For Christ's sake, can't you shut her up?!" The THRUSH operative was
at his wits end. The disk wasn't in the backpack but the homing
device had been. The child fell silent.
"You said something bad."
"What?" The secret agent-now-nanny turned the backpack inside out.
"Sister says we should only say 'Christ' when we pray." Katerina
explained solemnly.
"Listen kid, I don't care what your sister said..."
"She's not *my* sister. She's the bride of baby ..."
"Jesus!"
"You're not supposed to say that either." Katerina pointed out
frowning. "When can I go home? My daddies will be worried."
"In a little while." The exasperated agent kicked the contents of the
backpack out of his way. "Now honey, I'm looking for a special kind
of disk for a computer. Have you seen one? Here's what it looked
like." The THRUSH agent held up a similar disk. Katerina shook her
head. "It should have been in this bag. What happened to it?"
"I don't know. *Now* can I go home?"
"Hey Petersen, we just may have a solution to our problem."
"Yeah?"
"The kid's daddy is rich."
"How rich?"
"Stinking. His old man owns stock in quite a few of our overseas
operations."
"Does he know about our interests?"
"No. The dumb schlub is a window dummy. We cook the books a little
and he's clueless as to where his 'profits' are coming from."
"Yeah, well without the homing device, how are we going to find the
disk?" Mr. Big will eat us for breakfast."
"Whaddya say we play detective and go interview the kid's dad? If
they think the kid's been taken for ransom, so much the better.
Everybody knows kidnappers don't use the phone anymore. The internet
is much safer. No traces. We supply some disks so papa can download
his e-mail. Write a few complicated ransom requests and delivery
instructions, confiscate the disks, deliver the kid and everybody's
happy. We might even get a bonus in the form of a whopping big
ransom. As long as her dada stays dumb, we're home free. Awww, for
Pete's sake will you shut up!"
Katerina sniffed and did as she was told. Sister Graciela had never
mentioned taking St. Peter's name in vain, but Katerina was sure she
wouldn't approve.
NS*IK*JC*LK
"Anything?" John came into their apartment to find Luka, ice-pack on
his head, stretched out on the couch. Under the circumstances, John
would have taken leave but a special delegation of African trauma
physicians had been scheduled to follow him during his shift. He had
helped to arrange the visit so Luka agreed he should go in.
"Nothing. Your father dropped by with two new cell phones so we can
leave our other lines clear. He's called six times today but apart
from that, nothing."
"I don't think who ever did this is after ransom money." John
shrugged out of his suit coat and headed into the kitchen. The sight
of Katerina's latest drawing on the refrigerator door stopped him in
his tracks. Luka heard a muffled sob and found John holding the
drawing and crying.
"Shhh, Janaskja, everything is going to be fine. We'll get her back."
He pulled John into his arms and kissed his cheek, not trusting his
voice any further. Both men remembered when Social Services took
their daughter from them while she was still an infant. When they
were finally permitted to adopt the little girl, their joy was
indescribable. Faced with this latest loss, both men were trying
desperately to remain calm.
John wiped his eyes and attempted to smile. "You're right. The crooks
are probably just being cautious. "You want anything?" John's
trembling hands replaced the drawing and opened the refrigerator.
"I had a sandwich about an hour ago. Fix something for yourself.
There's some leftover stew in the freezer." Luka returned the ice
pack to the lump on the back of his head.
"I'm not really hungry."
"Stomach acting up?"
"Big time. I don't think those Tanzanian docs were too impressed by
this so-called veteran who threw up four times in the space of eight
hours." John's nervous stomach had plagued him for most of his life.
At the first sign of anxiety, his food felt an overwhelming need to
get to Lake Michigan the hard way. John grabbed a yoghurt and some
crackers and shut the fridge with his hip. Thirty minutes later, he
was in the bathroom.
"The winner and still cham-peen." John griped after rinsing his mouth
out.
"You okay?" Luka asked from the bedroom.
"No. You?"
"No."
"Thank God misery loves company." John was allergic to compazine, a
routinely prescribed anti-vomiting drug so Luka handed him some OTC
meds and both men went to bed early. Sleep, however, eluded them.
