The Sins of the Father Affair - Part 3
Title: The Sins of the Father Affair - part 3
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The continuing mystery of vicious death, and why Brig left UNCLE.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
--
Father Sobel made a giant crawfish and shrimp boil for the parish guests, along with a lemon icebox pie. He took great pleasure in teaching Illya the finer aspects of eating the tiny crustaceans.
“You got to break it in half, right here. See?” Father Sobel said as he bent the crawfish, breaking the shell. “Pull that tail out. See this? Pinch that tail. The meat squeezes out. Now, take the other side and slurp. Real loud, now, get a lot of air in it.”
Illya licked his lips and smiled. “This is delicious,” he mumbled, his mouth full of crawfish meat.
At the other side of the picnic table, Brig and Napoleon peeled shrimp and ate boiled potatoes in their skin. “Illya brought up a good point this morning, Brig. I think we’ve been going about this all wrong, trying to see what this has to do with the people who have been murdered, what that has to do with UNCLE. What if this has something to do with THRUSH?”
Brig bit down on a corn cob. “And by THRUSH, you mean the one member of THRUSH that would have had an impact?”
Napoleon nodded. “Yes. Miss Blythe. Brig, you need to be honest with me. Did you leave UNCLE because of her death?”
“No. Honestly, Napoleon, no. I can’t deny that it didn’t play a small role, but it was the smallest of roles.”
“Why, then?”
“I can’t expect you to understand. I certainly don’t expect Illya to understand, it’s so far beyond his realm of experience. But I was blessed, Napoleon. I was honored.”
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed and he put his own corn down onto his plate. “Blessed? Honored? By who?”
“The Holy Mother. She spoke to me, years before. I knew that I had to change my life, devote myself to her service and the service of her Son.”
“You saw the Virgin Mary,” Napoleon said in disbelief.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand, son. I don’t expect you to.”
“If you say you saw her, I believe you.”
Brig peeled a shrimp and popped it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and washed it down with a glass of iced tea. “Don’t lie. I don’t know how you’re able to do your job effectively, you’re such a terrible liar,” Brig teased. “You don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you. If you told me that you saw the Holy Mother I probably wouldn’t believe you, either.”
Illya walked to their side of the table and grabbed the remainder of the lemon pie. “Father Sobel is an outstanding cook! He’s going to teach me how to make these crawfish and shrimp so I can maybe recreate this when we return to New York.”
“Yes, I’m quite lucky he was sent to our parish,” Brig responded. “Oh, Illya, can I ask you a question?”
“Certainly, Father.”
“If I told you that I saw the Holy Mother, what would you say?”
Illya frowned, tapped his index finger on his chin. “Hmm. I would probably say that you are suffering from delusions, and that you should be checked out by a neurologist.”
Brig laughed. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.”
Illya shook his head and returned to his side of the table to share the lemon pie with Father Sobel. Brig continued speaking to Napoleon. “We had just checked out that apartment in Belgrade, remember? LoBianco had given the all clear and we were on our way to the rendezvous point with Yvonne?”
“You told me to go ahead, meet Yvonne in the park, and you would meet up with us at the safe house.”
“Yes,” Brig replied. “I saw there was a church nearby. I stopped to pray for guidance and protection, as I normally did. I bent down, crossed myself, looked up and I saw her. At least it seemed as though I saw her. I know I heard her voice in my mind. She told me that she was showing me a better way, a different path than the one I was on. All I had to do was trust. Then she disappeared.”
“Brig, it was a stressful time. We were taking comfort wherever we could. It would be easy to think that you saw the Blessed Virgin Mary, but you saw what you wanted to see.”
Brig put his hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “She told me what I needed to hear. She answered my prayer, Napoleon. I had been praying, for a long time, about the direction of my life. I wasn’t sure that UNCLE was the place for me. I felt an uneasiness that I can’t explain. When I gave Mr. Waverly my gun and badge, I felt a freedom that I had never felt before in my life. UNCLE means more to you than it ever did to me. I won’t say that I don’t agree with it, or that it didn’t play an important role in my life, but my place is here, in this church, with these people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire to my quarters and pray. How appropriate that today is Friday, because I need to reflect upon the Sorrowful Mysteries now more than ever. I trust that you and Illya will be fine on your own?”
