Illya hurried to answer Mr. Waverly's summons to his office. He had been working in the labs for the past week while his partner had been sent to Yemen to broker a truce between warring tribes, one of whom was being heavily influenced by THRUSH to believe that their fellow countrymen were planning their annihilation.

As was their habit when working separately, Napoleon would unofficially "check-in" with him whenever possible. He hadn't heard from the CEA in two days and had a feeling that whatever the Old Man wanted him for, it had something to do with his partner.

Miss Rogers waved him on through to enter Waverly's office. Once he was inside, he came to stand next to his usual seat until he was acknowledged. "Do sit down, Mr. Kuryakin," the Old Man said as he spun his chair around to face him. "I have received rather distressing news: It appears that yesterday, Mr. Solo was kidnapped from Yemen by a THRUSH midlevel operative by the name of Jeremiah Fisk." He stuck his unlit pipe into his mouth, a sure sign that he was disturbed by what he knew.

"Has Napo, Mr. Solo been delivered to the Central Committee?" Illya knew that it was a possibility that Napoleon could be rescued from wherever the Central Committee had stashed him, but it would take a very large Strike Team to combat the increased security THRUSH would surely have put in place. He expressed his greatest fear. "Is UNCLE not going to attempt a rescue?"

Mr. Waverly harrumphed and sucked on his pipe loudly. "As I have said, Mr. Kuryakin, all agents are expendable, but some less so than others. If the Central Committee had him, we would go after him. However, as near as our Intel can tell, he is still in the hands of Fisk and the Committee has no idea Solo is a prisoner."

Ilya's brow furrowed. "I do not understand. Why would this Fisk person not tell the Central Committee he has a prized target captured?"

"I'm afraid I know why," Waverly answered. "Jeremiah Fisk is sexually perverse. He enjoys forcing himself on women and men. He's particularly proud of one of his nicknames: Jeremiah Fist. He makes a habit, as it were, to keep captives he finds attractive for his idea of fun and games before handing them over to his superiors. They are aware of his proclivities, but ignore them for the most part. That is why I want you to attempt Mr. Solo's rescue. We don't want to chance having the Central Committee find out Mr. Solo is there and ordering Fisk to hand him over before he can be retrieved. A Strike Team going after Fisk would definitely alert them. There's a satrap in Fisk's city that would probably respond quickly if a large group attacked his home. I don't want a fire fight to break out; Fisk lives in an urban area. It would be disastrous. You going in by yourself, I believe, is the best approach."

Illya felt nauseous thinking about what his partner might be going through at that moment. "I will retrieve him. What do you want done about Fisk?"

"Once you and Mr. Solo are safe, we will let chatter go out that Fisk had him, didn't turn him over and he got away. The Central Committee will deal with him in ways we would not." He spun his conference table top until the folder on it was in front of the Russian. "All the information we have about Jeremiah Fisk is in there. Since I'm assuming Mr. Solo will be injured, I'm sending you on the UNCLE jet. Good luck, Mr. Kuryakin."

Ten hours later, Illya was sneaking into Fisk's residence. It was after ten PM local time and though he did indeed live in an urban area, this part of town was what could be considered a bedroom community; the streets were quiet and he could see that most houses were dark and cars were parked in driveways indicating people were home and most likely, in bed.

He had watched as people he assumed were staff of some kind left Fisk's home until only a light upstairs was on in what he assumed was a bedroom. He waited another hour to see if anyone would leave or arrive. When no one did, he broke into the house through a basement window and made his way stealthily upstairs, gun drawn and ready. He could hear sounds coming from the room and had to force himself not to run towards it knowing the element of surprise was key.

As he crept closer to the second floor, the sounds separated into moans and words. A man's voice, Fisk's he assumed, was whisper-shouting, "You love it! You love it! Yeah, oh yeah!"

Illya was horrified to realize the incoherent moans were coming from Napoleon and he sounded both in pain and…aroused. When he was close enough to judge approximately where Fisk was located in the room, he leapt in, gun pointed at the man and snarled, "Get off him. Now!"

Napoleon was splayed on his stomach; wrists and ankles tied with ropes attached to the four-poster bed. His pants were off and his underwear pulled down far enough to expose his buttocks. His back was arched by Fisk who was nude and had positioned himself over Napoleon's thighs and was holding his head by his hair. Tears were streaming down his face and now that Fisk had stopped thrusting, let him go and had moved off him and the bed, he was trying to catch his breath as he flopped face down again.