NS*IK*JC*LK
After going over the results of the full-scale search, Napoleon and
Ilya also decided to get some sack time. They were staying in a
slightly seedy apartment where, years before, their professional
partnership had expanded to a more intimate relationship. UNCLE's
mandatory retirement age for field agents was forty. Both men had
passed that mark. So, the rules were changed. Now, an agent was
retired if he or she couldn't pass a rigorous quarterly physical.
Both men were still trim and possessed excellent muscle tone.
Napoleon's dark brown hair had touches of white at his temples, but
his partner's clear blond mop showed no signs of advancing age. Their
bodies were illustrated guides to what bullets, knives, and other
hurtful implements could do to human flesh. Napoleon carefully
applied the antibiotic ointment to his partner's most
recent "souvenir." Had John Carter but known it, both men could
probably be certified as EMTs on the spot. They'd been patching each
other up for over a decade.
"I think we should communicate with the girl's parents." Ilya was
insistent on this point. "If our THRUSH friends have made contact,
this is the most efficient way to find out. "If they haven't, at
least her fathers will be prepared.
"It's too soon, Ilyusha. We have a line on their phones, including
the new ones her grandfather purchased today. Considering the Carter
family's wealth, this still might turn out to be a routine
kidnapping. The FBI has been called in, we're monitoring all of
*their* calls, too."
Ilya rolled his eyes. "Polya, you're not being objective. The child
was taken along with her backpack less than eight hours after she
left the school which is next door to a THRUSH installation. The
guards in her apartment building were dosed with THRUSH knock-out
gas. Thirty-six hours later, there have been no ransom demands or any
other suspicious contact. I would like to know how much more evidence
of THRUSH's involvement do you need?"
"Well..."
"I know this is hard for you, Polya. But we don't have much choice.
We need to tell them."
"Okay, you win. Let's go."
"Now?"
"Of course. You don't think they're asleep do you?"
NS*IK*JC*LK
The THRUSH agent worked quietly. It took less than a minute to disarm
the security system on the Kovac-Carter vehicle. Using a small
flashlight, he searched the car thoroughly. Nothing. On to plan B.
NS*IK*JC*LK
"Luka, someone's at the door." John was half-way down the hall
pulling on his bathrobe and praying like never before. Instead of the
uniformed police officer holding his daughter, John opened the door
to reveal the men he'd met two days ago. "I *knew* this wasn't about
ransom money."
"You're probably correct." The Russian man said at once.
"John? Who are these men? Detectives?" Luka came into the room with
the baseball bat. With a child in the house, neither man would even
consider owning a gun.
"In a way. Remember the secret agents I told you about? Luka, this is
Ilya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo."
"You have an excellent memory for names." Ilya shook Luka's hand and
stepped aside to make way for his partner to do the same.
"Some names anyway. I don't think anybody's been called Napoleon
since..."
"Waterloo." Napoleon winced. "My grandfather was very eccentric. Less
money, and he would have been packed off to the Thorazine suite at
the Rubber Ramada. Listen, I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you,
but I don't think there's any alternative. Dr. Carter is right. Your
daughter was not kidnapped for ransom." Napoleon sighed. "What do you
guys know about UNCLE?"
"It's like the CIA, isn't it?"
"No. Although they can be highly pragmatic and at times seem to
further other world views, the CIA, NSA, and the rest of US
intelligence community owe their ultimate allegiance to this country
and her sometimes short-sighted political goals. UNCLE is an
international agency dedicated to upholding the law; fundamental laws
of right and wrong. Sometimes our goals coincide with those of the
United States, more often, they don't. Ultimately, we'd like to see a
stable world government with just laws for everyone, but we know
trying to force this state of affairs would yield the opposite."
Napoleon looked at John and Luka then shook his head.
"For example: The war in your homeland, Dr. Kovac. We saw it coming.
Tried like hell to reason with the leaders of the three factions
involved then sat back and let things work out for themselves. It was
ugly. A lot of truly innocent people got hurt, but the war came to an
end."
"Only because the UN stepped in." Luka said bitterly. His wife and
daughters had been killed in that war. "I can't believe we're
discussing politics while our daughter is God alone knows where."
"I'm sorry. Truly I am; for all of your losses, Dr. Kovac. However,
if UNCLE had waded in and assassinated a few folks, the hostilities
would still be going on. The Serbs, Croatians, and other ethnic
groups had to figure out for themselves that war is hell on earth and
an incredibly stupid way to settle disagreements. Fifty years ago,
that regional conflict would probably have triggered a world war.
