The Transformation Affair part 3-Conclusion

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Daylight was streaming through a gap in the ceiling to floor draperies that hung over the windows. It was that slip of light that landed on Illya's eyes, creating a silent alarm in the Russian as he sorted through images and recollections of the previous day and evening, grasping at the last memory. Ah, the bullet and Deneauve...
He opened his eyes into mere slits, unwilling still to alert anyone who might be watching. He realized that he was naked beneath the sheet, and it was only covering him partially; one leg was bare, bent at the knee as though ready to propel him into the next dream. And he had dreamt of something...a girl...

Ethan Deneauve sat in a bergere chair upholstered in beige damask, dressed in trousers and a silk shirt of nearly the same color. The room was a pale celedon accented with white trim and the same damask as the chair's covering. Deneauve was himself a dark man, his hair and eyes as well as his complexion. He was fascinated by the young man in the bed, enthralled now with the sight of him. The bare body was slender and taut beneath a sheet covering only one leg and his groin, or most of it. The merest glimpse of white hair peeked at him, the hint of pale, pinkish genitals causing the Frenchman to consider reaching out to touch the painterly vision. He resisted the urge, remaining in his continuing state of celibate ardor; his desire for both women and men never realized in a self-imposed prison of devotion to some illusory higher calling. That was his perversion: the denial of self in a delusion of greater purpose. The man in the bed stirred, slitting his eyes to take in the room, deciding whether or not danger was imminent. He would find no danger, only the observant and veiled hunger of a man whose only indulgence was a moment such as this.

"Sergei, bon retour la vie...you are back among the living, I see". The eyes remained untouched as a smile creased the face of the Thrush host. It was not completely lascivious, but Illya remained guarded, nonetheless.
"Oui. Combien de temps ai-je dormi?" It seemed to the Russian that he had been sleeping for days. Then, becoming more alert, he was aware of the view he was providing. He drew his leg back under the sheet that he then raised up nearly to his armpits. How long had this man been watching him, he wondered.
"You, my friend, slept all night after your misfortune...the bullet' He paused to affect a look of concern, then continued... "Are you ready for something to eat? By my calculations, you have not had any food or drink for nearly 24 hours. That is much too long, and you will not heal well without sustenance, mon cher". Familiar bastard. Illya felt as though he had missed something, but he was hungry...famished actually. He hadn't eaten anything since the plane early yesterday...New York time.

"Yes, oui monsieur, I am very hungry. Perhaps there is a robe for me to wear..." The not too subtle request to cover his naked body was met with a smile.
"By all means, in the closet you will find that and more. Your clothing was ruined, but what has been provided for you will more than suffice, I believe. Take your pick. I will see you downstairs, then..." And with that he rose from the chair and gracefully moved to the door, turning to look back once at the white figure in the bed. He tipped his chin to Illya before exiting, the closing door drawing a sigh of relief from the UNCLE agent.

When Deneauve touched his foot to the stone floor in the entry, there was at that moment the ring of the bell at the front door. He hesitated as the thought occured to him that a servant would answer, then decided to open the door himself. To his surprise, a dark haired man, handsome and well dressed, stood in the open doorway. The visitor turned large brown eyes to stare with a mixture of amusement and self-possession at the Thrush; the effect both startling and pleasing. This morning held a myriad of delights, and now this.

"May I help you, monsieur?" Deneauve was at a disadvantage, his usual command slightly altered by the young man upstairs and now this debonaire gentleman at his door. Napoleon took his advantage and stated his purpose.
"You are Ethan Deneauve, I presume. My name is Willem Vanmeter. I am here from Central...to see you".
Shock and panic struck simultaneously as the Frenchman tried to recall the name, any recollection at all concerning this man. He wasn't a lackey or someone's grunt. This man exuded authority; perhaps more authority than his own, and he had no idea why he would be here, unless...
"Welcome to my home, then Monsieur Vanmeter. To what...to what do I owe this privilege, that you should come directly to me?" He tried to make it sound gracious, but internally there was a turmoil that was threatening to bubble over and spoil the facade of superiority with which he usually did business.

Napoleon Solo entered the foyer of the chateau with an ease and an elegance befitting his name. In this charade, he was a Thrush official whose rank would shatter the confidence of the man before him. Codes had been broken and false information placed within easy reach of Deneauve. When he made his phone call, a relay would connect him to Etienne who would in turn feed the necessary false information to underpin the UNCLE deception, thereby establishing rank and privilege, all of it in Napoleon's favor.
"Monsier, again I would ask for an explanation. It is not often that someone from Thrush Central deigns to visit us here, not in this location. Is it, perhaps, due to the courier we have here, and the documents that he carried?" Deneauve had no doubt this was indeed the catalyst for such action. He would call and confirm as soon as he was able, but in the meantime could take no chances that this man was not on a mission from the Hierarchy.

