Chapter One
Napoleon fiddled with a pencil and contemplated his best line of defense. It was going to take cunning, stamina, and no little luck to pull this off. He looked down at the three little pieces of paper, one sort of round, one square, and one triangular.
"Okay, if I meet Pam at the restaurant, and drop Suki off at the museum... no, if Carol catches me there without her... " Talking out loud wasn't really helping either. He was almost thankful when his office door flew open.
"Napoleon, come quick! We need you." The man darted away even before Napoleon could identify him. That didn't matter. Napoleon acted the way he always did, immediately and without question. It was how he was trained and how he responded.
He raced out and headed left in the direction of the sounds of a fight. A group of people from various Sections stood around shouting encouragement and vague insults.
Napoleon shook his head and pushed them aside, wading into the fight to separate the assailants. It didn't surprise him that much that one of them was his nearly new partner. The Russian had already developed a reputation as a scrapper.
"Break it up," Napoleon ordered and Illya Kuryakin fell back a step. Sutherland advanced that same step and Napoleon suddenly found himself, half conscious, on the ground between them. This time it was Section Three who pulled the two men apart.
"What the hell is going on?" Napoleon demanded.
Illya shrugged off the hands holding him and shook his head. "Nothing."
"And I suppose nothing is why your nose is bleeding." Illya held his handkerchief to it and sniffed, still not taking his eyes off the other man.
Napoleon turned to Gary Sutherland, one of the Section Two agents Napoleon had come in with. His reputation for being a smart ass and unable to follow orders had kept him back with the junior agents. "And you? Do you want to be a junior agent your whole career, Gary?"
Sutherland muttered something and Napoleon's eyebrows arched.
"I didn't catch that, Gary."
"Promotions are up, Napoleon," Claudio, a senior agent, explained. "One guess as to whose name was and whose wasn't on the list."
"It's not fair. I deserved that promotion - not that Commie."
Illya tugged, but the Section Threes held firm. "Take Mr. Kuryakin to the locker room," Napoleon ordered, not even looking at his partner. "And take Mr. Sutherland down to Medical and get him patched up. Then take him to see Mr. Gilletti."
He watched the two men being half dragged, half pushed away in opposite directions and sighed. Most of the employees at UNCLE had accepted Illya. They'd learned to look past their prejudices and see the man for who he was. That he was committed, smart, and talented went without saying, but he was also an asset to the organization. He wouldn't be in UNCLE otherwise. There was still the odd hold out who saw the agent as The Red Threat. Illya had proven himself loyal to UNCLE, but some folks just refused to see it.
"Какие глупые удары агент? Действительно ли он безумен? Он хочет умереть (What sort of fool punches an agent? Is he insane? Does he want to die?)?" Illya was muttering when Napoleon entered the locker room. The Section Threes stood there quietly
"Какие глупые удары назад (What kind of fool punches back?)?" The agents turned, startled by Napoleon. They didn't know he spoke Russian was his first guess. "Ю знает лучше (You know better)."
"In my country, we never start a fight that we have no intention of following through to its conclusion," Illya slammed the door to his locker and both Section Threes went for their weapons. "Sorry," he apologized, lacklusterly, as he gathered up a handful of washcloths. Illya flopped down onto a bench and tilted his head back. He sniffed and squeezed his nose at the bridge.
"Is it broken?"
"Probably, but it wouldn't be the first time."
Napoleon nodded and jerked his head to the door. "You can go, I'll take over." Napoleon watched the men walk away before turning back to the blond and sitting down beside him. "What possessed you to throw a punch?"
"A broken nose."
"He threw the first punch then."
"I never even saw it coming. I just came around the corner and... as they are so fond of saying these days, POW! Right between the eyes." For a long time they just sat there, the only sound in the room the clicking on and off of the water heater and Illya's sniffing. "I didn't ask for that promotion, Napoleon." Illya's comment was very quiet. "For exactly this reason."
"I know. I guess Waverly and the other Section Ones thought you deserved it." Napoleon handed him another washcloth. "I know you turned down the last one."
"I just want to do my job, Napoleon, that's all."
"Why don't you head down to Medical and get that looked at?"
"So they can tell me it's broken? No thanks. I'll be fine."
Napoleon left Illya on the bench, sniffing, and went back to his office. As he approached, the secretary he shared with three other senior agents raised a hand to him I a half wave.
"Mr. Gilletti would like to see you."
"Thank you, Abigail." Napoleon made a gesture and followed it. Norm Gilletti was Section Two, Number One, in short, Napoleon's boss. He knew he wasn't in trouble, but his hard headed partner might be.
He got to the door and knocked. At the answer, he entered and looked around.
Joe Mayall, Gilletti's partner and Section Two, Number Two was gone and his desk looked as if it had lost a battle with the local land fill. How the man found anything was a mystery.
"Ah, Napoleon, come in." Gilletti gathered some paper off a nearby chair and dumped them onto an already impressive stack of reports. ""We need to talk."
"Yes, sir." Napoleon sat, adjusting the crease in his pants as he did.
"I hear we had a bit of trouble this morning. What are we going to do about it?"
"Do? Give Sutherland a chance to simmer down and see if a cooler head prevails." Napoleon shook his head. "He knows, deep down, that he doesn't deserve a promotion."
"Doesn't keep him from wanting it all the same."
"If I was his partner, I'd beg to differ. The man is an under performer. He consistently scores low on his field tests, just barely pulling a passing grade. I wouldn't go into the field with him, not even as a junior officer, much less as a senior one. He needs to go back to see Cutter for a refresher course. I would almost be willing to bet, he wouldn't pass this time. He's lost his drive."
"What are you saying, Napoleon?"
Gilletti knew exactly what Napoleon was saying and he knew it. "I would recommend a refresher course and possible dismissal afterwards, pending the results."
"And what about your partner?"
"He was defending himself; I would not discipline an agent for that."
"I did, but you didn't know that, did you?"
