A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Ten - Tell Me True
Rated: G ( Unless you have a *very* dirty mind.)
**************
After they left it was Dr. Bastajian's turn. Me first, then Napoleon. The doctor thumped, and poked, and jabbed fingers. The usual medical drill. I have always hated doctors, but this familiar annoyance was almost reassuring.
"So, Doctor?, " Napoleon asks, rather pro-forma. "Are we free to leave?"
"If you insist. But with these blood gases?" Bastajian shakes his head. "You should not drive until the dizziness has abated completely. I would rather you waited another two days, rest, get back on a regular diet." He flips through the chart, frowning. "With the lung damage? At least a week if you intend to fly anywhere."
"What about a pass into town." Napasha pulls again at his cuffs. "I do not intend to dress like this forever."
"Perhaps if someone else drove?" came a voice from the opening door.
"Major Hovsepian?" Dr. Bastajian did not sound particularly pleased to see her.
"Please." She ignores the doctor and walks over to Napasha. "Yelena Sergiova."
"Napoleon." He replies warmly. "My friends call me Leo."
"I had planned on going in to town tomorrow morning. Of course, on Sunday many of the stores will be closed... but not all of them. I usually leave at 8:30." Her smile grew wider. "Is that too early?"
"Not at all, my dear Yelena Sergiova."
"Wonderful. You can join me for 9:30 mass if you would like, and afterwards we can cruise the arbat. The food is good, and at the least you can pick up some decent jeans." She grimaces at his outfit. Apparently even here Napoleon's fashion sense remaines infallible. "Do you have rubles?" She asks, and practically beams when he nods. " Good. Not everyone takes dollars."
From her body language she would be quite delighted to settle in and discuss the currency exchange, or fashion, or just about anything that would hold Napasha's interest. One of the flip sides of his charm. The effect can be a bit hard to turn off. And just now the lady is one more obstacle to our privacy. In the end I solve the problem by lowering myself into a chair and looking pale. Dr. Bastajian quickly herds the major out, insisting we both need more rest.
I look at Napoleon.
He looks at me.
"Did she just say what I thought she said?" he asks.
"I heard her." I admit.
"This is incredible." He takes the chair beside me. "What do you think they are up to?"
"I don't know. It will be interesting to see what excuse she makes for not going in to town." I considered that for a while. Their efforts to keep us here might become 'interesting'. All the more reason to wish to leave.
"What should we do next?"
"I don't know about you," Napoleon answers, "but Mr. Quinn called while you were in the tub and asked me to meet him for coffee."
"Dr. Goldak has implied as much to me. Interesting."
"I think so." Napasha pushes his chair back. "I think it's time for both of us to meet with our 'brothers'."
*************
I stop by the secretary's desk, but she just waves me on. Obviously, I am better recognized then my introductions should have justified.
"General Safaryan?"
He rises from behind his desk to shake my hand. "Can I help you, Mr. Kuryakin?" He waves to a chair in front of his desk. I sit.
"Perhaps." I consider how to best phrase my questions. Finally..."Does the KGB really want me to ... leave?"
"Of course not!" The General responds, looking suitably horrified. "Please! Major Hovsepian did not mean to insult you in any way, and if she did..... well, I am honestly sorry. We very much respect and appreciate you service. We truly do. I've read your files - what I have clearance for - and I am frankly impressed. No one would ever *want* to lose an officer of your caliber. It's just that....." He waves again.
"Things have changed?"
"Exactly." He sounds relieved at my supposed understanding. "Not to say that there isn't a place for you. There is. You could teach. Or do research. Or even go back into the field. Men with your talents are too rare to be parted with easily." He steps to the samovar, pours a glass of tea, and offers me one. I accept, nodding my thanks.
I sip deeply, then ask the question that has been constantly on my mind. "But they will part with me?"
General Safaryan sits back behind his desk. "What choice do they have?"
We both drink in silence while I consider his answers.
He speaks first. "Don't sign anything now. Just rest and recenter yourself. Then, once you are clear on things..." He raised his glass in a mock toast. " I will *gladly* be the one to call Moscow and tell them Illya Kuryakin is coming home."
"And my partner?"
"Mr. Solo? Do you think.."General Safaryan rubs his chin slowly. "I don't know what relationship Mr. Solo may have to other organizations in his own country," he says carefully. "I do not have the authority to...shall we say 'offend' any allies, but if for some reason Mr. Solo *wanted* to stay in Russia, well.... he is also a man of many valuable talents. I would be delighted to pass that question to Moscow as well." He looks at me speculatively. "Do you think I should?"
"Not..yet," I answer carefully.
"Very well." He sits back, content. "Dr. Bastajian mentioned that you are going into town with Major Hovsepian tomorrow." He makes it a question.
"I need something to wear." He may take that as an answer.
Safaryan nods. "I'd offer you a General's uniform, but I'm told when the merchants see that - the price goes up."
