The Boxing Affair Chapters 5-7

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Chapter 5

The interior lights had been turned down, permitting the ones they now employed for reading to be more effective. Illya had the largest collection of paper and folders, while Napoleon was holding fast with a lengthy report on the political climate in British Guiana. He was reading portions of letters ascertained from sources, (many who had risked their necks to provide them to UNCLE), and was overwhelmed by the amount of political manipulations going on. Whatever they were heading into, it wasn't just about Thrush and gold mines.

"Illya, are you aware of the activities going on in this country? I wonder if Thrush knows, or if that's why they're in the middle of it all; they might be hoping for a coup themselves, if the Americans and Great Britain don't get their man in office."

The blond raised his head from the documents in his lap, removed his glasses and stared at his partner. In the dim lights, his eyes receded even farther into the pale features as he brushed his hair back, making it stand up in mock protest to the attempt at order.

"It is my understanding that the current premiere is considered too closely tied to Cuba, and other communist ideological pursuits. There exists a plan, I believe, to overthrow the current regime in a manner that will not look like what it is. I imagine also, that Thrush is hoping to gain a foothold there, plus whatever it is the gold represents. A quantum physicist and this political climate, Thrush and gold mines…all of it is difficult to decipher. And, I will refrain from commenting on the shades of totalitarianism being refracted in the light of this situation."

Napoleon just sat, wondering what his Russian partner really thought.

It was true, what the Russian said. The current political climate in British Guiana was in favor of a man who held to a certain viewpoint, and his programs were popular enough to have won him the top spot in a free election. What was feared was that he would align himself with the Soviets, thereby placing a cog in the wheels of democracy, within the region that was considered under the watch of the United States. Secret messages were being sent from the White House to the Prime Minister; espionage and covert operations were in play, were in planning stages and, most probably, in their way. Napoleon and Illya needed to be able to enter the country without hindrances and stop whatever it was that Thrush was doing. Gold mining in the country had virtually come to a halt, and had historically been limited to a small region around the Essequibo River close to the Venezuelan border. In some scenarios, whatever faction could control this new vein would certainly have an upper hand in the economic landscape that was dominated by the production and export of sugar.

"It's such a small country; just a shadow, really, next to Venezuela and the giant…Brazil. How does something so small become such a big target in international politics?"

Napoleon was wondering out loud, but the question was a puzzle to him, and the idea of it collapsing beneath the weight of so much interference was a sad commentary. He didn't ask his friend for an opinion; he knew he wouldn't give it to him right now. It would be difficult enough for him to slip in under the subterfuge that UNCLE offered, without being in the midst of a rant about the imperialism of the west. He'd heard it before, although he didn't necessarily, and for various reasons related to maintaining their relative positions, agree. But, in a situation like this…someone was wrong.

The sleek UNCLE jet landed in Timehri, setting down smoothly on the hot tarmac. Before the two agents stepped out into the early morning, they could feel the humidity and began to anticipate a warm day in this Caribbean country. It was in between rainy seasons, but with seventy percent humidity, any kind of warm was going to be oppressive. This would be the last time Illya would wear a turtleneck during this affair, and Napoleon's tie was begging to rest elsewhere.

Customs passed them through with only a cursory glance at their diplomatic passports. Napoleon didn't think he imagined a courteous nod to his partner as the customs agent read the name on the Russians documents. He only hoped the knowledge of a visiting Soviet wouldn't hinder their work; then again, it might be a benefit among certain groups.

A jeep had been placed at their disposal, arranged by an agent from the Caracas office, the nearest Venezuelan outpost. They might eventually have some contact with him, but for now it was better to not form any larger parties than necessary. The drive to Georgetown, the capitol city, was not going to take long with a distance of about twenty-five miles. Only the condition of the road would make the trip long, in addition to the heat and humidity. Illya was dutifully removing his jacket and preparing to drive even as Napoleon took his seat and began his report into Mr. Waverly.

That the government knew of their arrival and mission was a possibility. It remained to be seen, however. There would be no lack of curiosity when news circulated about the unusual team of an American and a Soviet citizen; UNCLE was known to be apolitical, but few in the ranks of government ever truly believed it.

