OLD FRIENDS AND NEW

Illya stared at his friend for a moment, and then looked down the row of houses to the one at the other end of the row. Its whitewash was old and peeling now, several of the windows were cracked and lined, one missing completely and boarded up. The front door faced directly on to the street, painted the colour of dirty mustard. Napoleon followed him, frowning, but saying nothing. This was Illya's show after all. He stood behind and watched and waited as Illya knocked on this door sharply. After a moment, the door opened widely and an elderly man peered out at them. He stared at his visitors, rolled his eyes and was about to close the door without a single word when Illya reached out a hand and held the door before the man could close it completely.

"Please." Illya said in Russian, for Napoleon's benefit. "I need to talk with you."

"I'm done with you, Kuryakin!" the old man spat, aiming a feeble kick in Illya's direction. Illya did not move, and barely flinched as the man's foot impacted his right ankle. With Illya's hand braced against the door, the man could not close it, so he stood, glaring at his two visitors. Napoleon was slightly surprised. Whoever this old man was, he clearly had no love for Mikhail.

"I just wanted to introduce you to my very oldest friend. This man I knew at college, and he has since saved my life…Boris Abramovich Popov."

Napoleon watched the shock and almost simultaneous expressions of realization that passed over the old man's face at hearing that name. He opened the door wide and gestured with his head for them to enter.

Inside the house, Napoleon found that it was surprisingly light and airy. Not very large, to be sure, but the back of the house had been altered to take full advantage of the view across the sizeable rear garden, and light streamed in through the enlarged window. The interior of the house was simple and clean, but surprisingly elegant. A pleasant contrast to the exterior. They sat on hard chairs next to the rear window, and Napoleon glanced out at the vegetables and berries that were growing there.

"You are keeping the garden well, Boris." Illya said with a smile. The man shook his head.

"I never thought I would see your face around here again my dear boy." He said. "I thought this place was a…" he petered out at the look in Illya's face, and then glanced briefly up at Napoleon and nodded.

"So who is your friend really, Illya?"

"This is Napoleon Solo. We work together."

"Aaah." The man nodded. Illya turned to Napoleon with a smile and spoke, keeping to Russian.

"This is the real Boris Abramovich Popov, Napoleon, but he hasn't used that name for a long time. I have always known him as Uncle Dimitry." Illya's eyes dropped. "I named my son Dimitry in his honour."

Dimitry's hand rested on Illya's shoulder for a moment and he smiled up at Napoleon.

"Illya's great grandfather found me as a child living on the streets after my parents died in a flu epidemic that wiped out our village. He brought me home and cared for me. They called me Dimitry because at the time I was too weak to be able to speak, even to tell them my name. I became Dimitry Kuryakin. I must say I have always preferred Dimitry to the name Boris!"

Napoleon grinned. No wonder Illya had been rather subdued, coming to this place if it held people and memories from his mysterious past. Boris shuffled into the kitchen and a moment later shuffled back again with a small tray carrying three small cups of vodka. They each took a sip and sat back. Dimitry regarded his visitors thoughtfully.

"So what brings you back here now, young Illyusha? Especially in the manner of that brother of yours."

"For the time being I am Mikhail."

"And where is Mikhail?"

"Dead."

Dimitry's eyebrows shot up.

"Really? I wish I could say I am sorry, Illyusha, for your sake, but…" he shook his head sadly. "Something happened to him. He changed. He joined the rebels, I know that. Although I didn't agree with him I could understand it, but he fell in with bad company I reckon, and he changed."

Napoleon was aching to ask a question, but mindful of Illya's proposed cover for him, as a mute man, he refrained for the time being and hoped that Illya would somehow read his mind. Illya swigged down his drink and stared into the cup as if searching for something.

"I haven't spoken to my brother since…well for years. He married I understand."

"Yes, to young Anna Kossov. Remember her, boy? She was always crazy about Mika, but he treated her harshly, made unreasonable demands of her… was entirely too strict and arrogant in my opinion. It's no wonder she died in the end. Mika just pursued his new vendetta and left her to take care of the child on her own, without any help. He sent her money of course, but only enough to pay rent and buy food. If it hadn't been for her babushka, old Izolda Ivanovna who knows what might have happened? Izolda left her own home to move into that place a few doors away to be with Anna. She was too old and feeble to be able to do very much, but she was a moral support at least."

