Genevieve pounded on the door to the chateau, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion of running and the emotional distress of the situation. It was Deneauve himself who opened the door, surprise written on his handsome features as he took in the sight of the girl.
"Genevieve, what has happened to you? Where is that man?" His words escaped before he could summon the composure he normally held for employees. It had been a grievous thing to him for the girl to leave, especially with that imposter. Looking at her now, his hopes returned that she had been forced into it.
"Monsieur Deneauve, I shot him. He's at the end of the drive, and I don't know if I killed him or not. I was so scared". And with that, she fell into his arms, weeping and whimpering about how he had forced her to accompany him, to lead him through the tunnels. Her tears were real, although the story was the account she had been instructed to relate to Thrush.
"Please, I do not wish to be responsible for any man's death. He kept saying he was not an enemy, but his fear drove him to escape from here. I was confused..." Then she cried some more, hoping to convey the scenario intact to this man who would hold Illya's life in his hands.
"Genevieve...sshhh my sweet, you have not killed him, I am certain. We will retrieve him and tend to his wounds. I am only relieved that you have returned and are safe now...with me". He took her in his arms and escorted her farther into the house, near the fireplace that embraced a spirited flame, full of warmth. He settled her into a down filled cushion, the chair nearly enveloping her as she sank into it, exhausted by the physical and emotional strain of the past few hours.
Deneauve ordered some men to go search for the wounded man and bring him back; sent for another to go and fetch a doctor who lived close by and often tended to the occasional wounded Thrush. There were many friends in the area who would quickly beckon to the summons they received from this man, his influence more profound than UNCLE would have liked to believe. As the two sat, mostly silent in front of the comforting fire, the Thrush man and the masseuse, each contemplated their next move. He would need to interrogate the albino, if indeed he was actually that. Knowing he was not the courier who had been dispatched to him made him doubt the entire appearance of the man. Still, what an astounding thing to create that look so completely and convincingly. He would, of course, explain it all with the proper motivation.
Genevieve kept practicing over and over in her mind the scenario she must help create; the story that would be the foundation for this deception. She began to recite it for Deneauve now, as they sat together in the comfort of the living room with the light of the fire falling seductively over her features, drawing him into her recitation of the tale.
"He did force me to go with him, and I was so scared. I dared not refuse. He was also afraid, I think. But, not because of guilt, only that you would not believe his story". She looked at him pleadingly, hoping that her sincerety would draw him into this account; Illya's life might depend on it.
"And what is his story? How is it different from my suspicion that he is an UNCLE agent?" The man's eyes were cutting, not willing to accept an account that would differ from his earlier accusation.
"He says they are twins...he and his brother. They have played this game since their youth, switching their identities back and forth until they accomplish whatever it is that they are doing. In this case, to deliver this information to you, monsieur. But, his brother was captured, and it was left to him to finish the job. The discrepency in their...um...la circoncision...it was done by their agreement, for security. One marked, the other not, just in case they needed to verify their stories, such as now. His brother was the one marked by the operation.
Deneault considered this, wondering at the probability and deciding, reluctantly, that it might be true. How else to explain a second Russian man with albinist characteristics, and in possession of their documents?
At that moment, the door opened and the two Thrush who had gone to retrieve Illya came through the door, half carrying, half dragging the man. His arm was soaked in blood and Genevieve thought he looked much worse than she had been led to believe he should.
"Mon Dieu, he looks so bad. What have I done?" She wailed at the sight of him, not needing to act the part of a remorseful near assassin. She didn't reach out for him, however, and maintained the distance required to continue the reticence of one not fully convinced of his innocence.
"Take him upstairs to his room. The doctor is on his way. Was there anything else there, any sign of weapons?" One of the men produced the little lighter pistol, and replied that it was the only thing there where he had been found. Deneauve took it and turned it over in his hand, admiring the size and ingenuity of the little pistol. He had not seen anything quite like it before, and determined to return it to their guest, should his story prove to be true.
Illya woke up on the bed in the room he had occupied only a few hours earlier. Although he had passed out after Napoleon shot him, he had been conscious for quite a while, including the trip back up to the chateau. He wanted the time to sort out the plan before facing the Thrush chief downstairs. Better that they should come to him, rather than being subjected to an inquisition immediately upon returning. Hopefully, Genevieve had begun the process and told her part of the story. It would prepare the way for his performance as the frere circoncis in this little play. What a ridiculous detail over which to possibly fail at a mission. He still had a score to settle with someone in section four.
