The Transformation Affair part 2

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Please forgive the formatting, it's a little off.
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Illya could feel the car turning off of the main road. He assumed it was a driveway of some sort to the destination to which they were heading. Hopefully Napoleon was close by, and would be able to intervene should the need arise. As for himself, this was beginning to seem more and more unlike what he had anticipated. A simple courier drop had turned into a kidnapping, possibly an interrogation; worst cast scenario would be that his cover was blown. Napoleon watched from the window of his taxi, passing the entrance to the chateau that he now knew to be the Thrush location. His partner was in the Citroen, heading for what, he didn't know. He wondered why they had taken him forcefully, changing the plan and ending here at this isolated location. He reluctantly told the driver to turn around and go back to Tours, explaining that he had apparently gotten the wrong directions and needed to make a phone call and correct the information.

As the taxi made the journey back from where they'd started, the agent began to formulate some kind of plan. He needed to give Illya time inside of the chateau; it wouldn't do either of them any good to break his cover before he'd had an opportunity to assure his captors that the information was what they'd sent for, and that he was indeed the courier they had expected. Napoleon knew that some additional digging was necessary back in New York. The man they had detained might have left something out; something key to this operation that was now lacking in Illya's representation of the man and his mission. He had thought they had all that was needed, after this abrupt beginning with all of it's alterations, he had his doubts. He wondered what was in store for his partner at the hands of these apparently suspicious Thrushes.

When the Citroen pulled up in front of the entrance to the chateau, the man in the passenger seat got out and opened Illya's door. They weren't yet willing to remove his blinding hood, so he was escorted up the steps and in through the front doors. He could smell the age in this place, and imagine the furnishings from previous visits to similar buildings. They came into a large entry, the room echoing from it's height and the stone flooring beneath their feet. He could sense it's size somehow, the presence of a stairway off to the right, and closed rooms on either side of this space. From somewhere ahead were the aromas of cooking that triggered a pang of hunger, and he realized he'd not eaten for about eight hours. That was far too long for him, and he hoped they might offer him a meal, as long as he was here.
"Ah, here we are then, safe and sound. Take off his hood...' someone yanked it off his head, none too gently.
"You have not been too inconvenienced by all of the mystery, I hope". The man speaking was, to Illya's deep regret, someone he had met previously under less than hospitable circumstances. He assumed they had discovered his deception. Illya replied in the same French as he had been addressed. For now, it seemed, that would be the language of choice.
"I trust that there was good reason for it, monsieur. Just as I trust now that there will be some explanation for it". He wouldn't assume yet, but would carry on as though he were, indeed, the courier they had expected.
The eyes of the other man traveled up and over the UNCLE agent's body, looking for something familiar, but finding not enough to engage his suspicions. "We had been warned of some contrivance from UNCLE, but it seems that you have arrived without incident. The package we are expecting is on your person, I assume". He tilted his head slightly as he said that, indicating that it could be handed over now. The waiting was done and it would be down to business.
"I do, and appreciate that it was not taken from me earlier. That would have been distressing". Illya reached into his jacket pocket and removed the desired item, placing it in the Thrush man's hand as though it were breakable. He paid special attention to the man's eyes, hoping they weren't examining him more closely, but rather attentive to the much anticipated delivery.
"Ah, yes...here it is. And, you have done well; your patience is appreciated. I understand there was some...misunderstanding earlier. You were physically assaulted? My man will be corrected concerning his treatment of you. Perhaps I can offer something to help asuage your discomfort...a massage, perhaps'...with that he instructed one of the men to go fetch the masseuse and motioned for Illya to accompany another of his associates to what turned out to be his own bedroom. His satchel was there waiting for him, and a special table was set up in preparation for what had already been determined would take place. He was instructed to disrobe and get onto the massage table and wait for the girl, who would be there shortly.

