It was under the light of the full moon as they ascended the southern staircase to the front of the temple; François guiding them across the courtyard and directly to the Mammissi. "This is where the ritual will surely happen" he whispered, " it is the sacred place where Horus was conceived."

Napoleon and Nabil had armed them all with weapons; Solo supplying the tranquilizer rounds.

They walked into the first chamber of the temple, Napoleon quickly moving to the side walls instinctively to remain out of view. The others following suit. They checked two smaller antechambers, finding them empty; then continued on deeper into the building, it was dark going as they way was lit only by torches on the walls.

In the distance they could hear chanting from the inner recess of the dark temple. They crept forward moving carefully until they heard a blood curdling scream. "That is Zeinab!" Tariq blurted out, rushing forward into the blackness.

"Tariq no!" Napoleon called after him, then he too took off after him into the shadows followed by the others.

The young man bounded into the sanctum, calling Zeinab's name, and she reacted when she saw him. She had come out from under the control drugs and was fighting as the priests tried to wrap her in the bandages, letting out a blood-curdling scream as the priest struck her across the face.

"Tariq help me!" she howled to him.

"Get him!" the head priest ordered. A half dozen guards wearing black jackal head pieces stepped out of the shadows, heading towards him, stopping him where he stood as their costumes were startling.

Napoleon, Nabil and François appeared behind Tariq, firing their weapons and taking the men down, but then more and more appeared from other parts of other parts of the temple. They ran out of ammunition, leaving them no choice but to grab the nearest weapons, the swords of the fallen guards. Solo ran forward swinging the blade, trying to apply standard fencing techniques to adversaries that would not be following gentleman's rules.

Parry, thrust , lunge parry again; Solo moved holding the curved blade with both his hands, dancing back and forth with the immense guard until he finally found an opening, driving the sword into the man's chest. He turned in time to duck another blade that just missed removing his head from his shoulders, lashing out in response; he took the next guard out quickly. Nabil joined the UNCLE agent, standing with him back to back as they swung their swords against their attackers as did François and Tariq. If is wasn't for such a surreal setting Napoleon would have found it quite exhilarating.

When it was over Napoleon and Nabil looked at each other, puffing for air, then laughed in relief; realizing they had won.

Anucis was still sitting motionless as Solo went to her. "Anucis? He repeated her name several times, receiving no response. He finally slapped her once then a second time causing her eyes to flutter back to awareness.

"Anucis, where's Illya? Do you know where he is...is he here?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her a little, demanding her attention.

Her hand raised slowly as she held up a shaking finger at the large sarcophagus that lay to Solo's back. He turned, looking to where she was pointing.

"Jesus God no?" He released her, scrambling over several bodies to reach the box in which his partner had been entombed.

Napoleon grabbed a long staff that lay on the floor, using it to try to pry the lid from the sealed sarcophagus, uttering a another plea to God that Illya was still alive. The wood snapped under the pressure and this time he grabbed one of the swords, forcing the blade into narrow slit beneath the lid, finally prying it open.

It was too heavy to lift by himself, and he called to the others to help him.

"On the count of three. One, two, three.!" They hoisted it up, grunting with the effort, then throwing it aside to the floor.

Napoleon looked in horror at the mummified figure, thinking that Illya Kuryakin was dead, when suddenly the body began to move, wiggling from side to side.

"Oh Christ?" He uttered as he used the sword to cut through the bandages covering his partner's face.

The look of terror on Illya's face was one that Napoleon would never forget, as the man cried out gasping for air. He lifted the Russian's head, cradling it against his chest, feeling his friend trembling as he began to sob quietly.

"It's alright buddy, I'm here. It's over. You're okay."

Illya suddenly let out a laugh, realizing that he was indeed alright, and Napoleon knew his friend would be fine when heard him speak, saying something that was so typical of his laconic partner.

"As usual you are late."

Solo chuckled at that, not caring about the accusatory tone the Russian was taking with him; he was just happy that his friend was alive to say it.

He laid him back down, slicing through the rest of the linen bandages, glancing at Illya's face as he heard the man sniff, seeing there were still a few tears running down is face as the usually stoic Russian tried to blink his eyes into stopping them.

"Thank you Napoleon" he whispered, "this was a bad one."

That was the closest his partner had ever come to admitting fear, that and the few tears he had let fall proved that he really wasn't the Ice Prince after all. His fiercely private friend had finally let him see more of his human side, one that Solo had always suspected was there.

Once free of the wrapping and his hands untied; Illya hoisted himself from the coffin with the grace of a gymnast, calling to his partner to grab the linen robe that lay discarded on the floor. He looked down over his naked body as Napoleon tossed him the garment seeing that his skin was very red, and it was starting to burn. He suspected some sort of reaction from what ever the bandages has been soaked in.

Solo eyed the face makeup, hieroglyphs on Illya's skin, and especially the gold paint as Illya removed the lapis collar and other pieces of jewerly still adorning his body.

"Now that's really going to require a good explanation?" he smiled looking at his partner's lower extremity.

