The Victorian House Affair

By M. Willow

Thanks to Di T for beta assistance.  Special thanks to MWH for  insight and encouragement.

Neither the characters nor the house belong to me.

Dust covered the fireplace, windows, and just about everyplace else within sight. Furniture covered with thick white cloth was the only thing spared in this room of disarray. One would be surprised that an international spy of his caliber would be interested in a house such as this. The house was an old Victorian mansion. Once pink, thus the name, Pink Lady, but now blue in deference to his masculinity. It was a Queen Anne, and the type of house he had dreamed of owning for years.

The construction, or rather the remodeling of the house, had begun in earnest some months ago. For security reasons, all of the construction crew had been cleared by Waverly, who was astounded and then very understanding that his Chief Enforcement Agent, one Napoleon Solo, wanted to put down roots as it were. Waverly had reluctantly agreed to Napoleon’s ownership of the house even though it would certainly present security concerns for his CEA and thus the agency he worked for.

Currently,  Napoleon stood looking out the dusty windows of his almost completed house. He was so enamored with the view of his backyard that he almost didn’t hear the sound of his doorbell. Upon hearing the bell Napoleon walked to the door through his large, impressive living room, past the fireplace, and into the expansive foyer with its dark hardwood floors. He looked around before answering the door as if to make certain that everything was in place. He admired the walls painted gray against dark oak with impressionistic paintings hanging on either side of the door. In the center of the foyer stood an old table that he had acquired at an antique mall. The table had been restored to its original appearance but still had that old world charm. He knew that in the 19th century such a table would have been used for guests to leave their calling cards. The foyer was one of the few places completed in this large house, but that would all change in a week when the final unveiling of his new home would occur in the form of a party. On that day the house would be revealed as completely decorated in the style of the Victorian period. Impressive to say the least, he thought. Napoleon could hardly contain himself with the excitement. His normal cool demeanor lost to the idea of being the owner of his very first house.

Napoleon opened the door. He knew who it was because the bell had rung in a pattern that indicated his best friend and partner had arrived. On the doorstep stood Illya Kuryakin, with a rather silly grin on his face, holding a small box decorated in bright colors covered with red ribbons.

Solo greeted his guest  “Hi Illya, what do you have here?”

“A house warming gift, Napoleon.”

“Well thank you.” At that he took the proffered gift. “Come in. Looks like we are going to have another storm. Can you believe it? It’s been raining for two days now and the party is Saturday. I was hoping to have a barbeque outside in the garden.”

Illya came into the house, looked appreciatively at the foyer, and followed Napoleon into the drawing room. Napoleon uncovered one piece of furniture, a large Victorian couch, and indicated that Illya should sit.  He cleared the dust from one table and excused himself returning later with coffee served in a silver serving set. He poured the steaming coffee into two mugs and handed one to Illya.

“I’m rather surprised to receive your present a full week in advance of my grand unveiling, Illya. You will be able to make it won’t you?”

“I wanted to wait until next week but unfortunately Waverly has an assignment for me. I doubt that I will be back before next week, so I decided to bring it today. Please, don’t open it until I leave of course.”  Illya looked around as he said this. It was obvious to Napoleon that his friend was still concerned about the security that could be installed effectively in a house this large filled with picturesque windows. The house was nestled in a remote suburb called Shady Oaks which was at least 40 miles from UNCLE headquarters. Even Napoleon had to admit that it was a security risk.

“Still worried about my safety, Tovarish?”

Illya looked sharply at him, realizing that he had been caught. “Aren’t I always concerned Napoleon?” he said with an edge of exasperation.

“Look, Illya, I will be perfectly safe out here. First I am a trained agent, and secondly, tomorrow a security team will be here to install the best security system ever invented. So stop being a mother hen and don’t worry. “

Illya sighed, the concern still evident on his face. “So what does April think of your new accommodations?”

“She’s happy for me.” Napoleon hesitated for a second before continuing, “Well, sort of…. Okay, she’s concerned as well. Just hides it better than you. Look Illya. I’m not married, have no kids, and really no life outside UNCLE. I need to feel some normalcy in my life. This place makes me feel that way. I know it lacks the security of a building filled with UNCLE agents in New York, but there are times when I need to feel that I’m a human being. Just think, you can stay here whenever you need a break from the hustle and bustle of the big city. There’s even a lake. We can go fishing.”

Illya quickly realized that he was wasting his time trying to talk sense into his partner, so he changed the subject. “So how are you and April getting on?” he said with a hint of mischief. Illya loved teasing his friend about April.

Napoleon noticed the implying tone of the sly Russian.

“I told you, Illya, we’re just friends, nothing more.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t know. I still find that difficult to believe.” Illya said slowly. “She is arguably one of the most attractive women around and I have never known you to pass on an attractive woman, Napoleon.”

Solo took a sip of his coffee, and said, “Sometimes having a good female friend is better than all the sex in the world, Illya.”

The Russian smiled. “You are getting old Napoleon. In less than a year you have become the owner of this splendid house and now you are telling me that you have a close friend who happens to be female. Next there will be a white picket fence, a dog, and you will be telling me that you have met the woman of your dreams and  plan to settle down.”

