Part 6

The old man was clearly agitated as he reported that more men had been affected. Each man could only remember the green eyes of the women. Each of the men had taken the women home and spent the night with them making love past the point of exhaustion.

Illya sat listening to the story. Napoleon could tell that the Russian was embarrassed to hear the story of the other men, realizing that he had also been a pawn in the plot.

“You must find a way to make this woman speak. She must tell us who is behind this plot so that we can put an end to it.” Waverly said.

“It has to be Thrush. Who else.” Napoleon said.

Illya was uncharacteristically quiet, adding nothing to the conversation.

“I want answers, gentlemen. I suggest you start looking for them now.”

“We will keep trying, sir.” Napoleon said.

“Do more than try, gentlemen. The fate of the whole world depends on it. I can’t have these women infecting a whole population.” Waverly said.

“And how do you expect us to solve it sir? What magic potion do you plan to use to get her to talk?” Illya angrily asked.

The blond agent stood abruptly, his hands clinched. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of saving the world. I’m tired of Thrush, but mostly I’m tired of you giving us these impossible assignments and expecting us to solve it.

The Russian moved maliciously toward Waverly. The old man seemed unconcerned at his approach. Solo quickly moved from his chair and placed a restraining hand on the Russian. “Illya, what are you doing?”

Illya looked as if he had been struck and abruptly returned to his seat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Warverly. I’m hardly myself.”

“It is understandable, Mr. Kuryakin, considering the circumstances.”

The room was quiet after that statement and then Illya’s soft voice.

“I must go back into that room. This time without restraints on her.”

“You’re not going in that room alone. Not after what happened.” Napoleon hastily added.

“Wrong. Mr. Solo. I am aware of what happened when Mr. Kuryakin last saw this… this woman. But he will go in that room. We need to see how she affects him. It might be our only chance for answers.”

Napoleon looked reluctantly at Waverly. The old man was right. He just didn’t want to risk his friends psychological well being to get answers. Still, he nodded when Waverly made his final decision.

It was late in the afternoon the next day when Illya headed back to UNCLE headquarters to visit the woman. She was residing in the UNCLE apartment. Waverly wanted a natural environment to observe the exchange between Illya and the woman. The apartment was one that UNCLE kept for out of town agents or agents who were simply too tired to go home. The room was been observed on a monitor in Waverly’s office. Ten scientists from around the world sat with Waverly and Solo.

Now, Illya entered the small apartment and observed the quiet presence of the green-eyed woman. She was standing at the window when he entered the room. She turned when she heard him approach, crossing the room, and kissing him deeply. Illya was aware of the soft probing tongue of the woman. He knew that they were being observed by UNCLE personnel. Still, he didn’t care as he gave in to the woman’s insistent kisses. Soon she was leading him to the couch and he was following her, wanting more.

The woman was lying on top of Illya, kissing him deeply, their tongues intermingled. He wanted to stop, needed to stop. He was about to embarrass himself in front of his boss best friend, and a number of scientist observing them on the video monitors. He didn’t care. The woman ripped his shirt open, planting kisses down his chest. She reached for the buckle of his pants and he didn’t stop her. Help me, he thought. Where was Napoleon? But then he realized that he was an experiment, a lab rat. Waverly was going to allow this to continue to its logical conclusion. He fought for control and felt himself moving on wobbly legs toward the chair. He leaned against the chair, his body shaking. The woman was lying seductively across the couch, beckoning him with those eyes.

He wanted her so much, more than wanted—he wanted her being, her essence, everything. His pulse quickened.

“What’s the matter? Am I too much woman for you?” She asked seductively. Her voice was soft and alluring with the still undefined accent.

“Tell me who you are?” he asked with a trembling voice.

“Come here!” she commanded.

Illya fought for control, but found himself walking towards her. “No,” he said. “I can’t.” He was shaking his head with his eyes closed. He fell to the floor. “Who are you and what have you done to me,” he asked as blackness overtook him.