The Codebook Affair
By
M. Klindt
I don't own the characters from MFU, but like to play with them with the ones I did create. Thank you to my proof reader for helping with this story. This takes place before "The Kuryakin Affair"
Chapter One
Illya Kuryakin mischievously smiled to himself after he departed from the last train car in the central Munich station in West Germany and began the short walk to a small youth hostel by the University. He had just finished his last lone assignment for UNCLE by blowing up a THRUSH satrapy in Zurich. He practically had to walk the country side for two full days before getting on a trans-continental train to remain undetected.
His job was simple. Blow up their arms factory and blow it up he did. One of his greatest achievements of explosive denotation in his career and sadly, Napoleon had missed it, but not THRUSH. They may have not known who it, but they would be going down the short list of UNCLE agents with that level of skill and their whereabouts.
He couldn't even call in to confirm with Waverly the task was done personally. THRUSH might be monitoring the number of communiqués coming in and out of Europe from their satellite to local the perpetrator.
His biggest concern right now was to meet up with Napoleon in Rome in a less than a week's time. He was putting up the ruse that he and his pyromaniac partner were doing some surveillance work on THRUSH's Central office in Italy.
Illya snorted in merriment when he thought about his partner's overstated ego in his part of this mission and would've like to have seen how he kept up a conversation with taped recording of his blond partner's voice done before the mission. Half of the tapings had to be rerecorded because of the number of times they tried to goat and bait the other into making a mistake.
While Napoleon was cooling his heels in Italy, Illya was given another assignment by Waverly that felt like more of a treat than a job. He was to attend a symposium in Munich about inertial dampening for jet planes and rockets, pick up the security codes needed to operate a prototype at UNCLE headquarters, and then drive to Rome to pick up Napoleon to finish delivering the codebook to the right scientists.
Feeling a warm breeze brush across his face, Illya stopped his train of thought to look around the square. He loved downtown Munich in the early autumn. The trees brought in bright colors of fire to the stone buildings around the central marketplace.
The clock tower chimed in the town's center to a crowd of tourists, but only reminded the weary Russian how hungry he was and that he hadn't eaten since he'd boarded the train yesterday. Exhausted by his irregular schedule of the past few days, he'd slept the entire trip.
Making his way to the side of the large paved square, Illya let his nose and stomach guide him to a vender selling bread bowls of stew with thickly chopped vegetables.
Sitting on a bench, his backpack between his legs, he casually watched the tourists go as he relished the meal and the noontime sun warming his pale face.
There was no rush to check into the hostel or in at the University. Illya could do that any time before six tonight at the hostel and in the morning for the workshop. Until then he was free to savor the sights and sounds offered by the city of Munich.
"I wonder," Illya said softly, deep in concentration as to how he could get in contact with the person he'd like to spend some time with and if she was available. He sighed forlornly, pondering this idea a little longer while taking a long draw of his Starbier.
Finished with his meal, the agent returned his empty glass to the vender, thanked him, and continued on his way to the youth hostel a couple of blocks away. Gently, a tingling sensation began to grow at the base of his neck telling him that he was being watched.
Slowly and nonchalantly, he turned to stop at the booth of another vender selling trinkets to tourists and pretended to look at them with interest while scanning the street each way. He didn't recognize anyone that could be working for THRUSH or any military intelligence group he could think of. No one should know he's here.
Still on high sensory alert, Illya readjusted his rucksack, dropped his shoulders in the manner of a tired college student backpacking his way through Europe and continued his relaxed stroll to the hostel.
MFU/MFU
"Well Dieter," Dr. Fredric Rodeum growled in frustration to the man sitting opposite him at the small café table. "Does she meet your criteria?"
"Possibly." Dr. Dieter Klaus scrutinized a young blond lady in her early twenties wearing a simple dress and low heels and holding a leather book bag, looking through the wares of a street artist. "Although… I don't know she looks more like a tourist than a University student. Put someone on her tail. If she checks out, I really only need one more male to complete my experiment."
