Chapter Nineteen

ON THE EDGE

Illya closed his eyes for a moment, deliberately taking his mind back over the events of the past couple of months. He had been through some pretty tough things recently, emotions that he had not experienced at quite that intensity since he was a child. Grief and sorrow yes, but anger too. No child is well equipped to safely vent his anger, especially in the sole presence of adults, and most especially when those adults are largely responsible for the events that led to those feelings. However, Illya was not a child, and he was perfectly free to vent his anger on these THRUSH villains. It must have been someone from THRUSH that had turned Mikhail into a traitor, and for that alone, Illya felt justified in his anger.

Watching his partner carefully, Napoleon prepared himself mentally. He knew Illya was deliberately getting himself into the correct frame of mind to be able to carry this off successfully, but it looked like Illya was truly angry, really angry for his own sake. Napoleon did not really believe that Illya would take things too far and put himself in the wrong, but at the back of his mind a little voice warned him to watch his friend carefully. Just in case.

Without looking back, Illya strode forward through the gates and straight up the driveway without a second thought. Napoleon marched purposefully behind him, keeping his expression as stern as he could beneath all the perspiration. When they reached the front door, Illya grabbed the bell-pull and jangled it fiercely for a long time, and then raised his left foot and gave the door a mighty kick.

The door juddered under the blow, but remained intact. Illya kicked again, and then again. The door caved in on the fourth attempt and landed heavily on the floor, at the feet of half a dozen THRUSH officers and minions whom had been rushing to rescue the front door from its attacker. Illya ignored them and strode past without a glance. He snarled loudly, speaking in Russian.

"I want Moran! Where's Moran? I'm going to take him APART!" Illya stormed, marching straight up the stairs towards Moran's office. "Moran! Moran!"

Napoleon followed, watching as his partner searched methodically for Moran, going from room to room and becoming more and more irate as the subject of his ire failed to appear. Napoleon couldn't help wondering how Moran would have reacted if he was here, rather than back in New York under lock and key? They were followed by an increasing crowd of THRUSH men, all obviously familiar with Mikhail Kuryakin, and thus doubtless also aware of the kind of enemy he would make. They were all pleading and cajoling and trying to hold Illya back as he determinedly and none too quietly stormed his way around the building. Finally, on the upstairs landing, Illya stopped and held up his hands.

"Quiet!" he bellowed furiously. The babble of voices turned themselves off almost miraculously. From the back of the crowd, a figure pushed his way to the front. Napoleon and Illya recognized him as Colonel Moran's aide, Fyodor. Illya narrowed his eyes.

"Where is he? Where is Moran?"

"Captured by UNCLE, as well you know."

Illya stared at Fydor as though he had just crawled out from under a stone.

"What!?" the tone was clearly dangerous. "UNCLE? You let him be captured by UNCLE? So you really are as incompetent as I took you for."

"You let UNCLE in the building Kuryakin, and then you absconded with them!"

"I did no such thing. THRUSH! I sometimes wonder why I bother with any of you. You let UNCLE get the better of you every time. I had them well and truly fooled until THRUSH went and destroyed my cover. Now UNCLE think we are both dead. Moran ordered me to try and infiltrate UNCLE once again by persuading them that I am my dead brother Illya, but I have been betrayed! Again! So what do you think I will do now Fyodor?" Illya pulled out his gun, cocked it and aimed it at Fyodor's head.

"If that double-crossing Moran isn't here, you will do just as well! You are his aide. Apparently. Where is my daughter?"

The bystanders had become silent, watching the confrontation but none of them inclined to interfere. They moved back out of reach, but still watching, occasionally muttering among themselves, leaving Illya and Fyodor in the centre of a wide circle, with Napoleon standing sentry-like behind Illya, his arms folded across his chest. Fyodor shook his head.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Illya pressed the barrel of the gun firmly against Fyodor's right nostril and leaned in closer.

"You really think I am bluffing? You have ten seconds to tell me what I want to know before I pull this trigger. Ten"

"I don't know where she is!"

"Nine."

"I swear I don't know!"

"Eight."

"Please Mikhail, I have no idea!"

"Seven."

"Please don't shoot!"

"Six."

"I didn't even know you had a daughter. Mikhail, I swear!"

"Five."

"Fine then. Do your worst."

"Four."

Stubborn silence ensued.

"Three."

Fyodor's eyes stared transfixed at the gun against his nose, but said nothing.

"Two."

Napoleon watched the scene, wondering what would happen if Fyodor really did call his partner's bluff. Should he attempt to interfere? Illya was bluffing…wasn't he…?

"One."

Illya's lips twisted into a leer and his finger tightened around the trigger. Fyodor came to life suddenly, sinking to his knees and shuddering in fear and humiliation.

"No, please no for the love of god don't shoot me, please!"

"You know the futility of your last sentence Fyodor, now talk!"

"Moran had nothing to do with your kid, neither did I, honest"

"I don't care who did or didn't do anything. She's my daughter and I want her back. WHERE IS SHE!?"

"She was brought here last night."

"I gathered that. Where is she now? THRUSH Central?"

Fyodor shook his head.

"What do they want with kids? Nah, she's gone. Her Dedushka came and took her away. He's been threatening to get the kid ever since she was born, but your missis stood up to him I reckon. Did she never tell you?"

Illya stared at him. The child's grandfather? He remembered what Uncle Dimitry had told him about Mika's late wife; Anna Kossov. Illya remembered her from school. She had always been sweet on Mikhail even as kids, but her father had always been away working it seemed. Illya had no recollection of ever seeing him. He remembered Anna's hardworking and kindly mother, but although he was aware that there had always been a father in the background somewhere, he had no memory of ever meeting him. What was his name now? Kir Yuriyev Kossov.

He stepped back and engaged the gun's safety and replaced it in its holster. He half observed Fyodor heaving a shaky sigh of relief.

"Kir Yuriyev." Illya nodded almost to himself. "I'll find him easily enough."

Fyodor let out a scornful laugh; braver, now that the hated gun was out of sight.

"Comrade Kossov? You won't get anywhere near him. He's guarded by THRUSH's finest."

Illya turned his back on Fyodor and turned to the crowd around them.

"Get out of here. Get back to work the lot of you. What are you all gawping at?"

He turned back to face Fyodor.

"Get on your feet. You were Moran's aide? You're mine, now..."

"What about the mission you said the Colonel gave you?"

"My daughter first."

"You never bothered about her before Mister Kuryakin."

"She always had a mother before."

"I still don't trust you. You could still be Illya pretending to be Mikhail."

Napoleon watched as Illya turned those cool icy green eyes on the aide.

"If I was my brother, I would say you would be the lucky one. UNCLE train their people to have more scruples than THRUSH. If the Colonel is with UNCLE, he'll be safe enough for now. Which is more than I can say of you. If you annoy me further, I won't bother counting to ten."

Fyodor looked pointedly at Napoleon and then back.

"Your friend is very quiet. Is he here just for decoration or do you have a use for him?"

"Unlike you Fyodor, Boris does not need to speak to show his strength. Your words hide the fact that you are a terrified, whimpering worm. He does not talk, but neither can he be bought. He is one person…the only person at present whose loyalty I can be certain of. Now let us go down to the communications center shall we and you can contact Kossov."

"I couldn't do that! He wouldn't agree to talk to me anyway!"

"He will talk to me or he will be in for the worst few days of his life. Move! Boris, cover our rear."

Illya prodded Fyodor hard in the back, and followed as the other man was urged quickly down the corridor." Napoleon followed, feeling very glad that he was on Illya's side.

In the basement nestled the communications room, stuffed with THRUSH personnel, a few women but mostly men all bustling about busily. Fyodor, motivated largely by his fear of Illya and his gun, crossed the room and spoke to one of the women hurriedly.

"General Kossov, right now."

"Kossov? He won't like the interruption."

"Not our problem. Get him on the line. Kuryakin wants to have a little chat."

"That's Mister Kuryakin to you." Illya said in a low, smooth voice almost without moving his lips. Napoleon was secretly impressed how for the moment Illya was keeping everyone cowed; but things might all change. He nudged his partner softly, and when Illya turned to look at him, he signed

"Be careful now. Kossov might not be so readily fooled."

Illya nodded and stepped toward the communications array. The young/old face of a man appeared on the screen, he could have been anywhere between fifty-five and eighty-five, with salt and pepper hair, slightly overgrown across the ears and over the collar of his shirt, dressed in the THRUSH version of a General's uniform.

"What? I told you not to interrupt me! How dare you interrupt me?" He boomed across the speakers in the room. Illys stepped in front of the camera and grabbed the receiver.

"Me. That's why the interruption."

The grey eyes opened wide.

"Mikhail!"

"It's one thing taking care of your granddaughter once she is orphaned, but here I am. As you can see. I want her back."

