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section7mfu2015-05-05 11:40 am
"The Rio Affair chapter 5" ~the conclusion. (for last weeks PicFic prompt)
Links to chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4
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Napoleon resisted the urge to check his wristwatch yet again, he really didn’t have to as the growing pile of burnt out cigarettes at his feet were a testament to the fact he’d been standing watch where he was far longer than he’d hoped.
He reminded himself to be patient and give his partner time to do what had to be done. As long as the samba music was playing he figured Illya was indeed caught up in that, and would be for the duration.
Once they were off to the next parade the Russian planned on disappearing and would join him soon enough to retrieve the notes and sample Illya had hidden inside.
Though Solo had a rough idea where that was, he couldn’t risk snooping about to find it as he’d surely be recognized.
It was when the music from within the hall ceased, and people came flooding out onto the street, walking in every possible direction that Napoleon suspected something was wrong. There was simply no sign of his wily partner.
“Senhor?” The voice of João spoke to him, approaching him from behind.
“Sorry I don’t have enough Portuguese to speak to you,” Solo shook his head; moving his hand away from his shoulder holster. ”It’s dangerous, you need to...go now. “Não. Não é seguro_no. Not safe” Napoleon waved them off.
“We will help,” the taxi driver replied in perfect English.”
“So you do speak English?” Napoleon was now suspicious
A group of armed men stood behind João , carrying everything from sawed off shotguns, to Luger pistols.
“Yes Senhor Solo,” he reached into his pocket, producing an identification card indicating he was with the SNI.’
Napoleon was well aware that was Brazil’s intelligence agency
“We have been watching this school for some time, as we were suspicious of this man Zuberi. Once we discovered Leticia Machado was with him we were ready to move in. Then you and Senhor Kuryakin arrived on the scene. I contacted my superiors who in turn contacted your Mr. Waverly. We have been authorized to assist you, and I think Mr. Kuryakin is in trouble so we will assist you, whether you want our help or not. This is, after all Senhor Solo, my country and not yours.”
Napoleon adjusted his mindset, figuring this wasn’t a bunch of locals going in there with him but trained operatives...though how well trained or not, he had no idea.
Still the mission was his priority, finding Illya took precedence in his mind, as the Russian knew exactly where to find what he’d hidden away.
Napoleon daren’t trying to locate it just yet as there was the risk he and his new compatriots would be discovered and then all of them would be up the creek without the proverbial paddle. It was bad enough that Solo’s instincts told him Illya was in trouble.
They crept along the walls, keeping to the shadows as most of the lights in the hall had been turned off, leaving a few shining down like rays of sunlight cutting the darkness.
He was startled as his communicator went off, chirping its call and echoing in the silence.
“Shit!” Napoleon whispered as he scrambled to open and silence the device. Immediately he heard it, a quiet steady beep telling him that Illya’s homing disc had been activated. Giving him the answer that his partner was indeed in trouble.
Taking a cue from their last mission in Brazil, Kuryakin decided to insert a subcutaneous tracker beneath the skin of one of his thighs. One had only to exert pressure on it to activate the signal, acting as a fail safe in the event he failed to complete his mission and escape.
Solo and his rag tag backup team made their way down the dimly lit stairwell, bypassing the lab and heading straight to Zuberi’s office.
Walking the perimeter of the room with his communicator in front of himself, Napoleon found the signal stronger in front of the cat shrine.
“There must be a secret door here,” João said as he began to move things around. He lifted the golden cat statue, and replaced it on its pedestal.
The base eased forward, and a panel opened behind it.
“Nice work João,” Napoleon winked. He led the way into the tunnel, the walls lit by torches filling the air with an odd musty smell.
The group walked quietly and came to a halt when Napoleon raised his hand, signalling them to stop. It was then they heard it, a chanting echoing ahead of them...Egyptian from the sound of it. That didn’t bode well at all to the American.
Illya didn’t have a good track when it came to Egyptian rituals.
Solo continued leading the way; dispatching the few guards they encountered with sleep darts. The muffled ‘pffft’ kept to a minimum by the suppressor on his Special were negligible, but Napoleon put his finger to his lips, indicating to his companions to remain silent.
.
The guards who had been holding down the Russian abandoned him as the drug had taken effect. They disappeared into the shadows for a moment, returning with a carved wooden sarcophagus, setting it on the floor beside the altar and removing the simple lid. It had been decorated in the Roman style, but crudely painted with a portrait of Kuryakin’s face. The rest of the coffin was hastily decorated with sacred Egyptian symbols.
Zuberi raised a clear glass beaker containing a large sample of his blob-like black mutated extremophiles. He poured them into the sarcophagus and next he raised a jar of oils and began anointing the body of the helpless Russian, all the while continuing to utter his chants.