Holding Fisk at gunpoint, Illya moved closer to the bed and with one hand, undid the knot that was holding his partner's right wrist. When it was freed, he rubbed it briskly to get feeling into it. "Can you hold my gun, Napoleon?" When the man nodded, he handed Napoleon the gun and told Fisk, "Put your hands behind your back and turn around." When he did, Illya stepped behind him and turned him enough so that Napoleon would have a clear shot if need be.

Quickly, he tied Fisk's wrists together using the rope that held Napoleon. He pulled the man closer to the bed so that he could untie his partner's right leg. He then pushed his prisoner into a chair and tied his ankles together tightly with that rope.

Satisfied that Fisk was reasonably immobile, he turned his attention to Napoleon who had let Illya's gun drop to the mattress when he saw that Fisk was secured. The Russian untied him and checked for injuries. He wiped his partner's tears away.

"How much pain are you in, Napoleon?" Illya asked gently as he rubbed his partner's extremities to create friction to restore warmth and circulation. "I have some numbing cream I can apply that has some antibiotics in it."

Fisk started to giggle and said, "Numbing cream?! That's the last thing he wants! He was loving every minute of me inside him! You had to have heard him! Moaning because I was probably the best sex he's ever had! He didn't want me to stop! Why the hell would he want you to numb that feeling?"

"Shut up!" Illya snapped. "I do not want to hear another word from you!"

"Oh, please! Notice he hasn't answered you. I don't even care that you're here to get him!"

"You will care when your bosses discover you had him and lost him. I am not taking you into custody for that reason. They will kill you for your stupidity!"

"They won't when I tell them how I broke the Chief Enforcement Agent of UNCLE North America! In fact, I think it might be the way to break all of you! You're all trained to withstand torture, you'd all rather die than break under torture. But pleasure? Pleasure knocks down all your walls!"

"You are insane! Do you think THRUSH or anyone else can obtain classified information from agents through pleasing them sexually?!"

"It's not my sanity that's at issue. Let me explain: I'm sure you've read some kind of dossier about me that contains information about my quote unquote sexual perversions. That I'm a rapist who only cares about dominating men and women."

Illya rolled his eyes in contempt. "Oh, I see. Despite what I read and saw with my own eyes, you are not a rapist."

"Oh, I am. Of women. But I have no interest in controlling men, only breaking them. Just like in war, sometimes it is better to wound your enemy than to kill him. Dead enemies free up their fellow soldiers to continue the fight. Wounded enemies have to be tended to which takes some of their fellow soldiers away from the battle and forces your enemy to use up valuable resources to make them well and if they don't live, time and resources were wasted."

"Your partner there, for instance. When he saw what I planned to do, he steeled himself to protect his mind from what was about to happen because agents expect to be hurt when sex is used as a weapon and at first, there was pain. When men have sex with other men, temporary pain is not uncommon and is expected. If I had continued the pain, he would have handled it. He became undone when I began to make it good for him; he became frustrated because I was giving him pleasure. That's why he was crying. His mind, his very spirit is damaged because I, his enemy, made him feel so good that he had an orgasm and he may never recover. Look at him! He's too ashamed to even speak to you!"

Illya glanced at Napoleon then even though he didn't want to because he knew there was truth in Fisk's words. Napoleon hadn't said a word since he arrived. He wasn't even looking at Illya. While Fisk was talking, he had wordlessly pulled up his underwear and picked up his slacks from the floor and dressed.

Fisk laughed louder. "I will tell the Central Committee and all the satrap leaders that the way to mentally break UNCLE agents in general and Napoleon Solo in particular is to rape them and make it so good for them that their minds snap. UNCLE will lose so many agents to mental collapse it will be unable to function!"

Illya reached into his pants pocket, removed his silencer and began screwing it onto his gun's muzzle.

Fisk watched him with widening eyes. "What, what are you doing?"

"I have changed my mind." Illya stood, strode to Fisk's side, covered his mouth with his left hand and pushed his gun against the man's head. Six seconds and three bullets later, Fisk was not telling anyone anything.

"Illya, why did you do that?"

"I was beginning to think you had lost the ability to speak," Illya replied. "Can you walk?"

Napoleon took a couple of tentative steps and nodded.

"Then come. It is past time to go."