The heads of UNCLE's European offices were meeting in West Berlin. Napoleon had fiddled the assignments for the security detail to work in a nice vacation for himself and his lover, Ilya Kuryakin. Mr. Waverly was to give the keynote address, then leave his European colleagues to their work. Ilya, a demolitions expert, had been drafted to oversee all security arrangements. When it came to defusing explosive devices, he ranked number one. Napoleon was there to babysit their boss.
The opening session was progressing at about the same rate of speed it took for trees to add their annual rings of bark. Unfortunately, the subjects under interminable discussion were about as interesting. Ilya stood at the rear of the large banquet room with some of the agents he was supervising. THRUSH would not be able to gain access to this room, nor the entire hotel.
"And in conclusion..." "Thank God." Ilya thought. He'd been standing for the past six hours. Movement off to his left caught his immediate attention. A little boy had somehow wandered into the room. Cursing the incredible carelessness of the security detail stationed in the hallway outside, Ilya went to intercept the kid and get him out of there. The boy looked up at the Russian agent and smiled seraphically. "I'm lost."
Ilya took the child by the hand, ignoring the astonished looks on the faces of his co-workers. He ushered the boy outside into the empty corridor. Alarm bells began to ring in his mind. There should be ten agents out here. Ilya pulled out his communicator as the little boy tugged on the Russian's trouser leg. "I have to go."
"Great." Ilya accessed the proper channel and furiously ordered ten more men to assume this critical post. He felt another tug on his pants leg as three of the new security detail came into sight. There was something odd about them. Before Ilya could figure out what was wrong, he felt a dart pierce his neck. He slapped it away and tried to bring up his automatic. It was a race between the drug and his reflexes. The drug won. Darkness.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
Ilya struggled to waken and silence the person who was groaning very loudly. He was shocked to discover he'd been making the noise.
"You are awake, mein Herr."
"I don't suppose it would do any good to ask where I am?"
"None whatsoever." The man was wearing a lab coat and surgical mask.
Inwardly Ilya cringed. He was in what appeared to be a hospital room. There were no windows and only one door with a small hatch; presumably so he could be monitored from a safe distance. Ilya's wrists were tethered to the side rails of the bed. His fetters consisted of chains covered with terry cloth padding. At least he wouldn't end up with the usual abrasions. A laboratory work station occupied one wall.
"I'm sorry about the sleep dart. I didn't think you would be willing to help me otherwise."
"What's wrong? A sudden shortage in white mice?" Ilya figured he might as well find out now what was on this man's mind.
"Oh no. We have plenty of those. Our experiments have progressed to the stage where a human subect is warranted." The man smiled. "I believe it will be best if you aren't told about my work. It will be a nice surprise for you. The man pulled out a hypodermic needle. You need to rest."
Resistance was impossible. Ilya winced involuntarily as the man inserted the needle into his subject's arm and pressed the plunger. "Guten nacht."
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
The missing security guards were found asleep in the hotel laundry. Napoleon was on his way back from the airport after seeing Mr. Waverly safely aboard an UNCLE jet. The conference was over. Reminding himself to stage a kidnapping for future boring board meetings, Napoleon raced back to the city. Ilya's abductors had left no trace. Security cameras yielded tapes showing the usual complement of agents standing in the hallways. Only after careful inspection was it learned the tapes had been tampered with.
Captured THRUSH operatives were no help at all. Truth drugs resulted in some good information but unfortunately, none of it was any help in the search for the missing Russian. Napoleon slowed down as he approached a serious car wreck. Bodies were lying on the pavement, one of which possessed a mop of clear blond hair. Napoleon stopped the car and got out to take a closer look. As he bent over the motionless blond he felt a stinging pain in the back of his neck. He pivoted quickly but not quickly enough. He too, succumbed to darkness.
NS*IK*One Week Later*IK*NS
When Napoleon came to himself he was lying in a hospital bed in the West Berlin UNCLE office. The staff assured him he was fine. He could have told them otherwise. He'd been missing for a week and there were still no clues to the whereabouts of his absent partner. As soon as he was cleared for duty, Napoleon continued the search for the man he loved. Things did not look good at all.
"Check them again. And when you've done that, check them once more. Somebody must have seen something. Grown men don't just walk into thin air. We had agents all over the neighborhood. Re-check all deliveries, parcel pick-ups, staff cars, taxis, limousines, whatever it takes." Napoleon was exhausted. He'd been searching for nearly a month with nothing to show for it. The agents assigned to him were grumbling to themselves whenever his back was turned. However, no one wanted to pick a fight with the top enforcement agent; especially when he was in a mood to gnaw on fresh meat.
Two weeks later, a slightly disheveled Russian UNCLE agent was found walking along the highway heading to Berlin. Napoleon was waiting in Medical when his partner was brought in. He remained calm while the doctors and nurses checked Ilya over. Their examinations were thorough but not conclusive. None of them noticed a thin scar carefully aligned next to an older one just above Kuryakin's groin. Apart from traces of the sedatives he'd been given, there was nothing wrong with him.
