Deneauve noted the expression on Sergei's face as over exertion; a strain around the eyes betraying that the young man had gone too long without resting. He must take care, considering only last night a bullet had been removed from his arm.
Much as the two UNCLE agents had planned, Illya made his apologies and returned to the bedroom that was continuing to be held for his use. Napoleon would keep the Thrush occupied while he searched for Genevieve, each making good use of the time they were alloted before the day's end. A courier had been dispatched with the documents, so that much was accomplished. If they could manage to continue the charade, Illya in character as Sergei and Napoleon as the representative from Thrush Central, there was reason to hope that the damage would be accomplished within the next 24 hours. Whether or not they could remain here was questionable, however. Finding the girl and getting her to safety was imperative, and doing that might be the end of their successful mission.
As Illya detoured to Genevieve's room to examine any clues to what had happened, he determined that she might need a change of clothes. From all appearances she had been dragged from her bed, and was most likely still in her nightclothes. After gathering a few things, he went to his room to check the several security checks he had made up, just in case someone had been snooping in there. The matchbook on the doorframe fell on schedule, and the thread he had placed on the pillow was in it's spot as well. Having no possessions in the room made it easier. He merely prefered to not be poisoned with a dart on his bed or met by an assasin when he entered.
"Monsieur Deneauve, perhaps we two can sit and discuss the plans you have for expansion here in France. You know Victor Marton, of course..." Napoleon guided the unwitting Frenchman into the living room where he embarked on a rather lengthy discourse in which he recounted meetings with the senior French official, including some of their own real encounters. It was a perfect distraction that would allow Illya to go in search of Genevieve, starting with the passageway in which he had escaped only yesterday. It seemed so much longer, but the memory of it was still fresh as he approached the large portrait at the end of the hallway. Looking for guards or other unwelcome occupants, the stealthy agent carefully pulled back the oversized canvas, revealing the door into the passageway beyond. He pulled out his penlight, aiming it for the floor initially, careful to gauge his steps in the darkness that now enveloped him. Within a few minutes, his light fastened onto a figure; it was Genevieve, her hands and feet were bound, and her head leaned back against the stone wall. She didn't hear him approach, a recent dose of sedative having been administered to halt the screaming she had engaged in for the first several hours of her confinement.
"Genevieve...wake up. It's Illya...wake up". He didn't raise his voice, but it was insistent as he tried to coax her into consciousness. She groggily raised her eyelids, not recognizing him in the dark at first. He turned the penlight back onto his own face, causing her to start with the sight of the white creature before her. Slowly she regained her memories of the man, and burst into tears in relief and weariness from this latest ordeal.
"Sshhh...it's going to be alright. I'm rescuing you...can't you tell?" He smiled at her, hoping the attempt at lightheartedness would ease her mind, along with the safety he promised.
"Oh, Illya, I didn't know what had happened to you...or what might happen to me. Deneauve has plans to imprison me here, I'm certain of it". He wiped her eyes with his fingers, unfastening the ropes that were binding her and then raising her up to meet his height. "Can you walk?" She nodded, leaning into him as they proceeded back into the tunnel.
"I want to take you to the little rooms we found...do you remember?" He still had hopes of them being undiscovered, since the Thrush had not yet mentioned them. It was the safest place for her until he and Napoleon could make their own retreat from the chateau. "And it is safe, you think? For how long must I remain there?" She trusted this man, but apprehension overwhelmed her now, being returned to Deneauve a nightmarish thought.
"It won't be long. Napoleon and I are hoping to leave this evening, and we have told Deneauve that we are flying back to New York. We won't leave you here...I promise". Her eyes sought out his in the darkness, her hopes she knew would remain unfulfilled for that romantic encounter they had fleetingly considered. "You will leave immediately, then...and we..." He stopped her, achingly aware that in reality, he had nothing to offer this woman. He would go back to New York and never see her again, in spite of whatever attraction they held for one another.
"Genevieve, I'm sorry. This is my life. I can promise to take you from here, but nothing else". His own regret was evident to her as she held his gaze, acknowledging that she understood with one tender touch of her lips to his. This would be all they could share, all she could hope for.
They continued, turning right again into the smaller and more forebodding looking passageway. Illya noted that there will still indications of it having remained untouched. He had no doubts that the Thrush guards would have scattered the cobwebs and obstructions through which he and his companion now passed. Confident that she would be safe for a few hours in the secret rooms, he guided the way until they reached the old door through which they had passed the day before.
