A wake up call was unnecessary for Kuryakin as his natural rhythms had his eyes open just when he needed to rise, feeling well rested. Having slept well was due in part to not having had to share a bed with his partner, who was at times was a restless sleeper and tended to hog the blankets.
Though in all fairness, Napoleon put up with a partner who had periodic nightmares. Illya would wake up sometimes with a gasp, in a cold sweat. Solo never asked what the dreams were about though Illya would sometimes offer up snippets from them, usually concerning his childhood.
Still, Kuryakin was a very good liar and adept at dodging the truth, and Napoleon was well aware of it.
Thankfully Illya hadn't had any of the bad dreams in quite a while.
Accounting's not so brilliant idea of cutting costs by booking single hotel accommodations for partners was possibly one of the most ridiculous things he'd ever heard of. There were times when he envied Mark Slate having April for a partner, as separate sleeping arrangements were mandated for them.
He tried to envision Angelique La Chien in bed with him and his partner, mind you for sleeping only, but he decided that visual was not a good one. No doubt there was no need for covers when she and Solo were together in bed.
Illya wondered if Section II agents had problematic sleeping arrangements with their partners, and reminded himself to ask around once they'd returned from this assignment, that was if they returned.
He could hear Napoleon complaining now if he'd voiced that attitude in the American's presence. His partner had already reamed into him for taking his usual fatalistic viewpoint; though Solo apologized, his words hit home.
The Russian, unlike his American friend was always prepared to die for the Command at every turn, in fact he expected it to happen every time they embarked on a mission. Being prepared for it, and being afraid of it were two different things.
Illya feared death, but at the same time embraced it. Facing one's fears was all that could be done and since he'd looked death in the eye so many times throughout his life, his fear had become acceptance. If it happened it happened, if it did not, then it was a pleasant surprise.
Last night, sleeping comfortably alone really made a difference in how he felt this morning. He had a better than usual attitude, feeling surprisingly optimistic about this assignment.
Perhaps his shoulder not hurting him as much had a lot to do with it, and as he took a deep breath, Illya found his side barely hurt at all.
His hopes had come to fruition; no broken ribs and he quickly unwrapped the ace bandage and took another deep breath.
"Yes!" They could go for sure.
Kuryakin, hustled into the bathroom where he showered and shaved. He dressed himself, moving gingerly but comfortably now.
His suit and black turtleneck went on effortlessly and just when he was going to call Napoleon, there was a knock at the door.
As he was trained, he stepped to one side, holding his Special in his right hand, ready just in case.
"Who is it?"
"Room service sir with breakfast."
"I did not order room service."
"Yes sir I know. It was ordered for you by Mr. Krasnov. He said it was for his friend Illya."
He looked through the peephole to make sure there was only one person there before opening the door.
A young man dressed in black pants and a white shirt wheeled in a cart, with several covered dishes on it.
"Mr. Krasnov ordered a special breakfast for you sir." One by one the covers were lifted revealing blini, sour cream, caviar, sour cream.. sausages, freshly baked black bread with butter, and jam, a plate of scrambled eggs and a pot of strong tea; to the side sat a Russian style tea glass.
"It looks delicious. Thank you, and your name?" Illya asked.
"Kuzma sir."
"That is a Russian name, but you sound American."
"My parents were from the old country, they escaped to the United States after the war and moved here to Vegas." The young man's eyes suddenly saddened. "They were killed in a car accident and Uncle Vadim took me in when I was homeless, and gave me a job."
"Uncle Vadim?"
"Oh he's not my real Uncle, but we call him that. He's taken in a few of us and got us off the streets and out of trouble."
"Thank you Kuzma, that is good to know." Illya offered the boy a tip and he too refused it.
"No sir, our Uncle takes good care of us. We're his children now, that's what he always says. Thank you sir and enjoy your meal. This is the same stuff Uncle Vadim has for breakfast on the weekends."
Illya locked the door after the boy left, and checked his watch...he had time. Why let such good food go to waste? He tucked in, and helped himself, enjoying Vadim's hospitality with relish.
A half-hour later there was a knock at the door, instantly recognizable as Solo's.
Illya let him in, and the American eyed the cart of food.
"You ordered room service? Seriously, accounting isn't going to be happy with that chum.'
"Do not worry yourself about it, as my meal was comped," Illya smiled.
"Comped? And how did you manage that, along with this obviously upgraded room? You holding out on me tovarisch?" He waggled his finger over the remnants of his partner's breakfast.
