The Old Foe Affair
Author's Note: Any inaccuracies or liberties taken surrounding the histories of MI5, MI6, and the United Kingdom's involvement in World War I are to be blamed on me and me alone.
Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo, UNCLE's most successful team, sat quietly in their usual seats in the office of UNCLE North America's Number One waiting to be acknowledged. The Old Man gave the impression at first glance, of a kindly, tweed jacket wearing college professor with bushy eyebrows and sagging jowls who usually held a pipe clamped between his teeth and generally smelled of whatever blend of pipe tobacco he was favoring that month. One could imagine that he either had forgotten the two younger men were there or hadn't heard them enter. One would be wrong.
Alexander Waverly was a true Master Spy. He had been recruited into the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section Five personally by its founder, Army Captain Vernon Kell when he was twenty – three years old. Not much is known about Mr. Waverly's stint with MI5 except that the day after Great Britain declared war against Germany in 1914, twenty – two German spies were arrested in various locations throughout England thanks in part, to the counter espionage performed by him; striking a devastating blow to the Kaiser as he essentially lost his entire British spy ring.
He was transferred after World War I to MI6, the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section Six after Captain Kell and MI6 Director Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith – Cumming met and agreed that talent such as Alexander Waverly's would be better suited to gathering intelligence on a global scale. It was that experience that stood him in good stead when he and his counterparts in South America, Africa, Asia and Europe founded the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement in 1955.
Number One looked up from the file he had been perusing and fixed his gaze on his agents. "Good morning, Gentleman." He waited for their response and once he got it, he continued, "It appears that pirates have been operating in the Caribbean waters between Puerto Rico and the United States and British Virgin Islands. What makes these pirates of interest to UNCLE is their propensity for attacking ships carrying certain cargos that can be used to create biological weaponry. It has also recently come to our attention that THRUSH, under the guidance of a former German spy, one Wilhelm Bruer, has built a lab somewhere in the Virgin Islands; either on Jost Van Dyke or St. John. I trust I do not have to connect the dots for you."
Both agents answered in unison, "No, Sir."
"Excellent. Mr. Solo, you and Mr. Kuryakin are to find that lab, destroy it and, if at all possible, capture Mr. Bruer so that he may be turned over to British authorities for espionage. Questions, Gentlemen?"
Napoleon glanced sideways at Illya, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No, Sir," he answered for both of them.
"Good; here's the file," Mr. Waverly replied as he spun the table to place the folder in front of his CEA. "There are several pictures of Wilhelm Bruer in there that were taken at the beginning of World War I." He noted the younger men's stunned expressions and retorted sourly, "I am not the only Old Man still playing the game, Gentlemen."
Napoleon quickly replied, "No, Sir. I didn't mean to imply…"
Mr. Waverly waved off the rest of whatever his CEA was about to say. "I expect you to be on the afternoon flight to Puerto Rico. Tell Miss Rogers I do not wish to be disturbed for two hours. Good day."
The agents silently rose as one and took their leave.
He watched them go and when his office door closed, he sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. So, you're alive, you bugger, he thought, after all these years I finally have another chance to bring you down. The man his subordinates would swear never slept closed his eyes and let his mind take him back more than fifty years.
London, June 1914
British Army Warrant Officer Alexander Waverly sat at a table in the rear of the Prospect of Whitby Pub sipping a Samuel Smith's Old Brewery Pale Ale. He wasn't normally in the Wapping section of London but, he had agreed to meet a friend to discuss what had been described to him vaguely as "a matter of national security." As requested, he had worn civilian clothing and had told no one of his plans as his men would surely have wanted to accompany him to the historic old pub.
He was a tall, muscular yet, thin man with thick, black wavy hair and distinctively heavy eyebrows that had earned him the detested nickname "Caterpillar" while a young boy growing up in Weedon. An only child of only children, Alexander had been attracted to the Army in the hope of finding a sense of family and belonging after his parents were killed in a fire when he was seventeen. He had, indeed, made several close friends, including Vernon Kell, whose arrival he now awaited.
