The Iron Curtain Affair: Act 3
The Iron Curtain Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business.
Act 3: "Good mornign sisters!"
The conversation lapsed as the food, which was all delicious, engaged everyone's attention. Once most of the victuals had been consumed and a bottle of wine passed around till it was three quarters empty, Agent Fischer told them about the two trails that crossed here, where they led and where they started, and the history of what other smugglers had been known to use them.
"So our smugglers could be using this very path here?" Napoleon asked.
Agent Fischer nodded. "We've been watching it occasionally, but staking it out would probably just result in the smugglers choosing a different route."
"Have you checked the gamekeepers blind here, or others like it, for signs of anyone staying there?" Illya asked. "It seems a likely place for them to overnight."
"I doubt that smugglers would use one of these blinds," Agent Fischer replied. "They know that the Park Rangers often use them, so they'd probably want to keep clear."
Napoleon blinked. Not only was Agent Fischer's answer slightly illogical, Napoleon got the distinct impression that she was evading in some way. She did not want to talk about that blind. Remembering the non-verbal cues he'd just worked out with Illya, he glanced in his Sentinel's direction, scowling in a certain way as he adjusted his shirt collar.
Illya's eyebrows rose, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. He accepted the wine bottle from Herr Fischer and tipped it back to finish the last swallow, then stood and explained that he was going to answer a 'call of nature'.
"I believe I am hearing the same call," Herr Fischer said, heading off in the opposite direction from Illya.
Napoleon watched Illya head off across the meadow towards the tree line-not directly towards the bind, but he bet that Illya would end up passing relatively close by before he returned. He turned back to help Agent Fischer pack up the remains of their lunch and saw that she had not missed his curiosity about the blind.
"You seemed pretty sure that the smugglers would stay clear of any blinds," Napoleon said, admitting to his interest.
"I guess it might seem strange to an American," she replied. "But history lies over everything here. The histories of smugglers and poachers versus gamekeepers are literally told in both song and story around these parts. And those who secretly carry goods and people across the border here are like me, from families with a long history of doing the same. Those blinds are gamekeeper territory, and smugglers won't go near them-out of tradition as much as anything."
There it was again. Nearly all of what she was saying was true-the best way to hide a lie, Napoleon knew-but that which was true was being used to cover up something which was not. She didn't want them investigating the blinds, or at least, not this one.
"You're right," Napoleon said, wondering if his prowess as a Guide would extend to hiding his own doubts from this Sentinel. "We don't have that sense of history in America, and we're sort of expected to defy those sorts of patterns when we encounter them. That's the American way, but, as they say, when in Rome…" Napoleon finished with his most beguiling smile, and it seemed to work.
Illya and Herr Fischer both wandered back to their picnic spot about the time that Napoleon and Agent Fischer had finished packing up. On the way back she directed Napoleon to go ahead of them while they waited for a few minutes, and then whistle a medley of songs which Illya would have to identify when they got back.
"Mati and I have our own 'whistle code' based on birdsongs," Agent Fischer explained as Napoleon set off, "but you might do better developing one based on tunes you know."
It was a good idea, Napoleon reflected, then tried to compile a list of songs in his mind which he could whistle that Illya would be able to identify. He settled on a mix of popular tunes, well known classics and a few Christmas carols, and began with 'Dixie', feeling like flaunting his Americanness just a little. He then challenged his whistling chops by trying the Russian Dance from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker. The sun was just moving over towards the west but still high in the sky, and shining brightly, tempered by a light mountain breeze. The path was an easy downhill grade and Napoleon was feeling a little of the wine he'd drunk with lunch, which made the whistling come all the easier.
He was melodiously making his way through the slow movement of Dvořak's New World Symphony when Napoleon suddenly had the feeling that he was not alone on the path. Without missing a beat in his music making, Napoleon slowed ever so slightly and carefully unfocused his gaze. The thing at the corner of his eye was there again, moving lithely through the tall grass at his side. He let his pace drop to a relaxed saunter and concentrated on the flow of his music, adding a bit of vibrato to the melody.
That Dvořak fellow had been from somewhere around here, hadn't he? Napoleon was just thinking that something about the tune suited the beauty of the natural surroundings when the moving something at the side of the path suddenly gambolled right onto it. Napoleon stopped in his tracks, and found himself gazing into the dark eyes and bemused and mustachioed face of an otter. He'd stopped whistling, Napoleon realised, and the otter seemed to want him to take it up again. When he did the animal loped about on the path before him, moving its sinuous body with the music.
Napoleon didn't need any of the local nature experts to tell him that this was not a natural animal. He felt his heart race at the realization as he began moving forward again. He had a Spirit Animal! His Spirit Animal was an Otter! The grin that formed on his face of its own accord made it hard to whistle, but he eventually schooled himself to the task and started once again, striding happily down the path as he whistled 'Joy to the World'.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Illya proudly listed each of the tunes Napoleon had whistled accurately, and thanked Agent Fischer when she complimented him. He did not ask Napoleon at that time why he had stopped whistling in the middle. Perhaps, as Agent Fischer suggested he might, he was learning to 'read' his Guide in subtle ways. Illya knew without asking that what had happened in that gap was something Napoleon wanted to keep private.
Illya also wanted to speak to Napoleon in private, about what he'd observed around the gamekeeper's blind. The best time for this proved to be after dinner, when they'd all retired for the evening to their own respective rooms. He and Napoleon had relaxed a bit about sleeping in the same bed together, but Illya could tell that Napoleon wished for more when they lay next to each other. He could tell in part because he wanted the same thing, and it annoyed him.
