The blond man slept until late in the evening. Napoleon was in the garden when he heard the arrival of his companion.  He turned and greeted him.  “Didn’t think you would ever get up, Tovarish.”

“Sorry, Napoleon, did you have plans for us?”

“No.  Just thought we could talk.” 

“Not now, Napoleon.”

“Listen, Illya.  This thing is eating you up.  Maybe talking can help.  You’ve always trusted me.  Let me help.”

“Napoleon, there are some things that are beyond even your vast abilities.”  Illya said sharply.

Napoleon was stung.  He had never seen his friend this way.   He felt utterly powerless.

Illya walked over to the pitcher of ice tea, his back to Napoleon as he poured.  He turned facing Napoleon, eyeing his empty glass.  “Would you like some more ice tea?”

Napoleon agreed, and the Russian walked toward him, and poured the tea.  Illya sat back on one of the wooden chairs, his eyes closed as if in thought.  Napoleon drank his tea.

Two days had passed since the agents sipped ice tea on the porch.  Now, an early morning breeze shuffled through Napoleon’s room.  It was actually chilly, but the dark haired agent had no interest in closing the window.  He felt horribly sick to his stomach and his head ached without end.  For two days he had been sick, and the Russian had tended to his needs— bringing soup and water whenever he needed it, helping him to dress and bathe.  Still, he was not improving.  He thought of calling a doctor, but rejected the notion because Illya seemed to have improved since he had become sick.  Maybe that’s what his friend needed—to care for someone else. 

Poison.  So much fun.  I feed him a little each day and watch him move closer to death.  This is far more fun than I realized.  I am so happy that I didn’t kill him on the boat.  It would have been so easy, but where’s the fun?  Matching wits with the number one spy is better than I could imagine.  I hate to see it end.

The room was quiet.  Awareness came slowly.  First he moved his hands.  And then his eyes opened.  It was not a familiar room.  He searched for his friend.  He did not see him, nor feel his presence.  Must be aThrush satrapy, he thought.  His mind was muddled and his body weak.  He heard the door open and closed his eyes. 

Two men entered.  They were playing some sort of game.  He listened, hoping to get a clue as to his whereabouts.  He had to get away! 

Napoleon wanted to go downstairs and sit on the porch.  He knew that he could not possibly make it on his own.  He didn’t want to ask Illya for help.  He felt badly that his friend was forced to wait on him hand and foot when it should have been the reverse.  Still, there was little he could do.  

He heard the doorbell ring.  He didn’t move, just shivered under the covers.  Illya would answer it.  He snuggled under the quilt and slept.  It was the sound of his bedroom door opening that awakened him.  The Russian stood there for a second with a dinner tray in his hands.  He just stared at Napoleon.  Finally, he moved toward him.

“Who was at the door, Illya?” Napoleon asked. 

“No one in particular.  Just some neighbor kid trying to sell candy.”  I hate candy drives.  This is the forth time today that a child has come selling candy.”  The Russian put the tray before Solo.  It contained soup, crackers, and a large cup of tea.  The blond plopped down in the chair next to Napoleon’s bed. 

“Does the bell disturb you, Napoleon?”  

“A little.”  He shivered.

The blond looked at him.  “Maybe I could put a sign on the door telling them to not use the bell.  They could just knock.”

“Yes.  That might be best,” Napoleon said.

“Okay.”  The Russian relaxed into the chair and continued to stare at Napoleon.

Napoleon looked at the man sitting next to him.  There was something wrong.  Solo was sick.  Normally, Illya would have insisted that he see a doctor. But not this time.  Something was wrong, but he could not seem to grasp its meaning.   His mind was in a fog and it was hard to think.  He could barely stay awake.   He could recall something about a boat.  And then he lost consciousness.

He’s dying.  It shouldn’t be long now.  I have plenty of poison to finish him off.  Today, his boss called.  I told him that we were going out of town for a few days.  After all, I don’t want to be interrupted during my final performance.   I sounded cheerful and the man warmed to my so called recovery.  I’m really quite the actor.

“I can’t take much more of this,” Joe said.  “I’m going out tonight.  Twelve hours with a corpse is too much for me.  I’m going.  You comin?”