"The child…Mikhail and Anna had a child?" Illya asked innocently. Dimitry grinned at him.

"You won't fool me that way Illyusha. I know you of old. You already know of the little girl don't you? If Mika is truly dead, then I assume you are here to claim the child?"

"Something like that."

"All the best with that one then. You know I had an altercation with Mikhail the last time he was here. I wanted to help his wife, but she refused to let me. She just said Mika would be angry if he knew and she couldn't bear anything to happen to me. I tried to reason with him, but he reminded me, as if I could ever forget it, that I am not a true Kuryakin, and I have no right to have anything at all to do with his family unless he allows it. He swore he would have me shot if I went anywhere near them."

"Mika was always so gentle!" Illya said softly, his face in his hands. "Dimitry, what happened to his daughter? The woman who has taken over the house told me that some people came and took the child away a couple of days ago claiming that Mika had sent them. She showed me the letter they gave the old lady. It certainly looked like his writing."

The old man nodded sadly.

"Whoever these people are that your brother got himself involved with, they had him well and truly convinced. I have no doubt that it was genuine, Illya if that is what you are wondering. He mentioned to me that his new friends as he described them would even take care of his daughter for him if anything happened to him."

Dimitry stared at Illya and shook his head.

"Wait, boy, you're walking the streets dressed as Mikhail. You even have found a way to change your eye colour to match his. You wouldn't be doing that unless you are trying to convince someone that he is still alive, correct?"

Napoleon nodded, and Illya half smiled.

"Correct. So it seems our assumptions were mostly wishful thinking Napoleon." He turned back to the old man.

"Thank you for keeping the place looking so good, Uncle Dimitry. I have missed you."

The two men hugged tightly, and when they parted they were both slightly damp-eyed.

"Remember, you are welcome here any time Illyusha. After all, the place is yours…come to think of it…they are all yours, the whole row…"

Illya shushed him with a quick shake of his head; and glancing quickly at Illya's strangely silent companion, Dimitry nodded and gave a brief wink.

"Give my love to Elinor and young Dimitri Illyich. How old is he now?"

Illya did not reply at first, and his companions both noticed that he had gone white. Dimitry glanced at Napoleon with a raised eyebrow and Napoleon replied by shaking his head slowly and deliberately. Dimitry's eyes opened wide with shock. He clasped his nephew on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry Illyusha…I had no idea! I'm so sorry! How? When?"

"D. in the Danube*…both of them about three years ago."

Illya groped blindly for the door, and stopped as Uncle Dimitry called out.

"Wait! Sorry boy, but if you want everyone round here to keep believing that you are Mikhail, then you need to leave this place aggressively. Take care Illya, and I truly hope you find young Katarina. She really is a delightful child."

They shook hands, and leaving the house, Illya remembered to slam the door shut loudly, causing one of the broken windows to shatter completely and fall out. Illya rolled his eyes and stalked away down the street, Napoleon hurrying after him.

Once they were truly alone, Napoleon muttered in a low voice,

"That was your childhood home wasn't it? It can't have been easy going back there."

Illya did not reply. Napoleon wasn't surprised.

"He's a lovely old man."

"Yes."

"and you still own the house…and all the others in that row?"

Illya stopped and gave his partner the full icy glare.

"Stop fishing my friend."

"Why, Illya? I'm here after all."

"Because you're fishing in the wrong pond Napoleon. There are no minnows in there for you to catch. Only sharks."

Napoleon nodded reluctantly. His curiosity for his partner's past increased. Illya was aware of it, he was sure, but he rarely tossed more than a subtlest of hints about his past. Napoleon knew he had had hard times as a child, but if Illya truly owned that entire row of houses, then there must have been something of wealth in his family, right? Apparently though, even now Illya was not about to furnish him with even the tiniest clue or titbit.

"So Mikhail's personality changed dramatically once he joined THRUSH."

"We were likely wrong about those letters being fakes, but that does not preclude the possibility that THRUSH have stolen his child in the effort to control Mikhail better. After all, we have seen that they have never been above using their agents' kids as bargaining pawns."

