It occurred to me that chapter 6, as a sort of exposition piece, may have come across as a little dry, so without further ado I thought I would hurry along with chapter 7 in order to re-light the fires of interest…

Illya was halfway out of the door when Howard Moran called to him.

"Wait there, I'm coming with you."

Frowning, Illya paused and waited. Moran clapped an arm around Illya's shoulders as they left the room together.

"I've had a much better idea. I'll keep our prisoner here. THRUSH Central will never forgive me for willingly letting him slip out of my hands. I can't think why you didn't realize that for yourself."

Illya barely glanced at him.

"Of course I thought about that, but I was more concerned about the idea of a mole within THRUSH telling tales to the KGB. They will want us to do everything in our power to find that mole."

"Agreed. But we can kill two birds with one metaphorical stone here my dear Mikhail. You are Illya Kuryakin after all. You're him in virtually every particular. I think you should go and deal with this mole yourself."

Illya paused in the act of walking down the stairs and turned back.

"I considered that idea, but I wasn't able to pass completely for my brother before, why do you think I would be able to do so again? Besides…"

He turned back and resumed his descent.

"Illya is dead."

"So are you."

"I know." Illya was silent for a moment, as though going over alternatives in his mind.

"What if this KGB spy is intent on seeing Illya dead? He killed him once before after all."

"Look MK, that is your problem. You can handle anything like that. I've seen what you can do. I can't let our precious prize go swanning off back home when I could have him shipped off to central and get a hearty pat on the back and a promotion instead. They've wanted Napoleon Solo for a long time."

Moran turned and grabbed his THRUSH communicator off the table.

"Fyodor, meet us down at the cells."

"Yessir." Came the distant voice of the aide. Illya tried again, seeing everything tumbling about his ears in a moment.

"You would willingly risk all the damage this mole could do?"

"I have assigned you to deal with him. That is my prerogative as the local THRUSH chief."

"Chief of what Howard? You have a household staff here consisting of civilian old women, and a few sleepy-eyed THRUSH minions who look like they wouldn't know one end of a gun from the other. The local THRUSH satrapy was the science station under my command."

"Which you abandoned to pursue your little vendetta against UNCLE."

Once again Illya had to resist the temptation to roll his eyes. He shook his head instead. He was rapidly losing his enthusiasm for this mission. Even more knowing what was awaiting him at the bottom of the stairs. He knew that a long session was awaiting Napoleon come what may, and if Illya refused to participate, as he had considered doing, he would have no say at all in how far the interrogation went or with how much damage Howard and Fyodor might end up doing to Napoleon.

Illya was struck by how quickly they seemed to have reached this point. Mark and April would surely not even think of trying a rescue this soon, although they would certainly be listening out for any kind of message or signal. Illya had a few discreet pieces of equipment, well hidden, but had not had any opportunity as yet to reach any of it unseen.

Down in the cells, the air was stifling. Fyodor was leaning on the cell door, peering through the bars at the prisoner lying on the cot, apparently asleep. Howard clapped his man on the shoulder.

"Fyodor, I want you to go to the communications room and send a priority one message to THRUSH Central. Colonel Howard Moran with the assistance of yourself, have secured as a prisoner the UNCLE menace Napoleon Solo. Let them know that the prisoner is well secured and awaiting collection at their pleasure. Reaffirm that Solo's partner Illya Kuryakin is dead and so there is no hope of anyone breaking in to try and rescue him. Go now and come straight back once you have their reply."

Fyodor gave a satisfied grin, and his eyes rested on Illya for a brief moment.

"At once Colonel!" he replied and hurried away. Illya touched Moran on the shoulder.

"Colonel Moran with the help of Fyodor managed to catch Solo? Are you sure of that?"

"Well we did."

"You did huh? The Laurel and Hardy of THRUSH and you managed to catch Napoleon Solo, UNCLE's finest without any help from anyone else? They'll fall off their stools laughing!"

Moran turned red as a beetroot.

"How dare you say that to me!"

"Oh Colonel I'm sorry, but we've been trying to capture this one for long enough. He's as slippery as an eel. Do you really think Central Command will believe you managed to nab him all on your own?"

Illya sounded merely tired.

"Fine. Claim him for yourself if that's what you need. Let's get on with this shall we?"

He led the way into the cell.

