New Year's Eve Countdown
By
M. Klindt
I don't own MFU characters, but like to use them to play with the ones I've created. Part of my "Lexi" series to read. One of the last stories to read in this MFU timeframe before the MFU TV movie. Thank you for reading my twitterings.
Chapter One
"No, I'm not hungry and I want to finish this," Lexi growled at Dr. George Thompson, her lab partner in UNCLE Headquarters New York with annoyance, trying to settle back into what she was doing.
Dr. Monica Alexis Lane had just returned from a currier assignment for Mr. Waverly two days ago and was trying to make up for the lost time in their shared lab before they were leaving for an overnight conference in Washington D.C.
Lexi was lucky that she had escaped with the information from the now dead informant with only a few scrapes and bruises. She was tired of George and the others complaining that she didn't eat enough. It was what had saved her because, her only means of escape was to slide through a narrow gap between a building and a parked delivery van.
All she wanted to do now after George forced her to eat a whole bagel for breakfast and with extra jam at that, was to mix her chemical compound base, finish her reports, and go home to pack. Being an UNCLE Section Two operative and working in the lab kept her very busy.
"Hell," Lexi thought to herself, she just realized that she still owed the Gym Nazis two more miles today.
"Please, come out to lunch with me." George pleaded. He knew that if he kept pestering her, she would finally give up and go with him. "No one would even miss us."
"George, no," Lexi sternly said and gave him a cutting look with her bright, sapphire, blue eyes over her granny glasses.
"Cassidy and the girls are out shopping at Macy's today." George added to sweeten the pot. "Getting last minute Christmas presents. One of them could be yours."
"I don't celebrate Christmas." Lexi snorted, but her eyes twinkled in merriment and she turned off her Bunsen burner.
"We'll sample the chocolates and eat at Macy's cafeteria..."
"As long as it isn't a milkshake and the darker the chocolate, the better," Lexi sighed as she stood up, closed her notes, and grabbed the coat that George was already offering her. "And, I get to hold the girls all I want."
"Deal, but after we all go see Santa Claus." George smirked at her surprised expression. "I wonder if you've been naughty or nice."
"George," Lexi punched him smartly on the shoulder with her gloves in her hand. "I'm nasty not naughty and a heathen. Remember."
"Nasty, I got that." George said, rubbing his arm where she hit him. "I'm surprised you could hit me all the way up here."
"George!" Lexi stopped dead in her tracks in shock of being teased, because she was a good foot shorter than her tall, muscular, brown-haired lab partner as he trotted ahead of her, chuckling.
Realizing he was asking for another sound beating, she ran after him and grabbed him by his coat sleeve, shook it while playfully swearing at him, and then they continued out of UNCLE headquarters arm-in-arm out into the cold air.
MFU/MFU
"New York Headquarters, main switchboard, how may I direct your call?" a monotone, female voice of the UNCLE headquarters switchboard answered the line. "Afternoon, Ellen," Cassidy said cheerfully when she recognized the operator's voice. "Do you know if George and Miss Lane have come back from their conference yet? George told me last night that he'd call me. It's almost five and I haven't heard from him or Lexi."
"Not to worry." Cassidy could hear her smile over the phone. "Dr. Thompson called in and said that there was a snow storm in Washington D.C. and they were driving because the airport was shutting down. I thought that Helen had called you as he asked."
"No, she didn't," Cassidy said with concern. "Did he tell you when he thought they would be getting to New York?"
"If there wasn't any bad weather up here, about six-thirty tonight, he was worried that you'd be upset. I'm sorry we caused you any distress."
"Not a problem, Eve." Cassidy sighed in relief. "I just wanted to know that they were safe and on the way home. It's Christmas Eve, after all, tomorrow. I'm such a worry wart."
"You are not," Ellen said in a firm kindness. "You are a loving, caring wife and I will call you personally when he checks in."
"Thank you. Good afternoon."
"Talk to you soon, Cassidy."
MFU/MFU
"George, how are you?" Illya Kuryakin asked as he walked into George's lab with his partner, Napoleon Solo, in tow.
"Illya, Napoleon," George called out to the two men from the back of the lab. "Back just in time to enjoy Christmas Eve and Day?"
"Yes, well, for Napoleon." Illya began with a tight smile on his face. "I was hoping to talk with Lexi. We're to be on alert starting in a few hours."
"Still can't get Illya and Lexi to enjoy this commercially decadent holiday season like true Americans, eh, Napoleon?" George smirked with a raised eyebrow while he walked toward them.
"I see that you and Cassidy haven't been able to convince them either." Napoleon retorted with a chuckle and turned to his partner. "What is this, the second or third year that you two've stayed in headquarters to take on THRUSH if the need should arise?"
"Second," Illya shrugged casually, pointedly ignoring his partner as he picked up a beaker and swirled the fluid within while studying it. "We stay in one of the secured rooms and enjoy a quiet night and day."
"Yeah, right," Napoleon snorted as he and George eyed each other knowingly. "Peace and quiet…"
"What?" Illya looked up haughtily, crossed his arms across his chest, and acted as if what he and Lexi did was purely professional and above board. "We only have UNCLE's interest at heart."
"Sure, you do." Napoleon rolled his eyes nudging George with his elbow. "And, sharing a room with your atheist girlfriend and having your way with each other all night long is in the best interest of the Command?"
"We will not be doing anything that you and Caitlin or you and Cassidy will be doing this holiday season." Illya couldn't help goading both men as a sly smile crossed his lips in mock frustration.
"Hey, I can only wish for nights like that anymore." George pathetically heaved. "I have kids, remember? My home's become Santa Claus central. I have two bikes to put together tonight. Want to come over and help, Napoleon? All the spiked eggnog you could ever want."
"Not tempting enough for me I'm afraid. If I recall correctly, I had some of your eggnog last year and I still can't remember how I got home," Napoleon said with a grimace. "Besides, Illya and I have to go over security for the ball dropping on New Year's Eve before I can go to Caitlin's."
"What are you talking about?" George asked.
"It's UNCLE's turn this year to provide security around the button that releases the ball so that it doesn't get tampered with before it's time for it to do its job," Napoleon stated with indifference.
"UNCLE takes turns with the other government agencies in New York to provide security for the celebrity or political figures deemed popular enough to mark the New Year." Illya continued on for his friend. "I don't even know who is going to push the button this year. Do you know, Napoleon?"
