Act V: "How Could I Possibly Embarrass You?"

Solo walked down the halls of U.N.C.L.E. New York with a lighter step than he'd had in the past month. He tapped the thick folder in his palm as he walked, nodding his hellos as he passed others on his way to Waverly's office.

The doors to his boss's office opened easily and he slid into his seat. "Sir," he acknowledged as he sat and opened the folder on the huge, round conference table.

"So, Mr. Solo, the news from Medical is good this morning."

"Yes, sir. Illya's finally is showing evidence of consciousness." The vision of his partner lying on the ground, bleeding, would forever be etched in his mind. The wound was bloody, but not life threatening. Solo concluded that his dart had hit its target a fraction of a second before Illya had fired, knocking his friend's body away from the killing shot. Or maybe Illya had pulled away on his own; he didn't really care which scenario it was. His partner was still alive.

Waverly leaned back and rolled his pipe between his fingers as the looked Solo over.  "There's still no indication of the level of Mr. Kuryakin's recovery, and this matter cannot wait much longer." Waverly pointed at the file in Napoleon's hand with the stem of the pipe.

"Sir, the intelligence we've obtained from the CIA turncoat in the past month has been very revealing. We're confident that the perpetrator of this new mind controlling technique is a single person. We just don't know who, exactly, it is. We finally have the region in Russia where it took place narrowed down, but it’s a large area. This man needs to be stopped and his work destroyed. This level of brainwashing is…"

"Frightening, yes, I agree. We need to get to him before anyone else does. The Soviet government is still negotiating for the technique, according to the intelligence. That hasn't changed, I take it?"

"No, sir, it hasn't. But the grapevine indicates the developer is now taking bids from other sources, Thrush included. Illya's performance made quite a splash: A self-destructing mercenary and messenger that doesn't need to be paid. And as far as we know, they still believe Illya's dead. Agent Durrin could only give us information on his governmental contacts. Has he been charged yet, by the way?"

Waverly placed the pipe between his lips as he fumbled with a small tobacco tin. "Yes. They agreed to lesser charges than treason in exchange for information. And as far as the Soviets know, nothing is amiss. Quite a messy affair that could have ended up quite badly for the U.S."

Solo nodded, vaguely recalling that April had some fast juggling to do when she finally detained Durrin and exchanged the film in his possession for harmless duplicates. Illya had obtained quite a collection in the Grummann administrative offices.

"The CIA has gladly handed the hunt over to us. They have a lot of follow up to do on Durrin and his associates here in the States as well as abroad. The Army Intelligence and the N.S.A. are covering the Soviet governmental contacts both for the prisoner and film trade. The identification and location of this doctor is our job since we have the only eyewitness.  We need to proceed soon, before this technique is sold."

"I understand, sir. I guess it's all up to Illya." Solo rose and flipped the folder closed. "I'll head down to Medical and see what's up."

Waverly waved him off as he struck a match and touched it to the bowl of the pipe. Solo got a quick sniff of the aromatic smoke as the doors closed behind him.

*********

His steps slowed as he approached Medical. He always hated this place, and knew Illya felt the same. They both deemed it as a necessary evil in their line of work.

Illya's bed for the past month had been a glass enclosed room that was monitored 24/7. A conscious person would have a heck of a time getting any rest with the constant goings-on. Whenever Solo had visited his friend in the past month he felt like he was sitting in a fish bowl. Illya would hate it, and he grinned at the thought as he pulled up a chair.

The monitors he had come to know like the back of his own hand were quite active. Solo was there for just a few minutes when the doctor, a nurse and a burly orderly trooped into the room. "Glad you're here, Mr. Solo. We're going to try and waken Mr. Kuryakin with a little stimulant. The monitors are all within normal levels. We don't know what to expect, though." He nodded to the nurse who started injecting something in the I.V. The sound of the door opening again made Solo turn. The staff psychiatrist entered quietly and stood out of the way, nodding a greeting to Solo. Solo ignored him.

