Written By: Solo's Girl
Chapter 1
"A Raven is a Raven and a THRUSH is a THRUSH…"
London.
He knelt down and put his hand on his partner's shoulder. No movement. The agent carefully laid his gun on the stone rooftop and turned the other man over. He felt his skin crawl. The once handsome face was scratched almost beyond recognition. It was no longer possible to tell what color his hair was for it was now blood red. The two familiar deep brown eyes had been...He turned quickly and grabbed his mid-section as his stomach could no longer take the site.
Wiping his hand across his mouth, he took off his jacket and gently wrapped the other man's head with it. He put a hand to the dead man's shoulder once more.
"They'll pay for this," he said, "If I have to spend my entire life hunting them down...Those dirty bas..."
He never finished his sentence. The same menace that had taken the life of his partner swooped down on him. He grabbed his gun, aimed and fired. But another flew in from behind, then another and another. The agent made it to his feet, firing his weapon as he fought off the vicious attack. But there were too many. He swung one arm out to bat them away the other protecting his face. He backed up. A few feet more. More. More.
Suddenly there was no longer a protective wall behind him. He saw his life flash by as he plummeted off the tower. There was a no sound, no moan. Just a cold deadly silence and two eyes staring blankly across the grass.
U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, New York City.
Alexander Waverly looked over the report. He made a heavy sigh and closed the folder. The U.N.C.L.E. Chief gave his eye a hard rub. A quick glance at his watch told him that his two best agents were late. He stood and walked to the window.
The pneumatic door hissed open. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, or what was left of them, made their way slowly to the conference table. The two men looked as if they had been run over by something, then it backed up to see what it hit. Bruised and bandaged, they had found the arms-dealers stronghold, destroyed it and made their way back to New York. But their escape had not an easy one this time. Sometimes THRUSH didn't look too bad when up against a single psycho. The two men made their way to their seats.
Waverly turned quickly, looked at his watch and scowled.
"You're late gentlemen," he said gruffly.
"Sorry, sir," Napoleon said glancing at Illya, "Medical didn't…."
"Sit down Gentlemen," Waverly said taking his seat, motioning for them to sit.
Napoleon and Illya sat down quickly, feeling a bit like school boys about to receive a reprimand, and exchanged confused glances. Waverly slid their Intel folders to the men and they opened them looking over the information.
"Five agents?" Kuryakin said, "Did they manage to get any information back to.."
"No...Four agents, four good men, all dead, one missing. No leads, no clues. Only the physical evidence of what happened to the four but no why.." Waverly's words were hard and cold.
The Chief stood up and walked once more to the window. Solo and Kuryakin looked at one another. The two agents looked back at their boss. Illya saw the elder man rub his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. They heard Waverly clear this throat and watched him turn back to them. Napoleon noticed what looked like a tear in the old man's eye.
"Things have gotten so bad," Waverly continued, "They have had to close the Tower off to Tourist. The Ravens have always been very docile, an intricate part of the Towers history and folklore. I believe there is more than one bird occupying the grounds. I am sending the two of you to find out just what is going on. I am relying on you both to put an end to whatever THRUSH is doing….Dismissed, gentlemen."
The two agents were stiff and sore but ready to do whatever their boss wanted. They took their folders and started towards the door. But both agents turned back to their Mentor.
"Mr. Waverly," Napoleon said hesitantly, "Is there anything we can do…"
The elder U.N.C.L.E. Chief looked at the concern on his Agents' faces.
"Perhaps for you personally, sir?" Illya added.
Waverly looked at the men. His gruff exterior changed. He sat down at the table.
"Where you gentlemen have THRUSH to deal with," Waverly said, "I have a much more difficult task to attend to. One of the Agents killed is the God-son of one of our own men. I have to give him the news….Good luck Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin…." Waverly had started to say something else but stopped.
"We'll be careful, sir," Kuryakin said looking at the elder man.
The two agents turned once again and walked out the door to get ready for their mission.
"Illya, did you notice something strange that just happened?" Solo asked.
"Something besides our boss almost in tears?" Kuryakin replied.
They stopped and looked at one another.
"Yeah….He called us both "Mr.". It's the first time that has ever happened. He reserves that honor for his top people…" Napoleon looked back towards the conference room.
"Then we better not screw this up," Illya said, a slight smile on his lips.
Napoleon smiled also and they started up the hallway once more.
Mr. Waverly took a deep breath and sighed. It had to be done. He reached over and pressed a button on the console. There was a low whine and a click as the other party picked up.
"Yes Alexander, what is it?" Bill Del Floria said.
"Bill, can you close up shop for a while and come to my office?"