"Haven't got a clue, but we'll find out very soon I imagine." Napoleon shoved his hands in the pockets of his tailored pants and started to look around the lab. "Speaking of pushing someone's buttons, where's your charming lab partner? I heard you two had a problem getting back to New York because of the snow in D.C.?"
"I haven't got a clue where she is," George said with a lack of concern that was not usual for him. "I dropped her off at her place last night and got a message that she had things to do both in and out of headquarters today. I thought that she might be back soon if she's to be staying here tonight. Lexi promised the girls and Cassidy that she'd be at our house tomorrow evening with you, Illya. At least, I hoped that she told you that. You're bringing the Chinese food. You and Caitlin are to bring the adult beverages, Napoleon."
"No, she didn't," Illya glared at the scientist, but smiled softly because he liked their group get-togethers very much. "I haven't had a chance to talk with her for over a week now. I guess that I'm going to have to wait for her to check in tonight or chase her all over New York to even know that she still exits."
"Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin please report to Mr. Waverly's office." A voice called out through a loudspeaker in the lab.
"Well, Illya," Napoleon smiled, tugged at his jacket sleeves, and then smoothed his already perfect hair. "You'll have to chase Lexi down later after our meeting with Waverly and have a quick check-in with Medical from our last mission. Are you ready to go tell Waverly why you cost him more money eating on our last assignment?"
"Me?" Illya said in a bored tone as he started to follow his partner out the door. "I'm not the one who complained about ruining an imported, hand dyed, silk tie that you used to slide down a cable from a tall building because you got locked out of the stairwell."
Just before shutting the door, Illya turned back to George with a cryptic look and a nod of his head "See you, George, Happy Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Illya."
Chapter Two
"Gentlemen," Mr. Waverly nodded for Solo and Kuryakin to take a seat at the round table in his office. "I'm glad to see that you two have succeeded in your mission and brought home useful information on THRUSH's newest chemical depot. I have Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer following up on a tip after the holiday here stateside.
"Now, before we close down for the next day and a half, I want to give you a list of international dignitaries that were invited to sit with the governor and senator during the ball drop." Waverly puffed on his pipe as he passed a list of names to each Section Two agent.
While waiting for each man to read the list of names, Waverly leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and stared off in thought. Suddenly, both Kuryakin and Solo popped their heads up with astonishment at the names they read.
"Sir," Illya was the first to respond. "Who has access to this list? Practically all those invited have had a significant impact on world affairs: UN representatives from allied countries; political politicians that hold key positions within the Senate and Congress; and their wives."
"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly nodded as he put his pipe down. "I believe that the mayor of New York is testing the waters to run for President of the United States in the next election, although, years away."
"If Thrush were to get their hands on this list, it would be a great feather in their cap if they took even one of these men down, especially if UNCLE is running security…"
"Or one of their wives," Waverly said in agreement. "That's why we need to start right away with looking at every possible angle of attack and each every piece of equipment surrounding that platform."
"Will they be on the main one?" Napoleon asked.
"No, but within thirty feet of it, stage right of the cameras and TV crews," Waverly said and pulled out the downtown map with its assigned sections traced out in different colors. "You, gentlemen, are to secure the area and assign lookout at all potential sniper positions. We'll have all security sections working on this starting the day after Christmas when we have the official list of who is actually attending. You'll take volunteers from other sections to help as well."
"Miss Lane and I will start on the list tonight and begin looking into basic security measures. We'll have an initial report ready by the twenty-sixth, barring minimal interruptions."
"Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly nodded. "I look forward to your report then. Don't forget to check-in with medical. Dismissed and have a productive holiday."
"Yes, sir," both men said in unison while they made their way out of Waverly's office and into the hallway.
"Man, Illya," Napoleon lightly grumbled. "I thought that you wanted to enjoy the time with Lexi, not plan strategies in protecting world leaders. Where's the fun in that?"
"Fine," Illya said simply with a shrug of his shoulders, then started to turn around. "I will go back and tell Waverly that something came up and that you were more than happy to work on this security detail for us instead…"
"No," Napoleon caught his smug partner by his shoulders and turned him back around. "I'll leave you two to it. It's just not the most romantic thing to talk about with the person you'll have with you."
"We'll have plenty of time for both." Illya smiled deeply. "Give us a chance to catch our breath between times…"
"You sly Russian, just don't let her or you leave marks this time."
"Never," Illya solemnly promised as they made their way to Medical. "Of course, I'd have to catch her first."
MFU/MFU
Napoleon and Caitlin were lying quietly on the couch, watching the flames dance in the fireplace with the occasional popping and sparks flying in its warm glow. It was about eleven at night, warm, and quiet. They had made love, eaten, and were now about to drift off to a peaceful sleep under the throw wrapped in each other's arms.
Bleep…bleep…bleep.
"Oh, Napoleon," Caitlin groaned softly as she let Napoleon detangle himself from her warm soft body. "Can't you, just for one night, ignore the call for justice?"
"Sorry love, all part of the job," he said, walking over to his jacket slung over a dining room chair as he pulled out his communicator pen and opening the channel. "Solo here, this had better be good, Illya."
"Napoleon, we have a problem…"
MFU/MFU
Napoleon Solo and Caitlin Delany rushed into UNCLE headquarters and found Illya in the communications office, talking with the regional operator. His tie had been yanked to the side in a past moment of frustration.
Looking at Illya, Napoleon saw the cool professional calmly seeking a missing agent on the outside, but he knew better. After working with Illya for several years, he knew that he was the master of hiding his personal feelings. Feelings that Illya had for him and Lexi, but his partner had to do his job even when one of them was hurt or missing.
"Any word?" Caitlin asked out of breath.
"No," Illya said stiffly in a small voice as he let Caitlin hug him, but didn't return it. "No one has physically seen her since she and George came back yesterday."
"Her apartment," Napoleon asked. It was better to concentrate on the facts than the emotions for their missing friend.
"Not been touched for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer." Illya shook his head, leaned over a computer bank, and flipped a switch. "No signs of unpacking, her bed hasn't been used recently, no activity on her door locks, and there's two days of mail in her box."
"Meaning that she never reached inside her apartment's front door," Napoleon nodded. "Not very worried about leaving traces that she's been gone for awhile are they? Headquarter logins?"
"None since George and she checked out to go to lunch with Cassidy and the kids two days ago." Illya shook his head and turned to face his partner. His eyes were turning darker blue with fear and stress.
