Napoleon Solo stopped, and took some steps back. A young, apparently very young, blond man had just come in the office, making his way to the desk, without a word, just nodding, vaguely. He picked up a file and went away, still silently.
So, that was him. The Russian. The Uncle was an international organisation. Alexander Waverly wanted and had eventually manage to get a Russian agent. A... Russian? Napoleon Solo had entered the HQ, and ten minutes later, he knew all.
They had looked for a Russian bear: big, tall, impressive. Someone who would be a real challenge. They had looked for a snake: cold, threatening, dangerous, treacherous. Someone who would be a real challenge. They had looked for a peacock: boasting, self-important, clumsy, chow off. Someone who would be a real challenge. Icing on the cake, he could be a mix of all that. He had gone through Cutter's Survival School. A real challenge. Uncle cats had looked for their canary.
He was a very young boy, er... man. Of course older than he looked like to be. He was of average height (very average, some muttered), slender (skinny, some muttered). He had blond hair (ridiculously long), (ridiculously) innocent blue eyes, (childish) pouting lips. And an amazingly shy look. So, that was Waverly's marvel?
An intellectual. He was an intellectual, a scientist. Not a field agent. Russians had deluded the Old Man. He had cheated. Anyway, Waverly didn't give him any assignment.
They were polite, civil. No choice. Alexander Waverly had heard some whispered words: red, commie... Those who has said them had just met the very special Old Man's freezing glare. So, they looked at him, they stared at him. They peered, peeked, peeped at him.
-A voice sneered behind Napoleon Solo.
-He looks like my little sister's boyfriend!
He sneered again, clumsily.
-No, he looks like my lit...
And he stopped, as Napoleon Solo turned to him.
-I was kidding! But he is a Russian! A Soviet, Solo!
The man peeped at him hopefully. Napoleon Solo had fought in Korea. But the dark haired man looked up and down at him. The man fell back.
-Ah, Mr Solo, nice to see you back. Well done.
Alexander Waverly had warmly congratulated him. « Well done. » Then, he had asked about different things, but napoleon Solo knew the man well. Waverly wasn't one to beat about the bush. Usually.
-I am aware that you just come back from a mission, but there is something I would like you to see at.
« would like? » Alexander Waverly put his hand on a file, but didn't handed it to his agent.
-It's probably nothing. But, just for that, it could be a good opportunity.
Napoleon Solo raised his eyebrows, inquiringly.
-A good opportunity of testing your new partnership.
One, two, three. Catch it, Solo, catch it. He swallowed.
-My... new... partnership, sir?
At the very moment he spoke, he understood. The strange Russian animal. This young skinny man who really didn't look like a field agent was about to be his partner. He knew better, anyway than to argue.
-Illya Kuryakin. Our Russian, agent. A very competent, very brilliant young man, Mr Solo. And...
Alexander Waverly leaned forward, with a very serious look. A concerned look.
-And things are not easy for him, here, Mr Solo.
Illya. Illya? Kuryakin. He realized that the Old Man was waiting, staring at him. Waverly pointed his finger at a second file.
-This is Mr Kuryakin's file, Mr Solo. It will give some assurances to you.
As Napoleon Solo mechanically held out his hand, he changed his mind and shook his head.
Napoleon Solo didn't trust many people. Two. Himself, and Alexander Waverly. Respect, trust, confidence. He trusted the man. Alexander Waverly obviously valued the Russian agent. It was enough. As the CEA, he would read the file. Later.
Alexander Waverly smiled imperceptibly.
-Lisa will call him to join us, Mr Solo.
Napoleon Solo raised a hand. An official meeting, in Waverly's office? No. He didnt feel at ease with that.
-Sir? If you don't mind, I could go and take him back with me? It would be more...
Alexander Waverly's smile was now obvious. Of curse, the sneaky Old Man was expecting him to do that.
-It's a nice thought, Mr Solo. Here is Mr Kuryakin's address.
Of course. By pure chance.
It was one of those ordinary apartments, in one of those ordinary brownstones.
A Russian, a real one. Not a defector. A Soviet. A man he could have fought against in Korea. Illya. Il-ly-a? Eli-ya? Ail-lya? Anyway, Napoleon Solo sighed, Mr Kuryakin wasn't at home. It was strange. the man hadn't any friends. Or some Russian ones? He was about to get his communicator, when a draught caught his attention, and he went up the Solo's instinct.
The door was open. Was the strange Russian animal on the roof? Had he taken refuge there? Refuge?
Napoleon Solo remembered all the unpleasant comments he had heard. At least, the sky was the same, in Russia and in the US. Looking at the familiar stars, the lonely young man could imagine he was back home.
« Things are not easy for him, Mr Solo. »
He took a deep breath and went out, trying to walk normally. As an innocent visitor, not as an enemy. An imperceptible move, a blond flash. A gun, taking aim at him. The man was a professional. The CEA asked, with a cheerful tone.
-Illya Kuryakin?
Napoleon Solo took some steps back, and the Russian stood up, keeping his ice blue eyes on him. Napoleon Solo smiled, his warmest smile, his most genuine look, showing his empty hands.
-My name is Napoleon Solo. The Old Man, Mr Waverly want to see us, immediately. I came to pick you up.
The reward was worth the effort. One second, Napoleon Solo read his partner-to-be 's soul. A very short moment, but a real, genuinely happy smile enlightened the young man's face.