THE PRINCESS BRIDE AFFAIR
by ardavenport and tlneill
-=X=-=X=-=X=- Act 1 : "Who calls their husband 'His Highness'?"
Illya Kuryakin sat uncomfortably in a straight-backed chair. Behind the screen that shielded one side of the room, he could hear the giggles of his youthful charge and her companion. Miss Cynthea Gaverson, who insisted on being called Thea, was trying on her wedding dress.
"You can look now, Illya. Tell us what you think."
Obediently he walked round the screen to take a look. Miss Gaverson-Thea-stood on a small stool in the center of the fitting area resplendent in a white gown with faint rose trim. Standing next to her, eyes shining with mirth, was Janice Meyers, her hired companion. Sitting quietly in a corner taking notes-and watching visible entrances-was Leslie Goodlow, etiquette instructor and U.N.C.L.E. agent. She glanced up to see how he would handle this latest ploy for his attention.
"Well," Thea said, "What do you think?"
"It's very nice. You will make a beautiful bride," Illya answered neutrally.
"Thank you. I think it's divine." She swished her skirts at him.
"You'll be a lovely bride and a stunning princess," Janice told her. Thea giggled, stepped off the stool and flounced over to Leslie.
"What do you think, Miss Goodlow? Do you think Edward will approve?"
Leslie sighed to herself. "You look very nice, Miss Gaverson. I am sure his Highness will approve."
Thea wrinkled her nose at Leslie. "His Highness. He's going to be my husband, Miss Goodlow. Who calls their husband 'his Highness'?"
"You will, in public."
The seamstress stepped forward. "Miss Gaverson, I need to make a few more adjustments." She turned to Illya. "If you don't mind, sir . . . . " He retreated back around the screen.
After a few more giggles and the rustling of many layers of broche silk, lace and petticoats Janice came around the screen carrying a hatbox. The Russian shrugged back into his overcoat and stood waiting for Miss Gaverson. He preceded her out the door, knowing without looking that Leslie was bringing up the rear.
Downstairs, Fred Campbell waited in the specially outfitted U.N.C.L.E. limousine. He jumped out of the car and held the back door open. Leslie climbed into the front seat. Illya wondered if Miss Gaverson knew how many U.N.C.L.E. agents she was surrounded by. She seemed to have no idea that she was being guarded by anybody other than himself. "Where would you like to have lunch, Thea?" Janice asked.
Thea dimpled at Illya. "The Russian Tea Room, I think. Fred, do you know where that is?"
"Yes, Miss Gaverson," the driver answered turning left at the next street.
Illya left Thea, Janice and Leslie at their table and made his way through the crowded restaurant to a phone booth in the back. He took out his pen, lifted the receiver of the telephone and opened Channel D. Napoleon answered.
"We're at the Russian Tea Room having lunch," he told the American. "After that we're going on another round of shopping." A fat woman leaving the ladies' room looked at him suspiciously as she passed by and he tried to look a little more convincing about talking into the phone.
"I can see the Junior Jet Set is working you to the bone."
"How are things at your end?" Illya changed the subject.
"I'm just going over the details with Mr. Waverly. We've already got our people going over the house for tonight's little soire."
The Russian smiled. "It seems you have your work cut out for you. You'll make an admirable butler, Napoleon."
Solo briefly thought about making a comment about Illya and babysitting, but let it pass.
"We shall be arriving at about 8:30. Miss Gaverson wants to be fashionably late to the party."
"We'll be expecting her to make her entrance, then."
"I'll call again if there's any change of plan." Napoleon signed off and turned back to his superior.
"With you covering the house and Mr. Kuryakin watching Miss Gaverson we should be able to make the best of this. It's pure folly for her to insist upon this party tonight," Mr. Waverly scowled.
"Well, it is her last hurrah before being married off to the Crown Prince of Corica."
"It may very well be her last hurrah if Thrush gets through our defenses."
