Act IV : The Line In The Sand

Agent Kuryakin was not very productive for the next few days. His ability to concentrate, even for short periods of time, was becoming more difficult as the days passed.

Now I understand why relationships within the office are frowned upon, he thought more than once as he fought to control the urges he felt. He couldn't remember a time when he was so overwhelmed by a woman, but that idea bothered him less and less as the days passed. His daily briefings with Waverly were becoming more difficult to pull off; Illya solved the problem by bringing up more questions rather than supply answers.

After their first night together, Illya was late for the office for the first time in a long time. He arrived slightly breathless and a bit disheveled. When he entered the storefront of Del Floria's Tailor Shop, the proprietor gave him a critical once over and suggested he let him press his jacket. Illya declined, knowing he was late.

He had managed to get off a good bit of research, narrowing down some of Engleberg's formulae to some sort of biological research, possibly a nerve gas of some kind with an organic base, when Jenna arrived at work, also breathless. They tried to ignore each other; Illya's mind raced with reasons to get closer to her, and with reasons why he shouldn't. By noon they were both exhausted with the inner turmoil and found themselves together in the deepest corner of the Research stacks. The meeting cumulated into a tryst that would have lasted longer if the infernal intercom from the upper floor hadn't broken them up.

Illya was both shocked and thrilled by the encounter, and had to fight off replaying the coupling in his mind. I've never felt his out of control constantly ran through his mind, but by the third day, he couldn't distinguish if this was a good thing or a bad thing - it was just an exciting thing, and the rush was addicting.

On that third day, he and Jenna had encounters in the elevator (stopping it between floors was Jenna's idea), and in Illya's office. They both were insatiable, and by the fourth day, he didn't even notice the giggling glances and looks of amazement of personnel passing him in the halls. His thoughts were so constantly intense on Jenna, he rarely walked the halls anyway; on that day they had an encounter in an empty office and the copy room. On the fifth day, Illya paced his office planning his next meeting with Jenna and completely forgot his midmorning briefing with Waverly. When his intercom buzzed he slapped it in anger.

"What?!" he snapped.

There was a slight pause, then the voice of Waverly's secretary sternly said, "Mr. Waverly would like to see you now, Mr. Kuryakin."

Illya blinked, momentarily stumped. "Fine," he replied curtly, clicking off the device and fumbling for his jacket. He caught himself cursing the old man's interference, and froze. I've got to pull myself together, he thought momentarily, taking a shaky breath and adjusting the cuff to his jacket. The drive to storm out the door and down the hall was overwhelming, but he managed to mask the feelings and put on his normal stoic face.

On his walk to Waverly's office, the blond Russian was oblivious to the passing looks tossed his way. He could feel himself struggling to keep his pace moderate and his expression bland when what he really wanted to do was fly into the old man's office and demand an explanation. Part of him knew these thoughts and feelings were unprecedented, but the other part thought, It's about time I got to do what I want around here instead of following orders. He was still struggling to listen to only one inner voice when he strode past the secretary without a glance.

"I guess Mr. Waverly will see you now," the woman said to herself with raised eyebrows to the back receding through the office door.

Illya came to an abrupt stop just inside as the door closed behind him. He managed to hold his tongue only because he was surprised to see some one else sitting next to his boss; a woman in a lab coat with a badge identifying her as being from the medical division. He was trying to connect her presence with any of the briefing information he had received this week, and realized that he didn't recall much from the briefings.

"Sit, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly stated bluntly, fumbling with one of his ever-present pipes. As he absently stuffed a bit of tobacco into the bowl, his eyes never left the agent. This made the ritual pipe stuffing a bit messy, but that wasn't unusual.

"I'd rather stand," Illya stated flatly, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

"It wasn't a request. Sit." Waverly broke eye contact long enough to round up a match.  

Illya flopped into the chair furthest away from the pair, and started to drum his thighs with his fingers. He openly glared at the woman, then at Waverly, but managed to keep quiet.

There were several seconds of heavy silence as Waverly lit his pipe and the woman studied Illya over the top of her glasses. She sat with her hands neatly folded on a file on the table. Illya got the impression that she was evaluating him, and he felt his anger growing.

Mr. Waverly blew out a stream of blue smoke. "It seems, Mr. Kuryakin, that we are overdue for an evaluation of your work."

The older man's hard brown eyes locked with the agent's steely blues. He may have spoken softly, but Illya knew that a line had been drawn in the sand, and that he was currently on the wrong side of it.  