He had to at least admire his Guide's self control, because if Napoleon had ever tried to get closer in bed, Illya was not sure he would be able to resist. He was growing to admire a few of Napoleon's other qualities as well, in their various exercises. He was quick to adapt in an unfamiliar situation, even tempered, and a gifted and astute empath. UNCLE had sent them each other's dossiers by secure courier, as was policy for UNCLE's newly bonded Sentinel Guide pairs, and Illya was now familiar with Agent Napoleon Solo's impressive record as a young UNCLE agent as well.
However Illya felt about having a Guide, he found he had no complaints about having Solo as a partner. They worked well together, which was not something that Illya said about many other people, UNCLE agents or otherwise. For that reason Illya found himself struggling to hold on to the resentment he felt for having a Guide 'foist' upon him, and actually looked forward to hearing what Napoleon thought about his findings.
"Okay, I've been curious all afternoon," Napoleon began without preamble the second the door to their room was closed. "What did you find at the blind. You did check it out while you were 'watering a tree', right?"
"I did," Illya said once he'd puzzled through Napoleon's curious euphemism. "Someone, or several someones, have been there within the last week, and I don't think they were park rangers."
"No?" Napoleon asked, sitting on the bed to unbutton his shirt. "Why not?"
"I don't think rangers generally wear cologne," Illya said with a frown, back turned to Napoleon as he removed his gun and holster. "And they don't have infants with them."
"Infants? Like a baby?" Napoleon said. "What makes you think there was a baby?"
"Babies smell terribly," Illya said, coming to sit with his back to Napoleon, now in his underwear. "Sour milk and dirty diapers, and they throw up all the time."
"And you smelled that?" Napoleon asked, rising to don a robe and collect his shower things.
"It was impossible not to," Illya said, making a face. "Which means that Agent Fischer had to know that someone was making unauthorized use of the blind, and doesn't want us to know."
"That's what it seems like to me too," Napoleon said. "Maybe we ought to plan a little unauthorized reconnoiter ourselves. Just not tonight."
Illya agreed, as they'd worn themselves out today with an early morning exercise and then the afternoon hike, and agreed to discuss it once Napoleon had returned from his shower. When he did, robed and and barefoot, and freshly shaved, Illya realized that Napoleon no longer used any colognes or scented aftershaves. Like most Sentinels, Illya had little tolerance for such things in close quarters, and he recalled that the cologne Napoleon had been wearing when they first met was more subdued than most, but now he wore none at all.
He considered thanking Napoleon for his consideration as the man hung up his robe and came to sit beside Illya on the bed, dressed in his shorts and undershirt, just as Illya was. Thinking about the cologne Napoleon no longer wore, however, Illya now realized that he was exposed to his Guide's natural scent, which now seemed to him more intoxicating than any cologne. Without thinking, he drew in a long breath just to fill his lungs with it, then found himself utterly distracted by a desire to pull Napoleon into his arms and indulge himself in his Guide's scent and taste and… Illya shook himself and picked up the map he'd been examining, adjusting his glasses.
"I've located the trail crossing where we had lunch on this map," he said, ignoring Napoleon's odd look. "This trail passes quite near the border, just as Agent Fischer said. If smugglers are using this trail, I can't imagine they wouldn't use that blind to shelter in."
They easily worked out the route they'd taken to get there, and tentatively planned to sneak out tomorrow night, after the nighttime training exercise Agent Fischer had planned for them. She'd expect them to head for bed after such an excursion, but if they surreptitiously headed back out instead, that would have Illya and Napoleon arriving at the crossroads near the gamekeeper's blind an hour or so before sunrise. Plans set, Illya removed his glasses and set the map on the bedside table, preparing to go to sleep.
"I like the look-with the glasses, I mean," Napoleon said, pausing before turning off his light. "It shows a different side of you, one I hadn't seen before."
Illya snapped his own light off, finding Napoleon's smile a bit too beguiling. "I need them to read small print," he said, consternated, and waited for Napoleon to turn his light off, but he didn't.
"I think I saw my Spirit animal today," he said quietly, and Illya suddenly remembered the gap in his whistling.
"That was when you stopped, in the middle of the Dvořak," Illya said.
"Yeah, that was when," Napoleon replied. "It was an otter, if you can imagine. It… he, I think, kinda played around in the grass and loped alongside me as I walked for a while, then he scampered off into the undergrowth… but I just knew it wasn't a real animal. I don't even know if otters live around here."
"Not anymore," Illya said. "Or if there are a few left, they certainly wouldn't come anywhere near where people live."
"Yeah… that's what I thought," Napoleon said, finally dowsing his light. "G'night."
"Good night," Illya replied automatically, musing on how having an otter as his Spirit animal suited Napoleon, and yet how, as seeing him in glasses had made Napoleon see his Sentinel in a new light, this showed Illya his Guide in a new light. It was strange how he could absolutely believe the truth of Napoleon's experience and yet be sceptical that he would have any such experience himself. It was stranger still to find himself wishing that he could have a Spirit Animal, to see it and interact with it, as Agent Fischer said she did, and at the same time be convinced that what he'd learned in his youth was incontrovertibly true, and that Spirit Animals were mere superstition.
This cognitive dissonance kept Illya awake far longer than he would like to admit and whenever he opened his eyes to the dark room, he found himself searching for some form to the shadows that might be waiting just for him.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Agent Fischer kept them working the next night, throwing and catching eggs in the dark, until around two am. Nobody actually got egg on their face, but several eggs did meet their ends on the gravel carpark where they were practicing, mainly due to Illya's instinctive tendency to duck out of the way rather than trying to catch them. Everyone got a good laugh out of the near misses and Napoleon felt nothing but good-natured regard from their Sentinel trainer as they said their goodnights. She seemed not to have the least suspicion that her trainees had any further agenda for the evening.
