The Darker Half of Service
By
M. Klindt
I do not own the characters from MFU, but like to borrow them to play with the ones I have created. Thank you for reading my stories. This is part of my "Lexi" series.
Chapter One
"Waverly here," a pleasantly strong voice answered the phone.
"Alex, it's me, Daryl Gibbons." Another male voice called out. "How are you?"
Well, well, Special Agent Gibbons," Waverly warmly smiled when he recognized the voice of a friend from the FBI. "I'm fine. What do I owe the pleasure of your call? How are you and Emily? Calling to check up on your son?"
"I'm afraid not, Alex." The voice on the phone turned formal and sighed. "This is a business call. I have to ask you about the whereabouts of an agent of yours. There's been an incident."
"One of my men?" he asked, searching through his tall stacks of papers to see which agents were currently on assignment here in New York. "What's happened?"
"An unidentified young woman was dumped right outside our building. No one saw what happened. She was beaten, shot, and raped. We took her to Mercy…"
"I feel sorry for the girl, but what has this got to do with one of my men?" Waverly asked gruffly, cutting to the chase.
"She was clutching a yellow badge in the shape of a triangle in her hand so tightly that we could only pry it out after she was sedated. Alex, it looks like one of yours and there's an eleven on it."
Waverly sat quietly in contemplation. Roman numeral number two, not eleven and he knew exactly whose badge it belonged to, Napoleon Solo. He was on his list of those presently in New York and working with Miss Dancer and Miss Lane on a case involving a black market scheme to sell computer codes to THRUSH using high class call girls for their curriers. Solo was their contact person.
"Alex, are you still there?" Gibbons softly asked. He could hear the thoughtful silence, but had to deal with the startling business at hand. "We need to bring him in for questioning…"
"What did the girl look like, Daryl?" Waverly could barely get the words out while his stomach turned at the thought of which one it could be.
"Let me see…blond hair, petite, white…"
"Her eyes, what color are her eyes," He asked forcefully.
"Blue, I think. Do you know the Jane Doe? Is she one of yours?" Gibbons asked.
"Possible, which Mercy Hospital did you send her to?"
Waverly picked up a pen and pulled a pad of paper towards him. He angrily pushed his pipe out of the way and didn't notice that it rolling off the table. It hit the worn, linoleum floor and shattered into several pieces.
"The one downtown, not too far from our offices," Gibbons answered his question quickly, but still had to discuss the matter at hand. "Hey, Alex, I really have to find this man. At least give me his name."
"If the badge is real, it belongs to one of my top Section Two agents, Napoleon Solo, but the security badges never leave the building. I'll find him. He and one of our lawyers will come to your office tomorrow morning if it's within my powers. I need time to find out what happened and if the lady in question is another one of my agents that was on the same mission with him."
"Some crack pot group must think that we're on to them and this is their way sending us a warning not to pursue them any further. It's odd, that they left something from UNCLE with her. It was as if they wanted us to think that you were involved and that puts us at odds with each other."
"Yes, that's a very good hypothesis, Daryl." Waverly released his held breath and started to make a plan of attack. "I do appreciate your prompt attention on this matter. We, both need to find out what is going on. I'll get back to you shortly.
"Utmost discretion is needed and I know that I can rely on you. I'd ask your indulgence and want copies of your investigation for our own analysis. I'll send you my findings as well."
"Of course, Alex, but I can't keep it under wraps for long. Public displays of crimes like these are very noteworthy to reporters, especially when they happen right outside our front doors. I'd hate to see that young lady harassed any more than need be.
"If she is one of yours, get her back to headquarters as soon as possible. You've two hours to take custody of her, before she'll be transferred to one of our facilities for the duration of the investigation. I'll plan to see your Mr. Solo in the morning. You know the address…"
Waverly put down the phone after he jotted down notes and held the pencil at both ends with his hands. An uneasy feeling crept into his bones while he flipped the switch to his secretary's desk.
"Miss McNabb, have Dr. Allen call me as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
"Tell Communications I want a report of all the Section Two activities from the last 72 hours on my desk in half an hour."
"Yes sir."
"Have Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin checked in yet?"
"Just Mr. Kuryakin, sir. He's been here over an hour in his lab, but Mr. Solo hasn't checked in. It's a little early for him to show up."
"Yes, it is, isn't it? Let me know when he does and tell Mr. Kuryakin to come see me. Make some of that tea he likes. Better get Mr. Slate here as well."
"Sir, Mr. Slate is in London. Do you want me to call him back?" Heather asked quietly, sensing trouble brewing in her boss's requests.
"Yes, that would be appropriate. Have him catch the earliest flight he can find."
"Sir, Dr. Allen in on line two for you." Waverly smiled at her efficiency and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss McNabb and bring in my spare pipe; I seemed to have dropped mine and broke it."
