C'est La Vie - chapter 2

[glenmered]

Napoleon and Illya allowed the conversation to sit idle while dinner was being served.  A new face arrived with a cart and the two plates were delivered, each to the correct spot on the table.  Nicolette could be seen in another part of the dining room charming other customers, doing a creditable rendition of Marion; or at least Illya thought so.  He was glad that the girl had inherited her mother’s graces and personality.  It wouldn’t do for a young girl to be as he had been.

Napoleon noted an expression on Illya’s face that directed him to Nicolette.  They both sat and watched her, twin bemusement at fate’s sense of humor.

“I wonder sometimes about how things might have been different.’

Illya turned to looked at his friend of so many years; he would need his help in this once again.  Keeping his family safe seemed to be an ongoing venture.

“I really do think I could have been a good father to her, and not just a replacement now that Gerald Lindsay is gone.”

Napoleon didn’t have a response for that; he couldn’t truly share in his friend’s remorse over the lost years.  He did have his own regrets, however.

“You’re good for her, Illya.’

Should he continue?  Napoleon had never approached this topic with his former partner.

“My former wife, Sheila, was pregnant once … during our marriage.”

That drew Illya back from his own thoughts.  The lights in the restaurant were dim, an aid perhaps to romantic rendezvous but not helpful when trying to ascertain the expression on Napoleon’s face.

“You lost … I am truly sorry, Napoleon.  Is that why you … Did that contribute to …?”

Napoleon jumped in and saved Illya having to verbalize fully his failures.

“No … well, perhaps it contributed to the divorce.  Sheila was … is .. She is a remarkable woman.  She was a partner as well as a wife, and is still involved in the company.  Losing the baby was difficult, of course.  She was never able to get pregnant again and … well, we just quit trying to be happy I think.’

For a quick moment a sheepish expression made Illya think he was seeing the Napoleon of twenty years ago.  He recognized a gaping hole in his friend’s life in that glimmer of recognition.

“So, we settled for being friendly and each of us … moved on.”

“Someone is threatening Marion and Nicolette.”

Illya blurted out that news on the heels of Napoleon’s distress.  It was impulsive and ill-timed, but this conversation had caused the normally reserved Russian to feel the intensity of his concerns.  Napoleon didn’t dwell on his interrupted confession.  That was past and this was …

“How?  Do you have any idea who it is?”

Illya was shaking his head, regretting that he had cut off Napoleon’s lament about marriage and being childless.  Something was wrong, life was suddenly not neat and organized as it had been for the past ten years.  Life should be like a fine garment: laid out with a pattern before the cutting begins, sewn together with precision and then revealed as a perfect, flawless creation.

Life should be like that, and his had been for enough years that he had grown comfortable and complacent about it.  Now everything was tumbled and disturbing.  His child made him happy but concern for her caused a constant sense of foreboding that something would go wrong.

And now it had gone wrong, and at the exact same moment that Napoleon was being promoted into his life’s crowning achievement: Number One of Section One, Northwest Region.

“I believe it has something to do with your new job, Napoleon.  The caller mentioned UNCLE, and you.  Does anyone else at headquarters know about this, besides you and Sir John?”

Napoleon didn’t like the sound of this, hated that this event should be cause or catalyst for something evil in his friend’s life.

“No, only he and I have discussed this.  The only other people who will be privy to our plan will be the other four Chiefs.  Surely none of them…”

Illya was stunned at the implication, but no one would be beyond suspicion at this point.

“You can trust no one, my friend.  There is a traitor in the organization if the details are indeed only among you six men.  I don’t know why I am being dragged into it, but obviously they see me as a pawn of some sort.”

“To what end, Illya?  What can you have that will impact UNCLE?”

Illya absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, the meal in front of him forgotten now as his mind raced through various scenarios, each of which ended badly.

“I don’t know.  But, whoever this is knows us, knows our history and… unfortunately, the level of dedication we showed to each other back then.”

“They expect me to do their bidding in order to save you … Not you.  Your family.  Marion and Nicolette are, in their eyes, your family.”

Illya sighed without realizing it.  The subtle din of the restaurant accompanied his dismay at what was unfolding, and in another corner of the room he saw his daughter as she delivered yet another rendition of menu options.

“It was easier back then.  I could honestly tell you to just do the right thing, not give in for the sake of saving me.  We were expendable.’

With a face set like stone, the decision was clear as Illya continued.

“They are not expendable.  Whatever it takes, Napoleon, they must be safe from all of this.”

The future head of UNCLE Northwest nodded in agreement.  It wouldn’t do for some burgeoning megalomaniac to think Napoleon Solo would be an easy mark.  Whoever this was might think he, or she or they, had a clue about the Solo/Kuryakin partnership.  When this was finished there would be no doubts about how it actually worked.

“Welcome back to UNCLE, Illya.  Let’s show them how it’s really done.”