"On my way," the U.N.C.L.E. front man said.
It was still dark when the agents arrived in London. It had been a fairly uneventful flight. Napoleon flirted whenever he wasn't asleep and Kuryakin half expected to find one of the stewardesses tucked under his blanket when they landed. Solo yawned and stretched the stiffness from his back. He gave his partner a nudge.
Kuryakin's eyes popped open wide. It was never a good idea to wake the Russian from a sound sleep, but so few of his rest were actually sound. Solo was ready for a possible attack. Illya pressed his hands to his face and yawned. He looked at his partner.
The men looked out of the plane as it flew over the city. Once landed, they secured their hotel room and radioed in that they had arrived. After a quick check of their equipment, they headed for the famous Tower of London.
The two men circled the outer wall of the impressive edifice trying to find the best way to get in. A noise caught their attention and both men flattened themselves against the wall. Two of the tower guards came around the corner and passed within feet of the U.N.C.L.E. agents. They disappeared around another corner.
Napoleon and Illya looked at one another.
"Guards that alert..It has to Be THRUSH," Napoleon whispered with a smile.
Illya nodded in agreement. They edged around the wall. Nothing. The Russian thought hard trying to think of everything he had read about the tower on the plane. He snapped his finger a few times to get Solo's attention and motioned for him to follow. They made their way to Traitor's Gate.
After a quick assessment of the gates workings, it was easy for them to work the lock and with great care, they opened it enough to gain entrance..to the tower dungeon. Solo shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, we're in anyway," he said.
The Rack, manacles on the walls, long wooden rows holding a variety of whips, maces and other devices filled the room. One wall was lined with a long row of highly polished, extremely sharp axes, battle axes, hurlbats, halberds and throwing axes.
Both men, purely out of reflex pulled their heads down closer to their shoulders as they made their way cautiously through the room. Napoleon glanced up. He stopped cold in his tracks. Illya ran into his partner and looked up as well.
Hanging above their heads, illuminated by torch light coming thru a small opening from the hall was a heavy iron barred cage. What was left of a body sat legs and arms draped over the bars. The face damaged beyond recognition.
"An eighteenth century prop?" Illya asked hesitantly.
"Only one problem," Solo said, "Eighteenth century prisoners didn't wear three piece suites.."
Solo looked down below the cage and saw a large dark spot. He knelt down to examine it. He took out his lighter and struck up the flame, holding it towards the dark spot. Illya knelt down beside him.
"Blood," Kuryakin said, his fingers cautiously touched the liquid, "And still warm. He bled to death and just within the last hour or so."
Napoleon picked up something lying just within the edge of the blood pool. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the yellow card off.
"Donald Tomlinson..We found our missing agent," he said.
The men stood up. Napoleon laid the card on a small table nearby. He and Illya were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.
The large wooden door creaked loudly as they opened it enough to get out. The faint glow of torch-light gave the hall a spooky feeling. The musty smell, the cold stones surrounded them like a bad dream. Illya suddenly jumped. His sharp eyes darted around the hallway.
"Did you hear that?" he said.
Napoleon stopped and listened. He didn't hear anything. Solo shook his head. They walked softly up the hallway. This time it was Solo who stopped. Something had moved across the hallway ahead of them.
"If THRUSH is trying psychological tactics…" he said.
"It's working," Illya added.
Both men smiled. They were U.N.C.L.E. agents for Heaven's sake. Things like this were not supposed to get to them. Step by step, they made their way to the end of the hall. Solo pulled his weapon and looked cautiously around the corner. No light, nothing but more cold air. He took a deep breath.
"Looks clear enough," he said, "Let's go.." He waited for the okay from his partner. "Illya..Did you hear me?...Illya?"
Napoleon looked behind him to realize that his partner had vanished. Even in the low light from the torches the Russian was nowhere to be seen. Solo pulled at his collar. He started to turn around when something struck him in the forehead. It was the last thing he remembered.
Kuryakin pressed tight against the wall looking for the triggering device. Using the flame from his lighter, he tried to find his way out. Finally he resigned himself to following the narrow corridor. He would stop and lean his face to the cold stone, listening for any sounds from the hallway just on the other side. On he went.
At times, Kuryakin was afraid he would become forever wedged in the wall as it became narrower. Then it would suddenly open up, turn and become narrow once again. He had to flick off the lighter before it burned his hand. Once it cooled he lit it again and continued on. The corridor opened once more but this time onto a dead end. He looked around the opening and spotted a small door.
