The Sixth Victim

by M. Willow

A vision of the future holds the key for the guys who are in a race against time before someone becomes the sixth victim. Story now complete.

3. Part 3

The Sixth Victim

By M. Willow

Part Three

Chapter Twelve

A week later Napoleon found out where April was living courtesy of Cynthia. He wasn't taking it well.

"How can you do this?" Napoleon screamed. "How can you do this?"

April stood defiantly, hands balled into tight fist. Napoleon was seething not just because of April's living arrangements, but also because it took Cynthia accidentally slipping the information for him to find out. April was in danger, a danger created by Calburn and now she was walking directly into his trap.

Now they stood in the house he was using as a cover, arguing for at least an hour, and he wasn't getting anywhere. The female agent was determined to stay in Calburn's clutches.

"I'm not leaving," she yelled. "I'm going to nail that bastard."

"You'll leave, April. I'll make it an order."

He could see from the stunned look on her face that she hadn't expected that. He seldom pulled rank with either of his friends, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He was willing to do anything to save her. He couldn't bear the thought of Calburn, his hands on her, making love to her. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her because he wasn't there. The whole thing was driving him mad. And if Cynthia hadn't let slipped that she was going to their house for dinner, he still wouldn't know.

"Then make it an order," she shouted. "Do what you have to do. Tell Waverly. Tell the whole damn world for all I care, but I'm not leaving this case till it's over."

"Why? You can find out what you need without…without…"

"Becoming his whore? Is that what you were about to say?" April put her hands on her hips. "And what about what you're doing with Cynthia? You don't trust her. You don't like her. But you're not complaining about being in her bed!"

Napoleon felt like he'd been slapped. She was telling the truth, but what she was doing still felt wrong. No, he didn't trust Cynthia. Yes, he was having an affair with her to get information. Information that so far had yielded nothing but a bunch of empty safes. Still, he didn't entirely dislike the woman, just didn't trust her. She was dangerous like Angelique, like a lot of women he'd been with. It was an aphrodisiac—dangerous women, and he never tired of the danger.

But April couldn't say the same. She had high morals, raised a strict protestant. Solo knew she was no virgin, but for her, sex was something shared only in a deeply committed relationship. Sleeping with Calburn would cost her dearly in the end.

"It's different and you know it?" he retorted.

April stood glaring at him, then turned and headed out of the house. Napoleon wasted no time in following. She was nearly at her car when he called out.

"Claire…don't do this."

That stopped her. She turned meeting his eyes. He'd used her real name, something he rarely did. But he needed to get through to her. She didn't move for a second and then she was coming, her skirt rippling in the wind, her red hair cascading in waves down her back, and the soft eyes that no longer showed anger.

She stood before him, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes against her softness, letting the scent that was uniquely hers transport him to another place. In thus place she was safe and he was her protector. But as he opened his eyes, he realized that he had no right to protect her.

When she spoke it was in a whisper. "Every night I dream about her. Every night I feel her terror. Every night I die a little more." She put her hand over her heart. "In here, where you can't see it. But when I wake up, I know I can do something. I can bring this monster to justice. Don't stop me from doing this, Napoleon. I know it's hard for you, but…but…I need your support. Please."

He leaned into her, their foreheads touching. He put his arms around her waist and she melted into his arms. Neither spoke for a few moments, each clinging to the other. It was a beautiful afternoon on the tree-lined suburban street. Napoleon could hear the sound of children playing; hear the roar of lawnmowers, the smell of grass mingling with the scent of the woman he held. He had to let her go—for her, for the women who died, for the women not yet dead. And for a diabolical instrument that could spell disaster for countless others.

"You've got my support, Claire," he murmured. "I'll make sure Waverly doesn't find out."

"But if he finds out…"

"Let me worry about that. He'll never agree and you know it. Waverly is too hung up on the high moral ideals of what UNCLE represents. He can barely stand it when I indulge."

"I guess you're right. He'd hardly like it if his first female agent…"

"Please don't say it. Let's just say that you're doing everything in your power to keep the world safe. Tens of thousands of lives are at stake."

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thanks, Napoleon. You don't know what this means to me."

But he did. He could see it in her eyes now, the subtle release of tension.

She turned and headed for her car, then stopped and looked back at him. Their eyes locked and it was as if he was seeing her for the last time. She stood there, the sunlight casting ribbons of light around her, making her seem almost ethereal. And if he could have somehow stopped time, capturing the essence of that moment, he would have done so.

"Always remember that I love you," she said. And then she was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

Four days later the body of a woman was found in a makeshift grave. Her gravesite overlooked a serene lake on a property that Thomas Calburn once owned. And it was just as April had described it.

It all started one night when she had asked her lover to tell her about his favorite location—the place he went to seek solace, or to take someone special. Thomas had laughed at her interest, and then described a home he once owned that was built along a man-made lake. He'd since sold the property, but once it had been his favorite place to go to collect his thoughts.

That night she dreamed of the place with its weeping willows and fish that seemed to rise from its waters. She told Napoleon of her dream and he sent Mark to investigate. The body was found almost immediately using special UNCLE equipment that allowed the area to be scanned without disturbing the body. They would unearth the remains later once the bomb had been discovered. Anything less could easily alert Thomas. For now April had to console herself that at least one body had been found. She only wondered if it was the body of the woman.

Now the lovers lay in bed as the orange glow of the setting sun slanted across the bedroom. April turned, spooning into his body, feeling his arms tighten around her. They had just made love. An involuntary shudder coursed through her body as she recalled the evening.

