The Long Lost Affair
by M. Mercedes
“If we don’t discover the location of this latest Thrush laboratory soon, gentlemen, I shudder to think of the consequences.” Alexander Waverly shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Even this slight movement and the terse tone of voice were unusual for UNCLE’s usually cool chief. The signs of concern were not lost on Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, his two top enforcement agents.
“We’ve been shaking the trees for
weeks”, replied Solo, equally frustrated.
“None of our usual sources have been the least bit helpful. We know that Thrush is on the verge of
developing some sort of nerve gas, but we don’t know where, who or even exactly
what it is.”
Illya broke his silence. “Maybe it doesn’t exist. Maybe this is, how do you say? A red herring?”
“No, Mr. Kuryakin. Don’t forget we lost an agent over this
already. Eric Jansen was a good man,
credible and dedicated to the end. He died
transmitting what little bit of information we do have. The lab definitely exists. I want the two of you to double your
efforts, find it and close it down. Is
that clear, gentlemen?”
Napoleon rose to go. “Crystal, sir.”
Illya remained seated.
“Do you have something to add, Mr.
Kuryakin?”
“No sir, well maybe sir. “I’ve received another message from Ivan
Rymanosky. He says he has some valuable
information for me. I wasn’t going to
follow it up, because he hasn’t given me anything coherent, much less useful in
the last year.”
“Isn’t that the guy you call ‘Crazy
Ivan’? Solo interjected.
“Yes, I believe he is actually. He lives on the street more or less and he
occasionally does pick up on some interesting information. That happens only when he takes his medication
and remains in a lucid state of mind.
He hasn’t been anything close to lucid over the last year. Because he is of Russian decent he feels
some kind of misguided loyalty to me.
He continues to pass information, but unfortunately it is often of the
‘little green men’ variety.”
“Well, use your own judgement Mr.Kuryakin. Check it out if you feel it may be of any
value.”
“Yes sir. Good night sir.” The
younger agent rose from his chair and followed his partner down the hall. “Plans for tonight, Napoleon?”
“I had a dinner date planned with
the new receptionist, but she went home sick, I’m afraid. Want to take in a movie?”
The Russian grinned one of his rare
but disarming grins. “It just so
happens that I have a date tonight. I’m
meeting a very intriguing young lady at the Reverb Jazz Club down in the village
tonight after her first set.”
“Set?” Napoleon frowned. He
wasn’t used to being upstaged in the romance department by his younger, less
sophisticated partner.
“Yes, she is a musician; sax
player. I met her last week when I
stopped in the place to listen to the music and have a drink or two."
“Did you say sax or did you say…?”
“Napoleon! Don’t make me regret discussing my private life with you!” The blond agent was obviously
embarrassed. It was seldom he gave
anyone any glimpses into his real self.
Years of rigid training made it extremely difficult.
“Calm down, boy! I guess I’m just jealous. You with a date and me alone on a Friday
night. Don’t tell a soul. My reputation will be ruined. So, are you going to contact Crazy Ivan?”
Illya shrugged. “I may swing by the park on my way
home. If he is there I’ll see what he
has. It probably won’t make any sense,
but I feel sorry for the guy. The
American system of medical care has really failed him. He shouldn’t be living in the streets. That is one thing that would never happen in
the Soviet Union.”
“Hey, at least here he has a
choice.” The two men stood on the
sidewalk in front of Del Floria’s prepared to go their separate ways.
“Touché, Napoleon. Try not to be too bored. I hear the Bijou has a Marx Brothers
festival on tonight.” Illya could not
resist the one last jab at Napoleon’s ego.
“Screw you, Illya. If you need any pointers on your date, feel
free to call me.” With that Solo flagged down a cab for the ride home. Kuryakin started walking in the direction of
the park. Even if Crazy Ivan wasn’t
there, Illya felt it would be a shame to waste the unusually warm October
afternoon in a cab or a bus. A late
afternoon walk through the park was just what he needed to clear his head of the
day’s work and make plans for his late night date. As he walked he casually scanned the park benches for his
so-called informant. No luck. He decided to make one pass through the zoo
and then call it quits and head home.
He passed under the animated clock and into the zoo. Illya had mixed feelings about the zoo. He couldn’t help but feel badly for the
magnificent cats held behind bars in small confining cages. It seemed
barbaric. He did however, find the
seals swimming in their outdoor pool to be very amusing. They seemed happy enough, especially at
feeding time when fish were thrown their way.
He stood at the railing partially absorbed in watching the seal
gymnastics and partially lost in thought over his impending date, when suddenly
a large hand grabbed his shoulder.
Illya spun around, reaching instinctively under his jacket for his UNCLE
special.
“Whoa, Comrade! It’s me, Ivan. Did I startle you?”
Kuryakin stared up into the
not-so-clean shaven face of Ivan Rymanosky.
The larger man was grinning.
“Ivan! Don’t ever do that! I
could have hurt you.” Illya tried to
cover his embarrassment at being so totally surprised. “What is this I hear that you have some
important information for me?”
The grin left Ivan’s face. “Yeah, man.
Something bad is going down. I
tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen.
All they could think about was…”
“What’s your point, Ivan?” Illya tried to hide his impatience.
“Okay, okay, Comrade. I’m getting there. They’re disappearing!”
Illya groaned inwardly. This was one of Ivan’s recurring
themes. “Who, Ivan?”
Ivan looked genuinely
distraught. “My friends from the
mission. Ya see, there’s this place
down in the Bowery; some sort of clinic.
If you sign up for some so-called study, they pay you. Twenty bucks, if you let the bastards take
some of your blood, more if you go back a second or third time. Twenty bucks is a lot of Smirnoff.”
“Wait a minute, Ivan. How can your friends be disappearing if they
go back again and again? That doesn’t
make any sense, my friend. Have you
been there yourself? Have you been to
your own doctors at the VA lately, Ivan?
They could help you if you…”
“No!” Ivan’s face hardened.
“I’m not getting anywhere near those pill jockeys! They’ve fucked me up enough, if you’ll
pardon my Russian, Comrade. Everyone I
know who signs up for that study eventually disappears. I think it’s an alien plot. Here, I’ve written the address down for
you.” Ivan handed Illya a dirty
matchbook. “The address is inside. Put it in your pocket quick, before anyone
sees. We have been together too long,
Comrade. They might be watching. I’ve got to go! Check it out, but be careful, man!” With those parting words Ivan jumped up off the bench and quickly
exited the zoo.
Kuryakin pulled the matchbook out of
his jacket pocket and glanced at the address and then at his watch; 5:20. If he hurried he could catch a bus down to
the Bowery, check the place out and get home in plenty of time for his date. ‘I must be as crazy as Ivan’, he thought. The last six or eight tips Ivan has given
him had turned out to be figments for a very confused imagination. He hadn’t even reported back to headquarters
on the last three. He knew it was
company policy to let UNCLE know when an agent was following up on a tip, but
how much ribbing could a guy take? “I
shouldn’t be wasting my time”, he said out loud to himself as he headed for the
bus stop. He just couldn’t help himself. He knew that if he didn’t at least walk by
the place, it would be on his mind all evening and he wasn’t going to do
anything to ruin this much-anticipated date.
The clinic was located in a small
dingy storefront, a pawnshop on one side and a bail bondsman on the other. A bell chimed as Kuryakin passed through the
curtained door. “May I help you?”
questioned the rather large unattractive woman seated behind a reception desk.
“Is this the place I can score
twenty bucks for giving up a little blood?”
Illya answered in his best beatnik imitation.
“Sit” the woman commanded, pointing
to a chair next to the desk. “Name?”
“Smith, John Smith.” Illya replied with what he hoped was a
smart-ass look on his face.
“Right, we get a lot of your
relatives in here, Mr. Smith. How did
you hear about the study?”
“From this cat who hangs around the
alley at the coffee house. My buddy and
I went out back to smoke a joi…, I mean a cigarette and I guess this cat
overheard me complaining about being short on the green stuff. He said I could pick up a quick twenty and
maybe more if you cats like my blood.
I’m a grad student on a scholarship.
It pays for my books and tuition, but nothing left for entertainment, if
you know what I mean.” Illya hoped he
sounded convincing.
“Alright, Mr. Smith. Fill out this form, truthfully.”
“When do I get my money?” Kuryakin inquired as he handed the
forbidding matron the filled out form.
“Go into that examining room, remove
your shirt and wait for the doctor. You
will get paid after we draw your blood.”
“Cash?” Illya badgered.
“Yes, but if you don’t get moving,
you can forget it!”
“Okay, okay.” Illya closed the door of the small exam room
behind him and looked around. It looked
pretty ordinary to him. Removing his
jacket and shirt meant removing his weapon and he hated the vulnerable feeling
it gave him, but what choice did he have?
He did so quickly and covered the gun with his clothing and left it on
the chair in the corner of the room. He
used the extra couple of minutes to place a couple of bugs in the room. He would tune in later to see if Ivan’s
paranoia had any validity to it.
As Illya entered the exam room, the
heavy-set receptionist picked up the phone and pressed the * button. The call was picked up in a small office
behind the examination room. “Yes?”
answered a small blond woman wearing a white coat and stethoscope.
“You’ve got a new one in the exam
room. Not your typical customer,
though. Says he’s a college student,
but I don’t know. You might like to
take a peek before you go in, Dr. Kinsel.”
“Thank-you, Helga. I’ll do that.” The German born doctor turned to her muscular male nurse. “Activate the exam room camera. I want to take a look at this subject before
I go in.”
“Yes ma’am. It will take a few moments for the monitor
to warm up.” The two white-coated
people peered into the TV screen as it cleared. “Younger and neater than your usual customers, doc.”
Dr. Kinsel’s face turned as white as
her coat. “Gott im Himmel! That is Illya Kuryakin, UNCLE New York’s
number two agent!”
“Do you want me to get rid of him,
doc?”
“Nein, nein. We can use him to find out how much UNCLE
knows about the laboratory. I will use
one of the sedative impregnated needles to draw his blood. We will have to close up shop quickly and
completely after we subdue him. He may
have alerted others as to where he was going before he came in here. He obviously didn’t just stumble upon the
clinic.” With that Dr. Kinsel exited
the office and passed through the empty waiting room. She removed ‘Mr. Smith’s’ chart from a basket on the exam room
door as she entered the room. “Good
Afternoon, Mr. Smith. I understand you
wish to be a part of our little study?”
Kuryakin did a quick assessment of
the doctor; small, blond, reasonably attractive and gauging by her accent,
German. He felt a little less apprehensive
as he answered her. “Well, the word on
the street is that I can make some bread here, quick and easy. The cost of text books is killing me.” He gave her what he hoped was one of his
more engaging smiles.
“Yes, Mr. Smith. You will get twenty dollars today after I
draw your blood and twenty dollars a visit if you qualify for the study. Are you right or left handed?”
“Left handed, why?’
“I will take the blood from your
right arm so your writing arm will not be sore later.” Dr. Kinsel replied smiling. She wrapped a rubber tourniquet around
Kuryakin’s right upper arm and turned to face a white metal cabinet. Unlocking the cabinet, she removed a glass
syringe to which she attached an 18-gauge needle. “Make a fist, Mr. Smith.
This will all be over soon and then you will get your much needed bread,
as you call it.” With precision Dr.
Kinsel inserted the needle into Illya’s arm.
“Now that was easy. You have
good veins Mr. Smith.”
“Thank-you, I think. Maybe you and I could go get a cup of….” Before Illya could finish his proposal a
wave of extreme dizziness hit him like a Mack truck.
“Are you okay, Mr. Smith? Lay back.
Some people feel faint at the sight of blood, especially their own. Illya tried to reply, but found that his
mouth and the rest of his body for that matter, would not respond to his racing
brain. ‘Oh, crap. This is really going to ruin my evening’ was
his last rational thought before his mind shut down along with the rest of him.
The door between the office and the
exam room burst open and the large male nurse approached the unconscious
agent. “Should I ship him with the
others, doc?”
Dr. Kinsel frowned. “Yes, prepare him quickly. We don’t have a moment to spare. UNCLE could be here any time. Then dismantle everything and rid this place
of any traces of the clinic. Meet me up
at the laboratory when you are finished.”
After an early, if you’ll pardon the
expression, ‘solo’ dinner, Napoleon decided he would take in a movie. Not the Marx Brothers though. Scanning the paper he discovered that the
Waverly was showing “Citizen Kane” and decided he would like to see it on the
big screen instead of at two in the morning on the Late Late Show. The movie let out at 10:45. Too early to go home, but where to go? Solo strolled through the Village and
without meaning to found himself in front of the Reverb jazz club, scene of
Illya’s much anticipated date. ‘Maybe
I’ll stop in for a nightcap’ he thought.
Napoleon knew that Illya would not appreciate being spied on, but the
temptation was strong. ‘Who is this
woman who can turn the head of my usually aloof partner?’ The place appeared to be quite crowded and
dimly lit. ‘Surely I have enough skill
to slip in unnoticed.’ With that
thought temptation got the best of Solo and he squeezed his way through the
crowd and found a place at the bar. The
band was playing a slow mournful number.
Napoleon’s eyes settled on the female saxophone player. She was small, dark haired with large
soulful dark eyes, eyes that seemed to be scanning the crowd as she
played. Napoleon could definitely
understand his partner’s attraction. In
fact if things didn’t work out for Illya, maybe…? Speaking of which, where was Illya? Solo scanned the crowd himself, but couldn’t get a glimpse of the
blond Russian.
The band finished its number to loud
applause. Solo watched as the sax
player left the stage, still scanning the crowd, presumably for her date. She approached the bar. “Hey, Jack.
Have you seen a guy about so tall, blond, big blue eyes?”
The bartender shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of guys tonight. Why?
Someone stand you up, Gina?”
“God, I hope not! He didn’t seem the type.”
Jack scowled. “Hey, I seen all kinds of jerks. They come in all sizes, shapes and
colors. You know what they say; ‘you
can’t tell a book by its cover.’”
Napoleon had heard enough. “Excuse me, Miss, but did I hear you say
that your date has stood you up?”
“Yeah, imagine that. I still don’t think he is the type, but hey
who knows? Don’t let it give you any
ideas. One disappointment an evening is
about all I can take.”
“I don’t think any man would stand
you up intentionally, Miss?”
“Gina, just Gina. Thanks, but I guess it happens to all of us
Mr.?”
“Solo, Napoleon Solo. Before we go any further, I have a
confession to make.”
Gina eyed him suspiciously, “Yes?”
“I know all about your date. My business associate was supposed to meet
you here after your set. I’m a little
embarrassed to admit it, but I was in the neighborhood taking in a film and my
curiosity got the best of me. I thought
I could duck in here and have a quick nightcap and get a glimpse of the
fantastic woman who could put Illya’s mind on anything other than his job. And you are right; he’s not the type to
stand a lady up. How late is he?”
“A little over an hour. Did he really describe me as
fantastic?” Gina smiled in spite of
herself.
Napoleon gazed down at the innocent wide-eyed young woman. “Not in those words exactly, but that was his point. He was really looking forward to your date. Something serious must have come up at the office.” Solo was anxious to leave and figure out what was going on. He had a bad feeling about it. “Look Gina, I don’t know what’s up, but don’t be too hard on Illya. I’m going to check back in at the office and find out what’s up. I’ll call you and let you know. How can I reach you?”
“You can reach me here between 8 and
2 every night except Sunday and Monday.”
Gina sighed. What a
disappointing evening!
Napoleon made a quick exit. As soon as he was alone he pulled his
communicator out. “Open channel D. Illya?
Illya? Come on answer!” There was nothing but static.
Part
2
Consciousness returned to Kuryakin
slowly. He focused in on his
surroundings. He was lying on the cold
metal floor of a small cell. It was
more like a large cage, actually. The
bars were lighter and weaker looking than a traditional jail cell. There was a bowl of water in one corner
along with what appeared to be a half a loaf of bread. The only feature of the cage, which
suggested it was designed to house anything other than a large animal, was a
small commode in the back corner. A
quick self examination revealed that both of Illya’s tracking devises had been
removed, one from a false cap on his right wisdom tooth and one from under the
skin of his left thigh. He was dressed
in a pair of green medical scrubs. A
combination leather and metal collar was attached securely around his neck. A guard with the all too familiar Thrush
emblem on his uniform was seated at a desk across the room from the cage. Noticing his newest charge’s movement, he
picked up a phone. “He’s awake
ma’am. Yes ma’am, I’d be glad to give
him a demonstration. Kuryakin?”
Illya stood and moved to the front
of the cage. “The accommodations here
leave much to be desired. Would you
mind telling me who my host is? I’d
like to register a complaint!”
The guard smiled. “You’ll meet the doctor soon enough. For now, shut up and pay attention. You may have noticed there are no locks on your
cage, but if you try to make an unauthorized exit you’ll get one of these
automatically.” The guard pressed a
button on the desk. A large charge of
electricity surged from the collar around Kuryakin’s neck. He fell to the floor with an involuntary
yelp. Cruel laughter issued from the
guard. “Here, have some more.” He pressed the button longer this time. Kuryakin’s body seized and spasmed on the
floor of the cage. It was only for a
fraction of a minute, but it felt like an eternity and Illya felt dazed as he
painfully pushed himself into a sitting position.
“Okay Quasimodo. I get the point.” Illya tried to put some bravado into his voice, but he didn’t
feel like he had much to spare at the moment.
He decided to take a little time and study his surroundings. There were two other cages to the left of
his own. The occupants reminded him of
his friend Ivan, but of course that only made sense. If he had only taken Ivan a bit more seriously he would have let
someone know he was going to check out the clinic. ‘Spilled milk, I guess,’ he thought. ‘At least I’ve located the hidden lab, or it has located
me.’ His efforts to communicate with the
other prisoners were fruitless. One was
catatonic and the other commenced a loud howl when Kuryakin tried to talk to
him. He seemed to be terrified of any
human contact. ‘Great, no chance of any
help or enlightenment there. Illya sat
down to wait, for what he did not know, but he suspected it wouldn’t be good.
After failing to raise his partner
on the communicator, Solo quickly walked the few blocks to Illya’s
apartment. He let himself in with his
key and looked around. The place had a
deserted air about it. No sign that his
friend had been home and changed clothing for his date. Napoleon went into the small bathroom and
turned on the light. Even though they
had worked together for five years he was still amazed at how neat and
organized Illya kept everything in his life.
Soap in the soap dish, towels neatly folded on the rack. Napoleon rested his hand on the towels;
dry. Illya would never have gone out
for the evening without showering.
Something is definitely wrong.
“Open channel A.”
“Yes, Mr. Solo?”
“Rita, has Mr. Kuryakin called in
since he left for the day?”
“No sir, would you like me to try
and get in touch with him?”
“No Rita. I’ve tried. Can you look
something up for me? I need a list of
the places frequented by one of our informants, one Ivan Rymanosky.”
Within minutes, Solo received the
information he needed. He began a
search of several unsavory parts of the city.
No luck until he checked the drunk tank at one of the small precinct
houses. “Yeah, I know who you mean,
Crazy Ivan. He was here, but not
anymore. He was all drunked up and
raving about everyone getting abducted by the little green men. I think he was taking some sort of
medication too. We couldn’t handle
him. He was upsetting the rest of the
guys so we shipped him out.”
Solo didn’t envy the cop his
job. “Where did you send him?”
“Bronx VA. He’s a regular there.
They’ll get him straightened out and put him back on the streets. He’ll be back here eventually. It’s a vicious cycle, if you know what I
mean.”
“Okay, thanks for your help.” Napoleon caught a cab for the trip up to the
VA. He approached the police desk and presented
his ID. “Napoleon Solo. I’m here to visit one of your patients, an
Ivan Rymanosky. Can you tell me what
room he is in?”
“Well Mr., ah Solo, he’s up on the
‘flight deck’, but you’re way past visiting hours and I don’t think you’ll find
him in a talking mood anyway.”
“Flight deck?”
“Psych ward, sorry. Mr. Rymanosky was pretty worked up when they
brought him in. I’m sure they’ve
sedated him. Is this important?”
Solo was discouraged. “Yes, quite important. Would it be alright if I went up and spoke
with the nurses? Maybe they could give
me an idea when Ivan will be in a talking mood.”
The police officer nodded. “Sure, go ahead, 10th floor, B
wing.”
As Napoleon rode the elevator alone
he checked in at headquarters. “Rita
can you do me a favor and check on Mr. Kuryakin’s tracking devise signals?”
“Anything for you, Mr. Solo. It’ll just take me a few minutes. Should I call you back?”
“Yes Rita. Thanks.”
A short conversation with the 10B
med nurse revealed that Ivan was not expected to be very coherent until the
following evening. When his
communicator began to beep he excused himself and walked back down to the
elevator lobby. “Solo here.”
“Mr. Solo, I’ve had both of Mr.
Kuryakin’s transmitters checked. We are
not receiving a signal from either one of them. Nothing from his communicator either. Do you want me to alert Mr. Waverly?”
“No Rita, it’s almost morning. Let him sleep. I’ll see him in a few hours anyway. Thanks for the information.”
Napoleon realized there was nothing else to be done until he could speak
to Ivan. Discouraged, he went home to
grab a few hours of rest himself.
The smell of bacon cooking somewhere
made Illya aware that it was probably morning.
The guards changed shifts. He
hoped the new guard was a little less sadistic than the one he replaced. “Hey, you!
Do you think I could get some of those bacon and eggs I smell
cooking?” In answer Kuryakin received a
quick jolt of electricity. “I guess
that means no.”
“Don’t speak unless you are spoken
to. Eat your bread and be glad you’ve
got that.”
So much for wishful thinking. Illya decided to spend his time trying to
figure out a way to escape. He hadn’t
sat there very long when the guard’s telephone rang. “Yes? Yes sir, right away
sir.” The guard pressed a button on the
desk and the door to the cell swung open.
