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"Do we want to know what's on that?" Luka didn't like the look on the
Russian's face.

"No."

"John? I think you need to be in here." Luka called out.

"You guys found something."

"Yes." Ilya explained.

"We're never going to see her again." John put his head down.

"I'm the gloomy one, remember?" Luka hugged his husband. Despite his
smile, his voice cracked.

"You're going to have house guests." Napoleon had been thinking.

"THRUSH agents?" Luka looked to the windows half expecting to see
sinister operatives clambering over the sills.

"No, two old friends from New York. Remember? You met up with us at
Wigstock."*

"Uh-huh." Luka didn't like the sound of this. "Our travel records,
right? Shit, you guys know everything."

"Napoleon, you can't be serious." Ilya's face was as white as chalk.

"Come on, partner. A little girl's life is at stake. You've done
worse."

"Not willingly."

"Besides, we're no longer living in ..."

"San Francisco! You guys know about Charles and Cyril? I don't
believe this!" John's eyes went wide.

"Calm down, I think I know where Napoleon is going with this. We,
masquerading as your friends, were on our way to visit friends in the
City, you called to tell us about Katerina, and we decided to stay
with you for a few days." Ilya explained.

"Charles is conservative, dark haired... I borrow some horn-rimmed
glasses, part my hair in the middle..."

"Which leaves *me* to prance around the living room in a silk
dressing gown." Ilya muttered.

"Nothing quite so flamboyant. I seem to remember you have some old-
style Russian lounge wear that's pretty slinky..."

"Great. Ivana the Terribly Bitchy rides again." **

"Think of it this way, all those ballet lessons are finally going to
pay off." Napoleon smiled.

"You owe me, for this one."

"But you don't have any luggage." John pointed out.

"I can take care of that." Napoleon pulled out his cell phone. "Open
channel D. Emergency relay, Solo to Waverly." Napoleon grinned at his
partner briefly then began to update their boss. "Yes, sir. We think
we can orchestrate the exchange without our avian friends knowing
we're on to them. I'm feeding you the data now. Don't read it, don't
circulate it, don't do anything until we get the little girl back."
Napoleon slipped the disk into a slot in the base of his phone. After
another two minutes he removed the disk, confirmed the data transfer,
and closed the phone. "Our local office will be dropping by with
our 'lost' luggage by way of O'Hare. They'll be in a regular airport
taxi."

"When THRUSH makes contact with you, they'll probably be covered as
police or FBI agents. Go along with them as if they were the real
thing. If I were running the op' I'd probably give you a bunch of
disks to download ransom instructions from the internet. Leave this
one in plain sight, in a stack of disks scattered over the dining
room table. Everybody 'borrows' these things from work, friends, what
have you; you never noticed it's a different brand from the ones you
usually buy. They'll probably collect the ransom to make this look
genuine, let them. During the course of things, they'll take back the
disks they gave you plus the one they really want. Again, let them.
Your daughter will be returned to you and you shouldn't be involved
further." Ilya had been stage managing the dining room table as he
explained the scenario.

"What if the real police and FBI find out about the THRUSH agents?"
Luka asked. Inwardly, he was terrified.

"My boss in New York is handling that. The Chicago PD and the FBI
will back off until we give them the high sign. You guys get to feed
my partner, for which you will have to be re-imbursed handsomely by
the way, we get to sit up late and play cards, and hopefully your
daughter will be back at home in two or three days." Napoleon stuck
his tongue out at Ilya.

"And the media?" John looked up, his eyes were red.

"We've taken care of that as well. Any inquiries made to the police
or FBI will be answered by an extremely bored mid-level flunkie who
will state the whole thing was a hoax. Yes, an attempt was made,
yadda yadda and the kid and her family decided to go to the Bahamas
for a little R&R. Of course, if the media had left you guys alone
during that INS thing, all of this could have been avoided. In short,
they'll be made to feel the whole thing is *their* fault so they'll
back off." Napoleon sighed. ***

"For the truly unscrupulous newshound, we'll let slip a few details
about surviving members of the 'Sons of Thunder', and let them run
with it. All of those guys are dead or in jail... yes, we checked,
Luka. So, no harm, no foul. It sounds dramatic, and the bottom lie
remains the same, some amateur goons tried to get back at Luka, they
botched it, and you're out of town." Napoleon said flatly.

"Yes, if the fake police want to know about the false reports in the
press, tell them the truth. You didn't want to scare off the
kidnappers." Ilya headed into the kitchen.

