He woke to the sounds of water...drip, drip, drip, drip. Though he was parched with thirst he suspected by the filth of his surroundings that it probably wasn't safe to drink if he found the source.
Question was, Illya asked himself, where the hell was he? Last thing he recalled was his attendance at a party with Napoleon; they were keeping an eye on a British diplomat suspected of being in league with T.H.R.U.S.H.
They'd each taken a glass of champagne being served from a waiter's tray...that was it. The drinks had to have been drugged. Now another question. Why?
"There was no one there who might have known them," Illya reasoned in the darkness. Diplomatic parties were usually low key and dull. Nothing sinister going on as the wives and families were present. No mistresses lurking about as that would just be in bad taste and too risky.
Neither he or Solo were known to Nigel Braxton, the man whose party it was; Napoleon had finagled a pair of invitations for them under the guise of being attachés to the American, and West German embassies. That allowed the U.N.C.L.E. agents to simply attend the party and observe as ordered; they were not to engage.
Illya had managed to slip a bug under Braxton's lapel, and wearing ear pieces both he and Napoleon could listen in on any conversations in which the man became involved. So far it had been nothing but idle chit chat, not one word to indicate the man was duplicitous.
"Maybe our intel was off," Napoleon whispered. He reached for a drink from a passing waiter's tray and Illya did the same.
"Or maybe he is just being cautious," Kuryakin replied.
.
Illya moaned as he tried to move, he managed to get to his feet like a two-year old, leaning forward on his hands until he could stand. He brushed them off before becoming dizzy. Reaching out to the wall to steady himself, he shrank back as he felt that it was cold and slimy to the touch. His hand came back red...it was blood.
"Bozhe moy...he wall was oozing with blood."
Illya pulled his handkerchief, wiping off the disgusting mess. Once his hands were relatively clean, he brushed his blond hair away from his eyes. Checking his pockets, he realized he'd been relieved of both his communicator and gun. And where was Napoleon?
Once he felt a bit steadier, he began to explore his dimly lit surroundings. The floor was covered in broken glass and other human detritus; a dead rat as well an inordinate amount of rat droppings seemed to be everywhere.
There were puddles of dark liquid too, what he presumed was blood as well. He hoped it wasn't Solo's.
He reminded himself to be careful not to touch his face or eyes with his hands since he'd no doubt had some of it on them when getting up from the floor. Illya wiped his hands with his handkerchief again, for whatever good that might do.
"Napoleon? Are you here?" The Russian paused." If you cannot speak, rap with your hand."
"Thump-drag, thump-drag."
That didn't sound like someone rapping, more like walking...perhaps Napoleon was injured?
"Napoleon I am here my friend. Keep moving towards me and I will walk to you. Follow my voice."
"Thump-thump-drag, thump-thump-drag." The sound continued to echo in the darkness. It seemed Napoleon had quickened his pace.
Illya could hear the footsteps were now right in front of him now, but he still couldn't see his partner.
"Thump-thump-drag, thump-thump-drag." And then it stopped. There was absolute silence.
"Napoleon?" Kuryakin stepped forward but nothing was there. No sign of Solo.
Something churned in his stomach. Was it nervousness? Illya suddenly felt a tingling sensation on his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He wasn't easily frightened, as he'd seen too much horror from his childhood years during the war. There was little else that could compare to the monstrosities he'd witnessed in the Sryets concentration camp and the ravine of Babi Yar, in Kyiv. He was one of the few survivors who could give witness to the truth of what happened there, though Illya chose to keep that part of his life to himself. *
"Thump-drag, thump-drag, thump-drag." Now the sound was coming from behind him!
"Kakogo cherta?" He swore to the devil in Russian as he spun around. That wasn't a good idea as he was hit with a bout of dizziness. Not caring about the slime on the wall this time; he grabbed it to steady himself.
"Thump-thump-drag, thump-thump-drag, thump-thump-drag." Whatever it was, it was coming closer.
He felt a loosened brick in the wall and wiggling it free, he held it up to use as a weapon.
"Who ever you are, stop. Do not come any closer!"
"Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump." That was the sound of Illya's heart as it pounded in his chest. He was covered in perspiration, his blond head now soaked in sweat.
"Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump." It was moving again, this time matching the beating of Kuryakin's heart.
His nervousness increased as did the tingling on his skin, until he swallowed hard. The taste of bile was in his mouth; fear, that's what he was feeling now.
"Stop! Stoi! Keep away from me! Derzhat'sya podal'she ot menya!" Illya switched back and forth between English and Russian.
He moved along the wall until his feet hit something and he fell backwards, landing at the base of a flight of stairs.
Those stairs weren't there a minute ago?
"Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-drag."
It was coming closer, faster now but still hidden in the darkness.
Illya spun around, scrambling up the stairs on his hands and feet. He was gripped by an uncontrollable fear the likes of which he'd never felt before. Not like this, the fear of the unknown.
"Thump-thump, thump-thump!" His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.
"Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump." It was coming up the stairs after him, but the sheer terror filling Kuryakin wouldn't let him turn to see what it was.
"Thump-thump,thump-thump,-thump-thump..." It was almost at him!
As he reached the top of the stairs, it felt as if a knife had been plunged into his chest. There was no door, no way out, there was nothing but another wall.
Dizziness hit him and he tumbled backwards, right into what was coming after him.
Illya opened his eyes, waking to the sounds of water...drip, drip, drip, drip. Though he was parched with thirst he suspected by the filth of his surroundings that it probably wasn't safe to drink even if he found the source.
"Wait, he'd been through this before. How many times?" The Russian asked himself.
"Napoleon?"
.
The American sat beside his partner's bed in Medical, watching with concern in his hazel eyes; with him was Doctor Greene.
"He's still the same Doc, tossing and turning. He's called my name a few times."
"He's experiencing rapid eye movement, so he's dreaming. Your partner's agitation, I suspect, is because he's experiencing some sort of nightmare," Green said.
"There's nothing you can give him to calm him down?" ''
"Afraid not. The lab is still trying to analyze what drugs are in his system. If I give him anything there could be an adverse reaction, one that could possibly kill him. We may have to just wait for it to run it's course if the lab can't give me a breakdown on what was used on him. He's perspiring heavily, so all I can do is keep him hydrated with an IV of saline solution."
.
""Napoleon? Are you here? If you can not speak, rap with your hand."
"Thump-drag, thump-drag."
That didn't sound like someone rapping, more like walking...perhaps Napoleon was injured?
"Napoleon I am here my friend. Keep moving towards me and I will walk to you."
"Thump-thump-drag, thump-thump-drag." The sound continued to echo in the darkness.
Illya felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.
"Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump...