HEADQUARTERS, TORONTO

 

            Having made all the necessary arrangements for movement.  April Dancer and Mark Slate walked to the medium sized, sleek private jet on the runway.

            “You know, Luv, this vacation is turning out to be a real drag.”  Mark grumped as he climbed the metal stairs behind April.

            “Well, at least it’s been extended.  Lord knows what fun we’ll have in New York.  Maybe take in a few plays, see all the museums, that sort of thing.”

            “Ha, bloody, ha.”

            The main cabin of the plane had been hastily reconfigured to resemble a small hospital.  One doctor and a nurse tended to their equipment quietly.  Illya, now heavily sedated for the trip, lay strapped to the portable bed in the middle of the space.

            April moved directly to the bed, peering into the face of the man she knew so well.  “We’re moving you, Illya Love.  We’re going to New York together once again.”

Even though she was sure he couldn’t hear her, she kept talking soothingly to him as the engines whined louder, signaling preparation for take off.  How could someone do this to this man?  What kind of unfeeling monsters could wound this face so?  Oh to be sure, in the early years, Illya had been the seemingly special target of rough-minded people, who seemed to delight in hurting him, maybe unable to stand the sight of male beauty personified.  She’d stood at the side of Illya’s hospital beds far too many times in the past.  That is when his partner Napoleon finally had to give up and go pass out somewhere.  But lately, April mused, in the last nine years anyway, a change in attitude towards Kuryakin had seemed to invade every living person who came within ten feet of the man.  April herself certainly felt it.  A pull towards love and compassion almost too much to bear, each time one looked upon the angelic countenance.  Again, what kind of monsters could…

            “Everyone please be seated and strap in,” the flight attendant directed. 

“Come on April, don’t be difficult.  Sit down.  He’s fine.”

“You know what, Mark?  I forgot to pack.”

“Just a feminine excuse for shopping.”

She hit him with her in-flight pillow.

 

In the aft cabin of the jet, Nikita, Walter and Birkoff strapped in without exchanging a word; each lost in their own speculations.

 

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            BENEATH THE HIMALAYAN MASSIF

 

“What of Kuryakin, himself.  Can you sense his position?”

“No.  His mind is unreachable.  The others are in motion, though.  Slate, Dancer and Solo; all are travelling.  Dancer and Slate are together.  Mr. Solo remains in Europe. My grasp is hazy on all three of them.”

“Thank you, my dear.  That is enough.”

Enfield was satisfied that they should continue with their original plan, concocted long ago for just such circumstances. 

With Illya Nickovitch out of reach, this was the perfect time.  Without his focus, the others could scarcely hope to detect or foil the acquisition.

 

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            NEW YORK SUBURBS, SAME DAY

 

“Kier, what’s going to happen with my school? Did you call? Will I miss the field-trip tomorrow?”  Alexis Diana Kuryakin was full of concern; her small pixie face turned up to him. 

“Alexis, please, just get in and fasten your seatbelt.  There’ll be time for questions later.”  He knew her school wasn’t her main concern at all.  Even at seven, she kept her deepest troubles secret by misdirection.  She’d asked about her father only once.  The quiet, small voice tugging at his heart, he tried to reassure her by reminding her how good Daddy was at taking care of himself.   Sometime soon, he knew, a small incident would upset her equilibrium and she would cry her worry onto his shoulder. 

He had been with the two of them for three years now.  He’d been assigned as a bodyguard when Illya first contacted Alexander Waverly with the intent of rejoining the U.N.C.L.E.   Now, he could not imagine a life without the daughter of the man he’d been tasked to protect and assist.  Kuryakin’s stiffness had disappeared almost at once when he’d seen Rasheed Kier and Alexis together.  There was no period of tension between the two vastly different men.  If Alexis accepted someone so completely, Illya did too.

