Lets Make Music Affair

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. I only wish to borrow the characters for a short while.

"I don't see why we have been assigned to guard this Prince Fredo." Illya grumbled to the handsome dark haired man seated beside him on the aeroplane, taking them across the Atlantic to London, England.

Napoleon Solo glanced sideways at Illya and answered coldly, "Perhaps the number of cars you have wrecked in the last few weeks might have something to do with it!"

"I wrecked!" The blond Russian agent spluttered. "Your recent expense account probably came to more than the cost of the cars I utilised in the performance of my duties."

"Er... Gentlemen," a distinctly feminine voice interrupted their argument. "Cars and expense accounts may explain why you have been given this assignment but why are Mark and I accompanying you?" April Dancer, sitting directly behind Napoleon and Illya, leaned forward to address them.

"Probably to keep them both out of trouble," Mark suggested from his seat beside April.

April suppressed a chuckle and leaned back in her chair. "That'll be it then," she agreed with her British partner.

Before either Napoleon or Illya could respond to their fellow U.N.C.L.E. agents, a stewardess announced the plane would soon be arriving at Heathrow and passengers should prepare for landing.

Solo put on his seat belt and sat back. This might be his last chance to relax for a while. In a few short hours he, Illya, April and Mark would meet His Royal Highness Prince Fredo of Vernland.

Vernland was a very small country, barely visible on the map but rich in gold and diamonds. It was ruled by King Marco, a strong, stern leader, a man of iron. A man determined to keep his country independent. He had just one weakness: his only son, Prince Fredo. The King indulged the boy greatly; everything the twenty two year old prince wanted, he got. Marco could not, would not deny his son anything and this is why Napoleon and the others were heading for London. Prince Fredo had decided he wanted to be a 'pop star' with his own band and had chosen England as the place to find fame.

King Marco had approached U.N.C.L.E. for assistance with the protection of his son; he was aware THRUSH had an interest in his country and he feared they may try to abduct the prince and use the boy to force him to allow the evil organisation to plunder his country's valuable resources. Mr. Waverly was only too pleased to send his agents to protect King Marco's son.

'But why does it have to be us?' Napoleon thought miserably to himself. 'Let's hope this pop star whim of Fredo's won't last long. Mr. Waverly did say the prince never continued anything for very long'

"This is wonderful!" April enthralled as she surveyed their hotel suite.

The Majestic Hotel certainly lived up to its name. The suite the agents had been booked into was elegant and comfortable. Several bedrooms with their own en-suite bathrooms, led off from a central lounge area. A comfortable area festooned with plump sofas and chairs. A large dining table and chairs stood proudly in one corner of the room, while smaller coffee tables nestled by the inviting couches, all of them supporting lavish flower arrangements. The floors were covered with thick carpeting. Expensive drapes adorned the large windows and the furnishings were opulent. It was rare that U.N.C.L.E agents ever enjoyed such luxury on an assignment.

"Well this is certainly grand." Mark agreed.

"Let's not get too comfortable, we are on assignment." Solo gently reminded.

"When do we meet Prince Fredo, Napoleon?" April came to stand beside the senior agent.

Solo checked his watch. "The prince, his personal bodyguard and three other band members are due to arrive at this hotel in just over an hour. So April and Mark let's check out these rooms to ensure they are safe for the prince and his entourage." Noting that Illya was already quietly checking the lounge area for possible THRUSH surprises.

"If the prince has his own bodyguard, why are we needed?" Mark asked no one in particular.

"Because we know THRUSH better than the bodyguard does," Illya answered simply. Without further comment he strode toward one of the bedrooms.

"Right." Mark acknowledged and following Illya's lead headed for another of the bedrooms to check it out.

Napoleon grinned at April. "Well, my dear, let's go check the other rooms."

April returned the smile. "Yes, let's."

The four U.N.C.L.E. agents enjoyed just over an hour's peace, before it was shattered by the arrival of Prince Fredo and his party. The door to the suite was flung open without ceremony and a young man with shoulder-length brown hair entered briskly, swiftly followed by several other men.

All four agents leapt to their feet, weapons drawn.

"Hey man! What a welcome!" the brown-haired youth declared loudly. "You must be the U.N.C.L.E. boys... and girl," he added smoothly as he cast an appreciative eye over April.

"Prince Fredo?" Solo began.

"Your identification please Mr...?" A tall, dark haired, muscular man stepped forward to stand in front of the dark-haired youth. His stance displayed an air of authority.

"Solo." Napoleon withdrew his gold U.N.C.L.E. identification card from his pocket and handed it to the man.

"Thank you." The man read it thoroughly before returning it. "I am Thomas Mallen, bodyguard to Prince Fredo."

"Hey Thomas, I told you to call me Freddy!" The youth slapped his bodyguard on the arm, then addressed Solo. "Yeah, I'm Prince Fredo but I'm to be called Freddy, OK?"

"Whatever you wish, Freddy," Solo answered, noting the boy had dark eyes to match his dark hair. His skin had a deep tan, suggesting he spent a lot of time sunbathing. "I'm Napoleon, this is Mark Slate," he pointed to the Brit. "This is Illya Kuryakin," he gestured to his Russian friend, "and this is April Dancer," Solo indicated the beautiful auburn haired woman beside him concluding the introductions.

"April, that's a lovely name for a lovely lady." Freddy gushed.

'Oh, brother!' April rolled her eyes.

While Solo was talking with Mallen and the prince, Illya and Mark were observing the other members of the party. Four men, three of which seemed to be around the same age as the prince, in their early twenties but not nearly as exuberant as Fredo, They stood quietly watching the prince intently. The forth was a middle aged man who had a chubby build, ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes that glowed with excitement as he paced the room.

"This is gonna be great!" Freddy declaimed. Grabbing April's arm he led her over to the three boys. "This is my band: Miko, Andy and Bill." He pointed in turn to each of the boys and they nodded politely to April. She silently observed their lack of enthusiasm.

"My father, King Marco, chose them to be in my band. He wanted me to have the very best musicians. Miko plays guitar, Bill the drums and Andy plays the piano and guitar and this is my manager, Jake Saunders" Freddy gestured to the chubby gentleman who had ceased his pacing and had come to stand beside the prince.

"Very pleased to meet you, young woman." Saunders acknowledged April curtly then directed his full attention to Fredo. "Freddy, we have much to talk about! I've arranged your first gig! You'll perform every night, except Sundays for two weeks at The Royal Dance Hall in Tottenham, North London. You start tomorrow evening. The posters have been up for weeks, 'The Sovereigns' Starring at The Royal!' It'll be great!"

Fredo yelped with glee at the news.

April returned to Solo's side; the two enthusiastic men were too much for her. "Napoleon, I don't think I'm going to enjoy the assignment very much."

"Madam, I tend to agree with you." Thomas Mallen spoke with the dejected tone of a man used to dealing with the prince and his various indulgences.

19:00 Monday, the following evening.
"We're finally here!" Freddy crowed ecstatically as he bounded on to the stage. The Royal was a small dance hall that had seen better days. The paint on the walls was dull and chipped, the wooden floor looked scuffed. Shabby maroon curtains dangled dejectedly from either side of the small stage but to Freddy this venue was his stepping stone to pop stardom and he could barely contain his excitement.

"Come along Freddy," Jake instructed. "You'd better get ready; you are on, in less than an hour." He led the prince back to the dressing room where the other band members were preparing for the evening's performance.

Napoleon and Thomas shadowed the prince, while April and Mark were checking the building for any nasty THRUSH surprises. Illya waited in the dressing room ensuring no THRUSH operative annoyed the other members of the pop group.

As Napoleon entered the dressing room he smiled at Illya and was rewarded with and icy glare. Before he could speak to his Russian partner, April and Mark arrived.

"We've completed another check of the building, Napoleon. All seems to be quiet," Mark reported to the Chief Enforcement Agent.

"Thanks Mark." Solo acknowledged the young Brit, then addressed all the U.N.C.L.E. agents. "We all know our assigned places for tonight's show?"

"Yes Napoleon," April answered, "I'm mixing with the audience, while you and Mark watch the prince on stage from the wings." She turned her sweetest smile on Illya, "and you get to play the guitar in the band."

Illya favoured her with a sour glare. "I don't see why I have to join the group!"

"Because you can keep a closer eye on Freddy, that way," smoothed Napoleon. He'd had this same argument with Illya for most of the day and was becoming tired of it. "Stop complaining, none of us is enjoying this assignment!"

"You three don't have to wear this!" Illya plucked distastefully at the lurid pink shirt he was wearing. Freddy had decided the band members should wear pink shirts and beige trousers; he wanted the group to stand out.

"Oh it suits you." Mark chuckled, earning him an evil look from the young Russian.

"Be quiet Mark." Solo reprimanded, realising the Brit was close to receiving a punch from Illya. He redirected his next question to the seething Russian. "Have you learnt the tunes you'll be playing tonight?"

"Of course! They aren't exactly difficult! A child could learn them!"

"I'm so very glad to hear it," Napoleon answered slowly, keeping a tight grip on his temper. There were times when his partner truly exasperated him. "So! If you make any mistakes tonight and annoy the prince, I'll have your hide!" He stormed off before Illya could reply. April and Mark quickly followed, deciding it best to maintain a safe distance from their colleague.

Napoleon winced as Prince Fredo launched into another pop song. The boy had no singing voice to speak of and attempted to compensate for this lack of talent by increasing his vocal volume.

At least the band could play well; the three boys King Marco had selected were good and actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. Napoleon had to concede that Illya played well but without enthusiasm.

Illya stayed close to the prince so he could protect him should the need arise. His demeanour however was solemn, in complete contrast to the four other band members. Napoleon hoped it wouldn't annoy Freddy.

Despite the advance advertising, the audience was sparse. Mainly teenaged girls who danced and squealed to the music. Napoleon wasn't sure but they seemed to shriek louder each time the prince ventured to edge of the stage, Illya remaining at his side closely guarding him.

The prince revelled in the adulation and he pranced about the stage wildly, singing louder and if possible even more out of tune.

After two gruelling hours the performance was over. The four agents were glad to be in a limousine returning the excited prince to the Hotel Majestic.

"I was great man! What a buzz!" Freddy expounded. He slapped Illya on the arm. "Wasn't I great man?"

Illya glared at the young royal but caught Solo's warning stare and gave his reply through gritted teeth. "Yes."

"They loved me! Yeah?" Freddy quizzed Illya.

"Yes, all twenty of them!" Kuryakin growled, ignoring Napoleon's scolding expression.

"Next time don't stand so close." The prince berated the blond Russian. "You cramp my style..."

Shocked, Illya opened his mouth to tell Freddy what he thought about his style but before he could utter a single word, three other voices interrupted him.

"You were wonderful, Freddy!" gushed April.

"A remarkable performance!" extolled Mark.

"I can't wait for tomorrow..." assured Napoleon.

Staring disbelievingly at his colleagues, Illya shook his head slowly and rolled his blue eyes.

12:30 Tuesday, The Majestic Hotel.
April and Mark had decided to rescue Illya from Freddy and took him to lunch in the hotel's plush dining room. At first Illya declined but the thought of food persuaded him to accept. April had assured him that Solo and Mallen could guard Freddy successfully while they had a little time off and the Russian looked in need of respite from the prince. Illya had a reputation for being sombre at headquarters but today he appeared downright melancholy.

"This fad shouldn't last much longer." Mark tried to reassure a glum looking Illya over lunch. "You said it yourself yesterday, there was only about twenty in the audience and I think they only came in to get out of the rain."

A small smile touched Illya's lips; Mark always tried to look on the bright side.

April gently touched Kuryakin's hand. "You'll soon be back in your lab at headquarters." She felt a lot of sympathy for the young man. He'd spent most of the morning rehearsing and attempting to teach the prince some basic rules on singing. It was a futile attempt. Freddy was happy with his singing style and loudly reminded Illya several times that he was 'great'.

He 'grates', was Illya's unspoken thought, remembering Napoleon's instruction not to annoy the young royal. "At least I have triumphed in one battle." Illya announced quietly. "I told Fredo I was not going to wear the pink shirt and beige trousers again... ever."

"Back to wearing black again?" April chuckled.

The blue eyes twinkled back at her. "Yes." His expression was that of a cat who got the cream.

April was delighted that Illya's mood had lifted but knew that by the evening he was bound to be dark and gloomy once again.

As the limo drew up to The Royal much later that day, Napoleon noticed there were a lot more people outside the dance hall. Many were young girls queuing at the box office.

Fredo also saw the growing crowd and was delighted. "Wow!" He cheered.

"Let's get you inside." Solo took charge, anxious to keep the prince and the people separate, lest THRUSH agents be among them.

Reluctantly Freddy obeyed Napoleon and slipped into The Royal with his band through the back entrance.

"It seems a little busier tonight," Mark observed as he entered with the band. "and there's still two hours to go before the group goes on."

"We'd better be on our guard," Napoleon agreed. "This increase in audience size may be down to THRUSH."

Two hours seemed to fly by, taken up by last minute rehearsals and dressing for the show. Napoleon had watched the crowd waiting to enter the dance hall from an upstairs window. The numbers of young people had steadily grown. So far there were no THRUSH operatives he recognised but of course that did not mean they were not there. Behind him, Jake and Freddy were having a lively conversation; Napoleon found himself half listening to it.

"Didn't I tell you, you'd be a hit!"? Jake thrilled, "Your band is gonna be big!"

"Yeah."

Giving a mental shrug, Napoleon wondered if the noise the prince produced was what teenagers called music these days. The senior U.N.C.L.E. agent suddenly felt very old.

April and Mark were with Miko, Andy and Bill in the dressing room as they waited to go on stage. Without the presence of Freddy the three boys had grumbled about having to wear the pink and beige outfits again. So when Illya joined them a moment later they gazed at him with undisguised envy in their eyes.

April gasped as the young Russian sat beside her; wearing black slacks and a black turtleneck jumper, which emphasized his golden blond hair even more than usual. He looked simply gorgeous. April had a strong desire to embrace him and would have done so if Jake hadn't suddenly arrived to urge the band to go on stage and get ready for the curtain to rise.

The dance hall was full of young eager teenagers; the babble of their combined conversations was deafening but when the curtain rose revealing the group, it became ear-splitting.

Freddy was thrilled, bounding to the edge of the stage, bursting into song as the band played the first notes of his latest tune. Pop stardom was within his grasp.

While the prince sang and flirted with the audience, Illya remained close to his side. The crowd, screamed as the royal came near and Freddy was overjoyed with the reaction.

Without a break the band played for over two hours. Illya was extremely pleased when they reached the final song. He was tired, his head pounded from the screaming emitted from the girls and he was sick of following Freddy as he bounded from one side of the stage to the other.

