The Boxing Affair - the rest of the story...

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

It all started HERE

Chapter 16

The road leading away from the river was no less challenging than the one they had taken from the airport into Georgetown. This one had the added attractions of a rainforest that threatened to overrun the road itself. As they traveled along at, thankfully, less than breakneck speeds, Illya was attempting to enlighten his partner concerning their environment.

"What you see here, the color of the soil is due to the concentration of iron and aluminium oxides, the laterization process gives the oxisols a bright red hue and sometimes produces mineral deposits such as bauxite, a very important economic element here in British Guiana."

Napoleon nodded, once again impressed at the vast amount of information stored in his partner's mind. He wondered facetiously if it ever hurt…just a little.

"What about the gold? They seem to have hit upon a hidden vein, considering there hasn't been any reports of continued mining in this area. It's been decades since anything significant came out of here."

If the map were correct, they were heading for Gervais' operation, and it would undoubtedly have a few surprises for them. Only Illya really had any idea of what was being concocted by Thrush, his quantum mind being what it was.

"I only know they need the gold in order to create the situation that I think Gervais is orchestrating here. It seems…"

A huge rut in the road caused them to bounce in the air, each of them losing whatever thoughts they had concerning Gervais. The jeep went airborne for a few minutes as the men inside held on for dear life; Illya clutching at the steering wheel as Napoleon held on to the roll bar overhead. It was a long interlude for them both that ended in a bone rattling thump as the vehicle finally landed and continued on its way, apparently unscathed.

They kept going, each of them trying to mentally regain the conversation that had been interrupted by the unexpected launch. Instead of talking, they traveled on in silence, aware of how quickly things could change.

It was better to hit a rut in the road than to encounter a more deadly article, like a mine or incendiary of some sort. They were heading into enemy territory, and in spite of their good fortune at finding the jeep and map, serious business awaited them. They hadn't forgotten, but the former euphoria was now solidly replaced by an intensity of purpose that would not be found wanting during the remainder of this affair.

Napoleon was monitoring their progress against the plot they had charted on the map. He motioned to Illya to slow down, as it appeared to him they were approaching the mine site. If he was correct, then they needed to stash the jeep here in the jungle and travel the rest of the way on foot. Gervais would be expecting them, no doubt, since they had disappeared from the boat. Although not entirely familiar with the man, Napoleon realized that he hadn't risen within Thrush without being competent, if not completely ruthless.

Illya pulled off into the jungle, finding a spot that was well hidden from the road, but still within distance should they require a hasty retreat. Since that was the type they normally needed, it seemed the best course of action.

Both men collected the few items they had found in the jeep, a length of rope and large pickaxe, checked their Specials out of habit, and set off towards the mine indicated on the map. Having had a lecture on the nature of their environment, Napoleon felt none the better in this primeval forest. He loathed insects and snakes, all of the slithery inhabitants of such places, and added to that list jaguars and boars. He shuddered to think what they might run into.

Illya, on the other hand, was hard pressed to not stop and take samples. He was in scientist mode after his more recent incarnation as a quantum physicist, and all of this was a keen reminder of his aspirations not so many years ago. It was now an almost humorous aside to his autobiography (something that would never be written), that he had actually entertained thoughts of entering the sciences. Little had he known that the Soviet government that sponsored his education had always intended for his purpose to be of a covert nature.

They were both traveling with an ear to the canopy above as well as the path ahead of them. Their eyes had adjusted to the lighting within this foreign environment; the dense foliage required the use of the pickaxe they had taken with them, their chopping impeded only slightly by the lack of sunlight.

They traveled like that for an hour, perhaps a little less. As they reached the edge of their enclosure, there was a small clearing in front of what looked to be the mine entrance. Two guards were stationed there, but each agent knew more must be close by. It was not possible for the operation to have such sparse coverage.

"Unless…"

Kuryakin looked at his partner, wondering again at how he came up with his schemes.

"Unless what, Napoleon?"

The American smiled knowingly, a sudden inspiration punctuating his already sanguine temperament. Something else Illya wondered about at length…

"What if this little operation isn't an official Thrush item. Perhaps our monsieur Gervais is doing a little extra-curricular project here in the jungle. It would explain why his daughter accompanied him, and why we don't see any more Thrush around this compound, if we can call it that. I think Gervais is a maverick of some sort, and this is his own personal power play."

The Russian was stalled for an answer. It might make sense, but if it were incorrect…

"All right, what do you propose to prove this conjecture of yours?"