Napoleon and Illya went through the motions of their usual before bed routines, then waited another quarter hour before slipping out their ground floor window. It was a new moon, which raised the odds of smugglers being about, but made it harder to find the way. Illya's finely honed senses managed it without much difficulty, however, so the two of them made their way to the trailhead without a single wrong turning. The trail itself was not hard to follow, as the forest was relatively thin here, with the trees set well back from the trail.
Napoleon wondered if his otter would show himself again, but reflected that he would hardly be visible in the deeply shadowed undergrowth. He also wondered, not for the first time, what Illya's Spirit Animal would prove to be. He had no doubts that his Sentinel had one, and would eventually see it, but Napoleon also suspected that Illya himself likely felt differently.
They made good time, and arrived at the trail crossing around an hour before dawn. They slowed as they approached the open meadow, but Illya sensed no sign of activity… save for near the blind.
"There is someone in there," Illya said quietly. "I can hear at least one of them snoring. There is also an odd scent… a sort of smoky perfume, very pungent, even though I can tell it's just a trace."
Perhaps it was Illya's gift of description, or an indicator of just how well in sync their minds were, but as Napoleon wracked his brain to identify the smell Illya was describing, he found himself inexplicably reminded of something he hadn't experienced since his youth… every Sunday morning at the Santa Lucia Academy.
"Frankincense?" Napoleon said suddenly. Beside him, Illya straightened, gaze as distant as Napoleon's had been a moment ago.
"It was one of the things I was made to learn," Illya said, "In Navy training for Sentinels. Many, many scents, simply to memorize… Yes. Yes! I remember it now. It is Frankincense."
"Ah ha," Napoleon said thoughtfully, then he stepped off the trail. "Well then, we can be pretty sure there's no uranium smugglers holed up in that blind tonight. C'mon."
Without waiting for his Sentinel, Napoleon strode fearlessly across the meadow towards the blind. Illya followed after him, hissing for him to explain himself, but Napoleon figured that it would be a lot less complicated to let the revealed facts explain themselves. The sorts of people whose clothes carried the smell of Frankincense were nearly exclusively limited to members of the clergy, who, Napoleon knew full well, had good reason to need a smuggler's services these days, in Soviet Czechoslovakia.
Fearless but not foolhardy, Napoleon paused at the base of the little ladder which led to the open 'door' of the blind, to see if his Sentinel caught any indications of something more dangerous.
"Any firearms?" He asked all but silently, knowing that Illya would smell any such.
"Something… old, not used in a long time, a little rusty," he said, frowning. "Still possibly functional."
"They won't use it," Napoleon said, feeling the mostly sleeping presences within matching up with what he expected. He climbed up the ladder a couple of steps and reached up to knock gently on the side of the opening.
"Pardon for the disturbance," he said in English, knowing the language would put them at ease more than his words. "But I'm afraid you're trespassing in a National Forest facility."
A dark figure moved in the shadows within the blind, but Napoleon could see little bits of white, mainly short cropped white hair, a very pale face, and below it, a band of white at his collar. "What do you want?" asked a voice in highly accented English. "We were told to wait here."
"Forgive me Father," Napoleon said, feeling very strange to be saying those words again after so very many years. "We're agents from the U.N.C.L.E.-you can see our ID cards if you like-and we're investigating a case of cross border smuggling, but you're not who we expected to find."
"U.N.C.L.E.?" the priest asked. "You won't send us back?"
"No we won't, will we Illya?" Napoleon asked, glancing back at his partner.
"No," Illya said with a sigh. "We will not."
"He's a Russian!" The Father exclaimed with alarm, and here, at last, was the gun, a real museum piece, probably not fired since the days of the Austro Hungarian Empire.
"Take it easy, Father," Napoleon said, reaching up to point the gun away, then gently took it from his trembling hands. "He's an UNCLE agent too, first and foremost."
The Priest's frightened cry had waked the other occupants of the blind, who must have been utterly exhausted to have been sleeping in the first place, crowded into the tiny blind. Their voices came out of the dark, querulous and speaking in Czech.
"Good morning, Sisters," Napoleon said gently. "No KGB; no StB. Father, do they understand Russian?"
They did, of course, so Illya now explained, in slow, patient Russian, that no one would be taken back to the East, but that for UNCLE's investigation they needed to wait and find out who was coming to meet them. The three nuns, not one under 60 years of age, remained in the blind to rest while the Father, who was not particularly young himself, came down the ladder to wait with them. Napoleon offered him a cigarette, which he accepted gratefully.
"First the State takes over the monastery; this we expect," he said as he exhaled smoke into the cool night air. "Then they forbid young people to enter orders, which we also expect, but then last year they close everything down, store farm equipment in rectory, send sisters to work on collective farm, brothers to the mines." The man shook his head, resigned rather than angry.
"I tell the farm manager, the sisters, they are too old to work," he continued and Napoleon could hear the despair in his voice. "The manager… he is… surovec a beast, he laughs, says they have been parasites whole life, now they must work."
Napoleon, who had not attended Mass since those days at St Lucia's, still found his blood boiling to hear how these Holy Sisters had been mistreated, and even Illya, patrolling their perimeter as he listened, scowled deeply.
