The four men sat up late talking and listening for the signal that
John had received a new e-mail message.
"Thank the Lord, you don't use Yahoo." Napoleon observed as he raked
in his pile of toothpicks. He'd been a consistent winner all evening.
"Yes." Ilya agreed glaring at his partner. Napoleon knew better than
to cheat civilians. "They could have posted the message five weeks
ago and we'd still be waiting." *
"So what's your average assignment like?" Luka asked. Neither he nor
John were paying that much attention to the game.
"Actually, about like this one." Ilya said as he examined his
cards. "I mean without this terrible complication. We're the top two
agents for this hemisphere and by all rights should have retired
years ago. Now, we're usually called in to scare the living daylights
out of junior agents."
"That I can believe." John folded for the third hand in a row.
"Come on, you guys look like a couple of stock brokers." Luka
disagreed.
"At first glance, but believe me, Ilya's reputation preceedes him. He
walks very softly indeed and usually carries a great big stick of
dynamite, or chews on a wad of plastique. He simply loves blowing
enemy installations to smithereens." Napoleon grinned. A pair of
queens, how apt.
"Do not under-estimate my partner. When he's not romancing some femme
fatale who should know better, he's a mortician's best friend." Ilya
tossed ten toothpicks into the pile. "I'm in."
"Leaving guys like us to pick up the pieces." John observed bitterly.
"If Ilya's involved, you'll need a vacuum cleaner to get the job
done."
"Or an electron microscope to find them." Ilya all but purred.
"I don't think that's funny." John threw his cards down.
"We weren't trying to be." Napoleon said quietly. "Listen, I'm sure
you docs have developed a kind of "sick" humor, for want of a better
word, over the years. If your hearts bled for every patient that came
through the door, you'd be exsanguinated by now. Our jobs are
similar. We perform surgery, cutting out the extremely rotten bits so
the rest of the body can heal and go on about its business. Do we
enjoy it? Yes. In the same way most professionals enjoy being able to
get a difficult job done with a minimum of collateral damage. If it's
any comfort, we don't start shooting unless large numbers of innocent
people are threatened."
"We have our share of bad dreams." Ilya added softly looking directly
at John. "But they're nothing in comparison to the nightmare your
lives would become if UNCLE didn't exist. One day, my partner and I
will face God and have to answer for our lives' work. I, for one, am
hoping He'll at least allow us to take an air-conditioner where we're
going."
A tinny sound resembling a toy ambulance siren was heard. John had
received some mail. All of them gathered around as Ilya opened the
file.
"Two million dollars in non-sequential unmarked bills are to be
placed in a large gym bag and brought by your representative to
Lakeside Park at 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. Do not call the police or
FBI. The pick-up will be made and the money examined. Your daughter
will be returned to you once we are satisfied we were not followed
and you have fully obeyed instructions. Your representative should
wear a Portland Trailblazers sweatshirt and pants. Attached is a
video file of your daughter: time-stamped ten minutes ago. We will
contact you tomorrow evening with instructions for picking her up."
John quickly downloaded the attached file and held his breath. The
sound was poor and the image was not very clear, but it was Katerina
and she was sobbing. Two black-gloved hands held her around her
waist. Luka began to cry and John held him as his own tears began.
Ilya flinched involuntarily as Napoleon's hand clamped down on his
shoulder. "Turn it off, Ilyusha. I think we've seen more than enough."
Napoleon put the cards away and gathered up their "winnings." "I
could use a drink. Ilya?"
"It's in our luggage." Ilya was copying the "ransom note" and its
attached file.
Napoleon fetched two bottles and some glasses from the kitchen. Luka,
John?"
"No thank you." John sniffed and wiped his eyes. I don't drink.
Recovering drug addict."
"Sorry." Napoleon poured a shot of vodka for his partner and scotch
for himself.
"Don't be. I limit my alcohol intake: two glasses of champagne a
year; Christmas and our November anniversary. Although, I might make
an exception when we get Kitten back." He tried to smile.
"Kitten?"
