Acknowledgement:
My thanks to Canada3dayer for picking up on my deliberate mistake! There is, of course, no such thing as a mistake when we can give free reign to our limitless imaginations. The fact is, of course, Illya and Mikhail are not actually Russian, but Ukrainian; therefore, although Solo does speak Russian, it still would do him no good on this occasion. So here is what actually happened next. . .
Chapter Ten
Napoleon read the first few lines of the letter and then looked up at his partner in some confusion. Illya was, as usual, engrossed in his food.
"Uh, Illya?"
"Hmm?" Illya's mouth was full, and he had another forkful poised, ready to go.
"Uh, Illya, I can't read this letter."
Illya swallowed his mouthful and looked up.
"Just read it Napoleon, forget about the…"
Napoleon shook his head.
"No, Illya, I can't read it! I can read Russian reasonably well, but this isn't Russian. I don't know what it is."
Illya choked, almost spitting out his second forkful of food in the process, and his eyes watered. He took the letter back, and blushed, looking embarrassed.
"I'm sorry my friend, I forgot. It's written in my own language. It's Ukrainian."
Napoleon looked faintly amused.
"You forgot that I don't speak Ukrainian or…?"
"I forgot that the letter is not in Russian."
Illya tucked the letter back into his pocket and continued with his meal. Napoleon frowned.
"Well I know I cannot read it, but please don't let me stop you from reading it."
"I am already familiar with the contents of the letter, thank you."
Napoleon found himself rolling his eyes, very like his partner.
"Illya, are you going to read it to me or not?"
"Not."
"Illya?"
"Not while I am eating my dinner, old friend. Patience is a virtue."
Napoleon ground his teeth in frustration at his aggravating partner. Illya simply raised his eyebrows. He seemed to be amused at something.
"Napoleon, your meal is getting cold. Eat, and then we'll talk."
Containing his irritation with an effort, Napoleon started to eat.
MFU MFU MFU
Mark Slate, wearing his tuxedo with the tie ends undone and hanging down the front of his shirt, drove the gleaming black limousine and pulled up in front of the gates of the large mansion. An armed guard made an appearance at the window.
"Da?"
"Simon Ruddock. I'm here to collect Miss Lilla Novak and your Colonel." Slate replied, in his upper-crust tones. The guard nodded and waved at a colleague, who opened the gate. Mark drove the car straight into the grounds and up to the front door without a second glance toward the gate-men. He got out and stood beside the car, and waited.
Just five minutes later the large double front doors were pulled open and the Colonel stepped out. Mark recognized the man who had turned up at the Park, but this time he was dressed in some kind of full dress uniform, with flashes and epaulettes and gold frogging decorating his coat. He was holding the hand of a slender, elegant looking blond. It took a moment before it hit Mark that this was his partner, April. April was gorgeous in her own right, but this disguise took gorgeous to a whole new level. Her long curly fair hair was piled up on her head, with a few curly ringlets framing her face. She had changed out of her ultra-modern outfit of earlier, and was now wearing an ankle-length, figure-hugging evening dress of deep blue, sparkling with sequins. Sparkling silver high-heeled sandals showed as she daintily, and carefully, negotiated the front steps. Around her shoulders hung a long, elegantly plain silver shawl with a long fringe. Mark took his partner's hand as she came near.
"Miss Novak. You look stunning this evening, Ma'am."
"Thank you Si darling." April replied, her Hungarian accent thick and somehow alluring. "Howie, this is my personal assistant Simon Ruddock, from London. Simon, this is our guest for this evening, Colonel Howie Moran. Shall we go?"
Mark opened the rear door and held it for his two passengers, then once they were comfortably ensconced in the back of the car, he climbed back behind the wheel and turning the car around remarkably efficiently in the limited space available, he drove straight out of the grounds, through the gates that were open and waiting for him. Through the mirror he could see them start to close as he drove away. He watched his passengers surreptitiously in the rear-view mirror as he drove, noting the Colonel groping the beautiful woman beside him. Shame on the man! He thought to himself, resisting the impulse to grin. The Colonel must be in his fifties at least. What was he doing trying to romance a girl at least twenty years his junior? April, the professional as ever, was allowing him a short leash, but when he tried to kiss her, or grope her too obviously, she merely took hold of his hand, or placed a gentle finger across his mouth with a gentle laugh.
"Plenty of time for all of that Howie, the evening is still young. Or are you the kind who always wants to have his dessert first?"
"Dessert is the only meal worth having if you ask me." He murmured, kissing her neck. April caught Mark's eye in the mirror and gave a fleeting grimace, then she moaned softly, determined to play her part. After a bit, she leaned forward.
"The thing I admire the most about my young English assistant, is that he always insists on doing everything properly." April told her companion. She pressed a button on a panel placed on the back of the front seat partition. A door flipped down and April pulled herself free from the Colonel's grasp and took two glasses from the recess. The Colonel beamed.
"This is the life I should be leading." He commented. "Perhaps I got into the wrong business."
April smiled at him.
"There's always time to make a career change. Would you mind?"
He took the glasses from her and held them steady as she gently lifted out a small and elegant crystal champagne decanter and poured champagne into both glasses. He watched as she replaced the stopper and closed the cabinet with a soft click. He handed her one of the glasses and raise his glass.
"Here's to profitable cooperation, and maybe much more. Down the hatch."
