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April 1983
Their second mission (since returning to the U.N.C.L.E.) was quietly successful, having found the Secretary of State and returning him safely. Sir John was very pleased—especially since damages had been kept to a minimum. And the Solo-Kuryakin team had worked together as smoothly coordinated as if they’d never had that fifteen-year hiatus. Unlike their first mission since their return, the old-er agents worked together, returning with their shields and not on them!
So, in spite of its sometimes hackneyed overuse, the world was safe once again.
Disembarking from the U.N.C.L.E. jet, Napoleon grinned, visualizing his partner’s pessimistic rejoinder in his head to that; And for how long this time? He quickly repressed his grin before his partner could see it and—
Whoops, too late.
“What is so amusing?” Illya asked as they got in line for a cab.
“Huh?” Napoleon feigned innocence. “Oh, that… just thinking about the mission. There were some fun parts in it.”
Illya unconsciously dabbed at his burgeoning black eye before remarking dryly, “Oh yes. I remember. The amusement derived from witnessing physical comedy involving pain.”
The senior agent frowned. “Well, not the black eye itself, and, may I say, it is one of your more spectacular efforts, but surely you can see the humor in how you got it.”
The Russian thought for a moment until a tiny grin appeared. “Yes, I suppose it was a bit of slapstick at that. Remember Mrs. Barnman? The wife of the kidnapped librarian?”
Napoleon scrunched up his face for a moment. “Ah, yes… the cute blonde with the dimples and the parakeet…” He grinned. “She kept opening doors, hitting you in the face. The Shark Affair.”
Illya grimaced. ‘Most of that “Affair was rather intense, almost Machiavellian. Then Mr. Waverly’s cute idea of putting us out to sea on a rubber raft was—”
“—inspired?” broke in Napoleon. “It worked though. We got on board and put a stop to the piracy. You know, working together always seemed to increase our success rates. It’s only when we were separated that—” Waving down the cab, they got in and asked for Times Square which would get them fairly close to the Novelty Shop fronting for U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters.
As they walked toward their destination, Napoleon sighed. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to enter an organization that was responsible for putting out fires all over the world in an effort to stop terrorists and general nasties with evil intent, through a Novelty Shop! Collecting their respective badges, he turned to his partner. “After we get our reports done, how about getting some dinner?”
Illya stopped walking and stared at his partner with exaggerated shock. “Napoleon Solo initiating getting our reports done?”
“Ha, ha.” Napoleon shrugged. “Being in charge of my own company has made me aware of just how important reports are when I’m not doing the job personally.” He grinned. “So, what are you in the mood for? Greek, Italian, Chinese…”
“Oh, definitely Italian.”
Am I imagining things, or did Illya just flirt with me? Nah. Wishful thinking Solo! He’s your friend. Period! Clearing his throat, he nodded. “I’ll make the reservations.”
“I need to check on my notes in the lab before starting my report—say, an hour?”
“Okay, I’ll meet you in Reception at 5:00 o’clock.”
Later that night, having enjoyed dinner and heading to their respective homes, Napoleon felt restless. A couple of times during dinner, he’d almost blurted out the deep feelings he had for his partner. Illya still looked positively gorgeous and youthful despite being almost 51! His calm maturity was utterly sexy, and tonight he’d been in rare form, exhibiting the wicked sense of humor he usually kept hidden.
They’d laughed over some of the small details which had been glossed over in the report, like how the one kidnapper had been so frightened by Illya’s Rasputin reputation, that he’d actually wet himself from just a look.
Granted, Illya’s glares were truly scary, but still…
The wrapping up hadn’t been as satisfying as they’d hoped, though. The victims had all been returned safely, but when it turned out that the Speaker of the House had been behind the whole plot, everyone involved was deeply saddened. By mutual agreement, Martin agreed to leave public life, immediately retiring from his position, the official story citing ‘health concerns.’ U.N.C.L.E. quietly spirited the man away, and the press was appeased. In the end, though, the President looked so…grim, and sad.
