ACT XIII: "I Want To Be A Secret Agent!"

Illya and Trudy took advantage of Bratsk's drugged state and settled down for a rest. Trudy had no qualms about taking a hit or two of the home made vodka now, and didn't mention if it tasted anything like paint thinner. The agent doubted she even really tasted it.

"I will sleep first," Illya said. "Then I will be sure to be awake when our friend comes around."

Trudy nodded, glad for some quiet time to gather her wits. This had been a close call, and this wasn't even the guy that had a personal grudge against Kuryakin. What more could happen? Even though she felt a buzz from the vodka, she had no problem keeping awake because of the scenarios that kept popping into her mind. This is like being on a runaway horse! she thought, taking another slug to stop her hands from shaking.

After five hours she moved to awaken Illya and found herself studying him. Other than unconscious, this was the most relaxed she'd seen him. The fine lines of pain around his eyes were relaxed and gone, and his breathing seemed easier in spite of the punches Bratsk had landed. She tilted her head and looked at the fingers of his broken hand - good circulation there. She fought every urge to feel his forehead for a fever, knowing he would strike out blindly at her first touch. Instead, she gently tapped the bottom of his feet with her toes.

"Hey! Wake up!" she spoke, surprised he didn't respond to the kicks. When he jumped at her voice and his eyes blinked open, she realized that it was possible he didn't feel her taps. Now she had a whole new set of worries, and wondered if sleep would ever come.

"How long before Sleeping Beauty wakes up?" he said rubbing his eyes. It took him a few seconds to get his legs under him, but he managed finally and stretched when he stood.

"I'd say anytime," she replied, trying not to look like she was watching him carefully as she settled into his spot. Her fears of sleeplessness left immediately with a huge yawn. "Don't kill him while I'm asleep. Promise?"

"I promise," he said in a disappointed tone that made her giggle, and she was asleep in seconds.

Illya nibbled on some of their provisions and sat down directly across from Bratsk waiting for him to wake, and began to count down the thirteen hours remaining in this leg of their journey.

**********

When Bratsk finally came around nearly and hour later it took him several minutes to focus his eyes and get his brain working. When he finally could see clearly the first thing he saw were two glacier-blue eyes that seemed to be searing themselves through to his soul. He only noticed the gag when he tried to speak.

Kuryakin's voice stopped him. "Sit still, be quiet, and you may live," he said lowly, eyes unwavering.

Bratsk sat for several hours, his watcher patiently guarding him. He wondered where his device was, and assumed it was hidden in the car somewhere since he didn't see it in plain sight.

Finally, after what seemed like ages the woman woke and spoke in English to his watchdog. She gave the prisoner several concerned looks and she and Kuryakin appeared to engage in an argument; they disagreed about something. She apparently won, as she started towards him, but the blond man stopped her with his wrapped arm. Pulling Bratsk's own handgun from his waistline, Kuryakin aimed it right between Bratsk's eyes.

"I never miss," he said simply in Russian, his hand a rock.

The woman rolled her eyes. Bratsk had no doubt about the comment.

She checked his feet and legs for circulation, then loosened the bonds until the feeling came back. She did the same for his arms. Kuryakin never moved or blinked.

The routine was kept up for several hours. The woman ministered to his physical well being as Kuryakin stood guard. At one point, Bratsk dozed, and heard the two engage in quiet conversation. He cracked his eye a bit and saw the agent looking out the window. He spoke again to the woman, and she pulled a syringe from her pocket. Bratsk knew they were about to do something, and this would be his last chance to get his device back. He had to move now.

Bratsk kept his eyes closed, hoping that the woman would loosen his hands just enough to roll the heavy sleeve up his arm for the needle. He smiled inwardly as she did just that, and he moved.

In an instant he had her in a choke grip with his elbow. By the time the agent raised the gun Trudy was a shield between them. The agent was upon them a heartbeat later, but Bratsk had been able to roll back enough to kick his attacker soundly in the chest, and was rewarded with the sound of pain. It gave Bratsk enough time to get to his knees, and with his back against the between cars door he squirmed his way to his feet.

Kuryakin scrambled to his knees and he raised the gun, his eyes squinted in pain. Bratsk tightened his grip and the woman's struggling grew weaker. He was slowly cutting off the blood to her brain; a bit tighter and longer, and she would be dead. With one eye peering around her head, he made his demand clear to Kuryakin without speaking: The device for her life.

The agent's eyes flickered for a second at the stand off, and he dropped his gun hand. With the other he reached into his shirt and pulled out the manual. His eyes never left his target.

"This is what you want?" he said calmly, ignoring the fear in Trudy's eyes.

Bratsk nodded and glanced at the gun. Kuryakin dropped it, kicked it in Bratsk's direction, and then raised both hands to head level, still gripping the manual.

"Let her go," Illya said in a tone that could freeze fire.

Bratsk grinned under the gag and tightened his grip just enough to stop the woman's struggling. Right now, she was beginning to black out. Bratsk held his grip, and stooped to pick up the gun.

Kuryakin didn't move.

Bratsk wiggled his hands out of the restraints, and reached out with his free hand to the gun. When he thought he was close to it, he dipped his eyes for a fraction of a second to guide his hand.

In that same moment his hand was skewered by a hunting knife thrown with unimaginable accuracy and power.

Bratsk screamed even through the gag and Trudy slumped to the floor. Illya tackled him with such force that it sent him careening off the back wall, and down the steep stairwell of the side door. With one well-placed kick, Illya sent him through the glass door and out of the train completely.

Breathing heavily and painfully, his face nicked by bits of flying glass, Illya Kuryakin watched his adversary hit the ground and doubted he would ever get up again. He turned to Trudy and knelt down to help her sit. Her eyes were watering and she was gasping for breath, but Illya knew she would be all right. She fell into his arms and cried.

He waited until he could breathe without seeing stars and her crying subsided before he leaned her back against the wall. When he had recovered the gun and stuffed it in his belt, he helped her to her feet.

"We don’t have much time. Are you ready?"

Trudy nodded, brushing the last of her tears from her cheeks and her voice barely audible. "Yes."

Illya forced the broken door the rest of the way open and brushed the loose glass off the stairs. The train was moving at quite a clip, and he had to find a good place to jump. Trudy got the device and the remainder of the food and vodka and tied them tightly into a bundle. Rubbing her neck, she moved in as close as she could to the Russian on the stairs and waited without comment for his command to jump.

It was late morning, and there were no signs of civilization in any direction. The hills in the distance still had a dusting of snow on their peaks, and the tundra was a dull mix of green and brown. They were entering a long curve in the tracks and could see a bridge going over a river in the distance.

"That's our route to the ocean." Illya noted. "We need to get off near there. " He studied the bridge. "Can you swim?"

She nodded, unsure of her voice.

"I think we'll jump into the river. It's deep enough, and we aren't that high above it. Here, let me have that." He took the bundle from her. "Get some of those blankets. We'll need them. And take off your shoes and wrap them in the blankets."

Trudy collected the blankets they had removed from one of the bales and handed everything over. They were very close to the bridge now, and Illya tossed the bundles out, and then took her hand with his good arm.

"We'll go together. Ready?" She nodded and decided to shut her eyes tightly. The train whistle blew just before the sound of the track changed. What once was a steady, firm clackity-clack now sounded hollow, and she knew they were on the bridge. She gripped Illya's hand so hard she wondered if it would break, and he spoke. "On the count of three. One, two, three!"

He pulled her arm and she pushed herself off and felt herself free fall. Opening her eyes she saw the water rush up, and she hit feet first, plunging deeply into the dark water. Instinct kicked in, and she paddled madly for the surface. A vision of her father insisting she take swimming lessons crossed her mind, and she kicked with renewed vigor.

When her head cleared the surface she sucked in a welcome breath and looked around. "ILLYA?!" She yelled, her throat raw and scratchy. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

Treading water, she let out a huge sigh of relief when a blond head popped from the water several yards away. After he, too, took in a welcome breath, he found her and nodded towards the shore. When they got there, shivering from the frigid water, Illya took her elbow and directed her to the area where he'd thrown the bundles.

"No one is ever going to believe my vacation this year," she croaked as she climbed up the incline to the open fields. Her hands were shaking and her knees felt weak, but she persevered.

"Maybe you should become a travel agent," Illya said between chattering teeth.