"So the obvious answer then is for you to storm into the THRUSH satrap in Moscow and be all angry and ask everyone what the hell are they playing at…?"

Illya nodded.

"Still want to come along and play with us?"

Napoleon nodded.

"Let's go and play."

MFU MFU MFU

April made her appearance at her door dressed in skinny leather slacks and a long, voluminous white shirt which she wore very loosely tucked in, and a pair of silver, low heeled slippers on her feet. Her long curly blond locks she had combed and tied into a single long ponytail over her right shoulder. She had turned the lights down in the main room and put some soft music on the radio. She smiled at her minder.

"Are you to be my first customer, Jackson?"

He shook his head and stared impassively at her. She nodded.

"Very well, take me wherever I am required to serve my purpose."

He led her down to the main part of the house and announced her before letting her into the sizeable drawing room. She looked round and smiled.

The room was grandly furnished, with even a white grand piano in one corner beside a pair of French windows that opened out on to a wide lawn. The room was peopled with men it seemed, older men for the most part, aged between fifty and seventy, two or three younger men and one single woman sat at the piano, idly playing scales with one hand as though bored.

They all looked up as one as she entered the room, and she could almost hear them draw in a collective breath.

"Hi!" she called round with a bubbly smile. "I don't mean to interrupt anything, but I am your new live-in masseuse and beautician, and I've been given the green room on the first floor to use as a studio…or if you would like I can give you a first rate massage discreetly right here. Just send for me whenever you wish."

Rather than leave the room as she suspected they expected her to do, she moved to stand beside the window, waiting to be useful, watching and saying nothing. After a moment the woman at the piano stopped her scales and joined her at the window, standing facing out into the garden.

"You made quite an entrance!"

"I'm not exactly here by choice, but I can see that it could prove be to my advantage. These friends of yours have certainly got my darned boyfriend off my back…or I should say ex-boyfriend."

"Fed up with him?"

"Fed up with his tongue…and his fists when he's angry."

"Sounds like a man to keep away from."

April grinned ruefully.

"Doesn't help that he's so good looking. Just one glimpse of those puppy-dog eyes and I melt, regardless of my firm intentions."

"He can get you to do whatever he wants you to do?"

"Between the eyes and the tongue and the fists, yes. Pretty much. I'm not sure if I am here as a prisoner or as a refugee, but I am quite prepared to do my part here. Am I supposed to come out and advertise my services and wait for custom, or do I simply take the initiative and seize the shoulders of someone that looks tense?"

The young woman gazed at her fully for the first time, and April could see the steeliness in her eyes.

"I should say you ought to decide that for yourself."

April nodded.

"That's what I thought. By the way, in case you don't know, my name is April. April Sweet. What is yours?"

"Call me Livvy."

April smiled and cast her eye around the room. Three of the men were seated, two were seated on hard chairs and looking uncomfortable. The other was standing, or rather, pacing up and down as he listened to various negative reports from his companions. He was becoming more and more heated. April walked up to the large antique oak desk and picked up the chair from behind it. She carried the chair to the rug in the middle of the room and turned it around so that the back of the chair was facing the room. With a smile, April ushered this impassioned man to the chair and urged him to sit on it.

"Please sir, sit and lean on the back of the chair whilst I massage your shoulders for you."

He seemed surprised, but he obediently sat astride the chair and leaned forward against the back of it whilst April removed his jacket and started expertly massaging his shoulders. She was amused to note that although their discussion continued, he seemed altogether calmer and more relaxed as he felt the tight knots in his shoulders and neck massaged away. April listened carefully to all that was being discussed, but was careful to keep her face strictly neutral and her gaze firmly fixed upon her patient. When she was through, the man said nothing; merely gave her a nod and continued with his meeting. April looked round the room once more, and spotting another potential customer, one of the men sitting on the sofa was fidgeting and continually shuffling his feet and crossing and uncrossing hos legs. She caught his eye and smiled at him, then knelt on the floor in front of him, removed his shoes and socks, and started to massage his feet. The man seemed extremely surprised, but his fidgeting stopped immediately, and she could feel the tension leaving him.

