Chapter Two: Know Thine Enemy
Disclaimer: I do not own Illya, Napoleon or any part of the UNCLE universe: I just borrowed them for a bit.
A few hours had passed and Illya's brain was racing. Who was behind this? Thrush was a prime candidate but it wasn't really their style. The Thrush Illya had come to know and loathe would have left him with guards and in a great deal more anguish. As it was, he was relatively unscathed. His stomach growled to remind him that he had been sitting for some time in this room. Well, he'd been hungry before; better to be hungry than in pain. Kidnap? A possibility. Private revenge, then. That narrowed it down to a few hundred suspects. He briefly wondered whether it had anything to do with Napoleon. He gritted his teeth. If it did, it would take a while before he prepared himself to forgive him…
His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and the entrance of a young woman carrying some files. Of average height and slim build, with long raven black hair, she had striking good looks. Definitely to do with Napoleon, Illya muttered darkly to himself.
"Mr. Kuryakin? We haven't met." She crossed the room slowly till she stood in front of him. "My name is Carlotta."
"Carlotta." Illya inclined his head in acknowledgement. His nostrils twitched as he recognized the exclusive perfume. He had already noted her designer suit. Expensive tastes… "You'll have to excuse me for not getting up."
She laughed. "Exquisite manners, even under such circumstances."
She looked down at him, considering, then suddenly lunged forward and kissed him hard on the mouth, forcing his head back. There was no passion in the kiss but there was exceptional violence. Carlotta bit down hard on his lower lip, causing him to exclaim with the unexpected pain. As she pulled away, he tasted the blood in his mouth and ran his tongue gingerly over the bite.
She stood smiling at him again, all self-control once more. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Kuryakin, it's just that in the flesh, you're a whole lot…" she tailed off. "I'll try not to let it happen again."
Terrific, Illya thought. Another unstable madwoman who found him attractive. His day just kept getting better and better. She seemed relaxed, as if it were perfectly natural to conduct a conversation with a man in bondage. Who knows, Illya reflected, perhaps she's used to this. He tried in vain to recall the name, a connection, anything.
"No doubt you're wondering why you're here."
Illya went with the obvious. "I thought a little bird might tell me."
"Thrush? You may well be among their top ten most wanted but I doubt even they would dream of snatching you right outside U.N.C.L.E. HQ."
Illya nodded. Well, there was always flattery; it worked so well for his partner. "I can't imagine I would ever forget such a lovely face…" He paused as he saw her amused look.
"Such compliments, Mr. Kuryakin. Surely more typical of Mr. Solo."
He knew it! Napoleon, my friend, he swore silently, when I get out of here, you are for the long jump.
"Might I then enquire why you decided to detain me? I can't believe you usually need to abduct men in order for them to keep you company."
Carlotta leaned forward, placing her hands over his. He felt her full body weight pressing down as she leaned over him, bringing her dark green eyes close to his face. "I am Dr. Samuel Merrick's daughter."
She was rewarded by the sight of recognition in Illya's eyes and a flicker of something else—fear?—before his face settled once again into an impassive mask.
Straightening up, Carlotta continued in the same bright tone she had adopted throughout: "As I'm sure you'll realize, I have looked forward to this moment for some considerable time. My late father meant everything to me… I have planned for the moment when I would meet the man who killed him."
Illya's stomach was doing somersaults. He was now grateful it was empty. Assignments came and went but some stuck in the memory and the Merrick affair had been particularly grim. Napoleon and he had given up hiding behind the shield of repartee which protected them from the realities of what they did and saw. In Illya's mind, it had been no accident that they had tracked Merrick down to South America: he could quite believe that Merrick had had some Nazi sponsors.
He focused his attention again on Carlotta. She was busy pinning telephoto shots up on the wall. He recognized himself as the subject.
"As you can see, I am well prepared, Mr. Kuryakin. I have made a study of you and your habits. Certain information has been obtained from other sources."
He glanced at the dossier on the table and saw telltale signs of Thrush paperwork.
"You seem to have followed the Boy Scouts' motto," he congratulated her. He wanted to keep the talk light: he pushed away the worry of what would happen when the lightness went.
"Oh, I know lots about you, Illya!" Carlotta seemed delighted to show off her knowledge. "I know you're a polyglot, you're ambidextrous, you enjoy good food—vodka of course!" She started to count the facts on her fingers. "You are an excellent marksman, an accomplished hand-to-hand fighter, a skilful fencer and a gifted master of disguise. You are a proficient musician, which most people know, and an expert at poker, which most people don't. You keep people at a distance not trusting close relationships except that with your partner whom you trust with your life."
She stopped, a little breathless. "As you can see, I've done my homework."
"Full marks," he agreed.
"I enjoyed getting close to you, Mr. Kuryakin." Back to his formal title, he noted. "I wanted to make sure I really understood my father's murderer."
"Look, Miss Merrick…Carlotta," he took a chance on using her first name. "Your father was a talented surgeon—"
"A genius!" she insisted.
Illya ignored the interruption. "But at the end, he was insane. I had no choice. He was holding a scalpel to a boy's throat. He'd already maimed over fifty children before we caught up with him—"
"Sacrifices have to be made at the altar of greatness! Their place in history would have been assured!" she spat the words out.
All hope of reasoning with this woman left Illya's mind when he saw the hint of madness in her unblinking eyes. Like father, like daughter, he decided heavily. He stared silently up at her, seeing the tautness in her face. She reminded him of a coiled cobra, unpredictable and deadly.
"Tell me, Miss Merrick," he said to break the silence and the tension. "Did you follow in your father's footsteps?"
"Me?" She laughed out loud. "I'm in real estate."