Kuryakin laughed, popping a last piece of sausage into his mouth.
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."
"You've been reading up too much on U.S. law," Napoleon laughed.
He gave up getting the truth from his partner as once making up his mind on something; Illya would never give him a straight answer. Must be that Soviet training of his.
"Okay, be that way. Now let's get going while Angelique and I have time to get a bite to eat as well. I heard from the Old Man this morning; they've tracked Altschuler to Nebraska."
"That is good, so next stop would be Iowa I believe, if he is enroute to Canada." Illya gathered his suitcase and handing Napoleon his; they headed out the door with his partner.
I see by your change of clothing you went out to the car?" Illya said.
"Well since you only delivered Angelique's I couldn't exactly wear her chemise could I?"
Illya as usual, ignored him.
"Next stop is the coffee shop for breakfast," Napoleon grinned. He grabbed his valise and Illya's dufflebag, thinking the Russian might still be in some pain.
.
Angelique was waiting for them, already sipping a cup of coffee, and nibbling on a piece of danish. It would be her indulgence for breakfast, that along with a small bowl of fresh fruit.
"I took the liberty of ordering a carafe of coffee, and for you Kuryakin a pot of tea. I discovered they have a fine Russian blend here, since the owner is Russian, a former Soviet military intelligence officer. Perhaps you know him Illya, his name is Kurasov?" She smiled knowingly.
"Hmm, does not ring a bell, You must remember that I was a junior agent when I left Soviet Union to join UNCLE and did not know many of my fellow operatives."
Napoleon studied his partner's face, suspecting this Kurasov had something to do with Illya getting the royal treatment here.
They sat at the table; Napoleon ordering an English muffin, with a side of bacon, orange juice and he had his coffee of course. Illya drank his tea, and munched on a Danish.
"Illya are you feeling ill?" Angelique asked."I think it is not like you to have such a light meal to start your day."
"Thank you for your concern, but I am fine."
"Yes it seems our Russian had a fine breakfast delivered to his room this morning," Napoleon winked. "Hmm, methinks I smell a rat tovarisch, one named Kurasov."
"Think what you will, it matters not to me,"Illya quipped, surreptitiously pulling the rug out from under the American, who figured he was going to get some mileage out of the situation.
Breakfast was finished and they headed out to the airport, where in a short while they would be winging their way to O'Hare in Chicago.
As they settled into their seats on board the plane, Angelique complained about the arrangements, being forced to sit between the two UNCLE agents.
"My God, coach? You make me fly coach Napoleon. Ridiculous. Had I know you'd booked these cheap seats, I would have gotten first class for myself."
"May I remind you UNCLE has been flitting the bill for you all this time," Solo whispered.
She crossed her arms in front of her, shaking her head in dissatisfaction until a stewardess passed by in the aisle, and she called to her.
"Excuse me Miss, are there any seats available in first class? I'd like to upgrade."
"I'm so sorry," the stewardess flashed a forced smile." First class is booked solid. Might I offer you a magazine?"
"No. What I would like is some champagne, could you manage that darling? I'd really appreciate it." Angelique softened her tone, knowing one would get more with honey than vinegar.
"I think I can do that for you," the stewardess winked, "But it'll have to wait until we've taken off and the Captain clears us for movement inside the cabin.
Take off was smooth and the stewardess came with the champagne as promised. Napoleon had a scotch on the rocks figuring it was five o'clock somewhere. Illya was quiet, preferring to close his eyes and doze off.
Solo behaved himself with Angelique present and refrained from flirting with the two stewardess, though he had to bite his tongue several times. One of them was beyond gorgeous and he actually thought about propositioning her to help him in his quest to join the 'mile high club.'
Yet he resisted the urge; better not to try it with Angelique around...some women seemed to know when you'd had sex with another woman, and she was one of those with that special ability. He needed to keep her happy as the mission had to remain preeminent in his mind.
It was just over three hours later their flight arrived at O'Hare, and together they deplaned, expecting to make their connection heading to Montreal.
The flight was cancelled…
The next one wouldn't be available for another nine hours. There was no choice but to take it; time-wise they were cutting it close with Altschuler's arrival. If he didn't go to Canada, they'd be in trouble and would probably have to hop on a flight to wherever he was headed.
Still Canada seemed the logical choice, given the clue with money he'd taken back in Vegas.
"This time we fly first class,"Angelique announced. "I'll pay, or rather my organization will pay. See Illya I told you we have much better wages and no accounting to bother us. Our agents have carte blanche."
