Napoleon Solo sighed and leaned back into his office
chair. His chin rested on one hand while
the other threw stacks of papers carelessly on the desk. He sat alone; tie hanging loosely on a
wrinkled white shirt with rolled up sleeves, his jacket thrown carelessly over
a computer. Four agents. Four men.
Four operatives of Section Two had been killed on affairs throughout North America in the last 16 months. Napoleon had been through everything he could
think of to try to explain it. He had
reviewed every fatality report with UNCLE's critical incident debriefing
team. He met with each of the surviving
partners for hours, asking questions, reviewing procedures, pressing the agents
to recall the smallest details. Everything had been done by the book. He had
personally evaluated Section II's in-house training on mission procedures,
physical conditioning, marksmanship, weaponry and tactics, interrogation
resistance, communications, and intelligence briefings. Napoleon could find no deficiencies in
training at UNCLE headquarters. His mind
drifted, partly out of fatigue and partly out of frustration. He didn't notice the door to his office
sliding open.
"Napoleon, what in the world are you doing here? It's after 10:00. Surely you can find something more
entertaining to do on a Saturday night than study reports?" Illya Kuryakin said as he sat down across the
desk from Napoleon. Illya swung his feet
up on the desk and rested his hands behind his head, observing his partner
closely.
"Aaaaaaaah, well" Napoleon paused, "I don't think I could
say the same for you. Have you been
rooting around all evening doing your mad scientist routine? Come up with any new gizmos with the boys in
the lab?"
Illya removed his glasses and replied, "Perhaps. But you are changing the subject, my
friend. How was your trip to the
Pacific? Were you able to detect any
problems with Survival
School training?
"Not a one" replied Solo.
"Your friend Mr. Cutter and I went through everything with a fine tooth
comb. Things appear to be running better
there than ever."
"Then perhaps you are looking for a problem where none
exists." said the Russian, running a hand through his rumpled blond hair.
"I wouldn't call 4 deaths in 16 months nothing, Illya."
Napoleon replied leaning forward moving both arms onto the desk. Kuryakin noticed the edge in his partner's
voice. Illya had observed Napoleon's typically affable demeanor change in
recent weeks. He knew more than others
how the rash of deaths weighed on his friend's mind. As UNCLE's Chief Enforcement Agent, Napoleon
was responsible for the readiness and effectiveness of 125 highly trained
agents in the region. Prior to the past
16 months, UNCLE had lost 1 agent in 4 years.
There had to be a reason and Napoleon had to find it. With the last death, Solo sensed a level of
discomfort in the corridors of UNCLE that was almost palpable. Agents no longer seemed untouchable, a
quality Napoleon himself seemed to exude to his fellow enforcement agents.
"You're right, of course Napoleon." Illya said. "I meant only that there are always anomalies
to statistics. Statistics are simply
quantitative measurements of data which use probablility to estimate the
possible parameters of agent fatalities."
"Hmmmmmmmmmm," Solo mumbled, "Probability." He rubbed his forehead then rested his head
in his hands without looking up, his jaw slack.
"We're missing something, Illya.
I can't put my finger on it but I know there's something missing. I just
don't....I can't explain it."
"Well you're not going to put your finger on it tonight,
Napoleon. Not after an 18 hour flight
and 72 hours on duty. A bit of rest
might yield the answers you are searching for, don't you think?" asked Illya.
"Probably." Solo
admitted. "But I think I'll grab a bunk
here and catch some sleep. I've got to
finish up the Survival
School report tonight and
have it ready for Mr. Waverly first thing in the morning."
"Fine" Illya sighed. "I'll swing by your apartment and pick
up a fresh suit for you in the morning before I come in. We can't have you pacing the halls of UNCLE looking
rumpled now, can we?"
Napoleon didn't hear his partner's last comment. He had already turned back to the business of
writing his report.
Kuryakin arrived precisely at 8:00 a.m. Monday morning in
Mr. Waverly's office as previously requested.
He was surprised to see Napoleon and their superior deep in conversation
at the conference table when he came in.
Napoleon was leaning forward with an animated tone to his voice to match
his clenched fists. Mr. Waverly listened
to his top agent's report without comment.
