FORWARD BY THE AUTHOR
This is not
a stand alone story. It is a continuing
saga. If you have not read the first
part, this one will lose a lot of its punch.
So please, do me a favor….
The author
wishes to notify the readers that in Part II of the Evolution Affair Episode
Three, her characters are very human.
They do what they want, sometimes without my permission. So please be advised, we may dip into at
least an “R” rating. And if Nikita has
her way, Part III will be “X”.
I have
received a lot of very encouraging mail concerning the first part. And for that I thank you very much!! And I suppose the usual disclaimer should go
here too. I do not own these
characters.(?) This is not for profit! And etc.
Without
further ado…
PS Rasheed Kier’s name is unusual. The last name sounds just like it is spelled. Kier – is pronounced (Kee-errr), almost one syllable, you kind of swallow the er at the end. Thank you.
THE EVOLUTION AFFAIR
EPISODE III – PART II
THERE IS A SEASON
U.N.C.L.E. HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK
Nikita was in trouble but she hid it well. Those first three days of sleep had done wonders for her mind. The week following had been wonderful too. The second week out of her coma the nightmares began.
She could have handled an occasional bad dream. Even one every night. But these were always waking her. Sweat-soaked and trembling, she sat up in bed night after night holding in her screams. Most of the time, something chased her. Sometimes the chasing dream was joined by nightmares borne out of her experiences in Section One. This last would have been bad enough. She’d come close to death many times. She had done things one would only do in order not to die. But whatever it was that chased her made those morally unacceptable acts seem tame. It was growing intolerable.
Michael was still biding his time in the Command. His indecision was painful for her to see. Confident, proud Michael unsure of himself and his next step. He was holding himself in check so hard that he behaved toward her now as he had in their first year together.
He’d see her off and on, but offered little support she could use in the dark of the night. She’d see the torture in his eyes, feel his refusal of every comfort she offered him like a fatal blow.
Nikita spent long hours trying to sort out her feelings about Michael. Her first instinct was to leave him behind entirely. He reminded her too much of the oppressive atmosphere of the place where they met, where he’d used her. Over and over, he’d used her unforgivably to some end or another. Yet he’d been the brightest spot in her life for so long. She’d endured all because of his love. No, that wasn’t quite right. She endured all for her love of him.
They’d had their small but powerful clique in Section One. Michael, Walter, Birkoff, and her. Together they had survived three harrowing years, giving each other what support they could, when they could. Thinking back honestly, she realized that most of her support came from the other two, not Michael. But there had been so many complicated factors driving him. She’d known that, just not the extent and depth of the factors.
She’d thrown herself at Michael, desperate for his love. He couldn’t give it. She’d waited and grown cold. Finally, when she had passed the point where she could have accepted him completely, his situation changed and he’d declared his own love for her. It had been a golden, yet confusing time. Oh, but the love! Love? Nikita, you still don’t really know Michael. Oh, but he’d used her so cruelly, so many times. Yes, but, he had no choice(?).
God, she needed some sleep.
Another two weeks passed agonizingly. Walter spent as much time as he could with her. He was already involved in several projects. The change in Walter really made everything she’d gone through worth it. The absence of a constant threat of death improved his mood so that he not only twinkled, he outright blazed. The only thing he complained about was not being able to leave the building. Birkoff was content with learning all he could about the workings of the U.N.C.L.E. network. Not one of her little group of escapees lived anywhere but in this building, yet. Nikita and Walter exchanged the fervent hope that that would change soon.
The negotiation with Operations had gone well, Waverly assured her, but she knew Operations too well. Determination was not the word. Obsession was closer. She was quite sure they would kill the four of them given any plausible opportunity.
Dear, God, this is just another prison. The whole world is a prison. Sleeping in bits and pieces, when she could not possibly stay awake any longer, Nikita spiraled down into the depths of depression. She hid it well. Make-up and forced exercise kept her appearance from becoming alarming for a long time. But at the last, she couldn’t distract herself with anything or anyone.
Nothing could hide her condition from Rasheed Kier, when he returned from his own three-week hiatus. One look at the dark swirling aura surrounding her and he knew the depth of her trouble. It wasn’t necessary for him to know the exact causes. He knew the first steps to take.
Nikita, of course, did not know Kier at all. She’d last seen him on the sidewalk in front of the bank, reacting swiftly to protect the people it was his duty to protect. This alone was enough to give him an edge toward her accepting him. He was associated with Illya Nickovetch and his lovely daughter. He was a stranger. But then strangers can be the best ones to confide in, ask any psychiatrist. This stranger was vastly skilled in treating people in emotional trouble. He had an almost unbeatable arsenal at his command. She couldn’t have been in better hands.
Help came in a second form just after Kier’s arrival. Her dream changed significantly. When the dark form chased her now, a bright light appeared to shield her. At this juncture, the darkness was banished, and Nikita could sleep deeply. Until the next night, anyway. Still, the uncertainty and tension of this repeated sequence took their toll. She spent much time in relaxation training, followed by Kier ushering her into his private office, complete with couch. She couldn’t bring herself to completely confide in him about everything. The subject of Michael was off limits. The dreams predominated their discussions. Then her questions about her recent paranormal experiences started to surface.
Here, Kier had to proceed with extreme caution. Illya Nickovetch had filled him in completely before his departure, so he knew what territory not to breach. But she guessed so much, and he could really only nod and lie. When she mentioned the bright light which came to her rescue most nights, he could only smile and tell her it was someone or something from her past, come at her command to protect her. At her insistence that she knew this light somehow, he could only smile and agree.
Still she spiraled down. Unable to answer the questions her subconscious posed, her depression took hold.
****************************************
Alexander Waverly and Rasheed Kier discussed this unhappy turn of events in Waverly’s private suite.
“Sir,” Kier began, “I want your permission to take Miss Nikita out of this headquarters. She needs a change of scenery. Her depression should not be treated with drugs unless all else fails. I hope a short stay in private quarters will bring her around a bit.”
“Where do you have in mind to take her Mr. Rasheed?”
“Illya’s residence, Sir. I am certain he would not mind. It is very pleasant there. I am also sure I can protect her there.”
“Still Mr. Rasheed, you cannot afford her the one hundred per cent security that this place offers. Please recall that my agreement with her former organization went well on the surface, but that is no guarantee her life is not forfeit still. I trust them not at all. But Section One is necessary. Without it the acts of terrorists worldwide would at least double.”