***************
I am in our room reading the Grimlove report when Napoleon comes in. Trying to read it rather. Most of the verbage is dissolving into an exhausted blurr. Not that I would admit as much. I smile at Napasha as he takes the chair beside me.
"Illya, are we in trouble?"
"I do not know. General Safaryan said I should hold off on the resignation until I was 'centered' - whatever that means - and if you want you stay in Russia that's fine with him."
"Then it's a recruitment."
I consider that. "Possibly, but if so its the most casual one I have ever encountered. What did Quinn say?"
"About the some thing. We should take a long vacation, and afterwards, they will talk to me about a job. Oh, and I should remind you that your U.S. residence is still quite valid."
So much for Hovsepian and Quinn. The important question is "What do you think happened to U.N.C.L.E.?"
"U.N.C.L.E.?" Napasha sounds shocked. "Nothing. You don't really think this is 2001, do you?"
"No." I reply slowly. "But....if it is?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You are the scientist on this team."
"I know." I answer, putting down the book I have been studying. "I studied his machine, both then and now, and in theory...... it might be possible to create a state of temporal flux, given enough power... and if....."
"Illya," he growls in his 'command' voice. "This is some elaborate triple-think operation. I'd like to know who's behind it and what they are up to, but right now the first order of business is to get to U.N.C.L.E. and tell them we're coming home."
"That's what the General said." I look down at the envelope full of papers. "He wanted to tell Moscow that Illya Kuryakin is coming home." So did I, but more than that I wanted to know......where that home was.
*******
I have scant time to worry on that point. For people not under surveillance, it is amazing how little time Napoleon and I manage to get alone.
"Dinner , Napoleon." The pretty nurse is back. "Something light, since Ms. Chan says she wants to work you over some more this evening. She hands us something that resembles a cross between potato soup and a day-old milkshake. The food service is definitely going downhill.
"The Asian lady?" Napasha gives the metal glass a suspicious glare. "This was her idea?"
The nurse giggles. "Who else? She told Major Hovsepian not to expect results if she will not give her time to work on you, and that this morning she barely got started."
"Did she?" he asks.
I taste the potion. It tastes like salted chalk. If the intent is torture, this 'dinner' is a good start.
"Yes." The nurse hands Napoleon a straw. "But the Major said you were hers all day tomorrow, so if Chan wanted a shot at you she would just have to stay late tonight."
"And what did Miss Chan have to say to that?" Napoleon asks.
"She said she'd take it." The young woman shrugs as she collects the empty juice cans and drops them into the dinner cart. " What choice did she have? I mean, Moscow's not going to like it if they spend all that money to bring her out here, and then she just sits on her ass all day." Which, from the tone, Chan *had* done. "But she wasn't happy. She even went to the General, but he said it was Major Hovsepian's project, and let her run it. So then she was *really* mad." The volume drops, confidential. "Chan and her people aren't really part of us, if you know what I mean. They brought her in just for you two. But with you sleeping so long...well.. she didn't get much opportunity to show off."
Napoleon rewards her with his most charming smile. "And now?"
"Now she's really annoyed! You better watch out, or she'll take it out on you. And on the rest of us."
I gulp down the swill as Ragsac and his companions appear at the door. "Are you ready?" The orderly hands over two limp green rags. "You are to put these on."
Napoleon's nurse seems pleased. "Good idea. I'll take your outfits down to laundry. If I rush, they can have them back for you by morning."
So that is that. Another trip down the hall.
The woman named Chan is waiting for us. This time she starts with the boiling oil. After the first shock it is really quite pleasant. With a towel rolled behind my neck, I lean back to observe. Napoleon is on the table in front of me. He is getting a massage. From the occasional grunts it may be a bit enthusiastic, but it *is* a massage. I am beginning to accept that this agent - at least - wishes us well.
When Chan calls 'time' Ragsac presses a white strip against my forehead, then hands me a towel. It is time for the changing of the guard. I am not enthusiastic, but I allow them to lay me on the other table. After the heat, the cool air is rather pleasant.
My masseur learned his art in the same school as his comrade. Lucky for him Russia is a socialist country. This man could never make a living in Sweden. I am again reconsidering their intent when Miss Chan comes by. "Mr. Kuryakin" She pokes me as a housewife would a plucked chicken. " Nice and relaxed. Good."
"Your earlier therapy was most effective," I answer, keeping all tone from my voice. Let her wonder what I mean.
She nods at my masseur. "Twenty more minutes." That decided, she walks over to where the other hulk is apparently attempting to dislocate one of my partner's shoulders. It least, that is what it looks like from here. She gives Napoleon a look, then a tug. "We need to work on your range a bit, Mr. Solo." She thumps his back like a melon." Would you like to go with more massage or some EMS.?"
He looks up, uncertain.
"Napoleon." I volunteer. "Try the electricity."
END CHAPTER TEN