During the debriefing, Ilya revealed he'd only seen one operative: a male in his fifties who wore a lab coat and a surgical mask that obscured everything except a pair of insanely gleaming eyes. He'd been asked no questions and to the best of his knowledge had been rendered unconcious for the duration of his captivity. Three days after Ilya and Napoleon returned to New York, their boss received word that THRUSH destroyed a secret laboratory located in Lubeck and the sole occupant, noted geneticist, Erich Weingarten had been killed.
This THRUSH bird sang beautifully, informing his captors that the evil organization had placed the contract on Weingarten because they thought him crazy. Considering some of THRUSH's previous lunatic plots to take over the world, this was indeed a case of the pot accusing the kettle of getting way too much sun. Weingarten must have been frothing at the mouth for his paymasters to turn on him. According to the informant, the German scientist had been hired to work on an operation that would have given THRUSH cloning techniques suitable to be used on human subjects. By the time this report reached Alexander Waverly's desk, his top two agents had returned to the field.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
It was a routine mission. They were to make contact with a friendly operative of the Albanian secret police and acquire microfilm containing the latest efforts of THRUSH to establish satraps behind the Iron Curtain. Napoleon and Ilya, covered as commercial travelers, checked into a small inn and waited for the appointed meeting time.
"Are you alright, Ilyusha?" Napoleon was more than a little concerned. Although his partner kept insisting he was physically fit, his stomach had been acting up.
"I'm fine, Polya. Airline food." Ilya rinsed his mouth out. He felt like something the wolf dragged home.
"You look a little green around the gills, mon vieux. Why don't you catch a nap? I'll wake you when it's time to meet our warbler."
"Da. Is good idea." Ilya stretched out and fell asleep almost at once.
Napoleon was really worried now. Ilya's accent seemed to come and go. After working together for nearly seven years, Napoleon associated Ilya's Russinate constructions of English with stress. The worse his partner felt, the clumsier his English became. Napoleon sat down on the edge of the bed and examined his partner. The clear blond hair was dampened with perspiration and clung to Ilya's forehead and temples. Dark smudges were visible beneath his eyes.
Napoleon gently touched Ilya's cheek. It was warm, but not overly so. He didn't seem to be running a fever. Five hours later, Napoleon shook his partner awake. "It's time to rendezvous with destiny, dushka moi. Rise and shine, partner."
Ilya opened his eyes and moaned. Suddenly he sat up, jumped off the bed and raced for the bathroom. Napoleon winced at the sounds of violent retching. A dull thump was heard then silence. Napoleon pushed open the bathroom door to find his lover slumped onto the floor. He picked up the Russian and took him back to bed. "Ilyusha, please don't do this to me. Come on, open those baby blues..." Napoleon tapped Kuryakin on the cheek then chafed his wrists. Another moan and Ilya opened his eyes.
"I'm sick."
"Newsflash! I hate to be the one to tell you, but I kinda figured that out for myself."
"Despite being blond, I'm supposed to be the smart one." Ilya's attempt to match his partner's bantering style was extremely feeble.
"Will you be alright on your own?"
"You're not going without me to back you up." Ilya tried to sit up then hastily thought better of the idea.
"Some backup. 'I say old chap, would you mind not shooting me until I can put my partner down somewhere?' I'd be laughed out of the secret agents' club." Napoleon was very worried despite his jocular manner. He knew if he showed his concern, Ilya would attempt the impossible just to prove his partner wrong.
"Give me a couple of minutes..." Ilya was cradling his stomach and trying to keep from moaning again.
"Stay here. I'll be very careful. All I have to do is meet this guy in the sports bar down the street. Twenty minutes, tops. Then we can get the hell out of here."
"It's too dangerous, Polya. I'm coming with you."
"On a stretcher? Sorry, my love. You're staying put. I'll take my communicator and leave the frequency open. You can listen to everything, including my heavy breathing. If something sounds fishy, call in the cavalry."
"You will be okay?"
"I'll be fine." Napoleon put on his raincoat and headed for the door. "You want me to get you something while I'm out, dear?"
"No. Just hurry back."
"Roger." Napoleon left, locking the door and praying his partner would be alright.
Surprisingly, the pickup was made with no complications. The Albanian footballers had made it to the quarter-final round of the World Cup and the bar was crowded. If he hadn't been on the side of the angels, Napoleon could have made off with every wallet in the place. The codes were exchanged and Napoleon felt a small package pressed into his hand. Between the noisy fans and the excited atmosphere, the contact man could have taken all of Napoleon's clothes off with no one the wiser.
The senior agent hurried back to the inn and let himself into their room. Ilya was curled up on the bed moaning softly. "Where does it hurt?"
"My stomach. It's like somebody kicked me." Ilya managed to get out between clenched teeth.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll get the car. We're bugging out of here."
"Suits me."
Twenty minutes later, they were on their way. Napoleon had half dragged his partner to their car. By now, the home team had won the match and the street was full of drunken celebrants. No one paid any undue attention to a man helping his "intoxicated" friend into an automobile. As Napoleon drove toward the border, he rehearsed their story. As soon as they were out of Albania he'd contact the Athens office and arrange for an emergency airlift.