“I’m aware of all these facts, Mr. Waverly. Still I urge you to accept my proposal. I will do the best I can. Life must go on. I have promised Mr. Kuryakin to safeguard her to the limit of my capabilities. That includes her mental health, ah, her spirit if I may.”
“Very well. You have four weeks. When Illya Nickovetch returns, I hope you will be able to show progress toward recovery. Do you feel the need to recall him home?"
“No, Mr. Waverly. I wish to try my second treatment without his assistance. If absolutely necessary, I am quite sure he will lend assistance when he returns.”
Kier stood, bowed slightly and left the suite.
************************************************
“Nikita? May I come in?”
“Not now Kier. Please go away.” Nikita stood by the comms panel, head down, tears streaking her gaunt cheeks. She prayed he’d leave her alone today. She wanted nothing to do with the rest of humanity today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or….
“Nikita please, I must propose something to you. I hope you’ll open the door so I can look at you as I do so. Otherwise I will stand out here and talk to this ridiculous wall unit until I drop, or I blow the door. Please dear, open up.”
This was so much of a departure from the usual conversational mode he used with her that he piqued her interest enough for her to open up.
He got in the door quickly before she could change her mind. He got a quick glance at her puffy, dark-rimmed eyes, then turned away to look about the quarters she occupied.
“Not much of a view, I grant you.” He gestured at the windowless walls. “The food isn’t bad. The treatment is OK. But may I suggest a change in venue?”
“Why?” was her dispirited response.
“I know a place where the birds sing outside your window every morning. Where a gourmet chef prepares your meals for you and you alone, or where you may make a peanut butter and jam sandwich if you’d rather. I know a place where there is a pool in the backyard, and a hot tub outside to boot. Fresh air and sunshine abound there. Would you be interested in going to this place?”
Despite herself, she looked up at him. She found a small desire to visit the place he’d described. She hadn’t seen the outside for over six weeks. Sunshine was the deciding factor.
“It’s spring out there, Nikita. In here is winter. Let me take you out of this winter.”
All he got was a small nod.
NEW YORK SUBURBS
New York City was enjoying an unusually beautiful, sunny spring day. Kier had made sure of the forecast before taking his patient out into it. As soon as they exited the underground garage, he rolled down the windows to let in the fresh air.
Nikita turned her face into the sunshine like a flower. He glanced sideways to see the lovely profile against the outside view of mid-town Manhattan traffic, and knew this was the correct path to take with her. Complete security be damned. He would do his best. Negotiating traffic expertly for the next two hours, he played Mozart on the CD. They spoke not a word. She slept finally. He activated the automatic seat adjuster to stretch her out. She looked comfortable to him. Snoring softly, she was transported to the house.
************************************************
A DACHA ON THE BLACK SEA
The wind howled across the frothed water. Despite the sun shining brightly, the day was cold. Dressed against this cold biting wind, Alexis ran along the shoreline, chasing birds, whooping with delight.
The amazing resilience of children, Illya thought, watching his daughter from the wide veranda of his Uncle’s dacha.
Two weeks of nightmares. Two weeks of waking up in the middle of the night to take her into his bed, and soothe her fears.
But the days were wonderful. Outside, in any weather. Running, playing, digging in the sand between the rocks. Returning home to eat the delicious meals prepared by the dacha's staff.
Two weeks devoted entirely to his daughter. Like it used to be before he returned to the Command, and she began school.
And now, the fear seemed to have melted away. She slept, ate well, and laughed at the least provocation.
His Uncle was not in residence. He was away on business for the independent government of the Ukraine. A highly placed member of the Rukh, a political group favoring democratic reform in the Ukraine, he had been much in the public eye since 1994.
Pictures of his mother’s eldest brother were strewn about the house. Alexis took particular interest in the shot of her great uncle as a boy. She pointed out that she looked just like him. He was standing in the midst of a bunch of other children, his age and older, while some very important personages stood behind them. The picture was brown with age. Illya knew this very picture appeared in some history books. Nicolai Sergeiavitch Yussopov. Not an unknown name, that.
Nikolai Sergeiavitch was due home this evening. His nephew sighed, for he knew the old man would insist on having a story or two. He would also share invaluable advice. The advice would be welcome. Going over the past three years would not.
Illya needn’t have worried about being pumped for information. Nicolai was far too pleased to have his company to risk driving his nephew away with demands for explanations. And Nicolai and Alexis! She was the youngest of the family. The only heir. She was immediately swept up into the tall man’s arms to be danced about the formal dining hall. They doted on each other to such an extreme that often Illya felt quite left out.
Nicolai took both on day-long excursions for the first two weeks of his return. The Kuryakins, father and daughter, enjoyed each day to its fullest in the company of the often garrulous, but never boring old man.
Often, in the evenings after Alexis had been put to bed, Nicolai would bring up one subject he knew bordered on the current troubles of his nephew. The first evening it was instruction on how to hide his aura. Another evening it was reflections on his paternal grandmother. Yet another entire evening was spent discussing family history, both Kuryakin and Yussopov. This one lasted until dawn, with a fascinated Illya forgetting his weariness as the tales unwound.
It had been years since Illya had spent this much time with his Uncle. He came to cherish his company once again. So, when the time came for the long talks he’d dreaded, he was more open and honest than he would have been in the first month and a half.
Finally, both of the men knew the time for departure was almost upon them. They sat up late one night, over cigars and cognac. Nicolai had tucked his ‘granddaughter’ in hours ago. The weather had warmed considerably. They sat on the veranda of the dacha, looking out on the waters of the Black Sea.
“I have put this discussion off, Illya Nickovetch, until this last evening. I have respected your right to recuperate and regain your perspective. It is your turn for a long tale, my boy. I wish to hear, in detail, the trouble that sent first Alexis Diana, and now yourself to seek refuge in my abode.”
Illya told him, leaving out one ‘small’ detail, the entire story of the struggle that had started in January.
His uncle listened closely, without interruption, until Illya was finished. Then asked his first probing question.
“You have not found the fifth? The one who waits for your call, to complete your circle?”
“What should I look for Uncle?”
“Someone as strong as yourself, Illya Nickovetch. Someone who calls to your soul the second you lay eyes upon them. You have not found this one?” Nicolai’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the young man seated before him, staring out to sea.
