Ivan eyed Kuryakin and his companion from behind the bar. The whisper - you are going to get me killed - continued to echo in his mind. Perhaps this other man with Illya was some kind of danger to him. A force to be reckoned with. He didn't like what he didn't understand and this bothered him. He'd always seen Illya as a little brother, like those of his own. He had vowed long ago to protect him like a big brother should.
A quick nod of his head summoned a man from the task of taking out kitchen waste. The sandy haired fellow hurried over to Ivan.
"Yes?" he asked and then hushed his tone when Ivan indicated silence.
"Yegor. I want you to do something for me." Ivan turned to face the back and leaned on the bar as if chatting. "Do you see that blond man sitting with the dark haired one in the booth?"
Yegor glanced with his eyes but didn't turn his head. He nodded and reached for the small caliber pistol in his vest.
A raised hand from Ivan indicated he need not do that. "I want to know where he goes when he leaves here. Just follow him. Don't try to stop him or talk to him."
"And when he gets there?" the minion asked.
Ivan frowned. "Don't do anything. Just come back."
Yegor turned and went into the back room. He slipped on a jacket and tucked his cigarettes into the pocket. Then he went outside and got into a car to wait.
Ivan's actions didn't go unnoticed by Illya. Inside he was tense but nothing could be done about the situation while he was undercover and with Johnny. "You were saying?" he asked Johnny as the two of them sipped their beers.
The young man was getting to feel that Dima was an okay guy and gave him a small smile. "Thanks. For trying to be a friend," he said. "And not just for the weed."
Illya waved off the thought. "I'm not really into that. I just did it to be sociable."
"You're an all right guy. We're in Dr. Dennis' class together, aren't we?" he said. "Maybe we could study together for the next lab?"
"Maybe. I will check class schedule," Illya said, realizing he'd not thickened his accent much in this entire conversation. He downed the last of his beer. "We better go. It's a long way back to the campus housing."
Johnny drank up and nodded. "Yah. I gotta get back for dinner, too. Dad will wonder where I am."
Illya left a dollar fifty on the table for the two rounds and a tip. Then the two of them walked out to catch the bus back across town.
It didn't surprise him when the engine of a car started nearby, but the driver didn't pull out into traffic right away. He watched the car out of the corner of his eye as they boarded the bus. It was definitely a tail.
Napoleon left the offices of UNCLE at seven. He didn't drive straight home. Instead he drove to the Gramercy Park Hotel. Tonight he planned to dine there with Nancy and find out what else he could about how Illya was doing.
Napoleon had a hundred questions running through his mind as he drove. The day to day supervision of UNCLE should have been routine for him with the month long coaching before Waverly left but having Illya in the field without him after the traumatic events in the last year was too much of a distraction. Everyone found him irritable, moody, and, at times, totally impossible.
Nancy was a beauty to behold as Napoleon entered the lobby to find her. She'd done her hair up, the first time he'd seen it that way. The few wispy curls that danced at the edge of her forehead softened the style and made the charming smile warmer and more inviting. A light wrap barely covered her shoulders. She let it slide to her elbows as she saw him approach. She wore a spaghetti strap dark blue cocktail dress and accented the outfit with a small silver clutch and silver glitter trimmed shoes.
Pausing in his stride to admire his dinner guest, Napoleon smiled with sparkling eyes. "I am truly a lucky man tonight to have such a gracious beauty in my company."
She blushed at the smooth charm. "I do have more than nurses uniforms in my closet."
He offered his arm to escort her to the restaurant. "You're perfect the way you are. I've made reservations on the Garden Terrace for dinner."
She slipped her arm through his. "You better be careful. I could start getting used to this kind of life."
As they strolled toward the eatery, Napoleon lowered his voice. "How did your class go today?"
"Well..." she said, hesitating a little. "I did notice a few things."
"Such as?" he replied.