“We can’t.  I told you that a few days ago,” Ralph answered with exasperation.

“Well you stay.  I’m going out.  I told you.  He ain’t going nowhere.  We can go and come.  There’s nobody here but you and me.  Nobody’s gonna know.  Thrush knows he ain’t waking up.  That’s why nobody’s here but you and me.  You thought of that?”

Ralph looked at the blond lying in the bed.  “Well.  I suppose you’re right. A few hours won’t matter.  Okay let’s go.” 

Illya heard the two men leave the room.  He was weak, but he knew that this was his only opportunity for escape.  He willed his arms to move—first the left arm and then the right.  Now for his legs.  He sat up and pulled the feeding tube out of his mouth.  His eyes scanned the room.  It looked like a typical bedroom. 

Illya always knew that he would probably escape at night.  Joe and Ralph were always talking about how bored they were.  How they wanted to go out and get a couple of blondes and have fun. 

Now, Illya swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He gingerly put his feet on the floor, testing his strength.  He held onto the bed in order to stand.  He felt weak and immediately fell to the floor.  Well, he would simply crawl if he had to.  So he crawled toward the door and hoped that it was not some type of huge Thrush satrapy.  He opened the door and discovered that it was actually a small house. 

He noted a black telephone only a few feet in front of him.  He crawled with agonizing speed to the telephone and then made the call that would free him from prison.

Waverly still couldn’t believe the telephone call he received a few hours ago.  A man, calling himself Illya, told him that he was being held by Thrush in a house somewhere.  A trace of the phone call revealed that this man was only a few miles from New York headquarters.  UNCLE agents had arrived and affected his rescue within minutes.  Now the man sat across from him in the conference room, looking for all intent and purposes like Illya Kuryakin.

Waverly cleared his throat.  “If I am to believe you, you were being held by Thrush while in a coma.  How do I know who you are, young man?”

“I don’t understand, sir.  Who else could I be?”

“A man was found over two months ago who also called himself Illya Kuryakin.  This man looks exactly like you.”

“That’s impossible sir.  I am Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”

Waverly knew he had to make a decision.  A lot was at stake.  They still didn’t know what Thrush was after and his gut instinct told him that the man sitting across from him was indeed Illya.  Still, he needed proof.  He noticed that Illya was barely able to keep his eyes opened and looked as if he was about to pass out.  He asked his next question quickly, noting the blond’s reaction.

“Young man, how did you come to be in the hands of Thrush?”

 Illya looked down at his hands.  He was shaking.   “I was captured by Thrush on a mission. The last thing I recalled was hearing a gun fire and falling into a pit.  I was in a coma until recently.  I have no memory of how I came to be in that house, nor how long I was held.”

Waverly lit his pipe,   the pale smoke swirled into the air.  The agent who called himself Illya Kuryakin waited patiently.  

“That is not enough, young man.  It would not be the first time that Thrush has resorted to such practices to advance their nefarious cause.”

“You may check my fingerprints,” Illya suggested.

“Unfortunately, that proves nothing.  Thrush can alter fingerprints.”

“May I contact Napoleon?   He would know who I am.  Where is Napoleon?”

“Never mind that, young man.  Until your identity is ascertained, you will not be allowed contact with UNCLE personnel.”

Illya looked nervously about the room.  “But sir, at least let me speak to April?”

“No, you may not,” Waverly said.

“But sir, I must.  Is Napoleon in danger?  Just tell me that.”

Waverly considered his next course of action.  He had tried to contact Solo several times on his communicator.  He knew the American was out of town, but still he should have answered.  He had considered contacting Illya, but under the circumstances, elected not to take that chance.  Waverly regarded the man sitting across from him.  He looked so much like Illya. It was remarkable, but so had the other man.  He thought for a moment and pressed the intercom.  “Please send Miss Dancer in.”

They both sat back regarding each other.  Then the door opened and an April stood staring at the Russian and Waverly left the room.

April entered and seated herself across from the blond man.  She looked at the guards. “Leave us,” she commanded.   At first the guards did not move, but then they noted her icy glare and reluctantly left the room.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m Illya, April.  You know me.  Please.  I feel that Napoleon is in danger.”