Illya assumed that this was still part of the test. It was a little more subtle than stripping him down and examining his body, but at least he would get some relaxation out of it; it sounded better than a regular Thrush grunt doing the job.
When the door opened, a lovely young woman entered wearing loose white slacks and an expensive looking silk tee shirt. Her hair was a honey hued brown and tied back into a loose braid that hung to the middle of her back. She entered with all the assurance of one who had done this a hundred times or more, and she smiled when the young albino man turned his head to watch her entrance.
"Monsieur bonne journe. Je suis ici pour votre massage". Her accent was beautiful, but then this was the place heralded as the home of perfect French.
"Bonne journ e manquer. J'ai h te de lui". He responded that he looked forward to her services. Then he asked in English...
"Are you an employee here? It seems an extraordinary privilege to keep a masseuse on the payroll". She was struck by his youthfulness and the intensity of his blue eyes. It seemed inconsistent with the rest of his coloring...or lack of it. When she spoke again it was with an American accent, which was extraordinary considering that her French was so flawless. She must have learned it here, in this region.
"I stay here sometimes, on a retainer. Monsieur Deneauve is a charming host, and often has weekend guests here to entertain. I am simply here to help them relax". She put some emphasis on the last word, smiling as she did so. The Russian felt compelled to let her do whatever she needed in order to help him relax, it only seemed polite.
"Well, I look forward to this. Thank you". He put his head into the nook supplied and prepared for the pleasure of something he felt was well earned. Even if he were in a Thrush house, he might as well enjoy what was offered for as long as it lasted. The job of delivering the courier's packet was done. After the massage and, hopefully, a meal, he might be able to be on his way. As the girl began to work on his shoulders, he felt himself being lulled into sleep. Her hands were magical, the touch an invitation to slumber. Try as he might, he couldn't keep from drifting off between satisfied grunts and involuntary movements as she lifted each arm and pulled, then rubbed at well used muscles. Her hands were warm as she worked his lower back, tucking the sheet low enough to get to the tops of his gluts and sides. The backs of his legs were also given a thorough work out, easing out tenseness from the long flight and the train ride. Then she asked him to roll over onto his back. At this point she lit something next to his head...incense he thought. It smelled good, like sandalwood...and he drifted off into a satisfying and deep sleep, totally unaware as she lifted the sheet and examined him more closely. She continued to massage his chest, working her way down his torso and beyond; all of his body hair was the same colorless hue, if that word could be used. Every part of him was embellished with that white hair, even what lay beneath the sheet. He was amazing looking, and she regreted her departure as she closed the door behind her, leaving him asleep in the room.

"So, you believe he is our man, then". The young masseuse responded in an affirmative nod, indicating that all was as it should be concerning the young man upstairs.
"He is quite perfect. The coloring is uniform, and appears...everywhere...on his body. I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite like him before. Even the slightness of his build belies the muscles beneath. He is a perfect little package, that one, and entirely intact. Savez-vous ce que je veux dire?.".
Deneauve noted her praise of the young man and understood her reference to his unaltered genetalia. He considered letting her have him for the evening. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to offer him someone so willing and so desireable. He certainly had no use for her tonight.

"Fine, we shall entertain him this evening and then send him on his way in the morning. We will dispatch another courier with the packet he delivered to us, and it should reach Thrush Central by tomorrow evening. This has gone well, and I will need to call our man in New York and thank him. This information will certainly be an advantage for us in the weeks and months to come". Ethan Deneauve was confident now of his position within the hierarchy. He had thwarted UNCLE's plans, completed the courier's assignment and would now enjoy the bounty of success. Here in France he had an idyllic life, was surrounded by beautiful and charming companions and held his own future resolutely in his hands. It was a small thing to reward those who helped him by sharing the small comforts he could offer. The albino had done well, and would be sent back to New York with his compliments, and his thanks.
He picked up the phone to make the call to his associate in America, ready to share the good news of a job well done, another victory for their cause. What he heard from the other man chilled him to the core, however. His jovial mood was replaced by a tremor of anger and disgust; both for himself and the man who lay upstairs enjoying his hospitality. "Genevieve, are you certain about his...attributes? He has had no surgeries there?" He was amazed at the thoroughness of this duplicity, but UNCLE had overlooked one very important detail.
"Yes, he is quite complete. Why do you ask?" The woman was curious, and recognized the anger that was building in her employer as they spoke.
"The original courier, Mikhail Vlachko, is circumcised. And you say the man upstairs is not...we have among us an UNCLE agent, I believe. That means we cannot trust the information he has given us. Go and wake him up...now. I think that we should talk to the young man and see what he can tell us".
Genevieve shook her head in disbelief. How could they have accomplished such a thing, to create an albino man to such perfection? He was so beautiful, she dreaded to think what might happen to him. Still, she must go and get him for Deneauve, before she fell into disfavor. The entire affair had taken a most unfortunate turn.

Napoleon Solo was waiting in the lobby of his hotel for the car to arrive from Paris. Standing there, surveying the street and watching people stroll by, he wondered how Illya had fared with the Thrush. Everything should be fine, they had been very thorough, and his appearance was so convincing he imagined that there would be no problems convincing the enemy of his authenticity. He had to have access though, and keep an eye on the chateau for any signs to the contrary. He saw a car coming up the street, the silver color announcing it as one of the prized UNCLE vehicles. The person driving was enjoying the ride, he could tell. When it finally came to a sudden stop in front of the hotel, the driver's side door opened and within he saw a young woman with fiery red hair and a brilliant smile lighting up her face. To say he was pleasantly surprised would be to understate his response. The night was suddenly full of possibilities, and his concerns over his partner slightly diminished in light of this new development.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Solo". Napoleon recognized the agent, he had seen her in Paris. He returned her greeting and eased himself into the car, taking the passenger seat willingly. She seemed ready to drive with him and accompany him on his surveillance.
"Have you been briefed on this?" He wondered how much she knew already. They hadn't checked in with Paris, except for his call requesting the car.
"Napoleon...may I call you Napoleon?' He nodded and smiled.
"And your name is...Etienne, is it not". She nodded, approving of his excellent memory.
"I know we have Monsieur Kuryakin in a chateau outside of Tours. Do you have his situation confirmed?" She sounded as though she were cognizant of at least some of the mission.
"He is inside, taken by some force it appeared, but I know nothing else about his condition. They had no reason to suspect him outside of normal Thrush paranoia. Hopefully he's not had any problems. Let's get going and we can examine our options when we are at the sight". With that he nodded again, urging her to drive. They would assemble a plan of action when they had the chateau in sight. For now, it was a matter of getting there.

