Illya's were not the only keen eyes that tracked the movement of Peita into the old house by the river; Hassan smiled nastily and drew on the long cigarette. His dark looks hidden as he sat easily under a tree sipping sugar cane juice from a local vendor. He fretted over Illya, over his involvement and now his resolve strengthened; he had been on the fence for too long, dancing to too many tunes played by too many masters all for the one fee, money.

And still he wasn’t happy, he would never be happy until he was free, and it was up to him to win that elusive state for himself.

Yes, today would be a great day to see an American. He stood up, flicked the cigarette to the ground and turned on his heel towards Surawongse Road and the Hotel Montien.

~~~oooOooo~~~

Vasily had not moved and was still idly marking papers in his study when he heard the front door open and snick shut. The reflection in the window of his visitor was telling, Illya scowled and looked pale and gaunt at the same time as being perhaps, the most intimidating man Vasily had ever met.

"No doubt you are aware of my visitor." And all at once Illya relaxed, he was uncertain as to what to expect from the old man, but it certainly wasn’t blunt honesty, he sank into the chair.

"Peita has no good will towards me." He offered into the uncomfortable silence.

"So it seems does he have reason to hate you?" Vasily swivelled around in his battered old leather chair.

"He thinks so."

"Because of your wife?"

"Because I would not grieve the way he wanted me to. We are not so far removed from the power brokers in the Polit Bureau to be so disavowed without pressure and prejudice from those who seek to upset the balance."

"The Romanov's have always been trouble makers Illya."

"Indeed old friend, I have felt the heat of their displeasure for years, this time however the little nest has picked the wrong man to fuck with."

Vasily smiled at the crude words and knew that his golden child was bruised and battered but far removed from being beaten as they had assumed.

"This house is no longer safe for you." Vasily whispered, aware that Peita had had ample opportunity to plant his dirty little listening devices at will throughout his house.

"I agree." Illya nodded and smiled. "If you have no objection I should very much like a warm shower before I go."

"None at all my friend." Vasily smiled as he handed over the service revolver, ammunition, false passport and enough Baht to get him out of the country. Burma or Cambodia if he needed was a walk across a border that was less secure than his front door.

The hug was affectionate and tinged with a sadness that is born of knowing they would never see each other again.

"God speed." Vasily's aged hands cupped Illya's face as he kissed each cheek in turn.

~~~oooOooo~~~

Hassan found the American sitting on the street at the Café De Paris, an ice tea in one hand and a copy of the Bangkok Post in the other, seemingly totally engrossed in the local scene, the perfect tourist, were it not for the tense muscle that twitched in his jaw. Hassan smiled as he leisurely approached and sat down without invitation.

Napoleon folded the paper shut and reached for his cigarettes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Napoleon finally asked.

"You know who I am?"

"No, but I know what you are. Your photos don’t do you justice." The American's smile was cold.

"Indeed, especially with my clothes on. You think you know all you need to know about me don’t you Mr. Solo?" Hassan laughed lightly.

"Would I be wrong?"

"About some things but not about others, it may help if you told me what you think you know."

"You’re a traitor and a whore for the highest bidder." Napoleon sipped his tea and wiped his hand on the napkin.

"Indeed I am, I do however care about Illya."

"So much so that you fed him to the wolves under the guise of what, love?" Napoleon narrowed his eyes.

"I was not aware of their desire to undo him, but you do need my help Mr. Solo."

"Do I?"

"My name is Hassan, by the way, and yes you do. Illya is in very real trouble and its getting deeper. There are many players in this game and judgement is cloudy at best."

"What are you hoping for Hassan? Redemption?"

"No. My soul is beyond that, and I'm not so altruistic as to believe I will survive without help."

"Ah."

"So the trade is simple, you get Illya, the drug compound and the THRUSH agents in Thailand and I get my freedom and safety. Do we have a deal?"

"I don’t deal with traitors."

"You'll make the exception." Hassan ordered a coffee as the waitress teetered by and watched the American.

"You seem very sure of yourself."

"Of myself I am, of Illya I am, what I need to know Mr. Solo is where you stand in this mess."

"Meaning?"

"If I bring him to you, will you kill him?"

"If I have to."

Hassan smiled sadly and nodded. "Try very hard not to have to Napoleon. You would regret it."

"Because?" v"It is never easy to kill that which you love so well. I know." He flipped open his wallet and dropped some Baht on the table along with a card and phone number, stood up and left as casually as he had arrived.

Napoleon picked up the card and tucked it safely into his inside pocket.