Napoleon
Solo added another paper clip to the chain he had been working on for three
quarters of an hour. It wasn't often
that UNCLE agents were permitted the luxury of being bored, but when it did happen;
it was nothing short of ... well, boring.
He
sighed and rocked back and forth in his office chair. The
back squeaked and drew a grumble from the other side of the room.
"Must
you do that?" Illya's voice was
exasperated. He was as bored as Napoleon
and worse at dealing with it. He was a
man of action, not one for sitting around. Unlike Napoleon, he'd at least taken
the effort to look as if he was doing something. If you call staring at a roster sheet for an
hour something. It was beginning to look
more like an exercise in how long Illya could keep the black-rimmed glasses
from sliding down his nose.
"I
can't help it, I'm bored. THRUSH picked
a fine time to take a breather."
"Go
work out."
"Can't . Mike kicked
me out... said I was monopolizing the equipment."
He added another paperclip to the chain.
If he kept this up, he'd run out in another five minutes. Maybe he could arm wrestle Illya for more... or
he could try to steal Illya's glasses.
That could lead to some action for a few minutes.
"You too, huh?"
"Illya?"
"Yes, Napoleon?"
"Are
we are there yet?"
"I'm
sorry?" Illya at least had the decency
to look confused. "There
where?"
"Bad
joke."
Illya
snorted. "Do you know any other kind?"
"You
cut to the quick." Napoleon placed his
hands over his heart and pretended to grow faint.
"I
try." He returned to the roster and
pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"If
you could do anything in the world and know you couldn't fail at it, what would
you do?"
"Anything
and not fail?"
"Anything..."
"Hmm,
that's a good question. Are we speaking
work wise or personally?"
"Either." Napoleon sat forward to pick up the last few paperclips. "Would you go into politics?"
"No,
insanity doesn't run in my family as a rule."
"You
wouldn't want to be our first Russian president?"
"Forgive
my naiveté, but don't you have to be born here to actually run for that
office?"
"We're
playing 'let's pretend,' Illya."
"I
don't like playing games, Napoleon, especially when I don't know the rules."
"But
you do - you can do anything and not fail.
Those are the rules."
Then
the phone rang. Both men looked at it
and Napoleon practically leapt for it.
Three
days later, Napoleon sat, huddled beside the small campfire and did his best to
shield it from the driving rain. The
lean-to they'd constructed from branches and leaves was adequate to keep most
of the rain out, but the wind was conspiring against them. Every time the rain let up, the wind
increased to pick up the slack and threaten their fire.
He
considered adding more wood to it.
They'd stockpiled some in the back, but that would mean having to crawl
out into the rain and try to find more later
tonight. Not an attractive thought in
unfamiliar territory. If they were
careful, the wood would last and it wasn't that cold, just damp.
Illya
had been working on something for the better part of a half an hour and he
finally held up the final product.
"What
is it?"
"It
will, if all goes according to plan and stays within budget, be a depth charge.
"
"Illya, for what?
We're stuck in the middle of some forest with no civilization for
miles. I took a look at that lake before
the rain started. THRUSH didn't hide
anything in that lake worth blowing up."
"That's
what you say, but I am going fishing."
"With a depth charge? That's hardly sporting or kosher."
"You
want kosher or you want dinner? I don't
mind being cold and wet, but I'm not going hungry if I can do something about
it."
Napoleon
had to admit Illya had a point and remained silent. Illya picked up the depth charge and the
tattered remains of the briefcase they had been assigned to retrieve. The documents were all safely tucked away in
their clothes now. As soon as they got
to London, they would turn the blueprints over to London HQ and then be on
their way, back into the field to try to retrieve the scientist who went with
them.
A
teeth-rattling explosion later, Illya hobbled in, sopping wet, covered in
watery detritus, and looking very disgruntled.
Napoleon tried to keep a smile from his lips, but failed miserably.
"For
a scientist, you are remarkably dumb at times, partner of mine. Remember that old saying, what goes up must
come down? You look like a drowned rat."
"For
that you can cook." Illya passed over
the briefcase filled with trout. "After
all, I fished."
"Hunter
and Gatherer, is it? The man is back from
the foraging and the poor woman has to do the dirty work."
"What
dirty work? I already cleaned them. You just have to spit and roast them."
Napoleon
had to admit to himself that he'd gotten the easier end of this task. When they'd been looking for wood earlier,
he'd found a patch of wild onions and even some wild thyme, so tonight their
meal would be rustic, but far from uncivilized.
"Did
you at least leave enough water in the lake to wash up or did you try and catch
it all?"
"For
that you can cook breakfast too," Illya grumbled and tugged his shirt over his
head. He wrung it out and hung it by the
fire.
In
spite of the rain and wind and the fact that his fingers were going to stink of
fish for the next two days, Napoleon wouldn't change a moment. They had been successful with very little
effort. He was alive, uninjured, and his
very good friend was right beside him.
What else could a man want?
Napoleon
winced and tried to stay still. The relative calm from England hadn't followed
them to Spain. THRUSH knew they were on
to them now and had been waiting. The
scientist had turned... no great surprise there.
Most of them did when offered the kind of money THRUSH could offer. And if they were too honorable to accept
money, they would often bend to the mental or physical torture THRUSH so
routinely provided.
Still,
Napoleon had thought he'd really reached the guy, right up to the point when
the man tried to bury a knife between his shoulder blades. He'd managed to avoid more serious injury,
but it didn't make the wound hurt any less.
He'd
subdued the man and taken off. They
would simply have to try at a later date to bring him out. There was simply no way he could haul him
past the THRUSH sentries and through a mine field. And Napoleon had achieved his primary goal of
locating and identifying the challenge.
