PART IV

The Soviet plane was waiting at the small airport to take Illya to Moscow. Piloted by an elite team from the Soviet Air Force, passengers included five KGB agents, and three stewards, also employed by the KGB. Illya was chained to one of the agents – the one he recognized who killed Olga.

"Well, Mr. Kuryakin, I hope you will have an enjoyable flight. There’s no escape this time."

Illya was about to say something, but decided against it. Instead, he sat back in his seat and tried to relax. His eyes looked about the plane and made a mental note where the exits were and also watched the other agents. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, he was trained to stay on guard in the event of a possible escape. He would never give up any chance for freedom.

The other passengers settled in for the long flight to Moscow. Even though they were all trained agents and knew the importance of bringing Illya back alive, no one seemed very concerned on this flight that anything could happen. All were slumped in their seats in various stages of boredom. One man, seated in the rear of the plane, used the lull in the flight to excuse himself and headed for the restroom.

Inside, he turned on the water, and took his cigarette case out of his jacket. He pulled out a cigarette as if he were about to smoke. Instead, with one quick turn of the filter an antenna popped out of the other end. With another turn, the cigarette crackled and he spoke quietly in perfect English, "This is Red Eagle, patch me in to Papa Eagle- X334 Zulu, over."

A voice on the other end replied in kind. "Papa Eagle here. Red Eagle, what do you have, over."

"Bird is in the cage. Say again, bird is in the cage. Bound for the big red house. Find Mamma Bird, out."

The man put away his cigarettes, took care of business, left the restroom and quietly returned to his seat.

………..

Napoleon couldn’t believe what he just heard over the radio. Illya was on his way to Lubyanka, one of the worst prisons in the Soviet Union, usually reserved for political prisoners and those awaiting execution.

"Frank, what the hell just happened? Illya escaped the train. We were going to find him. How, when?" Napoleon was frantic. He was convinced Illya was on his way home. He knew the Russian countryside. How did they find him? Illya could blend into the countryside. How could they find him in Siberia?

Frank was also stunned. "The reports I’ve been getting through the underground had half the KGB looking for him. There was no way he could escape for long. At least we have an agent on the plane that can monitor the situation. We know he’s OK. "

"But, Lubyanka. How can we break him out of that place? If he were sent to a Gulag in the middle of nowhere, we could get to him. But Lubyanka?"

Lubyanka square was located in downtown Moscow. In the center of the square was the statue of Felix Dzerzhinsky, the founder of the first secret police, the Cheka. Lubyanka itself contained three buildings, and it was the main yellow building that contained the prison. The upper floors were used as the headquarters for the KGB. Across the street from the square were the city trains, and hundreds of people came in and out of the area every day.

"Contact Mamma Bird." Frank watched Napoleon’s expression.

Napoleon closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Mamma Bird was the code name for Sophia Orlov, a woman he hadn’t thought of in years. When he closed his eyes, he could still picture her as he last saw her six years ago. Standing before him with those big, hazel, doe-eyes and those luscious red lips that drove him crazy. Sophia was a tall woman and had long, brown wavy hair that she liked to play with when she was nervous. She was nervous that day. That day she told Napoleon she wouldn’t marry him and she walked out of his life forever.

"Napoleon. Napoleon, you hear me?" Frank knew what Sophia meant to him. Napoleon told him of the mission inside the Soviet Union many years before. Sophia worked for U.N.C.L.E. HQ in Leningrad and helped him thwart Thrush’s plans to steal nuclear warheads and destroy U.N.C.L.E.’s tenuous hold in the region. The two, of course, fell in love, and for the second time in his life, Napoleon found a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The day he proposed, she surprised him by telling him she could never leave the country, but wouldn’t offer an explanation. He heard she later accepted a position at KGB headquarters in Moscow. She still occasionally worked with U.N.C.L.E. through the underground, but Napoleon never talked with her again. Napoleon was heartbroken and came home determined to forget her, and he thought he did. Frank knew that his cavalier attitude towards women after that was partly due to her rejection. Napoleon swore he would never lose his heart to another woman again.

"Oh, Frank, I’m sorry, I was just thinking. Yes, yes, by all means, send a message. If she still works there, she would be able to find out about Illya."

"OK, OK, I’ll do your work for you. Just never mind thanking me." Frank went to his radio and proceeded to enter the scrambled message.

"Try to get some rest, Napoleon. We probably won’t hear anything for a few days. I don’t know how often these drops are monitored. It could be a while."

"We don’t have the time, Frank. I have to get him out. I can’t go back without him. He’s the only family I have left."

Frank sighed and walked over to the bar and poured two drinks. He gave one to Napoleon. He understood the relationship between the partners. He remembered that feeling when he had a partner so many years before. His career was nearly destroyed by tracking down the man who killed his own partner so many years before. Frank found the man responsible and put a bullet in his head, before he turned himself in. Because of the circumstances and Frank’s mental capacity at the time, he was absolved of blame, but for the remaining few years Frank was put on a desk. After two years, he quietly retired. Yes, Frank understood.

-------

Sophia Orlov worked as a secretary in KGB headquarters in Moscow, and as she did every morning for the past 6 years, bought a cup of tea, picked up her mail and settled at her desk. As she drank her tea, she casually went through the morning mail and separated it into piles. One piece of mail grabbed her attention – a small envelope with her name handwritten on it. There was no return address. That was odd, but not totally unusual, for sometimes she received personal notes at her office. She put the envelope in her purse and would get to it later when she took her break.

-------

From the private airfield just outside Moscow’s airport in the early hours past dawn, Illya Kuryakin was taken, bound securely into a waiting van, escorted by two government cars and two motorcycles. Lying on the floor in the back of the van, windows blackened, Illya knew the streets of Moscow intimately, and he could tell exactly where he was. The smells and sounds of the morning in the city took him back to his days at the university when life was full of hope and full of the idealism of youth.

They drove silently toward Dzerzhinsky square, and Illya could imagine the huge statue of Dzerzhinsky in the center courtyard, as if standing guard against the world. Dzerzhinsky was the selfless, incorruptible "Knight of the Revolution: who slew the dragon of counterrevolution which threatened the Soviet State." He remembered his university days when some of the students would rally at the courtyard and discuss Pasternak and his newly published (at least in the Soviet Union) book on the ‘Poems of Dr. Zhivago.’ Fresh flowers constantly surrounded the statue and Illya closed his eyes and could smell the aromatic blend of flowers. Sigh, enough of reminiscing. The van finally stopped at a gate and guards let them pass through the underground entrance that would take him to the end of his life as he knew it. Finally at their destination, the van stopped and guards hurriedly ushered Illya into a waiting elevator to one of the upper floors that housed the KGB headquarters. They entered an office and past a rather surprised secretary and into the office of the Chief, 2d Directorate (Counter-intelligence), who was seated at a large ornate wooden desk (reminiscent of the days of the Tzars and probably stolen during the revolution) and smiled at a bound and ragged Illya Kuryakin. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

"Illya Kuryakin. The traitor has come home at last. Too bad it won’t be a long homecoming."