Napoleon laughed and raised his hands in protest. “Now let’s not get carried away, old friend. Having a house and a friend who happens to be a woman is one thing; getting married is another thing all together.” He sipped his coffee, decided it needed more sugar, and plopped two more sugar cubes in the cup, stirring lightly.

Illya glanced around the room, you must show me the house one day soon, but for now I must be going. I have many things to ready before I leave.”

“Anything you care to share?” Napoleon asked.

“Not to my partner who happens to be on two weeks vacation. Just another routine mission, probably boring, and you are probably lucky to be here tucked in your nice warm house, while I suffer in some barren location, free of food and creature comforts.”  Illya got up from the couch and shook Napoleon’s hand. “Seriously, I really hope this house gives you some measure of comfort.”

Napoleon smiled, “I know it will. I know it will.”

************************************************************************

The rest of the day went by uneventfully.  Napoleon spent most of it cleaning the house.  Remodeling had left layers of dust and although Napoleon realized he could have hired a cleaning crew, he wanted this time for himself.  Now, he went through the house, uncovering furniture as he moved.  He walked to the fireplace in his drawing room.  On the mantle sat the gift that Illya had brought him.  He knew without looking that his friend had found the perfect house warming present.  And so he held the box in his hand as if it were a delicate flower to be cherished for all times.   He gently pulled back the exquisite gift wrapping, and opened the box, and was immediately transported back one year before to a rainy day in New York.

The agents had been returning from lunch when they noticed an antique shop.  They had only wanted to retreat from the storm. The shop was warm and inviting.  Upon entering, they were greeted by a kindly old man who offered tea and sandwiches.  They had both declined, deciding to wander around the shop instead.  Eventually, Napoleon’s eyes fell upon an antique door knocker.  It was beautiful in its simplicity.  He remembered gently touching it, captivated by its charm.  The old man interrupted and asked if he was interested in purchasing the item.  Napoleon had replied that he was not.  He had realized that his New York penthouse apartment was not a place to hang such an exquisite item, and so he had left the shop, but the seed had been planted.  For the first time in his life, he wanted a home.

He was impressed that Illya had noticed his interest and remembered after all this time.   Soon the door knocker was proudly displayed and Napoleon headed to the bedroom for a nap.  He realized, as he climbed the grand staircase of his house, that he was becoming so suburban.  Few would recognize him as a spy, a trained killer.  He climbed the stairs, fatigue draining him like no mission could, his face unshaven and a ratty old pair of pants and equally ratty tee shirt in place of his normal custom made Italian suits.     

 *************

It was eight o’clock in the evening when he awoke with a start. It was so quiet, almost unnatural to one accustomed to the sounds of the city. One could hear every creak of the Victorian house. His nerves were on edge with the newly purchased silence. Gone were the automobiles honking their horns, the cars screeching through the streets, the endless chatter of New York. In its place was a silence that Napoleon had never known existed. He realized he would have to adjust to the sound of silence. He realized he would enjoy it.

He jumped up from his four poster bed, stretched, stripped his clothes, and went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. From there he would leave and explore the night life of Shady Oaks, perhaps meet a friend of the female variety. He realized that he missed the companionship of women. He had been so busy decorating the house, that he had neglected that aspect of himself. Now he would remedy it. He had two weeks vacation, courtesy of the unusually understanding Waverly, and he intended to enjoy every second of it. Within two hours he was sitting in a quiet café with one of the most beautiful women he had seen in a long time. Yes, he would enjoy life in Shady Oaks.

Illya sat up quickly in his bed, the telephone awakening him from a sound sleep. He looked at his clock. Eleven-thirty. Who would be calling me at this time. He reached over, grabbed the telephone, and said in Russian “This has better be good.” In answer he heard the urgent voice of his partner.

“Illya, get out here now.” And then the click of the telephone.

Illya dressed quickly, grabbed his gun, and headed for the door. He knew that it would be an hour’s drive, but he did not want to alert UNCLE just yet. It could simply be a joke by his friend. It would not be the first time. Still it worried him that Napoleon would call him with such urgency in his voice. And why not use his communicator? Of course, UNCLE had decreed that the communicator should only be used for business. Napoleon did not say he was in danger, just to get out there now. If he called Waverly, he would look foolish if Napoleon had merely called him over to spend time with yet another attempt at his blind dates. In spite of the heavy rain he drove with a speed that he had not known the old car could take.

Soon he arrived at Napoleon’s house. From the car he quickly surveyed the land around him, at first taking in the circular porch with its potted plants and then the house itself from the ground floor to the steeple at the top. Nothing seemed amiss. He could see one light in the bedroom but there was no sign of activity. He attempted once more to contact Napoleon using his communicator, but received no reply. Still, that could simply mean that Napoleon was somewhere else in the house and out of ear shot of his communicator.

Illya cautiously advanced from the car, his gun drawn and at the ready. His senses were heightened. In the distance the sounds of thunder shattered the silence, but in this quiet suburb of Shady Oaks, only his footfall could be heard. He almost cursed Napoleon for his poor choice in neighborhoods and houses. How could they possibly secure it, he wondered, as he regarded the many windows surrounding the house? He looked around and saw no one. He approached the door.

