Non Challenge Fic - The Reluctant Traitor Affair Part 3

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

This is only about halfway up to where I was expecting this part to end, but it started to get long, so I figured I'd split it here.

Part one was here, part two was here

The Reluctant Traitor Affair Part 3

His heart was pounding in his chest as he followed Nick out to the car. Kurt was already there, scowling to see the guns still in Illya's hands. “What happened?” Kurt demanded.

“Slight change of plans,” Nick explained urbanely. “There are two UNCLE agents back there who are very angry with our new recruit here. We really need to get out of here sharpish.”

“Or we could just put a bullet in Kuryakin's head and move on with our lives,” Kurt answered.

“That is not my preferred option,” Illya said, glancing over his shoulder. “Slate will be out for a while, but Dancer will be right behind us. She is very persistent.”

“Do you really trust him?” Kurt demanded, ignoring Illya completely.

“We can argue about it later,” Nick said, deflecting the question entirely. Illya took careful note of the dynamic between them; it didn't seem as though either man thought himself in charge which, if he was careful, left clear room for him.

“We really do not have time for this,” he said, pulling out his communicator and ID and making a point of tossing them carelessly into the dumpster. “Wherever we are going I, for one, have no wish to be followed.” He patted himself down hurriedly as though seeking out a tracking device, and he was surprised at the flash of relief when he didn't find one. None of this was real, remember...except April and Mark's reaction had been real enough. He was a traitor now. He had to remember that. He had to believe that, or else he was a dead man. Without waiting for their reaction, he got into the back of the car. “Let us go.”

Thankfully they followed his lead, Nick driving and Kurt in the front seat. “Shouldn't we blindfold him if we're taking him to Rex?” Kurt demanded, twisting round to look at him.

“There is no point,” Illya answered coolly before Nick got the chance. “Either I will be one of you, or else you shall have the joy of shooting me in the head. Either way, I am not going to be telling anyone where we are going.”

“Exactly,” Nick said, glancing in the rearview mirror and flashing him a pleased smile. “And let me say, I'm hoping for the former here.”

“Thank you,” he said seriously.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. There were all sorts of questions he was desperate to ask, but asking too much too quickly would make him look suspicious. He was not home and safe yet. And were he prizing his own survival before all other concerns, that would be all that mattered to him, after all.

Unbidden, the image of April's face, eyes bright with hatred and rage came to his head. She would have called in a report by now. Mr Waverly would have issued an alert to all personnel, to hesitate in doing so would be beyond suspicious. He assumed that the order would be to capture, not kill, but then he hadn't been told that Mark and April were going to be at the bar tonight. Mr Waverly had trusted him to find his own way out of the situation, and he couldn't argue that had given the whole thing an air of realism. But perhaps Mr Waverly might trust him to avoid a kill order as well. Either way there would be UNCLE agents – his former friends – coming after him. And as little as he wished to be shot, the alternative was worse. Mark was going to be fine; he'd wake up with nothing more than a slight headache. From now on....well. THRUSH did not use sleep darts.

He had to push all this from his mind. No regrets, no looking back, no compassion. He was cold and he was ruthless and more importantly he always had been.

They stopped at a large house on the outskirts of Westchester. “Very nice,” he said. “I especially appreciate the machine gun placement above the door.

Nick laughed. “We must conceal that better. We get a lot of problems with door-to-door-salesmen, you know. They're a scourge on modern society. Now, just step into the lobby and let Kurt and I search you properly.”

He did and stood impassively as they removed the guns, the incendiary device hidden in his watch, the knife in his shoe and his explosive money clip. They missed his buttons, but they were little more than flash-bangs, which also did the important job of holding his jacket shut. They also missed the pills Mr Waverly had given him, now safely concealed in a bottle of aspirin and that he could breathe a sigh of relief over.

“I'm sorry about this,” Nick said apologetically. “It's nothing personal. I want to believe you, I really do, but if I'm wrong about you, I would hate to be the one standing in front of my superiors going 'Well, I didn't bother searching the UNCLE agent because he seemed like a nice guy.'”

“I do not believe anyone has ever referred to me as a 'nice guy' before,” he said.

“Well, you've never joined an international criminal organisation before, have you?” Nick pointed out. “It's a day of firsts. I think we're ready. Come on.”

He noticed that Nick and Kurt took up flanking positions, just behind him, their hands resting on their guns. Whatever Nick was saying, he was walking in here looking like a prisoner.

It was a large, dimly-lit room with a fireplace in one corner, and a long table down the middle. At the head, there was a slightly raised platform area and that was where Rex was sitting in a chair that while it wasn't throne-like in appearance, was undoubtedly so in placement. He was an older man, perhaps mid-sixties with thick grey hair and a hawkish nose, and the stare coming Illya's way was gimlet sharp. Lucie was standing just beside him, her hand resting familiarly on his arm.

“So,” Rex said, after a pause that had stretched on just a little too long for comfort. “This is the UNCLE agent that has all my people in such a flutter. It's funny. I thought you would be taller.”

“I get that a lot,” he said dryly. “It's good to meet you, sir.”

“Mmm, perhaps.” Rex continued to study him. “My girl here tells me that UNCLE already knows that you have betrayed them. So all the information I could have obtained from you is useless before we've even began. So tell me, Mr UNCLE agent. Why should I want to keep you around?”

Ah. He was certain that Lucie hadn't been in the bar tonight, which suggested that she had obtained the information from UNCLE itself. So she was probably the contact for Mrs Golding and whoever else were caught up in this trap – and they almost certainly had a way of contacting her with information.

And that was interesting and worth knowing, but perhaps of less immediate importance than him surviving the next five minutes.

He looked again at the organisation of the room. The table, the throne, this confrontation...Rex seemed inclined to live up to his soubriquet. More than likely a dramatic gesture would appeal to him. And Illya was excellent at dramatic gestures.

In one swift movement, he threw his elbows back, catching both Nick and Kurt squarely in the solar plexus, and as they doubled up, he punched first one then the other in the throat, grabbing their guns as they fell to the floor.

The whole thing had taken mere seconds, and he advanced towards Rex, tucking Kurt's gun into the back of his pants and reversing Nick's so he was holding it by the barrel, extending it towards Rex.

“I was never offering information,” he said. “I was offering my services and my loyalty. And nothing about that has changed.”

Lucie ran frantically towards a button on the wall and pressed it, and instantly alarms started blaring.

Illya paid no heed. Rex was still just watching him, and as he reached the platform he knelt, reaching up and pressing the gun into Rex's hand and leaning forwards until the barrel was resting directly on his forehead.

“I have already lost everything tonight,” he said earnestly. “My life is in your hands. Kill me if you will – it will at least be quicker than the fate UNCLE has in store for me. But spare me, and I will be your man. I shall serve you faithfully for as long as I am able.”

The gun was cold against his skin. Rex's eyes were dark and contemplative, and for a long moment, Illya wasn't sure what was going to happen. He had placed all his money on this single hand.

Behind him, he heard a door slam over and several men run in and come to a stop. “Wait!” Lucie said to them imperiously. “You are too slow.”

He stayed, still kneeling, gazing up at Rex and waiting.

Finally, Rex laughed, taking the gun away. “Well said,” he said. “I do like a man who does not beg for his life. What do you all think?”

“He is tricky,” Lucie said and Illya could hear the scowl in her voice. “But I think he might be worth it. If we're careful.”

He turned his head a little and saw Nick and Kurt were slowly getting to their feet. Three boiler-suited guards were standing behind them. The ones that responded to the alarm, he supposed.

“I saw the way those UNCLE agents were looking at him tonight,” Nick said, rubbing his throat, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I think he's on the level. He's got nowhere else to turn.”

“Yeah, and he left those UNCLE agents alive,” Kurt pointed out harshly. “If he really wanted to prove himself he should have killed them.”

Quickly, Illya looked back to Rex and made a show of rolling his eyes. “Had I killed them then, I would be placed right at the top of the hit list,” he said. “There would be a large-scale coordinated man hunt for me and they would not stop until they had me. My hope is that in avoiding killing them in my escape, once the initial reaction to my betrayal wears off, I shall be just another THRUSH operative as far as UNCLE is concerned. To be captured or killed, certainly, but not worth throwing resources away for. After all, I am no use to you if I must be constantly looking over my shoulder.”

“A very reasonable argument,” Rex said benevolently. He reached out and rested his hand on Illya's head, as though offering benediction. “Very well. We will accept you into our little family for now.”

The touch sent a cold shudder down his spine. He gave no reaction except a slight, cold smile. “Thank you,” he said, getting to his feet cautiously.

“And now, I believe I will retire to bed,” Rex announced, standing up himself and passing Illya back the gun. “This evening's entertainment has now concluded. Nick, you may make Illya comfortable tonight. Our official welcome will begin tomorrow.”

He left, and the guards left shortly after.

Illya watched them go. “How many of us are there?” he asked.