That act forced Kuryakin to open his eyes, and finding himself able to move his head; he turned it and watched Mahaas Zuberi.
Apparently Illya’s lifeless body was going to be put into the coffin once Leticia had performed her grisly task, and having been covered in oil...the extremophiles would devour his flesh. It was a major insult upon injury, not that Illya would care at that point; it all depended upon how quickly he expired after his beating heart was ripped from his chest.
Leticia remained beside him, her hands clutching the dagger still poised, raised above her head. Here eyes were still wide, held in that trance, when Illya watched her body strangely jerk, forcing her to take a step backward.
Illya turned his head, seeing Napoleon and a group of men behind Zuberi. The guards charged, but were brought down with shot gun blasts.
Leticia, hit with a sleep dart was barely fazed by it, whatever spell or drug she was under in her madness drove her toward the helpless Russian, driving the dagger downwards.
Kuryakin somehow managed to gain enough control over his body to roll away to his side; avoiding the blade as it drove down into the stone altar.
“Nooooo!” She shrieked.”I will have my revenge!”
Zuberi turned, howling equally as loud as Leticia. “No you cannot do this! The gods must be appeased!” He charged Napoleon and the American found himself in trouble as his Special misfired.
There were more shotgun blasts, hitting the jar of oil that Zuberi held in his hands, sending the oil splattering all over the man.
With a Herculean effort, Illya kicked out with his leg, knocking the unsuspecting Egyptian against the sarcophagus. He lost his balance and fell into it.
They all watched in horror as Zuberi’s body disintegrated like bits of earth.
Leticia dove forward, trying to save her master but toppled into the coffin with him.
The intertwined screams that ensued were terrifying as the extremophiles went about the business they had been created to perform.
João, taking pity on them, stepped forward and aiming his gun, he fired several shots; putting the poor souls out of their misery.
Solo rushed his partner’s side, helping him to sit up, all the while taking a gander at the minimalist Egyptian costume the Russian wore.
“You know chum, we have to have a chat about you and these dresses don’t you think?”
“Napoleon will you give it...rest.” Illya could barely speak.”This all your fault, you realize that?”
“My fault?”
“Yes,” Illya hissed at his inability to function normally.”You made me go on vacation here with you.”
“Let’s get you out of this place first partner mine, then we can play the blame game, hmmm?”
Solo lifted Illya to his feet, though Kuryakin could barely stand. Napoleon draped the man’s arm across his shoulder, supporting him while holding onto his waist; together they made their way through the tunnels with the others.
There was a quick explanation as to João’s presence, along with his men.
“I had a feeling about you Senhor,” Illya half-smiled.
“You had a feeling?” Napoleon paused.” And when were you going to share that bit of intuition?”
“I had no proof, only my suspicions. You do recall that I do not make conclusions without sufficient evidence.”
“Yep that’s more like the IK I know,”Napoleon grinned.
“Beg pardon?”
“Nevermind.”
The movement helped dissipate the drug in Illya’s system and by the time they readed the stairs he was able to move on his own, though a bit slower than usual. Once up in the gymnasium he pointed to the spot where he’d hidden the notes and samples.
“This place needs to be destroyed, especially the lab. I expect the extremophiles in the coffin will die out once they have devoured their only food source, still we dare not chance anything, since they are a mutated form. Who knows what they could be capable of. Some sort of incendiary will be needed to complete the task,” Illya concluded.
Napoleon opened the heel of his shoe, producing a fair amount of explosive putty. “Will this do?”
“Excellent. I think petrol will suffice to burn out the lower levels.”
“Illya isn’t gasoline made from oil?”
“It is an end product, but contains none of the original properties of it. It will do nicely if João and his men can obtain that, as well as contacting a fire brigade so we can have a controlled burn. The neighborhood must be protected.”
“Can you do that for us?” Napoleon asked.
“Bim Senhor!” João saluted the agents and turning, he ran off into the night to do just that.
Illya sat down on the curb, seemingly lost in thought.
“You okay chum? I mean this was another close encounter for you with an Egyptian sarcophagus?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, just thinking about that,” Illya lied. In truth his thoughts were drifting back to Anucis Sakr and the fact that he had a son with her.
He had to find her, and though his efforts in the past had failed, the truth now spurred him on.
.
Six months later, Illya Kuryakin wandered the streets of Tel Aviv, holding a piece of paper in his hands as he glanced at it and back at the many white washed homes he passed.
Finally he found the one he was looking for, and stepping up to the simple wooden door painted a deep brown color; he hesitated. He took a deep breath before gently rapping on it.