Illya had begun to stir when he heard the door to his room open, a slight groan to the hinges alerting him that someone was entering. Without his special or any other weapons, for that matter, he contented himself with appearing to be still asleep. The face that peered into his own was that of Genevieve, the lovely masseuse who had treated him so well.

"Ah, Monsieur, you are awake. I suggest that you get up and dress, because in a few minutes there will be an expectation of your arrival downstairs. You, it seems, are not the real Mr. Vlachko. There is something about your anatomy that is...uh...more intact, let us say, than the man you have replaced". He understood immediately to what she was referring, and let a Russian curse escape his lips as he betrayed his more than slight irritation at whoever had overlooked that detail. It was not usual for a Russian man to be circumcised. Someone had simply let that one go by, not expecting a detour from what was anticipated.
"I take it you are going to help me in some way". His eyes betrayed a genuine desire to be gotten out of this dilemma. He didn't want to think about why this detail had even been discussed, or what the expectations would have been from whoever discovered the flaw in his portrayal of the other man.
"I like you, Mr...whoever you are. I don't think I want to see you subjected to what I know is ahead of you. If you will hurry, we can make a way out of here through a passage I am aware of. But, first you must promise me that you will protect me. Monsieur Deneauve has a far reaching hand in this part of France. I will be in grave danger without your help". She looked imploringly at him, beseeching him with her eyes and the curve of her lips. He felt the danger here, and decided they would move quickly indeed. He was finishing pulling on his boots when she put her ear to the door and indicated that someone was coming.

"Stand back. I'll answer them, if they happen to knock. Which direction will we be going after I take care of whoever is out there?" He wanted to know and be able to act immediately. They seemed to have no time to spare in order to escape from here.
"We will need to go left from here, and then the passage entry is behind the large portrait at the end of that hallway, just before the landing".
"Alright, be ready..."
The knock at the door was hard and less than hospitable sounding. He answered slowly, as though still groggy, indicating that they could come in. As soon as the solitary figure entered the room Illya was on him, grappling with the gun hand and making a decisive chop to the man's throat, causing him to go down sputtering and choking. The deft movements of the Russian enabled him to take the gun, and finish the guard with a shattering blow from the handle of the pistol. Illya dragged him over to the bed and deposited him, tying his hands with a tassled cord from the window, and gagging him with a linen he pulled uncermoniously from the bedside table.
"Come on, you lead the way"...he motioned for Genevieve to go first, keeping his eyes vigilent for any other Thrush who might appear. Their way was clear, and the girl arrived at the protrait and pulled it back from the wall. There was a doorway behind it, not well used from the look of it. "I don't think they even know it's here. I discovered it one day when I was poking around...curiosity you know". She winked at the agent, glad that she was helping him and getting herself out from the clutches of the man downstairs. She had described him as generous, but in truth he was mean and overbearing. She had never liked him, but the money had been a lure. Too much of one, she now noted regretfully.

"Where will this come out? Have you actually been in here?" Illya was wondering now how well tested this was, and whether or not he may have succeeded by simply walking out the front door. No, too much combat and not enough fire power. This would have to do.
"I have been all the way to the end. There is a small little cottage no bigger than a shed, near the road; something you missed since your eyes were covered. We will be right there, ready to head down the hill and back towards Tours". He nodded. It sounded good, although they would need cover in order to hide, for Deneauve would most likely start searching for them as soon as he realized they were gone.

"Very well, let's move out. Hopefully we can manage our way back into the city, and hopefully my partner is there and we can all get out before we're discovered". With that they began their descent into the dark passageway. Illya had gathered the contents for his pockets, and his penlight was the only source of illumination now as they carefully traversed the cobbled path beneath their feet. They came to a juncture of two passages, his companion pointing and heading towards the one on the right. He walked beside her in the fairly broad space, anticipating an opponent to appear at any moment. He hoped not, but his reflexes were honed for the inevitability.
They walked on through the mostly straight and level tunnel for what seemed a long time, but was in reality about twenty minutes. Just as the little light was beginning to flicker out from constant use, they saw a doorway ahead. "This is it, the little cottage. We're here". Genevieve's relief was evident in her voice as she reached for the handle on the old wooden door. Just as she started to push forward on it, Illya had a sudden sense of foreboding concerning their arrival, and pulled her back, signalling her to not make a noise. He thought he heard something on the other side, and guessed that the passageway was not so secret after all, and that Deneauve might have already deduced that he and the girl would come out here. Better to make them come inside, he thought. At least there would be some advantage to his enemies walking into the darkness.
He pulled the girl back away from the door, farther down the passageway until he felt they would not be heard while conversing.

