Act VII: "You Going To Shoot Your Partner?"

Klofensten happily handed over his contribution to the technique, saying that it wasn't really that much, according to Rivas. He hadn't seen the full and final technique as it was applied or in written form, so he didn't know what percentage of this work was in the final result. That was one of his contentions with Rivas. He complained bitterly about being unceremoniously dumped from the project, but Solo could not seem to work any sorrow for the man. In fact he had a hard time from slamming his fist into the man's yapping jaws.

Finally, he got what he came for and received the information on the auction, and left the scientist behind in his lab. Solo felt somewhat annoyed that he was making this man happy by getting rid of Rivas. He returned to the conference room and found Illya waiting grumpily in the hall.

"If one more security guard tries to get me back in that room to wait, I will start shooting indiscriminately," he growled without preamble, heading towards the exit.

"I'll be sure to duck," Solo replied, happy to be away from this place himself. He resisted the urge to look in the conference room to see if it had been trashed by his tense partner and hurried to catch up.  

The auction was to take place just outside of Athens in four days. They headed directly to the airport and notified Mark and April of their destination, agreeing to meet in the Athens office to discuss what each of them knew about the participants.

After the report, Illya put away his communicator and slumped against the car door. He looked unusually tired, and an alarm went off in Solo's mind; 'fatigue' was one of the pre-warning signs the shrink had given him of a possible 'breakdown', along with 'tenseness', 'agitation' and 'periods of silence'. He smiled to himself - sounded like a list of a typical U.N.C.L.E. agent on a normal day! Still, a little voice inside was telling him to keep an eye on his partner, but he would do that anyway because that's what partners did.

Solo decided to let Illya take the lead in conversation. He knew the Russian was aware that Solo had noticed his demeanor with Klofensten. If Illya wanted to mention it, he'd leave it up to him.

They rode to the airport in complete silence.

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

By the time they got on a plane for Athens, Illya seemed a little more relaxed. He'd let Napoleon take the lead on getting them through the hassles of returning the car and tickets, always a quiet shadow at his side. As soon as they settled on the plane, Illya fell instantly asleep. Napoleon shook his head; that was a skill the blond agent had that Napoleon wished he could adopt- sleep anywhere at the drop of a hat. Instead, he flirted with the stewardesses and had a couple of drinks and a dinner date by the time they landed in Greece.

It was early evening when they touched down. Illya was still a bit blurry eyed when they disembarked, but seemed to be back to his dour Russian self by the time they checked into the hotel. Napoleon took a quick shower and changed clothes and was ready for his dinner date in no time.

He tapped on Illya's door on his way out. His partner opened the door and shook his head. "That was fast," he commented.

"Can't keep the fair Constance waiting!" Solo replied cheerily. "You going out to grab a bite?"

"Eventually. And no, I won't take your calls for you, so leave your communicator on," Illya replied teasingly.

"See if I do you any favors! See you later!" Napoleon tugged at his tie and moved off down the hall, satisfied that his partner was over whatever mood had struck him in Germany. That shrink would be proven wrong, after all!

After Napoleon left, Illya Kuryakin realized that he, in fact, was hungry and took a few minutes to decide where to eat. Room service was out; he definitely had to get out of this room because it was too confining and way too quiet. He needed noise to keep his mind distracted, as it kept taking the same direction of thought whenever he began to focus on why they were here. 'It is simply aftereffect from the conditioning,' he said to himself for the millionth time, shaking his head and rubbing his temple. The barely controllable rages he'd often felt since his awakening, which he thought he'd managed very well so far, would eventually go away, too. 'Once this is over, I'll be fine. Anyone would be angry in this same circumstance.'

He took a shower both wake up and relax, and dressed casually for his excursion out for a meal. When he stepped out of the hotel, he took a moment to look around and realized that this was the first time he'd been outside by himself since he'd kicked the conditioning. For a second, his fingers tingled from a flash of fear and uncertainty, but he shook it off. 'Don't be ridiculous!' he chided himself. Instead, he took in the people bustling by on their errands and smiled. It was nice to be among 'regular' people again! With a little grin to himself, he ducked his head and blended in with the crowd in a search for dinner.

He found an intimate café that was comfortably busy and eased himself into a corner table, perfect for people watching and protecting your back. With a nod to his heritage and the city of Athens he had an ouzo shot with a vodka chaser and found himself pleasantly relaxed. He realized it was the first alcohol he'd had in awhile, too, and sat back to enjoy the feeling as he waited for his meal in the smoky eatery.

By the time his waitress arrived with his food he'd had another shot of vodka and realized that his mind was quiet for the first time in a long while. He looked at the girl with an appreciative grin and she responded in kind, unconsciously adjusting her blouse when her hands were free. Illya was about to thank her when a motion at the bar behind her caught his attention.

He froze, feeling a shot of adrenalin course through his veins as his eyes locked on the back of a man at the bar: Rivas! Immediately, a searing pain pierced through his brain and his hand grabbed his temples, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the man.

"What is it?" the girl asked in Greek, touching Illya's forearm.

Illya jerked away from her touch and hunched back into the corner. "Go away!" he snapped gruffly.

"What?" she asked, looking a little scared, and Illya realized he barked at her in Russian. He repeated his demand in Greek, and her face turned angry and she stomped off. Her distraction was just enough for him to realize that the man he saw at the bar wasn't Rivas at all, but simply another man with a similar build, and the pain receded some but not entirely. Shaken, he ate some of his meal and realized he'd lost his appetite. He paid the girl, who slapped his change on the table in a huff, and he left the restaurant on wobbly legs.

On the way back to the hotel the crowded street that earlier had been comforting and enjoyable was now close and claustrophobic. The Russian weaved his way between the dinner crowd pedestrians, his head still throbbing as a reminder to what had just happened in the café.

He finally made it to the hotel and stepped into the small lobby, thankful for the quiet. He glanced at the ancient, gated elevator, decided that he didn't really want to be alone in his room with his own thoughts, and headed to the small bar off the lobby.

He sat and ordered vodka in an effort to stave the varied and unfamiliar emotions assaulting his brain along with the dull throbbing: fear at how out of control he felt, anger at his reacting the way it did when he'd thought he'd seen Rivas, and the total rage bubbling just under it all because he felt so useless in controlling his own mind and reactions. Slamming back a shot of Stoli he figured he had three ways to handle it right now: Take out his anger on the next Rivas look alike he saw, take out his anger on the room he'd rented, or drink until he reached the same relaxed state as before.

He hefted another shot glass and called for his own bottle.

*********

It was well after midnight when Solo came back to the hotel, happily whistling as he entered the lobby. Constance had been a dream! He would still be dreaming with her if she hadn't needed to get up for an early return flight. He smiled to himself; with luck, maybe they'd meet on the flight to New York! He was loosening his tie as he nodded and acknowledgement to the night clerk at the hotel counter when he heard someone call his name.

"Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon stopped and turned slowly towards the voice, ready to go for his holstered gun. "Yes?" he said cautiously. His eyes fell on a young woman, wringing her hands at the end of the counter. Her voice was heavily accented.

"Mr. Solo, I think we need your help."

He raised an eyebrow, glanced around the empty lobby, and let her approach. "We do? For what?"

The girl nodded towards the small bar entrance. "Your friend in there. Mr. Kuryakin? Can you help him to his room?"

A flash of fear went through his veins and his hand moved closer to his gun. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, visions of a black and blue Russian coming to his mind's eye, attacked while his partner was out on a date!

She took his elbow and pulled him inside the empty bar. Well, it wasn't quite empty. In the far corner, Solo saw a dark outline of a person slouched on a table, topped with a mop of blond hair. Illya's head was lying on his arms, eyes closed, and a broken bottle clutched in his hands as a weapon.

"Is he hurt?" Solo asked as he moved forward.

"No," said the girl. "He's drunk and won't let anyone near him, so we left him there."

When Solo got close enough to see the steady rise and fall of his friend's shoulders and the death grip on the broken bottleneck, he thanked the girl and said he'd handle it. He settled the bill, left a huge tip, and stood close to his friend. He knew better than to suddenly wake him when he was armed.

"Hey, Illya," he said sharply. "Illya!" The blond head jerked a little, and Solo reached down and clamped his fingers around the armed hand.

Instinctively, the blond agent snapped to wakefulness and began to struggle against the restraint. With his other hand, he reached for his holster, but Solo's hand beat him to it. "Hey," Solo said levelly. "You going to shoot your partner?"

The Russian's eyes tried to focus on the dark haired agent. "Go 'way, Napol'n," Illya mumbled. "I'm tryin' to rest."

Solo gently took away the bottle and pursed his lips at his partner's bloodshot eyes. "Well, there's a special place to do that, it's called a hotel room." He pulled the now unresisting Illya to his feet, and placed his friend's arm around his shoulders.

"Thish is a hotl, and thish is a rum," Illya reasoned, allowing himself to be propelled out of the room.

"You are a smart Russian, aren't you?" Solo clucked. "Let's get you out of here before anyone realizes how smart you are and tries to lure you away from U.N.C.L.E., shall we?"

"I'm not leavin' U.N.C.L.E., am I, Napol'n?"

I sure hope not, partner," Solo replied as they entered the gated elevator. 'And I'm glad I won't be you in the morning!'  he thought to himself.

***********

It was very late in the morning when Solo finally decided it was time to get Illya going. They had to hit the Athens office and coordinate with the agents there about the event that was occurring in a little over three days. Armed with a full pot of thick, black coffee, he knocked loudly on his friend's door. There was no response. "Illya!" Solo said loudly. "I know you're in there, and I'll keep pounding until you open the door. I'm sure your head," the doorknob turned, and the door was opened slightly. "…won't appreciate it," Napoleon finished as he pushed the door open into a darkened room. "You need some fresh air in here!" He said cheerily as he put the pot down, and pulled open the drapes to the singe window.

"I've shot people for less that that," Illya's voice growled from the bed, barely audible from under the pillow. "Please be quiet!"

  "I am being quite, my friend, and you need to get moving. Here," he poured a cup of the brew and put it on the table next to the bed. Then he plucked away the pillow and plunked himself down in one of the room chairs. "We need to get in the office and start pulling together a plan." He studied his friend, alarmed at what he saw, but kept his expression neutral.  

His friend sat up, and was shaking uncontrollably. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were huge black bags under them.  Although he managed to pick up the coffee mug and even bring it to his lips, he didn't drink any. Instead he put the mug back and lurched up from the bed, heading for the bathroom. He slammed the door, and Solo heard sounds of retching. Illya rarely drank enough to be sick and he wondered what went on while he was out on his dinner date. 

With three days to go until the auction, Solo decided to let this atypical behavior of late go for now. The Illya he knew always came through when it counted, and he was sure that Illya was still there.  

*********

With almost two full days of research behind them, the pair of agents sat back at the local sidewalk café in the early afternoon and tried to relax. Although Illya's hangover from the day before had finally subsided, his conversational efforts remained the same: Minimal to the extent of being nearly non-existent. Solo felt like he was working alone, and was relieved to see Mark and April approaching on the sidewalk.