"Now, for the big questions," Napoleon swallowed, smoothing his hair down to help brace himself for Illya's reaction. "First, was she working on something that someone didn't want her to be working on?"
"No, Waverly said that he was saving her for New Years to help me with organizing security between Section Two and Three. Lexi had finished a currier pickup with a bit of a tight squeeze to get out as the informant did not survive, but the information remained intact. He's currently checking into that possibility."
"Well, I now know that Waverly knows and she wasn't being chased by someone so far, what about the conference? Did she run across something there? Have you talked with George about it?
"Yes, he was shocked that she was missing." Illya reported. "He was the one to check in when they left and got back. He said the conference was a run-of-the-mill inorganic chemical formula relationships forum that's held quarterly for government supported research projects. I contacted the registrar for the course and said that George and Lexi had checked in and the hotel confirmed that two rooms had been checked out and used."
"You know I have to ask," Napoleon said seriously, watching his partner very closely. "Do you think she just took off?"
"Napoleon," Caitlin exclaimed in shock and surprise that after several years of friendship with her that he would even think that she would just leave.
"No," Illya said through clinched teeth as his jaw muscles tightened, staring hard at his partner and his long-time girlfriend. "Don't worry, Caitlin, he wasn't the only one to ask me that and it had to be done. I'm surprised it took Waverly and Napoleon this long to question her loyalty to UNCLE. Unfortunately, I can't rule it out entirely either considering what training we've had and who might seek revenge on any one of us. Lexi could be protecting me or UNCLE by staying away as well."
"Silas and Marta?" Napoleon asked quietly and Illya only shrugged that he didn't know.
"Oh, Illya," Caitlin said in regret, grabbing his arm in support, but quickly withdrew her hand as she felt his muscles tighten and about to jerk away.
"Don't," Illya's voice was cold and sharp in warning.
Napoleon, sensing that Caitlin's touch on Illya's arm was maybe her last, he pulled her gently towards him, out of strike range, and into his arms to let her know to keep her distance right now from the Russian.
"Napoleon, I could use some help with our assignment for New Year's and making some phone calls to the usual places an injured agent might be found. Can you make those calls for me, Caitlin?"
"Sure thing," Caitlin said with a hopeful smile, carefully taking the list of numbers from Illya's extended hand and then sitting down in an empty chair at one of the stations on the communication's board. "If anyone knows how to talk on the phone, it's me. Napoleon, show me how to get an outside line."
Soft, strong hand squeezed Caitlin's shoulders and she looked up. "Thank you."
"Anytime, sweetheart," Caitlin smiled, but didn't try to attempt to return his touch. "Besides, I can't let Lexi down or we wouldn't have a fourth for bridge or shooting instructor at the gun range or someone to gossip with or to complain about you and Napoleon to…"
"How long will Waverly give you before he lists her as rogue or will let you go and look for her?" Napoleon asked quietly into Illya's ear.
"Not until after the New Year's Eve's ball dropping and the dignitaries are safe."
MFU/MFU
Mark Slate knew that he wasn't awake, but he wasn't asleep either. Images swirled around his brain like incomplete nightmares that he couldn't escape. He was lost on the way back at night from a remote ski lodge north of New York City in a heavy snow storm; three deer that jumped out in front of his car from out of nowhere, his car skidded out of control by the over-correction of his steering wheel while he spun in circles, the pain, the stars, and then utter blackness when he was lurched forward as the car jerked to a stop.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
A voice and light blinded him into increased awareness just long enough to taste the blood that rolled down his face and then he was out again.
MFU/MFU
"Mark, Mark Slate," Another voice called out through the haze and graying darkness. He was becoming aware of the smell of antiseptic and the cool, stiffness of the bed sheets that encased him. "Can you open your eyes for us?"
"What…"
That was all he could manage to make his tongue do, because it felt thick and unyielding in his dry mouth. Opening his eyes brought a grimace to his face. He instantly knew that he was hurt by the way his head pounded in tune with his heart beat when he tried to sit up. The room tilted sideways and took his last meal with it.
"It's all right, son." A strong male voice called out. "You're going to be nauseous for quite a while. You might as well empty your stomach now instead of later. Do you know who you are?"
"Mark Slate," he panted and let himself be pushed back down onto the hospital cart's thin mattress. A flash of light hit his eyes again and he pulled back with a grunt. "Where am I?"
"Where do you think you are, young man?" The man tugged at Mark's bandage on his forehead and then thoroughly checked him over again while waiting for a response.
"I'm in a hospital. Ow!" Mark called out as the doctor touched a tender spot on his right side which was very heavily bound in thick elastic bands.
"Very good and sorry, you've got a few cracked ribs, a concussion, and stitches on your forehead from a rather nasty laceration, but it should heal without too much scarring. Do you remember what happened to you last night?"
"Yes, I was lost in a snow storm, three deer decided to jump out in front of me, and I did a dingy, several I think, with my auto. The rest I don't remember except that I came to a rather sudden stop and hit the steering wheel with my head. At least, that's what my head feels like."
Mark was having trouble keeping his eyes open and focused, so he decided to leave them shut as he listened to what the emergency room doctor was telling him.
"An old lady found you unconscious in your car about 20 feet from her driveway, called an ambulance, and now you're here with us for the rest of this morning and then your sister can take you back to New York later tonight if you behave."
"My sister," Mark repeated in confusion.
"A…Miss. April Dancer," The doctor looked back down at the chart. "She said that she was family."
"Yes, she's family," Mark said quickly. "Where am I?"
"New City General Hospital, New City, New Jersey," A female voice answered his question. Mark opened his eyes long enough to see a very pretty blond nurse checking his IV. "His room will be ready in a few minutes."
"Thank you, nurse." The doctor nodded and turned back to Mark. "Now, young man, what you need is rest and painkillers. Concussions are not a thing to mess with."
"I know, I've had several of them before," Mark said with a sigh. The pounding was now growing in such intensity that it was hard for him to listen to the doctor over it. "I'll take that painkiller now."
"Smart man," the doctor said as he started to administer the analgesic and a mild sedative.
"Just two things, doc," Mark signaled by carefully raising two fingers. "One is my pride and joy totaled? And two, what's the date?"
"Beyond repair and December 26th, two o'clock in the morning. Now go back to sleep and get some rest."
