Lily of the Valley part Four

Napoleon whirled, drawing his gun. Illya leaned limply against the wall behind him, eyes pinched in a drawn, white face that briefly stretched into a smile.

"About time," he whispered and collapsed, sliding to the floor.

"No, no ..." Napoleon knelt, holstering his weapon, and lifted Illya's head. "No you don't. Come on, don't make me carry you." A swift onceover catalogued the bandage on Illya's leg, the various bruises and cuts, and wrapped them up into a burning rage. Napoleon bit down on the fury. Rescue first. Revenge -- most assuredly, revenge -- later.

"Come on, partner." He slapped Illya lightly and his eyes flickered open.

Illya blinked, looked around blankly. "What happened?"

"You must've skipped your afternoon nap." Napoleon pulled his partner to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Try me," Illya muttered, though his legs felt like rubber hoses. Napoleon drew his partner's arm across his shoulders and shut off the light.

"We have a getaway car and driver; we just have to get there. Unless you have a better recommendation, I left an open window and an unconscious guard in the next room."

A siren sliced through the quiet.

"I guess the guard woke up," Napoleon said. "Any ideas?"

"The elevator," Illya said. Napoleon opened the door and peered out for a moment, then yanked Illya through the doorway and down the hall. Illya hit the button while Napoleon stood, back against his partner's, gun in hand, scanning the long hallway. The sound of the door grinding open made him start. Illya hit the button labeled 'basement.'

The sirens had stopped when they got out of the elevator. The lower level was lit only by faint yellow light coming from the open doorway that led to the garage. Illya took the lead; in the doorway he abruptly planted his back against the wall. Pistol ready, Napoleon did the same. Bootheels clomped across concrete, nearing.

"We're in deep shit now," a voice said.

"He's gotta be here somewhere."

Illya risked a peek, pulled back and held up two fingers. Napoleon dug around in his pockets and pulled out a small knockout bomb, passing it to his partner. Illya waited, listening, as the footsteps came closer. He tossed the bomb, which exploded into a cloud of white gas just as the two men reached the doorway. They collapsed without a whimper.

Illya picked up a rifle and it nearly overbalanced him. Napoleon took it out of his hands, trading his UNCLE Special for it, and gave his partner a gentle shove in the direction of -- he hoped -- Lily and his car.

They dove into the cover of the trees as lights blared out across the grounds. Armed men burst from the front door and spread out, shouting to one another.

Napoleon grabbed Illya's sleeve and they ran, hearing the noise fade behind them, lost under the sounds of their own rustling passage through the undergrowth.

The car sat, silent, facing to freedom, and Napoleon breathed again. When they reached the door he saw no sign of Lily. Illya leaned gasping against the side of the car. A rustle in the bushes drew both guns to train on the figure emerging from the darkness.

"Why, Little Red Riding Hood," Napoleon said, lowering the rifle. "What a start you gave us."

Lily ran to the car, wide-eyed. " I can't believe you did it."

She got in the driver's seat and started the car. Napoleon opened the back door, saw Illya staring at the girl, and gave him a push into the back seat. "Let's go."

Illya blinked, shook his head and got in. Napoleon closed the door and climbed into the front. He was barely in when Lily hit the gas. She left the headlights off for a nervewracking minute or so, then switched them on and accelerated down the curving dirt lane.

"I didn't want to wait in the car," she said, her voice high, breathy. "Too conspicuous."

Napoleon grinned tiredly. "You're learning."

"I only need to be killed once," she said. "Is Mr. Kuryakin all right?"

Napoleon twisted in his seat. "He's either asleep or ..."  He stretched himself over the back of the seat to grab one of Illya's wrists. "He's asleep."

"He slept like that the last time my uncle used the machine on him," Lily said, and the anger coiled tighter in Napoleon's chest.

"What exactly does this machine do?"

"I have no idea. I'm an English teacher. Or I will be if I ever get out of this. I never even saw the machine. I only heard my uncle talk about it. And I saw how Mr. Kuryakin looked the last time. I was almost more scared for him than for me." She smiled nervously. "Almost. Maybe if I were a braver person I would have been. They wouldn't even have run me into the lake if I hadn't taken Mr. Kuryakin with me when I left. My uncle didn't care about me. He needed Mr. Kuryakin to ... um, infiltrate your organization. As a double agent. Brainwashed." She laughed again, shuddered. "Sorry. It sounds so silly. But it's true."