He had a sudden flashback to another Affair back in early 1968. Kingsley had been a top U.N.C.L.E. official in good standing when he turned traitor, joining with Thrush to rule the world. Robert Kingsley desperately wanted to bring peace to an unsettled, and often violent world, but choosing to align himself with Thrush in controlling the Will Gas, he’d instead, almost brought the world to its knees.
January 1968
Following the Seven Wonders of the World Affair, Napoleon had had some of the worst nightmares he could recall. All of them were centered on Illya becoming one of the mindless ones, while he ruled the world with the other seven…monsters! It was at that moment that things became clear and he realized that he, grand womanizer, loved his partner! As a friend, yes, but now he knew he needed much more.
For a brief moment, he thought about how wonderful it could be. He and Illya, together, best friends, and lovers. Waverly might not be too keen on the idea, but Napoleon had a hunch it would somehow be okay. Even if they couldn’t work for U.N.C.L.E., there were other jobs out there.
Now, all he needed was a plan.
The next day, he arrived at Headquarters early, determined to initiate his plan. First, a casual invitation to dinner. Then a nightcap at his place. Finally, with soft jazz playing in the background and relaxing drinks, he would gently tell Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin how he felt, and go from there, figuring they’d been friends long enough to survive if he was wrong. He was banking heavily on the 'Solo Luck,' but something told him that he wasn’t wrong—all those little things that gave him the hope that Illya felt the same…
But, when he got to Headquarters, he discovered that Waverly had sent his partner out with a team of scientists and Section III people, back to the Himalayas to go over Kingsley’s hold, and seeing that everything was properly secured.
March 1968
Napoleon was feeling restless and getting edgy. It had been nearly two months since Illya had been sent to work on the Kingsley mess. During this time, he’d been sent on a couple of routine runs as Chief Enforcement Agent, mostly to check on the small U.S.-based offices.
He lay back in his seat and tried to relax. The jet’s altitude was too high to really see anything out the window. Shifting around to get comfortable wasn’t too much of a chore; for a change he’d been booked First Class without demur. Almost on cue, the sultry stewardess started her rounds. Stopping at the handsome agent’s seat, she offered to get him another drink.
Napoleon sipped his perfectly-made martini, finally realizing why he felt so unsettled lately. He missed his partner! Very much. Then, too, the rumor mills had been unusually quiet concerning Mr. Kuryakin. Just like any organization, news and Intel was often spread around headquarters—discreetly, of course! But this time, all his varied sources were silent about anything concerning Illya.
Seeing the seat belt light come on, he flashed his smile at the Stewardess who was checking on the passengers. As the jet descended and slowed for landing, he decided he would do some research of his own.
Arriving at Del Floria’s, he nodded to the tailor on his way inside. Morning Dawn Redbird was on duty in Reception today. A relatively new employee, Miss Redbird was one of the sharpest individuals he’d ever met as far as observation and insight. He knew she had an eidetic memory, but he also knew she was able to use her memory in conjunction with other, often subtle, clues to unerringly put together a chain of logic that rarely failed. These were great traits for working in Reception, and Napoleon was looking forward to see where she would ultimately end up.
“Good Morning, Napoleon.”
Napoleon smiled and would have kissed her hand, but she was too quick.
“Mr. Waverly wants to see you as soon as you arrived. I’ll let Lisa know you’re on your way.”
“You wound me, Morning Dawn, but thank you.”
Alexander Waverly got straight to the point. “Have a seat, Mr. Solo. We have a few things to go over.”
“I just got in, Sir. You’ll have my report by this afternoon.”
“Yes, yes. There is another matter we need to discuss.” Seeing he had Mr. Solo’s full attention, he continued. “In view of the fallout from Kingsley’s…um, mistaken ideals, we have decided to move you to Section I, effective immediately.”
Stunned, Napoleon was silent for a moment. “I still have a few years before I have to leave fieldwork.”