The team of Solo and Kuryakin had no reason to expect anything different here.

Illya was willing to wait for an explanation as to why they were heading in the opposite direction from the gold mining region. This affair was being handed out to them in increments; he didn't like it, but he wasn't in charge. Napoleon had the details as given to him by Mr. Waverly, and if Georgetown had something to offer them in the way of a clue, spending unnecessary time driving along the poorly maintained roads of this hot, sticky country was what he would do. It would not, ultimately, be without complaint or a certain degree of surliness on his part, but then it was expected of him. Napoleon would have his turn when the going got rough…and dirty. They had a future up ahead that included jungles and rivers, traveling on foot, probably…and Thrush.

Georgetown sounded like a good idea, come to think of it.

Chapter 6

The drive to Georgetown was uneventful; always a refreshing change from the alternative mayhem that often followed them. Reciting the directions he had been given on his last communication with headquarters, Napoleon attempted to navigate, passing alongside centuries old canals that helped keep the city from flooding. Being situated at three feet above the high tide line, the two men marveled at the choice of location, but equally so at the ingenuity that had kept it relatively dry during the years. In looking closely, it was apparent that some of the buildings were on brick and concrete pilings, intended to allow floodwaters to pass beneath without moving or destroying the homes and businesses that were, at this time of the day, full of activity.

"Do you know where we are headed, Napoleon?"

To his credit, Illya's voice carried only the dimmest indication of his growing weariness and discontent. It wasn't his partner's fault that they were here in the heat and humidity, not yet situated in a hotel or, more importantly, without a meal in front of them. For some reason he hadn't been particularly hungry during the flight, but now his appetite was expressing its demands. Hopefully…

"I do, my friend, and we are going to turn right…on this street! Hurry, right turn!"

Illya fairly peeled around the corner at the commands from the passenger side of the jeep, keeping the vehicle from turning over by sheer willpower and years of experience heeding his partner's directions.

"Napoleon, when will you learn to look far enough ahead to give me a fair chance at following your directions without spilling us out on the pavement?"

The American's response was to ignore his companion, all the while pointing to a large white wooden structure that now stood in front of them in a type of cul-de-sac; the grounds were lush with tropical vegetation, flowers and, if his hearing was correct, Illya thought he heard various bird calls all around the park like setting.

"Here you are, my little hot-headed Russian. Perhaps a drink in the bar of this beautiful establishment will ease the obvious tension that is troubling you."

A slow smirking smile began to cover the handsome agent's face, serving only to increase the ire of the blond, his weariness now exacerbated by the seeming aloofness of the man seated next to him.

"Napoleon…"

"Yes, Illya?"

It was too hot to indulge in any irritation. Besides that, the prospect of finding air conditioning or, at the very least, a highly efficient fan, was now more important than continuing to be a grouch. He thought that was the word Napoleon had used to describe him one time. He didn't wish to carry the title…at present.

"It really is quite lovely. How long do we intend to stay here?"

Napoleon looked pleased with himself. It wasn't his choice for them to stay here, but having directed them he felt somehow responsible and, therefore, accepted the other man's appraisal as a personal kudos.

"I agree, it is very inviting. We have the rest of the day to sort through some details, but the real adventure doesn't start until tomorrow. We can enjoy our evening here among…'

Illya raised his eyebrows as if in anticipation until he rolled his eyes in a standard acquiescence of what he knew must come next.

"…the natives. So to speak."

With that, Napoleon's face broke into one of his trademark smiles. He was already imagining what delightful company he might find here in such a beautiful environment. Illya contemplated more reports, and the eventuality of encountering the enemy. He knew he had more work to do, studying and…

"I'm starving. I hope the food is good."

"You're always starving, and sometimes you eat it even if it's not good."

"Very funny, Napoleon, but…"

They were talking as they walked from a parking spot into the hotel lobby. Before Illya had finished his sentence, Napoleon grabbed his arm and thrust him sideways behind a tall potted palm. At the desk was Victor Gervais, a known Thrush man with an impressive organization in France. If he was here…

"What are you…"

"Sshhh…Illya, do you recognize him?"