As the last notes were strummed, Illya ordered Bill, Andy and Miko off the stage then turned his attention to Freddy. He sighed deeply as he observed the prince on his knees at the edge of the stage, reaching out to the crowd. "Has he no sense?" Illya growled under his breath. Marching over to Freddy, Illya grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Off stage now!" He ordered quietly but firmly, giving him a push in the direction of the wings.

Freddy glowered but stomped off to join the group backstage.

Illya made to follow him but female hands grabbed his legs and pulled him off the platform. In an instant Illya was engulfed by wild, screaming girls. Napoleon and Mark darted forward but they couldn't see the Russian, let alone rescue him.

With difficultly Illya struggled to regain his feet. Female hands were tugging, pulling, tearing at every part of him. Desperately he tried to pry the hands away from his body. He could of course lash out but these were girls, young girls whom he had no wish to hurt. Blood started to pour down his face and he was sure he was going to lose all his hair by the way it was being yanked upon.

A female hand abruptly gripped his wrist and tugged him firmly. At first Illya resisted but the grip was strong and the pull determined. Kuryakin felt himself being dragged along.

Screams deafened his ears and blood seeping into his eyes made it difficult for him to see clearly. "Leave my hair alone!" he called out to the assailants who had their fingers twisted in his silky locks. "Don't touch there... Or THERE!"

He was still being dragged along and he suddenly came face to face with the door leading to backstage. The female grasping his wrist kicked it open and thrust the Russian agent through it and followed him in, immediately slamming and bolting the door behind her.

"Illya!" Napoleon was immediately beside him. "Good heavens boy! You're a mess!" He stared at the young man whose face was badly scratched and bleeding, his hair in disarray and the clothes he wore were ripped and torn.

"Thank you." Illya growled at the CEA. Turning his head so he could see his rescuer, his gaze fell on April Dancer, who was still leaning against the door. She appeared out of breath and dishevelled. Mustering the best smile he could, despite his split lip he spoke with deep sincerity. "April... Thank you."

"Come along hotshot." Solo took Illya by the arm and steered him toward the dressing room. "You have a date with a first aid kit."

"Napoleon, I am fine...!"

"You won't be if we don't get those cuts cleaned up." Napoleon determinedly pulled his partner along and did not release his grip on the Russian's arm until he had him seated at a table in the dressing room.

April had found the first aid kit and a bowl of warm water. "The box only has cotton wool and band aids, Napoleon," she reported sadly.

"Well, at least I can clean off the blood." Napoleon found another chair and sat in front of his partner.

"There is no need to fuss," Illya growled. "I can take care of myself!"

"Of course you can." Napoleon began to dip the cotton wool in the bowl of water but before he could dab the cuts on Illya's face, Mark strode up towards him brandishing a small bottle.

"I found this. I thought this would be helpful." He smiled wickedly at Illya.

Illya grimaced when he saw the label, 'IODINE'.

Napoleon nodded in approval. "Yes, that will clean the wounds nicely. Sorry Illya, this will sting a little."

"I know!" Kuryakin glared coldly at the grinning Mark. "Slate, I really hate you!"

"Really?" Mark managed in an innocent tone, his grin growing even wider.

Freddy was in an exuberant mood all evening; his constant bragging about his greatness was severely irritating to Napoleon, April and Mark. Illya had retreated to his bedroom.

"If the prince is going to continue to be successful, this assignment may never end!" Mark groaned to his suffering colleagues.

Napoleon shivered, "You'd better not be correct Mark; I don't think my nerves could stand it! I'm going to check on Illya."

"Are you going to give him that 'special' milk shake you made earlier?" April enquired innocently.

"Indeed I am. If Illya won't accept help graciously, then we have to employ devious methods in order to give him the help he needs."

Napoleon's thoughts floated back to the moment they entered the hotel suite. Illya had been insistent he required no assistance and stubbornly refused to accept any medicine that would relieve the pain he was clearly suffering from. At first he'd refused Napoleon's suggestion to go to bed and rest but Freddy's bragging forced him to take refuge in his bedroom.

Deciding, Illya was his own worst enemy. Napoleon had ordered a chocolate milkshake from room service, specifying it should be a made with extra chocolate, so it was quite a rich blend. When it arrived Solo added analgesics and a sedative to the creamy mixture. "The chocolate flavour should disguise the taste of the added ingredients," Napoleon noted smugly.

"What if he declines to drink it?" Mark ventured.

April rolled her beautiful eyes. "I've yet to see Illya refuse chocolate and anyway Napoleon will charm him into drinking it." Her gaze lingered on the CEA. She along with other members of U.N.C.L.E. was frequently amazed at how Solo managed to persuade the stubborn Russian to do his bidding while others failed miserably.

Squaring his shoulders, Napoleon picked up the milkshake and headed towards the door to Illya's bedroom. Napoleon felt he was about to enter a lion's den; the difference being a lion would be friendlier.

The room was in semi darkness. Illya was in bed lying on his back with his eyes closed but judging by the tenseness of his posture, Napoleon suspected he was not asleep.

"Hey?" Solo whispered softly as he approached the bed.

Illya cracked one eye open and regarded his friend. "Napoleon, what do you want?" His tone was tinged with annoyance.

Setting the milkshake on the nightstand Napoleon sat on the bed beside his partner. "I thought you could use some more iodine on your cuts." He answered innocently is eyes twinkling with devilment.

"Come near me with that liquid again, I'll rip your liver out via your tonsils!" Both of his blue eyes were open now as he glared at Napoleon murderously.

"Tut, tut. Is that any way to talk to your ministering angel?"

"An angel, no. You, yes!" Illya growled.

"I just wanted to check how you are." Napoleon decided to stop his teasing.

"I'm fine!" came the predicted answer. Solo observed, from the way Illya constantly rubbed his forehead with a trembling hand and the tension in his slim body; the agent was anything but 'fine'.

"C'mon sit up; I've brought you a milkshake."

"I don't want it... Thank you."

"It's chocolate."

"Napoleon, go away!"

"Illya! Stop arguing! Sit up!" The order was delivered in his firm CEA tone.

Grumbling Russian curses under his breath Illya did as he was told. He found it a struggle to sit up; every muscle ached and protested as he moved. Eventually he rested back against the headboard and fixed Solo with a penetrating stare. "I'm sitting up!"

Ignoring the surly attitude, Napoleon gently pulled him forward and adjusted the pillows behind him so he could be more comfortable.

Secretly Illya was grateful Napoleon was taking care of him but he wasn't going to admit it to the assertive American.

Napoleon studied the young agent's face and the angry scratches that were stained yellow from the iodine. "Your injuries will improve by the morning." He attempted to reassure his friend, while handing him the milkshake.

Illya accepted the glass, his eyes locking onto Napoleon's brown eyes. "I would not have sustained these injuries had I'd been more careful." A note of reproach in his voice.

"You didn't have a lot of choice." Napoleon soothed.

Illya sipped at the drink, thoughtfully. Solo held his breath wondering if his astute colleague would notice the added ingredients. After a few careful swallows, his swollen lip making it difficult to gulp the liquid, Illya fixed Napoleon with an intense glare.

'Oh, help! He's noticed!' Solo mentally screamed and waited for the storm to erupt.

"You don't expect girls, to behave like that!" Illya declaimed, catching Napoleon completely off guard.

"Er... No." The CEA recovered quickly. "The female is a difficult creature to predict."

Napoleon gently patted Kuryakin's arm. "It was a difficult situation, you did well." At Illya's startled, disbelieving glance, Napoleon explained. "You could easily have defended yourself, but you knew you would have injured those youngsters, if you did."

Sipping the milkshake Illya once again became thoughtful. Napoleon sat silently beside him not wanting to distract him. He was deeply impressed by the way Illya had suppressed his natural instincts and training to fight.

"I don't ever want to experience anything like that again!" Illya declaimed suddenly, after swallowing the last dregs of milkshake.

"Well you're taking tomorrow off anyway; you'll need at least a day to heal. Mark will take your place in the band from now on."

"He could have had my place in the band at the start!" Illya challenged and firmly placed his empty glass on the nightstand by his bed.

Napoleon merely smiled and attempted to tousle Illya's hair.

"Don't! I haven't much hair left!" His voice was becoming slurred.

"You still have plenty of hair, my friend." Napoleon was pleased the 'added ingredients' were beginning to take effect.

With difficulty, Illya struggled to keep his eyes open. Napoleon gently encouraged him to lie down again.

"Rest now, you look very tired."

Without protest Illya slid down under the covers; as he did so he glanced at the empty glass on the nightstand. Almost immediately realisation dawned. "Napoleon, you didn't?"

"I did. You need pain relief and sleep." Napoleon whispered as he adjusted Illya's pillows once again and pulled the bed covers up over him. He didn't get any further argument from the Russian who had drifted off into a deep restful sleep.

18:00 Wednesday.
Since early morning Freddy and his band were at The Royal, Napoleon, April, Mark and Thomas Mallen dutifully accompanied them. Much of the time had been taken up with rehearsals. Freddy wanted Mark to be on top form.

Although he hadn't taken to Illya, Fredo grudgingly admitted Kuryakin was an excellent guitar player. "Man, I want the best you can play!" He griped at Mark. "And don't forget, I don't want you to stand so close to me like the other guy did. I am after all the STAR!"

Freddy had been in a lively mood for the whole day, constantly reminding anyone who would listen how terrific he was. He'd even spoken to his father on the telephone boasting of his success. Mark, who had been on the receiving end of much of his bragging, was sorely tempted to use his guitar as a club and silence the self-centred royal but he knew Waverly would not look favourably on this course of action.

At least Illya was having a better day. For once he didn't object to spending a day in bed and had remained back at the hotel. 'No doubt indulging in the luxury it afforded,' Mark thought jealously.

"Hey! Let's try the chorus again," Fredo interrupted his thoughts, "you haven't got it right yet!"

Mark chafed at the criticism. "It's the music that isn't right! Not my playing!"

"You both need a break." April interceded "You have to understand, Prince Fredo. Mark will never be able to meet your ability, you'll have to accept this is his best." While speaking smoothly to Freddy she cast a warning glare at her partner, to stay calm.

"It's Freddy, lovely lady." The young man preened, taking hold of April's hand. "You are correct of course. I'll carry the band as always tonight." Gently he raised April's hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss upon it. "I shall rest in the dressing room until it is time for my performance." With a self satisfied grin Fredo left April and Mark alone.

"April!" Mark blustered but the gracious female agent held up the recently kissed hand and halted the tirade before it could begin.

"You aren't rehearsing any more are you?" Her voice was rich as honey.

"No. But..."

"We have nothing to discuss." April's smile was as warm as the sun and twice as dazzling. "Let's get you a nice cup of tea."

Mark couldn't be annoyed with April for long and he had to agree, she had made Freddy leave him alone. As he followed Dancer to the small kitchen area backstage, he wondered again what was the terrible thing he and April had done to deserve this assignment.

From the upstairs window, Napoleon surveyed the growing crowd of teenagers. Mainly females again and some he was sure had been at yesterday's performance. He was glad Illya wasn't going to have to deal with them tonight. It looked as if it was going to be a large audience this evening. 'This fad is going to go on for a while yet,' Napoleon sighed miserably. Slowly he got up from his chair by the window and went to join the others. He'd put off seeing Fredo for long enough. As he made his way to the dressing room, he had to suppress a chuckle when he was greeted by the sight of a scowling Mark, attired in a lurid pink shirt and beige trousers. Apparently Mark didn't have the same persuasive powers of Illya Kuryakin.

"Mark, you look... delightful." Solo barely managed without giggling.

"Keep that up mate and I'll knock your teeth out! And I don't care if you are the CEA!"

Unfortunately the vibrant pink shirt caused the threat to lose its menace. Napoleon dissolved into a fit of laughter.

"How Illya puts up with you, I'll never know!" Mark retorted.

"Now, now, gentlemen." April interrupted becoming used to her role as Den Mother. "Let's try and enjoy the evening, shall we? I feel it is going to be a long one."

Jake Saunders was on stage preparing to introduce The Sovereigns once again. The chubby manager turned compere was delighted with the huge audience. "Girls and boys, let's welcome to the stage... The Sovereigns!" his voice boomed across the dance hall. Loud screaming and rapturous applause greeted the announcement.

Freddy leapt onto the stage while Bill, Andy, Miko and Mark silently took their places, ready to begin playing. Almost immediately the applause died down.

As the first notes rang out, Freddy burst into song. Mark winced as Freddy strangled the lyrics. Ignoring Freddy's earlier instruction, Mark stayed close to his side, much to the prince's annoyance.

It wasn't until they were part way through the third song that Mark realised he was hearing the lyrics. During the two previous performances the screaming from the girls in the audience had drowned out the words along with the music. Perhaps he could hear the lyrics clearer because he was now standing beside Fredo.

Napoleon had also noticed the change. He studied the audience with interest. Since their enthusiastic greeting when the group first appeared, the youngsters were now quite subdued. Some girls did scream when Freddy ventured near them but the atmosphere was not as electric as the previous two nights. Immediately on his guard, Solo sought out Thomas Mallen, who was in the wings opposite keeping tabs on the prince.

"The audience seems different tonight, quieter. THRUSH may be around." Solo reported to the prince's personal bodyguard.

"I noticed the audience was quieter also." Mallen agreed not taking his eyes off the singing royal.

Removing his pen communicator, Napoleon signalled April who was mingling with the crowd. "April?"

"Napoleon?" Her honey rich tone, answered.

"Keep a watch out for THRUSH activity. The teenagers seem different tonight... calmer"

"Of course, Napoleon."

"And April, be careful." Napoleon ended the transmission.

April blew a kiss to her pen communicator. She had got used to the boys treating her like she was a delicate flower, rather than the trained section two agent she was. It didn't annoy her any more, in fact she liked the idea they still saw her as a woman.

Studying the people around her, April observed that they were dancing to the tunes but without the enthusiasm of previous evenings. Swaying to the music, April moved among the crowd keeping an eye open for any THRUSH operatives. As she passed a group of three teenage girls, April caught a snatch of their conversation and it intrigued her, causing her to stay close and eavesdrop further.

"Do you think he will be on later?" A blonde teenager asked the two girls she was with.

"I hope so! I was so looking forward to this evening." One of her friends answered, as her pale green eyes scanned the stage.

"He's so handsome!" The third girl squealed. "Much better than that new guitar player that's on tonight."

April suppressed a giggle and threaded her way once more through the crowd. Her keen hearing caught snatches of conversation. Gradually, April discovered why the audience was more restrained than before and the beautiful U.N.C.L.E. agent could not keep the delighted smile off her face.

"Boy! My feet hurt!" Mark complained bitterly once he entered the hotel suite. Dropping onto the nearest sofa, Mark slumped against the plush fabric. "My fingers hurt too!"