“How do I know that you are not, in fact, the imposter?”

“Look at me, April!”  He reached across and touched her hands.  “Look at me!   You know who I am.   I know of your psychic abilities.  You did it once and it saved my life.  Do it now.  Do it for Napoleon.”   His eyes were pleading.  And April looked at him and saw into his soul.  

April paced the floor of Waverly’s conference room.   The old man had finally checked Illya’s fingerprints.  Still, that alone was not enough to convince him of the Russian’s identity.  It was April’s insistence that it really was her friend that finally convinced him.  She explained that only the Russian could know certain personal details of her life. 

Now, she stared at the old man. “Please, sir, what are we doing about rescuing Napoleon?”  She asked abruptly.

“Miss Dancer, please calm down.  We are making every effort to contact Mr. Solo.”

April stood before Waverly for a few seconds, and then plopped down in a chair.  Waverly continued.  “I spoke to Mr. Kuryakin, uh…uh, the imposter a few days ago.  He informed me that they were going out of town for a few days.  That may explain why we cannot get in touch with them.  Miss. Dancer, Mr. Solo may not be in danger.  Whatever Thrush wanted from him may prevent this imposter from terminating him.”

April sighed, concern evident in her face.  “We don’t know that, sir.  I would like to go to the house and check for myself.  For all we know they could still be there.”  Her voice was pleading.   The old man regarded her for a second, and then pressed the intercom. 

“Miss Rogers, please have Mr. Slate join us.”

A storm blew across New York.  Only the sound of thunder interrupted the conversation of Mark and April as they drove toward Oak Wood.   April had insisted that Mark drive the car.  Since Mark had never visited the house, April gave directions.  Mark looked at her sitting next to him.  She was becoming tense with each passing mile.  Mark was aware of April’s special abilities.  She had told him about it shortly after Illya’s rescue from the diabolical plot of James Triton.  He had believed it because he trusted her.  Yet it was outside the realm of anything he had encountered in his life. 

Now he watched her.  She stared straight ahead as the rain splattered across the windshield.  Finally she spoke.  “Mark, I know they are at the house.  It’s my fault that I didn’t pay attention earlier.” 

Mark knew what she was talking about.  April had been nervous since their arrival from a mission earlier that morning.  He had questioned her about it and she shrugged it off to Jet Lag.

“April.  This is not your fault.  How could you have possibly known?”

“We both know why I should have known, Mark,” April said slowly.

“You admitted that your sixth sense thing isn’t perfect.   How could you expect to know everything?”

“I know you’re right.  It’s just. It’s just that when someone as close to me as Napoleon…Well I should have known the minute the plan landed.”

“Not always, April.”  Mark said with conviction as he turned down yet another street.

“I know and that is the frustrating thing about this.  Why can’t my so called gift be more reliable?  I can never count on it, Mark.  I mean, this is Napoleon we’re talking about.  Not some stranger and yet, I only felt uneasy.  It’s just not good enough.”

“I know.   I know April, but we’re not too late.  We will get there in time.”

Napoleon looked about the room.  All of the lights were off.  A few candles above the fireplace were the only source of light. He could see lightning flashing in the window, the sound of thunder growing closer.  The window was opened and the curtains blew angrily.   The blond man sat beside his bed now, staring directly into his eyes.  He had a smile on his face.   Napoleon struggled to get up and heard the soft voice of the man.  “Do not move.  You are too sick, Napoleon.  You’ll never be able to stand.”

Napoleon knew that it was true and so he lay back down and his body shook uncontrollably.  “Call an ambulance,” he found himself saying. 

“No need for that,” said the blond.  “You are almost dead.”

Napoleon again struggled to get up.  This man was trying to kill him.  For days he suspected that the blond man was an imposter.   And now he had the proof.  How could it have taken so long to figure it out?   It was the damn experts that had caused him to accept a man who was so unlike Illya.  He had called them after the incident on the boat.   Told them how he thought he may have been pushed.  The doctor told him that Illya would never kill anyone, especially him.  They had implied that it was his imagination.  And he had believed it.