"Sergei Skyovsky. It hasn’t been long enough, but it seems you’ve done well for yourself." Illya shouldn’t have been surprised.

"In spite of your betrayal 10 years ago, as you can see, I have completely redeemed myself. The government realized what a valuable asset I am."

Illya laughed contemptuously. "How many people did you bribe or put away to get this job?"

One of the guards struck Illya in the back with the small, metal club he was carrying. Illya grunted and nearly fell but wouldn’t give Sergei the satisfaction.

When Illya worked in Naval Intelligence, Sergei was Assistant to the Assistant Chief of the 3d Directorate (Military Counter-intelligence) and was responsible for internal military security. They worked well together but as the KGB became more and more obsessed with the claim that the armed forces were continually being threatened by ideological sabotage, Sergei was empowered to investigate armed forces personnel for the same crimes under the KGB purview for ordinary citizens. Illya didn't like the KGB interfering in military affairs and he began working with the underground before he escaped to the west, he managed to help several other intelligence people escape right under Sergei’s nose. He heard later that because of his defection, Sergei was demoted and exiled to a lonely post in northern Siberia for a period of several years. So the fact that he was back as Chief of the 2d Directorate here in Moscow had to be because of some underhanded dealing on Sergei’s part.

Illya got his breath back and slowly stood facing Sergei.

"Because of you, Mr. Kuryakin, I was sent to Siberia for 4 years. Four long, cold, bitter years."

"You probably deserved what you got. You never were very intelligent."

The guard was about to hit Illya again, but Sergei waved him back. "I’ll let that pass. Wisdom, my dear Illya comes alone through suffering. And you are going to suffer greatly before you die."

Sergei sat back in his chair watching his former comrade. How he hated this man and how he looked forward to this day. Moscow would surely note his triumph in bringing this traitor to justice.

"I redeemed myself, you know. While I was in Siberia. I was awarded ‘The Order for Service to the Motherland’ for bravery." He sounded very defensive. He always felt defensive with Illya. His superiors always reminded him how much more intelligent and clever Illya was. Women were always commenting on how devilishly cute he was. Sergei, with his thinning hair and expanding waistline hated him more and more.

Illya laughed. "That means you were demoted to that of a border guard. That medal is only given to border guards, and everyone gets one."

Sergei felt the sting and in an angry tone, "I was very good at my job, so good, in fact that I was asked back to Moscow."

"I don’t suppose it has anything to do with the fact that your wife’s sister is married to Yuri Andropov, the Chief of the KGB, now would it?"

This time Sergei allowed the guard to beat him with the club. Illya fell to the floor in agony this time.

Sergei was nearly screaming at Illya. "I deserved this. I earned it!"

Sergei then screamed to the guards, "Take him to his cell." Turning to Illya, who was still on the floor, Sergei calmed down and spoke with an evil tone, "A few weeks in Lubyanka will change that cocky attitude of yours. I’m through with you for now. I will see you at your execution."

Illya was dragged out of Sergei’s office, past Sophia, who tried not to notice that he was bleeding and obviously in a lot of pain. She couldn’t help but overhear much of what went on, and tried to act like it meant nothing. After all, he was an enemy of the state. Sophia had never met Illya Kuryakin, but she read his papers. Code named EAGLE, she knew his work in Naval Intelligence and his work for U.N.C.L.E. in the United States. She had taken an interest because he was partnered with Napoleon Solo. Poor Napoleon, if only she could get a message to him. She immediately thought of the note in her purse. She missed the mid morning break, listening to the confrontation in the office, so she would have to wait until after work.

The guards hurried Illya to a secret elevator that would take him directly to the basement cells. From there he was shoved into a temporary cell to await "melnica" a type of continuous interrogation before his execution.

Relieved of his restraints, all Illya wanted to do was lie down and rest. His back was on fire and he ached all over. However, once inside the cell, he knew where he was. It was a solitary confinement cell, usually used for punishment. The cell was too small to lie down and the bottom was covered in mud and the sides were covered in a slimy green mold. Too tired to care, Illya sat in the mud and leaned against the green mold, ignoring the pain in his back. Wiping the blood from his face, he prayed this nightmare would soon end.

-----

The afternoon went by slowly for Sophia. Her office located on the 4th floor looked out on the courtyard and she found herself staring at the afternoon crowd of people hurrying through the streets. Some were trying to get to markets before closing and some were trying to catch the trains. She was anxious to get a message to Napoleon. She was also thinking about the last time she saw him. She couldn’t tell him why she wouldn’t marry him, and it broke her heart to leave. She had to. Maybe now she could tell him, and maybe now he could understand. She still loved him and hoped someday there was a future for them, but not now. There was too much at stake and she would never jeopardize it for anything in the world, even for her own happiness.

The clock finally turned 7:00 p.m. and it was time to go. Sophia gathered her things and glanced at Sergei’s office. She wondered where he had been all afternoon. Not that she cared, because she had a lovely and quiet afternoon without his whiny interference. Before leaving the building, Sophia passed through the inspectors. She showed them her pass and gave them her purse to check. Everything went smoothly and she was soon out the door. Sophia hurried across the square and entered a little bar, called "The Eagle’s Roost". She smiled at that. Inside, Sophia nodded at the host and walked back towards the kitchen. She opened the door leading to the cellar and waited. The back cellar door opened and Sophia walked down more steps into a room full of electronic equipment and several people hard at work sending and receiving information. She took the note out of her purse and gave it to the big, balding man, standing guard over everything.

"Sven, I have a message. Please decode it for me. I got it earlier today."

Sven was a student at Moscow University where he met and married a Russian student. He gave up his Swedish citizenship to stay in the Soviet Union. Here he organized an underground message center. With his electronic genius, he built jamming and decoding equipment so sophisticated that the Soviets had not been able to trace his operation for the last 10 years, and he was operating right under the nose of the KGB. He met Sophia through her father, Vasili, who was a good friend and had been working with him for many years.

Sven opened the note and ran it through his cipher equipment. "Napoleon Solo sends his greetings. He’s asking about his friend, Illya Kuryakin, and if he’s been taken to the prison. He asks for help in getting into the Soviet Union to attempt a rescue."