Trudy laughed at the idea, then thought back on the back-to-back-near death experiences, as well as the fire fights and general creeping around of the past days. There was some sort of rush to this kind of action, and she had to admit to herself that maybe she was an adrenalin junkie. "Travel agent my eye," she croaked. "I want to be a secret agent!"

Illya shook his head in resignation. Wherever he went, the Napoleon Solo types would find him. It had to be a curse.

*********

This time of year was hardly any better than winter, the man thought as he rode his skinny barely-a-horse along the path to the river which paralleled the train tracks. At least I can be home by dinnertime with some fresh fish and not get frostbite. The animal snatched at a tuft of grass and the rider impatiently kicked its sides. Although it may be next winter before I get home thanks to this slovenly beast! He kicked it again and the horse pinned his ears and entered a slow jog. It was almost dark, and he still had some miles to go.

Suddenly, the animal's ears pitched forward and it came to a stop so suddenly it nearly unseated his daydreaming rider. "Hey!" the young man yelped. He almost kicked the horse again, but noted the tense ears pointed toward a lump in the grass. The horse wouldn't move any closer, so the man slid down, his heart pounding, and pulled the creature behind him. He got just close enough to realize it was the figure of a man when the frightened horse snorted and pulled back. When the animal was somewhat calm again, the man again faced the figure and walked towards it, the frightened horse following reluctantly. Eventually he noticed the army uniform, the odd angle to his neck and the out flung arm with a knife imbedded through the hand.

*********

Asikov was settling in for a meal in the Officers' tent when a runner came to him with the field phone.

"What?" snapped the General as his steak was placed on the table in front of him. "Where?" he barked, slamming the knife down on the table. "I'm on my way."

He returned the phone to the officer, picked up his knife and issued orders as he cut the meat. "We will leave immediately for the base at Peretyciha. Send for the helicopter, and have the patrols search both sides of the Anjui River. Dismissed."

Asikov finished his meal with zeal, knowing this hunt was almost over.

ACT XIV: "This Is An 'Us' And 'Them' Society." 

It was a cold night, but Illya managed to make a small fire by the river to dry their clothes. They had enough blankets and food to be comfortable, and Trudy wasn't too hesitant about the vodka. Illya was amused as he watched her practice shooting the liquid from the soft flask into her mouth.

"Just keep it away from the fire," he said levelly, covering his amusement.

"Aw comon," Trudy said, aiming the spout at her companion's mouth. "Open up." The smile she got in reply made her forget what she was doing. "You have a great smile," she said with a slight slur. "Why don't you do it more often? You're so serious!"

Illya let loose with a rare laugh, and Trudy about fell over. "I can't help the way I look. It comes in handy in my line of work. Now perhaps you should go to sleep."

She settled down next to the fire and looked at the Milky Way spread across the black sky and realized that this was a rare clear night. It had been overcast for days. "Tell me a story. One about the General. How do you know him?" She was serious now, but was having a difficult time keeping her eyes open.

Illya let out a soft chuckle. "I don't want to give you nightmares. I knew him in the Navy, that's all. He was my superior for awhile."

Trudy's eyes drifted closed and her breathing became soft. "Somehow I think there's more to the tale than that. I'll get it out of you." Her voice trailed off, and she was asleep.

Illya looked down at her and made the fire ready for the night. "If your husband could see you now, Mrs. Kidd, I think he'd be proud," he said softly.

***********

Illya shook her awake before it was even light. "Wake up, sleepyhead, we have to go. It's too risky to stay here."

Trudy groaned and sat up with her hand on her head. "I think a horse kicked me during the night."

"It wasn't a horse, trust me. Here are your clothes, and here is something to eat." He handed her a bundle of things and she frowned at it.

"Did the maid wash our things last night?"

Illya snorted. "Yes. And she told me that checkout time is now, so let's go."

Trudy grumbled as she dressed, and Illya waited for her at the edge of the river. He said that there was plenty of boats further downriver to hitch a ride, so all they needed to do was walk and avoid the road that ran parallel. Navigating the river's edge was easier with the full moon, but the terrain was tricky. By the time dawn touched them, they were both tired and looking for a ride. It didn't take long to flag down a medium sized boat headed east; the coast was where the work was, and the habitants of this area were always willing to help each other out.

The ride was accented with the gas fumes from the engine but at least they were moving. Trudy huddled next to Illya and gave him a critical look.

"Now that my head has stopped pounding, I can concentrate on you," she said. "Do the ribs hurt?"

Illya frowned. "Of course they hurt. They keep getting pounded before they are completely healed, but I can still function."

"How about your arm?" She reached out unexpectedly and squeezed his forearm. He didn't react.

"Amazingly enough, it seems to be doing fine. So is my head. So is the rest of me. Barring a few bruises here and there, I'm just.."

"…fine. I know." Trudy finished for him. "How about the tingling in your hands and feet?"

Illya looked right at her and didn't bat an eyelash. "You have a vivid imagination, Mrs. Kidd. Now I need you to keep an eye out for something."

"What?" she asked, curious.

"There is a military base along this river near the coast with lots of power lines and generators. I need to fire up this thing one more time." He patted the box under his arm. "Look for the power lines. I need to get some sleep."

"Yes, sir!" she said with a mock salute and a smile. Maybe we'll get out of this after all, she thought. It was simply too peaceful right now to even imagine what could happen down the line, and she took advantage of the down time by relaxing in the rare morning sun.

********

Solo checked the Empress for the zillionth time from the dock. He needed that final reading to find his partner, and knew deep down that it was simply a matter of time until it came. The rest of the world and their problems would simply have to wait, just as he did in this peaceful town. In another instance or other circumstances Napoleon Solo would feel at peace here. In this instance and circumstance, however, the passing days only made him more and more tense.

Stevie Inturi did all she could to keep the surroundings calm. She knew that he would be leaving in an instant the moment the information that he needed came through, and part of her was regretting that moment. He was a remarkable man, so proud and sure of himself, and so unlike any of the men her age around her. He was intriguing and exciting and she knew that after this time with him that she couldn't stay in this little fishing village anymore. He made her want to explore the world.

But for the meantime, she would help him succeed and bring this story to a successful close. Inside she knew her father would be saddened by her decision, but proud at the same time. Napoleon Solo was just the catalyst she needed to convince herself to pursue another life.

She watched him standing on the dock as the sun was on its final path to setting, staring to the west. She was sure he could hear his partner speaking to him. It was late in the day, and darkness wasn't far off. He stood there for quite awhile, unmoving, then turned abruptly on his heel. When he was close enough, he took her arm and directed her to the house.

"It's time," he said. "We're leaving. We need to cover about 200 miles of ocean."

Stevie didn't question him. She could see in his eyes that he had, in fact, heard something from somewhere, and simply nodded.

"Load up the radar equipment, and get the technician on board. We are leaving as soon as we're ready."

"It will be done, Solo-san."

*********

Asikov landed at the base early that morning, ordering the pilot to follow the river the whole way. He could see his patrols beginning to close in. When Bratsk's body was found just west of the river he knew what Kuryakin's plan must be. He stationed a patrol at the end of the train's run just in case, but he knew the agent was on this river somewhere or would be soon. The river traffic was perfect cover.

He checked in with the base commander and told him the bare minimum he needed to know about his quarry. The commander put his soldiers at Asikov's disposal, but the General was reluctant to involve any more men. That would require too much explanation and loss of control over the device if it were found. He opted to check the area himself and then arranged to be ferried out to meet the sub later in the day. No one could get by him then, and recovery of a traitor would give him favor in Moscow. He felt that this would be a good day.

************

Trudy couldn't believe that Illya could sleep in the middle of all the ruckus of the boat. The chatter was constant, as was the laughter and other thumping and banging of equipment, but the agent seemed oblivious. She shook her head. It had been hours before they began to see signs of civilization along the shore. The houses were coming more often, and now there were more docks apparent in the water. After awhile, she even saw pedestrians and families on both shores, and what looked like the beginnings of a town of some sort. The sight of patrols on the shore alarmed her, and she shook her companion awake.

"I think something's going on. I see soldiers watching the river. Stay down."

"Asikov has become more efficient since we were last acquainted. All right, we need to get off. It's only a matter of time before the boat is searched." Illya found the boat's captain and they had a short chat. The man gave a hearty laugh, and clapped Illya on the shoulder, and then the agent returned to her. "He's going to take up to the first dock that looks clear. He's also going to notify his wife to look for us at their home. They live near the sea, on the other side of this town, and said they may be able to get a boat for us."