Napoleon indicated Gervais, but the Russian hadn't seen him previously. In spite of his usual knowledge of nearly everything Mr. Waverly might bring up, he was not familiar with this man. Napoleon had never met him, but was aware of his successes in Europe.

"Victor Gervais. He's based in France. What is he doing here, in British Guiana of all places? This must be a bigger operation than even we have suspected. This might call for a little…hmmm…creative dialogue."

Illya suddenly had a bad feeling about all of this. Even though they hadn't been paired for long, he had come to learn that when his partner got creative ideas, it usually meant that someone was going to walk into the lion's den, so to speak. And more often than not, Illya was the bait for the lions.

The two men watched Victor Gervais as he conversed with the desk clerk, receive his room key and pass a card of some sort. A young woman appeared at his side, a blonde with a heart shaped face and an hour glass shaped figure.

Napoleon straightened up slightly, adjusted his tie and motioned to Illya that he was going to join them. Illya merely leaned his head back against the wall behind him and extended his arm, indicating that his partner should do just that. He knew he couldn't stop him, and assumed that he was also unknown to Gervais.

The American smiled and chuckled as he took in the sight of his partner up against the wall, his turtleneck clinging to his torso as a result of the heat and humidity, and his hair disheveled hopelessly from the ride in a topless jeep. Of course it was up to him to approach Victor Gervaise at this point in the game. Illya's part would come later.

This was where Napoleon Solo excelled; he would set the stage and do it with style. Gervais and his companion would welcome him, and soon the men from UNCLE would know exactly what was going on in this country.

This then, was the beginning of their little play.

Chapter 7

Napoleon reached the desk with a relaxed and cheerful demeanor, his attention equally divided between Gervais and his blonde companion. The woman appeared to be in her twenties; it was a typical liaison, perhaps, between an older, sophisticated man and a younger woman who was willing to be agreeable for the exchange of amenities it would provide.

"Oh, hello. I'm sorry…am I interrupting?"

The feigned concern over his inopportune appearance caused the tall and elegant Frenchman to turn in the agent's direction, unaware that he was, in truth, the object of the man's interest.

"I am interrupting. Please, I will be more than happy to wait my turn."

His smile was infectious, and the woman scanned him with brown eyes that betrayed dark roots, and careful attention from her hairdresser. Brown eyed blondes were rare, and Napoleon doubted she was any less duplicitous than the man she accompanied.

"No, not at all monsieur …?"

"Solo. Napoleon Solo. And I do apologize for my abruptness. I've been driving through this heat, I am just very anxious to get into my room. But, I'm certain we all have pressing business at hand."

His was a knowing smile, a charismatic grin that put Gervais at ease. He was accustomed to dealing with the brawn and, while sometimes efficient, less than elegant men he was forced to employ. This man, however, sparked a desire for a more sophisticated and subtle approach to world domination. This was a man he might consider a friend under certain circumstances.

"Mr. Solo, I am Victor Gervais. We are all, as you say, subject to this tropical clime, and here for business rather than pleasure. Perhaps, however, we might enjoy a meal together, to commiserate on our circumstances in this… somewhat primitive country. Dinner…tonight?"

"Please, Napoleon. It will lessen the strain of these circumstances."

Gervais was hooked.

"Yes, you are right, and so it is first names, although yours is very daunting to a Frenchman such as I.

The smile again, and a hearty handshake as he nodded to the young woman who was also smiling now at the handsome American.

Napoleon, this is my daughter, Evangeline. She has agreed to join me on this … trip. Are you here alone?

"Umm…actually…I am here with a colleague; Dr. Illya Kuryakin, recently of the Sorbonne. He is meeting with some fellow scientists to discuss the possibility of a future forum on…well, you probably don't want to know the details of a quantum physics symposium."

At that stroke of manipulation, Victor Gervais' eyes brightened momentarily before returning a cool reply to Solo's enticement. A quantum physicist might prove interesting, especially in light of the current project.