"Our daughter's nickname." Luka poured a small amount of vodka and
swallowed it like medicine. "When we found her, she'd been abandoned;
she made these mewing noises when John gave her some formula. We had
to call her something."
"You have no idea who her parents were?" Napoleon sipped his scotch.
"None. She's been ours for almost six years and no one's come
forward. The adoption papers are final. Considering the circumstances
of her abandonment, the judge assured us, that even if her parents do
turn up, they have lost all rights."
"I see." Napoleon put down his drink and began rubbing Ilya's
shoulders. The Russian was seated between his partner's feet on the
floor. "Listen, John. Why don't you call your father? It's probably
going to take him a while to get the money together."
"It's already here." John said. He almost laughed as the two agents
nearly choked. "Our nanny, Mrs. Riordan, brought it over this
afternoon.
"The laundry bags." Ilya shook his head. They were piled up in the
kitchen. "How did you know how much money would be needed?"
"We didn't. Dad sent five million. I was to call him if they asked
for more." John explained.
"And we just spent the evening playing poker for toothpicks." Luka
shook his head and wiped his eyes. "Janaskja, my love, after all of
this is over we're going to have a serious talk about your casual
attitude towards money."
"I don't see why. Once you've housed, clothed, fed, and educated
yourself and your kids; what good is it? You can't eat it. I suppose
you could stuff it into a mattress and sleep on it. It wouldn't even
keep you warm for very long. We've both got steady jobs, enough in
the bank to cover emergencies... who needs any more?"
"Plenty of people and they cause no end of trouble until they get
more than they can use." Napoleon said grimly. "You are a rarity, Dr.
Kovac-Carter. I'll never have to worry about *you* trying to take
over the world."
"Why would I want to? I'd only have to do the paperwork."
At John's dry response, Ilya surprised them all by laughing aloud.
For a moment, Luka saw the young man he must have been before a
stretch in the gulag and his work for UNCLE had made his eyes cold
and expressionless. Napoleon was more fortunate. He'd seen this look
on his partner's face nine years ago in a lumpy bed after they'd made
love for the first time. He was obsessed with restoring that look at
every conceivable opportunity.
NS*IK*JC*LK
"Listen, Ilya and I will sleep out here and keep one ear open for
more incoming mail. "Why don't you two stretch out for a bit and try
to sleep? We'll get her back, trust me."
John and Luka headed for their bedroom. Both men were exhausted,
physically and emotionally. Luka went to the linen closet, preparing
to change the sheets when John told him there was no need. Ilya's
devotion to order had removed all traces of the two agents' brief
occupancy of the master bedroom. John slithered into his caftan, a
gift from Luka, and climbed into bed. Luka finished brushing his
teeth, put on his own caftan and joined his husband.
"Those are two very scary guys." John said quietly, his head on
Luka's chest.
"I don't know. They remind me of us. Did you see Ilya's face when he
talked about his son?"
"Yeah. Until he laughed, I figured he ate little kids for dinner."
"It's an act he puts on. If he spent time in a prison camp with his
looks, looking fierce probably was a survival tool. Backing up those
glares with his fists would have followed soon after." Luka yawned
inspite of himself.
"If they've been together for nine years, and Ilya's kid is six years
old, I wonder who his mother was?"
"You heard them. Part of their job calls for seducing people. Maybe
the condom broke..."
NS*IK*JC*LK
"Did you read this?" Napoleon held out a small pink book to his
partner. The title was "Kitten's Tale" and the author was John Carter.
"No." Ilya stretched, wincing as his stitches pulled. John had
insisted on checking him over earlier in the evening.
"Come on, Ilyusha. I'll read you a bedtime story." Napoleon settled
his partner in his arms and opened the book. "Once upon a time..." **
When Napoleon put the book down, his tough-as-nails partner was
shivering. "Are you okay? Ilya?"
The younger man raised a tear-stained face. "You know, I used to hang
around in toy stores and museums at lunch thinking I might see him.
Everytime I see a blond boy about his age I wonder."
