Story 1 in the Map Room Series

Illya entered U.N.C.L.E.'s library with little hope of finding Napoleon there. He'd exhausted all other possibilities and the library was certainly the last place he would expect to find his partner.

Napoleon had left his communicator in his desk draw. He had done that the last time he had went to the map room with one of the buxom young secretaries. Illya remembered fondly the shocked look on Napoleon's face when he'd burst in on the two of them together.

"Illya you should have called me on the communicator," he'd said.

"Well I would have done but you left it in the draw of your desk," he'd countered.

"Gee I wonder why I'd do a thing like that?"

"I have no idea."

"Illya take a hike."

"I thought while I was here, I'd take a look at some maps." He said rather amused at finding Napoleon in his predicament.

"Illya my secretary is getting cold."

He'd looked at the semi-clad young lady and excused himself rather politely.

Whenever he'd been unable to contact Napoleon that was where he could often be found. Though not today. Oh it was occupied all right, but not with Napoleon. An amused smile crept on his face as he remembered how surprised Mark Slate and the secretary had been when he'd burst in on them. He'd have to remember to apologise to Mark later on. He'd tried to at the time but he'd been laughing so hard he couldn't quite accomplish it.

Well it was certainly turning out to be a day for surprises, he thought to himself, as he spotted a familiar face sitting reading at one of the desks in the library. He strode over to talk to Napoleon.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm studying."

"Studying for what?"

"For your alumni, what else? You invited me remember."

"Why would you need to study for my alumni? It's not a test you know."

"Because my little Russian friend, I'm not going to look like a complete dummy while you converse with all your old school chums and lecturers."

"But you do that rather well," he said with a smile. Then inspiration struck, "There isn't a woman you're trying to impress, is there?"

"I don't know, is there?" He asked, hopeful.

"No," then he reconsidered, "well, they wouldn't be your type."

"All women are my type."

"I thought you preferred blondes?" He asked as he stroked his fingers casually through his natural blond hair.

The End

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