Napoleon patted the priest on his arm. “Yes. Go, Father. Do what you were called to do.”
---
He sat near the window. The two agents were asleep, or at least not on patrol at this hour of the night. The entire village was sleeping, except for Father Baltz. The light of a solitary candle flickered and sputtered into the night, illuminating the small window to his room. He could hear the priest praying in his room.
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in our day of battle, be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
There was nothing to defend against. He was there to do one job, and do it to the best of his ability. In fact, he envied Father Baltz’s certainty that a god would listen to his prayer. If only…
…thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through this world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
He wondered how long he could continue to keep watch over the manse, how long these UNCLE agents would stay. He would wait, though. He had waited for over twelve years. He could wait as long as he needed to.
---
Illya woke up feeling leaden. He had eaten too many crawfish the night before. His nightcap was bicarbonate of soda to assist with the heartburn he knew he would have. He was up most of the night, listening to Father Baltz praying and Father Sobel snoring. He also heard rustling in the flower bed outside his window.
Illya pulled the chair to the window and stood on his tiptoes to reach the sill. He saw a small figure crouching down. The person was listening intently. Illya wondered if it was the mystery assassin, but this young man did not have any sort of weapon on his person that he could see. The figure disappeared into the night toward the village. Illya went back to bed, making careful note of what the figure wore and the few details he could remember about the person’s appearance.
That morning, when Napoleon sat near him at the kitchen table, Illya explained what happened. “I plan on going to question Sister Mary Margaret after breakfast. Surely she noticed something. Maybe she’s seen this young man around.”
Napoleon agreed. “I will shadow Brig today while you go to that church. Do you have a clue where it’s located?”
“I thought I would ask Father Sobel. From what I can gather, the Stella Maris church is located twenty miles away, three towns over, closer to the ocean itself and not the inlet.”
“Good luck, tovarisch.”
“The same to you, Napoleon.”
Illya borrowed the pastor’s car and drove twenty miles away to the village of Belle Breaux. There he found the Holy Church of Stella Maris. He entered the church and asked for Sister Mary Margaret. A short, stocky, older lady in a white dress and habit walked up to him.
“Hello. You asked for me?”
“Yes, my name is Illya Kuryakin. I am working with Father Baltz regarding the death of Father Nalepinski. I was hoping you could assist me, answer some questions I have. Are you willing to talk to me?”
The nun narrowed her eyes. “Are you some kind of Commie or something?”
“Madam, I am Russian, but this has nothing to do with my ability to investigate murder of a law abiding United States citizen,” Illya said.
Sister Mary Margaret smiled. “I’ve heard Father Brig talk about you, kiddo. I think you’ll do. Tell me, what are your questions?”
“I have noticed that in the village, there aren’t a lot of visitors. In the last three months, have you noticed any new parishioners? Even children?”
The sister sat down on the pew next to Illya. “I don’t think I remember anyone new lately… wait. I think I saw a young man about a month ago. He spoke to Father Dennis for a while, and me, too. Good looking kid, had reddish hair.”
“Red hair?” Illya asked, his eyes wide.
“Reddish hair, very skinny. Skittish, like a colt. He asked me a lot of questions about Father Brig.”
“Such as?”
“How long he’s been our pastor, if he has any family, if I knew anything about his life before he came to St. Raphael’s.”
Illya frowned. “What did you tell him?”
The nun shook her head. “Nothing. It’s none of his business, he’s not one of our people. Besides, I don’t know what Father Brig did before seminary. Has it something to do with you and your partner?”
“Yes. I’ll leave it up to Brig to discuss his life before his ministry. But I have one last question for you. If I were to show you a picture of this young man, could you identify him?”
The sister nodded. “Absolutely, kiddo. You got one?”
“No. Not yet. But I will have a drawing for you tomorrow. Will you meet with me again?”
“Sure thing. I like you. Father Brig was right; you are an unusually charming fellow.” The nun’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Like a rattlesnake.”
Illya left Stella Maris with the nun’s laughter ringing in his ears. She remembered a red headed young man asking about Brig. Various scenarios ran through his mind, but still one question remained: what did this person have to do with Brig, and did he murder the UNCLE employees and Father Nalepinski?