They had become friends despite the fact that Captain Kell was older, a commissioned officer and a graduate of the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst while he had a much more modest background. At precisely 4:30PM, their agreed upon meeting time, Vernon Kell walked into the Whitby wearing street clothes. Spotting Alexander in the rear, he waved and walked over. He placed a hand on the sitting man's shoulder when he attempted to stand and salute.
"Stand down, Old Man," he whispered as he pulled up a chair and sat, "we're just a couple of mates having a drink." He got the bartender's attention and ordered a pint of Bass Ale. He took a long draught and smiled. "Nothing like a Bass at the end of the day," he said.
Alexander chuckled, "Unless it's a Pale Ale. I take it though, that we are not here to debate the superiority of one ale over another."
Vernon sighed, "No, we are not. Alexander, you are aware of the situation in Austria?"
"The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife? Yes, nasty business, that. What about it?"
Vernon looked around even though no one was seated close to them and then leaned in closer and said, "The Prime Minister is convinced that Germany wants to take advantage of the fact that Austria wishes to declare war against Yugoslavia in retaliation for the death of the archduke; allegedly to strengthen their position against possible aggression in the future. The Ministry's sources say that the Jerries are looking for an excuse to declare war and expand their empire. If Austria, with Germany backing them, defeats Yugoslavia; Belgium and Greece will be vulnerable to attack from Germany."
Alexander snorted, "Ridiculous! Yugoslavia has an alliance with Russia! The Russians will not abandon them for the Germans to take control!"
"Germany's stance publicly, as Austria's closest ally, is that the assassination and the fallout from it are internal issues and should be treated as such by the rest of Europe and that they have no intention of getting involved even though they have the alliance with Austria. Covertly, they have told Austria to start the war and if Russia moves to defend Yugoslavia, Germany will state to the world that their ally has been wrongfully attacked."
Alexander thought for a moment and then nodded his understanding. "So, by accusing Russia of interfering with an internal dispute, the Kaiser will declare war on her and thinks England will not aid Russia if she is the instigator of the conflict."
Vernon replied, "Precisely. Unfortunately for the Kaiser, England is not that stupid. The Prime Minister has already appointed Lord Kitchener War Minister and they have agreed that England will enter the war if the Germans are foolish enough to invade Belgium and they are certain to do so, according to our spies. That brings me to the reason you and I are sitting here."
"Alexander, I have been charged with creating an intelligence department to identify, track down and arrest German spies currently residing in England. It will be called the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section Five and I want you to be a part of it. What do you say?"
Waverly was stunned. "Me? I'm incredibly flattered that you are asking me but; why me?" He was genuinely puzzled. He always felt that he could contribute more in the way of service to his county but, as a spy – catcher?
Vernon shrugged his shoulders. "Because as I told Lord Kitchener, MI5 needs just five men to identify and gather proof against German spies but, they must be five intelligent, loyal and brave men. You have shown yourself to be an exemplary soldier and leader, Alexander. You are dedicated and extremely intelligent but, because you are not a military academy graduate, you can only go so far in this man's Army even though you are capable of so much more; you were the first man I thought to recruit. I have to warn you though, taking the position I am offering will not be easy."
Waverly signaled the barkeep to bring another round. "How so, Vernon?" he asked.
"On the surface, you will appear to have been dishonorably discharged from the Army for conduct unbecoming an officer." Vernon held up his hand to stop Alexander's protest. "I don't see any other way, Old Man. You've just reenlisted; you have no family so claiming a family emergency is out of the question. Your unit knows you love the Army and would realize something is up if you tried to resign and you certainly cannot tell them the truth. The creation of MI5 is a highly classified secret so no one can know you are a part of it. And practically speaking, a dishonorable discharge would lead people to believe you are disgruntled which, could be a plus in your new line of work. You will, of course, still have your rank and pay plus the additional monies from MI5 but, your life as you know it will be turned upside – down."
"Alex, you will lose all the friends you've made if you do this but, MI5 can offer you the opportunity to make a major difference in the future of England. So, even though you would be making a great personal sacrifice, I ask you again: What do you say?"