"We must meet your Dr. Kuryakin; it wouldn't do to leave him alone in his room while we dine together. Please, do bring along your colleague…shall we say eight o'clock in the dining room?"

"Victor, Evangeline…I look forward to it. And I'm sure Dr. Kuryakin will be pleased to join us."

With that the two, father and daughter, left the desk and headed towards the modest staircase. It didn't appear that the hotel possessed an elevator, and Napoleon watched as the two started their ascent to the second floor. He made a point of not looking interested, but was able to take note of the doors they entered.

Illya had been observing the exchange from the safety of his palm, noting with a hint of amusement the equal amount of observation going on between the three participants. The woman obviously found Napoleon attractive, and had spent much of her time producing adequately provocative gestures with her eyes and mouth. She fingered her hair in a manner that betrayed her interest, the subtle signs of flirtation unique to the female gender. Now he emerged from his hiding spot and walked casually across the lobby, empty save for the two agents and the man behind the desk.

"So, what type of arrangement have you made with monsieur Gervais? Are we now members of Thrush?"

Napoleon hinted at laughter as his partner approached him, nodding to the desk clerk that he would have his key now. They would require a change of clothes; an entirely new wardrobe for Illya, perhaps.

"He is traveling with his…uhh…daughter. Or so they say. I can't really imagine why he would concoct a story about it, so I suppose it's the truth. You are, by the way, Dr. Kuryakin."

He waggled his finger at the blond as he announced the title, indicating a plan of some sort was in the works, and that Illya was, as he had known he would be, the bait.

He sighed in resignation, knowing that it was the only path they could travel. Gervais would need a reason to engage them in any type of business dealings, or even social encounters. Thrush were not known for being casually social or gregarious. No amount of natural charm could overtake the desire for obtaining the goals of the hierarchy; world domination was a full time endeavor.

"What is our agenda, then? I suppose you are to charm the young lady whilst I enter into the deeper waters of actually spying on the enemy. That is the plan, is it not?"

Napoleon had to admit he had thought it would go something like that. But, what was the benefit of traveling with a quantum physicist if he couldn't be dangled in front of power hungry megalomaniacs? Illya should have thought twice about doctorates before he launched into all of that. Thrush was looking for scientists, and here they had one to deliver, so…

"Illya, I have no doubt you will handle it all with your usual aplomb. Your expertise is what we have going for us right now. Well, that and my obvious connection with Gervais' daughter. I think, for not having had a plan, the one we've ended up with is going to work out splendidly."

He managed to say all of that with a smile on his face, while his partner fairly scowled at the obvious good sense it made. He was tired, and needed to change into something not saturated with perspiration and dust. Napoleon caught that look, and immediately launched into yet another facet of the developing scenario.

"I was thinking that perhaps we should get you into appropriate clothing for the role. I think you need something other than basic black, and you don't intend to wear any more turtlenecks in this weather, so…"

Illya gave up trying to hold back the scowl. New clothes…only Napoleon would deem it necessary to outfit him in how he thought a scientist should dress.

"Yes, well you see…umm…I'm thinking something less serioius, to offset the obvious. It's hot here, and linen is the best choice. Being an intellectual doesn't mean you can't have good taste. With Victor Gervais involved, I think every effort needs to be made to impress."

The rumpled blond knew his partner was right. He wouldn't be taken seriously as a world-class physicist if he were dressed in his normally staid and spy like wardrobe. Unless he were a Russian scientist, of course, which is what he was.

"Napoleon…'

He stopped. What was the point? Linen would be more comfortable in this humidity, and it wouldn't bother him to dress more casually. At the moment the idea of stripping down to his shorts seemed like a very reasonable alternative to standing here sweating.

"All right, and where do we begin this shopping excursion? I will go along with this as long as you don't over do it."

Napoleon merely grinned. When did he ever overdo anything?