April smiled and put her glass to her lips as though about to take a sip, and repressed a sigh as the Colonel gulped down his champagne as though it were merely water, and smacked his lips.
"Hmm. Nice stuff that."
"I should hope so. This champagne costs the same as the average working man's monthly earnings, in London."
The Colonel almost choked.
"That much? Really? A cut above me then usually."
"We'll see what we can do about that, my dear Howie."
April was fending him off again, wondering how long she was going to have to keep up this ridiculous charade. Mark too was wondering the same thing. If he kept driving around in circles for very much longer, even this idiot Colonel was going to start getting suspicious. Finally, though, his eyes started to droop. He yawned widely and draped his arms around April's neck.
"Don't know…why…I'm so…ti…" His head dropped onto his chest and April heaved a huge sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness for that! He's worse than an octopus!" she exclaimed in her own voice. Mark grinned at his partner through the mirror.
"Well done partner. You did good. There's no way I could've done that so well as you. I look awful in kinky yellow boots!"
April laughed.
"How do you know? I must have been out when you tried them on!"
She examined their unconscious passenger and nodded at Mark.
"He's out for the count. UNCLE special recipe?"
Mark nodded.
"He'll sleep like a baby for about twelve hours."
"Plenty of time. Let's get him back to New York. The UNCLE airstrip my good man!"
"Righto. You'd better check in with Tarasov."
April nodded, and withdrew her communicator pen from its hiding place.
"Open channel D. Mr. Tarasov?"
"Tarasov here."
"April Dancer, sir. We have the baby safely tucked up in bed. Transporting the baby home sir."
"Good work you two. I'll let my visitors know. Have a safe journey."
"Thank you, sir. Out."
The partners exchanged glances.
"Now we see if we can identify our traitor."
Within thirty minutes, they were safely on board an UNCLE jet, with their passenger strapped securely on to a medical type gurney, and in the air, heading back towards home. Once they were safely out of Soviet air-space, Mark took out his communicator pen.
"Open Channel D, overseas relay to New York, secure channel, scramble please."
"Channel D open, scrambled." There was a pause, and then Waverly's unmistakable tones came on the air.
"Scrambled for privacy. Waverly here."
"Mark Slate sir. April and I are on our way back to New York sir, with a prisoner. We have reason to believe we have a THRUSH infiltrator in New York, sir. Better not to reveal any more information than that sir, even on a coded and scrambled line."
"Very well Mr. Slate. We will have a security team awaiting your arrival here. Please report to me for debriefing as soon as practicable."
"Thank you, sir. Out."
MFU MFU MFU
Napoleon leaned across the table at looked Illya in the eyes.
"So, please tell me my friend. What is it that has you so wound up?"
Illya reached into his pocket and drew out the letter once again and sat looking at it, turning it over and over in his hands. Solo could see the heart-rending sadness lodged in his friend's heart, and it hurt him to see it. Illya took a deep breath and put it back again, out of sight.
"Anna's babushka Izolda Ivanovna Anikina." He said softly. Napoleon frowned slightly, puzzled.
"Who is Anna?"
Illya met his gaze.
"The letter is written in Ukrainian, to Mikhail, and signed `Anna's babushka Izolda Ivanovna Anikina'. This Izolda Ivanovna tells Mika that his beloved wife Anna died of the fever two days before, and that `little Katarina' is alive and well, but is missing her mama and papa. Babushka Izolda says she is too old to be able to care for the child for very long, but is content to take care of her until Mika comes to claim her. You know what that is likely to mean, Napoleon?"
Napoleon nodded, understanding spreading over his face.
"If this child is still alive and well, and if you manage to find her…"
"…I'll find her Napoleon!" Illya declared fiercely. Napoleon nodded.
"…when you find her…you are likely to be her only living relative aside from her babushka. That is why you will want to leave UNCLE?"
"Not `want', Napoleon. Never that. But I know what the state orphanage is like. I've been there and I can't…"
To Illya's and Napoleon's surprise, Illya's voice broke. He shook his head, frustration showing on his face.
"To take care of the child would mean moving back here again…perhaps I could take a simple day job in the labs? Give the child a regular routine…"
Solo blinked. He could hardly believe his partner was talking this way.
"Illya, move back here? Is that what you really want? You could decide to bring her back to the States with you and raise her in New York…"
"And take her away from everything she has ever known? Take her away from her babushka? I couldn't Napoleon, not even for you, I…"
Illya got up from his seat and stumbled away from the table almost blindly. Napoleon watched him go, his heart bleeding for his friend. Children were more easily adaptable than adults, and Napoleon was certain that the child could quickly learn to be happy in America. As for Illya having to leave UNCLE, surely there was something that could be done to help him there? Illya was far too valuable an agent to lose, but how difficult was it going to be to convince Illya of that? Illya who had suffered and lost so much himself as a child had already taken on himself the parental responsibilities of his brother's child, and he would do anything, give up everything in order to make certain the little girl had as happy and secure a childhood as possible.
Napoleon was almost sure in his own mind where his partner would be heading. Down to R and D to start them searching for a certain elderly lady called Izolda Ivanovna Anikina. Then what? Napoleon gulped down the rest of his tea and stood up. For the first time since this whole thing started, he wished desperately that he could have a long talk with Alexander Waverly. With his heart weighed down, and a tight feeling in the back of his throat, Napoleon headed downstairs in search of his partner.