Eighty some-odd years ago, the assassination of a crowned head in
Sarajevo, did just that. We're still picking up the pieces."
"Well if you guys just sit back and let things happen, what's the
point?" John wanted to know.
"The point is, despite regional conflicts, the world is a far more
stable place than it was fifty years ago." Ilya smiled sadly. If
anyone had told me, while I was prisoner in a gulag that not only
would I *leave* the Soviet Union, but that the Soviet Union would
cease to exist, I would have assumed they were drunk or certifiable,
probably both. Without "Star Wars" without a major war, communist
socialism fell by the wayside. Things are better. Not much, but the
most important step was taken."
"Nevertheless, we *do* take action on occasion. But only when vast
numbers of innocent lives are threatened." Napoleon's face was
solemn. "Imagine what September 11th would have been like if nuclear
weapons had been used. Thanks to UNCLE, they weren't. Still... too
many lives were lost. Yes, some buildings were destroyed, but New
York. Pennsylvania, and Washington, DC are still there." Napoleon
said quietly. "It's a matter of degree. Technology has grown up far
faster than human behavior. It's as if cavemen with all of their
unbridled emotions and no moral standards had been given automatic
pistols and hydrogen bombs. UNCLE primarily makes sure the technology
is in proportion to the size of the idiot minds wielding it. It's not
the best solution, but it saves more lives than you could know."
The sober-faced Russian nodded. "I am not exagerating when I state
that my partner and I have saved the world on four separate
occasions. By that I mean, averted epic disasters that would have
ended life as we know it."
"So what does this have to do with our daughter?" John was getting
very frightened now.
"Our chief adversary is an cock-eyed organization with an equally
fantastic name: THRUSH. To put it simply, they also want a world
government but their working model is the Third Reich. When we
interfere it's usually to stop their operatives and scientists from
destroying the progress we've made thus far. We believe they have
your daughter. Why they took her, is still unknown. That's why we
came to see you."
"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary, lately?" Ilya asked.
"No. Nothing." Luka looked at John who nodded. "Apart from the
excitement attached to our work, we lead extremely dull lives."
"Yeah." John interjected. "Treating Mr. Kuryakin was the first YWBT
case I've had in a while."
"Excuse me, YWBT?" Napoleon's eyebrows went up.
"Shop talk for You Won't Believe This." John explained. "As trauma
docs, we see all kinds of weird stuff, so much so, that it becomes a
strange kind of routine. You guys were the first secret agents I'd
encountered since I was a resident. Is that why Katerina was taken
from us?"
"It could be. But that would mean we were under surveillance before
and after we met you. No, more than likely this has something to do
with the fact that THRUSH had a center of operations located next to
your daughter's school..." Ilya broke off as Luka went deathly white.
"Janaskja! A janitor bumped into me and Kitten as we were leaving the
building! That must be when all of this started!"
"Can you describe the man?" Napoleon took out a small tape recorder.
"Early forties, mouse-colored hair. Looked hypertensive..." A spate
of medical terminology followed. Napoleon shook his head.
"In English, please."
"Ruddy complexion, slightly popped eyes, dry skin, and a slight
squint in his left eye; pot belly and probably a wrenched ankle."
Ilya explained as John and Luka's mouths fell open.
"No, I'm not a doctor. Quantum physics is my scientific discipline,
but as you can tell, our work means we spend a lot of time in
hospitals." Ilya smiled for the first time.
"Yeah, I'll bet." John shook his head as if to clear it. "So, what do
you want us to do? I mean, you came here for something, right?"
"Have there been any unusual phone calls? Wrong numbers, hang-
ups?..." Napoleon asked.
"Nothing. My father got us new phones. The hospital and our family
are the only people with the new numbers."
"Who, besides the Chicago police and your family, know of your
daughter's disappearance?" Ilya wanted to know.
"Apart from the ones who took her, only our boss. The papers haven't
picked up on it yet. We told her school that she has the flu." Luka
explained quietly.
"The internet." Ilya murmured.
"What?"
"Have you checked your e-mail, lately?"
"No. Not since that night. I didn't think..." John jumped up and ran
for his laptop while Luka cleared a space on the coffee table.
