Solo and Kuryakin had been driving along in their jeep in the vicinity of the gulf of Aqaba. They were feeling rather pleased with themselves that they had helped to destroy yet another THRUSH satrapy there.
In the end there no more fiendish device creating a deadly foam capable of dissolving the entire human body. Sulador, the local tribal leader aided in the take down, seeking revenge for his people on whom the device had been tested.*
Illya's mind had been wandering, thinking about Sulador's daughter Sophie, and her eventual lust for him.
He'd tried insulting her, calling her a cow but nothing seemed to get through to her. Once he donned the white robes of the tribal leader, after convincing her people he was the son of the famed 'Lawrence', she changed her tune about him. In her eyes he went from being her property to an object of her desire. It was all he could do to dodge her pursuit. He shivered at the thought, which was pretty amazing considering it was so hot and they were in the middle of a dessert.
Napoleon seemed to know what he was thinking about.
"Illya you need to get over it. Sophie's long gone and and we're on our way out of this hell hole with our hides intact...well you're almost intact. How's the leg feeling?"
"It hurts, what do you think? And why did you have to sic that woman after me...and, and why did you call my burnoose a dress? It is traditional garb and given to me as an honor, as a sign of leadership!" The pitch of Illya's voice seemed to be going up to an annoying level.
"Tovarisch, take it easy. I didn't mean anything by it, though you have to admit what you were wearing did sort of look like a dress."
"Napoleon sometimes you can really be so childish." Illya continued to shiver.
Solo stopped the jeep, and reaching over he checked Illya's forehead, and then his cheek.
"You're burning up. That leg wound must be infected."
"Stop mothering me!" Illya jerked away.
"Now who's being childish?" Napoleon said.
Kuryakin sighed,"You are probably right...about me being feverish that is. I am not feeling well at all."
Before they left he changed to fresh khaki pants and a shirt that had been located for him once Sophie and the others had gone. He returned the white robes to Sulador who was the last to leave, though the tribal leader had wanted Illya so keep them.
The Russian looked down at his leg, blinking his eyes several times to clear his vision before he saw a red stain blossoming like a flower on his thigh where the wound was located.
"My leg is bleeding again," he calmly announced.
"Damn," Napoleon cursed. They were headed to the city of Aqaba in Jordan, and the port located there on the gulf, but there was nowhere in between to get help. Illya would just have to keep pressure on it until they reached their destination.
In Aqaba there was a boat waiting to take the agents to the port city of Eliat in Israel, its southernmost city and a busy port as well located at the northern tip of the Red Sea. It was only ten nautical miles away.
From there they would be taken by helicopter to Sde Dov Airport in Tel Aviv. It was a smaller airport that handled private air traffic, unlike Lydda, also in Tel Aviv, which had become a commercial hub. At Sde Dov a private UNCLE jet was waiting to take them to Rome. There they would debrief before returning to New York via a commercial flight.
As they continued through the desert, one moment the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, cloudless and calm' the desert was a picture of absolute serenity.
In the blink of an eye everything was churning, an upheaval of wind and sand spinning and spinning around. It was the mother of all sandstorms.
As if it were a mirage appearing in front of them, there stood what looked like ancient ruins of a small city, not unlike what one would see more so in Egypt. It looked like the remains of a wall with its towers and gates, and the ruins of what appeared to be a domed temple.
Napoleon floored the gas pedal, sending streams of sand flying into the air behind the jeep as he made a beeline for the ruins before the sandstorm hit.
They could have stopped where they were, but it was better to seek some cover. Thank goodness they were inside a jeep and not riding atop camels...Illya never would have been able to take that, not because of his leg wound but because of his sea sickness.
Camels were called after all, ships of the deserts, so not a good mix for the Russian. They would have really been caught out in the open then and in deeper trouble than they were now.
Solo carefully navigated the jeep through the narrow openings, pulling it inside the dome which was seemingly intact: it offered them more protection. He parked the jeep so the passenger side blocked the entrance as much as possible.
In Jordan these ferocious sandstorms were called 'khamsin', which meant 'fifty' in Arabic. It was reference to the duration in days this sort of weather event lasted, where dust-filled windstorms blew sporadically throughout the springtime months. If that's what this was?
"Hmmm?"Napoleon wondered, as it wasn't spring.
Sandstorms were notorious for descending like hurricanes, leaving behind an agitated atmosphere loaded with a fine grit that coated every surface, blocking the sun, and clogging your ears and nose. In between windy onslaughts, the air stayed choked with sandy particles. The sky turned dingy and the temperature dropped.
The temperature had dropped all right, but instead of the sky being orange...what these storms usually did, it became black. There was no way they could stay here for fifty days, and at some point they'd have to leave.
The American pulled his communicator. "Open channel D, overseas relay please." There was nothing but static.
"Must be storm interfering with signal," Illya mumbled.
Napoleon knew his partner wasn't doing well by his speech pattern. When Illya was stressed, his accent thickened and certain words, specifically the indefinite and definite articles would be dropped. His Russian language would influence his spoken English.
Solo took out his handkerchief and doused it with water from one of their canteens and placed it on Kuryakin's forehead. With the temperature drop and a wet compress, it might help keep him cooler.
