section7mfu | The Starting Gate Affair

Part 1
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Illya had sat through the medical briefing with Napoleon at his side; like a good comrade, he thought. What none of these people realized was that, until a few years ago he had weighed little more than what was being calculated for him now.

Going without food was nothing new for Illya Kuryakin, and it was only during his years in Paris and England that he had transformed his physique beyond that of a starving student. During his time in gymnastics he had weighed only one hundred and twenty pounds, and most of that had been muscle. He could do it again, he must do it again.

Napoleon had been nearly sick when shown the means by which Illya would be losing weight, and very nearly backed out of his agreement to join his partner. Perhaps being a strong support was sufficient. Illya had assured him, however, that it would be relatively painless, and that the meal replacement shakes that had been formulated for this would more than satisfy his appetite. Protein, lots of protein, that would be the catalyst for weight loss, even for someone as thin as he now was.

“Illya, I just can’t imagine you without a plate of real food in front of you. How, I mean… can you really do this?”

Illya smiled his small but meaningful smile; it reminded Napoleon that his partner was a man used to deprivation, and that the Russian had incredible will power. The capacity he showed to consume large quantities of food was a response to the freedom to do so. No doubt he could control that as well as he could deny an interrogator the pleasure of answers being sought.

“It is only food, Napoleon. Could you not give up copious amounts of sex if Mr. Waverly asked it of you?”

That was unfair.

“Well now, Mr. Smarty Pants, I hardly think we can compare food to sex. One is absolutely essential.”

A wink told Illya that his partner hoped to not be put in a position to find out the answer to that question.

The Canteen had already been stocked with the shakes Illya would be drinking for the next few weeks. The doctor had estimated that, considering Illya’s rapid metabolism and previous low weights, he should lose as much as five pounds per week for the first two weeks, and possibly even three. After that, it was going to take careful monitoring to make certain the already slender man was healthy and still building muscle.

During the weight loss there would be regular riding exercises at the farm of one of Mr. Waverly’s friends. The man raised thoroughbreds and had a full track on his property. Illya would train with one horse, and be assigned as his jockey when the next meet opened in two months. It wasn’t a long time to get this all done, but time was short.

After lunch, or what passed for lunch, Illya and Napoleon made their way back up to Mr. Waverly’s office. They had both read over the file during the time between Medical and the Canteen, and now the prospect of encountering the task ahead of them loomed more like a Trojan Horse than a race horse.

The agents passed the desk of Mr. Waverly’s secretary, each nodding a silent greeting to the pretty brunette. She let her eyes follow them into the great man’s office, admiring the view they gave her. Little did she realize that at least one of them would soon provide less of one than she now enjoyed.

Waverly was waiting for them, an unusual occurrence on any day. His attention seemed riveted on Kuryakin, and he watched him enter and take his seat. Napoleon observed his boss observing his partner and wondered why the older man had broken with his usual behavior.

“Mr. Kuryakin, your meeting went well with Dr. Howard?”

It seemed more of a statement than a question in spite of the lilt at the end of the sentence. Illya assumed there was a report on the old man’s desk that conveyed every bit of information from his visit to Medical.

“Yes sir, I believe it went well. I understand the program and the necessary steps I must take to follow it. I will be going to Harewood Farms every day to work out, then report back here for check-ups every other day. I believe the plan to live out there part time is a good one, it will allow me to get a better feel for the operation, and to build a rapport with the horse I’ll be working with…riding.”

Illya took a breath after that lengthy response. It was uncharacteristic of him to speak for so long, and Napoleon wondered if he was, in reality, a bit concerned about this assignment.

Napoleon was just a little concerned about Illya’s part in this. His own, however, suited him perfectly. The older agent would take the predictable part of a wealthy young heir to a vague financial empire. The vagueness of it was purposeful, and the hope was that he would attract some undesirable characters that just happened to be the target of this affair. With Napoleon posing as the owner of the horse and Illya as the jockey, the plan looked good on paper.

Waverly had switched his attention back to the file.

“Gentlemen, you have read the file. Do you have any questions before this begins?”

Napoleon looked at Illya, wondering if all was really well.

“Sir, there doesn’t seem to be a clear indication of who it is we’re expecting when this party begins. With the time allotted for preparation, Illya will be just able to ride if he hits the weight you’ve all projected. How do I know who to look out for?”

Illya wondered that as well. Of course, all he had to do was ride a galloping, thousand pound horse and try to avoid being knocked off and trampled by one of the other galloping, thousand pound animals. Certainly Napoleon could manage to charm some devious THRUSH into investing in the horse and rider that was backed by UNCLE. It was simple, really, and all they needed was a good story to reel in the marks.

“Mr. Solo, I have no doubt that, among all those you will meet in the circle of people who inhabit the racing world, the presence of a member of THRUSH will be very evident to you. But, as a clue, we do no know that the person of interest in this affair is, and I’d say this is lucky for us… a woman.

“Like your cover identity, this individual has inherited her wealth and, in a rather unfortunate turn of events has found herself indebted to a THRUSH endowed bank that operates on the fringe, so to speak. This woman’s vulnerability has made her a bit of a patsy, I believe is the proper word here. She has made several investments for this group, lent them legitimacy if you will.’

Waverly paused to tamp his pipe and fiddle in his pocket in a quest for matches. Failing that, he continued.

“One of her personal weaknesses is horse racing… thoroughbred racing. She’s looking for an investment and THRUSH are willing to back her, but for what reason we are unsure. Horse racing has always battled the naysayers and skeptics who believe that there is racketeering involved, and that the races are often fixed. We believe that THRUSH wants in, almost like the mafia infiltrated Las Vegas. Money to be made, gentlemen, from the sport of kings.’

The UNCLE chief looked at his two agents, both of whom were attentive to the narrative. Napoleon wondered what the woman looked like while Illya contemplated life without his morning donut.

“So, you see Mr. Solo, you will know her when she shows up. And, she will show up, we’re making it easy for her. You will host a party and introduce your new acquisition, Dawn’s Tomorrow, to a group of potential investors. Most of them will be UNCLE operatives posing as wealthy men in this social circle, a few of them legitimate businessmen. Miss Denault, Miranda Denault, will also be invited. She will, of course, attend and you will, of course, charm her until she agrees to become a part of the syndicate backing your horse. Mr. Kuryakin, playing his part, will be on hand to help persuade all of them that Dawn’s Tomorrow will be worth their cash.”

Illya cast a sideways glance at Napoleon and was met halfway with a similar look from his partner. Horses, money and women… It all sounded like trouble to the Russian.

Part 3

decoy007
Illya and a donut... thanks to Lisa's framecap library.