He decided not to knock. If Napoleon was in trouble, a knock would take away his advantage. If Napoleon were not in trouble a knock would still take away his advantage for he would surely kill Napoleon for bringing him to his house at this time in the morning. He used the key that Solo had given him when he purchased the house and let himself in.

Quiet. Still. And then the sounds of music coming from upstairs. He advanced slowly up the stairs, intent on following the sounds of the beautiful melodic music. He wondered if Napoleon was entertaining one of his many lady friends. He climbed the stairs and heard the creak of each step haunting him, alerting whoever was at the top of the stairs to his presence.

The house was dark and foreboding. He could almost hear his heart beat. Finally, he was at the top of the stairs. He moved as quietly as possible toward the source of the music. Now he stood before the bedroom door and wondered at his next move. Should he simply break the door open, gun drawn, or should he quietly enter? If Napoleon was with a woman, both could prove embarrassing. Still there was the phone call. Napoleon would be expecting him.

He slowly turned the knob, his pulse quickening, his hands sweating. Finally, the door was open and there in a chair sat a large, balding man, with quick darting brown eyes and a smile on his face. A man he had not seen in five years. James Triton, a dead man. At least he thought he should have been dead. Illya had killed him five years ago. But still, here he sat on Sunday morning in Napoleon’s bedroom.

Where was Napoleon?  He felt he had the upper hand, for he still had his gun and this man obviously did not. Triton sat calmly in the chair, a stream of smoke coming from his pipe. He advanced slowly.

“What have you done with Napoleon, Triton, if that is your name?” he demanded.

“Indeed, Mr. Kuryakin, you must recognize me. I am your dear friend James. And as you can see…” he looked down at himself, “quite alive. As for Napoleon,” he paused dramatically, “I haven’t the foggiest. I imagine he is with one of his many women.”

“You will tell me where Napoleon is or I will kill you now, and this time I shall make certain of your demise, “Illya said, with an edge of danger in his voice.

“I think not, Mr. Kuryakin, you see I have made other plans for the evening. Plans, in which you, unfortunately, will not be able to participate,” he said with an air of certainty. “You, I am afraid, will be tied up.” Then the fat man snapped his fingers and shouted, “Take him, Chester!”

At once a large man grabbed Illya from behind in a bear hug. The man was huge, at least seven foot tall, and must have weighed more than 300 pounds. Illya found that he was unable to move. All his attempts at self defense only made Chester hold him tighter.

Triton laughed and continued to smoke as if the entire scene was perfectly normal and expected.

Illya gasped for breath and uttered, “What makes you think you can get away with this? You must realize that agents from UNCLE will be here shortly.”

Triton merely laughed. “Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, you see I know more about you then you think. You would never call UNCLE before investigating it yourself. So foolish, really, but what else can you do with a partner like Solo?  Oh no, you are far too devoted to do such a thing. No one is coming, and I have plenty of time to do whatever I please.”

Illya thought back to the last time he saw Triton. He was a minor inventor with delusions of grandeur. He had invented a machine that was more of a nuisance to UNCLE than a threat. Illya had eliminated this threat along with Triton in a fiery blast. Now Illya realized that Triton had, in fact, escaped and now sought revenge.

“So, how did you do it Triton? How did you impersonate Napoleon?”

“Simple. I have an electronic device that has unusual capabilities.” He smiled. “It was really quite easy to trick you.”

Illya sighed. “So what are your plans? Is it torture or a slow agonizing death you have planned for me?”

“Of course not. I rather like this house your friend has provided for us.” Triton looked around appreciatively at the room. “I plan to see that you spend more time here. From the looks of you, you need a vacation. I shall see that you have it. In one of the many rooms of this house there is a fireplace. Unknown to your partner, this fireplace has a hidden room behind it. I have made certain modifications to this room, which will suit you nicely. It seems that our dear Napoleon has decided that he would prefer something other than a fireplace to warm him, so he plans to have it covered with drywall. Anyhow you will be placed in this room. “

Illya felt true panic engulf him, yet he tried to keep his face impassive.

Triton continued. “I see by the look on your face that you are puzzled by my plan and need more information.” He paused, smiling at the agent. “Well let me explain.  I have created a new machine— impressive if I may say so. You shall be the first to test it. It provides a limited supply of air and water. You will lack the ability to move, of course. This will prevent you from contacting your friend and assure me of my revenge. Eventually, the airpack will be empty of air and water. At that point you will either die from lack of air or lack of water. Of course you could also starve, considering your small size. You shall have close circuit television monitors in your new home. These will allow you to observe the world around you. I can’t have you getting bored now, can I? Oh, and did I mention that no one will look for you.  I’ve seen to that by creating a mission for you.  I was quite creative.  Your superior never suspected. By the time they realize my little trick, you’ll be dead.”  He smiled triumphantly, then added,   “Don’t worry.  I’m sure Mr. Solo will find your body and see that you have a proper burial.” The storm had moved closer and now Triton was illuminated like a fiend in an old horror movie.