The door opened slowly, but there appeared to be no one there, that was until Illya looked down. There standing at his feet was a young dark-haired boy, with the bluest of eyes, the color of which the Russian instantly recognized.
“Hello,” he greeted the toddler in Arabic, though the youngster remained silent.
“That is all right, I was shy when I was your age.” Illya knelt down, as he spoke.
“Safir!” A familiar woman’s voice called. “How many times have I told you not to…” She stopped in mid-sentence, her hand covering her mouth.
“Hello Anucis, may I come in.” Illya stood, bowing his head to her.
“Illya...yes, ummmm, of course you can.” She picked up the boy, holding him close to her. She seemed unfazed that he’d found her, and the Russian supposed she expected him to eventually do so.
“Is this…?”
“Yes he is your son.” She said it without emotion. “His name is Safir Ilyas Sakr. Safir for the color of his eyes, and your name in Arabic.”
“Thank you for that. It was kind of you.”
“It is only right. A boy should at least have his father’s name. Come Illya, join me in the garden for tea?”
He followed after her, noting she had become even more beautiful than the last time they’d seen each other.
As they sat beneath a shaded trellis, sipping their mint tea; watching Safir play at their feet. It was then Illya finally asked the question.
“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
She brushed back her long dark hair with a flick of her hand, inhaling deeply before she spoke.
“You told me that if there were a child then you would help support it ...but you could not be with me. That was something your life would not allow.”*
“Yes those were my words, but perhaps I might…”
“Illya,” she placed her fingers against his lips. “Do not let the sight of the child change your mind. I know what kind of man you are, and the important job you do.”
He felt her fingers touch him and he was filled with a tingling sensation. Taking her by the wrist, Illya kissed her palm. Their eyes met, and just as if no time had passed between them, he pulled her to him and kissed her; the taste of her lips calling up the memories of the day they’d made love to each other in his hotel room...not that abomination at the Isis temple back in Egypt.
Anucis pulled back, scooping up the child into her arms. “It is time for his nap.”
She returned shortly, dressed in a diaphanous robe and led the Russian to her bedroom, and there they made love again, unable to resist the attraction they still felt for each other.
Illya remained with her and the child for several days, but finally he had to leave, and she sensed it. He knew what he felt for the woman was passion and lust, but not love. He couldn’t have a life with her and the boy for that reason. Still it was a two way street as Napoleon liked to say. Anucis did not want him.
He tried offering her money to support her and his son but the woman refused.
“We have done fine on our own.” She still had her pride.
“But I wish to do the right thing. Will you not let me at least send you money each month? If not for support, then put it aside for the boy’s education.”
“Perhaps you will meet a good man and marry someday. A boy needs a father you know.”
“I will tell Safir tales of his brave Russian father,” she smiled.
“Thank you, but that is not the same.”
“I know. I promise your son will be brought up to be a fine young man, but I ask that this be the last time you see him or me again.”
Illya felt a tightening in his chest at such a final rejection, but he would honor her wishes. He said goodbye to them both, and disappeared down the dusty street into the crowds, never to be seen by them again.
“Farewell my beloved Ilyas, God go with you.” Anucis Sakr whispered..
.
Napoleon Solo looked up from his desk as his partner entered their office.
“Welcome home chum. How was your vacation?”
“Delightful. The ski slopes in Switzerland were full of snowbunnies….you would have been in your glory.” Kuryakin sat down at his desk, noting the stack of folders that had piled up in his absence.
“Really, do tell,” Napoleon thought that remark very out of character for his partner, and suspected the man was lying about something. Though others couldn’t sense such things with the Russian; Solo had gotten to know him better than anyone and had developed an instinct for these things with Illya.
“So up to your neck in past due reports I see,” Illya glanced at the American’s desk.
“Yeah, what can I say. I missed you buddy.”
“Why thank you my friend. It is good to be needed if only in a small way. He suddenly found that song from so long ago drifting though his head. *
"See the pyramids along the Nile, watch the sunrise from a tropic isle. Just remember darling all the while....you belong to me. See the market place in old Algiers. Send me photographs and souveniers. Just remember when a dream appears, you belong to me. I'd be so alone without you, maybe you'd be lonesome too and blue..."
Illya had someone who finally belonged to him, yet didn't. Still the knowledge there was another of the Kuryakin bloodline in this world did his heart good. He was no longer that last and that would have to sustain him.
Napoleon stared as his partner for a moment, thinking Illya's remark rather cryptic, but for once he decided it was best not to pursue it...for now. He'd get his answer another day, no doubt.
* ref "The See the Pyramids along the Nile Affair.
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I worked it out, and the logistics of getting them to Ireland forced me to make the story even longer. I think it ended up being one of my better Illya/angst stories though. But whew, what a job getting them across the pond!