“Perhaps I have Uncle. I did not include her in my narrative. I wanted you to define what I should look for before I mentioned her.”
“Ah, a woman! How fortunate you are Illyusha!”
“Fortunate, yes, I suppose I am.” Illya’s voice became dreamy.
“You must bring her here, Illya Nickovetch, some day soon. I would meet the woman who is your equal in strength. Tell me, nephew, is she beautiful?”
Illya smiled. It was an odd correlation, that the gifted often were handsome to look upon. His grandmother had teased him about it unmercifully when he was very young.
“Forgive me please Uncle, for the small subterfuge. Yes, I find her very fair to look upon. But her most extraordinary characteristic is her bravery. She followed me into the void and battled at my side. If not for her distracting the horror on the fifth plane, I might have lost.”
“Had she any experience prior?”
“None. I did a thorough read of her, and found nothing of the sort. She wasn’t even aware of her latent talent.”
“Then she fits the description perfectly! You called her forth. You may be sure, Illyusha. She is the one. And the others? Are they strong enough to serve?”
“Uncle, Napoleon pulled me back from the fifth plane, as I related earlier. I have been ‘in touch’ with this man, at some level, for decades. You met and thoroughly approved of him!”
“I did not mean to question Napoleon’s strengths, Illyusha. I shall rephrase my question. Is your group strong enough to repel whatever comes through the portal?”
“We shall just have to see, Uncle.”
NEW YORK SUBURBS
“Nikita, wake up Dear. We’ve arrived.” Kier spoke softly but didn’t reach over to touch her. Any highly trained operative fresh off the line of fire is apt to have a somewhat alarming reaction to an unfamiliar touch. He’d made one mistake like that with Illya Nickovetch early on. He’d been lucky to have come out of it alive.
Nikita snorted, jerked and sat up to stare at the high stone wall they approached at a slow rate. The gate set in this wall opened soundlessly. The house came into view at the end of a long graveled drive.
“Wow. Are you the owner of this place?” she asked with interest.
“On my salary, Nikita, I couldn’t afford a small piece of it. No, this is the home of Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”
“Then Mr. Kuryakin has another source of income?”
“Several, I should think. It isn’t something we discuss.”
This was the longest conversation they’d had in a long time. Judging from her increased reactions to outside stimuli, he hoped her condition would improve rapidly now.
He parked the car in the double garage at the left of the home. The front of the house was rather modest, except for size. There was no way to hide the sprawl of the place. Three stories, one half below ground, located in the middle of six acres; the house was massive. Kier jumped out of his side, and sped to open her door. She played along and gave him her hand to assist her out of the automobile.
Once inside he led her directly to the back half of the house. This was the truly impressive part of the residence that hid behind a rather dull front. The back of the house on the first floor was almost entirely windows. Illya loved sunlight. The colors were predominantly light green and soft gold. Nikita stood at the French doors that led from the large kitchen to the back garden. She could also glimpse the aforementioned pool, in-ground and surrounded by a broad deck.
It was as Kier had said. Here, she would hear the birds sing, and feel the sun on her face. April was spreading her magic in the garden. There were lilac bushes, there were huge plots of hyacinths and riotous but beautiful mixed spring flowers; Nikita adored flowers. She merely stood there absorbing the lovely view. Behind the gardens and pool area was dense woodland.
Finally she asked if she could open the doors and go out.
“Of course, Nikita. Just don’t wander into the woods. Security trips are installed just inside the perimeter of every inch of those trees.”
“OK.”
“Nikita?”
“What?”
“I hope you’ll be happy here.”
“OK”
Back to fragments so soon?
He resisted the urge to accompany her outside. Instead he busied himself putting her meager belongings in the guest suite, made coffee and a healthy lunch and sat and waited for her to return inside.
Half an hour later, she finally did. He showed her her rooms. They were well appointed and large. She eyed the bathroom with interest. A huge deep tub, sunken into the floor, with at least ten jets placed at strategic points, beckoned to her almost irresistibly. Skylights lit the room with a warm bright glow. Kier noted her interest and asked if she required bath salts right away.
“Please, yes.”
And food? Prepared and ready whenever she was?
“Maybe.”
Here in her quarters or in the master kitchen?
“I don’t care.”
“Join me in the main kitchen, then when you are ready, Nikita. All you need do is press this panel and I can hear you, alright?”
Silence.
“I give you my word as a gentleman, you will not be monitored at any time unless you request it. Please give me your trust. It will be well placed. Now, I shall return in a few minutes with the salts. You’ll find robes and towels in the cabinet on the left side of the bathroom. Please make yourself at home.”
Kier waited an hour and a half before she signaled her readiness to join him for a meal.
Her first utterance surprised him.
“Is there any where I am forbidden to go? The West Wing perhaps?”
Kier smiled at her. “Now you are playing one of the Master’s favorite games.”
“Games?”
“Well, Illya delights in using lines from movies. The more apt the better, and the more obscure the more the delight in discovering their source.”
Nikita looked at Kier quizzically.
“The West Wing is forbidden to Beauty in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, Nikita. The reference is most apt, but hardly obscure since the last six years have been spent watching Disney movies over and over again.”
“Disney? Oh Alexis of course!” Nikita’s eyes lit up. The lovely mouth that had been pulled down in a grimace of unhappiness for so long, turned up into a smile.
“Will they return soon?”
“I don’t really know.”
“I suppose that when they do I will have to be relocated.”
“That remains to be seen, Nikita.” Keir intended to fight the powers that be to keep her here as long as possible. He wasn’t sure who would howl the loudest, Waverly or Illya. Interesting. I shall have to test “the Master’s” mood upon his arrival, very quickly.
No, anticipation is better than surprise. I’ll tell him what I have done first, and let him get over the awkwardness of Nikita’s presence here before he arrives. Let him think about her in his house among his things. This could work. Yes, indeed.
Kier excused himself and went into the office on the first floor. He opened a communications line with Illya and informed him of the situation.
The following day a special delivery of ten bouquets of flowers arrived at the house.
*************************************
Less than two weeks later Illya Nickovetch and Alexis Diana arrived unannounced.