“Out!” Illya decided not to
argue and walked carefully out of the cage.
No shock. The guard was joined
by two heavy-set white coated men.
Manacles were attached to Kuryakin’s wrists and ankles. He was led down a long windowless hallway
into what appeared to be an examination room.
He was pushed into a slightly reclining chair and the manacles were
secured to the chair.
“I’ve got a lot of complaints about
the service here, the accommodations are lousy and the food…” Illya’s voice caught in his throat as two
doctors entered the room.
Ah, our latest specimen. Guten Morgan, Herr Kuryakin. I would introduce myself, but I can see by
your face that you know me already.”
Illya stared up at the obese balding
German doctor. “I thought you died in
Berlin, Von Kummer.”
“Ya, that is what everyone believed,
but as you can see I am very much alive and thanks to Thrush I have been able
to continue my work. I have read your
dossier and I am very happy to have been given such a perfect subject to test
my formula on. An UNCLE agent and a
Russian one at that. I am very
surprised that an organization such as UNCLE would stoop so low as to employ a
Russian. I used many Russian guinea
pigs during the war. They were brave
initially, but I made each one beg for mercy before I put an end to their
miserable worthless lives.”
Kuryakin could not contain the
loathing he felt for this man who had brought so much suffering to Russian POWs
during the war. “I am not surprised to
learn that you are working for Thrush.
The Americans have an expression; ‘shit runs downhill.’ I see that you have found your natural
level.” That said, Kuryakin
instinctively did something he would never have thought he would do, he spat on
the nazi doctor.
Von Kummer shook with poorly
contained rage. “Teach Herr Kuryakin
some respect for his betters, Herr Schwartz.
One of the large attendants smiled, “with pleasure, doctor.” A large prolonged jolt of electricity was
promptly administered to the manacled agent.
His body jumped and writhed in the chair, the manacles cutting into his
wrists and ankles.
“Did you enjoy that, my little
guinea pig? An ingenious torture I
designed myself. Enough electricity to
cause some very painful convulsions, but not enough to obliterate
consciousness. Perhaps you will show a
little more respect now? I read in your
dossier that your father was killed in the war. I thought your name was familiar. I think I had the pleasure of making the final days of his
worthless life extremely unpleasant. It
is only fitting that the son should follow in the father’s footsteps.” The repulsive doctor towered over the
restrained UNCLE agent, spittle spaying from his mouth as he spoke.
Illya knew that the German was
trying to bait him, playing mind games with him. He also knew it would be very unwise to respond to the tormenting
words, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. “I have more respect for the mud on the soles of the Red Army’s
boots than I will ever have for you,” Kuryakin replied weakly.
Von Kummer grabbed the remote
control devise from Schwartz and rewarded Illya with another electrical
shock. The Russian felt like he was
about to pass out and it was apparently obvious, because the other doctor
stepped forward and placed her hand on the fat man’s arm. “Doktor Von Kummer, I am enjoying Herr
Kuryakin’s performance as much as you are, but we need to question him about
UNCLE’s knowledge of the laboratory before you can proceed with the test of your
formula.”
Dr. Von Kummer released the remote
control button. “You are quite correct,
Dr. Kinsel. We must proceed. First we must label the specimen, then you
may administer the pentothal and question him.
Is the iron ready?”
The second attendant replied as he
handed the German a red-hot branding iron.
Yes, doctor, Mr. Kuryakin is specimen number 27. Should I remove his shirt?”
“Nein, a little cloth will not
matter.”
Kuryakin shifted in his seat as the
doctor approached with the steaming iron.
He was determined not to cry out.
There was no way he was going to give this low life the
satisfaction. Von Kummer pressed the
brand onto the agent’s left upper arm, burning quickly through the cloth and
into the skin, leaving the number 27 burned into his flesh. Illya succeeded in remaining silent much to
Von Kummer’s dismay “You think you are
so brave, don’t you little man? Before
I am finished with you, you will be bawling like a baby. You cannot escape your low breeding. You will break like all the rest of your
kind who came before you.”
Kuryakin’s voice was a barely
audible croak. “Don’t hold your breath,
you unmitigated piece of shit.”
Before Von Kummer could react, Dr.
Kinsel stepped in front of him and injected the agent with just enough sodium
pentothal to loosen his tongue, but not enough to totally obliterate his
conscious mind. The young agent tried
hard to keep his silence, but after relentless questioning by the female Thrush
physician, he eventually revealed to her that UNCLE was completely unaware of
the location of the Thrush lab and even more unfortunately for him, that his
colleagues at UNCLE were also uninformed about his visit to the New York City
clinic. The doctors conversed as Illya
remained in the chair slowly regaining consciousness. “The pentothal should clear from his system completely in about
four hours, Dr. Von Kummer. Then you
may proceed without worry of any unwelcome interruptions from UNCLE.”
“Ya, I am so looking forward to this
test, on this particular subject.” Von
Kummer smiled as he gazed at the battered Russian. “Take number 27 to his cage and let him sleep it off.”
The two attendants detached the
manacles from the chair and pulled Kuryakin into a standing position. He was no sooner upright than his legs buckled
and the two heavily muscled men had to hold him up by his upper arms. The pain induced by the guard grabbing his
raw left arm gave Illya the strength he needed to persuade his legs to make the
trip back to his cell.
Four hundred or so miles south of
the lab Napoleon Solo stood at the bedside of one very large, but very
unconscious veteran. Ivan’s
psychiatrist stood on the other side shining a penlight into the sleeping man’s
eyes. “I’m sorry Mr. Solo, it seems the
Thorazine is taking longer to wear off than I originally figured. He may have had other drugs in his
system. It is hard to tell with some of
these guys.”
Solo sighed, “isn’t there anything
you can give him to reverse the effects?
A man’s life could depend on it, in fact many people’s lives could
depend on it.”
“No, Mr. Solo. I can’t take the chance. We might never bring him back to reality if
I do.”
Kuryakin awoke sprawled on the metal
floor of his cell. He had no intentions
of sleeping when he was unceremoniously dumped into his cage-like lodging, but
the lingering effects of the Pentothal combined with the extreme stress his
body had been subjected to got the best of him and he dozed off without
realizing it was happening. He sat up and
took a quick inventory of the damage done to him. His ankles and wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding, but these
wounds were fairly superficial and more of an annoyance than anything
else. His arm however, was painfully
throbbing. He ripped the rest of the
sleeve off his scrub top and dipped it in the bowl of water. Awkwardly he applied the cool compress to
the burned, oozing skin. His movement
was restricted by the manacles, which had been left on his arms and legs. He drank the remaining water and ate the
stale bread, contemplating how he must somehow escape or at the very least get
a message to UNCLE. He was lost in
thought when the two attendants came to escort him back to the laboratory. “On your feet 27!” Schwartz bent down to pull the seated agent up. With one quick motion Kuryakin jumped up and
wrapped the wrist manacle chain around the larger man’s throat. They rolled around on the floor with the
chain still tight around Schwartz’s throat.
Schwartz was able to land a couple of punches on the side of Kuryakin’s
face, but with his air supply almost cut off he was quickly losing
strength.
The other attendant screamed at the
guard, “shock him, you idiot!”
The guard hesitated, “But what about
Schwartz?”
“Do it!” The guard activated the electrical collar and power surged through
Kuryakin’s body and the metal chain he held around Schwartz’s neck. Both the UNCLE agent and the Thrush
attendant spasmed on the floor. Illya’s
grip on the other man was loosened. His
angered colleague stepped in and separated the two men with his boot. Schwartz sat up gasping and rubbing his
throat. The guard continued to transmit
electricity through Kuryakin’s helpless body.
Schwartz got to his feet. “Cut
the power!”
Kuryakin
lay on his back looking up at the enraged attendant. “You’ll regret that, you little prick.” Schwartz drew his foot back and commenced kicking the prone
man. Kuryakin curled up into a ball
protecting his face and rib cage. He
had received several kicks in the back and one to the back of his head when the
other attendant stepped in.
“That’s
enough, Schwartz. If you damage his
brain, the doc will kill us. Let’s get
him down to the lab before he gives us any more trouble.” Together the two burly men lifted Illya to
his feet, but his legs again refused to cooperate. “Get the wheelchair.”
Kuryakin was plopped in the chair and transported to the waiting
doctors.
“Finally! What was the delay? Why
is this man in a wheelchair?”
Schwartz’s face was red. “I’m afraid number 27 was a bit unwilling to
participate in your study, doctor. We
had to convince him to accompany us.”
Illya was transferred to the
reclining chair. Dr. Von Kummer did a
cursory examination of the damage done.
“If you two imbeciles have done any permanent damage to his brain you
will take his place!” A more in depth
exam determined that all of Kuryakin’s neurological reflexes were in good
working order. Alright, Herr Kuryakin,
are you ready to make medical history?”
Without waiting for an answer Drs. Kinsel and Von Kummer removed the
manacles and attached EKG and EEG leads to Kuryakin’s body. His inner arm was swabbed with a brown
iodine solution. “I will administer the
formula I.V. push, slowly. We don’t
want to waste a drop.”
Illya felt
an initial sting and then a faint burning sensation in his arm. “Will I get a lollipop when this is over?”
Von Kummer smiled, but the effect was chilling
rather than reassuring. “I like you so
much better silent, but no matter. You
will soon learn respect.”
Dr. Kinsel observed the various monitors. “BP 120 over 80, EEG and heartrate normal.”
“Patience, doktor.
We should see a change soon.” No
sooner had the repulsive physician uttered those words, than Illya felt a
strange churning sensation in his stomach and a dizzying headache.
“BP is dropping, heartrate rapid and we are getting
some very unique patterns on his EEG.”
Kuryakin struggled to remain conscious, but within the next five minutes
lost the battle. The young woman shined
a penlight into his eyes. “I believe he
is ready, doktor.”
Von Kummer settled his bulk on a chair next to the
unconscious man. “Can you hear me
number 27?” A faint ‘mmm’ issued from
Kuryakin’s lips. “Sehr gut. Now listen to me. You have no identity, no memory of where you came from. In addition you will remember nothing you have
learned since the age of five. You can
manage your basic bodily needs, but otherwise your mind is clear. Do you understand?” In response he received another soft moan
from his subject. “Alright, put him
back in his cage and notify me immediately when he comes to.”
As Kuryakin remained unconscious in
his cell, his friend Ivan was finally showing some signs of life. “Oh my head, where the f___ am I?” The young psychiatrist moved into view. “You are back at the V.A. Mr.
Rymanosky. How do you feel?”
“How do I feel? I feel like shit! How much dope did you give me?
Goddamn pill jockeys. Let me out
of here, you bastards!”
“Calm down, Ivan. There is someone here who wants to ask you
some questions. Mr. Solo?”
Napoleon Solo sat down next to the bed. “ I just have a couple of questions, Ivan,
but they are very important.”
“Oh yeah, well I don’t know you, so
screw off! Hey doc? Am I being held prisoner here? Let me go!
Where’s my clothes?!”
Solo persisted. “Ivan, please. I believe we have a mutual friend.” He handed the large man a file photo of his missing partner. “I believe Illya may be in trouble and I was
hoping you could help us locate him.”
A long sorrowful moan escaped Ivan’s
mouth. “Oooh! Not my comrade! Did he
disappear too? Oh God, they took him
and it’s all my fault!”
“Ivan, Ivan! Who took him? Where?”
“The aliens. They’ve been taking my friends for weeks now
and no one would listen to me until my little comrade. I sent him to his death!”
“Where did you send him, Ivan?”
“If I tell you they will take you
too! How long has Illya been missing?”
“A little over 24 hours, as far as I
can tell.”
“No one has ever come back after
that much time.” Rymanosky had tears in
his eyes.
“Listen to me, Ivan. I am a very lucky guy. I know how to handle these ‘aliens.’ Just give me the address where you sent
Illya and I assure you, not only will they not get me, but I will get Illya
back as well.”
Number 27 woke slowly. He could hear the sounds of someone yelling
and another voice yelling back, but the sounds were muffled as if he were under
water. He fought to get to the
‘surface’ as it were and sounds and sights gradually became clear. ‘Where am I? he wondered. He stood up to approach the front of the
cell and perhaps get a better idea of what was going on. As he stood up a wave of nausea washed over
him and he choked on some of the bread remaining in his stomach.
“Ah,
our sleeping beauty returns to the land of the living. I’d better call the doc.”
27 watched as the man at the desk picked up the
phone and spoke into it, but he had no idea what was said. ‘Maybe if I just go out there the man will
explain.’ With that thought he started
to open the cell door. A strong bolt of
electricity immediately surged through the thing around his neck and knocked
him backward. He sat on the cell floor
looking up at the guard with wide blue eyes.
The guard was obviously angry, but he wasn’t making any sense. Just as he was about to ask the guard what
was happening, two large men appeared and entered the cell. They pulled him forward, but he resisted as
they approached the doorway, remembering the recent shock. “Still a stubborn little bastard are you?” They grabbed him harder and forced him to
walk between them down the hall.
When they reached the lab, 27 was rudely pushed into
a chair and promptly restrained. A
young attractive woman and a very fat man, both in white coats, walked up to
either side of the chair. The fat man
spoke. “Who are you?” Number 27 stared up at him. “I said what is your name? Answer me!”
The man seemed angry.
“Allow me, doktor.”
The young woman placed her hand on 27’s chin and lifted it until their
eyes met. “Speak to us. We want to help you.” The blond agent’s eyes were clueless. “I hate to say it Von Kummer, but I think
your formula is not yet perfected. This
man is a moron.”
“That is impossible! Speak to me you Russian bastard!” Von Kummer grabbed his subject’s arm at the number 27. A cry issued from 27’s mouth accompanied by
several words. The doctors looked at
each other with sudden mutual understanding.
“He is speaking Russian. He does
not understand English! Of course! It makes perfect sense!”
Dr. Kinsel frowned.
“I’m afraid I don’t speak Russian, doktor. Do you?”
“Ya, ya, enough to communicate with someone with
this one’s limited intellect.” Von
Kummer repeated his original question in Russian. “Who are you? What is
your name?”
27 was relieved to finally understand something that
was being said to him. He started to
speak, but stopped suddenly as the horrible truth dawned on him. He did not know the answer. “Tell me!” the angry man bellowed.
“I, I don’t know,” the younger man stammered. He was not happy with the situation at
all. These people had him strapped to a
chair, various parts of him hurt; particularly his arm, he had a pounding
headache and his stomach was starting to feel very upset. “I want to leave. Let me go!” he demanded.
Von Kummer laughed, “you must answer the question,
little man. Tell us who you are and you
may leave.”
“I want to, but I can not. Something is wrong. I
think I am sick.”
Von Kummer misunderstood. “No, you are not sick.
You must tell!” He was seated
next to his subject, his face just inches away. Suddenly 27 coughed and deposited the undigested portion of his
last meal on the face and chest of the obese German. “Son of a whore!” Von
Kummer jumped up and back.
Dr. Kinsel handed him a damp towel. “He said he was sick. He meant it literally. It may be a side effect of the drug. I think it is time to see if the effect of
the formula can be broken by stress.
What would you like to try first, Herr Doktor?”
“Electricity.
We will administer increasing doses of electricity through the collar
until he either recovers his memory or passes out. Number 25 was able to overcome the formula with the electricity,
but he has been in a state of catatonia ever since. I am confident the changes I made should take care of that
shortcoming. Shall we proceed?”
Von Kummer spoke slowly in Russian. “You will answer my questions or you will
receive one of these.” He pressed the
collar’s remote control briefly.
The Russian jerked painfully in the chair. “Don’t do that! It hurts!”
“Who are you?”
The doctor continued the questioning for what seemed like an eternity to
his victim. When it felt like he could
not bear any more the doctor asked a new question. “Do you want me to stop?”
A weak “da” was the response.
Von Kummer smiled.
“Beg. Beg for mercy.”
Number 27 stared up with watery blue eyes. “Nyet. I will not.”
Von Kummer was astonished and in response delivered
a large enough dose of electricity to make his subject pass out.
Dr. Kinsel looked thoughtfully at the unconscious
man. “It appears that your formula has
no effect on personality, doktor.”
“Do not concern yourself, fraulein. This one will beg before I am finished with
him.” He turned to the attendants. “Put him back in his cage until tomorrow.”
Early the following morning several men sat around
the table at UNCLE New York headquarters.
Napoleon Solo, New York’s number one enforcement agent wondered if he
looked as tired as his boss who was calling the meeting to order. “Alright gentlemen, who can update me on the
situation? Mr. Solo, can you give
everyone an idea of where we stand at this point in time?”
“Yes sir. We
checked out the address given to me by Mr. Rymanosky. There was a clinic there, supposedly doing some kind of drug
research, but they seem to have vacated the premises rather suddenly two days
ago.”
“Was there anything useful left behind, Mr. Solo?
Solo hesitated, “unfortunately, yes sir, we found
Mr. Kuryakin’s homing devises, both of them.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes sir, various medical supply items; gauze, tape,
IV solutions, that sort of thing. We
have all available manpower trying to track down who paid for all the supplies
and if they are receiving any supplies at another location.”
“Thank-you, Mr. Solo. Mr. Clayton, how are you coming with our Thrush informants?”
Thomas Clayton, UNCLE New York’s number three enforcement
agent sat in the chair normally occupied by the missing number two agent. He was a cool, confident, almost arrogant
young man. A product of American wealth
with the best education and social training money could buy; he was secretly
elated to be included in the top-level investigation. He was tired of playing second fiddle to a Russian agent, who in
his mind could not possibly be truly dedicated to UNCLE’s anti-despotic
mission. Not with the years of
indoctrination Kuryakin had received in his Communist homeland. He had kept his personal feelings well
hidden and would continue to do so. He
would even try to show some concern for his fellow agent’s welfare. “I’m afraid I have received some very
disturbing news, just this morning sir.”
He pressed a button on the console, the lights dimmed and an image of a
man appeared on the monitor. As the
image came into focus, a collective gasp issued from the men around the
table. “Klaus Von Kummer, Nazi research
physician, believed to have died in the Berlin bunker. Unfortunately he is alive and well and in
charge of the elusive Thrush lab. Rumor
has it that he has developed a new mind altering drug, which is almost ready
for mass production at Thrush facilities throughout, the world. We have all available personnel trying to
pin down the location of the doctor and his lab.”
Alexander Waverly felt older than his years. “Thank-you gentlemen. You may return to the task at hand. Notify me immediately, day or night, if you
uncover any new information. Ah, Mr.
Solo, please remain for a minute.”
Napoleon Solo was more than happy to comply. He felt like the wind had been knock out of him.
“Are you familiar with Dr. Von Kummer, Mr. Solo?”
The younger man grimaced, “God help me, yes I am
sir. The ‘Scourge of Leningrad.’”
“That is correct.
This man has a pathological hatred of the Russian people and is
personally responsible for maiming and killing hundreds of Russian POWs during
the war. I don’t have to tell you what
this means for Mr. Kuryakin. We must do
everything possible to stop this madman, but we also must be realistic and
prepare ourselves for the worst concerning Mr. Kuryakin’s fate. Do you want to be removed from this
assignment, Mr. Solo?”
“No sir, I can handle it. I’ll feel better if I am involved in eliminating the f____
bastard. Sorry, sir.”
“Quite alright, Mr. Solo. I quite agree with your assessment.”
Monday morning found number 27 sitting in his cell
trying to rub some of the painful cramps out of his overstimulated
muscles. He tried to recall a dream he
had before awakening, but the only thing he could remember was two words, “get
out.”
He
intended doing just that as soon as an opportunity arose. Realizing some of the pain he was
experiencing was due to extreme hunger he ate the bread left for him sometime
while he was asleep. Unfortunately his
stomach was unwilling or unable to hold the food. He rinsed his mouth out with some of the water and slowly drank
the remainder. Soon the attendants came
for him. When he struggled they reattached
the manacles and half dragged him down the hall.
“Good morning, number 27.” The corpulent doctor greeted his subject in
Russian. “Are you ready to tell me what
I want to know?”
“I want to leave!” the Russian
replied.
Von Kummer laughed, “first you must
tell me who you are and then you must beg for your insignificant life. Then your misery will end.”
The German was rewarded with a cold
defiant blue eyed stare. “I can not and
I will not.”
“String him up!” The muscular attendants dragged the bound
man to a large metal hook suspended from the ceiling. Together they lifted him up and attached the chain between his
wrists to the hook. “Dr. Kinsel, would
you like to begin?”
The small woman approached the
helpless man. She smiled at him. 27 was somewhat encouraged. This woman was smiling; perhaps she will
help him. That thought quickly
disappeared when he saw what she held in her hand, a large leather whip. She beat him as her colleague questioned
him. The session went much like the
previous day’s session, ending when the subject lost consciousness. Von Kummer was both elated and
agitated. “The formula is
perfected! Physical stress has no
effect on the amnesia. Tomorrow we will
try the Pentothal.”
Dr. Kinsel was pleased. “Then we will terminate all three of the
remaining subjects and do comparative post mortems. I am so anxious to see if there are any gross neurological
changes. Thrush is anxious to develop
an aerosol form of the drug. We will
be…”
“Thrush will wait until I am ready,
fraulein! I will not terminate number
27 until he breaks!”
“I don’t think that is going to
happen. We have given him as much pain
as possible without killing him and he has been totally unresponsive. You must accept this, Von Kummer.”
The large man was beside
himself. “I will accept nothing,
fraulein Kinsel. I will break him if I
have to do it one bone at a time. He
will cry like a baby, I promise you doktor.
I have never failed, I will not fail this time!”