Thomas had proposed, telling her she was the only woman he would ever love. He'd placed a ring on her finger, a symbol, he said of his undying love. "We'll be together the rest of our lives, baby," he'd said as the ring was placed on her finger. She had beamed, showing a happiness that came not from his proposal, but because her plan was finally working.

April shuddered to think of the women he had murdered. She wanted to kill him now as he lay next to her. But she had the bomb to consider and her commitment to uphold the law. Killing Thomas would only mean that she'd become a vigilante. Not much better than the man himself.

April slipped into a restless sleep. Later she heard the telephone ring, and Thomas left the room. She figured it was a business call so didn't bother to listen in. It was his custom to handle business whenever needed.

Later, she heard him slip back into the room. She didn't bother opening her eyes, hoping he wouldn't want to make love again. It came as a shock when April felt something shoved into her face and the familiar smell of chloroform. She fought for a moment, then slipped into darkness, her last thoughts were of Napoleon.

Illya had fallen asleep at his desk, the notebook falling to the floor. It was that sound that awakened him. He'd been going over his notes for the past two hours, finally giving in to the sleep he so desperately needed.

He picked up the notebook and flipped open the first page. April had talked in detail about her nightmare, but the woman had no description. She was as much a mystery as the murderer himself. That it was Thomas Calburn was without question. But who was Sabrina Wellesley?

Illya cursed the fact that Calburn had destroyed all her pictures. Not a single one remained. But Cynthia had described her once—medium height, light red hair, and brown eyes. She'd told them that April bore an uncanny resemblance to Sabrina, yet Calburn had never commented on the resemblance.

Strange, he thought, recalling the look on the man's face when he'd first set eyes on April. She was serving a group of customers in her earlier role of waitress. He'd come out of the back room and headed straight for her. Illya had been too far away to hear the conversation, but April had said that he wanted to know if she could sing. She told him a little, and instantly was promoted to singer.

But why hadn't the man reacted to her appearance if she looked so much like Sabrina?

"April's hair is the only thing that is different," Cynthia had said once before April dyed her hair red. "It's much darker."

Illya leaned back in his chair, recalling another conversation he'd had over a year ago in the Victorian house.

Suddenly he stood, seeing the truth that had always been there.

Chapter Fourteen

April felt the room shift as a wave of dizziness overtook her. It seemed only moments ago that she'd been asleep. But now she was somewhere else.

She opened her eyes and stared in wonder at the unfamiliar room. The room was decorated with touches of pink---a pink lampshade, a pink rug, the fireplace with candleholders, their pink jewels dazzling in the subdued lighting of the room. And she was lying on a bed, completely naked.

The sudden sound of the telephone nearly made her heart stop.

"Oh, my God," she said. "It's happening."

With shaky hands she reached for the telephone, placing the receiver to her ear, she immediately heard the song that had haunted her nightmares.

"Why?" she asked as the room seemed to darken.

"Because you're mine," she heard him say. "And no one else will ever have you."

00000

There was something wrong with April. Napoleon could feel it deep in his soul. It had started as a dull, nagging feeling and he knew she was in trouble. He'd driven through the streets then, his mind racing with the possibilities of her death. He knew she wasn't there the minute he drove up to the Calburn estate. He didn't have time to check every property the man owned, so he'd gone to the only person who could tell him where April had been taken.

Cynthia stood there now, the soft light of the living room highlighting the coldness of her face. And the gun that she held.

"So everything we had was a lie," he asked, his voice low, remembering when she'd said something similar to him not that long ago.

"Not in the beginning," she said slowly, shifting her weight as she leaned against the back of the sofa. "Back then I imagined you and I having a life together. I was falling for you. I even believed we would get married. Start a family. But you betrayed me, now you'll pay."

"You're wrong," Napoleon said. He eyed his communicator and gun sitting on the table next to Cynthia. She'd taken them from him the minute he entered the apartment. He'd been stupid, racing in without thinking. And she had been ready, literally greeting him with the gun. He had acted like an amateur and now April might have to pay with her life. His only hope was to convince the woman that he had feelings for her.

He softened his voice, pasting on a flirtatious smile. "We can still have those things. It's not too late."

Cynthia cocked her head to the side and shrugged. "There was a time when a man told me that. I was young, foolish. I gave up everything for him. I made him a rich man and he made me a fool. Year after year waiting while he ran from one woman to the next. And then one day he killed a girl and I became an accessory to his crime."

"Sabrina?" he questioned.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, her face settling into a smile. "Sabrina is not dead. But she should be. But no, I had to listen to that brat of hers and save the bitch. Well, I won't make that mistake again."

Napoleon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of course the woman was dead. April had seen it herself. Sure, it was in a vision, but her visions were always accurate.

Cynthia laughed. "I see you don't believe me."

"And why should I? You're standing there holding a gun on me. How do I know you're not the murderer?"

"It doesn't matter. Soon you will be reunited with your precious slut and I'll be left a very rich woman."

Napoleon started forward, but Cynthia raised the gun and he halted his movements.

"Why?"

"Well you see my original plan was to kill Thomas then use my phony will to obtain his money. I was going to claim self defense by telling people I had discovered that he was a murderer. No one would have questioned it once I told them where the bodies were buried."

She paused, the cat-like smile widening on her face. "When you showed up, I amended my plan a little. You see, I actually thought we had something. I figured you and I could be together, spending all that beautiful money. I even found out where he kept that silly microdot. But no. You had to have April."

Napoleon softened his voice. "I told you there is nothing between April and me. I only want you."