He could hear approaching footsteps, and then voices. The door opened and a little man with a black bag entered, flanked by the two men who had retrieved him from the road. Behind them, sauntering in as the lord and master would be wont to do, came Deneauve, a look of grim determination on his face as he prepared for the task of interrogating his "guest" while he had the advantage. A doctor present did not guarantee a lack of pain, only the ability to manipulate it.
The two lackeys left the room, closing the door behind their exit. Illya was watching the approach of the physician and the Thrush chief warily, and winced when his affected arm was moved. "We must remove the shirt, so you will sit up for this", The doctor was deft in his treatment of the patient, but the pain of it was not lessened by that. Napoleon had got him right through the muscle, and it wasn't a through and through shot; the bullet would need to come out, and a sense of dread accompanied that knowledge. Deneauve was watching, not yet saying anything. He would allow the doctor's examination first, although he was enjoying his own as the shirt came off revealing the taut chest and arms, the white hair and fine musculature of the young man. He was fond of the girl downstairs, her ellusiveness a type of aphrodesiac to which he had accustomed himself to never having fulfilled. He could be equally enthralled by someone like this, however. The young man was beautiful, almost ethereal in his appearance with his light skin and blue eyes, the tantilizing whiteness that had the effect of a shimmering light continually shining. Imagine two such as these; it was incomprehensible to him.
"Monsieur Deneauve, the wound is not so bad, but I must remove the bullet. I can administer a pain killer...or a sedative...?" The physician was unsure, and past incidents had proved this man capable of subjecting others to discomfort in situations such as this. He didn't know for a certainty that the wounded man would receive the benefit of anything to dull the pain of this operation.
"What is your name? You are obviously not the man who started this mission". The Thrush chief looked imperious as he stared down at the Russian. Whether or not he was a twin, there was an explanation required for this ruse, for his impersonation of the brother he claimed to have replaced.
"Sergei Andreivitch Vlachko. Mikhail is my brother'...he squirmed under the doctor's hand as his arms was examined, his breath caught short by a stab of pain...
"He was captured by UNCLE, but I already had the package. We always intended to pass it off this way. His contact doesn't know about me...no one ever does. It was stupid of Mikhail to let someone see him...to undress him..."
Illya blushed with the supposed embarrassment of one who had been the victim of a personal violation. It was not entirely feigned, as he hated having to be placed in the position of displaying himself here, and Thrush had a propensity for stripping their prisoners and humiliating them...he shuddered slightly.
"I am inclined to believe you, although your escape had made you look guilty...of something. Perhaps you wish to share that with me, comrade". The smirk was purposeful and wicked. Illya thought that this man was probably very perverse; it was the best way to climb the ranks in Thrush, if past experience were any indication.
"I was afraid. I overheard the conversation and knew you had...ascertained that there was a difference. I don't know you monsieur, and I panicked. I am sorry now, for as you can see it has hurt me worse than you". The blond smirked in return with that last comment. As if on cue, the doctor plunged a needle into his arm, administering a local anesthesia, as per Deneauve's silent instruction.
"Ah, the operation is about to begin, I see. I have consented to spare you the additional pain of this, although I see no need to sedate you. From your appearance it appears that you have endured much worse". The scars that were evident spoke to more than a single gunshot wound. He could feel himself strangely affected by the sight of this slight, pale body. Taut and lean, he wondered...
"For now, monsieur, I will accept your story, as I have no other explanation for such a splendid duplicate of the man who was sent to me, but is now absent. Am I to believe, then, that the package you delivered to me is authentic, and did not pass through any other hands save yours and your brother's?"
Illya had this moment to convince him, and to save the mission from complete failure.
"Yes, Monsieur Deneauve, it is the original. Mikhail passed it to me in New York, just an hour before he was captured. I know he has not talked to UNCLE, he wouldn't. He is like me, and would never betray the hand that feeds him". The blue eyes were irresistible, and in an instant the older man knew this was true. Even though this strange young man looked fragile to the eye, he understood from this tone of his voice and posturing of his body, regardless of the surgery now taking place, that he would not bend to torture or temptation. He would accept this story, perhaps more from a desire to engage him in a more friendly environment than any sense of duty. All things being more or less equal, he deigned to imagine that the young man felt the same.