Napoleon Solo had every available
body sifting through laboratory and medical supply firm sales records. Anything, which seemed even remotely useful,
was fed into UNCLE’s state-of-the-art computer bank. Much had already been entered; nothing had been spit out as of
late Monday afternoon. “I’ll be in the
commissary, Rita. Let me know
immediately if anything turns up.”
“Sure, Napoleon. You look like you could use a cup of
coffee. Take your time, I’ll hold down
the fort.”
Solo entered the commissary and
helped himself to a large black coffee.
As he walked towards a table he picked up bits of a conversation taking
place around the corner. “So,
Clayton. Looks like you might be moving
up in the world. Things don’t look too
good for Kuryakin.”
Clayton’s voice responded. “I’d rather get the position because of my
superior abilities, not to mention patriotism, but under the circumstances I’ll
take it any way I can…”
At that moment Solo stepped around
the corner ready to read the young agents the riot act, but he was interrupted
by his communicator. “Solo here.”
“Mr. Solo, it’s Rita. I think we’ve found something.”
“I’ll be right there, Rita.” He turned back to the table of young
agents. “If any of you become half the
agent Kuryakin is on his worst day, then maybe, just maybe UNCLE hasn’t wasted
a lot of valuable time and money training you.” With that he turned on his heel and left the table of gaping
red-faced agents behind.
Anxiously Solo returned to the
computer center. “What have we got,
Rita?”
“It’s a small cheese factory, sir;
located about 400 miles north of here up in St. Lawrence County. It seems they have been ordering large
quantities of lab rats and mice over the last few months.”
“Mice for a cheese factory? Could be something. Find out everything you can about the place.”
“I’m already on it, Napoleon.”
It was dinnertime when 27 awoke in
his cell. He shivered with the
cold. Nothing remained of his shirt and
his pants were wet with what he horrifyingly realized was his own blood. The manacles had been removed, so he was
able to move around the cage freely, but his body protested the smallest
action. ‘Dinner’ had been delivered,
but he no longer had an appetite. He
drank the water and huddled quietly in the corner of the cell trying to
preserve some warmth in his body and trying not to draw the guards’
attention. The voice in his head was
stronger now; ‘get out, get out.’ With
it he felt an urgent pull, like a magnet drawing him forward. He clung to the voice and the small hope it
gave him.
By 9 o’clock Monday night enough
information had been gathered on the ‘cheese factory’ to convene a meeting in
Mr. Waverly’s office. “Mr. Solo, if you
would please.”
Napoleon Solo operated the console
this time. An aerial photo of a remote
farm appeared on the screen. “This is
the “Dutchman” cheese factory. It is
located about thirty miles outside of Massena in northern New York. It seems the Dutchman has made some unusual
purchases during its short history in this location. Most of these medical and laboratory supplies were routed through
other accounts, but our data bank was able to sort everything out and match up
a lot of the invoices to the same account responsible for the New York City
clinic. I contacted our Northern New York
field office and had them set up a surveillance. They were able to get film of several people coming and going
from the farm. Most notably is this
young woman…” A picture of an
attractive young blond woman came into focus.
“This is Dr. Heidi Kinsel, known Thrush research scientist. She looks lovely, gentlemen, but she is more
of a black widow spider than a butterfly.”
Clayton spoke up, “is there any
connection to Von Kummer?”
Solo sighed, “I’m afraid so. Her father was a colleague of Von
Kummer’s. She has known him and
probably admired him her entire life.”
The room was momentarily silent
while everyone contemplated the implications.
Alexander Waverly broke the silence.
“First let us get our priorities straight. Number one, we shut down the laboratory; number two, we obtain
any and all available information about the mind control formula and number
three, if at all possible, we rescue Mr. Kuryakin. What is your plan of action, Mr. Solo?” The meeting went on into the late hours of the night while plans
were discussed, argued and strategy finally agreed upon.
On Tuesday morning in a small town
in Minnesota a sun tanned middle aged woman sat on the examination table in her
doctor’s office. “Okay, Anna, you can
button your blouse, we’re about done here.
I’m happy, but confused to tell you that I can’t seem to find anything
wrong with you. I could call in Dr.
Logan if you like. He’s a lot younger
and fresher than I am, maybe he could…”
“No, Mike. You are my doctor. You
are my friend. You delivered my
daughter. I don’t want to see anyone
else.”
Dr. Mike Turner was perplexed. “How is Natalina? You must miss her. Is
everything going well at school?”
“Nat’s just fine, Mike. She loves school and she’s got a good head
on her shoulders. I’m not worried about
her. I don’t know why I am feeling so
anxious. I had that dream again.”
“Same as before, Anna?”
A wave of sadness passed over Anna
briefly. “Yes, Mike. First time in years. I thought I had put that behind me.”
“Well sometimes if we don’t feel
well it stirs up a lot of memories we thought were forgotten. These vague aches and pains and this sudden
anxiety could be related to menopause or you may be coming down with
something. I know you are concerned or
you wouldn’t have come to see me. You
are not exactly a regular customer here, Anna.
Let’s give it a few more days.
If your symptoms worsen, give me a call and I’ll do some tests. Would you like a script for a sedative?”
“Absolutely not, Mike! I’m not one of those helpless women who need
a pill for every little ache and pain.”
Anna was slightly indignant.
“Okay, I should have known better,
but I meant what I said. Call me if you
don’t feel better. And give my regards
to John.”
He woke up slowly from the
dream. When the grim reality that was
his waking life hit him he closed his eyes to try to bring back the warm,
comfortable protected place he had just emerged from. However, his cold aching body would not let him slip back to that
welcoming haven. He rose to work some
of the stiffness out of his muscles and was appalled at how light headed and
weak he felt. If the fat man told him
to beg today, he just might give in, although every fiber of his being cried
out against it. Two guards observed his
movements. They spoke to each other in
a language he could not understand. “I
think we can skip the manacles today, Frank.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. He’s as weak as a baby.” They smiled as they compared the pathetic
lab animal in the cage to the lethal UNCLE agent of four days ago.
The UNCLE assault force assembled at
a small airport in northern New York.
They came from Montreal, Buffalo, Watertown and of course, New York
City. Assignments were given and plans
of action discussed. The assault on the
‘cheese factory’ was set for 7pm.
The two burly attendants came for
number 27 at 10am. He was curled into a
ball in one corner of the cell. They
kicked at him and commanded him to stand up.
He drew his arms tighter around his knees and kept his face turned
towards the corner. They finally
resorted to dragging him out of the cell, an attendant supporting him under
each arm. They were relieved to drop
him into the chair in the lab. “Jesus
Christ, he’s a dead weight! He’s all
yours ma’am.”
Dr Kinsel studied the now restrained
man. She was glad that the tests were
almost completed. This subject would
not be able to withstand much more abuse.
Besides, she looked forward to performing the autopsies on this subject
and the two who came before him.
Von Kummer entered the lab with a
pre-drawn syringe of sodium Pentothal.
The drug was administered and the questioning begun. Much to Von Kummer’s delight the amnesia
held and the subject was still unable to tell them who he was. As the drug began to wear off Von Kummer
held the semi conscious man’s face roughly in his large hand and glared
disdainfully into the half-opened blue eyes.
“Now you go back to your cage, little man. Tonight after dinner, when you are fully awake, you will return
to me and I will break you one bone at a time until you either beg for mercy or
better yet, you beg me to end your miserable life.” The words were spoken in Russian and even though his mind was too
fuzzy to comprehend all of them, he understood the intent.
All was quiet in the cellblock at
6:45 Tuesday evening. Even number 26
had stopped his nearly constant ranting.
The guards passed the time with a game of cards and idle chatter. “What time did the doc say he wants 27?”
“Eight o’clock sharp.”
“Why so late?”
“You know these Europeans, they eat
dinner so late. I could never wait that
long. Speakin of which, hey you! Don’t you want your grub?”
Number 27 knew they were speaking to
him, but he sat with his back to them and listened instead to the voice in his
head, which he heard almost constantly now.
‘Get out of there. Come to
me. I will protect you.’
“Hey, it’s pretty rude to ignore
someone who’s talking to you! Maybe we
should teach this guy some manners, Frank.”
“I don’t know, Joe. What about the doc? I sure don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Aw, come on Frank. He’ll never know. It’s not like he’s going to notice a few more bruises or
anything. Why should he have all the
fun? Besides remember what this little
prick did to Schwartz? It seems to me
we owe him.”
“Yeah, you’re right man. I’ll cut the power.” Joe deactivated the electric field keeping
the cell door secure. The two men stood
up and approached the cell. “Hey buddy,
turn around. We have some…”
At that moment alarms began to blare
and the lights flickered. A panicked
voice came over the P.A. system. “Code
Red! Code Red! Security breach! All personnel to area ‘A’!
The guards turned on their heels and headed for the door, the unsecured
cell door momentarily forgotten. 27
moved to the door of his cage. The
voice in his head screamed, ‘get out now!’
He hesitated, fingering the collar around his neck. The voice was insistent, ‘go!’ He braced himself for the expected shock and
pushed on the cell door. It swung open
without resistance. He looked around
and shivered. Which way? He listened for the voice. It was still there and was pulling him
forward. As he left the room, he
grabbed a heavy jacket from a coat rack and began to move faster down a hallway.
The installation was in chaos. UNCLE agents poured in from all directions. Frank and Joe entered the lab as Dr. Kinsel
was trying to gather up records and destroy equipment. “What are you two doing here? Why aren’t you guarding the prisoners? Go back!
Kill Kuryakin! We can’t let him
fall into UNCLE’s hands with the formula in his system!” The guards made a hasty retreat to the
cellblock.
“Holy shit! He’s gone!”
“He can’t have gone far, in the
shape he’s in. Come on!” They ran down the hall just in time to get a
glimpse of a blond haired man in an oversized jacket pass through an exit. They pursued him outside. Frank fired at the fleeing man. The man seemed to give a small jump, but
kept running. “I think I got him,
Joe!” The grounds swarmed with UNCLE
agents as a helicopter disgorged more heavily armed men.
“Screw Kuryakin and screw the doc,
Frank! Save your own ass. I’m out of here!”
He ran in the direction of the
voice. The voice was the only thing he
could focus on. He felt a sudden sharp
pain in his leg, but he kept going and didn’t look back. He ran for the safety of the trees, finally
stopping to catch his breath in the shadows of the wooded hillside. He watched the chaos below at the cheese
factory. Maybe he should go back? Maybe these people would help him? He listened for the voice. ‘Keep going, come to me.’ The pull was strong. He had to obey it.
The assault was almost
complete. Thrush personnel were rounded
up and loaded into a waiting bus. The
labs were stripped of all records, equipment and supplies. The UNCLE force has quickly overwhelmed the
Thrush installation with greater numbers and precision training and careful
planning. Solo, Clayton and the other
assault force leaders met in the main laboratory at a prearranged time. Solo took charge. “Are all areas secured?
Casualties? Prisoners?” His questions were answered by the agents
present. Finally he asked the question
which had always been foremost in his mind.
“Has Kuryakin been recovered?”
Clayton responded. “I’m afraid not, Napoleon. We recovered two other men from the cellblock,
but there was no sign of Mr. Kuryakin.
There was a third cell, but it was empty except for this…” He held up the remains of an article of
clothing. It was too shredded and
stained to determine what it actually was.
Solo’s face did not betray the horror he felt as he
examined the bloody piece of cloth.
“Hang on to this. If Illya
doesn’t turn up before we are finished here we’ll have it tested for blood
type. Now organize your men and do a
final sweep of this installation. I
want to blow it before it gets too close to morning.”
The ground was clod and rough on his feet, but 27
was oblivious to this and any other pain he should have been suffering. He came through the trees into what appeared
to be a small train yard. As he
approached a freight train a scruffily dressed man leaned out of one of the
cars. “Hey man, need a lift?” He was apprehensive. “Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.” The man leaned out farther and stretched out
his hand. Gazing behind him 27 weighed
the alternatives. He made his choice,
coming forward and taking the strangers hand; he climbed into the freight car.
The assault force leaders sat tired and dirty in the
Watertown field office director’s suite.
Cleanup of the destroyed compound was discussed. A cadre of local agents had been dispersed
to search the surrounding area for Kuryakin and any Thrush stragglers. Clayton reported on the Thrush body count;
captured, dead and missing. “We’ve got
23 in custody, including Dr. Kinsel, 16 dead and 3 missing, most notably Von
Kummer. I don’t know how the fat
bastard manages to slip away, but he seems to be quite an accomplished escape
artist.”
The field office chief spoke up, “any chance he has
Kuryakin with him?”
Clayton shrugged.
“Possible, but not probable.
From all indications Kuryakin was badly wounded. He would have just slowed the doctor down.”
Napoleon Solo was exhausted physically and
emotionally. “Clayton, stay here and
wind things up. I’m returning to New
York with the confiscated lab contents.
Question the prisoners and escort any who have anything useful to offer
back to headquarters. I’ll take Kinsel
with me now.”
Clayton watched as Solo left the suite. He was really looking forward to being this
man’s partner.
Shortly after the blond young man jumped into the freight car, the train lurched forward and began moving westward. 27 settled down against the wall and felt some of the panic leave his body. His companion held out some beef jerky. “Hungry? No? Not very talkative are you?”
27 knew he had to respond, but he had no words this
man would understand. He looked the man
in the eyes and shook his head.
“You don’t have any idea what I’m saying, do you
young fella? French Canadian aren’t
you? Well I don’t poly vu no Fran
say. But here, have some of this, it’s
the universal language.” He passed 27
an open bottle of wine. 27 accepted the
bottle and took a tentative sip. “Come
on, it’ll warm you up. You know you
really should get some shoes. It’s too
cold to be goin barefoot.” The older man
studied his young travelling companion in the dim light. “Ya look like you’ve had a tough time,
buddy. Who or what are you running
from?” He got only a blank stare in
response. “Well I guess we’re all
running from something. Here, have
another drink.” 27 took a longer
swallow this time. He passed the bottle
back and leaned his head back against the car wall. Between the wine, the vibration of the train and his exhaustion,
he was asleep in minutes. The old man
looked at him and shook his head. “Sweet
dreams, Frenchy.”
Both men were asleep when the train came to a halt
in the small hours of the morning. The
old man awoke first. “Come on Frenchy,
we gotta go. End of the line.” He shook the other man awake. 27 felt momentary panic until he remembered
where he was. The old man was talking
to him, but he was listening to a different voice. It felt closer than before.
He felt reassured. He must be
moving in the right direction.
“Come on, I know where we can get some grub.” He followed the old man off the train. His leg objected as he touched the ground,
but he was almost totally unaware of his physical discomforts. He had only one goal. He was going home.
Napoleon Solo was able to grab a few hours of sleep
on the trip back to New York. He went
home to clean up and was seated in Mr. Waverly’s office at 10am. Much of the confiscated lab contents had
been sorted through already. In various
rooms in the large UNCLE complex, prisoners were being questioned. The usually cool sophisticated chief of
UNCLE New York looked weary. “We’ve
found no copy of the formula yet, Mr. Solo, although we haven’t sifted through
everything. I have however, watched the
films that were recovered and they are very disturbing to say the least. See for yourself.” The older man pushed a few buttons and images appeared on the
viewing screen. The movies were
complete with sound. Solo watched as Von
Kummer’s formula was tested on several disheveled looking men. He found the branding ritual especially
disturbing. Waverly fast forwarded
through most of the electrical and physical stress sequences, stopping only
right before the times when the formula failed and the subject’s amnesia was
broken. Although the men got their memories
back it was obvious that they would probably never be the same again. They had just viewed the final test on
subject number 26 when Mr. Waverly stopped the film. “You are going to find the remainder of this film quite difficult
to watch, but since it shows the effects of the formula in its final form, I
believe it is important that everyone involved in this assignment watch
it. I thought it might be better if you
watched it without the rest of the agents present. I will replay it for them later.”
Napoleon
Solo met his superior’s gaze. “I
appreciate your consideration, sir.
Please proceed.” The film
resumed with subject number 27. Solo
was distressed, but not surprised to see his young partner chained to the
laboratory chair. He gritted his teeth
in preparation of what he was about to see.
Kuryakin’s initial insults to the German doctor elicited a small smile
from his colleague. “Jesus Illya,
sometimes you just don’t know when to shut up.” Unfortunately the events on the film went steadily downhill after
that.
When
the film ended after the last Pentothal test, Mr. Waverly switched off the
projector, but left the lights dimmed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Solo, I found it
very disturbing the first time I viewed it and it doesn’t get any better the
second time through. There is hope
however. Mr. Kuryakin was not among the
dead and the early results of the interrogation of the captured Thrush guards
indicate that he escaped during our assault on the compound. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”
The two travelling companions walked
in silence for a short while. As lights
grew brighter up ahead the younger man became apprehensive and fell
behind. “Come on, Frenchy. You gotta be hungry.” They approached the parking lot of a small
truck stop. 27 was reluctant to get
closer. “Okay, listen, you can wait
here while I go round back and see if I can charm the cook out of a little
grub.” He tried to indicate with his
hands that the younger man could stay behind in the shadows of the parking lot
periphery. When he was satisfied that
he was understood he disappeared around the back of the restaurant.
Number 27 took advantage of the
peace and quiet and tuned in to the voice in his head. It was much louder now and he knew what he
had to do. He approached an empty truck
parked in the lot. It was hauling a
small livestock trailer, which was also empty except for a few bales of
straw. He quietly crawled into the
trailer and covered himself with some loose straw. Before long someone got in the truck and it began to move down
the road. Yes, this felt right. Soon his journey would be over.
The small truck bumped over the dark country roads. The driver had the radio blaring in an
effort to stay awake in the wee hours of the morning. “Tutti Fruiti, oh Rudy, Tutti Fruiti, oh…” 27 listened to the music and to the voice in
his head. ‘It is time.’ He pushed the trailer door open and watched
the dirt road moving swiftly beneath him.
With little regard for his safety, he curled himself into a ball and
rolled out onto the road and into a ditch.
He lay there in the dark stunned by the impact. Up ahead the truck pulled over and the
driver got out to investigate the sound he had heard. “Damn door, catch must be wearing out.” He slammed the trailer door shut and returned to the cab of the
pickup.
27 painfully drew himself to his
feet, nothing was broken. Maybe a
scrape to the side of his face. He
could continue. He was very close now. He walked slowly through a bristly cut
cornfield. There was a building up
ahead. He went inside and was greeted
by the mooing of a half dozen cows. He
was not afraid. He settled down on the
floor of an empty stall. He could rest
now.
Anna Hansen sat by the light of the
livingroom lamp trying to concentrate on the book in her hand. If whatever was ailing her wouldn’t let her
sleep, she wasn’t going to waste the time tossing in bed. The aches, pains and anxiety had not
improved, especially the anxiety. As
she reread the same paragraph for the third time she heard a sound coming from
the barn. She went to the back door and
listened. Yes, something was definitely
up. Could be a raccoon or some other
animal. Better wake John.
John Hansen pulled his jeans on and
grabbed his 22. “Stay here, Anna. It’s probably nothing.” He went out to the barn and turned on the
lights. He searched each stall for the
animal. “What’s wrong girls?” When he came upon the young man in the empty
stall it was difficult to say who was more startled. “Hey there, young fella.
What are you doing? You can’t
sleep here.”
Number 27 eyed the gun in the man’s
hand. He started to speak. “I was told to come here. I…”
John had absolutely no idea what the
man was saying. He heard the barn door
open.
“What is it, John?”
“It’s a drifter, Anna. Go back in the house.”
Anna was drawn forward as if by a
magnetic force. “No, John. It’s alright. Just let me see…” The
words caught in her throat as she got her first glimpse of the intruder. Blue eyes locked on blue eyes as Anna and
the young man stared at each other.
“Dear God!” Anna felt the blood
drain from her face. All thought
vanished as she passed out on the barn floor.
John spun around and hurried to his
wife’s side. As he knelt down he heard
a loud thump behind him. He turned his
head just in time to see his visitor hit the floor of the stall, also
unconscious. “What in heaven’s name is
going on here?”
He picked up his unconscious wife
and carried her back to the house. As
she lay on the couch, he dialed the phone.
“Hello, Mike? It’s John. Look, you gotta come over right away! What?
Oh, it’s Anna, she’s fainted or something. Please Mike, hurry!”
Mike Turner, MD lived a little more
than a mile up the road. He was up,
dressed and over at his friends’ house in a matter of minutes. He walked into the livingroom to see John
sitting on the couch next to Anna who was very upset and talking a mile a
minute. “Where is he, John? I’ve got to go out there. I’ve got to see him!”
Mike sat down opposite Anna. “Slow down, Anna. What is going on?”
“Oh God, Mike! He’s in the barn. I have to see him…”
Mike was confused. “Who is she talking about, John?”
“It’s a drifter, Mike. He thought my barn looked like a good place
to catch a few hours sleep.”
“Is he still out there?”
“Oh, I imagine he is, since he
passed out right after Anna.”
“Well, we better go on out there and
take a look. Anna, stay here.”
Anna stood up immediately. “No, I’m going with you.”
John shook his head. “Don’t argue with her, Mike. You can’t win.”
The three went out to the barn to
find the intruder lying in the dimly lit stall.
“Can we bring him inside, John? I’d like to check him out.”
“Yeah, sure. Let me give you a hand.” Together the two men carried the stranger
into the house.
Anna hurried behind. “Put him in the guest room.”
They laid him on the bed and turned
on all the lights in the room. For the
first time they noticed his lack of shoes and the bruises on the side of his
face. “Help me get this jacket off him,
John.” As they removed the oversized
coat, which covered most of the young man’s body they were shocked at what they
saw.
“Jesus Christ! I haven’t seen anything like this in almost
20 years!”
