The 12 Days of UNCLE - Christmas Round Robin Chapter 1

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

On the first day of Christmas my UNCLE gave to me
The keys to a THRUSH satrapy…

It was not usual for agents of the U.N.C.L.E. to have easy entrance into a THRUSH satrapy, one of the compounds designated for serious activity by Hierarchy agents.  But here it was, a key to the satrapy run by one of THRUSH’s most notorious, blood thirsty chiefs.  As Alexander Waverly tapped on his pipe and prepared to explain what lay ahead for his best agents, Napoleon Solo was contemplating this development.  He and his partner, Illya Kuryakin, had been on a whirlwind mission just days earlier, in search of some clue to the man’s whereabouts.  And now, casually produced as though it wasn’t a really big deal, was the key to the front door.

Well, not exactly a front door, but just as good.

“Gentlemen, what I’m presenting to you is a carte blanche entry into the most dangerous center of THRUSH activity in the world.  Napoleon cut his eyes to take in his partner’s reaction.  As usual, Illya was maintaining a deadpan expression as their boss continued on.

“Justin Depardeau is a man driven by greed and a lust for power.  His goal is to be the head of  THRUSH, and that is what makes him vulnerable.”

That got Illya’s attention.  He wouldn’t have thought ambition was a sign of vulnerability, especially in someone like Depardieu.

“Sir, I do not mean to, umm…’ He shouldn’t have started this.

“That is to say, if Depardieu is so intent on reaching the pinnacle of the Hierarchy’s seat of power, what is it that makes him vulnerable?”  Illya had seen men greedy for power during his years in Soviet intelligence.  To his recollection, this type had no sense of compassion or even conscience regarding anyone on whom they might trample.

“Mister Kuryakin, it seems like a dichotomy of thought to put the two divergent qualities together.  But, what I’m handing to you and Mister Solo is going to give you entree into this man’s world.  From there you will discover what else is necessary to bring him down, permanently.”

Napoleon and Illya looked more closely at the thing on the table.  It was little more than a pendant of some sort, but according to Waverly it was the key to entering Depardieu's world, and toppling it.

The conversation continued on, with maps of the compound and details concerning personnel and probable points of defense; the place was well equipped with an array of THRUSH weapons and artillery.

“It looks like a military base.” Napoleon was a strategist, and right now his mind was racing through scenarios in which he and his partner didn’t end up dead.

“Yes indeed, Mister Solo, Depardieu is a military man himself, a decorated veteran of the last war.” That caused Illya’s eyebrows to raise nearly to his hairline, not a small feat.

“What side, or is it obvious?”  The Russian could imagine a future THRUSH kingpin in the employ of Hitler.  Waverly smiled, he knew the man’s likely assumption.

“No, it is not so obvious Mister, ahh, Kuryakin.’ The familiar pause before speaking his name always made Illya wonder that the Old Man needed to remind himself of it.  Waverly continued on…

"Depardieu was a member of the French Resistance, a brother in arms, so to speak, to Victor Martan.  Together they fought the Germans, only to segue into the arms of the Hierarchy at war’s end.  It is a continuing mystery to me that one’s loyalties could be so completely at odds with an eventuality such as that.”

Napoleon and Illya made no comments, the obvious distress on Waverly’s countenance reminded them that he too had once been on the front lines. Alexander Waverly shook off the memories and continued.

“Depardieu has been searching for a rare collection of jewelry and this piece will be the first of twelve that you will present to him in the coming days. The item you now possess will help you to gain entrance into the society occupied by Depardieu and his cronies.  You will encounter them, all of them, at the Palais de L'oiseau Lunaire.”

“The palace of the moon bird? Is that another not too subtle reference to THRUSH itself?” Illya was always amazed at the brazen references that THRUSH would make to itself in naming the various fronts for their activities.

“It is merely an irony, Mister Kuryakin.  The name might be what drew him to it, but it does not appear to be anything more than an elegant hotel with a casino, as is common in Monte Carlo.  Depardieu is there often, in the casino.  It is a favored, ahh… haunt, so to speak, when he is not in his own compound.’ Waverly picked up a pipe and fingered it, as though unsure whether to light it.  He tamped the bowl and put a match to it, sucking in the first draught of smoke and then releasing it back into the air.

“The casino is where you will first approach him, and the business of gaining entrance is a hazardous thing without that, umm, pendant you now hold in your hand.’  Waverly nodded his head towards Napoleon, who did indeed have the unassuming looking piece of jewelry, nestled into a small velvet box, in the palm of his hand.