He knit his bushy eyebrows together while he thought about the implications of the offer Vernon was making. After a few minutes, Alexander smiled broadly and held up his glass. "I say: Sign me up," he declared as he touched his glass to Vernon's. "Sign me up."
MFUMFUMFUMFU
Napoleon and Illya had rented a large dinghy the day after they arrived in St. John, US Virgin Islands. That evening just before sunset, they headed out of Cruz Bay toward Jost Van Dyke in the British Virgin Islands. When they had gotten away from the dock, Napoleon turned off the boat's running lights. They were both dressed in black T – shirts and board shorts and quickly used black camouflage body paint to hide the whiteness of their legs. Normally, it would take only forty – five minutes to get to the island but, the combination of navigating by compass, avoiding contact with other boats in the dark and Illya's violent seasickness made the trip nearly twice as long.
When they had first arrived in Puerto Rico two days prior, they discovered that a Merchant Marine vessel in port off – loading a shipment was also transporting a large container of castor beans to Jamaica once it headed back out to sea. Flashing their UNCLE ID cards, they were allowed access to the ship so that Illya could place a tracking device on that container because castor beans can be used to manufacture ricin and therefore, was a perfect target for the "pirates," whom they now were fairly certain were THRUSH operating in the area. As they had expected, the tanker was hijacked and the container removed before the ship was set ablaze and the crew set adrift in lifeboats. The signal emitting from Illya's device indicated the missing container was on the island of Jost Van Dyke.
Avoiding the normal approaches to the island to remain unseen, they made their way around to the northern coast to the section called Seaside. The plan was to moor the boat at the base of the low cliffs and climb up to level ground. From there, they would walk through the forest to the lab and then wait for daylight in hopes of capturing Bruer before blowing it sky – high.
"Napoleon," Illya groaned miserably, "I think I am about to die. You will have to complete the mission without me. Take the tracking device." He leaned over the dinghy's edge and vomited up bile.
Napoleon rubbed his partner's back in sympathy. "I know that crossing was tough on you and I am so sorry but, you're not getting off that easy. Bouncing against the rocks right now isn't helping, either. Here, jump onto the land while I hold on to this bush. You'll be fine once you're off the water." The American used the vegetation growing at the water's edge to pull the boat alongside the land. He practically heaved his Russian counterpart over the side to rest on a small sand spit; when he saw Illya take several deep breaths to regain his composure, he quickly went about securing and hiding the boat and grabbing the knapsack which held the explosives they had brought for the lab's destruction.
A few minutes later, Napoleon was sitting next to Illya tucking plastic explosives into his pockets along with extra clips of ammo. When the Russian sat up, Napoleon handed him some along with a pair of heavy work gloves.
Napoleon reached into the waterproof knapsack and pulled out a canteen of water and three chocolate bars. He handed the water and two of the bars to Illya. "Save some water for me but, eat both of those," he said. "We have," he checked his watch, "about ten hours before dawn so we have time for you to get past your nausea."
"Spacibo, Napoleon," Illya replied gratefully. He ate the chocolate slowly at first and when his stomach accepted it, he wolfed down the rest. He drank deeply of the water and handed it back to Napoleon who drank some and then placed the canteen back in the knapsack. After an hour, Illya stood and said, "I am fine, now. We need to go." He pulled the bag onto his shoulders, put on his gloves and proceeded to climb the hill using the shrubs and trees for footholds with Napoleon right behind him.
Twenty minutes later, they had climbed to level ground. They stood listening to the sounds of the forest around them and took a few minutes while they caught their breath to admire the night sky. Jost Van Dyke had no electricity in the 1960s so the only ambient lighting available was the moon and the stars, which gave the trees and bushes a slightly eerie glow. Using a small flashlight, they began to follow the softly beeping signal the tracking device was sending out at regular intervals. They were moving in a southeasterly direction which took them away from where the approximately two hundred island residents lived toward the totally uninhabited part of Jost.