Napoleon watched Illya's eyelids flutter. The heavy bandages around the Russian's head of the last few weeks had been replaced with lighter ones as the scar on his temple healed. His cheeks were still sunken, and his complexion pasty white.

"Illya!" The doctor called softly, a hand on each shoulder. "Mr. Kuryakin! Open your eyes!"

"Tell him he's safe," the psychiatrist suggested. "He needs to know that."

Solo snorted and leaned over his friend. The doctor backed off. "Illya! Come on partner, open your eyes! You've been sleeping too much lately!"  The lids finally lifted to reveal two very blue, very confused eyes that focused calmly on Solo for the first time in a long time. The dark haired agent couldn't help but crack a huge grin. "Hey!" He said. "It's about time!"

Illya squinted and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He shakily raised his hands and looked down at them as if he were surprised they were there. He opened his mouth to talk, but all that came out was a scratchy, "Wha….", then he head fell back weakly on the pillow.

Solo asked for a glass of water, and the nurse complied as they cranked the head of the bed up a bit. He helped his friend with the straw, trying not to be obvious about watching Illya's eyes…they would tell him a lot about his friend's status. So far they were a bit confused, but calm.

Illya pushed the glass away after a few sips and cleared his throat. "Quit yelling at me, Napoleon. I have a headache," he whispered roughly as he sank back in the pillow and flopped one arm over his eyes.

"Oh, no you don't. You have some explaining to do!" Solo said teasingly, relieved. The staff laughed and relaxed, but the psychiatrist in Solo's peripheral vision remained unmoved.

******

It was many days more before the Russian was allowed to walk the halls of headquarters. The day he finally made it to Waverly's office was a bit of a triumph in Solo's mind; it had been over a year since he was last here.

Kuryakin had picked up weight, but the suit Napoleon had retrieved from the Russian's apartment still hung loosely on his frame. He had a ways to go still, but Solo and the doctors were sure he was well on the mend.

"It seems, sir, that the forced memory paths programmed into Mr. Kuryakin's brain were unable to hold, so to speak. When the conditioned behavior ran its course, the programmed paths simply collapsed like a line of dominoes, allowing the old paths to re establish themselves. That's a simplistic explanation, but essentially what happened." The doctor closed his folder and folded his hands on top of the report. Illya and Napoleon simply leaned back and waited, having heard the report before.

"So you think Mr. Kuryakin has physically returned to his previous state?" Waverly asked.

"Yes." Said the medical doctor.

"No." Said the psychiatrist. Illya frowned, keeping his anger under control. Solo began to speak, but was silenced with a motion from Waverly.

"Please explain," the head of Section One inquired.

The psychiatrist cleared his throat. "Mr. Kuryakin has undergone a tremendous physical and psychological shock, sir. There is no way that he could be back to 'normal' so soon. It could be months, even years, before the full extent of his injuries can be assessed, mentally, at least. I recommend light duty for two more months, minimum, with weekly testing."

"I don't think so," growled the blond agent. The spark in his eyes was matched only by that of his partner's.

"Mr. Kuryakin, you are hardly in the position to judge your own mental…"

"Thank you, Dr. Spence. Your opinions are noted. Now if you and Dr. Collins will be kind enough to leave us?" Waverly dipped his head and picked up a pen, making a few notes of his own. The two doctors left.

Illya relaxed visibly when the door closed. He then calmly regarded his superior.

"I assume Mr. Solo has brought you up to date on events since your capture?" Waverly asked, all business.

"Yes, sir, he has," Illya replied.

"So you know the urgency of timing in all this. Simply, we have no more time. You are the only one that can identify the man that developed this technique, and we have to stop him. I understand Dr. Spence's concerns, and will keep them in mind. Meanwhile, I need you and Mr. Solo to start working on this case as of now. The doctor has cleared you physically to go back to work if you take it easy for a few more days. I'm sure research alone will keep you sufficiently busy for that time. Are you up for this, Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya nodded his head. "Yes, sir, I am. Thank you, sir."

