Chapter 3! (looooooong chapter). Things are moving, slowly but surely ;) Let me know what you think :)

Thanks for the reviews on chapter 2 :)

A week later, in the village, outside the pub, Solo's p.o.v.

"I think I should get going, it's getting dimpsey and my wife doesn't like it when I'm late."

"All right, see you tomorrow, Davies, and give my greetings to your wife.", Napoleon answered as he shook the man's extended hand.

Davies nodded and took a few steps, then he seemed to hesitate and glanced back.

"Hey, don't worry about it too much, Carlyle. You know, those things can take time…"

"I know. Thank you for your help, Davies, I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, mate."

Napoleon watched him disappear around the corner of the street. He too would drive back to his cottage soon but first he would go for a walk around the village. It had become a habit since he had started meeting with Davies regularly. More than a simple leisurely stroll, it was a way to make sure no one was following him around. Except a big blond Russian, of course. As he walked down the main street, his mind drifted to his conversation with Davies. He hadn't had much luck in approaching the "higher members" of the secret society. It had been a week and Davies had not brought any encouraging news. They were either uninterested or extremely careful. Either way he would have to reconsider his strategy. As he took a deep breath to quench his frustration, he realized that he had almost reached the spot where he had parked his car…and that he was no longer alone. He turned around just in time to see the man disappear into a tiny perpendicular street.

I have to warn Illya…

"Hello? Who's there?..."

He quickened his pace but just as he was about to reach his car, another man jumped out of an alleyway to his right and pounced on him. He fell down and before he had a chance to do anything, his attacker punched him in the side of the head. Hard enough to hurt and stun him, but not enough to do serious damage.

Don't struggle. They probably won't kill you…

He felt a weight on his back and his arms being pulled back, then something being slipped around his wrists and tightened. Remembering that he was supposed to be a scared businessman, he let out what he hoped was a convincing terrified squeal. Then everything went black.

Great, the damn hood reeks of perspiration…

Twenty minutes later, Illya's car, Illya's p.o.v.

"I think we should kill him."

For the second time in one night Illya felt his pulse quicken as a rush of adrenaline shot through him. His hand hovered over the gun on the passenger seat of the car and he listened tensely, waiting for Cowboy's distress signal. For the second time, it didn't come. Another false alarm. He let out a sigh which promptly turned into a coughing fit. He waited for it to subside and leaned back against the car seat. He definitely wasn't getting better. At first, the medicine had been enough to ease his symptoms but for the past few days his cough had been getting worse and he now had a constant, annoying feeling of pressure on his chest. He also felt weak and tired most of the time. He would have to tell Blake about it. He rubbed his chest pensively as he focused on the conversation that was taking place not far from where he had parked the car. The men who had attacked Cowboy had used Solo's own car to drive him to an old, isolated house in a quiet part of the village. Illya had given them a head start then he had used his tracking device to discreetly follow them so that he could keep listening in on what was happening thanks to the microphone inside his partner's watch…and rescue Cowboy if necessary. The conversation had been going on for about fifteen minutes. Illya had heard two different interlocutors so far. Two men. One with a calm, composed voice. And another one who sounded more nervous and hostile. He was the one who had suggested killing Solo. Illya could understand why the man was nervous, Cowboy had wasted no time beating around the bush. He had simply told the two men that he knew the secret society was some sort of cover for a criminal organization and that he wanted in. Illya frowned as he heard his partner mention some of the names from Marshall's list. Blake had found out that most of the names belonged to wealthy English businessmen and other somewhat influential individuals but they weren't entirely sure yet of how those people were connected to the organization.

Don't push your luck, Cowboy…

There was a moment of silence then Nervous-voice spoke again.

"May I ask how you came to know so much about our organisation? That information is highly confidential."

"Well you've obviously done your research on me so you probably know that, in addition to selling antiquities, I'm also in the business of gathering valuable bits of information, which means that I have a few connections…"

Good save…

"Don't worry.", Calm-voice cut in. "We know about your connections, Mr. Carlyle, without them you would already be dead, or worse."

There was a short pause.

"Well I must say it's a relief, then."

Illya gave a puzzled frown. That had gone far more smoothly than he had expected. Sanders and Waverly must really have done an exceptional job with Cowboy's cover.

"I still think we don't need any new members.", Nervous-voice insisted. "He thinks the secret society is only a cover. He doesn't take the cult seriously…"

"Forgive my colleague, he is rather mistrustful by nature, and we've recently had some…slight security issues."

Another pause. They were testing him about Marshall.

"I see, nothing too serious, I hope?"

"No, nothing to be concerned about. It has been taken care of."

"Good. If I do join your organisation, I want to be sure that my secrets will be kept safe."

Calm-voice gave a curt laugh.

"If you do join our organisation, yes…Well, Mr. Carlyle, it has been a pleasure. You have impressive credentials and I'm convinced you could contribute greatly to our organisation…"

"Does this mean I'm in?"

