"The really unexpected affair"chapter 15 (part two) the conclusion.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Link to Part One Chapter 15

The following morning the Vouchsafe docked;  Maude and Cavendish were met by Compton in the rolls, and their return to the estate was a happy event.

After the excitement died, Napoleon answered Maude’s many questions about what happened, though he omitted Charles’ involvement. That would be Kensington’s problem, and then there was of course the chat that remained to happen between him and Alexander Waverly.

Napoleon cringed at the thought of that, as he was sure the Old Man was going to read Charles the riot act.

Still, the job was done here, and it was time to head back to the States, however, at Maude’s insistence, they were instructed to stay until Saturday for the Bishop’s visit.

She wanted a full table, with she and Charles, Bibi, Amelia, Vicar Heaton, Bishop Atkinson as well as Napoleon and Illya; that would make for a nice social gathering.

“No arguments now,” Uncle Alexander approved it,” she wagged her finger at Solo.

“Who am I to question the wisdom of your Uncle my dear?” Napoleon smiled at her.

Saturday evening arrived at last, as did most of the guests. Bibi and Amelia, were escorted into the drawing room by Solo and a slightly limping Kuryakin, still relying on a cane. Illya had insisted he come downstairs to greet the ladies in spite of his infirmity; both he and Napoleon looked resplendent in their tuxedos.

“Oh Mr. Kuryakin,” Amelia held tight to his arm.”I heard you had a dreadful riding accident. I was once thrown and couldn’t bear the idea of getting astride a horse after that. It worried me sick and still does.

“Your Ladyship, one must always get up when one has been knocked down. Here is an interesting philosophy to consider...‘there are only two things to worry about, either you are well or you are sick. Now if you are well then there is nothing to worry about. If you are sick there are two things to worry about. Either you will get well or you will die. If you get well, there is nothing to worry about. If you die, it is said you will either go to heaven or hell. If you go to heaven, there is again, nothing to worry about. However, if you go to hell you will be so busy shaking hands with your friends ...you will not have time to worry.’

“My goodness, how insightful. Dostoevsky?”

Illya gave her a sly, half smile. “No, Dunphy. It is apparently an old wise Irish saying...Seanfhocail, I believed she called it..”

“Ohhh?” Amelia nodded, slightly taken aback by his answer. Her snobbery was showing.”The cook told you this?”

“Yes Madam.”

“Imagine that, such words of wisdom coming from a mere…”

Illya flashed her a warning glance. Lady Amelia was an attractive woman, but her attitude was a real turn off.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I do apologize. I need to stop thinking like that don’t I? Our dear Maude has tried to tutor me on being more open minded….can you forgive my ignorance Mr. Kuryakin?”

“That Lady Amelia is a start and please, call me Illya?” He flashed her a soulful blue-eyed look.

“Illya, that’s a lovely name,”she smiled, sipping her flute of champagne. “What does it mean again?”

“It is the Russian version of Elijah.”

“Ah, Elijah the prophet from the Old Testament.” She seemed pleased with herself that she knew that.

“ I am not a religious man, but Elijah was a prophet of God whose name meant ‘my God is the Lord.’ I was actually named after a Jewish man called Elijah who once saved my father’s life. * Like his namesake, Elijah was at times bold and decisive and at other times fearful and tentative, and I learned much from him as a child, as I did my father. Sadly they both were killed during the war.” *

“But it sounds as though you were given a great legacy from them through your name?” She smiled at him,”that is quite a gift.”

“Yes, it has served as a reminder to me all my life.”

“Illya I am enjoying our conversation very much...how much longer are you planning to stay?”

“V gostyakh khorosho, a doma luchshe,” he spoke to her in Russian, translating it,” Visiting is good, but home is better. Hopefully Napoleon and I will be returning to New York after the Bishop’s visit today, whenever that is?” He looked at his watch, noting it the special guest was late.

Illya hoped his stomach wouldn’t start to growl. He’d gotten used to Mrs. Dunphy’s generous meals that arrived on a regular time schedule.

“It must be so marvelous to speak another language, “Amelia sighed.

“I tried learning French once but I think my tutor was too busy talking about wine and cheese among other things. I was rather young at the time and didn’t quite understand the nuances...well, sadly he was more interested in mother, than tutoring me.”

“And your father, if I may ask?”

“He passed when I was a young girl.”

“My condolences,”Illya nodded. “Hmm, I speak French, perhaps I could give you some lessons, among other things, say in the garden after dinner.”

“Oh? Ohhh?” Lady Amelia giggled.” That would be lovely.”

Napoleon was wiling away the time with the Baroness, but was a much faster worker that his Soviet partner. Bibi would be spending the night, and Solo had already made arrangements to visit her room with more champagne, and a supply of fresh strawberries.

Glancing over at Illya, he had a feeling the Russian was making his own plans with Lady Amelia, so the women staying at the estate this evening was rather convenient. It was good to see Kuryakin finally chilling out, and enjoying the company of a pretty woman, even if she was a bit bourgeois in Illya’s opinion.

Cavendish entered the room, approaching Maude and discreetly announced dinner was ready to be served.

“Oh, well our guests of honor haven’t arrived yet. We’ll give them a few more minutes,” she whispered. “I’m sure Mrs. Dunphy has everything under control. She does, doesn't she?"

“Yes Madam. The filet mignon is rare just as you requested, and the pheasant is near done to perfection...Mrs. Dunphy's words."

Five minutes later the doorbell rang, and the clergymen’s arrival was announced.

Stepping from behind Cavendish was the portly Rector Heaton.

“I do apologize for our tardiness but we had a bit of car trouble. Perhaps one of your men could have a look at that confounded machine...oh please, beg pardon for my language."

A man standing beside him cleared his throat, calling attention to himself.

“Oh yes quite, please let me introduce Bishop Atkinson. This is Mr. and Mrs. Kensington our hosts, the Baroness Bibi Wentworth and Lady Amelia Gladstone, ahhh yes, Mr. Solo from America... and I’m sorry but I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” He looked at Illya, extending his hand in greeting.

Kuryakin was looking right past the man, staring instead at the bishop, scrutinizing the older man’s face. The bishop merely nodded his greeting, shaking hands while saying nothing.

“I’m sorry my friend Mr. Kuryakin here is a man of few words,” Napoleon stepped in.

“Oh not a problem, I can be a man of few words myself from time to time mind you unless it’s a topic that really interests me, which I’m afraid are many. I’ve always had an insatiable curiosity and it isn't often that I get the opportunity to engage in real conversation. My duties at the parish take me to other topics with my parishioners...giving a eulogy at funerals doesn't exactly allow one to make casual conversation now does it?"The Vicar prattled on. making Maude and the other ladies discreetly hide their laughter behind their hands.

Napoleon sensed something was off as he continued glanced again at his partner. There was nothing unusual about the bishop; he certainly didn't recognize the man. Maybe it was his imagination. Illya wasn't always comfortable in such social situations, perhaps it was that?

“Madam, dinner is served,” Cavendish interrupted with his announcement.

“Excellent, I’m sure we’re all famished," Maude smiled."Please everyone if you'll segue to the dining room; we have a lovely dinner awaiting you all."

The guests followed after her and Charles and were seated at the large oak dining table, set with fine porcelain dishes, and silverware, elegantly lit with a pair of sterling candelabras. Everything was perfect, and the look in Maude's eyes said it all. She was happy.

Napoleon was glad she was able to feel that way after all the uproar THRUSH had caused. Charles was in his environment, playing the gracious host, and with Maude at his side all was finally well with the world. It was nice to have a pleasant end to such an unpleasant business.

After the Vicar said the blessing, the usual dinner chatter ensued as a spectacular repast was served. Mrs. Dunphy had out done herself as usual. Though the conversation became quite sparse as everyone ate and drank.

“Charles, I meant to ask you something,” Napoleon said as his wine glass was refilled. “You have quite a collection of hunting rifles...even an elephant gun if I’m not mistaken, but I haven’t seen any hunting trophies here. Yet I recall you said you were going on a hunting trip when we first arrived.”

Charles laughed, “That was a mistake on my part, which I still must discuss with my darling wife. To be precise, I’m not a hunter Napoleon, my grandfather and father were. There used to be quite a number of trophies here, boars, deer heads...antlers and such, but it never interested me.  Maude found them rather disturbing, so I had them banished to a local hunting lodge. The trophies of old now grace their walls.”

“I was never one for hunting myself either,” Napoleon agreed.

“At home,”Illya joined in the conversation,” my father taught me to hunt at a very young age, though it was never for sport. It was for survival, to put food on the table and feed the family. I find this keeping of trophies rather abhorrent. Animals were not put here for the whim of mankind."

“And Bishop Atkinson, what are your feelings on hunting?” Charles spoke up, trying to get their guest of honor to join in the conversation. The man had been silent until now, simply nodding as he was spoken to.

“I have a fascination with it. There is a certain thrill in the hunt, and the trophies, if they are done well, can be part of an interesting study into the mechanics of a once living creature. I am still amazed how everything interacts. Magnificent thing, a living body. I think put here on this earth by God for us to use as we sees fit.”  The bishop swallowed a mouthful of wine.

"That sounds more like a scientist talking that a man of the cloth," Maude said.

“I must compliment your cook Mr. and Mrs. Kensington," the Vicar interrupted.”This meal is absolutely sumptuous. Being a member of the clergy my meals are more subdued than this, boiled beef, cabbage and such. I dare say...though to look at my waistline one wouldn’t think such a thing,” he chortled while patting is stomach.