The top two agents of the New York office stood and politely excused themselves. As they walked out, the eyes of their boss followed them thoughtfully.

This was Kuryakin's first full day out of the medical section and he was moving a bit slowly. Solo had to slow down a bit to keep even with his friend, and kept up light chatter until they reached their office. Illya collapsed in his chair, and then began picking at the papers piled on the desk. Solo folded his arms and leaned against the wall in front of his partner's desk.

"OK," Napoleon started, making Illya look up at him.

"OK what?" Illya replied.

"Share time. I've told you what happened since you were captured; now you have to tell me what you remember. It's the only way to start."

Illya frowned and leaned back. "Yes, I suppose you're correct.  I'm not sure how helpful it will be, though. All I remember is pain. Lots of pain." He forehead furrowed, and he unconsciously rubbed the scar on his temple with a fingertip.

"Then let's start before that. What lead you to believe you were betrayed? Your last message was to us here at U.N.C.L.E., not through your chain of command. Do you remember why you did that?"

Still rubbing his forehead, Illya looked thoughtful. "One of the team left us at a crucial moment; we were monitoring a lab and what I heard didn't make sense, like it was a staged discussion. Then he left the room …" His eyes clenched shut and he put both elbows on his desk, holding his head between his hands, rubbing both temples.

"Illya? Are you all right?" Solo took a step closer but refrained from touching his friend.

"Yes," the blond agent said. "I'm still anticipating the pain. It's blocking my recall."

"We can go back to this later," Solo started.

"Nyet!" Illya barked, a bit more sharply than he intended. "I mean, no, it's all right. I have to do this eventually. I have no joy being one of Pavlov's dogs." With a big sigh, he sat up again. "OK. The infiltrator didn't realize the extent of my background in physics, I guess. The information we were gathering that day was totally useless, and one man in the team seemed restless. He'd already made several solo 'fact finding' missions on his own in the past week, and I was kept in the dark. I thought it was because of the way the team felt about me. But looking back, I think the others simply didn't notice or seem to think it mattered. They were too focused on watching me."

Napoleon nodded in agreement. "I had the feeling you weren't a trusted member."

Illya nodded. "Anyway, when the agent left the room, I looked out the window to see which direction he was going and saw that we were surrounded by what looked like undercover KGB."

"Why do you say that?"

"I know KGB tactics on surround and capture. Similarly dressed men in black coats were in a classic attack position that were moving in. I warned the others then made the call. It's kind of a blur after that."

"The man, that is the agent that left early, was it the CIA representative of the group?"

"Yes," he said softly, suppressing his anger. "I guess that all comes together with Mr. Durrin's arrest, doesn't it?"

"It sure does. And that's the CIA's problem right now. Big shake up going on down there, I bet. And just between you and me and Waverly, April and Mark have been keeping tabs on that guy in Russia, so we have that information if we need it.  Do you remember where you were taken?"

There was a long pause as the Russian began to slowly rock his chair. Solo saw him wipe his palms on his thighs, and realized he was beginning to sweat.

"Illya?"

Kuryakin jumped out of the chair and began pacing. "Wait a minute, just wait." He ran his hand through his hair.    

That was the point that Napoleon Solo first entertained the idea that this may be more difficult that he anticipated. The conditioning had to be broken, and it was obvious it was going to take awhile.

"I was calling in my report, and was the last one to get out. I was caught. I was taken to a holding cell." Illya stopped pacing, dropped his hands and looked right at Napoleon. "They left me to be taken."  

Solo stared back, lips tight, and nodded tightly. "That was my feeling."

Illya regarded him for a second as if that was a totally foreign idea, then slowly shook his head and dropped back in his chair, muttering something in Russian. Solo didn't ask for a translation; he knew what it meant.

Illya leaned back in the chair for a minute, looking thoughtful. "I was taken to a local holding cell. I was interrogated by the KGB."

