While Illya and Marianne danced, one set of eyes was tracking them as they moved to the music, entwined in each other's arms as though the evening was significant for nothing more than a night on the town. The blond agent used the movement to survey the room, keeping his eyes roving around the tables and the bar; he let his gaze rest on the girl sporadically, never intending to seduce her into a false sense of romance. She didn't seem to notice or mind, because her eyes were also searching for something or someone. When she spotted him, he nodded almost imperceptibly in her direction, confirming the next step.
Illya was beginning to think that the evening was a bust, and that he should just leave. Marianne wasn't his date, and he felt no obligation to finish the night with her, regardless of whatever she hoped for. The song faded out gradually, and he guided her off of the dance floor. Whoever had written the note requesting the meeting here was late, making him feel uncomfortable and edgy. He didn't like having to wait; it was a bad start to an entirely different kind of dance.
"Illya, luv...I think we should get a breath of fresh air. You look on edge, or...are you waiting for someone else?" The question shocked him, and then he looked more closely at her and the expression on her face was not an accusation. What was her part in this?
"What do you know?" The grip on her arm tightened as the thought cemented into a certainty. He found it hard to believe he could have missed the clues, for surely there had been some. He had worked with this woman.
"Oh, I know just enough. But, we're friends now, right...birds of a feather and all that". The smile was not the smile of a friend. More of a conquerer over the body of a vanquished foe. Was he vanquished? Was this all for nothing?
"Are we?' He needed to buy some time, and he didn't believe that she was the deep cover agent that Thrush had planted. Something wasn't quite right.
"I believe I must have missed something. Perhaps you'd like to explain things to me". Keep her talking, find out as much as possible before whoever else was involved got here and broke this up.
"Just what kind of friends are we, Marianne?" When he had finished saying her name, she reached up and kissed him. That was real; she'd always wanted to kiss Illya and feel those lips...taste his mouth...before it was too late.
He pulled away, stunned by the action, angry at her impudence. Her grey eyes held his own as he struggled with the ease with which he had been drawn into this; he had yielded too easily and now he sensed real danger encompassing him.
"We're going to be good friends, I think. Now, why don't we go outside and see just how friendly we are...Illya". From somewhere she had produced a gun and held it to his side in an uncompromising gesture of hostility. She guided him out the front door and onto the sidewalk, dodging the other club patrons while she kept the muzzle lodged in Illya's ribs.
The man who had been watching them was already across the street and ready to act. For two years he had waited for a chance to take the Russian down, and this was his night to fulfill a long delayed dream. He had heard all of the complaints and rantings of the chief's pet communist, and something had clicked in his mind; the fair haired experiment was failing, and the subversive nature of the man was finally going to prove what he had known all along, that you couldn't trust Kuryakin. He had spent his time in section three as patiently as possible while the stories of the Russian's exploits and heroics rang through the halls of UNCLE. He had never believed any of it. It had to be a smokescreen for his real intentions, a way to ingratiate himself with the powerful Mr. Waverly until the time came for his ultimate betrayal. Then, finally, the truth had begun to reveal the traitor.
Following him to that restaurant had yielded the long sought after confirmation that he was a turncoat. He was handing over documents to a top Thrush official, and that made the son of a bitch fair game. It would be easy to take him out, lure him into a situation where he thought he was safe among his feathered friends. Now was his time and he meant to make it a grand finale. Soon he would take Kuryakin's place in section two. That was the goal.
He didn't realize that someone was watching him from the shadows. Napoleon had followed Illya here, remaining hidden and avoiding the club's interior. He had to hope that if or when any action took place, it would be out here in the open. He couldn't risk being seen, because that would hinder Illya's cover; but he couldn't not show up in case he was needed. Watching Larry Neville come and take his place behind the big Lincoln, Solo had become suspicious of his actions, wondering if he could be the mole. Not likely. He did remember what Illya had said though, about it being dangerous to remain his friend. Well, it was more dangerous to be Illya right now, and this man didn't appear to have anything but trouble on his mind.
When Illya and Marianne came out onto the sidewalk from inside the Purple Unicorn, both of the waiting men were on high alert. The girl had a gun and was directing her companion across the street to the parked Lincoln as Neville slowly emerged from behind it. He was drawing his own gun from inside a coat pocket, pointing it at the blond even as Napoleon shouted a warning at his partner.
Just as the players heard the shout and tried to adjust their attentions to the intruding voice, a black sedan sped up the street towards the couple . Neville fired a shot at his target at the same time Napoleon fired at him, hitting him squarely in the shoulder with a sleep dart. He went down, but was able to get off one more seemingly haphazard shot. It found it's mark though, and Kuryakin crumbled to the ground with a bullet in his chest. A stunned Napoleon Solo started towards his partner, fearful that the shot had been fatal. Marianne fled back into the club, hoping she hadn't been identified by the third man. Before the UNCLE agent could get to his wounded friend the back door of the sedan opened up, and as the car came to a stop the unconscious Kuryakin was gathered up by two men and shoved into the back seat.
It all happened so quickly that Napoleon didn't have a chance to intervene. The car sped off just as it had arrived, only now it had a new passenger. Napoleon watched helplessly as an injured Illya was taken away, into the night, by Thrush.