"You'll survive," April addressed him unsympathetically. "You don't hear Illya complaining," quickly adding, "often", when she caught Mark's incredulous stare.

The mood in the room was noticeably sombre. Miko, Bill and Andy had, like Mark, found chairs and slouched tiredly in them. The buoyant mood of the previous evenings was missing. Only Freddy seemed excited as he chatted to Jake Saunders and Napoleon. "Man! The audience was thrilled with me! I was wonderful!"

"Were we at the same performance?" Mark queried as Freddy's boasting interrupted his attempts to rest.

April sat beside him and patted his shoulder gently. "You were wonderful." She soothed. "Almost as good as Illya."

"Thanks!" Mark sulked. "Where is our pet Russian, anyway?"

"Right here.
Both Mark and April jumped at the sound of Illya's voice. The young Russian was standing behind the sofa they were sitting on.

"Don't do that! Creep up on people!" Mark growled.

"It's in my job description" Illya countered. As he spoke he was observing the other people in the room. "Why is everyone except Freddy so despondent?"

"The audience was not so lively tonight." April supplied, grinning up at Illya.

"I would have preferred a less lively audience last evening." Illya frowned. The cuts on his face were almost healed, but still sore.

Napoleon had now joined his fellow agents. "How are you?" he addressed Illya.

"Fine."

"Glad to hear it," Napoleon replied warmly, he'd expected this response from his partner.

"I understand the performance did not go so well tonight." Illya spoke to Solo but allowed his gaze to briefly settle on Mark.

"Hey! It wasn't my fault!" Mark bridled at the unspoken suggestion he was to blame.

"Did I say it was?" Kuryakin answered with sweet innocence.

"We thought THRUSH may have infiltrated the crowd this evening," Napoleon intervened smoothly. "They are not usually the types to go screaming and bobbing to pop music."

"But there was no THRUSH activity," Illya suspected.

"Correct. Why the girls were calmer tonight, I just don't know. Teenage girls are an unpredictable group," mused Napoleon.

"Women in general are unpredictable." Mark ventured bravely, risking a swat from April.

Ignoring her partner's comment, April gracefully rose from the sofa. "I shall go to my room while you 'gentlemen' denounce my fellow females." As she passed Solo she gently gave his sleeve a tug, and then headed for her room.

"Oh boy. I hope I haven't made April angry." Mark sounded a little nervous. "I'd better go talk to her."

"Er... No Mark, I'll go." Napoleon stalled his colleague and quickly followed April to her room.

"What is it April?" Napoleon had interpreted the tug on his sleeve was April's way of indicating she wanted a private word with him.

Pleased Napoleon had correctly understood the meaning of her touch she said: "I think I know why the audience was quieter tonight."

"And?"

"I have a little insight of the working's of the teenage girl's mind... having been one once." April continued.

"And you have since blossomed into a beautiful young woman," Napoleon offered gallantly, then more seriously. "What are your conclusions?" Napoleon wondered why April had excluded Illya and Mark from her findings but surmised she must have a good reason for doing so.

"As I was patrolling the dance floor I caught several snatches of conversation and it would appear that Illya is the star attraction and not Prince Fredo. The audience was subdued because our blond Russian wasn't on stage and those girls were greatly disappointed, I can tell you!"

"Illya? You must be mistaken."

"No Napoleon, Illya was the hot topic of conversation. I'm afraid the general opinion of Mark was not so favourable."

Napoleon now understood why April had chosen not tell Illya or Mark; one would most likely be furious and the other hurt. "Why Illya? On stage he either looks bored or is scowling. He's hardly the 'Teen Idol' type!" Napoleon exclaimed in an incredulous tone.

"Oh Napoleon! He's gorgeous! All the ladies at headquarters find him so."

"He's cranky to the secretaries!"

"And they always forgive him." April couldn't help smiling as Napoleon struggled to make sense of her revelations. "I suppose we are going to have to tell him," April continued.

"He won't be happy and I can't see Prince Fredo being overjoyed at Illya being the centre of attention." Napoleon dug his hands in his pocket and paced the room.

April chuckled "It could work to our advantage, Napoleon. When you tell Illya he's the hot favourite he will refuse to be part of the band. You know he will. When the band performs without Illya the girls will stop coming and Freddy will lose interest in being a pop star... and we can all go home."

That stopped Napoleon pacing. He mulled over April's conclusions for a moment before allowing a wicked grin to spread over his handsome features. "April, I think you could be right! But are you sure the teenagers came to see Illya?" Napoleon still couldn't quite believe Illya could have a following of girls.

"I'm not completely sure but from what I overheard, Illya is certainly popular. If he doesn't perform tomorrow night we'll probably know for certain, by how the audience reacts to his absence."

"He could use another day to heal properly. We'll see how the audience behaves tomorrow and if you're correct, we'll let our friendly soviet have the good news: he's a 'Star'!" Looking directly at April he asked a little forlornly. "So the ladies at headquarters really think he's gorgeous... eh?"

"Oh yes," April approached the CEA and stood beside him, "and they say you're devilishly handsome!" She planted a kiss on his cheek.

Napoleon beamed delightedly.

17:30 Thursday.
"At least on this assignment we get to travel in style." Mark whispered to Napoleon as they sat in the limo that was taking them, Freddy, Bill, Miko and Andy to The Royal dance hall. April, Jake Saunders and Thomas Mallen had gone on ahead, April and Thomas to check the security of the venue and Jake to talk to any waiting audience, wanting their opinion of the group he was promoting.

"It makes a pleasant change," Napoleon agreed.

"I'd still rather be back at the hotel," Mark considered. "Illya seems to have the better deal this time."

"He did get hurt," Napoleon gently reminded, then added with a grin. "Though he didn't put up much of an argument when I suggested he stay behind again."

Mark gazed out of the window as they drew up to The Royal. Outside the dance hall girls were beginning to congregate. "Young ladies dead ahead," he announced.

"Great man!" Freddy crowed. "Waiting to get a glimpse of me! It's great being a 'Star'."

'I wonder?' Napoleon mused. He could see the females were growing excited as their car approached. By the time the vehicle stopped and its occupants began to climb out, the girls were screaming. Napoleon and Mark stepped between Freddy and the girls to protect him from the excited young ladies. The girls however made no rush toward the royal prince; instead they stared at the limo searching the faces of the passengers as they disembarked.

Miko was the last person out and the mood of the females changed from one of excitement to disappointment.

"Glad you could all be here!" Freddy cheered, addressing the crowd despite Napoleon's orders to go straight into the dance hall. "I'll be happy to sigh autographs..."

"Where's the cute blond guy?" a female voice rang out.

"Yeah! We want the cute blond guy!" a second feminine voice cried out. It was swiftly joined by a chorus of female voices all demanding to see the 'cute blond'.

Stunned, Freddy growled at the chanting crowd. "He isn't coming! He's not part of my band!"

From bitter experience Napoleon knew it was not wise to provoke an already annoyed lady. Grabbing the fuming royal by the arm, he all but dragged him into the dance hall, only releasing him when they were safely inside and Mark had slammed the door shut.

Rounding on the senior U.N.C.L.E. agent, Freddy raged. "How dare you touch me?"

"I have a duty to protect you," Solo answered calmly.

"What's wrong with those...those... girls?" Freddy remained indignant. "Why do they want that blond kid?"

Before Napoleon could answer the indignant prince Jake Saunders came running up, his chubby face red from the exertion "Freddy, the news is not good!" The short, stout man addressed the royal; he nervously wrung his hands and was unable to keep still, hopping from foot to foot. "I've been speaking to the youngsters waiting to see you perform but they all said they were waiting to see that U.N.C.L.E. agent, Kuryakin."

"I know!" Freddy growled at the hapless manager.

"Some... some said they wouldn't stay if the blond kid didn't show." Jake's eyes were bulging with near terror at having to tell Freddy this news.

"It's my band! I'm the 'star'! We don't need that irritating kid! The crowd love me! You'll see!" Freddy stormed off toward the dressing room, Jake hurried along after him.

Napoleon stared after them; he was not usually one for fortune telling but he felt confident in predicting tonight was going to be a disaster and Illya was going to get the blame.

21:30 Thursday.
The tension in the limo was palpable; the journey back to the hotel was going to be strained. Miko, Bill and Andy sat rigid in their seats, not making eye contact with anyone. Freddy silently glared out of the window. Mark and Napoleon sat side-by-side studying the group of young musicians, realising there was nothing either of them could say to ease the heavy mood blanketing the car.

As Solo had predicted, the evening had been a complete shambles. As soon as The Sovereigns stepped on to the stage, the audience began chanting for Illya. Freddy, to his credit, continued with his performance. Andy, Miko and Bill had played their very best but could not sway the audience from calling for the 'sweet blond guy'. To add further insult most of the crowd began to leave when it was clear Illya was not going to appear on stage.

"What do those chicks see in that guy?" Freddy's sudden outburst fractured the chilly silence.

"Women are difficult to understand." Napoleon attempted to console the indignant prince. "Men have tried for centuries to make sense of feminine logic." He was glad April was following the limo in another car with Mallen and Saunders and not able to witness his explanation.

Freddy stormed into the hotel suite, his mood now one of anger mixed with frustration.

Illya, who had been relaxing on one of the couches, leapt to his feet; gun in hand at this dramatic entrance.

"That's it! Shoot me as well, why don't you?" the infuriated royal yelled.

"Sorry." Illya holstered the weapon. "You're back early?"

"No point in continuing," Freddy spat at the bewildered agent, "once THEY realised their FAVOURITE wasn't going to show! I'm going to my room and I'm going to speak to my father! I have nothing more to say to you!"

Kuryakin could only gape at Freddy as he stormed off to his room slamming the door behind him. He felt Napoleon at his side. "What was that all about?" he asked his American partner.

"Ah, you may wonder!"

"I do?" Illya growled at Solo's vagueness. Glancing at Napoleon's face for the first time he was horrified to see the smug expression plastered there. "What?"

Placing his hand on Illya's shoulder, Solo chuckled: "It would appear Illya, that your presence has been greatly missed these last few days by the female fans of The Sovereigns." Napoleon burst into laughter at his partner's wide-eyed look of surprise. "You are a 'pop star', Illya!" "What?" Despite his vast knowledge of languages, this was the only word Illya seemed able to utter.

"It's true Illya." Mark sidled up to the usually composed Russian, enjoying his discomfiture. "It's YOU the girls crave."

"What?"

"Illya," Napoleon continued in a sweetly tone, "Mark is correct..." His teasing was sharply curtailed by April's scolding voice.

"Napoleon! Mark! Leave him alone! He doesn't know what happened, you are not being fair." Having endured the journey back to the hotel with Jake Saunders fretting over the fate of The Sovereigns, April was in a foul mood.

Napoleon was exceedingly glad she had not heard his description to Freddy of the female psyche. "Sorry April."

"It's to Illya you should apologise!" Stepping up to the blond man, April put her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. "No matter what they say, it's not your fault."

"What?" Shaking his head, Illya decided he really needed to stop saying that word. "I would rather have an explanation than an apology... Please."

"Of course." April agreed and taking Illya by the arm led him to the couch, sat him down and began to reveal the evening's proceedings to her very confused colleague.

Napoleon grinned to himself as he watched Illya's varying expressions during April's rendition of the events. Illya's countenanced registered a combination of shock, disbelief, frustration and downright annoyance in a matter of moments.

Abruptly Illya stood up and faced Napoleon. "It would appear this assignment is now over!"

"How so?" Napoleon attempted not to sound amused.

"I apparently am crucial to the group's success and I have no intention of rejoining the band and Prince Fredo has also made it very clear he has no wish for me to do so. Therefore the mission is over!"

"Freddy may still want to be a pop star. We still have a duty to protect him." April reminded.

"I'm sure he will," stuttered the anxious voice of Jake Saunders. The chubby man had been standing near the U.N.C.L.E. agents, listening to their conversation. "You must perform, Mr. Kuryakin, please."

"I will not." Arctic eyes glared at the nervous manager conveying an unspoken murderous threat.

"OK..." The answer came out in a squeak. Saunders backed away from the blond U.N.C.L.E. agent.

The door to Freddy's bedroom burst open and the young royal stalked from it and headed toward Illya with a determined look on his face. Squaring up to the U.N.C.L.E. agent as if prepared for a fight, Freddy growled. "I have just spoken to my father. He says I should not allow you to hinder my success. You will therefore play in the band tomorrow night. I'm sure Mr. Saunders will be able to publicize your return. You will do as I command."

"I am not subject to your orders," keeping a level tone Illya replied.

"But you are to Mr. Waverly's and my father will speak to him if you refuse to perform." Sounding decidedly smug, Freddy threw down his ultimatum.

"Your father may speak to Mr. Waverly for as long as he wishes but understand this: I will not play tomorrow night or any other night!" Keeping a grip on his temper Illya spoke slowly to Freddy as though the prince was a small child having difficulty understanding what was being said to him. Not waiting for an answer, Illya turned on his heel and headed for his own bedroom.

Napoleon observed Freddy glaring at the retreating Russian. For a moment Napoleon thought Freddy was going to follow Illya and unwisely continue the argument, but instead the prince returned to his own bedroom, once again slamming the door behind him like a petulant infant. "That door will come off its hinges if he keeps that up," Solo winced.

"Oh boy," Mark sighed.

"Oh boy, indeed." April agreed.

Napoleon nodded in agreement. "I'm sure things will work themselves out in the morning." He was treated to sceptical glares from his two colleagues and quickly added. "We can hope."

A strained atmosphere prevailed the following morning in the hotel suite. Any hope of 'things' working themselves out seemed to evaporate with each passing hour. Illya and Freddy declined to speak to one another, choosing to spend their time alone in their respective bedrooms.

Napoleon alternately felt sorry for Illya, understanding his friend's distaste for making a public show of himself and anger at his refusal to attempt a compromise with Freddy. He knew Waverly was not going to be impressed by this turn of events but he was going to have to tell the Old Man.

With a heavy heart he strolled over to April who was sitting on the couch with Miko and Andy engaging in polite conversation with the two young men. "April I have to report in. I'll go down to the lobby and find a secluded area... I'm going to get away from this suite for a while; I've known warmer Siberian winters."

Dancer rose gracefully from her seat, took Solo's face gently in her slim hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I don't envy you Napoleon," she sighed. "It is a difficult situation."

"I shouldn't have allowed it to become so."

"But Napoleon, it's not your fault?"

"I am the Chief Enforcement Agent; I take responsibility for whatever happens." Favouring April with a tight smile, Napoleon left the room.

Napoleon found himself a quiet niche shielded by an enormous rubber plant. Taking a deep breath Solo activated his communicator pen and signalled Mr. Waverly.

Alexander Waverly's commanding tone sounded from the silver pen. "Your report Mr. Solo if you please."