Inside the cell, the heat was intense. The boiler room was just down the corridor, and the piping swept through this room on its way upstairs. The heat it gave off was surprising. The Colonel took Illya's whip from him and paused, waiting whilst Illya removed the bandage from Napoleon's head, and unstrapped his arms, then strapped him very firmly to the iron loops embedded into the wall. Napoleon saw the pain in his friend's face as he finished tightening the straps and stepped away. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, knowing what was to come.

Illya stood by the door with his arms folded, affecting an air of nonchalance as Moran wielded the whip. To his chagrin, Napoleon did not move, or even flinch. He was tiring himself out for no purpose, it seemed. He turned to Illya.

"Is he really so hardy that he doesn't feel it when he's being whipped?"

This time Illya was unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He unsuccessfully tried to repress a smirk.

"How often have you done this before, Colonel?"

"Not for a year or two…"

"Well, I suspect the prisoner is not flinching because he can't feel anything. He is wearing a thick layer of canvas wrapped around most of his body remember? At the most it'll feel like you are tickling him. Here, Colonel, allow me to show you a trick."

Taking the whip, Illya stood in front of Napoleon, and snapped it quickly. Moran blinked. Napoleon flinched, and his eyes watered slightly. Illya picked up something from the floor. He handed it to the Colonel.

"Here you are Howard. Beautiful brown hair formerly belonging to one Napoleon Solo."

Moran walked over to Napoleon, whose head was still smarting. There was a tiny bald patch just above his right ear. Moran laughed.

"You'll have to teach me how to do that trick, MK."

"It only took me thirty years of practice. You ought to have seen my brother though, Howard. Illya was much cleverer with his whip than I am. Our father used to…" His mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. Howard smiled.

"It never goes away does it boy? Are you regretting your brother?"

Illya breathed deeply, swallowing his emotions, and shook his head.

"I've not laid eyes on him for years anyway, and how could I miss him when we were so diametrically opposed?"

Illya stepped forward and snapped the whip again. Then there was an identical bald spot over the prisoner's left ear. The two men turned suddenly when Fyodor appeared in the doorway.

"Central Command will have someone here to collect the prisoner within three hours Colonel!" He declared in satisfaction. Illya turned to him.

"It's time we stepped up our business here. Fyodor, will you please untie the prisoner, remove his straight-jacket and then retie him whilst we stand guard by the door in case he tries anything? Colonel, did you bring your cattle-prod with you? I remember you saying you had one stashed away somewhere."

Moran grinned.

"I'll fetch it, if you'll promise not to begin without me."

Illya grinned evilly.

"We have three hours to have our fun with him. We'll be here waiting, won't we Fyodor?"

Fyodor took delight in retying Napoleon to the iron rings brutally tightly, and Illya could see his friend wincing in pain. Fyodor chuckled.

"You think that hurts? You wait until the Colonel returns with his cattle-prod. He knows just where to use it where you will never forget!"

"I'm sure he does!" Napoleon replied, as he locked gazes with his partner. Illya nodded slightly. Napoleon raised an eyebrow and laughed in Fyodor's face.

"Why do you think he is the Colonel instead of you? You're just the menial dogs body around here aren't you? The one who puts the note out for the milkman every Monday?"

Furious, Fyodor turned to Napoleon and spat in his face. Illya grabbed him from behind, a quick karate chop to the neck and he fell to the floor, unconscious. Illya grabbed the limp form and lay him out on the cot as though he was simply having a nap. Then he calmly stood himself behind the door.

Moran sauntered casually back into the cell after a few minutes, and stopped in the doorway.

"MK? Fyodor? He saw Napoleon watching him with a helpless look in his eyes and sneered.

"Where are they?"

Napoleon glanced over to the cot, and when Moran followed his gaze, he saw his aide. A myriad things rushed through his mind at that moment, and in the two seconds it took him to put two and two together, Illya stepped out from behind the door and threw his knife at him.

The handle hit Moran on the head and the Colonel collapsed in a heap on the floor. Illya checked out the two unconscious men, then turned to Napoleon and nodded.

"They'll both be out cold for a while. Let's get you out of here."

He untied Napoleon and after retrieving the key to his chains from the limp form of Fyodor, he freed his partner's ankles.

"Come on partner, let's get them well and truly tied up."