"For how long? Hours? A day? Longer?"

"Longer, I think." Illya's forehead was all wrinkles from concentration, and he rubbed a small circle on his scarred temple with one finger.

Solo moved to his drawer and pulled out a map, opened it, and spread it on his partner's desk. "Here's where your surveillance took place, right?" He poked at the map. Illya nodded. "Where were you held?" Illya automatically pointed at an area southeast from where he was taken. Solo glanced at him, then the map. "How do you know that?"

"I don't know. I just do. I was there several days and then moved out of the city. Let's see," Illya leaned over the map. "There were lots of rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Yes. I broke up a lot of them with a sledgehammer. Lots of rocks." He was rubbing his temple harder. "And an old mine with a modern lab nearby."

Solo was going to point out how absurd that sounded, but decided to keep quiet. Illya was working hard to reveal this information from his mind; better to let it flow and pick through it later.

"Dogs. German Shepards. I was housed alone. It was cold and I didn't have enough blankets. There was some snow on the ground."

Solo looked at the map. For the time of year in question, and the openness of the area, and using the intelligence he had of where they suspected the conditioning occurred, he circled his finger over a particular region. "This area fit the bill?"

Illya stopped rubbing his head and looked down with pained eyes, blinking. "Yes. I recall the mountain range in the distance. Here," he ran his fingers over a spot on the map. "When I was in military training that was the range I saw! I was near a military base." He put his hands over is eyes. "I have a headache, Napoleon. The light hurts my eyes."

Without a word, Solo walked over and snapped off the light. "Better?"

"Yes. Thanks." There was comfortable silence for a few seconds. "Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"I have to go back and stop him."

"I think you're right, partner."

The silence continued a few moments longer.

"Napoleon?"

"What?"

"If you promise you'll try not to embarrass me, I think you had better come with me."

"Me?" Solo replied indignantly. "How could I possibly embarrass you?"  

Act VI: "Well, Haven't You All Been Busy."

Solo couldn't avoid the inevitable meeting with Dr. Spence before they left for Europe. He'd tossed all the phone messages and made sure he was out of the building at suggested meeting times, but couldn't avoid a direct order from Mr. Waverly.

As he walked briskly down the hallway to Medical, Solo recalled the mood his partner had been in when he'd returned from his 'required' meeting with the doctor the afternoon before; the older agent had decided to call it a day and left the building. He had no doubt that Illya would have the same response.

When he tapped on the office door and stepped in he was met with a stern face. "Hello, Mr. Solo. Glad you could make it." Solo wasn't sure it was a sarcastic greeting. The man's voice was neutral. "Have a seat."

As he sat, the agent looked at his watch. "I have other meetings to attend, so can we hurry this up?"

Dr. Spence smiled a patient smile and clasped his hands together on top of the fat file on his desk. "I know how Enforcement agents feel about psychiatrists, Mr. Solo. Generally we try to keep out of your way. But you have to believe that we are only looking out for the welfare of all agents. We have the same mission, that of saving lives."

Solo rolled that one around as he pursed his lips and looked at the doctor. He decided to just listen to what the headshrinker had to say and not make waves. ' Just check the box on Waverly's list and be on my way,' he thought. "One big, happy family," he replied evenly.

"Yes, well," Dr. Spence continued. "With that in mind, I want to preface this discussion by telling you that your comments to me are bound by the doctor patient confidentiality clause, but if I feel at anytime that your physical safety, or the physical safety of your partner, are threatened, I will intervene anyway I can. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Solo replied, guarded and unmoving.

The doctor leaned closer. "You all ready know I object to your partner going back in the field. Your partner knows why. What I want to do now is brief you so when there is a problem, there will be minimum number on the casualty list."

"You seem sure there's going to be a problem," Solo commented in a level voice, not showing the anger he felt. His dark eyes burrowed into the doctor's. The doctor didn't flinch.