She cocked her head. "Do you think I'm that stupid? Do you?" How about I tell you what I saw a few days ago when I just happened to be in your neighborhood."

"Let me explain…" Napoleon started, knowing she probably meant the display he and April had put on in front of his house. Another rookie mistake, he thought ruefully.

"I don't care to hear it. I know what I saw. And just think I was on my way over to tell you that Thomas has the microdot in the basement safe of a house he just bought. Dumb old Cynthia actually thought you had feelings for her. But not anymore. Never again. Now I look out for myself."

"Cynthia, put the gun down." He stretched out his hands, his palms splayed as if in surrender, his eyes never leaving her face. With any luck, he could get close enough to take the gun. He just had to keep talking to the woman. Reason with her.

"Put the gun down. There's no reason to do this. April means nothing to me."

He moved forward.

"Stop or you'll never see her alive again," Cynthia rasped, her eyes narrowed, gun held straight in her hand.

Solo stopped, his blood ran cold. "What did you do?" Solo demanded. "What did you do?"

"I paid Thomas a call a few hours ago. I told him whose bed his lover had been in. I could tell he didn't want to believe me. But he finally did. You see he may not want me as his wife, but he trusts me implicitly. I have a track record you see for accuracy. I'm the one who told him about all those sluts."

"You're just as much a killer as he is," Napoleon said tightly. "You set up all those women for what? So you could continue rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous? Spend money you could have earned on your own?"

"So you think it's that easy. You see as a woman I would have been ignored. Oh, they would let me play as long as it amused them, but that's all. So yes, I intend to have it all. It's mine. I earned it and I'm not waiting around for some floozy to take it away."

Napoleon felt the rage burning inside of him. Cynthia continued. "Besides, this is your fault. You just couldn't keep your hands off her. I thought once I told you she was shacking up with Thomas you wouldn't want her. But no, you wanted her even more."

"You won't get away with it. I have people…"

"Who won't care one way or the other. All they want is their precious microdot. But you won't have to worry about that. I'll give it to them happily and they'll leave me alone once I do."

Napoleon relaxed his stance, hoping to get a chance at the gun. But first, he needed for her to tell him where April was. "So what's the plan?"

"You're the lover who comes charging into Thomas's' house to rescue your lover. Thomas kills you in a fit of rage, followed by his fiancé and then himself."

The woman laughed." What, April keeping secrets from you again? Well Thomas proposed to April tonight."

"If you know what's good for you," Napoleon said, ice in his voice. "You'll tell me where she is…"

"Oh, I'll do better than that. I'll take you to her. But first I need to prepare a little drink for you."

Napoleon raised his eyebrow in puzzlement. Cynthia continued. "Oh, it's quite good if I say so myself. It will knock you out long enough for me to get you to the house. You'll wake up just in time to die."

"And what if I won't go under your terms?" he countered.

Cynthia's brow furrowed. "The truth is you would walk through hell for her. You were going out of your mind thinking about a life without your precious April. And now you'll do anything to have even half a chance of saving her."

There was no point in denying what Cynthia had said. He had only one way of finding April.

"I'll do whatever you want."

0000

Illya was going over the files he'd retrieved about April's past. He did so quickly, expecting a signal from his partner any moment. Napoleon had called earlier telling him that April had disappeared and that he was on his way to Cynthia to hopefully get information on where Calburn may have taken her. Solo promised to activate a homing signal if anything went wrong. Illya fully expected that something would go wrong. Now, Illya desperately looked for the missing piece and he was convinced it was in the file of April Dancer.

It hadn't been easy. He'd had to use every trick he knew to break into the confidential files. They were extensive, providing complete information privy only to Waverly. His heart pounded as he skimmed through them, finding one passage that stood out.

April Dancer born Claire Birchwood to a rich industrialist and a mother who had designs on the stage. Parents briefly separated when the wife left her family for one year. She returned and disappeared with her daughter only to rejoin the family a few days later.

"Disappeared," Illya mouthed, flipping the page. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the picture of April's family.

The father was tall with jet-black hair and a strong jaw. But it was the mother that made Illya's heart skip a beat. April was almost an exact replica of her mother: the same brown eyes, the same facial shape, and at that age, the same red hair. He couldn't imagine why it had taken him so long to figure it out. Only a conversation with the female agent at the Victorian house had led him to the truth. He recalled April telling him how much she looked like her mother.

It had always puzzled him why April would have visions of someone she'd never met. April's psychic abilities fed on her emotional connection to the person and was limited by distance. Illya could still recall how she hadn't been able to help catch Lisa's killer, yet she was able to save his life when he'd been imprisoned behind a wall at the Victorian house. And later she'd been unaware of the danger Napoleon faced in the hands of an impossible double. So how then could she see a woman she'd never met? A woman who'd apparently died nearly twenty years ago? Now the answer was clear. April was seeing her mother. A mother who'd run away to be with Thomas Calburn twenty years ago.

Illya started when he heard the distress signal. "It's happening now," he said, racing to the door.

April felt strong hands caressing her face. She opened her eyes and saw Thomas sitting next to her on the bed. He was dressed in a tuxedo, his hair slicked back.

"What have you done to me?" she asked, realizing she had no way of reaching UNCLE. Thomas had stripped her naked. She didn't have one devise available to her.

"Nothing to worry about, baby. I just gave you a little something to take the edge off. How do you like your new home?"

April looked around the room. It looked like a child's room, the shade of pink somehow juvenile.