"Do you really think it will be that easy?" Luka still had his arms
around John.

"Yes. Two look-alikes will be boarding a plane for New York in the
morning looking very dissatisfied. Everybody routinely checks airport
surveillance tapes. THRUSH will assume Ilya and I have gone home.
When the fake PD shows up, we'll be sound asleep in your bedroom with
a few artfully arranged articles left around to imply we earned our
rest." Napoleon made another call requesting some "special" items to
be included in their "lost" luggage and smiled at his partner who
grimaced.

"I draw the line at toe shoes. The damn things were invented by
Torquemada."

"You should know, dushka moi." ****

NS*IK*JC*LK

The two kidnappers looked very authentic. They could have walked into
any precinct bar in Chicago and been immediately recognized as fellow
officers. Their associates had the "ransom" e-mails all ready to go.
The next morning, John opened the door to two "detectives" who
flashed real badges. The couch in the living room had been pulled out
into a double bed. "You have company?"

"Some friends from San Francisco." John explained as he shut the
door. He was very nervous. Thank God the kidnappers would be
expecting him to be on edge. "Luka! Some detectives are here."

"I'll be there in a minute." Luka's voice carried from down the hall.
The sound of the toilet flushing explained where he was. "Good
afternoon, officers." The tall Croatian said quietly. "Do you have
any news for us?"

"None, I'm afraid. But we're confident you should be hearing soon
from the people who took your daughter. Sometimes, these bastards
like to wait a little to make the families extremely anxious, they
think it will guarantee a quick pay-off."

"Well, it's working. We'll do whatever we can to get her back."

"Fine. We'll be with you every step of the way. Do your guests know
what's going on?"

"Yes. We had to tell them. We don't usually have the police calling
our home or stopping by. Besides, they're godparents for our
daughter." John replied.

"Okay, they may phone the initial instructions in, but most of their
contact will be made over the internet. Here are some special disks
that will record all source URLs for any messages sent. I assume you
have a computer?"

"Two. Laptops. Only one is on-line though." John led them into the
dining room. "Here it is. I haven't checked my e-mail since last
night."

"Okay, doc. Could you access your account? Let's see if anything has
popped up." The older "detective" put on a pair of glasses and leaned
in next to John as the younger man pulled up his home page and logged
in. The disk was right in front of him. This would be a piece of cake.

"That's a lot of mail."

"I save everything as 'new;' it's kinda like a back-up tickler file.
Most of this stuff is job-related. Doctors usually keep in touch to
swap procedures, new treatments, things like that." John explained
amazed at how calm he sounded.

"Do you mind if we copy these?"

"Go ahead. Just don't delete anything. Some of these are requests for
information and few contain drafts of articles I'm working on."

"No problem, doc. This is a routine copy job. Hey, Peterson, have you
got those blank disks?"

"Sure. Here you go." The other detective had been nosing around the
living room.

"Thanks."

The "partner" picked up a lace teddy. "This belongs to your friends?"

"Yes. It's mine." Luka turned and nearly fell over. Ilya's hair had
been curled into a pouffe that fell over his bright green
eyes. "Sorry about that, sweetums." "Cyril" pursed his lips in Luka's
direction. "We didn't mean to make such a mess."

The two THRUSH agents rolled their eyes. This had to be the weirdest
case they'd ever been involved with: a kid, two guys married to each
other, and now drag queens. Ilya picked up the scattered pieces of
underclothing and swam out of the room. Cyril would have been proud
of him. No one noticed when the sylph-like creature adjusted the
UNCLE surveillance camera looking for all the world like a snow-globe
sitting on the mantle.

"Okay, that should do it for now. Here's our cell phone number. This
way you won't get hung up at the switchboard in the precinct house.
Call anytime you think you have something. We'll leave these extra
disks with you. Copy all of your e-mails. We'll decide what's
relevant, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Try not to worry too much. I'm sure they'll be in touch. Don't
worry, we'll see ourselves out." The two men left.

Napoleon didn't waste any time. He quickly counted the disks strewn
over the table. One was missing. "Ohh darling?"

"Yes?" Ilya was still in character. For all they knew, the THRUSH
agents could have infested the place with bugs.

"Why don't you make yourself decent and help Luka clean up the living
room?"

"Why do *I* always get stuck with the housework?"

"Because you look better in a maid's uniform?" Napoleon nodded in
reply to Ilya's unspoken question.