John swallowed hard. “Yeah, Mike. It kind of brings things back, doesn’t it?” Suddenly remembering his wife, John turned
around to find her staring at the battered body with tears in her eyes. “Anna honey, Mike’s going to need a lot of
soap and water and clean towels. Can
you get that for him?” Anna nodded and
left the room.
“What’s that thing around his neck,
Mike?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea,
John, but hand me my bag and we’ll find out.”
Mike cut through the collar with a sharp scalpel. “Looks like some kind of electrical devise
and by the looks of those burns on his neck I’d say it’s been well used.”
Anna returned with the soap and
water. Mike was removing the filthy
scrub pants. “I wasn’t sure where to
begin, but here’s my answer.” A small
round wound on the man’s right thigh slowly oozed blood. Mike carefully cleaned the area and removed
a bullet. “Look at this, John. Have you ever seen ammo like this?”
“No Mike, not even when I was in the
service. What kind of a gun do you
think it came from?”
“I don’t know, something higher tech
than I’ve seen before. This boy’s
pretty lucky. No major blood vessels
hit or serious damage done.”
John grimaced. “Lucky is hardly a word I’d use to describe
him. Who would do this to another human being?”
As Mike continued to wash the
bruised, bloodied body he found the answer.
“Oh God! John, take a look at
this!”
The men gazed at the number 27
burned into the flesh of the left arm.
“That’s just not possible, Mike!
He’s twenty years dead.”
Mike Turner struggled to keep the
contents of his stomach in place. “You
were there with me, John. You remember
what we saw at those camps. Besides,
they never did recover a body.
Apparently Klaus Von Kummer is alive and well and continuing his
‘work’.”
John stared down at the wounded
man. “But who is this guy and where did
he come from?”
Before Mike could venture a guess,
Anna quietly replied. “He is my son.”
The men were stunned. “Anna, what are you talking about? Your son died as an infant in the
hospital. You told me that yourself. I know you haven’t been feeling well lately
and then the shock of seeing this young man, but Anna you are not making any
sense.”
Anna moved closer to the bed and
gently touched the prone man’s face. “I
know it doesn’t make any sense, but I know in my heart that I am right. I never believed that my baby died. When they told me that, I begged them to
show me his body, but they said it was too late. I knew they were lying.
They took him and other babies too, to be part of Stalin’s grandiose
plan to raise perfect Soviet citizens.
He was a small baby, but very vigorous and healthy. We tried to find him, but it was
useless. Then Nickolai had to go into
the service. By the time I met you in
the refugee camp John, I was a widow and I thought I had accepted the loss of
my child, but now I know that it is a loss that no mother ever accepts.”
John put his arm around Anna. “I know how much you suffered, Anna and I
know you used to dream about your son, but I still don’t understand why you
would think this young man is him.”
“It is hard to explain, but I know
it with every fiber of my being.
Besides, he looks just like Nickolai.
This is Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, Nickolai’s son. I have a picture. I will go get it.”
As Anna left the room, the two men
looked at each other. “God, Mike. I’m really worried. She’s not making any sense.”
“She’s really stressed, John. None of this makes any sense. Help me finish patching this fellow up and
we’ll talk about what to do next.”
They were covering the bandaged body with a blanket
when Anna returned. “I have the
picture.”
“Let’s go in the kitchen and make some coffee,
Anna. The light is better in
there.” Anna was reluctant to leave her
son alone. John was quietly insistent. “Let him rest, Anna. We need to talk. Besides, Mike deserves a cup of coffee after all his hard work
here.”
Anna reluctantly agreed and put the coffee on to
perk. As they sat around the small
kitchen table she pulled a tattered photograph out of her robe pocket. The photo showed a slightly built young man
in a Soviet army uniform standing holding his hat in his hands. His blond hair shone in the sun. She passed it to her husband and
friend. Mike studied the picture. “God, John.
I’ve got to admit, he looks a lot like our patient.”
Anna nodded.
“He is just like his father, except for his eyes. Nickolai had hazel eyes. Illya has my eyes.”
John took his wife’s hand. “I’ll agree that the young man in our guest room looks a lot like
your first husband, Anna, but what are the chances? Let’s just wait until he wakes up and see what he has to say for
himself. Then maybe we can make some
sense of this whole thing.”
Anna rose and picked up her cup of coffee. “I’m going to sit with him. I don’t want him to be frightened when he
wakes up in a strange place.”
When she was out of earshot her husband spoke. “What
do you think, Mike? That young man is
in pretty bad shape. Shouldn’t he be in
a hospital?”
“You’re probably right about that John, but there
are several things about this that I don’t like and do you want to tell your
wife you are handing the man she believes is her son over to strangers? Moving him at this point would just be one
more trauma to a body that has sustained too much already. I think Anna can care for him just as well
here, if you are in agreement that is.”
“Well, I…”
“Besides, something very odd is going on. If Von Kummer is responsible for this it
means he is out there somewhere and he will want this man back. If we put him in the hospital the
authorities will have to be notified because of that gunshot wound. It’s state law, John. There are needle marks on his right
arm. Between that and the brand I think
he was part of some crazy experiment which Von Kummer was in charge of. I don’t want to send a helpless man back to
that butcher.”
“But Mike, what if he dies?”
“Then we call the sheriff and fudge a little on the
time. It won’t matter at that
point. What do you think?”
John had his doubts about the entire situation, but
he trusted Mike, his best friend since childhood and he was as much in love
with his wife now as the day he had first met her in the Eastern European
refugee camp. He couldn’t bring himself
to hurt her in any way. “Okay,
Mike. I’ll go along with your decision. Let’s see how Anna is holding up.”
Anna was holding a cool washcloth to her son’s
forehead. “He has a fever, Mike. Can you give him something?”
“I already gave him a shot of penicillin and some
aspirin, Anna. Some of those wounds are
infected. He’s only at 101 so I don’t
think it’s too severe at this point.
Look Anna, John and I have talked it over and we think it would be best
to keep him here until he comes to and we can get some idea of the
situation. If his condition gets worse,
I might have to call in the authorities.”
Anna felt panic set in. “No Mike! You can’t! Don’t tell anyone he is here. We have to protect him!”
“Calm down, Anna.
We will keep it between us for now.
I’m going home now to get cleaned up.
I’ll be in the office after that.
I’ll come back at lunchtime to check on the patient and give him another
shot. Call me if you need me.”
Napoleon Solo had planned to interrogate Dr. Kinsel
after he was done meeting with his superior, but after viewing the film he
decided to relinquish the job to another agent. “I just can’t do it, sir.
I have never struck a woman, but I don’t trust myself with this one.”
“Quite alright, Mr. Solo. We can listen in from the observation room.”
It was hard to believe that the petite blond being
questioned was a cold blooded killer, but Solo remembered the expression on her
face as she tortured the homeless men and his partner. She was being somewhat less than cooperative
now. Betty Santoro, an agent with a lot
of experience and success at interrogating Thrush prisoners was working with
the doctor. “I’ll ask you again, Dr.
Kinsel. Where is the formula and where
is Dr. Von Kummer? You can talk to me
now, woman to woman or we can resort to the Pentothal. Your choice.”
“I am not speaking to you or to anyone from your
organization. I am proud of my part in
helping Dr. Von Kummer. He is a man of
great intellect and vision. I only
regret that I did not have the time needed to make Herr Kuryakin beg the doctor
for mercy. I’m sure if time had
permitted he would have shown himself to be the cowardly low life form that all
Russians are.”
Napoleon Solo rose vertically off his seat and
rushed into the interrogation room before Mr. Waverly could utter one
word. He grabbed the young woman by the
front of her blouse. “People like you are an insult to the human race. I would like to make you suffer one tenth of
the pain you have inflicted on others, but I would never stoop to your
level!” With that he released Dr.
Kinsel who sank back in her chair, glaring defiantly at him. “Use the new improved Pentothal, Betty. I know it hasn’t been approved for general
use, but this is a special case. It
probably won’t leave her with any brain damage.”
“You’ve got it, Napoleon.” Betty turned and removed an unlabelled vial and a syringe from a
cabinet.
Heidi Kinsel had little fear of pain or
disfigurement, but she prized her mind above all else. “Wait, I will tell you what you want to
know. You must give me asylum. You must protect me from Thrush and Von
Kummer.”
Solo grimaced.
“You make a lot of demands, but don’t worry. You will be well protected where you are going. Just talk before I change my mind!”
“I can’t tell you what the formula is. It is much too complex to be memorized. Even Von Kummer could not memorize it. We kept only one copy of it at the lab and
it was automatically destroyed when you began your assault. Von Kummer insisted it not fall into enemy
hands. He would rather no one have it.”
“So you’re saying the formula no longer exists?”
“No, Herr Solo.
I did not say that. The formula
may very well still exist, in the blood stream of Herr Kuryakin. As long as the subject remains alive the
formula can be analyzed from his blood.
If he dies, it dies with him. It
is stable for less than 20 minutes outside a living host and that is not long
enough for analysis. You can have your
precious formula, Herr Solo. You just
have to find Herr Kuryakin before Von Kummer and Thrush do.”
Mike Turner returned to the Hansen farm at lunchtime
with an IV setup and fresh bandages.
“How’s the patient, Anna?”
“He still has a fever, Mike, but no worse. He has been talking in his sleep.” Anna gazed up at Mike. “It’s all in Russian, Mike. Mostly he says ‘let me go, I want to leave’
and ‘don’t hurt me again.’ He also says
‘I don’t know the answer’ and ‘no’ a lot.”
Mike sat down on the bed and placed his hand on the
patient’s forehead. “I think he may be
a bit warmer, Anna. I brought an IV
setup. He’s probably dehydrated. We’d better get some fluid into him. I had to sneak this out of the office
without Logan seeing. Don’t want too
many questions we don’t have the answers for yet.”
Anna watched Mike care for her son. “I’ve been sitting here wondering where he
has been these last 28 years and what kind of life has he had? When did he come to America and why?”
“Hopefully we will get the answers soon. The IV fluids should help and I’ve added some
penicillin also. I’ll be back tonight
after dinner. Oh, by the way,
Anna. I told Logan and Vera that you
were a little under the weather to explain my sudden increase in housecalls, so
if anyone calls try to sound sick.”
“No problem, Mike.
Oh, and Mike?”
“What?”
“Thanks for everything.”
When Mike returned in the evening John was doing the
late day milking. “You know John, I
know this is your idea of a fun retirement, but you could really use some help
around here.”
“That’s what Anna says, but you know me, a glutton
for punishment. Been inside yet?”
“No, not yet.
Any changes?”
“No, he’s about the same, still out for the
count. You know Mike, when you were
washing him I couldn’t help but notice that this is not the first time that
young man has been shot. He has at
least two other old bullet wounds and a couple of other odd scars. I hope we aren’t getting in over our heads
here. What kind of a man is he?”
“Yeah, I’ve had the same thoughts, John. The curiosity is killing me. Regardless, he isn’t in any shape to be any
kind of a threat to you or Anna. Like I
said last night, we can always bring in the authorities if it becomes
necessary. I’d better go in and check on
him. Coming?”
“Yep, be in in a minute. Just one more to go.”
Mike entered the room quietly. “How’s he doing, Anna?”
“Better, I think his fever is down. Do you want to take his temperature?”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea. Help me turn him over, Anna.” The young man moaned as they held him.
“You’re right, his temperature is down to
100.5. That’s a good sign. Talk to him, Anna. See if you can rouse him.
Just don’t call him by name.
That information has to come from him.”
“You still don’t believe me, Mike?”
John stood in the doorway. “We don’t know what to believe, honey. I know you too well to think that this is some kind of nervous
breakdown on your part, but this whole situation is crazy. Do what Mike says, talk to him.”
Anna leaned closer to the unconscious man and spoke
softly in her native language. “Time to
wake up, my s…sleepyhead. I have some
nice warm soup on the stove. You don’t
want to miss supper.”
Number 27 heard the voice. It was both close and far away at the same time. He struggled to reach the surface. He felt paralyzed and willed his body to
move. Suddenly there was light and he
realized he was waking up.
“That’s right!
Look at me!”
He followed the sound with his eyes and found
himself staring into the kind blue eyes of a small brown haired woman. He even understood what she was saying. He started to speak, but suddenly realized
there were two men in the room also. He
felt panic set in.
Anna saw the fear in his eyes. “No, no.
You are among friends. You are
safe. Relax. No one is going to hurt you.”
His voice was scratchy and weak. “Where am I?”
“You are in our home. I am Anna Hansen and that is my husband, John. Next to him is our friend, Dr. Mike
Turner.” Anna’s heart beat hard as she
asked, “who are you?” She wasn’t
prepared for the look of fear and dismay on the young man’s face.
“I, I do not know!”
He cringed as he said it as if he expected to be hit.
Her heart went out to him, “shh, shh, it is
alright. No one here will hurt
you. You are in our home in Harmony,
Minnesota. In America.” She said the last two words slowly, watching
for a reaction.
“America?
How? Are you an American?”
“Yes and no.
I came here almost 20 years ago.
I am an American citizen now, but I was born a Russian, like you. I met my husband at the end of the war in a
refugee camp. We were married in West
Germany and then we came back here to live.
Can you tell us anything about yourself?”
The young man was obviously distressed. “No!
I do not know anything! It is as
if I have only been alive for a few days.”
He frowned remembering how unpleasant those days were. “I was in a bad place with bad people. They kept asking me questions I could not
answer, doing terrible things to me because I could not answer!”
“Shh, shh, calm down.” Anna picked up a trembling hand and looked into the frightened
eyes. “You will tell us everything you
remember from the last few days so that we can help you, but first I want you
to have some nice warm soup. You must
be hungry and you need to build up your strength.” Anna was surprised that this too upset him.
“I cannot eat.
Nothing will stay in my stomach!”
“Do not worry, I can help you with that. Your, I mean my first husband had a
sensitive stomach. I have just the
thing. You rest and I will take care of
everything.” Anna left the room and
returned shortly with a bowl of soup and a small glass of thick white liquid.
Mike looked at his friend. “You holdin’ out on me, Anna?
What’s your cure?”
“It’s just buttermilk, Mike. Coats the stomach.”
John smiled.
“Watch out Mike. She could put
you out of business with her home remedies.
Fortunately the remedy proved to be effective and the visitor was able
to finish the entire bowl of soup with no problem.
Anna removed the tray. “Now are you ready to tell us everything? I know it is difficult, but we need to know
so we know how to help you.”
Their young visitor told the entire story of his
short, but horrendous experience at the experimental compound. Anna tried to keep the tears back as she
translated for the men. When he
finished he looked exhausted. Mike
broke the silence. “Did you folks buy
an encyclopedia for Natalina?”
John was puzzled.
“Well, yeah Mike. Why?”
“Get me the letter ‘V’.”
John left the room and returned in a few minutes
with the encyclopedia opened in his hands.
He passed it to Mike. “This what
you had in mind?”
“Yep, that’ll do it.” He passed the book to Anna.
“Ask him if this man looks familiar.”
Anna passed the book to her son and posed the
question. There was no need to
understand Russian to figure out the answer.
The young man’s reaction was immediate and extremely fearful. “That is him! Don’t let him find me!”
“Tell him I’m going to give him something to help
him relax, Anna. He’s never going to
get a good night’s sleep in this state.”
After much reassuring from Anna, the patient
accepted the injection and was soon asleep.
“I don’t know about you two, but I could use a drink. Let’s go sit in the kitchen and figure this
thing out.”
***
Back in New York Napoleon Solo sat in his office
waiting for any news of Von Kummer or his missing partner. He had never wanted Kuryakin for a partner,
but Mr. Waverly had given him no choice.
Now after a few short years he thought of Illya as almost a
brother. Close friendships were
discouraged among enforcement agents, but feelings don’t always obey the rules. Solo was almost sick thinking about the
video and he felt helpless sitting here waiting. He picked up his phone when it suddenly buzzed. “Solo here.”
“Go home, Mr. Solo.
Get some rest. I’ve instructed
Rita to contact both of us if any new information comes in. We’ve got to be clear headed tomorrow if
anything develops.”
“Yes sir.
You’re right. I will see you in
the morning.”
The three friends sat around the kitchen table
drinking coffee spiked with a little brandy.
John spoke first. “This is like
a story from ‘ The Twilight Zone’. What
are we going to do?
Anna was insistent.
“We have to protect him. He is
family.”
“Forgive me, honey, but we have no proof of
that. Maybe he should be somewhere
where they can protect him better than we can.”
“I don’t need any proof! I have all the proof I need right here!” Anna laid her hand on her chest. “No one can protect him better than his own
mother!”
“These aren’t amateurs we are dealing with,
Anna. How can we hide him from these
monsters? We are regular people, living
normal everyday lives.”
Mike listened to the Hansens argue. “Hey folks, that’s it! Von Kummer is one of the most notorious war
criminals of this century and yet there has been no publicity. Whoever is involved in this whole mess, they
are keeping it very hush-hush. If local
cops were involved in any kind of a manhunt either for Von Kummer or that young
man in there we would have heard about it.
You know how Bob is. He gets
excited if he tickets a speeder passing through town. I saw him this morning at the diner. He was his old laid back self.”
John was confused.
“What are you getting at, Mike?”
“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to
hide him. No one is looking for someone
in plain sight.”
“You want to elaborate on that, Mike?”
“Okay, here’s my idea. We will tell everyone that you agreed to give a young mentally
disabled man a place to live in return for help on the farm as a favor to a
friend of mine from out of state. We’ll
say he was institutionalized, but his family found out he was being abused and
asked me if I could help find a better situation for him. Everyone knows you need a little help around
here. They will think you are crazy at
first, but they’ll get used to the idea.”
Anna was encouraged. “Yes, Mike. I think that
could work! We’ll get him some clothes
and I could teach him enough English by the time he is well enough to go out in
public he will easily pass as a retarded person.”
“Yeah, I know you probably won’t like the idea of
people calling him retarded, but it is a great cover. We’ll have to cut his hair.”
“Oh, no Mike.
He has beautiful hair!”
“How many institutionalized people have you seen
with long hair? It’s always short. Give him a buzz cut and then you can let it
grow a little over time. He has to look
the part, initially anyway.”
John had heard enough. “Wait a minute, you two.
Aren’t you forgetting to get everyone’s agreement here?”
“Oh God, John, you’ve got to go along with us!”
“Not me, Anna.
I’m talking about our houseguest.
It’s his decision. You’ve got to
let him choose whether to go, stay or get help from the authorities. It won’t work otherwise. Oh yeah, and what are you going to call
him? He has to have a name. Are you going to tell him who you think he
is?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot, John. I want him to know who he is, but I don’t
think it will help him at this point.
All I could give him was his name.
I know nothing about his life. I
don’t wan to add to his confusion.
Let’s just give him a name for now, but what?”
“How about Nick?
He looks a lot like Nickolai.
That would be easy to remember.
God knows you can’t call him Illya, that wouldn’t exactly fit in around
town.”
Anna nodded.
“Yes, Nick. I like that. And for a last name, Harrison, like one of
those Beatles that Nat thinks are so great.”
The details were ironed out and would be presented to the visitor
tomorrow. Anna was sure she could
convince him to stay. He belonged
there.
Shortly after 9am. Clayton managed to round up one
of the regular Thrush informants with some interesting information. A meeting was called for 2pm. in Mr.
Waverly’s office. Besides Clayton,
Waverly and Solo, representatives of the CIA, NSA, FBI and Interpol were in
attendance. Solo was the last to sit
down. He was not cheered by the
outsider’s presence. UNCLE rarely
involved other police agencies if at all possible, besides the fact that the
FBI was not thrilled that UNCLE employed a Russian national as an agent and the
local CIA representative had been openly hostile towards Kuryakin on more than
one occasion.
“You can proceed, Mr. Clayton.”
“Yes sir.”
Clayton was pleased to take charge.
“I’ve spent the morning with Ray Levenson, one of our more knowledgeable
Thrush informants. He basically
confirmed what Dr. Kinsel said yesterday.
Von Kummer made a clean escape, but was forced to destroy all written
research and records on the mind control formula. He is holed up in a new location, God knows where, and has every
available Thrush agent beating the bushes for Kuryakin. Their orders are to either bring Kuryakin in
alive so that the formula can be analyzed from his blood or if all else fails
to kill him so that the formula dies with him.
Apparently they have had no more luck than we’ve had. Their contacts in hospitals and local police
agencies have come up empty handed. We
haven’t found a trace of him either.
That’s where things stand for now.”
Mr. Waverly cleared his throat. “Hmm, does anyone have anything to add?
Yes, Mr. Klein?”
Solo groaned inwardly; Bill Klein, the CIA agent
openly disliked his partner.
“I say forget about the formula. The world is better off without it. Kill Kuryakin
on
sight and be done with it.”
Napoleon almost jumped up. “Why you self righteous little pri…”
Mr. Waverly interrupted the outburst. “Never mind, Mr. Solo.” He turned to face
Klein. “I will make this perfectly clear Mr.
Klein. Mr. Kuryakin is to be taken
alive. We must have that formula in the
event that Von Kummer is able to redevelop it.
In addition I would like to remind you that Mr. Kuryakin has been
instrumental in more successful operations than most agents in this or any
other organization. We owe it to him to
make every effort at a rescue. Killing
him is an option that will only be used as an extreme last resort. And if it is used, a very thorough
investigation will be made. Is that
understood, gentlemen?”
No one dared to voice any
disagreement with the stern UNCLE chief.
Strategy to locate the missing agent was discussed. There would be no involvement of state or
local police agencies for fear of alerting Thrush to Kuryakin’s
whereabouts. Mr. Waverly wound up the
meeting with a final advisory. “This
search will be done carefully and quietly with everything possible done to
protect Mr. Kuryakin. Are there any
questions? No? Then we will meet again in a week’s time
unless progress is made before then.”
The dismissed agents began leaving
the room. Waverly spoke softly to his
top agent. “Please remain behind for a
moment, Mr. Solo.”