"I can certainly see why THRUSH would want to build a lab here," Napoleon said as he followed Illya along what appeared to be a deer path. "I have to wonder though, how they operate their facility without sustained power."
A voice off to their right stated, "We manage" before floodlights blinded them. "Hands up, Gentlemen," the voice continued politely as several men armed with standard issue THRUSH rifles stepped out of the shadows to relieve them of all their weaponry. "I'm sorry to have to do this but, take off your shirts and shorts."
Still flinching from the brightness, Napoleon reluctantly began to undress. Illya was stripped to his underwear when he hesitated too long. Both men were then handcuffed behind their backs. Only then were the lights turned off and the darkness returned with a vengeance. They were then shoved in the back to begin walking behind two men leading the way. Both tripped and stumbled until their eyes had once again adjusted. Mosquitoes, no-see-ums, sand fleas and other insects took advantage of the unprotected skin of the UNCLE agents and made for an uncomfortable trek to a low building situated so that it would be nearly impossible to see from the sky.
They were marched through what appeared to be a loading dock entrance past several freight containers (one of which caused the tracking device to beep) to a windowless room that contained a cot, a toilet and a sink. They were forced to sit while their shoes, socks and boxers were taken from them. When their ID cards fell out of their shoes, the guard picked them up and handed them through a slit in the door to someone outside.
The same smooth voice that had spoken to them in the forest now said from the other side of the door, "Well, this is an honor! Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, allow me to welcome you to Jost Van Dyke! I didn't think we were big enough yet to garner the attention of UNCLE's most famous team!"
The guards had moved to stand in front of the door, leaving the two agents naked on the cot. Twisting around to bring his legs up on the cot and make himself feel less vulnerable, Napoleon smiled and replied, "I thank you for the compliment but, you ah, seem to have us at a disadvantage. With whom am I speaking?"
The men at the door moved aside as another man entered the room. He stood approximately six feet tall with blond hair and grey eyes. He was wearing light grey linen pants, a dress shirt popular in the Caribbean known as a guayabera and sandals. He looked like he should be holding a cool beverage at a resort hotel instead of standing in a THRUSH satrap.
He bowed slightly from the waist. "Gentleman, my name is Ludwig Bowler. Again, I must apologize for your current state of undress but, you UNCLE agents are so adept at squirreling explosives away in your clothing and shoes, I thought it best not to take any chances, especially with the explosives – loving Mr. Kuryakin."
Illya smiled a feral grin and said, "I would love to show you how much I love blowing things up, Mr. Bowler. Later, perhaps." Unlike his partner, the Russian was quite comfortable in his own skin and made no move to cover himself. "What do you intend to do with us?"
Ludwig brought his hand up to splay against his chest in mock innocence and purred, "I assure you both, I intend to do nothing with you except treat you kindly. Tonight, you will be well – fed and left alone. Tomorrow will more than likely be a different story as Herr Bruer will be back on island, as they say around here, and he does not take kindly to trespassers plus, he will probably want to impress me with how he deals with you."
Illya snorted in derision, "Impress you? Who the hell are you?"
Two of the guards began to advance on the cot but were stopped by a gesture by Bowler. He motioned them to fall back and said, "It is all right; I have always heard the little one is rude. Now, I know it is true. But, to answer your question, I am a member of THRUSH Central here to visit our newest investment."
Napoleon lifted his shoulders and said, "I hate to rush you but, is it possible to get these cuffs removed? I ah, would like to be able to wash my hands before I eat."
Ludwig looked at the birdie Napoleon assumed was in charge of this security detail. "I am going to bed," he announced, "give them toilet paper, food and water and then, uncuff them. Shoot them both if they try to escape. Padlock the door so they can't reach the lock just in case we missed something. Good night, Gentlemen. You will need your strength in the morning." And with that, he left.
London, July – August 1914
Alexander Waverly had taken to espionage and counter intelligence like a duck to water. His natural curiosity, ability to think on his feet and tenacity helped him adjust to a life whose first rule was "Trust no one."
