Napoleon slept through much of the flight home. He'd left the sanatorium in the capable hands of UNCLE Denver. The other patients were being identified. Three of them were legitimate and were transferred to a privately run facility with the consent of their families. Of the six remaining inmates, three might never recover from what Dr. Crane had done to them, one was adamant that she would see only the doctor and two were caught between gratitude for their rescue and issues of loyalty and oaths to THRUSH.
The report on Waverly's desk indicated that a number of cremated remains were recently interred in the grounds surrounding the facility. Identification would take a while, but there were three rooms in the back that showed signs of habitation. The Denver office was doing its best to match things up. Dr. Crane apparently had a reputation for disposing of her assistants for vague reasons. When Dr. Street arrived with Napoleon and Diamene, he was quite willing to tell them who the remains belonged to.
Napoleon reported to the infirmary to get checked out. He was feeling much better after the long sleep and looked in on Illya who was also being released. "So, my hopes of getting to partner a vampire are being dashed, are they?"
The Russian scowled at him. "There are no such things as vampires. Besides, if I was a vampire, you would have too much competition for the ladies, yes?"
Napoleon snorted. "Maybe. So, what's the plan?"
Illya shrugged his shoulders. "We see Mr. Waverly, he tells us about what we need to know, we go blow things up," he responded blandly.
"It's a plan."
They made their way to Waverly's office and entered to see Mme. Drakoci and Diamene already seated at the table. Mme. Drakoci looked like she might have been weeping, but her eyes were dry now. Diamene was as self possessed as Napoleon remembered and looked right at home in an expensive black silk trouser suit with a richly embroidered red shirt and stylish red stiletto heels. She smiled as Waverly greeted them and waved the two men to chairs opposite the ladies.
"You've met Mme. Drakoci previously," Waverly nodded to the dark beauty. "This is her cousin, Diamene Drakul." He correctly pronounced it in the Romanian manner as dra-kool, instead of the anglicized dracula. If he noticed the reaction of the two men, he ignored it. "Miss Drakul is currently involved with this man, General Gavril Patascu." A picture of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Napoleon showed on the projection screen. His hair was worn a little longer than the agent's and he sported a heavy mustache and a deep tan.
"He's also a little more … uhm … muscular," Diamene said with a laugh in her voice. "He's been letting Dr. Crane have the run of the place because the THRUSH High Council has threatened decimate the village he comes from. We're a loyal people. Whoever sits the throne is welcome to it, but threaten our people and … well, we do what we have to, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. Crane's lost her mind, what little she had."
"And she has my son," Mme. Drakoci added quietly. Her look begged them to do something, although she was aware that there could be problems with UNCLE agents behind the Iron Curtain. "I know, I am asking a great deal. I will help as much as I can."
Waverly changed the picture to a spread out bunch of buildings. "This is the Haidaul Satrapy. We received information from Mme. Drakoci's cousin yesterday that Dr. Crane is back in residence here."
"Cousin?" Napoleon asked.
Waverly smiled. "Mme. Drakoci's family, ten of them, emigrated to the United States this week. Their papers at both ends were in order, as were their … er .. hem … bribes. Four of her children and two sisters, two brothers and two cousins entered the US through the Ellis Island customs facility. The Russian consulate has requested copies of their permissions, but nothing else, so far. One her cousins brought photos and descriptions of the Satrap buildings and presumed mission. Dr. Crane is there now. At this time, Dr. Crane is unaware that Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin are field certified. She is still under the impression that UNCLE New York is quarantined until further notice."
"And she will remain under that impression with some help from Gavri … The General and some more members of our family," Diamene chimed in.
"Our?" Illya picked up on the possessive term.
"Yes. Luri and I are … related. Her ancestor was Radu Drakul, brother of Vlad the Impaler. I'm more direct line descent, as it were." She didn't laugh, but he could hear the pride in her voice.
Illya looked from one woman to the other and was quietly impressed with both of them. "THRUSH thinks we're both incapable of coming after them."
"So, how do we keep them that way and get to the problem?" Napoleon asked. It wasn't like UNCLE had an office in Bucharest that could step in and mop up the operation.
"The Russian Consulate will find problems with the papers we sent them. Iancu and Sorin Antonescu will be requested to return to Romania until such time as their emigration status can be cleared. They bear a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. At least, they do now," Waverly pointed out as the pictures on the screen changed again.
Napoleon grinned. "Looks like we're Romania bound, my friend."
The Antonescu brothers arrived with emigration officers at the Russian Consulate about noon the next day. They were treated respectfully by the American personnel, not so much by the Russians. Still, the paperwork showed an honest mistake had been made, regardless of the iron fist of the Soviet machine. The Americans provided for the flight back to Bucharest where the men were met by a contingent of General Patascu's men who were also providing transport for the General's … woman.