"What?"
"Kuryakin is coming back from three days of disciplinary leave."
Napoleon had wondered where the Russian had gotten to, but as it wasn't odd for them to be sent on different assignments, he hadn't asked. "May I ask the details?"
"He had an altercation in the parking garage."
"Who?"
"He wouldn't say. Said he didn't know them." Gilletti took a swallow of coffee. "About a half hour later, three agents showed up in Medical with injuries they said they had received during a stake out. There were no stake outs planned at that time, but since Kuryakin refused to come forward with the names..."
"Why would someone jump Illya?"
"I'm sure they were asking themselves that same question afterwards. I... we thought that perhaps by promoting him, it would send a message to anyone still harboring a dislike against him. "
"It sent a message all right." The phone rang and Napoleon became silent.
"Yes, sir, I understand. I'll grab Joe and be right up." Gilletti cradled the phone. "I'm sorry, Napoleon, orders from upstairs. When I get back, we'll continue this discussion. You can buy the first round." He grinned and winked.
"All right." Napoleon grinned back.
" Dismissed."
Napoleon stood and walked from the room. As he approached his office, he was surprised to see the door open and people walking in and out.
"What's going on?"
"Moving your office mate in," one of the men muttered as he struggled to angle a desk through the door.
"Office... mate?" Napoleon liked having his own office. Even though it was small; with two people, it was going to be downright claustrophobic. "Who authorized this?"
"I did, Mr. Solo." Napoleon turned and smiled at Waverly. "Do you have objections?"
"No, of course not, sir, it's just, the space is small and personalities have been known to clash in larger spaces." He trailed off as he watched Illya approach, carrying a cardboard box. "Wait... you?"
"Still object, Mr. Solo?"
"Not as much, sir."
"Then I will leave you two to it."
Napoleon watched Illya unload the last of the boxes and frowned. "What is that?" He nodded to a small crudely fashioned lump of clay that Illya was placing in a drawer with extreme care.
"My baby sister made it. I think it's supposed to be either a chicken or a seal." Illya turned it in his fingers and smiled fondly. "Or possibly even a likeness of Stalin. It's hard to tell."
Napoleon grinned. He forgot Illya had a family back home. Just then the door opened and his secretary ... their secretary leaned against the frame, her face white.
"Abigail, what's...?"
"You need to go to Mr. Waverly's office, right now, Mr. Solo." Napoleon looked over at Illya, who was starting to stand. "No, just you, Napoleon..."
Napoleon exchanged a glance with Illya, grabbed his jacket and headed up. Around him people were walking in a daze, standing in small groups and murmuring, pausing as he passed. What the hell?
He knocked on Waverly's door and then entered. Waverly was standing, staring out the window. From this height, it overlooked much of the neighborhood.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Sit down, son." Waverly didn't turn from the window as Napoleon took an uncomfortable seat on the couch. "There is an unfortunate aspect of this job. We protect the innocent, keep evil at bay, and make the world safe for its populace. The price we pay for that is often very high, but we, as soldiers, pay that price willingly. It's when the unthinkable happens that we stop and question God's wisdom."
"Sir?"
"Mr. Gilletti and Mr. Mayall were killed this afternoon in a traffic accident. The young man driving had been celebrating his new job. He ran a stop sign and hit their car head on. Mr. Mayall was killed instantly and Mr. Gilletti died before the ambulance could arrive."
"The other driver?"
"As is often the case with drunk drivers, he escaped without serious injury."
"We were going to have a drink tonight," Napoleon murmured. "He was only a few months away from field retirement."
"I know." Waverly's voice was very kind and very gentle, more so than Napoleon could ever remember him being before and he appreciated it. "There is another matter which we will need to discuss before too long passes."
"Which is?"
"Your promotion to Section Two Number One. You are next in line and I know Mr. Gilletti was grooming you for the position."
"Yes, he was, but I'm not sure..."
"He was sure, that's all that matters." Waverly turned to him now and Napoleon was struck by how old the man looked. Death from THRUSH, that was a constant for them, but not death by stupid accident. It made Napoleon realize that no matter how they wrapped it, enforcement agents were still just human after all.
"I'll go make the arrangements." Napoleon stood and walked to the door.
"Mr. Solo?"
"Sir?"
"Get Mr. Kuryakin to help you. I think he will be considerable comfort to you in the days ahead. Never forget to rely upon your partner for additional strength at times like this."
"I will, sir, thank you."
Waverly watched the young man walk from the office, the youngest Section Two Number One to date, but he knew Solo could handle it. Gilletti had been confident in his choice. Waverly hoped he was as equally right in his.
He reached across his desk and hit a toggle. "Miss Beecham, contact the Section One heads, we have something to discuss."
Chapter Two
Napoleon Solo pushed a folder aside and picked up the one beneath it, only to shake his head in awe. Now he understood why Norm's desk had always looked like a disaster waiting to happen. The paperwork of this job was staggering. While Waverly assigned the important and high profile affairs, Norm had assigned everything else, from simple courier jobs to bodyguarding an official to representing the organization's special interests at various meetings.
Napoleon couldn't help but wonder just how much more Section Three handled, although they tended to deal more with internal security. Still, if it was half as much as this, Napoleon could well understand why that Section head always looked as if he'd been locked overnight in a room of colicky babies.
Napoleon looked down at the folder in his hand. It was a fairly important assignment, going in to infiltrate a group that had THRUSH leanings, blend in and learn as much as possible before heading home. It would be perfect for Illya's particular talents, but instantly Napoleon dismissed him from the line up. Maybe Ryder could handle it. He'd had some experience in that area.
Napoleon's door slid open and he looked up at his partner. A lesser man would have cringed or at the very least fled for cover.
"We need to talk." Illya's voice was tight, as if it was taking all his self control to keep his temper reined in.
"Okay, partner, talk."
"Am I still on disciplinary action?"