"Whatever you say, mate."
MFU/MFU
"Mark!"
Hands roughly shook the man out of the pleasant dream he was having with that pretty nurse who had just taken care of him. He didn't know if he was still in the emergency room or in a private room, but he didn't care. All Mark wanted to do was sleep, but the pain of being shaken was enough for him to open his eyes a tiny bit.
"Mark!" another shake with a Russian curse attached it made him groan out in pain. "Chyort!"
Grogginess and confusion filled his head as he looked up to see a crazy lady in a hospital attire and ID bracelet rapidly talking to him in a foreign language while clutching his own gown and shoulders still trying to weakly shake him awake. The motion caused a sharp pain that raced up his side, which helped clear his mind a little more.
All Mark could think of was that he must be dreaming and when was the medication going to kick in when another jolt of pain woke him up again. He noticed that he was still in the ER, on the gurney, and there was a crazy person pushing him up and down.
"What do you want from me?" Mark said in short breaths between the painful stabs.
"Mark, you have to get to George," the crazy lady still pleaded. "You have to get to him before he kills. He's been brainwashed."
"George, who?" Mark asked in a stupor as the sedative and painkiller were coursing throughout his body. Even when he tried to concentrate, the crazy lady was losing focus and then became a black blur before she shook him again and this time harder.
"Look! There she is! Grab her!"
Mark fell into a dark void, feeling her cold hands on his relaxed face.
"George Thompson…brainwashed…"
Those were the last words he heard. Mark didn't see or feel the doctor and orderly pull her off him, or hold her down on the floor while she screamed and struggled, or inject her with a fast-acting sedative.
"Do you think he'll remember what happened?" Another doctor in a lab coat asked the attending staff doctor as they watched the orderlies pick up the escaping mental patient and take her back to her room.
"Doubtful," The ER doctor shook his head. "I had just given him a powerful sedative and analgesic. He'd be lucky if he could even remember his name, let alone, who he masturbated to last. Besides, all she did was to jabber at him incoherently. Mr. Slate would just think of it as just another crazy dream from the medication.
"Good," the older doctor nodded and followed the path the orderlies and the wayward patient took back to the Psych ward. "Keep me informed if he says anything when he wakes up."
"Will do, Seth."
Chapter Three
"Ah, Dr. Stellan," Dr. Seth Bower stammered as he extended his hand to THRUSH Central's top supervising medical examiner. "It's nice of you to come and visit. Sorry the weather has made traveling difficult for you."
"Enough, Bower, this isn't a social call. Where is she?" The wiry, tall, grey-haired man asked sternly, walking past him without shaking his extended hand. "I want to know why she is so resistant to our conditioning. She should be back at UNCLE headquarters with Thompson in his lab. We can't use her anymore. Her absence would surely be noticed by now to be of any use."
"Yes, she's proven very uncooperative," Bower scowled as he led the THRUSH doctor to the private section of the hospital's psychiatric ward and into a small, narrow observation room. There was a two-way mirror that ran the length of several secured rooms back walls. An attendant's chair sat vacant in the room.
Stellan looked in each of the three rooms as he passed by and didn't see a single patient in any of them. "Well, Bower, where is she?"
Startled by seeing the empty bed and room where he had the orderlies place Thompson's lab assistant, he quickly left the room. Shouts for help could be heard and in an instant, the door opposite to the mirror opened into her room. It let in a brighter light into the pale, white, barren room.
Stellan watched with interest at the frustrated and angry look Bower gave the orderly as they both searched the seemingly empty room until they came upon a hidden figure underneath the mirror. The poorly trained orderly advanced with a relaxed grin on his face.
In a flash, he was pulled forward, out of Stellan's line of sight, and all he could hear were a few grunts and a barely audible snapping of a bone. If he was right, it was the orderly's neck.
Stellan only rolled his eyes in disgust while he silently watched Dr. Bower slowly back up, edging out of the room as he called for more help. The woman stood up in front of the mirror, swayed a little, and began to advance slowly toward the door.
Stellan watched in awe of her determination. It reminded him of a test subject from the past. That young, teenage girl and her male cousin were quite the scrappers in any of the test he and his superiors put them through during summer camp. He'd had grown quite fond of her in the next few years before things had soured between them and he had sent her away.
Lifting his hands to cup them around his eyes to get a better view through the glass, Stellan looked this woman up and down. "Yes, right age, size, and from the way she killed the orderly, the training," he said to himself. "Then it was true. Alexana was truly alive then and working with Kuryakin."
Quickly thinking, Stellan left the observation room and followed the noise of the commotion going on in the hallway. The lab assistant had somehow gotten a hold of a weapon and used it to threaten Bower with it. She had him between her and his men as she made her way toward an exit door behind her.
Sensing that there was someone behind her, blocking the escape route, the lady flattened herself against the wall so she could face all of her attackers. Stellan darkly smiled and started to clap his hands loud enough for the noise of Brower's inane yelling to stop. All eyes turned to him, including the crazy lady's.
"Although," Stellan said confidently in a strong, booming voice for everyone to hear. "All of this is very fascinating, it has to end, doesn't it, Kuryakin?"
"Kuryakin? Where?" Bower asked nervously and looked around despite being held around the neck by Thompson's crazy lab groupie. "How did he know we were here?"
"Not he, her," Stellan said simply. He drew his gun out and walked up to point it right at Lexi's forehead. "Isn't that right, Alexana Sonja Kuryakin? You know, I never did know why you weren't named in the traditional Russian way… "
"Alexana is dead, as I thought you were too after the experimental project was finally shut down. Father said you had died when I got assigned to be in New York." Lexi didn't flinch, but smiled, let go of her hostage. She didn't even struggle when Bower and his goons grabbed her and held her tight against the wall.
"What are you talking about, Stellan?" Bower asked as he started to pull out a syringe with a tranquilizer in it. "This is Monica Lane, George Thompson's lab assistant, at UNCLE, that's who Thompson and she said she was."
"And you believed them?" Stellan shook his head. "When will you ever learn to read the bulletins sent out by THRUSH? Dr. Monica Lane is a chemist in her own right, specializing in hypnotics, a Section Two agent, and Kuryakin's American girlfriend, but I know she really grew up in Kiev. So, she's had the same training he's had."
"I had no idea who she was." He turned with a shocked expression to Lexi, who didn't take her eyes off of Stellan. "You weren't supposed to be there and I couldn't take Thompson without you. You made sure of that."