Napoleon wondered if his boss was
reading his mind and trying to prevent him from accompanying Bill Klein out of
the building where they could have a private ‘discussion’. When they were alone, Alexander Waverly
produced a small high tech appearing gun and passed it around the table to
Solo. “Mr. Solo, I am going to ask you
to do something which may be the most difficult assignment you will ever have.”
Napoleon Solo met his boss’s eyes
and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
The next day dawned crisp and
bright, a perfect autumn day. John and
Anna Hansen entered the guestroom together when they heard their visitor
stirring. Anna sat down next to the
bed. “My husband John wants to ask you
an important question. I will translate
for him.”
John slowly explained the choices
open to the young man. He spent the
most time on the plan to hide the visitor in plain sight. Knowing how important it was to Anna and
following a gut instinct that he was doing the right thing, he tried very hard
to convince the frightened man. “I
really need some help around this place and you would be free to leave any time
you want.” His wife shot him an annoyed
look at that one. “Take some time and
think about it. I’ve got some chores to
do. You can tell me later what you
decide.”
Mike came around at lunchtime to
check on his patient and show Anna how to change the dressings. He brought a ten day supply of penicillin
tablets also. He was encouraged by the
patient’s progress. The fever was gone
and there had been no more bleeding.
“Ask him if he is in a lot of pain, Anna.”
Anna asked the question and was
answered by a shake of the head. “I
don’t believe him, Mike. He moans in
his sleep and I can see it in his face when he doesn’t know I’m looking.”
“I’ll give you a prescription for something,
Anna, in your name. We’ll say you’ve
had some neuralgia from the flu you’ve had these past few days. Do you have some clothes he could wear? It would help him to get up and about a
bit. Oh, yeah. I assume you two talked over our little plan
with him? What was his reaction?”
“John gave him all three options,
and told him to think it over. What if
he decides to leave, Mike? I can’t let
that happen!”
“Calm down, Anna. John is right. It has to be his decision or it won’t work. Somehow I think he will choose to stay. It is the least frightening thing to do and
anyway he seems to be drawn to you.”
Mike visited briefly with John
outside and went back to his office in town.
Anna found some old clothes of John’s for her son to wear. They were too big, but this made them easier
to put on over the bulky dressings and more comfortable overall. With the help of a cane leftover from
someone’s sprained ankle the young man walked up to the dresser and studied his
image in the mirror. He peered at the
stranger before him. “I have never seen
myself before. It is bad to be a
stranger from yourself. Who am I? Will I ever remember?” He turned with an imploring gaze to Anna.
“Perhaps in time your memory will
return. Do not trouble yourself
now. Have you decided what to do?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“I want to stay here, but I don’t
want to bring you and John trouble. You
are good people. Those bad people were
chasing me. If they come here they will
hurt you. I want to be ‘Nick’ but I am
afraid for you.”
Anna stepped forward, took her son’s
hand and looked into his troubled eyes.
“If the bad people knew where you went they would have come here
already. You are safe here. I know it in my heart. John and Dr. Mike think so too. Please stay. We want you, Nick.”
“Squeezing Anna’s hand, Nick
replied, “thank-you. I will try to be
Nick. I want to stay.”
The rest of the week passed
uneventfully, both in New York and Minnesota.
Solo and his fellow agents checked out several sightings of their
missing colleague. Nothing came of any
of them. Fortunately, the two
unidentified bodies matching Kuryakin’s general description which turned up in
morgues across the country also turned out to be nothing.
In Minnesota Nick slowly gained some
strength back. With a haircut and some
new clothes that Mike bought for him out of town, he looked like a different
man from the bedraggled drifter that first appeared in the Hansen barn. Sunday morning Anna rose as usual an hour
after her husband who had to get the morning milking done before
breakfast. She glanced in the guestroom
as she passed by on her way to the bathroom.
The bed was empty! Feeling panic
set in she turned on the light; no shoes, no cane! Anna ran out to the barn breathless. “John, Nick’s go….” She
stopped in her tracks to see her husband standing over a blond head seated
beside one of the cows.
The men looked up at her sudden
arrival. Nick spoke first. “Milk cows.”
John corrected, “milk the cows,
Nick.” He addressed his wife, “he’s
pretty good at it too, Anna. This boy’s
a quick learner.”
“God John, you scared the daylights
out of me! Why didn’t you tell me he
was going to be out here with you?
Don’t you think it’s too soon?
He’s still so weak!”
“Settle down, honey. I didn’t ask him to help me; he just
followed me out here. He wants to
help. He needs to feel like he has a
purpose here. Don’t worry, I won’t wear
him out.”
Anna was still doubtful. “Okay, but come in for breakfast in 20
minutes, and John?”
“Yeah?”
“Please go easy.”
“Enough, Anna. You can’t baby him. He is a grown man. We will be in soon and we’ll be real hungry, so you better get
moving!”
Anna smiled. Her son’s appetite had been mediocre at
best. Even with the buttermilk he was
sometimes unable to eat much. “Alright,
guys, pancakes coming right up!”
That evening Mike joined them for
dinner. When they had finished eating
Nick went into the livingroom to study the flash cards Anna had fished out of a
trunk full of Natalina’s school memorabilia stored in the attic. Anna used them to help her daughter learn to
spell. Now she was using them to help
her son learn to speak English. The
three sat at the kitchen table with their coffee. They could faintly hear the young man pronouncing the words over
and over again.
“He sounds pretty good, Anna. Try to minimize the accent if you can. Although I don’t think people will expect
too much from him. They tend to
underestimate retarded people. Most
folks who are deficient in one way make up for it in another, but they rarely
get the credit due them. It’s sad, but
in Nick’s case it will work in his favor.
I think it’s time to let people know that he is here. I’ll mention it to Logan and Mrs. Johanson
tomorrow. That will be enough to spread
the news all over town. You know Agnes
Johanson when it comes to gossip. She’s
great at keeping patients’ information confidential, but she loves to share a
good story. This will be just her cup
of tea.”
Anna was still concerned. “This still scares me, Mike. Are you sure it isn’t too soon?”
John answered for his friend. “Mike’s absolutely right, hon. If we want to
control the situation we have to be the ones to let everyone know about
Nick. Otherwise if someone drops by
here unexpectedly it will be a lot harder to explain. This time we will give folks a little time to get used to the
idea before I take him to town with me for the first time”
“Take him to town? Oh God, John! Do you have to?”
“Yes, if this is going to work life
has to go on in a normal way. Relax,
Nick seems like a bright guy in spite of whatever was done to him. He can handle it. Give him a little credit.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll try. I just want to protect him from any more bad
things happening to him. Speaking of
Nick, I don’t hear him anymore. I’m
going to see how he’s doing.”
Anna stood up from the table. Mike and John followed her into the
livingroom. Nick was sprawled in John’s
recliner, cards in his lap, fast asleep.
Mike laughed, “I think you wore him out, John. Help me get him up. He’ll
sleep better in bed.”
On Monday Mike Turner casually told
his partner and nurse about the Hansen’s new farm hand. Aggie Johanson was shocked. “A retarded man, Dr. Turner? Is that safe? Couldn’t he be dangerous?
How does Anna feel about this?”
“She’s all in favor of it, Aggie and
don’t worry. Nick is hardly
dangerous. His folks felt they couldn’t
care for him anymore so they had him institutionalized. Unfortunately it turned out to be a rather
rough place. He was pretty badly beaten
up. They didn’t know what to do so they
called me. I was in the service with
Greg Harrison. I knew John needed a
little help on the farm so I appealed to him to help a fellow veteran out. He and Anna were kind enough to agree. It’s working out okay so far.”
Dr. Logan was intrigued. “What’s his IQ level Mike? Has he ever been tested? Where was he institutionalized?”
“Sorry, Jim. I gave my word to his parents that I would
keep as much confidential as possible.
He is smart enough to function with direction. I don’t know how he tested.
I think he’s led a very sheltered life.”
By lunchtime Anna was getting phone
calls from curious friends. “Yes,
Marge, I’m feeling much better. Thanks
for asking. What? You heard what? That’s right. We did it for
Mike, but also because John really needs the help around here. Nervous?
Why? No Marge, he’s not dangerous!
Actually it’s working out quite well.
Yes, you’ll get to meet him. We
want to give him a little more time to get used to things here. Then we’ll bring him to town.”
It was a week later that John
announced, “well Nick, how about riding into town with me today? I’ve got to pick up some feed for the
chickens and I could use some help.”
Nick did not understand every word
that John had spoken, but enough to get the gist of the request. He was nervous at the prospect of going out
in public, but he tried to hide it from the Hansens. “Okay, John I go.”
“I will go, Nick. Your English is coming along great, in fact
you almost seem to have a knack for it, but it would probably be best if you
spoke as little as possible while we’re in town. Anna, I know we agreed that we would only speak English to Nick,
but before we go you’d better explain things to him so he understands
completely.”
“I know he has to do this, John, but
do you think he’s ready? He just
stopped using the cane and he’s still not very strong.”
“It will be better this way,
hon. Folks are expecting to see someone
with disabilities. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”
Later that morning Anna watched
nervously as the two men climbed in to the Ford pickup truck, John in his well
worn denim jacket and his Minnesota Vikings hat and Nick in a new Levi’s jacket
and an old John Deere baseball cap. She
said a silent prayer as the truck drove out of sight.
As they pulled into the feed store
John gave last minute instructions.
“Stay with me and only talk if you have to.” They got lots of stares as they walked into the store. Other customers nudged each other and spoke
quietly as John handed Nick a few odds and ends he needed. They went to the register to order the feed
and pay for everything.
“Well John, this must be the fella
everyone’s been gossiping about. How do
ya do, Nick?”
Nick, who had been keeping his eyes
lowered gave the clerk a quick glance in his face and briefly nodded his head.
“He’s a little shy, Ed.”
“Yeah, well I don’t blame him,
everyone staring at him and all. Don’t
worry, boy. We don’t bite!”
The two got similar stares in the
hardware store. As John paid for his
purchases Nick found himself staring at a blond young woman stocking one of the
end displays. His concentration was
broken by John’s voice. “Nick, take
this stuff out to the truck. I’ll be
right there.”
Nick left the store and John was
about to do the same when the man behind the register reached out and put his
large hand on John’s forearm. “John,
are you sure you know what you’re doing?
Not only is that boy a retard, but he’s a gimpy one at that. And a word to the wise, don’t let old man
Kellogg see him starin’ at his daughter like that. You know how he is about her.
Besides, that would be a match made in heaven, a retard and a dummy!”
“Well in that case Virgil, you’d
better not ask her out yourself!” John
exited the store to the sound of laughter from the men who had been listening
in on the conversation. Climbing into
the truck he said, “let’s go to the diner and get us some lunch.”
They settled into a booth at the
diner, removing their jackets and hats.
A motherly looking waitress approached the table. “Well now, this must be the new hand I’ve
been hearing so much about, John.” She
handed both men menus. Nick gazed
blankly at the writing.
“We don’t need menus, Mary. Just bring us both a cheeseburger
deluxe. Oh, Mary? Could you bring Nick a small glass of
buttermilk first? Boy’s got a bad
stomach.”
“Sure thing, John.” She left the table.
“Relax, Nick. You’re doing fine.”
John had to admit to himself that
even he was relieved to pull into the farmyard that afternoon. All three family members at the Hansen farm
slept well that night.
Time passed slowly for Napoleon
Solo. When no trace of his missing
partner turned up he kept himself busy with small local assignments. Two days before Thanksgiving his boss called
him into his office. “Sit down, Mr.
Solo. Any plans for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes sir, I’m spending the day with
my sister and her family. And you,
sir?”
“It’s been a rough month. I’m flying out tonight to spend the long
weekend in London with my nephew’s family.”
The aging UNCLE chief was hesitant to bring up the real reason for
summoning his top agent. “Mr. Solo,
next week I’d like you to go to South America on an important assignment. You will need a partner for this one. I’ve chosen Mr. Clayton to accompany you.”
Napoleon moaned. “Not Clayton, sir. He’s such an arrogant little bastard!”
“May I remind you that you said the
same thing about Mr. Kuryakin barely five years ago?”
“Forgive me sir, but it’s not the
same. Illya has his faults, but he was
never an ass kisser, if you will excuse the expression. Clayton’s been after Illya’s position from
the day he came here.”
“Mr. Solo. I’m not ready to fill Mr. Kuryakin’s position just yet. This is a single assignment, not a lifetime
contract. Clayton is young and brash,
but he is an excellent agent and he could learn a lot from you. This topic is closed for discussion. Now take a few days and relax. I will see you and Clayton first thing
Monday morning for a briefing.”
Solo passed Clayton in the hallway
walking back to his office. ‘Was that a
snide little smile on his face or am I just imagining it? I’ve got to get a grip.’ Solo thought to himself.
Tuesday morning Anna prepared to
pick her daughter up at college for the Thanksgiving holiday. It was a two hour drive each way. Usually she and John went together and made
a day of it, but it was too soon to leave Nick alone and Anna needed some time
to explain things to their daughter.
“I’ve left you guys some lunch in the refrigerator. We should be home around five. Is there anything you need before I go?”
“We’ll be fine, Anna. Go!
Drive carefully.”
Natalina was surprised when her
mother showed up alone. “Hi Mom! Where’s Daddy? Is he okay?”
“He’s just fine, honey. He had a lot to get done today and he didn’t
want to leave the new hand home alone.”
“Yeah, you told me Daddy finally got
some help. I’m glad. His little retirement dairy business was
keeping him busier than his job used to.
What’s the new farm hand like?”
“Nick? Oh, he’s been a big help.
You’ll like him. Come on, let’s
get moving.”
About an hour down the road the
women stopped at a small roadside restaurant for lunch. When they had placed their order Anna took
her daughter’s hand and spoke. “There’s
something important I have to tell you, Nat.”
“Oh God, Mommy! You’re not sick are you? Or Daddy?”
“No, no child. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Calm down.
It’s about Nick.”
“The farm hand?”
“Yes. Only there’s more to it than that.” Anna related the story of how Nick had come to them. When she had finished, Natalina was stunned.
“How awful for him, Mom. Has his memory improved at all since then?”
“No, Nat. And there’s one more thing you need to know. I believe that Nick is my first child. The one I was told died in the hospital.”
“How? Why? I have to admit that
it is a weird coincidence that a guy who only speaks Russian should turn up at
our farm, but Mom! How can you think
such a thing? What does Dad say?”
Your father is skeptical, just like
you. And I don’t blame either one of
you, but how can I explain it? I don’t
just think it, I feel it. I felt it
before he even arrived. During the days
that Nick was held prisoner and treated so badly, I felt terrible. So much so that I went to see Dr. Mike at
his office.”
“You never told me that, Mom.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, but I
had all these vague aches and pains and a lot of anxiety for no apparent
reason. I also started having this old
recurring dream I used to have years ago before you were born. It was about losing my baby, searching and
searching for him, but never quite finding him. In the dream I could hear him calling to me, but I couldn’t reach
him.”
“That’s so sad, Mom. You never told me that either.”
“It would have served no purpose,
Nat. I would never want you to think
that you were second in my heart. You
mean everything to me. I would have
loved my son in this way, if I had had the chance.”
Nat searched her mind for the right
words. “Please don’t take this the
wrong way, Mom, but don’t you think it’s possible that you are trying to use
this Nick to fill the terrible loss you suffered when your baby died?”
“I’ve asked myself the same question
and many others, Nat. The only evidence
I have to back up my belief is this picture.”
She removed the old photo of Nickolai from her purse and passed it to
her daughter. “Our visitor looks just
like my first husband Nickolai in almost every way. I think the only thing he inherited from me is my blue
eyes.” Looking across the table at her
blue eyed, dark haired daughter, Anna laughed.
“It seems the only thing either one of my children inherited from me is
my eyes!”
Natalina studied the photo of the
young Red Army soldier. “Kinda cute,
Mom. You have good taste in men. So you decided to call Nick, Nick because he
looks like your first husband? What was
your son’s real name? Wasn’t it Ivan or
Igor or something?”
“Illya. Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”
“Have you told him all of this? What did he say?”
“God no, Nat! He’s got enough on his mind as it is. I can’t burden him with this. Only your father and Dr. Mike know my
suspicions. And now you. You have to promise me you won’t say
anything to anyone, especially Nick!”
“I won’t tell, Mom, but please do me
a favor?”
“What, Nat?”
“Don’t get your heart set on
this. It may not turn out to be
true. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Anna took her daughter’s hand and
squeezed it. “I love you, Nat.”
“I love you too, Mommy.”
The closer Anna and Natalina got to
home the jumpier Nat got. “Relax,
honey. Remember Nick is very shy and
this will be hard for him too.”
“Gee, Mom. It’s not every day a girl gets to meet someone who could be her
full grown brother!”
The two men were standing outside
the chicken yard when the women drove in; the late day sun shining off Nick’s
closely cut hair.
“He’s cute, Mom, but who gave him
that awful haircut?”
Anna smiled. “I did. Dr. Mike said we had to make him look
retarded, if you’ll pardon the expression.
It broke my heart to cut off all his beautiful blond hair, but now that
he is here we can let it grow some. He
looks a lot better now than a couple of weeks ago.”
As the women got out of the car,
John and Nick started to unload the suitcases from the trunk. Anna walked Nat to the back of the car. “Nat, this is Nick. Nick, this is our daughter, Natalina.”
Nick tentatively offered his hand.
When Nat grasped it to give it a
shake she felt a small jolt pass through her body. “I, I’m happy to meet you, Nick.
I hear you’ve been a big help around here.”
Nick felt instantly drawn to this
girl. “Yes, Nick help.”
Nat looked at her mother and
laughed, “you’d better let me help him with his English while I’m home,
Mom. He’s got your accent!”
John chose one of their turkeys on
Wednesday for Thanksgiving dinner. Nick
watched as he prepared to slaughter the bird.
When he realized what John was about to do, he thought up an excuse to
go in the house. John did the deed and
brought the cleaned bird in to Anna.
“It seems that Nick doesn’t have the stomach to see a little blood
spilled. I guess I wouldn’t either if
I’d recently seen a lot of it spilled myself, especially when it was my
own."
Thanksgiving at his sister’s was a welcome respite
for Napoleon Solo. He kept the details
of his job to himself. Most of the
family didn’t even know what he did for a living. They thought he was in electronic sales. His sister was an exception. He had to have one person who cared about
him he could confide in. The two were
alone in the kitchen while everyone gathered around the new color television
watching football. “Not interested in
the game, Lee?”
“No, Sondra, just can’t get into it
today.”
“You seem a little down. Anything you want to talk about?”
“No, I mean yes. I mean I can’t really say much.”
“I don’t want to pry, Lee. I just hate to see you this way. Boss giving you a hard time?”
“Mr. Waverly? No, not at all. I couldn’t ask for a better boss. Actually, I shouldn’t talk about it, but it’s my partner, it’s
Illya. He’s missing.”
“Missing? For how long?”
“About a month now.”
“Do you think he’s de…”
“We don’t know. He could be. Not knowing is almost worse than if he were.”
Sondra frowned. “That’s not true, Lee. This way there is hope. Don’t forget that. From what little I know about Illya, he’s been in some tough
situations before and come through. Try
to relax. You’ll be of more help to him
if you are rested. Now how about
helping me take this bird out of the oven.
I had to buy a big one to feed this crowd!”
In Minnesota it started snowing
Thanksgiving morning and continued throughout the day. Mike joined the family for dinner and
everyone ate too much. After dessert
Nat announced she was going for a walk in the snow. “Come with me, Nick. I’ll
show you how to build a snowman.”
“Snowman?”
Nat tossed him his jacket and put
her own on. Nick watched Natalina roll
a ball of snow, slowly making it bigger and bigger. He started a second one and soon they were putting the finishing
touches on a large snowman. Nat sent
Nick on a search for suitable branches for the snowman’s arms. His back was turned when suddenly he felt
something strike him between the shoulders.
He turned around just in time to see Natalina let loose with a second
snowball. This one hit him in the
chest. She laughed at the astonishment
on his face. “Come on, Nick. I’ll bet you can’t hit the broad side of a
barn!”
He wasn’t sure of every word she
said, but he understood the challenge and began throwing snowballs in her
direction. The more snowballs they threw
the more they laughed, making so much noise the three in the house peeked out
the window.
“By God, Anna. That boy does know how to laugh. Leave it to Nat to make it happen. You’ve raised quite a daughter, folks.”
Anna smiled. “Thanks Mike. She is rather special isn’t she?
And it’s good to see Nick forget his worries for a little while.”
Outside, the snowball fight ended
with Nick collapsing into a snowdrift and begging to surrender in Russian.
“English, Nick. English.”
“Stop! I give up!” He lay back in the snowdrift, suddenly becoming very
quiet.
Nat approached him. “What is it, Nick? Are you okay?”
“Snow, I remember snow. Children walking in snow. I was child. Stay in line, much snow, cold.”
“That’s good, Nick! Do you remember anything else?”
“No, just children in snow.” Nick looked discouraged.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Oh God, look at you! You’re soaked right through! My Mom will kill me if you catch a
cold. Let’s go in.”
Nat followed Nick into the
house. They hung up their jackets and
Nick started down the hall to his room to change.
“Hey, Nick. Let me help you get that wet sweatshirt
off. It’s stuck to you like a second
skin.”
“No!” Nick started to back away, but Nat came forward and quickly
pulled the soggy shirt over his head.
“Oh, my God!” Nat stared at the badly scarred, partially
healed body. She felt the blood drain
out of her face. Nick on the other hand
felt his face turn bright red. He
grabbed the sweatshirt out of her hands and went into his room, slamming the
door behind him.
