Chapter Four: Familiar Faces

Disclaimer: I do not own Illya, Napoleon or any part of the UNCLE universe: I just borrowed them for a bit.

Napoleon heard an insistent buzzing and floundered absent-mindedly for his alarm clock before realizing that he was not in his apartment but in fact at his desk. He shook himself out of the depths of concentration before answering the intercom.

Wanda summoned him to reception where a young blonde girl in her twenties was standing. Napoleon unconsciously stood taller and adjusted his tie.

"Mr. Solo?"

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Marie Carlton, Johnny's sister. And Johnny has something to say." She reached behind her and pulled the reluctant paperboy in front of her.

Responding to a prod from his sister, Johnny squinted up at Napoleon. "One of those photos you showed me…I think it was him."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Napoleon was curious.

Johnny hung his head until Marie prodded him again. "There was a show about the Yankees on the radio. I wanted to listen and I figured if I told you, you'd ask more questions and I wouldn't make it home for the start."

Napoleon breathed out slowly, keeping the instant anger he felt from showing on his face. "No harm done, I'm sure. You ready to take another look?"

Johnny nodded, relief at avoiding a scolding written large across his face. He chattered as the three of them walked down the corridor to the records room.

"I didn't see him too well this morning but I reckon I've seen him hanging around on and off for the past two weeks. Like he was staking out the place."

Inside the room, he made a beeline to one of the pictures. Reaching past the boy, Napoleon picked up the photo and looked more closely. As he read the file name, his blood turned to ice.

Illya stirred from a fitful doze, his throat parched, and he tried hard not to lick his lips: somehow that made his thirst worse. He had been left on his own for some time now and judging by the light outside, it was early evening.

Logic dictated that Carlotta did not mean to shoot him or she would have done so already. If she wanted to inflict physical torture, he hoped she would be limited by the thick leather straps. At some point, she would have to untie him. Illya decided that that was when he would make his move. Until then, he would have to save his strength.

Without warning, the door swung open. Carlotta strode into the room and switched on a spotlight directly in front of him. A tall man followed her. Illya blinked in the bright light, straining to see his face to try and identify him. Carlotta saved him the trouble.

"I think you may remember Dr. Marco Lander, my father's assistant."

The fear rose up in Illya again as the stranger moved forward out of the shadow. Yes, he remembered Lander, Merrick's protégé. Rumor had it that he had once disagreed with his mentor who had promptly cut out his tongue. Lander had escaped from the clinic in Rio and gone to ground. Illya decided the blurry photograph on file did little justice to the sadistic gleam in Lander's eyes. He recognized Lander as the man who had abducted him…was it only that morning?

"I thought about the price I would exact for my father's murder."

Carlotta walked round the back of Illya and bent down so that her mouth was next to his right ear. He did not take his eyes off Lander who was busy laying out row upon row of surgical instruments.

"I wanted to kill you at first but that would have been too quick, too easy," Carlotta purred. "I didn't want anything that was quick and easy. Physical torture would have been more satisfying but I've read the files on you. You stand up to pain very well."

In spite of himself, Illya shivered. Carlotta continued her circuit till she was in his line of vision, blocking out Lander and forcing his attention back to her.

"I thought about amputating your feet, taking your eyes, removing your tongue—Lander liked that option." She cradled his face in her hands. "Castration crossed my mind, Illya, and so did a lobotomy." Her fingers were in his hair now, twisting and pulling. He faced down her stare with a contemptuous bravado he did not feel. If he were honest with himself, bravery was very far from what he was feeling.

She let go of his hair with a jerk. "But I asked myself: did I really want to take your mobility?" Her words were punctuated with raking digs into his shoulder with a long, highly-polished fingernail. "Your speech, your sight, your…virility?" She dug deep again and he could not avoid wincing as she broke the skin under his shirt. "Did I really want to take your mind away?"

"And what did you decide?" he asked, his voice coming out more hoarsely than he would have wished.

She did not reply but ripped a hole in his left sleeve exposing his upper arm. She reached behind her and Lander carefully handed her a syringe.

Keep her talking, Illya told himself, keep her talking.

"Miss Merrick…Carlotta…I know the loss of a parent is bereavement of the worst kind—believe me, I know. But you have to understand that what your father was doing was wrong, it was evil. I had to stop him."

She was no longer listening to him. He watched in horrified fascination as she tapped the air bubbles out of the syringe and advanced towards him.

"Anaesthetic?" he whispered.

"Oh no, Mr. Kuryakin. I want you awake and experiencing every moment. But I can't have you moving. This is designed to paralyze voluntary muscle action."

He knew he had to speak, to do something quickly before she injected him but words died on his lips as he saw the undiminished hatred on her face. As the drug flowed into him, Illya felt his body relax and then start to lock. With eyes that could not blink, he watched as Lander moved forward. When he made the first incision, Illya tried to scream but the only noise in the still room was Carlotta's heavy breathing.