The THRUSH airwaves were buzzing brightly and enthusiastically with the exciting news.
"We've done it! Solo and Kuryakin are dead! UNCLE is next!"
The rumour wagon rolled even faster, and even more elaborately, but ultimately, regardless of the tall stories circulating over who should get the ultimate credit for it, THRUSH had finally succeeded in ridding itself of those two troublemakers once and for all. Colonel Howard Moran sniffed as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror and toweled his face dry.
"All too late now of course. If THRUSH could have gotten rid of them when MK was still alive we could've gotten somewhere in UNCLE."
"Do we know for sure that he's dead? Was he in that place when they killed everyone?" his aide asked, taking the towel and folding it thoughtfully. "I heard a rumour that he was still in Brazil after those herbs and plants of his, and that he hadn't got back yet. He might still be down there."
Moran shook his head.
"It's been over a month. He'd have been on to us by now if he was still alive. Shame though, he was one of the most promising men we've had for a long time. Imagine what an enemy he'd have made if he had joined that brother of his in UNCLE?"
The aide growled.
"I would have liked to have had the chance of introducing myself to that Illya Kuryakin. He gave me a run for my money last time we met."
"As I recall you spent a few hours exhausting yourself with that whip of yours, when we all know that whipping that fellow gets us nowhere. Then in one minute you got whacked over the head by some female who whisks your pretty prisoner away whilst you're away with the fairies."
"All right, no need to rub it in Colonel. I remember her lovely legs though. I could have gone for someone with legs like that."
"Oh no you don't. My fifteen-year-old son has legs like that, and you even try it…"
"Very funny."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Molovitski led the four visitors down through the lower levels of the building until he came to the least favourite and sadly frequently visited area, the UNCLE morgue.
"We keep the bodies in negative temperatures prior to release for burial." He told them. "It makes things far less traumatic for family members…" he glanced at Illya and coloured slightly.
"Sorry my friend. I suppose I did not need to tell you that. I will say though, when this particular man was brought in, for a while we all believed it was you…until it was remembered that you did not have green eyes."
"Pyotr, where was my…when the bodies were retrieved, where was Mikhail found? In the lab?"
Pyotr Molovitski's eyes rested on him for a moment.
"Why do you ask?"
"The Ambassador's aide told me he was found in the lab…"
"And you don't believe him?"
"I can't explain it Pyotr, but for some reason…I just…"
April touched Molovitski's shoulder gently.
"Well, you know that Illya and Mikhail were as close as identical twins… who can possibly explain that kind of connection?"
Pyotr nodded.
"Sorry Illya, I'd forgotten that you…"
"Forget it, but please tell me. I need to know. He wasn't in the laboratory as I was told, was he?"
"Actually no."
"So they lied to me? To save my feelings or his?"
"Gently Illya." Napoleon said softly. "This is difficult for him too."
"Sorry, Pyotr, but I need to know the truth. It must have been in the report."
"Didn't you read the report yourself Illya?" Napoleon asked. Illya shook his head.
"Not all of it." He met the surprised glances of his friends with an icy glare.
"Well, if you have, you tell me."
Pyotr's eyes met Napoleon's in sympathy.
"He was found in the bathroom my friend. He was found on the bathroom floor…he had been in the middle of…er, well, you know."
Illya stopped walking for a moment, but he did not turn round. They saw him set his shoulders, then moved on. Pyotr led them through the chilly rooms to the furthest and flipped on the light. He nodded at the UNCLE orderly on duty, who led them to the refrigerator. Molovitski looked around.
"Are you certain of this Illya?" he asked the blond. "The cabinet slows down the rate of decomposition, but all the same…"
Illya shook his head.
"If I am to try and take his place in THRUSH, I need to make sure of…" he broke off and glared instead.
"Look just do it Pyotr. I am a second away from walking out of here and simply going home once and for all."
Molovitski glanced at the orderly, who seized a drawer and slowly pulled it out. The body resting in the drawer on the slab was covered in a sheet. Illya stepped up and stared down at the covered form. He was vaguely aware that everyone but Napoleon had pulled back to give him some privacy. Napoleon however, stood beside him with his back to the rest of the room. He spoke in a low voice that only Illya would hear.
