Forward by the author of the saga you are about to read.

 

            I have had a story running in my head for years now.  It is only recently that I discovered this venue for aching authors.  Aching, that is for those characters from U.N.C.L.E. to do and say things no television show in the sixties would dare. 

            I have read and thoroughly enjoyed most of the fan fiction in File 40.  I will e-mail my thoughts (I WILL!), once my fevered brain lets me sleep through the night without forcing me downstairs to my trusty computer with another scene that refuses to wait.  I have, as have many of you, taken the beleaguered men from U.N.C.L.E out of the sixties.  In addition, I have added the cast of characters from Le Femme Nikita.  So this is what you call a crossover, and an alternate universe, I guess.

            My hero, Illya Nickovetch, will seem somewhat different in the following pages.  He is an excellent age now, 41, and his fiercely introverted personality somewhat changed by having a young daughter. (ah, among other attributes and circumstances, which I will leave to the story).

            I’ve always tried to imagine the perfect woman for our Mr. Kuryakin.  A woman beautiful enough, mysterious enough, dangerous enough, but also entirely human enough – to hold his attention.  I had tremendous problems until I started watching Nikita.  There she was, full blown.

 So there you are.  Enough of my prelude.  Oh except for one thing.  The past I have created for Illya Nickovetch is suggested by his beautiful hands and his love of music and science.  Well, OK, also by the way he appears in the first years of the series – the way he looks far too young to be there, the way he quietly worships Napoleon, the way he looks at people and the world in general. 

Ooops!  One more thing.  This will probably be like the Star Wars saga.  You are getting part three first.  Parts one and two will appear as soon as possible.

I hope you get even a smidgen of a percentage of the pleasure in the reading that I find in the writing.

 

                                   

Raisa

April 2000 

            THE EVOLUTION AFFAIR

 

EVERYTHING CHANGES                                                    

 

 

Nikita lay awake, watching the man sleeping peacefully beside her.  She had been patient; it had been a long wait; but this was definitely worth it.  HE was definitely worth it.  She longed to caress the line of jaw between ear and chin, but knew better than to move; he was too easily roused.  And she wanted to just watch him sleep.  Instead she breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of him, a clean sweat from their recent love making combined with whatever scent he put on.  She’d asked what it was, but he was curiously reluctant to tell her.  Strange, that.  So many secrets about this man to ponder.  She shivered with delight contemplating the fun of discovery.  One thing she knew for sure; there was a lot more about him than met the eye.   

 

            The road to here from Section One had been heartbreaking, bloody and damn strange.  Mentally she shook her head, trying not to bring those memories to the foreground.  Savor this, she told herself, not much peace in my life lately.  Wait and sort it out again later.  But no, minds don’t work that way.  Her single shout “No, Michael, don’t!!” had changed everything in her life.  Section One behind her, Michael in flux, not sure where to turn. All right, she told herself…from the beginning then Nikita……

 

                                                SECTION ONE

 

            In January 1999, Operations had decided to target an innocent man.  The pre-mission briefing had sounded false to her attuned ears.  The United Command for Law and Enforcement was not covertly supporting terrorists, as Operations suspected.  She knew the organization’s charter and prior record.  Why, then, did Operations target one of its’ consultants for assassination?

His given reason was that Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin was secretly working for a new entity on the “hit list” called EWI.  Mr. Kuryakin, Operations maintained, being brought in on a long-term consulting position for the U.N.C.L.E., had been out of the loop too long, and corrupted by a new terrorist entity called EWI.

   EWI was, as far as anyone could tell, a new breed of organization whose top members were very powerful psychics. It had been subverting funds from shady world leaders, in return EWI would control the political arena in the leader’s home countries presumably by mentally influencing key players involved in elections, funding operations, etc.  Nikita herself gave this partial credence since she had been involved in at least one operation where EWI was involved.  She had felt, well, something pushing her mind in directions it didn’t want to go.  Some powerful force inside her mind, telling her to give up, leave, sabotage the effort of her team.  Yes, it was possible to believe this EWI was what Operations said it was.

 

 Kuryakin himself, Operations said in his briefing, was suspected of being psychically adept and working again for the Command to bring it down from the inside.  Kuryakin had not actively worked for the Command for almost 9 years, following enforced leave to recover from a catastrophic 6-month interrogation at the hands of THRUSH and the KGB.

 Physically and mentally torn apart, he had spent 3 years in intensive physical therapy, then disappeared from view for the last six.  Sketchy information put him working for himself, in the field of quantum mechanics.  Something momentous had been conceived (realized?) and hence the Command contacted him, requesting help.  Operations seemed to think this involved a new breed of computing power; immensely valuable, and up to fifteen years ahead of any known capabilities.  Other than that, all was hidden, even from the resources of the Section and it’s superiors.  Operations suspected Kuryakin had been financially supported by EWI, but nothing concrete was evident. 

 

The visuals showed an aristocratic, extremely handsome face, thin, taught.  Ice blue eyes gazed out at the world as if to both challenge it and push it away.  Nikita found herself unaccountably fascinated, looking between the sensuous lips and the cold blue eyes.  And he appeared to be in his early thirties, maybe even late twenties, which did not square with the time frame covered in the briefing.   Observing the fascinating countenance displayed before her, she missed the end of Operation’s brief.

 

Nikita had spoken to Michael privately about her doubts.  As usual, Michael told her not to meddle in Operation’s business.  Despite their continuing personal relationship, Michael still regularly handed her the “party-line” when it came to questioning Section ethics.  At her console, Nikita pulled up all known data on the mysterious EWI. 