Napoleon considered that for a minute. Gervais was bound to be inside, and there were probably cameras. They would need to wait and see if the guard changed, and if so how many times. He didn't think their duty would be longer than four hours, since that was about as long as anyone could stand out here in heat without some type of break. He needed one himself, and they'd only been on foot for a little over an hour.

"I say we sit here and watch until someone relieves these two. Then we wait and see how long it takes until the next break. What do you think?"

The blond head shook, and Napoleon wondered if that was a yes or a no, Illya sometimes forgot the difference to Americans.

"You are probably correct, although now I wish I had raided the galley before leaving the boat. I am very hungry all of a sudden."

That made his partner chuckle; no matter where they were, the Russian was hungry.

"I'm afraid we'll have to just wait on that, unless you think you can go foraging for our supper. I guess it has been awhile since we last ate something. I almost wish you hadn't mentioned it, because now I'm famished."

Illya looked around, his hunter/gatherer instincts kicking in amidst the emptiness in his stomach. This was a jungle, and there had to be something edible within reach.

"I will go and look for something. Perhaps I can find a mango tree."

Napoleon grimaced slightly. He had some bad memories of a mango…

"Okay, happy hunting. I'll be…right here."

With that Illya took off, back in the direction from which they'd traveled. He thought he remembered seeing some fruit hanging near the road. It was not uncommon to see fruit squashed from being run over by cars and trucks. The indigenous fruits were in such abundance the waste almost equaled its consumption.

As he thought, there were spots near the road with some large mango trees. What he needed was one that didn't tower over him at 100 feet or more. He spotted one and started the climb up towards a branch that would support him and allow him to pick some of the fruit. Ripe would be best, and surely there would be a few that hadn't fallen and been trampled on. As he reached a sturdy branch, the sound of an approaching vehicle caused him to stop, precariously perched on the limb as he was.

He peered through the leaves, trying to get a glimpse of the car that was laboring over the dirt road. It was both incomprehensible and incredibly lucky that it was a convertible, and within it's expensive frame rode the Frenchman, Victor Gervais.

"So, you didn't precede us, monsieur."

He spoke aloud to no one, determined now to make his way back to Napoleon and watch the scene at the mine. He grabbed several mangos and threw them down, after first testing the feel of their flesh. Almost ripe might have to do. There were a few others on the ground, and as quickly as he could he shimmied down the length of the tree trunk and gathered up his harvest of fruit.

He made his way back to his partner as quickly as he could through the jungle brush, leaping over fallen limbs or tangled roots, holding his mangos in the shirt that now served as a basket.

"Napoleon!" He called out the man's name as he approached the spot where he had left him.

To his surprise and dismay, Napoleon was gone.

Chapter 17

Illya let the mangos he carried in the front of his shirt drop to the ground. Napoleon was nowhere to be seen, and a sudden panic rose up, quickly squelched by an overriding sense of professional detachment. He didn't have time for anything that wouldn't aid his partner, should he be in need of rescuing.

But, how had they gotten to him, if he was actually in Thrush's hands?

The two guards had been replaced, and now there was one man at the entrance. What Illya saw next convinced him that this one would soon be relieved of duty as well, considering the approach of his formerly missing partner. Napoleon crept up soundlessly, delivered a blow to the back of the man's neck that might have rendered him paralyzed if not administered by someone of Solo's skill. As it was, the man would wake up with a horrendous headache.

As he was going down, Illya crept from his hiding place and then ran across the open space to find his spot next to Napoleon. The two exchanged looks that were filled with year's worth of agreement; two years worth, to be precise.

The American took the lead, having picked up the guards weapon he now motioned for the blond to change into the Thrush's uniform. They appeared to be about the same size, and Illya was the one who needed to get into the lab. Looking like one of the crew would help in that pursuit.

They accomplished everything without speaking, each motion confidently executed as though part of written orders. By the time Illya had changed, his partner was assuming the role of a prisoner, letting the Russian push him in a way that indicated a mastery over him.

"Hey, I found him outside. Where do you want him?"

He spoke to the first person he saw, assuming almost anyone inside would have access to a holding cell, or to Gervais himself.

"The Frenchman is in his office. Take him there…"

His response was cut off as Illya delivered a punch to his jaw that knocked him out immediately. Solo dragged him into an open doorway, evidence of the improvements that had been made to an otherwise rugged interior.

"You looked like you were back in the ring, tovarisch. It's good to know those boxing skills aren't lost."