Captain Kell had not exaggerated; getting established as a disgraced soldier thrown out of the Army for undisclosed conduct unbecoming an officer had taken its toll. Men he had counted on as good friends suddenly acted like he was invisible. Rumors abounded that said, depending on what day of the week it was, he was having an affair with a general's wife and got caught, he was having an affair with a general and got caught, he was a rapist and had gotten caught. Each new tale was more outrageous than the one before but, they all added up to one thing: No one who had known Alexander Waverly would admit to having been his friend. Publicly, even Captain Kell condemned him.
Privately, Vernon made sure that MI5 had provided him with a furnished flat in Lewisham and a very generous monthly stipend, most of which he banked as he had no social life anymore other than the one he had manufactured with the German spies and the occasional clandestine visit from Vernon. He would come to Alexander's place after 11PM on different nights with meat pies and Bass Ale and they would discuss the progress Alex (as he called him) was making.
Once he had made contact and "friends" with a chap called Wilbur Sand, whose real name was Wolfgang Schmidt and was the first person he had identified as a spy, the rest of the ring had been uncovered so easily and quickly, that he almost convinced himself that he was being played for a fool. It wasn't until he had met the ringleader, Wilhelm Bruer, that he understood why his first assignment had been so uncomplicated and seemingly effortless.
Wilhelm Bruer was the most egotistical, self – absorbed man he had ever met. A chemist by training, he felt that he was the most intelligent person in the room no matter who else was there. Wolfgang had introduced him to Bruer, or Wilton Boss as he was known then, as someone who might be able to shed some light on the actions of the military. After speaking with him for fifteen minutes, Waverly actually felt sorry for the spies who had to listen to this idiot as he was convinced Bruer would get them all killed. They'll live longer getting arrested and tried as spies, he thought. As with the twenty – two other spies he had identified prior, he had handed Bruer's information to Captain Kell who in turn, handed it over to the Metropolitan Police for their Special Services Unit to conduct the detailed investigation and gather the proof.
Everything was moving rather quickly as the Austrians had demanded that the Serbs leave Albania. The Serbians refused outright and immediately began mobilizing for war. England's leaders knew time was running out; war was imminent.
On August 3rd, Germany declared war on France and marched into Belgium the next day. That day, August 4th, England declared war on Germany.
On August 5th, Home Secretary Reginald McKenna announced to the British people that twenty – two German nationals had been arrested in England for espionage. Alexander Waverly heard the news on the radio and called Vernon Kell immediately.
"Twenty – two, Vernon? Who is missing?"
"Wilhelm Bruer. He escaped while being transferred from the police station to one of the military bases for detention."
"How in bloody hell did Bruer manage to pull that off?"
Vernon sighed, "He had help; apparently, he was able to bribe one of the police officers tasked with transporting him. I imagine we should feel lucky that he felt no loyalty for his comrades as there was no attempt made to free them. He left them all behind to face the music. The police are searching for him, of course but, he is more than likely out of the country by now."
"He'll turn up somewhere someday. What's become of the officer who helped him escape?"
"He's disappeared, also. I assume they are together."
Waverly smiled grimly into the phone. "And I assume that Bruer will kill him the moment he feels it is safe to do so. He always thought he was head and shoulders above everyone else; he must be positively insufferable now. Well, Vernon, I'm going to ring off now. Thank you for the information."
That miserable bastard, he thought as he replaced the phone in its cradle, Disloyal to his men; stupid yet, smart enough to save himself. One day our paths will cross again and you will pay for your crimes against my country.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
As Bowler had promised, Solo and Kuryakin were uncuffed and given fresh water, fruits, cheeses and bread to eat along with soap, toilet paper and towels to clean themselves. Though they had no clothing, the room was not cold or dirty and the cot, which they shared, did have sheets.
They had scouted out the room as best they could in the dark after the guards turned out the light and could find no surveillance equipment. Even so, they let the water run in the sink while they whispered to each other as they lay on the cot.
"Napoleon, I am not used to decent treatment from THRUSH Central. What kind of game do you think Bowler is playing?"