Suddenly he shouted. “Take him away Chester!”

In short order, Illya was escorted to a room a few doors down from Napoleon’s bedroom. This room had pink walls, a large four- poster bed, with a covering that matched the color of the curtains. It was beautifully appointed and obviously intended for a woman. The room was marred by a large fireplace. Earlier, Napoleon had mentioned that he planned to put drywall in front of it. The fireplace seemed out of place in this room with its red brick and gold brocade. Illya watched with dread as Triton reached above the fireplace and dislodged a brick. The fireplace moved back instantly and revealed a small room. The room held several television monitors and a wooden chair. Illya was deposited into this chair, which faced the opening to the fireplace. At this point Triton approached with a hypodermic needle in his hand. Illya struggled but soon the needle was inserted into his arm and he found himself spiraling down into darkness.

Napoleon could not believe his luck. Anna had invited him back to her apartment and he had spent an exciting night in the bed of this beautiful woman. Now he awoke to find her still asleep by his side. He reached over and gave her a passionate kiss. She stirred, returning the kiss and then said, “I hate to end the day so early, but I must get ready to leave for Paris tonight. The life of a stewardess is always busy.”

He nuzzled her ear then pulled back, admiring her body. “I have to get back too. I still have a lot to do for the party next week. I hope you can come.”

She smiled seductively, arching her eyebrows, then added slowly “Mmmm, I certainly do want to come.”

Napoleon felt his body react to the suggestive remark. “You do realize that I will never leave if you keep talking like that.” He reached over and took her in his arms.

***********************************************************************

One hour later Solo left Anna’s apartment. She explained that she would be in Japan next week, but promised to come to his party if her schedule permitted. Napoleon was deep in thought as he drove to his house. He admitted to himself that having a woman who was not demanding of his time was an attractive idea. Her stewardess job would keep her out of town most of the time. Most of the women he had known wanted to spend almost every day with him. It was a problem that kept him from enjoying a normal relationship. Perhaps Illya was right. Maybe he was looking for someone to settle down with. He laughed to himself at the thought of what his friend would say.

 Napoleon arrived at home in time to meet the security team. In less than two hours his new security system was installed. Now he sat in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. Normally his drink of choice was coffee, but April had sent a tea service and a collection of teas from around the world. He admitted to himself that tea did seem to go with the house. He felt completely relaxed as he read the Shady Oak newspaper and sipped his tea. This house made him feel human again. Its purchase had been the best decision he had made in a long time.

At the same time Napoleon was enjoying his tea, Illya sat tied to a wooden chair. Strong metal chains were wrapped around his arms and legs, insuring his lack of movement. A large metal tank sat to the side of him with a long tube that connected to a metal face covering that surrounded his mouth and nose. Occasionally, water would spurt out of the tube and Illya had to quickly swallow. The device prevented any sound from escaping the room.  He felt claustrophobic each moment that he spent in the room. In front of him were seven video monitors. It was here that he observed Napoleon sitting in his kitchen, oblivious to the drama taking place in the guest room of his house. Illya’s stomach growled loudly, but that was the only sound he could make. The Russian sadly realized that he could never escape from the strong bounds that Triton had imprisoned him with. He doubted that even Houdini could escape.

Illya had recalled how Triton had taken great pleasure in describing how he would not be found until it was too late. The thought sent chills down his body and he discovered that he was afraid, not just for himself, but for the man who was more like a brother to him. Napoleon would be utterly devastated and blame himself. Illya knew that he was looking at the last happy days his friend would ever enjoy in this house. And he would witness it all, silently, from this very room.

The next day Napoleon had the fireplace covered with drywall. The wall was then painted the same shade of pink as the rest of the room. Anyone looking at the room now would never guess the fireplace had ever existed

************************************************************************

The days went by slowly, first Monday then Tuesday. Eventually Illya was not sure how long he had been in the room. He watched the house change in appearance as Napoleon prepared for the party on Saturday. A few times Solo had entered the guest room, cleaning the room and decorating it with flowers and various feminine items. Illya willed Napoleon to know that he was there. His body had become weak from the lack of food. Each day he had received less water and so dehydration had become his enemy. He was buried alive and unable to tell anyone. He recalled the stories of people buried alive in the 19th century. How ironic that he would die in an old 19th century house instead of in the field fighting Thrush. He knew he had only days to live.

**********************************************************************

Napoleon walked around his house for a final inspection on Friday. Everything was fine and ready for the party on Saturday. He still hoped that Illya could come, but Waverly had indicated that the Russian would not return before Sunday. Napoleon was content with the knowledge that at least April would arrive today. Her arrival one day before everyone else would allow them time to talk and enjoy each other’s company. Illya and April were his best friends. Both of them were like family to him.

The doorbell rang in yet another code. Napoleon hastily walked to the door and opened it to the sight of April. She looked radiant as usual with the sunlight highlighting the intense reds and browns of her hair. She wore a beautiful yellow dress and white sandals— she was summer walking in the form of a woman. Napoleon could not help but admire her. In all the years he had known her she had never looked so lovely. She smiled at him and grabbed him in a hug. “Hi, Napoleon.”