Part 4
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The continuing mystery of vicious death, and why Brig left UNCLE.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
--
Father Sobel made a giant crawfish and shrimp boil for the parish guests, along with a lemon icebox pie. He took great pleasure in teaching Illya the finer aspects of eating the tiny crustaceans.
“You got to break it in half, right here. See?” Father Sobel said as he bent the crawfish, breaking the shell. “Pull that tail out. See this? Pinch that tail. The meat squeezes out. Now, take the other side and slurp. Real loud, now, get a lot of air in it.”
Illya licked his lips and smiled. “This is delicious,” he mumbled, his mouth full of crawfish meat.
At the other side of the picnic table, Brig and Napoleon peeled shrimp and ate boiled potatoes in their skin. “Illya brought up a good point this morning, Brig. I think we’ve been going about this all wrong, trying to see what this has to do with the people who have been murdered, what that has to do with UNCLE. What if this has something to do with THRUSH?”
Brig bit down on a corn cob. “And by THRUSH, you mean the one member of THRUSH that would have had an impact?”
Napoleon nodded. “Yes. Miss Blythe. Brig, you need to be honest with me. Did you leave UNCLE because of her death?”
“No. Honestly, Napoleon, no. I can’t deny that it didn’t play a small role, but it was the smallest of roles.”
“Why, then?”
“I can’t expect you to understand. I certainly don’t expect Illya to understand, it’s so far beyond his realm of experience. But I was blessed, Napoleon. I was honored.”
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed and he put his own corn down onto his plate. “Blessed? Honored? By who?”
“The Holy Mother. She spoke to me, years before. I knew that I had to change my life, devote myself to her service and the service of her Son.”
“You saw the Virgin Mary,” Napoleon said in disbelief.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand, son. I don’t expect you to.”
“If you say you saw her, I believe you.”
Brig peeled a shrimp and popped it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and washed it down with a glass of iced tea. “Don’t lie. I don’t know how you’re able to do your job effectively, you’re such a terrible liar,” Brig teased. “You don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you. If you told me that you saw the Holy Mother I probably wouldn’t believe you, either.”
Illya walked to their side of the table and grabbed the remainder of the lemon pie. “Father Sobel is an outstanding cook! He’s going to teach me how to make these crawfish and shrimp so I can maybe recreate this when we return to New York.”
“Yes, I’m quite lucky he was sent to our parish,” Brig responded. “Oh, Illya, can I ask you a question?”
“Certainly, Father.”
“If I told you that I saw the Holy Mother, what would you say?”
Illya frowned, tapped his index finger on his chin. “Hmm. I would probably say that you are suffering from delusions, and that you should be checked out by a neurologist.”
Brig laughed. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.”
Illya shook his head and returned to his side of the table to share the lemon pie with Father Sobel. Brig continued speaking to Napoleon. “We had just checked out that apartment in Belgrade, remember? LoBianco had given the all clear and we were on our way to the rendezvous point with Yvonne?”
“You told me to go ahead, meet Yvonne in the park, and you would meet up with us at the safe house.”
“Yes,” Brig replied. “I saw there was a church nearby. I stopped to pray for guidance and protection, as I normally did. I bent down, crossed myself, looked up and I saw her. At least it seemed as though I saw her. I know I heard her voice in my mind. She told me that she was showing me a better way, a different path than the one I was on. All I had to do was trust. Then she disappeared.”
“Brig, it was a stressful time. We were taking comfort wherever we could. It would be easy to think that you saw the Blessed Virgin Mary, but you saw what you wanted to see.”
Brig put his hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “She told me what I needed to hear. She answered my prayer, Napoleon. I had been praying, for a long time, about the direction of my life. I wasn’t sure that UNCLE was the place for me. I felt an uneasiness that I can’t explain. When I gave Mr. Waverly my gun and badge, I felt a freedom that I had never felt before in my life. UNCLE means more to you than it ever did to me. I won’t say that I don’t agree with it, or that it didn’t play an important role in my life, but my place is here, in this church, with these people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire to my quarters and pray. How appropriate that today is Friday, because I need to reflect upon the Sorrowful Mysteries now more than ever. I trust that you and Illya will be fine on your own?”
