Etienne stepped on the brakes, causing the Mercedes to slide, barely missing the approaching couple as they emerged from the trees that lined the roadside. Napoleon was holding on with both hands, relieved when the car finally came to a stop with no evidence of damage to anyone.
"Napoleon, they found me out" Illya was declaring the state of the mission as he leapt into the back seat, Genevieve close behind him.
"How? What happened in there?" They had barely arrived, and already things were in disarray and lacking the expected and desired outcome.
"I am not an exact duplicate, and I do not wish to give any other details about it". The blond was agitated, without a doubt, and his partner knew better than to require any other details, at present. They would discuss this later, alone.
"What do you suggest then? Do we have any options to...save the mission?" Illya was panting from the exertion of running across the expansive parkland that was part of this chateau's property. The girl seemed equally spent from the exercise, and Napoleon waited for an introduction while the two gained their composure. Illya had his head resting against the seat back, his chest showing a return to normal breathing. He looked like a ghost, everything about his appearance was white and transluscent in the moonlight that washed through the car's windows.
"I don't know how to salvage this right now. They won't use the information in that packet, now that they know I'm not the original courier. We need to convince them that it is accurate and reliable. Otherwise, they'll just abandon all of it, and we will have lost the advantage of our false information". Illya's eyes sought out his partner, looking for a hint of brilliance or a plan already forming in the CEA's clever mind.
"It would help if we had a reason to go back in there somehow..." Illya saw it, realized he needed to go back in; he needed to let himself be "captured" so that he would have an opportunity to convince them the contents of that courier's package was legitimate, and not a plant.
"They will be sending out a team to look for me...for us. I suppose I could be conveniently at their mercy, perhaps at the hands of my friend here". He looked at the girl next to him, wondering if she would be willing to pose as a victim who had the great luck to overwhelm her kidnapper. The look she gave him was confused, not understanding what he proposed.
"Genevieve, would you be willing to go back...if it could be made to appear that I had forced you to leave with me? I think they would believe you...Deneauve would want to believe you. And that way I can get back in, without compromising you". He knew she was afraid, but hoped that her confidence in him would persuade her to do this.
"Illya...how important is this?" To the point. He liked that about her.
"It is very important, lives are at stake when dealing with these people...with Thrush". His eyes demanded her attention, and she studied them carefully, looking for her answer.
"Yes, I will do it. But you must promise me...you must take me with you when you leave there. You will leave there, won't you? Alive..." She suddenly realized that he would be in real danger from Deneauve. Not just a slap across the face, as she might receive. The master of that chateau was a violent and dangerous man, and Illya was stepping back into his domain.
"Genevieve, Illya knows how to do this. He'll be fine, and he will protect you...we will protect you". Napoleon's soothing voice was a comfort, and Etienne marveled at the effect it seemed to have on the other woman.
These two are everything I've heard about them...she was impressed even though she too had concerns about the Russian's plans to re-enter the Thrush lair.
"Illya, I do have something in mind. I don't want to discuss it at length..." He nodded his head towards Genevieve. Illya understood that she needn't have all of their plans, less opportunity for her to give them away.
"I will wait for you to save me, my friend. I have every confidence you will not wait too long. Now, in order for this to appear legitimate, we need a way for this lady to overcome me and deliver me back to Deneauve. I can think of only one way that would look legitimate, as much as I dislike it". The blue eyes zeroed in on his partner's face, knowing the look of displeasure would appear alongside an understanding of the most obvious solution. Illya withdrew his hidden pistol, the one concealed in a cigarette lighter. They had neglected to take that from him, possibly because it was hidden in the heal of his shoe.
"I wish there were another way, Napoleon, but I don't see it. She can't overwhelm me physically, so there will need to be some kind of damage done to me...unless you wish to run me over with this car". Only the slightest curl of his lip conveyed his resignation to being either shot or hit by the Mercedes. Somehow, the pistol seemed less violent and more convincing.
After rehearsing the scene several times, the players were ready to begin their charade and send Illya and Genevieve back to Deneauve. The girl was nearly panicked at the plan, which only added to her believability. It would not be difficult for her to run back to the chauteau and beg for help, hoping that Illya was not bleeding to death on the path behind her.
Napoleon and Etienne would head back to Tours and contact the Paris office; the plan needed some various articles that could be produced only with the help of the UNCLE experts. Timing and accuracy would make this work, and save Kuryakin's life, which would now hang on the expectancy that the Thrush man within the chauteau could be convinced of the story Illya would tell him.
"Please, Napoleon. Do your best work here, as I have no desire to die on this road" Illya had no jest in his voice, even though the comment was meant to ease the strain of what his partner had to do now. Napoleon lined up his shot carefully, aiming for just the part of his friend's body that would look for all the world as if it had come from an inexperienced shooter. He needed to miss vital organs, but supply enough blood to substantiate the girl's hysteria. The brown eyes focused on his partner's left arm, aiming for muscle and not bone. It would hurt like hell, but he would still have the use of his other arm, and the blood loss would be easily stemmed. Illya stood rigid and resolute, anticipating the burn of lead passing through his flesh, not resisting the urge to succumb to it and pass out from the shock and pain. Genevieve saw it, disbelieving and horrified as the bullet struck, pushing the pale figure backwards and then to the ground as he reached for the affected limb, but unable to reach it before passing out.
Napoleon handed her the gun which she immediately threw to the ground, unable to wrap her fingers around the small implement of violence. She opened her mouth to speak, but Napoleon urged her to run and make her way to the chateau, assuring her that they would be back to make eveyrthing right. She took one last look at Illya, then, fearing that he might bleed to death, she took off at a run towards the lights in the windows, hoping that she could get there in time to beg for their help and carry out the storyline she had been given. The moonlight cast shadows on the road from the trees that lined her path back to the Thrush enclave. She stopped periodically to gain her breath, looking back to see if perhaps Illya had risen from the ground and was following her, motioning her back from this journey. But he remained prone, lifeless looking and smaller as she continued on. Her heart was pounding as she neared the front door.
Napoleon went over to his partner, checking to make certain the bullet had entered as he had planned; he turned back to the car with Etienne looking on, ashen and uncertain of the plan but confident in the man who sat down beside her.
"He'll be alright, won't he?" Her eyes searched the American's for an expression of whatever he was feeling. He looked up at her then, and she saw the concern and the regret. Still, he was resolute in what they must do now as he motioned for her to turn the car around and head back for Tours. They had work to do, and Illya's life depended on them doing it to perfection.
"Open channel D, emergency relay..."