"What? Of course not!" Last month, Illya had been placed on leave after he'd refused to identify three agents who had jumped him in the parking garage. "What makes you ask?"
"Why am I not being given any assignments? Have I become a security risk simply because I chose to take care of my own business myself?"
"Well... no... but -"
"Why am I being given jobs that even a rookie straight from Survival School would consider beneath him?"
That was a very good question and Napoleon wished he had a very good answer, but he didn't. The truth was that he didn't want to send Illya into the field without him. He told himself he was holding Illya back for any assignment that Waverly might have, but then when Waverly did finger the agent, Napoleon had various reasons why someone else should be assigned. If Waverly found the arrangement odd, he said nothing.
"Illya... ah... well, I've been a little... distracted..."
"Why aren't you delegating some of this to your Number Two?"
Another good question. Napoleon had serious qualms about Howie Zuccicello. The agent was, he supposed, a good man and deserved the promotion, but the truth was, he and Napoleon got on like oil and vinegar. For every suggestion Napoleon made, Zuccicello had a dozen reasons why the suggestion was a bad one. He was onerous, duplicitous, and conniving. Napoleon had no idea how the man had made it this far, but he had made no secret of his ambition to reach the top.
Napoleon glanced around the room and then jerked his head. "Я не уверен, что я доверяю ему(I'm not sure I trust him)."
"что (What)?"
Zuccicello walked in at that point and stared over at the pair. Napoleon handed Illya a file and nodded. "Take care of that for me, partner." The Russian came forward in a sharp bow and nodded. He glanced over at Zuccicello and again nodded.
"So what did you give him? Something dangerous, I hope." Zuccicello mumbled something else under his breath. It sounded like Godless soulless commie and Napoleon came to an abrupt realization that perhaps he was looking at one of Illya's 'special playmates.'
"I gave him something that suited his special talents and ability." Napoleon belatedly realized just what folder he had given Illya and made a mental note to retrieve it after work.
"The undercover thing, huh? He'll be good at that - hiding in plain sight is his forte."
"That could be said for a lot of people around here." Napoleon gathered up an armful of folders and dropped them onto Zuccicello's desk. "Take care of those for me, will you? I've got a meeting to attend."
"What? I -"
"Did you say something, Howie?" Napoleon looked over his shoulder. "I would think you would be glad to actually have some real work on your hands besides trying to instigate from within."
"What are you implying, Napoleon?" Zuccicello also stood and leaned forward on his knuckles.
"Implying? Me? Nothing? Why? Should I be?" Napoleon adjusted his tie and walked quickly out of the door. In spite of the fact that he was still worried those files wouldn't be handled properly, Napoleon had to admit that Illya was right. It was time to see what else His Number Two had to offer its chief.
Napoleon glanced into the office he'd shared too briefly with his partner. Illya's desk stood neat and empty of any personal effects. Indeed, it was hard to tell anyone sat there at all. He sat down in the chair and propped his elbows up on the blotter. So much had changed in the month since he'd become the chief enforcement officer. He was tied to his desk and hated every minute of it. There had to be a way to balance the two aspects of the job. Illya was so quick to file reports that Napoleon frequently forgot it was part of the assignment until he was given his copy to initial off on. Too bad he couldn't foist some of the paperwork off on Illya. Problem was some of the files were eyes only for the two top agents in the division.
Napoleon picked up a pen and stared at it. He remembered Illya tucking it away in his pocket during their last assignment. Napoleon had given him a bad time about no honor among thieves... without meaning to he slipped the pen into his pocket and returned to his own desk.
It had been a tense few days, but once Zuccicello had realized Napoleon's seriousness, he'd attacked the files with relish. Every morning, he would gather his available senior agents in and they had a short briefing on any on-going assignments, those completed and the ones that needed to either be kicked up or down the priority ladder. Napoleon was a little surprised at the brevity of Illya's called in reports, but the Russian wasn't known for his chatty messages.
Napoleon was actually congratulating himself on being able to see the top of his desk for the first time in a month. He was even thinking about shaking free of these chains and asking Waverly to put him back into the loop.
Rose, a pert little brunette that Napoleon so wished he could get better acquainted with, tapped on his door just then and told him Waverly needed to see him.
Napoleon happily adjusted his tie and walked to the elevator, punched the call button and rocked back on his heels. He was just starting to get the hang of this.
Waverly's secretary waved him in and Napoleon entered.
"You wanted to see me... sir?"
The men at the table turned to study Napoleon and he resisted the urge to gulp.
"Where is your partner, Mr. Solo?" Waverly's voice was carefully neutral - never a good sign.
"He's been assigned undercover work, infiltrating and observing a group of interest."
"When was the last time you spoke with him?"
"We get routine check in messages from him every twelve hours."
"No, Mr. Solo, when did you last speak to him?" A trickle of sweat crawled down Napoleon's spine.
"Well, not directly since I gave him the assignment, nearly ten days ago."
"We ceased getting any messages from him nearly seven days ago."
"What?"
"It was only because of Miss Hawkins's attention to detail that anyone was made aware of that fact. At that point, a second agent was dispatched."
"Who?"
"Gary Sutherland."
"By whom?" The sweat gave way to a ball of anger, growing in his gut. He'd suggested that Norm assign the agent to a refresher course at Survival School, but apparently the order had never happened.
"Your second-in-command." Waverly reached for his pipe and exchanged glances with the rest of his contemporaries. "It's time to get your ducks in a row, Mr. Solo."
"I intend to do far more than that." Napoleon didn't wait for Waverly to dismiss him, not that it would have mattered.
Zuccicello flicked a look up and then sat back. It was apparent that he knew the game was up.
"If you check, you will see that I never claimed the reports were coming from your little buddy."
"You are a fool, Howie, and you have chosen to challenge the wrong man." Napoleon came around the desk and smiled tightly. "Before I return, you had best decide where you want to transfer to because I never want to see your ugly mug in this building again because I might just kill you. And I swear to God above, if anything has happened to Illya during this little game of yours, I will personally track you down and unravel your DNA, strand by strand, no matter where you go or how you try to hide."