She wondered if it was Illya's natural behavior or if she was really seeing signs of stress. "He's responding to the Professor's lectures with varying degrees of irritation and almost outright disdain. I've been watching him very closely and that's the way it looks to me. Sometimes I even catch him staring at me out of the corner of his eye. It's like he thinks I'm spying on him."
"Well, you are," Napoleon said. "I'm sure he would think so even if you weren't since he knows that you and I know each other. But is he fit to be in the field? I want to find out if he needs more desk time to adjust." At least he was hoping to find cause to do that.
She shook her head. "It's too soon to say something like that," she said. "I'd have to observe him longer to be sure. And I'm not a doctor anyway. It would be unethical for me to diagnose someone."
"I'm not asking you to do something against your sworn oaths. Just keep an eye on a friend for me. That's all," he assured her. He didn't want to lose an inside eye on Illya. "Lets just have a nice meal," he said as they arrived at the Garden Terrace, subtlety lit with tiny lights trimming the plants and ceiling. "You can go over the details while we eat."
They were seated and Napoleon began by ordering a bottle of a good red wine. His standard practice of mixing pleasure with business, and usually capping the night off with an intimate encounter.
Even with the knowledge they were being followed, Illya took the opportunity to chat with Johnny more. With someone showing genuine interest in him, the lad opened up and Illya learned so much about his background, interests, and hopes for the future. Johnny didn't know much about his father's business and didn't really want to. In contrast to the courses he was taking, the extra-curricular activities seemed to be where Johnny came alive. It was a shame that his father wouldn't let him major in Drama.
The boy was actually very likable. If he kept responding to Illya like he was tonight, the friendship might help Illya get to the bottom of things quicker than he'd imagined.
Night had fallen by the time Illya and Johnny reached the campus. Illya pretended he'd made a mistake with the buses when they took two wrong routes on the way back. He wanted to be sure the car he thought was following him was really following him. He had no doubts now.
Illya was on alert when they got off the bus and he walked Johnny to campus where they would go their separate ways.
"Listen, Dima. I want to says thanks. You're the first person I could talk to about a lot of this stuff. I really needed to get it off my chest. I hope I didn't bore you," Johnny said apologetically.
"No. I was not bored," Illya replied. "I'm just glad you aren't upset with my sense of direction," he joked about the supposed errors on their journey back.
"Actually I'm kinda glad we did," Johnny told him. "You're a good guy. Don't let those party animals in your apartment ruin that."
"What animals?" he asked, wondering if the place was inhabited with vermin too.
Johnny seemed to be oblivious to the question. He grabbed Illya's arm to keep him from leaving. "Listen, man. Do me a favor?" he asked. Then he let go and reached into his book bag. He pulled out a plastic bag and kept it covered with his hand as he passed it to Dima. "Give this to the guys? I don't want to stop there tonight. It's late and I have studying to do."
Illya took the weed and nodded. "Sure. Be careful." He waved in the air. "Someone always watch, at least in my country." He gave a very Russian shrug. "Maybe here, too."
Yegor saw the two men exchange a package but it was too far away to determine what. He watched them part ways and one headed across campus on foot. The blond that he followed headed past the diner, which was closed now, toward a block of apartments. He went in one at the middle of the block. It seemed to be the end of the line after 30 minutes of waiting.
Illya wasn't in his apartment. The tail would have no way of knowing that. Instead he was in another apartment, lights out, spying on the spy.
Javier brought over a vodka and handed it to Illya who was looking through the curtain with a pair of binoculars.
"Is the car still there?" he asked.
Illya nodded. "Hasn't moved. No one's gotten out either."
"THRUSH?" Javier asked.
"No. Probably not," Illya replied. "More likely KGB."
"KGB?" Javier repeated surprised. "How would they fit in with this?"
Illya put down the binoculars and shook his head. "They don't. This is my problem." He downed the drink. "So what did you find out today?"
"That your old partner is a pendejo," Javier said dryly.
Illya smirked. Napoleon was being an ass lately. "What happened?"
Javier took a seat next to the window and peeked out. "I went in to report. I don't know why he wouldn't take a field report but I followed orders and went in. He was in some foul kind of mood."