“I am fully aware of your age, Mr. Solo, however, the Forty Rule is simply a maximum age for Section II; there is nothing in place regarding a minimum age for entering Section I.” Giving his CEA a sharp glance, Waverly leaned forward. “I need you in Section I now, Napoleon.”
The use of his first name startled the senior agent. Something is definitely up…
“My…health…is of concern. Because of this, I need to finish your training as soon as possible.” He played with his pipe for a moment. “I can give you a month to turn over your duties to Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer. I trust that will be sufficient.”
“Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer? Ah, Mr. Kuryakin is my second. He’s pretty much up to speed on everything in my section.”
“Mr. Kuryakin is transferring to New Delhi by special request. He will be assisting Gabhail Samoy, and will be transferred to Section I as well in a couple of years. It’s a good move for both of you.”
“I…see.” Solo squared his shoulders. “This promotion you’re offering looks like a kind of carrot. You, probably more than anyone, know how successful our partnership has been. I would venture to say that our partnership is the best in the whole of U.N.C.L.E., so I wonder…” He narrowed his eyes. “I wonder what the real reason is for these promotions. I’m sorry if I don’t immediately see the connection, unless… Maybe something else is at play here?” Seeing a brief flicker in Waverly’s eye, he added suddenly, “It’s Illya of course. Is it that you don’t trust him?”
“Nonsense. If I didn’t trust Mr. Kuryakin, he would not be working for the Command,” Waverly said mildly.
Solo gave a decisive nod. “Then it’s what he’s done, or rather, what you think he’s done. Well, Sir, he hasn’t. Contrary to the occasional rumors, we are not in any kind of sordid relationship.”
Waverly’s expression gave away nothing, but his eyes glittered. “That may be. But—” He waved his hand dismissively. “—he will. At least as soon as you finish convincing him. Once he’s in India, Gabhail will deal with the situation. It’s settled.”
Napoleon stared for a moment, his anger almost consuming him. With an effort he pushed it back, and spoke in an intensely quiet tone, “I see.” Casually removing his ID, he laid it on the desk with his Special. “Now it’s settled.”
Without another word, Napoleon Solo walked out of Alexander Waverly’s office and left U.N.C.L.E.
March 1984
Since their successful missions, Napoleon and Illya reverted back to their old partnership days and met for a weekly dinner (unless Vanya had a showing). Even if one of them was out of the country, they still managed to connect through their pen communicators.
The weather had turned mild and Napoleon Solo was enjoying the near spring-like air in Central Park when, on impulse, he pulled out his communicator. “Open Channel D for Illya Kuryakin.”
“Kuryakin.”
“Solo here. How are you?”
“Busy. What do you want?”
“Look, I just got some tickets for a special performance by Pavarotti next month, on the 2nd. I thought you’d like to go.”
“Let me check… Yes, I can make April 2nd. Which opera?”
“Turandot. It’s supposed to be one of his best.”
“Sounds good. Look, I’ve got to go! I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Closing his own communicator, Napoleon leaned back on the bench. Since the opera was going to be out of town, he should get reservations at a nearby hotel…
April 1984
“You never said this opera was in the middle of nowhere,” groused Illya.
“You never asked.”
Napoleon had whisked the two of them on a flight to Rapid City, South Dakota, and once landed, had a rented car in place for the hour’s drive to Lead, South Dakota, where he had reservations at the Town Hall Inn. The drive wasn’t too bad, and the scenery, while stark, had a quiet beauty that was peaceful.
The Town Hall Inn was quaintly historic, but fortunately had modern plumbing, and the owners had managed to resist adding kitschy antiques to the genuine décor.
Having picked up a pamphlet on Lead, South Dakota and its history, Illya gleefully recited the history of the Homestake Opera House which was built in 1914 and housed a bowling alley and swimming pool
Their room was large and had two double beds, a large wardrobe and tall dresser, as well as a small table and recliner. The room pictures were prints from historic photographs of the area. Even though they were just staying over the one night, Napoleon had already unpacked his tuxedo and was making sure nothing was wrinkled.
