*Keeper.* he warned on their private channel. Keeper acknowledged the warning and stopped just inside the hallway. He also went looking but met with the same difficulty. Something was blocking them. *Could be natural.* Keeper mused. *Feels that way.* Satisfied for the moment, he opened the door.
Two older men in their mid-fifties stood there. The taller of the duo had thick salt and pepper hair and wore a suit that Keeper knew cost a bundle. His body posture was relaxed but the aura of poised danger was palpable. With the opening of the door he had shifted position slightly to shelter the shorter man behind him. It was an action that spoke of years of protection and they doubted that he was even aware of it. His dark eyes registered a momentary surprise but that faded to be replaced by a suave, charming smile. The second silhouette resolved itself into a slender form. Silvering blond hair framed a lean face and winter sea eyes raked them from head to toe, leaving a touch of ice down their spines. Where the first had an aura of cloaked danger, this one wore it as armor. Of the two, Keeper would say the blond was the more lethal of them both. The blond shifted his weight slightly to the left, bringing his right side out of the shelter of his partner, coincidentally freeing his aim if it was needed. The movement drew the *boys'* eyes to the silver metal gleam at his side.
*Oh shit.* Keeper muttered. They needed no introduction. Although time's passage had left its mark both Gem and Keeper knew who stood on their doorstep. Illya Kuryakin and his partner Napoleon Solo. He sent a curse winging toward the fickle fates, it seemed the past had come to call.
Illya hadn't know what to expect when the door finally opened. It surely wasn't the sight of two teenagers. He placed their ages at close to twenty if not in the first year of that decade. He felt his heat lurch as he did the math and realized that one or both of these kids might be Paige's son/s, or, his throat tightened for a moment, theirs. He let his eyes roam over them both registering their faces. The taller of the two was a blond, his hair the dark color of honey, his eyes were a shade of hazel with a slight gold cast to them. His facial features were lean and to be honest Illya couldn't see any resemblance to Paige or himself in the boy. The other, positioned further back in the hallway was more difficult to see. Also a blond, his eye color was a darker hazel with green Illya could see, he also appeared to be the same age as the first boy. There was some resemblance between the two marking them as siblings. Twins? He wondered. They are the right age. Could it be? The questions whirled in his mind. He forced his emotions back into their box and shifted his stance. Despite his desire, there was always the possibility of disappointment. His slight movement brought their eyes from Napoleon's smiling face back to him.
*Keeper, we are in SOOO much kim-chee.* Gem groaned.
"May I help you?" Keeper asked. *Yep we certainly are.*
"I'm not certain that we have the correct address." Napoleon answered smoothly. "We are looking for the Curry residence?" He kept his no-threat-here smile firmly in place. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know where his partner's thoughts were headed. He was having some of the same ones. 'Easy Illya, just take it easy.'
Keeper moved to block the door way, registering the tension that was rising in the dangerous blond. Something was going on and he wasn't sure exactly what it was. *Follow my lead. Gem* he warned. He crossed his arms belligerence in his stance. "Yeah you got the right place. Whatcha want?"
"We would like to speak with Mrs. Curry please." Napoleon requested treading carefully. There was something slightly off with these two. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he could tell from his partner's stance that he was also picking it up. Illya had moved to the left a bit further, enabling a clear shot if it was needed. The hostility from the two teens increased.
"She don't talk to no reporters. I'm going to ask you to leave." Keeper said.
"Yeah, Mom don't talk to no reporters." Gem backed Keeper up moving to stand next to him. "You wanna talk to her, call Terry Farrell and set up an appointment like everybody else."
His words had Illya's tension level ratcheting up another notch. Napoleon with years of practice knew that his partner was rapidly approaching the point of no return. 'Breathe, tovarich. Just breathe.' He willed more control to his partner.
*Gem get hold of the girls, let them know what's going on. Tell them to be prepared to run if we have to.* he gave the silent order. *Things might get ugly.*
*Gotcha. She is going to kill us isn't she?* he asked splitting his attention in order to contact the girls. *She loves this house.*
*We'll deal with it. Question is, how did they find us?*
*I'm betting a flag on the good Doctor's file.*
*If he's a scientist, I'm Madonna's latest boyfriend.* Keeper observed.
