A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Fourteen - Go Where you Wanna Go
Rated: PG
*******
Napoleon has gone to get a car. I am staying to pack...or so I said. Perhaps I am staying to stay. I can not believe this is my future, but I do not believe all I have seen is a lie, so..... what is my future?
I look at the simple envelopes I have been given. So small a thing to have such power over me.
The nurse comes to the door. "Mr. Kuryakin, your friend is here."
Napoleon is waiting. I leave the Navy form signed on the nightstand. The other I put in my pocket.
**********
Dr. Goldak is standing at the door, and at his insistence I allow him to carry one of the bags. From his expression he would like to make one more argument for stress reduction or community therapy or whatever it is he has been badgering the major about. Given my expression, he thinks better of the idea.
When we reach the sidewalk the car is waiting. No need to ask which one. Somehow in the middle of Russia Napoleon Solo has managed to find a red convertible. However does he do that? It is perhaps not the wisest choice when even the summer days do not often rise out of the seventies, but it is *so* Solo.
The top is down, so I throw the bags into the rear set. "Nice car." I comment as Napoleon detaches himself from the major. " Did you find the bugs."
"None I could see," he says, jingling the keys in his pocket.
Then they must be really well hidden, I think. I say nothing, because Major Yelena has once again caught up with us.
"Gentlemen," by which she means Napoleon, "your papers."
That line, at least, is familiar. I take the stack she holds out and check quickly. Maps, train schedules, an itinerary with a list of reservations. Four days to reach Venice? She has never experienced Napasha's driving.
She produces two more envelopes. Fairly small ones this time. "Mr. Solo. You are a trade advisor to a software firm called Compsys. Good company. Quite real. They have been told who you are, and will back you up if called."
Napoleon gives her one last smile as he tucks the newest papers into his jacket pocket.
That distracts her a bit, but she recovers enough to pass the second envelope to me. "Mr. Kuryakin. We've assigned you to the Department of Weights and Measures. No one should challenge that ...well, except the Brits."
She turns back to Napasha. "You two have open visas for everywhere except the Slovak states. Not that you'd want to go there anyway." She smiles at her own joke. "Don't worry, the route we gave you is perfectly safe. I am the Triple-A of espionage, no?"
I read through the documents, which appear to be as she says. Nodding at Napasha, I slide mine into my pocket.
Major Yelena is still running down her list of travel questions. "Do you have your phone? And the numbers of your contacts in Venice? And the numbers of our offices along the way?"
Napoleon takes her hand and reassures her that he has it all.
"Here." She reaches towards the soldier who has appeared with one final box. At her nod it, too, is lowered into the back seat. "We've packed you a lunch."
Napoleon gives her a quick kiss before dropping into the driver's seat.
"Give me a call when you reach Warsaw?"she calls. Perhaps surveillance. More likely the Great Seducer has made another conquest.
Dr. Goldak turns to me, serious. "You are sure you want to do this? I'm sure Ms. Dancer could authorize a longer stay."
"Thank you, Doctor," I say as I take the passenger seat. " But I think this hospital is not good for my stress."
********
We are past the last view of the building when we talk again. "What did you do with the phone?" are Napoleon's first words.
"Buried it inside a humidifier," I answer. "Lots of metal to block the signal."
"Good." He smiles. "And our clothes?"
"No tampering I could discover."
He makes a sharp turn onto a side road. Not the route we were given, but... "Do you have the map?" he asks.
Opening the packet in the glove compartment, I pull out a bright accordion of paper printed 'St. Petersburg- City & Surrounding Areas' and fold it open to the location marked 'Gugarin Military Hospital'. From the looks of things, we are about 45 miles outside the city. That would match with yesterday's time-line. I glance at Napoleon. "How far do you think we will get?"
"I don't know. We'll just have to see."
Spotting a road sign, I search for the name on the map. And find it. So that is where we are. "Turn right at the next crossroad." He does so. Nearly taking out a truck in the other lane, but I will not quibble. "Right again when you come to a major road."
"What for?" he asks.
"That should take us back to the city. I want to go back to the Arbat and pick up a travel book."
"We have reservations in Venice..." he starts to say, then he catches my meaning. "Right. Then let's not go there."
**********
I spot the bookstore before we get into town. It is in a small cluster of shops, tucked in between a laundromat and a shop selling clothes. Not a large establishment, but sufficient. We park in front, and I leave Napoleon to watch the car while I go in. As he says, he does not read as well as he speaks.
The young clerk smiles when I ask for travel books, but they have them. Shelves of them. Asia to New Zealand.
"Business or vacation?" she asks.
"Two weeks vacation. Doctor's orders."
"I wish I could find such a doctor. I've never been out of the country, except to Turkey once with my mother. Travel is so expensive."
I hand her the books I have chosen, one Fromer's guide to Europe, and another labeled Eastern Europe. Plus a local road-atlas. Just in case.