When Solo finished his briefing, the old man sat back in his chair and
continued to draw from his pipe. Waverly's demeanor was anything but concerned.
"Very well, Mr. Solo.
I'm pleased to hear that your trip to the Pacific was uneventful. I expected as much."
"Yes sir. But we're
really not any closer to....." Solo started.
"Yes, I understand, Mr. Solo," Waverly cut in. "But it seems
we have another matter of considerable importance to attend to. Please sit down Mr. Kuryakin. Illya made a point of passing by Napoleon on
his way to a seat at the large conference room.
He briefly patted the shoulder of his partner reassuringly as the lights
dimmed and the screen in front of them illuminated.
Napoleon grinned as he recognized the city map before
them. "Ah, tres bien...la ville
magnificent de Quebec."
"Quite right, Mr. Solo." Waverly said. "Our friends to the north are in need of some
assistance it seems"
"Something the UNCLE office there can't handle, sir?" asked
Illya.
"In part, Mr. Kuryakin.
You'll be working together with Arnaud Gaudet at our Quebec headquarters. I take it you're both familiar with Agent
Gaudet?"
"Ah, yes sir" answered Solo. "I believe Arnaud and Mr.
Kuryakin share the same fondness for explosives." Solo winked at Illya. The three agents had collaborated several
times before with very successful results.
It would be a pleasure to work with agent Gaudet again.
"Take a look at this, gentleman. What do you make of it?" Waverly asked. An overhead picture of a large metropolitan
area appeared on screen. An island on
the map was highlighted.
"That would be the Ile d'Orleans, sir" Napoleon offered.
"Originally French settled, important historically to Quebec
itself...maybe 3 kilometers east of downtown Quebec
on the St. Lawrence River."
"Very good, Mr. Solo." Waverly answered. "Mr. Kuryakin?"
"There appears to be a rather large building, somewhat
industrial in nature, on the northwest side of the island next to the
river. Rather out of place on an island
like that. Is it some kind of munitions
or chemical plant, sir?" asked Illya.
"Nothing quite so sinister that we know of, Mr. Kuryakin. It is, however, currently occupied by a large
contingency of Thrush men, hence, our concern.
Early intelligence indicates the building is filled with unusual amounts
of furniture varnish."
"I take it you don't believe Thrush is entering the antiques
market, sir" asked Napoleon. "What are our little birdie friends up to this
time?"
"That is your assignment, gentleman." Waverly spun the table around where two
airline tickets to Quebec
stopped in front of his agents. "You'll leave this afternoon and meet with Mr.
Gaudet tonight. Find out what is going
on on Ile d'Orleans and report back immediately. Whatever Thrush is up to, I can guarantee you
it's no good. Off you go, then."
"Avec plaisier, monsieur," Napoleon quipped as both agents
rose to depart.
"Good luck, gentleman" Waverly said as he waved a hand
dismissively.
"Illya......Napoleon! My
friends....welcome!" Arnaud Gaudet
exclaimed as he bear hugged both agents in the Quebec airport. "I am so glad to see you both; we have much
to talk about, yes?"
"Arnaud. It is good
to see you my friend." Said Illya. "How
do the wars go?"
"One battle at a time, my brother" replied Arnaud referring
to their shared motto during survival school training. Gaudet and Kuryakin were assigned quarters
together throughout survival school and the Canadian was credited with helping
the mercurial Russian negotiate the interpersonal land mines he often
experienced with his peers. Kuryakin had
been somewhat a loner, and found himself often isolated...a situation that was eased
with Gaudet's jovial persona. Arnaud became
rather protective of the Russian and initially worried about his pairing with
UNCLE's CEA, Napoleon Solo. Through the
years however, Arnaud came to appreciate the complementary nature of their
partnership, their effectiveness as a team, and the trusted bond that helped
them know each other's moves often before they happened. Clearly they were UNCLE's top team. Of Napoleon, he had great respect and
admiration, as most agents did. The
American had been hand selected and mentored by the legendary Nate Cassidy and
lived up to, or exceeded, every expectation that the leadership of UNCLE held
for him. Smooth, diplomatic, but deadly when he needed to be, his fierce
loyalty to UNCLE and Kuryakin was fabled.
