The Yesterday Affair - part 4

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Napoleon was waiting for the introduction, when suddenly it struck him how much the two blond men resembled.  As Illya was saying the words, Napoleon was already marveling at it.

… my brother, Anton Nikovetch Sidorov.”

The two men were smiling, still embracing each other as they watched Napoleon’s face go through various stages of disbelief.

“Sidorov?  That’s Katya’s last name.  I don’t completely understand, but…’

Napoleon extended his hand to the new man, unsure of what he thought he knew and now more confused than ever.

“… it’s good to meet you.  Who are you again?”

The three Russians laughed at that, and Napoleon did as well.  If Illya and Anton were brothers…

“I apologize, Napoleon, for confusing you so completely.  Anton is not my blood brother, but as close as one. Khoroshiy drug, da.  Like a brother, and so much so that he married this one when I wasn’t looking.”

Illya pulled Katya into his arms and kissed her on the cheek, causing Napoleon to stumble mentally among this very odd assembly of kissing, hugging Russians.

What had happened to Illya Kuryakin?

The American shook his head, but didn’t decline the invitation to join the hugging and laughing trio.  As if this assignment wasn’t already a little weird, now a Kuryakin look alike had been added to the mix.  And he was married to the woman Napoleon had assumed was a long lost lover to his grinning partner.

“So, Anton, you and Katya live here, and you work for…?”

Surely he wasn’t really a KGB agent.

Anton smiled, and Napoleon was struck again by the amazing resemblance between the two blond men.  No wonder Katya had been conflicted about them.

“I am a member of the Soviet consulate, as is Katya.  We were assigned here because we are married; it is an economic factor at times to limit expenditures by sending couples.  We are… how do you say it Illyusha? Na dorogo…”

Illya laughed at that, his eyes glinting pleasure among his old friends.

“You are economical, moy drug…not expensive.”

“Ah… ‘

Napoleon was mesmerized by the effect on his friend at being among people from his past.  How much of a normal life had Illya left behind when he was shipped off to Paris and then London?  Had he wanted to be shuttled off to work for UNCLE?  For some reason they had never really discussed it.

“… Well, you three have a history then that must be very interesting.  I’m afraid we don’t have much time for it at the moment, however.  Katya is about to take us to meet someone…’

Anton nodded his head vigorously.

“Da, da… I will also accompany you there.  I came home to check on Katya, but when I looked in at the back door, I saw two men at the table so I decided to knock at the front door, so that Katya would have a reason to come out… well, you can understand.”

Napoleon did understand, sort of.  This triangle of old friends was still a little unclear to his way of thinking.  Illya and Katya had obviously, at some point, been… involved.  Romantically involved, by the looks of things.  And then in steps Anton and, perhaps in Illya’s absence she turned to the other man; the one who looked enough like Illya to be his brother.  There was no mistaking the passion behind that first kiss he had witnessed in the café.  None.

“Katya, how much time will we need to get to the train station?”

Napoleon wanted this mission on its way and finished.  They would all be traveling together to the border, so whatever catching up was needed could be accomplished during the trip.  For now, it was down to business and trying to keep Rabinovich out of the hands of THRUSH.  This report was going to be complicated, no doubt about it.

The modest home of the Sidorovs was soon behind them as the group of four, not three, traveled by car to the old train station.  It was less than a ten minute drive and in the fading light of an autumn afternoon the surrounding countryside made the scene seem very painterly with its muted tones of gold and russet above the greens and browns of the earth.

Katya was the first to spot the professor; he stood on the platform, far enough back to avoid detection to anyone not looking for him.  The feather was evident even in the shadows and the expression of undiluted fear made him doubly easy to identify.

“Stop the car here, Katya…’

Illya ordered her in a tone that told Napoleon he was no longer in that afterglow of friends and lovers reunited.  It would be up to the Russian agent to approach Rabinovich, to reassure the man in a familiar language of his identity and motives.

It was while approaching the station platform, gun hand poised, that Napoleon spotted another car coming towards them.  Without waiting for an identification, he instructed Katya to drive up to the steps.  To her credit, she didn’t ask questions and did as she was told; Napoleon jumped out of the car and started yelling at Illya and Rabinovich, hoping it wouldn’t scare off the academic they had been sent to retrieve.

“Illya, there’s a car coming, grab the professor and let’s get out of here!”

Illya looked around and saw the approaching vehicle, still far enough away to not be certain of its occupants.  There was no point in waiting, however, and he spoke rapidly in Russian to the confused man, and was relieved when Rabinovich ran down the steps and into their waiting car.  When Napoleon and Illya were in and closing their doors, Katya was already underway and heading towards the border, minutes ahead of the other vehicle.