Napoleon said nothing, thinking about what was behind them. Dr. Xavier had to be stopped permanently. Right now Napoleon would gladly tear him apart personally. But once the doctor knew Illya'd escaped he'd probably pack up and leave, and UNCLE would have to find him all over again. Damn. If only he hadn't lost his communicator.

The darkness pressed around them, surrounding the car, compressing the headlights so that it seemed they penetrated only a few feet into the night. The dirt road twisted and turned and dipped and rose as if having difficulty finding a way through the dense wood.  Napoleon felt keenly how far they were from civilization, how far from help.

Something darted out from the dark of the woods and Lily cried out, jerking the wheel. The car skidded sideways. Napoleon slid across the seat -- then they hit something, hard, a solid shuddery bump. They lurched forward as the car slewed sideways and slammed into something else. Darkness fell like a hammer.

 * * * * *

Mr. Waverly waited until Gen. Cooke had departed, then immediately dispatched agents to Clearlake, Vermont, knowing through long-honed instinct they'd be too late.

 * * * * *

Alice stopped on the last of the porch steps. The others filed past her as she looked across the lake at the brick house. She thought, as she'd thought before -- knowing it was stupid -- that it stood too close, as if it were watching them. Square and respectable, sitting in judgment of them and the way they'd chosen to live. Miles away, yet somehow looming, leering.

Alice shook her head. Staring at her dusty brown feet, she reminded herself that she wasn't ordinarily nervous, but that this wasn't an ordinary summer. It probably had a lot more to do with what had happened to her the night she left New York.

"Alice." Doug stopped behind her. "It's almost time. Find Teddy and Mum, will you. They're inside. They were out picking mushrooms and they found a car crash."

"Oh my God," Alice said.

"Nobody badly hurt," Doug said, pushing long, chestnut-colored bangs out of his face. "They hit a deer, though. Killed it. A girl and a couple of guys. Knocked out. They brought 'em back here. Mum's working her healing magic on them now. We've got the solstice ceremony. Minerva's not back from town yet, but she said to go ahead without her if we had to. If Mum's patients are still out she can join us."

Alice watched Doug join the others in the sacred circle on the lawn, then turned and reentered the cool shadowy house.

She hadn't told anyone about what had happened. It had been so fast, so mysterious, so terrifying. She should have gone to the police when it was over. But she hadn't. She'd run, here, and was trying to pretend it hadn't happened. And she didn't want to give it the weight of reality that talking about it would bring.

She trotted up the bare wooden steps to the third floor Mum used as her infirmary. Dust poofed up from the ancient paisley carpet as she walked along the corridor. The third door along was ajar. She poked her head in to see Teddy's huge form, in blue jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, sprawled in a rocker.

"Is it time?" he said. Alice nodded and he got up.

Mum was sitting on the edge of a narrow brass bed, her back to the door. All Alice could see was a tumbling cascade of black curls and a flowery dress back. Mum turned around then, revealing the figure lying still on the bed.

Alice gasped as her heart and lungs cut off all communication for a second.

"What's the matter?" Teddy asked, taking gentle hold of her arm. His hand surrounded her wrist as if it were a pencil.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"You know this guy?" Teddy persisted. Alice clamped her mouth shut. Mum got up and came to join them.

"What happened?" Alice asked.

Teddy shrugged mountainously. "We were picking mushrooms down by the lake and there was a car there, where we usually cut across, you know?"

Alice nodded.

"They hit a deer and a tree. All out cold. Except the deer. It was dead."

Alice looked at the man in the bed, fear burning in her throat. What in God's name was going on?

"What's the matter?" Teddy said.

"Nothing," she insisted. "It's time for the ceremony." She trailed Mum and Teddy out the door, pausing there, glancing back. He looked like hell, somehow smaller than she remembered him. The last time she'd seen him had been at his apartment, slung unconscious between two thugs. Just before she'd run away.

Illya Kuryakin. What in the world had happened to him, and how could he possibly have ended up here?

"Come on," Teddy called. She blinked and followed her friends downstairs.

* * * * *

Napoleon opened his eyes.  Bright light blinded him.  He snapped upright, reaching for his gun, and the light became simple golden sunlight streaming warmly through a break in some very tattered blue curtains with clowns on them.

