A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Fifty-Four: Both Sides Now
Rated: PG
****
The room is small, and rather shabby for all its gilt and brocade. Slightly warm and just a bit stuffy. A textbook example of bureaucratic splendor. Also, just now, edging over into barely controlled chaos as the various 'suits' shout over each other into their various head sets. One would hope that this many professionals would be somehow better coordinated. Well, one can always hope. For what good it does. But they *are* all professionals, and I must trust that the operation will come off smoothly.
I check my watch. 10:20 am. Ten minutes until show time.
Napoleon is looking dapper as always. No, more so. He frankly shines. Standing under a second-rate Rembrandt and chatting up an over-dressed blonde from the Academy of Sciences. She is blushing and stammering and generally looking more like a star-struck school girl then a senior government official. Several others flutter around. Male and female, they are like moths caught in his light. Looking at him, I wonder. Is this what people mean by .. ' the happiest day of one's life?'
Stepping up to the baroque mirror, I straighten my tie and adjust the elaborate eagle cufflinks that were the gift of the Smiths. My new grey suit is a gift from Napoleon, arranged my Mr. Bond and his much-put-upon tailor in Saville row. The tie is from Sir Ian. Cambridge colors. Not that I am becoming personally susceptible to such things. It is simply a matter of respect. For Napoleon, for myself, for...my county.
"Five minutes, gentlemen," One of the radio-decked aides calls.
I step back from the mirror. "I am ready."
Napoleon comes over, dismissing his court. "You are always ready. For everything." He strokes my forehead as he brushes one straying hair back into place. "So tell me." He lowers his voice, speaking to me alone. "If this Babayev guy is so grateful, how come it's the Russians who want to give us the medal?"
"Because," I whisper back. "Russia has a lot more invested in Babayev then his own country does. Azerbaijan is small, but strategic. And border wars never stay on the border. If the internal situation in Azerbaijan was destabilized, the chances of larger involvement are... very high."
"So they like Babayev healthy. Makes sense." Napasha shrugs. "And I am going along with this because?"
"Because April said to." I run one finger over his still rough knuckles. "And because it will mean a great deal to me."
"Well." He smiles. "There is that."
He is so 'Napoleon' when he is teasing. I drop a quick kiss on those mocking lips before heading for the hall.
"Are you sure that was legal?"
"We are indoors." I glance back over my shoulder. "According to my web site, yes."
"Wonderful." Napasha give his cuffs a final pull, then follows. "I think I could like this new Russia. I really could."
*******
It is two hours of photographers and handshakes before the aide appears and quietly guides us to the upstairs office.
"President Putin?" I nod formally. I am not in uniform, so it would not be quite proper to salute. And besides...
"Please, Illya." He smiles. That has not changed. Wide and deep, as if he knew a secret the rest of the world did not. Which, given the source? That is quite possible. "Vladimir. Still Vladimir."
Hand clasps all around somehow end in front of a glass-decked bar. "Vodka?" Vladimir pours a glass and hands it to me. " And I believe you, Mr. Solo, drink scotch?"
Napoleon accepts the glass carefully. "Thank you, Mr. President."
"Vladimir to you too." He chuckles lightly as he fills his own glass. "I have long looked forward to meeting the man who stole my best agent from me. Of course, I did not think it would be here, but...." A slightly darker chuckle implies a Berlin alley at midnight might have been his venue of choice.
This is...unreal. "Pres.." I start, then... "Vladimir. How...?"
"How did the Chief of Department H end up as President of Russia?" He guides us over to a conversation area. "By a respectable majority, no matter what the opposition papers may say!" He waves at the chairs. "Sit, sit."
We do so, but carefully, waiting for him to reach his point.
Vladimir settles into his own chair, takes a breath, and then begins. "Thirty-three years. Things have changed, Illya Nickovetch. Things have changed."
"So it would appear."
"Suspicious as always. That was always your best trait." He turns to Napoleon. "Our friend, Mr. Solo, would not believe the sun was shining unless he checkd the spectrograph. Twice."
Napoleon raises his drink. "You say that like it's a bad thing?"
"Never." Vladimir takes a shallow sip, then sets his glass down on the table. "I also am a suspicious bastard. Which is the other reason I am President today." His voice drops and becomes serious. "As I said. Things have changed. Many for the better, I admit. But it is not all so simple. These are not easy times. Not for Russia. Not for the world."
There is nothing to say to that , so..I say nothing.
"You read the papers?" He asks Napoleon, who nods.
"It's worse than they say. Outside the cities there is literally no law. Sometimes, I think, not outside this room." He looks at me. "The world has become corrupt. Even the army suffers from corruption and disorder. Even our own service. Most I think, are good Russians. I think." Then he turns to Napoleon. "And Russia is not alone in her problems. You read the Los Alamos report, Mr. Solo? The other nations - they have the same problems. Many far worse." He shakes his head. "This is a hard time for honest men. Which is why we need them."
Another pause, then.. "You two, I believe, are honest men."
"Thank you," I answer. "I think."
"See?" Vladimir leans over toward Napoleon, the wide smile back in full force. "Suspicious. And wise."
Then he is back to business. "I have spoken with President Bush. Both of them, actually. And with Prime Minister Blair. And their equivalents in France, Spain, Germany - even Poland of all places. And..well, the usual suspects."
Vladimir reclaims his vodka and takes a deep sip. "I won't say George was ..happy..... to give you up, Solo, but...he understands. And I will say this for the man. He pays his bills."
Napoleon sits quietly and somehow manages to look like a man who has heard nothing. Or at least nothing of interest. But.. "Give?"I stammer. If Bush can *give* that can only mean.. if.. "Napoleon...you were..."
Vladimir dismisses the question. "Oh, George assured me Solo never actually flipped on anyone. But.. given the way Kronsteen was begging to bring him in at the top?"
A ...what..triple agent at the top of the Goskomsyyaz? I am torn between horror and a certain chill professional admiration.
"And the Americans call us paranoid." Vladimir chuckles again. "Although it's not like I didn't *try*...so..." He raises his glass to Napoleon in mock commendation. "Let that be all in the past."
"The relevent people had a little conference in Berlin last week, and after a bit of debate..." Or more then a bit, but Vladimir's expression still dismisses it. "What matters is that everyone important is in agreement. Our foes are multi-national. We need something more than our various national agencies. So, gentlemen, you are here so I can offer you a job." He looks first at Napoleon, then at me, then somehow at the two of us together. "Do you think that you could reestablish U.N.C.L.E.?"
FINIS
With great thanks to nickovetch, Goddess of Grammar and Princess of Punctuation. The things that are right are the instances where I listened to her - and the things that are wrong are where I did not.
Now, if anyone is still reading this (and after fifty-four chapters I am frankly impressed by your endurance) I do want to hear from you. Because otherwise I will never believe that anyone read the whole thing. - Darklady