He was grinning as he stripped off the uniform and assumed his new disguise. It seemed like years instead of months since they'd spent time at King's Gym, and that last time Illya had been knocked unconscious.

"Hmmm…well, it's easier with gloves on. I'm surprised my knuckles aren't in a constant state of arthritic pain. I never get used to this."

"Okay, which way do we go? We need to find the lab and put an end to whatever it is Gervais has going on here. I'll concentrate on him and you can disable the…what is it, exactly?"

Illya grinned, although his eyes telegraphed something indefinable. Perhaps he didn't want to destroy it; the potential was a phenomenal leap into the future if they were accomplishing anything like what he had described to his partner only two days ago. That seemed rather far away as well. They seemed to live in a time machine of another sort these days…

"I am not certain, my friend. Whatever it is, in the hands of Thrush, the potential is alarming. I rather wish I could take it back to New York, however. I suppose it is not practical to consider."

Napoleon wondered at his somber partner, the mind of a scientist always at work behind this dangerous exterior. He was the most complicated person he had ever known, and the most dependable. As much as the man probably wanted to tinker and experiment with this new futuristic toy, the UNCLE agent would never shrink back from the responsibility inherent in the assignment. Illya would destroy it, and leave the research to another time, another place.

"Just make sure they haven't already figured out what to do with it. I'd hate to think that Thrush could go back and find out how to make an atom bomb or, worse, side up with Hitler and win that war. This could change history, and none of it for the better."

Illya knew it was true, knew that human nature would most assuredly destroy whatever good could be gained from such a discovery.

The two men stepped out cautiously from within the room that now contained two unconscious Thrush. The mine interior was mostly what they had expected; the rough walls retaining the appearance of what it was, an excavated cave. Several passageways indicated operations going on in various locations within, but conveniently arranged with accompanying directions and headings.

LABORATORY was indicated by a large red sign, a small bird the only additional embellishment to the word.

"So, I suppose we should head that way."

Illya looked serious, but anticipation of what lay ahead made a small quirk at the corners of his mouth. He was ready for the rumble, so to speak.

Funny how the promise of an explosion set the Russian's mood in such a good humor.

The two assumed the attitude of men at work, and headed off towards the advertised laboratory with a sureness of step that indicated they belonged there. Anyone observing would have assumed the two were simply about their business; anyone except for Evangeline Gervais, who happened to observe the two agents from a half open door.

She had assumed they were not invincible, but perhaps she was wrong. Here they were, against all odds, and clearly intent upon destroying her father's work. She shouldn't allow it, being aware of their presence as she was. It was she, after all, who had alerted her father to their real identities. She only half regretted it, seeing that they had emerged still in tact, and not showing any signs of damage. Napoleon looked rather handsome in that uniform, she thought…

Still, wasn't it her duty to try and stop them? Or was it? Perhaps her father's loyalty didn't need to be hers. She loved Victor Gervais, and was devoted to him after the nature of a daughter. The death of her mother had left her with the one parent, and he had done everything for her, including spoiling her with trips like this one. She wasn't Thrush by choice, and that alone was enough to make her want to foil their plans, as they had foiled her life with the dedication that motivated her father even more than any love he had for her.

With that coursing through her brain and emotions, she decided to simply follow the two UNCLE agents. She wouldn't alert anyone just yet, and if it suited her, she might even help them accomplish whatever it was they were intent on doing. The worst that might happen to her father didn't occur to her, and fascination with the two men overwhelmed her inclination to blind loyalties.

She was due for a change.

Illya could sense the lab up ahead. His anticipation of seeing what was there fueled him to increase his speed, causing his partner to also. Behind and unknown to them, Evangeline quickened her pace as well. She intended to be there when they did whatever it was they were going to do. Excitement over the prospects of a show began to build within her, and she realized that she was now on their side. Thrush was the menace that had plagued her life, taking her father away from her too many times. Deep down she was certain it had been the cause of her mother's premature death. She never allowed herself to believe Victor had contributed, but it didn't preclude a small measure of blame.

All of these things were rising above the usually reserved demeanor, demanding a place within her organized mind. She had set things into compartments, not letting them mix one with the other. Life had to be properly defined, the elements of that life not complicated by assumptions or accusations that were beyond proving. It was how she was able to cope, not knowing or admitting the evidence into her line of vision. The entirety of her existence was built upon a fragile hope that the worse thing she could imagine was not true.