"Right away, sir," she said professionally, confirming her suspicions that someone was either seriously hurt or dead. Luckily, she kept several spare pipes for Mr. Waverly just for days like today.
MFU/MFU
Illya Kuryakin had received a call in his lab to go to Waverly's office when he's able. He knew that this meant right away. It was a bit early for him to report to his boss about the mission he had just come back from and wanted to check how his experiments were progressing beforehand. He was so tired last night that when his flight from Asia had landed, he didn't even call Lexi and went right to sleep.
Just the thought of her name made him smile on the inside, although his face remained hard and smooth. If people knew that he had such feelings for someone else, it would ruin his reputation. Being cold and aloof had its advantages in the spy world.
Monica "Lexi" Lane knew this too and practiced it as well; even though he finally agreed that he wouldn't deny that they were a couple. Everyone in headquarters knew it anyway, but that didn't mean that he had to say anything unless asked. That's all he would agree to when Lexi tortured him with food in Medical after a mission.
Deep in thought about the pleasure her torture session had given him that day, he replaced his lab coat for his predictable black suit jacket, left the lab, and walked to the elevator. It helped him accept him punishment from Dr. Samuels for punching him in the nose and to pass his overzealous psych evaluation with flying colors. He'd even sincerely apologized to the doctor without having to be bullied into it by Napoleon.
While he waited in the elevator, Illya wondered how Napoleon's part of their mission was going with April and Lexi. The blond man had been gone for almost two weeks and was starting to feel the pull to be back in New York and with his small group friends.
Just as Illya exited the lift, an alarm rang through the building. Grabbing his holstered gun, he ran to the Commutation's room to find out where the breech in security was. Being a senior agent, he was required to respond to all alerts.
"In front of Del Floria's, a car sped by and dropped two bodies." The lady assigned to monitor all access points shouted out the moment she spotted Kuryakin rushing through the doors to stop in front of the screen. "Section Three agents are already on the scene."
"That's Solo and Dancer." He called out in a controlled voice. Illya tried to get a grip on his own fear and put his gun away. "I'm going to escort them to Medical. Tell Mr. Waverly, I'll report when I get them on their way to treatment."
Illya began to shake while he ran up the stairs and down a small hallway to get to the tailor shop, not knowing what he would find and where was Lexi? He had to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind so he could concentrate on Napoleon and April. He didn't know why he knew that was April at the entrance and not Lexi, but he just knew.
When he got to the thick metal door, Del and other workers were bringing the two agents into headquarters' reception area. Luckily, they were somewhat able to walk and were placed into the seats by the windows.
Illya cringed as he looked to see two badly battered agents surrounded by Section Three agents. They were covered with blankets and the medics were assessing them while they waited for the gurneys.
"Illya," Napoleon called out to him when he saw the bright blond color of his partner's hair in the crowd and beckoned to him. "I'm sorry, I couldn't save her. They killed her."
Not wanting to hear what he was saying, Illya grabbed him friend's hand and looked into his bruised eyes. "Who are they?"
"I don't know," Napoleon said, shaking his head, grimacing in pain, and then fought the medics who were trying to bring his hands up from cradling the gunshot wound in his thigh. "I'm sorry, Illya, so sorry…"
Kuryakin stood rooted to the floor while the medics whisked the distraught man away. He then turned his attention to April, who had been blankly staring ahead and numbly following the medics' directions to lie down on the gurney.
"April," Illya said softly. He knelt down beside her, taking her scratched and bruised hand in his, and started to rub her sore wrist where handcuffs had been. "April."
Slowly, she turned her gaze toward him and moved her mouth to say something, but the voice wasn't there. Fear shrouded her eyes when she began to slowly recognize him. She looked around, trying to see who else was near her with irrational fear. "Napoleon?"
"He's here and on the way to Medical…" Illya began to try to calm her down, but this only agitated her more and she violently shook her head. "No, he's the one who hurt her. He killed Lexi after…, I saw it. They gave us something to make everything go funny and fuzzy before I watched. Just like the rest of the girls they control… He said that she was to be made an example of for us girls for sticking our nose in where it didn't belong. He picked her to suffer, because she was caught in the boss's office looking where she shouldn't be and then Napoleon showed up where he wasn't supposed to be, laughed, and started to beat… rape her right in front of us.
"They found out about me after I tried to talk to him and ask him why… They found out that I was UNCLE. Don't trust him. Don't trust Napoleon."
Stunned by her rash of words, Illya saw the track of injection marks that ran up her arm when he looked from her hand, to her arm, and then to her unfocused eyes. It made him wonder what kind of conditioning and torture they put her through to make her believe that Napoleon would hurt a fellow agent and friend.
"I'll keep it in mind, April." He agreed with her and lightly stroked her bruised cheek. "We have to get you to Medical..."