“Well, the three of us – four of us, now – are Rex's main agents,” Nick said, walking up beside him. “Beyond that, there are eight guards who handle security and low level operations. You know the sort of thing. They're good men, all carefully chosen, and all desperate to advance. You coming in here and walking straight into a position they covet is sure to make you popular.”

“Popularity has never troubled me,” he said.

“I'm sure.” Nick looked at him thoughtfully. “May I have my gun back now?”

“Of course,” he said, handing it over immediately. “And I am sorry about..” He gestured to Nick's throat with a grimace of apology.

“Think nothing of it,” Nick said with a shrug. “Nothing personal, I understand. You had to make your point. Now, may I have the clip as well?”

He blinked, caught off guard. There was no way Nick could have seen that.

“You palmed the clip before you ever gave the gun to Rex,” Nick said with a warm, patient smile. “You are an intelligent man, Illya. Do not make the mistake of thinking the rest of us are idiots.”

Slowly, he returned the smile, and he reached up his sleeve and dropped the clip into Nick's outstretched hand. “I am doing this in an attempt to survive,” he reminded Nick. “It would not make much sense to give someone a loaded gun to point at my head. Will you tell Rex?”

“Where would be the point in that?” Nick asked easily. “Now, I believe I owe you a steak, if you're still hungry?”

“Starving,” he agreed frankly. It was the truth, and he suspected that talking casually over some food could get him more information than any more obvious questioning.

“Great,” Nick grinned. “I make a mean steak. Lucie, Kurt, do you want to join us?”

“Yes please,” Lucie agreed, and Kurt just grunted an affirmative. He walked up to Illya and held out his hand for his gun, and even as Illya handed it over he could see all the distrust in the man's eyes. Here at least was someone who did not believe him. Oh, well. He had been planning on watching his back anyway.

Nick wasn't lying about his cooking skills. The steak was easily among the best Illya had tasted. They ate around the kitchen table in a room that was warm and oddly homely, right down to the cross-stitch scene of ducks in a pond hanging just above the door.

“We don't have any vodka I'm afraid, but would you like a beer?” Nick asked him.

“Thank you,” he agreed, accepting the offered bottle.

“If there is anything you particularly want, there's a shopping list taped to the fridge,” Nick said, pointing with a spatula. “Snacks, booze, toiletries... as long as it's nothing too extravagant, no one will quibble. Lucie goes through a box of Godiva chocolates a week, don't you, darling?” He smiled at Lucie in a way that was suspiciously warm.

Lucie just rolled her eyes at him. “You'll find that THRUSH provide for most of your needs, Kuryakin,” she said.

“Please,” he said. “Call me Illya.” Everyone here seemed to be on first name terms. He had best join in. “So do you all live in the house?” he asked curiously.

“We do,” Nick agreed. “Rex likes us close by and close together. He finds it helps bind a team together.”

Interesting set-up. Perhaps that was why this satrap had been off their radar – concentrated together like this there was less chance of any weak links.

He took a long swig of beer, and ignored the creeping horror in the back of his mind. He was sitting, drinking beer and relaxing with three THRUSH agents. “So,” he said brightly. “Is it too early for me to ask exactly what it is we do here without arousing your suspicions?”

“Yes,” Kurt growled, but Lucie placed a hand on his arm warningly.

“It's a fair question,” she pointed out. “If Illya is going to be one of us, he's going to need to know what we're doing sooner or later.” She turned to look at him. “We're something of a support team,” she explained. “If another satrap needs information or a particular resource, they can come to us and we have the means of getting it.”

“The means?” he asked casually, cutting his steak.

“We have a great many people we can call on,” she said with a smile of pleasure. “Some of them are even your former workmates. And all of them will do our bidding whether they want to or not.”

“Mental conditioning?” he asked, frowning. “That's a bit risky on a large scale, isn't it?”

Kurt snorted. “Typical UNCLE thinking,” he said. “Always going for the most complicated option.”

“It's less messy than that, thankfully,” Nick said, with a look at Kurt. “And that's not our only option either. We often take a more direct route to getting the information we need. Don't worry, Illya, you'll find plenty of ways to use those skills you were telling me about.”

No mention of the children. Not even a hint he could plausibly seize upon. And certainly there'd been no sign of them so far. Reluctantly, he decided not to push too hard right now. As much as he needed answers, he couldn't risk raising their suspicions so soon.

“That's good,” he said, raising his beer as if in a toast. “I hate getting bored.”

“To excitement, then,” Nick said, clinking his beer against Illya's, his lips twitching.

The kitchen door opened suddenly, and one of the guards – a bear of a man – strode in, glowering at Illya. He looked familiar....

