DESCENT
INTO DARKNESS
Alone now, Illya recapped his situation. He had no idea just how deadly that blow
he’d dealt (When? When was it?) had been.
However, if he recalled correctly, there were three dead bodies in the
room after he’d lost control. He knew
that they were dead because the threat to Alexis disappeared. Extrapolating from that, one could assume
that everyone in the place died. His
mind shied away from that one. It had
been the first such display of such force.
He knew that as a group EWI could kill with thought, but he’d never
expected to accomplish this horrible feat himself. And it was horrible. No
matter what the reason. It is not
humanly possible, his mind whispered.
You have indeed evolved. Your
friends are terrified of you. They have
reason to be. Think of this later.
The demons waiting in his head were going to win
this battle. Nine years ago, dealing
with the memories of deprivation and torture was too much for him to take. This
time there was to be no escape. Blocks
cannot be established a second time.
There was something else hidden away in there still; something that
wasn’t a nightmare of pain and disfigurement.
He desperately wished he could hold on to that thought. His mind threatened to slide down the long
chute into the cold place again. He
wrenched it away savagely.
The demons disguised as humans (like me?) were never
going to let up. None of the elite six
had been there in that place. Now they
were fully aware of the threat he posed.
The only bright point in this swirling dark picture he was building, was
the thought that they’d realize Alexis was inviolate. Would they think the only circumstances in which he could display
such power would be when she was threatened?
Maybe. But they could not allow
him to exist now, could they.
Extrapolation: Either he stayed
in this headquarters for the rest of his life, or they’d have him. Both were intolerable. Think, damn it! How do I get away from this?
Work.
Hard. Drugs, they have such that
can block dreams. Insanity results from
long use. But maybe this can buy me the
time I need. I have to finish
development of my molecular computer. I
have to destroy the entire group of people, which threatens my world. Something else, too. What are they doing? What comes through the gap they’ve
created?
Hold on to your sanity. Hold on. Get here NOW
Napoleon.
Two days later, Napoleon Solo arrived very
secretly. Great care had been taken
that no one but Waverly, Sir John and one driver knew the identity of the man
who came into UNCLE Headquarters in the early hours of morning.
“Illya? My
God, man what is happening?”
“You already know, Napoleon.”
“I know a lot, Friend, but you’re going to have to
fill me in on your own situation.
Waverly wouldn’t say a thing but get here now.”
“That was me, Napoleon.”
“No, Illya, I mean over normal communication
links. Now let me get some light into
this room, and take a good look at you,”
“Don’t do that.
It hurts.”
“OK. But you will tell me,,”
“I’ll tell you what you need to know first,
Napoleon. I can’t hold on much
longer. I need you to arrange things
for me.”
“What things?”
“Take care of this for me, it’s important. Follow the instructions. It’s legal.”
Napoleon took the proffered sheets of paper, and
went over to the dim lamp to read what Illya held out to his with shaking
hand. He scanned it quickly.
“Why on earth do you feel there is no hope, Illya?”
“I didn’t say
no hope, Napoleon. I said little hope. I have avoided this action because I’m
terrified, much as it hurts to admit it.
Now I am probably too late. We
discussed this set of circumstances a while ago, remember?”
“Yes, but I disagree with you on the too late
business, Illya. Damn it, I can’t do
what you’ve asked me until I’m satisfied you’re right.”
“I’m right.
Even if I’m not entirely right Friend, there are steps that must be
taken. They are outlined in those
papers you hold. Alexis must be taken
to the man and the place named. This
must be done now. Above all, promise me
you’ll do that.”
“This is fear and depression talking, Illya. I’ve seen you like this once before. Won’t you wait?”
“Will you do it?
Just tell me, please. Yes or
no. But if it’s yes I want your word.”
“And if it’s no?”
“Then this is truly Hell.”
“I won’t say goodbye, Illya.”
“Then don’t.”
Napoleon fairly staggered out of the room. God Almighty, he thought, mind reeling, he’s
serious. He’d given his word to his
friend. He’d follow through. If Illya’s right about failure, it might be
the last rational act he’d ever complete.