"Hey you two!" April said cheerily when she settled in a chair at their table. Mark turned a chair around and straddled it, arms crossed over the back and a grin on his lips.

"Hey yourself," Solo greeted, raising his espresso cup. Illya acknowledged them with a hovering glance and returned to his meal. The dark glasses he wore completely shielded his eyes from them.

"As talkative as ever, I see," April commented in the Russian's direction. "Well," she continued when she didn't get a response, "have you managed to dig up the scat on the names we gave you?" She waved the waiter over and ordered a salad.

"Yes, we have." Napoleon replied. "An interesting and varied group of bidders, including Russia. I guess they've forgiven Rivas for skipping the country and taken the destruction of the Grummann factory as payment for letting Rivas work there.  Most of the other bidders have ties to terrorist groups worldwide."

"Really?" Mark said, plucking a chunk of bread from the table. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It would have to be groups outside the Geneva Convention, I suppose, or at least have a history of activities against the articles of the Convention."

"So what's the plan?" April chirped. "Massive assault, clandestine infiltration or something in the middle?"

"From what intelligence has been gathered it seems that the whole process is together in only two place: Rivas' brain and one hard copy manuscript. I daresay that both of them will be at the auction and very well guarded," Mark recited. "Limited copies sure drive the price up."

"In fact," April added, "Rivas informed one of the participants that the winning bidder gets sole rights and him, in person, with the bargain. So there will be only one user of the program. Another price enhancement."

"Sounds like he's setting himself up for life," Solo commented. "Must be tired of skipping countries constantly." He pulled out his wallet and paid his part of the bill. "I was thinking that the manuscript needs to be secured first, then the issue of Rivas himself handled. Getting the manuscript will be tough; I think a quiet infiltration is the best way to go for the first part. What do you think, Illya? Any ideas?"

The blond Russian, who had been pushing food around his plate with his fork, quietly lay down the utensil. He pushed himself back and rose, picking up his notes as he said, "It doesn't matter to me as long as they both burn in Hell." With that, he pushed in his chair, nodded in April's direction, and walked away.

April's mouth hung open in astonishment for a few seconds and Mark's eyes were wide in surprise. Solo proceeded to wipe his lips with his napkin, placed it on the table and also rose to go.

"I, ah, take that as meaning he'd rather bomb the hell out of the place?" April guessed, recovering her wits.

"Yes. But that idea's been vetoed already. You know how he pouts," Solo quipped lightly, covering his partner's uncharacteristic show of emotion. "Meet us at the office in an hour."

"I'll be sure to wear my bullet proof vest," Mark commented with a nod.  

Act VIII: "He's Good, Napoleon, But Is He A Loose Cannon?"

The CEO of U.N.C.L.E. New York knew he had a situation that could no longer be ignored.  Your instincts will tell you what to do, the shrink had said, but Napoleon had to admit a little self doubt in this situation. Illya was acting in a very volatile manner and Solo was beginning to have his doubts as to the agents' ability to complete this mission. His analytic assessment was at odds with his instincts. Do I listen to my heart or my head? He thought on the walk to the Athens office. The raid was going to happen soon. Solo had to make a decision.

He decided that a direct approach was the best way to start. He needed to quiet the doubts. Finding Illya alone in the conference room surrounded by documents and papers, Solo quietly locked the door and pulled out a chair beside his partner. His arrival warranted a lingering glance from the Russian.

"You wish to say something?" Illya said sharply, returning to his notes.

"Yes. I need to get this off my mind, and I'll tell you straight up. I'm beginning to have doubts about your ability to keep your head in this mission." There. It was out there, and now it all hung on his partner's response.

Illya tossed his pen on top of the papers and positioned his hands on the chair's arms as he leaned back slightly. He drummed the fingers of his right hand on the chair for a moment, his eyes locked on the edge of the table in front of him. Napoleon took in every detail of the body language and unconsciously began to tense up.

Finally, his partner spoke, his voice low and dangerous, his words deliberately slow. "Are you pulling me from this assignment, Napoleon?"

Again, Solo wished he could see his partner's eyes.  "For the first time since we got here, I'm seriously considering it."

As Illya pushed himself to a stand, Solo noted how white his knuckles were on the chair arm and had to fight his urge to also rise to his feet. His instincts were now in full roar and were telling him to appear as unthreatening as possible, so he leaned back in his chair instead and watched his partner enter an obvious battle to control himself. Never had he seen Illya Kuryakin so conflicted, and it was both fascinating and frightening to watch.

Illya's fingers were twitching, and he turned his back on Napoleon for a moment.  He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Or was he staring at God?

"What … do I have to do … to keep that from happening?" Solo could tell that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

The next few minutes would make or break it for the Russian. This was turning into a test of the tormented agent's self control. If he couldn't handle stress here, on home court, there was no way he could in the field. And Illya's choice of words just then were frightening; it was as if he considered himself a programmable robot.

"I don't want you off the team, but I have a lot of people counting on me to pull this off successfully.  This can't be about revenge, Illya, and you know that."

Illya clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, then turned slowly towards his partner. When his eyes met Solo's, Solo had to keep himself from recoiling from the unbridled rage he saw there.  "Just tell me what you want," Illya said lowly. "You know I have to do this."

"Yes, I do. We all do." He stopped a moment and studied his friend. "I guess I'm concerned about what you consider 'this' is. The plan is to contain both Rivas and the manuscript in a controlled, safe manner. Are you on the same page, my friend?"

It took many minutes that seemed like eons before the rage seemed to fade in Illya's eyes, and his fingers relaxed. He nodded. "Yes, we're on the same page, Napoleon. I…" he hesitated, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know I've been distracted lately, but I won't let you down."