"As far as we know, Thrush's only motive is to stop the wedding; they don't have to kill Thea to do that, just besmirch her reputation."
"I don't believe in taking chances where Thrush is concerned; and you shouldn't either, Mr. Solo."
"Yes, sir," he answered, properly chastised.
"You'd best get going then."
The agent nodded and left.
-=X=-=X=-=X=- END Act 1
-=X=-=X=-=X=- Act 2: "They do that underwater."
The limousine rolled up to the front of the mansion, the home of Sam Evans, wealthy industrialist and father to one of Thea's best friends. Fred got out, walked around the car and opened the door for his passengers. Thea bounced out while the others exited more sedately. Excited, she twirled about in her pink and white party dress and primped her bouffant. Janice was similarly dressed in blue, while Leslie had chosen a more conservative maroon outfit. Illya wore a tuxedo. Thea handed her invitation to the footman
"You're new!" Thea exclaimed at the butler, as he came up to announce them. "What happened to Peirson?"
"He's ill tonight, Miss," Napoleon answered. "I'm Monroe."
"Poor man." Thea stepped in, handing her wrap and purse to the maid. Leslie and Janice followed suit. They stood in a high-ceilinged foyer, the muffled sounds of people and rock music came to them from the party area.
"Monroe, you may announce Miss Gaverson to the party," Illya instructed. Napoleon glanced sharply at his partner and bowed to Thea before leaving. A moment later he escorted them to the party.
The two agents stood in the doorway while their hostess squealed her delight at Thea's arrival.
"How are the security arrangements?" Illya asked, scanning the room.
"Most of the house staff are U.N.C.L.E., the rest of the staff has been checked and there's nothing here that isn't as it's supposed to be."
"What about the caterers and the entertainment?" A nod towards the small rock band that had stopped playing when Thea made her entrance.
"They're all clean; Candy checked them out. You'll like the band, Illya. One of the singers is shorter than you are."
Illya frowned, acknowledging Napoleon's rebuttal to his previous dig, and stepped into the main party area.
"Illya!" Thea called. She emerged from the crowd with a young redhead in a pale green dress. "Illya, this is Dawn Evans," Thea introduced their hostess.
"Hi," she greeted him, grinning broadly.
The two girls each took an arm and dragged The Russian into the crowd. Leslie was waylaid by a man in a powder-blue tuxedo. "Hel-lo," he said expansively. "I didn't hear Monroe announce you."
"I'm sure he must have," Leslie said distantly. The man was Thea's uncle-Lloyd King, her late mother's brother. Leslie wanted nothing to do with him at this party. He'd probably find out soon enough that she was an U.N.C.L.E. agent when they flew to Corica together. "Excuse me," she smiled vaguely, and disappeared into the party. She hoped the man could take a hint.
Illya sat, a while later, near the edge of the dance floor at a table that gave him a good view of most of the party area. Thea was talking with a small group of friends. He spotted Leslie and Napoleon every once in a while as they drifted between the dance room and the buffet.
The band started up again with a lively dance number and Thea and a young man took to the floor. Between the bumps and twists Thea glanced his way and winked at him. He occasionally nodded back to her and munched on a cookie from the plate on the table next to him. The younger party guests came by the table to share a cookie with a friend or get a drink. The older guests gravitated toward the receiving room, away from the band. There was plenty of food, and a lot of conveniently located chairs where agents could sit and watch Miss Gaverson wherever in the house she happened to go. Napoleon had planned the layout well.
A couple of hours into the party, Candy Fallon, Napoleon's chief assistant, came downstairs from the party area to talk with the agent stationed in the kitchen. She was passed by three people in head caterers' uniforms, carrying trays bound, no doubt, for the party area. Candy let them pass. Then, letting them get a bit of a head start, she turned and followed them. Head caterers didn't belong carrying trays to the party area. They should be in the kitchen with the food. Besides, she'd met all the head caterers yesterday and those three hadn't been there.