She worked on all of the men in the room, massaging shoulders, arms, feet, and gave one man a full head massage. She could almost hear him purring his pleasure. Livvy was watching her the entire time, and after almost three hours, she caught April's eye and gestured that it was time for them both to leave the room.

April followed her upstairs and into the room that had been set aside for her own use. Livvy sat on the edge of the couch and faced the newcomer.

"Well you have the men pretty convinced it seems. I don't want a massage. What can you do for me?"

"Cutting and styling hair, facial and skin treatments, manicure, pedicure, fashion, diet and fitness advice…"

"Quite a talented little doll we have found here!" Livvy sounded edgy, possibly suspicion, possibly envy? April was uncertain of the cause of the young woman's hostility. She shook her head.

"I'm a talented beautician, but I assure you that my talents begin and end with that. I am a hopeless cook, I am awful at maths, I always have been. I couldn't organize a bun-fight in a bakery."

"You could do a full make-over job on me if I ordered it?"

"Sure if it's what you want."

"Completely change my style and make me attractive?"

April frowned as if puzzled.

"Make you attractive? You are attractive now. I can make you look different if you want me to do that, but that sounds more like disguising your true identity. A Makeover is about bringing out all of your best features and getting people to focus on those rather than on any negative points."

"I have been told I am handsome. Handsome? That's a word to describe a man not a woman. I would rather be described as beautiful, pretty or even attractive. Handsome makes me sound too masculine."

"So what constitutes beauty to you?"

"You…actually." Livvy confessed. "I always dreamed of having hair like that, and…"

April sat beside her.

"Hair is nothing. That can be altered with wigs or extensions, dyes and perms. But you know, beauty is not all about what you look like on the outside."

"Really?"

"Really. Listen, for a start, a woman like me is only attractive to men who like blonds. Many men are convinced that blond women are generally brainless, and they prefer brunettes. Many men go for the sexy type of woman, with rounded curves…Marilyn Monroe curvy, but others prefer women to be athletic, slim and lithe, fewer curves but more active…variations of female stereotypes are endless and they are all attractive to someone. Some men prefer their women to be fat…fatness is considered beautiful in some countries you know. If you think you are ugly, then your facial expressions, body language and everything will betray that fact, and you won't be attractive to anyone regardless of what you look like."

"And if I am convinced I am really gorgeous to look at, I would show it by being confident, and not being afraid to show off a bit…right?"

"That's it. In terms of your physical appearance, you would be attractive to some people, but whether they would be attracted to you as a person would depend first on your projected personality and convictions, and second on your opinion of yourself."

Livvy nodded and went to look at herself in the mirror.

"Handsome…I suppose a handsome woman is not an ugly one is it?"

"Definitely not. It's getting late. If you want, in the morning I could give you a makeover…a partial one, tweak your hairstyle a bit to show off the shape of your face better, give you some different ideas about the styles of clothes you could wear and look fabulous in…"

Livvy nodded.

"Very well, in the morning we'll see what you can do with hair…"

Left alone at last, April smiled at Jackson, once more parked outside her door, and closed it firmly. She collapsed on to the bed, fully dressed, wondering what the new day would bring.

Downstairs in the study, Livvy was standing with her back to the window, regarding the three men in front of her.

"So Liv'" said one at last. "What did you make of her? Is she who she says she is?"

"Well Chivers, she knows how to do a good massage. Your visitors all said that. I quizzed her about make-overs and feminine beauty, and everything she said made a lot of sense. She could well be. The only way to know if she is truly a beautician is to…er…"

Chivers grinned.

"Let her loose on someone? Well why don't you let her loose on you? You have that function to go to tomorrow afternoon. What better time to test her mettle?"

Livvy looked annoyed.

"Look I was playing the part to do you guys a favour. I don't need any damned make-over to help me get ready for an Embassy function."

Chivers exchanged looks with his two companions. They all nodded, grinning slightly. The oldest of the three, an upright man with graying temples and wearing a rather loud bow tie that clashed horribly with his jacket smiled at her and patted her on the head, which made her grind her teeth.