"Yes." Fredric nodded and bent his head to talk into the tiny transmitter in the palm of his hand for a moment. "I'll send Hans to follow her. There! What about that young man over there, nice clothes, dark hair, reading a chemistry textbook…"
"Auch, no," Dieter waved his colleague off with his own mash of common English and German words. "Too easy to break, he's already given in to society by the way he's dressed. I want a challenge; someone who will fight us tooth and nail against the device and afterwards help us with the rest of the others to their destruction."
"But he's just like the one you accepted yesterday." The second scientist argued. "How do you know he won't give you what you want? He's good looking, muscular, and seems very fit. All you want in a male test subject."
"Yes, yes," Dieter said testily and took a gulp of his coffee. He wasn't ashamed of his known homosexuality with his lab partner and cousin. "I want someone…like him!"
"Who…where?" Fredric turned in his chair to see who his associate was staring at.
"There, on the bench with the beer…" Dieter set his cup down hard enough to send the dark fluid over its rim and almost jumped for joy as he vigorously pointed at the blond man with his back to them.
"Dieter! Sit yourself down." Fredric hissed to his over-excited friend and tugged at his arm. "You'll get us noticed. We're not supposed to be in Germany, let alone Munich. Keep acting like this and you'll frighten him away before you can get your hands on him."
Fredric now took the time to assess what had made his usual reserved partner so excited. At first he thought, from the back, the young, slim man could have been a woman, but when he looked closer, he could tell there was something unusual about him.
The man was not only of medium build, but shorter than most of the selected subjects Dieter was usually interested in. His hair was too long for society's standards; he wore a heavy, scratched-up, brown leather jacket; his pants showed signs of neglect around the cuffs and knees; and he wore flip flops rather than shoes. His regular shoes must be in the ragtag backpack that lay at his feet, he thought. When he turned his head to gaze up at the sun, the man was wearing circular wire-rimmed glasses at reflected enough of the light the scientist unable to see his eye color.
"He would barely meet our criteria…" Fredric shook his head. "For all you know, he lives on the streets and full of disease."
"I've a feeling about him and I want him, as my own personal test subject if I have to," Dieter firmly said. "I want him, whomever he is."
"Fine," Fredric said in resignation wanting to get the selection done. "I'll have Günter begin to track where he goes and see what he's doing. If he's here with someone it's a no go. No matter how much you want to experiment on him."
"Deal." Dieter smiled wolfishly, picked up his coffee, gulped the rest of it down, and slapped the table with excitement. "Just don't let Günter damage him too badly."
"Fine, now let's get back to the lab and get ready for our new visitors," Fredric said as he stood up, threw some money on the table, and preceded his friend out of the café.
MFU/MFU
"Gutten tag," A blond college student greeted the disinterested registrar for the science symposium.
"Ja, tag, namen?" The older man didn't bother to look up from his list until he had grabbed his pencil and Illya had patiently waited for him to be ready.
"Ekkles, Kurt," Illya said with a relaxed smile on his face.
That was the name he and Mr. Waverly had agreed upon for his course registration. After checking into the youth hostel, he had met some college students who had invited him to go with them out with them and got lucky as Napoleon would phrase it.
If fact, he had gotten "lucky" last night and well into the morning. He learned a few more old German drinking songs and reacquainted himself with ones he already knew, he learned the popular phrases (always useful for undercover assignments) and then there was Mina, very soft and curvy bar maid. Not only did she help relieve his tensions but she had a bathtub at her apartment. It was the first time in several weeks that he had a chance to soak his whole body and he reveled in the hot water for an entire hour before leaving to register at the symposium.
The gruff man nodded his bent head in acknowledgement while he scanned the names on his list. He checked off the name, grabbed a packet of papers from the pile, tossed it to the younger man, and pointed in the general direction of the hallway to the right of him.