He was in a small, bare room in a rather rickety bed that moved when he moved.  Jacket, holster and gun were not in evidence, but a killer headache definitely was.

He got up slowly, adding shoulder, neck and back to the things that ached. He found his shoes on the dusty wood floor beside the bed. One narrow window and one narrow door, long ago painted white. And -- locked? He tried it. Unlocked but squeaky.

He peered out into a narrow corridor lined with a threadbare paisley runner and a few other doors. He felt the silence of the whole house around him as he went to the window. The third-floor vantage gave him a long view across a swath of untended lawn, trees and bushes over the lake to Dr. Xavier's brick house.

That reminded Napoleon of the accident. Someone must've found them, brought them here.

He left to search for Illya and the girl. His memory, and his own physical state, suggested they ought not be badly hurt, but Illya was already injured, perhaps worse -- and in any case they were still too close to Dr. Xavier's domain for his peace of mind.

Napoleon methodically poked his nose into each room along the dim dusty corridor. Most looked unused. The fourth door along paid off with one blond secret agent, asleep, in a narrow brass bed. He sat on the milking stool beside the bed and reached out to wake his partner. Then stopped. Illya looked to be resting comfortably, and since they were neither dead nor in any way restrained, it was likely they weren't in enemy hands.

Napoleon went to the window. Here, curtainless, it looked out on a flat grassy area ringed with a circle of head-sized stones and, within that, young people in flowing colorful clothes. He counted 12 -- then realized one of them was Lily. He eased the window open as one of the boys began to play a guitar. A girl joined in with a tambourine; another girl with long blonde hair began to play a wooden flute. They all danced -- a little, mostly an awkward side-to-side shuffling of feet -- and began a chant, those unencumbered by instruments raising their hands to the skies.

"What in the world..." he muttered.

"What day is it?"

Illya's voice at his shoulder made him start. Swallowing a curse he glared at his partner, standing pale and unsteady beside him.

"Wednesday," Napoleon supplied.

Illya shook his head once. "I meant the date."

"June 21. Why?"

"Solstice ceremony," he said, inclining his head toward the chanting dancers.

"How do you know this stuff?" Napoleon wondered.

"We must be at the commune across the lake."

"Commune?" Napoleon echoed. "We are across the lake, by the way. You can see Dr. Xavier's house of horrors from here." Napoleon looked his partner over, found himself smiling despite Illya's wretched state. Seeing him alive made Napoleon feel, for a moment, invulnerable.

"What's so funny?" Illya asked, glancing down at himself.

Napoleon shook his head. "Nothing. How do you feel?"

"Terrible." He met his partner's eyes. "But a little better. How did we get here?"

Napoleon turned, sitting on the window ledge. "I'm not sure. Don't change the subject."

"Is Lily all right?"

"She's down there dancing with the heathen. Talk to me."

Illya shook his head, gaze wandering. "Physically I'm all right."

"Well, mentally you obviously aren't, because physically you're a mess.  Illya ... I know Dr. Xavier used his machine on you."

Illya looked at his partner, expressionless. Then, with evident effort, he said, "Twice."

Napoleon knew theoretically what the doctor's machine could do. He hardly knew how to ask, but even if he didn't already owe Illya honesty, the hard look on his partner's face demanded it.

"Do you think ... are you all right?"

Illya shook his head. "I don't know. I think so, but..." Anxiety pinched his eyes and tone.

"Well, the fact that you're not sure is a good sign, right?" he asked.

"The only reason I have doubts is ... because I have no doubts," Illya said.

"You're confusing me."

"Then welcome to the club."

Napoleon examined his partner, unsure what he was looking for or if he'd know it to see it. Illya's blue eyes held no guile; pain, yes, anxiety, but his partner's gaze was open, open as it only was with him.

If anyone could know whether Illya Kuryakin had been irremediably altered -- turned evil -- Napoleon knew he was the one. His heart told him Illya would die before turning traitor to UNCLE. His brain even had some empirical evidence of it. The variable -- the doubt -- stemmed from the unique nature of Dr. Xavier's machine.

Napoleon shook his head as his heart shouted down his brain's cold calculations: There was no way Illya would turn traitor. No way.

So much for logic.

"What are you thinking?" Illya asked.

"I'm thinking I'll just behave as if you're your old self until you prove me wrong."

"I might..." Illya hesitated -- uncharacteristic, that, and troubling -- "I might be a danger to you."