"Ah, Monsieur Deneauve, we are merely avoiding any possible mishaps with this situation. Your contact in America gave you erroneous information regarding Sergei...' Napoleon let a knowing smile invade his features, a calculated hint that there were secrets to be learned.
"He and his brother, their arrangement, are known to us, even though their secret is not generally revealed to the individual operatives with whom they do business. I am sure you understand, now that you have met him". The brown eyes were seductive to the unwitting Thrush, his sense of inclusiveness to this intrigue growing with appreciation for it's genius.
"Indeed. He is...beguiling, to say the least". At last, some validation for his own aesthetics; he was not alone in his estimation of the beautiful albino. He wondered what else Central had hidden from him, how deeply enigmatic the people above him might prove to be.
Napoleon, beneath the veneer of calm superiority, had a badgering curiosity concerning this man's fascination with his partner. It had not been his intent to steer the approach in this direction, if he were correctly discerning Deneauve's implications of interest. However, it seemed to portend a predilection towards the Russian, and that would be useful. Hopefully he wouldn't insist on keeping him here.

As the two men were discussing him, the individual in question emerged from his bedroom. The clothing he had discovered in the closet were expensive and, amazingly, a perfect fit. Fit was the primary descriptive to be used, because the jeans were so snug as to make sitting down marginally hazardous to his very important parts; the tee shirt was silk and clung so tightly to his torso that, due to the cool air that hung along the old walls and stone floors, his nipples protruded in an immodest manner, very unlike the reserved Russian. It was what there was to wear, however, and none of the other garments had a different effect. He chose the black, which was typical, and would at least minimize the disclosure of his most private attributes.
He was not sure about the host. He had appeared to genuinely like and admire Genevieve, so the episode upon awakening was confusing. Perhaps his preferences were broad minded, so to speak. In any event, Napoleon should be here soon, and their plan for departure well on it's way. He did require food first, though. He wasn't going anywhere on an empty stomach, and his was entirely empty by this hour of the day. He wondered where Genevieve was, whether or not he would find her at table. He hoped so, and wished to know that she was safe and unharmed. Deneauve may have appeared docile this morning, but he knew the man was capable of cruelties and harshness; he hoped the girl had not been subjected to either.

Deneauve and Napoleon were still conversing in the foyer, not having quite arrived at the main room, when Illya descended the stairs. The Frenchman's eyes were immediately diverted to the albino man, letting the words of a sentence trail off as his eyes fastened on his guest. Clad in black, the white hair catching a glint of light through a palladian window over the stairwell, even Napoleon caught his breath for a moment before realizing it was indeed his friend. No one could pull of a disguise better than Illya, he thought. Only, this wasn't entirely a disguise.

"You look recovered, Sergei. How is the arm?" Deneauve was anxious to escort the young Russian to the dining room; he knew he needed to eat, had gone far too long without food.
"I feel much rested, thank you. Hello Willem. Have you come to straighten this out?" The familiar greeting shocked Deneauve as he realized that these two men were acquainted. He was on the outside of something that might prove a danger to him and his career. How had he been so stupid as to doubt Sergei? He had nothing to do now save apologies and excuses for his miscalculation. He needed to make that phone call...

"Gentlemen, since you seem to be acquainted, perhaps you will entertain yourselves...please, go into the dining room and enjoy the offerings. I have a phone call that is a necessary nuisance. I am certain you understand..." Illya and Napoleon nodded their heads, knowing the purpose of the phone call and confident that Etienne would handle it flawlessly. They indicated that their host should go, as they headed for the dining room and Illya's much awaited meal.

The two UNCLE agents walked into the dining room without exchanging a word. The silence spoke eloquently, however, of their concern for Etienne and the ensuing phone call from Deneauve. Each of them felt confident of her skills for the task, however there was always the chance of some little bit of detail slipping past, or a hesitency in answering a question. She would need to maintain the same calm Napoleon had witnessed during this entire episode, while Illya had no experience with her outside of the planning for this charade they were now performing.

The Russian had, for his part, the compensation of a good meal at least. The buffet was laden with fruit and cheese, crusty bread and croissants. In addition to several of these, Beef Carpaccio and a roquefort flan went on his plate alongside an endive salad with walnuts and more roquefort cheese. Napoleon glanced at his partner's plate, then at his own meager selection of salad and Quiche Lorraine. Unlike Illya, the American did not have a metabolism that operated like high octane fuel. While a lean and fit individual, he knew he could grow to be a very comfortable cushion for his lovers if he ever stopped being vigilent concerning calories and exercise.
Napoleon was mesmerized as he watched Illya eat. To say that the Russian consumed his food with relish was an understatement, and in fact, not nearly prosaic enough as a description. He actually enjoyed watching his partner eat a meal, and thought that he had never seen anyone make food look as enticing in the process. There was an abandon in the act of devouring the meal, a look of such enjoyment that it became an almost seductive ploy to engage onlookers to dive in to the same type of pleasure.

While in the midst of this peculiar scrutiny, Deneauve entered the room and took a seat across from the agents. His face had acquired a serenity obtained after years of careful detachment and practiced control. "Monsieurs, I see you have found the buffet, and to your satisfaction, I hope". The smile did not reach his eyes as he surveyed the two men, their stark differences adding more contrast to his own appearance. His confidence in light of the information he had obtained was once again secure; he had control again, and his world was no longer veering from it's previous orbit.

