Chapter 24

Illya

Illya stayed in the same position for so long, that Napoleon began to think his partner had fallen asleep.

They were manacled to the floor. The manacles held them tightly around their wrists and ankles, connected together by chains and attached to iron ringbolts on the floor. They had enough chain to stand or to sit. They had sufficient slack in their chains to use the hole in the floor if they needed to relieve themselves, but not nearly enough to reach either the door or the walls.

Napoleon was closely concerned about Illya. This was clearly tough for the blond Russian. Idly, trying to focus his mind on something other than their incarceration and his worry over his friend, Napoleon considered the little he knew of Illya's heritage. That was little enough. Clearly he had grown up in Kyiv, in Ukraine, but he always called Illya a clever Russian. Did that make him as ignorant as many in the western world who seemed to consider that everyone and anyone this side of the, so called, iron curtain must be Russian? Forgetting that the Soviet Union was made up of several member states, of which Russia was only one. Ukraine was another. Napoleon had an idea that his partner's past was more complex than simply having been born and raised in a poor corner of Kyiv, Illya's father had been Ukrainian for sure, but Napoleon recalled Illya once telling Marion that his mother had been Russian. So was Illya truly Russian or Ukrainian? Was he born in Kyiv, or elsewhere? Napoleon recalled their visit to the elderly man, Illya's uncle Dimitri... also known as the original Boris Popov. Uncle Dimitri had made a throwaway comment about Illya owning the entire row of houses. Hadn't their host Kossov made a comment earlier about Illya being the sole heir of the former Count Dorokhov? What was that all about? Illya had said nothing to confirm or deny anything. Napoleon remembered Uncle Dimitri had been silenced by a warning glance from Illya, but not a word had been said aloud. Clearly there was more to Illya's background than he led one to believe.

He knew there would be no point in asking his friend any personal questions on the subject. Illya just was not comfortable talking about himself at all, never mind is mysterious past. Whatever the answer might be, looking at him now, the young blond looked as though he was about at the end of his rope.

"Are you awake Illya?" he called softly. At first, there was no response, then eventually Illya lifted his head. His face was red, his eyes slightly bloodshot, and he seemed to be breathing heavily.

"I am awake."

Napoleon resisted the urge to ask if his partner was all right. Clearly he was not. His eyes were dry. They were bloodshot, but not puffy or red-rimmed, so he hadn't been weeping, but still he looked awful. Apart from the occasional cold, Illya was a singularly healthy individual who never got sick. He really hoped Illya was not going to be sick now of all times. He focused his attention on the most urgent problem.

"We need to escape this place." He said, eyeing his partner hopefully. "Any ideas?"

Illya shrugged.

"Escape is not important. Katiya is important. We are not."

"You realise what THRUSH will do to us when they learn we are here?"

Illya smiled faintly.

"They will do nothing. Kir Yuriyev will tell them nothing about us. Eventually he will let us go himself."

Napoleon looked very disbelieving.

"Really? And you know this because…?"

Illya sighed.

"Napoleon, you know that my people are a passionate people…"

Napoleon nodded respectfully.

"I know that." He affirmed quietly. Illya smiled slightly.

"Well we are most passionate about our families. Do you realise how many different words there are in the Russian language for family members? Every single family relationship you can imagine… they all have their own phrase in Russian. Family and family relationships are the most important things in life to us, Napoleon. There are always exceptions I suppose…like Mikhail…when someone loses sight of what is important in pursuit of some other goal…but Kir Yuriyev, regardless of his other affiliations, he is a true Soviet. He cares about his family. He loves Katarina…more than anything else in his world. He will do the right thing for her, for himself and for me…because regardless of our political or social views, we are family."

"You're certain about that? If you're right, Illya, for us to escape would insult him, and if you are wrong, it would be… suicide."

Illya shrugged

"I'm not wrong, my friend. You will see."

He screwed up his eyes.

"I'm sorry Napoleon, the light is hurting my eyes. It's beginning to give me a headache."

He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and returned to his former position, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his head in the crook of his elbow. Watching him, Napoleon frowned, and glancing up at the single bare bulb that afforded rather dim lighting for this dingy cell, his concern for his friend and partner increased tenfold.

