Author's note: Thanks to the flu the next full chapter might be an extra day or two coming as I am really not well enough to write it right now…so here is a titbit to keep everyone hopefully satisfied until my fingers and my brain are back to fully functioning

The Not So Incredible Journey!

The train was rather long in the tooth these days, and it showed by the comparative breakneck speed employed by a passing cyclist as the old fashioned steam engine trundled painfully up a hill dragging a long line of carriages behind it. It would never have been Napoleon's chosen mode of transport, but as Illya had very succinctly pointed out, if they were to keep up their cover, then they would have to pay the price, and travel in a style that would be regarded as suitable. Certainly two ordinary citizens would not travel everywhere by private jet or helicopter. Once the train reached the summit of the hill, its deficiencies vanished into ancient history. It was rather noisy as steam trains invariably are, but aside from being very slow going up steep inclines, it was reasonably quick and surprisingly comfortable. One reason for this was the very efficiency of the Soviet Railway Company whom had been working very hard since the war to get the railways systems back to their pre-war standards. The rails were in good order it seemed, and the carriages acceptable enough, despite being very crowded.

Napoleon was starting to tire of his disguise. He and Illya had been unintentionally separated as they boarded the train, and playing the part of a mute, he was not able to shout out to find his partner. He had been bumped into, jostled and trodden on by several unwitting but nonetheless clumsy fellow passengers who appeared to take his non-verbal response as permission to use him as some kind of a leaning post. Right now he had an elderly lady leaning hard on him on one side, a child continually bumping and prodding him from behind with whatever sharp object he was playing with, and the very attractive young woman in front of him had given him a pretty smile that set his heart racing, then promptly dumped a heavy suitcase on his right foot; and before he had the chance to pull his foot free, she had turned her back on him and sat herself down on it.

Napoleon debated the wisdom of throwing in the towel right now. He didn't need to be here suffering like this. Illya would have been just as content going off alone, and probably less uncomfortable too, but Napoleon hated knowing that he would not have his partner's back. It was a vow he had made to the Russian at the start of their partnership, and he was not about to turn his back on it. Wherever Illya went, Napoleon would be right beside him, covering his back as always. Besides, the cold tongue of fear and horror that had crept around his heart when Illya had first mentioned the likelihood of his having to leave UNCLE had still not diminished. This looked like being the very last mission he and Illya would work together, especially if they were successful. This was one mission that Napoleon could not bear to turn his back on.

His heart was almost breaking at the knowledge that if they succeeded in their endeavours, he would be returning to New York alone. Illya would stay behind and find some simple nine to five job to do in the offices and take care of his niece. If they were unsuccessful, they don't find the child, or perhaps find her dead, then he would have his partner beside him physically on his return home to New York, but Illya would be a shell of himself; for a while at least. It would be a failure his partner would never be able to reconcile. No matter how he looked at it, Napoleon could not envisage any solution to this mission which would be satisfactory for everyone.

Illya Kuryakin was seated in a private carriage, with a young woman on one knee and a glass of wine resting on the other. He wondered what had become of his partner. They had become separated very easily, and even if Napoleon did decide to squeeze through the throng to search for him, there was no way he would find Illya in here.

Illya, aka Mikhail Kuryakin had been recognized on the station platform and hauled aside to the front carriage which had been commandeered and fitted out by THRUSH for their travelling agents' comfort. Illya did not recognize the girl that had grabbed him on the station, the one now occupying his knee, but he appreciated being a lot more comfortable here than his fellow passengers were right now, including Napoleon. His first words had been to demand that his friend be brought to join him here, and he had issued the girl with a vivid physical description. She had passed it to two men already seated in the almost empty carriage, with instructions to find this man amongst all the passengers. All Illya knew was that they had originally been standing somewhere near the rear of the train. They had been gone for an hour now, but then again, it was a very long train, and there were a very large number of people through which to search.

"Get off me now, you have a bone in your rear that is sticking into me."

The girl got up in a playful huff.

"Well you haven't changed Mika. Just as rude as always. I can't think why I like you!"

"What is not to like?" The words almost stuck in Illya's throat, they were so alien to his own nature, but very much a part of the nature of Mikhail, as he had been rapidly learning. How could Mika have changed this much? The thought still boggled Illya. The Mikhail he knew had been modest and self-effacing. The girl flounced across the carriage and sat on a seat beside the opposite window, watching the scenery passing by. Illya looked round at her.

"I hope they find my friend Boris quickly. What made you leave him behind anyway?"

"I didn't know him, I only knew you. You never contacted anyone to tell them where you were or where you were going, so we didn't know you were planning on picking up a buddy."

"You could have asked."

"You are a member of THRUSH Mika, you need to learn that there are rules. It's all very well heading off to do your own thing at a moment's notice without telling anyone anything; but we have to try and cover your back while you're gone! Then you have the damned insolence to shout and yell at us for messing up your plans…the very ones you never tell anyone anything about! You know your job well Mika, you have a lot of skills that THRUSH central can make use of but they are starting to get tired of you and your personal vendettas. We are not here as a private army for your personal use Mikhail. You need to remember it!"

Illya stared at her, the wheels in his brain working overtime. At that moment the door opened, and two young men ushered in a third, a rather overweight individual with a jacket that almost fitted perfectly, and a red, chubby face. He nodded almost imperceptibly at the newcomers, and wagged his head in a gesture to come and sit down.

Napoleon was unspeakably relieved to see Illya safe, and slightly annoyed that he had been relaxing in style here with a glass of wine and pretty girl whilst he had been acting as a convenient leaning post for harassed fellow travelers back in carriage eight. He took the seat beside his partner, remembering to say nothing aloud. He gestured briefly hello with his hands. Illya looked briefly at him and nodded.

"You made it at last, Boris." He said curtly. "You'd get lost on the way to your own bathroom. Here, get yourself a drink, and relax."

He turned back to the girl and walked over to her, Napoleon watching from behind.

"What are you doing in these parts today anyway?" Illya asked, taking a risk. The girl eyed him warily.

"Orders."

"What orders?"

"Just obeying orders of central control, that's all. It's all dealt with now."

Illya eyes narrowed with suppressed fury.

"I left instructions for THRUSH to ensure my little Katiya was cared for in the event of my death, and yet when I went to collect her today, I find her gone. Missing. Taken apparently by my friends."

He leaned in close to her, and she edged back, slightly alarmed.

"I don't suppose you can tell me you these friends were?"

When she did not reply, he sneered at her.

"Do I look dead to you?"

She shook her head.

"Then where do you think I will find my daughter?"

The girl shrugged.

"Probably took her first to the Moscow Satrapy, and then tonight they'll probably ship her on. Central Command probably."

Illya swallowed his anger with difficulty. He didn't often get angry, and it was ever rarer for him to become as angry as he was right at this moment. He returned to his seat and dropped into it as though from a great height. Napoleon recognized the danger signs and said nothing. He handed him a large glass of vodka. Illya downed it in one, his lower lip sticking out, coupled with his youthful appearance, making him look like pouting teenager. Napoleon dared not risk speaking aloud in case he was being watched, so he tapped his partner's knee, and quickly said, using sign language;

"We'll find out where she is my friend."

Illya grasped Napoleon's hand in a mute gesture of thanks, then fell to gazing once more out of the window.