"He gives them the worst jobs, and I see that he wants them to die…" The Priest shook his head again and dropped the cigarette, crushing it out with his foot. "So I sell some things on the black market, church things, God forgive me, and use money to pay for guide over mountains. He leaves us here, says someone will come for us. That is all I know. Before God I swear it."
"We believe you, Father," Napoleon said sincerely. "And it's not that we suspect whoever is coming for you of doing anything wrong either, we just think they might know something that could help us… stop some bad people from doing something very dangerous. Here's my UNCLE ID, by the way."
The Priest took Napoleon's proffered card, and borrowed his lighter to be able to read it, though there was a faint hint of light on the eastern horizon now. "I have heard of UNCLE," the priest said as he handed it back. "It worries me when even the Soviets say you do good in the world, but I understand why it must be so."
"The Politbureau is not always pleased with UNCLE's goals," Illya said, appearing silently at Napoleon's side. "But UNCLE helps them solve problems they would be unable to solve without starting World War III. The mission we are working on now is a case in point."
"You are a Sentinel," the priest said, pointing at Illya, though not with accusation.
"Yes," Illya said, glancing at Napoleon before he continued. "And this is my Guide."
"You are a Russian Sentinel, and your Guide is… American?" The man said with astonishment. Napoleon and Illya both nodded.
"Panebože!" he exclaimed. "Is such a thing truly possible?"
"It is with UNCLE," Napoleon answered, pleased at how the fact of their pairing had won the confidence of this man when nothing else had. Excitedly, he stepped over to the blind to tell this news to the Sisters in rapid-fire Czech while Illya headed back towards the trail crossing, senses alert for anyone approaching. A few moments later, Napoleon saw him raise his hand to signal silence and Napoleon passed the advice on to the exiled clergy in the blind.
At Napoleon's urging, the priest climbed back into the blind to hide in the shadows with the nuns. Napoleon returned his antique firearm with a strong admonition that he not try firing it. Napoleon crouched in the shadows beneath the blind, eye on Illya as he slowly made his way down the trail, back the way they'd come. The Sentinel paused just before he became lost to his Guide's view and waited, but after a minute or two Napoleon saw his partner's posture relax, and felt something similar through their bond as well. Whoever Illya had spotted approaching was no threat, and possibly a friend.
Napoleon was still surprised, however, when he saw Illya stand and reveal himself to an approaching rider, coming up the trail with a clutch of saddled but riderless horses in tow and followed by a second rider.
"Good morning Agent Fischer, Herr Fischer," Illya said, clearly enough for everyone to hear.
Now Napoleon rose, making his way to the base of the ladder to tell the occupants of the blind that all was well. "Looks like your rendezvous was with UNCLE all along," he said. "Though UNCLE administration might not be fully apprised, I'm thinking."
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
"Of course, you're fully within your rights to report me," Agent Fischer said over coffee as they sat together in the lodge's dining room. The Father and his charges were asleep upstairs in three of the empty guest rooms, and the three UNCLE agents plus Herr Fischer, standing protectively beside his Sentinel, were only now able to discuss the sticky situation they found themselves in.
"That is easy for you to say," Illya replied, annoyed with the whole situation. "But the consequences would not only be for you. The Soviet Politburo may well find this the final reason they need to cease cooperation with UNCLE, and a major diplomatic incident may result if Father Jelinek and the others are not returned to Czechoslovakia. Did you even think of that?"
Naturally, no one had an answer and Illya stood to get another cup of coffee. He would have liked something stronger, but his Sentinel would not let him, still keyed up from their late night investigation and discovery. Napoleon's worried gaze followed him across the room.
"I don't know that the Politburo necessarily needs to be informed," he offered. "And it's not our decision to make, in any case. UNCLE does stand solidly behind people's freedom to worship, so I don't think they'll let father Jelinek's group be sent back. Why don't we concentrate on our mission, and see where that leads us before we get too caught up in this."
"If I may…? Agent Fischer began tentatively. Napoleon's glance in Illya's direction urged temperance and Illya acquiesced. They both nodded.
"Father Jelinek has quite recently done business with the very people we are investigating," she said. "I asked him if he'd be willing to answer our questions about who he hired to guide him and how it was done, and he agreed. Why don't we all get some rest and hear what he has to say before we make any decisions."
"That sounds like good sense to me, partner," Napoleon said. Illya wanted to be annoyed at him for being right, but couldn't. He nodded tiredly.
"Very well," he answered.
"Gentlemen," Agent Fischer said as they all stood. "I… I know I have broken you trust, and that none of the many reasons I thought that these… extra curricular activities would never interfere with my work for UNCLE will make any difference to you. but I am very sorry. If there's anything you want to know about our 'underground railroad' here in Zwiesel, of course I'll be happy to tell you what I know, but we're also very compartmentalized… which I'm afraid was my idea. I never meet the mountain guides who leave their charges in the blind, and whoever picks them up in the Langdorf bus station tomorrow will never meet me."
"How very professional of you," Illya said drily.
"I suppose that, living in a little country village like this, you might not expect to find yourself working on a mission in your own backyard," Napoleon said with understanding. "Naturally, it's different when you live in New York."
"I imagine it is," Agent Fischer said, letting her Guide curl his arm around her waist and lead her up the stairs toward their room. Illya could not find it in himself to object when he felt Napoleon's hand on his shoulder, gently directing him toward their own room. Strangely, Illya felt the faintest pang of longing at the sight of the Fischers supporting each other at the end of the long day. Napoleon's hand on him offered the promise that this closeness could be his if he only let it, but Illya held back. Gaining this comfort would mean losing something, Illya was sure; nothing so precious could be had without a price.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Act 4
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business.