Sven looked at Sophia. "This sounds like heavy stuff, Sophia. We've been monitoring this situation since the events in Vladivostok. Do you really want to get involved? You’ve only been passing information. That’s safe enough. But this. The man’s a convicted enemy of the state, and he’s scheduled for execution. You shouldn’t get involved."

"I’m not getting involved, Sven. I’ll simply get him papers and contacts, and he can do the rest."

"Sophia…"

"Sven, you should have seen Illya. He looked ragged and beaten. He’s Napoleon’s partner, Sven. I owe Napoleon. If I can do anything to help, I have to."

"Owe him what, Sophia? Your father has been doing some incredible work these past years. We can’t blow it for some personal debt of yours."

"I’ll be careful."

"What do you want me to tell him? The message indicates he’s in Turkey, right? We can arrange one of our boats to take him to our checkpoint in Genichesk. There we can have papers for him. It’s still a long way to Moscow. He will have to travel by local transportation. We can arrange it, but let him understand it will take about a week. And that’s pushing our people."

"Thanks, Sven."

----

Frank got the message later that night. He had been dozing in the chair by the radio and the crackling buzz nearly made him fall out of his seat. Napoleon hadn’t left the hotel room at all since they sent the note to Sophia. He needed some rest. Frank relayed the information provided by Sophia and saw his disappointed expression.

"What did you expect, Napoleon. It’s going to take some time."

"A week, Frank. Illya might not survive a week."

"Get some rest, Napoleon. You are not thinking clearly. Illya’s a strong man. He’s survived some pretty tough situations. He must know that you’ll come after him. If he knows that, he has hope, and hope can help him survive. But look at you. You haven’t slept, you haven’t eaten and you’re drinking too much. I know Illya is counting on you. If you don’t straighten up and get some rest, he will die."

Napoleon felt like he’d been slapped across the face. It was a wake up call and he knew it. "I’m sorry, Frank. I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself. I’m not a patient man, especially when it concerns Illya. We’ve been through so much together and I can’t let him down."

"Well, Napoleon, get some sleep. I’ve got to get to work on the details of this trip of yours. You know I’m coming with you."

"No, Frank, I can’t risk it."

"You mean you can’t do it without me. Remember I’m a Soviet Intelligence expert, and I know more about the Soviet Union than anyone, except maybe Illya. And that's a maybe. I know the shortcuts, the contacts and the customs. We can’t be obvious, Napoleon. We can’t look like tourists. We need to be able to get in, get to our destination and get out. Remember what Mr. Waverly said. This could very easily escalate to an international incident. After all, we will be trespassing on Soviet soil with the intention of breaking out a convicted spy from Lubyanka prison. We have to be careful."

"You’re right Frank. I think I will get some rest. For the first time I feel very tired."

Napoleon lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Frank smiled. Of course he was tired. It was probably due to the sleeping pill he crushed into Napoleon’s drink when he wasn’t looking.

--------

Illya tried to keep a record of the passing hours by making vertical lines in the mold on the wall. He tried to sleep but lights flashed on and off and soon he began to see patterns on the walls. Then he imagined entire scenes filled with bloody bodies. He thought he was going mad. Several days passed and the scenes continued. He was given no food or water and he knew he was going mad. Then he began to suspect the scenes were being projected from a small aperture in the vicinity of the light bulb. He threw his shirt up in the air in front of the bulb and the scenes were interrupted. At this point he spoke, suspecting that he was being monitored.

"Tell your idiot commander that I don’t need television for entertainment!!"

The projections stopped and he was left alone. It wasn’t long before his cell door opened and he was taken to an interior courtyard along with two other prisoners. Three stakes were posted on one side. The two prisoners were bound to two of the stakes and Illya was bound to the center one. He tried to remain calm. One man was shaking so badly, that he urinated on himself. The other closed his eyes reciting a prayer over and over. The guards placed blindfolds on each prisoner and Illya strained to see the sun one last time before he was blindfolded. Not usually a religious man, Illya said a silent prayer. Guns fired and smoke filled his nostrils but he felt nothing. He heard laughter, Sergei’s laughter. A guard pulled the blindfold from his face and he saw Sergei in the distance, still laughing. Both prisoners were dead, but he was still very much alive.

"Illya, do you think I would spoil this moment by killing you so quickly. I want to see you squirm. I want you to wonder just when the end will come."

Illya was too exhausted to reply. He was escorted back to his cell.

On the fourth day, guards escorted him to the roof, which was used as an exercise yard. High fences obscured any view of the street and armed guards were posted at intermittent intervals. The past four days were quite a strain. With no food, water, or sleep, Illya knew he couldn’t last much longer. He also knew why he was allowed this small respite and tried to prepare himself. He used the time to stretch his tired, sore muscles. Despite all his training, his spirit wearied. The KGB hadn’t touched him, and yet, Illya knew the technique well and no one could do it better. His training helped him endure much, but once the mind wore down, the body would quickly die.

He sat against the brick wall and tried to assess his surroundings. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he forced his mind to be active and alert. He noted the tall fences and armed guards. The cool breeze was a godsend against his body and although clouds obscured the sun, Illya could feel his mind trying to release itself from his body. He struggled hard to concentrate. There were 10-15 other men in the exercise area in various stages of deterioration from months and years of incarceration. How many of these would eventually be committed to other psychiatric hospitals or sent to other Gulags – those few not executed. What were their crimes, he wondered. Illya had read the stories and knew friends and family members arrested and sent away. One man, he remembered, dreamt Stalin had been assassinated, and after relaying the story to an associate, he was immediately arrested and sentenced to 25 years as a potential terrorist. Another said that Marilyn Monroe was the greatest actress in the world. He also got 25 years. Others simply wanted to live life the way it should be.

The hours crawled by and Illya could no longer concentrate. The sun peeked through the clouds and the warmth on his face took him from his reality and he slept, but not for long. Two guards immediately appeared, taking Illya by the arms, and dragged him down to the basement in an area that looked like a clinic. There were the white, sterile walls, doctors in white coats and stethoscopes hanging from the neck walking through the halls. What made this different were the screams echoing through the halls.

Illya was taken to a back room and strapped in a chair with electrodes placed on his chest. A doctor was present to monitor his heart.

"Well, Mr. Kuryakin, isn’t this the time you scream about your rights as a citizen of the United States?"

Illya’s eyesight was blurry from lack of sleep, but he knew who his tormentor was. "Sergei, you didn’t have to come here just to see me."

"My dear Illya. I’m here to help you with your rehabilitation."

"Soviet rehabilitation usually means ‘after-death’ rehabilitation."