"Thank you, Illya." April nodded, calming down with his touch and words at first and then began to shiver and look at him funny as they took her away.
Seeing one of the doctors from Medical, he walked over to him before he could leave and took him by the arm. "Paul…"
"Yes, Illya," the doctor asked, stopping to talk with one of his frequent patients. "I really need to get to Medical. Allen's handling another emergent situation. I've got to prep Napoleon for surgery. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, but I need to stop the bleeding and clean it."
"Just keep those two separated until I can find out what has happened. I'll be down to get your initial report in half an hour." Illya released the man's arm. Paul gave him a curious look, but nodded his head and turned to follow the two hurt agents back down the hall.
Illya tiredly sat down on a seat in the near empty reception area, placed his elbows on his knees, and ran his hand through his hair. Fear and dread filled every part of his body and he could hear a voice inside his head scream, "No! She's not dead."
Professionalism and honor to duty were the only two things that pushed him out of the chair and made him walk to Mr. Waverly's office. Just like when Napoleon was missing or hurt, he concentrated on what he could do to find Lexi and bring her back alive if possible, even if it meant the end of his own life. If not, to take care of her body like they had planned.
MFU/MFU
Illya Kuryakin walked into Mr. Waverly's office, but chose to stop and stand by the doorway. He silently watched the recording of surveillance tape of Napoleon and April being pushed out of the unidentifiable car speeding by the tailor shop.
Waverly's back was to him while he watched the older man calmly puff on his pipe as he repeatedly replayed the tape again three times in a row. Illya stood quietly. He pushed the angry raw emotions back in him so he wouldn't go racing like a bat out of hell to find Lexi's body or go to be with Napoleon in Medical. He needed to assess what information he could from the security tapes.
After the third run-through of the one-minute surveillance film, Waverly froze the frame and he turned to face him. "Your thoughts on this incident, Mr. Kuryakin?"
"The license plate was obscured. They were going just fast enough or slow enough to push Mr. Solo and Miss Dancer out without too much damage so they could relay their experience and messages to us. They know where our headquarters are."
"Yes, very good," Waverly said with a nod and waved Kuryakin with his pipe to sit down, but not in his usual chair across from him, but one closer. It was then he noticed a mug a steaming tea made from the blend that he only drank in his own office and lab.
Illya stiffened, but his face remained blank even though his eye widen. He snatched a glance at Waverly and then back down to the tea. He knew that Waverly had a soft spot for Lexi and him, but didn't outwardly show it very often.
"She's not dead." Illya heard him say; feeling Waverly intently watching him when the release of tension across his tight shoulder drooped with the news. "She has been beaten, shot, and raped. I got a call from a friend of mine in the FBI and they said that she was left in front of their headquarters, as if they were sent a calling card. Does Miss Lane know anyone at the FBI that we need to be concerned with?"
After the initial relief of hearing that Lexi was alive, Illya searched his thoughts for anything that she would have said about the FBI. He knew that he was one of their favorite Soviets to watch, because of his status at UNCLE, but they didn't seem aware that she was working or operating in the United States due to all of the aliases his secret lover uses.
Sometimes the FBI agents followed him, but they were never intrusive and got easily bored with his bare apartment and simple lifestyle. He didn't know if they kept close tabs on his girlfriends or anyone else he was in contact with.
"Not that she spoke of to me. We didn't talk about our jobs before she left the KGB. The less we knew about what the other one was doing, the better. I don't think they even connected her with me. Where is she?"
"They took her to a hospital near downtown. I've sent Dr. Allen to bring her here and give me a full report when he's back," Waverly said calmly, put down his new pipe, and turned back to the video screen after flipping a couple of more switches. "Now, here is the feed from the reception area where you encountered Mr. Solo and Miss Dancer…"
"Yes, I have yet to go to Medical to get an update on their conditions. Mr. Solo is the one who told me about Miss Lane's death and Miss Dancer confirmed what was reported to you about her injuries.
"Miss Dancer stated that she was drugged and confused, but seemed agitated and adamant that Mr. Solo had inflicted those injuries and rape. She confirmed his report of Miss Lane's death by gunshot. If we believe what Miss Dancer believes, the only reason UNCLE's actions were found out was, because she approached Mr. Solo after Miss Lane was supposedly killed. Her injuries and apparent death were the direct results of being caught while trying to infiltrate their center of operations."
"A very plausible theory, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly agreed, the smoke ring around him and Illya grew bigger and bigger. "Miss Lane was found to have Mr. Solo's yellow badge clutched tightly in her hand. What I can't understand, is the group's connection with the FBI. I haven't come across any shred of evidence that they are involved with this group and what did Miss Lane say to make them mistake her for a federal agent? "Very odd…"
"Yes sir," Illya agreed, shifted in his seat, and looked at his watch.