"You have no right --!" Zuccicello was on his feet and Napoleon had him pinned to the wall before he could even finish his sentence.
"Neither did you! You want to talk about rights, what gave you the right to jump Illya in the parking structure? Or send in an agent to assist him who was a known agitator who would rather see Illya dead than living? What right did you have to lie to me each and every morning? What right do you have to even draw a breath? Tell me that, Zuccicello! From where I'm standing, I'm not seeing it."
"That would be murder!" Zuccicello whined.
"An eye for an eye. Look it up!" Napoleon abruptly released the man and Zuccicello half collapsed. "And pray like you've never prayed before. This may well be your last day on Earth."
Napoleon backed away from him, grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the office. Truth be known, he was starting to feel more alive than he had in weeks. He just hoped his partner could make the same claim.
Chapter Three
Casually, Napoleon strolled up the walk to the house. It was a large sprawling farm house, set in a remote part of the state. Quiet, private, and far from prying eyes, it was the perfect spot for a group of people to meet and talk about common points of interest, like taking over the Government, bombing free health clinics, vandalizing schools. This was not a nice group of people to hang out with and his partner was inside, being held hostage.
Illya's first few reports had been succinct and informative. He noted any special handshakes or codes that were needed to move from one part of the compound to another, as well as a description of the leader. Then the reports got hurried and brief, of no use whatsoever except to indicate the man was still alive... or someone was. In all likelihood, Illya had been captured and killed and the later reports were from Sutherland. They fairly smacked of his lack of detail.
The sound of people approaching sent Napoleon behind a ratty looking clump of scrub brush.
"Hey, Fluke, you heard when they're gonna roast that UNCLE agent yet?" There was an insane giggle and Napoleon felt his stomach clench. "I hear they make a nice crackly sounds when you do 'em slow and low."
"Christ, Dog, that's disgusting." At least there was one voice of reason, Napoleon thought at the second voice. "'Sides, Blower's not done with him yet." Or perhaps not.
"Hey, Fluke, why they call him Blower?"
"Why you think they call him Blower?"
Another giggle followed and Napoleon took a deep breath to keep from losing his lunch. Torture, rape, maybe even death would have been easier for his partner. His fingers curled into fist as he imagined them closing on Zuccicello's neck. He was so focused upon controlling his anger that he didn't even know they were there until he saw the rifle barrel.
"Fella, you done need to start talking fast and saying all the right things or I'm going to venerate you." Napoleon pinned the name Dog on the speaker and understood the name. He was as ugly as one. He also understood that the deer rifle aimed at his midriff was more than enough to make a very large hole in him.
"I'm... Thinker and I think the word you want is ventilate."
"You that guy from outta state that we been waiting for? " By process of elimination, Fluke spoke this time. "Hey, Dog, it's that fella."
"Yes, I'm here to check you out for my group. They are very interested in your... work."
"We do good work here, ask anyone!" Dog giggled. "Well, if you can find someone alive, that is."
Fluke was studying Napoleon up and down and chewing on his lip. "You don't look like one of us."
"I'm not one of you. We prefer the mode of disguise as it permits us flexibility of movement."
The rifle came back up. "Fluke, check him out."
"He looks okay to me, maybe a bit on the skinny side."
A heavy sigh. "I meant for a weapon, you idjit. Why I hang with you, I'll never know."
Fluke got closer and Napoleon winced at the stench rolling off the man. The hands that patted him down were far too familiar and Napoleon finally jerked away, unable to stand the combined smell of the man's breath and body odor.
"Of course, I'm carrying a weapon. What sort of fool do you take me for?" Napoleon waved a hand in front of his face. "Could I interest either of you gentleman in a breath mint?"
Fluke spat a thick brown liquid out of the corner of his mouth and shook his head. "Naw, I hear those things can make you sick. Let's see what you carry."
Napoleon pulled the P-38 from its holster and held it out for inspection. Both men leaned closer and Napoleon fantasized about how quickly he could remove both from this plane of existence.
"That's a sweet looking mistress you got there, Thinker"
"Thank you. When I was coming up the sidewalk, I... ah, couldn't help but over hear you two talking. You have a what here?"
"Huh?"
"I think he means that UNCLE fella. We caught him snooping 'bout a week ago. Blower took right good care of him from the beginning though..."
"Where is this... Blower... fella?" Napoleon offered them a slow easy grin that belied the roiling in his stomach. "Could I meet with him please?"
"Naw, here's the thing about Blower. He wants to see you, he'll track you down." Fluke glanced around and shrugged. "I could take you to the UNCLE guy though, what's left of him."
"Yeah, that would be...adequate."
"They call you Thinker 'cuz you use big words."
"No, rather they call me Thinker because I use big words and actually know what they mean." Napoleon offered up another smile.
They entered the house and Napoleon was struck by how normal it seemed. The front hall was neat and tidy. To one side was a living room, all perfectly appointed. To the other side was a dining room, the table neatly set with dishes and glassware in place, as if hopeful for guests.
"This is not what I expected."
"Rad said we should keep the front of the house looking nice like, so no one would suspect anything if they come to call. The lady who lived here did a nice pretty job of it."
"Then we did a nice pretty job on her." Dog giggled and Napoleon worked at keeping the disgust from his face. He'd been in some bad circumstance before, worse than this and yet he'd never felt the same sense of hopelessness and despair as he did at this very minute. These were not men who you could reason with or even men who particularly valued anything he held as dear. "Come on, we keep the UNCLE fella down in the crypt."
"So where is this Rad?"
"Blower kilt him. Rad took a dislike to him first off and made a right nasty crack. One punch was all it took Blower. That's why we listen to him now - we don't want to get hit." Fluke opened the cellar door and turned on the light. "That's what the UNCLE fella is for."