"My name is Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin. We are not with the press believe me." Napoleon forced himself to relax even further, hoping to dispel the tension in the air. He fished his ID out of his breast pocket and handed it to the suspicious young man. The kid took it and opened the case, he read it and handed it off.
*O Buddy, I think we have found UNCLE.*
*Rather they found us.*
Napoleon continued, forming their cover story on the fly. "We work for an organization that specializes in tracking missing persons."
*Coincidence?* Gem asked relaying their conversation to the girls on a different level.
*Who knows? We are definitely considered missing and on several top ten lists of the most wanted. Tell the girls to get ready to run.* Keeper handed the wallet back to Solo. "So, Mom ain't missing."
"You all some kinda cops or something?" Gem added to keep up his end of the conversation.
"More like private detectives." Napoleon lied smoothly. "We are looking for information in the disappearance of someone that your mother might have attended the university with."
"Mom knows lots of people." Keeper hedged. Could it be possible that they didn't know?
"Please, may we speak with her?" Illya spoke for the first time. "It is very important." He pulled out his wallet and carefully removed the worn black and white photo, his only one, of his wife. He handed it to the boys. "We only want to know if she remembers anything about this woman. Any information she might have could be of the greatest value."
Keeper accepted the photo. He ran his eyes over the twenty year old wedding portrait of Shado in her dress smiling up at camera. "Never seen her before. Who was she?"
"Her name is Paige Kuryakinova. She is-was my wife. She vanished a few years ago and I have been searching for her. New information brought us here to talk to your mother."
*Keeper, the girls are just about ten minutes away. Want them to stop? Or come on home?* Gem asked.
*Come on home.*
"We think that Dr. Kuryakinova may have contacted your mother before her disappearance." Napoleon added picking up on Illya's intent easily.
*They're fishing.* Gem said.
*They don't have a clue.* Keeper agreed. *We'll have to be careful, but let's follow this through and see what happens.* "Well, Mom isn't here right now." Keeper said handing the photo back. "She's on a business trip, won't be back until next week." He almost smiled at the expression of disappointment both men tried to hide. "But we might be able to help. We was moving some stuff from the attic and found a box that got sent to Mom a few years back. I remember that it upset her when she opened it." He hedged with just enough truth to make it believable. Shado would be upset when she found out they had opened it.
Napoleon glanced at the set face of his partner. "Could we possibly see the box?"
"Dunno. Mom gets rather funny about people snooping in her stuff." Keeper scratched his chin in thought. "Tell you what. I'll call Mom, tell her what you all want and if she says ok- then you can look through the box." *Gem, tell Brit to get ready.*
*She's cool. They are waiting at Salty's. She knew you would play the phone card.*
Keeper stood to one side and motioned the two men inside. "Come on in. I'll call Mom, she should be able to field a call."
As they followed their host into the house, both Napoleon and Illya used their skills to check the place out. They could hear conversations taking place somewhere over their head, and Illya guessed that it must be the contractors that had left the van out front. The hall was relatively empty, instead of pictures on the light sage walls, there hung a large dream catcher on the right side about halfway down. It was about four feet in diameter, black suede wrapped the hoop and sinew created the web. The feathers sculpting the base were peacock and at their longest they almost drug the floor. There was a single fetish in the center, at first glance it appeared to be a black semi-circle, but as he passed it, he caught the sheen of a dark rainbow across it. On the opposite wall, between two doors was a small glass shelf. A small jade statuette graced the shelf, a Chinese Imperial dragon, his mind supplied the identification as he noted the five toes. Something about the statue caught and held his attention and he paused to take a closer look. It was only five inches tall, the dragon crouched in a watchful yet slightly threatening pose. One of its forefeet was raised and a small brass bell hung suspended from it's grasp. The detail was extraordinary, its carnelian eyes seemed to glitter with an inner light and he felt drawn to it.