"Here. Luka, could you plug it in?"
"Let me." Ilya put the computer in front of him and quickly pulled up
the appropriate screen.
"How did you do that? We have it password-protected for our
daughter." John was surprised. There was his personal e-mail service
with all of his incoming messages.
"Let's just say, I can see why you'd want to limit access to your
machine." Ilya said drily without actually answering the
question. "Do you have a spare disk? I'd like to download your folder
and let our encryption team look them over."
"Uhh, do you have to?"
"Janaskja, what's wrong? Should I know about this?"
"Well..."
Luka whistled as he peered over Ilya's shoulder. "You're into slash?"
"Okay, so I'm not proud of it. It's something to do when you've got
the late shift."
"I'll say. No wonder you gave me a computer of my own for our
anniversary."
"Slash?" Napoleon wanted to know.
"A sub-genre of what is called "fanfiction." The stories feature
plots or sub-plots that involve same-gender relationships, usually
male." Ilya sounded as if he was lecturing.
"And just how would you know about this, partner?" Napoleon smiled.
"I read about it in a magazine?"
"Okay... Is there anything else of interest?"
"Dr. Kovac-Carter, I assume you know all of these correspondents?"
Ilya's elegant hands flew over the keyboard as he quickly duplicated
the directory containing all of John's incoming mail.
"Kinda. Most of them are docs in other parts of the country. A few
students, the usual. No pen-pals." John looked pointedly at his
husband. "Anyway, do you think these THRUSH people will use the
internet?"
"Probably. It's less easy to trace than the using the phones and a
hell of a lot easier for the average person to access in private and
manipulate. I'll download what you have archived so far and we'll tap
into this directory and get copies of any future transmissions, if
that's okay."
"Sure." John's face was the color of bricks.
"What about your computer, Dr. Carter-Kovac?"
"Luka, please, it's less time-consuming. I never hooked the thing up.
It's still in the box."
"Your anniversary was in November." Napoleon pointed out.
"How on earth?"
"Let's face it Luka, our lives are open books to these guys." John
was mortified.
"In a manner of speaking. We don't compile files on everybody. We
simply access the information that's already been compiled by someone
else. Employers, educational institutions, social services, local law
enforcement, credit card companies: the usual. The drugs used to
subdue the security staff in your building set off one of our alarms.
I recognized your rather unusual last name, Dr. John, and the rest
was a matter of routine." Napoleon explained.
"We celebrate two anniversaries." Luka sighed. "One in April when we
first became a couple, and the date we were married in November."
"I'll get you a disk. I think we have a few in the bedroom." John
called out over his shoulder.
"We're really sorry about all of this, Luka." Napoleon said softly.
"Yes. I must tell you there is still a chance of your daughter's
abduction being the work of kidnappers for ransom, but with every
hour that passes with no contact, the odds are decreasing." Ilya held
out his hand for the disks.
"I'm sorry, do you guys want something to drink?" John asked.
"Coffee, if you have it."
"That's a given. We're doctors; we live on the stuff." John headed
into the kitchen.
"Napoleon?" To anyone else, Ilya's voice would have sounded normal.
Napoleon came over immediately and sat down.
"Got something?"
"How do you say? Pay dirt." Ilya said quietly. "Look."
Napoleon leaned forward and gazed at the list of files on the
screen. "Give this man a cigar."
"You found something?" Luka wanted to know.
"Yeah, The reason Katerina was taken. If this disk is genuine, and
there's every reason to believe it is, THRUSH will do anything to get
it back. However, there's a catch. If they think we've seen it, all
bets are off."
"Meaning?"
"They will have no reason to return your child." Ilya said
bluntly. "And three billion reasons to want revenge.
Act 3 - What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?
**********************************************************
"Do we want to know what's on that?" Luka didn't like the look on the
Russian's face.
"No."
"John? I think you need to be in here." Luka called out.
"You guys found something."
"Yes." Ilya explained.
"We're never going to see her again." John put his head down.
"I'm the gloomy one, remember?" Luka hugged his husband. Despite his
smile, his voice cracked.
"You're going to have house guests." Napoleon had been thinking.
"THRUSH agents?" Luka looked to the windows half expecting to see
sinister operatives clambering over the sills.