The stench rolling out of the open door made Napoleon take an involuntary step back and cough. He waved a hand in front of his face and dug out his handkerchief with the other. Both men studied him for a minute, then Dog shook his head "It sorta stinks down here too, but you get used to it after awhile." Dog pushed ahead of him and went down the wooden stairs carefully, one hand on the railing. "It ain't half as bad when you get down here though. The stink kinda floats up."
Taking a deep breath, Napoleon followed and he had to agree. The air was still thick with the smell of mold and damp, but it wasn't as bad as it had been.
"You men could down with some ventilation down here. Open a window or something."
"Can't, folks might be able to peek in and that wouldn't do. And Blower don't want any more bodies down here. He's a funny one, he is." Fluke gestured towards the back of the cellar even as he was leading the way in the opposite direction. "The UNCLE fella's in here. We'll go see if we can find Blower. He should be up by now."
Dog giggled as he undid the lock and handed Napoleon the key. "Don't get too close to him. He smells bad and he's tricky. We already had to whup him once for trying to leave."
Napoleon watched them walk away and shoved the key into his pocket. He fought to keep his hands steady and sure even as a surge of panic made the hair at the nape of his neck curl.
He opened the door and the light trickled in behind him. It took a moment to find the light switch and a moment longer to steel himself against the sight that he knew awaited him.
As the light came on, the figure in the straight back chair jerked. His head was covered with a burlap sack tied at the neck and his arms and legs were securely lashed to the frame of the chair. The limbs showed bruising and the wrists and ankles were bruised and swollen. Illya was naked except for his tee shirt and shorts, both stained a brownish rust color.
"Hold on, partner, I'll have you free in a minute." Napoleon crossed the room and placed a hand on Illya's shoulder. It jerked free, but not quickly enough to mask the trembling. "It's okay, Illya, it's me. I won't let them hurt you anymore." Napoleon fairly crooned the words, trying to make them as calming and reassuring as possible.
He got the strip of leather securing the hood in place undone and pulled the hood off.
"Oh my God, what ..." Napoleon started. Then a strange voice interrupted him.
"Talk and talk fast or, as our loving God is my witness, I will strike you down and use your bones for toothpicks."
Napoleon swallowed and turned slowly, his hands raised. "Mr. Blower, I presume?"
Chapter Four
Even though the eyes were green, even though the hair was strawberry blond and curly, even though the lower part of the face was obscured by a four day growth of whiskers, Napoleon recognized his partner instantly.
"Illy---" He took a step forward, eager to greet his friend, but Illya held up a hand and shook his head.
"I don't very much care if you are ill or not, what are you doing in here?" Illya made a circular motion with his hand. Napoleon recognized Illya's request for a response.
"I am from the other group, here to check you out." Napoleon frowned even as he spoke. "A couple of your guys were talking about your guest and I asked to see him for myself."
Illya walked silently to the door, counting to himself, then nodded and yanked the door open. Dog and Fluke tumbled in.
Illya reached down and grabbed the closest, Dog, then kicked Fluke backwards as he started to climb to his feet. Illya shoved Dog against the wall and held a knife to his groin. "You spy on me again and I will cut off your balls and use them as hood ornaments. Do you understand?" Dog just whimpered and Illya shifted the knife to Dog's throat. Blood began to seep around the blade's edge. "I believe now would be the time for you to say yes."
"Yes," Dog squeaked and then crumpled to the floor as Illya abruptly released him. The man scurried away and Illya slammed the door behind him.
"Okay, that will buy us about ten minutes before they come back. What are you doing here, Napoleon?"
"Um... rescuing you?"
Illya looked up from his task of untying Sutherland's feet. "Do I look like I need rescuing?"
"Um.. no, actually you don't. Mr. Sutherland, on the other hand..."
"Yes, he could stand with rescuing, I suspect. His arrival surprised even me." Illya untied the man's wrists. "How are you holding up?"
"Ask me when I can feel my legs again." Sutherland shook his arms to start the circulation in them as Illya began a rough massage of his shoulders.
"It could be worse, try hanging by your wrists for a few hours." He chuckled at Sutherland's stricken look and continued. "I was in the woods giving my report when I heard that a man had been caught and captured. Foolishly, I let my guard down for a moment and was discovered."
"By...Rad?"
"By Rad. As much as I hate taking a human life, I was not about to sacrifice my own, so I dispatched him. It was enough to gain credibility and permit me to take control of our guest."
Sutherland staggered to his feet and stretched. "Remind me to not recommend this place to anyone. The service is lousy."
He walked over to a corner to relieve himself and Illya turned his back on him. "Unfortunately, I was not able to prevent his first escape attempt as he didn't recognize me, but I have been able to spare him further damage."
"Why didn't you report in?"
"About the only time I'm alone in is here. Try your communicator."
Napoleon did as requested and Illya lifted a backpack to a small table. He pulled food and drink out of the pack and began to arrange it.
"That's odd." Napoleon shook the instrument and frowned.
"They have a dampening field set up around the house. I had to go into the woods to make my reports and that luxury ended with the demise of Mr. Rad. I'm watched like a hawk now."
"What about your mission?"
"This is a very dangerous group and it's on the brink of becoming much more dangerous. Upstairs, they have enough firepower to take on a small army. They have guns, short range missiles, and explosives. They are getting ready to hit something, although what I'm not sure. I need you to get Mr. Sutherland out of here."
"What about you?"
Illya shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through his curly red hair. "Don't worry about me."
"It's my job to worry about you. You're my partner."
"You are also head of Section Two of a powerful international organization. I suspect you would be much more help to me out there than in here. I'm sure you'll think of something." Illya checked his watch as Sutherland began to eat. "I need you to leave. At ninteen hundred tonight, be ready to leave. You have the key to this room?"
Napoleon felt his pocket. "Yes."
"Do not surrender it. Tell them I took it from you. Do not trust or turn your back on anyone here. There is no honor among them. I will create some sort of diversion tonight to cover your and his escape." Illya rooted around in his bag and found a small jar. "Now, if you will be so obliging as to apply this, sparingly, to a couple of spots on your face."