“Bishop Atkinson,” Napoleon spoke up.“How do you feel about children by the way?”

“Children...why do you ask about ch-children?”

Charles’ eyes widened as the bishop seemed to stutter. He hesitated before saying it... “Now I know your voice!.”

“As do I,” Napoleon quickly drew his gun from its holster.”You’re the man in the shadows, from the the warehouse.”

“What are you babbling on about Mr. Solo?” The bishop dabbed his perspiring brow with his napkin.  “I have no idea what you are talking about my good man. Kindly cease pointing that gun at me? Kensington is this how you allow your guests to be treated?”

“It is you!” Illya suddenly barked, as drove himself up from his chair, sending it backwards to the floor. He drew his gun as well and aimed it with a trembling hand at the bishop.

“Illya, how would you know...you weren't there,” Napoleon asked.

“He may be the man you think he is, but he is more than that. He has haunted my dreams since I was a child, but I am a child no more….Herr Doktor!”  The Russian’s hand continued to tremble as he prepared to shoot.

“Illya! Don’t!” Solo barked.

Kuryakin’s eyes reddened as they welled up with tears.

“He is the Nazi who tortured and killed so many in the… concentration camp.” That very private memory he blurted out; one he’d only shared with his partner.

”You are the butcher of Sryets and you will pay for what you did to us!”

“You are mad man!” The bishop was trembling now. “Someone stop him...he isss mistaken!” The man’s accent suddenly changed, sounding more German than British.

“Do you not remember me Herr Doktor?” Illya spoke through gritted teeth, practically growling the only name by which he knew the man.

“I was the one who was your prized subject, the boy who survived all your heinous experiments! The boy from Kyiv.”

“You? It is you..” The man’s astonishment gave himself away as he stood. He reached inside his coat, no doubt for his own gun.

Illya stiffened his arm, holding it out straight, and pulling the trigger; he watched as Herr Doktor collapsed across the dinner table.

Napoleon grabbed his partner by the shoulders, supporting him as he staggered backwards. He gently relieved Illya of his gun, as the others looked on in horror.

“I only darted him,” the Russian whispered.

“I know, now take it easy partner. Things have just gotten a bit more complicated... Don’t worry everyone, he’s not dead, .just asleep. Mr. Kuryakin shot him with a sleep inducing dart.”

Maude hung at her husband’s side, relieved the bishop was unhurt, but stared at Charles with demanding eyes.  He would have to explain more than he had about what had happened at that warehouse.

She found her voice. “Cavendish if you would please show everyone to their rooms, I think Mr. Solo and Kuryakin will need some privacy in taking care of this,” she clapped her hands, getting the stunned butler’s attention.

“Beg pardon Madam. Yes, if everyone would please follow me upstairs?”

The Rector was quite shaken, and babbling as he left the room, unsure of what had taken place and why the Bishop was being accused of such terrible acts. He’d known the man for nearly twenty-five years and thought him to be a man of God.

“Everything will be explained in due time,” Napoleon said, as he hurried the Vicar along, out of the room behind the others, and closed the doors behind them.

Solo opened his communicator, contacting Alexander Waverly.”

“The devil you say Mr. Solo. A Nazi war criminal?”

“Yes sir, according to Mr. Kuryakin, the man was responsible for performing unspeakable experiments on prisoners in a camp just outside of Kiev. I presume you are aware of this in Illya’s background?”

“Yes, it’s part of his secure dossier. No one was to know.”

“He did tell me sir, in confidence.”

“Very well. I will make arrangements to have this so-called Bishop picked up...we don’t even know his real name do we?”

“No, only that he was referred to as Herr Doktor.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, you are sure of this?” Waverly asked.

Illya, feeling calmer, leaned towards the communicator.

“I am certain of it sir. There are a few survivors of the camp still alive who can also verify this is the man. I now suspect the notebook we found at the satrap was his, dating back to the time he was in Sryets. Perhaps there will be references to me as a child in it, another link to prove his guilt.”

Napoleon chimed in…”Not to mention, that I’m positive he’s a member of the THRUSH Council who came to oversee Dr. Friedrich's work. The man in the shadows who was at the satrap, supervising the operation;  I never saw him; I heard his voice as did Charles...recognized it as well when the Bishop finally spoke at dinner this evening."

“Very well gentlemen. I will contact the Hague as well as the proper German authorities, and your former superiors in the Kremlin Mr. Kuryakin. They have a right to be privy to this information as well.  I must say this was a most unexpected turn of events. Well done both of you. I will have a team come to take… Bishop Atkinson into custody in the morning. In the meantime, sit tight until they arrive. Out.”