Napoleon grinned. "You always are, you crazy Russian."

"Napoleon, you can't..."

"Don't ask me to mistrust you without cause," Napoleon said in what he'd felt was a calm, reasonable tone. Illya held up both hands -- bruised and scraped, Napoleon saw with a pang -- in surrender.

"Whatever you say. You're the senior agent."

"Exactly. And as senior agent I suggest we defer this issue until we're back home where we can pick your brains and see for certain whether they've been scrambled."

Illya sighed. "Your delicacy of phrasing is much appreciated." He knew Napoleon was right. He needed professional evaluation. His own belief wasn't enough.

"You'll need ... you may need to be on your guard," he said with difficulty. "You might want to--"

"I'll risk it, " Napoleon said.

"Napoleon--"

"I'll risk it," the American snapped, adding in a more normal tone, "Besides -- you and what army? I mean, look at you. You're a wreck. You couldn't do damage to a blancmange right now."

Illya opened his mouth, closed it. He knew Napoleon was using those gruff insults to say something very different: I trust you. Right now that was a life preserver Illya needed too badly to refuse.

"All right then. What's our next step?"

Napoleon looked out the window. "My car was probably wrecked by that moose we hit. We need a phone, for a start, then some transportation."

"Where's your communicator?"

"I lost it pulling your friend Lily out of the lake."

"Ah. That's how that happened. I'm glad you came along when you did. She was only trying to help me." He leaned on the window casement. "You said she's down there?"

"Dancing with the other elves," Napoleon said. "What are the odds these kids have a phone?"

"They don't," Illya informed him -- then gave him a puzzled look. "How did you find me?"

Napoleon opened his mouth, snapped it shut again.

"Auto club," he said. "Come on. Let's go find us a mule or a bicycle or something."

They descended to the ground floor of the great gloomy house, passing numerous indications of the counterculture philosophy of the residents: Posters, guitars, bongos, beads and bongs, beanbag chairs, blacklights and brass censers. The heavy scents of sandalwood and marijuana tinted the air.

"Hippies," Napoleon said, looking around the huge, colorfully cluttered living room.

On the porch they paused.

"There's Lily," Napoleon said, pointing. "By the blonde. See?"

Illya looked -- then, though he was already still, some change in the quality of his stillness made Napoleon touch his arm in concern.

"What is it?"

"Alice," Illya said. He leaned on the porch railing, grasping it for support as Napoleon's fingers wrapped firmly around his other arm.

"She lived with her grandmother, Mrs. Blankenship," Illya said calmly. "Three doors down. She came to my door in the middle of the night."

"That night?" Napoleon asked. Illya nodded. Napoleon gave the girl a hard look. Pretty, tallish, serious looking in wire granny glasses, in a loose gauzy blue dress that revealed long, tanned legs and arms.

"I remember now. She asked for help. I opened the door and two men appeared on either side of her. One of them shot me. Sleep dart."

"And now she's here?" Napoleon said, starting down the steps toward her.

The music stumbled to a halt and the group came together for a hug, then broke up, laughing. They started en masse for the house -- and stopped, en masse, to see the UNCLE agents.

Lily grabbed a hulking bald young man and dragged him over to them.

"I'm so glad you're all right," she said. "This is Teddy. He's the one I met in town before. Remember I mentioned him?" she said to Illya. "Teddy, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin."

Illya nodded, headed for Alice.

"He's not very sociable when he's half dead," Napoleon apologized. He watched Illya approach Alice, now standing talking to a boy with long brown hair.

"Lily says you guys are secret agents," Teddy said.

"Not very, apparently," Napoleon said.

 

Alice waited for him, white-faced. When he got close, she held out her hands as if she thought he might attack her.

"Illya ... I swear to God. They made me do it. I didn't know who they were or what was happening. They grabbed me coming home that night and ..." She gulped down a breath.

"And yet here you are, safe and sound," Illya said. He hadn't raised his voice, but the boy who was with her stepped closer protectively. Illya looked at him measuringly and the boy flushed.

"I ran away," Alice went on. She was shaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. They had guns. They said they'd kill me and my grandmother if I didn't do what they said. When they ... when they shot you ... I just ran. I didn't even stop to tell my grandmother. She must think ... I don't know." She took in another breath, clearly not seeing what she wanted to see in Illya's face. "I know I should have gone to the police. I was too scared. Then I thought ... they wouldn't even believe me. I got on a bus. Then I hitchhiked up here." Tears ran down her face. The boy beside her took hold of her arm. "I'm so sorry."