Napoleon enthusiastically returned the hug. “Come in April, let me take your luggage, get you settled, then I can brag about my new house.”

April laughed. “I can’t believe you are actually doing this.” She watched as Napoleon set the numerous alarms on the door, turned to her, and carried her luggage up the stairs.

“Wait till you see it, April, then you will know why I had to have it. “ I’m so glad you could come here early. For a while I thought you were on a mission too. You know Illya is out of town, so you are the only family I will have here.”

April smiled at the sentiment and said, “Yes, I heard, it’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing him. I am just glad my mission ended in time for me to be here.”

Napoleon looked warmly at her and continued up the stairs.

He entered the guest room. He had decorated it with pink draperies, a large bed with a spread that matched the color of the draperies, and red oriental rugs scattered throughout the room. On each side of the bed sat small tables with flowers and golden lamps with white shades. A large mirror decorated the wall that once held the fireplace. It was ornate yet simple in its beauty.

April looked at the room with amazement. She knew he had done it for her.  “Napoleon, it’s beautiful.” she exclaimed.

He confirmed it by saying, “I wanted to create a space for you. Someplace to get away from it all…” he hesitated. “If you wish.”

“Wish, of course I wish.” she responded enthusiastically. “Thanks Napoleon.”

April felt fortunate to have a friend like Solo. Her family had never been close. Boston propriety prevented sharing emotions and life in general. She always felt comfortable around Napoleon. Although many women could not see beyond his handsome exterior, April had taken the time to truly know him. The friendship had started slowly at first. And then there was that awful time in Berlin when Solo had been accused of being a double agent and murderer.  Although Solo seemed reluctant to admit how this had affected him, he finally confided in April and the friendship was born. In Napoleon, she found the comfort that she always sought from her family. He was similar to a brother yet the relationship was far more intense because they had shared so much in the field. Now she had discovered yet another facet to her friend. In spite of his adventurous ways, he wanted to put down roots.

She gave him another hug then ordered. “Now, get out of here, I would like to change and then see this lovely oasis you’ve created. “

“See you downstairs, April,” he called back as he headed for the door.

April turned and admired the room once more. Yes, she thought, a perfect oasis.

And then a chill went down her spine. She shivered and went into the bathroom.

************************************************************************

Illya watched it all. He had never seen his friend so happy. In spite of Napoleon’s denial of a relationship, he had always half believed that his partner was actually in love with April. Now he could see that Napoleon truly loved her. Who would have believed that the notorious playboy of the western world could have a woman as a friend? It gave him some comfort to know that April would be there for Napoleon in one of the most desperate periods of his life.

************************************************************************

Napoleon was in the kitchen waiting for April. He guessed she would take a long time before coming down. He had furnished the bathroom with all of her favorite toiletries. He was aware that April loved a long hot bath after a mission. Now he busied himself preparing a delicious meal of chicken Kiev and jasmine rice.

After a time he heard her walking about. The dinner would be ready in a few minutes. Napoleon looked forward to a quiet evening spent at home. Later, he would show April the house and eventually the town. It was a beautiful evening he thought contently.

**********************************************************************

April emerged from the powder room, her skin glistening with the lotions Napoleon had provided. Her friend always knew and anticipated her needs. He spent time noticing what made her happy. She stood before the mirror, a glass of red wine in her hand. Napoleon had explained that a fireplace was behind the wall. Now, in its place was the beautifully decorated, full mirror. It was here that April stood drinking the wine when she felt a feeling of dread. Her body shook in response and she felt chilled. It was a familiar feeling. One she had felt only a few times in her life.  She felt strangely motivated to look at the mirror. Her body shook yet again as she entered a strange trance like state.

************************************************************************

Illya was transfixed by the image before him.  At first he adverted his eyes when April emerged from the bathroom nude.  But soon he found himself wanting to look at her, wanting to consume the essence of her being.  To remove himself from this dark place, transported by her beauty.  She was beautiful, the perfection of her body unmarred by the years of service in UNCLE.  Now she stood staring at the mirror, no the wall beyond the mirror, as if she could see him, as if she had been transported to this room. But that was not possible.  No one could hear or see him.  Triton had seen to that.  Only he was allowed that view of the outside world.  Still she stood looking, unmoving, almost like she was in a trance.  His heartbeat quickened from lack of food and water.  He found himself transfixed by the image before him.  She did not move just looked directly at him.  And time stood still.  And for a few precious moments, he was alive and Triton had never existed. And then the spell was broken and April collapsed, the wine glass shattering at her feet.

**************

Napoleon heard a crash and knew immediately that it came from the guest bedroom. He rushed up the stairs, two at a time. April— what could have happened? He opened her door without knocking and found her lying on the floor, nude, in front of the mirror. She was unconscious. He drew his gun, quickly checking the perimeter of the room for intruders. Finding nothing suspicious, he rushed to her side and cradled her in his arms.