"What is it?"
"Nettle cream. It will make your skin red and puffy, as if you've been struck."
"But Sutherland is in no condition to travel."
"It's mostly just makeup, which is why I can't let anyone get too close or they will discover that he's fine and I'm not exactly the monster they think I am." He watched Napoleon dab the cream on and hiss at the result. "The sting will stop in a few seconds, but it will look authentic enough to fool these cretins."
"What happens now?" Napoleon messed up his hair and, closing his eyes in a silent prayer, tore a pocket loose from his jacket. He loosened his tie and popped off a couple of his non-functioning buttons. He looked over at Illya. who nodded in approval.
Illya looked back at the door and sighed. "You try to stay alive for the next six hours." Illya offered him a half smile and his hand. "Be careful my friend. The life you save could be mine."
Napoleon nodded, shook Illya's hand firmly and walked to the door. Taking a breath, he shook himself to loosen his limbs and then half stumbled out of the room. He weaved towards the stairs, not completely surprised to find Fluke and Dog sitting there.
"You left me alone in there." Napoleon's voice was whiney, like a two year old denied his best toy. "That man's insane."
"Yup," Fluke muttered, rubbing his bruised shoulder. "That he is..."
Dog just glared at the door, a thin crusty line of dried blood across his neck. "I'm gonna eat his spleen," he growled. "Then we'll see who's top dog around here. He search you? Find the key?"
"Uh huh."
"Shit, and after I went to all the trouble to steal it. I was gonna go in and play with that UNCLE fella tonight."
"Play?" Napoleon's head suddenly swiveled towards the room as a cry of pain erupted from it. A plea for mercy, for Blower to stop, sobs of pain, and gagging. Napoleon glanced at the faces of the two men, both leaning forward, eager to not miss a sound.
"Yeah, play." Fluke was unzipping his fly and Napoleon caught his breath.
"Not my idea of a good time, sorry."
He made it back upstairs, burst into the cheerful living room and stopped as a dozen men and easily that many weapons came to bear upon him and he realized the task ahead of him. Six hours was a very long time.
Chapter Five
Napoleon Solo sprawled out on the ground, propped up on his elbows, the entirety of his attention focused through the binoculars and upon the sprawling farmhouse in front of him. Every ten minutes, a figure would stroll casually along the front porch, light a cigarette and, for exactly nine minutes, stand there puffing away. Then he would leave and a minute late another figure or perhaps the same one appeared and repeated the process. Napoleon's lungs ached at the thought of all that smoke and nicotine. He hoped, if it was indeed one man, he didn't have a gun or his trigger finger would be itchy.
He dropped the binoculars and gradually became aware of the crickets, the smell of the forest, and the cool breeze against his cheek. He could feel his heart pounding and almost hear the blood flowing in his veins. Even though they stood to lose men tonight, including himself, he was excited, exhilarated.
A soft whisper of sound and Sutherland dropped quietly at his side, stirring up a rich bouquet of earth and pine needles. Napoleon smiled, the man had done a complete one eighty after his adventure in the field with Illya. He'd even requested more training. He seemed more determined, focused and hungry, three things Napoleon hadn't seen in him previously. Sutherland hadn't needed more training, he'd needed more field time. Zuccicello had been right about that.
"How are you holding up?" he asked the man, his voice barely audible over the night noises.
"I won't lie and say great, but I'm okay."
"You didn't have to come. You certainly had ever right to bow out of this mission."
"I've been playing it safe for too long and I want to get the bastards in there... Do you think Illya's okay?"
Napoleon smiled, even though a nerve twitched in his neck. He'd felt a little... off for the last few hours. It could be adrenalin or it could be a dozen different things. Napoleon just hoped it wasn't what he'd feared the most - that Illya was down or even dead, his cover blown this close to the completion of the affair.
"He knew the risks going in, but we can hope for the best." Napoleon rolled to his side and pulled out his communicator and twisted it on, even as Sutherland lifted his binoculars. "Open Channel J - is everyone in position?" He listened as his five leads reported in. "Remember that this is merely a takedown operation. Use sleeper bullets only, our objective is to bring these men to trial, not dispense field justice."
"What about Illya?"
"We'll have to hope he'll keep his head down through all of this. That front room is our main objective. Randy, are you ready?"
"We are charged up and in position."
Napoleon couldn't help but smile tightly. The man sounded so young, so eager. Please, God, look after us tonight and keep us safe... well, you could wing Zuccicello if you really want. "Okay, wait for my signal."
Napoleon stood and brushed his clothes clean. Resettling his jacket on his shoulders, he patted his hair and sighed.
"Scared? I... " Sutherland asked and then paused, as if afraid he'd just asked the worst question at the worst possible moment.
"More than you could know. I'd be a fool if I wasn't," Napoleon admitted. "Wish me luck."
Sutherland's hand snatched at his forearm. "Be careful."
"Always am." And Napoleon walked calmly into the lion's den.
As he neared, the figure stooped over the railing, straightened and the moonlight glinted off his rifle barrel.
"Who is it?" The wind carried a familiar stench towards him.
"Fluke, is that you?"
"Who? Thinker?" Fluke came down off the porch, his rifle lowered. "What the hell, we thought you was dead. "
"So did that UNCLE agent." Napoleon patted his hair again, his signal. "You should never take things on face value." With one smooth move, he pulled his weapon and fired into the man's stomach. The silencer muffled the sound and Fluke sagged before he could even gasp out a warning.
He didn't wait for his men, they knew their jobs. Instead he caught the man, grimacing at the stench that rolled off him as hehefted him up in an improvised fireman's carry. "I need some help out here!" he shouted and the front door opened after a moment.
"What happened?" There was an instant crowd around him as Napoleon carried the man into the house and on to the living room, settling him on the plastic-covered couch.