Illya rubbed the bridge of his nose; a tightness above his eyes presaged a headache. "Do you people have a car here, or a telephone?" Lily had said they didn't, but he wanted to be sure.

Alice stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure whether she'd been forgiven or merely dismissed.

Doug said, "No phone. Minerva's taken the truck into town. She'll be back soon. I'm Doug, by the way, and I think you should believe Alice. She's a really cool person and very honest."

"Lily told us you and your friend are secret agents. From UNCLE," Alice said. "Is that...is that why that happened? Why they shot you?"

"Actually I was just late paying my electric bill," he said coolly.

Alice flushed, taking the hint -- at least partly. "How did you get up here, of all places?"

"How did you?" he replied.

"I come here every summer. For three years, anyway. When I ran away ... I thought I'd be safe here. Is my grandma OK?"

"I have no idea," Illya said tiredly. "I've been a houseguest of your friendly neighborhood mad scientist--" He indicated the house across the lake-- "for the past few days."

Alice and Doug looked at Dr. Xavier's house.

"Oh my God," Alice said. "You've been here? I mean, there? The whole time? Why?"

Illya sighed. "Because he wants to take over the world, of course. Isn't that what all mad scientists want?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know ... what to think. I had ... I had this image in my mind of you, I guess..." she blushed.

"And it didn't include guns and mad scientists?" he concluded for her.

"My grandma really likes you. She always says 'such a nice, polite young man. Quiet, scholarly, good manners. You can tell he was well brought up, not like kids today.'" Alice did a pretty good imitation of Mrs. Blankenship's thin, shaky voice.

"She thinks you need a haircut, of course, but she thinks every male under the age of 60 needs one, and she doesn't hold it against you."

"I'd rather you didn't tell her what I do for a living," he said. "Better for her own peace of mind, among other things."

She nodded. "I see what you mean ... boy, did I ever have the wrong idea about you."

He rubbed his temples. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"No. It's the other way around. I mean, I thought you were interesting, but ..."

"In a boring way?" he said.

"Not any more," she replied seriously.

"Hey," Doug said. "Does anyone want to tell me what's going on?"

 * * * * *

"...and Mum patched you guys up," Teddy finished explaining. Napoleon looked at his watch. It was a little after noon.

"And where is Mum?" he asked. All the other residents had scattered.

Teddy scanned the yard. "Donno. She might be washing your clothes and stuff. She was gonna do it before, but we had the ritual."

"Ah yes, your solstice rite," Napoleon said, watching Illya limp toward him, trailed by Alice and the other boy.

"Wow," Teddy said, blue eyes wide. "You know about that, man?"

Napoleon shrugged. "Well, it is June 21."

"Wow," Teddy said again. "That's pretty cool."

To Lily, Napoleon said, "You looked quite at home out there."

She flushed. "I woke up and came out while they were getting ready. I was talking to some of the kids and ... it seemed like a fun idea at the time." Her blush deepened.

"I'm all for propitiating any gods who might need it," Napoleon said. "That done, however, we need to get a little farther away from your uncle and a lot closer to mine."

"The house belongs to Minerva," Doug said as they followed Illya to the house. "She inherited it. Then she opened it up for people who wanted to try a life without ..."

"Without modern conveniences?" Illya said, thinking of Russia. He knew many who lived the bucolic life and would trade a limb for a washing machine or a tractor. He'd willingly trade his throbbing head, at the moment, for a telephone.

"And modern philosophy," Doug said, touchy.

"I'm not attacking your lifestyle," Illya said. "Live and let live, that's my philosophy."

"That explains the guns," Doug countered.

"Don't--" Alice censured him as they climbed back onto the porch.

"What guns?" Napoleon said, overhearing.

Teddy said, "We left them in the car. We don't have anything to do with that kind of thing here."

"Good," Illya said. His head was spinning.

Napoleon took his arm. "Okay, old chum. Back to bed for you. We've got a while to wait for the next bus back to civilization."

"Are you a doctor?" Doug asked.

Napoleon blinked in surprise at the question. Illya said:

"Let's just say he's seen me pass out before." He let his partner half carry him back into the house and up the stairs to the tiny room he'd been assigned. Illya lay down immediately, without even a sigh of disgust, and Napoleon's gut clenched.