Solo smiled and relaxed himself. "I know you won't because you never have before. That's what I'm counting on. Once again we need to save the world." That got a slight, sickly hint of a grin out of his friend, and he motioned for Illya to sit. "Let's get cracking on this. Where do you see as an entry point?" Solo indicated the blueprints of the building where the auction was to take place.

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

As the day of the auction drew near and the participants began to gather, the surveillance teams kept up on every detail. Their whereabouts were always known.

Illya was kept out of sight to insure that none of the interested parties saw him and spread the word that the technique didn't work, which would result in Rivas' disappearance.

On auction day Solo and Kuryakin were at the command post several blocks away from the auction location, monitoring the radio. They both doubted that Rivas and the manuscript would be there any length of time together; it was safer to keep them separate until the bidding time, and that was the tricky part. Who or whatever arrived first had to be under constant surveillance until the other half arrived. At that moment, the manuscript was to be taken, followed by Rivas himself. There would be a small window of opportunity to stay with that plan. All intelligence said the manuscript would arrive early for inspection, but they would only believe that when they saw it.

Solo took a break to stretch and studied his friend from across the room. Since their confrontation, Illya had seemed more relaxed when around him and the other agents but Solo had no idea what went on when he was alone in his hotel room. And he was in there a lot, taking his meals there and retiring fairly early. He had a slight pang of missing his old partner; he was almost there, but not entirely, not yet anyway. Inside he had finally admitted to himself that it would be awhile until that was a reality. He sighed; one step at a time, he thought.

"A security team has arrived," Illya said. "Quite a large one, too." He listened to the chatter. "Looks like the manuscript has arrived."

"So far so good. Are all the participants there?"

"Yes. Our bugs inside tell us that each group is going to get a chance to peruse the manuscript under close watch before the doctor arrives."

That was one thing Solo had noticed of late: Illya never said 'Rivas'. He always referred to him as 'the doctor',  'the developer' or 'the target'. He shrugged mentally. Whatever worked for his friend was fine as far as he was concerned. "Let's move in closer," he suggested.

In no time they were alongside April and Mark, each taking turns with the field glasses. The auction itself was just under two hours away, which allowed plenty of time for the participants to look over the manuscript beforehand.

"We need to get someone inside right now. That's the only way we can be sure to get the manuscript before Rivas gets in the building."

Solo had already decided to leave the manuscript to Illya. It seemed to be safer than letting Illya take Rivas. The Russian hadn't even batted an eyelash at the assignment when he gave it to him the night before, and for some reason that nagged at Solo. Had Illya fully gotten the revenge idea out of his head? It appeared so, but then again he kept reminding himself that Illya's appearances were often deceiving. Since then, he'd found that suspicious feeling that Illya was waiting for something returning. He had to push the thought aside.

"OK, I'm off," Illya said, leaving the group as silently as a shadow.

April watched him go. "If I hadn't followed him with you on the Grummann thing I would have my doubts about him getting in there." She looked at Solo. "He's good, Napoleon, but is he a loose cannon?"

"I think he'll be fine," Solo said quietly, turning his attention to the field glasses.

"Guess we'll soon see," Mark said with a sigh. "I'm hungry. When's Rivas going to arrive you think? I have time for some food?"

April laughed lightly. "Thinking with your stomach again, I see. Should have taken care of that before we left the command post, sport. It'll be our turn to go as soon as Rivas gets here, capice?

Mark winked at her. "Yes, dear. I think I have some crumbs in my pocket to sustain me."

********

Illya arrived at the building without being noticed, even in the light of the late afternoon. He knew the blueprint of this building by heart and knew exactly where he was going. The one weakness of this set up was that all the security men were dressed alike; no one could tell if the men assigned to the manuscript, the building or the doctor. That would let the agent move around easily, he hoped.

He got to the roof and inside in no time at all. The pair of roof guards never knew he was there. Inside he located the locking closet he knew was here, on a floor where he knew only security would be, and ventured out to wait for his chance to obtain a uniform. The best place was the restroom, and he secured a spot for the duration.

Illya didn't have to wait long. Soon a uniformed man came in to relieve himself, and Illya relieved him of his uniform and administered a drug that would keep him out of the way. Being in action again felt great, especially out from under Napoleon's nose, and he moved with confidence to make sure the hall was clear before stashing the stripped man in the locking closet.

Checking himself in the mirror, he was glad for the cap to cover his blond hair, and wondered if he should have disguised himself further. If his face was as known as Klofensten claimed, he couldn't show himself among the bidders. Instead, he put on the dark glasses in the uniform pocket and figured that would do.

Quickly, he was back in the hall, rifle slung over is shoulder and heading for the elevator. Two floors down to where the action was. He stepped from the car with the idea to find the manuscript and simply keep it in sight for now. He had all sorts of little devices tucked away in the purloined uniform to take care of the manuscript. He didn't care what the rest of the team's plan was; his was to destroy the thing as soon as possible. There wasn't a reason in the world he could think of to keep it intact. If he hadn't kept that thought constantly in his mind for the last few days, he wasn't sure he could have held together enough to get him to this point. He had some ideas for Rivas, too, but knew that dwelling on that would make him lose his façade of control, which had served him so well for this mission.

With both of them gone, I will be fine.  That had been Illya's mantra that kept him in control.

"I'm in," Illya said quietly to the wire attached to his chest. "Locating the manuscript now. Kuryakin out."

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. The only thing he needed from the rest of the team was for them to tell him when The Target arrived. He could feel the excitement rising in his veins, and couldn't recall the last time he felt so good.