Illya’s simple command to take Alexis home following the first incident on the sidewalk two days ago, had been followed without question.  Kuryakin tried so hard to provide his daughter with a normal life.  Home it was then, instead of Kier’s inclination to retreat directly to Headquarters.  He wished he’d followed that inclination now.  But then neither he nor Kuryakin had foreseen the horrifying end-results of the incident.  Sometimes, that happened.  Neither one felt any forewarning.  Not a glimmer.  Damn!!  Well, but then Alexis was no longer in danger.  Illya’s fearsomely protective instincts had been dulled.  DAMN!! 

Then the call had come from Alexander Waverly himself, directing Rasheed Kier to bring the girl directly to Headquarters ASAP.  It was thought that the less commotion accompanying this move, the better.  So here they were, on their way without any further words from Alexander advising him of the problem.  Or any back-up. 

Angry and preoccupied, Kier stopped at a red light.  He didn’t see the four people arranged around the intersection in this quiet suburb.  They were cleverly blended in with their environment.  In this expensive, well-policed neighborhood, pedestrians were not uncommon, unlike the area just outside New York City itself.  There were playgrounds, tennis courts and the like scattered around this particular area.  Therefore, the man in tennis whites, swinging his racket; the woman in baggy clothes jogging in place at the crossroads, now just beginning to cross with the light; and the man and woman dressed in expensive suits conversing on the corner awaiting their own chance to cross; were nothing out of the ordinary.  Until the jogger stopped in the middle of the road, pulled out a device, aimed, and shot in the direction of the car.  The engine died.  The two executives drew weapons and fired, hitting Kier with both shots before he could react and draw his own handy weapon.  The tennis racket swinger dropped his racket and ran quickly to the car, where the small child in the front seat was staring, wide-eyed at her friend and guardian, who had jerked back in his seat twice.  Evil red stains appeared on his chest.  She knew enough about gunshots from television to grasp quickly what had happened.  But shock held her motionless while the man in white opened her door,and put a cloth soaked with a nasty smelling cold liquid over her nose and mouth. She only had time to send a quick mental scream, before all went black.

 

The sedatives were too strong; the powerful mind too preoccupied with healing the body, for his daughter’s call to reach him.

  

The four assassin/kidnappers, a deadly mix of THRUSH and EWI, loaded the small, inert body into the SUV driven by a fifth member of the team, enough car-lengths behind Kier’s vehicle to escape the HERF’s selected range of effectiveness.   The SUV barreled out into the on-coming traffic lane, passing several upset drivers who engines had also died. 

It was most fortunate for Mr. Rasheed that one of those outraged motorists dared to approach the first stalled vehicle, sitting at the white line at the intersection.  Very fortunate indeed.  The brave Samaritan had a cell phone.

 

            ***********************************************

 

           

 

 

HEADQUARTERS NEW YORK

                                    Some days Later

 

Alexander Wavery and Sir John Mills sat facing each other across the round table once more.

Waverly was relaxed, alternately picking up and putting down various pipes; he seriously considered lighting one up despite strident orders from Medical.  Sir John watched the time-honored ritual, full of questions.

“I read the protected files, Alexander.  Extraordinary, I must say.  How old was Mr. Kuryakin when he began on full trainee status with Mr. Solo?”

Waverly chuckled.  “Sixteen.  And Mr. Solo doesn’t know to this day.  Oh I grant you, he may have guessed that his newly assigned partner was a wee bit young and inexperienced, but to begin in the field at that age was strictly unheard of.  Still is, of course.  But this was a one-time necessity, as you know, having read the entire story.”

“I hardly need say that the teaming was rather successful.  Ah, did the Soviet authorities ever discover what had happened to their prodigal citizen?”

“Most of this was covered in the report, was it not?”  Reluctant to divulge the all the circumstances which had governed Kuryakin’s life between ages 11 and 15, and equally reluctant to lie to this man face to face, Waverly wished Sir John would just accept what had been entered in the file concerning this particular time period.

“Yes, but so tersely that my curiosity is far from satisfied, Sir Alexander.”

“Oh please. Do not use that title with me.  I forbid it.  Sounds foreign to my ears every time.  Yes, of course they discovered that I had “kidnapped” a promising young genius from under their noses.  Kuryakin’s uncle assisted in the mollification of interested parties.”

