Forty – five minutes later, a Section III courier had delivered a nondescript, plain white letter – size envelope into Illya's hands. He instantly recognized the former Angelique DeChien's distinctive handwriting. He had been on a mission in Louisiana two years earlier and inadvertently befriended her mother when she had stopped to assist him after his car got a flat tire. When he decided to stay in the boarding house she owned, he discovered Angelique was also there and against all odds, they had entered into a truce of sorts and Angel LeDeux, her real name as he found out, proved to be an invaluable resource. He would not have deemed their relationship a friendship; there was way too much negative history between them, but he had to admit that they had become friendly. To a point.

He showed Napoleon the front of the envelope. "It was postmarked in Montreal. I think it is a safe bet that she is no longer there." Ripping it open, he began to read it aloud. "Dear Illya, I would appreciate your help. I have a lead on my father. I believe he is in one of the Western states of the US. If you wish to assist me, please call the number Napoleon has for Sylvia Broadchurch. Angel."

"She remembers my name."

"Do not be jealous, Napoleon. It is not a good look on you," the Russian said as he replaced the note in its envelope.

Napoleon turned slightly and swallowed more of his Scotch so Illya wouldn't notice that his words had stung. Truth be told, he had felt a stab of jealousy and was a bit annoyed with himself. "Do you want to call her now?"

Illya nodded. "No time like the present." He grabbed his phone and dialed the number of one of UNCLE's shell companies. "This is Agent Illya Kuryakin. I wish to place a call to the following number." He looked at Napoleon expectantly.

"800-555-4242."

"800-555-4242," he repeated into the handset. He knew that UNCLE Communications would bounce the call around so that it was untraceable to his home number. Moments later, he began to hear a ring tone and after three rings, a voice answered, "Yes?"

"Hello, Angel, it is Illya." He heard her sigh in relief.

"You received my letter."

"I did. Napoleon is here with me. Have you been able to narrow down further where your father might be?"

"I have. I had originally tracked him to Twin Falls, Idaho when the trail went cold months ago. I wasn't too concerned because it wasn't the first time that's happened. But when I checked the phone books for the state, there was no Andrew Layton listed in any of them."

Illya's brow crinkled in confusion. He moved the phone slightly away from his ear so that Napoleon could listen, too. "I thought you told me your father's name is Andre."

"It is, but when you're ducking paying child support, I guess changing your name is one way to stay a step ahead of the court system. I discovered he uses the name Andrew Layton when he wants to keep a low profile."

Napoleon snorted in disgust. "Doesn't sound like a candidate for Father of the Year," he muttered.

"What was that, Napoleon?"

"Nothing. Not important." He flinched when his partner pinched his arm and motioned for him to be quiet. "You were saying, Angelique?"

"Anyway," she continued, "on a hunch, I decided to check phone books in Utah and Wyoming because those states' populations are small and most Cajuns I know don't like crowds. When I looked in the San Juan County phone book in Utah, there's an Andrew Layton listed in a town called Verdune. I'm almost certain it's him. I plan to go there to see for myself."

"And if he is your father?" Illya asked.

"That is where you would come in, Illya. I want answers that only he can give me and I have no intention of taking no for an answer. He might try to say 'no' to me, but a dangerous - looking Russian man will more than likely loosen his tongue."

"So you want me to intimidate him, but not actually work him over."

"We'll see."

"Angel!"

"Don't worry. I will not ask you to do anything I wouldn't do."

Napoleon barked a short laugh. "That's not a ringing endorsement, Angelique! You're a killer! I don't want my partner doing your dirty work!" He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The silence that emanated from the phone threatened to overwhelm Illya's living room. When Angel spoke again, icicles were practically dripping from the handset. "We're all killers, Napoleon, don't you dare get high and mighty with me! I don't need Illya or anyone to do my killing for me. I will tell you who I have killed: Angelique DeChien. My name is Angel LeDeux. Get used to it; I will no longer answer to anything else!"

Napoleon opened his mouth to respond, but the look on Illya's face stopped him. "Angel," the Russian said, "When are you going to Utah?"

"Tomorrow."

"That is good. Napoleon and I are on vacation. As soon as you determine if this man is indeed your father, contact me. I will give you the number for one of UNCLE's fronts and I will meet you in Utah."

After he gave her the telephone number she said, "Thank you, Illya. I will be in touch. Goodbye" and hung up.

"Napoleon, what is the matter with you? Why did you attack her?"

"I know, I know I was harsh and I was wrong. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I guess I'm more shook up about that last mission than I thought. I'm feeling very protective of you right now. So, sue me."

"I am fine, Mother Hen. Now I know going to Ouray is the right thing to do; you need to decompress and just…breathe."

"Oh. And you don't?"

Illya poured drinks for both of them. "I definitely do; however, I will be acting as a sounding board for Wolf to express his feelings and if Angel calls me, I will be heading to Utah to assist her."

Napoleon accepted the proffered drink. "You mean we will be heading to Utah. You've seen Angeli…Angel since I have and now, I owe her an apology. I prefer to grovel in person."

Illya was going to tell his partner he didn't have to do that, but instead he shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Since you are feeling so protective, are you sleeping on my couch tonight? I figure we can catch a morning flight."

Napoleon stood and arms over his head until bones cracked in his back. "First of all, there is no way I'm damaging my back sleeping on The Little Bear. Second, if we're leaving tomorrow, I need to pack and lastly, I'm fairly certain we can hitch a ride on the UNCLE jet that is heading to Los Angeles. We can be let off in Denver and catch a connecting flight to Montrose. I'll come get you at five AM."

"I will be ready."