Once inside the two made a cursory examination of the first room, then continued on into the front. Several old quilts were stacked on a small table, as well as some candles and matches. Illya had taken note of these items during his first visit, his agent's instincts always observent of his surroundings. Genevieve moved to examine the quilts more closely, taking one and shaking the dust free of it as she laid it carefully on the floor. Then the next one, until she had stacked four quilts on the floor as Illya watched her, anticipating what she intended with both pleasure and apprehension. This could lead to nothing...he could offer her nothing more than this moment.
Napoleon and Deneauve were deep in conversation for several hours, the depth of Willem Vanmeter adding so much information to the cagey Thrush chief. He listened and took mental notes of all that was said, filing away every important escapade, every name and event that might help him gain admission to the higher eschelons of the Hierarchy. This visit had been a boon to his career, and the willingness of his guest to share such clever tactics...his ascension would be much quicker than even he had imagined.
While the American spun his tales, he watched the other man as he soaked up every bit of his lies and manipulations. Not only would Ethan Deneauve not gain his much desired promotions, but would be blamed for inflicting a wound of such depth that several sectors of Thrush would be reeling from the damage for months to come. UNCLE had planted the seeds of several devious deceptions; targets that were non-existent and investments that would lure the criminal organization into bankrupting several known satraps. If all went according to the plans concocted by section one, Thrush would begin to invest in businesses that were fronts for UNCLE holdings, pushing money into the Command's coffers while Thrush anticipated returns for their own money. Before the enemy could discover the mistakes they had made, finances would have been successfully transfered to the more righteous causes of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It would be a stunning coup for law and order, while signaling the downfall of several prominent members of Thrush.
The day spun it's way toward evening, and the two men in the chateau began to feel the need for supper. Napoleon offered to go and see about the Russian, making his way upstairs with the hope that the girl had been found safe. He knocked on the door lightly, then with more force when it remained unanswered. Just as he was withdrawing a pick for the purpose of entering without permission, the door opened and revealed a rumpled but more rested looking Illya.
"Did you find her?" Napoloen practically hissed as he began to question his partner. Something about the blond reeked of an intimate encounter. Also his demeanor was guarded, moreso than it should have been in greeting his friend.
"I did, and she is fine. I have left her in the little undiscovered room at the end of the second passageway. I left her my communicator as well. I didn't want her to feel abandoned...out of touch". The dark haired man eyed his friend with a practiced awareness of the subtleties of romantic encounters, and of the afterglow they retained. There was a pervasive air of it on his friend's countenance. He knew without asking that Illya and Genevieve had...consumated their relationship. And in a most evocative manner, it seemed. Certainly this was the stuff of romance novels, and of all people...
Illya sensed his friend's perusal and speculation. He knew he needn't embellish. "So, have you and Deneauve become best friends by now?" Illya couldn't help a sense of relief that perhaps the Frenchman had another target for his attentions, if not his fantasies.
"Yes, he's been taking notes on everything. I believe we should make our exit this evening. He's pretty much expecting it". Napoleon had set the stage. He would like to have heard that Central was putting the plans into motion, but he could live with the prospect of it just as easily. They needed to get clear of this place before anything had opportunity to go wrong.
"Alright, let me come down with you. We can make our apologies and be on our way, with any luck. I made a few signs to indicate that she had gone down the other passageway towards the little cottage by the road; I threw the rope down that way, and left a scrap of fabric from her nightgown. Hopefully he will accept that and go looking in that direction. "It sounds like a good plan, and right now he's so intoxicated by his rise to the top I don't think the girl will be on his list of most important considerations. Everything else is a plaything to this man...like you".
The smug look on Napoleon's face was almost more than his Russian partner could endure, but he let it go. It was true, and it was almost over. He just wanted to get back into some of his own clothes and see his true self in a mirror. He was suddenly very weary from this transformation he'd gone through, and longed for a chilled glass of vodka and his record player for company.
"Illya, are you alright?" Concern broke throught the parody, and Napoleon tried to see into the depths of his friend's soul as he fixed his brown eyes on the blue ones he faced.
"No, Napoleon. I'm tired, my arm is aching and...and that's all. We're almost done here, and I can't get on that plane for New York any too soon".
"Okay...we're almost there, tovarisch...almost there".