It had been a difficult two weeks for Kier, not to mention Nikita. He’d pressed her repeatedly to open up on many subjects. Most of the time she’d retreated into a stony silence. Her future plans were the most volatile subject. Kier supposed it was unfair of him to push her so, but time was running out. It was running out if, that is, he met with a wall of resistance when he suggested she remain here under his care indefinitely. He hoped the flowers Illya had sent might signal his acceptance of her continued presence in this home once Illya and his daughter returned. Kier had to get her thinking about her future, at least in a limited scope. Those who felt they had nothing to look forward to failed miserably in lifting out of depression.
At least it appeared the depressive state could still be considered mild. She did respond to him. She did agree that when she slept, he could turn the monitoring audio on in her bedchamber. The nightly disturbances in sleep continued unabated. Soon, Kier knew, he’d have to resort to mild drugs to break up this syndrome. He detested their use, even short term, but they were a necessary evil when other methods failed.
Kier was not ready for Illya’s return when it came. Not an inkling of intent alerted the normally sensitive Indian that Kuryakin was coming home early. Kier sat at the desk in the ground floor office and pored over his next moves with the difficult patient who was resisting his every effort at restoring her equilibrium.
Therefore, Illya’s sudden presence in the kitchen entrance late that evening went un-remarked by either of the two people in the house. Nikita was upstairs struggling through yet one more terrifying nightmare. Kier was asleep on the couch in the office.
Alexis was worn out from the long flight. Illya tucked her into her own bed for the first time since mid February. My God it’s good to be home, he thought. He kissed his daughter goodnight one more time, and quietly went to his own bed.
Upstairs in the guest quarters, Nikita’s dream changed. The dark, terrifying shape that chased her through an endless, cold plane, vanished. A long awaited presence radiating deep blues and scintillating white folded the exhausted young woman in comforting arms and bade her sleep undisturbed through the night.
At two in
the morning, Nikita’s quarters were invaded by a quiet, determined Illya. He sat soundlessly in the chair by her bed
and studied the young woman for a good fifteen minutes. He also thought much about subjects he had
discussed with Nikolai Sergeiavitch.
She may be the one; I can’t afford to lose her to this madness. And this is the only way I know she’ll be
protected from invasion (possession?).
He prepared to accomplish a difficult task, but a necessary one. It had been done for him. He would
do this for Nikita.
Nikita had the loveliest dream. It was dark, and wherever she was, she could hear nothing but the soft sounds of the forest. No ambient noise, no cars or trucks passing in the distance, no planes disturbing the sky. The only near object in the sky was a bright full moon amid a field of scintillating stars. She felt at peace with herself and the world at large. Then she noticed a small speck of light far to her right in what must be a clearing. Approaching slowly she became aware of the sound of a human voice. The speaker took no notice of her, but continued to speak, or chant, into the flames of the fire. She tried to hurry to the site for she really wished to meet the speaker, but in the manner of dreams one never can move as desired. Slowly then, she approached. She felt excitement, but of a quiet variety. She felt safe and wanted nothing more than to move to the speaker’s side and join him. She knew him, but she didn’t recognize him. It was a joyous occasion, but nothing was happening. The speaker chanted in a language unknown to her, not even vaguely recognizable as this or that type. The Man, for it was a man, never looked up. Finally she got to the point where she could have reached out and touched him, but found herself unable to do so. Instead, the man “moved” her to the opposite side of the fire. His chant became louder. He looked up. She met dark brown eyes, electric, compelling eyes, in an ancient face. She wanted to call to him. “Father” was the word struggling to come out. This was not her own father; she did not know her own father. But, Father would have been the correct appellation for him. He smiled gently and winked a blue eye at her. The man with the changing eyes lifted his arms high above his head and finished his chant with an exhortation. Warm rosy light surrounded her, and a feeling assaulted her, not really unpleasant; a type of electric energy flowed through her from head to toe. The man disappeared, the fire went out. Nikita looked now into eyes she knew. I want to wake up, she thought. I know who this is and maybe what this is, but I want to wake up and be sure. Her desire was thwarted; her sleep deepened, and she dreamt no more that night.
Satisfied and thoroughly exhausted, Illya stumbled wearily to his own bedroom, undressed, lay down and entered a deep sleep of his own.
Nikita awoke in the late morning hours of the next day. Sunlight streamed into her windows in a warm flood. A joyous sense of well being filled her mind immediately. How long had it been, she wondered, since I woke up feeling this childish enthusiasm for the new day? I feel like I’m a ten-year-old girl, with the entire world in my pocket, and anything is possible, and it is all wonderful. She bounced out of bed to stand at the window, naked and tingling, all senses wide-open.
Down stairs in the office, somewhat earlier, Kier awoke with a start, nearly falling off the couch. Alexis was there tickling his ear very gently with one small fingertip. Speaking Hindi in his surprise and happiness, he scooped her up in his arms and danced about the room with her as she giggled. In the doorway, Illya smiled at this spontaneous display of mutual affection.
Kier stopped in mid swing and stared at his friend. The aura was gone! But that’s impossible, he thought, everyone has an aura. Except those who have passed on. Suddenly and irrationally afraid, he put Alexis down slowly and walked towards the man in the doorway, but stopped just short of touching range.
“Kier, what’s wrong? We’re just early. It was so much fun, Kier. I got to see…”
“Just a minute, Little One,” Kier managed to say.
“Alexis, would you please go outside and check on our flowers for Daddy?” Illya said warmly. And the little girl scampered towards the kitchen doors whooping with joy.
Once she was out of earshot, Illya moved toward his friend, teacher, bodyguard and companion.
“What is wrong, Old Friend? You look as though you see a ghost.”
“Are you? Ah, all right, I mean Illya?”
“I have rarely been better, Kier. I have learned a few new tricks in my absence though, perhaps it is one of them which alarms you so?”
“You, ah, have no color.”
“Yes, that’s one of the tricks I learned. It’s there, of course, but you’ll not see it unless I want you to. Uncle Nikki called it cloaking. Rather like a Klingon ship, I dare say. No longer will you sneak up on me and know how I am feeling, Kier. Now you’ll just have to guess like the rest of the so-called normal people.”
“But that’s impossible!” Kier blurted.
“If you believe our Old Master Alexander Waverly, you know as well as I that nothing is impossible, only highly improbable. Your gentle reign of terror has come to an end.” Here Illya referred to Kier’s being able to “read” him and suggest, bully, and harass him into whatever it was that Kier thought best. Illya found this habit of his friend annoying to say the least. It had been the only sore point in an otherwise excellent relationship.