April stared at Thomas. The wild eyes of an insane person, she thought. Her head hurt and she was dizzy. She recognized the symptoms of being given knockout drops. Whatever he'd given her would make it almost impossible to get away. Right now she didn't think she could even get off the bed. But she had to remain calm.

"I don't understand," she said.

"You will, baby. You will. But we have the rest of our lives for that. We'll get married in a few days and then you can bring your little girl here. This is her room you know."

Thomas stood and retrieved a pink satin and lace dress that had been lying on the chaise. He grabbed a bottle of perfume and dabbed some behind her ears. The room was immediately filled with the jasmine scent. Then he looked down at her, his eyes moving slowly down her nude body. April prepared herself for his assault. She closed her eyes, distancing herself from what he was about to do to her. It was the way she had tolerated his touch over the past weeks.

She was surprise when she felt the satiny material slipped over her head, his arm supporting her as he dressed her. The dress would be her death dress, the one from her vision, she realized. She fought back wild panic as he stood back to regard her. Again his eyes traveled down her body, but she saw no lust in them. Instead he regarded her like a painting, one done by the masters.

"I had this dress made especially for you, baby. It's an exact replica of the dress you wore all those years ago. Now we can finally have our engagement dinner. Just the two of us. Not like the last time when Cynthia came barging in with your little girl."

Thomas smiled. "So how do you like what I did for your little girl? This is her room. I'm afraid I haven't gotten to the rest of the house, yet, but it will be done soon. It's gonna look exactly like it did all those years ago. You know their was some damage from the fire, but it's being restored by experts. It's going to look good as new."

Calburn's eyes looked sad as if he was recalling a horrible moment. She was about to speak when a wave of nausea swept through her. "I feel sick."

"It's nothing. Probably morning sickness. I'm afraid I tampered with your birth control pills. You'll have to forgive me, but I want to start our family right away. I've waited a long time."

April didn't have time to consider what he'd just said. She had to convince him to let her go. "Thomas, you've got to listen to me. I'm not Sabrina. My name is April Dancer and I'm an agent with the U.N.C.L.E. Now I demand that you let me go."

"I know about your job with UNCLE, Sabrina, but that's no reason to lie to me."

"Thomas, you need help. My name is April Dancer. I work as an enforcement…"

"Shut up," he shouted, slapping her across the face. "I told you I forgive you, baby. Your lies. Your lover. All of it so we can finally be together."

April bit back pain, the sting of the slap making her vision dim. "But, I'm not your fiancée. You're confusing me with Sabrina. I'm not Sabrina."

"I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You came into my club…"

"I'm not Sabrina," April shouted. "My name is April Dancer. I'm with the U.N.C.L.E.".

"You were so beautiful," he continued. "I knew then that I wanted to marry you, And then you told me about your little girl. Remember. You told me that Cynthia was bringing her to meet me and then you were going to divorce your husband for me. I still remember how we danced, the way the candlelight made you glow. But I hated you. You had betrayed me by not telling me you were married. And I wanted you dead."

He looked at April, his expression pained. "I'm sorry for that, but I know you forgave me. It's just that…I was so hurt when you lied to me. If it hadn't been for Cynthia…I would have killed you."

Thomas took her hand. "I'm sorry baby. I should have forgiven you then. And then we could have had a life together. I could have been a dad to your little girl."

April listened in stunned silence. She hadn't seen a little girl. Nowhere in her visions had there ever been a little girl. But a sudden memory pulled at her. Memories of a little girl who stood in the door way, mesmerized by the flames. She remembered the fear that the house would burn, that mommy had told her never to play with fire. That she'd watched a man wrap a scarf around her mother's neck. April started to shudder as she watched Calburn, his eyes glassy, as if he were in a different time. His voice became tight as he spoke.

"I spent years trying to find you, but I never could. I didn't even know your real name. All I knew was that you were my Sabrina. But I never gave up. I kept looking and I found you sometimes. But later, I discovered it wasn't really you. They were all imposters and had to be killed."

"Oh, God, oh God, oh God," April said as the truth dawned on her. How could she have forgotten? How could she have forgotten being eight years old and watching a maniac strangle her mother?

It all came back to her now:

It was a grey, cloudless day. The hottest day of the year and the little girl stared out the window of the car. Claire could see the house now, grey against the darkening sky. There was a lake nearby that reminded the little girl of a story her mother once told her about a lake with flying fish. April wondered if this lake held fish that could fly, but the many weeping willow trees prevented her from getting a good look. Now they were traveling closer to the house and she was in awe of the sheer size of it. It was the biggest she'd ever seen, but there was something foreboding about it, something that terrified her even as she tried to not be afraid.

Earlier her mother had told her to be brave, that they were about to enter a new life, one away from the abusive husband she had come to loathe. So the little girl stifled her growing dread, the little something she felt whenever bad things were about to happen.

Soon the blonde lady was ushering her out of the car and into the house. She listened as the woman spoke.

"You're going to meet your new daddy. He's the nice man who bought this house for you and your mother."

April tuned her out as she focused on her growing sense of unease. In her mind's eye she could see two people dancing, the soft music of her mother's favorite song playing as the man sang along. She knew she was having a vision, a vision of something that was happening right now. She felt the blonde lady pulling her up the stairs, her voice calm as if she didn't know what was happening. But then Claire knew the vision she was having couldn't be seen by others, for the blonde lady was normal. She wasn't like Claire who could see things.

Now they walked down a darkened hall, but Claire walked in two worlds—the one that the blonde lady lived in and the other where she was watching her mother dance with the strange man. In that other world she could smell perfume, see the light of the candles as they seem to dance around the couple. She was so afraid.

