CHAPTER FIVE

While the Oldsmobile was stuck in the thick traffic of New York's rush hour, Maureen could not suppress a question she had been mulling over for quite a while. "I still don't understand what happened". Hers were the first words that were uttered after the accident.

Illya offered an explanation. "See, Maureen, the real vial has always been safely tucked in my pocket. Stephanie only had a fake, although she didn't know it. She had to be convincing enough for them to try and get it from her and not from me." Then he turned towards Stephanie, with an apologetic look in the blue eyes. "When I stopped at the airport's duty free shop, I just bought a small bottle of whiskey, poured it in a new empty vial, and delivered it to you. I had to make sure they thought you had the real item."

Stephanie's look was, by contrast, blank. "So you used me as bait."

The Russian looked away from her. "Yes. I'm sorry, Steph."

"Don't be. You did what you had to do. For all we know, the original vial can very well contain a lethal bacteriological weapon, so its safety was your top priority."

The Russian just nodded, still unable to look at her.

But then she added: "Either that, or you thought that I wasn't dependable enough to carry the real thing."

Before Illya had a chance to protest, Napoleon intervened: "Excuse me for meddling in your discussion, but I really don't think that is the case, Stephanie. I think I know what Illya had in mind; he was hoping to keep you safe by holding the only thing that he could bargain in case they snatched you away. His real top priority was you, not the vial." Then he added a remark, glowering at his partner. "Against all better judgment, I must add."

Maureen could not help but run to the Russian's aid. "Hey, what's gotten into you guys? Can't you see that Illya was trying to save both the world and his girlfriend? Do you think that is an easy task? Boy, he had more chances to win the national lottery! Yet he made it, and none of you has said a word of praise. All you can do is question his methods. Well, you should look at the results instead." After her tirade, she crossed her arms and glared at Napoleon and Stephanie.

The two looked at each other with a guilty expression, realizing that Maureen – who wasn't in the espionage business and who just considered the actual consequences – was right. Illya had saved the vial and Stephanie, and – depending on the vial's contents – possibly the world. Questioning his methods was, at this point, only trivial.

Napoleon looked abashed. "I think she's right, chum. We owe you."

Stephanie self-consciously looked at the blond. "I'm sorry, Illya, I might have been a little too harsh on you."

The Russian just looked at them with an unfathomable look, secretly enjoying their embarrassment.

In the meantime they had reached UNCLE headquarters and hastily dismounted the car, still not letting their guard down. Before they had a chance to enter the building, they were met by a squad of three men clad in black suits and sporting UNCLE's security badge on their jackets.

One of the men smiled at them. "Please follow us. We've been instructed to bring you to a safe location to have the vial analyzed."

Stephanie asked: "Why aren't we using the HQ's lab facilities?"

"For containment reasons. We could be dealing with a mass destruction weapon."

She still looked suspicious. "You don't mind my checking your credentials, do you?"

The man's friendly smile never wavered. "As a matter of fact, we do". He swiftly extracted a silenced gun and leveled it at Maureen's head. The woman muttered: "Oh come on, not again!"

Another man prodded Illya's back with his gun, whispering in his ear: "Follow us, please, Mr. Kuryakin." The third man was already targeting Napoleon's chest.

The Russian had no choice but to let the men shove him into a black car, and his friends could only watch helplessly while the car sped away with squealing tires. The whole operation lasted less than thirty seconds.

Moving as one, both Napoleon and Stephanie jumped back into their Oldsmobile, barely waiting for Maureen to join them. They immediately took pursuit.

Clenching his teeth and slamming his palm against the wheel, Solo growled: "Damn! Now they got Illya and the real vial! And me thinking that the whole affair was over!"

Stephanie's voice was trembling. "He will put up a terrible fight to protect the vial. They're going to kill him. Oh, why does he always, always take the brunt of my missions?"

Napoleon tried to comfort the distraught woman. "Illya has a way of getting out of desperate situations alive, if not unscathed. I'm sure he will be OK. Eventually."

Stephanie mumbled: "I don't feel I can share your optimism."

With a small grin, he said: "That's because you haven't spent 15 years of active service with him. He's a surprisingly resourceful fella, my little Russian friend. You'll see."

They got into visual contact with the black car in time to see one of the back doors swinging open and an unresisting body being unceremoniously thrown out of the vehicle. The following drivers were forced to pump on the brakes and skid laterally to avoid running over the body slumped on the road.

