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Illya Kuryakin collected his room key from the hotel desk clerk, and strode toward the elevator with a slight limp. He’d spent a hot and weary day fruitlessly tailing their target, and now he was dirty, tired, and a little worse for wear after having to leap off a second-floor balcony to avoid being seen by the Thrush-employed staff of the posh estate where he’d thought (incorrectly, as it turned out) that his target was going to make the drop. His attempt to land in a graceful crouch had been thwarted by an inconveniently-placed shrub, and he’d rolled rather hard onto his left shoulder. He was fairly certain it was just badly bruised, but it would be good to have Napoleon take a look at it when he got back to the room.
Napoleon had contacted him via communicator about an hour earlier to tell Illya he was on his way back to the hotel, having successfully planted bugs in their target’s flat while the man was leading Illya on a wild goose chase through the streets of London and its suburbs. Illya examined his watch. It was almost 3:00 in the afternoon, well past lunch, not quite time for tea, and far too early for cocktails or dinner. Hopefully that meant he’d find Napoleon in their room instead of out chasing skirts. In addition to needing a hot shower and a glass of something strong, Illya desperately wanted a listening ear to complain to about his unpleasant day, and a sympathetic friend to check out his hurt shoulder, maybe rub some menthol into it if his diagnosis of bruised muscles and strained ligaments was correct.
As the elevator approached his floor, he eased his arm painfully out of his torn, damp suit jacket and felt the shoulder gingerly with his other hand. Normally Illya was careful about concealing his holstered gun in public to avoid alarming civilians and calling undue attention to himself. But the hotel was virtually deserted at this time of day, the summer heat was oppressive, and frankly Illya was past caring. He let out an involuntary little groan of pain as he used his left arm to open the door to their room, wanting to keep the right arm free to access his gun in case any unpleasant surprises awaited within.
“Ah…Illya. Glad you’re back.”
Illya stared and bit his lower lip in irritation. Napoleon was seated on the sofa in their double room, and next to him was Angelique, who gazed at Illya with a mixture of amusement and challenge. Angelique was much more casually dressed than usual, wearing stylish capri pants, practical ballet flats, and a fitted short-sleeved sweater. But for all that, she didn’t look any less the femme fatale.
“What is she doing here?” Illya bit out.
“Lovely to see you, too, Illya,” said Angelique with a grin.
“Er…Angelique stopped by with a little proposition,” said Napoleon, his expression uneasy.
“I am sure she did,” said Illya with bitter impatience. “Look, Napoleon, I have had a miserable day. I want a shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a glass of vodka. After that, if you can convince me that this spider will not devour you whole after having her way with you —” he glared at Angelique —“Then I will depart to the lobby with my book, and give the two of you the private use of our room for exactly one hour. No more. Those are my terms.”
To Illya’s annoyance, Angelique merely seemed entertained by this. She settled back farther into the couch and gazed at him as though she were watching some very interesting experiment unfold. Napoleon, for his part, looked deeply uncomfortable. Well, let him be uncomfortable, Illya though. He was in no mood to be polite about his partner’s proclivity for sleeping with this particular Thrush agent.
Napoleon coughed nervously. “Actually, Illya, there’s a bit more to it than that. Angelique has information to offer us about Thurston - what he’s carrying, who his contact is, and when and where he plans to make the drop.”
Illya raised his eyebrows. Those pieces of information, if they were indeed bona fide, would allow them to wrap up the mission with comparative ease. It sounded much too good to be true. And since Angelique was involved, it probably was too good to be true.
Illya scoffed. “Why would she do that? What’s in it for her?” Though he continued to address only Napoleon, Illya was looking Angelique right in the eye as he spoke.
It was Napoleon who answered, while Angelique continued to gaze at them both in open amusement.
“Thurston and his project are inconvenient to Angelique and her associates, and his removal will sort out some internal difficulties for Thrush.”
“And?” Illya prompted.
“Uh, well, although the arrangement is mutually advantageous, it’s still quite a risk for Angelique to take,” Napoleon swallowed. “This sort of information won’t come cheaply.”
