Napoleon Solo returned to the table. ``Sorry about that,'' he said. ``Just a last-minute complication to our travel plans day after tomorrow.''
I nodded as Napoleon took his eat. On the other side of the table, sitting next to him, Dov Kapiloff seemed not to notice Napoleon's return.
``Luckily,'' Napoleon said, ``I was able to keep us in the first-class section, even with the change in flights.''
Normally, I can easily do without the comforts of first-class flying. Yet, somehow it was reassuring to hear of my colleague's small triumph. Napoleon's knack for securing such accommodations had failed him during a recent assignment. It seemed like a little thing at the time -– Napoleon Solo finally falling prey to the law of averages. Yet, in retrospect, it had been a sign of what was to come. In the end, Napoleon and I survived that assignment. Many others, both inside and outside of U.N.C.L.E. -– more formally known as the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement -– had not.
Indeed, there had been many aftershocks from the affair. We were sitting with one of them now, a situation engineered by Napoleon a few hours earlier. I recalled how Napoleon approached me about it.
``Doing anything tonight, Illya?'' Napoleon asked after coming by my office at the new U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.
My name, if it matters, is Illya Kuryakin. I've worked with Napoleon Solo for quite a long time, longer than probably either of us cares to think about. So long, I could tell this was not a casual inquiry.
``That depends,'' I replied.
``I was wondering if you might be interested in dinner.''
``Given your usual social calendar, wouldn't that be a bit awkward?'' I decided to needle my friend.
It worked. Napoleon frowned. ``Well, it's not that kind of dinner. But there will be someone else there.''
``Who might that be?'' I asked.
``Dov Kapiloff,'' Napoleon said. ``Seems a bit moody these days.''
``We can't be glib conversationalists all the time.''
``Dov usually tries. Now, all of a sudden, he doesn't. It piques my curiosity.''
Napoleon's comment prompted a memory. We had had just returned from Europe and tried to get to Alexander Waverly, who was on his deathbed. We were driven to the new headquarters site, a location we had not been given, by Dov and his normal partner, Helga Thorstrom who, like us, are members of Section Two of U.N.C.L.E.
Napoleon was correct. Dov, an Israeli, had indeed been withdrawn and not much like his normal self. But that was some weeks ago. Our paths hadn't crossed since.
``I recall he muttered something about his assignment during the recent Ragnarok business,'' I said.
``Yes,'' Napoleon replied. ``He said it was in the reports. And there were a few details. But I think I'd like to find out more if I can.''
I pondered whether Napoleon was telling me everything. Still, he was not one to meddle in the personal lives of his subordinates. As the Number One of Section Two, the enforcement division of U.N.C.L.E., he knows, perhaps better than anyone, how the strains of the job affect those who perform it.
``If you think my presence will be of help, then all right.''
``I have reservations at eight at Molyvos on Seventh Avenue. Just up the street from the Theater District. We'll be sandwiched in-between the early pre-theater clientele and the late dinner crowd.''
Molyvos, as you might gather from the name, is a Greek restaurant. The name, in fact, is the hometown of the proprietor. He came to New York and got his start in the restaurant business as a dishwasher. He became quite successful, owning multiple establishments, with Molyvos as his centerpiece. If I sound like a diligent researcher, I confess I had some help. The restaurant posted a framed copy of a small New York Times article about the restaurant above a urinal in the men's rest room.
We had shared a bottle of wine and a good dinner. Even though I've lived in the West for some time, and even though Napoleon was putting this dinner on his expense account, I still have an aversion to conspicuous consumption. I had ordered a chicken and rice entrée, one of the few on the menu for less than twenty dollars. Napoleon was more generous but he had ordered the most expensive meal of the three for Dov, who had deferred to Napoleon.
After the meal, Napoleon had insisted on a round of cognac for everyone, each drink more expensive that my entrée. Dov was still picking at his plate when the after-dinner drinks arrived. Napoleon then had been summoned by the page to attend to our flight arrangements.