“What is it, Williamson?” Nick asked impatiently.

Williamson only had eyes for Illya. “So it is you,” he snarled. “Remember me? Six months ago, in the diamond district? You knocked me on the head and stole my uniform.”

Ah, yes. Of course.

There was a pause. Lucie looked the guard over and then frowned at Illya, looking him up and down. “I must admit,” she said slowly. “I fail to see how that would work.”

“Badly,” he said dryly. “Very badly indeed.” He thought of Napoleon telling stories against himself to get the right sort of chuckle. That might just help here. He smiled ruefully at the guard. “If it is any consolation, Williamson, once I had your uniform on, I tripped over the legs on the stairs and very nearly knocked myself out slamming my head against the wall.”

The glare lessened slightly in the face of no hostility.

“I wish I had seen that,” Nick chuckled.

Illya remembered wishing Napoleon hadn't seen that. “To be fair to myself,” he said with dignity. “I was already concussed before I began. And the leader of the satrap in question apparently had a thing for tall, muscular guards, which did make it very difficult to find a uniform that fitted.”

Kurt snorted. “So sorry that we made things inconvenient for you.”

He waved a hand. “Not quite inconvenient enough. Which, since it led to us all sitting together, enjoying this fine food, does not strike me as immensely problematic.”

“I'll drink to that,” Nick said, raising his bottle again, and this time Lucie joined him, the smile apparent in her eyes, and a second later, Kurt grudgingly joined in as well. “To our new recruit.”

These people were responsible for kidnapping children. These people had made Nicola Golding's life a living hell, and countless others along with her.

He smiled at them and drank.

It was late when Nick showed him to a warm and comfortable bedroom on the second floor. There was a double bed with a cheerful floral bedspread, a desk, a small bookcase with what looked like a mix of classics and cheap paperbacks, and a large oak wardrobe.

“You can furnish it however you like,” Nick told him. “But I hope this will do for the moment.”

“It is very nice,” Illya said honestly. “I have lived in many places not nearly as comfortable. Thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure,” Nick said. “I'll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed.

He chose not to go looking for surveillance devices. Whether they were there or not made little difference in the end. He kicked off his shoes and dry-swallowed one of the pills from the aspirin bottle. They were apparently good for twelve hours and he'd taken one just before the bar tonight. So far he hadn't needed them, but he was walking through a minefield here, and there was no such thing as safe ground.

After a second, he turned the light off and lay on top of the bed, staring into the darkness, his fingernails digging lightly into the palms of his hands.

Napoleon...what in the world am I doing here?

*

It was now twelve hours since the world had absolutely stopped making sense, and April still felt like she was running to try and catch up.

Illya was a traitor. Illya was working for THRUSH. No matter how many times she said it in her head, it remained an impossible shock. She had stood and watched Illya stand in front of her and coldly threaten Mark's life like it meant nothing to him, and it still felt like a ridiculous nightmare.

She'd never seen Mr Waverly so coldly furious as when they'd reported in to him. His eyes had blazed with anger and disappointment, but his voice had been entirely expressionless when he'd given the order that Illya should now be regarded as an enemy combatant, with everything that implied. If she had only heard him, she might have thought it meant nothing to him at all.

And as she and Mark had recounted everything that had gone on in that meeting, it had been difficult to repeat all the reasons Illya had given for his betrayal. Everything that was waiting for him in the USSR...she couldn't forgive him for joining THRUSH, but at the same time, how could Mr Waverly have been willing to hand him over for that? But Mr Waverly had just brushed through all the horror as though it was nothing – he seemed much more interested in what Illya had described as his 'price'. Not that he'd dwelled on that either, but she'd seen a flicker of surprise – or something – in his eyes that made her wonder.

Last week, Illya had been her tennis partner. Now, the next time she saw him she was going to be trying her very best to capture him, and that was only because she wasn't entirely sure she trusted herself to kill him.

“How did this happen?” she whispered.

Mark looked round at her, and she could see the misery, equal to her own, beneath his mask of professionalism. “I don't know,” he said. “But we need to focus here.”

Of course. Their obvious next step; tear apart the traitor's apartment looking for clues, or who knew what.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting. Maybe that everything had been packed up in readiness, but actually, as far as she could tell, having never been here before, everything was undisturbed. She looked around curiously, and really, she supposed this was probably what she would have expected. The furniture was sparse and utilitarian, but everything was very clean and neat. An ancient record player and three mismatched bookshelves piled high with books were a reminder of Illya's interests. About the only decoration in the place was an abstract painting on the wall – stark, severe lines of colour that didn't seem to represent anything to her eyes. A birthday present from Napoleon, she remembered, swallowing hard. The artist had been someone he and Illya had rescued as part of an assignment, and Illya had admired the man's work and so Napoleon had secretly commissioned something from him. She remembered again the pleasure Napoleon had taken in the delight in his partner's eyes when he'd seen the gift – it was about the only way Napoleon had been forgiven for organising that surprise party.