"Mom collects dragons." Keeper said. He was intrigued by the reaction the blond was having. Most people passed the dragon by with barely a second glance, yet this stranger had stopped. He could tell that this action had also caught the attention of the guardian. *Gem be extra careful, the Dr. appears to be a sensitive. He's noticed the guardian and it's definitely interested in him as well.*
"A very beautiful piece." Illya murmured and continued down the hall. He had the strangest feeling that the statue preened at his words. He shook off the feeling. Behind him, Keeper brushed his finger over the dragon as it turned its head to follow the blond. It winked at Keeper and grinned slightly.
The hall led into a good sized kitchen, the remains of a card game lay spread across a small table there. Napoleon quirked an eyebrow and smothered a grin. Looks like they had interrupted a marathon card game. Through the arched door they found themselves in the main part of the house. Along the front of the room was a solid bank of windows overlooking the deck and the bay beyond. In the opposite corner from the kitchen was a small work area, a computer and stacks of papers claimed it's use as a home office. It was backed by a stair case leading down to the lowest level, he guessed. The room was spacious, a small pit grouping created the seating along the dividing wall. It wasn't until they were completely into the room that they realized that the "wall" that divided the room was in actuality a massive reef tank. Colorful salt water fish swam around the coral and darted between the anemones there. A rough estimate put the size at over 1000 gallons.
"Very nice." Napoleon offered as he looked into the tank. Gem paused and grinned.
"It's a hobby." he said. He lounged against the arm of the futon next to the aquarium. Keeper went to the desk and picked up the phone. He dialed Brit's cell number and waited until she answered. A few moments of conversation, of which they could hear bits and pieces from the other end and he then hung up.
"Well, I guess you heard her. Sokay if we let you all see what's in the box. She says that she doesn't know if it will help or not but you are welcome to look." He turned to them. "Why don't ya have a seat and I'll go bring it up from the basement." He waited until they made themselves comfortable then motioned for Gem to follow him. *The girls will be here in a minute. Help me stall them. Faln wants to try to push them to tell us what happened.*
*I don't know if that's smart or not. Have you noticed how the guardians are reacting to them?* Gem said as they headed down the stairs. *I'm not so sure that leaving them alone is a good idea either. Something is off about those two.*
Keeper grinned. *Yeah I know. But you got any other ideas. It's not like they are going to tell us anything without some help.*
"You get the feeling we're being watched?" Napoleon leaned close to his partner. The hairs on the back of his neck had been dancing like crazy since they had entered the house.
"Something is not what it seems, Napoleon." Illya agreed. He looked around the room. There were statues of dragons everywhere and he could swear that their jeweled eyes were staring at him. It was a decidedly uncomfortable sensation. "I don't know what it is, but..." he shrugged slightly. He couldn't put this feeling into words, but all his instincts said that he was right.
"I know tovarich. I know." Napoleon looked around the room warily. They could hear the sounds of the work crew coming from the upper level, the banging of something being moved around and the dull thump of a staple gun. He flinched slightly and shifted. "I don't think its trouble, but you never know."
"Those two- they don't act like they should." Illya said thoughtfully.
"Just be ready for anything." Napoleon cautioned. "Someone activated that communicator, and I'm betting it was one of those two."
"Accident? Or do you think they know?" his suspicions were running crazy. It wouldn't be too far fetched for this to be a trap of some sort. Both of them made excellent targets and the list of their enemies was quite long. The sound of the garage door opening had them both standing, hands on their guns as they listened. Three female voices came from behind the fireplace where another hall was situated.
The voices preceded the appearance of three twenty something women. The first of which was a short dark haired girl in a pair of ragged jeans and a UW sweatshirt. She carried a backpack in one hand and stopped short when she saw them.
"Whoa. Didn't know we had company." She said startled. "Where are Mark and Greg?" she asked. Her companions were also carrying back packs and a stack of books. The tallest of them, another blonde, moved around her and dropped her pack on the floor next to the stairs.
"They went downstairs." Napoleon said smiling warmly at the girls.
"Heya, my name's Tricia." The tall blonde said holding out her hand. She smiled at them.
"Hello Tricia. I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my partner Illya Kuryakin." He replied taking her hand. He placed a smooth kiss on her fingertips and smiled at her. Illya restrained his impulse to roll his eyes and instead inclined his head in greeting.
"Very smooth." Tricia said softly a faint blush on her face.