"Danke," Illya said loud and strongly enough to have the rude man look up at him with an angry gaze for being reproached because of his manners by a mere student.
Before the man could respond, Illya took off down the hall with his study packet in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder with a devilish smirk on his face.
Walking a brisk pace, Illya had started to feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise again, when someone plowed into him from the right. He was thrown to the ground as his envelope of papers went skidding across the shiny linoleum floor while books and papers began to rain down on him.
Blinking to clear his eyes, he looked up in a slight daze. The florescent lights blinded him enough to only see a shadowy face of a female peer down at him as she lay draped across his legs. Quickly, he felt for his gun tucked away under his leather jacket to make sure it hadn't fallen out from the body-slam he'd taken from this young lady.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't look where I was going!" This skittish girl, her clothes disheveled apologized profusely, almost babbling as she climbed up off Illya's legs and began to gather the scattered sheets of paper. "It's just that Professor Meyer left to go meet with those two gentlemen privately before he collected his notes for this morning's lecture and I'm trying to find him. He seemed so nervous. I have to get these notes and books to him before…"
It only took Illya only a second to pull himself together and register that the girl was speaking English before he hopped onto his feet and began to help pick up the scattered books.
"It's all right. I'm fine, Miss?" Illya asked softly. Professor Meyer was the contact he was to meet. "You say that Herr Professor was talking with some men?"
"Paula, Paula Francis. Yes, but he didn't seem too happy about it. He was sweating more than usual." She continued rambling on distractedly while organizing the jumbled notes.
Illya whistled through his teeth; it was likely the two strangers were from THRUSH and he would have to change his plans. While considering possible actions, he looked around at the spilled books and noticed one seemed out of place from the rest. Before he could grab it, Paula picked it up the book and offered it to him. "Is this your book? I don't remember seeing this with the Professor's notes before."
"Let me see," Illya replied with suppressed excitement and took the book as he passed her a handful of notes. Examining the small, leather bound book towards him, he found it to be a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets. He held the book by the spine and gave it a tiny shake and was rewarded with the book filling open to a page made of a different type of paper.
Quickly glancing over to Meyer's assistant and seeing that she was still focusing on the professor's notes, he rapidly read the page, tore it out, and hid the paper inside a pocket of the lining of his jacket.
"No, sorry, this isn't my book." Illya stood up and held out the volume.
"Okay, weird," Paula mused as she accepted it and placed it on top of the hodgepodge pile of notes and books in her arms.
She was lost in her own thoughts and oblivious to what was going on around her. "If you're all right, I've got to go. Hope to see you at the symposium."
"Thank…you," Illya stammered with a deep chuckle to the departing whirlwind, who, had just tossed him up and left him stranded and bewildered. "At least I got what I came here for."
Quickly checking to make sure everything was in its place, Illya threw his backpack over his right shoulder and walked over to where his packet of papers had landed. As he bent down to pick up the manila envelope, he heard a man's shout as a door flew open and a man that Illya recognized as Professor Meyer strode from a secluded room with THRUSH agents Jules Otis and Adam Benson in tow.
Stuffing the packet into his backpack, Illya kept his head low and watched the known, medium-ranked, and not very pleasant agents, through his bangs. When they stopped to talk by the lecture hall door, he could hear the heightened level of fear in the Professor's rant and see the calm, knowing looks of the THRUSH agents who were determined to find out the location of the prototype plans and who had the security codes, no matter what it took.
Illya felt a pang of regret for the professor. He didn't know at what stage in the process the building the prototype of was in. He also knew the key codes were changed right before Meyer was to give the book to a UNCLE agent. He couldn't stay to help the man. He had to get the codes out of Germany and back to headquarters.
Slowly, Illya got up and turned on his heels with his back to what was happening down the corridor. He'd made it the door and pushed it open to freedom when he chanced a look back only to see Jules Otis look directly at him. The THRUSH agent punched his partner in the shoulder, pointed, and mouth the word "Kuryakin!"