"Where does the other tunnel lead? Have you been in that direction?" He had an idea, and if the other passageway led to a less obvious destination, they might still be able to use this escape plan.
"I don't know for certain. I only came through this one once, and went back exactly the same way. What are you thining?" She needed to trust this man, for she was now as much as risk as he. She had dared to defy the master of the chateau, and he would not have mercy on her, she was certain.
"I think they are expecting us to come out here. They may not know where the other one leads any more than you do. I think we should take a chance that it will be safer than here". He looked intently into her eyes, trying to guage her willingness, and her trustworthiness. She might consider going back to Deneauve a viable alternative to perishing with him.

"I think we should try it then. What is your name? I think I have a right to know". Her eyes were deep brown, he saw that now, even in the faltering light. He was reminded of her touch as she had tended to his body, easing out the tension and fatigue.

"Illya Kuryakin. And now, I think we should go. It is doubtful that we have much time to spare, if any". Back down the passageway, in the dark this time as Illya tried to save what was left of his penlight's batteries. When they approached where he thought the other path broke off, he turned it back on and searched for the opening.
"Yes, it's there ahead just a few yards. Hopefully it isn't as long a walk as the other, I don't think the light will last much longer. How are you doing?" She turned to him, clutching his forearm and squeezing tightly. Then, much to his surprise she raised her head enough to kiss him, light as a feather. Just a whisper and then she backed away.
"I think you are very brave, Illya Kuryakin. I just hope we get out of this alive". And with that, they continued on until the passage ended at another wooden door, with the same type of metal latch that they'd seen on the first one at the cottage entrance.

"Are you ready?' his hand was on the latch and he waited for her response before opening the door.
"Follow me in, alright..." He pushed open the door to find the room they were in empty, save for a table and chair, and a bookcase filled with dusty, leather bound volumes that looked to be at least a hundred years old.
"I don't think anyone has been in here for a while". Illya was torn between bolting out of the room and stopping to examine the books before him.
"What is this place?" Genevieve was looking around, fixated as well on the row upon row of books. It looked like a library, but not part of the main house.

"It almost appears to have been a place where someone was...perhaps confined. I see the remains of a mattress over there. But it hasn't been disturbed in a very long time". The blond agent would have liked to remain, but they needed to find their way out of here. If they failed to turn up at the cottage, then Deneauve and his men would return to the house, or start to come by way of the passage that lay behind them now.
The room had one other door, an obvious choice for them now as they determined to travel on in search of an escape route. As Illya carefully turned the handle on the ancient door, most dust filtered down, covering them both in a fine layer of the stuff. He slowly opened the door, peeking around it to determine if there were anyone on the other side. Nothing. It was faintly lit from beyond what looked like an additional room. This one had furnishings, however, that more closely resembled the rooms above. At least he thought they were below the house. His penlight was etching a flickering path on the floor as they sought out another source of light. There was one more door for them to pass through, a duplicate of the one behind them. Once more, he gingerly laid hold of the door's handle, turning and then pushing forward into a moonlit night. They came out onto a sheltered porch that was encircled by large old trees and flowering jasmine bushes. It was a completely secluded spot, and as he stepped out beyond the trees he saw that they were about a hundred yards from the main house, but completely hidden from view.

"This is an amazing discovery, and one that hasn't been made yet by Thrush. I believe we will be safe here, and can make it down to the road if we cut across the widest part of the grounds. They won't be looking out here, I'm fairly certain". Illya was relieved, as was his companion. They each relaxed now, finding a soft spot of clover on which to sit, still with the main house in view.
"This is really quite lovely. I wonder who lived here..." Genevieve's voice trailed off as she imagined a romantic tryst of some sort, perhaps a grounds keeper who had carried on a torrid love affair with the lady of the house...or chateau.

"Someone who loved books, that's for certain. I envy him the time he had for his pursuits". The Russian loved books, loved learning and searching out answers to all manner of questions. This would have been a very satisfying life, had he lived in another time. His features were gaunt looking against the frame of white hair, and his demeanor suggested an approaching melancholy. The girl examined him, half expecting him to recite lines of poetry to her as they now reclined on the cushion of clover grass. For a short while, the terror of facing Deneauve was forgotten; Illya broke the reverie with his return to speculation concerning their plans of escape.
"My partner is, I hope, close by. He may even come here. I think we should try and find our way back out to the road, and then begin our walk back into Tours. He will be either here or there, if he is in the area at all". He didn't want Napoleon to get caught and taken to the chateau. They would be even worse off then, should he require rescuing. It was bad enough that the courier cover had been broken. Thrush would be most unlikely to utilize any of the information contained in that packet. All because he had a hooded...

"Illya...' her voice broke his train of thought...
"I was wondering if, after this is over, we might still be able to...spend some time together". Her eyes met his full on, not allowing him to avoid answering her question.
"I think we could arrange something". The corner of his mouth twitched as it tried to resist forming a smile. He wished without conviction that the mission weren't still so imperative to finish.
"For now, though, I have work to finish here. Let's go, ". With that he got up and offered his hand to her as she slowly rose from the luxurious matte of grass. At the end he jerked her forward so that she landed hard against his body, one hand behind her head as he released all his reserve and kissed her, softly at first and then with a fierceness that removed all doubt as to what might lay ahead for them...afterwards.
Just as quickly he was leading her away from the little house and across the chateau's park grounds, towards the road to Tours. Neither of them spoke, all of their energies being spent in obtaining their freedom from this place.