She followed them to the dance room. Instead of going to the buffet table they split up and wandered through the crowd. 'Uh oh,' Candy thought, sensing that things were about to get out of hand. She spotted a blond head at a table across the dance floor, and pulled out her communicator.
Illya shook his head. The day must have taken more of a toll on him than he thought. He felt dizzy. His communicator warbled. He reached for it, and his world slipped a groove-everything fracturing out of focus for an instant. Shaken, he fumbled the cap off the pen. "Kuryakin."
"Illya," a female voice said urgently, "there are three men dressed as caterers in the dance room and I don't recognize any of them. I think we should get Miss Gaverson out of there until we find out what they're up to."
He had lost the thread of what she'd said after the first couple of words. Something was very wrong, he decided foggily. "Uh," he mumbled, "deal with it."
Surprised and concerned-Illya had not sounded at all well-Candy tried to spot him again; but the band had started a new number and the dance floor was full. She frowned, thinking dark thoughts about Thrush caterers drugging unsuspecting U.N.C.L.E. agents. She switched channels.
"Solo here," her superior answered.
"It's Candy, Napoleon. I just saw three head caterers in the party area. I didn't recognize any of them."
"Call Illya. Tell him to get Miss Gaverson out of there."
"I did. He told me to 'deal with it.' Napoleon, they had complete access to the food..." She heard gunshots from Napoleon's end.
"Get Fred around to the west entrance," he told her quickly. "Get some reinforcements up here; have Leslie get Miss Gaverson out of there." He signed off. She switched channels again, alerting Leslie, then signaled Fred and the U.N.C.L.E. agents in the pantry.
Illya started and dropped his communicator when the first shot rang out, ricocheting off the band's cymbals. Several people screamed. A few sensible ones dropped to the floor. The agent, not so sensible, lurched to his feet and swayed upright.
Thea. He had to get Thea out of here.
He peered around the dance floor. Haze encroached on his vision. He blinked, but it didn't go away. There was Thea; he hurried across the room as best he could to where he saw her and two friends disappear into a side room, followed by a man in caterer's clothes.
Illya staggered into the side room. Thea, Dawn and Janice stood huddled together near the window, faced by an armed caterer. The Agent reached into his jacket for his gun as the man spun, alerted by the noise the Russian made when he entered. His hand caught in his jacket and he fumbled for his pistol while the Thrush man raised his own weapon. There was a shot. Illya stared, fascinated, as the Thrush fell very, very slowly.
Leslie had fired from the doorway, felling the Thrush. She stepped up to the senior agent, who just manged to free his pistol from its holster. She gently took it from him, putting her own .22 back in her purse.
"They do that underwater," Kuryakin said illogically.
Leslie spared him a passing worry before turning to the three girls.
"Follow me," she ordered. "Bring him with you and stay down." Thea looked stunned at her suddenly changed protocol instructress. She and Janice each took an arm and led Illya out the door and into a deserted hallway.
'A semi-deserted hallway,' Goodlow amended to herself, felling another Thrush caterer with a sleep dart from Illya's Special.
"Leslie," Illya said urgently.
"Shhhh," she ordered.
"Leslie, it's pointed the wrong way."
"It's all right, Illya; we will have you in medical soon. Not far now."
"He's heavy," Janice complained as she and Thea took more and more of the Russian's weight. Illya mumbled something about shoes and snow.
The four of them made it down to the side entrance with no further encounters. Thanks went largely to Dawn, who knew the house considerably better than the Thrush did.
Leslie herded everyone into the limousine. Napoleon was already there, and as soon as the doors closed, Fred took off to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters.
"What's wrong with him?" Napoleon asked Leslie, gesturing to his partner's inert form.
She shook her head. "Loss of co-ordination, confusion, and God knows what else. He seems to be unconscious now." She moved the blond head from her shoulder and opened an eyelid. "Unconscious," she confirmed. Napoleon frowned worriedly and uncapped his communicator to alert the medical section.
-=X=-=X=-=X=- END Act 2