Illya frowned. As far as he knew, Angelique only traded Thrush secrets for sexual favors, never for money. What could she possibly want that Napoleon couldn’t offer her in this hotel room?
“Go on.” Said Illya, crossing his arms implacably. He noticed with some puzzlement that Napoleon was blushing nearly scarlet, while Angelique was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Shall I tell him?” She asked Napoleon playfully.
He looked a little relieved. “Please do.”
Angelique rose and pulled up a chair. “Sit down, Illya.”
“I prefer to stand,” he said, looking at her stubbornly.
It was the first time he’d spoken to her directly since he’d entered the room, and she made it clear with a little tilt of her head that she’d just scored a point against him.
“Suit yourself.”
Angelique re-seated herself on the couch and leaned forward towards him, elbows on her knees.
“As Napoleon said, this information won’t come cheaply. I would be risking my career and possibly my life by betraying Thurston to U.N.C.L.E., so I need something special to make it really worth my while. I want both of you, tonight.”
Illya didn’t understand what he was hearing.
“Excuse me?”
“A ménage à trois,” she clarified.
There was silence. Angelique was looking intently at Illya. Napoleon was staring intently at the floor.
Illya suddenly burst out laughing.
“You can’t be serious.” He took the chair and sat down, still grinning.
“Oh, I’m deadly serious, darling,” said Angelique with her most winning smile.
Napoleon risked a glance at Illya for the first time since Angelique had started speaking. “Uh, I knew you wouldn’t like the idea much, Illya,” he said apologetically. “But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this information really would be a great help to us.”
Illya could hardly believe his ears. He glanced back and forth between a cheerfully seductive Angelique and a painfully embarrassed Napoleon. This situation was getting less amusing by the second.
“I categorically refuse,” said Illya with finality, his jaw set.
Napoleon looked simultaneously relieved and defeated. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it,” he said to Angelique.
“Come on, Illya,” Angelique wheedled coquettishly. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t enjoy it.”
Illya’s usual policy with Angelique was to put up a wall and not give her a single glimpse of anything personal — whether real or manufactured — that she could try to use as leverage. But this time, he felt that a little calculated recklessness in his reply could rob her of all ammunition, and thus bring these unpleasant negotiations to a swifter end.
“Oh, I am quite sure I would enjoy it,” said Illya with a smirk. He paused to let that sink in. Napoleon looked a little surprised. Angelique looked intrigued.
“But I do not enjoy needlessly putting my health and safety at risk,” he continued. “Therefore, I refuse.”
“Napoleon is still in one piece, and he has been with me many times,” Angelique purred.
“Napoleon is certifiably insane.” Illya countered.
“Oh, so that’s what you like so much about him, is it?” Angelique cocked a suggestive eyebrow at him.
Illya felt his face flushing, and cursed himself inwardly. Idiot! Don’t give her any ammunition. He tried to pretend the comment hadn’t affected him.
“It is one of his many charms,” he said lightly, not daring to look at Napoleon. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, Angelique, I would like to be left alone to clean myself up and lick my wounds in peace.” He brushed some dried mud from his shirt sleeve.
Angelique was not so easily deterred. “There must be something I can do to convince you.”
“There is not.”
“Perhaps some change in the particulars would make the offer more appealing,” she mused. “What if I had each of you alone, one at a time?”
Illya snorted. “And give you an opportunity to dispose of me permanently? No, thank you.”
“Your distrust hurts me,” she said, feigning a pout. “What about you and me together, while Napoleon watches us?”
“No.”
“Me and Napoleon, while you watch?”
“Never.”
She paused for a moment, a slow smile spreading over her face.
“What about…you and Napoleon, while I watch?”
Illya really shouldn’t have been shocked by this. Given the topic of conversation and how her line of questioning had gone, he should have seen it coming. As it was, he was gobsmacked. Images rose unbidden to his mind, and he flung them away like a live grenade with one second till detonation. In his confusion, he made sudden, unfortunate eye contact with Napoleon, and he could see his discomfiture mirrored in his partner’s eyes. But there was something else in Napoleon’s face, too — a haunted, desperate look that Illya couldn’t quite read.
Illya quickly looked away.
“no.”
His voice came out as a whisper, hoarse and indistinct. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“NO.”