"Napoleon."

"What now?"

"Dr. Xavier had to know I was gone within minutes," he said quietly. "He may have found your car."

"Yes," Napoleon said, covering his partner with a hideous quilt. "The idea had occured. Rest."

"They might be here at any minute," Illya persisted. "You should get out while you can. Get to Clearlake and call for help."

"What, on foot?"

"Better than being caught here."

"Are you going to be quiet and rest or do I have to have nurse sedate you?"

"Na--"

"Illya," Napoleon said patiently, "Shut up. You're delirious."

Illya blinked, and his eyes only reopened halfway. "I'm not delirious. I--"

"Shut up anyway. Rest. That's an order. I'll be close by."

Napoleon turned around and saw a girl standing in the doorway, looking at him with a smile like a newly opened rose. Her hair was a mass of black curls; large grey eyes darted briefly in Illya's direction, then returned to Napoleon, whom she beckoned out of the room with one curled forefinger.

Outside the room she took his hand, hers light, cool, barely there in his palm, and led him back downstairs in a silence that seemed too comfortable to immediately break.

She led him back onto the porch where Alice, Doug and Lily stood talking. They opened their circle to include the newcomers.

Napoleon began, "Ah, this young lady brought me back down here, no doubt for some nefarious purpose."

He smiled at her and she returned it, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"That's Mum," Doug said. "She and Teddy found you."

"Aha -- you're Mum," Napoleon said, unable to keep from grinning. "That explains your silence."

"No it doesn't," she said. "It's short for Chrysanthemum."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "I know when I've been had."

"How is Illya?" Alice asked.

"I don't know," he said, smile erased. "I need to get him back to HQ so the doctors there can take care of him."

"Lily said her uncle is an evil man. She said he was holding your friend hostage."

"Sort of."

"She also said he has a batch of men with guns and that they might come here looking for you guys."

"That is possible. We hope to get away before that happens, but I'm afraid my friend is in no condition to walk to the nearest town unless it happens to be in your back yard."

"There're phones in Clearlake," Alice said. "But it's an hour away."

"We'll just have to wait for your hostess," Napoleon said. "Minerva, you said?"

"Yes. She should be back soon."

Alice came up close.

"Mr ... I don't even know your name."

"Call me Napoleon," he said, thinking in passing that if Illya hadn't asked this lovely girl out yet, he was out of his mind. Or just Illya.

"Napoleon," she said. "I swear I was forced to ... to do what I did. Illya doesn't believe me. I feel terrible. He must think I'm some kind of horrible ... Mata Hari or something."

"Are you?" Napoleon asked.

"I'm a grad student in anthropology," she said. "I hate to think he believes I ... did that on purpose." Her eyes filled, and she slid her fingers under her glasses to wipe them. "I'm sorry. I really feel bad about this. I swear I would never do anything to hurt him."

"Never mind. Illya's pretty forgiving about this sort of thing. It happens to us a lot. You get used to it."

"But I didn't have anything to do with it," she exclaimed. "Not willingly. They said they'd kill me and my grandma."

"Then you're lucky," he said drily. "THRUSH usually follows through on its threats."

Her face fell. "I know I should have gone to the police. I was scared."

"I can understand that," Lily said with feeling.

"So can I," Napoleon put in. "Don't worry, Alice. Illya's an odd sort, but rumor has it he's human. Just hold his hand and gaze at him with those gorgeous eyes. He'll forgive you for things you haven't even done yet."

Her blush deepened.

"We were talking about this," Doug said. "You know, we're pacifists."

Napoleon smiled. "Me too."

Doug was not amused. "I mean it. We believe most of the world's problems could be solved if we loved one another instead of attacking everyone who's different."

"I agree," Napoleon agreed.

"You're a spy," Lily said. "You carry a gun."

"So does Illya," Alice said. "I've seen it."

"And you use them," Doug concluded the condemnation with, Napoleon thought, all the smug superiority of someone who'd never been shot at.

"Well," he said mildly, "in our defense, I may say we never start the fights. And in my experience, the men -- or women -- who're shooting at me never seem persuaded by my rhetoric to stop shooting and simply--" he smiled-- "love me."

"We've heard of UNCLE," Doug said. "But we don't support the use of violence as a means to even a good end."