"Oh, yes," Waverly understood the nervous actions in the young agent and cleared his throat. "I've contacted Dr. Thompson to get blood samples from both Mr. Solo and Miss Dancer. You can fill him in on Miss Lane's condition since she considers him her partner. Check on Dr. Allen and his status with bringing her to headquarters, then report back to me.
"I've sent for Mr. Slate and I want you to work with him in piecing as much information on their mission together to see if they can tell us who we are dealing with and how to destroy them. I won't be intimidated by these actions and THRUSH will not get those security codes that you and UNCLE have been working hard to protect."
"Yes, sir," Illya said with a nod and got up from his chair with the offered mug of tea in his hands to warm the cold feeling that ran throughout his body while he headed down to Medical.
MFU/MFU
"Illya," Dr. Paul Sheppard called out to the agent. He was removing his surgical hat and stuffing it into the back pocket of his scrubs. "We have a problem."
"I've got to a lot of problems right now," he said with a heavy smile. "Can you narrow it down to which problem it is, Paul?"
"I can, but let's not talk in the hall." He pointed to a row of chairs in a deserted alcove where people would wait for those in surgery. "I see that you've something to drink already, so I won't try to make you more comfortable."
"Your bedside manner is always refreshing." Illya grumbled with a smirk on his face. It was the young black doctor's dry humor that drew the Section Two agent to be friends with him more than most doctors that worked for UNCLE. "I'll let you rub my feet later."
"Hey, getting you something to drink to relax you is in the Hippocratic Oath, whereas rubbing your feet is extra and at my hourly salary, you can't afford me," Paul smiled and then instantly became serious. "That's not Napoleon Solo I took that bullet out of just now."
"No?" Illya raised his eyes from his mug of tea at his lips to look at Paul. He swallowed the hot liquid down awkwardly to prevent it from burning the roof of his mouth.
"No, although he's a good copy," Paul said calmly. "I just recently set his leg bone from mission a few months ago and it didn't show up on his x-ray. I did a full visual assessment and I noticed that most of the superficial markings are there, but he's missing a few resent characteristics that only those who know Napoleon would be aware of. Whoever put this much work in making a copy of Solo didn't have a chance to properly finish the job. If they had, we'd be unable to tell them apart, physically at least."
"So we must've found out about their operation before they could properly launch their plan." Illya surmised. "Where is he now?"
"Well," Paul smiled and pulled his lanky body back and wrapped his arms behind his head as he leaned back in the seat next to the spy. "I figured that you'd want to dust off your instruments of interrogation, so I had the nurses setup a bed in one of the detention cells. It's surprising how much they look like our regular hospital rooms…"
"I always thought the medical staff here was a little sadistic." Illya snorted. He eyed the man from the side of his mug. "Thanks Paul, I knew that I could count on you. Is it awake yet?"
"He should be getting to the room now. I have security aware of the situation and some of the nurses have agreed to help keep up the illusion that we don't know he's not the real McCoy." Paul looked at his watch when he pulled it out of his chest pocket and placed it on his muscular wrist. "Now, about April Dancer…"
"I'm all ears." Illya set down his mug, crossed his legs, and rubbed his eyes. One problem turned into two. If there's an imposter in UNCLE, where was the real Napoleon in all of this?
"She's in better shape than I first thought. She was slapped around a bit, but nothing's broken. She'll be sore and stiff from the bruising and her wrists are raw, but they'll heal in a short time."
"And mentally," he asked. "What did you find in her blood chemistry? I know that she went through some type of chemical conditioning."
"Yes, George took a sample of her blood and is analyzing it now. He did give April a broad spectrum antidote to help clear her mind. She should be able to tell you what went on. We'll keep her overnight to see if there are any side effects. That'll give George and Lexi enough time to customize a formula to counteract it."
"Paul," Illya said quietly in a controlled voice. "Lexi was on that mission with Napoleon and April. Allen went to go get her from an outside hospital."
"Oh god, Illya, I didn't know," Paul straightened up with shock and concern. "I didn't know she even gone again. I just saw her two days ago around lunch time. Does George know? What's wrong with her? She's not dead is she?"
"Not dead, but I don't know anything except that she was beaten, raped, and shot." Illya shrugged his shoulders before they stiffened again. "No, George doesn't know yet."
"Well, I better get back and wait for them to arrive." Paul rubbed his hands over legs to get rid out of his own frustration before he stood up and placed a large hand on Illya's shoulder.
"Thanks Paul," His blue eyes looked up to see a set a friendly warm brown ones. "I'll go and talk with April. Keep me informed to when she shows up."
"Will do and I'll send George to find you when I see him."
Paul quietly left Illya to his own thoughts while he finished the last of the tea alone in the dim alcove.