Trudy looked at him in amazement. "Why are these people doing all this? Did you save some of their relatives, too?"

"No," Illya explained as he gathered their things. "This is an 'us' and 'them' society. 'Them' being the government. The 'us' group tends to stick together."

"Ah," Trudy said. She couldn't imagine living in a country with that sort of ethic, and it made her a bit homesick.

They disembarked on a dock clear of soldiers, but very busy with fishermen. They blended into the crowd and were able to move through the village fairly easily as they headed west. In the distance, Illya finally spotted some power lines.

"Must be the base. I can hook up the device for the last time there, but I need to wait until later. Come on," he took Trudy's elbow and the moved a little faster."

"What? Where are we going?"

"I'm dropping you at the fisherman's house first, then coming back. I don't want you anywhere near me when I hook this up."

She tugged on her elbow. "Wait a minute.."

Illya threw her a glare that stopped her voice. "I mean it. I can work faster that way and it's far too dangerous for you to be near me. This way, if something happens, you can still get out."

She hurried along next to him. She didn't care to think about what he thought could happen; she already knew his way of looking at things, and preferred to keep ignorant about his thoughts at this point.

It was fairly easy to pass the patrols as they went through the village. There was a lot of hustle-bustle going on between arriving and departing fishermen, their families, and assorted children. They made it to the other side of the village in good time, and stopped to look at the ancient stone bridge that marked the end of the main village. On the other side were scattered houses, and further on, the sea. The old bridge was the only way out of the village and as of yet was unguarded. Illya had a fleeting thought about Solo's luck again, but didn't dwell on it.

They crossed the bridge and walked closer to the river's edge, away from the road. Illya told her the description of the fisherman's house, and that it was where the river and the sea met. They could see the ocean in the distance, and walked steadily. Trudy noticed him stumble occasionally, but he never fell completely, and she wondered what was going on with him. The constant fever he'd been battling seemed to have lessened, and it was all she could do to keep her hands off the wound dressing. The occasional glance she saw of the area didn't look infected, and she was heartened; perhaps it had cleared up. The slug, however, was still in there and at work. His gait proved that.

The found the humble house without a problem. It was a very weathered blue color, with it's own small dock at the bottom of a long footpath. There was a small trawler tied up, bouncing gently in the dying wakes of passing boats. It looked old and well used, as did everything around here, and Illya made a mental note to check its readiness. It would be no match for a patrol boat, but it was small enough to be stealthy in the dark.

They were greeted by a smiling woman with a weathered face, and two girls hiding behind her skirt. She spoke rapidly as they approached.

"She says to come in because we're so easy to spot. I guess she has been well briefed!"

The woman chattered non-stop as she fixed some food and the girls, who looked to be around 10 or so, hovered curiously in the background when they weren't doing chores. Illya threw in a one-word reply now and again as he lightened his load for the return trip.

"I see why he goes off fishing now," he grumbled as he worked.

Trudy hit him on the arm. "Be nice!" she giggled.

They ate the hearty meal of dried fish and potatoes, welcome for the change from bread. Illya made plans to borrow the boat, and the woman shook her head, chatting rapidly as she cleared the dishes.

"What's she saying?" Trudy asked.

"Apparently, we are to be taken where we want to be in the boat. There's a young man that's supposed to be our chauffeur." He stood, and tucked the device inside his loose shirt. His eyes flicked from the woman to Trudy. "We'll see how that goes. All right, I'm going now. I plan to fire it up just before dusk so I'll have a little light to make it back here. You need to have that boat packed and ready; we won't have much of a window to get to sea. Napoleon will find us out there. I'm assuming it will be somewhere around the 12 nautical mile marker."

"Why there?" Trudy asked, her palms already starting to sweat with nerves.

"That's where international waters begin. Russian fishing rights extend a bit further, but if Solo is caught within 12 miles, he could create and international incident. I don't think our boss would be too happy about that." He tightened down the borrowed tunic and donned a hat. "This will have to do. Lay low."

He spoke briefly to the woman, thanking her. She bobbed her head in response, and patted his arm. He stepped out of the door with Trudy right behind.

"She's going to gather some provisions for us. Load up the boat and be ready for anything."

Meeting his eyes, he could see the fear she was trying to control. "And you are sure that your partner will find us? You have that much confidence in him?"

"Absolutely. "

With a reassuring grin, he patted her hand and she watched him walk back towards the village, one leg visibly dragging compared to the other.

************

Peretyciha base was on the opposite shore from the village. Those villagers that did not fish worked at the base, which made the economy of the small village unusually strong and the population busy. Illya studied what he could from his side of the river, and hopped one of the workers' ferries to the opposite shore.

He blended in easily, and worked his way around the outside of the fence to where a pair of power lines continued out of the base. He followed the lines to the first pole that was out of sight of the base and made ready to ascend. The now constant tingling in his fingers made him fumble as he readied the device and wrapped his climbing belt around the pole. The tingling in his feet made him hesitate a second, wondering if he could pull this off. He looked up to the lines; he had no choice. He began the climb.

He slipped several times, and had to concentrate on his grip, and when he did make it to the top he noticed he was breathing heavily and his limbs were trembling. Mentally he pushed the observations aside, and hooked up the device.

It didn't take long, and he was back on the ground in no time. Quickly, he tucked the device and other things away and headed to the river. On the shore he found a young man fishing from the shore, a small, personal boat pulled up on the ground. Illya approached him and offered the last coin he had for a ride back across. The man immediately pulled in his line, and readied the boat. Illya gratefully collapsed inside and pulled the fisherman's hat down over his eyes for the ride.

*********

Asikov sat quietly in his truck as the driver readied to leave. The milling crowd around the base gates was not unusual; soldiers were a source of income to these poor villagers. Those who did not fish supported the base in many ways. The General's eyes roamed over the crowd, not really seeing them as individuals, but as subservient workers.

His gaze drifted down to the river where he noted the variety of boats collected there. He recalled that his father had a boat quite similar to one docked there, and remembered smugly as it being the main reason he'd joined the army. He hated fishing.

Asikov's eyes jumped across the river, which at this point wasn't very wide, to a dock on the opposite shore. There was a little boat, barely big enough to fit two people, just arriving at the dock. He was thinking about his father and watching one of the two occupants step onto the dock when he noticed the wrappings on the man's arm. He sat up straighter. No! he thought, grabbing the field glasses from the floor.

When he focused on the figure, he saw the shaggy blond hair under the hat, and the profile of Illya Kuryakin as he spoke to the man still in the boat. As he spoke, he turned in Asikov's direction and scanned the horizon. Illya's attention was drawn to the flash of reflected light, and their eyes connected. There was a split second where they both froze, and then Illya took off running for the shore.

"THERE HE IS!" Asikov shouted, standing up in the convertible truck. His driver jumped in surprise, and looked where Asikov pointed. "He's across the river! Where's a patrol boat!" The General shouted orders at the gate guard, who was on the field phone within seconds. With the field glasses, Asikov followed the running man as best as he could as he attempted to mix with the crowd.

The gate guard handed Asikov the field phone, and he listened impatiently for a few seconds. "I don't need that information! I know where the spy is! The patrols across the river need to close the town! The suspect is wearing black pants, a dark red tunic and a hat, and is heading east on foot!" Asikov leaped from the truck and started to run to the dock. He tossed the phone to his driver and ordered the first fisherman he saw to take him across river. The driver followed, as did two guards from the gate.

When they reached the other side of the river they were met by an army vehicle. Asikov shouted where to go, and they were off in a cloud of dust.

**********

Illya ran until he thought his chest would explode, the healing ribs protesting the abuse. Then he walked rapidly, weaving in and out of the crowds on the busy road that paralleled the river. He flung off the hat, and reversed the tunic he wore so the black side was out. He made up an emergency story to a pedestrian in trade for his bicycle, assuring the man that the vehicle would be left at the edge of the town. He hopped on, hugged the device to his burning ribs with his still healing arm, and pedaled steadily. He recalled the sole bridge into the town, and knew he had to cross it before the patrols closed it.