Moving easily through the sparse crowd, Illya's posture and demeanor made him look like he not only belonged here, but also was in charge to boot. None of the other guards gave him a second glance. In his search for the tome he found the room where the auction was to occur. There was no upper floor above this section. The ceiling was gone, leaving a catwalk around the perimeter where the second floor would have been. It reminded the agent of the Coliseum, and he snorted in disgust.  Finally, he located the manuscript in a heavily guarded room at the opposite end of the building, catching a glance of it as the door opened to allow bidders inside.

With a curt nod, Illya took the place of the man next to the door who left without question. All he had to do now was wait for word that the Doctor was in the building.

**********

April tapped the monitoring receiver. "Well, he's in there at least. Haven't heard a word from him since his entrance but I can hear what's going on."

Solo dropped the glasses and rubbed his eyes. "How long before Rivas arrives?"

"I'd say anytime," Mark stated.  " The auction starts within the hour. Time for us to move in closer."

They started packing up. "April, make sure the backup squads are ready. They move in only if we fail to get Rivas."

"Gotcha," she chirped, passing the message on.

Soon they were on the ground centered between the two entrances of the building so they could watch both doors. It wasn't long before two limousines, escorted by separate security vehicles, pulled up to both doors.

"Damn, they're using a decoy," April snapped.

  "Mark, April take the south entrance. I'll take the east one. Move!" he keyed the mike on his lapel. "Illya, Rivas has arrived, but we don't know which door he's coming in. Stand by."

He didn't have time to realize he didn’t get a reply.

***********

Upon hearing Solo's words, Illya couldn't keep the flash of a wolfish grin from his lips. The last viewers had just left, and the manuscript was all that was in the room. There were four other guards here in the hall.  In one smooth, fluid motion he dropped his rifle so it hung by the sling, and reached inside his shirt and pulled out a handgun with a silencer.

Without even blinking, and in the same fluid arc, he took out the four guards in four silent shots, none of them able to raise an alarm in time. Like a machine, Illya pocketed the gun and applied explosives to the door lock, which blew open easily. He stepped inside the room. The entire affair had taken under a minute.

There on the single table was the thick volume of scientific data made up of the all the things he had been through. Mesmerized, he was drawn to the tome and saw his hands reach out and flip it open, not hearing April's voice barking in his ear, and found the section of field trials complete with photos of his shaved skull labeled with insertion marks. The next section was a photo of himself sitting in a chair, in a room that, until this second, he didn't recall.

Illya felt his head begin to throb. He also felt like he was suddenly an observer in all this, standing by while someone else's hands flipped the pages. Unable to tear his eyes off the dissertation, the small voice buzzing in he ear suddenly became an irritant to his pounding head. He ripped the annoying device from his ear and chest and threw it across the room where it lay in a tangle in the furthest corner.

He didn't even hear the footsteps behind him, or the sound of men raising rifles to their shoulders. Time stopped then and there when a few seconds later he heard a voice, THE VOICE, behind him say, "Turn around." He had no choice but obey. His head was pounding now, and he pressed both hands to his temples to stop it. When he saw THE FACE suddenly his legs couldn't hold him and he fell to his knees in front of Rivas, his head about to explode. A scream built up from somewhere deep inside as many hands seized him, then everything went dark.

**********

April cursed at the microphone as Mark kept an eye on the doors. "He's not replying, Napoleon. You hear me? Illya's not answering! I hear background, some gunshots and nothing! Napoleon? I think the wire has been removed but I don't hear anyone else there."

Something's not right, Solo thought, his instincts kicking in, "Abort assault! Meet me at the last position!"

The three of them met, puffing. April pointed to the tiny receiver, and cranked the volume so they could all hear.

"Water running?" April guessed.

"No. Paper rustling," Mark corrected.

"Pages. Pages turning," Napoleon said quietly.

They all looked at each other as a voice said, "turn around." A few seconds later there was a scream that made April jump, then faint talking and the sound of something being dragged.

"They have him," Solo whispered.

"Oh, God," April breathed, putting her hand on her chest.

Napoleon Solo turned all business. "I knew something didn't add up. Did anyone get out of the limos waiting by the doors?"

"Not that we saw," Mark said. "They are still there, look." He pointed across the street.

"Then Rivas is already inside." Solo snapped his fingers. "The security detail."

"Rivas went in dressed as a guard! He's been in there this whole time with the document," April commented with a growl. "What now, Napoleon?  An all out assault? Bomb the place like Illya wanted to do in the first place?"

"Tempting, but no." Napoleon said, biting his lower lip. "We are the only ones going in. We aren't losing Illya again." He hesitated, thoughtful. " If his face shows up at that auction, no one is going to bid."

"Just like Klofensten said," April finished.

"Yes, irritatingly enough, just like he said," Napoleon said lowly. "Guess we'll call this Plan B."

Act IX: "I Thought You Said He Was Dead!"

Rivas was livid, but managed to keep his anger under control while his mind raced. All the information the Russian government had on this man indicated he was a loner; his research showed him as being somewhat distrusted by his 'peers' in America. Quickly, he got a rundown from his security chief: Only the one guard had been found disabled, and all the others were accounted for and identified. A search of the man revealed no microphones or wires. The history he knew said the subject had died, and there were no reports of any further activity.          But how did he lose the conditioning? He thought. I have to conceal him until I figure that out.

Luckily, the only others that had seen the captive were the guards here with him now. He ordered them to remove the subject to the basement and they dragged the whimpering man to the stairs. Then Rivas called for new guards to take the manuscript to the auction arena and stay with it. He had 45 minutes until the auction started, and he planned on a little further conditioning to insure the subject's silence in his absence.