"George is my partner," Lexi said evenly. Stellan could tell she still had felt effects from the last sedative she'd been given in her because of her dilated eyes, but not enough to affect her actions and thoughts.
"And I will get you to listen to me as he does now." Bower said in a threatening tone as he popped off the cap of the syringe and grabbed her wrist. "A few more treatments and you'll be singing my praises."
"Stop," Stellan said firmly as he put his hand on Bower's shoulder. "Giving her that is like getting her drunk. It works for a while, but doesn't stick. She's got too much training and tolerance for the usual drugs to work."
"What do you suggest?" Bower asked his THRUSH superior, lowering the syringe. He flustered when Lexi gave him a quick, small smirk and her eyes laughed at him. "How are we going to get her ready to help Thompson to kill the mayor of New York in time?"
"Oh, she's not going to help us with that," Stellan said brightly while he continued to lightly press the barrel of his gun into her forehead. "No, I want to put an end to both Illya Kuryakin and Alexana Kuryakin; if it takes bringing down UNCLE to do it, I will."
"How's the shoulder, Gregor?" Lexi asked smugly.
In a blur of movement, Stellan lowered his gun with one hand and throttled Lexi by the neck with the strong, long fingers of the other, lifting her slightly off the floor, and grinding her shoulders into the painted bricks of the wall. She had to hold onto his arm for support as she tried to get her feet underneath enough for her to breathe.
"I will have my revenge for that too," he said hotly into Lexi's ear, bringing his lips close to her head, without relieving any of the pressure on her constricted neck. "He took you away from me and the project before you were fully trained, just to be with him after I killed that friend of his. You were promised to me as a protégé. I taught you everything and you left to chase after him all the way to Paris."
"I was chosen for him," Lexi squeaked out as she struggled to take a short breath in. "You were too old and jealous for me to take seriously as a teacher and passable lover. You're the one who sent me to that brothel. Father and Petrey had to get me out of the country and back to Illya to save my life, remember?"
"I did that to toughen you up," Stellan said angrily, pulling his head back to look her in the eye. "Look at what you've become because of it. You're strong, unemotional, and unsympathetic to causing death in others; a perfect assassin. Both in genetics and training, exactly what your precious father wanted for the Soviet Motherland."
"You've done your job too well," Lexi rasped out as her strength began to weaken from the lack of oxygen. "I won't let you use me to get to Illya or Napoleon. I would die first. He'll always choose UNCLE before me."
"You won't have a choice in the matter." Stellan glared at her. "I have no intention of killing you or him, but watch the both of you suffer in what I'm going to do to you. I spent too much time in a gulag to just let it all go now."
Stellan pocketed his gun and started to roughly grope Lexi's body through the hospital gown wrapped loosely around her body. He stopped over her hips and breasts before he let out a soft, menacing chuckle.
"No little bastards I see…yet," he sneered at her and then nodded to Brower. "You can give her that sedative now. I need blood samples and time to set up properly before we get started. Handcuff her to the wall with only a mattress on the floor and have a guard on her at all times. I don't want her trying to escape again."
"Yes, sir," Bower nodded as he reached for Lexi's arm again when Stellan slightly lowered her down the wall, but wouldn't let go of her neck until the hypo was completely injected.
Chapter Four
"Hey, April," Napoleon smiled warmly as he lifted his head to the door of his office and opened up to let in the other female Section Two agent and friend. "How did the meeting go? Are you ready for tonight?"
"The meeting went like clockwork. I think that it's great that George wants to help tonight. He's been so upset lately," April shrugged her shoulder, walking up to his desk and starting to pick at the paperclips on the magnetic strip. "Illya was very thorough with everyone involved tonight. Where is he now?"
"Connected at the hip to the mayor's assistant, a Mr. Grant Hamilton the third," Napoleon said, watching her putter around his office, touching the fake plant on his file cabinet and then wiping the dust off her fingers. She moved down the wall and acted as if she took interest in the memos that Illya had personally taped to the wall to remind him that "official UNCLE policies" did exist.
"Have you heard anything about Lexi yet?" April asked casually as she made her way around the corner to the next wall where she straightened the seams of his overcoat that hung on the rack.
"No," Napoleon said slowly, rotating in his chair while tracking her meanderings.
"How's Illya taking it her disappearance?" April continued in her distracting, information-seeking tone, pushing herself behind him and his desk.
"As good as can be expected," he said softly, turning his chair all the way in the other direction to keep her in his line of sight. "I don't know where he goes when his surveillance shift ends and I can tell that he's not sleeping very well. How is Mark feeling? Is Medical going to let him help us tonight with that conk on the head and cracked ribs?"
"Dr. Allen's allowing limited duties. He's going to sit in one of the sniper's nests to observe and report."
"April." Napoleon finally had had enough. She only acted this way when she wanted to spread some office gossip or couldn't back up her gut feelings with evidence.
"Humm," April asked in a light tone, completing her circle around the room, and started the process all over again by picking up one paperclip off the desk and bending it.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked in mild frustration. "Sit down and spill or are you here to see how dusty my office is?"
"Well," April sat down quickly on the chair opposite of him and got down to business. "I don't know if this is anything, but I think that strange things have been happening around here."
"Strange in what way, other than we have an agent missing and that your partner was in a car accident?" Napoleon sarcastically remarked. "What else could be strange?"
"I was just with Caitlin and Cassidy, try saying that ten times fast, for our weekly get together and Cassidy was concerned about George not getting home at his usual time and he's been muttering more in his sleep," April emphasized her comment by tapping her index finger firmly on his tabletop.
"George has been upset about Lexi since she's gone missing," Napoleon shrugged. "He's always been protective of her and this time especially, because he feels partly to blame for not knowing what happened to her."
"Fine, I can understand that, but what about Mark?" she said in an accusatory flick of her finger at him.
"What about Mark?" Napoleon asked, trying to follow her train of thought and not succeeding very well.
"When I brought him home from that hospital to be checked out by Medical, he was telling our favorite doctor, Dr. Paul Sheppard, that he had the weirdest dream from the sedative and painkillers they had given him."
"Okay, beautiful," Napoleon leaned forward. He was hoping that if he sounded interested in Mark's dream, that she would leave him in peace quicker. "What kind of dream did he have?"