"I have no doubt something will happen. I can't say how it will manifest itself but I want to give you a list of warning signs. That's all. Are you willing to listen?" Solo didn't reply right away. "I know you think that by listening, you're betraying your partner somehow. Look at it this way:  You'll be doing your partner a favor, maybe even save his life and yours, too, if you just keep what I say in mind, that's all. Your instincts will tell you what to do, Mr. Solo. That's why you're so good at your job."

Napoleon crossed his legs and leaned back, considering the words. Dr. Spence waited patiently. Finally, Solo nodded. "Go ahead," he said carefully.

When Napoleon Solo left Medical an hour later he was sure it had all been for naught. 'Still, the more information one was armed with, the better for the mission,' he thought, trying to push away the feeling that he had, in fact, betrayed his partner somehow.

*********

After three days of research and forced recall from Illya, they finally thought they had enough to make a move.  Kuryakin seemed much steadier and looked almost like his usual, stoic self. Some time outside U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters would help his complexion lose its paleness; when the pair stepped into the sun of New York, Illya paused slowly surveyed the sky.

They gathered their things at their respective apartments, and headed to the airport. To Solo, his partner seemed eager to get moving. Incoming intelligence was still a steady flow thanks to the details Illya had managed to relay from his memories, each piece of information painful to recall. It was solely his Russian stubbornness that kept him going. Finally, they had a physical description of the doctor they felt was responsible for the whole technique, and their European connections were working overtime to place a name to the face.

The two agents were well into the transatlantic flight when Solo's communicator warbled, rousing Kuryakin from an uneasy sleep.

"Solo here," the agent answered.

"Napoleon, it's April. I think we've finally pinned a name to Illya's nightmare."

"Who?" Illya asked a bit groggily.

"The name is Antonio Rivas. He's a Spaniard with no real allegiance to any country and an expert in psychological disorders. Seems he disappeared a several years ago while working in France on ways to alter obsessive behaviors."

Solo and Illya's eyebrows raised in unison. "Really?" Solo replied. "Any idea where he went from there?"

"Not really, but the only clue we have is a German doctor that was his partner in the French project, one Dr. Wilhelm Klofensten. They worked closely in France, and in a previous project in Spain. Klofensten stayed with the French project after Rivas disappeared, but then he also dropped from the radar after he left France. He showed up again two years ago, working at a project in Germany. Has been there ever since."

"Sounds like we're starting in Germany," Illya commented as he settled his head back down in the small airline pillow with a yawn.

"See if you can get the details on what he's currently working on." Solo told April. "We'll catch up with you when we land in Germany."

"Will do, sport!" April said brightly. "Dancer out."

**********

When they landed in Germany, Solo couldn't help getting a shiver recalling the last time he'd come here. He stole a glance at his partner and assessed him mentally against how he was the last time he was here. Illya had come a long way.

They met up with April at a cozy country inn just outside Frankfurt, surprised to see that her partner Mark Slade was joining them.

"He did the legwork in Spain and France while I kept tabs on all things CIA here in Germany," April said as she nibbled at some confection with apples in it.

"Well, haven't you all been busy, " Illya said as he motioned for the waitress.

"That's certainly calling the kettle black," Mark quipped with a grin. "I'll have you know that your activities have created quite a stir."

Illya's stoic expression did not change. "Really," he said flatly, and then ordered his meal, as did Solo. Putting the menu down, he then looked at Mark and April with neutral eyes.

Solo picked up the conversation with a curious glance at his partner. He was normally quiet, but right now seemed almost rude. "Ah, have you found out anything more?"

Mark began his briefing. "For starters, Dr. Klofensten has been keeping in touch with Rivas. They both believe 'the subject', that's you," he nodded at Illya, "completed his programming and is dead. There's a little contention between the two about how much Klofensten contributed to the technique, and he wants a cut of the money when Rivas sells it on the open market."

"But Klofensten doesn't know the technique in detail?" Solo asked.

April shook her head and swallowed her bite. "No. The only one who knows it completely is Rivas."