``So Dov, when do you and Helga ship off to London?'' Napoleon asked as he picked up his glass of cognac.
Dov didn't react immediately. His head rose slowly. ``A few days, I suppose. Helga and I were still making arrangements this afternoon.''
``The sooner you could get over there, the better,'' Napoleon said. ``It would help Professor Hemingway if we could get a first-hand assessment of the readiness with the London station. They're still awaiting appointment of a permanent station chief.''
The professor, our new superior, was moving to repair the damage inflicted by Thrush during the recent Ragnarok affair. The trip Napoleon and I were planning was also related to that effort.
``Sure,'' Dov said.
``Also,'' Napoleon said, his voice quiet but firm, ``I wanted to ask you something about that business in South Africa during the Ragnarok crisis.''
Dov's voice was unsteady for a second. ``Nothing really to tell. We covered it in the reports.''
``The report seemed, eh, a bit sketchy in places,'' Napoleon said.
``It had to be done in a hurry.''
I sensed it might be a good time to speak myself. ``You and Helga led a team that launched a counter attack on a Thrush complex that coordinated activity all over Africa.''
``Not led,'' Dov interrupted. ``More like targets. Bait.''
I glanced at Napoleon. I could see in his eyes he understood.
``You weren't the only ones,'' I said.
Dov looked up.
``That's right,'' Napoleon interjected. ``One of Mr. Waverly's strategies in the Ragnarok affair was to set up some of our most senior operatives, or agents who were obvious in other ways, as targets while less-prominent agents blended in and finished the job.''
``A fair-skinned Scandinavian in Africa?'' Dov said, his voice rising as he described Helga. ``Not to mention myself. Our cover identities as descendants of Dutch settlers was quite transparent.''
``All the easier to set up the target,'' I said.
``Easy? It was child's play.''
Napoleon glanced at me then looked again at Dov. ``As Illya said, you weren't the only ones.''
Dov grimaced for a moment. ``Napoleon, you know my background. I grew up in a place where most of our neighbors wanted to destroy us. I am not naïve. I am not a boy.''
``No one said you were.''
``I am lucky to have survived that affair. And I had no help from U.N.C.L.E. in that regard.''
Napoleon continued to look at Dov, saying nothing.
Dov caught himself and lowered his voice. ``I survived because of my own hands, because they were stronger than those of the assassin who was trying to kill me. Do you know what it's like, starting to black out, your vision clouding, not knowing whether you're about to breath your last?''
``I've had that experience more than once,'' Napoleon said.
Dov looked over at me. I just nodded.
The Israeli rubbed his hands. ``I'm sorry, I did not mean…'' He didn't complete the sentence.
``Dov,'' Napoleon said, ``no one doubts your courage. You joined the Israeli military at the youngest age possible. You were recruited into the Mossad. You've had a good record since becoming part of U.N.C.L.E.''
Dov rubbed his forehead. Still, he said nothing.
``However, you're still used to a very black-and-white view of things,'' Napoleon continued. ``As you said yourself, you grew up in a region, where your neighbors wanted to obliterate you. You're perhaps less experienced in dealing in shades of gray.''
The Israeli sighed. ``You think I'm childish.''
``Hardly,'' I said. ``In our occupation, one has to learn to navigate the gulf between black and white.'' I grinned. ``As a Russian, I suppose I have an unfair advantage in this regard.''
``Dov,'' Napoleon said, ``Illya and I were also made into targets during Ragnarok. Not once, but twice. We got out of it. We were a little lucky.''
``You were lucky,'' I said. ``For me, it was pure presence of mind.''
For the first time in some time, Dov laughed. ``I'm not sure I believe it.''
``Take a drink of your cognac,'' Napoleon said. ``We have time.''
We ordered two more rounds before finishing our story. After seeing Dov's spirits lightened, I didn't mind -– at least this once -– the conspicuous consumption.
THE END
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