Dr. Rivas entered the basement and indicated that the subject be placed in a chair. The guards shoved a chair in a corner, and practically threw Illya on it. Rivas knew he had to emulate the Conditioning Room as best as he could to get the subject in the correct frame of mind so he had the guard handcuff the Russian so his hand were side by side in his lap, and secure his feet to the chair legs. With that done, he knew he had to position the head so the subject believed the probes had been inserted in his brain. A belt around the forehead and connected to the chair back did the trick. Then he was blindfolded.

This was as close as he could get, and he knew it would do. By the way the subject had responded to his voice, Rivas knew he could get what he needed and mentally patted himself on the back with a self-congratulating grin. It would take no time at all to find out what happened with this subject and perfect his technique so it wouldn't happen again. All he had to do right now was keep the subject quiet and pliable, and have him taken to the limo while the bidders were all in the auction area.

"Listen to my voice," Rivas started.

The subject began to tremble.

***********

Solo and Mark moved immediately to infiltrate the building, putting the back up units on alert. They weren't as neat as Illya; they also used to roof, getting to it from an adjoining building, but took out the two guards there as soon as he heard them check in with their chief. They had a little time until the next check in, hopefully enough time to locate Illya at least.

April had been left on the perimeter with the radios. She chomped at the bit to be alongside the men, but Solo pointed out that a female guard, from what they had seen so far, was way too obvious.

"Plus, you need to call in the cavalry when needed," Solo added. "And someone needs to keep an eye on the limos."

"Great. Now I'm a bugler and a valet. More talents to add to my resume," she said sarcastically, settling in with a huff.

The two men entered the building and went down to the main level. Napoleon peeked in on the bidding arena and was disgusted; it looked like a livestock auction. Circling the floor were six groups of chairs, stacked for better viewing. It was obvious the groups were separated into bidding clusters, with each cluster working together for whatever entity they represented. Solo recognized the group from Iran, another from South Africa, and another made up of Thrush representatives!  There was a podium in the center, where the manuscript was now displayed. The buzzing atmosphere and the few empty clusters told him the auction would be starting soon.

Solo also knew that somewhere in this building his partner was being held. Whether his partner was alive or not was another question; Solo was counting on Dr. Rivas' scientific curiosity keeping Illya alive - Rivas would want to know why the conditioning didn't work or how it got overridden, and would want to work the 'bugs' out of the technique after he sold it. Meanwhile, the proof of failure could only jeopardize the bidding process, and the Russian had to say hidden somewhere.

He and Mark were running out of time. After the auction, everyone would scatter to the winds along with Rivas and detaining him would be extremely difficult. Waverly had been cautioned not to create an international incident with any of the bidding countries; it would be a touchy situation if allowed to go that far. Solo intended to stop this before it began.

Solo pulled Mark aside in a quiet hallway and pulled out a small device from his pocket and studied it.

"A homing device? When did you attach that?" Mark asked.

"Just before Illya left us. Because of his odd behavior lately, I decided to cover all bases." He had trusted his heart but used his head.

"And you didn't tell us because you didn't want it to look like you didn't trust him," Mark concluded.

"Exactly," Solo said. "Basement. Let's go."

"I hope I never have to think like you," Mark commented lowly as he followed closely.

When they made it to the basement, it wasn't difficult to figure out where Illya was; the guards at the door told them what they needed to know. Solo counted five; no way to take them out quietly, and if they made noise, Illya's life would be in danger.

"What are you doing here?" the first guard barked, stopping them. "No one else allowed down here. You're to stay with the manuscript. Move it."

"Yes, sir. Just patrolling the halls as ordered." Mark ad-libbed. He and Solo then retreated. "Now what?" he asked on the elevator.

"The auction will be starting soon, and most of the guards will be with Rivas. When they leave, we'll get Illya from the basement and make an appearance.

Mark whistled lowly. "That's risky. We'll be outnumbered ten to one."

"The way I see it is when Illya's face is seen, there will be a stampede out of here and most of them will be busy. When that starts is when we have to move quickly to Rivas and the manuscript before they're lost in the crowd."

"I guess we have a plan, then." Mark said brightly. "April? Did you get that? You'll have to cover the outside. Move some back up in to help you."

"Gotcha," April acknowledged.

Napoleon and Mark had a difficult time waiting. Although it was only about a half hour, it seemed like an eternity knowing Illya was probably going through some sort of hell down there. Finally, there was movement on the elevator and Solo saw Rivas, now decked in an expensive suit, step from the car with three guards, two more surrounding him as he walked around the corner to the arena. The agents looked at each other; that would leave at least two guards with Illya. Those odds looked much better.

They planted themselves at the end of the hall until Rivas disappeared into the auction arena room and the doors were closed behind him. When they turned to go to the elevator they were surprised to see the car go down, then begin a return ascent to their floor! Mark glanced at Solo, who shrugged and indicated they should post themselves across from the elevator.

When the doors opened it was all Solo could do to keep from rushing to his partner's side. There was Illya, between two guards, in the same head down stance Solo recalled from so many months ago, leaning heavily on the guards. His shuffling feet caused him to stumble coming out of the car, and the agents took their chance and leaped on the guards.

They all went tumbling back into the car, and Solo slapped the 'down' button in the same motion he chopped the guard across the throat. One more chop to the neck sent him down. Mark finished off the second guard just as Solo reached Illya's trembling side.

"Illya, snap out of it! Come on, we haven't got the time!" Solo slapped his cheeks, and his partner's head rolled back with a groan. "Listen to me! You've got to wake up!"