The bishop, still unconscious, was removed to a secure windowless room, tied to a bed and put under heavy lock and key. He wasn’t going anywhere. Rector Heaton was asked to stay the evening, until things could be sorted out in the morning, and once the shock of everything wore off; he'd have to be sworn to secrecy. Or in this case, hypnotized, Solo thought to himself. He had his doubts the good Vicar could keep his mouth shut. UNCLE would have to straighten things out with church authorities as well. Lots of complications that needed to be kept hush hush.

The hour was late when the household was finally quiet again, and the rendezvous Solo had planned with the Baroness had become nothing but an afterthought.

He sat now on the edge of Illya’s bed beside his partner and had just poured a glass of vodka for his stoic Russian friend.

Kuryakin downed it in one swallow.

“You okay?”

“Under the circumstances, I think so. I never in my wildest dreams would have thought there would be such a grand finale to this affair. Not the capture of a member of the Council but a war criminal as well? I am still in amazement over it.”

“What are the odds when you think about it?”

“Given I was one of only fourteen to survive the prison camp, yes me meeting that monster again face to face…” Illya lowered his head to his hands, his shoulders finally slumping. He let out a muffled sob...

“It’s okay, let it go. It’s over, and you got him. He’ll pay for all his crimes thanks to you.” Napoleon latched onto his partner’s shoulder, holding tight.

Illya looked up, brushing away the wetness from his face with the palm of his hand. “There will never be punishment enough for his kind. They never go away, they never stop.”

“Hey, neither do we. Good will triumph, I’m a firm believer in that.”

“Yes, but how many must suffer and die before it does? When will it all end?”

“Stop being the fatalist. Take satisfaction this one bastard will be punished one way or another because of you and me. You have to admit, life has thrown us some really unexpected curves, hasn’t it? Who’d have thought this would have happened when less than a week ago we were in Norway enjoying of all those beautiful blondes?”

“You mean you were enjoying them...how many were there? Twenty?” Illya actually smiled.

“Well it was the Miss Norway pageant, and they needed guarding didn’t they?”

“Yes, intimate guarding as I recall?”

“Well not all of them, there was an elimination round or two, “ Solo grinned. ”Hey it was your loss by the way.”

Illya rolled his eyes as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I am all right now. You do not need to keep me company; you have a rendezvous with Bibi, yes?”

“I’ve decided to pass. My bed is calling me and not for anything amorous. I thought you and Amelia had made a connection?”

“We did, but I have decided I would rather sleep alone tonight.”

“I completely understand. Good night partner.”

“Good night my friend, and thank you.” He watched as Solo exit and close the door behind himself.

Illya went into the bathroom, filling the sink and throwing some water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, suddenly thinking he saw the image of his younger self, staring back at him; his sad pale face that he hadn’t seen since he was sent to the orphanage in Moskva.

                                                       

Illya smiled as the vision faded, and his reflection was there again as it should be. He nodded, knowing he would sleep well tonight, as would that child who remained within him.

That was what he hoped. There were still many restless spirits who came to him in his dreams, those who needed to be avenged, and the demons as well.

At least now there were fewer of them, and some who would finally know peace at last.

,

* ref. to “Beginnings”

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Wow, wow, WOW!! That was a heck of a twist you gave us. I knew the Bishop was important somehow, but I would never of guessed at just how important. Thank you for this absolutely engaging and twisting tale :-D

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Surprise surprise surprise. I knew everyone was wondering about the bishop but not what he ended up being. lol! Thank you so much for those 'wows'! Really glad you liked the conclusion. I was trying not to give this away, throwing in twists and turns making some innocents look guilty, too keep you off the scent. :D

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Holy cr**! "The Really, Really Unexpected Affair." I had my suspicions about the notebook and at least some of them were true. The mirror was a very effective touch. Thanks for this amazing story filled with entertaining characters and a few morals thrown in for good measure.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Wow a 'holy cr**?" thank you! I know you had your suspicions about Dr. Freidrich, and the notebook....that's why I gave him a German name to make you suspect him. I was hoping to throw people off the scent with the bishop right until the last minute, and wish NS and Charles identifying him as the THRUSH council member...should have thrown you off again until IK opened his mouth. :D.

Nothing like twists huh?

Yes, had to have some internal IK dialogue at the end. After all he identified the Nazi who did terrible things, even though Illya had to give up some of his deepest 'personal secrets' to do so.

I've used the B&W picture for a young Illya several times, as it looks so soulful, like I envisioned him.

Thanks so much for keeping up with the story and for your great comments my friend!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

A really satisfying conclusion to this excellent tale. I'd been suspicious that the supervisor might turn out to be Herr Doktor, but the actuality was brilliantly achieved. Very tense, and hopefully Illya now has more closure. Thank you for this fic.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for your kind compliments. I was trying not to give away anything as to who the identity of the THRUSH supervisor; the double twist of him being the Thrushie and Herr Doktor as well was a twist that took some fine tuning. Glad it worked.

Glad you liked the story!