Antibiotics were the only thing that would take care of the infection but there weren't any in the small first aid kit packed in the jeep. There was however, a bottle of aspirin. Though Illya was loath to take pills, this one he had to have. It was all there was to help with the fever.
"Here take a couple of these tovarisch, no arguments." Napoleon held out the white tablets.
Illya took them without complaint for once, but dry swallowed the pills.
"No, take a drink of water too. That's an order. You need to stay hydrated."
Kuryakin flashed a glassy eyed look at his partner.
"You really think that's going to work on me?" Napoleon chuckled.
"It was worth a try," the Russian shrugged.
They had two full canteens of water with them, but still Illya begrudgingly swallowed several mouthfuls of water
just to satisfy his partner. They would need to conserve it if in the event they were stranded here for a while.
Napoleon soaked their bandanas as well, and tied them over their noses and mouths. It was getting a dusty inside the jeep as they watched the sand slowly cover the passenger side windows.
The winds were howling outside, the groaning and wailing sounding like they were coming from something living.
It was as if it were a voice, amorphous and vague, calling to them.
Soon the interior of the dome was completely dark. At that point Napoleon opened his driver side door and turned an ear to listen. He stepped out into the blackness.
The wind had finally stopped, at least that's how it sounded. Utter silence, and that hinted the storm might be over.
Napoleon lit the small flashlight he took from his pocket and surveyed the surroundings. There was no other exit other than the one the jeep blocked. Hopefully when he moved the vehicle the sand would fall, though they'd
have to dig it clear to enable them to drive out.
"Illya we just might have lucked out," he said as he got back in the driver's seat and started the jeep. Thankfully, despite the dust, it turned over after a couple of tries.
Napoleon put it into gear and eased onto the gas pedal, moving it forward. As it cleared the entrance the sand slowly cascaded down, and a gust of hot hair blew inside, but there was no light.
Solo looked at his watch. It was too early to be this dark?
Then in the utter silence the groaning began again and there was a voice that spoke, echoing in the darkness, but it was in Arabic.
"Who's there?" Napoleon called out.
The voice continued moaning.
"Tovarisch, what's he saying."
Illya canted his head to the side, trying to concentrate through fever addled hearing. "It is an odd dialect."
He listened intently. "Ghyr nazifatan! Almaluthun!" Illya repeated the words. "Umm, he is saying unclean, desecrators. Perhaps we have inadvertently trespassed into a religious site?"
"Tovarisch, there's nothing like that along the route between the satrapy and Aqaba."
"Then you have gotten us lost yet again Napoleon."
Illya called out in Arabic, apologizing for their presence and asking forgiveness. They would leave as soon as they could dig the entrance clear, perhaps with some help?
Solo turned on the jeep's headlights, and there in front of them was an inhuman sight.
Rising out of the sand was a face, skull-like but not living. It wasn't coming from the sand, it was the sand, swirling and undulating as it grew in size.
"Unclean! Desecrators! Death unto you!" It continued to moan, though what appeared to be its mouth, wasn't moving.
"What the hell?" Napoleon blurted out. In an instant he dove across the hood of the jeep. He opened the passenger door and grabbed the Russian by the arm, dragging him out.
"Come on Illya we gotta go now!"
Kuryakin wasn't moving too well, but when he turned his head and saw whatever it was, he sprang into action. Together the agents scaled the wall of sand and threw themselves outside.
It went from complete darkness to daylight in an instant as if someone had flicked a switch.
The sky was cloudless, and a vivid shade of blue, crisp and clear. Covering their eyes with their hands from the brightness; Solo wrapped his arm around Illya's waist and helped him to his feet.
Together they ran, clearing the city gate. Turning just in time; they saw everything shimmer and fade. It was all gone without a trace, along with their jeep as if it had never been there.
The UNCLE agents dropped to the sand and Napoleon pulled his communicator, this time getting a clear signal on the overseas relay.
"Yes sir Mr. Waverly. We are without transportation in the middle of the desert and will need to be rescued. Mr. Kuryakin is also in need of medical attention as his leg wound has become infected."
Not a hundred yards away Napoleon spotted a rock formation with a few palm trees.
"Very well Mr. Solo, we will have to make arrangements with the Jordanian authorities to allow us to send a helicopter to retrieve you both. Since it must come from Israel, there will be some politicking to do; as you may recall Jordan is not a member nation of U.N.C.L.E. Sit tight gentlemen. Keep your communicator open so that we can triangulate your location. Oh and tell Mr. Kuryakin he better have a very good explanation as to how he lost yet another vehicle, this time in the middle of the desert. Waverly out."
As they made their way over to the little oasis Illya complained."Why am I to blame for jeep being lost? I was not even driving."
"Don't worry tovarisch, I'll set the record straight with the Old Man. I'm just not sure Mr. Waverly's going to believe anything about a ghostly apparition made of sand, and a disappearing city."
"Quicksand," Illya announced as they sat on the ground beneath the shade of the palms.
"Where?"Napoleon shot to his feet, turning in place while he looked to the sand around them.
"Not here! We say jeep was swallowed by quicksand, and buried completely after sandstorm.
"And how do we explain why we weren't buried in said sandstorm tovarisch?"
"I gave you my half of explanation, now it is your turn to think of rest." Illya closed his eyes with a wry smile.
Laying on his side, he curled up to await their rescue.
At least the chills were gone…
* ref. "The Arabian Affair"