"Sergei, the package you delivered to me is in my safe. It appears that all of my fears have been for naught, and you are indeed half of a most extraordinary...Comment trouvez-vous? paire...a pair". He feigned a small laugh, his eyes never leaving the albino. The conversation with the woman at Central had cleared everything in his mind; this visit could be turned to his benefit, if he could keep these two content. However, he had been told to not turn over the package that Sergei had delivered to him. The question remained, was Vanmeter aware of this decision?
"Monsieur Vanmeter, are you to deliver our Russian friend back to Central then? Or, should he remain here with me, for safe keeping?" Illya nearly blanched at the question, his chewing only slowing momentarily as he cut his eyes to Napoleon, who had also taken note of the leering suggestion.
"Ethan...may I call you Ethan? Sergei and I must now try and recover his brother from UNCLE. It will not be safe for him, or us, if he remains there much longer. I know you will understand if we don't reveal our plans to you as they evolve...the fewer who know..." He dipped head in the motion of one who considers the other person to grasp the unspoken message.
"Ahh...quite. I will have one of my men go on with the package then, so that you and Sergei can attend to your...plans". He surveyed both men, making sure to not break eye contact with them, maintaining a facade, at least, of calm assurance.

In their host's absence, the two agents had carried on a trivial conversation, being always wary of listening or viewing devices that might be hidden. They did manage to drop a few ideas for which they knew Thrush would have an appetite; a suggestion about things that would eventually benefit UNCLE and the world at large. When the Thrush chief returned to the dining room and his guests, the Russian was completely satisfied with his meal and their plan, while the American felt nourished, if not fully sated.

"Monsieur Deneauve', Illya addressed the man without Napoleon's famliarity. He felt better with the distance of a more formal tone...
"What of Genevieve? I have not seen her as yet today" He was worried about her. He imagined that she would have wanted to see him as well.
"Our beautiful Genevieve has gone back to Paris Sergei. She does have work there, you know. I regret that I do not have her exclusively here...with me". The eyes again suggested something more than his words conveyed. The man maintained a mystery, but his substance was beginning to be more transparent the longer the agent observed him.

"Is it possible that you will share some information with me? I would very much like to see her again". That was bold, but he was concerned. If Deneauve were lying, and she remained here, he would call his bluff on it.
Napoleon would make sure Etienne checked out whatever the man told them. If Genevieve were back in Paris, they would find out before they left here. Like his friend, he wanted to make certain that the girl was safe.
"Yes, of course Sergei. Our little masseuse made quite an impression on you then. She has that effect on us all, it seems". The smile was dangerous and still subtle in it's expression. The sooner they were away from here, the better.

Genevieve was not back in Paris. Instead, she had awakened from her bed only to be taken with a little less than a rough hand, into the hidden passageway she had shown Illya only yesterday. It seemed as though so much more time had passed, and now she found herself in the dark, her hands and feet bound. She couldn't understand at first why Deneauve would do this to her, and then the frightening prospect of being hidden from her new friends and being kept here...indefinitely, began to invade her thoughts. How would they find her if he were truly determined that they should not? Fear and dread began to overtake her, her cries for help seemingly unheard as she yielded to the frightening vision of a life bound to the monster she had only recently called her employer.

The plan had called for the two UNCLE agents to claim knowledge of one another, and for Etienne to field the phone call that they knew Deneauve would make to Thrush Central for verification of Vanmeter's story. So far, this was on track. They wanted the Thrush chief to keep the documents and forward them on to Central, as that was the whole point of this operation. What they hadn't counted on was the peculiarities of the man's appetites, and now the mystery of their missing friend. Napoleon had taken Illya on a walk; the guise of a debriefing seemed to satisfy their host as he made the explanation for privacy. He placed his communicator in his breast pocket in order to hide the fact that he was, in fact, contacting Etienne. He relayed the information of Genevieve's supposed location, although neither he nor Illya believed that Deneauve would have sent her away. His demeanor had betrayed the falsehood; the man wanted her, as much as he seemed to be drawn to Illya's alter ego Sergei. Within the hour Etienne confirmed their suspicions: the girl was not where the Thrush had directed them, and in fact had not been seen for days. It had been a quick answer as one of the Paris agents did the legwork to try and find their lovely, missing friend.

"Where does that place us now, Illya? I know you don't want to leave here without Genevieve, nor do I. Do you have any idea where he might have hidden her?" Both men were concerned and felt responsible for her involvement. Once again they had enlisted an innocent bystander in their escapades; only now this innocent was in danger and in the clutches of a man who was known to be cruel and possessive.

"I could offer myself in exchange for her freedom". Napoleon had expected this, had known his partner would cave in to his feelings of guilt and...what else? Affection...
"I don't think that's really an answer, do you Illya? I mean, he might just agree to it and then keep you both. No, we need to find her before this is finished, and make our exit while he's still convinced that the documents are legitimate. He can't know that we suspect or would interfere with his agenda for the girl". Illya knew what his friend said was true and right and full of just the kind of logic that would normally come from him. It didn't help, though.