Illya's eyes blinked slowly, the same glazed look in them as before, and Solo's heart jumped into his throat. Suddenly, Illya's body stiffened and began to jerk like he was being electrocuted.

"Dear God!" Mark breathed, trying to hold on to Illya's other arm

"No, that's a good thing. It means he's fighting it," Solo was having a tough time hanging on himself. "Come on partner, keep it up."

Finally, Illya's knees gave out and they fell in a heap.

"We're running out of time," Solo barked, slapping the 'up' button. "Illya, you have to walk, partner. Don't think, just walk! Come on." They pulled him to his shaky feet, which he managed to keep with little help by the time the elevator reached their floor. His head, however, rolled loosely on his shoulders.

"Come on!" Solo ordered, and they dragged their friend out of the car and down the hall. By the time they turned the corner to the arena entry Illya was stumbling along a little more on his own, an occasional shudder shaking his frame. "That's it, Illya, focus. We're going to stop Rivas."

Solo spoke the name just as they were approaching the door guards, and he felt his friend's body stiffen. Solo stole a glance at Illya's face and saw the blue eyes wide open and full of fear. "No," the Russian said weakly, feebly trying to stop.

"Oh, now you venture an opinion!" Mark said and then something struck him as he eyed the four guards at the entry door. "Then help us get out of here. We need to get through that door!"

Solo saw where he was going with that idea, and they both pushed the now struggling agent at the first guard. Illya fell on him like a wild animal while Solo and Mark took out the other three with a minor scuffle. They didn't care about being discreet; they just needed to get through the door and into full view of the bidders. When the two agents got to their feet, they both noticed Illya still beating the unconscious guard, and it took both of them to pull him off.

Illya's knuckles were bloody and his eyes were burning with rage. His armed was pulled back to clobber the closer one of the two which happened to be Solo. The dark haired agent threw up his hands, backed off a step and said calmly, "I surrender, all right?" That caused Illya to blink and hold his punch. "Hold that thought, will you, until we get in there?" Solo pointed at the doors, and he and Mark stepped up, hand guns drawn, and each took an arm, directing the perplexed agent through the doors of Illya Kuryakin's personal Hell.

*********

When they first burst through the doors they entered shadows. Solo and Mark quickly took out the two guards inside with their silenced pistols, who dropped unnoticed for now. There were spotlights on the catwalks above that were aimed at the circle of chairs in the middle of the cavernous room.

Solo felt like he was entering a boxing arena. The chairs were full of people in the various dress of their country and business suits. There were arms raising that held paddles with numbers. As they got closer they saw that there were three guards in the center of the room standing around the manuscript, displayed proudly on a tall podium. The melodic rhythm of an auctioneer was heard; when they finally cleared the chairs to see the ring fully they also saw a movie screen behind the auctioneer that was showing a slide show of the pictures in the manuscript.

Solo heard Mark suck his breath through his teeth; Solo just felt the wind knocked out of him when he saw the pictures. He couldn't help but glance at Illya, whose eyes were locked on the screen. Solo could see the embers of rage starting again. He caught his breath and was about to speak and calm his friend when he heard a smooth, deep voice take over the microphone.

"I'd like to remind my guests that I am prepared to share my knowledge, all of it, with whomever the winner chooses to learn the technique intimately."

The words themselves were shocking, but not nearly as shocking as the effect the voice had on his partner.  Solo suddenly found he had to use both arms and all his muscle to keep Illya from retreating. Mark seemed to be struggling, too. Solo dropped his gun as he fought to restrain his partner. They were drawing the attention of those sitting in their proximity, but they needed to get Illya in the limelight; he hated the idea but Solo knew it was the only way to stop this horror.

Solo managed to get his friend in a restraining neck hold and brought him down. Illya's nose landed right next to Solo's fallen gun, and his eyes locked on it.

"You've got to stop him, Illya, you're the only one who can. Mark and I will back you up!"

Illya grabbed the gun. Mark grabbed Solo and pulled him off the blond agent as Illya scrambled to his feet. Guards were beginning to move their way from the perimeter of the room in an effort to contain what looked like a fight between some guards. Illya looked like a trapped animal. The only way not blocked was the entry to the bidding arena; he leaped the low railing into the spotlight, his face clear to the crowd.

"Hey!" One of the bidders yelled, standing. "I thought you said he was dead!" The bidder pointed at Illya with his bidding sign. The agent was frozen in the middle of the ring, his head tilted up to the lights.

"That is the subject up there, isn't it?" another yelled from behind Illya, making him spin around. "What kind of lies have you been feeding us, Rivas?"

The guards by the manuscript looked confused. Wasn't that one of their team? When two of the bidders threw down their numbers and stood to leave, the guards looked at Rivas for direction.

Meanwhile Illya's eyes fell on the manuscript, and Solo could see from the sidelines how his demeanor changed from fright to rage at the sight of it. He raised the gun and fired at the thick book as the audience yelled in alarm and began to run.

"Stop him!" Rivas' voice bellowed over the intercom, and the guards moved in.

Solo and Mark also moved in to protect their friend and found themselves in the middle of a huge donnybrook. Illya, however, managed to shake off the guards and continued to fire at the book until his gun clicked impotently. White paper was fluttering like confetti around their heads, and the book and stand crashed to the floor. Solo saw his partner use the weapon like brass knuckles on a guard trying to stop him, and then saw Illya grab the fallen guard's sidearm.

Solo could see that his eyes were focused on a new target: Rivas, who was stepping back from the announcer's podium. The Doctor was moving to the stage stairs and Illya was well on his way to heading him off. Solo managed to catch Mark's eye and they fought their way in that direction. Neither agent wanted to see what the raging Kuryakin could do to the Doctor; they knew he'd regret it later, so it was up to them to stop their friend and detain Rivas.