"We were talking and he just collapsed." Napoleon lifted up Fluke's shirt. "What the hell? It looks like he's been shot."
Suddenly the door was kicked in and Napoleon dove for cover. He took down two of the closest men before they could even react to the door flying inward.
Napoleon had come with agents to spare, intending to outnumber their opponents. There were shouts from the back of the house and more of the bad guys raced in. Napoleon realized he'd sadly underestimated the will and sheer stupidity of this group of malcontents.
He rolled behind a chair and began to fire. He took down one of his own men, mentally apologizing to him.
"Where's Blower when we need him?" he shouted to the closest man, a long haired raggedy man called, appropriately enough, Rags.
"He got into it with Dog. We got us a new leader now..."
Shit, Napoleon swore to himself and shot Rags. He dove for a wooden storage case, feeling the burn of a bullet as it sliced through his calf. A shot gun blast just above his head indicated that someone else had taken exception to his last action and he was no longer safe from them.
Drywall splattered down on him and he spit out a mouthful of dust. He aimed in the direction of the shooter and fired. He missed, but managed to take out a grandfather clock instead. It sent a shower of wood fragments out and one apparently struck the man. He reacted in pain and Napoleon planted a sleeper into his stomach. The man fell forward and another took his place.
Napoleon reached for his communicator. "Open Channel J - anyone?"
"Zuccicello."
Of all the luck. Napoleon frowned. "I'm pinned down in the living room. You?"
"Came through the kitchen and are fighting our way to you. Have you seen Kuryakin?"
"He's... gone." Napoleon fired two more shots and told himself the wetness he felt in his eyes was from stucco dust.
"I'm sorry." Zuccicello almost sounded sincere. The wall behind Napoleon suddenly appeared to flex and Napoleon threw himself to the right. His foot skidded on a pool of his own blood and he went belly down. Above his head the world exploded into a fireball of yellow and orange.
His back grew hot and he swore he could feel his hair burning. He rolled and somehow got to his feet as the outer living room wall fell to the short range missile.
"Napoleon!"
He couldn't tell who was shouting, but he headed in that direction, stumbling over bodies and debris as he went. Rapid gunfire told him someone had found a machine gun. More good news.
He came to rest beside Glendon and Willitis, two senior agents. Like him, they were battle marked. "Napoleon, we need to get out of here. These guys are too dangerous even for us."
"Not until I find Illya."
"Napoleon, we've already lost a dozen agents; he's not worth it," Glendon shouted and Napoleon turned to glare at him.
"Then you sound the retreat. I'm not leaving without my partner." Napoleon pushed past them and headed down into the bowels of the house and that last place he'd seen Illya alive.
The basement door stood open and Napoleon groped his way down the stairs, trying not to slip on his own blood again. Halfway down, he paused to knot his handkerchief around his calf and then continued.
Down here, the battle sounded muffled and almost surreal. He didn't know why he'd taken this path. Something had whispered in his ear and he responded. He'd learned to listen to that voice a long time ago.
In the near dark, he paused and looked around to get his bearings. That's when he heard the noise, soft and mewing, like a lost kitten...
God, please don't let that be Illya. Please let him be dead. Napoleon dropped down and waited. He heard it again, pleading, like that of an injured animal and Napoleon remembered a similar noise, in Marion's apartment, when he'd found Illya cowering in a corner, frightened out of his mind.
The battle above was growing louder and he knew his window was closing, eventually either his men would reach that second story room or the others would and it would be too late then.
He edged forward slowly, limping slightly, heading for that small room where Sutherland had been held. It was just as possible that Dog would have left Illya there as anywhere else. If he wasn't there, then Napoleon have to leave.
He'd taken just another step when an arm curled around his throat, strangling the words out of him.
"One move, one noise, and I shall kill you."
"Illya," Napoleon managed and instantly the grip loosened.
"Napoleon?"
Illya was bruised and bloodied, but Napoleon couldn't have imagined a better sight. Decorum aside, he embraced his partner enthusiastically and heard the half groan. "You okay?"
"No, but I'm functioning. What's going on?"
"We are retreating."
"Sound the recall and then let me have your communicator."
"Open Channel J. Pull out, I repeat, everyone pull out. Take anyone down with you if you can, but get the hell out of Dodge."
He didn't wait for responses, but rather handed the communicator over to Illya. He tried not to notice how Illya's hand shook as he took it.
After a few moments, Illya passed it back. "We have ten minutes."
"Before?"
"Before this place resembles Moscow after your namesake's invasion."
"Illya, where's Dog?"
Illya waved a blood-streaked hand back towards that small dismal room. "Like so many before him, he underestimated me."
"Let's go home."
"Napoleon, I can't... I've got nothing left. I'm sorry." Illya slumped to the ground, spent.
Napoleon looked around frantically. There was a storm door leading from the cellar, but he was just barely able to move himself. Please, God, let me do this, he thought, trying to summon the strength.
"Napoleon, let me help you." Sutherland was there and hefting the now unconscious Illya up and held out a free hand to him.
"What are you doing down here?" Napoleon didn't mind the arm that was offered him.
"Learning what it takes to be a good field agent."
Carrying Illya, they half ran, half tumbled their way up the hill, Napoleon's breath coming in short painful gulps. Behind them, UNCLE agents were spilling out of the house, some in tandem with a downed person, others in small groups.
It wasn't until the woods surrounded them that Sutherland stopped and sank to the ground, taking both Napoleon and Illya down with him. Illya's head bobbed up, as he toyed with the idea of consciousness, then passed on it.
A moment later, the night lit up with an explosion and then bits of the house started raining down around them. Sutherland managed to get Napoleon back to his feet to drag Illya closer to a tree for some scant protection from the falling debris. Then, holding his partner close and knowing Sutherland was keeping watch, Napoleon permitted himself the luxury of passing out.
Epilogue...
Napoleon handed the nurse back the small paper cup and smiled. "So tell me, lovely lady, do you have plans for Saturday night?"