The commotion brought the adults
down the hall. Anna saw the stricken
look on her daughter’s face. “What
happened, Nat?”
“Oh, Mommy! I didn’t know it was so bad. How could someone do something like that?”
“What are you talking about, Nat?”
“I thought I would help Nick take
his wet sweatshirt off. He didn’t want
me to, but I pulled it over his head before he could stop me. Oh God, Mom!”
Mike spoke up. “Take her into the kitchen, Anna. I’ll check on Nick and make sure he’s
alright.”
The women sat down at the kitchen
table. “I’m sorry you had to see that,
Nat. There are some horrible people in
this world, less than human actually. I
think Nick is embarrassed that he allowed himself to be beaten so badly, but the
animals had him chained up. He was
helpless to stop them. Besides, we told
him to stay covered up to avoid people asking too many questions. He’ll be okay, Nat. He has great inner strength. I feel that. Mike and your Dad will settle him down.”
John and Mike came back into the
kitchen. “He’s okay, Nat. Go see for yourself.”
Nat went down the hall. The guest room door was open and Nick was
seated by the bed looking at a Life Magazine.
“Nick, I’m sorry.”
For all his embarrassment Nick’s
heart went out to this forlorn looking girl.
“It is okay. You surprise
Nick.” He struggled to find the English
words. “Nick look bad. Sorry I scare you.”
“No, Nick! You didn’t scare me! I’m
sorry for what happened to you. Does it
still hurt?”
“Only small hurt, big itch.” Nick gave a small shiver. “Nick safe now. Anna and John good people.
You good too.”
Thomas Clayton spent a lonely
Thanksgiving weekend in New York. His
family was travelling to the Bahamas for the holiday. He was invited to join them, but he didn’t want to take any
chances of not being prepared for his first big assignment with Napoleon
Solo. On Saturday he sat alone in a
small restaurant not far from Del Florios having breakfast. Suddenly a familiar face slid into the booth
opposite him.
“Mr. Clayton, may I join you?”
“I’d enjoy the company, Mr. Klein.”
The CIA agent ordered a big
breakfast and made himself comfortable.
“Listen, Clayton. I need a favor
from you. The CIA feels this mind
control formula is a huge threat to national security. We think it should be destroyed.”
Clayton squirmed in his seat. “Wait a minute. Are you implying…?”
“I’m not implying anything,
Tom. I’m telling you. If you see Kuryakin, shoot him on sight.”
“But, Mr. Waverly said…”
“I’m well aware of what Waverly
said, but he doesn’t have to know it was planned. Use your imagination.
Look, I know you don’t like this guy any better than I do. I was against allowing him in this country
five years ago when Waverly brought him in.
He’s a goddamn Commie, for Christ’s sake. He was raised by the State, how could he be anything else! It’s a matter of national security. You’d be doing your country a favor. Think about it, Tom. You could have a great future in this
business. It doesn’t hurt to have
friends at the CIA.” Bill Klein gobbled
his breakfast and left as suddenly as he came.
Tom Clayton sat back in the booth to do some serious thinking.
Life continued at it’s not too
exciting pace in Harmony, Minnesota. By
Christmastime no one in town gave the newcomer a second glance, except for
Julie Kellogg, daughter of the hardware store’s owners. Her eyes were riveted to Nick whenever he
was in the store. On the rare occasion
John gave Nick a list and money to pickup the order on his own, Julie made a
point of waiting on him. Nick was
similarly attracted to this quiet young woman, but he purposely gave her no
indication of it. John and Anna had
explained to him that Julie was deaf and very much overprotected by her
parents. She was probably the only
person in town as unworldly as Nick himself.
John had also had a very awkward talk with Nick about the birds and the
bees. It was strange to explain these
things to a normally intelligent adult male, but necessary to avoid trouble in
the long run.
Nat came home the weekend before
Christmas and took Nick with her into town to do some last minute
shopping. The two separated to take
care of different errands and planned to meet at the diner. Nick decided to take a shortcut to the
hardware store and turned down an alleyway.
As he approached the back of the town theater, he could hear voices
gradually growing louder. He crept
closer and hid himself behind a dumpster where he could see and hear a
confrontation between two young men and one woman. He recognized the woman as Julie Kellogg and the men as two of
the town’s aging juvenile delinquents.
“Come on, Julie! All we want is
a little kiss. Don’t you like us? Do you think you are better than we are?”
“Yeah, come on baby! Try it, you’ll like it!”
Julie struggled to get away from
them. “No! Stop!” She spoke in the
unmodulated tones of the hearing impaired.
“With a voice like that you should
feel lucky to have two good looking studs like us interested in you.”
“Stop!” The tears streamed down her face.
Nick had seen enough. He stepped out from behind the
dumpster. “She said stop!” he shouted.
“Jeez, look at this will ya,
George! The retard’s going to defend
the damsel in distress!”
“Bug off, moron! Get your own girl!”
George and Ollie turned their
attention back to Julie. “Never mind
him, baby. You need a real man.”
Nick reached out and grabbed the
back of George’s jacket. He had the
surprised young man down on the ground before he could react. Ollie jumped in and the three men rolled
around in the alley trading punches.
Although he was outnumbered and had forgotten all his martial arts
training, Nick had a lot of pent up rage from his ordeal in October. He unleashed all of it on the two
hooligans. When Julie came back with the
theater manager to break up the fight, it was hard to say who was winning.
“Alright you guys! Knock it off or I’ll call the cops!”
At the mention of the police George
and Ollie turned tail and ran out of the alley. Al Gleason, the theater manager gave Nick a hand and helped him
up. “Are you okay, son? Looks like you may need a couple of stitches
by your lip there. I don’t know what
was going on here, but no matter what, two against one is never right in my
book. Come on around front and I’ll get
you a wet rag or something.” The three
walked through the alley to the front of the theater. Before they could go inside Natalina came across the street.
“Nick, I’ve been looking all over
for… My God! What happened?” Nat reached up to touch Nick’s bruised face.
“Don’t worry, Miss. Just a little scuffle with those two
troublemakers Ollie and George. And
from the looks of them, this fella got some good licks in! I don’t know what it was all about. Those two cowards took off when I offered to
call the cops.”
Julie had taken the opportunity to
slip back to the hardware store while Mr. Gleason had Nat’s attention. Nat turned to ask her if she knew what had
happened, but instead noticed that several people were now standing on the
other side of the street staring. “Come
on, Nick. Let’s go see Dr.Mike and get
you patched up.”
Mike made time in between patients
to clean up Nick’s assorted scrapes and bruises and put a couple of stitches in
his lip. “Your mother’s not going to be
too happy about this, Nat. What
happened, Nick?”
Nick explained the confrontation as
best he could. As he was finishing his
story the nurse stuck her head in the exam room and interrupted. “Phone call, Dr. Turner. You’d better take it.”
“Excuse me, folks.” Mike stepped into his office. “Hello?”
“Mike, it’s Anna! What happened? Is everything okay?”
“Calm down, Anna. Did someone call you? Don’t worry, it’s only a few scrapes and
bruises and a cut lip. He’ll be fine.”
“I knew something was wrong. Oh God, Mike. I knew it!”
“I told you, Anna, it’s not
serious. Relax.”
“No Mike, you don’t understand. No one called me. It just came to me suddenly.
I knew Nick was in trouble. It
was the strangest sensation.”
“Settle down, Anna. Let me finish patching him up so I can send
your young folks home. I’ll stop by
later. We can talk then.”
Mike handed Nick some bacitracin
ointment. “You’d better take Sir
Gallahad here home, Nat. I’ll see you
later. Tell your Mom to make something
special for dessert tonight.”
Mike stopped in after dinner. When John and Nick went to do the late day
milking and Nat had retired to her room to wrap some Christmas presents, Anna
and Mike discussed the day’s events.
“It was the oddest thing, Mike.
I was making John some lunch when suddenly I felt this horrible anxiety
come over me. I can’t explain it, but I
knew Nick was in trouble. There seems
to be some kind of weird connection between us.”
“Now, Anna, come on. One unexplained anxiety attack doesn’t make
you psychic.”
“I didn’t say I’m psychic,
Mike. I said there was a
connection. Remember how stressed out I
was before he arrived? And it works
both ways. A week or so ago I was
cleaning the shelves in the pantry when one of the shelf supports broke and the
shelf started to collapse. I was in a
bit of a panic trying to figure out how I was going to stop the shelf and all
the food on it from crashing down on top of me. All of a sudden Nick appeared in the doorway. He held up the shelf while I took everything
off of it. He just appeared, Mike. He knew I was in trouble.”
“He probably heard you yelp, Anna
and came to see what was happening.”
“No Mike. He was out in the barn at the time. John said he just suddenly dropped what he was doing and ran in
the house. I think it has something to
do with whatever that Von Kummer did to him.”
“Well, God knows at this point
anything is possible. Try not to dwell
on it too much. See what develops.”
The next day John took Nick into
town to complete the day before’s unfinished errands. Nick was reluctant to go, but John insisted. Nick had made so much progress in so short a
period of time. John didn’t want him to
backslide. “Don’t worry, Nick. You did the right thing. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
John parked the truck in front of
the hardware store. They were about to
go into the store when a large gray haired man stalked up to them. “Hey, Hansen! My boy said your retard here picked a fight with him!”
John snorted. “Your boy is 26 years old George and besides
it wasn’t exactly a one sided fight.”
“Well, I always thought you made a
big mistake hiring a moron. I think
maybe I’ll have a little talk with the sheriff.”
Ed Kellogg had come out of the
hardware store and was listening to the confrontation. “Why don’t you go right ahead and do that,
George. Then I can ask him to charge
Junior and that half-wit buddy of his with attempted rape!”
“What are you talking about? Are you accusing my boy of…”
“You’d better believe it,
George! Didn’t Junior tell you the
reason this young fella picked a fight with him and Ollie was because Nick here
caught them behind the theater trying to have their way with my Julie! The poor girl was terrified!”
“Oh, come on Ed. Boys will be boys. Maybe she misunderstood them.
It ain’t like she could hear what they said.”
Ed Kellogg’s face was beet red. “There was no misunderstanding, George. You tell that idiot son of yours to stay
away from my daughter or I will call the cops.
And George? If either George Jr.
or Ollie lay one finger on Nick here, they will have to answer to me. Understand?”
“Okay, okay. Don’t blow a gasket, Ed.” George retreated down the street.
Ed turned to face Nick. “My wife and I want to thank you, son for
defending our daughter. I don’t care
what kind of label people want to put on you.
I think you have more sense than most folks around here. Go inside and see Mrs. Kellogg. She and Julie baked some cookies last night
and they want you to have some.”
After Nick disappeared into the
store, Ed struggled with what he wanted to say. “You know John, I’ve seen the way that young man looks at my
Julie. Please don’t get me wrong. I really appreciate what he did for her, but
I don’t think it would be such a good idea for those two to get too friendly,
if I know what I mean.”
“Don’t worry, Ed. I’ve already talked to Nick about it. The last thing that boy needs is a woman to
complicate his life. Just let Julie
continue to ring him up at the register.
He’s thrilled just to have her smile at him. It won’t go any further than that.”
The fight improved Nick’s status in
town. It seems that quite a few people
had either been bullied by or had some kind of run in with George Jr. or
Ollie. Nick got a few handshakes and
backslaps around town during the week following the fight. Mary even treated him to a free piece of pie
at the diner.
Christmas and New Years came and
went. It was the first family Christmas Nick had ever experienced, although he
was quite unaware of this. He had a
Christmas stocking with his name on it and several presents under the
tree. John had helped him buy gifts for
Natalina and Anna with the small salary he was paying him as a farm hand. Nat told him the story of Santa Claus and he
listened wide eyed, almost believing her, until she released the laughter she
was holding back. As he sat in the pew
at St. Matthew’s church on Christmas Eve soothed by the words of the priest and
the congregation that he only partially understood, he felt far away from the
pain and fear of two short months ago.
The South American assignment went well for Solo and
Clayton. The two were paired up for
several more assignments as the winter progressed. Solo’s feelings for Clayton did not improve with time, although
he did acknowledge the young man’s talent and skill. His demeanor was professional at all times. He had no worry of becoming too close to
this partner. Clayton was oblivious to the
older man’s dislike of him. He was
pleased that the partnership was going so well.
Solo continued to receive messages
from Ivan Rymanosky, who had made it his personal crusade to find his missing
comrade. Solo followed up on each
so-called lead the man provided, but most of them had no basis in reality, much
less help locate his missing partner.
By April everyone at UNCLE and the
related police and security agencies had given up hope of finding Kuryakin
alive. Search efforts were not
discontinued, but were more or less moved to the back burner. The prevailing opinion was that eventually
the body would be found and the case closed.
Since he had been missing for six months, Kuryakin’s office was cleaned
out and his personal belongings put into storage. Mercifully Napoleon was away on assignment when this deed was
done. He felt a deep sense of loss when
he passed by the empty office upon his return.
He entered his own adjoining office and plopped down in his desk
chair. He muttered to himself, “Good
God, Illya. I know you’re out there
somewhere, where the hell are you?” He
sat lost in thought when suddenly, as if in answer to his question he heard
movement in the office next door. He
opened the connecting door just in time to see Clayton drop a large box of
files on the desk.
“Hey, partner! I’ve got my work cut out for me here. I’ll have this place ship shape in no time!”
“That’s great, Tom, just
great.” With that Napoleon closed the
door separating the two rooms just a little bit too hard.
The months passed quickly on the
farm. Nick’s injuries had all long
since healed. He was left with
significant scarring; most of which could be covered up by a T-shirt. The number 27 was the only scar he had to be
careful to conceal since it would lead to questions he didn’t want to
answer. His stomach problems persisted
keeping his weight at the low end of normal for his build, but the farm work
conditioned his body as well as any gym workout ever had in the past. Both Anna and John were impressed with
Nick’s intelligence and ability to learn.
His English comprehension was excellent and his speaking ability only
slightly behind. He was also learning
to read and write. At times John found
it hard to imagine running the farm without him. Nick showed none of this improvement when he was in town. He was quite adept at fading into the
background. His memory had not improved
at all. At times he felt a deep
depression wondering what his life was like before he met Von Kummer. He still had nightmares about the
experience, but they were fewer and farther between than before. He felt secure and wanted at the farm.
Spring progressed into summer,
bringing lots of hard work to the small farming community. It also brought picnics, days at the
lakefront beach, square dances and county fairs. The high points of Nick’s summer were driving the tractor, a
skill he seemed to have a natural talent for and the annual square dance at the
local Grange hall. He actually got the
opportunity to dance with Julie.
Although he wasn’t really paired off with her he had several chances
throughout the evening to briefly grasp her hand during a dance formation. He enjoyed each brief encounter immensely.
Jim Logan and Mike Turner stood at
the refreshment table enjoying a cold drink.
“You know, Mike, that Nick sure doesn’t move like any handicapped person
I’ve ever known. He’s not having any
trouble learning the dance steps either.
What type of retardation does he have anyway?”
“Oh, nothing congenital, Jim. I think it was a high fever as a young
child. Anyway, he’s a lot smarter than
anyone ever gave him credit for.”
“Maybe we should test him,
Mike. He could probably be educated to
some degree.”
“Yeah, he probably could Jim, but I
don’t know if he could handle it emotionally.
He needs a secure structured environment. Besides, according to John he’s become a big help on the
farm. The Hansens would kill me if I
upset things.”
“Okay, Mike. You know the situation better than me. I’ll let sleeping dogs lie.”
Mike heaved an inward sigh of relief
as he watched the dancers spin around on the dance floor.
Late in August, Napoleon received
another message from crazy Ivan. The
message implored Solo to contact Ivan at the Bronx V.A. Although he wanted to ignore the note, he
felt sorry for the homeless veteran and he decided to pay him a visit. Upon his arrival at the police desk, Solo was
again directed to the ‘flight deck’.
Ivan was overjoyed to see him.
“Mr. Solo, thank God. I knew
you’d come! I think I’ve almost found
him!”
“Slow down, Ivan. What are you talking about?”
“My little comrade. Kuryakin!
There’s a guy here that traveled with him!”
Ivan led Solo into another patient’s
room. “Joe! This is my friend, Mr. Solo.
Remember the story you told me about the Frenchman? Tell Mr. Solo.”
The elderly man slowly related the
tale of the shared train ride of last October.
He finished the story at the all night truckstop in Minnesota. “I guess he hopped a ride with someone
there, cause when I came back with the food, he was gone.”
Solo was intrigued. “What did he look like, Joe?”
“Well it was pretty dark, so I can’t
say exactly, but he was kinda small built and fair, I think. Strange guy, never spoke a word the whole
trip. He was running from
something. I seen that look
before. He had a big ol’ jacket
on. Didn’t fit him too good. Probably got it at the Goodwill. I’ve shopped there myself you know. Anyway, the weirdest thing was…”
“Go on, Joe.”
“Boy didn’t have no shoes. Awful cold time of the year to be traveling
up north with no shoes!”
Napoleon walked Ivan back to the
dayroom.
“So what do you think, Mr.
Solo? Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“Ivan. It definitely sounds
promising, but let’s not get too excited just yet. A lot of time has passed since October. I’ll check it out, though.
Do me one big favor, Ivan?”
“Name it, Mr. Solo.”
“Keep this to yourself for now. If Illya’s out there, I want to get to him
first.”
Ivan shrugged, “no problem, no one
listens to me anyway. These pill
jockeys think I’m crazy!”
Napoleon suppressed a smile and said
his good-byes. He felt a faint stirring
of hope, but quickly reminded himself of his advice to Ivan.
Back at UNCLE headquarters, Napoleon
Solo had a confidential meeting with Mr. Waverly. After much discussion, Waverly agreed to allow Solo to check out
the Minnesota lead quietly with only one other agent accompanying him. Solo chose Dr. Kimberly Winger. Not only was she a physician and a very
talented agent, but she was young and attractive as well. She would be an enjoyable travelling
companion.
The two agents flew into a small
airport in North Dakota where a rental car awaited them. A little license plate switching and they
set off on their driving tour of Minnesota farm country as U.S. government
census takers on an off-year census survey.
They traveled slowly through the area of the state surrounding the truck
stop the veteran had spoke of, quietly gathering information about any new
residents who had moved into the area since the last regular census. It was tedious, time-consuming work and Solo
was slowly getting very discouraged.
They drove along the country road discussing the situation.
“How much longer do you want to do
this, Napoleon?”
“Let’s give it a couple of more
days, before we call it quits. I have a
feeling about this lead. It feels
different.”
“Napoleon, please, even if we do
find him don’t expect too much. He was
in very bad shape when he left that compound and from everything we know the
drug has a very strong effect on the digestive system. If he’s still alive, he’s probably in a very
primitive state, holed up somewhere barely surviving.”
“I know, I know. I’m just trying to maintain some
optimism. Look, it’s almost noon; let’s
head into the next town and get some lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s see, according to the map the next
town is Harmony, five miles ahead.”
The agents parked in front of the
Harmony Diner shortly after 12. “Looks
crowded, Napoleon. Want to try
somewhere else?”
No, Kim. Crowded can be a good thing.
Easier to talk and anyway it probably means the food is good.”
They managed to get a booth across
from the register. All the stools at
the counter were taken, as were almost all the other tables. A group of what appeared to be farmers
occupied the last booth. The agents
couldn’t see anything but a couple of work boot clad feet poking out into the
aisle, but they could overhear bits and pieces of a loud conversation.
“So I said, ‘what do you want to go
planting all that squash for?’ And she
says, ‘it’s not just squash it’s zucchini.’
I said ‘zucchini! I got your
zucchini right here, baby!’”
Raucous laughter exploded from the
back table. When the noise finally died
down a low voice said, “zucchini?” The
laughter started all over again, louder and longer than before.
Napoleon smiled, “see, I told you
this place would have great ambience!”
Kim shot him a dirty look. They ordered their meals, Solo’s with coffee
and Kim’s with a Coke. They listened to
the occasional laughter emanating from the other diners.
Napoleon sighed, “I envy these
people their uncomplicated lives.”
“I know what you mean. I was just thinking that…” Kim, who was sitting facing the back of the
diner suddenly reached across the table and grabbed her colleagues arm. All the color had drained from her face. “Jesus, Napoleon! Don’t turn around, but when I say now, spill my soda.”
“What?”
“Just do it…now!”
Napoleon reached across the table
and in the process spilled Kim’s Coke into the aisle and onto the dungaree leg
of a tall middle-aged man in a Minnesota Vikings baseball hat. He stood up to apologize and found himself
instead staring at a younger man wearing a John Deere hat who was standing
behind the first man. He quickly pulled
himself together and addressed the older man, while secretly studying his
younger companion. “Oh, I’m so
sorry! I’ve got terrible timing. Listen, let me pay to get that cleaned. My name’s Brown, Carl Brown. Mr.?”
“Hansen, John Hansen. Call me John. Forget it, Mr. Brown.
There’s been lots worse spilled on these jeans before, right Nick?”
Nick just nodded with a slight
smile. Solo studied the familiar
face. It was the face of his long
missing partner, but at the same time it was a younger, more open guileless
face. The clear blue eyes gave
absolutely no sign of recognition.
“Are you sure, John? I feel terrible about this.”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I appreciate the offer, though. Come on, Nick, we gotta get back to those
hay fields. Enjoy your lunch Mr. Brown,
ma’am.” With that the two men paid
their check and left the diner.
Kim was stunned. “My God, Napoleon! He looks great!”
“I know, it’s amazing. Farm life obviously agrees with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Illya with a
real tan before. I almost wish we hadn’t
found him.”
“I know how you feel, Napoleon. I’m glad he’s had a good life this past
year, but we have to bring him in. How
do you want to go about it? We have
that UNCLE helicopter on standby. We
could drop in quickly and get him out before anyone was the wiser.”