“April, April, what happened?” he said, fear evident in his voice. He gently stroked her face, she was cold, still. She uttered. “The wall, the wall, the wall.” over and over again. She continued to say this as he tried to make some sense of it. April had never fainted. She was an agent. What was this about the wall? He cradled her, looking at her body for injury. Finding none, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, wrapping the bed covering around her.

Eventually, she opened her eyes. She looked at him not focusing at first and then her eyes went to the wall and finally back to him.

“What happened?” she uttered, hesitantly.

“I don’t know. I was downstairs setting the table when I heard the sound of breaking glass. I could tell it was coming from the guest room, so I rushed up and found you lying there on the floor. What happened April?”

“I don’t know. I was feeling fine, took a bath, came out, and the next thing I know I was looking at you.”

“You kept saying “the wall,” April.  What did you mean?”

“I have no idea.  I don’t remember much of anything, just looking up and seeing you.”

Napoleon reached for the telephone. “Let me call a doctor.”

April grabbed his hand, “No please don’t,” she said quietly, “I’m probably overtired from my last assignment. I’ll be okay.”

Napoleon reluctantly agreed.  April looked down and realized that she was nude beneath the spread.  She blushed and said, “Just let me get dressed and I’ll come down to see what that delightful smell is.”

“Okay, April, but I stay in the room while you dress so I’ll know you’re okay.”

“Napoleon, I do declare, how could you suggest such a thing?” She said teasingly in a fake Scarlett O’Hara accent.

“I’ll turn my back, but I’m not leaving this room.”

By this time Illya could not know any of this because he had passed out. The airpack was nearly empty.

[

************************************************************************

Napoleon awoke with a start. A scream reverberated through the house. He at once realized that the scream had come from April’s room. He grabbed his UNCLE special and raced down the hall, quickly scanning for intruders. He found April sitting up in her bed in near hysterics.

Napoleon approached slowly, calling her name. April seemed completely unaware of his presence. He did not want to startle her. She was a trained agent. Startling her could prove dangerous if not deadly. Eventually, April seemed to calm and recognize his presence. He went over and put his arms around her. She immediately relaxed into his arms.

After a time, he asked tentatively, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She looked up at him, her eyes vulnerable, almost haunted. “I don’t know. Just a nightmare I suppose.”

“You want to talk about it?”

She looked hesitant.

He added, “Listen whatever it is, you know you can trust me with it. Was it the last mission? Did something happen?”

 “No Napoleon, just a nightmare. I don’t want to talk about it. Please let me go back to sleep.”

“April, your nightmare…..did it have anything to do with a wall?”

April looked sharply at him. “Napoleon, can we just drop it?  It’s just a nightmare.  Everyone has them.”

 “Maybe it’s the house. It is old, like something from a horror film,” he added teasingly.

She laughed and Napoleon relaxed. He made a move to get up, but she grabbed his hand. “No Napoleon, please stay.”

Under any other circumstance, with any other woman, Napoleon would have taken that to mean to stay for a night of passion. But this was April, his best friend. Only fear would make her ask him to stay. But what was she afraid of?

Illya sat behind the wall. He had regained consciousness when he heard April’s scream, and now he watched April and his best friend on the bed. At first confused, he didn’t recognize April. There was very little water left. He knew that the air was getting thinner, for his thoughts seemed muddled and he kept passing out. He was so tired he could almost beg for death at this point. Triton was indeed getting his revenge, forcing him to sit here night after night watching the world around him and dying slowly in this hot lonely room. If it had not been for the presence of the lovely April, he felt he would surely have died by now. But somehow she made him feel as if there was a chance that he could be saved, and he wanted that chance, so he lived still.

He saw Napoleon take his robe off and  crawl in with April.  At first Illya wanted to avert his eyes. Still, somehow Illya’s eyes remained riveted to the screen. Soon, he saw the lights go off and only the moonlight illuminated the room. The moonlight cast an eerie shadow on the two people in the bed. Napoleon held April and rocked her silently.  They were both asleep within minutes.Eventually Illya felt himself enter the darkness as his body shuddered and he passed out.

She was in a house and someone unseen was chasing her. Her heart beat wildly as the fear crept over her. Soon she found herself running into a bedroom all decked out in pink.. She at once realized where she was. Napoleon’s house. Napoleon’s Victorian house. She looked around the room. A fire roared in the fireplace. No, that was not right, she thought. Napoleon had no fireplace in this room. Suddenly the fireplace disappeared. In its place was a wall. A terrible wall. The smell of death was pungent in the room. Her body shook in agony. She approached the wall, hands outstretched.  A cool breeze shifted through the room and her body convulsed with fear. She felt incapable of moving yet still she moved toward the wall, toward death. Suddenly her hands caressed the wall and just as suddenly she felt the contents therein. Cold, afraid, unable to move, clear blue eyes, pleading eyes. And then finally a vision of a blond man who was clearly Illya, his clothes in disarray, something holding him in place. Her hands reached out to touch his still body. Feelings of a coldness like death itself caressed her body and mind. She screamed with a terror not of this world, her body clawing and scratching against the quickly awakening Napoleon.

“The wall, the wall, tear it down, tear it down!” she shouted.

