by LRH Balzer
He scrawled his name, showed the credit card, and then looked over Kuryakin's shoulder at the skiing information while the host gave instructions and room numbers to the bellboys. From his peripheral vision, he could see the receptionist making a phone call, glancing in their direction as he talked.
"We've been announced," Solo whispered, pointing to something on the flyer Kuryakin was holding. "The receptionist has alerted someone to our arrival."
"Good." Kuryakin handed him the flyer, pretending to be interested in the brochure for a restaurant in the village. "Now what do you wish me to do?" he asked softly.
"You're doing great so far. Just keep it up. Look bored or unimpressed with this."
"That is not difficult." He returned the flyer to the rack.
"This is a five-star hotel. You can't get more luxurious."
"Skiing is outside, not inside."
"The facilities here are top of the line. The ski lift and—"
"Are quite luxurious and opulent, yes? Is not necessary. A waste of money." Kuryakin turned and followed the bellboy, leaving Solo no optical but to follow along after him while not appearing to run,
"Napoleon?" She was waiting for them when they exited the elevator. Right on schedule.
"Angelique. I didn't expect to find you here," he exclaimed, kissing her cheek. "I'm surprised—a good surprise, mind you."
"You are looking well, Napoleon. And who is this pretty one?" she purred, running one manicured finger along Kuryakin's tight jawline. His expression never shifted from its bored, indifferent stare.
"My new partner. Illya, meet Angelique. Angelique, Illya."
Kuryakin nodded, lips not quite touching the back of her hand as he raised it toward his face as though to kiss it. He held it near his mouth, just for a moment, the very gesture teasing and sensual, then released her hand.
She looked him up and down, not hiding her interest. "He's charming, darling. Where have you been hiding him?"
Solo smiled. "Trade secret. But we're here on holiday for the weekend, catching some skiing. I told him about the slopes here, and he didn't believe that we have such good resorts on the East Coast of America."
"Where do you usually ski then?"
"Rarely where it is popular to do so," Kuryakin said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear, with a dangerous undertone that Solo could see attracted her.
"We'll have to get together for dinner tomorrow night," she offered, not taking her eyes from him. "The three of us, of course," she added, smiling. "I'm sure that would be most convenient for you."
"We look forward to it." Solo began to move toward his room.
Kuryakin paused, his head down, then coyly tilted his eyes upward to look at her. Solo watched, amused, as Angelique obviously found the Russian captivating. It was also interesting to note that Kuryakin, despite his distaste for the assignment, was well-versed in the art of seduction. Kuryakin took her hand again, this time pressing his lips lightly against the back of her fingers, unabashedly flirting with her, his accent thickening, adding to his charm. "I wish it were otherwise, but I am tired after journey here, Madame, or I would ask you for drink. It is my loss. But perhaps Mr. Solo is available in my place—a poor substitute, I realize, but nevertheless convenient. Napoleon, do you wish to have drinks with such beautiful young woman tonight?" Kuryakin asked, straightening to look at him, sky blue eyes making the offer, and making it clear he knew what the offer meant.
Solo saw the look of surprise on Angelique's face and knew Kuryakin had played the scene well. "Are you free now?" he asked her, adding his own patented smile to his invitation.
"Are you free to come alone, Napoleon?" Angelique responded, frowning slightly. "Tonight?"
"I'm off the clock," Solo replied, purposefully misunderstanding her question. "Give me fifteen minutes to freshen up and unpack, and I'll meet you in the lounge."
"I’ll be there." She paused a moment, as though waiting for him to change his mind, then she spun on her high heels and headed back to the elevator, shapely hips swinging as she walked. She turned back once and looked over her shoulder at them, amused at their lingering stares.
Once inside their suite, Solo glanced around the accommodations appreciatively, then flipped his suitcase onto the bed and unlocked it. "Are you sure about this?" He removed a few high tech gadgets to check for bugs, handing one set to Kuryakin.