NS*IK*NS*IK*NS
For once, Solo's luck held. The airlift was made and fourteen hours later, Napoleon was once again seated by Ilya's bedside; this time, in the New York UNCLE office infirmary. Dr. Sidney Rosenthal had drawn blood and run a number of tests while Napoleon held his partner's hand and the occasional emesis basin. Ilya's nausea had not gone away.
Two days later, Sidney was acting strangely. He seemed preoccupied and Napoleon was becoming concerned all over again. An IV drip had been set up to help restore Ilya's electrolyte balance. Sidney took yet another blood sample and went back to his lab. The expression on his face, dazed bewilderment, did nothing to reassure Napoleon.
"Is he awake?" Sidney asked. He'd only been gone for thirty minutes. Napoleon shook his head.
"Wake him."
"Come on, Ilyusha." The two enforcement agents' relationship was no secret. Sidney didn't even blink when Napoleon gently kissed Ilya's forehead and rubbed his shoulder.
"Wha'?"
"Still hung over I see. Sidney wants to tell us something." Napoleon helped Ilya sit up.
"Okay guys. I don't really know how to say this except bluntly. Ilya, you're pregnant."
Total silence then Ilya began to laugh. "If this is your way of cheering me up, you've succeeded."
"I'm not joking. I just ran a pregnancy test. You're definitely pregnant."
"I know you're serious, Sid. How in the name of Mike did this happen?" Napoleon had finally closed his mouth.
"I think the late Dr. Weingarten was responsible. It fits. Ilya goes missing from the conference in West Berlin. He's gone for just over a month. Less than a week after he returns, THRUSH destroys a lab in East Germany. Mr. Waverly ordered a search made of what was left of this lab. Some of Weingarten's notes were discovered in a charred safe. I read them last night. They describe embryo implantation experiments and the subject is described as a young male with blond hair and blue eyes. I ran a sonic pictograph which confirmed the presence of a four month old fetus..."
"Wait a minute. I was kidnapped less than two months ago!" Ilya was not laughing now.
"Yes. Your initial blood work indicated very high levels of female hormones needed to support the development of an embryo. In addition, I was able to identify a chemical compound that is acting as a growth accelerant. The pictograph revealed a small pump and reservoir located near the fetus. It's been metering doses of the hormones and growth compound."
"Doctor. Where is this embryo?" Ilya was trying to regain his usual calm.
"It's been implanted just under the outermost muscle layers of your abdominal wall. I'd have to perform a biopsy to determine what the artificial amniotic sack is made from. Nevertheless, it seems to be fully attached and functioning normally."
"I'm glad something is 'normal'." Napoleon muttered.
"Get rid of it." Ilya said vehemently. "Do whatever you have to. No one asked me to participate in this 'experiment' for lack of a better word. I want it gone."
"That was the first thing I considered, Mr. Kuryakin. Unfortunately, you don't have the means of developing an umbilical cord. Dr. Weingarten attached the fetus to your abdominal artery. If we sever that, and we'll have to, there's a very good chance you'd bleed out on the operating table before we can resect the vessel. At this point our only option is to hack the embryo from around the supporting arterial feed and leave everything else where it is."
Ilya looked green. "There's no other way?"
"Not at the moment. I'll need to run some more tests and consult a colleague; a vascular surgeon, for some options. I won't give away any vital information. I've got my own reputation to protect. Until this last test came back positive, I was getting ready to check myself into a psychiatric facility."
"You might want to make reservations for three." Napoleon shook his head. Thrush had tried some cock-eyed schemes to remove one or both of them from the field, but this was beyond crazy.
"For the purposes of our discussion, I will tell him that a tumor has grown around the artery and I am reluctant to disturb it for fear of the disease spreading." Sidney sighed heavily.
"What about the pain?" Napoleon had noticed Ilya rubbing his stomach and grimacing.
"We can't do much about that either I'm afraid. Masculine musculature is not designed to stretch as a woman's does. If the growth solution was not a factor, I daresay the discomfort would be less intense. As it is, Ilya's abdominal muscles are being asked to make way for a fetus that is growing very rapidly indeed. If he carries the fetus to term, in about another two to three months, we'll need to perform a cosmetic surgical procedure to restore his muscle tone."
"Great, I'm not even thirty and I'm going to get a tummy tuck." Ilya groused.
"I don't want to load you up on aspirin because it acts as a blood thinner. The last thing we need is for you to start bleeding internally. Opiates, synthetic or not, will prove dangerous to the fetus. If it dies, I still don't know how we can safely remove it without seriously jeopardizing Ilya's life. I'm sorry boys. If we cannot discover a way to safely extract the fetus, there is a very good chance that Ilya would not survive a C-section."
"Find a way, Sidney. We're counting on you. Talk to who ever you have to, but find someway to save Ilya. He's right. This was done to him by some mad idiot and he should not have to go along with it."
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