"If you like older men." The shorter girl said. "I'm Natalie. And this is Karen." She pulled the other girl to the front. She was medium height with light brown hair and blue eyes. "Is Napoleon really your name? Man I bet you hated that as a kid, huh?"
"Oh, it had it's moments." Napoleon replied.
"You all the press?" Karen/Brit asked slightly hostile. *Watch it Faln.* she warned. *Remember who these guys might be.*
*Yeah, yeah I know.* Faln/Tricia said and smiled at Napoleon. He was really rather good looking, for an older guy.
"No we aren't the press." Napoleon said smoothly.
"Friends of Mom's then?" She asked playing along.
"Not exactly. We're here looking for information about someone that she may have gone to the university with."
"Wow, that was like, forever ago." Natalie said faking awe. *I'm going to tell Shado that you said that, Mage.* Brit threatened.
*PFFFTTTT* Mage/Natalie blew a raspberry.
Mid-afternoon New York City
Shado moved slowly down the side walk of a street that she thought she would never set foot on again. The area had changed in twenty years, but that was to be expected. She could hardly hope to see Del Floria's in the same place after all. The old tailor shop was gone, in it's place a night club now resided. Part of her was glad, another part infinitely saddened by the loss. She stood looking at the garish neon pink sign proclaiming the name of the establishment COCKTAILS. She shook her head. The old neighborhood had definitely changed. In some ways the changes were for the better but it was still hard to lay such a large part of her life to rest. She looked to the east reluctant to take the steps to the darkest of her memories.
A warm breeze ruffled her hair. *Why do you feel so sad?* the soft words of the avatar ran over her mind.
*It is painful.* she hunched her shoulders and began walking, her fists shoved into the light weight jacket she wore against the spring chill.
*Why? Did you not have happy times here?*
*Yes. But the pain far outweighs the happiness.* she whispered.
*Why?* she kicked at a piece of paper laying crumpled on the sidewalk causing it to skitter ahead of her steps. There were times when her avatar seemed to be three years old rather than a millennia. *Why do you remember the pain but not the happiness?* the avatar asked again. She kicked at the paper wad again, this time it bounced against the grill work of a lamppost.
*I don't know. I just do.* She stopped and leaned against the post for a second. Then idly she bent down and picked up the wad of crumpled paper. Her eyes were focused on something in the distance as she began to fiddle with it. *I think its because the pain of the bad memories is easier for me to live with than the pain of remembering things that I'll never have again.* She fell silent lost in her thoughts. Her fingers began to straighten out the paper as she tried to put her feelings into words that the avatar would understand. Finally she shrugged giving it up as a lost cause. She held the paper up to see what it was she was playing with expecting a play bill or advertisement. As she read the contents her blood turned to ice.
December 19, 1969.
Dear Dr. Kuryakin,
It is with regret that I must inform you of the decision reached on your petition for citizenship. Your petition received every consideration. While your service record as an operative with the Soviet government would normally merit interest, that record ended in the last decade. Your service record with the organization U.N.C.L.E. has been impeccable, however as you well know, it is not a record that would be of any viable value to the United States government. The same may be said of the academic credentials that you have been accredited with. It is most unfortunate that there is no record of any published works accredited in your name.
While your service has been deeply appreciated by U.N.C.L.E., this office has been informed that the current policies of the aforementioned organization do not allow for sponsorship of resident aliens for citizenship status.
The United States, therefore, regrets to inform you that your petition for citizenship has been denied. You are asked to report to the Soviet Embassy for immediate deportation. Your visa has been summarily revoked and the permit issued allowing the possession of a firearm has also been terminated. You have 24 hours from the receipt of this letter to comply with these instructions, after which time, the INS will be informed and you will be considered an illegal alien.
Sincerely,
John N. Mitchell
Office of the United States Attorney General
John N. Mitchell/ddj
Shado collapsed back against the lamppost her knees too weak to support her weight. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them. The words type written on the paper, hadn't changed. *Phoenix?* she questioned the avatar, for there was not a doubt in her mind that this was the workings of the capricious avatar.
*Sometimes it is better to face the pain than to hide from it.* the avatar spoke softly. The air seemed suddenly too thick to breathe and Shado pushed against the pain it caused.
*Easy for you to say.* she muttered. *If you don't mind, I think I have had enough of your little games for the rest of the day. I'm going back to the hotel and getting wonderfully plastered. Then I'm going to join Terry and have the time of my life.* She crumpled up the letter from the past and tossed it into the gutter. It lay there soaking up the water for a moment, then slowly it dissolved into nothing. The sigh of the avatar gusted the trash littering the sidewalk. "Sometimes, humans don't really know what's good for them." The avatar thought as its student determinedly walked away from the past. It cocked its head, suddenly aware of ripples from *elsewhere*. A feeling of satisfaction filled it and it returned to the Astral.
West Coast, early evening same day.
Illya looked at the group of young people that was now clustered around the mysterious box. He wondered not for the first time, just who these kids were. Something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put a name or face to the inconsistency. The elder boy, Mark, didn't quite act like the early twenty something he was. There was a bit of steel in his voice at times, and the others deferred to him more often than not. He caught Napoleon's eyes reading in them the same questions he had. There was more here than met the eye, thirty years of being in the Game told them that. Illya forced a small smile at the youngest of the group, Tricia as she handed him a glass of tea.
*Keeper, we need to be really careful.* Mage said as she handed the tea she was carrying to Dr. Kuryakin. *I think they are getting suspicious.*
Keeper, watching the men, agreed. *I think you are right. Let's get this over with and see what we can learn from them. Faln, can you handle a little push?*
*Sure thing, boss. Shouldn't be too difficult to give them a push to talk.* she gave a mental grin. *I'll be careful too, don't worry. They won't know what has hit them.* They could feel her gather a small bit of power and send it to wind around the consciousness of their guests. *Hmm. Ok, well, it seems that the good Dr, is a bit sensitive.* she observed. He had shivered slightly as the power had settled into place, looking around to see where the draft might have come from. *Just means I'll have to be even more careful than I thought. But still no problem.*
Keeper restrained the urge to grin as he felt the power settle around their guests, he could see them relax and knew that it was indeed working. He pulled the first item out of the box, the photo album and handed it to Kuryakin.
Illya held in his hands the battered and aged photo album that had been the treasured possession of his wife, Pagan, known as Paige. He caressed the cover lightly, memories swamping him as he opened the book. A small smile crossed his face as he looked at his younger self, he shook his head.
"This was so long ago." He said softly, turning another page. A chuckle escaped him as he looked at himself and Napoleon toasting the New Year, a "body" lay between them, a toe tag reading THRUSH hung limply from the big toe. "I remember how pissed off Mark was when he drew the short straw. Remember Napoleon?"
Napoleon looked over his shoulder at the picture and grinned. "I thought April was going to bust a gut laughing at his face when she tied the toe tag on."
"That was New Year's Eve, 1969." He turned another page. "Paige always had a camera with her, no matter where she went, what she was doing." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a visible effort to calm himself.
"On the wedding invitation, the name is Pagan Michelle, but you call her Paige?" Gem asked. They weren't certain which questions to ask, having so many, and weren't sure if the push would get the answers they wanted.
Napoleon nodded, speaking for his friend. "She hated the name Pagan, and forget trying to call her Michelle. Illya and I managed a workable compromise with her in the name Paige. Only we were allowed to call her that." His shoulders tightened as Illya removed the invitation from the album. His friend's hands shook and he could see the tears he was trying so hard to contain. Illya carefully opened the it, and ducked his head.
"This was the happiest day of my life." He whispered. "She was everything to me." His shoulders shook for a moment. Mage and Faln shared a glance, then Mage opened the box in which the remainder of the past was kept. She pulled the reel of film from it and leaned toward Illya.
Illya recoiled as if he had been shot. His face paled and he shook his head. "Nyet, I don't think I can."
"It's ok, partner. You don't have to." Napoleon said softly. He laid his hand on Illya's knee. He looked at the offered film for a long moment. Mage without speaking placed the film back into the box. It didn't take a genius to know that this was very hard on the blond. His pain and anguish was easy to see and to read.
"I am sorry." Illya whispered refolding the invitation, he placed it back into the album and closed the book. For a moment, his hands lingered on the cover, then he handed it back to Mage. "Thank you for letting me see it. It means a lot to me to know that it still exists. I had thought it long gone."