"Quite." Kuryakin took the bathroom, while he checked the bedroom. When both men were satisfied that they were clear of listening devices, Kuryakin continued, "It will alert Thrush immediately that we are freed of their chemical tampering, and you will be free to get information you need from that..." Kuryakin paused for a moment as he hung up his jacket, "that woman," he finished.
"You don't like her?"
Kuryakin shrugged. "What is to like? She is Thrush, no? I have no desire to have dinner with her. You may do so on your own." He froze suddenly, as though realizing what his words were saying. "I stand corrected. You are my superior. I was presumptuous to assume—"
"Don't worry about it," Solo said, waving the apology off. "I'd rather you speak your mind."
Kuryakin looked dubious, moving over to his suitcase and opening it.
"I didn't think we'd be trying the drug this soon."
"It will be good short test."
Solo nodded. "When you're ready, then, I'll administer the shot. You might as well be comfortable."
Kuryakin slipped off his shoes and laid stretched out on one of the beds in the room they'd be using. "I'm ready."
"That's it?" Solo smiled when Kuryakin stared back at him. "Just thought you might want to get ready for bed or something."
Kuryakin blinked twice, then shook his head slightly.
Solo carefully gave him the prepared shot and replaced the medical equipment in his suitcase while waiting for the dose to take effect. Kuryakin said nothing, just lay silently staring at the ceiling. "Everything okay?"
The question seemed to take a moment to register, then Kuryakin nodded slowly.
By the time Solo was ready to go, dressed casually in a cable knit sweater and chinos, Kuryakin was unconscious, his breathing slow and shallow. Solo rolled the slim young man onto his side in a 'recovery' position, affixed a monitor to the Russian's upper chest, and covered him with a blanket. A second monitor was affixed to the inside of the door to the suite and activated. With a tap to the corresponding device hooked inside his waistband and resting against bare skin, he could feel the other man's steady, although slow, pulse. Kuryakin would be unconscious for two hours with that dose, and with any luck would drift immediately to sleep rather than wake up and feel the lingering effects of the medication, making him drowsy and disoriented. The monitor also doubled as an intruder alert; it would signal if Kuryakin's body moved at all, or if the door to the suite was opened.
Napoleon took one more look at the agent, then turned off the light and stepped out into the hallway and secured the door behind him. He needed to be back in under two hours, or Illya's sleep—and his own—would be painfully interrupted.
With a resigned sigh, he headed toward the elevator, out of range of the man he'd been next to for the last two weeks.
*****
"I must admit, Napoleon, I'm surprised to see you here alone."
"Why is that?" he asked, nodding to the waiter as the man poured their wine.
"Oh, rumors," Angelique said, brushing them off as nothing.
"Rumors? About me?"
"About you. And him." She laughed. "I've heard you've become inseparable from him."
"It depends how you define inseparable. He's my partner, not my lover," Solo responded, sipping the wine and looking steadily at her. "You may dismiss the innuendo and rumors as untrue."
"So how did you get rid of him tonight? Did you kill him off?"
Solo laughed. "You just saw him, didn't you? It was his idea, not mine, that I meet with you."
"Despite his obvious charm, I got the impression that he didn'
t like me."
"But I do. I've... mentioned you before."
"So where is he?"
"By now, he's probably reading a book or sleeping. Not one for the nightlife." He leaned forward, as though passing on a state secret. "You know, he's never even been to a night club in New York."
"Pity. I bet he's a splendid dancer," she murmured, staring into the candle flame.
"I've no idea." Solo offered her a cigarette, then lit it for her.
"How long have you been partners?" she asked. "I thought you worked strictly alone."
"Two weeks."
"So this is new?"
"Yes. Surprised me as much as everyone else.” Napoleon sipped his drink, nodding his appreciation of her choice. "Actually I owe Thrush a favor."
She laughed and crossed her legs. "For what? I may wish to collect."
