THE SUGAR BABY AFFAIR
Parte 1 Sweet 'n Sour
Napoleon Solo was a passionate man. He cultivated his image as a suave sophisticate, a charming companion, an espionage expert. But there was another facet to Napoleon Solo: as Chief Enforcement Agent, he was seriously committed to his responsibilities to the organization and individual agents under his watch.
As Alexander Waverly preferred to work with paper, Solo became increasingly responsible for people. It was his unglamorous duty to make hospital rounds and next-of-kin notifications; to offer casual coffee-break counseling and informal warnings to head off the official reprimands and rehab recommendations. He understood that agents would accept such dealings from one of their own, rather than a desk-bound despot.
Solo nursed his coffee in the UNCLE commissary, feeling a twinge of hypocrisy. He had just scolded a young agent for his reported recklessness in the field. Napoleon waved down Mark Slate and April Dancer as they balanced their lunch trays across the floor, and they joined him, April reluctantly. About the last person in the world April wanted to share time with was Napoleon Solo. But it would have looked too odd to refuse, so she settled beside her partner.
Napoleon smiled appreciatively. He never could help himself from observation of Agent Dancer. "April, you ought not to indulge in all that sugar," Solo teased at the rich, frothy dessert spilling over her plate. " That outfit I've always admired is fitting a little tighter around the equator these days..."
April could not contain the flash in her eyes. "You-you-" and as she could think of nothing more insulting to curse her senior agent with, "You Man!" She slapped down her spoon to distract from her trembling hands and stormed off, forgetting to collect her purse.
Hmmm.
She had been preoccupied lately, Solo had noticed. Easily distracted. Unusually irritable. He sighed and added one more name to his mental to-do list. Supervisor Solo had taken over.
He turned an inquiring expression to Mark Slate. " Has that been interfering with your work?"
"She's just...ah.. a tad overwrought," Slate defended his partner loyally. "A bit moody lately, but nothing we can't work out," he insisted.
"Mark..." Solo sternly pinned him down "...does she need a break?"
Although UNCLE expected its agents to maintain superb health, their missions tended to wear down that noble ideal. Irregular hours, foreign environs, uncertain meals, assorted body trauma, adrenaline overdoses and mental stress in various combinations were elements of nearly every field assignment. Successful missions, and partner's lives, depended on stamina, alertness, adaptability.
"Nothing we can't handle," Slate repeated.
Mark was obviously not ready to share the mystery, if he knew himself. Solo would have to keep the junior team under observation. "You're a good partner, Mark. Just recognize when you need to call for back-up, OK?"
Parte 2 Short 'n Sweet
April wandered down the hall to her apartment. She entered and sat alone on the floor, in the dark, with her coat still buttoned.
She could have purchased one of those new home diagnostic tests from behind the counter of her friendly neighborhood pharmacy; but she doubted whether the cool, nerveless agent could keep her hands steady enough to administer it.
The diagnosis had been a formality, after all. Which is why April slipped out of town to see a doctor instead of using UNCLE's medical service. She had shrugged off her constant queasiness as a reaction to job stress. Struggles to stay awake or fall asleep could be easily explained as jet lag; light-headedness rationalized as a skipped meal. The weight gain-obvious even to Solo now, she groaned-was the logical consequence of her spiked craving for sweets. Poor Mark-he was baffled by her abominable behavior, and yet stood steadfast beside her. She blamed her crabbiness and intense thirst on New York City's record-breaking summer heat. When her sight began to blur, she resorted to surreptitious contacts.
April Dancer, Section 2, Enforcement Agent. The phrase that defined her throbbed against her temples. She had barely paid attention to the doctor's lecture. It took all she could do to fathom that the network career she had worked so hard to establish was dissolving in that antiseptic office.
The clock struck 9, then 10. One hot tear seared down her cheek, then a waterfall; then finally the soul-satisfying smash of crockery on the floor. Shattered, like my life, April thought. She sank to the floor and curled into a ball and rocked back and forth.
She'd have to tell Mark; he deserved to know. Oh, God, she'd have to tell Waverly. April struggled with her conscience. She could get her condition under control, fake it, still function, buy some time. But on the field? Impractical. She could put Mark, and their mission, in jeopardy. There was only one honorable choice.
Time to confront the man responsible. Her hand was shaking so badly, she had to redial three times. He would have a plan. He would know what to do. April punched out the numbers to his private line. She knew that by confiding in him, she was committed to her decision. He was a friend who would be comforting; a colleague who would understand her anguish about surrendering her field status; but most of all, he was CEA, who would put the needs of the network ahead of personal considerations. And that was what April needed right now: confirmation that her painful decision was the right one.
Parte 3 Sweet 'n Low
"You have alternatives..." Solo suggested quietly, after he had time to absorb her shocking news. "Friends who'll stand by you."
"That's what you think." She accepted his white linen handkerchief to daub her reddened eyes. "My life is over."
"Your career at UNCLE isn't," Solo tried to reassure her. "There are plenty of opportunities-"
"Maybe I don't want to be stuck behind a desk!" she snapped. " Or ignore the whispers in the corridor: 'Hey, didn't that used to be April Dancer, UNCLE's first female to qualify for the field?'"
Solo endeavored to defuse the subject. "So, have you told your family yet? You always talk about them like they're really nice folks. They'll want to help."
"My mother always told me...well, it doesn't matter now. Ironic, hmm? THRUSH couldn't do me in, but my own body kicks me out of enforcement."
Professionally, Solo dealt with disaster on a global level, impersonally. But as CEA, he observed how circumstances could blow apart an individual life with hurricane force. And when he was personally involved, he could be frustrated when he was helpless to control and correct the situation.
So unfair, April had railed to herself. I've done everything right to avoid this, or at least postpone it. I eat properly (usually) exercise (Lord knows!) sleep (when possible) .The checklist was: Fat, 40, Female, and Family History. She qualified with only two out of the four. But it was enough.
"I grew up around it. I know the stats by heart. Fourth leading cause of death. First leading cause of blindness and amputation. Damage to kidneys, circulation, nerves. Heart attacks and strokes. I want to be brave, but this is nothing I can grab or shoot or smack. It's going to turn my life inside-out. Precise meals, precise medication, precise rest and exercise. I like my life, Napoleon," she gulped back the fresh tears, "I do not want this!"
April Dancer, Section 2, Enforcement Agent, had diabetes.
Finis