Another look passed between the younger group, and Keeper picked up the shoebox. "This was also in the box we found." He said. "We weren't sure what some of these things were."
Napoleon grinned as he lifted the communicator out of the box. He handed it to Illya. "I think you lost this somewhere, didn't you?" He frowned at the sight of Illya's custom Walther and the wallet containing his UNCLE ID.
"I turned those in the day I left UNCLE." Illya said confused. He took the Walther from the box. "I gave them to Mr. Waverly personally. I don't understand."
"Looks like one more mystery in a long line of mysteries." Napoleon added. "I doubt we ever know exactly what happened." He laid the wallet back in the box and slid the lid onto it. "You said that this was sent to your Mom a couple years ago?" At their nods he tapped his fingers against the box.
"Well we think it was. We found it day before yesterday when we cleaned out the attic." Keeper prevaricated. He wasn't about to tell him that the stuff belonged to Shado, not when he didn't quite trust their story. They hadn't remained free this long without learning to be wary. "We thought that it might have been a package that Mom had gotten a few years back. We never actually saw the package itself. She just mentioned getting something from an old friend." Not exactly a lie, he thought. None of them had seen it before.
Illya looked at the album lost in thought for a moment. He made an effort to pull himself together. Idly his hand traced the album once more. With an effort he handed it to Mage. "Napoleon, it is time for us to go home." He pulled his crutch upright, preparatory to standing.
"Wait, please." Faln said her voice cracking. The most sensitive of the group, the sadness and despair gripping the older man was eating at her. "Please, we need to know. To understand. It's obvious that you loved her."
Illya shook his head. "There is nothing to tell. Times change and it is time to let the past go." He stood slowly leaning heavily on the crutch that had become a part of his life that night twenty years ago.
"Dr. Kuryakin, please." Faln whispered, giving more power to her push. They needed to know, and if it meant using more power on him, then she would. Keeper again sent her a warning to go carefully, these men weren't like most. There was something about them that screamed danger. Illya hesitated then collapsed slowly back into the sofa he had been sitting on.
"Really, there is not much to tell." his voice was distant, his Russian accent increasing as he succumbed to the subtle push that she had placed in her voice. Napoleon laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. He squeezed lightly lending his support as always.
The Massachusetts countryside, December 25, 1969.
Illya held his wife gently as she slept, his blue eyes scanned the motel room they were in. He didn't know if they had been followed or not, the snow storm that had forced them to seek shelter had also made it difficult for him to spot a tail. He was worried, he knew that at some point in time, whether now or in the future, the odds were good that they would be found. Waverly wouldn't take to kindly to his daughter disappearing along with his ex-agent. Silently he cursed the fates that had sent them fleeing into the night. Paige stirred restlessly against him, burying her face deeper into his shoulder. Tenderly he brushed the hair back from her face, tracing the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. She sighed and settled back into sleep. It would be time to wake her soon, the storm had stopped an hour before, and they needed to be on the road as soon as they could, but for now she needed her sleep. His lips curled into a soft smile as he felt the curve of their child against his hip.
It was over an hour before she stirred again, this time opening her eyes. She snuggled into his neck and kissed him gently just below his ear.
"Did you get any sleep?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep
. "Enough." He kissed the top of her head. "Good morning." She pulled back and looked into his face.
"You didn't sleep." She ran a finger along his lower lip. "I can tell."
"I did. Just not very long." He smiled at her. He loved the way she looked first thing in the morning. Her hair was a riot of curls around her face, sleep lines marring her pale skin. Her eyes were slightly puffy and still sleep reddened. "You are so beautiful." He kissed her.
"You, Dr. Kuryakin, need to wear your glasses." She snorted. She reached across him and picked up the reading glasses he had placed on the night stand. With a grin, she slid them onto his nose. "See, not so beautiful now."
"Nope. Not beautiful, gorgeous." He grinned. Their usual morning routine lent some semblance of sanity to a suddenly insane life. She groaned and flopped onto her back. She laid there for a moment before speaking again.
"Dushka, they will find us, won't they?"
He considered for a moment, telling her that there was nothing they needed to worry about but decided to be honest. "It is a possibility, lyubimyj."