Act V : The Thrush In The Woods

"They weren't kidding when they called this a castle," Benitto said the next day, adding a low whistle.

The road had proved to be curvy, and the scenery pleasant enroute to the castle. They finally caught sight of it after they rounded a long curve carved in the side of a low valley. The castle was across the valley, nestled part way up the opposite slope. Below were beautifully arranged fields of crops and cattle.

"Some Thrush satraps don't mince on elegance," Solo replied. "Don't let appearance fool you. Let's park away from it, and see if we can walk in unnoticed." 

Benitto found an appropriate spot just off the main highway amongst a collection of shrubs. The car was well hidden.

They exited the vehicle, and hoofed it towards the castle. After passing several fields, they were almost to the castle grounds, and Solo called for a rest.

"Did you notice anything odd about those fields?" Solo said casually, leaning against a tree. "The cattle fields, I mean?"

Benitto looked around. "Well, I'm kind of a city boy, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of cattle out there."

"True. But what have you noticed about the cattle that are out there?"

The thick eyebrows of the younger agent knitted together. "Like I said, I'm not a farmer, but there seems to be a lot of bulls…"

Solo snapped his fingers. "Right you are. In fact, I haven't seen any cows yet."

After a bit they continued on. As they got closer to the castle, there were mixed herds in smaller areas. What caught Solo's eye were the labels on the corral gates; a series of numbers he couldn't identify. Usually on farms, the animals were tagged, not the gates. Here, it was both. The only time he'd seen the 'cages' numbered was when it was lab rats; he logged that away in his mind as they continued on.

There were few guards around the castle. One was in the front, and one on the side. They looked bored; probably not a lot of trespassers around here, Napoleon thought as they circled around to the back. There was a row of small windows just above the ground line that indicated numerous basement rooms. Another guard in the back was leaning against a tree, losing a battle to sleeping in the cozy mid day sun. Adding all this up, opportunity seemed to have dropped in their laps, and Napoleon had a sudden urge to check out the basement windows.

He signaled for Benitto to follow him, and came around to the other side of the dozing guard's tree. Their sneaking flushed a rabbit out from the woods and across the lawn, right in front of the guard. There was no response. Solo grinned to himself and tip toed forward, signaling his partner to stand by.

When he got to the backside of the tree he could see the muzzle of the rifle pointing to the ground. He went around the other way, and heard the soft breathing before he saw the sleeping guard. Solo quietly slipped one of the sleeping darts from his arsenal, palmed it, and jabbed the man in the neck. All he heard was a quiet "Umph!!" and the man slipped to the ground. Solo dragged him into the woods and had Benitto take the clothing.

"Stand watch. I'm checking the windows." As Benitto dressed, Solo trotted across the lawn and inspected the windows. The young Italian joined him within minutes.

"I see cages, and a lab set up. And monkeys…lots of monkeys…" Napoleon muttered. Finally, the agent stood up. "I'm going inside. You stay out here and keep an eye open."

Acknowledged with a tight nod, Solo crept along the wall to a door. Benitto patted the uniform pockets and came up with a small ring of keys and handed them off to Solo. The outside door was unlocked, and he quietly let himself in.

It was obviously a back door intended for use of the hired help. Nothing fancy back here; supply closets, kitchen linens, extra chairs and other seldom used supplies. He was behind the kitchen; he could hear the clank of pans and the soft chatter of cooks around the corner. Just before the corner was a locked door. Solo worked through the keys and found one that fit, then slipped through the opening. There were stairs going down to a large room lit only by the daylight through the small, high windows. Solo could see Benitto's feet passing by as he patrolled the back of the castle.

Suddenly, there was a clamoring on one side of the room. A big monkey, a Bonobo, Napoleon thought automatically, began rattling his cage at the sight of the agent. This started the cage next to him going, and soon the two simians were trying to out do each other with shrieking and slapping each other through the bars. Solo ignored them, and looked for notes.

Quickly, he checked drawers and files. He saw various names on the files of several scientists who had worked here. He found the files dated within the past 17 weeks, and wasn't surprised to find many with Engleberg's name on them. The pieces were starting to fit in Napoleon's brain, but that still didn't answer if Engleberg was still Thrush. If T. Milos Philo were still around, then Philo obviously handed something off the Engleberg before he left for the States .. or Engleberg was being chased by Philo. Somehow Solo's gut didn't go with that thought; why would Philo then call the scientist with flight information?

Skimming the files, he wished Illya was here. He had a better understanding of formulas and experiments, and could figure this out much faster. He took out his lighter camera, and went to work.