Illya darkly grinned, gave him a gentry's salute, and darted out of the building when the two THRUSH agents started to make their way towards him. He had barely gotten out the door and down the steps before he noticed an acquaintance from last night's bar sitting on a bench waiting near the door.
"Ekkles, kommen sie here!" the man he vaguely knew as Günter called with a smile as he walked over, effectively blocking Illya from his planned route of escape.
Illya tried to wave him away and moved further off to the side of the building, out of direct sight of the entrance to the Science Department. He pointed to his watch and out to the street as if miming to Günter that he was too busy to talk.
Despite Illya's swift pace, Gunter quickly made his way to the blond UNCLE agent, quite determined to get his attention.
"Nicht jehts Günter," Illya growled out in frustration as the burly young man stepped in front of him, stopping him from getting away.
"Yes, now!" he shouted back in English and grabbed Illya by the arm, shoved him off balance, and pushing him closer to the opposite side of the street.
Surprised by the college student's abrupt change in personality, Illya was caught off guard and unprepared for his abrupt attack. Fighting to maintain his ground, while Günter kept pushing him backwards, he attempted to dig his heels into the smooth pavement to use this attacker's momentum against him.
Suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through Illya's neck, followed by a flush of heat down his arm. Taking his attention off of his struggle with Günter long enough to look over at his shoulder, he saw a syringe being pulled out of his neck by an unknown accomplice who had joined in the fight.
With a resigned sigh, the Section Two agent gave up struggling and looked back over to the two THRUSH agents watching from the top of the steps. Illya nodded to them in congratulations, they had won this part of the spy game. He still didn't know how they knew he was here in Munich.
Quickly, his strength began to falter; he lost control over his muscles and slumped against his attackers. Gunter and his friend started to pull him into a waiting van as Illya began to drift into unconsciousness.
"Hey!" Otis called out as he and his THRUSH partner stopped their mad dash down the steps and watched the non-descript vehicle speed off. "That's our UNCLE agent!"
MFU/MFU
Napoleon Solo made his third trip around the room. He knew that he'd have to make a decision soon. It was only the fourth day in this week-long mission and he was already bored stiff and had just run out of fresh tapes of Illya's voice for the THRUSH agents here in Rome to listen to.
Sitting down on the couch in the fourth floor efficiency apartment, he made a quick list of items he'd placed around the room to make it look like there were two UNCLE agents doing surveillance.
He'd made sure Illya's clothes were all over the floor, just like normal. Well, he chuckled to himself, maybe not like always. Illya would've said that despite his neat appearance, he was the one who lacked housekeeping skills. Napoleon loved to hear his partner defend himself in his indignant British tone with his nose up in the air. It's was almost worth irritating Illya just to hear what he'd say next to knock him out of his own high moral tower. It made stakeouts almost bearable for him. That and trying to put ketchup on everything his partner was going to eat.
Turning back to the window to peer out into the street below, Napoleon hitched his hip onto the sill and watched someone walk out of the building across the street, down the sidewalk, and through the door that he knew to be the entrance to Rome's THRUSH Central. Looking at his watch, the agent noticed it was about supper time and the skies were starting to darken into pinks and oranges.
"That makes the fourth person today to enter the office today," he said to his invisible partner when he tried to think of something to keep his listeners happy. Maybe he could pick a fight with his wayward partner and let THRUSH think that Illya was giving him the silent treatment. Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door.
Startled, Napoleon automatically reached for his gun. He hopped off the window sill and slowly made his way to the door; careful not to stand directly in front of it.
"Come now, Mr. Solo," a familiar Italian accented voice called out. "You've been trying to get our attention for four days now; did you think that we wouldn't finally come to visit?"
Taking a chance, Napoleon looked through the peep hole in the door and it confirmed the identity of the voice. It was the resident THRUSH CEA, Mario Delgado, along with five more of his cohorts.