And then she saw them. The man with the scarf in his hands and her mother's horrified face as the scarf was slipped around her neck. Claire screamed, only then realizing that her two worlds had collided. For the blonde lady was standing next to her and she was just as much in shock.

"Momma," she screamed and saw the dark eyes of the stranger, his face cast in the glow of candlelight.

"Get out," he shouted, his voice deep, raspy. But she couldn't move, not even when the blonde lady tried to pull her from the room. Not even when she saw the terror in her mother's eyes. Claire knew she had to save her mother.

"Cynthia, stop him. Please stop him," she shouted. But the blonde lady still hadn't moved. She stood their utterly still, the look on her face telling the little girl that she wasn't entirely displeased by the drama unfolding in front of them. Claire knew she had to get through to her. It was her only hope.

"Cynthia, make him stop. You've got to make him. He's killing my mother...please."

Claire struggled against the woman, her screams like that of a wild thing, begging the woman to let her go, to please let her go. And then she saw the blonde lady dash into the room and charge at the man, knocking him to the floor, the candles falling as her mother struggled to get up. Claire saw fire lick the ceiling, but by then her mother was pushing her out the door.

"You tried to kill my mother," April said, her voice harsh, still recalling the night her mother almost died. Her hatred for the man sitting in front of her was overwhelming now. If she could, she would kill him outright now, but strength deserted her, leaving her almost boneless in the bed.

Now Thomas spoke, his eyes almost feral as he looked at her. "Then one day Wilford told me about the remarkable woman he saw. How she looked like my Sabrina. But I knew who you were the moment he told me. I knew it was you coming back for our love. And I used everything I had to see your face again. It didn't take long. You were coming out of a restaurant and I took a picture of you. After that I worked on a way to get you in my life. It was my brother that gave me the idea. He was so self-righteous, bragged about his invention and how it was so great that he had to destroy it. He told me even UNCLE couldn't be trusted with it. And he told me about your job there. It was then that I knew what I had to do. I killed Wilford with an undetectable poison and then I forged the note to make it appear that I had his little invention. I knew you were only looking for an excuse to come back and I provided it for you. Now you're mine."

Thomas stood and gathered her in his arms, lifting her from the bed. By now she was past caring, her mind numb to the monster who carried her. She was scarily aware of being carried down a darkened hall lit only by candles. The house smelled of mildew in spite of the overwhelming scent of fresh paint. She could hear soft music coming from a room at the end of the hall. Then Thomas opened the door and a million candles came to life. They were everywhere--on the floor, over the mantle, on tables.

"I was dancing with darlin," Thomas sang as he stood her on unsteady legs. He wrapped his arms around her and moved them in time to the music, April's weakened body leaning into him. Her eyes darted around the room as another part of her nightmare was recalled--the smoke and how terrified of the fire she was.

"Please, you must see reason. Let me go," she said. But he continued to move them around the floor, his voice rising and falling as he sang. Time was running out. April took a deep breath, calling on the strength she scarcely had, and shoved him backwards. Thomas braced himself as he nearly fell to the floor, his eyes wild with anger.

She pulled the long dress around her as she darted between the candles, picturing the entire house going up in flames. The room seemed to spin as a wave of dizziness sent her crashing to the floor. On hands and knees she crawled, feeling his presence, knowing he was coming closer and that she couldn't possibly move fast enough. She heard him sing as he moved near. I was dancin' with my darlin' to the Tennessee Waltz …" She spared a glance backwards and saw him standing at the doorway, an almost half-smile on his face, the scarf held taunt between his hands. His eyes seemed to have changed, somehow becoming crueler, hardened, revealing the hatred he held deep within.

"No one walks away from me, baby. Not even you."

And then he was coming.

Napoleon stood rooted to the spot, the room spinning around as nausea swept over him. Minutes ago he'd awakened in the car to find the gun trained on him. Now they stood in the foyer of what looked like an old mansion in the process of being restored. He could smell fresh paint, but the area they stood in looked like an old abandoned building with peeling walls, a tattered rug, and a spiral staircase leading to the darkness of the next floor.

He looked at Cynthia. She was standing a little in front of him, her back to the staircase. From her stance he could tell she didn't have much experience with guns. She held it like an amateur—a person just a little afraid of its power. It would probably be easy to take it from her under normal circumstances, but this was far from normal. Right now standing was proving difficult. Cynthia had been smart to nearly disable him with the drug she gave him. Still he would have to take the chance and try and get the gun away from her if he hoped to survive this and save April. True, he had been able to activate his homing devise just before he passed out in the car, but he had no way of knowing how long ago that had been. Illya might arrive in a few minutes or an hour from now for all he knew.

"Listen to me Cynthia. You've got to let me go upstairs. We've got to stop Thomas."

"You know I did that once and paid dearly. This time I think I'll pass."

"Why kill all of us if it's Thomas you want?"

"I can't afford loose ends. I'm an accessory to murder. I've no intentions of going to jail."

Cynthia's hands dropped just a little, tiny lines of tension etched around her eyes. She was hesitating. People had no idea how difficult it was to kill a person until they were called upon to do it. She was as much to blame for killing all those women as Thomas, but she'd never actually killed them, just set them up to be killed. Solo knew he could use her hesitancy to his own advantage.