“It only looks insignificant.  This piece is part of a collection that we will unveil to depardieu in small increments, a necessary tactic that should give you ample time to lead him into his own trap, a seduction, as it were, that will destroy his ambitions to dominate THRUSH.

It is imperative that you keep to the schedule, gentlemen.  You have twelve days once you arrive, and the treasures you are offering to Depardieu, in spite of their appearance, are truly treasures.  It is his weakness, this lust for the unattainable.”

“Twelve days, as in the twelve days of Christmas?” Napoleon was intrigued by the concept, although it was a longer period of time than they were usually allowed.  A lot could happen in twelve days.

Illya was more interested in what made this pendant of interest to anyone, let alone Depardieu.  Waverly recognized the conundrum.

“The pendant was once worn by a woman Depardieu greatly admires; it was among the jewelry owned by Marie Antoinette.  She is an obsession of his.”  That surprised Kuryakin; Napoleon thought it lacked beauty, it was plain in design.

“Surely this is not something from her royal jewels, it is not in the least ornate.”  Now Illya was thoroughly perplexed concerning this piece.

“No, it is not precious in that respect.’ Waverly had to admit to himself some enjoyment in springing surprises on his agents; at times they were entirely too confident.

“Open it Mister Solo.”  Napoleon let his thumb catch a small clasp and released it, the snick of the metal a sound that suddenly caught his emotions as he looked at what it held.

“Is that…?” It was extraordinary, a finely detailed miniature portrait of a young woman in the fashion of 18th century Paris on one side, and a foppish looking man on the other.

“These are extremely rare, and valuable, as you might imagine.  It is the only known item of its kind.  Depardieu will not be able to resist having it, which means you must be cautious and on guard.  He is not above killing you for it, which is why you must promise more items of similar value in order to keep him within your influence.”

Something seemed to be missing from this narrative, but waiting on Waverly to explain it was part of the process.

“There will be eleven additional revelations in his quest to acquire all of the collection, but it will require him traveling with you to various locations. You will receive a new location and travel plans daily, all of it within mere hours from Monaco.”  Wavelry had sought long and hard to arrange this gambit, and the reward would be the destruction of Depardieu's organization.  It was personal, and it was justice.

“Sir, how is all of this going to topple Depardieu's bid to take over THRUSH? I assume that is the goal here, is it not?”  Napoleon had an idea of how it should work, but the Old Man’s motives seemed personal as much as the business of the Command.  In his estimation, the Frenchman was as much a traitor to the cause for which they both fought and sacrificed, as well as a cog in the wheel of larceny that was THRUSH.

Waverly drew from the pipe he had lit, inhaling enough to then blow a circle of smoke into the air.  He prided himself on that small widget of talent, was satisfied as he watched the circles evaporate.

“Have patience, Mister Solo.  Each day will reveal more of the demise of Justin Depardieu.”

>>>>>>>>>

Twenty-four hours later the two men from UNCLE were approaching the Palais de L'oiseau Lunaire.” , a relatively insignificant establishment in the pecking order of grand Monte Carlo casinos.  It was, nonetheless, where Depardieu held court, as Waverly had coined it.

Napoleon and Illya were both dressed in tuxedos, the expected attire for such a place as this; they were also armed with their Specials and communicators, the later well concealed in contrast to the obvious bulge in their jackets that hinted at a shoulder holster.  Power, or the appearance of such, was not in this instance, something to overlook.

The grand entrance to the eighteenth century building was tended by a guard dressed in black and scarlet.  There was a subtle nod to Christmas in seasonal decorations, primarily greens and deeply hued ribbons in the same scarlet as in the uniform of the man at the door.

It was with a practiced eye and keen discernment that the man guarding the entrance deemed the two gentlemen acceptable for entrance to his domain.  The dark haired one was classically handsome, his tuxedo a perfect fit.  His companion was somewhat less so, his blond hair a ragged reflection of current trends; his ruffled shirt somehow inappropriate for his more bohemian appearance.

"Entre'…" A simple one word pass for the UNCLE agents to enter the  Palais de L'oiseau Lunaire.

"Merci!" Illya's response in his perfectly accented French redeemed him somewhat in the estimation of the guard.

Napoleon nodded as they were admitted into the foyer of the establishment, a mere shadow of the grandeur within.  Illya straightened up slightly, his discomfort at such obvious opulence still triggered an unconscious reaction. Napoleon swept into the room in his practiced elegance, immediately the object of admiration from several women.