With nothing save moonlight overhead, Napoleon and his new partner, Etienne, drove along the tree lined road towards the Thrush chateau. He would prefer to not have to storm the place, but had no way of knowing how Illya had fared within it's walls. Just as he was beginning to see the lights of the old building, two figures came running towards the road, just within his peripheral vision. It was impossible to miss the white head in the light of a full moon. It was his friend and a girl, something unexpected from the solitary Russian.

"Stop, there's Illya!"

Etienne stepped on the brakes, causing the Mercedes to slide, barely missing the approaching couple as they emerged from the trees that lined the roadside. Napoleon was holding on with both hands, relieved when the car finally came to a stop with no evidence of damage to anyone.
"Napoleon, they found me out" Illya was declaring the state of the mission as he leapt into the back seat, Genevieve close behind him.
"How? What happened in there?" They had barely arrived, and already things were in disarray and lacking the expected and desired outcome.
"I am not an exact duplicate, and I do not wish to give any other details about it". The blond was agitated, without a doubt, and his partner knew better than to require any other details, at present. They would discuss this later, alone.
"What do you suggest then? Do we have any options to...save the mission?" Illya was panting from the exertion of running across the expansive parkland that was part of this chateau's property. The girl seemed equally spent from the exercise, and Napoleon waited for an introduction while the two gained their composure. Illya had his head resting against the seat back, his chest showing a return to normal breathing. He looked like a ghost, everything about his appearance was white and transluscent in the moonlight that washed through the car's windows.

"I don't know how to salvage this right now. They won't use the information in that packet, now that they know I'm not the original courier. We need to convince them that it is accurate and reliable. Otherwise, they'll just abandon all of it, and we will have lost the advantage of our false information". Illya's eyes sought out his partner, looking for a hint of brilliance or a plan already forming in the CEA's clever mind.
"It would help if we had a reason to go back in there somehow..." Illya saw it, realized he needed to go back in; he needed to let himself be "captured" so that he would have an opportunity to convince them the contents of that courier's package was legitimate, and not a plant.
"They will be sending out a team to look for me...for us. I suppose I could be conveniently at their mercy, perhaps at the hands of my friend here". He looked at the girl next to him, wondering if she would be willing to pose as a victim who had the great luck to overwhelm her kidnapper. The look she gave him was confused, not understanding what he proposed.

"Genevieve, would you be willing to go back...if it could be made to appear that I had forced you to leave with me? I think they would believe you...Deneauve would want to believe you. And that way I can get back in, without compromising you". He knew she was afraid, but hoped that her confidence in him would persuade her to do this.
"Illya...how important is this?" To the point. He liked that about her.
"It is very important, lives are at stake when dealing with these people...with Thrush". His eyes demanded her attention, and she studied them carefully, looking for her answer.
"Yes, I will do it. But you must promise me...you must take me with you when you leave there. You will leave there, won't you? Alive..." She suddenly realized that he would be in real danger from Deneauve. Not just a slap across the face, as she might receive. The master of that chateau was a violent and dangerous man, and Illya was stepping back into his domain.
"Genevieve, Illya knows how to do this. He'll be fine, and he will protect you...we will protect you". Napoleon's soothing voice was a comfort, and Etienne marveled at the effect it seemed to have on the other woman.

These two are everything I've heard about them...she was impressed even though she too had concerns about the Russian's plans to re-enter the Thrush lair.
"Illya, I do have something in mind. I don't want to discuss it at length..." He nodded his head towards Genevieve. Illya understood that she needn't have all of their plans, less opportunity for her to give them away.
"I will wait for you to save me, my friend. I have every confidence you will not wait too long. Now, in order for this to appear legitimate, we need a way for this lady to overcome me and deliver me back to Deneauve. I can think of only one way that would look legitimate, as much as I dislike it". The blue eyes zeroed in on his partner's face, knowing the look of displeasure would appear alongside an understanding of the most obvious solution. Illya withdrew his hidden pistol, the one concealed in a cigarette lighter. They had neglected to take that from him, possibly because it was hidden in the heal of his shoe.
"I wish there were another way, Napoleon, but I don't see it. She can't overwhelm me physically, so there will need to be some kind of damage done to me...unless you wish to run me over with this car". Only the slightest curl of his lip conveyed his resignation to being either shot or hit by the Mercedes. Somehow, the pistol seemed less violent and more convincing.

After rehearsing the scene several times, the players were ready to begin their charade and send Illya and Genevieve back to Deneauve. The girl was nearly panicked at the plan, which only added to her believability. It would not be difficult for her to run back to the chauteau and beg for help, hoping that Illya was not bleeding to death on the path behind her.