 He told the doctor of the strange way the Russian looked at him sometimes.  The doctor explained that it may be possible that Illya blamed him for not rescuing him.  And Solo felt guilty.  After that he ignored everything his friend did.  Now, he lay breathing his last breath with this stranger in a dark room. 

.

April was quiet.  Her eyes focused firmly on the road.  As they entered the perimeter of Oak Wood, they noticed that all of the lights were out.  Apparently, the storm had caused a massive power failure in the town.  Now, Mark turned on the bright lights of the car, illuminating the road.   They were less than one mile from the house now. 

“Mark.  Stop the car.” April suddenly said.

“Why?”

“There is another way into the house.  I am convinced that he is in the house. We must not let him see us coming.” 

Mark pulled the car into a small area of the road and both agents got out.  The rain fell heavily and both were instantly soaked.  The area was covered with mud, tall weeds, and wild flowers.  Several hills of various sizes dotted the landscape.  April looked about as if she were searching for something.  Then said, “There is a secret passage that Napoleon had installed a few months ago.    It is a tunnel that connects the house to this area.  Napoleon thought it was a good idea to have a separate way to get in or out of the house in case of emergency.” 

“I don’t see anything, April.”

“That’s the point.”

The road was vacant.  Flashes of lightning illuminated the sky.  April scrambled up one of the hills, Mark following.   The mud made it difficult to climb.  Several times either Mark or April found themselves sliding down the hill.

April spoke. “The idea of the secret tunnel was to provide an escape route just in case another James Triton type happened along.  It was built without the town’s folk’s knowledge, mostly at night.  It’s strictly state of the art, designed by the technical geniuses at UNCLE.   I’ve never had to use it before.”

“Well, it’s a brilliant idea.  What part of the house will we enter?”   Mark asked.

“We have four choices—each of the three bedrooms and the kitchen.  I think we should enter through Napoleon’s bedroom.  I know that’s were they’ll be,” she said with certainty.

“Are you getting any impressions of the imposter, April?  I mean, can you see him?”

“No.  I’ve never been able to get an impression of someone evil.  I mean, I wouldn’t be able to see a murderer or something along those lines.  Don’t ask me to explain because I can’t understand it myself.  If I get close enough, I can see sort of an outline.  How can I describe this?”  She paused.   “You know when you see a shadow.  You know it’s not the real person.  But the shadow is still an aspect of who that person is, even if you can’t recognize them. That’s what I see. A shadow.”

They continued to climb.  Finally, April reached into a lush growth of weeds.  A small panel appeared and April entered a combination.   In a few seconds a small door opened and both agents scrambled in.  They entered a tunnel.  The tunnel was small and narrow, but allowed both agents to stand at full height.  April walked in front with Mark following closely behind.

“Normally, this tunnel would have lights,” April said.   “The power failure must have caused them to go out.  It’s too bad we don’t have a flashlight or something, but there is an emergency backup light further up ahead.” 

“Yes, but April this is weird.  I can’t hear your footsteps.”

“That’s just another technical aspect of the tunnel.  If we were being pursued, a person would not be able to listen for footsteps to find us.  You see, this tunnel goes to three different parts of the town.” April replied.

“Well, I’m impressed.  I guess they thought of everything.”  Mark said.

Both agents silently continued to walk down the tunnel. 

Napoleon fought for consciousness.  He glimpsed the blond man by his side.  The man smiled.  “So, you have decided to grace me with your presence.”

 “What have you done with Illya?” Napoleon asked.

“Ah, so the great Napoleon Solo has figured it out.  Well, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Oleg Karshov. So what gave me away?”

Napoleon gave a wry smile. “It was your warmth and great personality.  Now, where is Illya?”

“Hell if I know.  I only had this side of the mission,” Karshov replied.

“And what was your mission?”  Napoleon asked weakly.

“To find out where a scientist was located.  Oh, I must thank you for providing that information.  All that reminiscing.  Like taking candy from a baby.”  The blond man laughed.

“Then why are you still here?”

“To kill you, of course.”  He paused for a few seconds.  “I imagine you are wondering why I am taking so long to do it.  Well, it’s quite simple.  I wanted to savor the moment.  You see, Napoleon, you are like a fine wine.  Your death should be enjoyed and savored.  Not hastily taken.”