"Ah, yes sir." Napoleon began. "I'm pleased to report that Prince Fredo is quite safe. I believe he is enjoying his pop star status and the shows are going well." He lied to his boss.

"Really Mr. Solo? King Marco has heard a different version of events from his son, only last night."

"Oh?" Napoleon squeaked.

"Oh indeed Mr. Solo." Napoleon could feel Waverly's annoyance through his communicator. "It would appear that Mr. Kuryakin has proved to be somewhat popular with the female fans and this has caused Prince Fredo to be unhappy. Mr. Solo, when the prince is unhappy King Marco becomes extremely unhappy!"

"Yes sir, I understand but Mr. Kuryakin is not completely to blame. The ladies just seem to prefer him... I can't think why?"

"There is a group of four young men from Liverpool, England, who are proving to be very popular. I have seen photographs of them and their hair is styled very much in the same way as Mr. Kuryakin's. Perhaps this is what the young ladies favour?" Mr. Waverly proposed.

"Possibly sir..."

"However," Waverly stormed on, "it would appear that Prince Fredo is not having much success in his quest for pop star fame! I have given the matter much thought and despite the wishes of King Marco and Prince Fredo I cannot allow U.N.C.L.E. agents to waste any more time on this affair! I am therefore calling a halt to the mission!"

'Thank you' Napoleon offered up a grateful prayer. It was a struggle for him to keep the excitement out of his voice when he addressed Waverly. "Of course sir, I shall inform Prince Fredo of your decision and make arrangements for his return home to Vernland."

"No need Mr. Solo, I shall tell him personally. I'm in a car heading towards your hotel as we speak, please be waiting for me in the lobby." The communicator went dead as Mr. Waverly ended the transmission.

Sighing deeply, Napoleon rose to his feet. The Old Man was probably only moments away. He selected a chair close to the main entrance so he could await the arrival of his boss.

"Welcome to England and The Majestic Hotel, Sir," Napoleon greeted as Mr. Waverly stepped out of his chauffeur driven car. As the CEA had predicted, the Old Man arrived scant moments after he'd ended his communication with Solo.

"Thank you Mr. Solo. Would you take me to Prince Fredo? I have a few things to say to that young man." Waverly as usual wanted to get straight down to business.

"Yes of course. This way sir." Napoleon gestured toward the elevator.

"Let us proceed Mr. Solo. I am a very busy man and do not wish to waste any more time on this matter." Waverly marched off toward the elevator with Napoleon in tow.

An awkward silence prevailed in the hotel suite. Even April gave up attempting to lighten the tension with friendly conversation. Instead, the pretty female agent sat quietly at a table with her partner Mark, both wishing this assignment was over and they could get back to the real business of saving the world from THRUSH.

Freddy continued to sulk in his room while Miko, Andy and Bill sat rigidly on a sofa not sure what to do and certainly not wanting to do anything that might incur the wrath of their prince.

Thomas Mallen sat in a chair outside Freddy's room reading a newspaper, trying to distance himself from the current situation with news of international events. He had encountered Freddy's sulks before and knew they could last a very long time.

Jake Saunders paced the room wringing his hands. He had no idea whether The Sovereigns were going to perform that evening or not. He'd thought about talking to Illya but Mark had strongly advised him not to. Saunders didn't need much dissuading from speaking to Kuryakin; he still remembered the 'look' Illya had given him the previous evening and didn't want to enrage the forceful agent.

Illya remained in his room, choosing to take a shower and keep out of everyone's way.

The intense quiet was suddenly broken when the door to the suite opened and Solo and Waverly marched in.

Mark, April and Thomas were on their feet in an instant, weapons drawn.

"Relax, everyone." Napoleon ordered, then addressing all the non-U.N.C.L.E. personnel in the room introduced Mr. Waverly to them.

While they holstered their guns, April and Mark could not wipe the astonished stares they wore on their faces at seeing Mr. Waverly. Napoleon had not had enough time to inform them of the Old Man's imminent arrival.

"Sir?" In a startled voice April began, "Welcome. We weren't expecting you."

Mr. Waverly glanced around the suite taking in the opulence of his surroundings. "It would appear to be very comfortable here." The U.N.C.L.E. chief was not known for indulging his agents.

"Yes sir, King Marco has been very generous in arranging for us to stay here," April continued.

"I suspect this is more for his son's comfort than yours my dear." Waverly smiled at the female agent. "But your time here is over, I am ending this assignment as of now."

"Really sir?" Mark could not keep the glee from his tone. A huge smile graced April's countenance.

"You can't! You can't!" Saunders launched himself over to Waverly. "I have arranged another week of performances for The Sovereigns. I have put a lot of money and time into this venture!" Jake babbled on, while shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. "Mr. Solo just said you were the head of U.N.C.L.E., so you can make that boy play with the group!"

"I'm sure King Marco will compensate for any time or money you may have lost. I have better things for my agents to attend to, my good man!" Waverly scowled at the rotund gentleman standing before him. "Speaking of Mr. Kuryakin, where is he?"

"Taking a shower, sir." April supplied.

"Would you get him please Mr. Slate."? Waverly ordered.

"Yes Sir." Mark bounded over to Kuryakin's bedroom door and thumped loudly on it.

"Hey, Illya, you're wanted out here now!"

"Mark! Do you have to be so loud?" April admonished her partner.

"Sorry luv..."

"What on earth do you want?" An angry Russian accented voice interrupted Mark. Illya emerged from his bedroom wearing only his trousers and undershirt. His head was covered with a large towel that he was using to dry his blond hair. He sounded irritated at being dragged away from his solitude. "Has Napoleon been in contact with Waverly yet and told him this assignment is yet another of his crackpot schemes?"

The room was plunged into absolute silence and all eyes nervously flicked toward Waverly.

The older man, keeping his expression neutral, took a few steps forward so he was directly in front of the young Russian.

Sensing the tension in the room, Illya removed the towel covering his face and quite literally jumped back when he saw Waverly standing in front of him. His blue eyes widened in surprise and his mouth suddenly became parched.

"Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly's stared coolly at the young man. "I am always interested in the opinions of my agents." Although politely said the words held an unspoken menace.

Illya seemed unable to form words and could only stare back at his boss. It was very rare for Illya to be as helpless as this and it was usually only Waverly who could cause this response in the Russian.

Waves of sympathy emanated from Napoleon, April and Mark, it was no delight to be on the receiving end of Waverly's displeasure.

Waverly continued to stare at the hapless agent for a moment longer before he spoke again. "I shall look forward to having a long discussion with you about my assignment choices when you return to New York, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Yes Sir." Illya finally managed to utter.

Alexander Waverly released Illya from his penetrating glare and addressed Napoleon. "Mr. Solo?"

"Yes sir." He answered just a little too eagerly.

"I believe I have been somewhat hasty in my decision to cut short this assignment. It shall go ahead, Prince Fredo will enjoy the full pop star experience and..." Redirecting his gaze back to Illya, "Mr. Kuryakin will play in the band. I trust you do not have any objection to this Mr. Kuryakin?" The cold menacing tone was back.

"No Sir." The younger man answered quietly.

"Good." Waverly stepped away from Illya and addressed no one in particular. "Now if someone would introduce me to Prince Fredo, I shall tell him the good news."

"This way Mr. Waverly." Thomas Mallen called and knocked on Freddy's bedroom door then showed him inside the room when he heard the prince's invitation to enter.

Only when he was sure the bedroom door was shut did Napoleon venture over to Illya who stood rigid as if rooted to the spot.

The senior agent stood in front of the younger man with his arms folded. Shaking his head Napoleon commented with heavy sarcasm: "That went well"

Icy sapphire eyes glared back at the CEA. "I didn't know he was here!"

"Clearly," Napoleon retorted.

April marched over to stand beside Illya, having decided to come to the blond agent's rescue. "Napoleon! You are not being fair."

"I suppose not." Napoleon relented; Illya still looked stunned. Laying his hands gently on Kuryakin's shoulders he gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Boy, you really know how to get on Waverly's good side." He chuckled at Illya's exasperated glower. "Now I suggest you finish dressing."

"I'll do that and then I'll stay in my room." Illya stated decidedly and turned back toward his room.

"Of course." Napoleon agreed, his tone sickly sweet. "We'll let you know when we have to leave for the dance hall. You won't want to miss any rehearsal time, now you are a pop star... again."

Napoleon laughed at Illya's stream of Russian curses as he returned to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

20:45 Friday.
Alexander Waverly rolled his eyes as he stood in the wings watching the teenagers bobbing and jiving to the wailing racket that masqueraded as music. "Good heavens Mr. Solo." He addressed the agent at his side. "How on earth can those children be enjoying this noise?"

"It has a good beat to it, a catchy rhythm and it annoys their parents, Sir."

"I'm not surprised Mr. Solo."

Napoleon had noticed that his boss had been carefully watching his partner during the performance. Though he may not approve of the music his face wore the expression of a proud father as he observed the blond agent. Waverly had a soft spot for the stubborn soviet, not that he would let him know it of course.

Illya played his guitar without enthusiasm and shadowed Freddy as the prince danced around the stage, wearing an expression of total disinterest.

"Mr. Kuryakin does not appear to be enjoying himself." Waverly commented with amusement.

"No Sir." Solo agreed feeling sorry for his partner. At least Illya did not have to suffer the indignity of wearing the pink and beige stage outfit. Earlier in the day Freddy had dared to threaten Illya by saying he was going to get Mr. Waverly to order him to wear the dreaded uniform. Napoleon had not been close enough to hear what Illya whispered into Freddy's ear but by the way the colour drained from the prince's face he could guess it wasn't pleasant.

Dressed all in black with his blond hair shining as the stage lighting reflected upon it Illya looked stunning. His female audience were not put off by his lacklustre performance and screamed wildly each time he moved near to them.

From the moment Jake Saunders had heard Illya was going to play once again he'd set off to find all the popular teenager haunts in the local area. Seeking out the record shops and cafés, spreading the word the blond guitar player was performing again. His frantic work had paid off as the hall was packed with eager young females.

Napoleon noted that his friend kept a safe distance from the edge of the stage. Illya was not going to let the women drag him off the platform again.

"Well Mr. Solo, I believe I have seen enough." Mr. Waverly announced. "I will be a spending a few days visiting some relatives before I return to New York. I shall not miss this rare opportunity to visit my family." Taking one last look at the band Waverly sighed. "I'm sure this fad of Prince Fredo's will pass quickly and you can all return to New York and some proper work."

"Yes Sir." Solo acknowledged.

"Oh, and Mr. Solo."

"Yes Sir?"

"Try and keep Mr. Kuryakin out of trouble, will you?"

"Yes Sir" Napoleon answered, a huge grin lit up his face as he watched his boss leave the wings in search of his driver. "I will."

08:00 Saturday.
The mood in the hotel suite was much lighter than in previous days. Illya seemed resigned to his fate as a member of the band and spent his time sitting on a sofa looking at the sheet music for the songs they were to perform. Even Freddy had accepted he would have to put up with him if he was going to obtain his goal of pop stardom.

Napoleon had to admit he was relieved; perhaps the assignment would go smoothly from now on.

Mark came over to him. "We'd better be on our guard against THRUSH tonight. I've just been speaking to Saunders and he reckons tonight will have the biggest crowd ever. It being Saturday night and with Illya back on the band's payroll."

"Yes, tonight would be an ideal opportunity to strike." Napoleon considered. "Well have to take extra care, Mark." Napoleon wanted the prince to give up show business by his own volition, not because THRUSH managed a successful kidnapping.

21:45 Saturday.
As Saunders had predicted, the crowd was huge. Napoleon, Mark, April and Tom Mallen kept a constant vigil on the excited audience that swayed and bobbed in time to the music.

Illya was also on the alert for a possible THRUSH attack. As he looked out into the crowd, the girls mistook his surveillance believing his intense gaze was intended solely for them. Several young ladies swooned as his azure eyes searched their faces. The handsome Russian seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on the youthful women.

Napoleon was mightily relieved when the session was finally over. After three encores, which the crowd had demanded, the band was ready to quit. Even Freddy had had enough and wanted to get back to the hotel. 'Perhaps the novelty is beginning to wear off,' Solo mused.

To Solo's dismay Freddy's enthusiasm returned with abundance when he heard the fans screaming outside the back door waiting for the band to emerge from the dance hall.

"My Fans!" Freddy crowed "I'll go out and meet them!" but as he attempted to open the door to the hysterical crowd he was restrained by a very strong grip on his arm.

"I think not." A determined voice commanded.

Freddy glared at the hand on his arm then at its owner. "You will not touch my royal person!"

Illya, however, was not intimidated by the prince and continued to keep a firm grip on him while he addressed Solo. "We will have to make a run for the car, Napoleon. Is it parked close to the door?"

Opening the door a fraction Napoleon mentally gauged how far from the door the limo was. "Illya, it's about twenty feet away"

"Fine. Mr. Mallen, Mark, you'll keep the prince between you while Napoleon and I lead the way. Miko, Bill and Andy will follow you out with April. As soon as we leave this building we are going to have to run fast and not stop." Illya instructed then spoke gently to Jake Saunders. "Sir, I'm sure that you have one or two things to attend to here, which will keep you busy until the crowd disperses." The agent was sure the chubby gentleman was in no condition to run any distance at speed but did not want to embarrass him by expressing this concern out loud.

"Why of course, dear boy." Jake willingly agreed. He'd not relished the thought of having to run the gauntlet of screaming girls and disappeared back into the dance hall.

"OK. If everyone is ready to move there is no time like the present." Illya announced.

"On the count of three I'll open this door and we run for the car. One! Two! Three!"

Illya wrenched the door open and surged into the waiting crowd, Napoleon closely at his side.

Many female hands reached out to grab the young Russian as he emerged but he deftly avoided them. Together he and Napoleon were able to force a pathway through the swarm of enthusiastic women.

As they neared the car however the eager throng became more determined to have a piece of the blond agent. Illya felt his hair being tugged and his clothes being ripped. 'Not again!' his thoughts screeched.

Fortunately Napoleon could see what was happening and he grabbed his partner firmly by the arm and propelled him the last few feet to the car. Wrenching open the car door Napoleon thrust Illya into the vehicle and tumbled in after him. The other members of the party followed almost immediately and the door was closed and locked.

"WOW!" Freddy enthused as his wide eyes surveyed the squealing women now surrounding the car. "THAT was wonderful!"

The other occupants in the car stared disbelievingly at the prince.

"Wonderful?" April queried as she looked at every one's dishevelled appearance, suspecting she must look just as unkempt, then shrugged. Freddy seemed to see situations quite differently from anyone else.

Carefully the limo driver nudged the car through the mob heading for the safety of the hotel.

"I do hope Prince Fredo tires of this pop star craze soon, Napoleon." Illya sighed forlornly as he sat back and closed his eyes.