Napoleon sagged, letting his body fall partly to the floor. He watched as Cynthia stood stunned. Then he was up, moving with a sharpness he didn't know he possessed. He was a desperate man as he crashed into her, sending them both to the floor. Now they struggled, she holding on to the gun and he trying to wrestle it from her. She had the upper hand. He was weak, hardly able to keep his eyes open, the drug still holding on to him. In no time she had positioned herself and slammed her knee into his groin. Solo rolled away from her, the paralyzing pain halting his efforts to even move.

He looked up into her cold eyes as she rose from the floor. Cynthia cocked the gun, her hand on the trigger with cold detachment. Solo steeled his nerves, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman holding the gun. Now, he saw no hesitation in her, no remorse for taking another's life, just raw anger. He would have no second chance at the gun. April's vision had been wrong. He would die now and leave her to die at the hands of Calburn. And it had been his fault. He'd made decisions that even a rookie wouldn't have made.

Solo took a deep breath, meeting his killer's eyes. And then a shot rang out and Cynthia fell to the floor.

"About time you got here," Napoleon said teasingly at the Russian who stood at the door.

Illya scanned the room, then walked over to the downed woman and picked up her gun. He checked her pulse then nodded at Solo.

"She's still alive. I doubt she'll wake up any time soon." Kuryakin paused, his face furrowed in concern. "You okay, Napoleon?"

Solo let out a breath. "Drugged. She gave me something to get me over here. Made me weak."

Napoleon stood on shaky legs, moving past Cynthia and taking the gun from Kuryakin. "I've got to get upstairs. They're up there. You get downstairs. Cynthia said the bomb is down there in a safe. Find it. Disarm the damn thing. Remember April saw fire in her vision. If it hasn't already started, it will soon. We can't have that thing going off."

"No," Illya said, grabbing Solo's arm and looking at him with concern. "I'll get you two out and come back,"

"There's no time Tovarish. That's an order."

Illya hesitated only for a second then turned and headed for the lower level.

"You be careful," he called out as he disappeared into the darkness.

Napoleon slowly started his ascent up the stairs, fully aware that he was probably walking into a trap. No way had Calburn missed the sound of the gun firing.

00000

April shuddered as she regained consciousness, feeling the calloused hand around her neck.

"I will kill her if you take another step," Thomas rasped, tightening his hand around her neck.

It seemed only moments ago when Thomas had strangled her into unconsciousness with the scarf. She'd clawed at his face; his wild eyes the last thing she saw before she blacked out. Now she was inexplicably back in the room, the ghostlike music still playing. And she was looking into the face of her best friend.

Napoleon was standing near the door, gun in hand. He seemed dazed, his eyes a little unfocused.

"Drop the gun," Thomas commanded.

"No," Solo said, his voice deadly. "You're going to let her go. And then we're walking out of here."

"What. After you came all this way for that damned watch," Thomas laughed. "Well, you came for nothing. There was never a watch or a bomb for that matter. Clever if I have to say so myself. Now drop the gun or I'll finish her now."

April strained to get her voice, but the hand around her neck made it impossible. Instead she communicated with her eyes. Let me die. Let me die and get out of here.

But Napoleon remained riveted to the spot. His eyes met hers, the apology clear. He blamed himself, April realized recalling her vision. And he wasn't going anywhere.

"Let her go or I'll kill you right now."

"She'll be long dead by the time you're able to shoot. See how easy it will be for me to snap her neck. Imagine how it would sound, her neck snapping like a twig."

April tensed, thinking how easy it would be for him to break her neck in a simple movement. He had her head in a headlock, his hands situated in a way that could easily snap her neck. "Like a twig," he had said.

Napoleon advanced and Thomas turned her neck just slightly, his intentions clear.

April knew it was up to her. Napoleon was prepared to sacrifice his life for hers. She recalled the vision with clarity, knowing that he had elected himself to be the sixth victim, but the vision had not been clear. Either one of them could be Thomas's' last victim, or both of them since she was in no condition to get away from him in either case.

April knew she had to act, and act fast. At this point she was banking on the ability to change the future. Illya had been right. There was absolutely no reason that both couldn't live if she played her cards right.

April made a small mewing sound in her throat and sagged as if she'd passed out. She felt Thomas loosen his hold on her.

"Drop the gun," Thomas shouted again. "Drop it now or watch her die."

She heard the gun clatter to the floor, felt Thomas release her throat even more, and then she made her move. With everything she had, with the last ounce of strength she possessed, she slammed her body backwards, causing Thomas to lose his hold on her. And then she heard shots ring out---one, two, three. Thomas frightened eyes looking at her as he staggered into the candles. April watched horrified as the fire engulfed him and traveled quickly up the curtains. Then Napoleon had her, nearly dragging her towards the door, then shutting it, as Thomas's' screams filled the air. He was dying in the blazing inferno.

Now they were out and Napoleon was trying to get her to stand. But she couldn't. She'd used the last bit of strength to stop Thomas. Solo picked her up and started to carry her down the hall. He didn't make it far enough. He crashed to the floor, his breaths coming in short gasps. Then Napoleon was leaning over her, his brown eyes sorrowful.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "My fault." He tenderly caressed her face. But by then his voice sounded hollow and her world dissolved as she lost consciousness.

00000

Illya moved frantically through the room, flashlight in hand. He'd searched nearly every crevice of the large room and found absolutely nothing. There had been a safe, but it had been empty.

He moved on, checking the bricks around the fireplace, then on to the desk, and the sofa where he pulled pillows off, piling them high on the floor.

A few minutes ago he had heard gun fire. He'd wanted to race up the stairs, but his duty was finding the bomb. April's vision had been pretty clear about a fire. And a fire would cause the bomb to go off with tragic results—ten whole blocks of innocent people. People who were now sleeping safely in their homes, unaware of the danger they faced.