"I see you have already attracted some admirers. Perhaps one of them belongs to Depardieu." The Russian was less obvious, more mysterious to those observing them.  As it happened, one of the young women was drawn to the blond instantly.  She approached with a boldness that seemed to indicate great familiarity with the casino, although she seemed almost too young to be admitted.  Then again, they weren't in America, the rules might be slightly less stringent.

"Oh my goodness, you are a breath of fresh air in this stuffy old place!" The greeting was not completely off-putting, although Napoleon knew it was intended primarily for his partner.  Illya was surprised at the enthusiasm she exhibited, but strangely pleased that she was so obviously addressing him and not Napoleon.  Even his stoic Soviet mask sometimes cracked, just a little.

"Mademoiselle…' Napoleon took her hand and kissed it, obliging her to address him as well.

"You have greeted us with such friendliness, may we ask your name?"  The girl smiled at the attention, pleased to be in the company of two such attractive men.  Her father would probably not approve, but then she considered it her duty to constantly annoy him.

"You are a charmer! I am Denise Depardieu, and you are?" The name surprised both Napoleon and Illya.  They hadn't been told of any children of Depardieu that might enter the picture.  It was uncertain if her attention would be a positive or a negative element in this mission.

"I am Napoleon Solo, and this is Illya Kuryakin." Now it was Illya's turn to be charming, so he took her hand as Napoleon had, pressing his lips very slowly to the flesh as her entire body reacted with a racing heartbeat and a flush in her cheeks.

"Oh, my… well, aren't those just fab names. I must introduce you to my father.' Denise Depardieu needed to regain some composure.

"Come with me." She took Illya's hand and led him through a crowd of people, with Napoleon trailing behind as he examined faces, looking at the cut of several men's jackets as he sought a similar silhouette to his that might indicate a gun.

Illya was curious at her very English accent, so asked her as casually as he could.

"Depardieu is French, but you sound English to me." It flattered the girl that he should notice, and her answer cleared up more than where she came from.

"Oh, my father is French and my mum is English.  Very proper English, and I am constantly disappointing her.  Father is not quite so proper, which is why I'm here for Christmas and not in England."

"Oh, I see.  And so, do you stay here at the hotel while in Monte Carlo?"  Illya wanted to know where she would be should any skirmishes with THRUSH occur at Depardieu's compound.

Oh god no! I stay at father's big estate up in the hills.  It's quite a place, too.  You'll have to come up and…' She turned suddenly to face him, her eyes bright blue now that Illya could look straight into them.  She was very pretty, with a shade of hair he thought was described as strawberry blonde, with highlights of nearly white streaking through it.  She wore is straight and long, very much in stride with the decade's new styles.  She was, in effect, the female  equivalent of himself.

"I think father wouldn't object at all if you and Napoleon were to come and stay with us while you're here.  We have so much room, no point in you spending money on these overpriced hotels.  They're positively boorish."  Her smile was radiant, and Illya felt himself yielding to her enthusiasm.  It was slightly deceitful, but living in Depardieu's own home would be exceptionally handy.

Denise turned again, searching for her father at the roulette table and then picking up the pace as they approached.  Napoleon was still a little bit behind, his own surveillance of the room satisfying his need for a strategy, should it be necessary.

Denise found Depardieu and, letting go of Illya's hand, she hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.  It was obvious that their relationship was a good one, and his response to Denise was a momentary glimpse into his affection for her.  This painted a different picture of the man from what Waverly had given them.

"Father, this is Illya Kuryakin and …' Napoleon was coming up a little behind them, his own journey across the casino floor interrupted several times by women who caught his eye.

"… here he is, this is Napoleon Solo.  Gentlemen, this is my father, Justin Depardieu.  Père, s'il te plaît, sois gentil".  Obviously, the girl had her father wrapped around the proverbial little finger.

"Gentlemen, it is a pleasure."  Depardieu smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Illya reached out to shake his hand.

"Le plaisir est pour nous." It was a ploy to ingratiate himself with Depardieu, and the gesture was successful. Illya didn't trust Napoleon's Quebecquois French accent with a man like Depardieu.  In spite of his affiliation with THRUSH, Illya was counting on the man's affinity for all things French.

"Ah, a man after my French heart.  For a man with a decidedly Russian name your French is perfect. I appreciate the gesture Monsieur Kuryakin."

"Illya, please.  And my friend is Napoleon."  That brought a genuine smile to the Frenchman's face.  It was fortuitous at times to have names such as theirs.

"Monsieur Depardieu." Napoleon imitated his partner in reaching out for a handshake.
"And you are Canadian? I recognize the unorthodox manner of someone from Quebec."  It seemed like a good idea to just go with that, so Napoleon smiled and nodded his head.