When they returned to the chateau and the welcoming greeting of their host, the plan was in motion. Illya suspected that the passageway he had taken with Genevieve would be the best hiding place. It probably seemed to audacious an act to the Thrush that his guests would violate their mutual interests and try to take the girl from him. He, of course, did not know with whom he was dealing. Perhaps Sergei and Willem might have let this pass, but Illya and Napoleon had no intention of leaving her there. Deneauve would do as they wished; his future with Thrush would be an unhappy one when this was completed.

Deneauve noted the expression on Sergei's face as over exertion; a strain around the eyes betraying that the young man had gone too long without resting. He must take care, considering only last night a bullet had been removed from his arm.
Much as the two UNCLE agents had planned, Illya made his apologies and returned to the bedroom that was continuing to be held for his use. Napoleon would keep the Thrush occupied while he searched for Genevieve, each making good use of the time they were alloted before the day's end. A courier had been dispatched with the documents, so that much was accomplished. If they could manage to continue the charade, Illya in character as Sergei and Napoleon as the representative from Thrush Central, there was reason to hope that the damage would be accomplished within the next 24 hours. Whether or not they could remain here was questionable, however. Finding the girl and getting her to safety was imperative, and doing that might be the end of their successful mission.

As Illya detoured to Genevieve's room to examine any clues to what had happened, he determined that she might need a change of clothes. From all appearances she had been dragged from her bed, and was most likely still in her nightclothes. After gathering a few things, he went to his room to check the several security checks he had made up, just in case someone had been snooping in there. The matchbook on the doorframe fell on schedule, and the thread he had placed on the pillow was in it's spot as well. Having no possessions in the room made it easier. He merely prefered to not be poisoned with a dart on his bed or met by an assasin when he entered.

"Monsieur Deneauve, perhaps we two can sit and discuss the plans you have for expansion here in France. You know Victor Marton, of course..." Napoleon guided the unwitting Frenchman into the living room where he embarked on a rather lengthy discourse in which he recounted meetings with the senior French official, including some of their own real encounters. It was a perfect distraction that would allow Illya to go in search of Genevieve, starting with the passageway in which he had escaped only yesterday. It seemed so much longer, but the memory of it was still fresh as he approached the large portrait at the end of the hallway. Looking for guards or other unwelcome occupants, the stealthy agent carefully pulled back the oversized canvas, revealing the door into the passageway beyond. He pulled out his penlight, aiming it for the floor initially, careful to gauge his steps in the darkness that now enveloped him. Within a few minutes, his light fastened onto a figure; it was Genevieve, her hands and feet were bound, and her head leaned back against the stone wall. She didn't hear him approach, a recent dose of sedative having been administered to halt the screaming she had engaged in for the first several hours of her confinement.

"Genevieve...wake up. It's Illya...wake up". He didn't raise his voice, but it was insistent as he tried to coax her into consciousness. She groggily raised her eyelids, not recognizing him in the dark at first. He turned the penlight back onto his own face, causing her to start with the sight of the white creature before her. Slowly she regained her memories of the man, and burst into tears in relief and weariness from this latest ordeal.
"Sshhh...it's going to be alright. I'm rescuing you...can't you tell?" He smiled at her, hoping the attempt at lightheartedness would ease her mind, along with the safety he promised.
"Oh, Illya, I didn't know what had happened to you...or what might happen to me. Deneauve has plans to imprison me here, I'm certain of it". He wiped her eyes with his fingers, unfastening the ropes that were binding her and then raising her up to meet his height. "Can you walk?" She nodded, leaning into him as they proceeded back into the tunnel.
"I want to take you to the little rooms we found...do you remember?" He still had hopes of them being undiscovered, since the Thrush had not yet mentioned them. It was the safest place for her until he and Napoleon could make their own retreat from the chateau. "And it is safe, you think? For how long must I remain there?" She trusted this man, but apprehension overwhelmed her now, being returned to Deneauve a nightmarish thought.
"It won't be long. Napoleon and I are hoping to leave this evening, and we have told Deneauve that we are flying back to New York. We won't leave you here...I promise". Her eyes sought out his in the darkness, her hopes she knew would remain unfulfilled for that romantic encounter they had fleetingly considered. "You will leave immediately, then...and we..." He stopped her, achingly aware that in reality, he had nothing to offer this woman. He would go back to New York and never see her again, in spite of whatever attraction they held for one another.
"Genevieve, I'm sorry. This is my life. I can promise to take you from here, but nothing else". His own regret was evident to her as she held his gaze, acknowledging that she understood with one tender touch of her lips to his. This would be all they could share, all she could hope for.
They continued, turning right again into the smaller and more forebodding looking passageway. Illya noted that there will still indications of it having remained untouched. He had no doubts that the Thrush guards would have scattered the cobwebs and obstructions through which he and his companion now passed. Confident that she would be safe for a few hours in the secret rooms, he guided the way until they reached the old door through which they had passed the day before.

Once inside the two made a cursory examination of the first room, then continued on into the front. Several old quilts were stacked on a small table, as well as some candles and matches. Illya had taken note of these items during his first visit, his agent's instincts always observent of his surroundings. Genevieve moved to examine the quilts more closely, taking one and shaking the dust free of it as she laid it carefully on the floor. Then the next one, until she had stacked four quilts on the floor as Illya watched her, anticipating what she intended with both pleasure and apprehension. This could lead to nothing...he could offer her nothing more than this moment.