Illya got down on his knees and looked thru the antique keyhole. Something was blocking his view. He pressed his hands against the wooden door. It budged but didn't open. The Russian removed his pocket knife and tried to pry it open. He tried to refrain from coughing as dust and dirt filled the air. The door finally gave way. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled it back. He would make it thru but not by much.
"Now I know how Alice felt," he whispered to himself as he crawled through.
A clicking sound filled his ears. Halfway thru the door, he looked up at the two THRUSH guards holding their weapons on him. Illya smiled.
"I don't suppose you've seen a White Rabbit, have you?" he said.
The men grabbed his arms pulling him with a jolt through the door. Kuryakin cringed as his body scrapped against the doorframe. They eased the grip on his arms temporarily to shoulder their weapons, but the quick reflexes of the agent had them both incapacitated within seconds. He grabbed both weapons, hid the bodies behind a large tapestry and walked quietly across the room.
Napoleon coughed and rubbed his hand over his sore forehead. If THRUSH has to clobber us like that I wish they would hit the side or back of the head and not the face, he thought smiling to himself. He slowly opened his eyes to the faint light of a small lantern hanging near the door.
A rush of cold air came over him. He rubbed his arms to try and get warm. That was when he realized he had been deprived of his jacket and shirt, left only in his t-shirt. He glanced down. And his pants! He quickly pulled the dirty blanket next to him across his lap. He was sitting in a thick pile of straw in nothing but his underwear.
The smell from the blanket was disgusting but at least it was warmer than sitting exposed in the cold. He looked around the small room and realized he was in one of the tower's turrets. One window but it was sealed up. He wrapped the blanket around him and started towards the heavy wooden door. He was shackled. Napoleon walked back to the straw pile and sat down.
Suddenly the door opened. Two guards walked in. One tossed Napoleon another blanket. He quickly discarded the on dirty one. While the other guard checked his ankle shackle and made sure the window was escape proof, Solo's eyes drifted towards the open door. He did a double take.
The uniform was THRUSH, but the body in it was definitely not one of their typical recruits. The heavy boots tapered in just above the ankle. The dark blue jumpsuit was lean and fit the shapely form in it like a glove. The belt secured around the tiny waist. He could see her jet-black hair pulled up and one of the officer's caps donned her head instead of one of those stupid berets She had her back to the door. Solo stared at her. If she was half as beautiful from the front as she was from the back…
The two guards walked out and shut the door.
"Hey no fair," Napoleon shouted, then quickly put his hands over his mouth. His face blushed.
The female officer heard him and smiled. You're not so bad yourself Mr. Solo, she thought.
Illya had made his way through the tower across the connecting walkway and into another section of buildings. He pressed himself into a narrow section of the hallway and held his breath as a small squad of THRUSH guards made their way up the hall. He heard them stop.
"No other intruders that we can find sir," one of the guards said.
"Keep looking," another voice said, "It is highly unlikely that U.N.C.L.E. sent Napoleon Solo here by himself. He may have the Russian chap, Kuryakin, with him. But whoever is with him I want them caught."
"Sir, yes sir," the guard said.
Illya heard the movement of boots down the hallway then the sound of a creaking door.
"Well, Carter?"
"No-one else has been found, Mr. Greenbaum. But my men are still searching."
"Of couse..Just like the two who were patrolling the outer wall," Greenbaum said, "I hope that once we dispose of Solo, U.N.C.L.E. will stop sending their men to interfere with us. If their top man can't stop us, no one can."
The two men walked down the hallway and right past the hidden agent. Once it was clear, Illya slipped from his hiding place and went in the direction of the two men. Staying far enough behind not to be seen his sharp ears listened for their footsteps echoing in the hall.
"THRUSH is taking a big risk holding this operation here," Greenbaum said.
"You said you needed a strategically located building, heavily constructed, with plenty of space for your equipment…"
"Yes, but not a major tourist attraction to boot," Greenbaum said.
Carter smiled and made a low laugh.
"But that's what makes the Tower of London the perfect spot. Location, sturdy and with enough superstitions and ghost stories surrounding it…Well, it's just perfect. When the birds started going crazy and attacking people, we knew they would shut it down until a cause was found…."
"You just didn't think they would call U.N.C.L.E. in on the case."
"A minor annoyance, Mr. Greenbaum, I can assure you," Carter sneered, "Besides once the machines are up and running…"
Illya heard a door open then close.
Kuryakin stopped outside the door and listened. He could hear a loud screeching sound coming from the other side of the door. It made his skin crawl. He had heard sounds like that before. Another sound caught his attention and he ducked into the shadows as a THRUSH officer walked up the hall. He felt a knot in his throat as he looked at her. She adjusted her officer's cap and went into the room.