Napoleon sighed. "And your point would be?"

"The violent have no patience for nonviolence," Doug said. "You'd never even consider doing things our way."

Mum, unexpectedly, laid a hand on his arm and said to her friends:

"You're wrong. He's a good man."

All of them -- Napoleon included -- looked at her in surprise. Teddy came out of the house, stopped to stare.

"He's a killer for hire," Doug said.

"Doug--" Alice hissed.

"He's a good man with a good heart," Mum said, making Napoleon uncomfortable and not a little mystified.

"How do you know?" Lily asked, not arguing, just curious.

"Violent people don't know anything about peace, or love," Teddy said. Mum shook her head. Her gaze caught, held Napoleon's. Quietly she said, "I saw you. I heard you."

Napoleon scowled. "I beg your pardon?"

She pointed up at the house, and Napoleon realized what she meant.

"Oh," he said, shrugging. "Well..."

"You're full of love," Mum said. "But you don't show it. Except sometimes, like that, when you can't help it, or when you think no one is looking."

Acutely uncomfortable, Napoleon said, "Yes, well, he is my partner and all. You know, you get kind of used to having someone around."

She smiled and squeezed his arm, mercifully letting him off the hook, saying to her friends:

"They're both good people. If we really believe what we say we believe, should we shun them just because they've chosen a path different from ours?"

"All I need is transportation to town," Napoleon put in. "Believe me, I don't want to involve you all in any kind of trouble."

Teddy and Doug exchanged a look.

"Mum's always right," Teddy said. Napoleon got the impression that Teddy wasn't very bright, but Doug nodded and said to Napoleon: "Okay. We won't get involved in any violence, but we'll help if we can."

"Thank you," Napoleon said sincerely.

 * * * * *

Napoleon sat in the window where he could see the road. Mum stood beside him, looking out, while Napoleon tried to decide if he had ever seen a lovelier girl. She had a certain wild, elfin quality far removed from his usual tastes, but here it seemed fitting.

"You two are spies," she said. "Lily said your friend was kidnapped and you came to rescue him."

"It sounds so simple put like that," Napoleon said, thinking back on a week he wouldn't relive for a million dollars -- although he'd go through it all again a thousandfold if that was what it took to see his partner safe.

"Do you believe that what you do--" she gestured at Illya-- "the guns and the bombs and the fighting and the deceit ... do you believe it will make the world a better place?"

Napoleon smiled. "No. Personally, I do it for the money."

She had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Sorry. I don't mean to attack you. We just ... we all wish there was some way for people to live in peace."

"So do we," Napoleon said with feeling.

"And we feel your methods, which have been tried for centuries, haven't worked."

Napoleon massaged his forehead. "Please don't make me question my value in this world just now. I really don't have the energy."

She laughed. "I think your friend would defend your value. And if we have friends who love us, isn't that enough?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say."

She came to him, laid her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead, then departed, leaving Napoleon feeling as though he'd received some sort of benediction.

 * * * * *

Sick, he clutched the machine gun hard to his body. His finger, like a stranger's -- an enemy's -- squeezed the trigger and the gun bucked, straining, the heat and stink of it washing over him. He thought the gun would explode; holding down the trigger, sweat and tears burning down his face, he prayed for it, wished for it fiercely, anything to stop what he couldn't stop himself. The noise of the gun battered his ears.

 And Napoleon hung there before his horrified, helpless gaze, torn and bloodied, the stream of bullets hammering his body into a grotesque dancing puppet. And he would not die. And his eyes never left Illya's.

He realized he was screaming, one word, over and over: No!

 * * * * *

Illya sat up with a shout -- "No!" -- eyes wide, stunned, and Napoleon caught him, felt the rigid shoulders go limp under his hands as Illya came fully awake.

"Easy," he said. "You're safe. We both are, for the moment."

Illya stared gasping at his partner for a few heartbeats, then threw back the blankets. Napoleon let go of him so he could sit on the edge of the bed, throbbing head in his hands. "How long was I asleep?"

"About 20 minutes. We're still waiting for our ride." Napoleon waited a moment, said, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. On the other hand, we seem to have a little down time, and it might help."

Illya got up carefully -- his muscles felt like bungee cords -- and limped to the window to sit. He faced his partner, opened his mouth.

"What?"