He
found Illya waiting for him in a small cave.
The hills were riddled with them.
Illya had taken one look at Napoleon and headed out. He didn't need to say anything. He'd gone back to eliminate Napoleon's blood
trail. With any luck, THRUSH wouldn't
have dogs or the rain would come.
Until
his partner returned, Napoleon simply lay down on the ground and kept his
attention focused upon shooting anything that came close and wasn't Illya
shaped. He didn't see anything THRUSH,
but he did nail two rabbits for dinner.
An
hour later, Illya returned, sweaty and grim faced. "We should be okay. I went back to where you crossed that
stream." He saw the two rabbits
then. Picking them up, he disappeared
again into the brush and away from their camp.
The last thing they needed now was for a wild animal, attracted by the
smell of blood, to come calling.
By
the time Illya returned, Napoleon's back was on fire and he was feeling light
headed.
"It
looks pretty deep, my friend." Illya's
touch was tender, but it still felt as if he was poking Napoleon with a broken
bottle. "I think you need some stitches,
but I need to clean it out first."
Napoleon
nodded grimly. They had the small field
kit every agent carried. You weren't in
the game long before you were patching or sewing yourself up.
Illya stripped off his coat jacket and
holster, then his shirt and finally his tee shirt. He passed the tee shirt onto Napoleon and
then redressed. "Try not to pass out."
"Easy for you to say." Napoleon tried to glance up from his sprawl
on the cave floor. His sleeping bag
seemed pitifully thin and he longed for the comfort of Medical... more than that,
the thought of a clean, efficient, flattering nurse to tend to him. All he had at the moment was a sleeping bag
made of two bits of cloth and his ham fisted partner.
"At
this point, yes, it is." Illya pulled a
cigarette lighter from one pocket and withdrew a thin packet from another. "Would you like me to knock you out for
this?" Illya held up a skinned-knuckled
fist.
"No,
we may need to move." Napoleon watched
quietly as Illya sterilized the needle, silly considering what he'd already
waded through. He'd be lucky if
infection was all he picked up from this.
"Ready?"
"If that's at all possible."
"I
shall try to make it neat. Grit your
teeth and think of Mother Russia... or in your case, Uncle Sam."
Napoleon
buried his face in Illya's tee shirt, the smell of it a small but welcome
distraction. How many times had he
smelled that and felt comforted? "Not an
appealing thought."
"Then
tell me about Monique."
"Who?"
"Or Margarita or Helen or Jessica. What was the name of the first woman you took , Napoleon. Were
you both very young and very awkward? "
"That's
rather personal," Napoleon protested, his voice muffled by the fabric, but he
knew what Illya was doing. Giving him
something to think about, something that made what he was about to endure worth
it, something that gave it all value.
Napoleon
licked his lips and frowned. He was
trying to hold his head upright, but it had plans of its own. His mouth was totally dry, his tongue felt as
if a massive toad had crawled in to take up residence and his skin felt as if
it was two sizes too small.
He
reached for Illya, now just dead weight on the sand. He'd lost consciousness nearly an hour ago
and Napoleon was glad. At least he
wasn't going to suffer. Napoleon probed his neck and found a pulse,
light and thready.
It wasn't going to be much longer for either of them.
The
sun was slowly cooking them. Napoleon's
nose sizzled; he swore he could hear it baking.
No water, no way to contact anyone, no hope.
Napoleon
had to admit they deserved points for trying, but it was over. His back ached from the infected knife wound
and his head swam from a combination of that and sun poisoning. They were both beyond vomiting anymore.
THRUSH
had known what they were doing this time dumping them in the desert. Back in the old days, to send someone into
the desert was a death sentence. Not
much had changed.
Not only had THRUSH won the prize this time
around, they would soon have bragging rights about ridding themselves of two
top UNCLE agents.
He
felt Illya shiver and held him closer.
They'd been so close... so close... if Illya hadn't paused, if Napoleon had
moved just a fraction faster. But if's
didn't mean a lot now. They were going
to die as partners. Not exactly the way
Napoleon had thought about going out, but at least neither of them would die
alone.
Or
at least that's what Napoleon hoped.
Then he blinked, shook his head and blinked again as the tour bus pulled
up alongside them and asked if they needed assistance. Napoleon would have wept for joy if he had had
any moisture left in his body.
Medical
in their Cairo office was small but cool, very quiet and very white. It
had been a week since they'd been transferred here from Intensive Care. The doctors there just shook their heads in
wonderment that either of them had survived at all. They weren't UNCLE; they didn't know what the
agents were made of.
A
noise from his right told him that Illya was awake again. They were still drifting in and out of
consciousness, thanks to a heady combination of pain killers and
sedatives. Neither man protested - a
sure sign that they weren't well. Mostly
they just kept quiet and concentrated upon healing.
"Napoleon?"
Illya's voice was a rusty whisper, a souvenir from the ET tube.
"Yeah,
partner?" His wasn't much better. Napoleon worked on not moving any part of his
face that he didn't need to. At first
the doctors had talked about skin grafts, but had abandoned the thought for
now. It didn't make Napoleon's face feel
any better though. His skin was still so
sensitive he swore he could feel his beard growing.
"I've
been thinking about that question..."
"What
question, Illya?"
"That
one you asked me about a month ago. If I
could do anything and not fail at it, what would I do?"
That
seemed like a hundred years and a million miles ago. Had it only been a month since he'd strung
paper clips and complained about being bored?
It didn't seem possible.
"I
remember now. So what would you do?"
"Grow
old."
|
|