She couldn't afford to think about that now. She couldn't think of who she'd thought her friend had been, only what he'd shown himself to be.

Mark gave a low whistle. “Look at this,” he said, calling her over to the kitchen.

Oh. She found herself looking down at the remains of four surveillance bugs, all of which had been thoroughly crushed with a hammer. Carefully, she picked through them. “These three are Russian designed,” she said slowly. “I assume the KGB planted them. This one....” She looked up at Mark and stared unhappily. “This is one of ours, isn't it?”

“It certainly looks that way,” Mark agreed. “I suppose Mr Waverly must have had more suspicions than he was willing to share with us.”

God. She couldn't believe it.

“Do you think that's why he was handing Illya back to the Soviets?” Mark asked in a hushed voice.

She shook her head slowly. “I don't know,” she said. “It's just....oh, darling, none of this makes sense.”

“I know,” Mark said, swiping his hand across his face. “You know the worst part? When he was telling that THRUSH bastard why he was doing this, I felt so angry for him. If he'd just chosen to run, I don't know that I'd have tried too hard to look for him.”

No. Neither would she. But he hadn't; he'd thrown his lot in with THRUSH, even knowing everything that they did, even after so many years fighting back their monstrous plots, and that wasn't something she could forgive or understand. “Let's get on with it, darling,” she said crisply.

They tore the place apart, not bothering to be neat. This wasn't a stealth operation, after all and it was extremely unlikely that Illya would be returning to his apartment. They found an assortment of weapons, a block of plastic explosives, and a medicine cabinet full of prescriptions filled by medical and then apparently rarely taken, but other than the surveillance devices, nothing that was truly unexpected.

“There's nothing here,” Mark said, as he finished checking inside Illya's guitar.

“No,” she agreed, dropping the last of the books back onto the shelf. “After all, it did sound like tonight was first meeting with them from everything they said.”

“Yes....” Mark looked round as if making sure they weren't going to be overheard. “April, can you really believe Illya's a traitor?” he asked, soft and intent.

She looked at him for a long moment and bit her lip. “I don't know,” she said honestly. “I don't want to believe it, but everything we heard tonight....it does make sense.” An awful kind of sense, but sense nonetheless. “The way I see it though, darling, there are only two possible options here. Either Illya was never the person we thought he was - “

“ - or else he is,” Mark finished, his face grim. “And that means - “

“ - hush,” she said, placing a finger firmly on his lips. “Don't even think it.”

Mark nodded understandingly.

If, by some chance, Illya was undercover right now, there was only one reason she could think of for Mr Waverly not telling them. And if UNCLE was compromised, they needed to act as though they believed one hundred and fifty percent that Illya had betrayed them all.

And if Illya had betrayed them...well. She knew how that had to end.



On to part 4!

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Another cracking chapter. I have a feeling that Mark and April are going to complicate matters for all concerned.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks - well, they don't even quite suspect the truth at the moment, they're just willing to admit in private that it's a possibility, so mostly they're going to be following Mr Waverly's lead. But it didn't seem likely that they would just accept everything at face value.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Another exciting and well developed chapter. A great line here: "And Illya was excellent at dramatic gestures."

The scene with Kuryakin taking down Nick and Kurt, followed by him kneeling and offering the gun and his services to Rex was chilling.

Looking forward to the next installment!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you - he is very dramatic, isn't he?

Glad you like that scene - I thought it would be effective, but while I was writing it, I couldn't help imagining how it would sound in a mission report. Think it would lead to a certain amount of "You did what?"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Ah, but just like creative license in writing, things can be left out of mission reports or reworded. I'm sure Illya will dance around that incident and leave out the dramatic flair. "D

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Another very fine chapter. I can imagine Mark and April considering all the possibilities, including Illya's being undercover. Folding my hands, waiting for more.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it. There might be a slightly longer gap before the next part, I'm trying to think of things to write for the other challenges this week. :)

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

I'll admit I was terrified when Illya that gun was pointed at his head. Kurt's going to be trouble, I think. Keep those chapters coming please.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thank you, glad you're still enjoying it. Kurt's certainly not going to be helpful anyway. :)