"Come on, I have a car waiting outside." said Arnaud. "We
have an appointment at the university. We
have some leads on what might be happening on Ile d'Orleans. You will find it interesting, I think."
"Lead on," Napoleon replied with a slight bow, straightening
his jacket and drawing his coat around him.
The agents made their way through the concourse and moved
outside into slightly blustery weather, typical of the historic city. They wound through the old part of the city
and arrived at the university where Arnaud led them inside a building marked
"Ingenierie Chimique et Recherche."
"Wonderful....chemical engineering." said Napoleon with a
sigh. "Can we attend lectures on the
Binomial Theorem of 19th Century Germany next?"
"I'm afraid not tonight, Napoleon. But I do have a wonderful textbook on the
subject I'd be glad to loan you tonight for some light reading if you wish,"
Agent Gaudet deadpanned.
Illya added with a smile, "Yes Napoleon. Perhaps afterwards we could discuss the
algebraic expansion of binomials?"
"Ah.....well..," Napoleon sarcastically replied with hands in
his pockets. "Thank you gentlemen, but I envisioned partaking of some of your
delightful Canadian Ice wine with an old acquaintance later this evening. Perhaps a rain check?"
The three were interrupted by the appearance of a rather
serious looking, balding middle-aged professor who entered the room carrying
several notebooks, loose files, test tubes, and beakers of liquid. He spread them out on a laboratory table and
looked up, pushing up his glasses from where they had slid down his nose, to
greet his guests.
"Ah....Monsieur Gaudet.
Welcome, welcome. I am happy to see you again." said Professor Gabriel
Rouchard.
"Merci, Dr. Rouchard.
These are the men I told you about, Mr. Napoleon Solo and Mr. Illya
Kuryakin from UNCLE's New York
headquarters. They arrived just this
afternoon."
"Very happy to meet you gentleman. Thank you for coming. I have some laboratory results that I must
say, have surprised and alarmed me regarding the building on Ile d'Orleans that
Arnaud asked me to investigate.
Please....please, sit down."
The three agents sat on the lab stools around the table
which held the professors materials, eagerly anticipating some insight into why
they were here. Dr. Rouchard began in
earnest.
"I have here samples of Quebec's tap water taken from every borough
in the city over a period of one year.
This coincides with the appearance of your storage warehouse on Ile
d'Orleans. Through chemical analysis, we
can see that the water supply for the entire region now contains elevated
amounts of the metal, manganese." explained the professor.
"Certainly not a problem in trace amounts I would think,"
Illya commented thumbing through the files and reports strewn across the table.
"Oui, this is true.
However, in larger amounts, there is quite a different effect. Large amounts of manganese ingested can lead
to a....shall we say...an erosion of intellectual
functioning in humans."
Rouchard said, lowering his eyes as the impact
of his statement sunk in to the agents.
The three UNCLE men exchanged shocked looks among each other. Thrush had created an incredibly simple way
to erode human intelligence in mass numbers.
The implications were frightening. Control of such a population of people would
be simple, complete, and uncontested.
"Doctor Rouchard," Napoleon said leaning forward, "Do we
know if these effects are permanent?
What about filters for the water supply?
Have the local authorities been contacted?"
"We can not say for sure, Mr. Solo, but some experiments we
have conducted here at the university suggest initially that the effects are
temporary and as soon as the metal is removed from the source, intellectual
capacity returns to original levels in a matter of weeks."
Agent Gaudet added, "And as far as the authorities go, they
do not want this knowledge released to citizens until the board of governors
decides how to proceed. They have been
working on this for 6 months and as yet, still do not have a plan. I do not believe we can count on their
assistance."
Illya said, "Looks like this is our problem to solve. About the furniture varnish...this is a cover I
assume?"
Somewhat, Monsieur Kuryakin." the professor replied. "As you
may know, furniture varnish comes from manganese resinate. In original form, this is a light, tan powder
and apparently your adversaries have learned to extract the manganese from this
product. This has allowed them to build
up large amounts of the metal from a seemingly harmless product without
suspicion. But let me caution you,
manganese resinate is highly toxic, highly flammable, and can ignite
spontaneously under the right conditions.