"April! Have the team move in, but do not detain anyone trying to leave! We have Rivas in sight!"

Illya got to the bottom of the stairs ahead of Rivas and raised the handgun in a double fisted grip. Rivas dodged the shot and jumped off the platform with Illya in hot pursuit. The Russian angled in from one side so Rivas was cut off from the retreating crowd, and he ducked out another door. Illya slammed out the door seconds behind him, with Solo and Mark following a slight distance behind.

Running footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. Solo and Mark heard a shot, a door slam, and the sound of a body hitting a door. The rounded a corner just in time to see Illya's blond head disappear through a door marked "STAIRS." The door had time to click all the way closed before Solo slammed into it. When he and Mark drove through the door, all was quiet. They slid to a stop, breathing heavily. Finally, the only noise they could detect was a low murmuring coming from somewhere below them.

They peered over the railing to the flight of stairs cutting back below them and saw Illya on the bottom step, gun raised and shaking all over. They could hear the low muttering of a deep voice and realized it was Rivas. Cautiously, the two agents made their way down the stairs behind Illya and stopped half-dozen steps away.

Illya had Rivas cornered. The Doctor had his hands extended in front of him in an open, harmless manner, trying to draw his subject back into his control by using his voice. And it seemed to be working. As long as Rivas spoke, the blond agent was transfixed.

Solo spoke softly, "Illya."

The Russian spun around and pointed the gun at Solo. His eyes were icy cool and unfocused. Rivas grinned smugly at the two agents. "Seems we're at an impasse here, right gentlemen? My subject here is so tuned into my voice that he can't even register who you are." Rivas continued to talk in his even tone as Solo tried to reason with his friend.

"Illya, it's me, Napoleon, your partner. Turn the gun on the bad guy, tovarish." He thought he saw a flash in his friend's eye, but he pistol didn't drop. "Illya, come on. We have to finish this. You have to finish this. The only way to do that is to stop Rivas." The mention of the name brought a twitch to the agent's eye, but the gun still didn't drop.

"Shoot them," Rivas said in his melodic voice. "Shoot them and the pain will stop. I guarantee it." He kept on speaking. "Pull the trigger and the pain will disappear. You have the power to do that."

Illya's hands tightened on the gun.

Mark held his breath.

"Illya," Solo said calmly. "You're not going to shoot your partner, are you?"

The muzzle dropped a little and Solo saw Illya's eyes begin to clear. He took a second to look over Illya's shoulder to Rivas and saw that the Doctor was reaching inside his jacket with a scowl. Solo's eyes must have reflected something, because Illya was spinning around even before his partner yelled, "Look out!"

A single shot blasted from the handgun and Rivas slammed against the wall, a bright red hole blossoming in the middle of this throat and a gun slipping from inside his coat, clattering to the floor. Rivas slid slowly down the wall, his eyes astonished.

The bullet hole was dead center in his vocal cords.

*********

Solo couldn't shake the image in his mind of a little black cloud hanging over his partner's head as Illya sat grumpily in Waverly's office. True, the young Russian had been jumping through all sorts of hoops for all sorts of doctors in the past two weeks since their return, but Solo knew he'd passed every test with flying colors. It was almost like the past year had never happened, and everyone couldn't be happier; everyone except Illya Kuryakin, of course.

"Good morning, partner," Solo said cheerily, dropping into his seat.

"It is?" Illya grumbled. "I haven't been allowed outside to tell."

"Well, the rumor mill says that's about to change," Solo said perkily.

"You must mean that brunette in Medical," Illya retorted with a snort.

"If you mean Susan," Solo started, stopping when Mr. Waverly cleared his throat as he entered the room. He toted a thick file under his arm.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he stated as he set the files on the table. "And congratulations Mr. Kuryakin. You have been fully cleared to return to full duty. It seems you tested in the clear." Napoleon gave Illya a 'See? Told ya so!' look. Illya rolled his eyes in response. Waverly patted the file in front of him. "It seems that the parts of the manuscript that were recovered," he turned his look specifically at Illya, "and there wasn't that much still readable, shed little light on the technique used on you Mr. Kuryakin, definitely not enough to try it again. And with Dr. Rivas', um, passing," again, a glance at the blond agent, "it appears the world is safe from it being used again."

Illya simply sat quietly with an  innocent expression during the briefing.

"Which is a good thing, I'd say," Solo interjected to take the attention away from his partner.

"Yes, Mr. Solo, I tend to agree with you. There's no indication of a cure, either, but it seems Mr. Kuryakin has worked that out on his own."

Illya sat up straighter, his mood a little lighter. "Yes, it does seem that way, sir. So I'm clear for full duty starting now?"

"Yes, you are. Even Dr. Spence can't come up with a reason to keep you here any longer."

"So it's back to the old homestead, eh, Illya? I daresay you've got some dusting to do," Solo quipped with a grin.

"And I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more right now," Illya said in the closest thing to a happy tone Solo had heard from his partner in a long, long time.

"If you want, I've got a line on a great cleaning lady," Solo said with a twinkle in his eye.

"I have no doubt that you do, but I'll take a rain check, thanks," Illya responded dryly.

"No, really, she does a great job of…"

"THANK YOU, but no," Illya quickly interrupted him.

"Gentlemen, please." Waverly's authoritative tone stopped the discussion instantly. "Can we move on?"

Both agents threw each other accusatory glares as they settled in their chairs. Mr. Waverly harrumphed and continued the meeting, hiding his pleasure at hearing his top two agents bickering once again.

FINIS