Terror-stricken, Stephanie yelled: "Oh my God, Illya! No!"

They came to a screeching halt beside the Russian's unmoving form.

When Stephanie and Napoleon gloomily inspected him, they were not expecting a pulse, but Kuryakin's heart was beating reassuringly, albeit erratically. Then Solo noticed a tiny dart sticking out of his left thigh. He immediately extracted it and showed it to Stephanie. "I think they just drugged him." Then he tucked it away in his pocket.

The woman reacted rapidly. "Let's bring him back to UNCLE's headquarters. They will take care of him and will analyze the dart to find an antidote to whatever it contained."

So they gently and laboriously loaded the Russian into the Oldsmobile and sped back to UNCLE.

Four people were gathered around the blond laying on one of UNCLE's ER beds. Napoleon Solo, frowning, was staring at his unconscious friend. Maureen was sitting on a chair, looking somewhat lost. Stephanie was holding Illya's hand and was looking worriedly at his serene, handsome face. Sir John Raleigh was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed, contemplating the whole picture.

He had just finished listening to his agent's report. He didn't bother to hide his disappointment. "Well, I guess this is it. Mr. Kuryakin is luckily still among us, but he was the one holding the real vial."

From her chair in the corner, Maureen said, in a small voice: "No, he wasn't."

Three pairs of bewildered eyes turned to look at her.

The woman slowly produced a small vial from her purse. "He knew they would catch him eventually. He gave it to me back in Kentucky when we stopped at the first gas station and you two were sleeping in the car. He figured they would consider me as a very unlikely carrier, not being a spy and all that."

Stephanie was staggered. "But… but you said you didn't understand what happened when I was apprehended."

"Illya instructed me so. He thought that maybe the car was bugged."

Napoleon echoed: "Bugged?"

"Think about it, tovarish", a coarse voice uttered from the bed.

They all turned again to look at the Russian, now conscious and struggling to raise his back from the bed. Stephanie was overjoyed. "Illya! You're awake!"

Kuryakin's head was spinning wildly, and he promptly stopped his attempts at rising. "Yes, although I wish I were still unconscious. My head is splitting in two."

Napoleon prompted him to continue. "So you think the Oldsmobile was bugged?"

"Well, it's the only logical explanation for them being able to always know where we were, don't you think? They could hear everything we were saying. Sir John, why don't you have the car's cabin thoroughly searched? I'm sure you will find a tiny little bug hidden in some remote place."

The Brit answered, smiling: "I most certainly will, Mr. Kuryakin. I must congratulate you on your ingenious solution for the vial. I also would never have suspected Miss VanMeter had it." He carefully took it from Maureen's slightly trembling hand and promptly pocketed it. "I will have it analyzed immediately by our biological lab." He left without further ado.

Stephanie stroked Illya's hair. "How are you feeling, honey?"

The Russian grimaced. "I feel quite nauseated. Very funny feeling. Reminds me of…. bozhe moi!" He tensed and raised his back again from the bed, immediately regretting the sudden move, which sent pangs of pain to his head.

Solo, alarmed by his friend's distressed tone, prompted him: "What does it remind you of, Illya?"

His baby blue eyes wide open, the blond said: "It reminds me the way I used to feel whenever I woke up after being drugged by… Thrush!"

Three different voices uttered in unison: "What?"

While Stephanie succinctly explained to Maureen that Thrush was not a bird but an organization that used to be UNCLE's worst enemy a long time ago, Napoleon tried to reassure his friend. "Come on, chum, you know that's impossible. Thrush has disappeared many years ago and has never been restored since."

The Russian relaxed and slowly leaned his head back on the pillow, sighing. "I guess you're right, Napoleon, although I could have sworn…"

He was interrupted by a lab technician hastily entering the room, with a somewhat alarmed look in his dark eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss Rogers, but the contents of the dart that knocked down Mr. Kuryakin have been analyzed. This is all very strange."

Stephanie tried to calm down the man. "Take it easy, Donovan. What seems to be the problem?"

"You see, the dart was filled with a drug that was already in our files. Our system immediately recognized it as frequently used in the past by… Thrush."

The same chorus of "What?" burst out again, followed by a more subdued "Told you" coming from the bed.