“You mentioned the other day that there were others of Kuryakin’s ilk in our employ.  May I know…”

Alexander raised his hand for silence.  He reached under the desk and flipped a newly installed series of switches, further isolating the room from any invasive measures.   The new equipment that had recently been added, activated, shielding the occupants in the room even from surveillance by the EWI.    If only this shielding weren’t so expensive, I’d cover the entire headquarters; not to mention Kuryakin’s private residence, thought Alexander to himself.

“There now, we may talk freely.  Yes.  There are actually several men and women possessing some talent in this respect.  The first three names shouldn’t surprise you, they have worked the field successfully and faced dangers innumerable, yet all survived.”

“Napoleon Solo, Mark Slate and April Dancer.”  As soon as he spoke up, Sir John realized his mistake. No one interrupted Mr. Alexander Waverly when the information was flowing freely.   “Forgive me, that was rude.”

“Yes, well, as I was saying.  The pairing of both these extraordinary teams was most satisfactory.  In recent conversation with Miss Dancer, I have ascertained the hierarchy, as it were, of the abilities of the four of them.  Dancer and Kuryakin have the most complete link.  They can both send and receive thoughts freely.  There’s more to it, I’m sure, but Dancer was reluctant to speak further.  Mr. Solo can send to Illya, there’s no doubt of that.  This has been demonstrated many times in the field.  He cannot receive direct communications from Illya, though I am certain that he “feels” certain things in times of stress.  Mr. Slate and Mr. Kuryakin communicate only on an elusive empathetic level.  Here again, I suspect more is possible between these two.  Between Miss Dancer and Mr. Slate there exists a bond much like the one between Solo and Kuryakin, but somewhat less successful on a day-to-day basis.  Yes John, ask your question.”

“What about the four of them working together, pooling these talents?  It seems to be the logical answer to the threat posed by the EWI.”

“You’ve hit the crux of the matter.   Mr. Kuryakin’s ah, powers, for lack of a better term, are growing. 

Following that damnable set of circumstances that resulted in Kuryakin’s being held for six months by hostile forces, (here Alexander paused and looked pained) he had to undergo some extensive rehabilitation.  Experimental methods were used to actually regenerate body tissue.  These worked.  The process exists still, of course, and is used sparingly, for it is extremely risky.  Damage to that formidable mind was easier to repair, thank God.  Several memory blocks had to be put into place after three years of physical and psychological therapies failed to stop the “night terrors” as the specialists termed them.  These are more than simple nightmares.  The sufferer wakes up in an uncontrollable panic.  It can be life threatening.  But I digress. 

Following the three years of intensive recovery, Mr. Kuryakin requested to be released from field work.  He married, and had a child.  His wife did not survive the birth, unfortunately.  I knew her well.  Lovely woman.  One of his physical therapists as a matter of fact.  Tragic, that.  (Here again, Alexander paused for long moments.)  He went abroad after her death, taking his infant daughter with him.  For the next seven years, he studied under the best masters of martial arts.  He also engaged in independent research in his chosen field of quantum mechanics.  The results of this research will enable the UNCLE to perform feats of communication, personal security, and indeed, computation at levels hitherto, well, I was going to say, unimaginable, but I suppose others have imagined it, unrealized.  Once his system is fully operational, we will have capabilities a good five years ahead of the rest of the world.”

“Couldn’t you be a bit more specific Alexander?”

“Not at this time, no.  But I strayed from one further point I wished to make.  During those seven years, Illya Nickovetch managed to study under a master of the forbidden art of ninjitsu.  How he managed this, and why, I haven’t been able to ascertain.  What we have here, Sir John, in this one man, is a virtual powerhouse of information, skills, and unprecedented talents.  If these four can pool their talents, with Kuryakin as the focus, we may be able to defeat the best efforts of EWI.  Now, forgive me if I have gone on a bit long.  I am rather proud of his achievements personally.”

  

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