Illya had made his report to Mr. Waverly regarding the afternoon's activities; the meeting with Duvall and the note he had found on his desk asking for a "meet" at the Purple Unicorn. He also told him of his impression that another member from UNCLE had been at the restaurant, and had possibly seen him with the Thrush man. Under normal circumstances, he might not have been as willing to divulge something that wasn't a hard fact; now wasn't the time for holding anything in abeyance. His life and career were on the line and he didn't want to be the one responsible for a mistake.
"Mr. Kuryakin, do you honestly believe that this note is from our mole? Is it possible that someone else is playing in our little game?" The section one chief had the same reaction as had his agent about the sudden appearance of the mystery invitation. It seemed that there would have been more time devoted to observing the UNCLE agent. Illya would rather have had the luxury of playing this out with more finesse, but if they wanted him now and they had an opportunity to end it, perhaps it was all for the best this way. "I do not see that I have any options here, except to go and see who shows up. Perhaps they are so anxious to recruit me that there is a willingness to speed up the process". It seemed likely that it might be the case; he hoped so. It might alleviate the difficulties posed by whoever had been at the restaurant.
"Alright then...be careful. I don't suppose I need to tell you that". The wise man of UNCLE did not want to see any harm come to this young man. Too many sacrifices had been made for their cause; he hoped they weren't walking into a situation that would mean another loss. The young Russian had done more than his share since he was a very young man and it shouldn't end badly now...not for the sake of a traitor in their midst.
"I will take every precaution sir. I have no desire to end my career like this. I will report in as I am able..." For a brief moment there was a hint of something indefinable in the blond's eyes. The older man thought he saw it, but it vanished as soon as he was aware of it, making him wonder if it hadn't been his own vision casting a rare glint of emotion onto his agent. They both nodded as Illya rose from his chair and then exited the room, a slight slouch in his shoulders that he repaired as he walked through the big silver doors.
On the other side of the doors he began to mumble to no one in particular, strains of a madman or a rebel resounding through the spartan hallways. This then would be his greatest performance for UNCLE. The last thing anyone would hear from Illya Kuryakin as he tore through the metallic hallways would be the angry rant of a spurned man, giving everyone who heard him the impression of someone who resembled the profile of the disenfranchised; the sound of a traitor.
At midnight precisely, Illya walked into the Purple Unicorn dressed in his somber black attire; a turtleneck and corduroy trousers blended into the dark interior so that only his light hair and pale complexion betrayed his presence in the discotheque. The club was indeed purple, and it boasted glittering crystal balls overhead, miniature versions of the giant one in Time Square that fell every New Year's eve. A noisy crowd of people filled the tables that ringed the dance floor, and a balcony overhead was reserved for those who preferred the privacy required for more intimate activities. The slender build of the agent meshed well with the svelte clientelle that surrounded him; dressed in haute couture and runway chic, they eyed the man who had penetrated their territory without yielding to their aesthetics. He was beautiful enough, and somehow the lack of obvious fashion sense underlined a more enticing style that now became very attractive to more than one of the women in attendance.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered vodka, hoping it would be decent enough to drink. His eyes began scanning beneath a demure countenance, never indicating the precision with which he surveyed the crowd. There were no familiar faces here, and the possibility that he had been lured here for a test of some sort occured to him now. Perhaps he should have told Napoleon of the plan so that he would have had some type of back up. Coming alone began to seem an irresponsible act and he wondered if Waverly might have alerted his partner to this latest development. He began to scan the room and the balcony, hopeful that the familiar brown eyes would be looking back at him. Napoleon wasn't part of this though. He wouldn't be here...
"Are you waiting for me?" The voice was sultry and feminine, and he turned to look into the eyes of Marianne, the woman from section eight whom he had seen that afternoon in the hallways of UNCLE. She looked like a different woman; gone was the frumpy brown hair and the nondescript clothing. He would never have guessed what was beneath the labcoat she wore, nor the effect of letting down her hair...literally.
"I might be' he replied. The blue eyes glinted beneath the lights of the crystal and the neon behind the bar.
"Perhaps you can tell me whether or not we have an appointment".
"Appointment? No, I don't think I'd call it that. Karma maybe". She grinned and held out her hand for him to follow her to the dance floor. What was going on here? He didn't have time to dance with her if she wasn't the person for whom they were looking...
"Illya...may I call you Illya?" He nodded, still unable to decide what to do with her.
"Well, Illya, I've been hoping to spend some time with you outside of the lab. This is just crazy though, isn't it...running into each other like this". She wasn't the mole. She just wanted to...she really was very pretty.
He very impulsively drew her close to him and danced in earnest with the lovely lab girl.