"He's been in a foul mood ever since I was put back in the field," Illya corroborated.
"Well I told him that the backers for John Phillips' education aren't his parents. It's being paid for by a company. Swiftwing Labs. It's a scholarship but get this. He never had the grades to qualify for one. And Swiftwing Laboratories is on the list of suspected THRUSH affiliates. They are also paying for scholarships for two other students in colleges in Maine and Delaware."
Illya nodded and looked off into space. "I was with Johnny today. He was being hounded by other students for more of the marijuana he's been supplying. I got him off campus for a while and we had a good long talk. He's actually a nice kid. We may be looking at the wrong end of the stick for a villain here."
"How so?" Javier asked.
Illya dug into his pants pocket for the drugs. "Take a sample of this into the lab for analysis. Lets see what's so special about it."
Javier got a piece of plastic wrap and placed some of the weed in the center. Then he wrapped it up and gave the rest back to Illya. He held onto the bag though. "What are you going to do with the rest of it?"
"Johnny asked me to give it to Olaf. THRUSH isn't out to kill a bunch of students so it should be safe enough to pass it on. You and I smoked it the other day, too. We're fine."
"Are we?" Javier frowned. "I hate to give something poisonous to a bunch of kids."
Illya grimaced. "Same here, but I doubt I can convince them not to partake once they have it. If I don't give it to them, I'll have tipped my hand to Johnny and whoever else might be on THRUSH's side. We might lose them and this entire operation will have been for nothing." He didn't add that he thought he would lose much more than a few THRUSH agents if he failed his first assignment back.
Javier pulled the bag back and opened it again. "Should we make sure? I don't really like the idea of smoking while on duty, but I like the idea we might be giving something dangerous to those kids even less."
Illya was torn and it made him angry. His ability to make decisions seemed somewhat compromised since his episode with Kopf. If anyone figured it out, however, he would be out of a job and probably on the next Aeroflot back to Russia. He certainly didn't want that.
What he did want right now, though, was some more of that pot. It would relax and calm him, something he could use at the moment. "You're right. Better we die than them if it comes to that." He made himself sound confident in his decision when he felt anything but. Couldn't afford for Javier, or anyone else, for that matter, to figure it out.
While Javier rolled the joint, since Illya had no idea how to do it, Illya peered out the curtain again. The car was gone. The car was gone. He had the idea that soon Ivan would know where he was. He was on an assignment, though, and that had to come first. He turned back to Javier.
As he shoved the bag of pot into his pocket once more Javier lit the joint and sucked in a lungful of the smoke.
Illya took a deep breath before putting the rolled marijuana cigarette to his lips and inhaling. "So why is Napoleon a pendejo?" he asked, voice strained from holding the smoke in his lungs. He passed back the joint.
"He's jealous. The guy sleeps around and yet he's jealous of you getting a bit of tail," Javier grumbled and then took another hit. "He's probably off getting some right now I'll bet."
Illya felt a knot in his stomach. "Probably. I don't understand him sometimes. Well... most of the time," he replied.
"Tell me. . . does it bother you when he does that?" Javier asked as Illya took another hit.
"I don't begrudge him sleeping with someone. At least, not anymore. He gets upset when I do the same thing and that angers me." Illya shook his head. Why was he telling Javier this? Yes, he'd thought about it many times, but he wasn't the type to share such things. He seemed to have a strong compulsion to do so now, though.
The statement made Javier mad. "Then do what you want and let him feel whatever he wants over it. In fact," Javier said. "You and I should have sex again just to piss him off!"
Illya thought the ideas running through their minds were reasonable and that was just what they should do. "You're right! I should!" Something at the back of his mind niggled at him, telling him this was wrong. Yet it seemed so very reasonable.
Javier needed little encouragement without the drug in his system. With it, the suggestion seemed more like an order and one he eagerly wanted to follow. He leaned in for a kiss and soon the two of them were satisfying their cravings in every way.