Agent Gaudet whistled softly and turned to face his UNCLE
colleagues. "Les grand grondement, eh?"
Napoleon nodded and summed up the situation succinctly, "The
big boom."
The next evening, 50 agents gathered at UNCLE's Quebec office attending
a briefing on the Ile d'Orleans mission.
Alexander Waverly had sent 25 enforcement agents from the New York office to assist the Section II operatives from Quebec. Napoleon Solo conducted the final briefing,
clearing his throat to get the rooms attention.
"All right ladies and gentlemen, I think we're clear on
assignments. Most of you will be taking
out the Thrush personnel on the outside perimeter and then gearing up in hazmat
suits for fire control. Make sure you
have eye protection and check your oxygen levels before you do anything else. This stuff is deadly and getting a good whiff
of it could put you six feet under, toute de suite." Solo instructed. He struck a more casual pose, grinned and
pointed a wagging finger in the air saying, "And I don't think our local officials
will take kindly to UNCLE burning down the entire city tomorrow night."
The room relaxed as Solo did. As CEA, Napoleon set the tone for enforcement
agents and even though each agent individually was a highly skilled, seasoned
operative, Solo knew they still looked for leadership and direction. He wanted the men prepared and informed, but
not operating on a tight wire. The
briefing continued.
"Arnaud and Javier will approach the target from the north
and Illya and another agent, from the south.
At the designated time, small explosives will be detonated near the
manganese resonate, hopefully to burn inward and destroy Thrush's magnesium
supply and the warehouse itself."
At this, there was a slight murmur in the room. Illya glanced briefly towards Napoleon,
startled at this development. He assumed
he and Napoleon would be working together as usual. Kuryakin was wise enough to know this was not
the time to voice concern however. His
face remained impassive.
Solo ignored the slight rustle in the room and finished up
the briefing. "On scene your agents in charge are Kuryakin and Gaudet. That's all ladies and gentlemen. Be ready to go tomorrow night." Napoleon stacked his papers on the lectern,
turned, and walked out of the room.
Illya Kuryakin approached the door to Napoleon's suite and
knocked softly. When no answer came, he
knocked again and checked for lights in the room as well as sounds that might
reveal Napoleon was perhaps entertaining.
There were none. He sighed and
headed downstairs to take a walk. Solo's
briefing had caught him off guard and he needed to talk to his friend and
partner. As he headed through the
deserted lobby of the hotel, his eye caught a glimpse of a familiar figure sitting
alone at the bar. Kuryakin strode into
the bar and found Napoleon nursing a single malt scotch, seemingly lost in
thought.
"Good evening, Napoleon," said Illya. "Don't tell me you
were stood up by your "acquaintance"?"
"No, no, not at all" replied his friend. "I didn't feel like
the best company tonight, Illya. Sit
down....have a drink".
Kuryakin slid onto the bar stool next to Napoleon and
ordered vodka on the rocks.
"You surprised me tonight, Napoleon. I've never known you to take yourself out of
a mission. You're the first one in and the last one out. I know you.
Was this an order from Mr. Waverly?" Illya asked gently.
"No, Illya, it wasn't" said Napoleon sipping his drink.
"When I talked with him this afternoon, he sounded just the same as every other
affair we've been on over the years." Solo replied.
"But for you, this is not every other affair, is it,
Napoleon?" the Russian probed. "Is this
about the loss of agents we talked about in New York?"
Napoleon nodded silently.
Illya said, "I don't see how taking yourself out of the
action would prevent an incident, Napoleon.
If anything, you are needed more in the field than staying behind at
headquarters. You are much too valuable
to sit this one out. Besides, what will
I do if I don't have to pull you out of some kind of trouble you've gotten
yourself into?" Illya teased, hoping to lighten Solo's mood.
"Oh I'll be there. I
just need to look at this from the outside a bit. How can I fix what is wrong if I'm inside
playing cowboy with you while you get your jollies blowing up the entire
island?" Solo replied with a grin.