"I hope I'm wrong, Partner Mine but, I got the distinct impression that this is the calm before the storm. Bowler feels that he doesn't have to get his hands dirty because this Bruer person will do it for him."
Illya shifted to make himself a little more comfortable. "This man has to be Mr. Waverly's age!"
"Do not underestimate him because of his age, Illya. Mr. Waverly is past his prime, too and people have died because they thought he was just some harmless old man. I think we are in real trouble."
"Then we had better get some rest. I suggest that we plan on fighting our way past whoever opens the door in the morning. It will not be hard to backtrack the way out of the building. Once we are out, we can decide how to proceed."
"Agreed. G'night, Partner."
Unfortunately, the next morning, instead of the guards they expected to enter the room, a noxious smelling gas was released through what had appeared to be a sprinkler in the ceiling. Thinking they were about to die but, glad to be together, they held their breath as long as they could before collapsing to the floor and passing out next to each other.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Illya, usually the one most affected by chemicals and drugs, awoke first. He didn't open his eyes; instead, he used his other senses to try to figure out what was happening around him. He felt cold metal underneath his bare skin and guessed he was lying nude on a metal table and assumed he was fastened to it somehow. He didn't smell anything unusual so, the dull throbbing in his head was probably a result of the gas that had rendered him unconscious earlier. He could hear a low level hum that he thought could be one of the generators that provided power to the facility. Hearing nothing else, he took a chance and cracked his eyelids open slightly.
He could see manacles encircling his ankles and wrists. He cut his eyes to the left and then the right where he saw Napoleon lying naked and bound to an identical metal table. He looked like he was still unconscious and Illya did not wish to take a chance and call him just yet. Just then, he heard a door open and close gently behind his head. Suddenly, a strong electric shock jolted his body and caused him to scream in pain. He bit down on his lip to regain control and turned his head. Standing there was a bald, heavyset, older man with ice – cold blue eyes holding a cattle prod. "Good morning, Mr. Kuryakin. My name is Wilhelm Bruer."
Napoleon had been awakened by his partner's agonized scream. Determined to get Breuer's focus off Illya, he called out, "Good morning! Last night's accommodations were rather pleasant as prison cells go but, this wake – up call leaves a lot to be desired."
Wilhelm Bruer's response was to shock Napoleon in the genitalia. Napoleon's screams echoed throughout the room. "Do not rush your turn, Mr. Solo. There is enough pain to go around."
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Ludwig Bowler and Wilhelm Bruer sat sipping iced tea in Bruer's office. Bowler had watched Herr Bruer torture the two UNCLE agents until his stomach could take no more.
"Herr Bruer, I did not hear you ask for information. What is it you want them to tell you?"
Bruer laughed so hard, he had to put his cup and saucer down on his desk. "Herr Bowler, you do not understand; there is nothing they can tell me! I am just enjoying myself!"
Bowler stared at the man whose chemical research he had come to observe. "If you do not want any information from them, why do you not just kill them and be done with it?"
"As I have already said: I am enjoying myself. I discovered many years ago that inflicting pain gives me…pleasure."
Bowler's face wrinkled in disgust. He put his cup of tea down and stood. "I may be an operative affiliated with an organization intent on ruling the world but, I still have a sense of right and wrong. All of us are expendable in the Game we play but, pain for pain's sake is too much, even for me. I am leaving, Wilhelm. You will get a favorable review from me regarding your manufacturing of toxins from the stolen cargo but, I will inform the rest of Central that we should not retaliate if what you are doing comes back to haunt you. My boat is waiting for me. Auf weidersehen."
Ludwig Bowler walked the camouflaged path that led down to the loading dock THRUSH had excavated from the hillside to move pirated cargo to the lab facility. When he got onboard, he gave his crew the order to set sail for St. Maarten. He went below deck to his cabin and stripped out of the clothing he had just put on three hours earlier. He felt dirty and in need of a shower after being in Breuer's presence. If I never see that sick, perverted old man again, I will be quite content, he thought.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Wilhelm sat at his desk looking through the items that had been taken from the UNCLE agents. After Bowler had left, he had gone back to the room holding his new playthings and amused himself whipping the blond until he passed out while the dark – haired one kept his face turned away while tears of frustration ran down his cheeks. Now, he idly fingered the ID cards, guns, explosives, chocolate bars and their communicators as he rested. He knew he should be supervising in the labs as his first batches of ricin and serin were almost finished. Ah, but this is so much more fun.
