Sacrifices for the Greater Good

Grief IV

With the pack considerably heavier than when he had left, Napoleon returned to his own home to begin packing up all his possessions in preparation for his return to the CIA. He had to pause several times whenever he came across one of the many joke presents Gaby had insisted on buying him- silly little trifles that poked fun at his vanity and commitment phobia, like an engraved hand-held mirror and a fake wedding ring in case he had to make a speedy getaway from his date for the night.

Napoleon almost looked forward to going back to the US, not out of any fondness for his own intelligence agency but because the work would be a welcome distraction from recent events. He would barely have time to think of his two friends if he was dodging gunfire or concentrating on picking a particularly complex lock. Until then he found his mind didn't choose to cooperate and often his thoughts strayed into such territory, he spent the next few days packing and drinking excessive amounts whenever an unwelcome memory came to mind.

He had been seated on his couch, a half-empty bottle of whisky in one hand and raised his head when he thought he heard the doorbell ring. Slightly dazed, he convinced himself he had imagined it and took another deep swig from the bottle. The second time it rang he wasn't able to dismiss it, and with a groan he rose to his feet and stumbled to the door, nearly tripping over the carpet. Peering briefly through the eyepiece in the door, he could see that his visitor was Waverly, looking rather impatient at being kept waiting for so long.

"Ah, Napoleon, there you are." Waverly greeted him when he opened the door, Napoleon could see his gaze drift from his face down to the bottle he held. "Is this a bad time?" He asked delicately.

"No, come in." He stepped aside and made a half-hearted gesture of welcome. The other man walked in and surveyed the flat with a quick eye.

"I see you've been busy." Waverly said, commenting on the packed up boxes that were scattered across the floor. "I suppose you must be nearly ready to return to the CIA."

"I want to get back to work." Napoleon admitted.

"Keeping busy is a good way to get past grief." Waverly agreed. "MI6 have asked me to head up a new division to keep me occupied, obviously I cannot disclose which." Napoleon nodded acceptingly, secretly pleased that his ex-boss would not be punished for the failure of UNCLE. Waverly was likely one of the most effective team managers he had ever come across in his entire career and it would have been a shame for him to be cast aside for a disaster he had not been responsible for. "Aside from general pleasantries, there is something else I need to discuss with you." The other man said, sounding slightly regretful about the message he was to deliver.

"What is that?" Napoleon asked.

"It is about the KGB." Waverly revealed, shifting uncomfortably. "They have asked myself and the CIA if you would be willing to make a trip to Russia. Illya's father has apparently not been told then news, and they thought it would be better if he was told by a co-worker that was there rather than a spy agency." There was silence as the request sunk into Napoleon, the alcohol he had ingested meant it took him longer than normal to realise the full implications.

"And you believed that?" He spluttered incredulously.

"Of course not." Waverly answered. "If it is any consolation, neither myself nor the CIA think it is a plot to get you on Russian soil for an interrogation, we think it more likely that they wish to punish Mr Kuryakin further by relaying more details about his son's death. I am certain they have already delivered the news, and simply want to, as it were, twist the knife deeper." Napoleon swore in disgust, his head shaking in revulsion at the whole idea of it.

"I hope the request was declined." He said simply, and was surprised to see Waverly shake his head.

"We think it best if you do go." Before Napoleon could protest, Waverly was hasty to justify his position on the matter. "Such a gesture of friendship from the CIA can only make relations better between the countries. And while I do believe that the whole event has been orchestrated to make Mr Kuryakin suffer more, I believe if you were to speak to him it would actually have more of a beneficial effect. The KGB requested a co-worker, and I suspect they did not realise Agent Kuryakin would cultivate any friendships while on loan to UNCLE, especially any friendship with an American."

There was another pause as Waverly fought to regain eye contact with Napoleon. "I am not a father, but I have delivered bad news to fathers before and such tidings are always better received from a friend of the deceased rather than a cold and clinical piece of information delivered by an anonymous person in a suit." After some thought, Napoleon was forced to agree with him. When he had been a soldier he had sometimes had to deliver bad news, sometimes to the families of men he had served with and sometimes not. The former had always seemed more grateful for the personal touch he could give to the news. A final comfort that their relative had been respected and cared for before their life was abruptly cut short.

"You think I should go then?" Napoleon asked, already realising it would only result in a confirmation.

"Yes. But if you do not wish to, I will plead your case to the CIA." Napoleon shook his head.

"No. I will go to Russia." He owed it to Illya to make this final gesture.

Before Napoleon could go to Russia to fulfil the request made by the KGB, he was required to attend a meeting with his CIA handler to discuss the situation. The meeting went pretty much as he expected it to go: his handler demanded that he keep an eye out for any potential intelligence he could bring back, and made all the usual predictable threats should Napoleon let slip anything the KGB could use against them.

