The Wrong Letter Affair

[svetlanacat6]

 In France, the series is Des Agents Très Spéciaux. In the plural... Two agents... Napoleon and Illya...
But who is The MAN from Uncle? One man? One silhouette in the UNCLE logo?

Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator. He rushed up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door, simultaneously. No answer.

The young neighbor peeped at him. He held a book, a French book. Napoleon read the title mechanically: “Des Agents Très Spéciaux”... A spy story?

“Are you looking for Mr Kuryakin, sir ? He isn't here.”

The words were polite, the voice slightly tense.

The Uncle agent muttered some apologies and came back to his car. Suddenly, he felt exhausted.

***

He wasn't in their office. He wasn't in the lab... nor in Medical... nor in Cafeteria... nor in Waverly's office.

“Mr Kuryakin is... missing, Mr Solo.”

And ? Napoleon Solo respected the Old Man. Period.

But sometimes, he hated him.

“And, sir?”

“And... nothing.”

“What happened, sir?”

Alexander Waverly had shaken his head with an unusual resignation. Illya Kuryakin just went back from an assignment, in France. The Wrong Letter Affair. A successful one. He had reported, then he had left the HQ, without a word, four days ago.

***

Napoleon Solo had the uncomfortable feeling that the Old Man had “forgotten” to tell him something. The apartment was desert and tidy. Really tidy, unusually tidy. It was... He looked at the bookshelves, opened the cupboards, the closet: empty. His partner wasn't missing. He was gone. Waverly knew. He would tell him.

A letter? What sort of letter? Was it blackmail?

It was a successful assignment, Waverly's word. So where was Illya?

***

And Napoleon Solo shivered.

“Who?”

“Illya, sir. Illya Kuryakin. You told me that he was missing.”

Alexander Waverly frowned with concern.

“Who? Mr Solo, you behave quite strangely. Who is this ... Kuryakin?”

Napoleon Solo was abashed. His chief stared at him coldly.

Was that a Waverly's trap? Did he suspect something about them? Had he ... had he fired Illya?

“Illya, sir. My partner.”

The Old Man harrumphed.

“Your... partner? Are you kidding? Mr Solo, you don't have any partner. You don't want to. You made it clear. You're our Man from Uncle, don't you remember?”

And the Old Man dismissed him. Napoleon Solo went back to the office he shared with Illya. As he entered, he froze. One desk. One chair...

***

“Napoleon?”

Mark Slate stood in the doorway, obviously worried.

“Mark? Tell me. What happened to Illya?”

The young agent entered the office and closed the door behind him. He looked ill at ease..

“Napoleon... I ... I am so sorry. Waverly told me.”

Napoleon Solo went white. His hands were gripped to the edge of the desk.

“Is... is he dead, Mark? Is Illya dead? Why Waverly...”

Mark Slate frowned. He came up to the older agent.

“Who, Napoleon? Who is this “Illya”? You ask everyone about this man, but who is he ? We worry about you, my friend, all of us.”

Napoleon Solo got up and threw his chair aside.

“Go away. Go away, immediately !”

Mark Slate stared at him with an obvious compassion. Napoleon Solo cursed, and stormed out the office, pushing the other agent aside. They wanted to play ? Okay. He raced towards the Archives room.

***

They had erased him. Illya had vanished into thin air. Not a word about him. No Russian agent in Uncle.

He left the HQ, unaware of all those people peeping at him, determined to comb his friend's apartment. He had to know. They wouldn't fool him.

Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator, rushing up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door simultaneously. Someone barked harshly, and the door opened. An infuriating old lady looked daggers at him.

“What the hell do you think you are doing, man ?”

Napoleon Solo took some steps back. The old lady was still abusing him, however, he could peek at the apartment. And... it wasn't Illya's. It... It had never been.

He felt a cold feeling spread though his chest.

Who was Illya ... Illya Kur... Kuryakin ?

***

This place was amazing. Vaguely familiar. It was a perfect Thrush nest. Napoleon Solo shook his head, and headed to his car. As he was opening the door, a ball hit him.

“Oh, I am sorry, sir. I didn't intend...”

A little boy, with long fair hairs – too long – and wide blue eyes was looking at him sheepishly.

“That's okay, boy, that's okay.”

The boy caught his ball, whispering something. Napoleon Solo sighed. He didn't really remember why he was there. He got into the car and switched on the ignition. The kid stood next to the car.

He wasn't a kid. He looked so worried. So ... familiar. He had a book in his hand. “The Man from Uncle”

And the car blasted.

***

Napoleon Solo chose to ignore the elevator. He rushed up the stairs four at a time. He knocked and rang at the door, simultaneously. No answer. He knocked again, and again. The door opened. A hand grabbed him and pulled him inside.

“Napoleon? What are you doing? It's... 3 a.m. Did you intend to wake up the whole area? Napoleon?”

The blond man looked daggers at him, pursing his lips inquiringly. Napoleon Solo studied the familiar silhouette in blue pajamas. Familiar? Real? He put an unsure hand on the man's shoulder.

“Are you...”

Napoleon Solo paused to breath... and smiled. He ran his hand through the blond hair. Yes. He was. Illya Kuryakin. His partner. And a little more than that.

“Napoleon ?”

Illya Kuryakin squeezed his wrist.

“What happens?”

“Nothing, partner mine. Just... I'll talk about the wrong letter to the Old Man. He'll fix it.”

“The wrong... letter...? What the hell...? I reported to Mr. Waverly! Everything is all right, now! What...”

Napoleon Solo chuckled with relief.

“No, no, not YOUR wrong letter...It's a mistake, Illya, an unfair mistake.”