Calm-voice laughed again.

"Don't worry you'll have your answer soon. Oh and don't bother trying to contact us. We know where to find you."

Illya heard several dragging noises, probably chairs being pushed back. The impromptu meeting was over. After a few minutes he heard the sound of a car engine. Again, he gave them a head start then started following Solo's car. After a short while, he realized that they were driving Cowboy back to his cottage and he decided to stop following them and drive back to the base cottage instead. It was probably wiser to avoid making contact right after the meeting. The men who had attacked Cowboy would probably stick around to make sure he didn't contact or meet with anyone.

Two days later, base cottage, Gaby's p.o.v.

"Any chest pain?"

"No, no pain. More like tightness."

Gaby watched quietly as Blake pulled Illya's shirt open and auscultated him with his stethoscope. Poor Illya was definitely more docile now. She could easily understand why, after almost two weeks of sniffling and coughing, her partner just wanted to get better.

"Shortness of breath?"

"A little. I…"

A fit of coughing prevented him from elaborating. Blake put a supportive hand on his patient's shoulder and waited for the coughing to subside.

"Well, I'm sorry, Kuryakin, but it seems that your cold is turning into bronchitis. It should clear up by itself but it will take about two more weeks."

Gaby saw Illya's mouth twist into a grimace of annoyance. He looked at her but she had nothing to offer except an "I'm sorry" shrug and a sympathetic smile.

"The best thing we can do is to continue treating the symptoms with aspirin. For the chest congestion, I don't have any expectorants but a hot compress might help a little. And let me know immediately if you start experiencing chest pain or severe shortness of breath. Or if you start coughing up bloody mucus."

Mmm charming…

Blake got up and went to his room to fetch Illya's medicine and a towel for the compress. Gaby watched her partner lie down on the couch. With his tired face and his wrinkled shirt hanging open, he looked so miserable that she felt the urge to give him a hug. Instead, she enquired about Napoleon.

"What time did you say Solo would be here?"

"He's late. Probably making sure he's not being followed."

A few minutes later, they heard the sound of the front door closing and Napoleon walked into the room just as Blake was coming back with a glass of aspirin, a towel and a bowl of warm water.

"What did I miss? Is Peril dying?"

"Bronchitis.", Gaby answered as Illya drank the medicine.

Napoleon sat down into one of the armchairs and watched with knitted eyebrows as Blake soaked the towel in the warm water and applied it to Illya's chest.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay, Peril? Maybe you should take it easy for a few days. I'm sure the three of us can manage without y…"

"What are you talking about.", Illya growled as he started to sit up.

"Easy, Kuryakin."

Blake gently pushed him back down and adjusted the compress. Gaby shot Napoleon a disapproving look, he responded with a cheeky grin before changing the subject.

"So as you all know, tomorrow is the big day. The day of my initiation into the mysterious secret society."

The previous evening, Napoleon had found a note on the kitchen table of his cottage – no signs of forced entry, which had hardly surprised him. Printed on the paper were the words "initiation ceremony", the date and the time of the event. Gaby felt a rush of excitement; this was the breakthrough they had been hoping for. Things were finally moving. But she was also aware that they would only have one shot at this and that they would need to plan things out carefully if they didn't want Napoleon to end up like poor Asher. She knew that Napoleon was worried about the initiation ceremony. Both he and Illya had had the impression that the meeting with the two "higher members" of the secret society had gone too smoothly. The next day, Napoleon had asked Davies about the two men. Apparently one of them was the leader of the secret society, and of the organization – or at least of that particular branch of the larger organization – and went by the name of Cleary. The other one was the leader of the mysterious cult around which the secret society revolved and wished to be addressed as 'cult master'. The two men's motivations for letting Napoleon join their organization were unclear to say the least, and there was a good chance that the whole initiation ceremony thing would turn out to be a trap.

"I'm going to need someone to follow me inside the building, in case things turn sour. Do you feel up to it, Peril?"

Napoleon's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced at Illya. Of course there was no way he would be able to carry out a stealthy infiltration mission with his uncontrollable fits of coughing, and he knew it.

"Let agent Blake do it.", she suggested. "I mean, if you don't mind…", she added turning toward Blake.

"Not at all. Solo?"

She saw Napoleon hesitate for a second, he glanced at Illya, then he nodded.

"All right. Blake will follow me inside with the portable listening device. Illya, you will wait in the car in case we need reinforcements. Gaby, you will be our getaway driver."

They spent a couple of hours going over the details of the plan and then Napoleon left. Illya was exhausted and retired for the night. Blake excused himself and went to his room to prepare a report for Sanders. Gaby decided to go to bed but she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep. After about an hour of tossing and turning, she got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. As she got out of her room, she walked straight into a shirtless Blake who had apparently just stepped out of the bathroom.

"Agent Blake…I'm sorry…"

Blake laughed quietly.

"No harm done, don't worry. By the way, you can call me Owen, or just Blake, I don't mind."