Kier looked hurt.
“It was a tool I used, Illya. A very valuable tool.”
“I’m sorry, Ki, but I prefer it this way.”
“Well, we’ll see how long you can keep your cloak up then. I’ll warrant it’s tiring!”
“Not in the least.”
“Bah!” Kier finished somewhat lamely.
Nikita heard voices in the kitchen. Visitors? Or was it.... She raced down the stairs. Only to stop stock-still as Kuryakin came into view. Seen in profile he struck her as a predator. Sharply angled nose and jaw suggested a bird of prey, perhaps. She walked sedately into the kitchen. Both men stood up quickly at the sight of the lovely young woman dressed in soft green and white with gold jewelry adorning throat and wrist. She’d pulled her hair back, slicking it straight to a high ponytail, which then fell beguilingly onto her shoulder. The effect was spring itself. She was breathtaking. Kier was the first to recover his voice.
“Nikita, you look wonderful this morning. The colors become you.”
Illya took in the vision just a minute longer. Looking straight into the blue-gray eyes, he bade her a good morning.
Her first thought was she wanted to touch. Oh yes, touch and be touched. Let me drown in you. Let me…please.
Words were exchanged. Everything was a blur except the way he looked at her and how that regard made her feel. Finally, unable to take the pressure she excused herself and walked out.
When Illya and Kier were sure she was out to stay they sat back down. Illya looked rather dazed, and Kier with a broad smile and not a little mischief in his tone said,
“Well, she looked better this morning than at any other time I’ve seen her. Did you catch her aura?”
“Hmmmm, yes.”
“Now look Illya, don’t go teaching your new apprentice to hide herself just yet please. Although I don’t think one needs to see her aura to read her reaction to you. Well, Illya? Did you catch that? Honest to God, how could you miss that?”
“Hush, Ki.”
“Did you see those blues?” Kier asked with awe.
“See them? I saw, felt and tasted them.”
“Uh oh, that way is it?”
“Yes. How long do you need her to stay here?”
Kier looked at his friend. This was serious. Before he’d said she could stay as long as necessary. Now he wanted a time limit.
“Come now Illya, you said….”
“That was before I saw her this way, Kier. This changes much, and you know it.”
“Come now Illya,” Keir repeated, torn between alarm and amusement, “would it be so bad to give way and be fully human?”
Holding his temper, Illya contented himself with a cryptic, “I can’t. Not now I can’t.”
That shade of blue signifies a deep longing; some might call it desire, some might call it love. The desire in Nikita hammered at Illya in the short time they spent in the same room. With time, he could overcome it, maybe tone it down. But give in to it? Especially when he felt the same pull? Oh, no; not now, not soon, maybe not ever.
Illya stood again, and walked out the double doors to join his daughter in the garden.
Kier sat at the table thinking furiously. This was a volatile situation. He’d have to handle both parties carefully. The young woman needed the passion to pull out of the depression she’d experienced. His friend and employer must have good reason to feel that caution was the way to proceed. Kier guessed some of the motivations behind his friend’s reaction. He’d have to intuit the rest, especially now that Illya was “cloaked”, as he’d put it. He just hoped Illya wouldn’t discourage her completely. Wait. She doesn’t know even half the truth yet, does she? She doesn’t know we can read her like this. How am I going to tell her? I’m not. HE will. He’ll have to somewhere along the line. If he needs her (and he does, oh yes) then the truth will out. Very well, Illya had said “Not now.” Kier would work with Nikita, and let Illya decide to be human in his own good time. If he’d let her stay.
Once out of the kitchen, Nikita ran up the staircase to her suite. Closing the door, she leaned against it, feeling out of breath. What in God’s name was THAT? Fire still licked at all her sensitive places, refusing to die down into something she could handle. Get hold of yourself, Nikita. Calm down. She walked to the window wall and gazed into the garden below. There was Alexis, crouching down, burying her nose in the hyacinth. Nikita could see she was talking to the flowers. Her throat closed up with tears. A different desire took the place of the fierce sexual pull Illya had engendered. More than anything, in the past three years, Nikita had dreamt of having a child of her own some day. Despaired of having one was closer to the mark. Her life as a Section Op completely denied this deep-seated desire.
Her picture changed as Illya joined his daughter in a crouch, also burying his nose in the fragrant blooms. He kissed the child’s cheek and the small hand reached up to pat his own cheek. Enough. Too much.
She stayed in her suite the entire day.
Kier could not let her stay there the second day. He came up with a breakfast tray containing many of her favorite tastes.
“Nikita, dear please open up. Monday’s here and we have much to do. Nikita? I have raspberries and cream cheese and bagels and prosciuto.”
He knew she’d eaten nothing the entire day yesterday. Hunger could be a useful tool also.
When the door opened, he hustled in cheerfully. “Goodmorning! The rain couldn’t help arriving, but it is good for the garden. You must be starving.”
At least she’d slept well. No trace of the dream disturbed her that she was aware of. The tray Kier held won out.
“You are very sweet, Kier. I am ready to rejoin the world this morning though. Let’s take it downstairs, OK?”
The house was silent. Alexis had gone back to her private school, accompanied by Illya Nickovetch, full of apologies and explanations. He’d had to inform the school the first year of her attendance, that there would be times when her absence would be necessary. She would have no problem catching up with the cirriculum; everyone involved knew that. Alexis was overjoyed to be back.
Worried about her safety, but determined to give her a normal life, he left her and went to work. This was the most difficult thing he did, over and over, every day.
Nikita listened to the absolute silence and felt her high spirits fall.
“They are not here, Nikita. Illya Nickovetch took her to school. She’ll be home at three fifteen. You know, she could use the company of a young lady such as yourself. If you feel you’re up to it. Alexis has never had much, ah, exposure to the feminine. We do our best, though. I hope she will turn out all right.”
Nikita laughed at his feeble attempt to display insecurity and his transparent ploy to interest her in something besides her condition. But said seriously-
“All a child really needs is love, Kier, and you know it very well. I’ll bet she’s well covered in that respect. I could teach her how to fight without weapons, how to cover her feelings, how to....”
“Stop it Nikita. Seriously now, there is something about a woman’s mere presence that a young girl child needs, and YOU know that too, I warrant. Let’s not play this game I started. Yes, I think her company will be good for you. But I truly believe yours will do her as much good. She’s a tough sell though.”