"So there's conflict between the two Doctors. Maybe we can use that," Solo commented as he began the attack on his dinner.

"The Russian government is very angry with Rivas, too. I've gotten a lot of information from the CIA traitors in exchange for leniency. It seems that the Russians and Rivas made a deal before he began his, er, 'field trial'."  She glanced at Illya when she said that, but he continued eating without acknowledging her. "They expected Rivas to hand everything over to them in exchange for use of their labs. It seems Rivas had other ideas."

"Capitalist greed at its very best," Solo commented with a nod. "He's going for the big bucks."

"Yup. Apparently there's an auction of sorts being set up. Highest bidder wins Rivas and the only complete, written copy of his technique."

Mark grinned. "With the Russians and Klofensten at odds with him and the CIA turncoats, it sounds like it shouldn't be too hard to find that location."

"My thoughts exactly!" April chirped as she wiped her chin.

"You two cover the CIA angle and their Russian information and get what you can. Illya and I will contact Klofensten." Solo ordered.

April and Mark stood to go. "Oh, Napoleon," she added as they turned to go. "I have some pictures for you of the compound and Rivas. Come to the car and I'll get them for you."

Solo wiped his mouth and stood.

"Good to see ya up and about, mate." Mark said, giving Illya a nod.

"Yes, Illya, I'm so glad you're back," April patted his shoulder.

Illya gave them a glance and a small nod. "Thanks," was all he said.

Outside, April opened the trunk to the small sports car. "How is he, Napoleon?" She asked as she rifled through some papers. "There's something about him that doesn't seem right."

Mark agreed. "He was stoic before, but at least he had a sense of humor."

"He hasn't had much to laugh about lately," Solo agreed, "But he seems to be doing fine."

"There must be a lot of anger there somewhere," April commented as she handed over some pictures. "I mean, I'd be furious if I was put through what he went through."

Inside, Solo knew they were right. Illya's demeanor lately wasn't quite the norm for him, but could anyone blame him? "He's fine," Solo assured, although he wondered himself.

"OK, then. We'll be in touch." Mark and April hopped in the small car and took off.

After their meal, Illya and Napoleon found their rental car and took off towards the lab where Klofensten was seen last. As they drove, Solo pulled out the photos April had given him. "These look familiar?" he said, handing them to Illya.

Illya quickly went through them, stopping at the last picture. With his peripheral vision as he drove, Solo thought he saw his partner's grip tighten a bit as he looked at the photo of Rivas.  Antonio Rivas was a handsome man with thick black hair touched with gray at the temples, dark eyes and a chin that jutted in confidence.

"Yes," Illya said tightly. He went back to the other pictures, his hand shaking slightly. "This is the building I was taken to for the 'treatments', and that is the mine I worked in, but these other photos I don't recognize." He picked out Rivas' picture and put the others down. "And I will never forget this face." As he spoke, he rubbed his forehead with his free hand and squinted slightly.  "Or his voice." He dropped the photo and pressed his eyes shut as he held his head between his hands.

"You OK?" A concerned Solo asked.

"Quit asking me that," Illya snapped, leaning back in an obvious attempt to relax.

"What ever you say." The rest of the ride to the lab was quiet.

**********

The company building where Klofensten's lab was located had good security. After introducing themselves as magazine editors looking for an interview, the agents had to wait in the lobby and were eventually escorted to the correct floor. They were shown to a small conference room and told that Klofensten would be with them shortly. Solo leaned back in the comfortable chair with his elbows on the arms and his fingers steepled in front of his chin, rocking the chair slightly as he watched his partner prowl the room like a caged lion.

"Don't wear a hole in the carpet, Illya," he commented after a few minutes. The blond head snapped in his direction. Just before he scowled at him, Solo saw a flash of something in his friend's eyes that he wasn't used to seeing. Fear? Solo carefully kept his expression neutral as he logged that in his mind.