Napoleon and Etienne would head back to Tours and contact the Paris office; the plan needed some various articles that could be produced only with the help of the UNCLE experts. Timing and accuracy would make this work, and save Kuryakin's life, which would now hang on the expectancy that the Thrush man within the chauteau could be convinced of the story Illya would tell him.

"Please, Napoleon. Do your best work here, as I have no desire to die on this road" Illya had no jest in his voice, even though the comment was meant to ease the strain of what his partner had to do now. Napoleon lined up his shot carefully, aiming for just the part of his friend's body that would look for all the world as if it had come from an inexperienced shooter. He needed to miss vital organs, but supply enough blood to substantiate the girl's hysteria. The brown eyes focused on his partner's left arm, aiming for muscle and not bone. It would hurt like hell, but he would still have the use of his other arm, and the blood loss would be easily stemmed. Illya stood rigid and resolute, anticipating the burn of lead passing through his flesh, not resisting the urge to succumb to it and pass out from the shock and pain. Genevieve saw it, disbelieving and horrified as the bullet struck, pushing the pale figure backwards and then to the ground as he reached for the affected limb, but unable to reach it before passing out.

Napoleon handed her the gun which she immediately threw to the ground, unable to wrap her fingers around the small implement of violence. She opened her mouth to speak, but Napoleon urged her to run and make her way to the chateau, assuring her that they would be back to make eveyrthing right. She took one last look at Illya, then, fearing that he might bleed to death, she took off at a run towards the lights in the windows, hoping that she could get there in time to beg for their help and carry out the storyline she had been given. The moonlight cast shadows on the road from the trees that lined her path back to the Thrush enclave. She stopped periodically to gain her breath, looking back to see if perhaps Illya had risen from the ground and was following her, motioning her back from this journey. But he remained prone, lifeless looking and smaller as she continued on. Her heart was pounding as she neared the front door.

Napoleon went over to his partner, checking to make certain the bullet had entered as he had planned; he turned back to the car with Etienne looking on, ashen and uncertain of the plan but confident in the man who sat down beside her.

"He'll be alright, won't he?" Her eyes searched the American's for an expression of whatever he was feeling. He looked up at her then, and she saw the concern and the regret. Still, he was resolute in what they must do now as he motioned for her to turn the car around and head back for Tours. They had work to do, and Illya's life depended on them doing it to perfection.

"Open channel D, emergency relay..."

:~~~~~:

Genevieve pounded on the door to the chateau, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion of running and the emotional distress of the situation. It was Deneauve himself who opened the door, surprise written on his handsome features as he took in the sight of the girl.

"Genevieve, what has happened to you? Where is that man?" His words escaped before he could summon the composure he normally held for employees. It had been a grievous thing to him for the girl to leave, especially with that imposter. Looking at her now, his hopes returned that she had been forced into it.
"Monsieur Deneauve, I shot him. He's at the end of the drive, and I don't know if I killed him or not. I was so scared". And with that, she fell into his arms, weeping and whimpering about how he had forced her to accompany him, to lead him through the tunnels. Her tears were real, although the story was the account she had been instructed to relate to Thrush.

"Please, I do not wish to be responsible for any man's death. He kept saying he was not an enemy, but his fear drove him to escape from here. I was confused..." Then she cried some more, hoping to convey the scenario intact to this man who would hold Illya's life in his hands.
"Genevieve...sshhh my sweet, you have not killed him, I am certain. We will retrieve him and tend to his wounds. I am only relieved that you have returned and are safe now...with me". He took her in his arms and escorted her farther into the house, near the fireplace that embraced a spirited flame, full of warmth. He settled her into a down filled cushion, the chair nearly enveloping her as she sank into it, exhausted by the physical and emotional strain of the past few hours.

Deneauve ordered some men to go search for the wounded man and bring him back; sent for another to go and fetch a doctor who lived close by and often tended to the occasional wounded Thrush. There were many friends in the area who would quickly beckon to the summons they received from this man, his influence more profound than UNCLE would have liked to believe. As the two sat, mostly silent in front of the comforting fire, the Thrush man and the masseuse, each contemplated their next move. He would need to interrogate the albino, if indeed he was actually that. Knowing he was not the courier who had been dispatched to him made him doubt the entire appearance of the man. Still, what an astounding thing to create that look so completely and convincingly. He would, of course, explain it all with the proper motivation.

Genevieve kept practicing over and over in her mind the scenario she must help create; the story that would be the foundation for this deception. She began to recite it for Deneauve now, as they sat together in the comfort of the living room with the light of the fire falling seductively over her features, drawing him into her recitation of the tale.

