Stunned silence, two weeks had passed since the return from Montreal, two weeks of unmitigated hell. Thrush must have been saving up for the silly season because every agent was stretched to the limit from every office. Even Mr. Waverly had taken to the field on more than one occasion to deal with some problem or another. And now this.

Solo looked about the briefing room and shuddered remembering the other times when so called sister agencies had been called in to assist in one area or another. Each time UNCLE retained the position of seniority but now Mr. Waverly, with pipe in hand and a firm-set jaw, insisted that on this occasion both that he and his "partner" would be equal without resorting to rank and file. Not only that when he questioned the controller of his real, heavy emphasis on the real, partners whereabouts he was told bluntly to mind his own business and leave him to do his work in peace.

Chagrinned he took the brief from the table and stalked toward his office. Once inside he stared across at Illya's empty desk, laid neatly and orderly with current case files, and sighed. Dragging his mind back to the present he flicked through the pages before him, digesting little and frowning often. Every so often he would come across a relevant piece of information and would begin to speak to Illya before he realized that he was very much on his own.

It was no wonder with his preoccupation that he jumped when the secretary knocked politely on his door. Adjusting his demeanor and tie he looked across at Illya's desk again. Putting the mask firmly back in place for his pretty secretary he answered in what he hoped was not-too-distracted tone.

She entered blushing prettily, long raven locks about her features set off large green eyes. Solo flirted more out of habit than desire and received the archives politely. Before she left she turned.

"Sir?"

"Yes Betty?" he said without looking up.

"Mr. Waverley has sent down your new partner, his name is Colonel Mark Richards USAF, he's waiting outside shall I send him in?"

For the second time that day, Solo looked stunned and stood up immediately. His day was beginning to look better already.

"Yes by all means Betty show him in."

Her long graceful fingers touched the door knob and just before she exited, Solo looked again across at Illya's desk. The hollow fear that churned him would not be dissuaded. He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially in her ear.

"You wouldn't happen to know what file case Mr. Kuraykin was working on last, would you?"

She nodded and looked down as an embarrassed flush across her face and she bit her bottom lip. "He said I was not to tell you, no matter what, Mr. Solo."

"Who told you?" he moved closer his fingers toying with a lock of her hair as he breathed into her ear, charming her, lulling her.

"Mr. Kuraykin." Her eyes drooped, hooded now with the flush of desire creeping across her skin.

"I ah, won't tell him, Betty."

"Mr. Solo. He will know it's me and he will kill me."

"I'll protect you Betty, besides I need to know." He put on his best little boy face and she sighed.

"I'll tell you the case file number and you can figure it out from there." She stood back straightening herself up. The blush subsided as she looked at him through hooded blue eyes. "The Colonel is waiting." With a swish of her skirt she moved away through the door.

Solo smiled.

"I see you still manage to set the girl's hearts racing, old friend."

"I see you managed to stay in the Air Force without being court maritaled." The sparring was easy and comfortable, as Solo held the door open for his old buddy.

"Of course," Richards answered, a self satisfied smile on his face. He was not classically handsome, but at nearly forty his body was still in good shape. He was solid and well-toned under his uniform, his hair was short-cropped to regulation and his air of confidence, something not often seen in younger men, put him in good stead with the secretarial pool and with the majority of his workmates. His record was spotless except for that one drunken incident in Korea. As if reading his mind Solo, motioned to a chair and took his own seat.

"I would have thought with the incident in Da Nang that you would have been busted for sure. One man, nine villagers and several young girls." Solo shook his head and smiled at the memory.

"Hey I was drunk remember, otherwise the MP's would never have had a chance." Mark smiled easily and affectionately as he looked across the table. "You look good, Napoleon."

"UNCLE looks after its own." He handed across the case file and waited till the air force man had read it. "I assume you are already aware of the problems on the base."

Mark nodded, "Yes, despite our efforts it would seem that certain unsavory elements have access to top secret information and it is a wide-spread problem. We have had reports from Germany, Great Britain, Canada and of course from our own domestic situation."

"I understand your heading the task force assigned by the American government to oversee the problem and the investigation. That's a fairly broad brief even for a Colonel." Solo smiled, a familiar ease creeping into the conversation. He stopped himself short on several occasions remembering the transient nature of the assignment.

"Only if your not up to the job, Napoleon." Solo leaned forward forcing himself to settle into the mechanics of the situation.