MFU MFU MFU

Kossov went upstairs, as had become his habit, to say goodnight to his granddaughter and tuck her in for the night. He sang her his favourite lullaby, the one his own mother had once sung to him when he was little. She smiled and huddled down. He kissed her forehead tenderly, and as he was about to move away, she tugged at his sleeve.

"Deda, is that other man coming to say goodnight to me too?"

"What other man kitten?"

"The man who looks just like my papa."

"No, he won't be up to say goodnight to you. He's a bad man."

That puzzled the child and she wrinkled her forehead.

"But he can't be bad, Deda. He loves me. You told me that bad people hurt other people. He wouldn't."

Kossov looked at the child.

"Why do you think that? If he is not your papa, he can't possibly love you can he?"

"I don't know why he loves me deda, but he does. I saw it in his eyes, on his face…and the way he hugged me. It was like…"

She paused as though trying to find the right words. Kossov waited, knowing from experience that his intelligent granddaughter knew what she was trying to say. She frowned, then inspiration hit.

"Deda, remember when I lost my teddy? I couldn't find it and I cried?"

Kossov remembered very well. The teddy had been left behind one time, and it had taken the child's mother three days to find it. He remembered how the little girl had hugged her teddy hard when she got it back, hugging it as though she were never going to let it go ever again. Katiya smiled at her deda.

"Well that's how he hugged me, deda. It was like I was his teddy bear, and he had found me when I was lost for a long time. It felt like he didn't want to let me go."

Kossov hugged her.

"I love you Katiya. You are very clever, you know that? I didn't see that about him. I was angry at him because he was pretending to be your papa. That was wrong."

"Maybe he wanted me to be happy. Deda, why does he love me? Why does he look like papa when he isn't?"

"Did your mama or papa ever tell you anything about when they were very little?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Not much."

"Well, when your papa was little, he had other children to play with. Not like you or your mama. Your Papa had three sisters and he also had a younger brother called Illya. Your Papa and his brother Illya always looked like each other. Always. That man who came today is your papa's younger brother Illya. He is your Uncle, my child."

The little girl thought about that. Finally, she said;

"Will Uncle Illya come riding with me and Nina tomorrow deda?"

The unexpectedness of the question brought a tear to the old man's eye and he let out a laugh.

"Oh my darling child. We'll see shall we? If he is still here, we'll see. Now don't you worry about it now. You go to sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

Obediently, the little girl closed her eyes, happy in the fond belief that everything would be all right in the morning.

Kossov spent his night wide awake, pacing up and down the garden, his mind racing, wondering what his next step should be, and would he be able to muster up the courage to take it?

It was mid-morning the following day before Kossov made up his mind what he was going to do, and he made his way downstairs to the cellars. When he arrived at the cell, he unlocked the door and was greeted by the erstwhile speechless man Boris frantic with worry for his friend.

"You have to help him…he's sick! Please, help him!"

Kossov knelt by Illya's side and touched his forehead gently. The younger man was burning up, a raging fever consuming him from within. His clothing was drenched with sweat, his hair wet and clinging to his forehead. Kossov knelt and listened carefully to the young man's chest. The heavy, laboured, wheezing and crackling he heard made Kossov close his eyes for a moment.

"This is really serious." He paused, then looked up at Napoleon.

"Who are you?"

For answer, Napoleon removed his half-mask with obvious relief.

"I'm Illya's partner. We work together."

"You're the supposedly dead Napoleon Solo?"

"Yes."

"I've seen pictures of you, but you seem to have put on a little weight."

"Get these chains off me and I can guarantee I'll lose weight pretty dramatically. You have to help Illya! Please!"

The last was definitely an appeal from the heart. Kossov was already busily unlocking the chains that bound Illya, then he tossed the keys to Napoleon and picked Illya up from the floor.

"Unlock yourself, and follow me. First floor, third door on the left."

"Thank you."

Kossov was gone. Solo noted with some surprise that the old man actually appeared to be running. He unlocked himself as quickly as he could and took off at a run himself.

Napoleon arrived at the third door on the left, almost skidding to a halt, and found that it was a fully functioning sickroom, with more equipment and supplies than he would have expected to see in this part of the world. Kossov had removed his jacket and donned a white lab coat. He glanced up as Napoleon came in.

"No doctors or nurses available, I'm afraid all you have is me."

"No nearby hospital? Where did you get all of this stuff?"

Kossov looked up briefly.

"There is a hospital, but it is owned and run by THRUSH. Illya's life will be worth nothing if we take him there. As for this equipment, it was uh…intercepted en route to somewhere or other."

Napoleon looked at him.

"Illya needs medical help urgently."

"He's getting it right now."

"No, I mean…forget it. Look, Moscow is just fifteen minutes away in your chopper. Hospitals there…our local office is there. They could take good care of…"

Kossov interrupted with a scornful shout.

"U.N.C.L.E? You really think I am going to voluntarily walk into an UNCLE base? I'll turn you both over to THRUSH first."

"Well whatever you do decide quickly, because Illya's burning up."

Kossov opened the door of the chilled cupboard and brought out a large bag of ice. He quickly stripped the unconscious man down to his bare chest, and stopped, paralyzed for a moment at the sight of Illya's numerous scars. He placed the ice on Illya's chest and glanced up at Napoleon.

"THRUSH?"

Napoleon nodded bitterly.

"Who else?"

Napoleon watched as Kossov worked seemingly expertly on the sick man, connecting him to a heart monitor and an oxygen mask. The ice was separated into smaller packs and packed closely around him on the bed. Kossov saw Napoleon's worried face. Napoleon met his eyes.

"Pneumonia?" It was a statement rather than a question. Kossov nodded.

"I've had a lot of experience treating injuries and sicknesses on the battlefield. I may not be a doctor, but I know what needs to be done. No medicine, but if we sit up with him around the clock, we can keep him alive. I'll show you what to do if he needs help."

Out of options, and with Kossov holding all the cards, all Napoleon could do was nod.

MFU MFU MFU

Katiya had looked everywhere for her grandfather, but he seemed to have disappeared. Neither could she find the strange blond man who looked so like papa. Uncle Illya, deda had told her. She didn't know why Uncle Illya had come instead of papa, but she could guess. Papa had always been very protective of her, but he had never had very much time for her himself, or for mama for that matter. Mama had told her that although they had sometimes come for a visit, they had never come to live with deda before because papa wouldn't allow it. Since mama was dead and she was here now, she could only guess that papa must be dead too, or he would certainly have turned up, shouting and ranting in that noisy, scary way of his.

Uncle Illya, when he and his friend came yesterday had come in so quietly and calmly. He had spoken quietly and had even wept real tears when he saw her. He only looked like papa. He didn't act like papa at all. Papa was scary, and Katiya had never liked it when he came home because he had been loud and made mama cry. Uncle Illya was quiet and he showed that he cared about her by the way he had hugged her so tightly and had had to be almost pulled away from her. She liked Uncle Illya. She really wished that he was her papa. She would like that; she knew she would. She loved dedushka too, and she knew he loved her very much indeed. He would not want her to go away with this new uncle. She wasn't sure she would want to leave deda anyway. She hoped they would not ask her to make a choice. Perhaps Uncle Illya would stay?

Quite by chance, she wandered up the stairs and looked into all the rooms on the first floor. She opened the door of the sick room and wandered inside lightheartedly and stopped dead in shock.

Papa…no, Uncle Illya was laying on a white bed, stripped down to his underwear it looked like, and covered with just a thin white sheet. He had round things stuck on his chest and connected to a machine beside him that made noises in time with his heart beat… which scared Katiya. Surely his heart should be beating faster than that? That was so slow it frightened her and made her want to cry. He was dripping wet, and had a mask over his face, helping him to breathe. She ran over to him, startling the two men beside the bed. She reached out a hand and stroked Illya's face, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. She saw the numerous scars that covered Illya's bare torso, and knew without a doubt that this was not her papa. Her papa had not had scars like that.

"Deda, what happened to do that to his front?" She asked her grandfather. Kossov realized the child was referring to the young man's scars and blinked, thinking quickly. Napoleon watched him. Kossov kissed her nose and replied to her in Russian, for Napoleon's benefit.

"Don't worry kitten. They don't hurt him anymore."

The child glanced briefly at the dark haired man and switched to Russian with barely a thought.

"But what did that to him?"

"Some…uh…some enemies hurt him, but he managed to get away."

"Enemies? What's enemies deda?"

This time the pause was even longer. Finally, her deda replied,

"Um…bad people Kitten. Some bad people wanted something he did not want to give, and they did that to him to try and make him."

"He's brave isn't he deda? What's wrong with him? Why is he so hot?"

"He's sick kitten. Really, really sick. We need to take care of him, try and help him get well again."

"Please let me help deda."

"Of course. You can talk to him. That might help him to wake up."

The little girl bent and planted a soft kiss on Illya's hot and feverish forehead, and continued to stroke his head gently, whispering in his ear all the while;

"Papa Illya…Papa Illya… Papa Illya please get well."

Kossov looked over her head at Napoleon and saw a tear fall unchecked. He shook his head. The boy was so sick…so very sick, and it had happened so quickly. Solo had explained that Illya was susceptible to catching colds, but even so…he had to do something. Anything. There had to be something to give him. Antibiotics to fight the infection at the very least. If he developed some sort of sepsis, then he would have no chance. He had finally decided what he needed to do, but now…?

He got up and went to the window. The sky had darkened and thick, black clouds sat overhead like a great, black lid. Huge globs of rain came down in a torrential downpour, followed by thunder and lightning. Katiya ignored the noise outside, totally focused on stroking and speaking to her sick uncle. Kossov turned back to Solo.

"Listen, Mister Solo, taking the chopper out is out of the question at the moment, but we can't wait any longer to try and get medication for our young friend here. It would be far too dangerous. I am going to take the jeep and drive out to the THRUSH hospital to try and get what we need. It's a long shot, and they're likely to be suspicious, but Illya is desperately in need of medicine if he is to have any chance of recovery. I am going to ask you a very big favour. I will try not to be very long. I need you to swear on the life of your boss, Alexander Waverly, that you will do everything in your power to keep my granddaughter safe until I return?"

Staring, Solo nodded.

"I swear I will take good care of her."

The little girl gazed up at him, still gently stroking Illya's forehead. Kossov took one look at them, then turned and hurried away.

Napoleon kept cold compresses pressed around his partner's body in an effort to lower his temperature, kept the oxygen flowing and supported his partner when he suddenly erupted into a volley of violent coughing which then led to vomiting. To his amazement, the little girl beside him never moved from her place. She showed no signs of shock or revulsion, but simply moved out of the way when she needed to, then once her uncle was settled again, she returned to stroking his forehead and softly talking to him. She really was, as Dimitry Kuryakin had said, a `delightful' child.

Napoleon and Katiya sat side by side, each doing their best to help the blond man on the bed the best way they knew how. Napoleon smiled at her, thinking of his nephew and nieces back home. A cloud covered his features for a moment when he recalled that they all currently believed that he was dead. Would they ever forgive him, when he got home?

"Do you talk my language?" the child asked him in Ukrainian. Napoleon looked blank and shrugged. She grinned. Obviously not.

"Do you speak Russian then?" she asked, switched easily to Russian.

"Yes, I understand you, now. How's my Russian?"

"You're not very good at it. You sound awful."

Napoleon nodded.

"So everyone keeps telling me. How old are you, Katiya?"

"I'm six."

"How do you know what to do? Many people older than you would be afraid to see someone sick like Illya."

The little girl shrugged.

"My mama got sick, and babushka was there but she was weak. She told me what to do to help mama and I did it."

"You are very brave, Katiya."

"Why did Papa Illya get sick?"

"I don't know. Why do you call him Papa Illya? You know he is not really your papa don't you?"

She nodded her head, blond waves bouncing.

"I know, but he wants to be, and I think I would like it."

"You would miss dedushka if you went to live with Papa Illya."

"Yes I know, and deda loved me first."

Napoleon soaked a cloth in the cold water and mopped his friend's face with it again. He tried to ignore the heat rising off him in almost palpable waves.

"Come on Illya, snap out of this! We have work to do. Come on my friend, fight your way back."

Illya's head moved on the pillow and his lips parted. Napoleon removed his friend's mask and supported his head and helped him take a sip of water. Illya's eyes opened.

"Hey, welcome back my friend."

Illya tried to speak, but his voice was very hoarse.

