A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Nine - Nowhere Man
Rated: G
**************
Major Hovsepian is there when we reach our room.
"Mr. Kuryakin." She nods. "Mr. Solo." She holds out her hand. "Good to see you looking so spry."
He takes it gently. Napoleon has made an art form of shaking hands with women. From her expression, that art loses nothing when translated into Russian. I do not know whether to be pleased or annoyed. I supposed that will depend on the Major's actual affiliation.
"Our clothes?" Napasha smiles, radiating charm.
The Major smiles back. "I'm afraid yours did not come through in the best order. We took them to the lab, and while I'm sure you can have then back...."
"You won't want them." A familiar voice finishes.
"April????" Napoleon spins.
The woman called April Dancer is standing in the doorway. "It's me, Napoleon. In the no-longer-twenty flesh."
"I don't believe..." He gestures, referring either to her presence or her appearance. Perhaps both.
"Of course not." She drops into a chair and checks through the juice cans, abandoning the quest when she finds them all empty. "I wouldn't believe it either. And there's no reason you should."
The nurse observes April's search, leaves for a moment, and comes back with a fresh basket and clean glasses. Good. My previous ... exercise has left me rather drained.
"Please, Ms. Dancer." The short man in the white jacket from yesterday's briefing has come in behind her. He sounds pained.
"No reason at all," she counters. "Whatever Dr. Goldak may say to the contrary."
"You're here for our de-briefing?" Napoleon asks, helping himself to a fresh can of mango nectar and tossing the pineapple to me.
"Don't be silly." She waves at chairs, inviting us to be seated. "There is no way either of you are going to say anything. Not under these suspicious circumstances. Which I respect." She takes a deep swallow before putting down the glass. "I won't put you to the work of making up convincing lies."
Napoleon takes the chair beside her. "When will we be returning to New York?" he asks.
"New York?" She discovers a sudden interest her glass. "Any time you want."
"But not U.N.C.L.E. ?" It is not a question.
April Dancer hesitates, then; "That might be a bit more complicated. Not something we need to deal with today." She pulls two large envelopes out of her purse. " While you do not yet believe it, it is in fact the year 2001. Which gives us a few complications, as I don't believe either of you could convincingly pass for 60. So..."
She hands the envelopes to Napoleon, who passed the one marked INK to me.
"Updated birth certificates, passports, drivers licenses, checkbook, bank and credit cards. Pocket cash. All quite valid. We thought you would like to keep your names."
I count the cash. 10,000 in American dollars, 16,000 in Swiss francs, more then 200,000 in rather strange looking notes bearing the emblem for rubles. If these were equal amounts? I left the math for later. Then I wondered when T.H.R.U.S.H. had added counterfeiting to their schemes. If in fact they had. This was getting stranger by the minute.
"Officially, you gentleman have both been on active status , so your checks have been deposited to your accounts. Just as before. That should provide you with at least some resources."
Dancer looks at the Major, who hands me another envelope. This one was thinner. Slightly.
"Mr. Kuryakin, with you we may have one slight problem."
Major Hovsepian steps forward, very formal. A bad sign. "In view of your.. affiliations, we decided on a Russian passport. But you were born in Kiev. If you would prefer to be a Ukrainian citizen?" She pauses. I say nothing. "We....believe you have that right. And we will work something out. Somehow."
April nods. "Ambassador Dabaghin can be a bit ... difficult..... but we do have higher resources."
Was this some strange test of my loyalty? "Russian ...is fine."
The April woman looks relieved. "Just think about it. There's no rush. The British one is also valid, so you should not have any problems." She motions for the Major to continue.
Major Hovsepian clears her throat. "The other question is.... I'm sorry, but while you were gone we retired you from the Navy."
"Retired me?"
"You had an uneventful career as a submarine Commander. What can I say?" She shrugs, suddenly very human. "They needed to make some force reductions, and people who don't exist are easy to reassign. Also it saved money. It is possible that you could challenge this..
"No." I reply. "Retired is....fine."
"Good." Now Major Hovsepian looks relieved. "I truly do not need a fight with Admiral Voronkhin." From the looks they exchange, April Dancer agrees. " If you could read over the letter in your packet, and sign it sometime before you leave ? It's your formal request for separation." Her tone takes the smug sound of one from a superior service. "The Navy is in love with its paperwork."
I open the packet. She is apparently telling the truth. The first stack starts with a retirement form dated 1984. Apparently I am now a thirty year man. Another envelope is folded beneath it. I pull it out and unfold the layered papers.
"The other is your resignation from the KGB. April of 1993 as a General Officer. That one is optional." She hesitates, then adds. "I assure you, the services would be very happy to have you back. I'm sure we could find a place for a man with your talents. It's just that.."
"More budget cuts?"
"Exactly. Also - you reached mandatory retirement age."
I read the letter. It says I wish to 'pursue other career options'. "You want me to sign this?" I ask.
She smiles."If you would."
"I do not know...."
"Then do not." Dr. Goldak speaks up. "There is no need for hasty decisions."
The Major's smile falters a bit, then turns persuasive. "You can always rejoin later - if you want to."
"I will think about it." That is true enough. This game is getting very complex, and I suspect the wrong move could be lethal indeed.
Napoleon has finished counting his cash, and has stowed the papers and wallet in his various pockets. "Is that it?" he asks.
"Hardly." The April woman replies. "But that's it for now."
******
They are leaving when Napoleon stops her. "April?"
She turns back.
He hesitates, then asks. "My... family?"
"All fine." she answers, a touch too quickly for my tastes. " Except....I'm sorry, Napoleon. Your Aunt Rebecca passed away in 1986." She came over and patted his shoulder. "Your sister is a bit frail. She had a stroke last winter. But she's still at home. Both of your nieces are married, and doing well, and your brother-in-law just ran for the Vermont State Assembly." She laughs at that. "Lost by a landslide, but still.."
"It's an honor to be asked." Napasha finishes. "Can I see them?"
"I can't stop you."
His face shows nothing beyond his usual mild interest, but I have grown adept at reading where others can not. That was not the answer he had hoped for.
"Napoleon." April sits down again. " We don't exactly have a lot of experience in this. We're making it up as be go along. So - use your best judgment. You know them better then we can, and your professional assessment has always been...flawless. If you think they can stay quiet..?" She takes a deep breath. "Just... be discrete. It's much better for all of us that way. If you make the tabloids, I will have to disavow you. I really don't want to do that. Not when we have you back again."
"Mark?" he asks.
"My old partner?" She smiles again, clearly glad to be on safer ground. "Mark retired back in 1980. Just after Waverly..." A cloud passes over her eyes. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. We lost Mr. Waverly back in 1978. But Mark is doing fine. Nowadays he teaches international policy at Berkeley. Lectures on the evils of espionage. Occasionally pickets the CIA building. He's very happy - and I know he'd love to see you."
She takes a breath, searching for something more to say. Then she *really* smiles. "I just remembered. U.N.C.L.E. policy always required at least two weeks down - time after a long mission. I think this one qualifies. Why don't you take some time and go see him?" She pulls out a card and scribbles something on the back. "Call me in New York after you've had time to settle in and think things over."
She closes her purse and stands up again. "Illya?" she says to me. "Take care of him."
"I always do." I answer.
END CHAPTER NINE