Several minutes went by, along with two film changes for the camera, when Solo heard the hall door open and the sound of voices. The monkeys increased their racket, giving Solo the cover he needed to put the files back. As he closed the drawer, a small notebook in the front caught his eye; he grabbed it, put it in his shirt, and melted back into the rear of the room.

He listened more than watched as the people - two, he decided from the conversation - went about their duties. They were apparently the clean up crew. Solo could hear the shrieks and rattling of the cages as the monkeys were tended to one by one. And there wasn't much love lost between the humans and the simians.

"I can't wait until these guys go." Grumbled one worker in back country Italian, a male. "I've got so many scars on my hands I could make a picture."

The woman giggled. "I don't have a problem with them. Must be a competition with other males thing."

They talked about the latest soccer match and the weather, then the sounds of cleaning themselves up.

"That should be the last day of this, anyway. I heard these guys were scheduled for removal," the man said. "After that, they'll start moving the bulls out. I think I'd rather deal with these idiots." Solo heard a cage bang. "At least I outweigh them!"

"Maybe you can take the opportunity to train yourself as a bull fighter!" The girl suggested in a teasing tone. "Those animals out there are certainly mean enough!"

"What is it with this place and mean animals?" The male said, their voices getting further away as the ascended the stairs. "They certainly don't arrive that way."

The girl's reply was lost as the door slammed. Solo looked at his watch. He had enough time to get away, and get that evening's plane from Turin to the States. He didn't think there was much more here he could get, and the U.S. Government was pressing for a response on Engleberg's asylum approval. If Engleberg was in New York for nefarious reasons, Solo felt there was enough in his photos and notebook to figure out what it was.

Solo emerged from his hiding spot, and made for the stairs. He cracked the door at the top, glanced about, and slipped into the hall. As he reached the end by the back door, a phone rang. He flattened himself against the wall as a man in an apron snatched the device from the cradle, which happened to be in full view of the back door. Solo hoped he blended into the shadows sufficiently.

The cook spoke in rapid fire Italian. "What? What? There is no one here. I am busy!" A lull. "All right! I will look!" The chef slammed the phone onto the table and strode to the back door, pulling it open. He stuck his head out. "Hey! Hey! Are you sleeping? Good! Only you out there? Yeah, I see! Go back to work!" He spun around and picked up the phone again. "The guard is still out there. Yes, yes, he is awake! I saw him with my own eyes!" Then a pause. "Fine. Goodbye." Solo heard the phone get replaced on the cradle none too gently.

After a full minute, he stepped from the wall and moved to the door, which was on his left. The kitchen was on his right, and he glanced over and saw it was clear, and edged to the door. He opened it quickly, and stepped out, then ran across the lawn. Benitto met him at the tree.

"I think our car may have been found. We need to get out of here, now. I think I have all we need," he patted the notebook.

With a nod and a grin, the young Italian shed the uniform and tossed it in the bushes. He decided to keep the rifle for now, and they both slipped away through the woods. They paused by the front of the house, and Solo's eye caught motion on the front porch. He could hear a female ordering the guard in Italian; he looked for the woman, and saw her pointing away from them. She was very trim, mid 20's, wearing a tailored suit, and had her auburn hair swept up in a French roll. Solo appreciated her profile for a moment, wondering what she was upset about. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying

Benitto tugged urgently on Solo's arm, distracting him from the woman, and got him moving again. They made it all the way to the car before they heard the klaxon of alarms at the castle. Quickly, they jumped in and started back towards Turin.

Act VI : "What Did You Get Into, My Friend?"

Suspended!

Illya was outraged. Waverly had suspended him! First he had requested that the Russian take immediate, and long overdue, vacation time. When he had refused, the old man told him he was suspended until further notice, taken his weapons from him, and then had actually removed him from the building! To top it off, that bloody woman had taken blood samples

Illya stormed around his apartment, unable to calm himself. He ripped off the band-aid covering the needle mark, causing a spot of blood to appear. That had infuriated him even more, and finally, feeling completely helpless as his career crumbled around him, he banged his way out of the apartment in search of a bar with good Russian vodka. So what if it was shortly past noon? It was cocktail time somewhere in the world, wasn't it? 

So intent in his anger, Illya Kuryakin didn't even notice the man following him.  

He found a dark bar several blocks away. There weren't that many patrons due to the time of day, and service was quick. He slammed down two shots of something the bartender claimed was vodka, and Illya complained sourly as he ordered a third shot. The bartender watched him carefully as he poured the third shot.  