"He said he could have sworn that another patient dressed in a gown, a female patient…"
"April, it's always a female with Mark." Napoleon snorted, rolling his eyes.
"Now, let me finish," April said curtly to his interruption. "He said that she was shaking him and was babbling to him about some washing. Most of it what she was saying to him wasn't understandable, but she was very insistent."
"And then?" Napoleon waited. It was an odd dream, but not too unusual given the drugs he was on.
"And then, nothing," April finished. "He said he fell back asleep and didn't wake up until I arrived that evening after work when they said I could take him back to headquarters. They let him go only if I promised to have someone with him for the next week. Mark slept all the way back to New York and only told Dr. Paul and me about his dream."
"All of this is very interesting, April, but nothing that is very useful," Napoleon stated in regret. "Mr. Waverly was very adamant about us staying on task for tonight. He wouldn't be too happy if we were chasing female patients in a hospital who were looking for someone to give them a bath or clean their clothes."
"I didn't say it was useful," she grumbled at him as she stood up to leave. "I just said it was weird, that's all. I just know that this is the first time that Mark has said anything about having a funny dream after a concussion in all the time I've been his partner."
"Wait," Napoleon sighed as he stopped her from leaving his office in a huff. "Only for you and your woman's intuition Ms. April Dancer, would it make it easier for you if I talked to Mark about his dream?"
"Yes, it would," April said with a nod and a brightening smile. "Secretly, I know that it's been bothering him and although, he doesn't say it. I think he's had that same dream haunt him every night since the accident."
"I'll go talk to him in a little while," Napoleon nodded his head. "Is he in his office?"
"Last time I saw him was on the way to medical to have the handsome, dark, Dr. Paul pull out the stitches in that thick head of his."
"Got it, beautiful, and thanks for telling me."
MFU/MFU
On the exam table in Medical, Mark crossed his arms across his chest in frustration while he waited for Dr. Sheppard to get prepared to pull out the stitches in his forehead from the car accident. He still had a slight headache from the blow to his head, but it was manageable with a couple of aspirins now and then. What bothered him more were his cracked ribs when he needed to move, bend, or taking a big breath in. Mostly, they would really hurt when he was sleeping and having that dream. Impatiently, Mark ran his hand through his curly, short, blond hair.
Every night since his accident, the dreams would be the same. He could feel her shaking him awake. The words she spoke were a blur as her image was to him. Mark could hear the words, but not make them out fully to understand their meaning.
"Mark, are you ready?" Dr. Paul asked as he brought the tray of instruments with him to remove the stitches, pulling up to Mark on a rolling chair. "You seemed miles away, are you feeling all right?"
"I donna know," Mark said in a rasp of mild distress. "I canna get her voice out of my head and it's making my head hurt. I hear her talk, but can't make it out. It's driving me nuts."
"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Samuel about it and try some hypnosis," Paul suggested, placing a towel on Mark's shoulder and started to reach for the pickup and scissors to cut the suture. "It might give you some insight into what's going on."
"Why wait?" Samuel said as he walked into the room, catching both men off guard. "I was in the neighborhood, looking for you, Mr. Slate to check how things were going with your health after that rather nasty concussion of yours before I left for lunch."
Most agents, including Mark, didn't usually seek out psychiatric help on their own, but with the lack of sleep and pain he was getting from the dream he was reliving every night, he was willing to try anything, even if it meant talking to Dr. Benjamin Samuel about the voice he was hearing.
"Tell me about this dream while Dr. Shepard pulls out those stitches."
Mark sighed in resignation and began his narrative on what had happened after waking up in the emergency room, getting the painkillers, and the dream. The more he talked about it, the clearer it became.
"Those words," Samuel asked after patiently listening, "Can you say them? What did they sound like?"
Mark thought about it, Samuel and Sheppard looking at him with interest. He then started to repeat the words as he remembered them. His first attempt at them came out a jumbled mess except for the word "washing".
"Ben, is it me or did I hear the name George in there, not once, but twice?" Paul asked, deep in thought.
"Possible," Samuel nodded with silent concentration and he closed his eyes. "Mark, repeat those words again, but more slowly."
The second run through went easier for Mark, but it still left him with a pounding headache and aching chest as his body seemed to remember the dream the most. Maybe if he could figure out what the lady in the hospital gown was telling him, he would feel better.
"I think that some of those words aren't in English. What about you?" Samuel asked. "They sound like someone is cursing. It sounds so familiar, but I can't put my finger on it."
Mark blinked as his mind finally wrapped around what the woman was saying to him. Why couldn't he have understood it sooner to be of more help to everyone?
"That's because you've more than likely heard it from Illya or…Lexi! It's Russian! She's the person in my dreams and she's shouting at me to wake up. George has been brainwashed! I'm to help stop him."
"You must have stumbled upon a satrapy inside the hospital they took you to after your car accident," Paul whistled out loud. "Sheer dumb luck on your part, Mark."
"I don't feel very lucky, but I agree with the 'dumb' part." Mark shook his head as he stood up; the headache was still traveling with him. "We have to go tell Napoleon."
"No you don't," Napoleon said, leaning in the doorway with his hands stuck in his pockets. "I heard everything. Your lovely and smart partner told me about your dream. She said it was important and weird at the same time. I do believe I owe her a dinner out on the town. What was the name of that hospital, Mark?"
"New City General Hospital, New city, New Jersey," Dr. Sheppard blurted out. "I received Mark's notes from his ER visit just today."
"What are we going to do about George?" Mark asked quickly.
"Well, first, we're going to get that partner of yours and go to Mr. Waverly's office. I think that we can accomplish a search and rescue mission before we are needed to help with our security detail tonight, if I can get the boss to let us borrow the helicopter."
"Right, I'll go get April," Mark nodded and rushed out the door.
"Paul and Benjamin," Napoleon drew his attention to the two doctors sitting by the vacant exam table. "Be ready; hopefully, we may find our wayward friend just in time to help us ring in the New Year."
"We'll be ready," Paul said with firm determination as he patted Ben soundly on the back.
"Don't say anything about George being brainwashed just yet, it might work to our advantage for later tonight," Napoleon said as he half turned out of the door to leave. "We've got to find out who's behind all of this and stop them."
"You have our word," Samuel said to the CEA's fleeting image.
Chapter Five
Illya stood in the Mayor of New York's office, exhausted, angry, and full of unrest. He didn't want to be here, but was ordered to by Waverly. Duty to the Command created by his parents' genetic coding and his country had made a wall in his heart and mind so high and wide that it had taken years to even make a crack in it.