"In bed again?"

"How long were you feeling bad Illya? I wish you'd told me."

"I..I was not…I mean I had things on my mind I suppose I didn't notice any…" he broke off in a violent paroxysm of coughing and vomiting which left him exhausted. He began to shiver violently, and Napoleon whispered to Katiya.

"Can you fetch an extra blanket? Not too thick, though."

She nodded and hurried away. She returned with an enormous blanket that trailed several feet behind her. Napoleon thanked her gravely and draped it over his friend's body.

Napoleon carefully monitored Illya's breathing and heart rate. It did not worsen over the next few hours, but did not improve either. He wondered what had happened to their host? Was he betraying them to THRUSH after all? When Kossov finally returned after four very long and worrying hours, he was empty handed.

Kossov examined the patient thoroughly, and noticing that his shivers were calming down, he removed the extra blanket and gave his granddaughter the job of placing cold compresses on the sick man's face and neck. The child nodded, happy to be able to do something more to help, and as she set to work, Kossov led Napoleon out of the room.

"Mister Solo? We have a problem." He said.

Napoleon stared at Kossov as the man explained. He had really raised all sorts of hell trying to get the medicine he needed for Illya, but to no avail. There simply was none available. He had been so insistent that THRUSH had started to enquire as to his reasons for needing it. When he told them, quite reasonably, that his son-in-law Mikhail had arrived at his home to visit the child, but had then fallen seriously ill, they had immediately insisted on taking care of Mikhail themselves at their facility at THRUSH Central.

"They'll be here before midnight tonight."

The man looked desperate.

"Illya was right in what he said, Mister Solo. THRUSH will not allow me to gracefully retire to take care of my granddaughter. They'll keep using me until I'm no use any more and then they'll kill me. Meanwhile they'll assign someone to care for Katiya and turn her into a good little THRUSH. What can I do now? I just want to care for my daughter's beautiful little girl. Is it too much to ask?"

"Are you asking for my help, General Kossov?" Napoleon asked, directly. Kossov looked him in the eye.

"For Katiya's sake, yes."

"You won't consider giving the child to Illya and continuing your own career in THRUSH?"

"She's not a toy to play with!" he exclaimed angrily. "She's been through enough already the poor child. She's been pushed and pulled from pillar to post, this way and that, and she deserves a stable home where she can grow up safely. Can Illya offer her that? Will he truly be happy working in some office or lab somewhere? I don't doubt that he loves her…and she's starting to think she loves him…to her he's the ideal hero. He's raced across continents to find her, he's kind and caring and yet he looks so familiar to her. He is easy for her to love. But she needs more than just a heroic father figure, and you know it."

Napoleon held up his hands.

"It's all right, Kossov. I was just wondering how much you are willing to give up for her. UNCLE can help you, but you would have to disappear completely. Hide, perhaps a complete change of identity for both of you. You would lose all of this."

Solo gestured around him at the house and its grounds. Kossov nodded.

"In exchange for?"

"A debriefing. We have a number of questions for you. Answer them honestly and we won't ask you anything that would put you on any priority hit list. In exchange we give you a change of identity and UNCLE protection for as long as you need it. But there's a catch."

Kossov nodded.

"I know. Illya must agree."

"Yes."

Kossov half smiled.

"I agree that is fair. Will Illya be allowed to know where we are? To visit us?"

"No. Never. He would be followed by anyone seeking to find you."

"I see, So, to the man who has lost almost everything, the one thing he does still have is yet to be snatched away from him. May I make a recommendation?"

"Of course."

"You care about him?"

"Yes. He's my closest friend."

"In that case, Napoleon Solo, wait until he is out of danger before you tell him any of this. There is a possibility that a man faced with the loss of the only thing he has left to live for may decide to…"

"Throw in the towel?" Napoleon finished, grimly. Kossov nodded. Napoleon heaved a heavy sigh, and fished inside his clothing for his communicator. To his annoyance he remembered too late that he and Illya had come out on this trip without their communicators. The gadgetry was too obviously UNCLE, and their intentions had been to operate under the radar and be non-threatening if apprehended by anyone. Kossov was watching him curiously.

"A problem?"

"Hmm, yes." Napoleon replied. "Do you have a telephone?"