Picking up one of the pen – like communicators, he twisted and fiddled with it until he thought he had figured out how to turn it on. "Hello? Hello! Is someone there?" he yelled.
A few seconds later, a female voice responded, "Who is this?"
"I was told that Alexander Waverly is in charge of UNCLE North America. I demand to speak to him!"
"This is Napoleon Solo's frequency! Where is he? And, why should I put you through to Mr. Waverly?"
Bruer snarled, "Do not dare to question me, little girl! Tell him it is Wilhelm Bruer; he will speak with me."
"Hold on," the operator replied stiffly.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Miss Rogers dashed into Mr. Waverly's office to tell him that a Wilhelm Bruer wanted to talk to him on Napoleon Solo's communicator. He reached around to grab his microphone. "This is Alexander Waverly," he announced.
"So, Alex, after all these years! I had rather hoped you were dead and buried."
"As I you, Bruer. What do you want?" Mr. Waverly motioned to Miss Rogers to hand him a sheet of paper.
He could hear Bruer laughing through the communicator. "From you? I want nothing from you! I found out recently that you are a part of UNCLE and I wanted to let you know that I have two of your agents as my guests. They've been quite entertaining; they make the most delightful sounds when beaten and shocked. When I finish speaking to you, I'm going to see what kinds of noises they make when they are caned with flayed bamboo. Struck at the right angle, skin can be lifted from the body in strips which leaves an interesting pattern, almost like zebra stripes."
While Bruer was speaking, Waverly had written a note and shown it to his secretary. Have Telecommunications activate remotely the homing frequencies on Solo's and Kuryakin's communicators and mobilize Strike Force Teams 1 and 2 for immediate departure. I want Bruer alive. Miss Rogers nodded and left.
Waverly felt sickened by what Bruer was saying but, refused to give him the satisfaction of showing it. Calmly, he said, "You have a lot to answer for, Bruer, espionage being the least of it. If you want nothing from me then, you want nothing from my agents which means, you torture for torture's sake. Even THRUSH does not do that."
Bruer chuckled, "So I was told by a member of THRUSH Central. Who cares? Both of us are too old to worry about what someone else thinks. I will kill your agents, Waverly; it will just take another, oh, I don't know. Fifteen, twenty hours? I really should be working but, I'm having such a good time with them."
Waverly ignored Bruer's attempts to upset him. "I have one question for you, Bruer: Whatever happened to that police officer you bribed to set you free after your arrest?"
"Ahhh, Joseph Trimble. He was a bit of a German sympathizer which was how I was able to convince him to help me. I promised him I would bring him to Germany where he would be hailed as a hero of the people for helping me escape. I owe him a lot, actually. Not only did he help me regain my freedom and flee across the border, he was the one who made me discover how… satisfying, shall we say, administering pain can be when I strangled him with my bare hands. It was glorious."
Waverly wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I see no more reason to continue this disgusting conversation, Bruer," he said before breaking the connection. I only have one more thing to say to you, you bloody bastard, and I will say it to your face.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Napoleon was almost at the end of his physical and mental endurance. Both he and Illya had been subjected to the most heinous treatment he had ever encountered. He had been beaten, whipped and shocked until he had lost control of his bowels. When that had happened, Bruer had sent in guards who hosed him down with cold water that caused the lacerations on his body to hurt even more. Even worse than the pain was the knowledge that there was no way to stop it. Wilhelm Bruer had no desire to learn anything; all he wanted to do was inflict more pain. The respites between sessions only made the anticipation of the next blow worse.