The man moved closer to Napoleon, warming to the topic.

“You see, I’ve killed a lot of people.  I am the best in my field just as you are, Mr. Solo.  I was employed by Thrush to get information from you and I succeeded.   Of course, I neglected to give that piece of information to my employers so I could spend this time with you.  You see, it is I who determines the method of death.  And poison is my favorite.”

“Is Illya dead?”

“If he is not dead, he soon will be.  You see, Thrush wanted both of you alive until they retrieved the information.  It is my understanding that some employee shot Mr. Kuryakin causing him to fall and leaving him in a coma.  That’s where I came in.  You see, they knew that torture and their usual methods of retrieving information would be ineffective against UNCLE conditioning.  They brought me in and made some changes to my physical appearance.   It took a few months for me to heal, and then they came up with the idea of having me act crazy when UNCLE finally rescued me.  They knew that any slip I made, could be easily covered under the guise of insanity” The man laughed and continued.  “I’m quite the actor, you know.”  I just acted crazy and then waited for them to send me home to you.  My hero!  It was all so easy.”

Napoleon shuddered.  He felt foolish.  How could he have provided sensitive information to this man? 

“What scientist are we talking about?” Napoleon asked.

“Some woman named Laura Blackburn.”

Napoleon recalled the woman scientist.  She had come to UNCLE seeking help because she realized the potential danger of the machine getting into the wrong hands.  The machine could place specific thoughts in a person’s mind.  It was subliminal persuasion on a grand scale.  The scientist was placed in a sort of witness protection program.   Solo and Illya had been assigned the task of hiding her.  Strict secrecy was involved and UNCLE used a special procedure to prevent the information being forcefully retrieved through torture or brainwashing.   Not even Waverly knew of Dr. Blackburn’s location.

Now, both she and Illya were in danger.  And it was Solo’s fault.  If he did not survive, the fate of the world was in jeopardy.  Somehow, he knew that he had to live.  He just didn’t know how.  He looked at Karshov.  The man had a smile and an evil glint in his eyes. 

“Why don’t’ you just leave?”  Napoleon asked.

“Why, Mr. Solo, are you pleading for your life?”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”  He said weakly. 

“Too bad.  It would have been fun to see you groveling.  Of course, I would still have to kill you.” 

“You have to know that UNCLE is on to you.  They are on their way now.”  Napoleon said.

The man stared at him with those eyes that were so like Illya and yet not.  “You’re bluffing.  No one knows we’re here.  In fact, they think we’re out of town.” 

Napoleon’s heart sank.  What chance of rescue could he expect?  He couldn’t escape. He could barely move.  He thought of Illya.  Hopefully still alive.  And then he thought of April.  April with her uncanny ability to sense things, especially about her close friends, and he and April were close. 

Mark and April moved through the tunnel with speed.  Eventually, they stopped and a small area of the tunnel was illuminated with light from the emergency backup. April opened a small door on the wall.   It contained a keypad.  She punched some numbers and the panel moved revealing a sort of ladder that lead up into another tunnel.  This second tunnel also had an emergency light.  Both agents climbed the ladder.

“This is how we get to the second floor,” April said.   “It’s an original secret passage, but Napoleon had it changed to connect to the rest of the tunnel.  It’s very small.  Gain too much weight and you’ll never fit in here.” 

“Well, that’ll leave the James Triton types out.” Mark added sarcastically.

“That’s for sure.”  April said.

Soon they stood at the top landing.  April moved to the wall panel.   “This is the entry to Napoleon’s room.” She whispered.

“How do you want to go in?”  Mark asked.

“Give me a second.”  And then she closed her eyes and touched the wall.  

It was as if her body was dissolving into a million pieces.  She felt herself enter the room.  The room was cast in an eerie glow.   She observed a figure, clad in white, lying on the bed.   She moved toward him without moving her body.   She reached for his hands, and their bodies dissolved into one.  Through his eyes, she could see a shadow, a dark foreboding shadow.  It danced in the glimmer of the candle light...   The shadow moved toward her, and in her minds eye, she knew that she was seeing evil.  Cold, icy silence followed.  The room was still, as if it had been transported to another time.