"What are you staring at?" The Russian snapped. He downed the third shot. "I know watered down vodka when I taste it, and this is definitely that."  

"Then don't drink it," the bartender growled, demanding to be paid.  

"It isn't worth it!" Illya challenged. "I won't pay for water!"  

"Listen, buddy. Pay for the drinks or I call the cops."  

Grudgingly, Illya paid up, and was told to leave. He did so, but not without an argument.  

The next bar was next to a construction site.  By now it was a little after 3 P.M. on a Friday afternoon, so there were more occupants here. Illya found a dark corner and fumed as he slowly drained the bottle of Stoli's he had purchased. The bar filled up as the afternoon progressed, and right after 4, the construction workers arrived, sweaty, dirty and laughing.  

Illya was about halfway through the bottle when a couple of the workers bumped his table. The Russian shot to his feet and told the men to back off. Noticing the smaller man's accent, they turned their attention to him.  

"What are you, anyway? German?" The first man said, cracking his knuckles.  

Illya stayed on his feet and glared, his eyes icy. His hands were gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white. He could feel the fury building.  

"Don't you speak American, fella?"  

"'Course he does, Billy, he already tole ya to go away."  

"Go away? HE tole ME to go away? He ain't even American! He's the one that should be leavin'!"  

Friends of Billy laughed and clicked their beer bottles at their friend's bright observation. Billy, emboldened by is friends, leaned over to pick up the vodka. "What kinda pussy drink is this stuff, any….." he didn't finish his sentence.  

Illya grabbed his wrist and bent it to nearly breaking.  He pulled the enormous man close to his mouth, his eyes boiling. "I don't share with morons," the enraged Russian said lowly.  

"Hey!" Billy yelled. He reached with his other hand to push the smaller man back, but heard the snap of his wrist bone before he could connect. "AAHHHH!" he yelled as Illya pulled him onto the table, then flipped him to the floor.  

Then all hell broke loose.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Napoleon touched down he was surprised to find a driver waiting for him. Usually he just took a cab. The driver told him his luggage would be attended to by someone else, as Waverly wanted to see him as soon as possible.

It was nearly 11 at night when he walked through one of the secluded entryways to the offices of U.N.C.L.E. He warmly greeted the receptionist who clipped his ID badge on him, but she seemed to be subdued, as were the few people that passed him in the hall. When he arrived at Waverly's office, a secretary waved him through.

Waverly looked up as Solo entered. "Ah, Mr. Solo, good. We have a problem, and I am hoping that what you have brought back may be the answer we are looking for. Your briefing before you left was intriguing. Are you sure the monkeys you saw were Bonobos?"  

"Yes, sir, I'm sure. I understand that Bonobos have the closest genetic similarity to humans of all the apes. If the formulas were for something to be used on humans as Illya suggested, it was logical that they were there."  

"Yes, yes, of course. Naturally. Tell me, did you get any idea what they may have been testing in that lab?"  

Solo settled back in his chair. "No, not really. That's what Illya and the lab can figure out. Whatever it was, they were through testing, because the monkeys were being moved out."

"Hmm .. yes. And you are sure Engleberg's involved?"

"Yes," Solo answered without hesitation. "His names were all over the files, and in this hand written log." Solo pulled out the book and lay it on the table. "I believe he was there the entire 16 weeks he was missing. We need to pick him up for more questioning. I believe he is still involved with Thrush."  

Waverly regarded his top agent as he leaned back in his chair. "That may prove difficult, Mr. Solo. He has disappeared."  

"Disappeared? Illya lost him?" Solo sat up straighter.  

The head of the New York office of U.N.C.L.E. hesitated, gauging his number one enforcement agent for a moment. "Mr. Kuryakin wasn't watching him. He has been .. suspended."  

"WHAT?" Napoleon stood quickly, knocking his chair over. "Why?"  

"His behavior has been .. questionable." Waverly was clearly not comfortable with the subject, but continued. "I do not listen to rumor, Mr. Solo. And there is a lot of it around this building, as I'm sure you know."  

Napoleon nodded tightly, keeping his impatience to himself. "Yes," he said slowly. "What does that have to do with Illya?"  

Waverly shifted again. "Well, within two days after you left, I heard some .. stories … about Mr. Kuryakin's .. er..sexual behavior."  

Napoleon laughed and recovered his chair. "There's always been rumors about that, sir, but Illya…"  

"Then I saw some surveillance tapes."  

Napoleon stopped, mouth still open. "Tapes?"  