"You have a keen ear.  Yes, my mother is from Quebec, and is the one who taught me French."

After a manner…" Illya's prejudice seemed to have found company, and Justin Depardieu had to smile at the insolence of insulting his friend.

"Tsk Tsk, Illya.  Napoleon has simply not had the advantage of living in France while he learned the language.  Every country has differing dialects, yes.  Americans and the British perhaps more than anyone else, it boggles the mind."

Denise had endured enough of the banter, and so decided it was time to submit her idea that the two friends should stay as guests in their home.   Her father seemed to have warmed up to them quite nicely.

"Father dearest…' that was generally the beginning of a request from his daughter, and Depardieu let her continue without any sign of what he already suspected would be asked of him.  In the end he agreed with her, the men were good company, and he had a feeling about the blond; he could see his daughter was already infatuated with him.  Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea for her to find out more about him and his friend.

As Napoleon and Illya found themselves following Depardieu's car up a winding road, away from the city, they wondered aloud how they had lucked out in such a big way.  No hindrances to entering the compound, and a decidedly good beginning to their relationship (if one could call it that), with Depardieu.  Certainly Denise was interested in Kuryakin, and Napoleon gave his blessing to explore that avenue.  With that in mind, Illya found himself dreading the discovery that he was here to bring her father to justice, or at least Alexander Waverly's idea of justice.

The evening settled in upon the hilltop estate, and the evening meal was announced to the assembled household and their guests.  Denise had another surprise for the UNCLE agents when she introduced another woman to them.

"Illya, Napoleon… this is Regina Depardieu, my mother.  Mum, this is Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo."  Each man tempered his surprise at meeting a woman they didn't know existed.  There had been no mention of a wife or a daughter in the files they had each reviewed.  Now they were facing one of each.

"A pleasure to meet you.  I wasn't aware that Justin was married."  Napoleon didn't want to insult the woman, but in truth, he needed to know more about this family.

"Oh, well, he doesn't have one, at least not legally.  Not anymore.  We parted on friendly terms, and we do share our daughter.  It seems more civilized to spend time as a family, even if it is not very traditional."  Regina was a beautiful woman, with the same strawberry blonde hair as her daughter's; her eyes were green though, not blue like Denise's.

"That is indeed very civilized, and so healthy for Denise to share time with you both during the holidays.  Do you live here as well?"  She shook her head, and the ringlets that formed her hairstyle bounced as she did so.  Rather than the long hair favored by Denise, Regina had a head of curls, and they appeared to be natural.  Napoleon found himself captivated by her.

"My life is full with these two beautiful women.  I am a blessed man by all accounts."  Depardieu showed a genuine affection for his ex-wife, and his daughter was obviously much loved.  He wasn't what one expected from THRUSH.  Could Waverly be somehow misinformed?

Dinner was served, a simple meal that boasted perfectly prepared filet mignon, asparagus and potatoes au gratin.  The wine was a burgundy that went down like liquid silk, and dessert another simple confection of meringues and poached pears.  Illya felt as though the mission was a million miles away, while Napoleon was still puzzling over the strange mix of family and larceny that was represented.

Justin had avoided being too inquisitive about his guests.  He was a gregarious man by nature, and he enjoyed intelligent conversation from men such as these two.  They represented a bit of mystery, and after a delicious meal and several glasses of wine, the time seemed to have arrived for delving a little deeper.

"Napoleon, what brings you and Illya here to Monaco?  Is it simply to gamble?" The question was not abrupt nor was it intrusive.  It would have been rude to not show any interest whatsoever.  As it was, the opportunity to launch into their reason for being here was welcome in the way it arrived.

"Actually Justin, we are here on a mission of sorts.' The statement of the obvious was still not the whole truth.

"We are, well, to be honest, we're treasure hunters.  I know it sounds a bit seedy perhaps, but we have in our possession and will soon possess more…' Napoleon stole a sidelong look at Illya, for effect.  Illya nodded, as though giving permission to say more.

"Well, you see… we have some very rare artifacts that belonged to an important historical figure." That got Depardieu's attention at least.  He didn't ask who, but his expression begged for more information.

"Go ahead, tell him.  He's French after all."  Illya was creating even more drama by giving permission to speak freely.  It would be a question not easily answered; who was in charge between these two?

"Marie Antoinette.  Can you believe it?  We have one piece with us right now.  You wouldn't rob us, right?"  Napoleon said it as though in jest, but Waverly's stern warning was lingering about the man's willingness to kill for the pendant when he learned of it.