With nowhere to go and no help except for his partner's voice, Napoleon decided to roll with it and try to bluff his way out of the apartment. Holstering his gun, he shot the sleeves of his jacket, and took a deep breath before opening the front door.
"Mario," Napoleon said cheerfully, all the while keeping an eye on his nemesis. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I've come to check on you and your partner," the sleek man with a pencil-thin mustache said smoothly, brushing pass Napoleon, and heading straight from the table. "We haven't heard much from either of you and wanted to know if things were right with you two."
Before Napoleon could close the door, the rest of Mario's entourage blew past him and started to search the apartment, leaving one rather large and imposing man to stand watch at the door. He looked at this mountain of the THRUSH man for a split second and then casually walked over to where Mario had placed a paper bag on the table and was pulling out its contents.
With a feigned sense of confidence, Napoleon sat down in one of the kitchen table's worn chairs, crossed his legs, and surveyed the action in the small apartment. He sat quietly, not adding to the conversation or trying to stop the THRUSH grunts from ransacking the room.
Delgado, for his part, continued to set the table, going to the cupboard for two chipped plates and a pair of two hazy wine glasses, and finally began to look for napkins while he kept his back to Solo.
"So, Napoleon," Delgado began again as he pulled another drawer open and keeping the conversation light. "Where is Illya?"
"He's stepped out. He may be gone for quite a while," Napoleon said indifferently, waiting for the man's reaction. "He's found a very lovely girl who likes jazz and they are making a night of it while I waste away here, but I thought," he shrugged lightly, "what the heck, he deserves an evening off once and in a while…"
Delgado turned to look at him, leaned back to rest his elbows onto the tall countertop, and played with the napkins in his hands. The man's features mirrored Napoleons: dark, sleek hair and eyes; firm, tone body; excellent choice of clothes from the best stores; and intelligence enough to know how to play the spy game for so long.
The two men regarded each other for a few long moments, until one of the THRUSH agents destroying the room came over to Delgado, whispered in his ear, and negatively shook his head. With a sigh, Delgado nodded to the door and the underling motioned for everyone, but for the mountain man to leave the apartment.
"Oh, Napoleon," Mario sighed in mock sadness with a hint of frustration mixed in. "I was so hoping Central was wrong and Illya was indeed here with you."
"Why is that," Napoleon asked, watching him begin to uncork a wine bottle, both items in which he brought with him.
"It would have saved both of us a lot of time and effort." Twisting to grab the first wine glass, he poured wine in to it, and handed it to Solo who nonchalantly placed in front of him. "Your little bastard sidekick has cost my employers a great deal of money in the last few days. They want something in return and you're going to help us find him."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Napoleon said coolly, taking the offered plate of food from Delgado. He set it down by his still untouched wine.
"Oh, but you do!" Delgado crowed like the THRUSH bird he is. "Otis and Benson saw him today in Munich, just this morning in fact. He was so rude not to wait for them at the University steps..."
"What can I say?" Napoleon smiled unapologetically, closely watching enemy take a sip of wine and a bite of food. "His manners are atrocious and he never sits still…"
"Ah, but you don't know half of it, do you Napoleon," Delgado challenged between bites and wiped his curl of a smile with a napkin. "Don't worry; I haven't poisoned your food or vine. I actually need your help. I mean, what good would you be to me dead?"
"My help?" Napoleon asked, picking up the glass and examining the wine for clarity and bouquet while he waited.
"Yes." Delgado pointed his spaghetti-laden fork at him and then popped into his mouth. Swallowing, he continued. "You see, while my associates were trying to catch up with your partner, they witnessed his abduction."
"Abduction? By someone else," Napoleon asked. He took a tentative swallow of the wine, but couldn't savor it with the news Mario was telling him. "Okay, who's this someone else?"
"We don't know and that's why we need your help." He leveled his gaze at Napoleon. "We want you to find your partner so we can obtain the security codes to that little project of Dr. Meyer's. Do you even know what he's working on?"