Napoleon frowned. “Yes, we could do that, but these people,
the Hansens are obviously decent people. I’d rather have their cooperation. I don’t want to terrify them or Illya if we can avoid it. Let’s get moving. We’ll make our plans in the car.”
Solo stepped up to the register to
pay the check. A red haired middle aged
woman with ‘Mary’ on her nametag took their money. Solo gave her his most charming smile. “Mary, I wonder if you could help us out?”
“I might be able to do that,
sir. What do you need?”
“I clumsily spilled my wife’s soda
all over one of your customers, John Hansen, I believe he said his name
was. He wouldn’t let me pay for the
cleaning bill, but we’d like to maybe send him a fruit basket for a bottle of
cheer or something to make up for it.
Could you possibly give me his address?”
“Sure thing. John and his wife are great folks. They deserve a little recognition, always
doing things for others. You see that
young fella with him?”
“Yes, that their son?”
“No, that’s Nick. John took him in as a farm hand when his
folks couldn’t care for him anymore.
He’s slow and I guess they didn’t want to institutionalize him again
since he got beat up in the last place they sent him to. Anyway, the Hansens took him in and have
done real well by him. He’s done real
well with them too. You wouldn’t know
he’s the same scared fella that come in here last Fall.” Mary handed Napoleon a piece of paper with
an address written on it. “There you
go, Mr.?”
“Brown, Carl Brown.”
“Mr. Brown. Have a nice day.”
Back in the car the two agents
planned the recovery operation. Solo
called Mr. Waverly to coordinate the details.
When everything was set they drove out to the farm. As they approached they observed someone
driving a tractor cutting hay. Solo
pulled over to the side of the road while Kim checked out the tractor driver
through some field glasses.
“It’s Illya. Looks like he’s alone. Are you sure you don’t want to…”
“No, absolutely not! This will give us a little time alone with
the Hansens to explain things. Come
on. Let’s get on with it.”
As they pulled into the farmyard,
John Hansen stepped out of the barn to see who his visitors were. “Oh, Mr. Brown. Listen, I meant what I said earlier today. There was no need for you to come all the
way out here. Anna will just throw
these jeans in the wash.”
Solo pulled out his ID and handed it
to John. “It’s not Brown, Mr.
Hansen. Name’s Solo, Napoleon Solo and
this is my colleague, Dr. Kimberly Winger.
We’re with UNCLE. Are you
familiar with our organization?”
“Yes, I am Mr. Solo. I was an MP during the war. I have a pretty good idea why you’re here
too. We’d better go inside. This is going to be a bit of a shock to
Anna, my wife.”
The three people entered the
kitchen, where a pretty petite middle aged woman was busy canning
tomatoes. She spoke without turning
around to look at them. “What is it,
John? I’m up to my elbows in tomatoes
right now.”
“Put it aside, Anna and have a seat
at the table.”
Hearing the tone of her husband’s
voice, Anna stopped what she was doing and saw the two strangers standing with
her husband. “Oh, John! Who are these people? What’s going on?”
John glanced out the window at the
distant figure of Nick on the tractor.
“Just stay calm, Anna. These
folks are from UNCLE. I believe they
are here about Nick.”
Anna felt lightheaded. She sat down quickly at the kitchen
table. “UNCLE?”
Solo sat down across from Anna. “Yes, Mrs. Hansen. We’re an international security organization. Your farm hand, Nick is it? He’s one of our agents. He’s been missing for almost a year
now. I’ve brought a few photographs
along of him. I’m afraid Illya’s not
much for having his picture taken, but I managed to get a couple from the last
company Christmas party.”
Anna was stunned. “What did you say?”
Solo handed her the photos. “I said I had these pictures to…”
“No, Mr.?”
“Solo, ma’am.”
“No, Mr. Solo, you said Illya. His name is Illya?”
“Right, I almost forgot. You wouldn’t know that, of course. It’s interesting that you call him
Nick. Actually, it’s almost his middle name. His real name is Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”
John interrupted, “Russian, Mr.
Solo? Isn’t it a bit unusual for an
organization based in this country to employ a Russian agent?”
“You are quite right about that, Mr.
Hansen, but our boss made an exception in Illya’s case. He’s been with us for a little over five
years now. He’s my partner for that
matter and probably the best agent I’ve ever worked with. He’s saved my skin more times than I like to
remember. There’s an awful lot I’d like
to ask you, but I’m afraid it’s imperative that we get Illya out of here and
that we do it quickly. Can you call him
in, Mr. Hansen?”
“No need, Mr. Solo. From the sound of that tractor, he’s headed
in right now.” John glanced at
Anna. “We have to do this, Anna. Try to relax. This is going to be upsetting enough for Nick without him picking
up on your nervousness.”
At that point the kitchen door
opened and a lean, well-muscled, blue eyed young man walked in. He wore only jeans and a short sleeved
T-shirt. Pieces of straw clung to the
sweat on his well-tanned arms. Kim
Winger was alternately awed by his physique and pained by the scarring on his
arms revealed by the T-shirt.
Nick took in the group at the
kitchen table. He remembered the two
strangers from the diner. He thought
they must still be trying to pay for the stained jeans, but there was something
else going on. He could feel it and it
scared him. “What?” His English was failing him as his
apprehension increased.
John spoke up, “have a seat,
Nick. It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.”
Nick sat down next to Anna. The photos on the table caught his eye. He picked them up and examined them. The photo from his UNCLE personnel file
particularly intrigued him. “Gun? I shoot guns?”
Solo smiled in spite of
himself. “Don’t worry, Illya, you only
shoot the bad guys.”
“Illya? My name is Illya?”
“That’s right, my friend and you
have to come back to New York with us so we can help you remember who you are.”
“No! I want to stay here. I
want to be Nick!”
Anna felt close to tears. “Can’t he stay here, Mr. Solo? Can’t you do whatever you need to do
here? He belongs here. This is his home now.”
Napoleon felt terrible. “I’m afraid there’s a lot more to it than I
can explain, Mrs…”
Kim jumped up. “Oh, oh!
Looks like we’ve got company!”
A non-descript black sedan pulled
into the farmyard. Tom Clayton, Bill
Klein and two of his CIA underlings emerged from the car. Solo went out the kitchen door to prevent
them from barging inside. “Hold up,
guys. Everything’s under control here. You’ll only upset him.”
Bill Klein bristled, “everything’s
far from being under control, Solo.
Thrush is right behind us. You’d
better get your comrade’s ass out of here pronto, before we have to terminate
him!”
“I’m afraid we’re out of time, folks. We have to move now. Kim, radio the helicopter!”
The Hansens watched in horror as
Solo pulled Nick up out of the chair.
Nick resisted. “No! No!”
“Help me out here, John, please!”
“Come on, Nick. Go with Mr. Solo. Anna will go with you.”
Napoleon could not allow this to
happen, but since it was enough to get his partner moving through the kitchen
door, he didn’t voice his objections.
They walked out into the farmyard just in time to hear the approaching
helicopter and to see four Thrush agents jump out of another car, guns
drawn. The CIA and UNCLE agents traded
gunfire with the Thrush men. Solo
pulled Kuryakin down behind the rental car.
A second Thrush vehicle pulled into the farmyard. The UNCLE helicopter was not quite close
enough to land. One of the CIA men was
down. Things were going from bad to
worse. Solo knew it was now or
never. He drew a gun from a hidden
holster, grabbed his partner and pulled him out in the open. Then in full view of everyone he shot his
astonished friend point blank in the chest.
All gunfire ceased immediately when Kuryakin went down.
Bill Klein was the first to reach
the body. “Holy shit, Solo! I didn’t think you had it in you!” He felt for a pulse and shook his head. Blood was slowly spreading outward from the
entry wound.
One of the Thrush agents shook his
head in disgust. “What a waste! Now no one gets the formula!” With that the Thrush agents gathered their
wounded and jumped in their cars to leave.
The UNCLE helicopter was
landing. The Hansens had run out of the
house and were standing over the body.
Anna was crying hysterically.
John was livid with anger. “You
lied to us, Mr. Solo! You said you
wouldn’t hurt him. Oh God, Nick! You bastard, Solo!”
Napoleon Solo winced at the harsh
words. “Dr. Winger, would you take the
Hansens inside and see what you can do to calm them down? I want to stay with Ill… the body.”
Bill Klein couldn’t stop himself
from making one last nasty remark. “Why
bother, Solo? He’s worth nothing to
anyone now!”
It took all of Napoleon’s willpower
to keep his voice even. “I guess you
wouldn’t know, Bill, since you obviously have never had a true friend.”
Kim Winger came back outside
alone. Together they lifted the inert
man onto a stretcher and loaded him into the helicopter. Solo gave the rental car keys to Tom Clayton
and joined Dr. Winger on the helicopter.
“How are the Hansens?”
“Well, I spoke with John as we
planned. He was extremely skeptical,
but after everything he’s seen he’s willing to accept what I told him. I’m afraid I had to give Mrs. Hansen a
rather strong sedative. Hopefully, it
will keep her knocked out for a while.
They told me something very bizarre, but we can’t waste time discussing
it now. We have to work fast.”
Part
4
The helicopter flew towards its destination. Dr.Winger removed a 10cc syringe and a vial of clear liquid from her medical bag. “He’s got to receive the antidote within 30 minutes or being shot or this will all be for nothing. She injected the fluid IV push into Kuryakin’s arm, then she began monitoring his vital signs once every minute. “Come on guy, you’ve come too far to give up now!” Finally after what seemed like an eternity Illya’s pulse and respiration began to edge upwards. Kim examined the bullet wound. “You did a good job under the circumstances, Napoleon. There’s a bit more blood than I anticipated, but no major damage that I can tell.”
“It felt horrible to intentionally
shoot my own partner. I don’t think I
will ever forget the expression on his face.
How long will he remain unconscious?”
“Long enough to sneak him into
UNCLE’s medical unit and remove that bullet.
Then the tough job begins; to try and extract the formula from his blood
and develop and antidote. Oh, remember
I told you that the Hansens told me something very odd?”
Napoleon felt totally drained. “Yeah, what is it?”
“John Hansen said that his wife,
Anna is Illya’s natural mother.”
That woke Solo up. “What?!
That’s not possible. As far as I
know, Illya’s mother died in childbirth.
It’s probably a case of wishful thinking. She did seem awfully attached to him. Maybe she lost a baby years ago and decided Illya could take its
place.”
“Anything’s possible Napoleon. I didn’t have time to ask any
questions. I feel terrible for those
poor people.”
“I know how you feel. They were so good to Illya. I hated to hurt them like that.”
“It had to be done for Illya’s
protection and for theirs. Now that
everyone thinks he is dead we will have the time we need to reverse what was
done to him.”
Solo looked down upon his
unconscious partner. “I hope so,
Kim. I truly hope so.”
After sneaking Kuryakin back into
UNCLE headquarters, Napoleon Solo waited while Dr. Winger and her associates
operated to remove the bullet from his chest.
The procedure took longer than Kim had predicted it would and it was a
pale, still young man who was finally wheeled past Solo down the hall. Dr. Winger came out of the OR clad in blood
stained scrubs, wiping her face with a damp cloth.
Solo jumped up. “How’d it go, Kim? Seemed like it took a long time.”
“It was a little trickier than I
thought it would be. The bullet was
lodged between the aorta and the superior vena cava and I didn’t want to damage
either one. God, Napoleon, a fraction
of an inch either way and…”
“Don’t say it, Kim. When will he regain consciousness?”
“I had to administer extra
anesthesia, so I’d say it will be a couple of hours. Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Sounds good to me.” The two weary friends headed down to the
cafeteria.
Three hours later they stood next to
Kuryakin’s bed. He was connected to an
IV and a heart monitor and had surgical drains emerging from his bandaged
chest.
Napoleon shook his head. “Just what he needed, another scar. Can you do anything about any of the damage
Von Kummer did, Kim?”
“We can get rid of that horrible
number on his arm with a skin graft.
I’m afraid the other scars will have to remain. They are too extensive. They will fade some in time.”
Nick lay in the bed slowly regaining
consciousness. He could hear voices,
but in his compromised state his mind had reverted back to his native language
and he did not understand what was being said.
He finally opened his eyes and to his great shock found himself looking
at the man who said he was going to help him, but had then shot him. He reacted before anyone in the room even
realized he was awake. He jerked upward
and forward in the bed, detaching the drains and the monitor and sending the IV
bottles crashing to the floor. The man
who had shot him came forward with a white-coated woman to keep him down. The woman shouted orders. “Give me 50 milligrams of Thorazine, stat!”
Someone handed her a filled
syringe. Nick struggled to avoid the
needle being aimed at his arm, but the man with the gun managed to hold him
down. As the drug entered his system he
spoke angrily to the man until the effects of the medication sent him into
blackness.
“Step outside, Napoleon, so we can
clean this up and make sure he didn’t do any damage to himself. Oh, and Napoleon?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you don’t understand
Russian.”
Dr. Winger came out of the room a
half hour later. “What a mess! I had to reinsert his IV line and
drains. There’s glass and IV fluid everywhere. We’ve put him in full restraints, so this
won’t happen next time he wakes up. I
hated to do it. Gauging by the scarring
on his wrists and ankles, Von Kummer must have kept him manacled. He’s not going to be very happy when he
wakes up tied to the bed. And Napoleon,
I’m going to have to ask you to stay out of the room until we can make him
understand what is happening to him.
Now go home and get some rest.
That was a large dose of Thorazine I gave him, he’ll be out for a good 8
to 12 hours.”
Napoleon was reluctant to leave his
friend’s bedside.
“Go, Napoleon. Doctor’s orders!”
Back in Minnesota, John explained
things to his distraught wife. Mike had
come at John’s request. Anna was
skeptical about the outlandish story Dr. Winger had told them. She was too upset to sense the truth of her
son’s status. “It was horrible,
Mike. I can’t get it out of my
head. That Mr. Solo stood right in
front of Nick, who he claimed is his friend and shot him! Who would do that to a friend? Then that woman doctor tells us he’s not
really dead, just tranquilized. They
said we can’t contact them and we can’t see Nick; that it would put our family
in danger. One minute they are
confirming what I’ve known all along and the next minute they pull the rug out
from under me. Oh God! This is too much. I want my son back!”
“It must have been terrible,
Anna. Where was Nat during all this?”
John answered. “She’s spending a few days at a classmate’s
house in the city. They’re going
clothes shopping for school. Thank God
she wasn’t here.”
“Listen, folks. I still have a few connections from my
military days. Now that we know about
UNCLE, it at least gives us something to go on. Let me do some digging and see what I can find out.”
***
The information that Kuryakin was
alive and being held in UNCLE’s maximum security medical isolation unit was
given out only on a need-to-know basis.
As far as the CIA, FBI, NSA, Thrush and most of UNCLE were concerned,
the Russian agent had died in the Minnesota farmyard. Napoleon Solo was tired of all the sympathetic condolences he was
receiving. He had returned home after
the disturbing incident in his friend’s room and had slept a few hours out of
pure exhaustion. He now stood in front
of a one-way observation window looking into Kuryakin’s room along with Dr.
Winger, the head of UNCLE’s research lab Dr. Richard LeBlanc and his boss
Alexander Waverly.
“Dr. LeBlanc, can you give us any
idea how long it will take to extract the formula from Mr. Kuryakin’s blood?”
“It’s impossible to say, sir. We know so little about the compound. We do know that the formula breaks down
outside a living host after about 20 minutes, so what we plan on doing is
drawing Mr. Kuryakin’s blood in small amounts several times a day. Of course we are limited to how often we can
do this, but I see no other way at this point.
Dr. Winger, how soon can we begin the process?”
“He lost a little more blood during
surgery than I anticipated, doctor, and yesterday’s upset didn’t help matters
any. I’d say you had better give him a
couple of days. That way we can
rehydrate him and maybe, just maybe we can convince him to cooperate.”
Alexander Waverly was glad to have
his number two enforcement agent back under his roof, but he hated to see any
of his agents in less than top condition.
“What is his mental state, Dr.Winger?”
“We really didn’t have any time to
assess that, sir. Since his last
conscious memory was of being shot at point blank range it is only natural that
he was agitated upon regaining consciousness.
Unfortunately to him, sir, the conditions he is being held under here
must seem an awful lot like those he was held under by Von Kummer. When he is fully cognizant I am going to try
to explain things to him.”
Nick was fully awake, but was trying
very hard not to give any indication of it. He opened his eyes a slit and could see a male nurse sitting at a
small desk across the room. He could
also see that they had tied him to the bed with leather restraints. The leather was lined with a fleece
material, which was soft against his wrists and ankles, but to him it was no
less intimidating than the metal manacles had been. His head was still spinning slightly from yesterday’s
injection. The nurse looked his way for
a minute, then got up and left the room.
When he was alone, Nick opened his eyes fully and tried to shift around
to get a better look at his surroundings.
Little did he know that four people were watching him from the other
side of the large mirror on the wall.
“Well, gentlemen, wish me
luck.” Kim entered the room and
approached the bed. She examined the
chest wound and took a pulse. “I know
you are awake, Illya. You might as well
open your eyes.”
In response her patient opened his
eyes and gave her a decidedly suspicious look.
Kim knew she was treading on unsteady ground. “I know you are frightened, Illya. Please believe me, you are among friends.”
Nick listened to the attractive
young woman doctor. What was she
talking about? He remembered another
white coated young woman who also seemed nice initially. He didn’t want to make the same mistake
twice. He lifted his arms as far as the
restraints would allow and gave the doctor an imploring look.
“No, I’m sorry, Illya. Not until I’m sure you won’t hurt yourself
again. Talk to me, Illya. You must have a lot of questions.”
Nick thought to himself, ‘who is she
kidding? I have nothing to say to
her.’ He turned his head on the pillow
and stared at the wall wanting desperately to go home.
Kim could see that the one-sided
conversation was over. She sighed and
left the room. The three men waited on
the other side of the window. “I’m
afraid he’s not too talkative at the moment.”
Solo spoke up. “Let me try. It’s not as if he can jump out of bed this time.”
Dr. Winger wasn’t sure. “I don’t know, Napoleon. I’d rather you waited a couple of days.”
Mr. Waverly interrupted, “I’ll talk
to him. He has never seen me
before. That may work in my favor.”
The older man entered the room and
stood next to the bed. He spoke quietly
in Russian. He explained who he was and
how they had met on a mission in Eastern Europe. He explained how and why Kuryakin came to this country. He spoke of Von Kummer and of Kuryakin being
used as a guinea pig. Before he had
finished, Nick was looking at him warily trying to decide if he could believe
any of what the kindly looking older man was saying.
“I am Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin?”
“Yes.”
“This Kuryakin is a good man?”
“Yes, one of the best.”
“Then why do you tie him up like an
animal?”
Waverly sighed, “to stop you from
hurting yourself. To help you to
heal.” Mr.Waverly wanted to be
completely honest. “To keep you here,
Mr. Kuryakin.”
“I do not like it here. John said that freedom is the most important
thing a man has. Without freedom a man
has nothing. You tell good story, but I
want my freedom. You want me to stay
here. Do I have a choice?”
Waverly was astonished by the short,
but eloquent speech and he hated the answer he had to give. “No, I’m sorry, Mr. Kuryakin. You do not.”
The discouraged UNCLE chief joined
his agents outside the room. “I’m
afraid he is not going to make this easy.
Try to be patient with him doctors.
And Dr. LeBlanc?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Try to figure this out
quickly. I want Mr. Kuryakin back in
every sense of the word.”
Things did not move quickly and
Illya or Nick, as he thought of himself, did not make it easy. He initially refused to eat and when he
eventually tired of the thrice daily battle and did eat he was unable to keep
most of the food down. The doctors
tried to avoid administering any long acting medications, which would alter the
chemical makeup of his blood. The
chalky Mylanta they gave him was only effective when he was not in an agitated
state of mind. The restraints were
removed when the IV and surgical drains were discontinued. Nick learned quickly that any physical
resistance was futile, resulting in either physical or chemical
intervention. Kim continued to explain
the situation to him, but he seemed to tune her out. He hated having his blood drawn and he hated everything about the
small room he was confined to. If this
was what it meant to be Illya Kuryakin, then he hated him as well.
Napoleon Solo felt his friend’s
frustration even though Illya had ignored his repeated attempts to communicate
with him. Sitting in his office late
one night, he began thinking about the day they ‘rescued’ Kuryakin from the
Minnesota farm. He remembered the grief
stricken woman’s claim that Illya was her son.
The agents had rejected the idea as the ravings of a hysterical woman in
the midst of a very traumatic situation.
They were more than familiar with Kuryakin’s dossier which listed both
parents deceased; the father in the military and the mother dead of post-partum
infection three days after giving birth.
While Illya was very guarded about his background, even with his best
friend and partner, Solo knew that he had spent his childhood as a ward of the
State. It was partially curiosity and
partially frustration at not being able to help his friend that led Solo to run
a background check on Anna Hansen. The
initial results were vague; stating only that Anna had met and married her
husband at the end of the war while he was stationed in Eastern Europe. He decided to delve deeper and access the
European data banks. He used his top
security clearance codes, so that the information would come back to him alone
and no one would know who was requesting this data or even what was being
requested. The Hansens had suffered
enough. UNCLE had taken every possible
precaution to protect their anonymity.
He wasn’t going to blow it now.
As was usual for high security
encoded information it took several hours before the computer terminal in
Solo’s office produced a response to his inquiry. He woke up with a kink in his neck to the sound of his printer
running. He yawned sleepily as he
pulled the report off the machine. What
he read woke him up instantly. Anna
Hansen was formerly known as Tatianna Ivanova Kuryakin. She was the widow of one Nickolai Pietrovich
Kuryakin. She met and married her current
husband at an Eastern European refugee camp at the end of the war. She was the mother of two children, Natalina
Marie Hansen, aged 19 and an unnamed male child, dead at three days of age in a
Soviet maternity hospital. Napoleon was
shocked. Could it be true? The dates given in the report were
right. The names, Illya’s middle and
last names and Anna’s maiden name matched.