Sergei laughed. "Illya, Illya, some dissidents need more help than others. Can we help it if they die before they're cured?"

"You’re all heart."

"I’d like to think so. In fact, we even brought a doctor here, Dr. Vladimursky, who will monitor your heart. We can’t have you die before your execution. That would not be a good thing."

---------

"Napoleon, Napoleon, wake up, old buddy - time to hit the road."

Napoleon grabbed his head and slowly sat up on the bed. "Ugh, Frank, what the hell did you slip me?"

"It's my own concoction - you've only been out about 24 hours. Now, before you get mad, you needed the sleep. We have a lot of work to do, and I need you at your best. Illya needs you at your best. Besides, in that time I've been busy. I've gotten what we need for out little trip. We're going fishing. We will be part of a deep sea fishing crew in the Black Sea coming into port. It's the quickest way. On the ship is our contact and from him we will get our papers and, get this, train tickets on Illya's train bound for Moscow."

Napoleon sadly smiled. "That's really ironic, Frank. I'm ready, now let's go."

It was noon before they boarded the fishing boat. Napoleon was glad to be put to work. The physical labor entailed cleaning fish, repairing nets, and other mundane maintenance. He didn't mind the work because the more he was working, the less he thought and the faster time flew.

Once in port, official's boarded the vessel and checked papers and contents. Everything appeared in order. Napoleon kept remembering what Frank told him - that it was easier to get into the Soviet Union. Getting out would be tough.

At the train station, Napoleon glanced at the freight cars and wondered, for a moment, which car Illya was in and what was he thinking bound for Moscow? Frank had to practically drag him inside the train as it had begun to move.

"Careful, Napoleon - KGB agents are all over this train. We'll have two days before we get to Moscow. Don't attract attention."

Properly rebuffed, they settled in their seats and Napoleon automatically reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. He was surprised to see a Russian brand. He signed and lit one, taking a puff. He tried not to gag. This might be a good time to stop smoking if he had to spend the next few weeks smoking Russian cigarettes. He continued puffing away, simply to give himself something to do.

Frank chuckled, "Your habits will kill you." He said in Russian.

Napoleon knew he meant that he nearly screwed up by bringing his American cigarettes.

-----------

The first series of shocks to his system weren't too bad, Illya thought to himself. One half-second shock at intermittent intervals startled him, and he could feel himself beginning to sweat. The small bursts continued, and after the first 20-30 minutes, Illya could feel his body begin to wear down.

"Now, Mr. Kuryakin, I want you to admit your guilt."

Even through the haze of pain, Illya could see how comical Sergei looked. He was never very good at interrogation and even wondered why the questions were being asked.

"Why are you bothering me with these questions, Sergei?"

Sergei nodded to his assistant at the controls who pressed a button producing a chain of high impulse shocks. Illya felt the assault on his nervous system and his body began to contract violently. His head hit against the metal chair causing bruising against the back of his head.

"You were caught stealing highly classified information. Do you deny it?"

"You don't really care if I answer this or not, do you?"

The intention of this kind of interrogation was to break the will, not to extract information, and Illya knew it. He had already been tried and convicted and sentenced to death. This was just revenge.

The session was interrupted once when Sergei left the room and returned with a bucket of water. Illya was drenched with the water, and although it initially felt cool and refreshing, the shocks began again and had greater impact. His body began convulsing and his heart almost stopped. Dr. Vladimursky yelled at Sergei to stop the shock treatments as he tried to work on his patient to keep him alive.

"I can't work like this. I was trained to save lives!" Dr. Vladimursky nearly ran out of the room.

"Well, Mr. Kuryakin, it seems you're without a doctor. What a shame and I hate to stop while we're doing so well. Damn. Guards, take Mr. Kuryakin to the cell next door and watch him. We'll continue this tomorrow.

For the first time in four days, Illya was able to lie down. Even though the cell he was placed in was devoid of any light and sound proofed in an attempt to produce sensory depravation, he didn't care. His whole body was on fire and could still feel his nerve twitching. Waves of nausea overwhelmed him, but he felt blessed that he had the floor he could stretch out on and sleep. Sleep eluded him, however, when his body continued to convulse, shaking him awake. Illya was determined not to let Sergei triumph so he forced himself to concentrate in order to slow down his breathing and, finally conquering his nightmares, he slept. As he slept he had a vision. The moon, large and full, lit the sky like daylight. Illya soared over the landscape, free as an eagle. His eyes, innocent as a child, absorbed the vast emptiness of the terrain. Nothing but grass and hills and wild growth extended forever, and lay in a land of endless horizons.

He felt free and immortal, as if a great weight suddenly lifted from his soul. It lasted a few moments when the pain shook him to reality. Dark, searing pain ripped throughout his entire body. He prayed to the Holy Mother to return to the eagle. Now he was all alone in the cold blackness. Closing his eyes against the onslaught to his senses, he cried out in anguish.

------------

Sophia arrived early to her office to find her boss in quite an agitated state. He yelled at her before she had a chance to sit down. "I need you to get me a doctor. I need him today. The pig walked out on me. He can't do that, you know. This will go on my report and he will be punished. Not me, it's not my fault. That idiot doctor, he will be punished."

In a tone much like a mother calming a screaming child, "Slow down, Sergei. Stop yelling like a child. Take your pills and tell me what is wrong."

"I need a doctor to help me with a prisoner. I only have a few more days."

Sophia felt her heart leapt to her throat and felt this could be a great opportunity if she could pull it off. Doctors were placed on a roster and had to pull duty a few days a month in a state facility. She managed the list and checked and prepared the security papers. She only hoped Napoleon got here in time.

"Go into your office, Sergei, and settle down. Remember your ulcer. I will take care of everything. You know I always do."

Sergei took out a handkerchief and blew his nose and laid his head on Sophia's shoulder as she patted his head.

"What would I do without you?"

Sophia rolled her eyes and replied, "I don't know, Sergei, I really don't know."

Sophia led Sergei to his office and made him lie down on his sofa. She left the office quietly and closed the door behind her. Then she quickly went to work. In her desk drawer she pulled the file that held the list of doctors. The list would be easy to change. All she had to do was to create a file on her imaginary doctor. Sergei was so incompetent that he never checked her files, he never did much of anything. She did his work and made him look good. She covered for him on the many occasions he made disastrous mistakes. He knew he couldn't handle this job without her. Sophia only stayed in this position because of her father. He dedicated the past 20 years in pursuit of one goal. He wanted to make a difference, and Sophia was determined to help him succeed.