"I might take you up on that." The U.N.C.L.E. agent gently swirled the expensive wine in his goblet, watching the candlelight reflect off the rich burgundy. He peered up at her without raising his head, as though debating whether or not to say anything. "Two weeks ago, a botched Thrush experiment had Kuryakin and I more-or-less joined at the hip. It was awkward at first, but after it wore off, I discovered how well we worked together, and it looks like it will be a permanent assignment. Please be sure to pass on my appreciation to your bosses." He toasted her, then drank while she stared at him, not concealing her surprise.
"If you are so great together, why are you both here, not off being good little agents?" Angelique asked, finally.
"I found out he likes to ski. Since we've been working without a break for a few weeks, Mr. Waverly thought it might be good for us to get to know each other better before we leave on a longer assignment. I'd prefer to go somewhere with a bit more night life, but we settled on skiing here."
"Did you know I'd be here?"
"I knew you'd been here before."
The conversation continued for another hour, neither side really saying anything, just the usual suggestive language and droll exchanges. He always enjoyed his time with Angelique. Both sides were loyal to their respective teams, but there was a 'time out' called whenever they were together, providing it was clear to both that they were off duty.
He glanced at his watch, never more aware of the passing of time, and saw he had half an hour left. With a yawn and an apology, he left her sitting in the lounge, the entertainer at the piano playing something mellow and appropriate for the late hour.
Once in the lobby, he waited around the corner for scarcely a minute before the bug he had planted at her table activated. She asked for a telephone, and one was brought to her table, and the waiter no doubt standing a discreet distance behind her, guarding the long phone cord. Angelique gave a verbal report to her boss, someone to whom she addressed by the first name of Gregory, assuring him that Solo and Kuryakin were on vacation, and passing on the information that the magnetic drug had worn off sooner than anticipated.
Napoleon smiled, shutting his connection as she terminated the call. Worn off. Excellent. That meant that even if they couldn't find a way of stopping the problem, it would resolve itself in time. Magnetic drug, she had called it. With a much lighter heart than he'd had in some time, Napoleon headed up to the suite.
The room was quiet when Solo entered. He set the alarm and secured the suite for the rest of the night. Only then did he sit on the edge of the bed and check his partner, faintly curious at his continued use of the word, both in speech and thought. A few days previous, Mr. Waverly had read Solo's report on Kuryakin's behavior and performance, then had thoughtfully suggested that Solo consider keeping the young man as his partner when this situation had remedied itself.
Even while he rejected the idea outright at the time, Solo could see the advantages. Kuryakin was brilliant, his work in the labs respected and innovative. His expertise with all weapons was phenomenal, and although he'd been injured, what little Napoleon had seen of his ability to defend himself showed a practiced knowledge of martial arts and a high level of self-defense. He just had a strange edge to him that was offsetting the advantages. An alienness. Less to do with being European, or communist, and more to do, he suspected, with whatever background or training he had endured.
Yet maybe it was his very differentness that was the draw. As dangerous as he knew Kuryakin must be, there was an 'innocent' within him, equally trapped. Solo was no psychiatrist, but he had studied psychology in college and he knew there were words that described Kuryakin's emotional state. The haunted dull blue eyes both irritated him and intrigued him. Solo was reasonably sure that Kuryakin wasn't Jewish, yet there hung about him the air of one who had been in the concentration camps, someone who'd seen too much death.
There was a strange 'sadness' that permeated Kuryakin, but even that wasn't the right word. Sadness, or maybe resignation at what life had dealt him. Or, was it despair?
Napoleon left his own monitor in place as he washed up and prepared for bed. He was in his pajamas and turning back the covers to his bed when he felt the heart rate change as the powerful sedative began to release Kuryakin. Within a few minutes, Illya's eyes opened. The Russian blinked rapidly as awareness returned, even his unfocused stare showing his level of alertness. He pushed himself over to his back, his striving to fight the drug apparent in the trembling of his muscles as he fought to control them. But it was the reflection of horror in his eyes that Napoleon found unnerving, as though the current situation Illya found himself in was bringing back a memory, or worse, memories, ones the Russian could hardly keep under control, let alone acknowledge.