Without bothering to speak with Alexander, Napoleon
found his way to Alexis’ room, packed up her things, woke up the sleeping
child, and told her what was about to happen.
The little girl was tearful but resigned. He guessed Illya had talked about it with her somehow. That must have been hard, he thought grimly,
imagining the scene. He felt his former
partner’s attention focused on him the entire time as he helped her dress,
located her favorite cuddly and walked out the door with her. Natural, he thought numbly, since his
daughter is now in my care. Because of
that carefully directed attention, he got out of the building without a single
soul knowing, got in his car, and made his way to Kennedy International.
It was a relief, really, to have her gone. Illya couldn’t stand the thought of her
seeing him in his present condition.
Especially when the only way he could go was down. It was a relief, really. He gave in to his grief and cried quietly
for a long time.
Drained
thoroughly, but reasonably clear-headed, Kuryakin prepared himself as best he
could for the conflict he would soon initiate.
For two days Dr. Susan Beauchamp
watched her patient eat, sleep, and submit to her ministrations like an
automaton. No one explained Alexis’
absence to her. Alexander Waverly
refused to see her the second day.
********************************************************
In the vast complex of buildings housing the
U.N.C.L.E. Command Headquarters North America, the first shift of the new day
was just coming on. People went about
their daily routines. Briefings being
given by Sir John to fresh-faced, eager young men and women, concluded. They drew their necessary items from
armories and other storerooms. They
departed from the usual egresses.
Alexander Waverly woke up with a start in the
luxurious suite that was exclusively his whenever in residence. As always he awoke ready to face the day as
soon as his eyes opened. Age hadn’t
dimmed this capability. His first
clear thought was:
“Something is missing.” He rifled his mind to identify the loss. It was all the more difficult because
whatever it was had never needed identifying before.
In her quarters, Nikita screamed herself awake. She ran out of her space without bothering
to dress. He needed HER help, and he
needed it NOW. That’s all she had to
know. But when she got to his door, she
couldn’t open it. Pounding and
kicking, she demanded that he open the door.
Fortunately, most of the wing was sitting empty; the occupants having
been moved recently so no one would be disturbed any further by the sounds
coming from the quarters housing one Illya Nickovetch.
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS ALONE. DAMN IT ILLYA, YOU LET ME IN!”
With one last mighty kick, the door surrendered to
her.
*******************************************************
“Nikita, Sugar, wake up. Your old friend Walter’d sure like to talk with you.” Walter tried this about every five
minutes. Between times he paced around
the room. God, if the instruments
connected to her hadn’t told a different story, he’d swear she was dead.
“If I ever get the chance, I’ll kick his ass,” was
Walter’s alternate litany.
“Give her time, she’s young and healthy. There’s an excellent chance of full
recovery.” Kier spoke from a wheelchair
by her bed.
“Yeah, right.
That won’t do your friend any good.
I’ll still…”
“Kick his ass.
Yes, we know.” The words were
comical coming out of Kier’s mouth in his precise English accent. If Nikita had heard, she would have
laughed. It might be a long time before
anything made her laugh again. Kier
sighed.
“Walter, will you quit pacing and sit down for a
while,” Birkoff said. “You’re making me
dizzy.”
Kier studied this quiet individual. No highly unusual qualities there, but a
genius at the keyboard, Birkoff was the only neutral player in this scene. Walter’s steel will and intense emotions
made him the perfect one to pull Nikita up out of the coma. Every day for two weeks Walter had come to
this room to repeat his entreaty and his threat for hours at a time. Kier privately wished Birkoff and Walter
would come separately. Birkoff was a
detractor here. Sometimes, no, often,
the desire and love of those close, was enough to return the lost ones.
“Give her time, Walter,” Kier repeated softly, “and
never give up.”
She floated in a blasted
wasteland of pale ocher and dull browns.
Calling his name constantly, she moved about in this horrible place by
force of will alone. They had met the
beast, and thrown it far. Somehow,
though, he was lost to her. In the
confusion of the fight, she’d lost sight of him. She wasn’t leaving without him.
That’s what Alexander Waverly was
missing.
U.N.C.L.E. HEADQUARTERS, PARIS