The file was finally completed; the security paperwork all stamped and signed by the proper authorities. A good secretary was adept at forging signatures and collecting stamps from other departments. It saved so much time and the bosses really appreciated it.

Several hours passed before Sergei woke. Things weren't going the way he planned. Illya Kuryakin was his prisoner and still made him feel inferior. He wouldn't let that happen all over again. He left his office by the back door and hurried down to the basement. Some would call it obsession, but Sergei was determined to see Illya destroyed. Then he would kill him.

Guards opened the cell door and dragged Illya to his feet. The shock of the sudden interruption to his senses was almost as much of a shock to his mind as any physical pain. Being deprived of light and noise after many days of continuous assault on his senses caused his mind to separate from his body. Illya felt no pain and was soaring again. This time he was the eagle; fearless, skyrocketing to heights that thrilled his soul. His home was at the top of the world. He could fly upward towards the highest mountain peak. From there, he could span the universe. This was no dream, but how could it be real? He could feel he wasn't hallucinating and life was good. Illya spread his wings and soared downward, a feeling that was indescribable. There was an odd noise coming from the top of the mountain peak, which caught his attention. It started as a small hum but quickly became louder. As it increased in volume a light flashed in his eyes that matched the sound in intensity.

It was too much for Illya to bear. His pain returned and seemed also to be entwined with the light and the noise. He awoke in unfamiliar surroundings and was dragged down a hallway by unfamiliar men. He closed his eyes to shut out the unfamiliar and tried to bring back the familiar. He woke again strapped in a chair in yet another unfamiliar room. To his right was another man strapped to another chair. The man looked at Illya with pleading eyes. "They're going to kill me. We're going to die."

Illya shook his head, and in doing so brought back waves of pain and a realization that his reality was here, in pain, in this room, waiting to die.

Sergei waited impatiently for Illya to awaken. It would do not good to have him unaware of what was about to happen to him.

"This is it, Mr. Kuryakin. Both you and your friend here are going to be executed."

"What, no firing squad?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we have something special in mind. Something dug up from the archives of the Cheka. You remember your history, don't you?"

"The Cheka was the predecessor of the KGB."

"Then you'll appreciate this. Some of their tactics were even too brutal for Stalin."

The door opened and a man brought in two hollow tubes and a small animal cage that housed a fairly medium sized brown rat. Both bound men squirmed nervously in their chairs.

Sergei was pleased. "Nervous now, Illya? A little too late to beg for your life."

"I would never beg from you, Sergei."

The other man spoke up, "I'll beg, don't kill me, please, don't kill me."

Sergei ignored him and took the hollow tube, placing one end against the man's chest. The rat was place in the other end. The open end was closed off and the pipe was heated. The rat tried to escape by eating through the man's chest.

Illya couldn't stand the screams - they were unearthly. Then the smell of the heat and the sound of the rat eating through human flesh were almost too much to bear. It took a while before the man died. Illya closed his eyes. He thought he was going to lose it.

Sergei enjoyed to scene immensely. It gave him some perverse satisfaction that he was able to cause terror in the face of his enemy. He finally felt he held complete power over his life, and he didn't want this feeling to end. One of the guards had the other tube in his hands and placed it against Illya's chest. Sergei could see Illya squirming against the bound chair and saw the terror in his eyes. Another rat was released into the tube, which was closed off. Illya began to sweat. His face tensed and his expression showed the terror he felt. Sergei only laughed.

He walked behind Illya's hair, learned over, smelling his sweat. "This is not over yet, Illya. I've enjoyed this too much." Turning to the other guard "Take him back to the solitary cell. We have to wait until the new doctor arrives before we can continue. It wouldn't look good for me if he dies before he's scheduled to."

Sergei left and headed back to his office. The tube was removed and the rat placed back in his cage. Illya was removed from the chair and escorted out to his cell. Two guards had to help him, as Illya was not able to walk unaided. Once inside his cell, Illya felt relieved to be back in his own cell even with the slimy green walls and mud soaked floors. Though he couldn't lie down, he could take the time to gather his strength for whatever Sergei was planning next. He thought of Napoleon and wondered if he would try to attempt a rescue. For his friend's sake, he hoped not. It was too risky. Too many things could go wrong. He didn't want Napoleon to risk his life on his account. He valued his friendship too much. It would be better to just let him be and forget about him. Illya closed his eyes and tried to rest, but his body was still shaking from the last encounter with Sergei. The images with the rat were very fresh in his mind and even the smell of death was more pungent than the stench inside his cell. Alone in his cell, he could admit to himself that he was terrified.

----------------

Sergei came back to his office smiling and flirted unabashedly with Sophia. He was in rare spirits. Things were going better than he expected. Once Sophia told him she had the file ready for the doctor, he told her to take the rest of the day off. All she had to do was take the papers to the doctor and bring him to the clinic before this evening. An alarm went off in her head, as Sophia didn't even know when Napoleon was expected to arrive. Sven told her sometime tonight but wasn't sure. She swallowed hard and mumbled something about giving him some notice. He waved her off and went back to his office.

The fact he was in such a good mood probably meant bad news for Illya. She felt so sorry for him, even though she didn't even know him. She knew Sergei. Gathering her things, Sophia left the office and walked across the square to the "Eagle's Roost." She felt a little nervous, so instead of going directly towards the back, she ordered a little something to eat. As she ate, she gathered her courage. What if Napoleon was not there? What if he was? What would she say to him after all these years? She got up and walked hesitantly towards the back and down the stairs towards the room. She opened the door and came face to face with Napoleon Solo.

Napoleon was talking with Sven when he heard the door open. Turning his head, he was surprised to see Sophia standing there. He wondered what he would say to her at this moment, and hoped it would never come. He tried to remember that she was helping him find Illya, so he gritted his teeth, nodded his head and simply said, "Hello, Sophia."

Her heart was pounding so loud; Sophia almost didn't hear him. "Hello, Napoleon." What a stupid thing to say. But what else could she do? She could beg him to forgive her for leaving him and breaking his heart. Her heart was broken too. She could tell him the reasons why and ask for understanding. Now was not the time. Maybe after this was over. Was it ever over? Would they every have the time?

Sophia grabbed his arm and led him to a table where they sat down. Frank had been in the back and came over to see what was going on. Sophia looked up. "You must be Frank."

"Zdrashvootzhe."

"Napoleon, I have a plan. I have a file here with all the papers. You are Dr. Ivan Nickovich and you are scheduled for duty. You have to go tonight. There's not much time." Sophia was rambling on, and not making much sense.

Napoleon could see she was upset. "Hold on. Start from the beginning. First thing I want to know is where's Illya? Is he all right?"