She moved deeper, deeper into the realty of the moment.  The figure in the bed looked up and her breath caught.  She turned her body, moving toward the dark figure, touching him, touching something that felt of an ancient evil.  And then she was back, Mark by her side, concern evident in his eyes.

“April, are you okay?” 

“Yes. But we must move fast.  He is there.”  And then her hands tightened on her gun and she opened the wall panel.

The figure hovered over Napoleon.  He never heard them enter.  Mark walked quickly to the man who looked like Illya.  He grabbed him from behind, tackling him to the floor.  The blond man struggled like a wild cat.  Too late, Mark felt the sting of a knife entering his body and he released his hold on the man.  

April was at Napoleons side when she heard the sharp intake of breath.  She turned and observed the man moving from the floor, Mark lying in a bloody heap.  The man moved quickly toward her.  She brought up the gun and fired once.   The figure staggered and grabbed his side for an instant.  Still he moved, finally tackling her and throwing her to the floor.  She lost her grip on the gun.  He was strong, holding her as if she were a rag doll.   She quickly got up, took his arm and threw him to the floor.  The man grabbed her ankles and she fell on top of him.  He moved her beneath him in one quick movement.  He grasped her throat and raised the knife above her.  And then he hesitated.

April felt an eerie calmness in the room.  She saw the candle light moving as if in a dance.  The man held her throat tightly, a flash of lightning illuminating him.  They locked eyes and she saw into the dark depths of his soul.  His hatred for her was palpable.  He released her throat, smiling as he did so.   And then he laughed.  A deep animal laugh.   She knew, in an instant, that her life was over.  In slow motion, the knife plunged downward, toward her and a gunshot reverberated above the sound of thunder.  The man collapsed at once, his cold, unseeing eyes staring into the distance. 

April moved from the floor and turned toward Napoleon.  She saw him still clutching the gun she had dropped.  He uttered her name and then slid into unconsciousness.

Napoleon was having a nightmare.  A man was trying to kill him—a man who looked like Illya.  He could feel the cold hand tightening on his arm.  See the cold blue eyes filled with hatred.  He awoke with a start.  And saw him sitting by the bed.  He leaped back, struggling to get away.  He moved from the bed, quickly falling to the floor.  The blond man came after him, reaching for him. 

Solo scrambled across the floor, kicking and fighting the man.  The man was calling his name, speaking in soothing tones, but still advancing.  He saw the man stand up and reach back to press a button.  The man said something, but Solo couldn’t hear.  He was too busy trying to get out of the room.  The man advanced again and Solo hit him hard, sending him spiraling across the floor.  

Solo made his way to the door this time.  Reaching for the knob at the very instant April entered the room.  

“Napoleon, Napoleon.  It’s okay.  You’re in the infirmary at UNCLE headquarters.”

Napoleon looked around, not sure if what he heard was the true.  How could he be at UNCLE headquarters?  He was at the Victorian house and this was some effect of the poison the man had given him.  He shrank back as the man approached again.   He vaguely heard April tell the man to please leave the room.  And then April was sitting on the floor next to him. 

“Now listen, Napoleon.  You trust me don’t you?”

“Yes, you know I do.”  Napoleon answered. 

“Then listen to me.  The man you just hit is your best friend Illya.   He was rescued shortly before we rescued you.   Mark and I went to the Victorian house and found you.  You killed the imposter after he stabbed Mark and was about to do the same to me.”

Napoleon sighed.   He looked confused for a moment, then said, “I forgot.  Is Mark okay?”

“Yes.  He’s at home now, enjoying his time off.”

“Everything seems so fuzzy, April.  Like some sort of living nightmare.”

“I know.  That’s a side effect of the poison.  It will be okay after a while.  You just have to be patient.”

April stood up.  “Let me help you to your bed.  Then maybe Illya can come in.”

April helped him to the bed.  Napoleon was still looking around the room as if he still believed he was dreaming. 

“I’m going to get Illya.  Okay?”  April said.

Napoleon hesitated. 

“It’s okay.  It really is Illya.  We checked.  We’re sure. The other man is dead.  Remember?”

“Ah …yes.  I think.  It’s just so vague,” Napoleon said softly.

