena was involved, but it didn't make any sense for her to injure Illya. He had a hunch that Thrush was making plans to eliminate the KGB agent; his usefulness was probably at an end with Yelena's defection and her brother's death. There was an element of incompetence that both of his masters would need to address, and Thrush would probably do so sooner than later. They would have no wish for the Soviet government to know a Thrush agent had been operating within their system; it would hinder any efforts at future recruitment. Thinking about it now, he was surprised that the man hadn't been eliminated already.
The Northwest CEA alerted his agents at the Plaza Hotel, hoping the eyes and ears of the staff might lend information about the missing Russian. It seemed unlikely that he could be sneaked into the hotel unconscious without anyone knowing about it. He also had people at the theater go over every inch; no one had anything to report.
If Serena were involved, there wouldn't be any sleazy dumps or rundown establishments. One thing he could depend on where she was concerned was her absolute insistence on being in the most posh place in the city. All indicators would seem to point to the Plaza, but no one had seen anything unusual. The Russian dancers had returned there, but no sign of the Austrian beauty or the blond agent had been reported.
Napoleon was perplexed and only slightly suspicious of his Thrush paramour; she might have a plan of some sort that involved…
No, not Illya. He knew her type, and his reticent partner was not it. It had to be something else; something that only Illya could deliver.
He decided to go to the Plaza himself. If Serena were there, he would find her and in turn, he would locate his partner. This affair had so many surprises, he supposed one more would be par for the course.
Illya had been turned into a ballet dancer; Karina had turned out to be a Soviet agent. A KGB officer was a Thrush operative, and Serena was in town, meddling in the middle of all of it. What else could possibly turn up in this case?
As Napoleon entered the lobby of the hotel, he was taken aback to see his partner exiting the elevator. He looked fine, but his hair was damp. He knew what Illya's hair looked like in any and all conditions, and it was definitely…
"Illya!"
The blond turned at the sound of his partner's voice.
"Chyort"
"Illya, are you all right? What happened to you, who…?"
"Yes, Napoleon. I am fine…really…fine. There was gas in the taxi, and I slept a little. Everything is fine".
Napoleon stepped back and examined his friend. Okay, he looked fine, but there was the damp hair. And, he looked…
"You had sex with her, didn't you".
One could have added 'you devil, you'. But, being more gracious than that, Napoleon resisted.
It was, however, blunt and to the point. He knew Serena well enough to know how easily she could seduce a man into her bed. Knowing Illya, however, there had to have been a point to it; something regarding their business with the ballet and Putkin.
"What kind of a deal did you make with her, tovarisch? I know something happened up there".
He smiled. It was a knowing smile born of vast experience with mataharis like Serena and Angelique. Illya usually avoided them, but every once in a while the wily Russian used his body just like any other spy had to in order to get something useful.
Illya showed no emotion, his expression completely and predictably blank.
"It seems you are determined to know some of the details, so I will tell you that she has a document that will, according to her, be all the evidence we need to expose Putkin. She is bringing it to the performance tonight. That is all, Napoleon".
The American looked smug, his body posture speaking volumes to the blond about what he knew and how he knew what he knew. Sometimes, it would be nice to be one step ahead on matters such as this.
This exchange took only minutes, followed by a quick exit onto the street. Napoleon motioned to a waiting taxi to pull forward; it was an UNCLE agent this time. There would be no more surprises in taxis from here on out. It was six o'clock, and only two hours until the curtain came up on the combined ballet companies of the New Minsk and the New World.
On the ride back to headquarters, the two men discussed their plan for the evening, including the part Serena would play. What she had told Illya he now relayed to his partner as they set the stage for Comrade Putkin's final curtain call.