She started to cry. "I don't know why I'm crying, Napoleon. I don't know your friend, but I've seen in and he's in bad shape. I don't think we have much time left."

Napoleon found himself comforting her and took her into his arms. "It will be all right. Now, tell me your plan."

Sophia explained what happened with the doctor in the clinic and brought out the file and papers for Napoleon to act as the replacement. "I will assist you. Sergei should allow it because I have nurses training, and he's such an idiot anyway, he'll do what I say. You just slip him this drug which is a derivative of tetraodontoxin. It causes respiratory paralysis and his heart will slow and will appear dead. Then we can take him to the morgue and smuggle him out to my father's dacha."

Napoleon wasn't too convinced this would work. "Once we get to your father's house, then what?"

"I don't know, I can't think of everything."

----------------

Inside Illya's cell, it wasn't long before continuous flashes of light intruded on his solitude. The flashes alternated with frightening images that seemed to resonate throughout his entire body. Illya didn't have the energy to fight the intrusion. Instead of being a mere spectator, he became a participant. The warmth of the hot, mid-summer sun caressed his face. Startled that he couldn't move his hands, he glanced around the barren landscape and found he was standing, bound against a wooden stake. Six men dressed in Khaki uniforms holding Russian AK47's were standing in a line some 30 meters from him aimed straight at him. The order was given to fire. All went black.

He awoke with a start and found himself, not in heaven, but strapped to a chair hooked up to electrodes. How long was this to go on? He longed for the peace those few moments of blackness gave him. Illya wasn't altogether sure he simply wasn't reliving this scene. Reality and fantasy were so intertwined that it was hard to tell what was real and what was fantasy.

Sergei was in his place acting more like an impatient child. "Sergei," Illya's voice sounded slow and sluggish but he continued, "No smart comments this morning?"

Sergei smiled at the rough sound of his voice. "It is evening, Mr. Kuryakin, and I'm just enjoying your condition and am wondering how much longer you'll last."

In truth, Sergei was getting a little tired and now simply wanted him dead. Where was that damned doctor? "I'm tired of waiting. We're going to begin now."

The first surge entered Illya's body and he screamed…

----------

Sophia had no problems bringing Napoleon into the building. Security at that time of the evening was rather lax and guards simply checked to see that they had the right passes and papers. They hardly looked at the two as they hurried towards the elevators. Napoleon had his hair slicked back and wore a pair of old glasses Sophia borrowed from her father. She popped the lenses out and he looked appropriately rumpled along with an old rather large brown suit. Napoleon tried not to walk with the urgency and panic he felt. He didn't know what to expect when he found his friend and prayed they weren't too late.

The elevator door opened to the clinic area and the screams echoed throughout the hallway. Illya's screams. "Let's hurry."

Sophia opened the door to the cell and saw Illya slumped against his chair, blood oozing from his pores.

Sergei turned towards the interruption and swore at Sophia. Napoleon was rather surprised at her calm reply. She treated him like a child and he responded in kind.

"Sergei, settle down." She turned to see Napoleon rush to check on his friend. "Now look what you've done because of your impatience. You should have trusted me when I told you I would bring the doctor tonight. You couldn’t wait, could you?"

Sergei bowed his head. "No."

"Dr. Nickovich will check the patient and I'm going to help him."

While Sophia was talking, Napoleon was aghast at the damage to his friend. Illya was still alive, but was unconscious and Napoleon didn't feel comfortable giving him the drug in his already weakened state. He was able to wet a rag he found and wiped the blood from Illya's skin. He rinsed it out and placed it over his eyes. He took out the drug and injected it into his arm and waited.

In his unconscious state, Illya could still feel the pain through his body. Intense, pulsating stimuli were continuous. He felt his breathing was shallow and painful and all he wanted was release. Soon a new sensation was a shock to his system. The gentle caress of death was ever present, threatening to consume his soul. His body, still inflamed with the agony of pain began to feel an incredible ecstasy. Pleasure and pain were experienced as one. He wanted to scream from the sensation -- pain or pleasure, he couldn't tell which.

Suddenly he felt light, as if he could float above the earth. Form did not exist. His mind suddenly opened, like a curtain dissolving. Memories flooded his soul of his life before, thoughts of his past long ago forgotten. Everything now seemed so clear. He felt surrounded by a feeling of incredible oneness; so peaceful, so calm, and no more pain. He felt rather than saw the amazing light and colors that surrounded him. These visions were like a mirage -- still new to the encompassing detachment. Illya was floating upward, towards the rays of the most brilliant white light emanating from a place of love -- immovable, invincible love. He tried to go into the light, but something was pulling him back. Something wouldn't let him go.

-------------

Napoleon took the stethoscope and placed it against Illya's chest. He could hear nothing and felt panic grip his entire being. He prayed the drug was working to slow the heartbeat and they could still get him out alive.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but the patient is dead." Napoleon tried not to sound emotional, but it was hard to say it out loud especially since he could hear no discernable heartbeat.

Sergei immediately reacted. "No, he can't be dead. He has to be executed. You're wrong."

Sergei pushed Sophia aside and rushed to the body. Shaking Illya as if to bring him back to life, he screamed, "No, you can't die until I say so. Guards, take him to the courtyard and get him ready for execution."

Sophia quickly stepped in, grabbed Sergei and slapped him. He began to calm down. "Sit down Sergei. It will be all right. Illya Kuryakin was a traitor. You did what no one else has been able to do. You brought him in. He was sentenced to be executed. You did that. You will be commended for that. The doctor and I will take the body to the morgue and dispose of it."

Sergei had a thought. "I want his ashes. Give me a lock of his hair and his ashes. I want to dispose of them myself."

Sophia knew Sergei had completely lost it. "All right. Now go home, Sergei. It's over. We'll take care of everything."

Like a little boy being sent to his room, Sergei left.

Napoleon was amazed. "You really have him under your thumb."

"Don't underestimate him, Napoleon. Look what he's done to your partner."

----

It was well after midnight before Sophia and Napoleon were on the road to the dacha with Illya. It had not been a difficult task to take the body out of the prison as bodies were often taken to hospitals for disposal. The drive to Sophia's dacha was made in relative silence. The evening was chilly and cloudy and the sliver of a moon that occasionally peaked between the clouds gave off an otherworldly feeling. So much happened in such a short period of time that spirits were simply exhausted.

The dacha belonged to Sophia's father and had been a gift to him by the state in recognition for many years of dedicated service. The cottage was small by American standards, but it was a symbol of prosperity to many average Russian workers. Located in a wooded area outside of the city, the house was secluded away from prying eyes. It was perfect.