"Are you ready for this my friend?"
He could see that Illya was holding it together only with difficulty. It was one thing looking at the corpse of a stranger, but quite another when it was someone you love. Wordlessly, Illya nodded. He took the sheet and pulled it away. Napoleon audibly gasped. It could be Illya lying there.
The hair was the same colour as Illya's, but considerably shorter. Illya frowned and turned back.
"April, are you any good at cutting hair?"
"Not an expert, but not too bad, why?"
"I will need you to cut mine, I'm afraid. Can you study Mika's hair? You will need to replicate it on me."
April joined them at the table, and doing her best not to gasp aloud at the incredible likeness between Illya and his brother, she studied the dead man's hair carefully, then nodded.
"Not difficult. Similar style to your own really, but very much shorter. Yes, I can do that for you."
Illya dismissed her with a grateful nod, and she returned to Mark's side. Illya moved the sheet away completely, so that he could be certain that there were no other differences…then suddenly he stared at the dead man's torso.
"Napoleon…I can't do this! Of course I can't do this! What has everyone been thinking?"
Napoleon put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Of course you can Illya, you know him better than any of us."
"Wrong, I did. I've not spent much time with him since I was eight years old, but that isn't what I mean. Look at us Napoleon. Look at Mika and then look at me and tell me how long I would fool you into thinking I was my brother?"
With that, Illya shrugged off his gun holster, then removed his sweater revealing his deeply scarred body. Napoleon stared at Illya, seeing the numerous scars that covered his friend's chest and back, and remembered the events that had caused many of them. He looked again at the body of Mikhail. The only scar he carried was an appendectomy scar. Otherwise his body was unblemished.
They searched the rest of Mika's body carefully for scars or tattoos that Illya did not recognize, but found nothing. The only differences that might give him away was the hair, which was easily dealt with, and Illya's plentiful scars which were not.
Back in Tarasov's office, Tarasov was pacing, deep in thought as the agents updated him on what they had found.
"Well, UNCLE has gone to a lot of trouble to get you into this position, Mr. Kuryakin." He declared finally, "So there really isn't any question of whether you should do it or not. You really have little option. You will just have to make sure that you are never seen unclothed."
"You could wear a vest?" Mark suggested helpfully. Illya turned his glare on him.
"The only man I know who detests vests even more than myself, is Mikhail. No, no I cannot wear a vest."
"Well." Napoleon said, practically. "It isn't likely to become an issue unless you are forcibly stripped, and that won't happen unless you become suspect. The best way to avoid that of course is…" His eyes met those of his partner. Ilya finished the sentence for him.
"… is to take the offensive! So, I go in there full of fire and determination to beat you to a pulp, right?"
"Right." Napoleon smiled cheerfully. A little too cheerfully. None of his friends were fooled. A little ripple of apprehension was already threading its inexorable way up his spine. "I know Illya, but look at it this way. By taking the lead in bringing me and in and…doing whatever you have to do…you will be letting me save your life. If you go in there and they find out who you really are, you will be just as dead."
Illya nodded sadly. He turned to Mark and April.
"This will only last for as long as I can keep them convinced that I am Mikhail, and that depends on many factors that I have no way of knowing until I get there, so we will be really relying on you two to get us out of there if…"
The other two nodded confidently.
"We are your partners, guys." Mark told them seriously. "We will have your backs. Count on it."
Illya, dressed in a standard UNCLE issue grey track suit and running shoes, snuck out of headquarts, looking over his shoulder constantly. Once outside, he removed the black badge he was wearing and dropped it on the ground, and started to run as fast as he could. Five minutes passed, then the sirens went off inside headquarters, and UNCLE agents spilled out in all directions until someone shouted and pointed up the street.
"There he goes!"
Napoleon, Mark, April, Pyotr Molovitski and Roman Polokofiev took off after him, tearing through the streets.
"I think I know where he's going." Panted Polokofiev, "he's heading for the Park of Victory."
"Somewhere bursting with people, huh?" Mark panted. "This bloke ain't daft. He surely `ad me fooled!"
"Stop talking and run!"
Mark ran.
