section7mfu | In The Lens ... PicFic (Reply)

It was a concern, to be sure. Illya looked up from the file in front of him, checked to see if his partner had the same look on his face as Mr. Waverly.

He did.

The room was lit by the overhead fluorescents, no sliver of light through the small window in Waverly's office. At this time of night the lights in the corridors were slightly dimmed, something suggested by various experiments with cycles and …

"Mr. Kuryakin, are you with us?" Alexander Waverly recognized the Russian's propensity for drifting into another mental compartment, analyzing his surroundings as the current scenario played out in another portal of awareness. He was complicated that way.

Illya looked up, his eyes avoiding the pictures. Napoleon felt the unease, was himself concerned that someone had been watching his partner so closely.

"Sir, do we know…?' He meant to ask who had taken the photos of him in so many locations, exposing his life to a scrutiny that thrust him back to his tenure beneath the thumb of the Kremlin. Was it the Soviets? He dared not ask it aloud.

Waverly was shaking his head, a minute movement that reminded Napoleon of how Illya sometimes responded. It was a strange thought, that the two should have that similarity between them.

"The photos were sent here anonymously; we are attempting to track that.' Waverly paused, his own concerns for the situation not completely hidden.

"Mr. Kuryakin, we do not know the purpose of these photographs, nor the identity of the person, or persons, who took them and then delivered them to us. It has the veiled intent of a threat, although it could be something less sinister." He hoped so, fervently hoped it was not the Soviets. What could they gain by it?

"Mr. Waverly,' Napoleon had yet to express an opinion.

"Is it possible that this has nothing to do with an enemy, but is instead a stalker of a different sort?" Illya and Waverly both looked at him as though he were stricken, then eased the intensity of their expressions as they pondered the idea.

"Do you mean to suggest that an ordinary person is following me, recording my movements? To what end?" In truth, the idea was somehow less threatening at least.

"I think we encounter many types of people, and some of them, perhaps a woman…" Napoleon let that hang in the air. Waverly sat back in his chair, a pipe in his hands remained unlit while the hoary eyebrows shot up as he considered his agent's suggestion. A stalker…

The trio were silent for a few moments as the idea took root.

"But why send them here, to Headquarters?" Illya wasn't convinced, although he was failing to come up with an explanation as to why his enemies in THRUSH, or the Kremlin would go to the trouble of following him, only to give fair warning of some approaching attack.

"A stalker is not necessarily harmless, but might be easier to catch than another spy." Napoleon's comment became the springboard to an operation that would hopefully catch this mysterious person in the act of following Illya. If the end game included doing him harm, then this couldn't be ignored.

~~~:

At the end of a week of surveillance, two people had been casually confronted without accusation, their seemingly curious observance of Illya turned out to be merely coincidental; turning up more than once at his favorite deli was just a shared interest in pastrami on rye.

Two more weeks of this included a mission to the south of France, where another individual was observed keeping close tabs on the Russian. It was not only suspicious, but could have upset the outcome of his and Napoleon's assignment. As it turned out, the woman was smitten with the blond, something that made Napoleon smirk at the snub to his own obvious charm. Since there was nothing threatening, he felt not a whit of regret at judging the woman for her lack of taste in men.

It was back on the streets of New York that the stalker was finally exposed.

Waverly, Solo and Kuryakin were all looking into the interrogation room, observing the young woman who sat across from April Dancer. It was deemed more appropriate to have a female operative in there, all things considered.

April was wearing a lemon yellow turtleneck atop black stirrup pants. Black boots and a fringed scarf set her image as being hip, rather than authoritative or threatening. The person across the table was a girl really, eighteen years old and attractive in a school girl sort of way. Napoleon made a mental note to date a college student in the near future.

Amanda Nesbitt was her name. She had been taking pictures of Illya when April approached her and asked about her photography. The girl had been observed for two days before they finally set upon her to close this chapter. She didn't look dangerous, but one never knew who might be enticed to join an enemy's plot again an UNCLE agent. They had no choice but to bring her in for interrogation. April began...

"So Amanda, why have you been following Mr. Kuryakin? And why did you send the photographs here, to his work?" April's voice was congenial, non-threatening. Amanda was more concerned with her outfit; this woman could be a model.

"Well, I'm a journalism major and my assignment was to find a suitable subject who looked … umm… different. We were supposed to follow and photograph, sort of chronicle a 'day in the life'. You know, investigative journalism." She smiled at that, as though it was an acceptable reason to stalk people. She was only now starting to feel a little nervous about the situation, a little less confident.

"And this assignment was from a university professor?" April found it difficult to believe a professional would ask students to invade someone's privacy in this manner. Amanda nodded to the question, her own recollection of the assignment beginning to center on several elements she had neglected.

"Well, umm… you see…' And that was the moment in which she heard again her professor's instructions to always get permission from the subject. Always.

"I messed up didn't I?" April nodded, appreciating the turmoil she saw on Amanda's face.

"Yes, I think you did. Mr. Kuryakin's work has been compromised by this, his safety a concern to him and others.' April paused, one question remained unanswered.

"Why did you send the photos here?" Amanda looked surprised, as though April was dense for not understanding the obvious reason.

"Because they're good, and I thought he might need them." On the other side of the mirrored partition the three men exchanged looks of confused amusement.

"Why would he need them? I think a simple explanation would have been in order, not just a sheet of photographs in a plain manilla envelope."

Amanda was no longer sure of what she had witnessed, of the speculation about the blond's activities and profession. She leaned in towards April, her voice low enough that the three men couldn't hear.

"Isn't he a model, or an actor? I thought the photos might come in handy, you know, for his career." April smiled, she had no words.

Everyone involved decided it best if Illya did not meet Amanda face to face. Better to let her ideas about him remain intact, just in case she was ever approached by other interested parties whose intentions were not so naive, or helpful.

Illya was shocked when April told him why Amanda had photographed him. The class was investigative journalism, but her desire was to work for a fashion magazine. When she saw the blond, his unconventional hair and clothing, she made assumptions that were cemented as he made his travels around the city, to the airport. She had studiously followed him, and the proof was in the array of photos she had presented for his portfolio.

Napoleon laughed at the idea, although he did begin to pay more attention to how people responded to Illya. Something about him gave people various impressions of the Russian, he needed to study it out and …

Nah, Illya and fashion… ridiculous idea.