"Where I really want to go is Australia," she continues. "Have you been there?"
"On occasion."
She rings up the sale, still chattering. "That's so cool. When I get out of school my friend and I are going to take the whole summer just to see the world. We'll pick up jobs where we can, and just get the chance to learn about people and cultures. Find out about things. Make our own discoveries. My mother is so down on that, but I think I should. Did you ever do that?"
I hand over some ruble bills. "I went to school in England."
"Kewl. I'd like to do that. One of my friends went to school in Los Angeles, and she loved it. It gets expensive, though. Did you have a scholarship, or did you get a job?"
"I had a job," I answer, reaching out for the parcel and my change.
"Smart. Maybe I'll try to get one. They say that's how you really get away from yourself and get in touch with the native culture. Well, you have a good time - and do get better."
One more truth of the new world. Travel would appear to be much more common. Good news for Napoleon and myself. Perhaps better news for me. Even beyond the fancy clothes and food and cars, if the nation is now rich enough to send every giggling schoolgirl to study overseas... well, the struggle was worth it.
Napoleon has a newspaper out when I get back to the car. Folded to the back. Perhaps he is checking his stocks? That is a thought. In this new Russia, anything is possible. He tucks it away as I walk up. "Anything else you need?"
"The keys," I answer. "I will drive. We are already avoiding four services - we do not need to add the traffic police."
He gives me the *look* but I stand firm. Finally, he sides over to the passenger seat. "Want to try for Finland?"
"Napoleon." I pull carefully back out onto to the road. "You are telling me you wish to try and run the world most heavily guarded border in a red convertible?"
"OK. Scratch that." He picks up the travel book and flips to the first map. "What do you remember about the crossing to Estonia?"
"Estonia? There is no...! Give me that!"
I pull over as he passes the book. There is....the map..... I flip to the numbered page. "Estonians....since independence in 1991 have transformed the former Soviet outpost....."
Since their independence? Former Soviet? 1991? I look at the map. Sick. Then I look at Napoleon. Then I hand him the keys. "You drive."
********
It takes one hour to read and reread it all. Not much, but too long.
Oh my Russia, what has happened to you? It had seemed so pretty, with the restaurants and the fancy stores, but now?
How could they have? All the struggle, all the sacrifice...
What could?...how could? ...who could?
Oh, my Russia, my mother, what has happened to our world?
*******
Napoleon has seen my face, for all my efforts at control, and after I close the cover he pulls over to the side of the road. We are far outside the city by now, alone with the grey skies and quiet pines. All alone. Totally alone.
"Illya?" Napoleon questions. "Are you OK?"
"I am..fine."
"You are wonderful, but that's not what I asked."
I hand him the book. It takes him a few moments of staring and blinking at the map, but then he sees as I see. Where once there was a nation there is now...what? Ten? None?
"I am...What am I to do?"
He takes my hand. "Survive. Somehow. I have faith in that."
"Easy for you. You did not lose your country."
He snaps. "Just my family? Nothing much?" His face falls. "Illya - I'm sorry...I..."
"No, I am sorry. You are right. I had forgotten... Oh, Napasha..."
He reaches down. "Illyusha. Here." He hands me the English paper he had been reading. Something called U.S.A. Today.
What? Why? I unfold it, and the headline jumps at me. 'California Governor Warns of Power Shortage - Blackouts Expected." Then slightly lower 'Separatists Bomb Omaha Post Office'. In America? No. It is not possible. Is it? "Where did you get this?"
"From that idiot Quinn." He tosses the paper to the rear, then takes both my hands in his. "Illya, I don't know if this *is* the future - or what that future is. I haven't wanted to believe - haven't wanted to let myself believe... but... Christ... who knows. Maybe we will get to New York and it will all be the same and this will be a bad dream. Some T.H.R.U.S.H. mind game against us. Waverly in his office and Aunt 'Becca complaining because I didn't marry the Kennedy girl. Maybe. Or maybe I'll walk in and find they just refought the Civil War. I don't *know*." He takes my hand, and his voice is dead serious. "What I *do* know is... 'escape, evasion, return'.....we have our duty." He hand me the keys. "Here. You drive."
********
The roads are terribly familiar and familiarly terrible. We reach Narva just after lunchtime. The border crossing is as I remember it, with concrete stations and heavy gates. The gate, however, is open.
I look at Napoleon.
He looks at me.
He whispers, "showtime."
I coast gently to the painted line and wait for the guard. From the corner of my eye I spot two others in cover position.
"Papers, Gentlemen?" The main guard holds out his hand.
We hand over the passports we have been given. This is the moment of truth.
"Just passing through? Anything to declare?" He stamps the pages, hands them back, and adds, "Thank you, gentlemen. Have a nice vacation in Estonia."
END CHAPTER FOURTEEN