 

Beginning about three years ago, Section noted a small group based in the CIS, with anywhere from 5 to 15 members, quietly bringing about subtle changes in political structures in various third world countries such as Albania, Estonia and Serbia.  Little was outlined on screen concerning just how Section analysts had determined the EWI was responsible for the changes.  Nikita could only speculate. All members of the group remained anonymous until 8 months ago.  One name – Enfield – surfaced.  This person was thought to be the “leader”, and further speculated to be the most powerful member of the group mentally.   The analysts termed him/her the “focus” of the group.  The name, Enfield, and the group’s existence only became known with any surety when they relocated to Nepal.

 Electronic surveillance proved impossible, even for the Section wizards.  Equipment malfunctioned; operatives disappeared, or gave up the surveillance citing no coherent reason.  Many met with their ends in Section’s execution room on level two over these misadventures.

 Enrico Melendez finally made contact with one of the members (speculation again) in a small bar in Dhunche, Nepal.  She was terrified; wanting nothing but out; knowing she could not escape.  Enrico only managed to get one name out of her before she died in his arms – Kuryakin’s.  She died of a cerebral hemorrhage, within 5 minutes of opening up to him.  Her utterance “Warn the man Kuryakin” was just out of her mouth when her eyes grew wide.  She contorted with apparent pain, hands to her temples and shouted “NO!”   The rest of the report concerned her autopsy to confirm cause-of-death.  Nitika closed that and opened up the file on the U.N.C.L.E. and crossed referenced I. Kuryakin. 

 

 

                        INTERRLUDE

 

The man sharing Nikita’s bed opened his eyes a bit and looked at the lovely face so near his own.  He marveled at the beauty of her lips, full, inviting, utterly kissable lips.  His groin heated and tightened thinking about pleasures just enjoyed and ached (so soon?) in anticipation of further to come.  He smiled gently.  At this small movement, her eyes flew open.  God, those eyes, he thought, no way to express how those eyes affect me.  Die for her no; kill for her, yes.  Consume her? As often as possible, yes.  He brought his thoughts up short.  "Aren’t you doing what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do?" he asked himself.  Be her friend, yes.  Have an affair, yes.  Fall in love with Nikita, no. Foolish promise? Yes/no/maybe….damn.      Her lips curved up gently, matching his own.  Again, his mind reeled. “My dear God,” he thought, “has there ever been anyone as desirable as this young woman?”

 

“Mmmmm, share that particular thought,” she murmured, a gentle command.

“Nay Lady, I dare not,” he responded, “lest thee blush and become unsettled.”

“I blush to admit, my dear Sir, that merely being so close to thy august presence unsettles me.” Giggling, she lifted the sheet to peer down at him.

“Tis my turn to blush, my Lady” he smiled again.

 

 

                       

 

 

 

 

THE HIT

 

Nikita was on point, Michael and three other operatives covering various angles of observation. The orders are clear and simple.  Eliminate him, and disappear.  One small, horrifying complication.  The target comes out the door of the public building accompanied by a child, perhaps seven.  They hold hands and talk animatedly.  Nikita is glad she can’t hear what’s being said.  That would only make it harder.  Father and daughter? Yes, probably.  Following the man and child is a tall Indian.  Though in modern dress, one can almost see the traditional turban and robes as if present in spirit.  This is Rasheed Kier, bodyguard and close personal friend.  He is on alert; probably always when the two are out together or separately.  The target appears at ease.  Until, that is, the first weapon is raised.  The change in demeanor is electrifying.  The target’s head snaps around, facing the drawn weapon (Michael’s, although he is so well hidden there is no way he could be viewed from the intended victim’s position).  Nikita has all the time in the world, seemingly to observe the target.  He is slender, very blonde, aristocratic in demeanor and graceful in movement.  At present, the handsome face is a picture of cold rage.  Lightning fast, he picks up the little girl and sets her down again behind a low stone wall that runs the length of the sidewalk.  “Stay down.” He commands stridently.  “Kier, my weapon,” he barks to the bodyguard.  Matching him in speed of movement, the tall Indian whips out a modified luger.  Nikita is stunned.  No shots fired by any of the team!  She herself feels rooted to the spot, unable to move.  Much later she learns why the sequence of events occurred the way it did.  Now she is utterly mystified.  Three silenced shots cough out.  Each hits their intended target.  Now terror replaces wonder as she awaits the fourth and fifth.  Somehow the team is perceived, targeted and destroyed without a single move on their part, except for one raised weapon.  She is the only one in the open, her job being passive observation.  Michael and the two abeyance operatives are to accomplish the hit.

   Nikita & Michael   Walter in Section One

 

  Walter had issued Nikita and Michael specialized equipment prior to egress.  With a crooked smile, he quipped,  “Now Sugar, this stuff ain’t any of my design, so if it doesn’t work, you can’t blame me.”

“Why Walter, you rogue, equipping my team with junk and too embarrassed to own up to it?’

Walter handed her a small device to secrete somewhere under her long coat.  It looked like an emitter of sorts, and she stated so.

“Yeah, Sugar, some kind of emitter designed to keep the mind and body safe from “the power of the mind”, and he threw his hands up halfway and wiggled them back and forth, the understood gesture signifying something beyond belief, something supernatural, with the requisite wooo oooo oooo, sound effect.

“Yeah, right, you old hoodoo master” she teased, and shared a brief laugh.  Well she wasn’t amused any more.