The first patrol that came across didn't give him a second glance, and he was glad he'd reversed the shirt and got the bike. Illya pedaled steadily, each breath painfully making itself known. Another patrol passed him heading into town, and he knew time was running out. Finally, the narrow bridge came into view and he thought that he just might make it when an army truck barreled around a corner in the distance.

Illya knew his luck had run out. He slid the ancient bike to a stop and quickly leaned it against the closest building, and then walked to the river's edge close to the bridge. The device now was excess baggage; he already had the manual for it so he threw it into the swift moving current and watched it sink. Then he stumbled to the bridge base and quickly immersed himself in the frigid water.

Working hard to not make any wake, he could hear the patrol skid to a stop on the bridge followed by the sound of pounding feet as they set up and searched the area. Only half way across and directly under the bridge, Illya steeled himself and took a deep breath.

As he sank below the surface, he was thankful for the darkness of the water, the failing light and the current that pulled him away towards the sea.

ACT XV: "Gee, Now I'm Telling You To Be Quiet!" 

They had been afloat for many hours, running the Empress as wide open as they dared for that length of time. The thrumming of the engine made conversation difficult, but not impossible. Napoleon figured out that if you look directly at whom you were speaking to and spoke loud and slow that it was possible to carry out a conversation; just tiring. Although looking into Miss Inturi's eyes never became tiresome.

It was well into the night when the technician waved him over excitedly. Stevie cut the engine to idle. "I've got it! We have a plotted line now." They referred to the map rolled open on the floor and ended up with a straight line running east right through Peretyciha.

"You were correct, Solo-san." Stevie said with a brilliant smile. "You know how your partner thinks! Peretyciha; that is impressive."

Napoleon smiled briefly, but had a difficult time reveling his good guessing. "We need to turn a bit south, and cut back near the international waters border. I'm sure we'll get another sign when we're close."

"Ah, Mr. Solo?" the technician asked, waving him back to the radar screen.

"Yes?" Solo leaned over the man's shoulder. "What?"

"This blip appeared just a second ago. It's in the sea just north of Peretyciha and moving at a good clip."

Solo frowned. "It's not a boat?"

The man shook his head. "It's moving faster than a fishing boat, and the signature is much larger. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a submarine."

"A submarine?" Stevie said, aghast. "I have heard stories of submarines in this area, but have never seen one. You don't think it's a coincidence, do you?"

Napoleon shook his head. "Where Illya's involved, I don't believe in coincidence. He can really stir a pot." He studied the blip for a few minutes as Stevie fired up the Empress once more. "OK, my Russian friend. Who have you pissed off now?" he mumbled to himself.

*********

The water was very cold. Illya couldn't feel his hands or feet anymore, and tried to avoid any thought of this being a premonition of what his future may be like. He had been feeling an odd prickling feeling in his torso and limbs for several hours now, but it didn't appear to be getting any worse. But now, he couldn't tell because he was numb all over.

He allowed the current to pull him away from the bridge then tried to stay as close to the shore as possible. Every now and again he would work his way into some of the native water foliage and let his face surface just enough to see how dark it was and to catch his breath. He could hear the engines of boats passing by on their way to and from the sea, and noticed that it wasn't long before there were no boats going east to sea anymore; the patrol boats had created a blockade. Eventually, the only boats he saw were military patrol boats that would illuminate the shore now and again with their spotlights now that it was completely dark.

The agent found his thinking process was getting a bit scattered and knew that he was getting hypothermic; he needed to get out of the water, and soon. The lights from the houses on the shore were scattered and little detail could be gleaned, but he thought he was close to the fisherman's house and tried to make out the small dock. When he eventually bumped into what felt like a pillar, he wrapped his arms around it to hold steady. Shivering uncontrollably, it was nearly impossible to work his way to the shore. He pushed off to the next pillar, and the next, until he felt the river bottom under his feet.

Taking a fortifying breath he launched himself towards the shore, grabbing plants and their roots to drag himself out of the water. He had to command his fingers to work properly, which took a lot of his concentration. When he finally felt dry earth under his knees, he collapsed in a quivering heap, spent. I'll just stay here long enough to … to… I wonder where Napoleon is? He should be here..

Thoughts scattering to the wind, he closed his eyes and welcomed the blackness as a warm, dry blanket.

*********

Trudy was pacing the inside of the house like a nervous cat, wringing her hands. The boat was all packed, and Stepan, the young man who was to drive them, was waiting patiently in the small house and watching her with questions in his eyes. For the umpteenth time she heard the wheels of patrol trucks race by on the road and she watched it go by from the window.

"Where is he?" she said again out loud. "The patrols are still out, so he probably isn't caught yet, but where is he?!" She chewed her fingernails, and the fisherman's wife frowned at her. Trudy yanked her hand down. "I can't stand this. I'm checking the boat again." She grabbed the light jacket that had been loaned to her, and Stepan stood, picking up on the cue. He followed her out the door and down the path.

Trudy was looking everywhere as she walked to the dock, but it was Stepan to suddenly ran past her to the water's edge and knelt down. With her heart in her throat, she followed, and dropped to the ground on the other side of the shivering agent.

"Illya! Oh my God. Stepan, we have to get him inside and warm." She gathered up and arm, and Stepan mirrored her movements, managing to get him upright. Illya was speaking but his words were slurred and unintelligible. "Quiet now, it's OK. Gee, now I'm telling you to be quiet!" she panted as they literally dragged him to the house. "You just have lousy timing, don't you?" Trudy was alarmed at how cold he felt. When they got near the house she could see the bluish tinge to his lips and limbs, and laid him down as close to the fire as she could.

The wife began boiling water as soon as she saw him, and with Stepan's help she stripped him down to his underwear and began rubbing him dry. It took awhile, but eventually the blueness faded a bit and his skin didn't feel like ice anymore. They wrapped him in quilts and blankets and propped him in a sitting position by the fireplace. When his eyes blinked open, they looked a bit cloudy, and she helped him sip some sweet, hot tea the girls brought to them Eventually the shivers faded and his eyes cleared. And as soon as that happened, he was ready to move again.

"We need to keep moving," he whispered hoarsely, struggling to stand.

"You have got to be kidding!" Trudy scolded. "You nearly died from hypothermia!"

"If we stay, I'll die from bullets. I'll take my chances. Help me up." He finally made it to his feet and swayed dangerously. "Where are my clothes?" He spoke to Stepan in Russian, who departed to get some clothes.

"Mr. Kuryakin, I don't know how you're doing this, but you should be flat on your back unconscious." Trudy put her hands on her hips, ready to chew him out some more, but the sound of a vehicle out front and the sight of headlights shining in the kitchen windows made her forget everything. Eyes wide, she looked at Illya. "A patrol!" She whispered.

Illya grabbed her elbow and began to guide her to the single bedroom, but she ended up dragging him. "Get in the bed," he ordered and she did so after kicking off her shoes. Stepan entered the room with the clothes and Illya took them, chattering in Russian to him. The young man nodded and left, closing the door. Illya slithered under the bed and arranged the loose clothes along his body to darken his profile and block the view of him from the room. "I told Stepan to pretend you were sick. That way you don't have to talk."

She didn't answer right away. "I'm scared, Illya." She whispered shakily.

"You'll do fine. Just remember that it is me they are looking for, not you. Now close your eyes and act sick. You're a nurse. You know what to do."

"Oh, funny," she snapped as she heard a pounding on the front door.

They heard the muted sound of conversation, and the wife making susshing sounds as they approached the bedroom door. When the door cracked open Illya saw a stream of light crawl along the floor towards his eyes. He held his breath as one of the soldiers stepped partway in and waved a flashlight around. He saw the shivering form of a woman on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open and breathing raggedly. He didn't make any effort to enter the room any further, and closed the door. Footsteps sounded through the house and outside the window, and then there was the sound of the truck driving away.

Trudy was up in a flash, and down to help Illya out from under the bed. He moved slowly, but was able to stand and begin dressing by himself.

"We are getting out of here now. Time is running out," he said softly. Trudy had to agree. When it was quiet outside for a reasonable length of time, they left for the dock.

Trudy hugged the woman and the girls, thanking them even though they didn't understand. Illya relayed her thoughts, and added some of his own, and Trudy was surprised when the two little girls hugged the agent simultaneously from two sides. Trudy was surprised at how his face softened with the affection as he patiently waited for them to let go. He patted them each on the head, and moved out the door and down the path with Trudy following.