"Can I help it if I'm the beautiful one?" Ilya's soft crooning voice
was definitely at odds with his fierce frown.

He activated a small electronic device and began to sweep the room.
Ten minutes later, he made the "OK" sign. Now that they had what they
came for, THRUSH wasn't interested in John and Luka enough to plant
listening devices. Which meant, they would monitor their activities
the old-fashioned way with men on the street and tapped phone calls.
Roland had already played his part, leaving a message to say he was
going to by-pass the police and use his own security service to make
any ransom drops. So far, so good. Ilya brushed his hands through his
hair restoring it to the style he usually wore. Two passes with a
damp paper towel removed the blush and lip gloss. Ignoring the kiss
blown by his partner, he stalked out of the living room to change
clothes.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"So how long have you guys been partners?" Luka wanted to know. They
were sitting in the kitchen watching as Ilya polished off a third
helping of stew.

"Almost fifteen years." Napoleon sighed. His metabolism forced him to
adhere to a very strict diet to maintain his figure. Ilya shoveled
food in with both hands and never seemed to gain a pound.

"And you've been lovers for how long?" John smiled.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that question."
Napoleon grinned back.

"Nine years, Four months, eleven days." Ilya said flatly, his eyes
however were shining. The green contact lenses were in a case in his
pocket. He was once more in uniform: black turtleneck sweater and
black slacks.

"We thought our stay in Chicago would be a second honeymoon."
Napoleon began.

"You met here?"

"In a manner of speaking. Ilya drew an entrapment assignment
involving a male subject. I decided to help him get in the mood, you
might say."

"He was a most excellent coach." Ilya said softly.

"Thank you, liubov."

"Hey, that's almost how you say it in Croatian." John looked at Luka.

"You speak Croatian?" Ilya was impressed.

"Enough to get what I want." John blushed.

"The same can be said for my Russian." Napoleon remarked with a wink
at his partner. "What about you two?"

"We've worked together for about the same amount of time as you guys.
We were married four years before we adopted our daughter." Luka
replied.

"Are you guys open about your relationship at work?" John wanted to
know.

"Yes. How can you be blackmailed if everyone knows about you?
Besides, THRUSH knew we were in love before we did." Napoleon
chuckled. "Once in a great while, they get something right."

"A very great while." Ilya said gravely.

"We're probably the most famous gay couple in Chicago." John remarked
wryly. "Stuff keeps happening to us that winds up on television."

"It's only because you're as rich as Croesus." Luka shook his head.

"Not me, my family."

"You and Napoleon have a lot in common." Ilya said.

"I kinda noticed that. Both of us had crazy grandfathers. I take it
you're well off?"

"I believe the phrase is 'stinking'." Ilya said drily.

"Probably my aftershave." Napoleon demurred.

"What about you, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Please, call me Ilya. I get by."

"He's too modest to admit to holding half a dozen patents that have
made him into a filthy capitalist."

"You were married in Bosnia, Luka?"

"Yes. My wife and daughters... you know what happened."

"Do either of you have children?" John asked.

"Well, yes and no." Napoleon answered slowly.

"Yes. I had a son. He was put up for adoption." Ilya said softly.

"I'm sorry." Luka took John's hand.

"Don't be. Neither of us wanted to do it, but we had no choice. Our
enemies consider getting rid of us a top priority. The boy could have
been used against us; apart from being eliminated for revenge. At
least this way he's safe. THRUSH has no idea he exists. If he'd
stayed with us..."

"He'd be six now. Can we talk about something else?" Napoleon had not
failed to notice Ilya's saddened eyes.


Author's Notes:
* Wigstock: An outrageous drag festival held in New York City in late
summer. The more outlandish the getup, the better.

** Ilya's peevish observation relates to Charles's partner, drag-
queen extraordinaire Cyril Francis Madison. You can "read more about
it" in my short-shorts story "Summer in the City" archived at
fanfiction.net. Search for ER "Humor" with an NC-17 rating and that
sucker should pop up.

*** Wheee! I get to footnote my own stuff again!! Luka's troubles
with the Immigration & Naturalization Service (INS) are detailed in
part two of my three-part slash epic. The story is called "Hearts in
Darkness" and is also archived at "the net": ER "Drama" and NC-17 and
there you are.

**** My cousins will get to read all about Ilya's dance training in a
story called "The Three-Headed Eagle Affair." Unfortunately, you have
to join one of two MFU groups to read this one. Contact me off-line
and I'll be more than glad to supply the particulars. EP
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