"No, two old friends from New York. Remember? You met up with us at
Wigstock."*
"Uh-huh." Luka didn't like the sound of this. "Our travel records,
right? Shit, you guys know everything."
"Napoleon, you can't be serious." Ilya's face was as white as chalk.
"Come on, partner. A little girl's life is at stake. You've done
worse."
"Not willingly."
"Besides, we're no longer living in ..."
"San Francisco! You guys know about Charles and Cyril? I don't
believe this!" John's eyes went wide.
"Calm down, I think I know where Napoleon is going with this. We,
masquerading as your friends, were on our way to visit friends in the
City, you called to tell us about Katerina, and we decided to stay
with you for a few days." Ilya explained.
"Charles is conservative, dark haired... I borrow some horn-rimmed
glasses, part my hair in the middle..."
"Which leaves *me* to prance around the living room in a silk
dressing gown." Ilya muttered.
"Nothing quite so flamboyant. I seem to remember you have some old-
style Russian lounge wear that's pretty slinky..."
"Great. Ivana the Terribly Bitchy rides again." **
"Think of it this way, all those ballet lessons are finally going to
pay off." Napoleon smiled.
"You owe me, for this one."
"But you don't have any luggage." John pointed out.
"I can take care of that." Napoleon pulled out his cell phone. "Open
channel D. Emergency relay, Solo to Waverly." Napoleon grinned at his
partner briefly then began to update their boss. "Yes, sir. We think
we can orchestrate the exchange without our avian friends knowing
we're on to them. I'm feeding you the data now. Don't read it, don't
circulate it, don't do anything until we get the little girl back."
Napoleon slipped the disk into a slot in the base of his phone. After
another two minutes he removed the disk, confirmed the data transfer,
and closed the phone. "Our local office will be dropping by with
our 'lost' luggage by way of O'Hare. They'll be in a regular airport
taxi."
"When THRUSH makes contact with you, they'll probably be covered as
police or FBI agents. Go along with them as if they were the real
thing. If I were running the op' I'd probably give you a bunch of
disks to download ransom instructions from the internet. Leave this
one in plain sight, in a stack of disks scattered over the dining
room table. Everybody 'borrows' these things from work, friends, what
have you; you never noticed it's a different brand from the ones you
usually buy. They'll probably collect the ransom to make this look
genuine, let them. During the course of things, they'll take back the
disks they gave you plus the one they really want. Again, let them.
Your daughter will be returned to you and you shouldn't be involved
further." Ilya had been stage managing the dining room table as he
explained the scenario.
"What if the real police and FBI find out about the THRUSH agents?"
Luka asked. Inwardly, he was terrified.
"My boss in New York is handling that. The Chicago PD and the FBI
will back off until we give them the high sign. You guys get to feed
my partner, for which you will have to be re-imbursed handsomely by
the way, we get to sit up late and play cards, and hopefully your
daughter will be back at home in two or three days." Napoleon stuck
his tongue out at Ilya.
"And the media?" John looked up, his eyes were red.
"We've taken care of that as well. Any inquiries made to the police
or FBI will be answered by an extremely bored mid-level flunkie who
will state the whole thing was a hoax. Yes, an attempt was made,
yadda yadda and the kid and her family decided to go to the Bahamas
for a little R&R. Of course, if the media had left you guys alone
during that INS thing, all of this could have been avoided. In short,
they'll be made to feel the whole thing is *their* fault so they'll
back off." Napoleon sighed. ***
"For the truly unscrupulous newshound, we'll let slip a few details
about surviving members of the 'Sons of Thunder', and let them run
with it. All of those guys are dead or in jail... yes, we checked,
Luka. So, no harm, no foul. It sounds dramatic, and the bottom lie
remains the same, some amateur goons tried to get back at Luka, they
botched it, and you're out of town." Napoleon said flatly.
"Yes, if the fake police want to know about the false reports in the
press, tell them the truth. You didn't want to scare off the
kidnappers." Ilya headed into the kitchen.
"Do you really think it will be that easy?" Luka still had his arms
around John.
"Yes. Two look-alikes will be boarding a plane for New York in the
morning looking very dissatisfied. Everybody routinely checks airport
surveillance tapes. THRUSH will assume Ilya and I have gone home.