Lexi had been gone for seven days now and he couldn't go find her. Every time he was off duty, he would scour places in New York where he knew that she would hide from the world, but they remained untouched. Most nights he would sleep in her bed just to try to smell her scent on the pillow. She'd come so far already and now they saw each other almost daily, it was harder to endure these uncertain absences.
"Weak and pathetic," echoed loudly in Illya's mind, to allow personal emotions to interfere with his work.
Shaking his head to these intrusive thoughts, he counted down the hours to when this affair would officially be done. Illya had done his usual meticulous job in organizing security for all the key members of the mayor's guest list, talking with the mayor's personal assistants on schedules and appearances, and worked closely with several governmental departments of the city to gain access to strategic advantage points to view the New Year's festivities. Everything was ready from his stand point.
"Mr. Kuryakin," the adjunct to the mayor, Grant Hamilton said as he caught Illya's elbow. "There's a phone call for you. You can take it at my desk."
"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton," Illya said formally as he walked from the mayor's office to a smaller one across the wide, cream-colored marbled hall.
He picked up the phone on the desk and punched the flashing button. "Kuryakin, here,"
"Illya," Napoleon's voice rang through the line. "How go things with the natives?"
Shocked that it was Napoleon on the line and then confused as to why he would use the phone instead of the communicator, he started to look around the office for someone who might be listening to their conversations and followed his friend's obnoxious form of bantering.
"Things, as you're so elegantly referring to Mr. Solo are fine." Illya played with thoughts of how irritated he should sound and made light of it. "The natives have been most helpful and accommodating. So, much, I think that I might apply for a job…"
"Good," Napoleon remarked, clearing his throat. Illya knew that was his partner's signal that he was becoming serious. "I've received your currier's notes and map. I'm sending Dancer back with some thoughts and suggestions in where a few of the snipers should be repositioned. Medical said that Mark Slate could join us tonight in our endeavors."
"Fine," Illya sighed in frustration in having to adjust his plans yet again. "You know where to find me."
"Great. I'll see you in person and in your tux tonight."
Illya put the phone down slowly, leaving his fingers linger on the handle, lost in thought. He was full of questions, but had no answers that he could put together with them. Looking around the room, Illya noticed that this office was a perfect fit to the man he'd been working with for the past few days, Grant Hamilton the Third.
Hamilton was undoubtedly bred and educated to fit his job to a tee in New York City Government. He was someone who looked good for the cameras and had a winning smile that could draw the ignorant voter in, all the while lying through his teeth and getting his pockets well-padded by special interest groups.
With a smirk and a high level of respect for this man, Illya took a moment to look around his office. The room was neat and tidy but, a little bare of the man's personal affects who owned it in sight except for pictures of his devoted wife, the mayor with handwritten words on the picture, and the President of the United States. What really stood out was his name plaque; no one would ever have to guess that this was his desk and office by the size of the gold lettering.
Grant Hamilton the Third was a solidly built man with dyed chocolate brown hair and gray-blue eyes. His business suits were tailored to hide his slightly spreading middle from years of reduced activity since his college football days.
His networking skills were his forte in winning the second highest office to the mayor of New York without having to be elected. Hamilton could read his opponents well enough to know when to push for his plan of attack, lie low, or give into a small concession to get a bigger piece of the pie.
Continuing his scan of Hamilton's office, Illya thought to himself that this man and room could easily be in the higher government levels of the Soviet Union. He knew several young, ambitious men who traded their hearts and souls to become part of the political machine.
This train of thought brought Illya back to when he was ordered into the Russian Navy by his uncle when he was in his middle teens. A young man of twenty named Petrey Korran and he were bunk mates. While Illya was rotating through all the stations on a sub, Petri was the eyes and ears for the officials. They slept in billets next to each other, ate at the same time, exercised at the same time, and became fast friends.
This lasting friendship helped Illya even after he returned to his Uncle Boris' service to help grease the "wheels of government" and get him to continue his studies abroad. He'd even promised to help watch over Lexi while he was gone.
Like most men that had met his "Cousin Alexana", Petrey was instantly interested in her, and had asked Illya for permission to date her. At the time they were "cousins" only and he didn't realized what she'd meant to the oblivious, sexually, awkward boy of fifteen. Lexi was more of a sister to him than a lover at that time.
A pang of guilt hit Illya hard as the last thoughts of his long-dead friend was the heart-felt thanks he wished he could have given him for finding Lexi after she was taken away and left in a brothel by her then supervisor, Gregor Vollef. One of his Uncle Boris' associates from the training they had endured during the experiment, the one that had left them, the last two survivors, in a somewhat and questionable intact emotional state.
Petrey alerted General Kuryakin about the abrupt disappearance of his adopted daughter, Lexi, and his knowledge that Vollef was seeking revenge after she refused the ruthless man's advances. When Petrey confronted Vollef about Lexi's whereabouts, the report said that threatening words were exchanged and his friend was killed when those words turned to into a nasty fight.
Petrey was no match physically for the war-hardened Vollef, but he got his revenge by getting Vollef demoted and stuck in a gulag for several years by his superiors. A couple of years after his release, it was reported that Vollef had died.
"Mr. Kuryakin," the voice of Grant Hamilton said at the doorway, shooting through his train of thought. "Is there something wrong?"
"No," Illya said quickly as he lifted his fingers off the phone handle he had forgotten that he was still touching. "Just thinking, Mr. Solo told me that he would like changes made to allot for additional help available in one of the sniper nests."
"Oh, I see," Hamilton nodded with the new information. "It's almost four. We need to get ready for the formal dinner at the mayor's house. Guests will be arriving in a few hours."
"I'm right behind you," Illya nodded, gathering himself together, wondering why he suddenly thought of his friend. It gave him a slight tingling sensation that it was going to be important somehow later on tonight.
MFU/MFU
It had taken Napoleon quite a while to find the access to THRUSH's small satrapy located deep within the New City General Hospital. All entrances were hidden from site or had "authorized personnel only" signs to deter most people. Not only that, but the door he did find had a magnetic lock and very a sophisticated alarm system in place.