"So what are we going to do to kill nine hours?" Napoleon interrupted her little pitch for T.H.R.U.S.H.
"No no, wait. I have a question," Illya posed to his partner. "Why is U.N.C.L.E. paying for Miss La Chien when she has this 'carte blanche?"
"Good question partner mine. Angelique, going forward you take care of the expenses," Solo made his command decision, thinking that was going to set her off, instead it had the opposite effect.
"Thank you, finally! I was getting tired of doing everything second class."
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, not quite sure if they'd been insulted or not.
"Well since there's little to do around here except shopping perhaps, that's exactly what I plan to do. Now are you two going to join me?" She was positively glowing.
Illya deferred to his partner with a shrug, Napoleon did the same in response. "I guess that's what we're doing."
After checking their luggage; they hailed a taxi, taking them to a nearby shopping district.
Angelique dragged the two agents through several boutiques, and dress shops, modeling a few outfits for them. She purchased several lovely dresses, a beautifully embroidered white silk scarf to replace the one used lost in the explosion back in Vegas, along with an exquisite white chiffon beaded tea length dress, also to replace the one that had been ruined.
As they followed her down the street, dutifully carrying her shopping bags she stopped in front of a jewelry store window. "Oh my, that piece is stunning! I must have it!" She pointed to a blue enamel diamond pendant watch with a starburst pin.
"Oh yes, a stunning piece," the sales clerk said, fetching the watch from the window display. "You have an excellent eye Madam. It has a 17 jewel movement with a lever escapement and a damaskeene finish. The dial is signed "Tiffany N. Y." and it is in superb condition. The dial is beautifully marked with classic gold filigree hands, fancy Arabic hour chapters and red 5-minute numerals. The case is fully covered royal blue enameling set against a swirl pattern, it is near mint and enhanced by a lovely diamond encrusted floral design on the back cover. Presented with this piece is a fabulous gold sunburst pin centered by a prominent cushion-cut diamond. It is 18K, circa 1890."
Angelique held the watch in her hand, holding it up to her shoulder and looking at its reflection in a gilt mirror on the counter.
"I'll take it," she smiled.
"You don't want to know the price Madam?" The clerk was a bit surprised.
"Only to pay the bill," she smiled, taking out her wallet from her purse and handing him a Bankamericard.
The clerk smiled, seeing the credit card as they'd just started accepting them as payment. Angelique signed the bill, got her receipt and the watch; pinning it to her Chanel jacket, though she did glance at the receipt. It was less than she'd expected, and supposed the clerk gave her a good discount for not haggling.
"Yes that's perfect. See I told you we're well paid," she boasted. "
Illya behaved himself as he'd promised, and simply watched as his partner took a turn at rolling his eyes.
Lunch was in an upscale restaurant, and given the fact that T.H.R.U.S.H. was in essence, flitting the bill, both Napoleon and Illya ordered steaks with all the trimmings, though both of them opted not to drink.
Angelique chose for oysters Rockefeller, a salad and insisted upon having pink champagne.
It was finally time to leave and the last thing they did when they arrived back at the airport was to purchase another small suitcase for Angelique to pack her latest clothing acquisitions. The bag was checked and just as they settled in their seats waiting to board their flight, Napoleon's communicator called to him.
He quickly disappeared to a quiet corner of the waiting area, opening the pen and responding in hushed tones.
"Good evening Mr. Solo. Altschuler has been tracked to Illinois, so our supposition that he is heading to Canada is looking better and better."
"We're booked on a flight to Montreal and should be boarding any moment."
"Quebec is a big province Mr. Solo. Where specifically is the satrap in Montreal?"
"That she wouldn't tell me yet sir."
Waverly sounded disappointed, yet he understood Angelique La Chien was a clever woman who knew how to manipulate men. He was aware of Solo's dalliances with the temptress, and tolerated them, just as T.H.R.U.S.H. seemed to tolerate Angelique's liaisons with Solo. It would either be a help or a hindrance to both of them someday, perhaps leading to their eventual deaths. He hoped now would not be that time.
Concerned her allure might cloud his agent's thinking, he added a warning to their conversation.
"Report to me as soon as your flight lands, and Mr. Solo?"
"Yes sir?"
"Please be sure you think with the right head, if you get my drift?"
Napoleon was a bit surprised at Waverly's crude remark, but the man was absolutely right.
"Yes sir, I will. Solo out."
He returned the communicator to his pocket and headed back in time to hear the first class seating was being called for boarding.