To his amazement, the screeching sounds seemed to calm down. He could hear talking, but could not make out what they were saying. The sounds of laughter followed. The door opened and the men walked out.
"That is the most amazing thing I have ever seen," Greenbaum said, "How does she do that?"
"Her perfume," Carter said, "It has a calming effect on the birds. Unlike the spray we have been using to train them to attack, it is a soothing scent. Raven is perfect for this job."
"Raven?"
"Just her nickname," Carter said, "One of the men called her that as a joke and it stuck. That black hair and her darker attitude, it fits."
"How long has she been with THRUSH?"
"Since she was twelve," Carter said, "I personally, ah, inducted her into the organization. A tactic we used to get her father to join THRUSH. It worked too."
Greenbaum looked at the THRUSH with an almost disgusted look on his face.
"A twelve year old child?" Greenbaum said almost sick.
"We do whatever we need to do," Carter said looking at his expression, "She was lucky that the order wasn't issued to kill her afterward. Since then she has been raised, trained and her "talents" used by THRUSH to great extent."
Greenbaum and Carter walked off down the hallway. Illya moved out of the shadows and went to the door. He carefully checked the door latch, and pushed against the heavy wooden structure. He could see the shapely young woman holding one of the hooded birds, gently stoking its breast feathers. She continued looking at the bird as the agent came into the room.
"Took you long enough," she said, "You U.N.C.L.E. agents can be exasperatingly slow sometimes."
She turned and looked at Kuryakin.
"And you would be…..?" she said softly.
"Illya Kuryakin," came the reply, "And you are?"
"A THRUSH Officer," she said, "We knew there was more than one of you here. Agent Solo is awaiting interrogation as we speak."
"He won't tell THRUSH anything," Illya said.
"I'll be the one interrogating him," she cooed, walking towards him.
"He'll babble like a baby," Illya said under his breath.
The woman heard him and laughed. She had an intoxicating laugh, soft and lilting. Illya looked at her. He felt someone step up behind him. He raised his hands, the rifles were taken from his shoulder and he was escorted to back down to the dungeon.
Napoleon lay quietly in the warm straw half asleep, half awake. He closed his eyes at the sounds of approaching feet. A brief discussion outside the door and he heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened.
His eyes were open to slits as he watched the approaching THRUSH. The figure knelt down in the straw next to him. He felt a soft hand brush against his hair. He opened his eyes and looked up at the woman as she smiled at him.
She was caught entirely off guard by his impish grin. Her thumb caressed the dimpled chin. Solo reached up and took her hand giving it a gentle kiss, first on the top and then he turned it over and kissed the palm. She swooned slightly. This was not what she was expecting at all. Napoleon sat up, careful to keep the blanket covering his body. His fingers clipped her chin and he stared into her dark eyes.
"Not to sound corny," he said leaning forward, kissing the tip of her nose, "But what is a beautiful bird like you," he kissed her cheek, "Doing in a chicken outfit like this?" He pulled her lips to his.
The woman found herself suddenly swept away by the passion of the moment. She sat back and looked at him. She had seen his file. She knew he was a player. But what a kiss! She tried to shake it off. She was a THRUSH. She was the one in control right now. Or was supposed to be anyway.
"I ah, have a few questions for you Mr. Solo," she said trying to sound like an Officer.
Napoleon drew his knees up and folded his arms across them. He playfully bit at his thumb.
"Okay, let me see. I'm six feet even, a Capricorn, my favorite foods are…."
She gave the agent a sharp push back with her foot.
"Shut up," she shouted.
Napoleon looked at her innocently, his best "what-did-I-do" expression on his face.
"Alright but if I shut up how am I supposed to answer your questions?"
Her face began to burn red with rage. She clenched her fist tight. Suddenly one hand swung to the side and Solo saw her long, sharp nails. The "Raven's Talons" as the others had begun to call them. She swiped her hand at Solo catching the bare skin of his arm he had raised it in self-defense. He felt the sharp nails dig into his skin and cringed at the pain. The gentle sting and he felt the warmth of his blood tricked down his arm. He looked at the wound. I have to keep her distracted, he thought. Solo looked back at the woman. The agents slowly slipped off his t-shirt, his broad chest expanding, reacting to the cold air, and wrapped it around the torn skin. He saw her expression soften. Perfect!
Napoleon suddenly shot his feet out, catching her off guard. The woman went down on the cold stone floor. She became infuriated at this new development. Raven lunged at him, pinning him down in the straw. He smiled up at her.
"Oh you're one of those type women," he said smiling slyly.
"What type?"
"Take control..Fierce..Strong..On top, so to speak."
