by LRH Balzer
Funny question. Did he have a towel? "I think so. Why was he there, Napoleon?" Strange he was on the stage. The dancers were told to change quickly and be ready to get on the bus taking them to the reception. Misha had been there. He had a strange look on his face. Illya remembered the expression as they had passed each other. Misha had turned away.
"Mr. Kuryakin? Illya? Why would Misha shoot you?" Waverly asked.
Kuryakin frowned. Why would Misha shoot me? Strange questions. He struggled to keep his face neutral, the puzzlement off his features. He glanced over to Solo, but he was sitting with his hand over his face, slowly shaking his head.
The door opened and Norm Graham was ushered in, apologizing for being late. Kuryakin turned to him, about to say something, but Solo beat him.
"Norm. Remember Yuri's friend Misha? He was on the stage, with a towel over his arm."
Graham sat down, glancing from Solo to Waverly. "Hiding the gun... It makes sense."
Misha shot me? Misha?
"Was he GRU?" Solo asked Graham.
"Quite possibly. Probably doing much the same job as Illya had done, working as a mamka and pressured into the rest. Same results, too. He was found dead in his hotel suite in Los Angeles this morning--suicide."
Waverly nodded. "That is not surprising."
Kuryakin listened carefully to them talking, trying to follow what they were saying.
"Is there some way of checking if he was connected with Raskachevskiy?" Solo asked.
"We do know Raskachevskiy was probably his supervisor. Raskachevskiy came over with Kosygin after it was announced Illya would be performing. I'm sure Misha--Mikhail R. Vasinin is his name--was supposed to have killed Illya shortly after the Bolshoi arrived in the United States and Raskachevskiy was just there to make sure it was done. Misha waited until the last possible moment. It must have been difficult for him to do, to kill his friend Yuri's old buddy."
"What has been done with Raskachevskiy's body?" Peter Baker asked.
"We delivered it to the Soviet embassy this morning, along with the particulars of when and where it was found. There's been no response from them."
Kuryakin rubbed his damp palms on his suit pants, then looked over to Solo. Raskachevskiy was there?
***
Two weeks later, they were taking a brief vacation in Rome. Waverly had allowed them an unprecedented few days off after solving a rather delicate international incident involving King Fazik and his plans to launch a coup and regain control of his homeland.[4]
Solo awoke abruptly in the middle of the night; someone was pounding on his hotel room door. He got out of bed quickly, glancing at the clock and picking up his gun, his thumb ready to hit the safety.
Cautiously, he opened the door a crack, then wider. "Illya?"
Barefoot, Kuryakin was standing in the hallway in his pajamas, his eyes wide, looking like he had just woken from a nightmare.
Solo drew his partner into the room and shut the door. "What happened? Can you breathe okay?"
There was always the possibility the still-fragile lung could collapse, especially after the physical strain of the last few days. Kuryakin was officially on the 'off duty' list, but had been with Solo in the car when they spotted the underworld gangster Angel Galley and somehow he had been caught up in the case.
Illya didn't seem to hear him. "I had a dream, Napoleon." He stared at the floor, wavering and breathing heavily.
"Sit down before you fall down. A dream? About what?"
"Raskachevskiy." Kuryakin sat in the armchair, clutching the sides.
Raskachevskiy--Not now, Illya... "It was just a bad dream," Solo said quickly.
Kuryakin shook his head slowly. "I don't think so."
There had been some discussion between Dr. Lawrence, Waverly, Graham, and himself on what to do if Kuryakin suddenly remembered Raskachevskiy. It was assumed that he had been the one responsible for killing him, but there was no proof and Sam Lawrence was adamant about not grilling Kuryakin further. It had been decided that if the memory resurfaced, Waverly would handle the issue.
Waverly was a long way away.
"Raskachevskiy was there, Napoleon. I remember seeing him now, in the hallway--"
Solo interrupted him. "Let me tell you about Raskachevskiy. The Soviet embassy had an autopsy done on the body and sent us a copy of his death certificate. Cause of death: heart failure. The case has been closed." It had been curious, the embassy forwarding the certificate. The U.S. Government had been expecting an uproar over the incident, but the Soviets had swept it under the carpet, as though they were anxious to forget about the man. "Why don't you take one of the pills Doe Lawrence gave you and go back to sleep?"