The sounds of morning invaded the apartment. The twitter of birds, closing of doors as other residents started their day of classes or work, shouts of "Hurry up!" from next door. Illya's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into Javier's dark ones. His bedmate looked as startled as he felt. They both bolted out of the bed as though a snake lay in it with them.
Javier's, "We shouldn't have done that!" bled into Illya's, "This was a mistake!" They stopped and stared at each other.
Javier shook his head. "I like you, Illya, and you're great in bed, but I never . . .and I do mean never . . . sleep with the same person more than once in a single visit."
"Do you think I do?" Illya snapped. He glanced at the bag of weed sitting on top of the bedside stand. "And I am not prone to doing drugs. At least not voluntarily." He paused. "Although, even as I say that, I'm craving another joint.
Javier stared at him. "Same here."
Two sets of eyebrows rose. "I'd better get this pot to the lab," said Javier as, at the exact same moment, Illya declared, "Get that marijuana in for testing immediately."
Javier ran both hands through his sex and sleep disheveled hair, messing it up even more. "Okay. This is just getting weird."
Illya tilted his head, a disconcerted expression on his usually unexpressive face. "Understatement."
Illya started gathering his discarded clothing. He found his pants pooled beside the bed, but his shirt lay in a ball on a nearby chair. His underwear lay draped across two hangers in the closet. Illya grimaced as he remembered Javier ripping them off his body and then sling-shooting them over his shoulder.
He avoided looking at Javier while he quickly dressed. He went to pick up the baggie of weed and stopped. The moment it was in his hand and so accessible, desire to forget the rest of his day and stay here smoking and fucking spiked through him.
Although there were people who were affected by marijuana this way, for the most part his reaction just wasn't natural. Especially for him. He hated drugs of all kinds. Too many times on the unwilling receiving end of them did that to a person. Not only that, Illya knew he did not have an addictive personality. Agents tended not to. A trait spy organizations screened out of their pool of potential agents. He slid the baggie into his pocket before he could give in to its lure. "It's the marijuana." He finally caught Javier's gaze again. "Let me know what's in there the minute you find out."
Javier sighed in relief and nodded. "It's the only explanation for our uncharacteristic behavior. If it was only one of us acting oddly, I might think otherwise. But since we're both not acting ourselves . . ." He shrugged.
"Agreed. I have to go. I'll see you later." He hurried out of the bedroom before Javier could answer. Outside the apartment, he checked his watch and grit his teeth. He had no time to take a shower. He didn't even have time to change his clothes. He'd have to just grab his books and go in order to make it to class on time. Probably for the best, anyway. Smelling and looking this way would more firmly establish him as the modern student he portrayed. At least, from what he could tell having observed that particular animal firsthand recently. With that thought in mind, he hurried to get his books and rush to class.
Nancy was already in her seat in Soviet history when Illya-call him Dima!-rushed in just as Professor Stillwell started his lecture.
Stillwell regarded his late student with disapproval. "So nice of you to join us, Gaspodin Grishuk."
Illya gave him a cheeky smile. "My pleasure, sir."
Heeding Napoleon's advice upon parting the other night-well, more like very early this morning-Nancy made a note of not only Illya's lateness, but also his flippant response to the teacher.
Her nose wrinkled as he passed by her to his usual seat. He'd obviously been a busy boy last night if the scent of sex coming off him was any indication. She couldn't say much about that since she, too, had sex last night. There was an underlying scent that disturbed her for some reason even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took a deep breath to see if she could figure it out. It smelled of smoke, but not like any cigarette or pipe she'd ever smelled. Still, it seemed familiar.
Suddenly it dawned on her. At work she'd attended a mandatory workshop on how to spot drug use. One of the things they'd done was burn a little marijuana so the workers could recognize the smell. He'd been smoking marijuana! She scribbled madly until she noticed Illya glance at her and frown. She looked up at the professor as she pretended to be taking notes on what Stillwell was saying.
Today's subject turned out to be a very interesting one. Nancy had heard of Baba Yar but didn't know much about it.