"Yes, Mr. Solo. You know the number of cameras we have in this building for security. Practically every square inch is covered. I .. ah .. interrupted a group watching a tape in an empty office. Perhaps you'd better see." Waverly flipped a button and a small screen lit up on the wall. The tape was of Jenna and Illya in the elevator. It was explicit, and left no room for doubt. "I then did some research, and found these. All from this past week." The pictures changed to an empty office, Illya's office, then the copy room and the Research stacks.  All were very clear shots. The last one was dark, and only a set of legs and arms could be seen, but the sound and motion was as conclusive as the others.  

Napoleon felt his face turn red, and his mouth opening and closing. He was speechless.  

"I cannot have that type of behavior among my agents, Mr. Solo, and I know this would be considered extreme, especially for Mr. Kuryakin. At the same time, there was a dramatic drop in the quality of his work. When I brought him in to question him about it, he, well, threatened me."  

"He THREATENED you?" Solo didn't think he could be more amazed. His cool, cunning partner and friend, had completely lost his mind!  

"Well, yes. After I suspended him, of course. He said, ah, let's see .. something about throwing me out the window." He held up his hand. "Now, before you come to a conclusion, I want you to think about the timing. When I saw his behavior becoming so .. bizarre .. I began to wonder about the kidnapping."  

"But he said nothing really happened. That he had been drugged," Solo sank back into his chair, bewildered.

"And we checked his blood when he returned. There was nothing there, save a little residual from the knock out drug. When I called him to my office, I had the psychiatric nurse here."  

Solo snorted. He could imagine a sane Illya's response to that; and insane one would be unimaginable.  

"She observed his behavior, and took a blood sample before I had to have him removed from the building."  

"You had him removed?!"  

"Um, yes. That was after he took a swing at me."  

This was getting weirder by the minute.  Part of him wished he could have seen this incident, and part was glad he hadn't been around. "Was anything there? In his blood?"  

"The only thing found was an unusually large amount of testosterone. The male hormone."  

" 'Unusually large'?" Solo questioned. He was beginning to feel like a parrot, repeating his boss's words.  

"Very. Almost 100 times the normal amount. We had his records from his previous examination, and there was no damage anywhere in his brain to account for such levels. In fact, there's nothing in nature to account for such levels. And everything was normal after the kidnapping. Something is making him produce these levels since then. And such levels would account for the behavior."  

"So there may be something outside of nature that can do this, you think."  

"Perhaps. We're hoping the answer may be in the notes you brought back. Before he was .. well, incapacitated, Mr. Kuryakin suspected there was an organic agent involved in the formulas Dr. Engleberg gave us. That may be a starting point."  

"So now that there's a possibility that there is an outside influence at work here, shouldn't Illya be in the infirmary here, for observation?"  

Waverly shifted again. "He is, Mr. Solo. After speaking with you we sent a team to bring him back, but he wasn't at his apartment. We found him just before you arrived back in New York. He was in the intensive care at a local hospital."  

"WHAT?" Solo jumped to his feet again. "What happened? He's here now?"  

"Yes, they just completed the transfer when I sent the driver to get you. Apparently, he was badly beaten in a .. er, bar fight."  

This was a nightmare. Solo excused himself and left the office, heading directly down to the lower level infirmary. He brushed off the greetings and condolences, and burst into the intensive care part of the infirmary.  

There was only one occupant. Through the glass he barely saw any skin; fingertips and part of a face, but every other part was either in a cast or wrapped. The one exposed eye was bruised and swollen shut. Solo couldn't recall the last time his friend looked this bad, or if he ever looked this bad.  

He pushed the door open to the room against the quiet protests of the nurse on duty. He ignored her, and stepped up the side of the bed and gripped the rail.  

"He's unconscious. He'll probably be that way for awhile," the nurse said softly but sternly.  

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, unable to take his eyes off his friend.  

"He has a fractured skull, a broken nose, a broken collarbone, broken ribs, some internal injuries that have been repaired in surgery, his right hand is basically shattered and his left arm is broken. Right now, they're waiting to see if there's any danger of brain hemorrhage. We can only wait and see." She lay her hand on top of Solo's. "I'm sorry."  

"Where's his ID and personal effects? Are they safe?" Solo inquired hoarsely.  

The nurse regarded him blankly. "Personal effects? Other than his wallet, there were none."  

Solo looked at her. "No clothing? None at all?"  

She shook her head. "Maybe they are at the hospital."  

Something started jigging at Solo's mind. "I'll go look," he replied. "Now what did you get into, my friend?" he asked the prone figure before he turned away.