"Have you considered the effect this might have on the other
agents" Illya asked. "You heard the
reaction tonight....not exactly inspired confidence."
"They'll be fine. The
problem is not with the mental focus of our agents, Illya. It's not with their training and it's not
with policies and procedures. I don't
know what it is, but I have to find out." Solo paused then continued, "If I
can't, I won't continue on as Section II's CEA."
"You've got to be kidding, Napoleon, "Illya blurted out.
"Somehow you think the loss of those 4
agents is your responsibility? You
weren't even there. You had no input or
control over the actions of those 4 agents."
Illya's eyes practically pleaded with his friend.
"Look. Illya", Solo turned to face his partner. "All I know
is that I'm missing something. Every
instinct that I have tells me that.
These men and women...these agents...they put their lives on the line every
time they go out there. It is my
responsibility to make sure they are prepared in every way to accomplish their
mission and then get the hell home safely.
If I can't do that, I don't deserve to be in the position of CEA." Napoleon explained. "I've worked for this position all my life,
Illya, but that doesn't mean I'm beyond reproach when......" His voice trailed off.
Illya studied Napoleon's face and knew better than to try to
change his mind. He trusted his partner
implicitly and although he would miss Napoleon by his side, Illya knew that his
own personal wishes could not take precedent over the larger concerns of the
mission. Still, he longed to find a way
to reassure Napoleon. Illya could not
imagine anyone else fulfilling the CEA role as Solo had.
"Very well, Napoleon.
You've made up your mind" The Russian conceded. "Will you answer just one more question for
me?"
Solo nodded to him by way of reply.
"If my temporary partner works out tomorrow night, may I get
rid of you and request a permanent change?" Kuryakin asked innocently.
Napoleon laughed perhaps his first genuine laugh in
weeks. "Not a chance, partner." He said
clapping Illya on the shoulder. "Not a chance."
With a bird's eye view of the entire operation, Napoleon sat
gazing through binoculars and surveying the action as it unfolded. UNCLE agents around the warehouse overcame
the Thrush men guarding the building with very little resistance and had donned
their sleek, form-fitting black hazmat suits ready for fire control after the
planned explosions soon to come. Illya
had selected a promising 2nd year agent to assist him on the
mission. The young man was clearly in
awe of the Russian and couldn't hide the eagerness he felt as well as delight
for his good fortune in assignments.
Kuryakin checked the young agent's gear carefully and rolled his eyes at
Napoleon discreetly as he discovered his temporary partner had not turned on
his oxygen. They disappeared into the
night and slipped into the building. From
the north, a series of noises drew Solo's attention and he saw flames igniting
slowly accompanied by heavy smoke. Too
soon, Solo thought, and not typical of the explosives the agents were to use. Within seconds, a chain reaction of
explosions echoed across the island and flames burst high into the night sky,
literally shaking the ground. Kuryakin
and his partner scurried out of the building and headed towards the operation
center where Solo had started making a mental checklist of agents. Solo looked to the north and saw Gaudet's
partner staggering from the building, coughing, with his hazmat suit smoldering
slightly. Napoleon watched and slowly
stood up letting his binoculars and radio microphone fall to the floor with a
thud. He stared intently, without moving,
as an agent ran to the fallen man and assisted him to operations center.
"Javier, what happened?" Solo asked quickly but calmly.
Breathing hard, the UNCLE agent gasped, "Sir, we moved a
couch across some carpet to get to the detonation spot. I guess the static electricity sparked an
explosion before we knew what was happening."
"..... .. Gaudet?" Solo almost whispered.
"He....he ordered me out of the building, Mr. Solo. I thought
he was right behind me" replied the operative looking around desperately for
his partner.
Solo stood frozen as Kuryakin reached for the dropped
microphone and urgently contacted Quebec
headquarters. Illya ordered the mobile
decontamination unit forward to their location and requested medical staff be
on alert for their arrival back to UNCLE.
Kuryakin then directed agents to gently remove Javier's hazmat suit and
begin irrigating his eyes with water. He
grabbed a spare oxygen bottle and shoved a regulator into the agent's mouth. Satisfied that medical treatment had been
initiated, he stood to further assess the situation. He gasped at what he saw.