“She’s a perfect Darling, and I’d be honored to try and give her anything she’ll take from me. Kier, you are very, very good at what you do.”
He acknowledged this with a smile and a bow.
Over the next three weeks a routine developed that was pleasant for all concerned. Early mornings Illya and Alexis would take their breakfast together in the kitchen alone. He’d take her to school and then spend the entire day into the late evening at the Command. Kier and Nikita would work together at something for the day. This might be gardening, house chores, cooking, anything to keep her busy and involved in normal activities. They used the well-equipped gym on the sub-surface floor to work out. Nikita grew more and more sure she had a future somewhere. Then at three p.m. both would pick up Alexis.
The following hours were absolutely golden for Nikita. Alexis was happy to talk with the lovely, gentle-voiced woman who took such an interest in her every utterance and gesture. Kier almost warned Nikita several times that she shouldn’t let the child capture her so completely, but held back each time. Nikita would learn that Alexis was quite a manipulator. For now, it did no one any harm, really.
Nikita and Illya danced around one another masterfully. He never allowed himself to be in a room with her alone. They talked only rarely. And then the long delayed piano came.
Kier had ordered a Steinway grand. To accommodate this sensitive instrument, the ground floor solarium was modified with humidity controls and moveable screening to keep it out of direct sunlight.
Since Illya had been home only to catch light dinners and sleep, he’d missed the workers and the modifications. Kier, wondering just why he was doing all this for someone who didn’t even play, assumed Illya wanted Alexis to take up piano. This was not like Illya to direct his daughter’s interests. She was definitely her own mistress in regards to those. This would be interesting to watch, Kier thought, if Illya intends to force Alexis into playing an instrument she had expressed no desire to. Still, it was good for a mathematically gifted child to play any instrument. Music and math complimented one another, he knew. Still, why such a choice? Ah, well. He picked out several beginning piano books, and investigated several instructors, so all would be ready.
That evening, when Illya came home, Kier showed him triumphantly into the modified solarium. It was Illya’s turn to stop, enraptured. In the push and excitement of completing his computer project, he’d forgotten his last request to Kier before leaving for the Crimea.
“Thank you.” Breathless, heart pounding, Illya whispered his thanks to Kier for the instrument and the secrecy and the work involved in producing this surprise.
“See Illya, I’ve had humidity controls and screening..”
“Yes, Kier. Thank you.” And Illya approached the instrument with reverence and some fear. Kier saw him tremble. Suddenly an aura surrounded him. It was shot with reds and yellows. Dark black spots swirled at points around the head. Resembling an alien hued thundercloud, Illya went forward to touch the keys and begin reclaiming his lost birthright.
“I, ah, guess this is for you,” Kier said lamely.
“Yes. Close the door on the way out would you?”
Caught helplessly in a maelstrom of grief and rage, Nikita cried her own tears.
Downstairs Kier pounded on the doors leading to the solarium.
Alexis awoke crying out for comfort.
The sorrow engulfing Illya Nickovetch left no room for any of this to penetrate.
******************************************
HEADQUARTERS, TORONTO
April Dancer woke up out of a perfectly sound sleep, tears running down her cheeks. Illya? My God, what’s wrong Illya? I’m right here, Love.
She reached with all her formidable strength to comfort the man who never asked for it.
Barely an intellect on the planet with a spark of empathy slept well that night, as the dam holding Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin’s childhood memories burst wide open.
*************************************
BENEATH THE HIMALAYAN MASSIF
Buried beneath unknown tons of rock that comprised the Himalayan peak known as Genesh Himal (7163m), EWI’s temporary stronghold had been inhabited for a mere three years. The structure, cut into one of the bases of the massif was alarmingly unstable. The Himalayas are the world’s youngest mountains, formed only forty million years ago when the Indian landmass impacted the fairly stable Asian landmass. The mountains are still growing at about 10-12 centimeters per year. It had taken four years, and millions of dollars in labor and materials, to build this fortress. Now, due to movement of the massif itself, the walls, floors, and ceilings of the stronghold had begun to show weaknesses in structure. This condition mirrored the stronghold’s denizens.
If we move, no when we move, the leader of the powerful cabal thought dismally, we shall be vulnerable once again. Another place of hiding must be prepared with utmost care. This location had been perfect for the short time it had remained safe. The terrain was impossible for all but the most hardened trekker to traverse. Tourists rarely made it to this area, preferring to roam the National Parks that offered seasonal guided tours. Unlikely invasions by hostile forces were practically doomed at inception. Only members of the THRUSH Supreme Council and a few local THRUSH big wigs, had ever been brought into this place, and that only recently.
“Damn, damn, DAMN!” Enfield gave way verbally to his anger and frustration, pounding the titanium reinforced granite walls of his enclosure so hard he nearly broke the fine bones in his left hand. What in the hell could have closed that portal that took us months and untold power to open?
It couldn’t be their nemesis alone, no one person contained the power of mind necessary to close the gap created by his cabal. None of the other three known talents had been involved…..which could only mean a fifth, hitherto unknown adept had aided Kuryakin. A fifth…
He thought of the remaining members of his powerful group, still mentally convalescing from the titanic struggle which had taken place six weeks ago, and shook his head. It might be weeks before four of them would recover sufficiently to join him in any kind of mental venture. Two of his group were mere vegetables. Two were dead. Five was the required number, not six, not three. Five was the mystical number of power.
Kuryakin must be stopped from completing his own…………..
CHRIST ALMIGHTY, AND HIS ANGELS!! The power of the lament shattered Enfield’s thoughts. That’s him! He’s wide open! Damn the luck!!
HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK
“Mr. Rasheed, Mr. Kuryakin will be just fine. I urge you to return home and take care of the other two who need you. I will keep an eye on him for you.”
“But Sir, I don’t understand.”
“I do. But it must be he who enlightens you, not I. How is the young woman?”
“She is well, Sir. Progress has been made.”
“Fine. Mr. Rasheed. Glad to hear it. Please insure that we do not lose the young lady, er under any circumstances” Waverly paused, wishing Kier would have the sense to leave now.
Kier belatedly got the hint after two more attempts to apologize for mishandling a situation he had no knowledge of, and left.