Napoleon and Deneauve were deep in conversation for several hours, the depth of Willem Vanmeter adding so much information to the cagey Thrush chief. He listened and took mental notes of all that was said, filing away every important escapade, every name and event that might help him gain admission to the higher eschelons of the Hierarchy. This visit had been a boon to his career, and the willingness of his guest to share such clever tactics...his ascension would be much quicker than even he had imagined.
While the American spun his tales, he watched the other man as he soaked up every bit of his lies and manipulations. Not only would Ethan Deneauve not gain his much desired promotions, but would be blamed for inflicting a wound of such depth that several sectors of Thrush would be reeling from the damage for months to come. UNCLE had planted the seeds of several devious deceptions; targets that were non-existent and investments that would lure the criminal organization into bankrupting several known satraps. If all went according to the plans concocted by section one, Thrush would begin to invest in businesses that were fronts for UNCLE holdings, pushing money into the Command's coffers while Thrush anticipated returns for their own money. Before the enemy could discover the mistakes they had made, finances would have been successfully transfered to the more righteous causes of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It would be a stunning coup for law and order, while signaling the downfall of several prominent members of Thrush.

The day spun it's way toward evening, and the two men in the chateau began to feel the need for supper. Napoleon offered to go and see about the Russian, making his way upstairs with the hope that the girl had been found safe. He knocked on the door lightly, then with more force when it remained unanswered. Just as he was withdrawing a pick for the purpose of entering without permission, the door opened and revealed a rumpled but more rested looking Illya.
"Did you find her?" Napoloen practically hissed as he began to question his partner. Something about the blond reeked of an intimate encounter. Also his demeanor was guarded, moreso than it should have been in greeting his friend.
"I did, and she is fine. I have left her in the little undiscovered room at the end of the second passageway. I left her my communicator as well. I didn't want her to feel abandoned...out of touch". The dark haired man eyed his friend with a practiced awareness of the subtleties of romantic encounters, and of the afterglow they retained. There was a pervasive air of it on his friend's countenance. He knew without asking that Illya and Genevieve had...consumated their relationship. And in a most evocative manner, it seemed. Certainly this was the stuff of romance novels, and of all people...
Illya sensed his friend's perusal and speculation. He knew he needn't embellish. "So, have you and Deneauve become best friends by now?" Illya couldn't help a sense of relief that perhaps the Frenchman had another target for his attentions, if not his fantasies.
"Yes, he's been taking notes on everything. I believe we should make our exit this evening. He's pretty much expecting it". Napoleon had set the stage. He would like to have heard that Central was putting the plans into motion, but he could live with the prospect of it just as easily. They needed to get clear of this place before anything had opportunity to go wrong.
"Alright, let me come down with you. We can make our apologies and be on our way, with any luck. I made a few signs to indicate that she had gone down the other passageway towards the little cottage by the road; I threw the rope down that way, and left a scrap of fabric from her nightgown. Hopefully he will accept that and go looking in that direction. "It sounds like a good plan, and right now he's so intoxicated by his rise to the top I don't think the girl will be on his list of most important considerations. Everything else is a plaything to this man...like you".
The smug look on Napoleon's face was almost more than his Russian partner could endure, but he let it go. It was true, and it was almost over. He just wanted to get back into some of his own clothes and see his true self in a mirror. He was suddenly very weary from this transformation he'd gone through, and longed for a chilled glass of vodka and his record player for company.

"Illya, are you alright?" Concern broke throught the parody, and Napoleon tried to see into the depths of his friend's soul as he fixed his brown eyes on the blue ones he faced.
"No, Napoleon. I'm tired, my arm is aching and...and that's all. We're almost done here, and I can't get on that plane for New York any too soon".
"Okay...we're almost there, tovarisch...almost there".

Neither of the UNCLE men had bags to pack, although Illya was wishing he'd had a change of clothes. Something about remaining in the ones supplied by Deneauve made him uncomfortable in more ways than just the tight fit. There was nothing to be done about that, however. He and Napoleon made their way downstairs, willing to stay and cultivate the trust of the Thrush chief who was so pliable in their hands as the plan gained momentum, and the documents neared their destination. For Illya's part, as long as Genevieve was safely tucked away in the secret room he felt confident that everything would move along without a hitch. His partner felt the same, and so they appeared together in the doorway to the living room as Deneauve turned to greet them with his ever present, insincere smile.

"Ah, gentlemen, come and join me. Sergei, you have rested, yes?' He let his eyes brush over the young Russian, still hopeful of retaining him here a little longer.

"Supper is being prepared for us and will be ready very shortly. I am so pleased that you will be joining me". With that a servant appeared, indicating that the meal was indeed only awaiting their presence in the dining room.