"Oh God, Napoleon.....no!" Kuryakin shouted.
Fifty pairs of eyes turned to see UNCLE's Chief Enforcement
Agent sprinting directly into an inferno.
Three fateful minutes can be a lifetime. In the dangerous world occupied by the men
and women of UNCLE, life can literally turn on a dime. Uncertainty.
Fate. A lucky turn in the morning
could lead to a fatal, freak accident that same night. None of these things can be known or
predicted, yet they are the reality that every agent accepts and in fact
embraces as they begin their work with UNCLE.
Never had time passed so slowly for Illya Kuryakin as the two minutes he
waited for his partner and closest friend to hopefully emerge from the smoke
filled warehouse. With flames
extinguished and the building saturated with fire-killing foam, a single bright
beam of light shone towards the entrance into which Solo had disappeared. Two helicopters stood by with medical crews
poised, equally prepared to treat.... or recover bodies. Napoleon Solo emerged, half dragging, half
carrying the unconscious agent, Arnaud Gaudet.
And then Illya saw something incredible....something not seen in all his
years as an agent. Spontaneously, the
entire cadre of UNCLE agents ran towards the two men to assist. They literally swarmed upon the two men
relieving Solo of his burden and rushing Gaudet to a helicopter. They caught their CEA as he stumbled forward
while grabbing his eyes and fighting continuous spasms of coughing. As they hustled Solo towards the other
helicopter, he called out for Kuryakin.
The agents immediately made way for Illya to reach his partner.
"Illya.......are we secure?" Solo spat out. He grabbed Illya's sleeve tightly as he
struggled to breath.
"We are Napoleon. We're officially on stand down and are
heading back to headquarters. I'll meet
up with you in medical. You know you're
an idiot, don't you?" the Russian said reaching out gently with his hand to
touch Solo's temple.
Napoleon was quickly
swallowed by the medical crews putting protective dressings on his eyes and
adjusting an oxygen mask over his head.
In seconds the helicopter lifted off into the night towards the safety
of UNCLE headquarters. Kuryakin watched
as agents dispersed to put away gear, load up Thrush prisoners, and wrap up the
successful affair. He scanned the scene
and marveled as spirited agents smiled, embraced, and shook their heads with
amazement at what they had seen that night. Tonight, UNCLE's CEA had found the
answers he so desperately needed to find.
Napoleon's actions reminded them above all, it is the heart and the soul
of each UNCLE enforcement agent that matters most. It was something not accounted for on
training fields, strategy sessions, meeting rooms, or especially in rule books. The nature of a man's heart goes largely
unspoken yet reveals itself in the actions of every agent. Tonight they were
shown that, more than anything, UNCLE is a brotherhood of the heart. A brotherhood that takes care of its own,
through an unwritten code that demands no one, ever, be left behind. Illya
looked skyward to the helicopter which was now only slightly visible in the
night, nodded, and smiled.
"Well done, Napoleon." he said softly.
The door to UNCLE's medical section slid open and Kuryakin
strode in to find a flurry of activity.
Both Napoleon and Arnaud had been stripped and were horizontally
submerged up to their chins in warm, shallow, water circulation units. Nurses scrubbed every inch of each agent's
body vigorously with soap and water as the tub continuously drained and fresh
water flowed in. Kuryakin was happy to see both men conscious, seemingly alert,
and breathing deeply from their oxygen masks.
Illya observed two doctors applying eye ointment on gauze and carefully
putting the pads over Solo's eyes. They
finished by wrapping a longer bandage around his head to keep the gauze in
place and providing him pain medication which he reluctantly took on doctor's
orders.
"Nothing to worry about, here Monsieur Solo." said Dr.
Bechone. "Keep this bandage on overnight and you should be good as new
tomorrow. We need another &fraq12; hour on the
body scrub to decontaminate you and if you promise to stay on oxygen tonight,
we'll cut you loose into Mr. Kuryakin's good care." While medical was thorough in their treatment,
it was common knowledge that Section II agents were extremely difficult
patients who generally recovered far better when released from the unit as soon
as possible. Quite simply, enforcement
agents were a pain.