Depardieu's expression became very serious, and Regina recognized the almost obsessive nature of her ex-husband's fascination with Marie Antoinette.  Only Denise was ignorant of the depth of devotion her father felt towards the tragic queen.     

"Oh, that sounds delicious!  What is it, can you show us?"  Denise asked the question her father hesitated to express.  Napoleon's smile was triumphant, both for the performance and his very real relief to finally start this mission toward its conclusion.

"As a matter of fact…' He looked again at Illya, fostering the notion that the Russian was someone to whom Napoleon must answer.  At the barest hint of a nod, he continued.

"I happen to still have it in my pocket.  I'm a better protection for it than a safe."  Napoleon winked when he said it, but his expression was easily translated as dangerous.  He withdrew a small velvet box from his inside jacket pocket, a motion that revealed the leather shoulder holster he was wearing.  Only Justin saw it, Napoleon had placed himself strategically; he was, after all, a master strategist.

Opening the box very gingerly, both Illya and Napoleon waited for the response from their audience.  It was satisfying.

"Does it open? And do you have a provenance concerning it?" Justin Depardieu had mentally catalogued every known artifact concerning Marie Antoinette, or thought he had done so.  This one, this little pendant, was something long sought after.  He recognized it immediately.

"Yes, of course.  Would you like to do it?" Napoleon knew that as soon as he touched it, Depardieu would have to own it.  The tactic of allowing the Frenchman to handle it in this way was masterful on Solo's part.

"Mon Dieu… it is she…" His voice was a whisper, his awe at holding it in his hands palpable.

Illya spoke up, his voice low and resonant.

"Oui monsieur, c'est votre reine."

"I must have it.  How many more pieces do you have? Price is of no concern, I will pay whatever you ask."  Denise's eyes were wide open now, her mother Regina was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Justin, truly you would start this obsession in earnest once again?  I thought you had given up on pursuing Marie's legacy."  Justin turned and looked at his former wife as though she were a lunatic.

"Do you not see this?  C'est magnifique!"  Regina sighed, she knew it was useless to try to persuade him otherwise.

"Yes my darling.  I shan't say another word.  Follow your bliss, if that's what this is.' The evening had proven to be slightly less enjoyable to her with this development.

"I'm turning in.' Regina looked at her daughter.

"Are you coming up as well Denise? This is going to be the topic for the rest of the evening… just warning you my girl."  She smiled at her only child, hopeful that this obsession over Marie Antoinette would not fall to her as well as her father.

"Thanks mum, I'll be up in a bit. I do think it's dreadfully interesting." The smile was facetious, she knew her mother wouldn't scold her for being fascinated with the topic, and with the handsome blond.

"Right then, see you in the morning.  Good night all." She made her exit through the double doorway, leaving the foursome still entranced by the pendant with the double portrait.

"If you are truly interested, Justin, we do have access to several more pieces.  Eleven more, to be exact.  But they are not here, not in Monaco.  It would be a matter of several day trips to access each of them.' Illya was presenting the proposition as though it were a simple enough thing to scrounge up eleven significant artifacts about Marie Antoinette.  Alexander Waverly was certain that Depardieu would not hesitate to follow his agents down this merry path in order to gain such valuable pieces of the queen's history.

Waverly's faith in this was justified.

"I say we go tomorrow, gentlemen.  I am most anxious to see and, in all probability, to own these mysterious items.  You would not disappoint me I trust."  He added the last with a hint of a threat, the first such indication that the man was as dangerous as Waverly had warned.

"First thing in the morning then.  We look forward to guiding you to what it appears your heart very much desires."  Illya spoke with no evidence of concern, but inwardly he knew there might be danger as long as they dealt with this man.

"I'm going too.  That's all right with you, isn't it Father?" Denise was a bright and charming young woman, and perhaps more like her father than either of the UNCLE agents had originally thought.

"Yes, of course my love.  This will be a most enjoyable, and hopefully rewarding trip.  I am anxious to teach you everything I know.' Whether that was a revelation concerning Depardieu's plans for his daughter's future or simply an innocuous remark, only the days ahead would reveal.

"We had better get a good night's sleep then.  Until the morning." Both Napoleon and Illya got up as Solo was speaking.  In the morning the day's agenda would be discussed.  For now, they would leave their plans as mysterious as their host would allow.

"Bonne nuit, dors bien."

"Merci, bonne nuit."

For all of the well wishes they exchanged, each man went to his room with every intention of managing this gambit to his own advantage; in the case of Illya and Napoleon, to their mutual advantage.