Napoleon smiled his understanding, 'I'm with you there, buddy,' he reflected silently to himself.

10:00 Sunday.
Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest and tranquillity or so Napoleon had hoped for but trouble began at 08:00 with the hotel manager demanding to speak with the person in charge of Prince Fredo's party. By unanimous vote Napoleon was elected leader and when he protested Illya reminded him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Napoleon was the senior U.N.C.L.E. agent, therefore he was in charge.

The hotel manager complained bitterly about the number of young women virtually camped outside of his hotel waiting to catch a glimpse of the band. Napoleon had to use his charm to calm the irate man.

No sooner had Solo settled with the manager with sincere apologies and an assurance he would deal with the young ladies, even though he wasn't sure quite how, than the local police chief arrived and demanded to see a representative of The Sovereigns. To Solo's dismay the hotel manager introduced him as such.

For a full forty minutes Napoleon endured a searing lecture on how large groups of young people could prove to be a menace to the public as well as themselves. The police chief was extremely annoyed he had not been alerted to the possibility of a large crowd at the previous evening's performance and because of this oversight proper crowd control at the venue was therefore not in effect. Impassively Solo accepted the reprimand, although it galled him immensely to be on the receiving end of the tirade. It should have been Jake Saunders' responsibility to inform the police. Once again Napoleon had to bring into play his considerable charm and placated the police chief with assurances he would send the band's manager down to him immediately with all the details of The Sovereigns future performances. After apologising to the Chief for not keeping the local constabulary informed, Solo politely excused himself and hastened from the lobby before any further problems arose. Only when he closed the door to the suite did Napoleon allow himself a long cleansing breath.

Illya observed him from where he sat on a sofa, holding a wad of paper on which he was scribbling notes. His face wore a mask of innocence. "Had fun?"

"Thank you... no!" Napoleon scowled "Where is Saunders?" His voice dripped venom.

Realising his friend was in no mood for teasing Illya pointed to Fredo's room. "He's in there with Freddy."

"Right!" Napoleon stormed over to the door and pounded hard upon it.

It was Mallen who opened the abused door. "What's going on!"?

With strained politeness Napoleon requested. "Would you ask Mr. Saunders to step out here please."?

"Of course, Napoleon." Mallen hurried to comply with Solo's request.

The senior U.N.C.L.E. agent rarely allowed his temper to show, Illya concerned for his partner came to stand beside him. "It did not go well for you downstairs, my friend?" Lightly he placed his hand on Napoleon's shoulder.

Napoleon relaxed a little at the reassuring gesture. "No tovarisch, it did not. I had to deal with..."

"You wanted me Mr. Solo?" Saunders arrived at the door.

"Indeed Mr. Saunders." Solo's tone gained a hard edge to it as he glared at the portly man before him. "There is a police chief in the lobby who would rather like a word with you."

"Really? Oh dear! I'd better go down then!" Saunders hastened off.

Solo shook his head as the man dashed away, he rather reminded Napoleon of the white rabbit from the Alice In Wonderland story.

Feeling very tired Napoleon went to a sofa and sat down and closed his eyes. Illya sat beside, a concerned expression etched on his youthful face. "It is a pity such a simple assignment can cause so much distress."

Napoleon allowed himself a small smile as he opened his eyes to look at his friend. "It's not a whole lot of fun, is it?" He playfully slapped the papers Illya had in his hand. "Getting a head start on our report?"

"I have been rewriting a few of the songs." Illya stated "Later today I intend to practise them with Andy, Bill and Miko." Illya stated.

"You have? Why?" Napoleon never ceased to be amazed by the many and varied talents his partner processed.

"If I must be part of the band; and Mr. Waverly has made it clear that I must, then I at least want the music I play to be tuneful!"

"I see." Napoleon grinned. "What has Prince Fredo have to say on the new musical arrangements?"

Waving a dismissive hand at Freddy's bedroom door, Illya grimaced "I have not bothered to tell him! Andy, Miko, Bill and I will harmonise together and Freddy will torture the lyrics as usual."

"We'll make a pop star out of you yet!" Napoleon teased.

Before Illya could retort, the door to the suite burst open. Both agents leapt to their feet and reached for their guns.

"It's only me!" Saunders squeaked as he blundered into the suite, his arms full of newspapers.

"Will you not do that!" Napoleon warned. "You could have got your head blown off!"

"Oh, oh dear!" Saunders blurted, his face seeming even pinker than usual. The man was positively brimming over with excitement. "I had to bring these up!" He proffered the bundle of newspapers he held. "The Sovereigns have made the headlines of the Sunday Bugle!"

Illya groaned and sank back down on the sofa.

Taking one of the newspapers off the pile Saunders held, Napoleon read out the headline. "LIVERPOOL COMES TO LONDON!" He glanced at the Russian agent before continuing the report. "A new pop sensation has arrived in London. The Sovereigns, a lively group of five youngsters has captured the hearts of teenagers since they commenced playing last week at The Royal; Tottenham. The group are set to rival the popularity of the Liverpool groups that have electrified the music scene of recent months." After taking a deep breath Solo continued. "The group is fronted by an energetic singer; rumoured to be an actual royal prince but according to the fans the most popular member of the band is a young blond guitar player who never seems to smile."

"Oh no," Illya lamented and dropped his head into his hands.

Saunders beamed. "There is a photographer and a reporter from the Sunday Bugle in the lobby. They want to take photographs of the band and to do an interview with the band members. I can't wait to tell Freddy!"

"There will be no interview or photographs!" Illya glared at Saunders.

"But, but! Freddy will want to talk to the press!"

"What Freddy wants..." Illya began.

"Freddy gets!" Prince Fredo finished as he marched out of his bedroom with Mallen trailing him. Jake's excited babbling had drawn his attention. "What is it I want?"

"Freddy, the press are downstairs! They want an interview and photos of The Sovereigns!" Saunders gushed his news.

"WOW! Get them up here now!" Excitement lit up the young royal's eyes. "This is great!"

Napoleon and Illya exchanged despairing glances.

The jubilant raving from Freddy enticed Mark, April, Andy, Miko and Bill from their respective bedrooms.

"Hey, I was trying to catch up on my sleep," Mark complained. "What's all the commotion about?" His crimson dressing gown did not fit the expected attire of a secret agent.

April, who herself looked as though she'd woken from a deep sleep, her eyes looked half closed and her auburn hair dishevelled, wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her. "Please, what is going on?"

"It's the press!" Freddy dashed over to her and gripped her shoulders. "They want to interview ME!"

"Oh." was all April could manage.

Attempting to regain control of the situation Napoleon coughed loudly and addressed everyone in the room. "I don't think it is such a good idea to be talking to the press. THRUSH is still very much a problem and these reporters could in fact be agents of that disreputable organisation."

"Then you'll have to guard me, U.N.C.L.E. man!" sarcasm dripped from Freddy's mouth.

"That's what I am doing." Napoleon spoke with finality his stern words conveying he was firmly in charge.

"Man! It's part of the pop star scene to be in the papers!" Freddy sulked. Then a sly look crossed his features. "Perhaps I should ask my father to speak to Mr. Waverly about this?"

Illya riled at Freddy's threat. He was sure the Old Man would agree that the press should be kept at bay but if they were wrong he didn't relish another reprimand from the U.N.C.L.E. chief. "Perhaps there could be a compromise," the Russian tentatively suggested.

"How?" Freddy demanded.

"Yes, how?" Napoleon studied Kuryakin intensely.

"Freddy could give an interview over the telephone to the reporter down in the lobby."

All the occupants in the room stared at Illya as if he'd grown an extra head, causing the young man to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

He jumped when Saunders clapped his hands suddenly. "It might just work! It will give the band an air of mystery! Yes, yes! I'll go down to the lobby now and have the journalist telephone the suite." Saunders dashed out of the room.

Napoleon watched him go and shrugged resignedly "I thought Sunday was meant to be a day of rest."

"Not for spies," Illya commented dryly and returned his attention to the papers and the music he was working on.

"I'm going to get dressed." Mark announced to anyone who would listen. April had already gone back into her room.

Napoleon, Miko, Bill, Andy and Mallen remained in the lounge watching Freddy pace enthusiastically, barely able to contain his joy at being the focus of attention of a news reporter.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time the telephone shrilled into life. Freddy scurried over to it and lifted the receiver, almost dropping it in the process. Breathlessly he commanded. "Yes, it is me Jake, put him on!"

There was a moment's silence while the reporter must have been posing a question. Freddy listened intently before saying "Yes, my father is King of Vernland." There followed a further moment of silence before Freddy growled into the receiver. "Look it up in an atlas."

Another period of quiet as Freddy concentrated on the phone call. When he spoke again there was a tinge of anger coloured his tone. "But I am the leader of the group!"

To the other occupants of the lounge it was clear Freddy was becoming agitated by what the reporter was asking him. As they could only hear Freddy no one knew what the reporter was saying. However, by Fredo's displeased demeanour, the questions were not to his liking. Eventually the prince only answered with a simple yes or no, not bothering to elaborate further. His interest with the interview was waning.

Suddenly Freddy lost his temper and yelled into the phone, "No! I'm not the Blond one!" and banged the receiver down.

Stomping over to where Napoleon and Illya sat, Freddy fixed the Russian with a furious glare. "The newspaper is only interested in YOU!" the incensed prince spat. "I am the STAR! Just you remember that!" Freddy stormed back to his bedroom once again slamming the door behind him.

Both Napoleon and Illya winced at the noise it generated. "I think he is a little annoyed." Illya commented dryly.

"You don't say?" Napoleon retorted. "I have a feeling our prince is not going to be so keen on speaking to the media from now on."

"That cannot be such a bad thing, my friend. Now I wish to discuss the change in music to Miko, Andy and Bill." Rising to his feet, Illya moved over to where the three dark haired youths were sitting.

'Those poor lads' Napoleon pondered, feeling sorry for the three youngsters. Being subjects of King Marco they were ordered to form a band but had no say in the running of it. From the moment he'd met them he'd seen them follow Freddy's orders obediently and never speak unless spoken too. They kept their presence so unobtrusively, it was as if they were invisible. It therefore came as a surprise to the suave American when after Illya had spoken only a few words to them, the three lads suddenly became animated and began to chatter enthusiastically while examining the sheets of music Kuryakin had just handed to them. A proud smile formed on Napoleon's lips as he observed his partner engage with his fellow musicians. The conversation flowed freely as the four young men exchanged ideas while taking turns to jot down notes on the music sheets. It delighted Napoleon to see his friend so relaxed and enjoying himself. It pleased him also to see Miko, Andy and Bill so uninhibited. It was perhaps a rare privilege for them to be able to express ideas so freely and to have someone who was interested in and valued their opinions.

After a while the four musicians went to Illya's bedroom and shortly afterwards strains of guitar music could be heard as the men practised the new melodies.

'Thank goodness there is no performance scheduled for this evening,' Napoleon reflected, gratefully. 'Let's hope it stays peaceful for the rest of the day.' With that thought Napoleon settled back on the sofa, closed his eyes and allowed himself a blissful moment or two of tranquillity.

15:00 Monday The Royal Dance Hall.
Since early morning Illya, Miko, Bill and Andy had been rehearsing the new musical arrangements until all four were satisfied they harmonised perfectly. Freddy had not accompanied them, choosing to remain in bed. His enthusiasm for early starts and hours of rehearsing was beginning to dwindle.

Illya was grateful the prince had chosen to stay away; it allowed the four of them to experiment without his interference. Each of them took turns to sing the lyrics Freddy usually strangled.

"You should sing instead of Freddy." Illya commented after Miko finished a song. "You have a much better voice than the prince."

"I would like to sing but as you say he is 'The Prince'. He will not allow it and I do not wish to incur his displeasure or that of King Marco." A note of fear was evident in Miko's reply.

Illya nodded solemnly; he was well aware of living under a regime where it was prudent not to upset the ruling powers. He could feel empathy with these young men. Many times his own future had been decided on the whims of his Russian leaders. Whatever personal ambitions he may have had were of no consequence to the powers that governed him.

"It is not that King Marco is an unfair monarch," Miko hastily added, fearing Illya may tell Prince Fredo of his previous comment. "He rules wisely and justly. Once Prince Fredo no longer wishes to continue in his quest to be a pop star, King Marco has promised that we will be able to begin our own music careers.

"Fredo shows little interest in being king," Illya commented, observing the sudden miserable expressions of the three Vernland musicians. "I'm sure it is the wish of all people that the individuals chosen or destined to govern them have the knowledge and skill to attend to the task wisely."

"I'm sure Prince Fredo will do his best." Bill offered but did not sound convinced.

"I suspect King Marco would prefer his son to take more of an interest in the running of our country," Andy suggested, feeling brave at joining in the frank discussion.

The three young men, though not sure why, felt they could trust Illya and began to speak about their fears for the time when Fredo would take over from his father.

"I wish the king did not indulge him so." Miko stated. "He should insist Fredo attends to some of the affairs of state!"

"Last year when Fredo wanted to be a rally driver all the public roads in Vernland's capital city were closed at a moment's notice whenever he wanted to practise! It caused chaos! It went on for months until he became tired of being a rally driver." Andy scowled.

"No one complained?" Illya ventured.

"No one would dare." Miko answered forlornly. "He is the Crown Prince." Then looking directly into Illya's eyes, Miko continued. "You're the only one I've ever seen stand up to him."

"He is not my Crown Prince." Illya stated the obvious.

"It is more than that." Miko persisted. "You do not seem to be afraid of anyone or anything."

A small grin played around Illya's lips as he answered the earnest instrumentalist. "Oh, but I am afraid."

"Of what?" The trio of musicians chorused.

"Teenage girls!"

Miko, Bill and Andy burst out laughing, pleasing Illya to see them so relaxed.

18:00 Monday The Royal, Dance Hall.
"How dare you change my songs without my permission!"? Prince Fredo blazed at Andy, Bill and Miko after they had played through the songs they were due to perform that evening.

Stomping up and down the stage, Freddy bellowed his displeasure. The three musicians, who had earlier been so lively and engaged as they rehearsed with Illya, now stood crestfallen and cowering before their prince.

From his position in the wings Illya observed the prince launch into the tirade. At first he was going to keep out of the confrontation but seeing the spirits of the three young men being crushed by the spoilt royal, he felt it necessary to wade in and fight on their behalf. Striding over to Freddy, Kuryakin placed himself firmly between Prince Fredo and the three disconsolate musicians. "I altered the music!". Freddy bristled with annoyance but before he could utter a sound Illya continued: "I do not need your permission! Had you deigned to join the rehearsal earlier today you could have offered an opinion on the changes."

An angry red flush coloured Freddy's continuance. "How dare you speak to me in that manner?"

"Someone has too." Illya countered icily.