"Presumptuous and arrogant as ever Mark." Solo chided as he called Betty back in. Calling for several more files, and some investigations to be done on several likely candidates. He spared one last look at the empty chair and did not notice as Betty dropped papers onto his desk with a number scrawled on the top. Finally looking down, he tore the piece of paper off and deposited it into his pocket for later use.

The bar stank with stale beer and sweaty bodies. Strobe lighting lit the dance floor and bodies mindless of their environment swirled and gyrated to the beat. Illya felt odd. He had never been in a place like this before and yet still felt so totally at home that it frightened him. Unlike Solo he had not been assigned a new partner, had not been given a brief, just a few names to watch and wait for.

Mr. Waverly had all but blushed when he said that Illya fitted the physical requirement of the position, that the people in question had a penchant for slightly-built blond men and that he would be fitted out accordingly.

Not one word or whisper was uttered as he steeled his icy glare on the wardrobe mistress as she handed him the blue jeans, white T-shirt and black leather jacket. Not his normal attire yet still plain enough for him to not feel too conspicuous. When she handed him the wide heavily-studded leather belt, he had left it behind with a soft moan.

Once back in the safety of his lab he locked the door, stared down at the clothes and the brief and reading it found all the names, not surprisingly were male.

Days that seemed like months ago, he looked down into the glass of warmed vodka. Illya moaned aloud as a warm hand snake around his waist. Fighting the impulse to reach for the non-existent gun he turned. The face that greeted him was unknown and not unattractive with dark cropped hair, deep hazel eyes and a wide smile. For a moment Illya was lost in thought trying to remember just who he reminded him of. The hand moved up to the small of his back caressing with a knowing touch. He started and pulled forward, moving the intruding hand from his body.

The eyes laughed at him, mocked at him and at once he felt vulnerable and naked under their gaze. The music pulsated and the smell of tightly pressed bodies caught in his throat. With an effort he slid some coins onto the bar, more than enough to cover his drinks and moved unsteadily towards the door.

Cool moist air assaulted his face he took in great gulps like a drowning man coming ashore and looked into the night sky. Dark clouds worried at the edges of the stars threatening to engulf the brightness. And then the hand was back, warm and solid against his back turning him to meet dark eyes, touching at the slightly damp cheek. Lips, clever and mobile captured his, demanding entrance into his mouth and like a hungry child he suckled deeper, twining his fingers in the short dark hair, capturing the moment and the feeling.

Strong fingers gripped at his hips as he was pushed back against the dark wall, rain pattered down around him and he threw his head back breaking the contact and gasping for breath and control. The hands worked on his body, pulling his clothing away, teasing at nipples and working down towards the waist of the blue jeans. Lips replaced hands and before rational thought fled him completely he looked down again at the dark head, curling his fingers into the short hair and guided the lips towards his now exposed erection.

Time seemed to stand still in that instant and a long held desire from childhood reared its head. For a moment he thought of the course of events, of his own desires, of this moment and with caution thrown to the wind, pushed up into the entreating warmth that glided over him and pleasure exploded through his body like white hot lightning. In that fraction of a second something tore free from his soul. He fought to figure out just what even as his climax took him sobbing over the edge.

Gentle hands guided him down, pulling him close as his clothes were rearranged. His face buried against the larger man's chest and a soft rumbling sound that he knew to be a voice, soothed him and calmed him. Oddly enough it was apologizing and Illya felt shamed.

"Sorry." He finally pulled himself up. "Too much to drink." Illya muttered lamely, turning his face away. The strangers hand captured the face and turned it back, wiping at the dampness on the highly flushed cheeks.

"No need. You are very beautiful." The voice was well cultured and spoke of money and breeding as did the clothes now that the Russian took the opportunity of looking.

Illya laughed, "Nyet."

"Ah I thought as much Russian. I have been watching you for days now. As I said, you are very beautiful my friend, and I am honored." He bowed a ridiculously old-fashioned sentiment and Illya laughed again this time with warm humor.

"My name is Illya." He said softly.

"Paul." The taller man answered without delay, "Paul Carter. We should get you back inside. It's cold."

Illya realized that he had indeed begun to shiver and looked up through slitted eyes, "You don't want me too?" he looked down the length of the man's body and saw the damp stain across his pelvis. Paul smiled.

"Not this time Illya." He lent in, both large gentle hands working on the Russian's shoulders, caressing and feeling. Illya took the lead and moved closer taking the lips again in his own with intensity. Carter pushed him back smiling and laughing softly as he caressed the cheek before him. Illya watched him move away, back into the bar and finally as dawn lit the sky he turned towards the rented rooms, keenly feeling the cold.

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To Proceed to Part Three
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To be continued...

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