Act 3: "Good mornign sisters!"
The conversation lapsed as the food, which was all delicious, engaged everyone's attention. Once most of the victuals had been consumed and a bottle of wine passed around till it was three quarters empty, Agent Fischer told them about the two trails that crossed here, where they led and where they started, and the history of what other smugglers had been known to use them.
"So our smugglers could be using this very path here?" Napoleon asked.
Agent Fischer nodded. "We've been watching it occasionally, but staking it out would probably just result in the smugglers choosing a different route."
"Have you checked the gamekeepers blind here, or others like it, for signs of anyone staying there?" Illya asked. "It seems a likely place for them to overnight."
"I doubt that smugglers would use one of these blinds," Agent Fischer replied. "They know that the Park Rangers often use them, so they'd probably want to keep clear."
Napoleon blinked. Not only was Agent Fischer's answer slightly illogical, Napoleon got the distinct impression that she was evading in some way. She did not want to talk about that blind. Remembering the non-verbal cues he'd just worked out with Illya, he glanced in his Sentinel's direction, scowling in a certain way as he adjusted his shirt collar.
Illya's eyebrows rose, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. He accepted the wine bottle from Herr Fischer and tipped it back to finish the last swallow, then stood and explained that he was going to answer a 'call of nature'.
"I believe I am hearing the same call," Herr Fischer said, heading off in the opposite direction from Illya.
Napoleon watched Illya head off across the meadow towards the tree line-not directly towards the bind, but he bet that Illya would end up passing relatively close by before he returned. He turned back to help Agent Fischer pack up the remains of their lunch and saw that she had not missed his curiosity about the blind.
"You seemed pretty sure that the smugglers would stay clear of any blinds," Napoleon said, admitting to his interest.
"I guess it might seem strange to an American," she replied. "But history lies over everything here. The histories of smugglers and poachers versus gamekeepers are literally told in both song and story around these parts. And those who secretly carry goods and people across the border here are like me, from families with a long history of doing the same. Those blinds are gamekeeper territory, and smugglers won't go near them-out of tradition as much as anything."
There it was again. Nearly all of what she was saying was true-the best way to hide a lie, Napoleon knew-but that which was true was being used to cover up something which was not. She didn't want them investigating the blinds, or at least, not this one.
"You're right," Napoleon said, wondering if his prowess as a Guide would extend to hiding his own doubts from this Sentinel. "We don't have that sense of history in America, and we're sort of expected to defy those sorts of patterns when we encounter them. That's the American way, but, as they say, when in Rome…" Napoleon finished with his most beguiling smile, and it seemed to work.
Illya and Herr Fischer both wandered back to their picnic spot about the time that Napoleon and Agent Fischer had finished packing up. On the way back she directed Napoleon to go ahead of them while they waited for a few minutes, and then whistle a medley of songs which Illya would have to identify when they got back.
"Mati and I have our own 'whistle code' based on birdsongs," Agent Fischer explained as Napoleon set off, "but you might do better developing one based on tunes you know."
It was a good idea, Napoleon reflected, then tried to compile a list of songs in his mind which he could whistle that Illya would be able to identify. He settled on a mix of popular tunes, well known classics and a few Christmas carols, and began with 'Dixie', feeling like flaunting his Americanness just a little. He then challenged his whistling chops by trying the Russian Dance from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker. The sun was just moving over towards the west but still high in the sky, and shining brightly, tempered by a light mountain breeze. The path was an easy downhill grade and Napoleon was feeling a little of the wine he'd drunk with lunch, which made the whistling come all the easier.
He was melodiously making his way through the slow movement of Dvořak's New World Symphony when Napoleon suddenly had the feeling that he was not alone on the path. Without missing a beat in his music making, Napoleon slowed ever so slightly and carefully unfocused his gaze. The thing at the corner of his eye was there again, moving lithely through the tall grass at his side. He let his pace drop to a relaxed saunter and concentrated on the flow of his music, adding a bit of vibrato to the melody.
That Dvořak fellow had been from somewhere around here, hadn't he? Napoleon was just thinking that something about the tune suited the beauty of the natural surroundings when the moving something at the side of the path suddenly gambolled right onto it. Napoleon stopped in his tracks, and found himself gazing into the dark eyes and bemused and mustachioed face of an otter. He'd stopped whistling, Napoleon realised, and the otter seemed to want him to take it up again. When he did the animal loped about on the path before him, moving its sinuous body with the music.
Napoleon didn't need any of the local nature experts to tell him that this was not a natural animal. He felt his heart race at the realization as he began moving forward again. He had a Spirit Animal! His Spirit Animal was an Otter! The grin that formed on his face of its own accord made it hard to whistle, but he eventually schooled himself to the task and started once again, striding happily down the path as he whistled 'Joy to the World'.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Illya proudly listed each of the tunes Napoleon had whistled accurately, and thanked Agent Fischer when she complimented him. He did not ask Napoleon at that time why he had stopped whistling in the middle. Perhaps, as Agent Fischer suggested he might, he was learning to 'read' his Guide in subtle ways. Illya knew without asking that what had happened in that gap was something Napoleon wanted to keep private.
Illya also wanted to speak to Napoleon in private, about what he'd observed around the gamekeeper's blind. The best time for this proved to be after dinner, when they'd all retired for the evening to their own respective rooms. He and Napoleon had relaxed a bit about sleeping in the same bed together, but Illya could tell that Napoleon wished for more when they lay next to each other. He could tell in part because he wanted the same thing, and it annoyed him.