When the fake PD shows up, we'll be sound asleep in your bedroom with
a few artfully arranged articles left around to imply we earned our
rest." Napoleon made another call requesting some "special" items to
be included in their "lost" luggage and smiled at his partner who
grimaced.
"I draw the line at toe shoes. The damn things were invented by
Torquemada."
"You should know, dushka moi." ****
NS*IK*JC*LK
The two kidnappers looked very authentic. They could have walked into
any precinct bar in Chicago and been immediately recognized as fellow
officers. Their associates had the "ransom" e-mails all ready to go.
The next morning, John opened the door to two "detectives" who
flashed real badges. The couch in the living room had been pulled out
into a double bed. "You have company?"
"Some friends from San Francisco." John explained as he shut the
door. He was very nervous. Thank God the kidnappers would be
expecting him to be on edge. "Luka! Some detectives are here."
"I'll be there in a minute." Luka's voice carried from down the hall.
The sound of the toilet flushing explained where he was. "Good
afternoon, officers." The tall Croatian said quietly. "Do you have
any news for us?"
"None, I'm afraid. But we're confident you should be hearing soon
from the people who took your daughter. Sometimes, these bastards
like to wait a little to make the families extremely anxious, they
think it will guarantee a quick pay-off."
"Well, it's working. We'll do whatever we can to get her back."
"Fine. We'll be with you every step of the way. Do your guests know
what's going on?"
"Yes. We had to tell them. We don't usually have the police calling
our home or stopping by. Besides, they're godparents for our
daughter." John replied.
"Okay, they may phone the initial instructions in, but most of their
contact will be made over the internet. Here are some special disks
that will record all source URLs for any messages sent. I assume you
have a computer?"
"Two. Laptops. Only one is on-line though." John led them into the
dining room. "Here it is. I haven't checked my e-mail since last
night."
"Okay, doc. Could you access your account? Let's see if anything has
popped up." The older "detective" put on a pair of glasses and leaned
in next to John as the younger man pulled up his home page and logged
in. The disk was right in front of him. This would be a piece of cake.
"That's a lot of mail."
"I save everything as 'new;' it's kinda like a back-up tickler file.
Most of this stuff is job-related. Doctors usually keep in touch to
swap procedures, new treatments, things like that." John explained
amazed at how calm he sounded.
"Do you mind if we copy these?"
"Go ahead. Just don't delete anything. Some of these are requests for
information and few contain drafts of articles I'm working on."
"No problem, doc. This is a routine copy job. Hey, Peterson, have you
got those blank disks?"
"Sure. Here you go." The other detective had been nosing around the
living room.
"Thanks."
The "partner" picked up a lace teddy. "This belongs to your friends?"
"Yes. It's mine." Luka turned and nearly fell over. Ilya's hair had
been curled into a pouffe that fell over his bright green
eyes. "Sorry about that, sweetums." "Cyril" pursed his lips in Luka's
direction. "We didn't mean to make such a mess."
The two THRUSH agents rolled their eyes. This had to be the weirdest
case they'd ever been involved with: a kid, two guys married to each
other, and now drag queens. Ilya picked up the scattered pieces of
underclothing and swam out of the room. Cyril would have been proud
of him. No one noticed when the sylph-like creature adjusted the
UNCLE surveillance camera looking for all the world like a snow-globe
sitting on the mantle.
"Okay, that should do it for now. Here's our cell phone number. This
way you won't get hung up at the switchboard in the precinct house.
Call anytime you think you have something. We'll leave these extra
disks with you. Copy all of your e-mails. We'll decide what's
relevant, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Try not to worry too much. I'm sure they'll be in touch. Don't
worry, we'll see ourselves out." The two men left.
Napoleon didn't waste any time. He quickly counted the disks strewn
over the table. One was missing. "Ohh darling?"
"Yes?" Ilya was still in character. For all they knew, the THRUSH
agents could have infested the place with bugs.
"Why don't you make yourself decent and help Luka clean up the living
room?"
"Why do *I* always get stuck with the housework?"
"Because you look better in a maid's uniform?" Napoleon nodded in
reply to Ilya's unspoken question.
"Can I help it if I'm the beautiful one?" Ilya's soft crooning voice
was definitely at odds with his fierce frown.
He activated a small electronic device and began to sweep the room.