 April moved with a strength Napoleon never thought she possessed. Adrenalin seemed to be making her strong.  His concern for her prevented him from restraining her. She ran from the room and down the stairs. He followed her to the utility closet from which she emerged seconds later with a large ax in her hand. Now she stood on the staircase, he above her looking down. She had a single minded look about her. She advanced slowly toward him. Was this THRUSH brainwashing ? Was this the end of his life? He moved slowly, backward up the stairs, his eyes on her as she advanced toward him. She seemed to be looking at him, but he quickly realized that her gaze went right through him. He stood to the side as she advanced and passed him.  He followed her as she entered her room and made straight for the wall with the mirror.

She shouted, “The wall, the wall!” and struck the mirror with the ax.

The mirror shattered. Napoleon stood transfixed. She was a madwoman. He watched open-mouthed as chunks of the drywall fell to the floor. She raised the ax again and again, finally tearing a hole in the wall. Minutes passed that felt like hours. Napoleon continued to stare at her as she worked at the wall. She seemed oblivious to him, single-minded in her attempts to completely tear the wall down. Finally, only the fireplace remained. It seemed to present a problem, a deterrent to what she wanted to achieve. Finally she touched the bricks, moving her hand over each one. She moved about as if searching for something. Finally, her hand reached up and touched a brick.

It was then that Napoleon saw his friend sitting in a chair and April collapsed at Illya’s feet.

 ************************************************************************

One hour later, Napoleon sat alone in the waiting area of the Shady Oaks hospital. He had contacted headquarters for security backup. Illya was still unconscious and April was being evaluated by the physician.  Both would recover.

Napoleon still could not believe what had happened at his house. April had somehow known that the Russian had been imprisoned behind the wall in the guest room. But how? He could never be suspicious of her.  THRUSH was somehow involved, and she had fought her obvious brainwashing to recover his friend.

Napoleon looked up as April entered the waiting room. She looked exhausted but otherwise unharmed. He knew that he would have to talk to her before Waverly requested a report. He got up from the chair he was sitting in as she approached.

“April, are you alright?’

“Yes, I’m fine, just a little shaken.”

He offered her a chair. The waiting room was empty except for the two agents. Napoleon looked uncomfortable as he voiced the next question.

“April…”

“You don’t have to ask, Napoleon. “ She closed her eyes. “All my life I have fought to keep this a secret. It doesn’t happen that often so avoidance has been easy for the most part.”

Napoleon looked at her.  What did she mean by all of her life? He listened as she continued.

“The first time it happened I was 10 years old. My best friend Jenny went missing one hot summer day. I remember people looking for her everywhere. Most people were convinced that she had been kidnapped. Everyone except me. I kept having this dream that Jenny was in a well. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was young. I was afraid to tell people. I knew they wouldn’t believe me. After awhile, the dreams became more realistic. I would wake up screaming afraid to open my eyes.” April, paused, catching her breath, fighting for control, and then continued softly. “Three weeks later they found Jenny’s body in a well.”

Napoleon reached for her hands. She pulled back, “Don’t. I don’t want to feel anything now. I can’t deal with it.”

Napoleon considered what she had just said. “Are you telling me you’re psychic April?”

“No, I’m telling you that I knew Illya was behind that wall.” She looked sharply at him then added, angrily “I am not some circus side show. I can’t read minds and bend metal with a mere thought.  A few times in my life I’ve had strong feeling about situations, that’s all. Sometimes I get impressions of people when I touch them. Nothing earth shattering, and I don’t expect you to believe me.” She looked away from him.

Napoleon looked solemnly at the woman sitting before him. “But I do April.”

April was shocked. “Napoleon, you are the CEA. You must have thought…..”

“I did at first. But that was before you explained. To be honest, I’ve always wondered how you were able to figure people out. I cracked it up to women’s intuition. I know it’s sexist, but what else could I think. You are the first female agent I have ever worked with.”

April smiled, looked at him, then said, “Thanks Napoleon. If possible, I would like to avoid …”

“You don’t have to ask,” Napoleon quickly said. “No one will ever know how Illya was discovered.”

April looked grateful then said, “The doctor told me that Illya will be alright.”

“Thanks to you,” Napoleon added, “I would have never known what happened until it was too late.”

April met Napoleon’s brown eyes. “Who did this?’

“I don’t know. I was rather hoping you might have some insight.”

“Sorry Napoleon, it doesn’t work that way. I usually have to be around a person for a while, have some emotional feelings about them. It does not extend to people I don’t know.”

Napoleon sighed. “Well then we will just have to wait until Illya can tell us. Until then I’m going to keep an eye on him. I don’t want whoever it is to come back to finish the job.”

Illya felt a presence in the room. Comforting. He knew without opening his eyes that his partner was seated in the chair next to his bed. He wearily opened his eyes. “Napoleon…how did I get?”

Relief flooded Napoleons body. “It’s okay, Illya. You’re at the hospital in Shady Oaks. There are guards on the door and April is in the waiting room.”  Napoleon paused. “Illya, who did this?”

“James Triton.”

“I thought he was dead,” Napoleon replied.

“So did I, but somehow he survived.”