"Doctor, do you see any difficult in repairing his arm?" The change was sudden, signaling an end to the interrogation. Illya sighed a brief indication of some relief, acknowledging the awareness of the doctor cutting through muscle to reach the bullet. It wasn't pain exactly, but he was aware of the movement, the invasion of steel implements grinding into muscle and flesh. He felt drained, the blood loss and the adrenalin of the encounter with Deneauve taking it's toll now, lulling him into blackness. The Frenchman watched as the blue eyes cut across the room, searching for something and then fading into a far corner, unfocused. The heavy lids closed; silence took over, and darkness. He would sleep now.
Napoleon Solo and his French partner, Etienne Chevalier, returned to Tours and the hotel where he was registered, at around two o'clock in the morning. The night had been eventful, and leaving Illya lying in the drive to the Thrush chateau a challenging move for the UNCLE agent. He hated what he had done, shooting his own partner. But, Illya was determined, and his expert aim had guaranteed that it was not a dangerous wound. Still, there were many uncertainties to be overcome, not the least of which was getting back to that house and creating a diversion that would allow them to take Illya and Genevieve from there.
He had been on his communicator with New York and Paris, arranging for details that would cover him as a Thrush official. Deneauve was well connected, but there were always secrets in Thrush, that was a known reality. UNCLE agents had often been able to infiltrate based on the secrecy of Thrush's hierarchy. He was counting on that now as a means of rescuing his partner and the girl from this satrap. If all was going according to plan, Illya was believable as a twin to the courier at HQ, and the secreted documents were to be accepted as bonefide Thrush. The trick would be to succeed at his plan and retain the confidence in the documents. It would be a close call, but they had no other choice. It was doubtful that the Russian would be released so easily, and with the right trail of paperwork and bluff, Napoleon felt confident that it would be days before they were discovered to have been a deception. By that time, considering the urgency required by some of the false documents, Thrush would be putting the bogus plans into operation before they could cry "UNCLE".
"Napoleon, how soon are we to go back there? You have designed such a scheme, it makes me wonder how Thrush survives with such disconnected intelligence". Etienne was marveling at the American agent's wiley plan, and at his brash confidence that he could consider just walking into that Thrush enclave and presenting himself as Deneauve's superior. It would be a small miracle if he succeeded, she thought.
"Ah, my lovely Etienne...Thrush is so paranoid that they withhold information from one section to another, disallowing knowledge, practicing deception at every level. It is not too difficult, with the proper identification and whiffs of superiority, to cause almost any of their people to cower at the prospect of a higher authority than their own. Monsier Deneauve will not be an exception, as I have uncovered a few facts about him and his methods. He will not be too surprised, I don't think, to have a visitor from Central; and he won't dare to question it. It just isn't done". He smiled at her, delighted with her company and encouraged by her quick mind and willingness to travel into this unknown territory. She would remain outside the chateau, coordinating with the additional agents who were being sent in as back up to this operation. It must be quick and efficient. The ruse would work for a time, but they dared not remain too long; that was usually the downfall of any mission that affected an impersonation.
"Alright, Napoleon, I trust you. I don't suppose you have garnered the reputation that you have by making mistakes. You and Illya, even in France, have quite the legacy to defend". She winked at him, knowing he understood that the two of them were garnering a reputation among the other agents within UNCLE. Their success rate was beyond the norm, and the often flamboyant, stringently thorough way in which they won their victories were the stuff of endless conversation and comparison. The men travailed between admiration and jealousy, and the women dreamed of romantic encounters with either of them. What a burden, she thought, to be held up to such high standards.
As they gathered together all of the details of their plan, the dark haired agent contemplated once more his entry into the chateau, his supposed Thrush affiliation and the manner in which he would be escorting his partner and Genevieve from there. It had to go quickly, and all of it depended on whether or not Illya's story had been accepted. If yes, then they would probably not have a bad time of it. On the other hand, if Deneauve were reluctant to believe the story of twins and the dependability of the procured documents...well, it could be dicey.
Napoleon decided to believe the best, plan for the worst and play it to the hilt.