"The Germans rounded up all the Jews in Kiev. They had them strip everything off then took them in small groups to a nearby ravine called Baba Yar. There, the Germans lined up the Ukrainians in front of the ravine and opened fire. The bodies fell into the ravine, making clean up easy for the SS. The guards would then shoot into the corpses in order to kill anyone that might not be dead."
Nancy gasped and put her hand to her mouth. How awful! She looked around for other people's reactions. Most reflected her own shock and dismay. Illya looked uncomfortable, but otherwise unaffected. She made note of the fact.
"Even so," Stillwell went on. "Not everyone that stood on that precipice of Baba Yar died. I have read one account of a seven-year-old boy that lived through this harrowing experience. He and his younger brother were scooped up in the German's net, even though they weren't Jewish. In Kiev, neighborhoods weren't really broken down into the various groups like we find in so many other places. The neighborhood that many Jews lived in also housed a large number of non-Jewish families. These boys were in that category.
"The Germans really didn't care, however. No amount of protesting stopped them from pushing anyone they rounded up into line to await their turn at execution. It's interesting that these two boys also had a sister, a twin to the younger brother, but they had lost track of her during all this."
As fascinated as Nancy was by the story, she couldn't help but notice Illya suddenly stiffening in his seat. She glanced over and noticed his hands gripping the sides of the small desk attached to his seat, knuckles white. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. A part of her wondered if she should be concerned but a more vocal part was pleased to see that he showed some proper human emotion. In the time she'd known him, he either displayed inappropriate responses-such as his panic and paranoia when in the care of the mental facility she worked for-and no response at all. This was a horrible story. It was nice to see him reacting to it appropriately. She missed a couple of lines from Stillwell as she quickly wrote down her observations of Illya.
"Hand in hand, the boys stood at the edge of Baba Yar," Stillwell said when she returned her attention to him. "You can only imagine how terrified these children must have been," he continued to murmurs of agreement from his audience. "And yet, the older boy had the presence of mind to tell his brother to fall backwards into the ravine the second he heard the gunshots."
"Please say they both lived," Illya whispered.
Nancy wouldn't have heard him if she hadn't sat next to him. She shot him a look but his focus centered entirely on Stillwell. She focused on Illya, his reactions to what the teacher said seeming not only over reactive, but a bit out of character.
"At the sound of the shots, both boys fell into the ravine. The older boy survived," Stillwell continued. "But when he looked over he saw his brother was dead."
Nancy gasped in horror and knew others were similarly affected when she heard the murmurs of distress and pity that filled the room. She looked over to Illya, alarmed to note his face was white as a sheet and he appeared on the verge of passing out.
Suddenly he snatched his books and stood up and gracelessly shoved through the aisle as he fled from the room, slamming the door behind him. The room went silent at the unexpected turn of events. Stillwell stood gaping at the closed door as if waiting to see his student return with an apology on his lips. After a minute it appeared Illya would not be coming back.
He turned to the class and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it is a rather distressing story. If he'd stayed a moment longer, he would have learned the boy managed to climb out of the ravine and run away."
Some of the other students snickered and Nancy heard mutterings of "weakling" and "coward". She knew Illya was neither. Even as she noted the incident down in her notebook she knew she didn't have the whole story.
Illya sped from the classroom, mind and emotions in a turmoil. How did Stillwell know that story? He'd told no one of it. Ever. Not even Anna and Sergei, his foster parents for two years. Not Uncle Alexei, his mentor for his entire KGB career. No one. Except . . .
He had written it in his diary. That damned diary! Once again he regretted not destroying the damned thing long ago. But how did a teacher in a New York university see it? Where was it before Waverly got hold of it?
First things first. He would find out what Stillwell knew-kill him if he had to in order to protect his secrets-but that was not top priority at the moment. Stillwell hadn't been looking at him specifically as he told the story. HIS story. Hadn't seemed to be trying to get to him or send him a message. Illya didn't think the man knew it was about him at all. To Stillwell, the subject of the story was an unknown. Retrieving the diary took top priority. He had to get it back and he had to do it now. Before Waverly returned. He would figure out what to about Stillwell later.