"Whatever you think makes no difference, Liv. Consider yourself under orders to let this girl April do her thing on you. You can judge for yourself if she turns out to be talented."

Livvy looked furious, but under the circumstances, she really had no choice.

"If she botches it all up, dad, you will be the one to foot the bill for putting everything right again."

"Just make sure you get started early enough so that she will not make you late if she does turn out to be a dud. That's all for now."

Livvy left the room, muttering under her breath; "Glad I could be of assistance. Goodnight to you too!"

The next morning it was still dark outside her window when there was a loud banging on her door and shouts for her to hurry and get dressed. Sighing at the early hour, April dragged herself out of bed and wrapped a bathrobe around her naked body and opened the door. Jackson and Livvy were outside. April blinked.

"What are you doing up at this ungodly hour? Even the birds are still tucked up in bed!"

"Funny." Livvy replied sarcastically. "I have to be out of here by nine today, so you have to do my hair and everything now."

"Is it that urgent?"

"Look, I have to be at the em…er…somewhere important today, acting as a hostess, and I am under orders to look the part. I have no idea how to do that. You have to help me."

"Okay." April tried to rub away the sleepiness from her eyes. "It would help enormously if I am allowed to know where you are going? I mean the type of people you are likely to be with. Is it a bunch of businessmen? Show-business people? Lawyers? All men or mixed?"

Livvy sighed.

"Probably some of all of those and more. World leaders too I don't doubt, Ambassadors…Apparently I have to look the part, top up drinks, be danced with, laugh at unfunny jokes and generally make sure that people have a nice time."

April grinned wryly.

"You don't look like you volunteered for this duty, Livvy."

"No. I'm not the hostess type. I'm an engineer. You would fit right in, but you are still on probation. So I suggest you make me look the part and give me some pointers at how to behave."

The next three hours, April dyed Livvy's shoulder length dark hair, giving it a slightly dark auburn hue, washed it and restyled it, giving it choppy layers and set it in rollers to give it height and body. She made her sit under a dryer whilst she gave the other a facial, a manicure and a pedicure. She finished by applying make- up.

"What are you wearing?"

"They have brought in a selection for me to choose from."

"Need any help?"

By the time Livvy was ready to leave, she was wearing a stunning white trouser-suit with a pale blue spangly blouse. In her arms she carried her evening gown for later, a figure-hugging dress in emerald green with lace and sequins that set off the highlights in her hair. She smiled broadly at April.

"Thank you April. You did good."

When the party left, April was left in the house with Jackson, still determined to act like a genial guard-dog, and the elderly woman who worked in the kitchens. How was she to get a message to Mark in time? She was aware he would be here today to get her out whatever happened, but by then it might be too late to check out whatever was going on. Was it worth knocking Jackson over the head in order to affect her escape? What if he subsequently recovered and sent out a warning? What were they up to? Somehow she would have to try and find out. To do that she needed to get Jackson off his guard. How to do that? Did he have a softer side she could appeal to?

MFU MFU

Mark Slate was wearing dirty and very smelly overalls, thick rubber boots and industrial strength rubber gloves that reached up to his elbows. He needed them too. He was standing ankle deep in something very smelly, his shoulders alone showing above the level of the road. He was wielding a set of plumber's rods into the depths of the tunnel, all the while, one eye was planted firmly on the large house where he knew his partner was currently languishing. The intelligence she had had sent over to him about the place troubled him, and he was determined that if she needed him, he would be there, whatever Mr. Waverly said.

It was some time before the gates opened, and a two limousines drove out one after the other, and then the gate closed firmly after them. He frowned to himself. How many people would be left in that house? Scientists for the most part, right? Any THRUSH bigwigs were likely in those limousines. He removed a glove and fished for his communicator.

"Open channel D. Section three…request a follow and observe on two black stretch limos that are heading towards Deer Park Avenue. I'm keeping watch on agent Dancer's location. Out."

He put the device in his pocket and replaced his glove, and went back to his plunging, with a look of distaste on his lips. He would give it a little time, then he's chance it alone.

April failed to engage Jackson in conversation. He allowed her to leave her room; in fact, he allowed her to go anywhere in the house she wanted to, but always he followed her like a shadow.