He had to at least admire his Guide's self control, because if Napoleon had ever tried to get closer in bed, Illya was not sure he would be able to resist. He was growing to admire a few of Napoleon's other qualities as well, in their various exercises. He was quick to adapt in an unfamiliar situation, even tempered, and a gifted and astute empath. UNCLE had sent them each other's dossiers by secure courier, as was policy for UNCLE's newly bonded Sentinel Guide pairs, and Illya was now familiar with Agent Napoleon Solo's impressive record as a young UNCLE agent as well.
However Illya felt about having a Guide, he found he had no complaints about having Solo as a partner. They worked well together, which was not something that Illya said about many other people, UNCLE agents or otherwise. For that reason Illya found himself struggling to hold on to the resentment he felt for having a Guide 'foist' upon him, and actually looked forward to hearing what Napoleon thought about his findings.
"Okay, I've been curious all afternoon," Napoleon began without preamble the second the door to their room was closed. "What did you find at the blind. You did check it out while you were 'watering a tree', right?"
"I did," Illya said once he'd puzzled through Napoleon's curious euphemism. "Someone, or several someones, have been there within the last week, and I don't think they were park rangers."
"No?" Napoleon asked, sitting on the bed to unbutton his shirt. "Why not?"
"I don't think rangers generally wear cologne," Illya said with a frown, back turned to Napoleon as he removed his gun and holster. "And they don't have infants with them."
"Infants? Like a baby?" Napoleon said. "What makes you think there was a baby?"
"Babies smell terribly," Illya said, coming to sit with his back to Napoleon, now in his underwear. "Sour milk and dirty diapers, and they throw up all the time."
"And you smelled that?" Napoleon asked, rising to don a robe and collect his shower things.
"It was impossible not to," Illya said, making a face. "Which means that Agent Fischer had to know that someone was making unauthorized use of the blind, and doesn't want us to know."
"That's what it seems like to me too," Napoleon said. "Maybe we ought to plan a little unauthorized reconnoiter ourselves. Just not tonight."
Illya agreed, as they'd worn themselves out today with an early morning exercise and then the afternoon hike, and agreed to discuss it once Napoleon had returned from his shower. When he did, robed and and barefoot, and freshly shaved, Illya realized that Napoleon no longer used any colognes or scented aftershaves. Like most Sentinels, Illya had little tolerance for such things in close quarters, and he recalled that the cologne Napoleon had been wearing when they first met was more subdued than most, but now he wore none at all.
He considered thanking Napoleon for his consideration as the man hung up his robe and came to sit beside Illya on the bed, dressed in his shorts and undershirt, just as Illya was. Thinking about the cologne Napoleon no longer wore, however, Illya now realized that he was exposed to his Guide's natural scent, which now seemed to him more intoxicating than any cologne. Without thinking, he drew in a long breath just to fill his lungs with it, then found himself utterly distracted by a desire to pull Napoleon into his arms and indulge himself in his Guide's scent and taste and… Illya shook himself and picked up the map he'd been examining, adjusting his glasses.
"I've located the trail crossing where we had lunch on this map," he said, ignoring Napoleon's odd look. "This trail passes quite near the border, just as Agent Fischer said. If smugglers are using this trail, I can't imagine they wouldn't use that blind to shelter in."
They easily worked out the route they'd taken to get there, and tentatively planned to sneak out tomorrow night, after the nighttime training exercise Agent Fischer had planned for them. She'd expect them to head for bed after such an excursion, but if they surreptitiously headed back out instead, that would have Illya and Napoleon arriving at the crossroads near the gamekeeper's blind an hour or so before sunrise. Plans set, Illya removed his glasses and set the map on the bedside table, preparing to go to sleep.
"I like the look-with the glasses, I mean," Napoleon said, pausing before turning off his light. "It shows a different side of you, one I hadn't seen before."
Illya snapped his own light off, finding Napoleon's smile a bit too beguiling. "I need them to read small print," he said, consternated, and waited for Napoleon to turn his light off, but he didn't.
"I think I saw my Spirit animal today," he said quietly, and Illya suddenly remembered the gap in his whistling.
"That was when you stopped, in the middle of the Dvořak," Illya said.
"Yeah, that was when," Napoleon replied. "It was an otter, if you can imagine. It… he, I think, kinda played around in the grass and loped alongside me as I walked for a while, then he scampered off into the undergrowth… but I just knew it wasn't a real animal. I don't even know if otters live around here."
"Not anymore," Illya said. "Or if there are a few left, they certainly wouldn't come anywhere near where people live."
"Yeah… that's what I thought," Napoleon said, finally dowsing his light. "G'night."
"Good night," Illya replied automatically, musing on how having an otter as his Spirit animal suited Napoleon, and yet how, as seeing him in glasses had made Napoleon see his Sentinel in a new light, this showed Illya his Guide in a new light. It was strange how he could absolutely believe the truth of Napoleon's experience and yet be sceptical that he would have any such experience himself. It was stranger still to find himself wishing that he could have a Spirit Animal, to see it and interact with it, as Agent Fischer said she did, and at the same time be convinced that what he'd learned in his youth was incontrovertibly true, and that Spirit Animals were mere superstition.
This cognitive dissonance kept Illya awake far longer than he would like to admit and whenever he opened his eyes to the dark room, he found himself searching for some form to the shadows that might be waiting just for him.