Ten minutes later, he made the "OK" sign. Now that they had what they
came for, THRUSH wasn't interested in John and Luka enough to plant
listening devices. Which meant, they would monitor their activities
the old-fashioned way with men on the street and tapped phone calls.
Roland had already played his part, leaving a message to say he was
going to by-pass the police and use his own security service to make
any ransom drops. So far, so good. Ilya brushed his hands through his
hair restoring it to the style he usually wore. Two passes with a
damp paper towel removed the blush and lip gloss. Ignoring the kiss
blown by his partner, he stalked out of the living room to change
clothes.
NS*IK*JC*LK
"So how long have you guys been partners?" Luka wanted to know. They
were sitting in the kitchen watching as Ilya polished off a third
helping of stew.
"Almost fifteen years." Napoleon sighed. His metabolism forced him to
adhere to a very strict diet to maintain his figure. Ilya shoveled
food in with both hands and never seemed to gain a pound.
"And you've been lovers for how long?" John smiled.
"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that question."
Napoleon grinned back.
"Nine years, Four months, eleven days." Ilya said flatly, his eyes
however were shining. The green contact lenses were in a case in his
pocket. He was once more in uniform: black turtleneck sweater and
black slacks.
"We thought our stay in Chicago would be a second honeymoon."
Napoleon began.
"You met here?"
"In a manner of speaking. Ilya drew an entrapment assignment
involving a male subject. I decided to help him get in the mood, you
might say."
"He was a most excellent coach." Ilya said softly.
"Thank you, liubov."
"Hey, that's almost how you say it in Croatian." John looked at Luka.
"You speak Croatian?" Ilya was impressed.
"Enough to get what I want." John blushed.
"The same can be said for my Russian." Napoleon remarked with a wink
at his partner. "What about you two?"
"We've worked together for about the same amount of time as you guys.
We were married four years before we adopted our daughter." Luka
replied.
"Are you guys open about your relationship at work?" John wanted to
know.
"Yes. How can you be blackmailed if everyone knows about you?
Besides, THRUSH knew we were in love before we did." Napoleon
chuckled. "Once in a great while, they get something right."
"A very great while." Ilya said gravely.
"We're probably the most famous gay couple in Chicago." John remarked
wryly. "Stuff keeps happening to us that winds up on television."
"It's only because you're as rich as Croesus." Luka shook his head.
"Not me, my family."
"You and Napoleon have a lot in common." Ilya said.
"I kinda noticed that. Both of us had crazy grandfathers. I take it
you're well off?"
"I believe the phrase is 'stinking'." Ilya said drily.
"Probably my aftershave." Napoleon demurred.
"What about you, Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Please, call me Ilya. I get by."
"He's too modest to admit to holding half a dozen patents that have
made him into a filthy capitalist."
"You were married in Bosnia, Luka?"
"Yes. My wife and daughters... you know what happened."
"Do either of you have children?" John asked.
"Well, yes and no." Napoleon answered slowly.
"Yes. I had a son. He was put up for adoption." Ilya said softly.
"I'm sorry." Luka took John's hand.
"Don't be. Neither of us wanted to do it, but we had no choice. Our
enemies consider getting rid of us a top priority. The boy could have
been used against us; apart from being eliminated for revenge. At
least this way he's safe. THRUSH has no idea he exists. If he'd
stayed with us..."
"He'd be six now. Can we talk about something else?" Napoleon had not
failed to notice Ilya's saddened eyes.
Author's Notes:
* Wigstock: An outrageous drag festival held in New York City in late
summer. The more outlandish the getup, the better.
** Ilya's peevish observation relates to Charles's partner, drag-
queen extraordinaire Cyril Francis Madison. You can "read more about
it" in my short-shorts story "Summer in the City" archived at
fanfiction.net. Search for ER "Humor" with an NC-17 rating and that
sucker should pop up.
*** Wheee! I get to footnote my own stuff again!! Luka's troubles
with the Immigration & Naturalization Service (INS) are detailed in
part two of my three-part slash epic. The story is called "Hearts in
Darkness" and is also archived at "the net": ER "Drama" and NC-17 and
there you are.
**** My cousins will get to read all about Ilya's dance training in a
story called "The Three-Headed Eagle Affair." Unfortunately, you have
to join one of two MFU groups to read this one. Contact me off-line
and I'll be more than glad to supply the particulars. EP
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