Kuryakin glared at him. "Don't patronize me, Napoleon."
"I'm not. Raskachevskiy is dead. Forget about him. Your memories of that day are scrambled. You were shot in the head."
"But--"
"No. Go back to bed, Illya. Tomorrow we'll visit the Colosseum and act like normal tourists ."
Kuryakin pushed up from the chair slowly, his eyes locked with Solo's. "Perhaps, as you say, it is simply a dream." You won't tell me?
Solo smiled. "There's a wonderful little restaurant near the Colosseum; if we get an early start, we can have lunch there." Don't fight me on this. Solo stared him down, nodding as his partner reluctantly left the room.
***
Thursday, January 14
The plane would be landing in New York soon. Solo stretched and peered out the window as the lights of the city came into view in the distance. Beside him, Kuryakin was still asleep, blessed with the ability to drop into sleep instantly whenever he had the opportunity.
The trip back from Terbuf,[5] via Rome, had been long and had taxed them both. Seeing Clara again had been difficult, stirring up memories Solo thought he had dealt with. Leaving her with her husband, Stefan Valdar, had been equally hard, but--she was happy now, with someone who was able to be there for her on a regular basis. His job had come between them too often.
Kuryakin had surprised him in Terbuf. For the first time, they had functioned as equals and the results were impressive, Solo thought. Kuryakin seemed more confident now, offering an opinion here and there, even questioning Solo's instructions at one point when the circumstances allowed them time. The hours Kuryakin had spent on the fishing boat crossing the sea toward Terbuf and back again to Italy had been enjoyable for him, strengthening and toning the muscles that had been injured.
And somewhere in his past, Kuryakin must have had his own Clara Valdar, for he had understood intuitively what had happened between Solo and Clara so long before. His tentatively-offered advice had been appreciated, forthrightly given to a trusted friend.
Solo's transceiver twittered.
"Solo here."
Waverly's voice. "Mr. Solo, is Mr. Kuryakin with you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. There will be an U.N.C.L.E. agent at the airport to meet you both. Please report to my office at once. Most urgent--Do not let yourself get sidetracked."
Solo sighed, then flicked the powerful transmitter on. "Yes, sir."
***
Not only was Peter Baker of the CIA there waiting for Solo and Kuryakin, but the state senator, an old friend of Solo's, was there, as well. Napoleon shook his hand, curious at his presence, glancing across at Waverly and Graham for an explanation as the group sat around the conference table.
Peter Baker started the meeting. "Mr. Kuryakin, once again we have been informed that you were in a Communist country unescorted."
Kuryakin nodded, his face carefully neutral as he stared back at them.
Baker looked over to the senator for a moment before continuing with Kuryakin. "We would like you to make a written report of your activities there, along with any other pertinent information." Kuryakin frowned in puzzlement and Baker went on, "Just send it through the regular courier between U.N.C.L.E. HQ and Langley."
"A written report," Kuryakin repeated.
"Yes," the CIA agent said. "That should be adequate. If we have further questions--"
The senator cleared his throat.
"--if we require further information," Baker amended, "we will contact you." Baker rose and placed a manila envelope on the table. "We came across this in the course of our investigation. The senator thought you might be interested in it." He left without a word.
The senator stood up. "I have to be going myself. Napoleon, it was good to see you. Stop by and see me sometime. Alexander, Norman--thank you for your time. And you, Mr. Kuryakin..." He smiled, putting a second envelope on the table. "Keep up the good work."
He shook hands all around and left the room, joined by his security guards in the outer corridor.
Waverly spun the revolving desk top so the two envelopes stopped in front of Kuryakin. "Go ahead."
Kuryakin swallowed and reached for the first envelope. He drew out a small slim book and stared at the worn leather cover. He held it in his left hand, his right tracing the engraved Russian words.
"Open it, Ilyusha," Norm Graham said, sliding into the empty chair beside him.
Kuryakin opened the book, glanced inside at the writing on the first page, and closed it again. "No." He handed it to Graham and sat motionless, staring at the desk top.
Not again, Solo thought, rubbing at his forehead. This is how this whole mess started. Illya refusing to do something.
Graham opened the book and read the inscription on the front cover, looking back at Illya.