"Mika, my boy, you are alive! You were declared dead!"

"No, My brother is dead. I am still alive as you can see, and I want my daughter back."

"Of course boy, but…forgive me…are you equipped to care for her properly? Be there every day for her? Teach her, play with her, talk to her, spend quality time with her? Provide for her needs?"

Illya frowned.

"What the dickens are you insinuating? I can provide her with all she needs, and besides that, she is my own flesh and blood!"

The old man nodded sadly.

"Listen boy, we will do better talking about this face to face rather than over an open channel like this. Are you willing to come to my place? We can talk properly, and of course, Katiya is here."

"I will come right now."

"I'll send my personal chopper to pick you up."

"For two of us. My aide Boris is coming too."

The General nodded, and the line was broken. Illya turned to Fyodor.

"Once I am gone, you're in temporary command here until Moran returns or is replaced."

"Yes…sir."

"Very well. You heard what the General said. Make sure the helipad is clear. Have you reported to THRUSH central about UNCLE's invasion?"

"Yes. They're sending someone out from central take over here. They'll be here by tomorrow."

"Well even you can't make too much of a mess by then. I suppose when UNCLE captured Colonel Moran, they got back my UNCLE prisoner Napoleon Solo as well?"

When Fyodor nodded, Illya spat in annoyance.

"Well, once this fiasco regarding Kossov and my daughter is sorted out, we'll retrieve both of them. Knowing the history of THRUSH at messing up simple jobs like that, this is one mission that I will lead in person. Come Boris, we have a chopper to catch."

Once Napoleon and Illya were up on the roof, at the edge of the helipad waiting for Kossov' chopper to arrive, Napoleon glanced around cautiously. Here they were higher than anything for miles around. No one to oversee or overhear anything. He pulled his partner close, just to be on the safe side, and spoke aloud, but in a very low voice.

"Illya, who was Kossov?"

"Anna's father…My brother's father-in-law."

"In other words, he is your niece's grandfather?"

Illya nodded, his face dark, his eyes hooded. Napoleon tried to reason with him.

"Well then Illya, what the hell are we doing here? Katiya is an orphan. Both her parents are dead. You are not her father, you are her uncle, and whether you like it or not, her grandfather has greater rights over her than you do."

"He doesn't know that. Besides, he was a rotten father to Anna. He was never there for her."

"Says who, Illya? Did she ever tell you that?"

Illya said nothing. Napoleon felt desperately sorry for his friend, but he had to make the man see sense.

"He will have changed over the years, and besides that, he is her grandfather, and it is clear he cares about her."

"But Napoleon, he is THRUSH!"

Napoleon nodded slowly.

"I know. That is not a point in his favour, but Illya, not even Mister Tarasov will be able to take your part when they learn that Katiya is being cared for by her grandfather, and I don't need to tell you how Mister Waverly would react either. As far as the child is concerned, the law is on his side. Not yours."

"Unless I can prove physical or psychological cruelty."

"Illya, you're clutching at straws."

Illya turned to face him, his face red with fury and sadness. He was clearly controlling his voice with an effort.

"Maybe I am Napoleon, but what else…who else do I have? I lost everyone important to me through the war, and then later…when I thought I could grab a little happiness…my wife and my son…well you know what…" His voice broke and he turned away, and when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Napoleon had to strain to hear him.

"I have to try. Don't you see? I have to try."

Napoleon's heart was bleeding in sympathy for his friend. He put his arm round Illya's shoulders, and spoke in a voice almost as quiet as Illya's had been a moment ago.

"I know you're hurting, but remember you're dealing with the life of a little girl. This is not about you and what you need my friend. This is about what is best for the child. It has to be. Whatever happens from here on in, you have to be honest with yourself. You can't, must not judge this man based on the fact that you don't like his job. Anything you do, any decision you make has to, must be based solely on the long term welfare of this little girl. You can't let anything else make your decisions for you. Not even the fact that as you look so much like her father, and are pretending to be him, she is likely to believe that you…"

Illya stared at Napoleon as though that thought had not even occurred to him. Napoleon gave a watery smile.

"That won't make it any easier for you either, my friend, but promise me you will consider what the child's needs are first."

As Illya nodded numbly and looked once again towards the skies, Napoleon was unspeakably grateful to whatever instinct had told him to accompany his partner on this trip. He had feared that his friend would be in danger of losing himself in the emotional backwash, and he was right. As the chopper finally hove into sight in the distance, Napoleon silently prayed for wisdom to deal with whatever might follow.