"This is MY band." Freddy spat.

"Then I suggest you take more of an interest in it!" Intense cobalt eyes bore into the Vernland Prince.

Drawn to the stage by the altercation were Napoleon, April, Mark and Thomas Mallen. All four watched the confrontation in stunned silence.

Shuddering at Illya's brittle tone, Napoleon recognized his partner was seething but valiantly keeping his temper in check. Rarely had Napoleon seen Illya lose his control but at this precise moment he was very close to losing the struggle.

Clearly the verbal attack on the three Vernland subjects was more than Kuryakin was prepared to put up with, causing him to vent his frustration on matters not truly his concern. "May I further suggest you take an interest in the running of your country. I'm sure the people of Vernland would welcome your concern in their well being."

"You have no right to speak to me in that disrespectful manner!" Freddy exploded.

"But I do." Illya's countered. "You have not shown me anything to respect."

"I am a Crown Prince!"

"That title perhaps deserves reverence but you, Prince Fredo, are too self indulgent to be worthy of the same admiration."

The harsh assessment of his character by the blond agent acted like a bucket of cold water on a flame. Freddy's burning rage instantly evaporated. He stood absolutely still, his brown eyes fixed on Illya, a look of shock and disbelief etched on his features. In that moment he appeared lost and vulnerable.

Realising his caustic verbal assault had struck home, Illya softened his voice before addressing the prince again. "But you can change, Prince Fredo... If you want to."

Raising his head sharply, Freddy glared fiercely at Illya, the blaze of his temper re-ignited by Kuryakin's well-meaning advice. "I do not need to change!" He spun on his heel and marched back towards the dressing room.

"Well, well." Solo watched the enraged prince as he stomped off. Folding his arms across his chest he focused his attention on his partner. "Ever thought of joining the Diplomatic Corps, Illya?" He asked with a trace of amusement.

"Very funny!" Illya retorted angrily.

21:30 Monday The Royal, Dance Hall.
Standing in the wings Napoleon winced as Freddy screeched a note his voice was not designed to carry. At least there was one consolation: thanks to Illya's endeavours the music was pleasant to listen to.

Napoleon's gaze fell upon Miko, Andy and Bill and he was pleased to see the three lads actually enjoying themselves. Glancing over to Freddy and Illya standing near the edge of the stage Napoleon surmised they were not enjoying the evening quite as much. He could almost feel the displeasure both felt for each other.

Although Freddy was all smiles for the audience he would glower at Illya. In retaliation Kuryakin treated the prince with bored indifference. Although he still remained close to his charge, intent on thwarting any kidnap attempts by THRUSH, his strong sense of duty prevailing.

"Only half and hour to go, old man." Mark's cheerful voice sounded by Napoleon's right ear.

"Thank goodness!" Napoleon sighed. "Everything still clear?"

"Yes Napoleon." Mark answered, his eyes still scanning the audience for any possible threat. "I've made sure the car is right next the back door so we only have to step into it. I didn't fancy having to run a gauntlet of wailing women again!"

"Thank you Mark." Napoleon answered, shaking his head in disbelief "I never thought I'd ever want to avoid a bevy of females! And if you ever let this become known at headquarters I'll skin you alive!"

Slate hurried away not entirely sure if Solo was joking or not.

10:00 Tuesday The Hotel Suite.
"How long is this assignment going to go on?" Illya groaned to the other three U.N.C.L.E. agents seated around the table with him. As he spoke he rubbed his head trying to ease the pounding headache he was suffering from.

"Until Freddy gets tired of being a pop star." Mark suggested matter-of-factly.

"Is that going to be any time soon?" Illya questioned gloomily.

"I hate to remind you to Illya, but this assignment would have been over days ago, had you not annoyed Mr. Waverly." Napoleon observed and was not surprised to receive a glower from the Russian that would have frozen hell.

"Don't be unkind, Napoleon." April admonished the CEA. Her face showed concern as she glanced over at the Russian who had folded his arms on the table and was resting his throbbing head on them.

Following her gaze, Napoleon felt a pang of guilt as he witnessed Illya's attempt to find comfort. Gently he reached over and rubbed the back of Illya's neck, and was dismayed to feel just how tense and tight his neck muscles were. "Hey, you'd feel more comfortable lying down on your bed, after you've taken a couple of aspirin."

Illya raised his head slowly and blinked, "Perhaps you are right."

"Now don't argue... What?" Prepared for an argument, Napoleon was startled by Illya's compliance.

"Napoleon, I realise I cannot function to my fullest ability due to this headache." Illya regarded Napoleon with pain filled eyes. "I am aware of my limitations."

"I'd be willing to debate that with you partner," Solo grinned, "but now's not the time." He was pleased his stubborn friend was not going to give him an argument. The early mornings, late nights, hours of loud music and having to stay close to a 'singer' who could give THRUSH lessons in how to torture a tune, had clearly taken their toll on the young Russian's constitution.

Reaching across the table April gently touched Illya's hand, "You go and get some rest and I'll go and get you the aspirin."

"You should be able to relax for quite a long while, Prince Fredo doesn't like to get up these days before noon." Mark observed.

"Fredo doesn't like to put to much effort into being a pop star," Napoleon agreed.

"Maybe he'll give it up soon!" Mark announced brightly, causing Illya to look plaintively at him.

"Don't torment me!"

At that moment April returned carrying a glass of water in one hand and two tablets in the other. "Illya, take these now." She directed in a motherly tone.

Obediently Illya accepted the medication and the water.

Napoleon watched as his friend swallowed the aspirin without complaint, then rose from the table and headed off toward his bedroom. "The rest will do him good," he commented to Mark and April, who both nodded in agreement.

"This assignment is not doing any of us any good!" Mark scowled. "For over a week now, all we've seen is this hotel suite and that flaming dance hall! I'm going stir crazy!" The usually jovial Brit complained bitterly.

"I agree Mark." April attempted to soothe her partner. "As nice as this place is, I can honestly say I have had enough. And all these late nights are ruining my beauty sleep! I feel a mess!"

"Well you certainly don't look a mess!" Taking her hand Napoleon looked deep into her dark eyes. "You could never look a mess."

April blushed at his gallantry.

Not to be outdone Mark whispered to her "Your beauty comes from deep within you, so you'll always look gorgeous."

"Why Mark, you are sweet. You both are." April was clearly enjoying being treated like a woman rather than an U.N.C.L.E. agent.

The unexpected opening of the main door broke the moment. All three agents were on his feet instantly, weapons drawn.

"IT'S ME!" Saunders screeched as he entered and saw three guns trained on him.

"I wish he would stop doing that!" Mark growled.

"So do I." Napoleon agreed as he holstered his U.N.C.L.E. Special. "Mr. Saunders..." The senior agent attempted to reprimand the man for his reckless behaviour but was interrupted by a flow of enthusiastic chatter from the chubby fellow.

"I must speak with Freddy!"

"He's taking it easy!" Mark supplied then muttered, "Unlike the rest of us."

"I have to speak to him! I've been inundated with requests from venues the length and breadth of Britain wanting the band to play for them!" Nothing could stop the excitable gent from hammering on Freddy's bedroom door. As soon as Mallen opened it, Saunders barged in slamming the door behind him.

The three U.N.C.L.E. agents stared after him.

"Chaps? I've got a horrible feeling that this assignment isn't going to be over just yet!" Mark voiced his dismay.

In seconds Freddy and Jake emerged from the bedroom, both chatting eagerly to each other.

"Man! This is great news!" Freddy crowed.

"I'll arrange a tour so the band receives maximum exposure!" Jake enthused. "You'll be able to perform in every major town!"

"And when do we cut our first record?" Freddy gushed.

Jake froze into silence, earning him a quizzical gaze from Freddy. "We do have a recording contract?" Some of the excitement waned as the prince addressed his manager.

"Ah, Freddy. Recording contracts are a little harder to obtain but if the band continues as it has; then it is only a matter of time before you have records in the hit parade!"

"You're saying I still have to perform in dance halls? I'm tired of that! I want to make a record." Freddy sulked like a spoilt little boy.

"I know but it won't be for much longer," Jake soothed.

"I want to make a record now!" Freddy glared at Saunders. "See to it!" The young royal turned on his heel and stomped back to his room. Jake winced as he heard the door slam shut. "I've been trying to get him a record deal." He whined to April, Mark and Napoleon. "But you have heard him sing."

"I think you're being a bit generous mate, if you call the noise he makes singing." Mark commented.

"Why don't you ask King Marco to pay the record company to allow Freddy to make a record." April offered sweetly.

"Well that is one option." Jake mused. "But I was rather hoping that if the band had more exposure, the record companies would see how popular the group was and agree to a record so as to capitalise on the teenage market."

"It looks a though Freddy is not keen on doing any more live performing." Napoleon reminded the hapless manager.

"There is one other way." Saunders spoke softly. "I've heard Illya sing during rehearsals and quite frankly he is good. If he sang on a demo tape I know I'll have no trouble getting a recording contract."

All three agents shivered as if a sudden chill just enveloped them. As one they looked over at Illya's closed bedroom door.

"Please," Napoleon gulped, "don't even suggest it to him."

"But the boy has talent!" Jake persisted.

"He also has a talent for inflicting pain." Mark continued to stare at Illya's door, his face quite white, as he considered what Kuryakin's reaction to the manager's idea would be.

April gently touched Jake's arm. "For your safety Mr. Saunders, I strongly suggest you NEVER speak of this again!"

"Right, right... I'll think of another plan then."

April, Mark and Napoleon huddled together, relieved that they had managed to sway Saunders from his plan. Napoleon added sagely, "WE must never speak of this again." He received nods of agreement from his two colleagues.

12:30 Tuesday.
The morning had dragged by at a painfully slow pace. The three U.N.C.L.E. agents, not used to prolonged inactivity, struggled to occupy their time, eventually succumbing to the relief a pack of playing cards could offer from boredom.

Miko, Andy and Bill simply sat in the various chairs listlessly. It seemed that without Illya's encouragement the three boys were not tempted to play their music.

"I'll order some lunch." Napoleon stated as he studied the abysmal selection of cards in his hand. He'd already lost two games in a row to Mark and his sense of pride could not face another defeat.

"No Napoleon, I'll do it." April brightened at the prospect of an actual task to perform.

"I could do it?" Offered Mark.

"I'LL do it!" The sharpness of Napoleon's statement silenced his colleagues, causing him to regret his curtness. "Sorry." Sighing deeply he rose and headed to the phone muttering, "Something is very wrong when the highlight of the day is ordering lunch from room service!"

Hunger pangs finally enticed Freddy out of his bedroom; he was in a surly mood. "Has anyone arranged for some food? I'm starved!"

"Lunch should arrive shortly, Napoleon ordered it thirty minutes ago." April answered sweetly, somehow she was always able to maintain a pleasant demure.

A sulky shrug of the royal shoulders was April's only reply.

A sharp rapping on the door followed by the words 'room service' drew everyone's attention. Gratefully Napoleon moved over to the door, the arrival of food might pacify the cranky young man.

Keeping his hand on his gun, Napoleon opened the door a crack and saw the waiter dressed in the red livery of the hotel standing by a trolley loaded with food. "Stay where you are." Solo instructed the man firmly, as he prepared to open the door wider in order to inspect the corridor for would be assailants.

Before he could follow through on his actions the door was suddenly wrenched from his grasp and flung backwards. "I have had enough of this! I am HUNGRY!" accompanied the action venomously spat out by Freddy. "Bring that food in here! NOW!"

"NO!" Napoleon shouted at both the prince and the waiter but before he could utter another sound, three screeching females hurtled through the open doorway into the room, pushing him roughly aside.

"We're in! We are actually in!" One young lady wailed at the top of her voice. The other two shrieked in reply, then all three jumped up and down ecstatically.

"Sorry sir," the waiter mumbled apologetically to Solo. "The hotel has been plagued day and night by girls. So far the staff have kept them away from this floor but these three must have managed to sneak in."

"Well they can just sneak out again." Napoleon strode over to the girls. "Young ladies, please leave."

A piecing screech was his reward as the girls dodged past Napoleon in order to reach Miko, Andy and Bill.

"You're all so groovy!"

"We really dig your sound!"

"Wow! Can I touch you"?

Excited chattered poured from their mouths, completely unnerving the stunned musicians.

"GIRLS!" Napoleon attempted to get their attention, determined to regain control over the situation. "I insist you leave."

"No! They can stay." Freddy countermanded "They are my fans." Holding his arms open wide, Fredo stepped forward to embrace the unexpected guests.

Clenching his jaw Napoleon struggled to control his fury. "Prince Fredo, the girls cannot stay, they have to..." Illya's bedroom door opening interrupted his tirade.

"What on earth is going on?" an accented voice demanded. Its owner was almost knocked over as the three females rushed him, their shrieking reaching an eardrum-splitting pitch.

"QUIET!" Illya's commanding tone stopped the girls in their tracks before they could reach him. Icy blue eyes glared at them freezing them to the spot. Shifting his stare to Napoleon he asked calmly: "Just who are these females?"

"They are my fans!" Freddy answered smugly.

Steely cobalt eyes focused on him. "You invited them?"

"Not exactly but they have come to see me and I shall not turn them away!" Freddy grinned widely. "Girls come and join me on the sofa." Freddy addressed the now silent females but instead of complying with his invitation, the girls stood trance-like in front of the young, Russian gazing adoringly at him.

Illya was not comfortable with the intense scrutiny. "I heard Mr. Solo ask you to leave, please do so." Even the gruffness of his voice did not stop the women from gawking at him. Except they were not women but girls, young girls.

While they stood transfixed in front of him, Illya had been able to study them closely. Despite their attempts with makeup they couldn't hide their true age, which Kuryakin had determined to be around thirteen years. "You must leave." He urged in a gentler tone.

Annoyed by their obvious attraction to Illya, Freddy growled at the U.N.C.L.E. agent. "I said they could stay. I wish to give my fans an audience."

Many biting retorts threatened to spill from Illya's lips but before he could vent a single one, the tallest of the three girls addressed Freddy: "Thank you but Monica, Jennifer and I came here hoping to see him." The young lady motioned toward Illya.

Anger flashed in the royal eyes. "Just what is so special about... him?"

"He's so dreamy..." Monica sighed and her two friends giggled.

"Oh boy," Napoleon groaned.

Ignoring both Freddy and Napoleon, Illya studied the eager young girls, who stared back him intently, adoration glowing in their eyes.

The first girl who had spoken, Illya decided was the leader of the trio. Perhaps slightly older than her friends, certainly a little taller by an inch or two. An air of confidence seemed to emanate from her despite her tendency to shriek and giggle along with her friends. Her short, blonde, lightly curled hair was held back off her face by a purple Alice Band revealing a round youthful face that was covered with heavy foundation. Green eye shadow adorned the lids of her green eyes making them appear unnaturally large. Black eyeliner drawn on her eyelid created an Egyptian look to her countenance while thick black mascara plastered on her lashes caused them to appear spiky. Pale pink lipstick completed her makeup.