She continued to follow the agents who were now disguised as Thrush. She marveled at how easily they assimilated the roles, just as they had appeared initially, to her, as scientist and diplomat. This world of deceit and treachery was a way of life, and yet she was willing to yield to them, protect them, rather than expose their presence to her father. The same instinct that had alerted her to their real identities was now telling her that she should trust them, and not the man for whom she had reserved such loyalty.

It was almost too much, and yet she knew she could not resist. She would not turn back from this, regardless of the cost. As surely as she knew they were the ones with a more righteous cause, she knew her father was on the wrong side of this battle. She had let blind loyalty lead her for too long. It would end today.

Illya held up his hand as they approached the entrance to the laboratory. His heart was beating at a disproportionate rate to the situation. He was stunned at his reaction, the knowledge that before him, possibly, lay the means of harnessing an untold measure of knowledge and opportunity. In his hands lay the means to destroy it.

"Illya, are you all right?"

His partner had grown unaccountably pale, his breathing seemed rapid, and not a result of the pace they had kept in arriving here.

"Yes…yes, quite all right. Forgive me for yielding somewhat to the scientific just now. If what I imagine this to be, is as it should be, then we are on the verge of destroying what is, perhaps, one of the greatest accomplishments of this century. Of any century!"

Napoleon nodded, not quite understanding the conflict that his partner was enduring. It must be agonizing, seeing both sides of this situation with equal clarity. The scientist in him most certainly dreaded destroying what he would have so loved to explore; the agent intent on just that very thing.

The Russian took a deep breath before he opened the door, having utilized the passkey found in the uniforms they wore. What he saw when entering the room nearly took his breath away.

The room was vast, with computers lining the walls on either side of a large glass enclosure. Or, at least it looked like glass. Illya assumed it was something else, something less fragile. Within its spherical shape were various sizes of cone like structures, perhaps catalysts of some sort. A dizzying array of lights and buttons displayed against the clear structure, all of it pulsating as though accompanying a musical score.

There was a rhythm to it that was not lost on the two men. It was entirely possible that the mathematical equations necessary for the construction of such a wonder had somehow merged into a type of musical composition. The two were not that far removed, and Illya understood only too well the relationship between one and the other.

Their intrusion into this space was unnoticed by the few men who tended to it. Most of their attention was on the banks of computers that stacked against the far wall, opposite the door. Illlya began immediately to figure where best to situate an explosive device; something he had yet to lay his hands on. He figured it would not be difficult to set up a cascading effect in this room; one well timed incendiary torching off the next, and so forth. The centerpiece to the room, the clear enclosure, was where the transformative experience of time or space displacement occurred. He knew that instinctively.

If only he could see it demonstrated, just once…

"Gentlemen, I see you have found your way to my little experiment."

Napoleon and Illya turned as one, startled not only to hear the voice of Victor Gervais, but the shocking scene as his henchmen held Evangeline. Confusion was evident in Napoleon's eyes while his partner maintained a look of complete disinterest. Looks were deceiving.

"I, uh…well, we're certainly pleased to be here. This is quite some operation you have going, Gervais."

Napoleon spoke as though merely interrupted in a walk through a museum, and not in the face of some ultimate evil. Illya returned his gaze to his surroundings, still calculating how to destroy it.

Gervais must have ascertained as much, as he motioned for a guard to take the Russian in hand, meeting resistance as he did so. Another Thrush stepped behind him, hitting him hard with the butt end of his weapon. Illya collapsed into a heap at the feet of his partner, causing Napoleon to wince as he resisted the urge to go to his aid.

Right now, he needed to keep Gervais in check, all the while wondering why Evangeline was also it seemed, in custody.

"Is this thing ready to launch?"

The question was casual in its delivery, but Napoleon was hopeful for a negative reply. He needed Illya to figure out the method of disposal for this. That's what a scientist was for. He was trying to figure out a way to dispose of Gervais and the three guards he had with him when Evangeline let out a shriek and then sank to the ground as though she had fainted.

Gervais couldn't resist, in spite of the hardness of his Thrush countenance. His daughter, his Evangeline…

Napoleon wasted no time in disposing of the man who held him, who was momentarily distracted by Evangeline's swoon and her father's response to it. The man holding the girl tried to respond but was kicked in the face and removed as a threat. The third man, trying to make sense of the sudden attack, was met with the business end of his fallen comrade's weapon so quickly that Gervais had no time to even rise up from his position next to Evangeline.

The entire episode was swiftly executed, and all three Thrush guards were on the ground, Gervais kneeling down in their fallen midst. Evangeline was miraculously alert, considering her feigned distress. Illya was still out cold, something that did not inspire Napoleon with good feelings.