"Then we had better get moving hadn't we?" she said softly.
"They were waiting for us when we left the room. There were eight of them. Too many to fight and win, not with Paige and the baby to consider." Illya stared at his hands, laying in his lap. "I fought though, fought as hard as I could. She did too. They hadn't considered that she might be dangerous as well." He smiled at the memory of his petite wife taking down one of the KGB goons. "We actually had a chance, until she slipped on the ice. She fell and one of them grabbed her, put his gun to her head."
"Comrade Kuryakin you will come with us, or your pretty American wife will die here." The sight of the gun held to her temple froze his blood, and he dropped his attacker immediately.
Slowly he raised his hands. "Just let her go and I'll come with you."
"Illyusha no." Paige croaked. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and the goon's arm across her throat made it difficult to breathe. She could feel the tightness in her chest as she struggled for breath. The ape holding her chuckled.
"Now comrade, why would we do that? I think that if I keep her, you will give no more trouble, da?"
One of the operatives yanked his hands down and cuffed them behind his back. He winced at the tightness knowing that soon he would lose the feeling in his hands from it. Damn, Napoleon, now would be a good time for you to come to the rescue. He thought, but knowing that this time, rescue would be too late, he quashed the whimsy. He locked his eyes on those of his terrified wife.
"I will come with you. Just let her go."
"Oh, I think not, comrade. An execution demands a witness after all, does it not, Comrade Kuryakin?"
"God, no!" Paige cried. "No, please." She struggled against the arm that held her pinned to his chest and he tightened it again, cutting off her air.
"Be still or I will kill you now American or not." He hissed into her ear loud enough for Illya to hear.
"Paige, metya. Enyala lapse. Laume macatien." Illya called to his wife, hoping that she would understand. As a joke they had been studying the language created by her favorite author, Tolkien. Now it was the only one he could guarantee their captors wouldn't understand. He breathed a sigh of relief as she ceased her struggles and sagged against the goon holding her. Her blue eyes, wide and frightened stared into his, tears forming in them. They were the last thing he saw as the man behind him pulled a black hood over his head.
"One of them hit me with something then. When I came to, I was on a transport plane back to Moscow. Paige wasn't there. No one would tell me anything. I begged, pleaded for them to tell me if she was all right. I didn't know if they had left her or if she was on another plane headed to Siberia. Or," he shivered. "If they shot her anyway." He fell silent for a moment, then looked at the young faces watching him. Tears were in their eyes and he felt the burn of his own yet again. "I still don't know what happened to her. I have been looking for answers for twenty years."
"That's because I have a stubborn partner. I was sent to Siberia after a time. Some how, Napoleon learned where I had been taken but it was two years before he could 'liberate' me from the work camp." Illya grimaced. "I was lucky. Many that were sent to that particular camp didn't last a week."
"Not lucky enough, tovarich." Napoleon muttered. His guilt still ate at him. "I should have known something was wrong, should have come back earlier. I should have been there to help you."
"Should have, would have, could have, tovarich. You came. And I am here now." Illya smiled at his partner, the shadows in his eyes deep at the remembered incarceration. "It does not matter, not really."
Keeper stared into space for a moment. On their *private* communication line he asked each of his friends the same question. *Do we tell him?* the answers were unanimous *YES.* *I'll call her first. Tell her to come home.* *Don't tell her Keeper, we don't know how she'll react.* Faln warned. He thought quickly, then agreed. This was something that would be best handled in person. "Gentlemen, we may not have your answers but we know someone who does." He said at last. "There is one person who can tell you what happened to your wife and child."
"You know where she is don't you?" Napoleon asked softly hoping he was reading the faces in front of him correctly. He noticed the changes in the group and wondered if Illya could sense it as well. Illya flinched and paled.
"We have our suspicions." Keeper raised a hand to stop their questions. "The thing is, if what we suspect is right, there is a chance that she won't want to see you. Are you prepared for that? Will you let that decision stand?"
"Da." Illya said without hesitation. "If that is what she wishes." Hope flared in his eyes but was tamped down. Faln, keeping an *eye* on him, nodded to Keeper. He was telling the truth.
"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I have a phone call to make."