With that meeting out of the way, the arrangements were made between the two agencies in order to allow Napoleon to enter the country. As expected it involved a lot of bureaucracy and posturing by the two agencies but eventually the arrangements were made. He was escorted by Americans until the Berlin wall, at which point his companions were changed and he found himself once again practicing his Russian as they travelled through the Soviet Union, even though there was very little conversation to be had. The soldiers he travelled with had clearly been told not to tell him anything, so many of his questions about the locations they passed through went unanswered. Regardless he kept his mind agile and his thoughts focussed, wary that everything he said would likely be documented and reported back.

Napoleon played dumb where possible, keeping a close eye on the towns they passed as he tried to guess the destination. He knew that Illya's father was still in a gulag, his continuous survival no doubt due to some effort being made to ensure he did not die inconveniently. Someone high up was probably pulling the strings, perhaps Illya's former handler. From what he had heard about the man, he wouldn't put it past him. He had often wondered whether there was some sort of personal grievance Illya's handler had against the senior Kuryakin, it was the only explanation he could think of why Illya's handler treated him with so little respect when time and time again the KGB agent had proven himself to be an extremely successful agent.

After about a week of travelling, they finally arrived at some large and nondescript building. It was not quite what Napoleon had been expecting so he took it to mean that he was either having a meeting with the KGB ahead of his conversation with Illya's father or the KGB had decided to have the conversation away from the gulag. The latter particularly made sense when Napoleon considered his own nationality, they would want to avoid giving him any propaganda material he could give the CIA. The soldiers left him at the entrance, their leader informing them that he would be met inside the building by his next guide. Despite the dark thoughts that had plagued his days, Napoleon couldn't help but feel a small amount of amusement at the whole ordeal. He felt like a child being squabbled over by two parents, neither trusting each other or him to make his way from one to the other without constant supervision. As the soldier had told him, there was a grim faced man in a more serious looking uniform waiting for him.

"Mr Solo, I presume." The man asked in crisp English.

"Yes, and you are…?" His question went unanswered as the unknown man promptly frisked him, seemingly satisfied enough by the confirmation of his identity. The military man came across something in Napoleon's pocket and removed it with a frown.

"A photo album." Napoleon said cheerily as the man suspiciously flicked through the pages. The album was promptly shoved back into his arms once the man was confident it was not a weapon.

"Follow me." The man ordered as Napoleon stashed the book back into his jacket.

Realising that he was not going to find out who the man was, Napoleon decided to comply with the order, not wanting to give the Russians any excuse to shoot him for noncompliance. He was led to a room deep in the building, and when the door was opened and he saw Illya's handler, Oleg, behind the desk. Napoleon was gratified to see that at least one of his theories was proven right. The new soldier disappeared, leaving the two men alone in the room. Without prompt, Napoleon took the seat in front of the desk and allowed the suspicious spy to scrutinise him carefully.

"Do you understand why you are here, Mr Solo?" Oleg did not bother with English, clearly having enough intelligence on Napoleon to know that he would understand Russian.

"You wish me to speak to Agent Kuryakin's father about his son's death." Napoleon summarised, careful to keep any emotion out of his voice. He knew that if he sounded like he had any personal investment in his task, it was possible they would stop it going ahead, and he thought that Illya's father deserved to hear about his death from someone who actually cared.

"That is correct." Oleg said. "You will be given some privacy for your discussion, and you will not stray from the topic."

Napoleon was only surprised for a moment by Oleg's declaration, he had expected the conversation to be carefully supervised but thinking it over some he realised the KGB had little interest in what went on between the two men. Illya's father would have no relevant intelligence to pass on to him, having spent so long stuck in a gulag, and even had he such information he likely would be in no mood to pass it on. Similarly, there was nothing of use that Napoleon could pass to the other man. With Illya dead, the KGB had lost any interest in information on the man. If he wanted he could disclose to Illya's father about his son's relationship with Gaby, and since both had passed on there was little the KGB could do with such information.

"I understand." Napoleon replied politely. "Is there anything else, or will I be taken to Mr Kuryakin now?" Oleg's eyes narrowed in annoyance, clearly unused to even the mildest of backchat. Napoleon had to bite his lip to stop himself from further antagonising him as his contrary nature was prone to. He wondered how Illya with his own very fragile temper had managed to cope with the man.

"We have decided to release Mr Kuryakin from his prison, we would like you to pass on the message. A soldier outside this room will escort you to him." Oleg told him, still as professional as ever. Napoleon was shocked by the offhand remark about Mr Kuryakin's release but in a way it made sense, what harm could he do now? Oleg waved his hand in a short dismissive gesture, and after attempting a respectful nod Napoleon left the room to meet yet another escort. It was the same military man who had taken him to Oleg, and now he led him somewhere else completely without saying a word.

Author's Note: No historical accuracy this chapter, mostly because I justified everything that happened in this chapter as 'well Russia and America gave up two of their agents in this fictional universe, so why wouldn't they allow this to happen in the same fictional world'.