She failed to persuade him to have a drink with her of anything alcoholic, although he agreed to a coffee. He ruined all her cherished hopes of sneaking something into his coffee by insisting on making it himself for the two of them. She sighed and admitted defeat, cradling her coffee in her hands and smiled into it, curling herself up on the sofa.

"Do you have a radio around here? A record player? A TV set even?"

He shook his head and swallowed the last of his coffee and went back to folding his arms across his chest, like a bouncer. April rolled her eyes and giggled at him.

"Don't you ever relax? How far do you think I'm gonna get if I did try and escape from here? Can we at least talk? I'm bored just sitting around doing nothing. At least Si was capable of vocalization from time to time. Sometimes it was even intelligible."

"Very well, what do you want to talk about? Philosophy? Politics? Religion? Or do you just talk about hair and fashion?"

April frowned at him.

"There's no need to be rude. Besides, I said I want to talk, not argue. All those subjects arouse base passions from my experience, and I'm not in the mood to have a session like that. Don't you ever just chat? About inane things? The weather? The price of porridge? How the Jets or the Yankees are doing? Tell me Jackson, is that your family name or is it your given name?"

The large man almost grinned but managed to stifle it.

"Neither. It's a nickname. I come from Jacksonville."

"Oh, really? Funny, I've never been to Florida. So are your family still out there?"

"No, my father is dead and my mother is in Jamaica."

"Right."

April grinned at him.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to enlarge on that? No, scratch that, how many brothers do you have?"

"Fifty-four."

"Okay, will you try and be serious?"

This time Jackson did grin at her.

"I thought you didn't want to have a serious discussion? You said you wanted to talk inanities. I can do that all day if you want."

April shook her head.

"Why do you do this?"

He frowned dangerously.

"Do what?"

"Idiot. I mean act as a guard dog for a helpless young woman when you are probably more intelligent than most of these guys here. You could do anything you want for a living."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. But surely there could be a more satisfying way for you to make a living than this. Not that I mind. You are much better to look at, and a better conversationalist than a real guard dog would have been!"

Jackson looked intently at her for a few moments.

"I have a question for you. A serious one. This ex-lover of yours…Si did you call him? If he is so very violent and abusive, why did you never leave him?"

"Oh that's simple. I love him."

"You love him? An abusive, violent obsessive? You do know he is still determined to get you back don't you?"

April nodded.

"I never doubted it for a second. You're twice his size though."

Jackson pulled a face.

"Size makes no difference if a man is trained for fighting, and this Si of yours looks like a man who can take care of himself."

April leapt up.

"He's here? You've seen him? Where is he?"

"He's outside in the road, pretending to clear out a blocked drain. The thing is, that drain only comes here, and our drains don't need any work doing right now. So he's here for some other reason. Must be this guy of yours…or possibly someone sent by him?"

April shook her head and sighed deeply.

"Why don't you go out there and bring him in here? Do your Herculean Act again, you know, the scowl and the folded arms. Si is a typical bully. Always brave until his own hide is in danger. If you think I will run, you can always lock me back in my room until you return with him."

Jackson considered her suggestion, and smiled wryly.

"Very well, we'll do as you suggest. If he fails to cooperate, we have some very secure dungeons below this house."

April nodded.

"So I've heard." She replied with a shudder.

Mark was alerted when the large wrought iron gates swung open once again, seemingly of their own accord. A massive man with olive skin and black hair cut army style, and dressed entirely in black came striding through the gates and in a straight line toward him. Mark wondered how to play this out. He had clearly been found out somehow. He hoisted himself out of the hole and started to pack away his rods. The big guy reached him ad stopped. Mark saw his nose wrinkling slightly at the smell.

"You've been playing with our sewage all day. How do you stand the smell?"

"Your…? You mean this is the outlet pipe for…?"

The large man nodded slowly. Mark rolled his eyes.

"I didn't plan this too well did I? Look man, I just want my bird back. I miss her."

"So I gather. You must be Si."

"And you're the guy who made her an offer she couldn't refuse?"

Jackson shook his head.

"Nope. I'm just the bodyguard. You are coming in here with me."

Grabbing Mark by the shoulder, he half dragged and half carried him back to the house.