"I do - big plans. I am going to wash my hair, paint my nails and then cuddle up with my cat and a book."
"Sounds dull."
"Almost as dull as yours is going to be, I suspect." She fluffed his pillow and adjusted his blanket. "Especially after those painkillers kick in." She smiled and leaned close enough to him that he caught the delicate scent of Chanel No. 5. "And I'm not leaving until you've swallowed them or they've dissolved in your mouth. I know all your tricks, Napoleon Solo. They tell me you are nearly as bad as that rapscallion of a partner of yours."
Begrudgingly, Napoleon swallowed the pills and made a face at the bitter aftertaste. "How is he doing?"
"I'm alive, or so they tell me, but it might just be a rumor to incite the masses." Illya's voice came from the doorway and Napoleon looked over, his eyes widening when he saw that it was Waverly pushing the wheelchair that held his partner.
Illya looked pale and gaunt, but a hundred times better than when Napoleon had found him in that cellar-- or rather when Illya had found him. Napoleon had come to briefly in the helicopter as they were being flown to the nearest medical facility and he had vainly tried to make heads or tails of the medical jargon the paramedics bandied about. All he learned was Illya was stable but dehydrated. That's when they realized Napoleon was awake and took steps to correct that. Since then, he'd fought to get the slightest amount of info about his partner other than he was alive.
"You look like you've been dragged behind a bus, partner."
"While you, on the other hand, look the picture of health. I know why I'm being sequestered, but you?"
"Strained my back carrying Fluke into the house. He didn't look like he weighed that much."
"It was the darkness of his soul weighing him down. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing head for the vintage. Your John Steinbeck said that. Have you ever read that book? I liked George, he watched out for Lenny. " He smiled and sighed. "Like I watch out for you, Napoleon. Do you like bunnies? I like bunnies."
Napoleon made a face and flicked a quick look at the nurse. She held up the little paper cup and smiled. He grinned back. "Wrong book, Illya. George and Lenny were from Of Mice and Men.... You, my friend, appear to be traveling upon the Train of Loopiness."
"And your car is about to leave the station," the nurse muttered and took over from Mr. Waverly. She wheeled Illya to the other bed in the room. "I hope you don't mind a roommate, Mr. Solo."
"Illya?" Napoleon smiled. "Never... as long as he doesn't snore."
"He doesn't stay conscious long enough for that." She pulled the curtain between them as an orderly entered the room and joined her on the other side of the curtain.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Solo?"
All fuzzy and cozy, he thought, but said, "I'm well, sir, when can I return to duty?"
"The doctors say in about a week, depending upon how quickly your back heals."
"And Illya?" He'd been desperately trying to get info on his partner since he'd regained enough of his faculties to remember his own name.
"He'll be a bit behind you. He has some additional healing to do first."
"How many men did we lose?"
"A small amount when compared to how many the other side lost. Had that cell been allowed to continue, the damage they could have done would have been grievous. You did an excellent job, Mr. Solo."
"It wasn't me, sir. It was Illya and Sutherland. They made a good team once they stopped trying to beat each other into a pulp."
The curtain was pulled back and both men glanced over at the blond. Illya was asleep, looking all of about twelve, helplessly adrift amid an ocean of white. It was hard for Napoleon to remember the man was just a few months younger than he and there was nothing helpless about him.
"Perhaps a promotion is in order then."
"Realistically, sir, I think some more field work is in order. Sutherland is starting to show promise and I think he's finally figured it out, but I'm not sure he's ready for promotion quite yet."
"I was speaking about your partner, Mr. Solo."
"Sir?"
"One of the men lost was your Number Two, Mr. Zuccicello."
"Oh." Napoleon tried to think of some platitude that didn't sound phony. "His death will be a loss to UNCLE."
"But not to you, I believe. Do you think your partner can handle the position?"
"I think you would need to ask him, sir. He's fairly critical of his abilities and if the job is more than he can handle, he'll be the first one to speak up, but you might want to give him a bit of time to come down."
"Well, as I suspect Mr. Kuryakin will be incapable of any rational decision for the next few days, perhaps we shall proceed as we see fit and assume he'll accept the responsibility. If you are agreeable?"
"Of course, sir, whatever you think is right."
"Then it's settled." Waverly settled his hat upon his head and started for the door. "Good night, Mr. Solo. Nurse Thompson, perhaps you will permit me to show you out and we shall let these two young men rest?"
"Sir." Napoleon watched the older gentleman leave and sighed happily. He wasn't exactly devastated that Zuccicello was gone, but he had been a fellow agent and that had to mean something, didn't it?
"Not everyone deserves to be mourned, my friend," Illya said and Napoleon turned to face him.
"You faker! How long have you been awake?"
"Rather the question that bears asking is was I ever asleep." Illya dropped the white pills into his bed pan and smiled at the clatter they made. "I think not."
"So what do you think, partner? You up to the job?"
"As your second? It would mean again doing your reports and filing your paperwork?"
"Something like that."
"Is it only deskwork and menial assignments?"
"Not if we decide otherwise."
"All right." There was a noise at the door and immediately Illya closed his eyes as Nurse Thompson reappeared.
She smiled at Napoleon and walked around Illya's bed, then held up a hypo, checked its contents, and, in one fell swoop, plunged it into Illya's hip and depressed the plunger. Illya made a squeak and started to move, but never had a chance against the quick-acting sedative.
"There, now he's asleep." She readjusted his sheets, brushed the hair off his forehead, and looked over at Napoleon. "And that goes double for you. Rest."
"Yes, Ma'am." Napoleon gave her a playful salute, but he sort of missed his head and laughed.
"That makes me sound like my mother." She drew up the sheets around him and patted his hand. "You can call me Nellie."
He chuckled, even as the darkness was creeping in around him. He was okay, Illya was okay and they were more than just partners now; they were the guys calling the shots. Life was going to be very interesting from here on out.
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