At precisely eight o'clock, Napoleon and Illya made an entrance into the hotel dining room. The dark haired American was dressed in a pair of white trousers, a crisp white shirt beneath his blue blazer. He had abandoned the idea of a tie in favor of a silk paisley scarf at his neck. In this place, it was a suitable substitute, and even in this heat he remained cool and unaffected.

He had determined that Illya would show best in white linen; and he did intend to show him off. The first impression was intended to wow Gervais, to set him at ease regarding the Russian. The Frenchman was, if nothing else, a stylish man of means who would appreciate good taste and refined embellishments on a man or a woman. Even a Russian scientist could be portrayed as having an élan born of discerning origins.

The first thing that struck Victor Gervais was the contrast between the two men who entered the dining room. Napoleon Solo was not a big man, but his ability to fill the room made an immediate impression. Dark and handsome, he exuded a continental elegance that belied his American birth. He had no doubts that Evangeline found the man attractive and, for Gervais, signaled a need to watch him carefully.

The other man, Dr. Kuryakin it would appear, was slighter of build and appeared to be not much older than a college student. It was hard to believe he was already an acknowledged physicist, a member of the global scientific community. He noted, also, that several tables' occupants had turned to observe the two as they walked through the room. The blond had an affect of extreme confidence; different from Solo's but just as domineering. He wondered at the conflict these two might construct out of opposite points of view, the scenes of alpha competition an interesting possibility.

The older man rose as his new companions reached his table. Evangeline nodded and smiled, holding out her hand for the requisite kiss from the American. A slight bow came from the blond, his eyes causing her to start slightly. They were a shocking shade of ice blue, and the intensity of that brief encounter chilled her.

Whereas monsieur Solo had a warm intensity in his brown eyes, Dr. Kuryakin's gaze was icy and penetrating. She felt intimidated and, momentarily, emotionally naked as the introductions were made.

"I'd like to introduce my friend, Dr. Illya Kuryakin. Illya, this is Victor Gervais and his daughter Evangeline."

"Monsieur, mademoiselle…it is a pleasure".

It was flawless French in which he greeted the two, and they both acknowledged a better than average accent from one not of French birth.

"You are familiar with our language, then, Dr. Kuryakin? Your accent is excellent."

Illya let the corner of his mouth betray a wisp of appreciation for the compliment as his partner suppressed a grimace at the now familiar nod to the Russian's expertise with languages.

"You are most kind, monsieur. I studied in France, at the Sorbonne. I owe whatever compliments come to me as an homage to that time, and the people who guided me.'

He fairly gleamed in the crystal glazed lighting in this room. His white linen suit was only a few shades lighter than his sun streaked hair, and the effect of driving in the tropical sun lent, if not a tan, at least a more colorful complexion.

"Are you here, if I may inquire, on business…or pleasure?"

Gervais was pleased with this man. He considered that he and Evangeline were quite fortunate to have met these two; in the midst of Thrush business, it was a pleasure to encounter men of similar breeding and tastes. The normal Thrush personnel grew wearisome very quickly.

"Ah, Dr. Kuryakin…"

"You must call me Illya. We are not formal here, I hope."

That was accompanied by a rare and captivating smile, something not easily pried from the Russian's repertoire of expressions. Both father and daughter were immediately captivated by it; Evangeline forgot the earlier chill, deciding that he was not cold…not at all.

"Yes, you are generous, doctor…oh, Illya.'

The man's grin spread across his face as he acquiesced to the enticement of UNCLE's most charming duo. If he had only known…

"I must admit, you seem quite young to be so accomplished in your field. Napoleon has told us a little about your business here; a symposium on quantum physics, I believe?"

Illya let his eyes drop seductively, inviting more speculation than was already present.

"We are in the process of planning only. It would be of great interest to gather the world' pre-eminent people. There are so many theories, so many paths of exploration!"

He let himself sound carried away by the subject matter, which in fact, he was. Although several years removed from his studies, the intermittent trips to the labs and the stacks of journals in his apartment kept him abreast of the latest developments in his former field of study. He was warming to this role, and Napoleon sat by and waited for the pay off.

At some point, Victor Gervais was going to want this Russian on his project.

Round One to Team UNCLE.