Could this possibly be a coincidence?
He had to talk to Anna, but he had to protect her family too. It was possible that Thrush was still
keeping an eye and ear on the Hansens to insure that Kuryakin truly died on
that late August afternoon in the farmyard.
What was he going to do?
As it turned out, someone else
figured it out for him. Mike Turner was
extremely concerned about his good friend, Anna Hansen. Since the shooting she had been very
depressed. He tried to contact UNCLE
through regular channels, but had only met with dead ends. When he tried to contact his old army buddy,
he was told that the Colonel was on maneuvers and wouldn’t be back until
October. He was finally able to meet
with him the first week of October.
“God, Mike, it’s been ages! What brings you here besides missing the
good old army!”
Mike grinned, “I don’t know about
missing the army, Dan. I do miss some
of my old buddies though. Listen Dan; I
need a big favor. I need information on
a couple of UNCLE agents, specifically background information on one Illya
Nickovetch Kuryakin and how to get in touch with a Napoleon Solo. I believe they work out of New York.”
“Jeez Mike, how did you get involved
with UNCLE? These guys have better
security than the CIA, although the CIA would never admit that. I don’t know how much I can find out, Mike.”
“But you can find out?”
“Yes I can, but this is strictly between
you and me. You saved my life and I’ll
never forget it. I’m not sure how
successful I’ll be, but I’ll give it a try.
Come back next Tuesday. We’ll
have lunch. I should have it by then.”
“Appreciate it, Dan. See you then.”
It was a long, but eventful
week. Back in New York Solo struggled
with his new found knowledge and how he was going to confirm it. He was sent out on a brief mission, which
kept him away through the weekend. He
promised himself he would act on the information when he returned to New York.
After a little over a month in
captivity, Nick was totally discouraged.
He thought more and more about the farm in Minnesota and spent less and
less time noticing the activity surrounding him. The doctors were concerned about the declining state of his
health. They met with Alexander Waverly
to report on any progress made or in this case, the lack thereof.
Kim Winger was concerned. “We continue to have nutritional issues,
sir. He’s lost a good twenty pounds
since he came in. We may have to put
him back on an IV.”
Dr. LeBlanc snorted, “you and what
army, Kim?”
“Actually Richard, for the last few
days he hasn’t given us any trouble at all.
That worries me more than any agitation he has displayed in the
past. He spends most of his time just
sitting in the chair doing nothing.
He’s becoming oblivious to us.
I’m afraid that by the time we have an antidote he’ll be too far gone to
get back.”
“How close are you, Dr. LeBlanc?”
“Well sir, we have a partial
formula, but it’s slow and tedious work.
We need more time.”
Kim slammed her fist on the table,
making the two men jump. “I’m telling
you, we don’t have much more time. I
have an alternate plan I’d like to propose.”
Waverly’s interest was peaked. “Yes, Dr. Winger?”
“Well sir, I witnessed a very new
and unique procedure last week that may reverse the effects of this drug on Mr.
Kuryakin. It’s very complicated, but it
basically involves totally replacing the patient’s blood with a fresh supply. We know this drug is bound to the living
blood cells. I think this could work.”
Dr. LeBlanc was not happy. “You can’t know that it would work and
besides then the formula would be lost forever!”
“Screw the formula, Richard! I’m talking about a man’s life. We can’t keep him locked up forever. We will lose him, we’re already losing him!”
“I need more time!”
“There is no more time!”
Alexander Waverly had to
intervene. “Doctors, please! Let me think about this. Can you provide me with some information on
this procedure, Dr. Winger?”
“Yes sir, I can.”
“Please sir, there’s a lot at stake
here. We can keep him alive for months
with the proper support. It’s too soon
to…”
Dr. LeBlanc was interrupted by the
telephone ringing. Waverly picked it up
and spoke a few words. “Yes, right
away.” He turned on a large television
monitor and a news reporter came into focus.
“…the body has been positively
identified as that of Klaus Von Kummer, a nazi war criminal thought to have
died at the end of World War II. The
doctor was shot once at close range through the head. Authorities have no idea where Von Kummer has been living these
past two decades and have no leads yet on who may be responsible for…”
Waverly switched the TV off. “Well I dare say that Thrush became a little
disenchanted with the good doctor and decided to cut their losses.”
LeBlanc chimed in, “yeah, they
probably figured with Kuryakin dead there was no chance of recovering the
formula.”
Kim looked up in alarm. “Oh God!
Illya’s got a TV in his room.
Who knows how he’ll react if he sees Von Kummer on the screen!”
The doctors and their boss rushed
down to the medical isolation unit just in time to witness a chair flying
through the air and connecting with the television set which was mounted on a
high shelf. Glass and sparks flew
outward and downward on the room’s occupant who was cursing loudly in
Russian. Dr. Winger tried to take hold
of Kuryakin’s arm, but in his rage he shook her off. “Richard, have the nurse draw up 50 milligrams of Sparine!”
“Oh come on, Kim. We still need to draw blood today!”
“Just do it, you idiot, before he
hurts himself!”
With the assistance of two large
male nurses, Dr. Winger was able to tranquilize the patient. As he was losing his hold on consciousness
he looked into Kim’s eyes and uttered eight words in Russian. “Let me go home or let me die.”
Kim had enough knowledge of Russian
to understand the plea. At that point
she knew what she had to do.
On Tuesday Mike Turner met with the
Colonel again; this time off base at a quiet restaurant. After they had place their order the Colonel
got right to the point. “Well Mike, the
two men you asked me about are or I should say were UNCLE New York’s top two
enforcement agents. Solo still holds
the number one position. Kuryakin,
unfortunately for everyone, is listed as deceased.”
“Were you able to get any background
information on him?”
“Yes, such as it is. Born in the Soviet Union 29 years ago,
mother died three days after childbirth, father killed in the war. Joined UNCLE about six years ago after
working for several years in the so-called Russian underground.”
“Russian underground?”
“Not an official group, but rumored
to be quite active in anti-KGB, and anti-totalitarian missions. It is unknown if Soviet officials were aware
of his involvement. Outwardly he held
several advanced degrees and worked as a physicist in his native country. Along with Mr. Solo he has done a lot of
good for this country and the rest of the free world for that matter. His death was a terrible loss.”
“It’s odd to hear you say that about
a Soviet citizen.”
“Well, Kuryakin wasn’t loyal to any
particular government, but more to a way of thinking. Anyway, that’s water under the bridge now. Here’s a number you can reach Mr. Solo at. Don’t ask where I got it and as of this
moment onward I know nothing about it.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Mike.”
“So do I, Dan. So do I.”
Napoleon Solo returned to his office
Wednesday morning. He had several
messages requiring his attention, but two stood out from among the rest. One was from Dr. Winger marked urgent and
one was from someone in Minnesota. He
decided to visit Kim in person first.
He found her in her office buried deep in a medical book. She looked up, momentarily startled. “Oh, Napoleon! You surprised me. Listen,
I need your opinion and then if you agree I need your help. There’s this procedure I want to try on
Illya. I presented it to Mr. Waverly
and Dr. LeBlanc. LeBlanc is against it
and Mr. Waverly hasn’t been able to make up his mind.”
“Is it risky?”
“Any medical procedure can be risky
and this one more than most, but I think it will reverse the effects of the
formula.”
“What do you want from me, Kim?”
“First, come with me to visit Illya,
then let me explain the procedure to you.
If you agree that we should try it, I want you to help convince Mr.
Waverly that we should go ahead.”
“Fair enough, Kim.”
The two agents approached the
observation window to Kuryakin’s room.
What Solo saw appalled him. In
less than a week his friend seemed to have grown frail and weak. He lay in the bed with his eyes open staring
at nothing. “Jesus, Kim! Is he sick?”
“No, thank God, although even a cold
would be very serious for him in his weakened state. No, he is just giving up.
If we don’t do something soon, we are going to lose him.”
“And you feel that this procedure
will work?”
“I know it will, Napoleon. It has to.”
“Say no more, Kim. I’ll talk to Mr. Waverly right away.”
Solo returned to his office to make
one phone call before stopping in to see his boss. “Hello, is this Dr. Mike Turner?”
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“Dr. Turner, this is Napoleon
Solo. How did you get this number? Do I know you?”
“Can I speak freely, Mr. Solo?”
“This is a secure line, Dr.
Turner. What is this about?” Solo was anxious to meet with his boss.
“I’ll get right to the point, Mr.
Solo. I’m calling on behalf of my good
friend and patient, Anna Hansen. I need
to know, Mr. Solo. Is Nick, I mean Mr.
Kuryakin still alive?”
It took Napoleon about five seconds
to decide what to do. “At this time,
Dr., yes, but I need a big favor from you.
If I make all the arrangements would you and Mrs. Hansen come to New
York?”
“If that means that Anna will be
able to visit her son, Mr. Solo, the answer is yes. Otherwise, I won’t subject her to it.”
“That is exactly what I had in mind,
Dr. Turner. I will make the
arrangements and get back to you within the next hour.”
Napoleon Solo spent the next hour
convincing his boss to allow his partner to undergo the experimental procedure. “I know we will lose the formula, sir, but
have you seen him today? He’s almost
catatonic. Illya deserves better than
that after all he’s done for this organization. We’ve got to try this before it’s too late!”
“Slow down, Mr. Solo. I’ve already made my decision. You are correct. Mr. Kuryakin does deserve better. I have already instructed Dr. Winger to proceed. She informs me that it will take a couple of
days to assemble the necessary equipment and supplies. As soon as she is ready we will go ahead.”
Anna Hansen and Mike Turner flew
into Laguardia airport the next morning.
Napoleon Solo picked them up himself.
As far as he could tell no one took any particular notice of their
arrival. The purported death of
Kuryakin and the actual death of Von Kummer had greatly lessened Thrush’s
interest in the Hansens. They drove
away from the airport unobserved. Anna
was paler and thinner than Napoleon remembered. She was visibly nervous.
“How is he really, Mr. Solo?”
“Not good, Mrs. Hansen. When you told us that Illya was your son we
didn’t take you seriously. We thought
it was a hysterical reaction on your part; a reaction to extreme stress. Then, partially out of curiosity and partly
out of desperation, I ran a background check on you and discovered answers to a
lot of questions about Illya’s past in your past. I’m sorry I doubted you, Mrs. Hansen, but you’ve got to admit it
is one hell of a coincidence that Illya would end up at the home of the mother
he didn’t even know he had. You obviously
didn’t share your suspicions with him or I’m sure he would have said something
to us. He has been desperate to return
to your farm. You and your husband must
have given him a very good life while he was with you. As his friend, I have to thank you for
that.”
Mike Turner spoke up for the first time sine they left the airport. “We don’t think it was a coincidence that Nick showed up on the Hansen’s doorstep, Mr. Solo. We think it was caused by an unexpected side effect of the drug he was given. I don’t pretend to understand why or how, but whatever that crazy nazi bastard did to Nick somehow produced a psychic connection between him and Anna. When he escaped he was mentally drawn to that farm. There were other incidents while he was there between Anna and him and to a lesser degree between Nick and his half-sister Natalina.”
Napoleon was intrigued, but also
disturbed at the thought of the consequences that knowledge of this side effect
would have on the situation. “Dr.
Turner, Mrs. Hansen, please for Illya’s sake keep this psychic side effect
information to yourselves. Dr. Winger
and I have just convinced our boss to allow Illya to undergo a procedure which
could reverse the effects of the formula on him. If the research guys hear about this they will want to do more
tests on him and frankly, I don’t think he can take any more
experimenting. In fact Anna, the main
reason I brought you here is to give Illya some hope and convince him he has
something to live for.”
“It’s that bad, Mr. Solo? No, you don’t have to tell me. I know it already. We will get him through this procedure and then we will take him
home.”
Nick sat in a chair staring at the
wall. He offered no resistance when the
attendants got him out of bed and dressed him.
He managed to eat some of the breakfast that was fed to him. He was hardly aware when the lab assistant
bruised him yet again while drawing blood.
These things, this reality had become unimportant to him. He had escaped the only way he could. He smiled to himself as he relived the
birthday party which had been held for him at the Hansen farm. Several people from town had attended,
including the Kelloggs, Mary from the diner and of course Dr. Mike. The Kelloggs gave him a new Minnesota Twins
baseball cap, although he still preferred the old John Deere cap. Nat gave him a college sweatshirt along with
a teddy bear wearing a smaller version of the same shirt. She suspected correctly that he had never
owned a teddy bear and in her opinion everyone should have at least one. Nick had no idea it was his real birthday,
but he would never forget it.
Solo brought the visitors from
Minnesota in through a seldom-used secret entrance, bypassing all the normal
security checks. He would square things
with Mr. Waverly later when it was too late to say no. They went straight to Dr. Winger’s office in
medical isolation. Seeing how nervous
Anna was Dr. Winger spoke up, “Napoleon, why don’t you take Mrs. Hansen
straight to Illya’s room. I would like
to discuss the procedure with Dr. Turner.”
The two approached the observation
room. “Anna, before we go in I want you
to look at him through the observation window.
You may be distressed at his appearance and I think it would be better
if you had a few minutes to adjust.”
“I won’t say or do anything to upset
him, Mr. Solo. I’ve waited too long
already. I want to see my…”
They now stood in front of the
window. “Oh Lord, what have you people
done to him! He’s been here less than
two months and he looks like a rag doll!
Let me into that room!”
“Calm down, Anna. They tell me he is catatonic, totally
unaware of what is going on around him.
I hope you can get through to him.”
Solo let Anna into the room. She pulled up a second chair and sat facing
her son. She took his hand and spoke to him softly in Russian. She spoke about her family and how much they
all missed him. She talked about
experiences he had had on the farm. He
continued to stare ahead without seeing her.
Lastly she told him what had been burning inside her for almost a
year. “Listen to me, Illya. I have something very important to tell
you. I couldn’t tell you before,
because I had no proof except for my own heart, but now I can. That horrible doctor did unspeakable things
to you, but he unknowingly did one wonderful thing. The drug he used on you gave you some kind of strong psychic
power. You didn’t come to my farm by
accident. You know this is true. You were drawn there. You were drawn to your mother, Illya. They told me you died as an infant, Illya
and they lied to you too, but now we have found each other, my son and I will
never let them separate us again!”
Nick had gradually become aware of
the person sitting opposite him, first only hearing the longed for voice and
then gradually focusing on the careworn face and the familiar blue eyes; his
own eyes looking back at him. What was
she saying? He stood up and Anna
followed suit. He looked into her
tear-filled eyes. “It is true? I am Illya?”
“Yes, you are, Nick. You are Illya, you are my son.”
He fell into her embrace sobbing,
for all he had suffered, for all he had missed and for suddenly receiving
everything he had always wanted.
Later that day Solo, Waverly, Anna,
Mike and Kim sat in Mr. Waverly’s office discussing the procedure, which would
take place the next morning. Dr.
LeBlanc was disgusted at the prospect of losing the formula and had refused to
attend the meeting. Mr. Waverly spoke,
“Dr. Winger, are you sure that this procedure will reverse the effects of the
formula on Mr. Kuryakin?”
“No sir, to be honest with you, I’m
not. The only thing I am sure of is
that the formula will be destroyed. The
procedure could have several different outcomes. The worst case would be that Illya doesn’t survive the
trauma. This is an invasive procedure
and there is just so much stress a body can withstand, but his heart is strong
and he now has a strong will to live, thanks to Mrs. Hansen. The procedure could leave him brain damaged,
although ideally this shouldn’t happen.
He may stay much the way he is, never regaining his past memories, but
without the drug still circulating in his system. He may regain his past memories and forget the last year or be
unable to integrate the two. I wish I
could guarantee the outcome, but I can’t.”
Anna hated to consider the negative
outcomes. “I have discussed this with
Illya and he wants to go ahead. He is
aware of the danger. He knows that no
matter what the outcome, he will be coming home with me afterwards.”
“Well, doctor, I believe that a
mother has the right to speak for her son when he is not totally competent to
speak for himself, so you may go ahead and we will all say a prayer that you
achieve the desired results.”
Anna sat with her son as he was
prepped for the procedure. They spoke
quietly. Illya had one request before a
pre-op sedative was administered.
Napoleon Solo was surprised to be
summoned to the medical isolation unit.
Anna met him at the door. “Your
partner wants a few minutes of your time, Mr. Solo.”
This would be the first time
Napoleon had spoken with his partner since he was first brought in. He swallowed his emotions and entered the
room. “What can I do for you, buddy?”
“Anna told me you brought her here
against orders. She said that you did
what you had to do to save my life. She
said you are my friend. I’m sorry I
would not talk to you. I hope I am a
good friend to you.”
“Illya, you are more like a brother
to me than a friend. I couldn’t ask for
a better friend. You can’t imagine how
difficult it was to pull that trigger.”
“Would you do one more thing for
me?”
“Name it.”
“No matter what happens today, send
me home.”
Napoleon was choked up; “you can
count on it, my friend.”
The procedure was a long tedious
process. The patient was put on a
heart/lung machine during most of the operation. As a new blood supply entered his body and his vital signs were
gradually brought back to normal there was a question of whether his heart
would restart spontaneously or if it would have to be electrically
stimulated. The doctors waited and
watched the monitor. “Come on,
baby. You’ve gotten this far. Give him 20 seconds more and then get ready
to shock him.”
Dr. Turner stood over the prone body
holding the paddles when the monitor emitted a beautiful beep. The beeps continued.
“Normal sinus rhythm! Let’s get him into recovery.”
Dr. Winger met with everyone outside
the recovery room. “He did just
fine. Now we just have to wait for him
to regain consciousness and see if we were successful. One thing I can tell you is that his blood
shows no trace of the formula at all now, thank God. Let’s hope there was no permanent damage done.”
After an hour in the recovery room
they moved Kuryakin back to his room.
All his vital signs were stable, but he remained unconscious. Napoleon and Anna sat in chairs and waited.
Illya was drifting. He felt a distant pull which was gradually
growing stronger. As the feeling became
more intense he began to have some sense of his own body. He felt like he had been run over by a steamroller. What the heck had happened to him this
time? He tried to remember. Oh yeah, he was on his way home to get ready
for his date with Gina and he made what he had hoped would be a quick detour to
see Ivan. The memory became
clearer. ‘Oh man, sometimes this job is
just too much!’ Where was he now? Rescued or still in the hands of
Thrush? He opened his eyes a slit to
assess the situation. He seemed to be
attached to several tubes and monitors, one of which started to beep with
greater frequency. To his great relief
he watched his partner, Napoleon Solo approach the bed.
His voice was a weak croak. “Napoleon, did anyone get the license plate
number of the taxi that ran me over?
They really shouldn’t give foreigners driver’s licenses in New York.”
Solo swallowed the lump in his
throat. “I feel the same way every time
you get behind the wheel.”
Dr. Winger stepped in front of Solo
and shined her penlight in Kuryakin’s eyes.
She proceeded to poke and prod him and check his reflexes.
“Give me a break, Kim. What have I ever done to you?”
“What is your name and position
here?”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m serious. Humor me.”
“Kuryakin, Illya Nickovetch
Kuryakin, section two, enforcement, number two. Are you going to explain this to me or are you going to keep me
guess…”
Illya lost all thought of what he
was saying as a small brown haired woman came into view. She smiled at him and took his hand. He felt himself falling as the memories of
the last year collided with the memories of the rest of his life. He uttered one sentence before he passed
out, “so it wasn’t a dream.”
Anna and her son spent the next week
becoming reacquainted. Anna had the
opportunity to meet many of Illya’s friends and coworkers when UNCLE
‘resurrected’ him from the dead. He was
also moved to a regular hospital to continue his recovery in a more cheerful
sunlit room. The ordeal had left him
much weaker than he wanted to admit to even himself. He had also developed a cold, which Dr. Winger feared could progress
into pneumonia with his resistance so low.
It was a week before Thanksgiving.
Dr. Turner had returned to Minnesota a week ago. Illya could sense Anna’s restlessness and
talked her into returning home as well.
She was reluctant to leave, but he promised to come home to finish
recuperating as soon as he was released.
Dr. Winger estimated it would be two to three weeks before he was strong
enough.
Two days before Thanksgiving
Napoleon Solo stopped in to see his friend.
It was good to see how much better he looked, but Illya was still pale
and much too thin. “Hey buddy, how’s it
going?”
“You’ve got to do me a favor,
Napoleon.”
“I’ll try. Shoot.”
“Drive me home for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, come on man, Kim will kill me,
not to mention Mr. Waverly. You’ve got
to hang in here and get better. I don’t
want to have to work with that jerk Clayton one day longer than I have to!”
Illya smiled in spite of
himself. “If you don’t do it, I am
renting a car and driving myself.”
Solo could see he wasn’t going to
win and he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway.
“Okay, but you’d better start thinking about what you’re going to say to
Mr.Waverly when he finds out.”
They left New York and drove for
hours. When they got past the traffic
of the city, Illya took the wheel for a few hours. When he tired, Solo took over.
As he drove he glanced at his sleeping friend. Illya coughed in his sleep.
He looked pale and lost asleep against the car window. “I must be crazy,” thought Napoleon.
It was around two in the afternoon
when they pulled into the farmyard.
John looked out the livingroom window.
He looked at his daughter who sat reading on the couch. “I’d better tell your mother to set two more
places at the table.”
In answer, Natalina took her
father’s hand and led him into the dining room. “The table’s been set for hours, Dad.”
John’s mouth
dropped as he counted two extra plates on the table. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.
How did your mother know?”
In response, Natalina just smiled.