“Illya Nickovetch, we need to talk.” Waverly sat down uninvited at Illya’s side.
“Alexander, I’m trying to finish the last details on the design for our main operating system. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, Sir, I will have time.”
“That can wait.” Waverly gestured at the view screen Illya was staring at.
“Excuse me?”
“Come with me now, Mr. Kuryakin.”
“But…”
“Come with me NOW.” In all his time with the U.N.C.L.E. Chief, Illya could barely remember Alexander raising his voice, or indeed having to. He followed his Mentor, Teacher and surrogate father into the old man’s private suite.
In the suite, a bottle of chilled vodka and frosty glasses sitting on the table took Illya’s attention first. A green marble ashtray and Illya’s favorite brand of cigarettes lay on the table next to the traditional vodka service. He glanced at Waverly with raised eyebrows. The old man nodded and bade him sit at the small cherry-finished table surrounded by two deep, comfortable leather chairs. Then Alexander poured a measure into two of the glasses.
“Sir, should you indulge?”
“I shall this once, Illya. Now, za zdorovye!” He waited for the proper response then both men downed the contents of their glasses in one swallow. Without a word, Alexander refilled Illya’s glass and bade him repeat. And again.
“Now, talk to me.” This after a decent pause. Illya lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, exhaled and began.
“Why was this taken from me? What possible reason would they have to take my ability to play the piano away from me? And how my father died, and my mother…”
“Let’s begin slowly,” Waverly quietly interrupted. “The Soviet government saw fit to place a rather crude but effective blanket over a very young prodigy’s talent, in order that he might take the path they wished him to. In speaking with your Uncle Nikolai Sergeiavitch, I learned this was done when you were a mere eleven years old. This was done without his consent or knowledge, Illya. I am unhappy to announce that you were not the only child mistreated in this respect in those years. Genius is a most valuable commodity, especially a genius such as yours, as scientifically inclined as you were and are. Outraged, Nikolai hid you from them at great risk to both of you for as long as he could. I assume you recall that particular period. Then he contacted me as soon as he suspected they were closing in when he was vulnerable. I tried to extract you, but failed. Do you recall most of this?”
Illya nodded, mute.
“Is there anything you wish to ask me right now?”
A shake of the head.
“Very well.” More vodka splashed into Illya’s glass and was downed. It was curious, thought Alexander, that alcohol could do to this man what none of the more sophisticated drugs were able to, namely break down his resistance. He supposed it was the so-called holistic approach. Whatever, it worked. Grief and anger once again swallowed Illya. Fortunately, this space was shielded from leaks or intrusions. Whatever was felt or thought, stayed in these rooms. Waverly waited out the storm. Apologies were offered and accepted on both sides. And Illya was encouraged to speak.
“I remember my mother most. Ah, she was beautiful….she sang to me….played the balalaika in the evenings. (aah, God this hurts) I know Illya, but it’s time. What possible harm could she have caused the State that they would destroy her? She was the one I inherited my musical talent from, Alexander. We didn’t have a piano in the quarters, I remember that, I had to travel to the conservatory for lessons, and to play. If memory serves we were imprisoned in the Admiralteystvo on the Bolshaya Neva. She always accompanied me. (Long pause)
I remember watching the ships passing and docking throughout the day, instead of paying attention when my tutors were in the midst of the endless instructions I received. I remember the black limousine beneath my window, waiting for our descent to take us to the Konservatoryia right by the Mariinskiy. This was in Leningrad of course. She would dress like a princess for these excursions. Or at least that is how I always thought of her at these times. My mother would sit for long hours as I received my lessons and then practiced. Oh how my hands would ache in the cold returning home! She would wrap them in her mittened hands and breath her warm breath on my fingers until they stopped tingling. I recall her perfume. Her eyes…..” he came to a halt, unable to go on.
Unnoticed by the speaker but not by the listener, Illya had been speaking in his native language during this wrenching, halting recital, the precise accents and cultured patterns of speech pinpointing his status in life and that of his parents. Far from unmoved by the tale and emotional impacts brought to the fore, Alexander was still able to think clearly enough to follow what was said, especially in the language of the Russian upper class, so different from that spoken on the streets.
Alexander was well aware of why both parents were put to death. Neither one would agree to squash their son’s musical ability in favor of more scientific avenues of endeavor. He would answer that question, if Illya didn’t figure it out for himself soon enough.
Waverly felt, with regret, that he must push farther.
“And your father, do you remember him?”
“Only a little. He was always away on business. Mostly I remember short scenes involving his arrivals and departures, but this was not in Leningrad. I cannot remember where we were. I think we moved quite frequently, ah before my mother and I arrived in Leningrad.”
“Illya Nickovetch, do you remember how he died?”
“Yes.” Long pause. “I was there.”
“You were what!?!”
Tortured red-rimmed blue eyes looked into Waverly’s.
“I saw how he died as clear as if I were in the room, Alexander. I saw it through his eyes. It was what broke my spirit for, oh, I don’t know, a long time. I was eight years old.”
No one had heard this before. Not Illya’s mother, not Uncle Nikolai, no one.
“This vision drove me, Alexander, to hide my feelings from all who surrounded me. I could not bring myself to tell my mother. I’m glad, now, that I did not. It would have been unbearable for her.” A long pause ensued as Illya again struggled with overwhelming sorrow. “Two years later, she met her own end in much the same manner, and again I was witness to the execution.”
This was too much for Waverly, who remembered the first time he’d met the somber, quiet, eleven year-old child and how he’d sensed great tragedy locked behind those eyes which looked into his so calmly. Both men sat silent in the room lost in reflection for a long time. Illya took two more full glasses; almost finishing the bottle, then Waverly helped him stumble to the couch by the wall.
*******************************************
When Alexander Waverly awoke the following morning, early as usual, he emerged from his sleeping quarters to find Illya pacing back and forth. Little trace of last night’s events was evident in his appearance or manner. In fact, he was full of nervous excitement, hardly able to remain still. He all but pounced on Alexander as soon as he noticed his presence.
“Alexander, I believe I’ve solved some pressing problems! You …”
“Illya, please, uh, allow me to order tea and breakfast before we plunge into this solution, my dear boy. Ah, or is it coffee these days for you?”
“Sir, I can’t possibly..”
“You can and you will, Mr. Kuryakin. Now what would you like ordered?”