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Agent Fischer kept them working the next night, throwing and catching eggs in the dark, until around two am. Nobody actually got egg on their face, but several eggs did meet their ends on the gravel carpark where they were practicing, mainly due to Illya's instinctive tendency to duck out of the way rather than trying to catch them. Everyone got a good laugh out of the near misses and Napoleon felt nothing but good-natured regard from their Sentinel trainer as they said their goodnights. She seemed not to have the least suspicion that her trainees had any further agenda for the evening.
Napoleon and Illya went through the motions of their usual before bed routines, then waited another quarter hour before slipping out their ground floor window. It was a new moon, which raised the odds of smugglers being about, but made it harder to find the way. Illya's finely honed senses managed it without much difficulty, however, so the two of them made their way to the trailhead without a single wrong turning. The trail itself was not hard to follow, as the forest was relatively thin here, with the trees set well back from the trail.
Napoleon wondered if his otter would show himself again, but reflected that he would hardly be visible in the deeply shadowed undergrowth. He also wondered, not for the first time, what Illya's Spirit Animal would prove to be. He had no doubts that his Sentinel had one, and would eventually see it, but Napoleon also suspected that Illya himself likely felt differently.
They made good time, and arrived at the trail crossing around an hour before dawn. They slowed as they approached the open meadow, but Illya sensed no sign of activity… save for near the blind.
"There is someone in there," Illya said quietly. "I can hear at least one of them snoring. There is also an odd scent… a sort of smoky perfume, very pungent, even though I can tell it's just a trace."
Perhaps it was Illya's gift of description, or an indicator of just how well in sync their minds were, but as Napoleon wracked his brain to identify the smell Illya was describing, he found himself inexplicably reminded of something he hadn't experienced since his youth… every Sunday morning at the Santa Lucia Academy.
"Frankincense?" Napoleon said suddenly. Beside him, Illya straightened, gaze as distant as Napoleon's had been a moment ago.
"It was one of the things I was made to learn," Illya said, "In Navy training for Sentinels. Many, many scents, simply to memorize… Yes. Yes! I remember it now. It is Frankincense."
"Ah ha," Napoleon said thoughtfully, then he stepped off the trail. "Well then, we can be pretty sure there's no uranium smugglers holed up in that blind tonight. C'mon."
Without waiting for his Sentinel, Napoleon strode fearlessly across the meadow towards the blind. Illya followed after him, hissing for him to explain himself, but Napoleon figured that it would be a lot less complicated to let the revealed facts explain themselves. The sorts of people whose clothes carried the smell of Frankincense were nearly exclusively limited to members of the clergy, who, Napoleon knew full well, had good reason to need a smuggler's services these days, in Soviet Czechoslovakia.
Fearless but not foolhardy, Napoleon paused at the base of the little ladder which led to the open 'door' of the blind, to see if his Sentinel caught any indications of something more dangerous.
"Any firearms?" He asked all but silently, knowing that Illya would smell any such.
"Something… old, not used in a long time, a little rusty," he said, frowning. "Still possibly functional."
"They won't use it," Napoleon said, feeling the mostly sleeping presences within matching up with what he expected. He climbed up the ladder a couple of steps and reached up to knock gently on the side of the opening.
"Pardon for the disturbance," he said in English, knowing the language would put them at ease more than his words. "But I'm afraid you're trespassing in a National Forest facility."
A dark figure moved in the shadows within the blind, but Napoleon could see little bits of white, mainly short cropped white hair, a very pale face, and below it, a band of white at his collar. "What do you want?" asked a voice in highly accented English. "We were told to wait here."
"Forgive me Father," Napoleon said, feeling very strange to be saying those words again after so very many years. "We're agents from the U.N.C.L.E.-you can see our ID cards if you like-and we're investigating a case of cross border smuggling, but you're not who we expected to find."
"U.N.C.L.E.?" the priest asked. "You won't send us back?"
"No we won't, will we Illya?" Napoleon asked, glancing back at his partner.
"No," Illya said with a sigh. "We will not."
"He's a Russian!" The Father exclaimed with alarm, and here, at last, was the gun, a real museum piece, probably not fired since the days of the Austro Hungarian Empire.
"Take it easy, Father," Napoleon said, reaching up to point the gun away, then gently took it from his trembling hands. "He's an UNCLE agent too, first and foremost."
The Priest's frightened cry had waked the other occupants of the blind, who must have been utterly exhausted to have been sleeping in the first place, crowded into the tiny blind. Their voices came out of the dark, querulous and speaking in Czech.
"Good morning, Sisters," Napoleon said gently. "No KGB; no StB. Father, do they understand Russian?"
They did, of course, so Illya now explained, in slow, patient Russian, that no one would be taken back to the East, but that for UNCLE's investigation they needed to wait and find out who was coming to meet them. The three nuns, not one under 60 years of age, remained in the blind to rest while the Father, who was not particularly young himself, came down the ladder to wait with them. Napoleon offered him a cigarette, which he accepted gratefully.
"First the State takes over the monastery; this we expect," he said as he exhaled smoke into the cool night air. "Then they forbid young people to enter orders, which we also expect, but then last year they close everything down, store farm equipment in rectory, send sisters to work on collective farm, brothers to the mines." The man shook his head, resigned rather than angry.
"I tell the farm manager, the sisters, they are too old to work," he continued and Napoleon could hear the despair in his voice. "The manager… he is… surovec a beast, he laughs, says they have been parasites whole life, now they must work."
Napoleon, who had not attended Mass since those days at St Lucia's, still found his blood boiling to hear how these Holy Sisters had been mistreated, and even Illya, patrolling their perimeter as he listened, scowled deeply.