"Shhhh, my love. I know. We didn't have any choice, remember?"
"Didn't we?" Ilya buried his face in Napoleon's side. Had John Carter
but known it, the story of Ilya's child was even stranger than he'd
imagined. One of the myriad scars on Kuryakin's torso would have told
a very unusual tale indeed.***
NS*IK*JC*LK
At quarter to five in the morning, John found himself in Katerina's
room. Something had managed to wake him, and he automatically went to
check on his daughter forgetting she was gone. Standing by her empty
bed, he put his head in his hands. When the Social Services people
had taken her away while she was still an infant, John had almost
died of grief. As he dried his eyes, he nearly shouted when a voice
addressed him in the semi-darkness.
"I did not mean to disturb you." It was Ilya Kuryakin, on his knees
before the icon and lamp in the corner of Kitten's room.
"That's all right. Are you okay?"
"I had a nightmare, couldn't sleep."
"Welcome to the club. I'm surprised I haven't had my own yet." John
explained his frequent spates of bad dreams and their causes.
"This is a beautiful icon. Did Luka buy it?"
"No, I did. It was my Christmas present to him the year we found our
daughter. You didn't answer my question." John persisted quietly.
"No, I didn't."
"You still miss him." John came over to where Ilya was kneeling and
sat cross-legged on the floor.
"I always shall. He was a beautiful child. Giving him up was the most
difficult thing I've ever done."
"Couldn't his mother have taken him?"
"She died."
John fell silent. He couldn't keep the vision of Ilya standing over a
woman's body with a smoking pistol in one hand and his infant son in
the other from invading his mind.
"It wasn't like that. His mother died... when he was born." Ilya said
very softly.
"Wasn't like what?"
"You thought I killed his mother."
"How on earth? You guys read minds too?"
"No. I'm a borderline telepath. Occasionally, especially when under
stress, I get flashes of what people around me are thinking. It's
probably what's kept Napoleon and I alive."
"That's why you looked at me when you mentioned having nightmares."
"Yes."
"Did you give your son a name?"
"No, it would have been too dangerous. He was taken to an orphanage
in another part of the country as 'John Doe: parents unknown'.
There's nothing to connect him with me."
"Except grief."
"He has no way of knowing who I am, let alone how I am feeling."
"You'd be surprised. When they took Kitten away from us, 'cause we
were gay, I had dreams where I could hear her crying for us..." Ilya
gasped as John said this. "... When they finally admitted they'd made
a mistake and gave her back to us, we found out she *had* been
crying, almost constantly. You've had dreams too, haven't you?"
Ilya nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hadn't told Napoleon
despite their promise not to keep secrets from each other. "It's
better as it is." Ilya sighed and got to his feet. "There was no way
we could have protected him without going off somewhere isolated. He
would have missed having friends his own age, going to school, all of
the things that normal children have..."
"Maybe that's why our daughter was abandoned. Maybe her mother or
father gave her up to protect her from someone or something. It would
explain why no one has come forward to claim her." John accepted a
hand-up from Ilya.
"Ilyusha? Are you okay?" Napoleon stuck his head in the doorway.
"I'm fine, 'Polya. Go back to sleep."
"Not until you do. We can get a couple more hours before we start
arranging to drop off the money.
Ilya followed his partner out of Kitten's room. "Should I be
jealous?" Napoleon's smoothly voiced question produced a snort from
the Russian.
"Should I?"
"Me? Run off with a married man? Not on your life. God help the man
who cheats on you, Ilyusha. I have no wish to form an intimate
acquaintance with the other concrete-shoe-wearing folks at the bottom
of the East River. Besides, as soon as this is over, I fully intend
to celebrate our second honeymoon."
"I'm glad your sense of self-preservation hasn't diminished, 'Polya.
I would deeply regret having to shoot you." Ilya got back into bed
and drew the blanket over both of them.
NS*IK*JC*LK
John took the rosary from the small shelf below the icon and knelt.
Sleep would be impossible. He might as well put the time to good use.