"He did force me to go with him, and I was so scared. I dared not refuse. He was also afraid, I think. But, not because of guilt, only that you would not believe his story". She looked at him pleadingly, hoping that her sincerety would draw him into this account; Illya's life might depend on it.
"And what is his story? How is it different from my suspicion that he is an UNCLE agent?" The man's eyes were cutting, not willing to accept an account that would differ from his earlier accusation.
"He says they are twins...he and his brother. They have played this game since their youth, switching their identities back and forth until they accomplish whatever it is that they are doing. In this case, to deliver this information to you, monsieur. But, his brother was captured, and it was left to him to finish the job. The discrepency in their...um...la circoncision...it was done by their agreement, for security. One marked, the other not, just in case they needed to verify their stories, such as now. His brother was the one marked by the operation.
Deneault considered this, wondering at the probability and deciding, reluctantly, that it might be true. How else to explain a second Russian man with albinist characteristics, and in possession of their documents?

At that moment, the door opened and the two Thrush who had gone to retrieve Illya came through the door, half carrying, half dragging the man. His arm was soaked in blood and Genevieve thought he looked much worse than she had been led to believe he should.
"Mon Dieu, he looks so bad. What have I done?" She wailed at the sight of him, not needing to act the part of a remorseful near assassin. She didn't reach out for him, however, and maintained the distance required to continue the reticence of one not fully convinced of his innocence.
"Take him upstairs to his room. The doctor is on his way. Was there anything else there, any sign of weapons?" One of the men produced the little lighter pistol, and replied that it was the only thing there where he had been found. Deneauve took it and turned it over in his hand, admiring the size and ingenuity of the little pistol. He had not seen anything quite like it before, and determined to return it to their guest, should his story prove to be true.

Illya woke up on the bed in the room he had occupied only a few hours earlier. Although he had passed out after Napoleon shot him, he had been conscious for quite a while, including the trip back up to the chateau. He wanted the time to sort out the plan before facing the Thrush chief downstairs. Better that they should come to him, rather than being subjected to an inquisition immediately upon returning. Hopefully, Genevieve had begun the process and told her part of the story. It would prepare the way for his performance as the frere circoncis in this little play. What a ridiculous detail over which to possibly fail at a mission. He still had a score to settle with someone in section four.
He could hear approaching footsteps, and then voices. The door opened and a little man with a black bag entered, flanked by the two men who had retrieved him from the road. Behind them, sauntering in as the lord and master would be wont to do, came Deneauve, a look of grim determination on his face as he prepared for the task of interrogating his "guest" while he had the advantage. A doctor present did not guarantee a lack of pain, only the ability to manipulate it.

The two lackeys left the room, closing the door behind their exit. Illya was watching the approach of the physician and the Thrush chief warily, and winced when his affected arm was moved. "We must remove the shirt, so you will sit up for this", The doctor was deft in his treatment of the patient, but the pain of it was not lessened by that. Napoleon had got him right through the muscle, and it wasn't a through and through shot; the bullet would need to come out, and a sense of dread accompanied that knowledge. Deneauve was watching, not yet saying anything. He would allow the doctor's examination first, although he was enjoying his own as the shirt came off revealing the taut chest and arms, the white hair and fine musculature of the young man. He was fond of the girl downstairs, her ellusiveness a type of aphrodesiac to which he had accustomed himself to never having fulfilled. He could be equally enthralled by someone like this, however. The young man was beautiful, almost ethereal in his appearance with his light skin and blue eyes, the tantilizing whiteness that had the effect of a shimmering light continually shining. Imagine two such as these; it was incomprehensible to him.

"Monsieur Deneauve, the wound is not so bad, but I must remove the bullet. I can administer a pain killer...or a sedative...?" The physician was unsure, and past incidents had proved this man capable of subjecting others to discomfort in situations such as this. He didn't know for a certainty that the wounded man would receive the benefit of anything to dull the pain of this operation.
"What is your name? You are obviously not the man who started this mission". The Thrush chief looked imperious as he stared down at the Russian. Whether or not he was a twin, there was an explanation required for this ruse, for his impersonation of the brother he claimed to have replaced.
"Sergei Andreivitch Vlachko. Mikhail is my brother'...he squirmed under the doctor's hand as his arms was examined, his breath caught short by a stab of pain...
"He was captured by UNCLE, but I already had the package. We always intended to pass it off this way. His contact doesn't know about me...no one ever does. It was stupid of Mikhail to let someone see him...to undress him..."
Illya blushed with the supposed embarrassment of one who had been the victim of a personal violation. It was not entirely feigned, as he hated having to be placed in the position of displaying himself here, and Thrush had a propensity for stripping their prisoners and humiliating them...he shuddered slightly.

"I am inclined to believe you, although your escape had made you look guilty...of something. Perhaps you wish to share that with me, comrade". The smirk was purposeful and wicked. Illya thought that this man was probably very perverse; it was the best way to climb the ranks in Thrush, if past experience were any indication.
"I was afraid. I overheard the conversation and knew you had...ascertained that there was a difference. I don't know you monsieur, and I panicked. I am sorry now, for as you can see it has hurt me worse than you". The blond smirked in return with that last comment. As if on cue, the doctor plunged a needle into his arm, administering a local anesthesia, as per Deneauve's silent instruction.