"Well. They seemed to like you," Trudy noted lightly.

"They said I reminded them of their cousin."

"Really? Does he live near here?"

Illya hesitated. "No. Apparently he died at sea last year."

Trudy shook her head with a short laugh. "Only you could bring down a light moment, Mr. Pessimism."

"You shouldn't be surprised. It's in my nature. I am Russian, after all."

They managed to get the boat away from the dock, and kept the engine idle low and the lights off. Stealth was the only way they were going to get anywhere; this trawler couldn't outrun the patrol boats.

Illya hunkered down on the deck to inventory the supplies, and instructed Trudy to observe how the boat operated. In a quiet voice, he told her that there was no way he was going to risk Stepan's life and safety, and that he planned to get him off the boat as soon as possible.

"How?" She whispered back. "We're heading into the open ocean!"

"He's young and can swim back. I'll find a way to reimburse Strambokov for the boat."

Trudy looked thoughtful. "That was the fisherman's name?"

Illya nodded. "I would have introduced you, but that would have been improper."

"Improper?" She said, confused. "Are women second class citizens here or something?"

Illya eyes glanced up at her as his head stayed bent down, so she couldn't see his evil grin. "Well, generally, no. But handmaidens are another story."

"Wha?!" She sputtered. "Handmaiden?!? You told him I was a handmaiden??"

"It was the only way to explain why you couldn't speak to them," he said in a patient tone, enjoying his payback as he continued to inventory. "Most handmaidens are foreign."

Trudy punched him in the shoulder. "You rat!"

"Keep your voice down!" he said lightly, laughing. "Noise carries out here!"

"You…you…" speechless, Trudy turned in a huff to observe Stepan.

*********

Asikov stepped from the patrol boat to the conning tower of the submarine just off the coast from Peretyciha and felt like he was coming home. He'd spent a lot of time on these vessels early in his career, and had enjoyed the power of them. And the stealth! They were a wondrous piece of machinery.

The hatch closed above him and the crew snapped to attention.

He reveled in the power of command for a few seconds. "At ease," he snapped. "Commander, I will meet with you now in the ready room."

The Officer nodded in the direction of the ready room. Once there, Asikov told him his mission: A traitor had returned to Russia to retrieve secret military documents to sell to the West. He was suspected as being in Russian waters, trying to meet his contact. The submarine was to be at Asikov's disposal to hunt the traitor down and retrieve the documents. When the Commander inquired about written orders, Asikov brushed him off.

"I will take full responsibility. There is no time for written orders. We are in hot pursuit. I outrank you, Commander, and you will obey my orders." The Commander bristled, but backed down.

"Now," Asikov said, standing. "I need to see your sonar officer. We have boats to hunt down."

********

The fisherman's dock was in the relatively peaceful currents of the river mouth, situated in a protected eddy. They pushed off and into the mainstream on an easterly heading. Their transition to the sea was seamless, thanks to the jetties jutting out into the open waters. They had just cleared the tips of the jetties when they saw lights bouncing in the distance.

Illya stayed on the floor, arranging items in a useable order: The manual was wrapped in oilcloth and tucked against the skin of his abdomen, under his clothing. The gun was tucked into his waistband, and the knife in his boot. The flares and grenade were laid out in easy reach next to a pile of oily rags and a small container of gasoline. Food and extra clothing were separated and put aside.

It didn’t take long for Trudy to learn the basics on how to run the boat. She and her husband had a very small fishing boat of their own at one time; the driving mechanism was very similar. She squatted down next to the shaggy haired agent, resisting the temptation to brush back the bangs fluttering on his forehead. Illya hadn't tried to stand. She was sure his balance on the bumpy deck would be precarious, and he knew it. When she saw the lights in the distance closing in, she mentioned it to him and he peeked over the side.

"I was hoping we'd get further out," he said quietly, directing Stepan to drift a bit south and delay the inevitable confrontation. They edged up the throttle just a bit. "They must be using radar to locate us, because I'm sure we're too dark to spot."

Everyone felt the stress building as the light got closer. Eventually they heard the sound of the motor; the boat was moving at a good clip, and had passed the jetties. There was no doubt it was a patrol boat. All they could do was watch helplessly as the light grew in size. Illya said to turn east and try to feign engine trouble. Stepan threw him a wide-eyed look, and Illya spoke to him in Russian. Stepan looked a little relieved and did what he was told.

"What did you tell him?" She asked.

"I said I'd tell the patrol that I hijacked him with the gun if I had to," Illya explained patting the handgun at his waist. "But we may not need to do that."

Now it was Trudy's eyes that went big. She'd come to appreciate the survival skills of the small man, and knew he had a plan. She opened her mouth to ask what it was, and then decided she'd rather not know. She knew how he thought, and what ever it was, it would be a show. She just hoped they lived through it. "I hope you know what you're doing," she said softly.

"I've gotten us this far, haven't I? Have a little faith."

She couldn't respond to that. The boat was now very close and they were suddenly awash with light.

The announcement seemed to come directly from the bright, white spotlight. Only the sound of the motor gave away that the light was attached to a patrol boat. The surrounding seas were so black compared to the white light that Trudy and Stepan were momentarily stunned into motionlessness. Only Illya, close to the floor and not visible in the spotlight, was in motion, pulling out the flares that had been stashed his tunic.

"Stepan!" he hissed "STEPAN!" The young man jumped, his attention finally captured by the agent. "Do you have matches? And don't look at me!"

"Da," he replied, eyes wide in fear.

"Idle the engine, and get the matches out slowly. Trudy!"

"Huh?" She aborted her glance at the agent, and blinked into the light.

Illya switched to English. "Be ready to take the boat. Move slowly toward the wheel, and keep your hands visible. And don't look at me."

She slid over slowly, hands up, as Stepan slipped next to Illya. They heard the patrol boat cut the engine back. Stepan dropped the matches in Illya's lap as the young man raised his hands for the patrol. The loudspeaker was spewing out orders and Illya talked over them as he worked with the flares. He jumped between English and Russian as he worked. Trudy was momentarily awed he could do that so easily under such pressure.

"Stepan, tell me if you see long, rectangular boxes mounted on the side of the boat. Keep verbal estimate as to the distance between us. When they don't see you as a direct threat, they will parallel us in an attempt to board. That's what I want."

"The lights are blinding me," Stepan said worriedly.

"I know. Look just above the water line, not directly into the light."

Stepan squinted and Trudy shifted nervously. She watched Illya out of the corner of her eye; he was wrapping the flares in the oily, gasoline soaked rags. That'll burn like crazy, she thought, licking her lips wordlessly.

The young man mumbled something to Illya, and the agent replied with a nod. Stepan then started what sounded like a count down.

"What'd he say? What's going on?" Trudy asked, trying not to move her lips. She could feel the sweat trickling down from her hairline, but didn't dare move to wipe it away.

"I needed to know if there were missile launchers mounted on the hull of the boat, and how close the boat is." He was working rapidly as he spoke, hunched down next to the wall.

"Missile launchers?!" She hissed, horrified, locking her eyes on the dark form now being maneuvered alongside. She saw the long boxes he referred to, and took a little solace knowing that in a parallel position, the things were no longer directed at them. That was a good thing; the bad thing was that now that they were closer, she could see how heavily armed each person was. Her palms were itching to slam the trawler into drive and flee, but she managed to keep still.

Stepan continued to report the closing distance. Illya put a final tug on the rags, and pulled out the grenade. He held the grenade in his teeth by the ring, and readied a match. Trudy saw him fumble with the tiny sticks, dropping several, then finally get a grip on one with a shaky hand.

Trudy could see more and more details as the boat got closer. The man in charge was yelling something directly at Trudy, close enough to no longer need the loudspeaker any longer. He repeated his demand, more loudly. She replied by smiling, shrugging, and pointing to her ears. He grunted, and reached over the side just as the patrol boat bumped them lightly.

In that instant, perfectly timed because of Stepan's monitoring, Trudy heard the snap of the match as it was struck. Illya touched it to the rag wrapped around one flare, and all three ignited immediately. He stood and heaved them in succession, each landing on a different part of the deck of the patrol boat. She was amazed by his speed; the crew didn't have time to react until the burning packages hit the deck, then they exploded into motion, scrambling to either get away from the erupting flares or trying to stomp them out.