“Can we outrun them?”

Napoleon’s question was fraught with doubt, the car they were in didn’t seem to possess a racing engine.  Anton was the one who replied, however, proud to be able to offer assurances.

“Do not be fooled by the appearance of my automobile.  I am a mechanic when not filing reports and figuring out budgets.  Isn’t that right, Illya Nikovetch?”

Kuryakin looked at his American partner and smiled, nodding his head as Anton looked on.

“He is telling you the truth, Napoleon.  Perhaps you will understand better my own love of speed once we’re fully underway. I imagine we are talking modified head, forged pistons and connecting rods, and porting of the valves and intake; am I correct, Anton?”

Katya had already floored the accelerator, causing them to nearly catapult to a speed reminiscent of formula 1 racing.  Napoleon was impressed and relieved at this development.  Somehow he was not surprised that Illya would have a friend capable of re-engineering a car.

Professor Rabinovich was seated between Illya and Napoleon and was quietly listening to the snatches of Russian, lost during the English exchanges.  He knew little of these people, but the assurances he had been given by his government made him accept that they would do him no harm and would, in fact, deliver him to safety somewhere in the West.

As their car sped along the roadway towards freedom, the five people inside relieved the tension with talk of engines and old times, of family members lost and, finally, the mission itself.

“Professor Rabinovich, when we arrive at the border there will be another car waiting to take you to a safe house.  You will remain there until other accommodations are finalized.  Do you have any questions for us?”

Illya was handling the conversation, and he felt sure that this man must have some reservations about leaving his home, even if the hoards of THRUSH were after him.

“Comrade Kuryakin…’

Rabinovich spoke to Illya in Russian, and he assumed much.  After all, his own government was responsible for rescuing him.

“… I have been assured that my work will not be impeded by this change.  I am unsure why my work has been targeted by this THRUSH, or why my own government should feel inadequate to protect me from them.  I suspect that what I will eventually find is that my pursuits are best accomplished outside the parameters imposed by the Soviet state, and that it is better for all that I am escorted away and not made a martyr within these borders.”

The three Russians listened attentively, alerting Napoleon to the seriousness of what Rabinovich said with their stern expressions.

“Illya, what is he saying?  I couldn’t get all of it… something about the state.’

Illya nodded, listening now to Anton as he whispered in the front seat to his wife.  He couldn’t make out all of it with Napoleon talking to him at the same time.  He finally gave up trying and responded to Napoleon’s question.

“Professor Rabinovich thinks that the Soviets are letting him go to the West to get rid of his possibly inflammatory rhetoric against totalitarianism.  More or less.”

“Oh.  Yeah, that’s what I thought he said.”

The next two hours were spent in casual conversation, periodically broken up by a recollection of something from the past.  Rabinovich remained silent; intellectual brooding something he would indulge in greater amounts once out of this repressive environment.

Anton was driving now, and had been for the last hour.  With the border just a few kilometers ahead of them, the UNCLE agents began to prepare for the crossing.  They had papers for this, and other agents waiting for them to take possession of their package.

Katya and Anton had maintained their whispered conversation off and on, while Illya and Napoleon discussed the hand off of the professor to their UNCLE colleagues, and the probability that Waverly would have another assignment on the docket for them.

“There it is.  There is the border.”

Anton’s announcement triggered some activity as paperwork and passports were prepared for presentation.  Napoleon thought he could see the UNCLE agents beyond the checkpoint, and was relieved that their part of this affair was nearly over.

Illya drew a long breath, aware of his disappointment at leaving his friends behind.  Finding them a part of this mission had been a surprise, one that had gone from being disconcerting to comforting in many ways.  To be reminded of his past was not entirely unwelcome, or unpleasant.  He wondered if they would simply go back to their lives as employees of the state, at the consulate.

The car was at the checkpoint now, and Illya wondered why Anton hadn’t parked the car for them to get out.  This wasn’t part of the plan.

“Chto ty delayeshʹ moy drug?”

Anton’s answer was to remove his and Katya’s papers and present them to the guard. He spoke to the man while passing him something more than a passport.

“Vy pomnite menya svoim detyam , da?” (You will remember me to your children, yes?)

Illya was frozen.  He couldn’t even protest without possibly eliciting reprisals of some sort.  Anton was defecting, and he was doing it on UNCLE’s operation.  Napoleon was beginning to catch on, and saw the look in his partner’s eyes.

“Illya?”

Katya looked tentatively over her shoulder at the two UNCLE agents as Rabinovich sat silently, studying the effects of falling dominoes in his mind.

CONCLUSION