“Ah, coffee, Sir, and a PDA and paper and writing implements.”
“Rather unusual breakfast items, Illya, but of course. Allow me to add to your selected menu something edible as well.” Alexander knew this persona well. He’d watched brilliant ideas come out of that blonde head for years.
Breakfast arrived and was consumed without much conversation as Illya Nickovetch divided his attention between the small link to the huge capacity CPU, and scribbling furiously on the old-fashioned paper, which he preferred for solving and recording equations. Peer as he might, the signs and symbols on that paper meant nothing to Waverly. He sat patiently sipping a third cup of tea.
Finally, after a full hour of furious thought, a few bites of breakfast and three cups of hot, sweet coffee, Illya jumped to his feet. Alexander got the impression Illya was about to dance with joy. Even this wouldn’t have surprised him at this point. Illya contented himself with pounding harmlessly on the back of the chair, head bowed.
“Ah, all right, Mr. Kuryakin, will you explain the basic idea? Or do you need more time.”
Seeming to return from a distant place, Illya looked at his former Chief. The glaze left his eyes slowly, and they lit up with unholy glee. “I have broken the final barrier to the problem of integrating the billions of cells required to perform the functions we wish the new operating system to do. I’m sure of it! The glory of it is that it will not cost anything to accomplish. A simple enabler can be grown using sugar molecules to close the synapses! I am positive this will work!”
The working prototype of the molecular computer had been ready and working for almost a year. The computations it was capable of were phenomenal, but the practical scientist who completed the process that others had begun, had not been satisfied until the capacity was limitless (so to speak). Everything has limits. The completed CPU was no bigger than a tissue box.
The sequencing of the DNA strands of the simple sugar and the actual reactive, thinking cells, had taken the longest to complete. Billions of dollars had been spent on this project. Not on Illya’s alone of course. He’d simply (?) taken the next step, and ironed out the problems. One of the most elegant aspects of this computing system was its invulnerability. Illya believed that even when other units were successfully completed, and they would be, he had no doubt, they would be incapable of interconnecting. This tissue box would give the U.N.C.L.E. the capability to penetrate, without detection, any operating system in the world, network or stand-alone. This last aspect was the most feared by, among others, the various military organizations around the world.
However, Kuryakin reasoned, he had created the system, which meant others would also. They were perhaps five years ahead of the rest of the world, perhaps less. A great deal can be accomplished in five years.
“Sir, I have a further practical idea that may solve several immediate problems. May I outline it for you?”
“By all means, Mr. Kuryakin. I am at your disposal.”
“As head of Oversight, you have the pull to force upon Section One, as well as the rest, certain conditions to remain in operation. They will be very busy right now, changing their networking patterns since we have four of their highly placed people “at our disposal”. They are a necessary operation, I know this, I disagree with many of their methods,” here he touched his cheeks gingerly, “but there is no other way to deal with the terrorists of this world.” Illya paused and looked his Chief in the eye.
“I was not taken to be questioned about my terrorist connections, they wanted information on my computing system. Let’s give it to them, Sir, but peripherals only of course. WE can then oversee all their operations, their inputs, their communications, everything. We have four people here who may well be willing to perform the day-to-day tasks associated with this operation. YOU would have overall basic control. That’s essentially it, Sir.”
Waverly thought of the implications for a few minutes. The idea was brilliant. He could indeed insist upon this with George Creighton. Section One would have to accept this mode or be disbanded. Oh good heavens, not killed, no. This was an aspect of Creighton he detested fully. But simply disbanded, yes.
The man, woman, and boy from Section One could be put to excellent use with this concept. The explosives and weaponry expert was too valuable to U.N.C.L.E.’s own Research and Development section to be used here though. Brilliant. Yes, and he, Waverly, could steer the man known as Operations, away from his mind-numbing power mongering. Yes, it was brilliant, cost effective and made efficient use of three highly trained operatives recently acquired.
“Superb, Mr. Kuryakin. I highly approve of the entire concept.” Waverly didn’t bother to enumerate the fine points. He was quite sure Illya Nickovetch had or would think of all of them.
“I have little doubt the Miss Dane and Mr. Birkoff will cooperate with this concept Sir. The only problem will be with Mr. Samuelle. I have not interacted with him much at all. The other three I have. Walter may be most useful right where he is, though.”
Waverly smiled, and nodded. Illya and Walter had had their heads together a lot in the last few weeks. They were very much kindred spirits. The rest of Illya’s statement mirrored his own thoughts precisely.
“I will broach this with Miss Dane as soon as I feel the time is right then, Sir.”
“Miss Dane? I assume you mean the young lady referred to only as Nikita.”
“Indeed, Sir. She has not consciously let this information out, but I hear it in her mind on occasion. Actually, her last name is not Dane. Dane is her middle name. She is not fond of using her, ah familia name .”
“I understand, Mr. Kuryakin. We shall wait until she does, perhaps, share this knowledge with us in the usual manner. Ah, why don’t you return home for the next two days and rest. There will be time enough on Monday next to complete your final adjustments to your design.”
“Now that I have the process straight in my mind, Sir, the application will take no more than two days. I should complete this before I leave, really.”
“If you feel you are up to it, my boy, yes do so. However, I don’t think ..”
“Excuse me, Sir, but I’ll have to put my personal life on hold until I complete this project. I would much rather finish first and rest later. Ah, with your permission Alexander, I’ll begin now.” He stood up, anxious to go. Anxious, perhaps to avoid any further personal issues Alexander Waverly cared to broach.
It wasn’t so easy to dismiss the old man’s worries about his extraordinary surrogate son, former enforcement agent and now hired expert.
“Sit down, and indulge me with a little more of your time, would you Illya Nickovetch? There is one matter still to be discussed regarding the aftermath of that unfortunate, brief, and ugly interrogation.”
“As you wish.” Illya knew what the next subject would be. He knew this would be easier than last night’s topics.
“Since it is clear that the drugs employed broke the heavy barrier set in your young mind, it stands to reason they also destroyed the memory blocks installed, as they say, following physical recovery from your long interrogation at the hands of THRUSH and the KGB. Am I correct in assuming you carry these burdens as well now?”
“Yes, Sir, all is coming to the forefront of my mind. However, I, ah, think I can work through this, especially if I keep occupied with the present problems.”
“Is that all, Illya?”
“For now, Sir, yes. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
**********************************