Frank and Vasili met them in the front and helped carry Illya inside. He was placed in the bedroom located in the rear of the house. He still hadn't regained consciousness. Sophia grabbed her nurse's bag and went to tend to Illya. Seeing the worried look on Napoleon's face, she tried to reassure him, "Give him time to rest, Napoleon, he will be all right. You probably need to get some sleep as well."

"I can't sleep. I could use a cup of your special tea - that is, if you still make it." Napoleon smiled for the first time all evening.

"Come on Napoleon, join me in the kitchen."

The atmosphere was still rather cool between the two. Sophia knew part of it had to be because of the intense, stressful situation at hand, but she also knew she owed Napoleon an explanation but didn't quite know how to go about explaining to him why she left.

Sophia busied herself in the kitchen. This part of the house still smelled of her mother. The scents of cinnamon and vanilla seemed embedded in the wood of the old hand-carved cupboards. She brought the tea down from a canister on the top shelf and remembered her mother. She thought of how life was so much easier and safer when her mother was still alive and she was just a child.

The teakettle was already on the kerosene stove. Sophia's father always had a kettle on the stove in case of visitors. It was also the best way to keep warm on chilly nights.

Tea was served and both drank in silence. What was there to say after all these years? Maybe she should just let it go and not say anything. Sophia couldn't bring herself to look Napoleon in the eye. So near to him, she began to feel those same warm feelings that tugged at her heart. She raised her eyes and saw Napoleon staring at her. Very gently, he asked.

"Why did you leave me?"

"I had to," was her only reply.

"Why?"

Sighing, Sophia decided to show him. She got up and took his hand leading him to the cellar and joined her father and Frank, both still up and engaged in a conversation about farming techniques.

Vasili wondered how long it would take for his daughter to bring Napoleon to his hiding place. He liked Napoleon and it was about time she told him the truth.

"Napoleon, you met my father, Vasili."

"Briefly out front. Now, what is this about?"

"My father is the reason I couldn't leave."

Napoleon looked confused. "Sophia, you are not making any sense, again."

"My father works in the archives of the KGB. About 10 years ago, he became so disgusted with this immoral regime and lost faith in the communist political power structure that he began to take notes from the library and buried the records in trunks under this house."

Napoleon smiled. "What kind of information?" Thinking, rather condescendingly that the few scraps of paper smuggled out by a librarian wouldn't amount to much. He followed Vasili to a corner of the cellar where a few slats were pulled from the floor. A trunk was opened to reveal papers filled to capacity. Napoleon began reading the documents and realized that it was like reading your adversary's diary. The materials painted a detailed picture of what the Soviets did, tried to do and even thought about doing.

Frank soon joined them and found himself in amazement. Vasili had access to deep cover officers and agents and the information was all here - names and places of hundreds of agents.

"What do you plan to do with these files?" Frank asked.

Vasili shrugged. "I tried to defect several years ago, but the CIA turned me away."

"I remember now - they weren't interested because they saw you as just a librarian with nothing substantial to offer." Frank couldn't believe the CIA missed their chance at obtaining this kind of knowledge - this could change the face of the Cold War.

"I have six trunks of material. Is this substantial enough?"

Napoleon turned towards Sophia who was standing by the door. "I can help you. Let me talk to my bosses at U.N.C.L.E. and we can bring you in safely."

"Thank you Napoleon. But right now you should get some rest. Get your friend home first and then we'll worry about leaving here. We've been doing this for over 10 years. We can wait a few more months."

Frank was still reading. "This stuff is pure gold. No one is going to believe us." In the bottom of his shoe, Frank pulled out a micro-camera.

"Frank, why did you bring a camera to a rescue mission?"

He shrugged, "Habit, I guess, never go anywhere without it." He began taking pictures. Once the roll was finished he placed the camera back inside the sole of his shoe.

"Let's just hope you don't lose your shoes."

"Tread lightly, boy, " Frank said in jest, "I've been doing this since you were just a gleam in your daddy's eye. I think I know what I'm doing."

Napoleon laughed, "Well, Frank, now I really am tired. I suggest we get some sleep."

"See, Nap, I've been telling you that all week."

"Good night, Frank."

Sophia escorted Napoleon back to Illya's room. "Sophia, I'm sorry…"

"Shhh, Napoleon, enough. Maybe someday we'll be able to have a life together, but I know this is not the time." She reached up and kissed him - a tender, sad kiss, and quickly turned away.

Napoleon quietly pushed the door open and knelt beside Illya. He checked his pulse and could barely feel a rhythm but, it was there, thank God, it was there. Napoleon sat on the floor beside the bed and leaned his head against Illya and felt all the emotion welling up inside him. It was almost too much for him to bear.

That's where Sophia found him later that morning. Not sure how much sleep he had been able to get, she put a blanket around him while she checked on Illya. He seemed to be resting peacefully, but knew most of the calm was due to the drug. When that wore off, he would begin the long, painful road to recovery. She remembered treating patients who had been exposed to months and years of various forms of torture. Besides the obvious physical trauma there were many long-term psychological effects - insomnia, hallucinations and flashbacks. Why do grown men do these things to each other? There's got to be a better way to live.

Sophia was glad she didn't have to go back to work for a few days. She didn't think she had the stomach to face Sergei for awhile. She spent the time, taking care of Illya and Napoleon. Frank made the final arrangements for their trip home, and also managed to get a message through to Mr. Waverly that all was well.

--------------

Illya never felt such an incredible feeling. Nothing else mattered. He was free of his body and the pain of the last week. He just wished he could continue towards the light that seemed to beckon him onward. It was almost as if he was bound to his earthly body and could not break away. Deep in his soul he felt there was something else, some reason he had to go back. Going back meant a return to the pain. It meant remembering the horror of his ordeal. Here he was free from the memories. There was Napoleon to think about. Illya knew he would come for him. Napoleon risked his life and his career to get him out of Lubyanka prison. Illya knew he couldn't leave.

Illya was losing the light. He was feeling heavy and every nerve in his body was on fire. Because of the drug in his system he felt the pain without the burning sensation. He didn't want to leave the light, and he couldn't bear the heaviness that his body felt. It was cumbersome and he screamed at the injustice. Deep inside he could feel the thoughts tell him that it wasn't his time yet - he had no choice in the matter. There were too many people depending on him, too many things left to do. Napoleon was depending on him and he couldn't let him down.

Something else was hindering his rise to consciousness. Someone administered some kind of drug that had accounted for the numbness he felt. His head tingled, his tongue was thick, and his throat felt paralyzed. Opening his eyes for the first time, he found he couldn't move his head and he couldn't move his body. He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't move. He moved his eyes to the left and saw, to his surprise, Napoleon sleeping beside him on the floor.