Monica had her brown hair styled in a bob while Jennifer's long auburn tresses were controlled in two plaits. Both girls wore much the same style and amount of makeup as their friend, though choosing blue eye shadow rather than green.

Gazing at their valiant attempts to appear older Illya sighed, realising they probably had gone to great efforts in order to impress him.

"Could we just stay a little while, please?" Monica pleaded.

"We won't be any trouble." Jennifer spoke for the first time.

In his career Illya had faced many situation with cold dispassionate efficiency but the quiet desperation in the voices of these young ladies touched his Russian soul. "Go and sit on the couch please." He addressed his female audience, pointing to the sumptuous piece of furniture closest to them.

In a rush the girls obeyed him and sat side by side almost at attention. Observing the scene Napoleon shot a quizzical look at his partner who merely shrugged in reply. In truth, Illya had no idea what his next move should be. When he faced villains he knew they were either after information he possessed of simply wanted to eliminate him but these girls dressed in brightly coloured mini dresses and go-go boots were a conundrum to him. Taking a deep breath he walked over to the couch. Kneeling in front of the teenagers he searched the young faces smiling back at him. "What is it you want from me?" Illya's asked softly.

Expecting the young ladies to squeal again Napoleon was surprised when Jennifer answered in an equally soft manner. "We just wanted to be close to you... for a little while. We didn't want to be a nuisance! Anne, Monica and I love you so."

"But you don't know me!" Illya was genuinely surprised at this declaration.

"You're so groovy." Anne stated as if this answered his question.

Shaking his head in befuddlement Illya decided to abandon that line of questioning, accepting that just being near him was what the girls craved. "Thank you for coming to see me. But should you not be in school?"

"Yes but it's only boring maths and science today with Miss 'grotty' Grimshaw and old Mr. Johnstone!" Anne replied dismissively.

Only Mark, April and Napoleon saw Illya prickle at the teenager's remark. To those who didn't know him, Kuryakin did not appear bothered by Anne's disparaging comments on the subjects he greatly enjoyed.

Studying the eager young faces, Illya gave the impression he was unsure what to say next. Sitting quietly, the impressionable young women waited for his next words. Taking a deep breath Illya began hesitantly: "I view education to be a privilege; something to be cherished. When I was growing up, my country was in a state of war. Survival was the only thing a child could concentrate on; going to school was not always possible." He paused as painful memories forced themselves to the surface demanding to be acknowledged.

Kuryakin rarely spoke about his past to his friends so speaking openly to three strangers about his childhood took Napoleon completely by surprise. By the sorrowful expression on his partner's countenance it was obvious his thoughts were extremely distressing. Clearly his friend felt strongly about the teenagers' lack of interest in attending school.

Willing his memories back into his subconscious Illya continued. "Being able to attend school each day is something I wished for, when I was young. I consider myself fortunate that I was able to resume my studies after the war" Old hurt mingled with the words. "Education gives you freedom. Freedom to choose how you want to live your life. Please do not waste your opportunity to learn."

Anne, Monica and Jennifer sat spellbound, listening intently to him, his glistening sapphire eyes mesmerising them as he searched their youthful faces.

Napoleon proudly watched his friend as he dealt kindly with his adoring fans, still amazed at how much his usually reticent partner had shared with the young women.

A warm smile graced his features as Illya continue speaking. "Thank you for coming to see me." Slowly he rose to his feet signalling the conversation was at an end. The girls immediately followed his lead. "Enjoy being young and the opportunities you are given." Taking Jennifer's hand he lifted it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on it. The girl shivered with delight. Illya repeated the gesture with Monica and Anne who, like Jennifer, trembled with joy. Seemingly unaware of the reaction he was causing, Illya escorted the teenagers to the door and held it open for them to leave. Without a whimper the girls left. Illya's kiss had rendered them speechless. With a deep sighed Illya closed the door after them and leaned heavily back on it. "Let's not do that again for a while."

"Darling, you handled the situation wonderfully!" April congratulated warmly.

"Don't want everyone to know you're really a teddy bear, huh?" Napoleon teased.

"You're really enjoying my suffering, aren't you?" Illya scowled back. "I'm going to my room, I still have a headache."

"I've not done with you!" Freddy stormed over to the Russian. "How dare you stop me talking to my fans?"

"YOU are entirely too much." Illya faced the spoilt royal. "Firstly they are too young to be here and secondly they had not come here to see you. And I have no wish to engage in further dialogue with you." Without waiting for Freddy to continue the discourse he strode off to his room and firmly closed the door behind him.

"My father shall hear of this!" Freddy yelled to no one in particular before he to retreated to his bedroom.

20:30 Tuesday The Royal Dance Hall.
Rubbing his head in a forlorn attempt to ease the pounding headache that had been brought on once again by the thumping music and Freddy's off key wailing, Solo wondered just how many more nights of this torture he could tolerate. 'Perhaps he could appeal to Waverly's sense of compassion and be relieved of this assignment?' He mused, then shaking his head, instantly regretting the action, concluded miserably: 'But he doesn't have a sense of compassion.'

"Freddy seems to be lacking lustre tonight," a British accent sounded beside him interrupting his thoughts.

Napoleon gawked at Mark incredulously. "Why do you think that? He seems to be murdering that song much the same as always!"

A cheeky grin spread over Mark's face. "Yeah, that's the same but look: he's been standing still during most of the show. Usually he leaps around and Illya has to try and keep up with him. I do believe he is getting fed up with being a pop star."

"Don't tease. Please!" Napoleon pleaded.

"And by the look on his face I don't think he is any too pleased that the audience are screeching for Illya and not him."

Despite Freddy's best efforts to woo the crowd with his singing, it was only the small Russian they wanted. The more they called out to Illya or attempted to touch him, the more annoyed Freddy became. At every opportunity Freddy glowered at the Russian. His anger grew each time Illya dismissed the royal scowl with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.

Freddy finally had enough when a high-pitched feminine squeal from the audience, announced. "We love you! Blond angel!" Throwing his microphone at Illya he stormed off the stage, yelling, "Take my fans! I want no more of them!"

A deafening silence descended on the dance hall. No one quite believed the sudden turn of events.

From their various positions April, Mark and Napoleon stared as the royal flounced off to the dressing room with Tom Mallen in pursuit.

Not a sound came from the stunned audience, as they collectively attempted to decide if the tantrum was real or just a new addition to the act.

On stage Miko, Bill and Andy shuffled nervously unsure whether to follow their Crown Prince or to stay where they were and wait for instructions.

"Oh boy!" Mark whispered to Napoleon, "we'd better do something before the crowd realises the show is over and storm the stage to try and get their 'blond angel'!"

Nodding in agreement, Napoleon whispered back. "OK, go open all the exits. I'll go on stage, make an announcement explaining the performance has ended, then escort Illya off the stage."

Even as he was speaking, the eerier quiet was being replaced by disgruntled murmurings and the nervous shuffling of many feet that was guaranteed to become louder by the second.

"Right!" Mark concurred. "I don't think that lot," he gazed out into the audience, "are going to remain calm for very much longer."

Before either Napoleon or Mark could spring into action, Illya began to strum his guitar. The tune he began had a soothing quality. From the first note the crowd settled and all eyes focused upon the young agent.

From her place in the audience, April gazed up at her colleague. She recognised the tune Illya was playing as one he frequently hummed to himself when he was trying to solve a particularly difficult problem or intensely concentrating on one of his scientific experiments. She had once asked him what it was and he'd answered her shyly, saying it was an old Russian folk song his grandmother would sing to him when he was a small boy.

Graceful fingers caressed the guitar strings, creating the lilting melody that enchanted the audience. Illya was able to fill the dance hall with music using just his guitar, then gradually reduced the volume of his playing, causing April surmised the tune was reaching its close. She was pleasantly surprised, however, to hear Illya begin to sing. His strong rich voice vibrated around the hall. The lyrics were Russian and April was sure the assembled teenagers didn't understand a single word but it didn't seem to matter to them as they stared adoringly at him. Though Illya was known to hum or sometimes whistle tunes to himself it was rare for anyone to hear him sing. April sighed, wishing he would share this gift more often; he had a beautiful voice.

All to soon the song ended, Illya surveyed the rapt young people with warm azure eyes, gifting them with a brilliant smile before bowing deeply and leaving the stage. As he passed Miko, Bill and Andy he instructed them to continue playing.

"But?" Miko whispered in a tremulous tone.

"You all know the arrangements and you are all extremely talented. Go and play for your audience." Illya interrupted before Miko could raise any objections. Sighing heavily Illya continued. "I will deal with Prince Fredo."

Leaving his fellow band members to comply with his instructions, Illya left the stage and strode over to Napoleon and Mark. He grimaced as he saw the smug look Napoleon was sporting.

"Well well, quite the little song bird aren't we?" Napoleon couldn't resist teasing his partner, earning him a savage scowl in reply. "I recognised that tune you just played. Your repeated humming of it has annoyed me often enough. I didn't know it had words to it though," he continued good-naturedly.

"There is much you do not know Napoleon," came the exasperated retort. "Where is Freddy?"

"In the dressing room, probably chewing his bodyguard's ear off," Mark chuckled.

"I'd better talk to him." Illya decided, rather preferring to have a tooth extraction without anaesthetic.

"OK" Napoleon agreed, "I'll go on stage and make an announcement saying Freddy is unwell and the show is over."

Glancing back to the stage, Illya grinned. The three musicians had begun to play and Miko was making his début as a singer. "I don't think that will be necessary, those three seem to have everything under control."

Squaring his shoulders Illya prepared to face Freddy; he was not looking forward to yet another explosive discussion with the immature prince. As he reached the dressing room he was intercepted by Jake Saunders. The rotund manger seemed even more excited than usual. "Mr. Kuryakin, Illya, I would really like to speak with you. It is very important!"

"Is the world in imminent danger of exploding?"

"Well, no! But..!"

"Then you have nothing important I need to hear at this precise moment. If you will excuse me?" Pushing past the bewildered manager Illya entered the dressing room.

As expected he saw Freddy standing in the middle of the room beet red in the face berating his bodyguard Thomas Mallen for all the ills that had recently befallen him. His tirade was cut short when he caught sight of Illya in the doorway. Blood boiling Freddy strode over to his blond haired Nemesis. "Just who do you think you are? You were sent to guard me! NOT take over my band!"

Keeping very calm, Illya addressed the prince. "It was never my intention..."

"Rubbish! From the very beginning you have craved my success!"

"I repeat, it was never my..."

"You change my music and encourage my musicians, my subjects to steal my lime light!"

Illya bristled at Freddy's intimation Bill, Andy and Miko were his 'property'.

"You steal my adoring fans! You forget you are nothing more than a servant for Mr. Waverly! Sent by him to work for ME!"

It was becoming harder for Illya to keep his temper in check but keeping his tone level repeated. " As I said, it was never my..."

"You seem to think you are good at everything! I bet you even think you could be a better King of Vernland than I could!"

"I am and yes I could." Illya replied calmly.

It earned him a savage glare from Freddy. "I shall be an excellent king."

If he was hoping for an agreement from Kuryakin he was sadly mistaken. "Your recent behaviour would suggest the opposite to be true."

Stung by Illya's retort, Freddy rushed out of the dressing room and headed for the back door.

"Oh no!" Gritting his teeth in frustration Illya turned to go after the prince. Mallen stepped forward to go with him but Illya stopped him. "I'll get him. As it's me he's furious with, I suggest you keep out of his line of fire till he cools down." Quite frankly Illya would have preferred to let Freddy run off and fend for himself but he had his orders to protect the royal and it didn't bear thinking about what Waverly would do to him if he allowed the prince to run into danger.

Gratefully Mallen allowed Illya to start after the prince on his own. He'd already taken an ear bashing from his charge and didn't relish another one. Besides, Illya seemed very capable of apprehending Fredo and returning him to the dance hall.

Bursting through the back door in to the car park Freddy was too angry to notice the chill in the air. The prince was not used to anyone challenging him. Even his father gave in to his every whim. As he kicked at the gravel beneath his feet, Freddy was planning hideous revenge on Illya. He would inform his father of all the injustices he'd had to suffer at the Russian's hands and he would urge the king to tell Waverly and demand he be dealt with severely.

"Come back inside! It is not safe out here!" Illya ran toward him.

"I shall do as I please!" Freddy yelled.

"Yes but do it inside."

Freddy's glare would have melted an iceberg. "You go back in! I wish to be alone! I am in no danger!"

"I beg to differ!" A new and unexpected voice joined the conversation, just as its burly owner grabbed Freddy's upper arm in a vice like grip.

"Take your hand off me!" Freddy struggled to free himself, his voice holding more bravado than he actually felt.

In an instant Illya drew his gun but before he could fire a shot, his arm was struck sharply by a second assailant and the weapon clattered to the ground. Reacting immediately Illya punched his aggressor on the chin, with more than enough force to render his opponent unconscious but his efforts were not rewarded by his assailant's demise. Instead the man who towered above Kuryakin by several inches and was built like a tank only rocked slightly back on his heels then with a grim smile landed a blow solidly to Illya's abdomen.

The U.N.C.L.E. agent doubled over in agony but was swiftly yanked upright as his opponent grabbed a handful of his hair, pulled hard, then commenced dragging him over to his partner who was holding tightly onto a squirming, indignant Prince Fredo.

"You will let me go immediately!" Freddy continued demanding to no avail. Instead he seemed to elicit peals of laughter from the thug holding onto him.

"Looks like you got a bit of a comedian there, Bert." The THRUSH agent dragging Illya commented while nodding toward Freddy.

"Yeah Harry," Bert chuckled. "This little prince thinks he can boss us around. His pal looks a bit feisty though." Bert pointed to Illya who was valiantly lashing out at Harry.

With a firm grip still on Illya's hair Harry grinned at his captive. "Nothing I can't handle."

Accepting his blows were having no effect on Harry, Illya swallowed his pride and began to yell for assistance. "Nap..!" A sharp backhanded slap to his mouth silenced his cries.

"Be quiet boy!" Harry growled, "Besides they won't be able to hear you from inside anyway. That music makes an awful racket."

"We ought to get away from here anyway Harry, I don't think it'll be long before they start looking for the prince."

"Just as well we were out here." Bert growled, shaking Freddy roughly. "We didn't expect you to leave the dance hall so early."

"Neither did I!" Freddy retorted. "It's his fault!" Angry royal eyes burned into the Russian.

Trying to stem the blood that was flowing from a split-swollen lip, Illya could only gape at Freddy's accusation.