Swiftly the partners manhandled the two unconscious men to the wall and one at a time they tied them securely to the iron rings. Napoleon smirked as Illya locked an iron ring around Fyodor's left ankle and fastened the other to Moran's right ankle; thus ensuring the two men would be well and truly locked together, with the short chain between them.

"Come on Illya. I gather you've found what you were looking for. Let's get going."

Illya nodded towards the stairs.

"You go. Here's Moran's gun. When you get outside, send a call out to Mark and April. Here."

Illya removed his left shoe and handed it to his partner.

"The transmitter is in there. I'll be out in five minutes. I need to search Mika's room first. He had a lot of paperwork left in a locked bureau. I want it. Go!"

Napoleon was set to argue, but Illya had already slammed the cell door closed behind them and sped away. Cursing to himself, he crept up the stairs and headed back to the front door.

Illya resumed his stance as Mikhail, hoping that no one would think it odd that he was wearing only one shoe. However, he met only incurious household staff, and no THRUSHes at all and he made it back up to the room designated as Mikhail's without incident.

It took him only a few seconds to pick the lock and he grabbed the bundle of paperwork and flicked quickly through it. A lot of scientific stuff here… THRUSH plans and ideas too…all very valuable…then he found a small white envelope written on by a rather untidy, sprawly hand. It was addressed to Mikhail personally and the address on the front of the envelope was that of the old mine. So this was a letter Mika had received whilst he was on station there and he had brought it with him when he left. With slightly trembling fingers, Illya removed the letter inside and started to read.

"Mikhail Stanislaus Alexeev Kuryakin

Forgive my writing to you at your place of work. I know you informed me that it would be most improper, but I feel that I have no choice; as you were clearly unable to return to your home at the time you originally intended.

I have to give you the tragic news that my grand-daughter, your beloved wife Anna passed away of the fever two days ago, and she has been buried in the plot of land beside that of her parents.

Little Katarina is well and healthy. She did not catch the fever, but she keeps asking for her mama and her papa. I have had to explain that her mama has gone away and cannot return. Since I cannot tell her anything about her papa, I feel you should know immediately what has transpired so that you can make whatever arrangements are required for your daughter's welfare.

I am an old woman now and not in the best of health these days. I will be quite incapable of taking care of her in the long term, although I am perfectly happy to continue looking after the dear child until you claim her.

You know where to find me.

Anna's babushka and now yours

Izolda Ivanovna Anikina"

Napoleon Solo walked confidently out of the house and through the grounds, clutching Illya's shoe until he was able to take shelter in the lea of a large bush. He pulled a short aerial from the toe of the shoe and moved the heel aside.

"Channel D. Solo to Slate. Come in."

He got a response immediately.

"Mark Slate here. Where are you Napoleon? We picked up a radio message to THRUSH central about you, so we've been hoping to hear from you."

"A large estate near the western edge of the city, big house of brick and concrete, grounds overgrown with bushes and weeds. Mikhail Kuryakin is still inside the house. He will follow in two minutes... I hope."

"We're three minutes away. Sit tight and look out for Mikhail."

"Will do. Solo out."

Napoleon crouched where he was, wondering how long he would have to wait. Would he have to go back in there to search for Illya? Fortunately, a moment later, he spied his partner walking slowly down the front steps of the mansion, talking to a group of staff and THRUSH minions, evidently giving them instructions. Then he turned his back on them and strode confidently back up the drive towards the gate. The group on the steps had dissipated. Solo emerged as his partner came near.

"You make this look so easy, partner. I expected you to have trouble convincing every-one of your bona-fides, but you seemed to have fooled everyone hook, line and sinker."

Illya nodded absently, pinching his lip, deep in thought.

"Mark and April are on the way to pick us up." Illya didn't reply. Napoleon nudged him.

"Illya, what is with you?"

"Huh? What?"

"Are you all right my friend?"

Illya frowned, and his eyes met those of his partner.

"I don't know. I really don't know Napoleon."

"What's happened?"

"I've found out something…. I think…when this is all over, I think…"

Napoleon stared at him, not liking the ashen look of his partner.

"Illya, what is it? What have you discovered? Tell me."

Illya raised his eyes to meet those of his partner.

"When this is all over, I think I might have no choice. I think I am going to have to leave UNCLE."