Solo pulled his mask off to greet Kuryakin. Before he could speak, a no-nonsense nurse
snapped it back into place and glared at him, ready to take action should the
agent dare to interrupt the treatment being administered. Napoleon did his best to look boyishly
innocent but the nurse was not having any of it.
"Don't worry, Napoleon."
offered Illya, trying to defuse the situation. "I'll spring you out of
here as soon as they're done scrubbing the skin off you. I would wager you haven't been this clean
since your mother scrubbed your little bottom!"
The nurse smiled, put her hands on her hips, and marched
away to check agent Gaudet's treatment.
Kuryakin continued, "Mr. Waverly arrived about an hour ago
and would like to meet with us tomorrow morning promptly at 8:00. I briefed him
on the affair and offered to finish the reports tonight, but he said he
preferred to talk with us in person first.
A little unusual, don't you think?"
Solo relaxed as his pain started to subside. He started to enjoy the warm, soothing water
rushing over his body but sighed deeply as he digested the news about his boss. He had a feeling that he knew what was
coming.
Alexander Waverly had a commanding presence no matter what
room he occupied. His three agents knew
enough to arrive on time and stood respectfully silent, waiting for Mr. Waverly
to turn his attention to them. Napoleon
was flanked on either side by Illya and Arnaud and he occasionally dabbed his
still sensitive, watering eyes with a handkerchief while they waited. He had slept well....in fact, unusually
well. He felt more relaxed than he had
in months and was quite prepared for why they had been summoned. Mr. Waverly did not invite them to sit down.
"Well, gentlemen, I presume Mr. Solo is quite aware of why
we are meeting this morning," he said glaring. "Would that be correct, Mr.
Solo?"
"Yes, sir." Solo replied, his hands clasped behind his back.
Waverly pulled out a thick notebook with UNCLE's logo on the
front and slammed it on the table in front of him. It slid towards the three agents.
"Is this recognizable to you, Mr. Solo?" Waverly demanded. He directed his comments only to Napoleon. It
was obvious that Kuryakin and Gaudet had been ordered to the meeting
specifically to make Solo's trip to the woodshed a public one. However uncomfortable they were, they
understood their role at this meeting and remained silent.
"Yes, sir." Solo answered.
He knew this could best be endured by direct and simple responses
without elaboration and definitely without argument.
"Yes, I imagine you are very familiar with this
document. Very familiar indeed. It contains the policies and procedures for
Section II Enforcement Agents in the field and was recently revised, I believe,
one year ago. Would that be correct, Mr.
Solo?" Waverly inquired.
"Yes, sir."
"And the author of this document?." Waverly asked, letting the question hang in
the air. All of them were perfectly
aware who had compiled the information contained in the notebook. Kuryakin had to push, shove, and cajole
Napoleon for 5 months to get the manual completed by Waverly's deadline. It had been a beast of a job.
"That would be me, sir." Solo said, keeping his voice even.
"Yes, that would be you.
Mr. Solo, I assume you to be an intelligent man perfectly capable of
understanding and complying with the policies that you wrote in this
document. Am I in error?" Waverly had no
intention of letting the CEA off lightly.
"No, sir."
"Then what the devil were you thinking? I'm growing rather weary of your shenanigans,
young man. Your habitual impulsiveness, recklessness, and the ease at which you
ignore regulations designed to keep our agents safe is very disturbing, Mr.
Solo. Very disturbing. You are expected to be a leader and role
model as Chief Enforcement Agent, not some excitable beginner just out of
survival school seeking to make a name for himself. Fifty agents were there to witness your
foolishness last night, Mr. Solo. I'm
shudder to think of the ideas put in their head by your actions.
"I apologize, sir." Solo said simply.
"Hmmmmmm, I should think so." Waverly responded curtly. The room was silent as the UNCLE Chief lit
his pipe and let Solo wait for the dressing down to continue. Instead, Waverly suddenly switched gears and
addressed the three of them.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you and Mr. Solo will be departing tonight
for Lisbon. There is a relatively simple matter, I hope,
for you to clear up there. Please read
the briefings and pick up your travel documents from Section IV. Let's try very hard not to make a mess of
this one, shall we? Good day."