He looked over at Illya. Blood ran in steaks down his ribs and he was shaking with pain. He knew Illya was as voiceless as he was; they couldn't even scream anymore. At least, we are together, Partner Mine. Almost as if Illya had heard his thought, he looked at Napoleon and nodded.
Illya nodded at his partner and let his eyes drift shut. We will be gone from here soon; the next beating will be the death of me, he thought. In the background, he could hear the now familiar humming of the generators. As he lay there, he began to realize there was another low sound he was hearing. Straining to hear, he was certain he heard voices yelling and gunfire.
Suddenly, there was a spate of gunfire right outside of the room and then a sizzle as the lock on the door was burned away. Armed men burst in and Illya recognized one of them as Section Two Agent Flores of Puerto Rico. We have been saved, he thought before he passed out in relief, Imagine that.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
When Illya regained consciousness, he was not surprised to find that he and Napoleon were sharing a room in UNCLE NY's Medical Unit. He was surprised that he and his partner had been in a medically induced coma for three days. He noted that he was covered in stitches, bandages and topical antibiotic creams from top to bottom. Bruer was a thorough SOB, he thought as he looked at his partner lying in the next bed who looked to be as bandaged up as he was.
Dr. Jameson entered the room with Mr. Waverly and a nurse. The nurse spooned some ice chips into his mouth while the doctor perused his chart. He stepped next to Napoleon's bed and smiled down at him. "I should have known you two would wake up within minutes of each other. Nurse, some ice chips for Mr. Solo, please."
Mr. Waverly stood between both beds and watched the medical staff attend to his agents. He would never show it but, he was fond of his Section Two agents and it disturbed him greatly what his top team had endured.
"Gentlemen, please do not speak; save your strength. I came to tell you that the Strike Force that rescued you also destroyed the facility and the chemical weapons that were manufactured there. Wilhelm Bruer was captured and is being held in one of the detention cells below until you are both strong enough to face him."
Illya tried out his voice, "I can sit in a wheelchair," he croaked.
"Me, too," Napoleon whispered.
Mr. Waverly looked at his Chief Medical Officer. "Dr. Jameson, normally I would acquiesce to your medical opinions but, I have something to do that I want these gentlemen to witness. It will only take a few moments and then, I will return them here."
Dr. Jameson didn't look too happy but, he said, "Of course, Sir. Nurse, get two orderlies to bring wheelchairs in here." As he turned to leave, he muttered under his breath, "So much for saving their strength."
Agents Kuryakin and Solo were wheeled into the observation room next to Interrogation Room B. They told the orderlies to wait in the hallway until called. Looking through the two – way mirror, they saw Wilhelm Bruer seated alone at the table shackled at the ankles and wrists. After about five minutes, Mr. Waverly walked into the room. He stared at Bruer for a moment and then said, "Bruer, my original plan for you was to turn you over to British authorities to face the charges of espionage and murder."
Bruer eyed him suspiciously. "And, now?" he asked.
"Now, that is no longer an option. You displayed a depraved disregard for the rules of the Game. Agents know they are expendable but, no one should have to endure torture for no reason save your twisted sexual appetites. For that, you deserve a rogue spy's punishment. You are on your way to Tartarus, Bruer. God have mercy on your soul because no one else does." Mr. Waverly turned and opened the door to exit but, before he went through, he switched off the light. "Get used to the darkness, Bruer," he said as he shut the door.
Before they shut off the intercom, Bruer could be heard screaming, "You can't do this to me! I'm an old man! Kill me, now, Waverly! KILL ME NOW!"
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Napoleon woke from a nap to see Illya watching him from the other bed. "How are you feeling, Napoleon?"
"Better, Tovarisch, much better. Knowing that bastard won't ever hurt anyone again gives me a sense of closure."
"I feel that closure, as well. I wonder if we will ever cross paths with Ludwig Bowler again. Strange as this may sound, there seemed to be something decent about him. I'm almost sorry I was rude to him. Almost."
Napoleon grinned as he drifted back to sleep. "Stranger things have happened, Illya, especially to us. Maybe we will get a chance one day to see how decent he is."