The palm of her hand caught the side of his face with tremendous force. He shook it off. His arms suddenly wrapped around her and he pulled her body tight against his. She struggled to get free of his hold. The woman started to cry out, but Napoleon's full sensuous lips took hers once more. She felt his arm loosen and his hands caressed her.
"If you're looking for the keys," she sighed as he kissed her neck, "You're wasting your time."
"I not looking for the keys," he whispered in his soft velvet voice, "Even if I found them, I would throw them out the window."
His hands unbuckled her belt and his fingers softly pressed into her hips. She held his face, lips caressing lips, sighs and gasps of pure pleasure the only thing escaping at the moment. Before the woman knew what was happening she found his hands caressing her bare shoulders, slowly pushing her uniform away.
"This uniform really isn't you," he whispered, "I see you in a form-fitting evening gown, maybe a few sequins, a fur of some kind draped over your slender shoulders." His lips caressed her neck and shoulders as he spoke.
Her hands pressed against his chest as she bit playfully at his lip.
"I thought they took your weapon away from you," she cooed, a blush on her cheek.
"Only the cold metal one," Solo said, giving her a playful wink.
His hands reached up behind her head and he pulled the pins holding her beautiful hair up. He gasped at her sheer beauty as the black hair fell on her bare shoulders and softly framed her face. He tenderly ran his fingers thru the silky locks. His thumb brushed her cheek. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I can't get over how breathtakingly beautiful you are," he said truthfully, "I have never seen a woman like you before. And that is not a lie." He smiled. "You are the closest thing to pure, absolute beauty I have ever seen."
"I don't know about the pure part," she said
He covered them with the blanket and they slipped down into the straw.
Kuryakin was lead back to the dungeon. He had forgotten how cold it was down there. One of the THRUSH guards turned a small wheel on the wall and a set of manacles lowered from the ceiling. He forced Illya to step onto a small platform beneath them. One of the guards removed the agent's shoes and socks then fastened two iron cuffs around his ankles. His hands were placed in the iron bands above his head. He saw the guard turn the wheel once more and the Kuryakin felt his body pulled taunt. The pain was incredible.
The door opened at Carter walked in. He looked at the agent and gave a nod to one of the guards. Illya felt the man take hold of his shirt and jacket ripping them straight up the back. Carter walked over to the wooden rack and examined the various implements at his disposal. He picked up a small whip and walked over to the agent.
"You would think that with five dead agents, U.N.C.L.E. would stop while they were ahead," he said.
Illya looked at the whip. It was small but extremely dangerous. The ends of the three leather strips were tired in knots, the prongs of small metal balls protruded from the ends of each. He had been beaten and cut, battered and even put to interrogation by fire before, but as of yet, he had never met the lash.
"U.N.C.L.E. will never stop as long as people like you are still allowed to breath," Kuryakin said.
The sting of the leather was nothing compare to the pain inflicted by the metal prongs. They tore in deep and held only to be forcibly ripped back out. Again and again he felt the barbs penetrate his back. His body was jerking at the pain.
Carter stepped back and wiped the agent's blood splatter from his own face.
"Let him stay there awhile," he said, "The birds will need fresh prey in a few hours."
The guard tightened the wheel once more, but the Russian had passed out already. The two guards and Carter walked out of the dungeon.
"This is the damndest interrogation I have ever conducted," she sighed laying her face against Solo's chest.
Steam rose from their bodies into the cold air of the tower. His hand once more caressed her soft hair and he pulled her into another kiss. He smiled at her.
The woman found her discarded uniform and quickly dressed. She pulled her hair back and fastened it up once more. Napoleon smiled as she had a bit of trouble getting the front of her uniform button. She sat down and slipped one of the black leather boots on. The woman sighed and leaned her head back as Solo's finger's traced the center of her back from her neck down.
Raven looked towards the door. She turned; quickly giving the handsome agents lips the pleasure of her own once more.
"Watch the door," she said.
Napoleon looked towards the door. The small window was still closed. No one was watching. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slip the heel of the other boot away and took something out. She closed the compartment and put the boot on.
Raven turned and took Solo's hands. He felt something cold in his fingers.
"I don't know where you got these," she said, "They took your partner to the dungeon. The guard outside the door is about your size so his uniform should fit." She kissed his cheek.
The woman stood up and went to the door. Napoleon heard her exchange words with the guard. He looked down at his hand and opened it.
Two cast-iron keys lay in his palm.
He had a friend in the camp. And one he intended not to forget.
He quickly unlocked the ankle shackle and made his way to the door.
Who knows what they were doing to his partner in the dungeon. He had to get there quick.
Quicker then he could possibly imagine.