"Evangeline, will you please do something for me?"

She nodded, moving away from her father before he had the presence of mind to grab her and use her for a shield. Funny how she had known he might do that very thing.

"I see a piece of rope hanging on that wall…over there.'

He motioned with his head, noting that the two men in lab coats who attended to the computers had not moved from their jobs. The agent wondered if that was dedication or an aversion to violence. Either way, he didn't care as long as they stayed out of his way.

Evangeline fetched the rope, knowing that it was for her father that it was intended. She proceeded to tie his hands behind his back without any further prompting from Napoleon, causing him to wonder…

Illya began to stir, cursing softly in Russian as he held a hand to his aching head. He rose swiftly, considering what must have been a sense of vertigo after having his skull assaulted by a rifle butt. He looked around the room, decided on the computer panel that he would target first. Gervais sighed as he realized what was soon to occur, his project in grave danger. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. His own daughter had finally turned against him, in spite of his best efforts to hide what he really was. Like her mother, keen instincts and an uncanny ability to see the truth had uncovered his duplicity and…he chuckled.

"What is it, Gervais? You find humor in the destruction of your time machine?"

Napoleon was perplexed, still not understanding why Evangeline was helping him and Illya.

"Monsieur Solo, I cannot begin to explain it to you. However, you are not yet successful in your quest. Perhaps there are other guards on their way here even now, and you and your partner will yet end up quite dead."

The smile was half formed, his eyes betraying the lack of amusement. Victor Gervais was a dangerous and deadly opponent, in spite of his elegant appearance and gracious manner. Napoleon was not fooled by any of it, and should they survive and meet again, he had no doubt the Thrush chief would want him dead.

Illya had rounded up the scientists in the room, still amazed and slightly sorry about what he was going to do next. Through a series of electrical signals, the first computer was set to explode, sending a command to the next, and then the next one after that and so on, until the room was consumed by them. He wasn't going inside the enclosure, however. It remained locked, and was not able to be penetrated without a command from the banks of computers. Without them, it was a useless isolation chamber, not able to communicate or respond. An UNCLE clean up crew would be able to dismantle it later.

"It's ready, Napoleon. I suggest we remove ourselves from here, and very soon."

At that, a fizzing sound was heard, and then popping and hissing ensued, lights flaring and the beginnings of the explosive chain that lllya had orchestrated.

They all turned quickly to the doorway, even Gervais moving rapidly as he lost all interest in saving his precious project.

Evangeline clung to Napoleon as he propelled her forward, with Illya taking up the rear. The scientists had run out first, knowing that their work was now lost to this destruction. There were no heroics involved with this crew, and the noise of multiple explosions was enough to chase them completely out of the now defunct mine.

As the smoke chased them, the UNCLE agents lost sight of Gervais, lost in a small crowd of guards and personnel in which he had managed to disappear. When the interior was completely emptied and the noise of exploding computers and falling rock were behind them, Napoleon and Illya searched the area for the Frenchman, their eyes finally falling on the empty space where his car had been previously.

"He got away, and didn't even say goodbye. I guess that means we're not friends anymore."

Napoleon only half smiled at his own comment, putting his arm around the escaped man's daughter. She buried her face in his chest, realizing now that life as she knew it no longer existed. For now, she would take some comfort in the safety she felt in the American's embrace.

Illya continued to gaze back into the smoke blackened entrance of the mine.

All of that potential…gone.

He hadn't even been offered the opportunity to see if it worked. The realization came to him that he could at least confer with the scientists who had worked on this quantum marvel. Perhaps there would be answers to his questions among them.

"I think we'd better call this in. Perhaps Gervais can still be stopped at an airport or…"

Evangeline straightened up at that, shaking her head.

"No, father will be on his way out of the country via something unknown, even to me. He has so very many ways of traveling. I fear you will not be able to apprehend him, not this time."

Napoleon considered it, agreeing with the girl.

"I suppose you're correct, Evangeline. Perhaps we will meet up with him again with home field advantage."

Illya smirked a little, thinking that New York City did belong to them. Thrush rarely bested them in their own backyard.

The American looked down at the girl again, wondering about her future. She sensed his concern and tried to reassure him.

"Napoleon, I am not without my own resources. I have friends who are unknown to my father. I believe I shall go to them for a time, to try and plan my future. It will be challenging, but perhaps starting over is something I will enjoy. I have learned quite a lot watching the two of you."

He smiled back at her, believing that she, of all people, could indeed start a new life. Illya noted the exchange, deciding to leave them for a bit.