They spotted their quarry near the monument as they arrived. Illya was the only person bent double and panting for breath. They spread themselves out and surreptitiously surrounded him, moving in slowly. Illya looked up and spied them at once. He whipped out his knife and glancing round, grabbed a woman passing nearby and held the knife at her throat. Without moving his lips, his hissed in her ear;
"Scream as loud as you can!"
The woman screamed, terrified and seizing his cue, Napoleon darted forward.
"If you've finished threatening women, coward, try and take on a man!"
"You?" Illya laughed, a maniacal gleam in his eye. "I could take you on with one hand tied behind my back." He thrust the woman away from him and with a lightning quick move, he threw the knife at Napoleon's head. As he had intended, the knife gave Napoleon a glancing blow with the blunt end, just hard enough to stun him momentarily. Illya grabbed him by his hair, and suddenly Napoleon's gun was in his hand and pointed at his nose. Illya backed round and faced the four UNCLE agents closing in on him. He backed his prisoner slowly up the steps until he was satisfied no one would be able to sneak up behind him and glared at his pursuers.
"Take one more step and this pretty head will look like confetti!" To emphasize his words, he shoved the muzzle of the gun into Napoleon's right ear, and cocked it. Napoleon gulped. Illya spoke into Napoleon's left ear, taking no trouble to lower his voice.
"I have some pretty birdy friends who would love to meet you, especially since you are already DEAD!"
Mark levelled his gun at Illya's head and narrowed his eyes.
"Kuryakin! Tell me why I should not shoot you right now for what you have done to Illya?"
"Awww, you missing your little friend, Englishman?" Illya spat contemptuously; "He's a traitor. He deserved what he got. And you? You shoot me and your friend here dies too. This may not be a hair trigger, but my reflexes are quicker than yours, and at this distance, I will hardly miss will I?"
"I don't care what you do to me Mikhail. It will be worth dying to know that you'll be lying on the slab right beside me. Right beside your brother, my partner, my best friend, the bravest man I have ever known."
"Shut it!"
The snarling voice from behind them and the sound of a gun being cocked, made the UNCLE agents freeze. They slowly turned. Two men were standing there, with their guns raised. The elder of the two, a man in his late forties wearing the unmistakable uniform of a THRUSH colonel lowered his gun a fraction and fired it at the ground. Polokofiev jumped. The shot had missed his foot by a fraction of an inch. He raised his hands, and the others followed suit. The Colonel called out to Illya.
"I thought you were dead!"
Illya, whom had studied the faces and names of all known THRUSH members and affiliates had been wracking his brains trying to remember who this man was, gave Napoleon a push, keeping the gun firmly pressed against his ear.
"You were supposed to. Now your idiotic nincompoops have totally destroyed my cover, which incidentally it took me a long time to create, here I am! I bring with me a prize."
He pushed his way through the four UNCLE agents still standing with their hands raised, and threw Napoleon forcefully into the hands of the Colonel's aide.
"Here, Fyodor, you take him, but be gentle with him. I want the pleasure of taking him apart myself."
He looked up at the Colonel and gave a feral grin.
"Do you want to strike the first blow, Howard, or do you want to see how it is really done?"
Colonel Howard Moran clapped Illya on the back.
"Good to see you back, MK. Good to see you back. Come on, let's get you debriefed and we can make a start on this fellow. Who is he by the way?"
"Napoleon Solo. Illya was his best friend."
"I suppose that was how he penetrated your disguise?"
"Actually, no. THRUSH managed to do that pretty well on their own. Never mind that my friend, you'd be surprised how much UNCLE knows about our operations."
He turned to Polokofiev and his companions.
"I wouldn't try to follow us. We do prefer slow starvation and mutilation as a way to pass the time, but if we see you following us, we are not afraid to shoot him in the head right now."
Polokofiev, Molovitski, Mark Slate and April Dancer watched as the two THRUSH officers walked away with Illya arm in arm, laughing and talking like old friends, Napoleon with his right arm in a vice like grip and the muzzle of a gun thrust firmly against his head. Mark glanced almost nervously at his companions.
"Wow, either that really was Mikhail after all, or Illya's a damned good actor."
Molovitski shook his head, admiration and apprehension mixed on his face.
"He's the best actor. He always was." He replied, still gazing after the departing men. "I only hope he can keep it up!"