Javier had the suspect marijuana in his coat pocket when he entered the U.N.C.L.E. via the tailor shop entrance. His first priority was to get it to the lab and have them start analysis. Although he physically enjoyed the night of sex with Illya, the disturbing reasons why he'd done it nagged at him. It nagged almost to the point of distraction.
The corridors in the facility were quiet compared to the activity when a major investigation occupied the majority of people. Good. Maybe they could get to the analysis of this weed sooner rather than later.
As he walked along he also felt a strange twinge of guilt. Although he liked Illya and the sex was enjoyable it was totally out of character for both of them to indulge themselves like that when on an assignment. He decided to get a blood test to see if there were lingering affects, and, too, he thought he should suggest to Napoleon that they have Illya tested for similar abnormalities if they found something.
Nancy looked pale and anxious when she was led in to see Napoleon Solo in the Chief of Operations office at UNCLE. Napoleon seemed small sitting behind the huge round conference table but gave her a charming smile warming her to the core. He stood up and came around to take her arm and guide her to a chair.
"Please. Have a seat," he said and turned the swivel chair for her to take her place. "Forgive me for saying, but you don't look well. Are you alright? Can I get you a drink of water or something? Coffee? Tea perhaps?"
Quickly she shook her head. "No. I'm okay. Really I am." The words came out like she was out of breath, like she'd run all the way there.
"Is it Illya?" he asked, concerned as he sat down next to her and automatically held her hand. "Is Illya all right?"
She shook her head. "No. Yes. I'm not quite sure," she said a little confused by her observations. "Today in class he was..." she searched for the right words.
"Take your time," he said calmly. Napoleon knew that to get information out of a woman one got more much faster by being charming than putting more pressure on them. Inside, though, his guts felt like they were jumping on knives. "Start with the beginning," he told her.
She cupped both hands in his and took a few deep breaths. "He's always very paranoid when he sees me there and as soon as class is over he generally disappears like he was never there in the first place. He avoids me like I'm Typhoid Mary."
So far things sounded normal for Illya. "But...?" he asked. "Please go on. Did something happen out of the ordinary today?"
Her face scrunched as she thought about how to describe what took place in the class room. "The professor began going through some Russian history today and for some reason Illya was..."
"Was... What?" he encouraged her to go on.
Nancy let her shoulders drop. "It's hard to explain. If we were in the hospital I'd have to say he was going through an almost disassociate state. It was like he suddenly turned into another person. I saw signs of anxiety, fear, paranoia, persecution, and there was nothing unusual happening in the classroom. In fact he got up and rushed out before it was even over. He was pale and sweating. Looked disoriented. And now that I think of it . . ." she said, pausing.
"What is it?" he asked still rubbing the back of her hand lightly.
"Well when he got to class," she said. "He didn't look right."
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean... didn't look right?"
She sat up straighter. "I just realized he seemed a bit strange then too. He was disheveled like he'd slept in his clothes. His hair was kind of all over the place. To be honest with you, Napoleon," she said hesitantly. "He's really beginning to frighten me."
He tried to look as calm and reassuring as possible. He kept holding her hands and leaned closer, trying not to be intimidating. "I understand but try not to worry. I will see to it that nothing happens to you or Illya. I want you to know that I, that UNCLE, appreciates everything you've done. What I need you to do now is go with Miss Rogers and make a statement for the records. Can you do that for us?" he asked.
"Oh but I can't make diagnoses. I'm not a qualified..." she began to protest.
"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm not asking you to make a diagnosis or even give any medical opinions. I just want a statement of your observations. Please?" he said, giving her the dark puppy eyes.
She felt relieved after getting it all out. Nancy nodded. "All right. I can do that if it will help."
Napoleon got out of the chair and went to the intercom in front of Waverly's seat. He paged Lisa Rogers. "Miss Rogers. Would you please come in here and bring your steno pad?"