As they made their way towards what would prove to be an excellent offering from the host's kitchen, each man considered plans that would be underway before the end of the night. Napoleon had his exit lines well rehearsed, as did Illya. They would leave together with the announcement of traveling early the next morning, necessitating a trip back to Paris immediately after supper.
For his part, Ethan Deneauve was anxiously waiting for a phone call confirming the delivery of the documents his man had couriered to Thrush Central. A jet had been waiting for the man in Paris, and with a flight time of only about three hours, his speculation of the grand results would be fulfilled shortly. The day had been profitable for him, and the additional satisfaction of knowing Genevieve was now under his power only heightened the man's sense of invulnerability. As the men were finishing their rustic French fare, albeit prepared with a technique befitting the finest French chefs, Deneave ordered a meal to be taken to the girl. He had neglected to check on her earlier, his infatuation with Willem had been so complete. Certainly he was in the good graces of a very important man, and something like a female fetish could wait a little longer.

Now, though, he knew she would need attention. Illya caught the instruction as it was whispered in German to the attendant who had come at Deneauve's command. He needed a distraction, something to avert attention away from the inevitable discovery of the girl's escape. It would be better if they were gone before that alarm went off.

"Willem, how much time before we need to leave for Paris?" The question was abrupt, signaling Napoleon that there was something going on, something he had missed.

"Ah...it is getting late. Ethan, at the risk of being rude, we must embrace the phrase 'eat and run', as our time is limited now that the evening has gotten away from us. In spite of poor Sergei's experiences, you have been an excellent host". The inclusion of poor Sergei's unfortunate treatment was intended to put the Frenchman slightly on edge, making him all the more intent on trying to please his guests. As they all rose from the table, Illya was barely able to maintain his usual blank expression; his concern for Genevieve and the need to depart nearly overcoming his cool veneer.

Deneauve's men would naturally go first to the cottage at the end of the main passage, out near the road. What Illya had determined to do was to ride out with Napoleon, then double back to the little hidden cabin that was nestled into the landscape on the opposite side of the property. With the cover of night, he should be able to get to her unobserved, and then they could take a slightly altered route and meet up with Napoleon farther up the road. It was all he had, but it needed to be done quickly, before Deneauve got his men underway, before anything came back from Thrush. There really was not any room for error.

Deneauve's two guests were departing amid handshakes and refined observances of how well things had gone, inspite of the little mishaps with the girl and the bad information about Sergei and his brother. Now all was well, and Willem was only too glad to report back to Central on the excellent operation and management that he had found within Deneauve's chateau satrap. The handsome Thrush was secretly thrilled, his expectations high and his anticipation of the evening's next event adding to his euphoria. Genevieve would be the next point of entertainment, and he would have her clean up and present herself to him after the two men were gone. He hated to lose Sergei, for the sight of him and the girl might have been a very pleasant diversion from all of the business of the day. Ah well...another time, perhaps. For now, the girl would suffice.

As the UNCLE men were pulling out of the circular drive and heading for the road to Tours, Illya prepared to jump out and head back towards the hiding place where he had left Genevieve. Napoleon would continue on for a mile and then pull into a grove of trees that should hide him sufficiently in the waning light. He opened his door as Napoleon slowed for him to roll out and into the low grass on the side of the road. Just in case anyone were watching, they needed to keep up the pretense of being together in the car. Napoleon then opened a channel and called Genevieve on the communicator Illya had left with her. "Open channel F, Genevieve, are you there?" He listened for the scratchy sound of the other device as she opened it and responded to his call.

"Napoleon? Are you coming for me now?" Her voice sounded distant and tinny through the UNCLE marvel. The wonder of it struck the girl as she spoke into it now, then heard the man on other end reply.

"Illya is coming for you. Don't go out until you hear his voice. And whatever you do, don't open the door to the passageway. In fact, block it with something...just in case". He and Illya had decided it was a possibility that the Thrush men might go in that direction and find the door leading into the hiding place. Since the Russian had come back that way, he hadn't been able to block it himself, and had neglected to consider it as he left Genevieve there...alone.

"Yes, Napoleon, I will do it. I will do it now...thank you. I will see you soon, then...oui?" She let it hang in the air, as though there was some uncertainty.

"Yes, just do as I said and wait for Illya. He'll be there". She closed the little pen contraption and went to the back room. Looking around she decided to use the bed, it was lightweight. She managed to get it up on it's side and propped it so that it blocked the use of the door handle. For good measure she pulled the little table over and placed it there as well. At least it would be difficult, should anyone try and come through. And the noise would give her time to get out...

"Please, Illya...be here soon". She sighed and then settle down to wait for him.

Deneauve's man was afraid; the girl was gone, evidently back to the cottage by the road. He decided to go look for her first, before telling the boss of this little problem. Perhaps he would not need to know at all, if she could be found quickly. The temptation to proceed without alerting his boss lost out to the man's better judgement. Knowing that only he would be made to pay for any time that was lost locating the girl, the cautious Thrush guard hurried back to the main floor just as the two guests were departing. As Deneauve closed the door and turned back into the foyer, he was greeted by the agitated man whose duty it was to report the upsetting development.

"Monsieur Devneauve, the girl is...she is gone". His expression held no comment on why she was there to begin with, only his remorse that she had escaped.