Napoleon glanced uncomfortably around the room before asking his next question. “Illya, when did this happen? When were you taken?”

“Saturday, the same night I visited you earlier.”

“Saturday….you mean the night..” Napoleon’s voice faltered, he closed his eyes for a second before continuing.  “It’s my fault,”  he said slowly.   “I was with…I was with a woman that night. We had a few drinks.  Went back to her apartment.  I stayed the night.” 

“I know, Napoleon.  Triton told me about the woman.  Listen.  This was not your fault.  Triton had this planned for months.  You saw the room.  The equipment.”

Napoleon stared at the window.  How could the Russian ever forgive him.  He had been fooled by one of the oldest tricks in the book.  He should have known—somehow.  Had some suspicions.  But no, he had been led by his libido and it had almost got his friend killed. 

Illya grabbed Napoleon’s arm,  and looked directly into his eyes.  He spoke sharply. “Napoleon. Don’t blame yourself.   Triton is the one to blame, not you.  Triton could have just killed me  and had done with it.  Have you thought of that?

“But, Illya.  If I hadn’t…”

“No, Napoleon.  There was nothing you could have done. Triton wanted to destroy me.  But the only way he could do that was to destroy you.  He knew it was the one thing that I couldn’t bear.  Knowing what was to come.  Knowing what it would do to you.”  Illya fought for control, his voice raspy.  Napoleon faced him, tears in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,Illya.  I can’t imagine how it was for you.  To be in that room, alone.  I would give anything to change that.  Anything, Tovarish”

“But Napoleon.  I was never alone.  I knew that you were there.  There were times...  There were times, when I wanted to give up.  Would have given up.  But, I couldn’t.  Do you understand that?”  Illya’s voice faltered, his eyes filling with tears.  He looked his friend directly in the eyes, then continued slowly,  “Do not blame yourself."  Promise me, Napoleon.  Promise me.”

Napoleon saw the vulnerable eyes of a man who was closer to him than a brother.  The Russian had opened his soul to him.  Had laid bear the raw emotions that he guarded so dearly.  How could he disappoint him?  And yet, how could he simply move on and ignore his part in it?  Slowly he said, “Illya, I can’t help how I feel.  But, know this.   Triton does not win.  Not this time.  Not ever.   I  need to find him.  I  need to make him pay for what he has done.  It’s the only way I can forgive myself.”

**********************************************************************

Napoleon never got the chance to find Triton. A few weeks later Waverly told him that a large, balding, portly man was found pinned beneath a car a few miles from Napoleon’s house. He had been dead for at least two weeks. The driver of the car had been lucky. He died on impact. Triton had not. For a time he had survived by drinking the meager supply of rain water. But eventually, the storms of July gave way to the intense heat of summer. People passed him, unaware that an accident had even occurred. And so James Triton had died on a lonely road as the world passed him by.

Epilogue

Three friends stood by the clear blue lake, the early morning sun glistening through the trees, the soft rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds surrounding them. Here was the land created by God and all three friends stood in awe of it. Now on this Saturday morning each held a fishing pole in hand and the lake was vacant except for them. It was Illya who spoke first. “Do you think Mr. Warverly believed our story?”

Napoleon sighed,” Yes, he has little else. He looked doubtful when I told him that I had merely observed a suspicious change in the wall’s appearance and decided to investigate it. Still, I am his trusted agent and he has no reason to believe that I would be anything less than truthful.”

April looked thoughtful. These men were her friends. She trusted them with the essence of her being. It was a comfort to her and she knew that she would share her secret with Mark when he returned from his mission. He deserved to know.

Napoleon stretched his arms. They had been there since six o’clock that morning. Now it was nine o’clock and they had plenty of fish. He sat his fishing pole down and then went over to the cooler, which was stocked with cold beer and soda. He retrieved three beers from the container and then returned to his friends. He handed each of them a beer then quietly announced, “I’ve decided to sell the house.”

At first thoughtful silence greeted him and then Illya’s voice, “Please don’t, Napoleon. You were right. This place is so peaceful. It is a way to get away from the lives we must lead every time we are on a mission.”

“How could you say that?” Napoleon asked, in surprise. “This place almost took your life.”

“But it didn’t.” The Russian hesitated before continuing, “I’m alive Napoleon and I don’t want you to sell the house. If you can’t live in it for a time, fine. But don’t let the Tritons of the world deprive you—deprive us—of this small comfort.”

Napoleon reached down to retrieve his fishing pole and then cast it into the calm blue waters. He wondered if he could ever live here again.

“Illya is right,” April said, after a few moments. “I love it here. It makes me feel….real. Our lives are so extraordinary. You deserve a place like this, Napoleon. All of us do. We can be normal here.”

Napoleon smiled. Someone had tried to kill his best friend. His other best friend sensed his peril. All in all a normal days work for three master spies.

“I can’t promise anything,” he finally said.

For a while each of the friends seemed lost in thought. The gentle breeze caressed them. And then April said, “Then it will have to be enough.”

Illya caught another fish and popped it into the now crowded fishing container. Then all three walked slowly to the house.

Fin