“It’s the poison.  We were able to give you an antidote, but it’s still going to give you problems for a few days.  The poison was some type of Thrush invention.  Kind of makes the mind muddled.  The doctor said that you may have a few problems thinking for awhile.  Nothing permanent.”  April paused, observing Napoleon. “Would you like to see Illya?  I’ll stay in the room if you like.” 

“I’m fine.  Illya can come in.  No need for you to stay.  I was just…just a little out of it.  I woke up and saw him and thought….”

“I understand.”  April opened the door.  Illya was standing there, concern evident in his face.

“You can come in,” April said.

Illya walked in and Napoleon tensed.

The Russian did not approach the bed.  April stood by the door.  

“I’m sorry I startled you earlier.  I was not thinking.”  Illya said.  “I should have waited for things to be explained.”

“It’s okay.   I just thought you were……”

“He is dead, Napoleon.”

“I know, April told me.  You can come closer now.  I promise I won’t hit you.  Sorry about that, by the way.”

Illya approached and took a seat next to the bed.   “It’s okay.  I’ll recover.”

“I’m going to leave you two alone now. Is that okay?” she asked, looking at Napoleon.

“Yes, I’m fine.  I promise not to beat up my best friend.”  Napoleon said with a smile.

She looked from one agent to the next, noting that Solo seemed more relaxed, less guarded.  She walked out of the room leaving her friends alone.

“Are you really okay, Napoleon?  I mean, you’re not still afraid of me, are you?”

Napoleon smiled.  “Me afraid of you, Illya.  You’ve got to be kidding.”

Illya relaxed.  Both agents talked about what happened to them.  Eventually, Napoleon grew tired and slept.  The Russian never left his side.

Epilogue

It was a quiet evening in the Victorian house.  The two agents were sitting in the library enjoying a glass of vodka and playing chess.  The steady tick of an old grandfather clock was the only sound heard in this room filled with books.  The library was spectacular with its dark oak furnishings, deep red oriental rugs and large fireplace.

Illya smiled at his companion.  “I’ve won three games tonight, Napoleon.  You are truly at your best.”

“Give me time, Tovarish.  I’m just warming up.”

“You know, Napoleon. Why do you insist on playing with me?  I am obviously the better player.”

“Oh.  I see you are being very modest tonight.”  And then in one quick movement, the dark haired agent moved his chess piece and declared checkmate.

“A mere fluke that you’ll never be able to repeat, my friend,” Illya said while setting up the chess board.

Napoleon looked at Illya pensively. “We still need to deal with this at some point, you know.”

Blue eyes met brown.  They had both avoided the topic for weeks.  Yet, at some point, both knew that it needed to be addressed.

Illya sighed, “It is most disconcerting to know that someone you trust is not who you think they are.”

“Yes,” Napoleon said.    “Let’s face it.  This is the second time Thrush has sent in one of their operatives to replace one of us.  Both times, we didn’t notice the switch until it was almost too late.”  He shrugged.  “You’re my best friend and I am not capable of recognizing you.  Makes me feel sort of …inadequate.”

Illya was silent for a second, and then said, “But you’re wrong.  In both cases we were suspicious.  Circumstances prevented us from pursuing the matter.  The fact is we both knew on an instinctive level that we were dealing with an imposter.  This will not happen again because we will notice the difference, however subtle.”

Napoleon relaxed into his chair.  “I suppose you’re right.  If this happens again, I’m going to take action first and ask questions later”

Illya smiled.   “Just make sure it’s really the imposter, Napoleon.  I hate to think what could happen should you be mistaken.”

Napoleon laughed, “Don’t worry, Tovarish, I’ll be certain.  I’ll be very certain.”

Illya regarded his friend.  “Well, for me, it will be very easy to distinguish you from the imposter.”

“How’s that?” Napoleon asked.

“I shall merely engage him in a game of chess.  If he wins, then I will know he is the imposter.”

Napoleon laughed.  “Hey, I did win that last game.”

“Yes, but that is only because I grew tired.  That’s the only way you ever win.”

“Okay, Mr. Modest. Let’s see who the better player is.”

Both men turned their attention to the chess board.  There eyes met for a second and then the game continued.

Fin