"Mr. Waverly won't allow it." Napoleon said firmly and set the glass down.
"I wouldn't bet money on that if I were you." The other man mumbled between bites.
Just as Napoleon began to laugh out loud at the THRUSH man's absurd comment his communicator started to bleep. Cursing to himself, he reached into his coat pocket for the pen that was near his gun.
"Careful, Napoleon," Mario cautioned and put his fork down.
"Always," Napoleon replied as he slowly pulled out his hand to reveal only his blaring pen.
Turning the top of the communicator over, he engaged the microphone. "Solo here."
"Mr. Solo," the gruff voice of his superior rang through. "I'm afraid our game of cat and mouse is up so to speak. May I assume Mr. Delgado is there with you?"
"Yes sir, he is and has told me that I'm to work with him and THRUSH to find Mr. Kuryakin," Napoleon stated in a grim tone.
"Yes, it appears right now THRUSH has us over the preverbal barrel with innocent lives at stake. Their agents have Dr. Meyer, the blueprints of the prototype. They're threatening to blow up an entire city block in three different major cities if we don't find Mr. Kuryakin and turn him over to them with those security codes to translate the key in a week's time."
"Any clues on who took Mr. Kuryakin?" Napoleon rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and mumbled a prayer that he didn't kill his partner when he saw him again.
"Not yet. I've dispatched my closest agent to the scene to gather what information he can. You will go to Munich with Mr. Delgado and talk with his agents about what they witnessed. I have his superiors' assurance that you will be unharmed during this joint mission."
"And what of Mr. Kuryakin and his safety when we find him," he asked, eying his table mate. Delgado smiled with all the charms of a snake about to devour its prey.
"That is being worked out as we speak," Waverly replied in angry tones that made both men cringe. "Find him, Waverly out."
Not at all happy with how events were turning out, Napoleon sighed and made a mental note to not-so-kindly remind his absent partner about getting into so much trouble when he was not around to watch his back.
Looking down at the table, he noticed that Mario was nearly finished with his meal and his own plate was untouched. Suddenly, he'd lost his appetite. Instead, Napoleon finished the rest of his wine in a gulp and wiped the last drop off his lip with his napkin.
"Tell me," Napoleon said so softly that Mario barely heard the words.
"I have a theory," Mario began, understanding what his counterpart wanted to know. "My superiors have an idea of who blew up our munitions depot in Zurich. They want to make an example of that Section Two agent to prove that THRUSH's assets can't easily be destroyed; even if it takes threatening your 'Old Man' to get what they want in restitution. But, I don't this in coming from THURSH Central as a whole. Why the big effort now? I think it's more of an attempt at personal vengeance by the head of THURSH Northeast, Sven Vander Meer."
"But then, who besides us would kidnap Kuryakin? This is the what and who our bosses are most concerned with, not that little commie shit you work with …well except for Sven, of course."
"Of course," Napoleon said thoughtfully and finally took a bite of the offered meal. "I guess I have a new partner for this mission. When do we leave for Munich? Shall we meet at the airport?"
"Sorry, Central doesn't trust you that far, Napoleon." Mario grunted and poured himself and Solo each another glass of wine. "We leave at six in the morning and I'm to stick to you like glue until then. So do you prefer the couch or the right side of the bed? I'm not your fairy blond boyfriend and sleep in the nude. I only have sex with those who have one less body part than me."
"Mario," Napoleon said coolly, hiding his growing distain for the insults being slung at his absent partner. "I'm more than happy to throw around all those frequently repeated innuendos about my partner's and my sexual habits, but if you want to live through the night, I suggest we call a truce until Illya can personally confirm or deny your colorful assumptions you have about him in person. He's quite able to defending himself against your rather dull and boring attempts at humor. I, for one, would like to talk about the mission and plans to find out what we can."
Mario, after deciding that he wasn't going to anger Napoleon by his tart remarks, nodded in agreement and then raised his glass in salute. "To finding your golden boy and whomever took him."