-----------------

Around noon, Frank informed Sophia that he would check on Illya and see how things were going. He was anxious to get the show on the road. He didn't like the feeling of inaction. As he entered the room he noticed Illya's eyes were open. His immediate joy turned to panic when he noticed Illya wasn't moving or reacting. Frank shook Napoleon awake and knelt by Illya, checking for lifesigns. Illya's eyes followed his every move.

Napoleon pushed Frank away. "Illya, my friend, how are you doing? Can you hear me?"

All Illya could do was to blink his eyes. Napoleon looked at Sophia who was standing by the door. She replied, "It's the drug wearing off. Remember the paralyses, he should be aware of everything. Talk to him."

"Illya, it's me, Napoleon. We're here to take you home. Stay with us. Everything will be all right."

Illya understood.

-------------

Frank already made arrangements to meet with the fishing boat bound for Turkey. The next evening, they borrowed an old truck from Sophia's father and bid their farewells. The trip from Moscow to the southern port should remain uneventful. But Frank had all the proper papers if stopped, and would explain Illya as their drunken companion sleeping it off. As he told Napoleon, just blend in with the surroundings and act like you belong.

Napoleon was able to sit in back with Illya. Since he opened his eyes, he hadn't been able to say a word. That worried Napoleon. They were able to get him up and walking; aided by both Frank and Napoleon, but it put everyone in a somber mood. The entire trip down to the coast was silent like the black clouds that filled the sky.

They made the port city by early evening and were able to slip onto the boat with relative ease. Maybe it was because of the crowds of fishermen and other workers at the docks. No one paid them any mind. Once on the boat, the Captain placed Illya in his cabin and put him to bed. He immediately put Napoleon and Frank to work. This wasn't a cruise ship and he only went so far in doing favors for anyone, even though the Captain received quite a substantial amount of money to compensate for the inconvenience. As it was he had his hands full with a rather disgruntled crew. Moscow prices for supplies - particularly oil and food had risen astronomically, so the Captain decided to use their old kerosene stoves for heating and preparing the meals. He was able to scrounge enough food from his own suppliers to help. Most fishermen were in the same situation and they all looked out for each other. The old stoves were frequently used - they were much cheaper, but somewhat dangerous to use on the open sea.

The seas that evening were particularly rough. Illya felt himself being rocked viciously from side to side. The numbness was wearing off and he was able to sit up on the bed. Looking around the cabin, he saw the kerosene stove and had an ominous feeling, especially with the rough winds battering the waves against the boat. He suddenly needed to get himself up on deck. His muscles wouldn't function as quickly as he liked, but he pushed himself up the stairs to the deck. As soon as he was on deck, he spotted Napoleon and was trying to say something when there were several big explosions from below. He was thrown on deck and knocked Napoleon over. There was not much time to do anything but try to survive. The crew was battling both the waves and a sinking ship. Some tried to lower lifeboats, but the ship listed towards that side and began sinking fast. Napoleon and Frank grabbed Illya and jumped overboard. The survival instinct commanded Illya to begin swimming. Not knowing where they were, they swam away from the wreckage. It wasn't long before all was relatively quiet. Frank was able to secure a large plank of wood from the ship before it went down that they used as a floatation device. It appeared there were very few survivors because it all happened so fast that most of the crew had been down below when the explosion hit.

After a while in the water, Napoleon knew they couldn't last much longer. Illya was looking especially ghastly and they needed help fast. The night was falling and it would be almost impossible to find them in the open sea once it became dark. This couldn't be happening. After all they had been through, to come this far only to drown in the Black Sea was unbelievable. Frank was keeping an eye out for any other fishing vessel in the area, but the area was filling quickly with a deep fog. A sound, much like a foghorn, seemed to emanate suddenly from behind them and as if out of nowhere, a small ship appeared with a red cross on the side. The ship wasn't there a minute before. Several men on board were already throwing life preservers in the water and one man jumped in to help bring the trio on board. All were exhausted.

"Where did you come from?" Frank asked with some suspicion. He also noted the uniforms the men were wearing - what an odd group of people.

In Russian, the one man replied, "We are a rescue ship and it is our job to scour the area for people in need of our services."

Frank thought this was rather odd, but accepted it. "Well, you certainly saved our hides. I can't thank you enough."

"We can provide you with a small boat."

"Wait a minute, can't you take us to Turkey? It shouldn't be too much farther from here."

"No, we can't. We must get back to help others."

Without any more discussion Napoleon, Illya, and Frank were given a boat and the coordinates to get them to safety. They were in the boat only minutes before Frank turned around and the ship was no longer there. "It must be the fog."

Napoleon added, "The fog is not that thick, Frank. The boat is gone."

Illya remained quiet. The explosion and unexpected swim in the Black Sea had caused his body to start to convulse. He was feeling hot and cold and couldn't seem to regulate his temperature. He lay in the bottom of the boat. Napoleon was very concerned. "Frank, we have to get Illya some help. He looks real bad."

"This boat only goes so fast, Napoleon."

It took them nearly an hour before they spotted land. The small ship sent them the exact coordinates to where they needed to be. They were thankful that Mr. Waverly had planned for agents to be ready to pick up the three when they arrived. The agents had been in port waiting for several days. They pulled the three out of the boat and placed Illya in a waiting ambulance. Napoleon and Frank both rode in the back with Illya. Attendants placed him on IV's and tried to assess his condition. Napoleon explained his condition in Lubyanka and the subsequent explosion on the fishing vessel and even tried to explain the boat that rescued them.

"You mean the phantom Russian vessel with the red-cross on the side."

"What do you mean, phantom vessel?"

"The vessel originally left the Russian port in 1906 bound for a sinking fishing vessel. The seas were bad and the Russian ship never made it. From then on, occasionally ships in trouble would report being helped by this phantom ship. I guess they're out there still trying to find the fishing boat."

"Well, whatever, they found us and we're here." A shiver went up Frank's spine. Not one to believe in such nonsense, there was no other way to explain what happened to them out there in the middle of the Black Sea.

Illya turned his head towards Napoleon and spoke for the first time, "Napoleon, you're really going to have to work on your rescue techniques. I don't think I need this kind of excitement."

Napoleon was so happy to hear Illya say something, he laughed, "That's the thanks I get?"

Illya grabbed his hand and said quietly, "Thanks, partner."

"Don't mention it."

THE END

Authors love feedback.
To send Nikiann Pappas a note in care of Chajka, click below: Nikiann