"He gives them the worst jobs, and I see that he wants them to die…" The Priest shook his head again and dropped the cigarette, crushing it out with his foot. "So I sell some things on the black market, church things, God forgive me, and use money to pay for guide over mountains. He leaves us here, says someone will come for us. That is all I know. Before God I swear it."
"We believe you, Father," Napoleon said sincerely. "And it's not that we suspect whoever is coming for you of doing anything wrong either, we just think they might know something that could help us… stop some bad people from doing something very dangerous. Here's my UNCLE ID, by the way."
The Priest took Napoleon's proffered card, and borrowed his lighter to be able to read it, though there was a faint hint of light on the eastern horizon now. "I have heard of UNCLE," the priest said as he handed it back. "It worries me when even the Soviets say you do good in the world, but I understand why it must be so."
"The Politbureau is not always pleased with UNCLE's goals," Illya said, appearing silently at Napoleon's side. "But UNCLE helps them solve problems they would be unable to solve without starting World War III. The mission we are working on now is a case in point."
"You are a Sentinel," the priest said, pointing at Illya, though not with accusation.
"Yes," Illya said, glancing at Napoleon before he continued. "And this is my Guide."
"You are a Russian Sentinel, and your Guide is… American?" The man said with astonishment. Napoleon and Illya both nodded.
"Panebože!" he exclaimed. "Is such a thing truly possible?"
"It is with UNCLE," Napoleon answered, pleased at how the fact of their pairing had won the confidence of this man when nothing else had. Excitedly, he stepped over to the blind to tell this news to the Sisters in rapid-fire Czech while Illya headed back towards the trail crossing, senses alert for anyone approaching. A few moments later, Napoleon saw him raise his hand to signal silence and Napoleon passed the advice on to the exiled clergy in the blind.
At Napoleon's urging, the priest climbed back into the blind to hide in the shadows with the nuns. Napoleon returned his antique firearm with a strong admonition that he not try firing it. Napoleon crouched in the shadows beneath the blind, eye on Illya as he slowly made his way down the trail, back the way they'd come. The Sentinel paused just before he became lost to his Guide's view and waited, but after a minute or two Napoleon saw his partner's posture relax, and felt something similar through their bond as well. Whoever Illya had spotted approaching was no threat, and possibly a friend.
Napoleon was still surprised, however, when he saw Illya stand and reveal himself to an approaching rider, coming up the trail with a clutch of saddled but riderless horses in tow and followed by a second rider.
"Good morning Agent Fischer, Herr Fischer," Illya said, clearly enough for everyone to hear.
Now Napoleon rose, making his way to the base of the ladder to tell the occupants of the blind that all was well. "Looks like your rendezvous was with UNCLE all along," he said. "Though UNCLE administration might not be fully apprised, I'm thinking."
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"Of course, you're fully within your rights to report me," Agent Fischer said over coffee as they sat together in the lodge's dining room. The Father and his charges were asleep upstairs in three of the empty guest rooms, and the three UNCLE agents plus Herr Fischer, standing protectively beside his Sentinel, were only now able to discuss the sticky situation they found themselves in.
"That is easy for you to say," Illya replied, annoyed with the whole situation. "But the consequences would not only be for you. The Soviet Politburo may well find this the final reason they need to cease cooperation with UNCLE, and a major diplomatic incident may result if Father Jelinek and the others are not returned to Czechoslovakia. Did you even think of that?"
Naturally, no one had an answer and Illya stood to get another cup of coffee. He would have liked something stronger, but his Sentinel would not let him, still keyed up from their late night investigation and discovery. Napoleon's worried gaze followed him across the room.
"I don't know that the Politburo necessarily needs to be informed," he offered. "And it's not our decision to make, in any case. UNCLE does stand solidly behind people's freedom to worship, so I don't think they'll let father Jelinek's group be sent back. Why don't we concentrate on our mission, and see where that leads us before we get too caught up in this."
"If I may…? Agent Fischer began tentatively. Napoleon's glance in Illya's direction urged temperance and Illya acquiesced. They both nodded.
"Father Jelinek has quite recently done business with the very people we are investigating," she said. "I asked him if he'd be willing to answer our questions about who he hired to guide him and how it was done, and he agreed. Why don't we all get some rest and hear what he has to say before we make any decisions."
"That sounds like good sense to me, partner," Napoleon said. Illya wanted to be annoyed at him for being right, but couldn't. He nodded tiredly.
"Very well," he answered.
"Gentlemen," Agent Fischer said as they all stood. "I… I know I have broken you trust, and that none of the many reasons I thought that these… extra curricular activities would never interfere with my work for UNCLE will make any difference to you. but I am very sorry. If there's anything you want to know about our 'underground railroad' here in Zwiesel, of course I'll be happy to tell you what I know, but we're also very compartmentalized… which I'm afraid was my idea. I never meet the mountain guides who leave their charges in the blind, and whoever picks them up in the Langdorf bus station tomorrow will never meet me."
"How very professional of you," Illya said drily.
"I suppose that, living in a little country village like this, you might not expect to find yourself working on a mission in your own backyard," Napoleon said with understanding. "Naturally, it's different when you live in New York."
"I imagine it is," Agent Fischer said, letting her Guide curl his arm around her waist and lead her up the stairs toward their room. Illya could not find it in himself to object when he felt Napoleon's hand on his shoulder, gently directing him toward their own room. Strangely, Illya felt the faintest pang of longing at the sight of the Fischers supporting each other at the end of the long day. Napoleon's hand on him offered the promise that this closeness could be his if he only let it, but Illya held back. Gaining this comfort would mean losing something, Illya was sure; nothing so precious could be had without a price.
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Act 4