"Gone...how? Are there any signs of another person there?". He knew of course who would have done this...Sergei. But where would he...' Immediately he knew she would be either in the cottage by the road or down another passageway.

"Take some men with you and search the passageways, in all directions...and hurry!" With that he stormed back to the dining room to see if Sergei had left any clue. Seeing nothing, he proceeded upstairs to the bedroom the man had used. If Sergei had done this, then what part had Willem Vanmeter played in it? He dared not accuse the Thrush official, so perhaps it was without his knowledge. The wiley Russian had no doubt deceived the American, there was no other explanation.

As the three men searched through the dark passages, they decided to split up and let one go in the most obvious direction while the other two would take the newly discovered second opening. Perhaps the less traveled one would prove to be the correct choice. Pushing back the cobwebs and illuminating their steps with powerful flashlights, the two men kept a quick pace as they raced to the end. A door was visible, the latch looked as though it had been recently handled, some of the dusty metal showing areas that were less so. One of them took it in hand and pushed...nothing. There was something against the door, so the two of them heaved against it, causing some movement. Finally, with an extra effort and a determination to get through, they shoved against it with great force and the door gave way; the screeching of an impediment slowing their entry, but not stopping it.

Genevieve heard the racket from the door in the room behind her. Terrified of who might be coming through it, she quickly got up from her perch on the quilts and headed for the door at the front of the little hideaway. It was too late, the Thrush goons came barreling through the room towards her, catching her as she tried to exit. Her screams were loud enough that Illya, who was nearly there, heard them and quickened his pace as he ran towards their secret room. It took only a few seconds for the Russian to understand what had happened and jump into the frey, knocking one man out with a swift right to his jaw that caused a sound like breaking stones. The other assailant had Genevieve, a gun to her head as Illya swung around to face them.

"I'll kill her. I think you know I will, so just take a breath and put your hands up...above your head". The instructions were banal sounding as Illya took in the situation. He could take this man, but he wasn't certain of how the girl would react; she might not get out of the way in time.

"Let her go. Deneauve will get over it, and you can simply tell him that she was already gone. Why stand in the way of us now...how does it benefit you?" What were the chances the man would respond to this line of reasoning? Probably none. Still, there was nothing to lose by trying, so Illya went on...

"Deneauve is just going to keep her here like a prisoner. Are you so far gone that you can do that to a woman? Let her have her life back...please". That last was for effect, but it seemed the grip on her was lessened just slightly as he took in the argument for mercy. Perhaps he wasn't as far gone as some of the other Thrushies they'd run into.

"Oh, don't try and reason with him, Sergei. I think perhaps I shall simply keep you both, since you seem to want to stay together". It was Deneauve, he had followed the men through the passage and was smirking in his peculiar way, nothing reaching his eyes by way of expression. The man was a lunatic...so typically Thrush.

"Deneauve, let us go. I told Willem I would meet him back in Tours, that I had business to finish with you. He will be expecting me". Illya had to try something, anything, to convince the Frenchman that this was a lost cause.

"Oh, I don't imagine he'll worry too much. After all, we're such good friends now, you and I. Willem will understand". Ah, but he wouldn't. Napoleon wouldn't, and he would come looking for him. It was not acceptable to have both of them caught here, though. The documents were already at Central by now, and the plans would begin to unfold the way UNCLE had orchestrated it to happen. He needed to get out of here, with Genevieve, and without alerting Thrush of the deception.

"Alright, Ethan. I will stay...for now. What do you want from us?" Genevieve looked at Illya with an expression of alarm, her unspoken questions begging for an answer.

"Sensible of you, Sergei. Why don't we go back to the house and...discuss this among ourselves. I'm certain we can come to an understanding, and something amenable to each of us".

Illya had no intention of returning with the man, but he feinted a start in the direction before turning and backhanding Deneauve, yelling at Genevieve to get out and start running. He hoped that Napoleon was aware of the time enought to guess that something was wrong. He might have started in this direction by now.

The man to whom Illya had made his plea was ready to pounce as Illya swung at him, landing a vicious blow to his midsection, then a hard chop to the back of his skull. He went down with a whimper and was out. Deneauve had regained his footing and raised the gun to shoot, his hand shaking with fury over the betrayal of this ungrateful Russian upstart. Illya took that uncertainty and knocked the gun from his hand as he battered his face with a severe punch from his right fist, sending the Frenchman back into a wall as his knees buckled beneath him.

Three men were down as Illya surveyed the room. He had one incendiary with him; Napoleon had given it to him, foreseeing the posibility of a need to destroy this place. As he left, he tossed it into the room behind him, counting to ten as he began to run across the park once again. He glanced back and saw Deveauve in the doorway and then a blast that obliterated the view and everything within it. The plans were safe, and so was Genevieve. He caught up with her just as Napoleon was in sight, heading towards them and motioning towards the explosion.

"What happened?" The CEA of UNCLE Northwest was back to being an UNCLE agent...no more pretense. He immediatley surmised that here had been danger, and was equally certain that his partner loved nothing more than blowing up things and places.