"It's a Bible that belonged to your mother.
Overwhelmed, Kuryakin nodded, his head barely moving.
Graham paged through it, pulling a yellowed photograph and document out from between the thin gold-filigreed pages. He glanced at the back of the photograph, squinting at the writing, then placed it in front of Kuryakin. "It's your family. It says: KOLYA, ILYUSHA, MITYA, AND MYSELF. JANUARY 1941."
Illya stared at the photograph without picking it up, his face an empty mask. He recognized his father sitting in the middle, but the beautiful woman standing behind him was a stranger. There were two little blond boys--one around five or six years old standing, leaning against the chair back, and a toddler sitting on his father's lap.
Graham unfolded the document, smiling as he scanned it, and then placed it beside the photograph. "Do you know what this is, Ilyusha?"
Kuryakin read it, then looked over at Graham. "My birth certificate?"
"December 27, 1938. Your father was only five days off."
"This is my birth certificate?" Kuryakin repeated, making sure.
Graham handed him the other envelope, but Illya shook his head. "I can't, Norm… Please?"
"Okay." Graham slid the legal documents out, glanced at them and grinned. "Well,look at this!"
Illya pulled his eyes away from the photograph and read the top line of the document, got up from the table, and walked out.
Graham laughed. "I'm out of here, Alexander. I'll take him home and I'll make sure he's back first thing Monday. We are going to party this weekend! You're welcome to come down, Napoleon. You know where to find us." He gathered all the papers, the book, and the photograph, and left the room.
Bemused, Solo looked across at Waverly. "Well? What was in the second envelope?"
Waverly lit his pipe, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "United States citizenship papers, signed and sealed, dated today, in the name of Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin."
APPENDIX
HISTORICAL NOTES
Just for your information, apart from Kosygin's visit, December 19-21, most of the events mentioned in this story actually took place, including the satellites, the attaches kicked out of the USSR, the NATO conferences, and the bazooka attack on the United Nations Building.
More disturbing, the molehunt at the Central intelligence Agency. In December 1961, a KGB officer by the name of Anatoly Mikhailovich Golitsin, requested asylum of the CIA in Finland. This man gave the information that there was a KGB mole operating at a high level within an American intelligence organization, probably the CIA. Golitsin said the mole was of Slavic background, whose name might have ended in "-sky", he had worked in Germany at one point, his KGB code name was Sasha, and his true last name began with the letter K. This information tore the CIA apart as they searched for the mole, especially in the years 1963-1966. Considering the molehunt, along with the other pressures of the Cold War, the feelings of the American Intelligence/Counterintelligence world, the feelings of the American public in general, it would have been virtually impossible for Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin to have lived and worked in the United States, even for an organization such as U.N.C.L.E.
And, yes, from what I have read, the KGB really did stick their athletic agents into touring ballet companies as male danseurs.
RUSSIAN NAMING
Let me first clarify that this is how naming was in the forties, fifties, and sixties. Times have changed, and some of the traditions have changed with them.
Rather than a long discourse on traditional Russian naming--which is rather complicated—I'll simplify it. First names follow a pattern, although the variations are numerous. Comparing the first name "Illya" to James this is how it would look.
Illya (or Ilya)
James
Ilyusha
Jim (diminutive)
Ilyushechka
Jimmy (affectionate diminutive)
Ilyushka
Jimmy (derogative diminutive)
A Russian name consists of three parts: given name, patronymic name, and family name. A Russian is introduced by all three names. A student calls their teacher by the first two names. A teacher calls the student either by their last name, or if they are known well, by their diminutive name.
If you are uncertain of what to call someone, use their first two names. Friends and close associates almost always use the diminutive name. Many young people do not ever hear their given name in the true form until they leave high school.
A WORD OF THANKS
We wish to thank the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, without whose help this book would not have been possible.
* * *
[1] From The Quadripartite Affair written by Alan Caillou & The Shark Affair written by Alvin Sapinsley.
[2] From The Quadripartite Affair written by Alan Caillou.
[3] From The Shark Affair written by Alvin Sapinsley
[4] From The King of Knaves Affair written by Ellis Marcus.
[5] From The Terbuf Affair written by Alan Caillou
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
APPENDIX