"Anyway it's lucky for us. I don't think I could have stood another night of that yowling you kids call music. Don't you agree Harry?" Bert chuckled loudly.

"Yeah. Still, my daughter's enjoyed the past few days, seeing almost every show. You U.N.C.L.E. boys would never suspect a dad bringing his girl to a concert, then waiting to take her home safely once it was over." Harry sounded incredibly smug directing his comments to Illya while still pulling on his hair. "My girl particularly liked you, son. I don't suppose you'd give me your autograph for her."

"You'll forgive me if I don't." While struggling to free himself from Harry's grip Illya saw Freddy bristling with indignation.

"Your daughter may have my autograph."

"Sorry Your Highness, but my girl only likes this one."

"I'll get the prince into the car." Bert interrupted. "Harry, you dispose of that agent."

"OK." Removing a penknife from his pocket Harry gave it a determined flick and the blade flashed into the open. It gleamed in the night as the street lamps reflected off its smooth surface. Tilting Illya's head back to expose his throat, Harry positioned the knife carefully on the taunt flesh. "Sorry son, close your eyes and I'll do it quick." It was the first time Harry had got a close look at Illya's face; the same street lamps that had illuminated the blade now shone on the Russian's countenance, effectively stopping Harry from his deadly quest. "Good lord! Bert!"

"What?" Bert was busy trying to get the struggling prince into the car and had no wish to be delayed.

"Bert, this is Kuryakin!"

Instantly Bert ceased his efforts to drag Freddy across the car park. "You sure?"

"Oh yes! It's him. You know I thought it might be him when I saw him on stage but the lighting was so low I couldn't be sure and to be honest I didn't think Waverly would send his top notch agent on such a lowly assignment." In his excitement Harry pressed the blade harder into the vulnerable throat causing Illya to wince. "Oops! Sorry boy." Harry removed the knife immediately and allowed Illya's head to fall forward though his grip on the blond hair didn't relax.

"This is fantastic! Capturing Kuryakin! Thrush Central will be delighted with us." Bert crowed.

"Just a minute! I believe it is I your organisation is interested in." Freddy stopped struggling, disbelief etched on his face.

"Yeah, yeah but Kuryakin! What a feather in our caps that'll be when we bring him in." Bert marvelled, no longer interested in the royal in his grasp.

"You can't possibly want HIM!"

"Oh yes we do. THRUSH would be truly delighted to extract the information he has. Come on Kuryakin, let's get you in the car." Removing his hand from Illya's hair, Harry grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the vehicle.

"I demand you leave him here!" Like a petulant child Freddy stamped his feet.

"Can't do that Your Highness." Harry was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"What is wrong with you?" Freddy turned his venomous glared onto Illya who was still trying to deal with blood gushing from his lower lip and a painful cut on his throat. "You steal my band, my fame, my fans and now you steal my KIDNAPPING!"

"What?" Illya couldn't quite believe what he had just heard and favoured Freddy with astonished blue eyes.

"Everything I have, you WANT!" Freddy was beside himself with fury. Even Bert and Harry exchanged looks of disbelief at Freddy's outburst.

"I can assure you that there is nothing you have that I want! Especially a KIDNAPPING!"

It was all getting too much for the usually composed agent. His head ached, his lips stung, his throat hurt and he was tired. So very tired of the assignment and Freddy's attitude.

"I hate to interrupt but you two can continue your little argument at THRUSH headquarters." Bert chuckled and resumed pulling Freddy toward a car.

Whether it was Bert's patronising tone or the threat of being a guest of THRUSH, Illya exploded into action. Taking full advantage of Harry's relaxed grip on him he punched and kicked every vulnerable area Harry possessed with savage accuracy. Days of pent up anger increased the severity of his attack, catching Harry completely by surprise. Despite being much larger than the Russian he was unable to defend himself from the enraged U.N.C.L.E. agent. In seconds he was on the ground slipping into unconsciousness.

The attack had begun and was over in mere seconds. Bert had just enough time to register what was happening, formulate a plan to aid his stricken partner before Illya was upon him like a fireball. A loud crack echoed as Illya landed a solid punch to Bert's chin. He wasn't sure if it was his fingers or Bert's jaw that had fractured but he didn't care as he drove his other fist into Bert's abdomen. Doubling over and clutching his stomach Bert was forced to release his hold on Freddy.

"GET BACK INSIDE!" Illya yelled as he continued to attack Bert.

For once in his life Freddy did as he was told immediately and without argument and fled to the safety of the dance hall. As he neared the back door it was flung open and Napoleon, April, Thomas and Mark raced out, almost colliding with him in their haste.

Mallen quickly wrapped an arm around the prince and dragged him back inside the building. Napoleon, April and Mark continued running toward Illya.

The three of them arrived in time to see the Russian slam his fist into Bert's nose and watch the THRUSH thug slip into unconsciousness after the blow connected.

Illya stepped back from his fallen assailant panting heavily. Napoleon was at his side in an instant while Mark and April checked on the status of the THRUSH agents. "Are you OK?" Napoleon faced his partner placing his hands on shoulders in order to support him while he checked him over.

"I'm fine!"

"I don't know why I bother to ask." Solo grinned as he took in the bleeding lip, angry score on the throat and gashed knuckles his friend sported.

From behind him Mark reported. "Napoleon, these two aren't going to wake up any time soon. Got you a little riled, did they Illya?" He added teasingly to Illya.

"I do not get riled."

"Of course not darling." April simpered now standing beside Illya sounding as if she didn't believe a word he was saying.

Napoleon laughed out loud. Illya tried to be annoyed but couldn't muster the energy. "Mark, call the London office and explain we have two feathered friends who would like to make use of our U.N.C.L.E. facilities and ask them to come and collect," Solo commanded, then steered Illya back toward the dance hall. "You and April keep an eye on our new acquaintances while I take care of Illya."

"I don't need taking care of!"

"Of course not." Shrugged Solo while escorting Illya back inside.

Freddy, Thomas and Jake were in discussion when Napoleon and Illya entered the dressing room. Or rather Freddy was doing the discussing and Thomas and Jake were listening. "Have my private plane ready to leave as soon as possible. I shall not be staying in this country a moment longer. I shall inform my father this venture is over."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness." Thomas agreed, no stranger to Freddy's abrupt changes of plan.

"But Freddy you and the band are booked at The Royal till the end of the week and then there are other venues arranged!" Jake blubbered.

Cold black eyes bore into Saunders. "You will address me as Prince Fredo. You will deal with these minor problems. I am returning home to Vernland!"

"Y-yes Your Highness." Saunders backed away from Fredo bowing deeply as he retreated.

After watching Saunders scurry away Fredo turned his frosty glare on Illya. "Getting away from you will be a pleasure!" Without further comment Fredo pushed past Illya and left the dressing room, Thomas Mallen following in his wake.

"Not the grateful sort, is he?" Napoleon noted.

"U.N.C.L.E. clients are not required to be grateful."

"Perhaps not but once in a while it would be nice." Napoleon gently led Illya to a chair and encouraged him to sit down. His partner looked worn out, dishevelled and hurt. "On the plus side though, I think I can safely say this assignment is over."

Weary blue eyes gazed up at him. "I'm too tired to cheer."

Clapping an enthusiastic hand on Illya's shoulder Solo chortled, "We'll celebrate tomorrow then." His expression grew suddenly serious. "But right now I have to clean those cuts you have acquired."

"Napoleon I am fine." Sounding nervous Illya attempted to stand but Solo's hand on his shoulder held him firmly in place.

"Oh no you don't boy. You're having your injuries attended to and I know just where the bottle of iodine is."

"Napoleon..!"

11:00 Thursday New York U.N.C.L.E. HQ.
Although austere compared to the recent luxury of their London hotel, Waverly's office felt familiar and comfortable. Sitting around the circular table April, Mark, Napoleon and Illya felt at home.

Napoleon was just completing a verbal report of the recent mission to Mr. Waverly. "So Prince Fredo returned to Vernland Wednesday morning via his private jet and we returned to New York sir."

"Thank you Mr. Solo." Stern grey eyes surveyed the four agents sitting at his desk. "Not our most auspicious mission, would you say?"

"Mr. Kuryakin did save Prince Fredo from being abducted by THRUSH, Sir," Solo ventured.

Grey eyes returned to him for a moment then shifted to the Russian, favouring the young agent with an annoyed expression. "Yes." Waverly focused his full attention on Kuryakin. "I had a most torrid conversation with His Royal Highness this morning."

Swallowing hard, Illya cursed his reaction to Waverly's scrutiny of him. Just one look from The Old Man and he felt like a nervous schoolboy waiting for the headmaster to pass sentence on him. Inexplicably he discovered the polished surface of the circular table extremely interesting and focused his full attention upon it.

"Prince Fredo had nothing good to say about you Mr. Kuryakin."

Reluctantly Illya looked up at his boss. "It is his privilege Sir."

Waverly continued his study of the Russian for a moment longer before turning to the console behind him and picking up two items, one a small, slim, rectangular package wrapped in gold paper, the other a large manila envelope. Placing them both on the circular table he spun it sharply then stopped it abruptly so the items were in front of Illya.

All four agents were startled by the unexpected action but Illya was by far the most surprised by the appearance of the envelope and box. "Sir?"

"These arrived for you this morning Mr. Kuryakin."

"From where Sir?" Illya stared at them as if they were about to explode at any second.

"They have been checked by Demolitions and are quite safe." Waverly seemed to have an unnerving ability to read people's minds. "I therefore suggest you open them to discover the answer to your question."

"Yes Sir." Picking up the slim package, Illya carefully removed the gold wrapping to reveal a box covered in purple velvet.

Napoleon, Mark and April were intrigued by the unfolding events and leaned forward so as to see better what the box contained.

"Hurry up mate! I want to see what you've got there!" Mark enthused voicing what April and Napoleon also felt.

Opening the box a crack so only he could see inside, Illya gasped and shut the lid sharply. "Sir! I can't accept this!" he beseeched Waverly.

"May I know what 'this' is?" The elderly man held out his hand for the rectangle box, which Illya immediately gave to him.

Waverly opened the velvet container and withdrew a solid gold wristwatch. It gleamed brightly as Waverly held it up for all to see.

"Wow!" Mark and April exclaimed.

Waverly handed the watch back to Illya who reluctantly accepted it. From his position beside him, Solo had a close view of the timepiece and marvelled at its magnificence. While the casing and wristband were solid gold the mother-of pearl-face was framed with precious gems and instead of the usual numerals the hands pointed to brilliant diamonds to indicate the time.

"Sir? I don't understand? Who sent this?" Illya was truly baffled by the extravagant present.

"I do believe this note will shed some light." In his hand Waverly held a piece of paper that he'd found when he removed the watch from its box. After passing it to Illya he sat back and waited patiently for him to read the message written on it.

For a few minutes Illya stared at the words on the paper as if having trouble grasping their meaning.

Eventually Waverly prompted his agent. "Is the message written in a language you have not yet mastered, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"No Sir. It's English." Despite it being a language he knew well, Illya sounded bewildered as if unable to make sense of the note.

"What is the message Mr. Kuryakin?"

"With Grateful Thanks. It's from King Marco Sir."

"Yes I know." Waverly raised his hands to stanch the rush of questions he expected from his agents. "King Marco also contacted me this morning. Shortly after my communication with Prince Fredo in fact. It would appear that Prince Fredo has made a solemn vow to his father that he would stop his wayward pursuits and acquaint himself with the Affairs of State. He plans to learn all there is to know about running a country so when he finally becomes king he will rule wisely and justly."

"That's wonderful!" April stated "But what has that got to do with Illya and that beautiful watch, Sir?"

Fixing Illya with a piecing glare Waverly continued his explanation. "It would appear that Mr. Kuryakin told Prince Fredo he could rule Vernland much better the Crown Prince!"

Colour drained instantly from Illya's face, his eyes widened in shock and his mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

"You said WHAT?" Napoleon exclaimed.

"I... Well..!" Forming a sentence seemed impossible for Illya.

"Fortunately your pronouncement spurred the prince into taking his royal duties seriously and King Marco is most grateful to you and wishes most sincerely you keep his gift." Waverly continued.

"Yes Sir." To anyone listening Illya sounded as if he'd been ordered to walk barefoot on burning coals.

"I, on the other hand, am not so pleased with your conduct!" Waverly leaned forward in his chair, grey eyes sparking with controlled fury. "May I point out that it is not U.N.C.L.E's policy to insult the people they are employed to guard? Is that perfectly clear Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Yes Sir." Illya couldn't help feeling like a naughty five year old.

"What's in the envelope?" Feeling sorry for his partner, Napoleon attempted to distract Waverly from rebuking his friend further.

Glad of something else to concentrate on, Illya tore open the envelope and withdrew several typewritten pages and one handwritten note. "Oh no! It's from Jake Saunders."

Never before had the assembled company heard the young man sound so desperate.

"And?" Napoleon gently encouraged.

"Saying that last night when I sang there was a talent scout for a major record company in the audience. I've been offered a five-year recording contract with them! Jake Saunders wishes to become my manager!"

April, Mark and Napoleon burst out laughing.

'How much more trouble can I get into?' Illya thought miserably.

"Will you be accepting the recording contract Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly asked sternly, already knowing the answer.

"No Sir!" Ripping up the typewritten pages gave Illya immense satisfaction.

"Good. Well, I do believe enough time has been wasted on this ridiculous assignment. After two weeks of luxury I'm expecting you all to settle down to some really hard work!"

Illya had to bite down hard on his tongue to prevent him expounding to his boss just how easy the past fortnight had been.

"I'm sure you all have your reports to write, therefore you are dismissed." Without further interest in his agents Waverly picked up his pipe and set about filling its bowl with fresh tobacco.

Feeling extremely relieved the debriefing was concluded all four agents rose to their feet and headed toward the door but before they had taken more than a few steps Waverly spoke again. "Mr. Kuryakin, if I might have a word."

The sugary sweet tone his boss used caused Illya's heart to sink. He hadn't forgotten Waverly's promise of a long discussion on assignment choices when he returned to New York. Dejectedly Illya suspect the Old Man was going to make good on his promise.

Slowly he approached Waverly wishing he was facing an army of THRUSH agents rather than the Head of U.N.C.L.E to receive yet another reprimand. "Sir?"

Waverly gazed up at the agent standing beside him. "Mr. Kuryakin," he began slowly, "as soon as I have decided upon my next crackpot scheme, you will be the first to know! Now run along!"

Illya gaped incredulously at his boss for an instant, then hastily stepped back. Almost immediately April, Mark and Napoleon surrounded him as if to form a shield between him and the Old Man, then firmly led him from the room into the safety of the corridor.

It was only when the doors closed on the four agents leaving Waverly completely alone, that the Old Man gave in to the laughter he had been holding back.

The End

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