The Meeting Affair part 10

[svetlanacat6]

“It's a wonderful place...”

Illya Kuryakin closed his eyes enjoying the familiar breeze which brushed his face. The fisherman smiled. He remembered the blond young man soundly asleep on the ropes and the old blankets, on the Janice 3.

“The boys wanted me to join them in Roma. They said that I'd be with them, that I could visit extraordinary places...”

The Russian indulged in a half smile as he imagined the fisherman from Mousehole drinking an espresso at a terrace cafe, piazza Navona or in front of the Pantheon.

“They're right. Roma is a beautiful town, Mikey...”

“My life is here. I'm under Mousehole's spell.”

Illya opened his eyes and took hold of his cup of coffee. The fisherman peeked at him.

“And so are you...”

“Yes. Yes, I think I'm.”

Mikey frowned. He knew too well those thoughtful eyes and this elusive tone.

“Are you again in your Achab mood?”

Illya smiled faintly.

“No. No, Mikey. I'm fine.”

The fisherman let slip an ironic chuckle. His “nephew” wouldn't fool him.

“Illya?”

The Russian sighed.

“You'd rather much be in New York with Napoleon, wouldn't you?”

“Did he tell you about what happened? I mean...”

Mikey hesitated. Napoleon Solo did tell him about the assassination attempt against Illya and about his urging need for a safe refuge. The day before, the fisherman had picked up his “nephew” at the small airport next Charon Pass and he had taken him back home. As expected, Illya had looked daggers at the poor man who pulled a wheelchair for him, grabbing impatiently his walking stick.

“Mikey...?”

The fisherman shook his head. “Not really. He told about you. He worried a lot, Illya.”

Illya Kuryakin struggled to his feet leaning on the fisherman's shoulder. “Let's have a walk towards the lake. It's a long story.”

 

***

 

“I'm fine, sir. Really I'm!”

Alexander Waverly rolled his eyes at the so well known line. Illya Kuryakin mastered it perfectly and his partner was obviously trying to match him. The nurse fixed the dressing on the dark-haired man's forehead taking the given opportunity to caress his cheek a bit more longer than necessary, causing Waverly to sniff disapprovingly. The young woman hid a grimace and left the room. Napoleon Solo ran an hesitant finger on the dressing.

“They're at bay, sir. They usually play to win but this was hopeless. They couldn't...”

Waverly banged his fist on the desk.

“They couldn't? They could have, Mr. Solo. We've been already presumptuously careless. We almost lost Mr. Kuryakin.” He pointed an accusing finger at his agent. “ Hadn't I required that you got bodyguards, we could have lost you today!”

Napoleon Solo knew better than to argue. He had almost rioted about the said bodyguards and the Old Man wouldn't miss out on it. Thrush had attacked him as he was leaving Del Floria's, breaking with kind of an unsaid rule. Of course he could have cope with this alone. Could he, really?

“But you're right.” Waverly added flatly. “They look like to be at bay though I don't understand why. Our meeting... bothers them.”

Napoleon nodded at his chief. Yes, the meeting bothered their enemy. They struggled to cause it to fail. Did they dread it? Why? He didn't know. Such a meeting could at least give them opportunities to get rid of the Uncle leaders ... provided that it took place. From this perspective, killing the CEA in charge of the organization...

Alexander Waverly cleared his throat. “Mr. Solo, you did spot the most interesting point, of course?” The Old Man had his Cheshire cat smile.

Yes, it had occurred to him. Were he their ace in the hole, Thrush wouldn't have tried to kill him. The attempt wasn't a fake. They had lost men who weren't the small fry. Nevertheless, this was strange.

“I ordered to keep the clinic under very conspicuous surveillance...”

“Mousehole...”

“Mr. Kuryakin is safe there, Mr. Solo.”

Mousehole, the “safe harbor”... The huge wooden house with its terraces running around... Napoleon Solo smiled at the vivid memory. A place where people didn't lock their houses, where people didn't stick their nose into the others' business...

 

Mikey observed the lake. The thought which had occurred to him was unpleasant. He wouldn't tackle his young friend about it, but...

“I 'm safe here, Mikey.”

The fisherman sighed. An amazingly powerful hand rested on his arm. He nodded, keeping silent for awhile. Finally he stated softly.

“Mr.'s Waverly's plan is very clever. Yes, you're safe here... as long as your enemies believe you're at this clinic.”

The Russian didn't miss the hesitation.

“Very few people know about Mousehole, Mikey.”

The fisherman bit his lips. The Russian insisted.

“Mikey?”

The man leaned against the stone wall.

“You have to know that Mr. Waverly told me about what happened on the island, Illya.”

The Russian's face darkened slightly. “And?”

“Napoleon knows... No, listen to me. He's your friend. You're... close. He cares deeply about you, I know that.” The grip on his arm was slightly released. “And you care about him, too. But...” He hesitated. Napoleon almost killed you.”

“Almost!”

Illya Kuryakin had cracked the word, which didn't impress the fisherman.

“He shot you.”

“He missed me.”

“You dodged the bullet but you were wounded.”

“Mikey.” The hand took again a grip on his arm. “Look at me.”

The blue eyes stared at him very seriously.

“He could have finished me off. We were alone and he could have. He didn't. He... I trust Napoleon, Mikey. Whatever happened, finally, he didn't kill me.” The Russian smiled. “He would never have. I trust him, take my word for it.”

The sunset colors set the sky and the lake ablaze.

“You know, Mikey, I tried once to kill Napoleon. Our enemy had conditioned me to do so. He managed to get me back. I trust him as he trusts me. He...”

Illya Kuryakin stopped as he noticed a change in the fisherman's expression. The green eyes were twinkling and the ghost of a smile was hovering on his lips.