"I shall see about rounding up these scientists. They could be of some use to UNCLE, and might appreciate the working conditions more; no threat of death if they fail."

With that he headed off to the cluster of white coats that had melted into a solid mass in the shelter of some mango trees. It was a wonder that one of them hadn't been plunked on the head by now.

Epilogue

Illya looked uncomfortable where he lay, his hands encased in the large gloves and his blond hair splayed out around his head. The canvas beneath him was hard, especially when it greeted his flailing body on the way down from a particularly vicious right hook.

He thought he was still conscious, but he was not certain of it. Things seemed to be floating in and out of his line of sight, and he wanted to sleep now.

"Illya…Illya! Don't go to sleep on me now, tovarisch. You're not done yet."

That voice, yelling at him from beyond the ropes…

"What? Napoleon? Are we still in Sao Paolo?"

Somewhere in the back of his memory, he knew that he had ended up in Brazil, at the Pan American Games. The slot on the Canadian team had remained open for him, in spite of his absence to stop the time machine in British Guiana. He did remember all of that.

"Illya…wake up!"

Why was it, he wondered, that even when they weren't on an assignment, he was still the one getting his head bashed in?

Waverly had decided to let him compete, since he had been inserted onto the team as a personal favor to the UNCLE chief, for what he had thought would be the actual mission assignment. Since his absence had left a hole in the team that, for some odd reason, they hadn't been able to fill, the old man had sent him back to join them. Napoleon had come along to fulfill that role of trainer, even though he doubted it was much help to him.

He got up slowly, some of his actions imbued with a calculation of his next moves…

Clang! The bell rang again, and without hesitating, Illya began to dance around the ring, gathering momentum as he anticipated the punch necessary to end this thing now, once and for all. He was in his last match, having lost all hope of winning anything. Still, this consolation event had to be finished and he didn't relish going out the loser.

His opponent was an unfortunate fellow from Uruguay, and Illya figured he would dispatch him now, having figured out how he'd failed to duck out of the path of the man's glove earlier.

The two men were soaked in sweat, their bodies glistening beneath the hot lights. If one were inclined to lascivious observations, this certainly provided fodder for that type of fire. Illya had not gained more than a few pounds, barely making the minimum requirements. He was, however, all muscle. His upper body had attained a firmness that matched that of his legs, always strong due to a constant state of running, he thought.

In these lights his body sort of glowed, blond hair and sparkling sweat combining to set his appearance apart from the darker shading of his opponent. From behind, those fortunate enough to have that view saw a tautly framed body, the back rippling with a sinewy appearance that tapered to a slim waist and hips; all of this eliciting several whimpers from the audience members, not all of them female. The features of his face were undamaged, although the last blow would leave a mark eventually.

His blue eyes were steely, firm and resolute. He saw where he wanted to place the final blow, and feeling only slightly hesitant to take out a legitimate competitor, the barely 140 pound blond made one decisive move and flattened his opponent with a left hook that had come out of nowhere.

The man's body flew backwards, hitting the ropes first before sliding bonelessly to the canvas, sweat and spittle spraying from his head and mouth as if in slow motion. He landed with a thud, and the arena erupted into a wild frenzy of applause and shouting.

The considerable number of women in the audience, not unheard of but certainly increased due to the interest in the handsome faux Canadian, screamed and whistled at the man still standing. It wasn't often that the numbers of boxing fans increased in such impressive amounts. Little did they know he would not be seen again in this setting.

Napoleon merely smiled, his enthusiasm not abated, but his need to appear unaffected a matter of surviving the flight home.

When finally they were seated on the UNCLE jet that would ferry them safely back to New York, Illya succumbed to the weariness that had threatened to claim him one round too soon.

"I have no interest in ever doing this again. I hope you get the next assignment that requires this type of brutality."

Brown eyes reflected a humor as dark as they were.

"Sorry, tovarsich. It's just not my style. Besides, didn't you see all of those women out there? I'm surprised they didn't jump over the ropes and haul you out into some sort of orgy for the masses; with you as the main event."

Illya merely snarled at his partner. Leave it to Napoleon to make a boxing match a prequel to sex.

"I am tired Napoleon. Your foolish ideas hold no appeal for me, all the more reason to let you do these things. I have no doubt that you would go willingly with whomever would have you."

"Ouch! I think I'm insulted."

But the smile remained, and did so even as his partner yielded to the drowsiness, and then sleep.

"It's all right, my friend. I'll let you rest…for now."

finis