The three agents turned and walked crisply towards the door
that had automatically opened before them.
"Ah.....Mr. Solo, a moment please." Waverly called out.
Illya nodded
sympathetically and quickly pointed down the hall indicating he would wait for
Napoleon there. He imagined his partner
would be consuming liberal quantities of scotch on their overseas flight that
evening.
Inside, Mr. Waverly motioned Solo to a chair directly next
to his and turned away giving his attention to several overseas relays that
needed to be handled. Napoleon sat
perplexed and waited for UNCLE's Chief to finish his communications. All the time, Solo wondered to himself...what
next?
Napoleon could never have prepared for what was about to
happen. When Mr. Waverly turned to face
him his whole demeanor had changed. His
face had softened in a way Solo had not quite ever seen. Waverly relaxed back into his chair and sighed. In this relaxed state, he seemed to age
before Solo's very eyes.
"I spoke with Dr. Bechone this morning." Waverly started. "You are due for some
respiratory therapy in half an hour. See
that you make that appointment, Mr. Solo."
"Of course, Mr. Waverly.
Thank you for...ah....checking." Solo said uncertainly.
"This next matter is to remain only between you and me. You have had a rather difficult time of it in
recent months." his boss declared. Solo
nodded, unsure about where all this was headed.
Mr. Waverly continued, "I decided early on to let you work
this out on your own..."
Solo interrupted, "Wait a minute...you mean you knew....why
didn't you fix ....."
"Because I knew you could."
Waverly cut him off. "Mr. Solo, one day you will occupy this seat where
I am now. Of that I have no doubt. There are complexities to this position that
you can only imagine and you will struggle, at times, to know what to do. But listen carefully Napoleon, and don't ever
forget what you are about to hear. You
have every tool needed to succeed. You
have diplomacy, judgment, strength, intuition, and the respect of everyone in
this organization, including me. You will not fail."
Napoleon swallowed
hard and felt emotion swelling in his body.
He was stunned by the use of his given name by Waverly. Never before had he heard such words from
UNCLE's chief. Waverly paused and reached
into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out something Solo couldn't quite
see.
"I have something I've been meaning to pass along to you,
but I have been waiting for the appropriate moment." Waverly said slowly. The old man paused looking down at the object
in his hands and was silent. He seemed
to drift off to another place as if recalling someone or something important
from his past. When at last he stirred
from his reverie, he cleared his throat.
"Nate was very important to you." Waverly stated simply.
"Nate....what...what does he have to.....? Napoleon stumbled, and then composed himself.
"He was my brother."
Waverly smiled slightly. "I've heard that very word several
times in the corridors today."
"What does Nate......?"
Solo started.
Waverly held up his hand, asking for silence. Waverly knew Solo would understand soon
enough and he needed just the right words for what he was about to do.
"Nate came to me four months before he was killed. I wonder if he somehow knew...... He had great instincts, you know.... much the
way you do. He asked me to keep
something for you. He said there would
come a time when you would need it. I've kept it for five years now." Waverly put the object in his hand gently on
the table, revealing it to Napoleon.
"My God.....Nate....Oh God...." Solo was stunned. His eyes widened and he could barely catch
his breath. His heart pounded and hands
trembled as he recognized the small, tarnished medal in front of him. It was in the shape of a faded white maltese
cross with a wreath of green laurie behind it. There were a few shreds of tattered red
material hanging on to it. Nate had been
awarded the revered Legion d'Honneur for his work with the French Resistance
during WWII. It was his most treasured
possession and a good luck piece he was never without. Napoleon rested his elbows on the table and
covered his eyes with one hand. He had
never felt so overcome with emotion.
Alexander Waverly reached out and put his hand on Napoleon's
arm and spoke softly.
"The inscription on the back.....Coeur D'un Guerrier...."
"Yes." Napoleon Solo
replied looking up, moist eyes shining. "Heart of a Warrior."
Waverly patted Solo's arm much the way a father would. "And
so you have...now, carry it forward."
THE
END
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