"Ah, the operation is about to begin, I see. I have consented to spare you the additional pain of this, although I see no need to sedate you. From your appearance it appears that you have endured much worse". The scars that were evident spoke to more than a single gunshot wound. He could feel himself strangely affected by the sight of this slight, pale body. Taut and lean, he wondered...
"For now, monsieur, I will accept your story, as I have no other explanation for such a splendid duplicate of the man who was sent to me, but is now absent. Am I to believe, then, that the package you delivered to me is authentic, and did not pass through any other hands save yours and your brother's?"
Illya had this moment to convince him, and to save the mission from complete failure.
"Yes, Monsieur Deneauve, it is the original. Mikhail passed it to me in New York, just an hour before he was captured. I know he has not talked to UNCLE, he wouldn't. He is like me, and would never betray the hand that feeds him". The blue eyes were irresistible, and in an instant the older man knew this was true. Even though this strange young man looked fragile to the eye, he understood from this tone of his voice and posturing of his body, regardless of the surgery now taking place, that he would not bend to torture or temptation. He would accept this story, perhaps more from a desire to engage him in a more friendly environment than any sense of duty. All things being more or less equal, he deigned to imagine that the young man felt the same.

"Doctor, do you see any difficult in repairing his arm?" The change was sudden, signaling an end to the interrogation. Illya sighed a brief indication of some relief, acknowledging the awareness of the doctor cutting through muscle to reach the bullet. It wasn't pain exactly, but he was aware of the movement, the invasion of steel implements grinding into muscle and flesh. He felt drained, the blood loss and the adrenalin of the encounter with Deneauve taking it's toll now, lulling him into blackness. The Frenchman watched as the blue eyes cut across the room, searching for something and then fading into a far corner, unfocused. The heavy lids closed; silence took over, and darkness. He would sleep now.

Napoleon Solo and his French partner, Etienne Chevalier, returned to Tours and the hotel where he was registered, at around two o'clock in the morning. The night had been eventful, and leaving Illya lying in the drive to the Thrush chateau a challenging move for the UNCLE agent. He hated what he had done, shooting his own partner. But, Illya was determined, and his expert aim had guaranteed that it was not a dangerous wound. Still, there were many uncertainties to be overcome, not the least of which was getting back to that house and creating a diversion that would allow them to take Illya and Genevieve from there.
He had been on his communicator with New York and Paris, arranging for details that would cover him as a Thrush official. Deneauve was well connected, but there were always secrets in Thrush, that was a known reality. UNCLE agents had often been able to infiltrate based on the secrecy of Thrush's hierarchy. He was counting on that now as a means of rescuing his partner and the girl from this satrap. If all was going according to plan, Illya was believable as a twin to the courier at HQ, and the secreted documents were to be accepted as bonefide Thrush. The trick would be to succeed at his plan and retain the confidence in the documents. It would be a close call, but they had no other choice. It was doubtful that the Russian would be released so easily, and with the right trail of paperwork and bluff, Napoleon felt confident that it would be days before they were discovered to have been a deception. By that time, considering the urgency required by some of the false documents, Thrush would be putting the bogus plans into operation before they could cry "UNCLE".

"Napoleon, how soon are we to go back there? You have designed such a scheme, it makes me wonder how Thrush survives with such disconnected intelligence". Etienne was marveling at the American agent's wiley plan, and at his brash confidence that he could consider just walking into that Thrush enclave and presenting himself as Deneauve's superior. It would be a small miracle if he succeeded, she thought.
"Ah, my lovely Etienne...Thrush is so paranoid that they withhold information from one section to another, disallowing knowledge, practicing deception at every level. It is not too difficult, with the proper identification and whiffs of superiority, to cause almost any of their people to cower at the prospect of a higher authority than their own. Monsier Deneauve will not be an exception, as I have uncovered a few facts about him and his methods. He will not be too surprised, I don't think, to have a visitor from Central; and he won't dare to question it. It just isn't done". He smiled at her, delighted with her company and encouraged by her quick mind and willingness to travel into this unknown territory. She would remain outside the chateau, coordinating with the additional agents who were being sent in as back up to this operation. It must be quick and efficient. The ruse would work for a time, but they dared not remain too long; that was usually the downfall of any mission that affected an impersonation.

"Alright, Napoleon, I trust you. I don't suppose you have garnered the reputation that you have by making mistakes. You and Illya, even in France, have quite the legacy to defend". She winked at him, knowing he understood that the two of them were garnering a reputation among the other agents within UNCLE. Their success rate was beyond the norm, and the often flamboyant, stringently thorough way in which they won their victories were the stuff of endless conversation and comparison. The men travailed between admiration and jealousy, and the women dreamed of romantic encounters with either of them. What a burden, she thought, to be held up to such high standards.

As they gathered together all of the details of their plan, the dark haired agent contemplated once more his entry into the chateau, his supposed Thrush affiliation and the manner in which he would be escorting his partner and Genevieve from there. It had to go quickly, and all of it depended on whether or not Illya's story had been accepted. If yes, then they would probably not have a bad time of it. On the other hand, if Deneauve were reluctant to believe the story of twins and the dependability of the procured documents...well, it could be dicey.

Napoleon decided to believe the best, plan for the worst and play it to the hilt.