Once he was able to override the security system, Napoleon carefully and slowly walked around the seemingly deserted medical ward with his gun raised. The three locked patient rooms were empty, but he did notice the two-way mirror on the opposite wall and checked to find the observation room with a single dead man in it. He was wearing a lab coat with the name "Bower" stitched into it right above the left breast pocket. His neck was unceremoniously broken by the looks of it.
The nurse's station was vacant as well, but looked disheveled, as if the staff had left in a hurry. Napoleon wondered how many people worked in this little THRUSH operation; four or five. Where had they all gone?
The only room left to really check, after a quick glance into the med room and soiled utility closet, was what appeared to be a treatment room at the end of the wide hall.
Silently, he grabbed the handle and twisted it to release the bolt from the jam. Swinging the door just wide enough to slide sideways into the room, Napoleon's gun led the way. Methodically, he scanned the room.
The room showed signs of a struggle that had occurred recently by the looks of things. Broken glass, instruments, and bloody towels were scattered on the floor around a single operating room table.
Napoleon gingerly stepped closer to the OR table to get a better look around the room and noticed another dead body lying in a hap-hazard pile on the floor. Like the first man, he had a lab coat on, but no name on the front of it. He was older and thin, a muscular-tough, thin, man that had multiple stab wounds about his chest and arms, but the one cut that probably ended his life was the deep, gut-wrenching, ragged cut across his neck from ear to ear.
Taking his eyes off this poor man's dead body was hard. Napoleon's mind whirled to what did this guy do to deserve this kind of torturous death and was he too late to find Lexi alive. His stomach soured to thoughts of finding her body and what to tell Illya.
Drawing a deep breath in and slowly letting it out through his clinched teeth, Napoleon tried to focus on looking around the room again. The OR table had bloody straps that hung loosely at its side and stirrups raised into a position that he could only guess to be used for a woman.
"Oh, Lexi…" Napoleon said to himself cringing at the idea of what she's been through and turned away from the padded table. "Damn it! Where are you?"
Moving to the side of the room, Napoleon threw down his gun on the built in counter top and leaned heavily on it with his hands. As he looked down, he heard the small click of a trigger being cocked near to where he was standing.
Slowly, while trying to steel his nerves from wanting to jump back into a more protected spot, Napoleon bent his knees and started to lower his body down while picking his gun up off the counter.
Swatting, he could make out a form under the desk that sat next to the cupboards. No other obvious sounds came from the dark space as he inched his way over. With a quick breath in, Napoleon hopped the last few feet to kneel in front of the desk with his gun pointed in front of him.
At first, all he saw was a hand gun aimed right at him, ready to fire. Then, frozen in place, he saw what he was hoped for and feared the most.
"Lexi," Napoleon said in relief, seeing her alive at least.
Although the gun aimed at him was held deadly still, Napoleon could see that she wasn't in control of her body or mind. He paused for a moment to list the damage he could see. Lexi's gun hand was slicked with blood and had several scratches on it. Her other hand lay across her folded up body at an odd angle.
Lexi's deadly pale legs trembled as she held them close with her gun hand wrapped around her knees. Her torso was covered in a blood-soaked hospital gown up to her neck. Napoleon only swallowed in sympathy as extensive finger shaped bruising that traveled around her neck.
Finally, he looked into her sallow-colored face. Several large needle marks circled each of her blurry, red eyes as Lexi's head jerked to the side every few seconds with a nervous tic. The blue in her irises couldn't be seen, because her pupils had engulfed them to make them black as midnight. Gone was her thick auburn hair; reducing her to nothing more than a concentration camp prisoner in appearance.
"Napoleon," she said in a hoarse voice that projected her altered state of awareness even more. "Don't touch me…"
"I wouldn't dream of it, beautiful," Napoleon didn't make any quick moves as he cautiously lowered his gun, but she didn't.
"George." The gun began to shake slightly.
"Mark was able to figure things out in time and we know what happened to you and George."
"Illya," She rasped out.
"Doesn't know that we've found you, but…"
"No!" Lexi brought the gun higher to aim it at his head. "Plans for Illya to kill George… Reaction to him…shooting the mayor…then aiming at Illya…Gregor said."
"I take it that the man over here with a rather large gap in his neck is Gregor?" Napoleon asked softly. "Lexi please give me that gun…"
"No!" She panted out, but changed the direction of the gun's aim as she curled it up in her lap. "You must…help George and Illya. Leave me, I can't…help him…I'm not worth his love…anymore"
Napoleon knew that she wasn't rational, but couldn't just grab the gun from her in the tight spot under the desk. She awkwardly twisted the gun's barrel to her chest, mumbling incoherently.
"Comrade Kuryakin!" Napoleon snapped at her to get her attention. "As your superior officer, you will give me your weapon and that's an order!"
The tone of his voice and her training kicked in with a jerk as she instantly gave him her gun without question and in a proper, procedural handoff. "Sir."
"Now I need to speak with Monica Lane." He barked to get through her defense of multiple personalities that were muddled together right now as Lexi just stared at him, even through those sickening head jerks. "You've vital information for this mission that I need. You'll come with me back to headquarters to report to Mr. Waverly. If at the end of the debriefing you feel that your death would benefit UNCLE, George, or Illya, I will give you back this gun. Is that clear, Agent Lane?"
"Yes…sir," Lexi nodded and head jerked.
"Good," Napoleon took her by the hand she had held the gun with and started to pull her free of the hiding place. "Let's get going."
"I...can't feel…my legs," Lexi whispered as she drew her limp arm away from her lap to expose a wet, bloody, towel.
Napoleon gently pulled the red, blood-soaked towel away to expose a still oozing bullet wound right above her left hip. Looking back up to her face, he knew that she was failing rapidly. Lifting her forward as he pulled her into an embrace, he didn't see or feel an exit wound.
"You stay with me, beautiful," Napoleon demanded, giving her shoulders a quick shake and then picking her up to make a mad dash to the waiting helicopter. "That's an order. I don't to have to deal with Illya if I brought you home in a body bag."
"He wouldn't… the shot remember…" Lexi softly reminded him before grunting out in pain from Napoleon's hurried determination.
"He won't, but I would, George would, Cassidy and their girls would, and most of all, Caitlin would. She still needs to teach you how to shop for Illya. Get him out of only wearing black most of time."
"Black…" Lexi said in a small release of air as Napoleon handed her to the medic on the helicopter
"Lexi, keep talking to me…" Napoleon shouted, climbing in and signaling to the pilot to take off.
"Mission…"