Napoleon patted the priest on his arm. “Yes. Go, Father. Do what you were called to do.”
---
He sat near the window. The two agents were asleep, or at least not on patrol at this hour of the night. The entire village was sleeping, except for Father Baltz. The light of a solitary candle flickered and sputtered into the night, illuminating the small window to his room. He could hear the priest praying in his room.
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in our day of battle, be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
There was nothing to defend against. He was there to do one job, and do it to the best of his ability. In fact, he envied Father Baltz’s certainty that a god would listen to his prayer. If only…
…thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through this world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
He wondered how long he could continue to keep watch over the manse, how long these UNCLE agents would stay. He would wait, though. He had waited for over twelve years. He could wait as long as he needed to.
---
Illya woke up feeling leaden. He had eaten too many crawfish the night before. His nightcap was bicarbonate of soda to assist with the heartburn he knew he would have. He was up most of the night, listening to Father Baltz praying and Father Sobel snoring. He also heard rustling in the flower bed outside his window.
Illya pulled the chair to the window and stood on his tiptoes to reach the sill. He saw a small figure crouching down. The person was listening intently. Illya wondered if it was the mystery assassin, but this young man did not have any sort of weapon on his person that he could see. The figure disappeared into the night toward the village. Illya went back to bed, making careful note of what the figure wore and the few details he could remember about the person’s appearance.
That morning, when Napoleon sat near him at the kitchen table, Illya explained what happened. “I plan on going to question Sister Mary Margaret after breakfast. Surely she noticed something. Maybe she’s seen this young man around.”
Napoleon agreed. “I will shadow Brig today while you go to that church. Do you have a clue where it’s located?”
“I thought I would ask Father Sobel. From what I can gather, the Stella Maris church is located twenty miles away, three towns over, closer to the ocean itself and not the inlet.”
“Good luck, tovarisch.”
“The same to you, Napoleon.”
Illya borrowed the pastor’s car and drove twenty miles away to the village of Belle Breaux. There he found the Holy Church of Stella Maris. He entered the church and asked for Sister Mary Margaret. A short, stocky, older lady in a white dress and habit walked up to him.
“Hello. You asked for me?”
“Yes, my name is Illya Kuryakin. I am working with Father Baltz regarding the death of Father Nalepinski. I was hoping you could assist me, answer some questions I have. Are you willing to talk to me?”
The nun narrowed her eyes. “Are you some kind of Commie or something?”
“Madam, I am Russian, but this has nothing to do with my ability to investigate murder of a law abiding United States citizen,” Illya said.
Sister Mary Margaret smiled. “I’ve heard Father Brig talk about you, kiddo. I think you’ll do. Tell me, what are your questions?”
“I have noticed that in the village, there aren’t a lot of visitors. In the last three months, have you noticed any new parishioners? Even children?”
The sister sat down on the pew next to Illya. “I don’t think I remember anyone new lately… wait. I think I saw a young man about a month ago. He spoke to Father Dennis for a while, and me, too. Good looking kid, had reddish hair.”
“Red hair?” Illya asked, his eyes wide.
“Reddish hair, very skinny. Skittish, like a colt. He asked me a lot of questions about Father Brig.”
“Such as?”
“How long he’s been our pastor, if he has any family, if I knew anything about his life before he came to St. Raphael’s.”
Illya frowned. “What did you tell him?”
The nun shook her head. “Nothing. It’s none of his business, he’s not one of our people. Besides, I don’t know what Father Brig did before seminary. Has it something to do with you and your partner?”
“Yes. I’ll leave it up to Brig to discuss his life before his ministry. But I have one last question for you. If I were to show you a picture of this young man, could you identify him?”
The sister nodded. “Absolutely, kiddo. You got one?”
“No. Not yet. But I will have a drawing for you tomorrow. Will you meet with me again?”
“Sure thing. I like you. Father Brig was right; you are an unusually charming fellow.” The nun’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Like a rattlesnake.”
Illya left Stella Maris with the nun’s laughter ringing in his ears. She remembered a red headed young man asking about Brig. Various scenarios ran through his mind, but still one question remained: what did this person have to do with Brig, and did he murder the UNCLE employees and Father Nalepinski?
Part 4