Angelique smiled and rose slowly from her seat with a curiously triumphant expression, gathering up her clutch bag.
“Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to settle for caviar and champagne delivered to my hotel room tonight, and a week with Napoleon when I’m in New York next month.” She cast a questioning glance at Napoleon.
He seemed to shake himself out of a trance. “Uh, fine,” Napoleon coughed. “Yes. Thank you, Angelique, that’ll do just fine.”
She nodded. “Thurston is transporting the parts for a small nuclear bomb. He is to pass them to an agent named Amy Tremaine, an attractive redhead, at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning in a little hovel of a modern art gallery in the East End,” she fished a piece of paper from her clutch and handed it to Illya. “Here is the address.”
Napoleon still looked dazed. Fortunately, Illya had regained enough of his composure to take charge of the negotiations. He scrutinized the piece of paper.
“This seems too easy, Angelique. How are we to know you aren’t leading us into a trap?”
Angelique shrugged. “Well, when it comes to that, I suppose you can’t know for certain. I’ve given you the information, and whether you act on it is entirely up to you. I hope you will, because Thurston has been a thorn in my side for far too long. But really, it’s none of my business as long as Napoleon upholds his end of the bargain next month.” She tossed her hair and walked toward the door. “Well, goodnight boys, and don’t forget my champagne and caviar.”
With a grin, she walked out and closed the door firmly, leaving two shellshocked U.N.C.L.E. agents in silent wreckage behind her.
In the awkward silence that followed, it suddenly dawned on Illya that Angelique had gotten what she was really after. She had never actually believed that Illya might acquiesce; she had merely seen a golden opportunity to psychologically torment her two favorite enforcement agents for entertainment value. Typical.
“Well, that was interesting,” Illya said sarcastically, getting painfully to his feet and kicking off his shoes.
“Uh……I’m sorry about all that,” said Napoleon after a long pause.
“You should be,” said Illya grimly, leaving it at that. “I am going to take a shower now.” He tossed his soiled tie onto the floor and shrugged out of his holster and shirt, grunting a little as the movements twisted his shoulder.
Napoleon had been staring expressionlessly at the wall, but Illya’s sounds of pain roused him.
“What’s the matter?” He asked sharply.
“My shoulder. I landed on it after bailing off of the second-floor balcony when Thurston’s cronies unexpectedly appeared at the window."
Frowning, Napoleon carefully felt Illya’s shoulder for broken bones and gently tested his range of movement.
“I think you’re just bruised, maybe a slight sprain at worst. We’ll have Medical check you over when we get back to New York, but I think you’ll be OK for the drop tomorrow. Good thing it was your left arm, Tovarishch.” He patted Illya playfully on the cheek, but then suddenly grew self-conscious about the gesture, a worried expression crossing his face.
Illya sighed and rolled his eyes. “Napoleon. You do realize that she was just playing with us, don’t you? She never really thought we’d agree to any of that.”
Napoleon looked sheepish. “Yes…I guess I should have figured that out when she settled for my original terms. For what it’s worth, I did try to dissuade her before you got here, but she wouldn’t budge.”
Illya walked toward the bathroom. He fished a jar of menthol rub out of his shaving kit and tossed it to Napoleon, who deftly caught it.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Napoleon. Massage my shoulder when I get out of the shower, and all will be forgiven.”
Napoleon grinned. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my friend.”
“Really?” said Illya archly. “Not even a threesome with me and Angelique?”
He was expecting some friendly, sarcastic barb in return, but it didn’t come. Napoleon was silent for a long moment, looking at him with a disconcertingly serious expression.
“Yes, really, Illya. There’s no greater privilege than spending a quiet evening tending to my injured partner.”
Illya swallowed hard. All of a sudden his eyes were stinging, and he had no idea what to say in reply. Luckily, Napoleon saved him with a return to teasing humor.
“…Tending to my injured partner, the ruthless negotiator,” Napoleon winked at him.
Illya feigned a scowl. “I’m going to remind you of this the next time you leave me alone to do the dirty work while you canoodle with some blond, Napoleon.”
And with that, Illya grinned at his friend, and closed the bathroom door.
The End