After several minutes Illya stationed himself next to the main door so that the door would hide him when the Doctor opened it to enter. Within a minute, the knob wiggled and the door opened. Solo stood up and extended his hand to introduce himself.

Klofensten was a medium sized, middle-aged man with harried look, thick glasses and ruffled graying hair.  He took Solo in with a head to toe glance and a frown as he accepted the handshake. "Mr. Solo? I understand you wish to interview me for a magazine?" He glanced at his watch. "You have 20 minutes." The sound of the door closing behind him caused his head to turn, and he gasped when he saw the blond agent glaring at him.

Solo, who still had his hand in a tight grip, pulled the man forward to the nearest chair. "Let's talk, shall we?" Solo asked rhetorically, offering him a seat. Solo stood in front of him as he questioned the man.

Klofensten answered Solo's questions mechanically, obviously shocked to see Illya up and about. It was difficult to keep the Doctor's attention, so intent he was on studying the blond agent. Illya had circled around to stand behind Solo, but hadn't said a word or come any closer. Solo felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and wondered if Illya would be able to control his anger in the face of one of the technique's developers.

Klofensten couldn't take his eyes off the Russian. After several questions, his surprise changed to clinical interest and his look changed to that of one studying a lab rat or an interesting conundrum. The icy expression that Solo was sure Illya held didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

Finally, the Doctor turned his eyes to Solo. "So many questions about Dr. Rivas! Let's be blunt, shall we? You are here because you want the technique, right?" He let out a short laugh and indicated Illya with a wave of his arm. "Well, obviously, the technique is a failure, as the presence of your partner proves!" He barked another laugh. "Rivas has made sure his face," and he indicated Illya, "is well known to the interested parties and his activities well noted, down to the last detail which I see now were never substantiated! I knew Rivas would do himself in somehow. I knew he was in too much of a hurry and his scientific method sloppy! Tell me, if I cooperate with you and tell you where this bidding is taking place, will you have him with you," indicating Illya again, "to discredit Rivas? Publicly, in front of all the world leaders that are there to bid?"

Solo didn't quite trust his voice at this moment. He was talking about Illya like he was an inanimate object whose only purpose in life was to be manipulated in order to make someone look good…or bad, in this case. The only thing that stopped the anger from rising to an uncontrollable level was the realization that Illya heard every word. Solo spared a glance behind him and saw instantly that his partner was teetering on a very thin line between the rational and irrational. The expression Solo saw turned him cold with fear; Klofensten had no idea how close to death he was at this instant at the hands of this 'experiment'.

Solo didn't move a muscle. "Illya," he said calmly. "I think the Doctor is ready to deal."

Kuryakin didn't seem to hear, but Solo knew he'd taken in every word. His icy eyes were locked on the German and Solo could see by the set of his shoulders and the rate of his breathing that his partner was fighting hard to hang on to his control. Solo made the instant choice to end the meeting.

"Yes, he will be there." Solo took Klofensten's elbow and lifted him from the chair. "Now give us what notes you have and the details of the auction." He steered him towards the door. "Illya," Solo looked over his shoulder at the other agent. "Let our contacts know the deal is set." He was giving his partner the chance to be alone and gather himself together. "All right?" Solo and the Doctor had reached the door. "Illya?"

His partner finally tore his eyes away from the old man with a forced blink and fixed his glare at Napoleon. "I heard you," he growled as he pulled out his communicator.

Solo pulled open the door, trying not to look like he was in a rush, and propelled Klofensten out into the hall before Illya made a move to kill the Doctor in some grisly manner. He closed the door, squared his shoulders, and dropped the German's arm. "Let's go," he said as he indicated the Doctor to take the lead.

"This way," the German replied and began to walk. "I'm glad I'm not in your shoes, Mr. Solo! You have and unpredictable weapon in that man." He chuckled darkly. "And Rivas has no idea it's about to blow up in his face. The question is what is the collateral damage going to be? Yes, I'm glad I'm staying here!"

Napoleon Solo had to bite hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from strangling the man himself.