"Well, what do you think, Napoleon. I had to make certain that Deneauve couldn't report this to Thrush. It will take a while for his men to get this figured out. The passage is blocked now, as well as the entrance from this side. I don't think they'll even figure out it's him for some time". Illya had Genevieve by the elbow, steering her towards the car. It had been a close call, but now they were certain there was nothing to impede their departure, nor anything to stop the plans made by UNCLE concerning the Thrush documents that had been doctored and passed back to Central.

When they were all three safely in the silver Mercedes, they began to make plans for their trip back to Paris. Etienne was waiting for them, along with several agents from the Paris office and an UNCLE helicopter, all on the outskirts of Tours. Illya and Napoleon needed to get on a flight back to New York, and reluctantly would leave both of the women to travel together back to the Paris headquarters.

When they reached the clearing where the helicopter had set down, waiting for the two men from New York, Illya pulled Genevieve aside to say his goodbyes. She had relagated their encounter to an affair of the heart that would never play itself out. One time, and that would be all that was between them. She understood, not that it made it easier. Nevertheless, she wouldn't have missed it for the world; he was worth the heartache.

Meanwhile, Etienne and Napoleon were saying their goodbyes as well. Not one to miss an opportunity, the American was conveying his goodbyes with a kiss that would guarantee the young lady was waiting for his next trip to Paris, his mouth full of promises that he would keep, just like always. Illya's farewell kiss remained on Genevieve's lips longer than he had intended, the effort to pull himself away from her now leaving him sad and drained, both physically and emotionally.

"We won't be seeing each other again. There isn't any future for us, and I won't rob you of whatever you might have waiting for you with someone else. Do you understand?" He'd already been through this, but a sense of responsibility after their tryst in the little secret room made him feel somehow obligated to her, and reluctant to leave her...

"Illya, I understood before you said anything. We are who we are, and your work is who you are...for now. If that ever changes, please look for me. I may still be here...rien n'est jamais compl tement fini, mon amour". She kissed him again, and then walked back to where Etienne was waiting for her, never looking back at the pale blond who watched her as she ducked into the Mercedes.

'Some things do end, mon Genevieve...' This was a woman who would be impossible to leave, if ever he let his heart become commited to her. Unlike his partner, affairs of the heart had consequence; he never could be frivolous about these things, so he guarded his heart and emotions and those of the women as well.

The Russian's thoughts turned quickly then from the departing women back to their flight to Paris, and then to New York. If he lingered over the memory of the past day, beyond business that is, he would soon sink into one of his mute and resolute melancholy moods over the aborted love affair. It was his choice, but it was for the best. There was nothing to recommend remaining involved with her so long as his life was in the hands of UNCLE.

The flight to Paris was quick and uneventful. Thankfully, they were able to board their plane to New York with ease as well, taking their seats for the transatlantic flight, and grateful for the opportunity to sleep and hopefully rid themselves of the edge that remained from the past two days. It was almost unbelievable that this had all been accomplished in 48 hours; Thrush had the errant information that UNCLE had placed within the documents delivered by Deneauve's man, and operations were already underway that indicated the ploy was working perfectly. After checking in with Mr. Waverly, Napoleon had been informed that by the end of this day, Thrush would spend millions of dollars investing in dummy companies operated by the Command, as well as commit their personnel to assignments designed to entrap them in bogus schemes that appeared to be easy conquests for the power hungry criminals. Both Napoleon and Illya were grateful that their part in all of it was over; nothing remained except the obligatory reports over which at least one of them would labor.

"So, my friend, how did it feel to command the attention of Monsier Deneauve? He seemed as though he would have done anything to gain your approval". Illya had been impressed, yet again, with his partner's ability to charm even a snake like Deneauve; the man had fairly drooled over the prospect of being recommended by Willem Vanmeter.

Napoleon smiled in that curious fashion he had, curling his lip as he considered the power he had commanded.

"You know, Illya...I should feel a little guilty about it, considering how it's all turned out. Somehow, I just can't drum up any sympathy for the man. And his plans for you...' He affected a shudder when thinking of how the Frenchman had leered at his partner. "He had his eyes on you, tovarisch.' He paused, examining his partner again and the strange appearance he'd taken on.

" I'll be glad when you're back to normal". His eyes smiled at Illya, the affection and concern so real that the Russian was suddenly glad, no longer tormented by what might have been. This was his life, and his friend and partner helped make it good. Righting wrongs, saving the world...

"I'm glad you have my back, Napoleon. And I'll be glad to see myself again. I don't know this man..." His words trailed off, Solo understood. What they did for a living, who they met and got involved with...none of it seemed real some days. But what they did mattered, and sometimes that made the sacrifice worthwhile.

"Dinner at my place tonight?" The senior agent knew they would eat and then drink, maybe until the early morning hours and possibly until they couldn't see straight. It was alright. Illya could stay the night, and in the morning they'd go into headquarters late. But they'd go in together...friends...brothers...compatriots in a war few knew they were fighting.

"Yes, that sounds good'...another pause as he examined his hands, looking for the right words...

"Napoleon...I liked her very much".

That was all, but he knew his friend understood what those few words conveyed about the heart of his Russian partner.

"I know, tovarisch. Someday..."