THE BACK TO THE BEGINNING AFFAIR

Chapter 1

"This isn't standard operating procedure"

"Sir," the jumpsuit-and-bereted THRUSH thug said with a snap, as he stiffly stepped through from the opposite side of the instantly sliding open door leading from subterranean exterior corridor to innermost office of his despotic superior, the heavily half-scarred Darien Driscoll. "It has arrived, sir."

"Good," the man with the half-melted mien, thanks solely to two aged agents of U.N.C.L.E. "Send it in. Quickly!"

Standing aside and at attention, his machinegun capable Heckler-Koch MP7 A1 at the ready across his chest, the THRUSH thug allowed easy access to a machine tech in khaki, Nick Berlinetta, currently carrying a shock-resistant box twice the size of a Human head.

"Well?" snidely insisted this singular global leader of THRUSH with a half-frown intended as an inferred warning to not disappoint Darien Driscoll.

"It is complete, sir," nervously stated the mech-tech via forced smile, even as he sat the big box gently onto the too-perfect top of Darien's old oaken desk, then promptly proceeded to open the multiple latches situated all about its broad base in order to rapidly remove the bulk of the box.

Revealing…

With one greatly ravaged black leather gloved hand and one non-ruined one, Darien reached out to the object of his obsession, the overly-worried Nick Berlinetta could at long last relax and take satisfaction for his mech-team's timely labors.

Slipping such over his half-destroyed countenance, soon the physical source of said satisfaction, by both mech-tech and THRUSH chieftain, covered the whole head and, most importantly to the once-handsome Darien Driscoll, readily hid his half-scarred features behind a beautifully fashioned faux face.

One not only made of heavy-duty metal, but, along with a comfortable-fit interior padding placed so snugly against his ruined-forever visage, a handsome mask mingling gems with illegally gotten elephant ivory.

"You have done well, Mr. Berlinetta," said Darien's voice, artificially transmitted via built-in microphone-and-mini-speaker system. "You shall receive the proper rank increase as a reward. From Mech-Tech Nick Berlinetta to Lead-Mech Nick Berlinetta."

"Th-thank you, Mr. D-Driscoll, sir," stammered the suddenly relieved Lead-Mech Berlinetta, "th-thank y-you. You have n-no idea h-how m-much this…"

"Leave me!" the mini-speaker spoken snarl sternly said, leaving little doubt as to how quickly crazed the THRUSH boss turned out to be.

"Yes, sir," rapidly replied the Lead-Mech, while briskly backing out of the underground headquarters office even as the armed THRUSH thug caused the solid metal entryway to swiftly slide shut and solidly re-secure itself.

"And now," said the masked Darien Driscoll while slowly standing behind his desk with thoughts centered, now, upon much more important matters, "to do what I had failed to do…in a past not my own. Heheheheh."

Meanwhile, half a world away, in New York City, two out-of-retirement U.N.C.L.E. agents, one suave, despite his salt-and-pepper hair and noticeably lined, though handsome, facial features, the other still blonde and blue-eyed with little in the way of age-related lines…

…Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin gradually made their way into the back of a Starbucks, secretly tugged open a false section of supply racks…

…zipped their agent-assigned keycards through a card reader, which easily allowed a flush blast-proof door to automatically unlock and speedily open, only to close just as quickly in their walking wake…

…so both could proceed directly through hallway and antechamber in order to end up inside a specifically assigned U.N.C.L.E. control office.

"Good morning, Napoleon…Illya," grimly greeted Ms. Allison Hall in a vain attempt to seriously suppress her innermost emotions in regards to the Russian-born Agent Number 2, Section 2. Something she'd been battling against since first bringing forth these previously retired, for decades, ex-men from U.N.C.L.E.

Conversely, she made absolutely no attempt to hide her growing agitation in regards to the hazel-eyed sexist-from-the-Sixties, Napoleon Solo. Though she respected his mostly successful skills, mayhap even more so than the boyishly beautiful Illya Kuryakin, she still struggled against the desire to send the philandering lothario back into retirement.

Were it not for the political powers-that-be demanding that this man from U.N.C.L.E. stay active, something most definitely done.

"Good morning, Ms. Hall," said Illya Kuryakin kindly and without a hint of hidden intent.

"Yes, good morning, Ms. Hall," Napoleon clearly chimed in with mock merriment to someone he still, after all these many months of agent reactivation, considered more suited for secretarial designation rather than that granted the director of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. "You're looking lovelier than usual today. More makeup?"

On the surface, such sounded slightly gracious. But Allison Hall had come to know Napoleon Solo much more completely than that and knew better.

Still, she managed to meander through such begrudging greetings in order to present herself to be what she, like it or not, Napoleon!, was within the hierarchy of U.N.C.L.E. Napoleon Solo's boss.

For her upside-down triangle, color-coded badge held to the irrefutable fact that she was Number 1, Section 1, while Napoleon was Number 11, Section 2. The self-same section as Illya, just not as high in that particular category of U.N.C.L.E. employee.

In other words, Illya Kuryakin ranked far higher on the secret agent food chain…even though they were, in point of fact, a two-man team. And a consistently successful one at that.

"Let us get down to business, shall we?" said Ms. Hall at last with a heavy sigh, just as this pre-mission affair briefing was uncharacteristically interrupted by another agent of Section 2, whose specific numerical classification was "19"…

"Ms. Hall, this just came from Agents 27 and 31 from the field!" excitedly exclaimed this handsome, well-dressed secret agent, whose hair was as dark as Napoleon recalled his having been decades ago. "It was preceded by a vocal-only call proclaiming its importance in stopping THRUSH once and for all!"

As the shoebox-sized, and shaped, box of unyielding metal, gleaming beneath the bright round-the-clock lights of Allison Hall's largely stainless steel office suite, was gently placed onto the polished oval top of the metal escritoire…

"I don't like this," a scowling Illya coldly commented even as U.N.C.L.E. Agent 19 gradually pulled away. "This isn't standard operating procedure."

Something the curiously scowling Napoleon pensively pondered, even as Ms. Hall said with a semi-certain shrug, "Not necessarily, Mr. Kuryakin. Agents 27 and 31 are entrenched behind enemy lines in North Korea and probably would've arranged for this to be hand-delivered before they…"

"Don't open that!" Napoleon loudly exclaimed as the look on Agent 19's suddenly smirking face silently bespoke of a considerably darker, truer intent.

But it was a single second too late…

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!

END OF CHAPTER 1