"Over my dead body," the Russian quipped as he quickly covered himself with the linen robe.

"Almost was," Napoleon reminded him.

Illya shook his head in agreement, "We will talk about it later, much later please?"

Napoleon continued to help the others remove the rest of the girls from their coffins as the air started to fill with the sounds of their cries fear and relief at their rescue. Nabil grabbed the leopard skins from the priests, using them to covering up the girls to save them from further embarrassment. He remained silent and did nothing to stop Tariq and Zeinab as he saw them kissing, holding each other. He smiled, knowing that his best friend would someday be his brother-in-law.

"You were very brave and very stupid Tariq. Perhaps I can get you a job with our government? " Nabil then laughed.

Illya tied the linen robe tightly around his waist then walked slowly over to Anucis, helping to cover her with the bright Isis cloak. He put his arms around her holding her head to his chest.

"Are you alright?"

"I am alive, so I suppose so?" she answered ever so softly.

He knew she was in shock as he pulled her closer to him, " I am so sorry," he whispered to her. " I could not control myself because of the drugs they gave me. Did I hurt you?"

"I will be alright it wasn't your fault, Illya." She reached up stroking his cheek, noting the sadness in his bright blue eyes.

"Anucis," he paused, finding the words difficult, " If...if there is child," he began to say but before he could finish his sentence; Illya heard a noise from behind him. He turned, seeing one of the guards lunging towards them, he had only a second to cover Anucis with his body, preparing for the worst.

Then suddenly, a figure dove between them, taking the blade their stead.

Napoleon came up behind the guard, driving a sword blade between his ribs; killing him instantly, then he dropped to his knees, cradling the body of the man who had just saved his partner's life.

"François. I'm so sorry, this is my fault. I never should have..."

"Non Monsieur, you needed my help to stop this abomination. I only hope we were not too late..."

The man's body went limp in his arms; Napoleon closed François' eyes then lowered him down gently to the temple floor.

The girls having been seen to and were ready for travel as the men grabbed torches from the walls, making their way though the dark temple; the only sound now was they echoing of footsteps on the stone floors.

A hot blast of dusty air greeted them as they emerged through the portal, past the granite lions that stared out with lifeless carved eyes. They made their way cautiously down the southern steps to the dock where the felucca were anchored, feeling they were returning from the past to the present.

After everyone had boarded, Napoleon made ready as he cast off the mooring lines, then he and Illya raised the single tall sail. It caught the hot desert winds instantly as Solo brought the small craft about, tuning it north for their short journey towards Aswan, from there they would travel back to Cairo via the lorry they had left there.

Tariq and Nabil sat together in the bow of the boat, with Nabil wrapping his arm around his sister's shoulders. Anucis and other girls huddled together in silence, letting the effects of shock slowly diminish from their systems. The linen bandages they and Illya had been wrapped in had caused minor chemical burns to their skins that would require medical treatment as soon as they reached a hospital in Cairo, but none were serious enough to put them in any sort of danger.

Napoleon piloted the graceful craft while his partner sat beside him, the night air and the cooler temperatures allowed them both to breathe deeply in the realization that they had cheated death and won the game once again.

"You alright tovarisch?" Napoleon asked as his partner seemed more quiet and contemplative than usual after a close call.

"I am fine." Was all he said. Napoleon knew that was his friends way of saying something was troubling him." But Illya deftly steered the subject away from himself. "So pretty handy with that sword tonight... should I call you Errol Solo from now on? Or perhaps D'Atagnan?" he teased.

Napoleon grinned, going along with his partner's joke, "No I think perhaps Aramis is better for me, don't you think? You know, the legendary swordsman and lover?"

"Oh pa-leeze?" Illya moaned.

"Hey you started it? And besides the idiom won't work; it's just the two of us so we're short a Musketeer?"

The Russian shook his head; regretting that had tried making the smart-ass remark. But then again it had served it's purpose to deflect Solo's questions. He hadn't told him of the ritual he had been drugged into performing with Anucis, and decided he would not discuss it. Even though he had no control over himself; Illya felt ashamed. That would be another secret that he would have to bury along with so many others that he kept from his partner, reminding himself of his mantra he learned as a child, the less people know about you, the longer you would live.

The next morning Anucis Sakr walked into Illya Kuryakin's hospital room at Qasr el Ainy General Hospital in Cairo where he was being treated along with the seven girls for minor burns. Illya lay in the hospital bed, his skin dotted with white ointments and an IV fluid line in his arm to treat his dehydration. He looked up at her, offering her one of his shy smiles.

"Marhaba Illya, how are you feeling?" She dropped her hijab, revealing her luxurious dark hair to him.

"Fine thank you and you?" he spoke to her with a tentativeness in his voice, but stared into her lovely eyes, still finding them entrancing.

"I am well. There are no ill effects from the drugs that I was given. Illya, I wish to thank you for saving me? You put yourself in front of me and would have take the sword for me I think?"

"No it was François who should be praised, not me? He fell silent for a moment dropping his gaze," Anucis, we need to talk about..."

"Yes I know you are concerned if there will be a child."