"HIT IT!" Illya yelled with gritted teeth, and Trudy grabbed the wheel and the throttle. The agent pulled the grenade free of the pin and leaned over the edge. As he stuffed the grenade between the parallel missile boxes, the trawler leaped away to the sound of gunfire. Illya grabbed the edge to keep from being thrown overboard as they raced away in the dark. When he gained his feet he took the opportunity to shove Stepan over the side before the young man could protest and started to make his way towards Trudy.

"HEY!" Trudy yelped, gripping the wheel.

"HE CAN SWIM HOME!" Illya yelled back. As he reached her, there were two huge, back-to-back explosions that made the trawler shimmy. Trudy ducked when debris rained down on them, and glanced back just in time to see Illya get nailed in the head with a sizeable chunk of something. He dropped like a rock and didn't move.

"Oh my God! ILLYA!" Her scream was lost in the roar and subsequent explosions of ordinance on the boat, and in an instant realized that he was safer where he was on the floor. Pegging the throttle full open, she held the bottom of the wheel and got as close to the floor as she could. At least I won't hit anything, ran crazily through her head as the trawler escaped into the darkness, peppered with burning shrapnel.

Her ears were still ringing when they finally cleared the shrapnel, and when the fiery mass was out of sight, Trudy checked the compass and confirmed their westerly direction. "Illya!" she called, not daring to stop or let go of the wheel. "Hey!" She heard a groan, and the agent rolled over. "Illya? Wake up, will you? I know your head is harder than that! Are you with me? I wouldn't know this Solo guy if he bit me! Come on, I need your help!"

Illya struggled to a sitting position, flailing against the bumpy motion of the boat, and held his head in his hands, silent. The thrumming of the motor was broken only by the rhythmic jar of the boat hitting ocean wakes. After many minutes he attempted to stand without success, finally resorting to crawling to her feet and leaning back on the hull, eyes closed. They both ignored the dying embers that had settled on the deck from the sky and the smoky smell of destruction they brought.

"Can you hear me?" She yelled over the motor. "Are you all right?"

He winced in response, and she had to put her head close to him to hear. "I can hear just fine. Please don't yell. It upsets the marching band in my head."

She stood up, shaking her head as she looked forward into the darkness. "You must be fine. Your sour demeanor is intact," she said.

"How far out are we?"

"I have no idea." 

He struggled to his feet, holding firmly on the side rail and looking at the compass. "I guess we've been doing about 20 knots for less than one half hour, so we must be somewhere around 10 miles out. We're close."

"Now how do we find your partner? We can't telephone ahead or anything."

"Not in the sense you're thinking of, anyway. I still have that bit of gasoline to work with. You keep driving. I'll see what I can do."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

**********

"It just disappeared, sir."

"How can it just have disappeared?! What about the second target? Is it still there?" Asikov wasn't believing what he was hearing. How could a fully armed patrol boat simply disappear? The other vessel was very small and slow moving before, but was now moving much faster. Its speed was still pitiful next to that of the disappearing patrol boat! What ever had happened, Asikov was sure Kuryakin was the root of it. He touched the scar on his face, recalling the explosion that had caused it and how the annoying little man was involved in that debacle.

"The second target is still moving east. It will soon be in international waters, sir."

"I don't care if it will soon be on the moon. Intercept."

The sound of the Commander clearing his throat made the sonar man jump. Asikov turned an icy stare on him. "May I respectfully remind you, sir, that any confrontation in international waters is against regulations?" He wasn’t about to let this interloper risk his command.

"I outrank you, Commander. Do not question me. Pursue."

The Commander ground his teeth. "Aye, Sir."

*********

The trio on the Empress heard what sounded like faint thunder. "But there were no clouds in the sky," Stevie commented, looking skyward. "And no storms were expected."

"Explosion." Napoleon said matter-of-factly. "And we can only get a general direction." He pointed southwest. "Turn that way."

Stevie did so without question. The radar technician confirmed a few minutes later that the submarine was headed in the same direction, and where there once had been two small blips in another area, there was now only one.

********

Illya finally felt that there was a good possibility of escape from all this. The horizon was clear in every direction and no sound carried when he turned off the engines to listen. He knew they were near the end of Russian waters, and now it came down to two things: either they’d run out of fuel and drift until they were picked up, or Napoleon would find them. He was sure that even Asikov, as driven as he could be, wouldn’t risk an incident in open waters. Then again, witnesses out here were few and far between.

"OK, Mr. Kuryakin," Trudy started. "Tell me about this General Asikov and why he’s pulling out all the stops to find you." She was curious, but she also suspected that Illya had a concussion and wanted to keep him talking. He seemed to be dragging, and she desperately wanted to check if his pupils were reacting evenly. She was playing it safe by keeping him talking and surprisingly, he seemed willing.

"I was a Lieutenant in the Russian Navy. Asikov was the Commander on the submarine I was assigned to. He tried to make a name for himself by putting the crew under him at unnecessary risk and I pointed it out to him. And when things went sour, there was and explosion and one crewman was lost. It would have been worse if I hadn’t moved all the crewmen to a safe location beforehand." Illya’s eyes were closed, and he had his head leaned back against the hull.

"So you defied his orders by moving the men?"

"Yes. The man that died was by Askiov’s side. He saved the General’s life by taking the brunt of the explosion."

"Did Asikov blame you for the explosion?"

"Yes, but only to my face. He said if the men had been where he put them, they would have seen the problem with the explosives before they blew. The formal investigation, however, didn’t prove that and he decided to keep his mouth shut and save his career. The men never knew that I had defied orders; they thought Asikov was a hero by moving them. I kept my mouth shut and Asikov never got the blame he deserved. And I had this secret over his head; he didn't like that."

"Did he make life miserable for you after that?"

"Not really. He didn’t have the chance. I moved to Naval Intelligence shortly thereafter."

"Because of your knack with explosives?" she teased.

"Partly," he confessed. "But when the opportunity came to leave the Navy, I did."

"And here you are today. Isn’t life weird sometimes," Trudy commented.

Illya shook his head slowly. "Madam, you have no idea."

ACT XVI: "You Define 'Pessimism'!" 

General Asikov stared at the radar screen, transfixed. That little blip represented many things; his chance to move up in command and all the social benefits that brought, the chance to wipe the one blot on his career away, and the chance to finally seal a secret forever. Any one of those choices would make him happy.

When the second blip showed on the screen, he blinked in surprise. "What's that?" he barked, pointing at the moving form.

"Another boat, sir. About the same size as the one we're closing on."

"It's not a patrol boat?" he asked, throat tightening.

"By the size of the blip I can't say, but I do know that it's coming from the wrong direction, sir." Asikov felt his heart jump, but kept a cool exterior. The sailor continued. "And it looks like they'll get there before us. They're only about four kilometers off target."

Asikov brain was racing. The chance to clear his past in his mind was going to escape! He'd spent the past several years with the idea that Kuryakin's information would pop up someday and ruin his future; it had ruined every advancement he'd received since then. Here he had a chance to rid himself of that anxiety and get a device to help him out and he was about to lose both.

"Load torpedo tubes," he ordered darkly.

The Commander's face fell in surprise. "Sir! The limiting lines of approach are almost too narrow to insure a hit! And we only have sonar readings on the target! There is no confirmation of what we're firing at!"

"We don't have time to surface and check, Commander! Load the tubes!"

The Commander stood firm in front of the General. "Sir. I have to inform you that if you fire those torpedoes, I will remove you from command! I will not risk the careers of all on board on a guess!"

The General locked eyes with the Commander. The tension on deck was thick and the crew held their collective breath and tried to keep their heads down. There was electric silence for many seconds, then Asikov spoke.

"Fire one!" he barked.

"Sir! I'm warning you!" The Commander said firmly as the swishing sound of the torpedo leaping away was heard. Asikov didn't blink.

"One away," came the report from the weapons officer.

"Fire two!"

"Guards! I am relieving the General from Command!"

"Two away, sir!"

The guards flanked the General instantly, and Asikov sneered. "You have an efficient crew, Commander. My complements."

"Remove him from the command deck," the Commander ordered. "Sir, you are free to roam the rest of the ship, but you will not be allowed on the command deck." He turned his back on Asikov.

"Surface! We need visual on what was hit."

As Asikov was escorted from the deck, he smiled. There was still one chance…

************

Illya had made it to his feet, and was surveying the dark for any sign of his partner when he saw the phosphorescent trail as it flew by the small boat. "Torpedoes!" He yelled in surprise.