Illya took out his own tuxedo and frowned. “Are you sure we need to dress for this?”
“Of course. Remember, it’s Pavarotti, and it’s still an opera house.” He glanced at the small clock in the room. “We gained two hours, but I’m guessing you’d like some dinner first.”
“Fine. As long as it’s not something weird.”
Napoleon laughed. “Define ‘weird,’”
They settled for dinner at the Inn rather than going out. Illya was pleased to see a rattlesnake appetizer on the menu, and the salmon they both ordered was fresh.
The opera was spectacular! In spite of being in the somewhat desolate Black Hills, the Homestake Opera House had been filled to capacity, everyone in formal wear. A rather nice wine and selection of cheeses were offered to the patrons, and it looked like any other classy formal gathering.
Afterwards, the people lingered, basking in the glow of the wonderful performance, and enjoying the crisp evening air. Napoleon and Illya walked around the emptied opera house, admiring the chandelier and other unexpected touches.
Illya, having stopped to admire a small statue, suddenly sniffed. “Napoleon, I smell smoke.”
His partner sniffed, too. Then his eyes widened as he saw smoke wafting in from under the door. “I think something’s on fire.”
The two men strode toward the door. When Illya touched it, he could feel the heat. “We’ll have to use one of the other exits. This one is hot.”
Hurrying to the exit on the other side, they quickly felt the door. Cool! But the door was locked, and peering through the tiny window, they could see a chain blocking the exit!
Quickly they rushed to the last door! By now the smoke had filled the room, making it hard to see. They covered their noses with handkerchiefs, but still coughed from the smoke. When they finally reached the door, it too, was locked! By now the smoke was so thick, they couldn’t see if this door was also chained, but their options were limited. They had to get out now!
It was getting difficult to breathe, and they could see flames starting to break through! Just then, the smoke seemed to coalesce into a shape—a man? Blinking their eyes, they strained to see. It was definitely a man. In fact, it looked remarkably like their boss of so long ago. But, Alexander Waverly had died in 1972 from cancer, so how…?
The figure beckoned them toward a small alcove at the side of the stage. Having no other options, they ducked inside. It looked to be a small storage area.
Napoleon put his arm around his partner and pulled him into a hug. “I think this is it. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”
Illya quirked a grin. “And with you as well, Napoleon Antony Solo.” He hugged his partner tightly before giving him a searing kiss of promise and love… and despair.
“Oh! Oh no! It is not ending here! Not now!” Napoleon leaned down to return the kiss when he saw the strange figure again, only this time it was moving down. “What…?”
Illya stooped down and began pulling out boxes. “Look! There’s a door.” He pulled the door open. The air smelled damp. “It goes down to the basement pool!”
Quickly they ran down the stairs. Near the pool, they could hear the crackling and roar of the fire above. Just then an exit sign flashed.
“There!”
Never before, had going outdoors been so welcome! Once outside, they could see the townspeople battling the fire. Fraught from the close call, they somehow managed to make it back to the Inn without meeting anyone. Inside their room, they both collapsed.
Finally Illya sat up. “It was a lot easier fifteen, no, sixteen years ago.” He sniffed and stood up. “I need a shower.”
Napoleon grimaced at his soot-covered tuxedo. “I’m with you!” Suddenly realizing what he said, he grinned. “After our showers, I think we should try and get some sleep. Tomorrow, when we’re rested, we need to talk. Um, you know I love you, right?”
Illya laughed. “Of course, you blockhead. And I love you, too.”
Later that night, they snuggled together in the one bed. In the past, when they had a close call, they always felt the need to connect and would sleep together, just to know where the other was. Tonight was more of the same, but tomorrow… Things are going to get interesting and I can’t wait!
His mistake finally rectified, Alexander Waverly faded away.