Napoleon awoke with a start.  He could hear the steady beat of rain against his window. The scent of bacon and eggs hung heavily in the air.  Illya must be preparing breakfast, he thought hungrily.  He reached for his robe and thought about last night when he discovered Illya in his room.  It was so uncharacteristic of the Russian, but what he couldn’t explain was his strange reaction upon seeing his friend.  He had actually feared for his life.  Must have been the effects of the lunar eclipse, he laughed to himself. 

Solo showered, dressed, and headed for the kitchen.  He found Illya standing next to a large pot of coffee.  “Sit down Napoleon, I’ve made fresh coffee and some breakfast.”

“I’m rather surprised, Tovarish,” Napoleon said while taking a seat.   “You’ve never been known to cook”

“Well, I was up early and thought, why not.”  Illya said while handing Napoleon a steaming cup of coffee.  

Napoleon took the proffered coffee, added sugar and cream, stirring lightly.

Illya handed Solo a plate with eggs and bacon then took the seat directly opposite of him.  He looked at Napoleon and then started to eat the eggs and the bacon voraciously.

“So what do we have planned for today, Napoleon?”

“Not much.  Thought we could go into town.   Maybe have some lunch if it’s okay with you?”

“Sure.  Sounds good, but why don’t we go sailing today.  I would really like to get out, get some fresh air?”

“I’m not so sure about that.  It’s raining and I heard storms may be in the forecast,” Napoleon said.

Illya looked disappointed.  “The rain should stop in an hour.  We can go around noon.  I doubt that there will be storms all day.  And besides, you are an excellent sailor.”  The Russian paused, looking down at his plate, and then continued, his voice low. “Napoleon, I have been virtually held prisoner for four months if you count the psychiatric clinic.  I.... I need to feel the wind on my face.  Feel free.”   His voice caught.  Napoleon realized the Russian was fighting for control.

“Sure,” he found himself saying.   “We can go sailing.  I’ll check on rental information.  We can leave around noon.”

“I would like that very much,” Illya said, and then shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

I watched him drink his coffee and thought about my suitcase upstairs—the one I had been holding when I first arrived.   Solo would be surprised at the arsenal that I have.  Let’s see, poison, guns, a few grenades, and plenty of things to start a fire.  And of course the knife.   So much fun.  And sailing presents endless possibilities.

The lake was calm, the pale sun casting a warm glow on the agents sitting in the small sailboat.   Napoleon was again attempting to engage his friend in conversation about his captivity.   The Russian refused to cooperate and so they talked about recent missions.  

Soon the waters became choppy and the sun disappeared.  The storm was returning and Napoleon was anxious to get back. He was feeling dizzy— like he was coming down with something.  

Illya was uncharacteristically quiet during the excursion, glimpsing Napoleon on occasion.  When he did it was with an intensity that was almost unnerving.   Napoleon could feel his eyes on him even when his back was turned. 

They were returning to the dock when it happened.  The sky had become cloudy and flashes of lighting could be seen in the distance.   Napoleon had turned away from Illya. It was then that he felt strong hands on his back.   He felt his legs slide and then he stumbled into the water.  Napoleon was desperately trying to grab the rail of the boat.  He was a strong swimmer, but now he felt weak and so he struggled. The Russian stood there, looking at him, his eyes impassive.  Napoleon finally grasped the rail and pulled himself aboard.   It was then that his friend reacted, coming to him with concern in his eyes.  

“Are you Okay, Napoleon?”

“Yes, of course.  Why didn’t you help, Illya?” Solo said sharply.

The blond staggered, looking as if he were about to faint.

Napoleon reached for him, steadying him.

“I don’t know, Napoleon.  For a moment I just froze.  Forgive me.”  And then he broke down and cried.  

It was Solo who drove home.  He recalled the moment on the boat, when he had felt something push him.  Still, his mind rejected it, for to accept it was to enter madness.  He recalled the conversations with the psychiatrist.  Yes, they had warned him that the Russian would be different.  They had told him to expect erratic behavior.  Yet, they had not warned him that his friend was capable of murder.  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been pushed.  Even now, he could feel the hands on his back, pressing him, forcing him into the water.

 Solo recalled his near panic as he hit the gray water, and the Russian’s quiet intensity.  There was no panic in his friend’s face.  Instead he appeared calm and accepting of his impending death.  And then, Napoleon had somehow found the strength to pull himself aboard the boat.  It had not been easy.  He was weak.  And his friend had never offered to help. 

Had Illya tried to kill him?  Would he try again?  Still, this was his best friend, a man who was like a brother to him.  It had to be his imagination.  He was tired, sick.  His mind was playing tricks on him.  No, his friend had not tried to kill him.  He was merely petrified and shocked into inactivity.  The psychiatrist had warned him of the Russian’s mental breakdown.

 He glimpsed the man sleeping next to him.  His friend, his partner, his brother, yet he did not know him.

How easy it would have been to kill him on the boat.  He was so dizzy and weak after my delicious breakfast.  But the fun has just started and I am a patient man. 

Napoleon drove into the driveway of the house.  The blond stirred and looked at the American agent.   Napoleon asked, “You okay?”

“Yes.  I’m fine.  I am sorry that I broke down like that on the boat.  It was most uncharacteristic of me, Napoleon.”

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?  I mean, you can tell me anything,” Napoleon said.

“I would like to talk, just not today.  I’m tired.”

“Okay. Why don’t you go up and get some rest.  Maybe we could talk later,” Napoleon said.

“Yes.  Later.”

“Hey, Ralph.  How bout we hit the clubs tonight.  You know, pick up some girls.  Have a little fun. 

“We can’t Joe.  We got babysitting duty.”

“You mean Blondie here?  Man.  He ain’t going no where.  We can sneak otta here and nobody will know the difference.   He’s been in a coma for four months.   All he does is lay in that bed, day after day, night after night.  Hell, the world could end and he’d still be sleepin  in that bed.”  He laughed at his own joke.  “Don’t know why they even keep him alive.  Folks go into a coma, never come out.”

“Yeah.  Well we still got babysitting duty.  You might as well get use to it.   They don’t want him left alone.  So that means you and me get to spend some time with blondie instead of a couple of blondes tonight,” Ralph replied.

 Joe sighed, “Why do they keep him alive Ralph?”

“Well, I heard  they’re not to sure they can get what they want from Solo.  In case they don’t, they got Blondie here as a backup.”

“Some backup. How are they gonna wake him up?” asked Joe.

“Think I know?” replied Ralph.

Both men sat down in the chairs that flanked the small blond man who lay unconscious in the bed.”

“Oh, well, you wanna play 20 questions Ralph.”

“Sure.  Why not.”

End Chapter Two

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