Luka found him later that morning, slumped against the wall, snoring
softly. Shaking his head, he picked up his husband and went back to
their bedroom. Two pairs of eyes: blue and brown watched from the
living room.
"They make a nice family." Napoleon observed as he made up the bed.
"They will when we get their daughter back." Ilya folded the bed back
into the couch and replaced the cushions. "Do you want some tea?"
"No, but I'll watch you drink yours."
"Polya, you need a life."
"Uh-huh. I bet you say that to all the boys."
NS*IK*JC*LK
The THRUSH agents were overjoyed. Their superiors had been livid at
the initial failure to retrieve the disk. Now, when informed of
disk's recovery plus the two-million dollar bonus, they eagerly
agreed to the scheme for returning the little girl. For Petersen,
getting rid of Katerina could not be done soon enough.
Getting the child to cry on cue was accomplished by telling her the
two men she lived with had been killed in a car crash. When the video
was completed, Petersen told her they had lied to her. Katerina did
not know what to believe. The agents made their plans talking over
her soft whimpers. She wanted to go home, even if no one was there
anymore, she wanted to go home.
The silence made Petersen look up. He nudged his partner and pointed.
The little girl was on her knees by the cot, her hands clasped in
front of her. Even THRUSH agents have their weaknesses. Petersen went
over to her and put her on his lap.
"I'm sorry, honey. We had to make you cry for the camera. One of our
friends saw your daddies yesterday. They're fine. You'll be able to
go home soon. I promise."
"You aren't making up another fib?"
"No, honey. Please try and sleep. Before you know it, you will be
going home."
"I have to finish my prayers first."
"Okay. What are you praying for?"
"I'm gonna ask baby Jesus to be nice to you even though you told a
lie and made me feel sad."
"You do that honey." The THRUSH agent shook his head. Maybe it was
time to retire. He was getting soft.
NS*IK*JC*LK
Roland Carter and his security aide arrived early. When Luka opened
the door, John's father was surprised to see two men seated in the
dining room wearing automatic pistols. "Are these men detectives?"
"No, Dad." John came out of the kitchen with the coffee
service. "They're from UNCLE."
"How did my brother get involved in this?" Roland was confused.
"Not Uncle Robb, Dad. U*N*C*L*E*." John began to explain.
"Mr. Carter? My name is Napoleon Solo. This is my partner, Ilya
Kuryakin." He showed his identification. I believe you know our boss,
Alexander Waverly?"
"Yes. I roomed at college with a great-nephew of his. So what's the
drill?"
Ilya outlined the plans for the ransom drop. When he finished, Roland
shook his head. "Are you sure planting this homing device is
necessary? What if they find it? We don't want anything to happen to
Kitten."
"They won't find it, sir. We don't have time for me to explain the
scientific theory behind this device. It's completely silent. It
doesn't transmit. The locator does all the work. We need it to find
out where they are holding your grand-daughter. Some of our men will
monitor the place very discreetly. If they move her, or make any
other changes to their plans, we'll be able to react quickly. It's
simply a precaution, but I'll feel better if we have a contingency
plan. Our adversaries usually aren't very creative. Nevertheless, if
they decide to become clever, we can keep tabs on them."
"Alright. How much money do they want?"
"Two million." Luka said quietly.
"That's all?"
"They have what they really want, Dad. The money's just for 'cover'."
John handed his father a coffee mug.
Author's Notes:
* I couldn't resist. (Smile) I hope those bozos don't "eat" my
postings.
** "Kitten's Tale" can be found in its entirety by clicking your way
over to "the Net"; searching for ER "Angst" and (of course) NC-17.
If I remember correctly, it's in chapter nine of "For Such as These"
if you want to skip the rest of the story.
*** Yep, I discovered to my surprise that I'm an mpreg fan. I promise
not to squick anyone. This is as close as I'm getting to a subject
that is weird, but fun, and will be definitely explained in detail,
elsewhere (grin). I'm coming, Athea, Sajin, and Cobaltblue Kitty! EP
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n