He looked around, sweat dripping from his face, pulse racing as the nagging feeling that he was missing something returned. And then he saw a door. He moved across the room, kicking himself for missing something so obvious. The door was hidden in a shadowy part of the room, but was easy to see. Only panic had kept it hidden.

Now he opened the door, fully expecting to find another safe, but what he saw would forever stay with him, for there lying on the floor was the body of a woman. The woman was dressed in a pink, satin dress. Illya could tell from the condition of the body, and the cloying smell of decay, that she had only recently died. From the looks of her, he would approximate her death at a little over a month ago, which was the approximate time April was having her vision. Illya didn't doubt that he'd found the sixth victim.

Illya looked up, concentrating the beam of light from the flashlight around the room. It was empty except for the woman and two plates. Illya shuddered to think that the woman had spent her last moments of life alone in the basement.

He was about to search the room further when he was struck by a moment of clarity. His friends would die. He'd already heard a gun firing, knew Thomas was probably dead or the man would have shown himself by now. And he could smell smoke over the musty scent of decay. His mind reeled off the specifics: Napoleon was injured, too weak to get April out. Which meant his friend would die by her side. Solo by himself stood a chance of getting out. But he would never leave April.

Illya cursed Wilford for inventing the bomb. He cursed Thomas for putting them all in this situation. And then it hit him, like a light switch going on—there was no bomb. It had been destroyed as his brother had claimed. It was the only answer. Waverly had said the brother was a benevolent man who came to them because he had invented something so diabolical that he didn't even trust UNCLE to keep it safe.. So why then would he turn it over to his brother, knowing what kind of man he was? Even if Wilford had convinced himself that the bomb was safe because it had been disarmed, he still wouldn't trust his brother. He wouldn't leave it to his brother no matter how much he loved him. The whole thing had been a set-up from the beginning. Thomas had somehow found out about April and then invented a way to get her in his life. The man hadn't reacted to her uncanny resemblance to her mother because he had expected it.

Now April's vision became clear in his mind. They had been wrong. The decision hadn't been between saving April or Napoleon. It had been between saving his two friends or searching for a devise that could end the life of countless people.

Napoleon lay on the floor next to April. They were both going to die, he realized. He held her wrist, feeling the strong pulse that let him know she was still alive.

"I'm sorry April. We saw it all wrong. Illya had to decide if he should save us or get the bomb out." His body convulsed into a coughing fit.

Napoleon looked up, seeing the thick, black smoke filling the hallway. And then what looked like an angel stood before him, his hand outstretched.

"Come on, we're getting out of here," Illya said.

"No, get April out first."

"Don't worry my friend, we're leaving together."

Illya pulled Napoleon up then lifted April effortlessly off the floor.

Epilog

"Mr. Calburn hatched quite a plot," Waverly said, looking between Illya and Napoleon. "I regret that more wasn't done to prevent this tragedy. Had I known…" His voice trailed off

Napoleon knew that was as close as Waverly would ever come to an apology. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of the effort. They were all expendable, the old man had said once, but Solo could see the relief in his eyes when his ragtag team had returned to the fold.

Now Solo sat worrying over April who'd just regained consciousness when he and Illya had been summoned to Waverly's conference room. He figured she would be alright once whatever Thomas had given her left her system. And he was fine—at least physically. Most of the drug was out of his system.

"And what of Miss Skylar?" Waverly asked.

They had been able to rescue the woman from the burning building, but she had finally died from the gunshot wound. But before she died, she'd made a death bed confession. At least the part she knew about. She hadn't known about Calburn's plan to get April. Nor did she realize that Claire and April were one in the same. She was able to reveal the location of the bodies of the five other women, but she knew nothing of the woman Illya had found.

Illya and Napoleon were were certain the woman in the basement had never performed at the club. She'd only been dead about a month and Calburn hadn't hired anyone in the past six months which meant his insanity was branching out to include random women. Had April not made the ultimate sacrifice to stop him, countless innocent women could have been killed. The man was well on his way to the type of notoriety only Jack the Ripper enjoyed.

Solo was saddened to realize they would never know the identity of woman because the body had perished in the fire along with Calburn. Solo and Illya believed that this woman had in fact been the sixth victim and April's vision had been a combination of the past, the present, and the future, mingled together.

As to the bomb, the fire itself and Calburn's confession put their fears to rest. It had never existed. Wilford Calburn had destroyed it as he claimed.

""It seems Miss Skylar was involved in provoking Calburn to kill innocent women. All so that she could retain his money and power." the Russian said.

"So she used her tactics to provoke Mr. Calburn into killing his latest lover, Miss Dancer," Waverly said, his eyes boring into Solo. Waverly was made aware of the whole sordid mission the minute they had arrived at UNCLE headquarters. Napoleon wondered what his punishment would be. He was prepared for the worse.

"What remains unclear, gentlemen," Waverly continued. "is why the lady in question didn't just kill Mr. Calburn outright years ago?"

"Simple," Napoleon said. "Power. And lots of it. If Cynthia had killed Calburn, she would have been left rich, but utterly powerless. Calburn had connections from corporate leaders to members of society. Connections that would have ended the minute he died." Solo paused. "No. Having him alive served her better. And she still had access to all his money."

"And she could always resort to her usual tactics in eliminating her competition ensuring her place in his life permanently." Illya chimed in.