"I am and I want you to know if there is; then I will help support it ...but I cannot be with you. I am sorry, that is something my life will not allow."

"I understand, be well Illya Nickovich," she said softly, then leaned forward, kissing him on the lips, leaving him with out saying another word."

He sighed, then shrugged; knowing there was little he could do at the moment. The idea of having a child un-nerved him yet at the same time the thought of having someone out there that was a part of him was enticing. The words to the song that had been playing over in his head came to mind again, You belong to me," A child that belonged to him...Illya let himself muse over that thought for a moment. He knew he could not be a father to it though, not with the unpredictable life that he lead.

His most recent encounter with death was proof of the precariousness of his existence, and would not be fair to a child; better it grew up without him in it's life, than to suffer the loss of a father as he had when he was a child. He was sure that would be his fate and it was only a matter of time before he met his death in this dangerous business of espionage.

Napoleon walked into his room, seeing his partner more serious than usual. He'd gotten used to the Russian being on the cranky side as he detested doctors, especially psychiatrists. He was carrying a brown paper sack with him, something he knew would soothe the savage Illya.

"Here's a present to tide you over until lunch." He put a tall cup of asiir lamoon, a strong sweet version of lemonade that was popular throughout Egypt on the bed table. "Sorry, not vodka tovarisch."

The Russian took a sip from the straw, testing the liquid with a quick taste, then finding it acceptable he took a longer swallow, then opened the sack; pleased that it was filled with deep-fried fallafel, making him smile of course.

"You always know when I am hungry my friend, thank you." he said tossing one of the snacks to his partner.

"Not hard, that's because you're always hungry. Listen, a clean-up crew from our field office Tel Aviv took care of the mess at the Isis temple, but a strange thing... the body of François al-Dabaran was missing when they arrived."

"Mmm," Illya said, with a mouthful of fallafel." Perhaps the old power that François had spoken of took him to the land of the dead; he was after all a believer in those ways?" Illya the scientist surprised himself at making that statement, as he was one who relied on concrete facts to reach his conclusions and was not prone to flights of fancy.

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents looked at each other. "Nah!" they laughed as they continued to eat, each of them wondering otherwise about François, but leaving the thought unvoiced. They returned to New York three days later after Illya's skin irritation had subsided. It bothered him that he did not get to see Anucis again before they left. He tried calling her, but there was no answer and there was no time to look for her as the Old Man, wanted them back to headquarters immediately.

He had not told his partner about the fact that she could be carrying his child. That was a private matter not to be discussed, irregardless of the fact that it had happened during an assignment. That little detail he opted to leave out of his final report as well.

Two months later Illya Kuryakin walked into the office of Dr. Mustafa el- Hazziz at the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities back in Cairo.

He knocked softly on the door then opened it after the Professor called for him to come in.

"A Salam Dr. el-Hazziz, I bring greetings from Alexander Waverly. How are your son and daughter?"

"Ah Mr. Kuryakin, such a pleasure to see you again and looking fit I might add. My son Nabil has just received a promotion and will be working special detail for President Nasser himself. He his heading a task force with a young archeologist named Hawass to prevent the further theft of our antiquities as well as petition for the return or our national treasures from foreign nations.

"No more Sorbonne?"

"Sadly no, but I am very proud of him none the less as he is doing a great service for our country."

"And your daughter?"

"My beautiful Zeinab and Tariq have become engaged," his eyes twinkled," but a long engagement, mind you. And what may I ask brings you here, surely not to just bring greetings from Alex and to inquire about my family?"

"No sir I am here to see Anucis. I have been trying to get in touch with her but have had no success. I just visited up an assignment in Libya and had time to spare to come to Cairo. Is she here today?"

"Oh I am so sorry Mr. Kuryakin, Anucis Sakr resigned her position just a week ago. I have no idea where she has gone, it was all quite sudden and perplexing. She is very much missed here."

Illya felt a little stab of pain in his chest."Do you know were her family lives in Lebanon?"

"She has no family, they all died many years ago. So really who knows where she could be. I am sorry. Perhaps if you would care to leave a note for her; if she contacts me I could find out where she is and send it to her for you?"

"No thank you professor. There was a question I needed to ask her, but I suppose it will have to wait. Please extend my well wishes to your children. Ma'as salaama_goodbye," Illya said with a slight bow, placing his hand to his chest.

The blond Russian exited the Cairo museum, pulling the hood of his long beige caftan robe to cover his blond head. He walked alone across Tahir Square down to the shoreline to gaze out at the Nile and the Pyramids one last time. He felt no desire to go to them now, nor see any other ancient site up close for that matter but this last glance, admiring them from a far would more than suit him for a long time to come.

The words to the song came back to him instantly as he stared at the tall monoliths rising in the distance and he started singing it softly to himself.

"See the pyramids along the Nile

watch the sunrise on a tropic isle

Just remember darlin' all the while

you belong to me..."

Would there be someone out there who belonged to him someday? Illya wondered if the sands of time would reveal that or not.

Intaha_FINIS