He responded instinctively. "Illya?" Solo said softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "It's Napoleon. I’m here. Everything's okay. I'm back. Just relax. Go to sleep." His words finally reached the younger man, and he felt Illya grasp hold of his sleeve.
"Vhat?" Kuryakin whispered, desperately trying to focus on Solo in the dim light
"Everything's fine. Everything went well. Go to sleep," Napoleon repeated, his hand resting on the other's arm. For almost a minute, he held Kuryakin's intense stare, aware that he was being assessed, then Illya let go of his arm and relaxed back into the mattress.
"Da," the Russian nodded, his eyes closing again.
*****
Somehow, it all fell apart the next morning. In the sunshine and glass alcove of the hotel's restaurant, they sat at the breakfast table, a crystal vase of yellow carnations set on the pale patterned linen table cloth, fine china cups steaming with freshly poured coffee, coordinating linen napkins fanning out to hold polished silver cutlery. The waiter arrived with their food, setting the large tray on a serving table, then placing the individual plates and other orders before them before disappearing into the service area again.
"I do not agree."
Solo sighed and looked up from his notes, frowning at the unsolicited comment. "Pardon me?"
Thin-lipped, Kuryakin sat across the table from him, hands pressed flat against the table, his bacon and eggs breakfast plate as yet untouched. There was something unsettling in the Russian's near invisibility in this environment. Instead of appearing at odds with the wealth of the hotel, Kuryakin still appeared more indifferent to it, able to blend effortlessly into the luxury of their surroundings without being touched by it.
Even the sunlight seemed to amplify the fair skin and blond hair, accenting his features while making him melt into obscurity in the room, his very uniqueness lost in the yellows and pale colors of the decor. Except with the women present. They noticed him. Kuryakin. Small glances became eyes riveted to the blond man with the cornflower blue eyes. They missed nothing, roaming over his clothing, the pale yellow wool sweater over a white shirt, and equally white jeans, his whispy non-styled hair. His air of aristocracy. Solo could hear the questions in their minds. Who was this? A prince? A count? Someone foreign—that was easy to see. This man was different.
And while the women ogled him privately, discreetly, the men ignored him, all but one or two,
who watched him from the corners of their eyes, equally captivated.
It was disconcerting, to say the least, and more than a little distracting when he was trying to read. And now this. Kuryakin speaking up—finally—but with a tight-voiced complaint.
The Russian had said little thus far in the morning, listening deferentially as Solo outlined the direction the assignment would go. Appearing to listen deferentially. "I do not agree with your plan," Kuryakin said now, his accent heavy, his words measured and slow. "You should not go alone. Is not good."
"It's less complicated this way," Solo responded, curtly, looking back at the local office's last report. He wanted to read the entire paper before he left on the assignment, to catch up an what the Vermont U.N.C.L.E. office had come up with so far. He turned a page in the document, then endured a full minute of the scientist's cold stare, and glanced up at him again. "Is there some problem here? I've set everything up. You're awake, you're feeling okay—You said the drug worked fine, right?" he asked. If the enforcement agent's words were less than civil, he admitted to having a lot on his mind, the least of which was whether this newbie agreed with him or not.
"Yes, the drug worked," Kuryakin echoed, waving off the remark and the question.
"Then what's the problem?" He let the irritation come through his tone, then turned his attention to his own breakfast plate, moving it closer, digging into his Denver omelette as he skimmed through the twenty-five page report. He could hear the nearly soundless huff of frustration as Kuryakin exhaled sharply through his nose. Solo glanced up, fork halfway to his mouth, then froze at his companion's dark expression. "What's your problem?" he repeated.
Kuryakin remained focused on the table's surface, his hands pressed flat as though they wanted to form fists and he wouldn't let them. His voice was low and tightly controlled. He wouldn't look up. "You should not go alone. There is no backup for you."
"I'm just going as far as the lower lodge. It's easy enough for me to say I'm looking for Angelique, to see her about dinner tonight. She as much as told me she was working there."