"What do you mean 'torpedoes'?" Trudy replied sharply, spinning around from the wheel. "I only see one!"

"They usually travel in pairs! There! Quick! That one won't miss! We have to go over!" Illya leaped for the wheel and turned the boat into the torpedo's direction, and moved to grab Trudy's arm, but was alarmed at how slowly his body seemed to be moving. The prickly sensation he'd been feeling for hours now in his upper torso was growing stronger, and he no longer felt his feet or hands. When he took a step towards her, he realized his legs were numb and they wobbled. "Hurry, Trudy, we have to jump!"

Trudy could see the second phosphorescent trail heading right for them. She also saw Illya sag heavily, and she encircled him with her arms, dragging him to the side.

"Go!" Illya grunted, realizing that he could no longer feel his limbs.

"Not by myself, I'm not!" Trudy yelled as they made it to the side rail. It took a moment to roll Illya over the side, and when she heard the splash in the dark water, she followed. Her feet had barely cleared the rail when the torpedo impacted the old boat. Trudy felt herself fly into the air with the shock wave, and she took in a sharp breath as she hit the cold water. At the same time the gas tanks exploded in a flash of orange and yellow. All she could hear was rumbling and muted explosions underwater as she fought to find the surface. When she did, she realized that the flaming wreckage surrounding her was the remains of their only way out of Russian waters. She hoped Illya's confidence in his mysterious partner wasn't mistaken. 'Illya!' she thought. 'I have to find him!'

Orienting herself in relation to the wreckage, she swam back to where she thought he was. "Illya!" She sputtered, looking in a circle. "Illya! Where are you?!" Desperately treading water, she noticed a dark spot in the flame-reflecting sea, and stroked quickly to it.

It was a body, floating face down. Again treading water, she gently turned the body over, and checked his pulse at the neck. It was weak, but there. She felt for breathing, but there was none. Quickly, she pried opened his mouth and puffed several breaths past his lax lips. Four puffs entered the limp body when she was rewarded with wet coughing and fluttering eyelids.

"Illya, do you hear me? Illya? Come on, soldier, wake up!" She held his face out of the water as she kicked her feet, trying to ignore the fatigue beginning overtake her. She also noticed the lack of motion in his body and was beginning to fear the worst.

"I'm here," Illya whispered hoarsely, coughing again, his voice barely audible.

"Illya," she huffed. "Can you swim? We have to grab onto something. Preferably, something that floats and isn't on fire!"

"Picky, picky," he said dreamily. He didn't continue right away, and when he did, his voice was flat. "I can't feel anything." There was a second of silence. "Next time we must insist on life jackets," he said dryly.

Trudy couldn't help but let out a quick laugh. "You seem so confident there will be a next time!" She repositioned her arm under his and across his chest, with his head against her chest. "All those swimming classes my dad made me take are coming to the test! Here we go!"

Swimming backwards, Illya in tow, Trudy used what she could find of her energy to get some distance from the flaming wreckage and locate some floating, non-burning debris. It didn't take long; she eventually came across a large section of wood that looked like it used to be part of the deck. She pushed and pulled enough of Illya's torso onto the board to make him secure, then she swam around to the other side and climbed on. She lay on her chest and he on his back. Her head was next to Illya's, and her legs still dangling in the water.

"Now," she puffed. "I hope there aren't any sharks around here."

"Finally, someone I can introduce to Napoleon that is more of a pessimist than I am." Illya said quietly in a droll tone.

"I just hope your friend is as good as you say," she answered.

"He is. But don't you ever tell him I said that," Illya replied slowly, in a whisper. "I just hope his new partner appreciates his abilities."

"Stop that." Trudy ordered. "I told you this would probably happen, and it's more than likely temporary."

"Might as well prepare for the worst." His voice was getting weaker.

"Sheesh." Trudy breathed. "You define 'pessimism.' I can't even come close!"

"My example will give you something to shoot for." Illya's eyes drifted closed, and he was quiet.

"Illya?" She whispered. "Hey!" She shook him with no response. His breathing and pulse were there, but very weak. After her exam, she scanned the horizon and said a mental prayer. "Comon' Mr. Solo," she mumbled. "Don't let him down."

*********

The explosion was bright in the darkness an yielded a shower of falling stars. Stevie and Solo looked at each other, and without a word, Stevie pointed the Empress right at the conflagration.

"How far? Three, four miles?" He asked loudly over the rough engine.

"Yes. That is about right." She squinted into the wind and darkness, trying to get a bearing on where the explosion was in relation to the stars, her only landmarks. "I think it was at the edge of international waters. We may possibly enter Russian seas." She turned her dark eyes on her new friend, her flying hair framing her face.

The technician confirmed the disappearance of the boat's reading, and confirmed the sub's actions. They were all momentarily shocked.

Solo was stripping off his outer clothes, revealing a wetsuit underneath. As he spoke, he readied his tanks and other equipment. "I have no doubt it's in Russian waters. You can stop short, though. I can go in alone."

"You believe your friend to be alive? After that?" She waved a delicate hand in the direction of the flames.

"You don't know my partner," Napoleon said as he worked. "He just likes to raise a ruckus." With those light words he tried to squelch the feelings of doom he really had inside. "You just need to dump me as close as you can, then go back into legal waters, Stevie. There's no reason for you jeopardize your life and property."

She tilted her head slightly in his direction as the Empress plowed through the waves. "But how will you get out? Does U.N.C.L.E. have a boat plane?"

He laughed shortly. "You mean a pontoon plane? Not around here. As soon as I find Illya, I'll let you know, and we will simply swim to you. With that sub out there, there is no way you should enter Russian waters."

She squinted slightly at the plan and then asked quietly, "What if someone else finds you first, Solo-san?"

Again, he gave her what he hoped was a mind easing smile. "They won't." He turned his back on her and finished gearing up. Using a small penlight, he pulled out the worn charts. "Almost time to dump me. You are about to cross the International waters line. See anything?"

She turned back to their goal. "No. Only flames on water and floating debris."

He allowed her to get a bit closer and then had her stop. Her eyes were unreadable as she watched him put himself over the side. She leaned over the edge and found him waving at her. "Thank you, Stevie. See you soon!" He fitted his mask and regulator, and ducked under the water.

"Sooner than you think, Solo-san," she said to no one as she flipped her hair over her delicate shoulders and reached for the radio. "Tell me, what is the range of your radar?" She asked the technician politely.

*********

The only proof that Trudy had of time passing was the reduction of the size of the flames as they ate their fuel. She snuggled as close to Illya as she had dared, trying to combine body heat to keep warm. I don't think I can do anything to prevent a chill, my friend. What was that word? Tovarich? Her blond companion mumbled in Russian once in awhile, and one time rolled his head violently. Trudy bit her lip and tried to keep his head still. I don't know if your spinal cord is severed yet or not, tovarich, but I'll be damned if I'll let you damage yourself further!

Time seemed to stretch inconceivably. The flames were much lower now, and at one point, Trudy was sure she heard something just outside the debris field. What does a surfacing sub sound like? She thought, trying to see a conning tower in the darkness. Nothing came of it; maybe Illya was right about them being in International waters. Would they still try to find them?

She was fighting fatigue as a result of hypothermia. Her eyelids kept drifting shut, and she tired to keep up a conversation with her deceased husband or the unresponsive agent to stay awake. Soon, she couldn't think of anything else to say, so she started to sing. The sound of mechanical breathing startled her.

"Hello?" she said to the darkness.

"Are you alone?" A deep voice asked off to her right.

"Who are you?" She demanded, laying a protective hand across Illya's chest. She felt Bratsk's handgun tucked in his waistband and hauled it out, pointing it in the direction of the voice. "I won't let you take him!"

She heard the sound of swimming, and the voice was closer the second time.

"Believe me, I don't want him. He can be nothing but trouble."

She saw eyes, just a few inches above water level not three feet from her. Dawn was just touching the sea, driving off the endless blackness. She could see a diving mask was perched on his head. He kept his distance, but she saw the eyes flick to the blond man, then back to her.

"Our boss, however, seems to want him back. I could use the office space, but I'd miss his sour looks."

Trudy could tell he wanted to get closer, but was waiting her out. She could also tell his genuine concern for Illya.