"It was an ingenious plot." Waverly said. "One that served her nearly twenty years. In spite of Mr. Calburn's desire to have Sabrina back in his life, he trusted Cynthia with everything he had. I daresay he loved the woman even if he would never admit it. Even to himself."

Waverly said the last part, his eyes lingering on Solo. Napoleon squirmed in his seat.

"Cynthia made a habit of getting close to her adversary. Then she would simply tell Thomas the women were opportunist and Thomas took care of the rest." Illya said.

Waverly shook his head.

Napoleon rubbed his forehead against the coming headache. "The only thing she hadn't figured was Sabrina's daughter making an appearance. That was the part Thomas kept to himself. She never knew who April was until it was too late."

Illya looked at Waverly. "Yes. You see she knew where Sabrina lived. Thomas had made the mistake of seeking Cynthia's help in locating Sabrina. Only Cynthia knew her real name, having secured that bit of information when they were friends. It seemed she liked the woman enough to save her life once, but she kept her whereabouts a secret from Calburn for her own selfish reasons."

"And Miss Skylar had no way of knowing that Sabrina's daughter had changed her name and joined UNCLE," Waverly concluded.

"Nor did April remember anything about the night Thomas tried to kill her mother," Solo said.

"The mind is indeed complicated. The event was so traumatic that Miss Dancer blocked the memory," Waverly said.

"Calburn's goal all along was to get to Miss Dancer," Illya said. "He hatched a plot using his brother's invention, knowing we would have to get it back. There was never a bomb."

Waverly tapped his pipe lightly on the table. "And how is Miss Dancer?"

"She's still in the infirmary, sir," Illya answered after giving Solo a brief look. "She's awake, but not talking as of yet. The doctor said she will be fine…in time. This entire thing has come as a shock to her."

"Well perhaps some time away from here would be good for her. Perhaps she would like to spend time with her family."

"No." Napoleon said, recalling conversations he'd had with the female agent. "Her family has indicated that they are not interested in contacting her."

"I'm aware of that Mr. Solo, but still…considering the circumstances."

"I'll talk to her." Solo said, but in his heart, he knew it would be best for April not to see her family. At least for now.

"Ah sir, if it's okay---" Solo started.

"Yes, yes. See to Miss Dancer," Waverly said "But...uh..perhaps you gentlemen would like to change first."

Solo looked at the blond, his hair darkly streaked with soot, his shirt barely hanging from his slender frame. They must indeed look a mess.

Both men stood. "Of course, sir."

"And Mr. Solo, until further, notice Miss Dancer will report directly to me."

Solo nodded his head. He could see the look in Waverly's eyes. This was his punishment for keeping information from him. And Waverly was right in doing it. Solo had made mistakes. He'd let his emotions rule his actions. It was unforgivable.

"Yes, sir," he said gratefully. And then he was out the door.

One hour later, Napoleon sat on the edge of April's bed in the infirmary holding her hand. She hadn't said much, but Napoleon could feel the damn about to break and prepared himself.

She looked at him, her eyes misty, near the point of tears. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I could be pregnant," she said.

It was something Solo hadn't considered, or rather he hadn't wanted to consider. It was the double edge sword of being a woman, he thought ruefully. On missions, he'd slept with his fair share of women. For the most part, it was one of the perks of the job. But for a woman, in the same line of work, it was different. The penalty for sleeping with the enemy was not the same. If she were pregnant, her career would come to an end. And she would suffer the shame of being an unwed mother. It was the 1960's and there was still a stigma about that.

"I'm so ashamed," she said, a tear falling slowly down her face.

Napoleon used his thumb to wipe the tear, and then moved closer to her. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of. You've been nothing but one of the best agents I know and I'm proud to serve with you."

"I allowed myself to be duped. I should have seen it. Some psychic I am."

"None of us saw it. And your vision was symbolic. There was nothing there to let us know his real plan. You had no way of knowing, April."

"And now I suffer the consequences. And if I'm pregnant my child will suffer too." She dropped her head. "I will be a disgrace to the service, to my family, to me. My child will be raised without a father and for what? The bomb didn't even exist. We could have arrested him without going through all of this."

Napoleon cupped her chin, his eyes meeting hers. "You stopped him from killing. He would have gone on if not for you. And know this. I will never…ever let you go through this alone. If you're pregnant the child will have a name and we'll raise him together."

April smiled through the tears. "Are you asking me to marry you, Napoleon?"

"If it comes to that."

April patted his knee. "I'll have the hatred of every female in the universe, you know. Could be a threat worse than than Thrush." And they both laughed. "But seriously," April said, again meeting his eyes. "I appreciate what you're willing to do and give up in more ways than you'll ever know. But I would never put you in…"

"You listen to me. You're my best friend. I don't care about what I'll lose, because I've already gained so much by having you in my life."

"It wouldn't be…it wouldn't…" she stammered.

And Solo saw her blush. "We'll have separate rooms," he said quickly. "You'll have my name for the child. And we'll figure out the rest later."

April laid her head on his shoulder. He pulled his legs into the bed so that they were side by side against the raised mattress, his arm encircling her.

"Thank you. You're the best friend a girl could have."

They sat in silence, feeling the warmth of the sun as it spilled through the window of the infirmary. Napoleon closed his eyes as he felt April relax in his arms, her breaths becoming even indicating she was finally falling asleep. Soon he heard a door opening and another presence entered the room.

"Thank you, Tovarish," he said as he felt his friend step near.

"You're welcome, my friend."

Solo opened his eyes and looked into the sky-blue eyes of his best friend. Then the Russian pulled up a chair and all three slept.

Fin

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