She nodded, vaguely embarrassed. As she turned to leave he put a hand on her arm.

"And don't worry too much about tomorrow night either. Everything will be fine."

"But Asher…"

"Solo won't be alone. I'll be there to watch his back."

She gave him a grateful smile and went back to bed. Maybe things would go smoothly after all.

The next evening, unknown location, Solo's p.o.v.

Napoleon stepped into the room. The two men who had escorted him there did not follow him. He heard the door close as he took in the scene before him. Inside the spacious room, a crowd of people was gathered around refreshment tables. At first glance, it looked like a normal evening party. The only difference was that all the guests were part of a secret society and members of a mysterious cult, and probably criminals. Taking a closer look at the guests, Napoleon noted that although some of them were dressed in suits and evening dresses, others – men and women – wore long, loose brown robes, just like the one he was wearing himself. The men who had taken him to this room had insisted that he slip it on, over his suit. They were the same men who had picked him up at his cottage earlier and he suspected they were also the men who had attacked him in the village two days earlier. At least this time they had blindfolded him instead of covering his head with a stinky hood. Looking at the faces, Napoleon recognized some people from the village but many of the cult members present in the room were people he had never seen before.

"Good evening, Mr. Carlyle. Are you enjoying the party so far?"

Napoleon recognized the voice even before he turned around. Cleary, the leader of the secret society was standing before him, dressed in an elegant black suit. Next to him was the cult master, wearing a crimson robe.

He doesn't look particularly happy to see Trevor Carlyle…

Napoleon flashed him his widest grin, then he exchanged a few more words with Cleary before the two of them moved on to another group of guests. Napoleon scanned the room and spotted Davies in the crowd. He was wearing a three-piece suit which looked slightly too big for him, and which had obviously seen better days.

"Hey mate! Congratulations, you must be chuffed! Sorry again about the other night, I had no idea they had planned a meeting with you. You know, higher members, they never bother to tell me anything. They probably think I'm a proper dimwit."

Sorry, pal, but I can hardly blame them…

"No hard feelings, Davies, you don't need to keep apologising. That's quite a lot of people. Are they all here for my initiation ceremony?"

"Well, there's usually not as many people when we welcome a new member. But your initiation coincides with another event that was planned for tonight so all the toffs are here."

"I see…it makes me slightly nervous, to be honest. Have you got any tips?"

Davies laughed and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Ah cheer up, Carlyle, everything's going to be fine. This is just a formality. Soon you'll be one of us."

"But I don't know anything about the cult…"

"You'll learn. One piece of advice, though, get rid of the robe, it clashes with your posh style."

As they got closer to the center of the room, something caught Napoleon's attention.

"What's that large table in the middle of the room for?", he asked, describing the object and its location for Blake's benefit.

"You'll see.", Davies answered with a wink.

Napoleon walked up to the table to take a closer look. It was made of metal and had leather restraints fixed to its four corners. He felt his pulse quicken slightly.

That's never a good sign…

He looked up and spotted the cult master who was watching him intently from across the room. He casually stepped away from the table and caught up with Davies.

"So, what do you think of the place, Carlyle?"

"I must say it's a little different from what I expected. More, I don't know, more…modern."

"What? You thought it was going to be more medieval? All stone and torches?

"Something like that."

Davies laughed again, his loud, unrefined laugh.

"Like I said, some of our members are important people, the crème de la crème, you know. Those people appreciate a certain level of comfort. It also makes cleaning up easier."

"Cleaning up?"

Davies suddenly seemed to visibly shrink and, following his gaze, Napoleon noticed that the cult master was now within earshot and was glaring disapprovingly at his companion.

"Ah, I don't want to say too much and spoil the surprise. Enough with all the questions, just enjoy the party for now."

Davies led him to the refreshment tables and they both grabbed a drink. They ambled around the room for a while, exchanging greetings with the other guests, making small talk. Davies appeared delighted to walk around with the soon-to-be new member. He probably didn't have many opportunities to be in the limelight. Napoleon was using that casual tour of the huge room to scan for any potential exits he could use in case things went south. He used subtle, occasional comments to keep Blake informed about the layout of the room. Suddenly the sound of a ringing bell filled the room and everyone started converging toward the center of the room, where Napoleon had seen the table. Davies caught him by the arm and led him through the crowd.

"Come on mate, it's your big moment."

Davies pushed him forward until he found himself at the center of the circle, next to Cleary and the cult master. Napoleon suddenly realized that everyone had gone quiet. A small door he had spotted earlier opened at the far end of the room. Two cult members appeared, half dragging, half supporting a shirtless man as they closed the distance that separated them from the center of the room. The prisoner was struggling weakly and shouting expletives at his captors. Slightly younger than Napoleon, lean and athletic, a full head of light brown hair. He looked almost exactly like the photograph in his file. Minus the smile.

Well, I guess I found Marshall…

End of chapter 3 :)