"You're Napoleon Solo, aren't you?" She said hoarsely, her throat beginning to feel rather sore and raw. "Illya said you'd come."

She saw a flash of teeth as he smiled briefly then swam to them. "You must be Gertrude Kidd." He started to examine his friend as he spoke. "I've been swimming out here for almost an hour looking for him. I'm glad he wasn't alone."

She dropped the gun. "Trudy. Only my mother called me Gertrude. He's unconscious. I think he's paralyzed; it could be temporary, though," she added quickly at the look of dismay she saw in Solo's eyes. "He's got a bullet stuck in his neck which may be infected. He also has some broken bones and bruises, and a concussion, among other things. He needs to be in a hospital, Mr. Solo."

He smiled gently at her. "He'll like that about as much as he's enjoying this." He moved to be alongside Trudy. "Can you help me kick? I have a ride waiting somewhere over that a way." He indicated east with his chin.

"Are you kidding?" She said through chattering teeth. "Compared to what I've been through?" She began to kick in a steady rhythm.

They had only gone a few yards when they heard a voice speaking Russian. Solo glanced back over his shoulder and in the early light, saw two soldiers in a raft. One had a rifle pointed at them.

Solo didn't speak Russian, but he knew the intent of the words that came from the darkness and stopped kicking. The one with the rifle seemed to be in charge, and was telling Solo something. "I'm sorry," Napoleon said with his best smile. "I don't speak Russian, and my interpreter here seems to be unavailable." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Trudy's fingers moving towards the gun on Illya's chest. He kept talking to distract the man. "I assume there is something here you want. Isn't that just like my partner; he has no social graces. I don't see anything here that qualifies as a gift. Except, perhaps, my partner himself? You want him?"

The sound of motors close by made Asikov blink and look around. Through the smoke of the burning trawler a fishing boat appeared. Then another, and another. Within a minute or two Trudy and the agents were in the center of a semicircle of at least a dozen Japanese fishing trawlers loaded with smiling fishermen.

Solo could hardly keep the look of surprise off his face when he saw a hull emblazoned with the familiar name 'Empress' push its way into the forefront. The surprise was replaced with a huge smile.

"I don't think our friend over there has the stomach for an international incident, do you, Solo-san?" She kept smiling and waving at him.

Napoleon glanced over to the Russian boat. The rifle was now out of sight, and the boat wasn't moving any closer. The angry glow in the man's eyes was obvious. There was a lot of hatred there.

"By our calculations," and she waved her arm to indicate all the boats around her, "we are in International waters. Can fifteen fishing boat captains be wrong?" Stevie said with a smile, her companions looking completely innocent. They obviously didn't understand English, but knew the intent of this action.

Taking advantage of the stalemate, Solo kicked the floating platform alongside the Empress. Stevie and the technician helped the three of them in the Empress, and they were off, leaving the burning remains behind. The U.N.C.L.E. technician wrapped Trudy in a blanket, and tossed several more to Solo, who was bending over the very still form of Kuryakin.

Stevie's hair was glistening in the early morning light as she gunned the engine. Her dark tresses were blown back from her face as she steered the Empress to shore. She smiled briefly at Solo, and he nodded his thanks as he bent to help his partner and friend.

Fourteen boats lined up in a sloppy 'V' shape behind her as they left Russian waters for Japan.

EPILOGUE : Going Home

They had taken the Empress directly to Sapporo. Solo and Trudy did as much for Illya as they could by keeping him warm and still, and the medical facility at the U.N.C.L.E. office there was well prepared for serious injury. It was late in the afternoon before he showed signs of consciousness and was stable enough for surgery. He was whisked off to the Operating Room just as Stevie brought Trudy back to join Napoleon in the waiting room. Trudy had been given a complete physical and been allowed to clean up, and Stevie bought some clothes for her. Except for lack of sleep, she insisted she felt fine, and slapped herself on her forehead when she heard herself utter those words.

"Damn, I've only been around him a couple of weeks and I've picked up his mannerisms!"

Solo had to smile, even though he was very worried. Illya had been lucky to meet up with this one, he'd decided as soon as he met her. Waverly had tasked Solo with debriefing the 'civilian involved', and figured now was as good a time as any. It certainly would help the time pass.

She gave her report like a professional. With each daring deed and sneaky tactic she relayed to him, his respect for her grew. Stevie just sat and listened in open-mouthed astonishment.

"So this is the manual of the device that started all this, huh?" Solo held up the warped, wet book, and Trudy nodded, exhausted. "Well, U.N.C.L.E. can figure all this out, I'm sure. And may I say thank you again for helping Illya complete his mission? And I'm sure our boss Mr. Waverly will want to meet you when we return stateside."

"Yes, and I want to speak to him. Is he in charge of the hiring and firing of U.N.C.L.E. personnel?" Trudy asked directly, sitting back confidently like she was on a job interview.

"Ah, well, yes and no," Solo stammered. "You want to join U.N.C.L.E.?" What he didn't notice was how Stevie leaned forward to hear more herself.

"I loved Army nursing. Since I left the Army and my husband died I have found that nursing in a traditional hospital or private scenario has been unfulfilling. That's why I was traveling, to see where I wanted to be. I think your outfit and my experience would be a perfect fit: New environments and nursing a different kind of soldier. Where do I sign up?"

Solo grinned. "I would think after being with my partner for that length of time that he would have scared you away!"

Trudy snorted. "Him? His bark is worse than his….well, OK, that may not be true, but I do know that he has a pure heart. But Sir Galahad he ain't."

Solo laughed out loud. "I'm sure Mr. Waverly would love to talk to you!"

"Solo-san," Stevie said as she laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "I would like to speak to your organization also. I will start with the Sapporo office, if you will give me an introduction."

He smiled at her warmly. "You got it, Miss Inturi. I think you both would be fine additions."

They chatted lightly to keep busy, and were surprised when the surgeon interrupted them hours later. "He's in recovery. I've already reported to Mr. Waverly in New York, and he's instructed me to fill you in." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well?" Solo asked impatiently. Trudy took his elbow to steady both him and herself.

"He should be fine. The slug was wedged between two vertebrae and caused considerable irritation to the nerve bundle and cord. There was a small pocket of infection, and inflammation of the surrounding tissue. We got the slug out, and cleaned up the area, and haven't seen any permanent damage, but we have to wait until the swelling goes down to get a good picture of long term recovery. The concussion to his skull was considerable, and there's a little swelling there, but no bleeding."

"But you think he should be all right?" Stevie asked.

"That's my guess. I didn't see anything there to worry me. He is a very lucky young man."

Trudy snorted. "If you call getting shot in the back and clobbered on the head lucky. What room will he be taken to?"

He told them, and they thanked him and made there way to the room. None of them would be truly content until they saw for themselves. They met the gurney in the hall outside the room. Illya's face was as white as the pillow and the bandages around his torso. His eyes, however, were cracked open and his annoyance of the whole situation clear.

Trudy grabbed the chart off his bed and flipped through the papers while Solo spoke with the nurses who were transferring his partner to the hospital bed. "Um, I think I would drop him once to let him know who's boss here, ladies."

Illya glared at him. "They aren't as clumsy as you, Napoleon." He said quietly but quite clearly.

"I see a clonk on the head hasn't improved your personality," Solo clucked.

"Boys!" Trudy scolded, replacing the chart. "If you don't behave I'll have to separate you into time out corners!"

Stevie giggled. Solo looked surprised. Illya rolled his eyes. "See what I've had to put up with?" The blond agent said.

Trudy and Napoleon looked at each other. "He must be referring to you," they both said simultaneously.

Illya sighed. "I think if you both research your genealogies you will both find you are related to the same mule somewhere. But before you do, watch this."

All eyes turned to him. Slowly, he raised a shaky arm.

"Hey! You can move!" Trudy said. "You're going to be all right."

Illya's hand made a waving motion.

"That's great, Illya! You'll be at those reports in no time!" Solo grinned.

Stevie frowned. "I believe he's telling us something."

They all looked at the hand shooing them out the door. "Go away, will you? How is a person supposed to rest around here?" Illya said to their surprised faces.

Solo gathered up the women after they said their good byes and herded them out the door. The last to leave, Solo gave his partner a parting word.

"I've did save all the unfinished reports for you, you know. Want me to bring them here for you?"

The signal Illya gave him with his fingers made clear his reply.

FINIS