Illya closed his mouth, eyes roving as if searching the room for something. "I don't think I can talk about it."

"What do you mean?" Napoleon got up, came closer, jolted by his partner's agitation.

"I ... I know what happened." He scowled fiercely. "I can't say it."

"You mean ... could it be part of the process?"

Illya opened his mouth again, closed it, shook his head. Then, finally, he said, "Ask me questions."

Napoleon said, "Where were you?"

Illay's eyes narrowed as he tried to respond, to force out the truth. After a moment he blurted, "I don't know."

"Were you a prisoner?"

Illya stiffened, shook his head, again said, "I don't know."

"Did Dr. Xavier kidnap you?" Napoleon snapped. Illya winced, tried to answer. He clenched his teeth, shook his head, looking at his partner as if for help.

"Napoleon..." The plea trailed off into Russian curses.

Tempted to say 'Don't panic' -- realizing Illya didn't need to hear stupid platitudes -- Napoleon swallowed his own alarm and said:

"If it's any comfort, your lies aren't very convincing. You usually lie flawlessly. And you obviously can talk about it, just not ... specifically. Probably because the process wasn't completed."

Illya looked up at his partner, calmer. "It's somehow small comfort to know I'm only half brainwashed."

Napoleon smiled. If Illya could joke, there was still hope.

"It's a good thing I pulled Lily out of the lake, for more than the obvious reasons."

"Yes," Illya mused. "If she hadn't told you you might never have found out. But ... what are you doing in Vermont? How did you know where to look?"

Napoleon grimaced. "I'd prefer not to answer that question on the grounds that you'll think I'm insane."

Illya's brow rose. "I'm hardly in a position to pass judgment on anyone else's sanity." All humor, all the usual defenses, left his expression, wiping years -- a few too many, in Napoleon's concerned estimation -- from his face. "I'm glad you found me, however you did it."

"So am I. Breaking in new partners is so time-consuming."

Illya looked out the window. "A car's coming."

Napoleon was beside him in a moment.

A battered red pickup clattered out of the trees, rolling to a shaky halt in the yard. A few kids gathered around it, talking, and a brunette in blue jeans and a white sweater climbed out.

"Get everyone together," she shouted. Her tone was brusque, almost anxious, and the agents looked at one another.

"Where is Lily?" Illya asked.

"Downstairs comparing notes with Alice," Napoleon said.

"Notes?" Illya echoed.

Minerva, surrounded by her tenants -- Lily and Alice excepted -- threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, up the road, and Napoleon's insides tightened.

"Oh boy. I think this Minerva has sold us out."

"Minerva," Illya said, his tone calling himself a fool. "Dr. Xavier's accomplice from Bogota." He looked hard at his puzzled partner. "Minerva. Athene."

"If you say so."

Illya hauled himself to his feet; Napoleon grabbed him as he swayed. Everyone below was chattering in anxious puzzlement. Minerva again glanced up the road, then spread her arms, herding the kids toward the house.

"I think we need to leave now," Napoleon said, pulling his partner's arm over his shoulders.

The sound of many bare feet thudding across the porch was drowned out by the roar of an engine. A black paneled truck roared up to the porch and ground to a halt. The back of the van opened and THRUSH uniforms poured out, rifles at the ready.

"Okay, the stairs are a no-go," Napoleon said. "The roof?"

Illya looked out. "Not with this leg. And this hangover. You go." Heavy booted feet clomped up the porch steps and into the house.

"Wrong answer." Napoleon started to bodily shove Illya out the window, but they both saw it wouldn't work. The roof was steeply pitched; it would take strength and balance the Russian did not currently possess.

"Go," Illya snapped. "He doesn't want me dead, remember? But they might kill you."

"Might?" Napoleon interjected.

"Go. If you're free we've got a chance."

More shouts and pounding carried to them from the corridor, coming rapidly nearer.

Illya shoved Napoleon. Cursing, he grabbed the casement and swung himself out onto the roof, ignoring the pain from his injured shoulder, pivoting to the side to get out of sight. He crouched there, hanging onto the gable, taut as a bowstring, listening as the door inside slammed open.

"There he is!" a man snarled. "Take him."

Napoleon clenched every muscle in his body, forcing himself to stillness at the sounds of the brief scuffle that ensued.

"Tell Dr. Xavier we've got him," a man said. "See if he wants us to take care of the others." The men marched out.

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