"Gentlemen it has come to our attention that this man, a member of THRUSH, has gone rogue," Alexander Waverly announced to his two top field agents.
"His name is Willie Altschuler and he has been with their organization for quite some time. His aspirations had been to become a member of the High Council but he has been turned down again and again, despite being one of their top operatives.
Illya passed a photograph of the man to his partner with a shrug.
"He isn't much to look at," Napoleon said; noting the man was balding and looked somewhat out of shape. If he wasn't in his forties, he most certainly appeared to be.
"Looks can be deceiving Mr. Solo; in this case we can only presume this is a true photograph of Altschuler, as he's been known to be a master of disguise."
"How is it we have never encountered this man before?" Kuryakin asked.
"He has operated mainly behind the Iron Curtain, specifically in East Germany, where he is from, and has wreaked havoc over the years with the STASI. So given UNCLE rarely ventures into that territory, it is understandable you haven't had contact with him."
Napoleon and Illya passed a quick glance at each other. The Soviet Union was not exactly the safest place for Illya to be in, given the KGB's dislike of him since he joined UNCLE. Though he was the most qualified to work behind the Iron Curtain, his incursions into that territory were far and few between, and thankfully so. There was no love lost between he, a former GRU agent, and the secret police of the German Democratic Republic.
"So will we be heading to East Germany sir?" Napoleon asked.
"No . You will be heading to Las Vegas. Rumor has it the man has been operating there, gambling to raise money to fund his plan."
"And that is?" Illya asked.
"He has threatened to destroy a number of key THRUSH satraps as revenge for his being rejected by the Council."
"Why would that be our concern; if he eliminates these satraps would that not be in our favor?" Illya pushed aside the file.
"On face value one might say yes but in this case the answer is a definitive no, Mr. Kuryakin, as his plan is a dangerous one. You see he has threatened to plant seven nuclear devices at THRUSH locations around the world.
It goes without saying, if detonated, they would have disastrous results not just for THRUSH but for the world population. The spread of nuclear fallout would would kill and injure millions of innocents. It would affect the earth for years to come, not to mention these bombs could trigger a nuclear war between the major powers of the United States and the Soviet Union."
"Perhaps we could convince him to join our side," Napoleon asked." I'm sure he has enough information about his former employers to help tip the scales in our favor. What better revenge than to help UNCLE?"
Waverly tapped the bowl of his pipe in the crystal ashtray in front of himself; putting the mouthpiece back in his mouth and biting down on it.
"One would think that Mr. Solo, but apparently he has a much more specific idea as to what constitutes revenge; the consequences be damned."
Waverly passed another document to his CEA.
"We just received this coded message via THRUSH channels, and the person it is from might interest you, Mr. Solo. Angelique La Chien has made an offer to join forces with UNCLE in locating and eliminating Mr. Altschuler. Apparently THRUSH is taking his threat seriously, though in the past they could have cared less if they lost a satrap and the people manning it as we know their lack of concern for human life."
"Still, I think they realize the ramifications of seven nuclear bombs being detonated are even too much for their bloodthirsty aspirations for world dominance. The earth would be inundated and those who survived, well I don't even want to think about that. Humankind could be genetically altered for generations, if not permanently. This could in fact signal the beginning of the end for life on earth if these bombs were permitted to detonate."
Illya's eyebrows raised as he looked at the letter from Angelique. The mention of her name made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle; he detested the woman, for all the good it would do. Napoleon's dalliances with her never made sense to him, though there were times the American claimed it was for information sharing.
In Illya's estimation it was more for the sharing of bodily fluids, lustful gratification and nothing more.
"And we are going to take her up on this offer?"
"Yes Mr. Kuryakin we are."
"To what advantage? She would merely be keeping tabs on us."
Napoleon let loose a smile. "Ah partner mine, haven't you ever heard the old adage...'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? It works both ways you know. We'll know what she's up to as well.
"True Mr. Solo, but Angelique La Chien will give us a distinct advantage as she knows the locations of most of her organization's major satraps. No doubt THRUSH will have other operatives scouring the globe for Altschuler, as will we. UNCLE won't put all its eggs in one basket as it were," the Old Man winked.
"Though I do feel that sending my best agents will be giving us our greatest chance of stopping him. With her knowledge our odds of success will have increased exponentially. I have however, had to give her one concession and that was there would be no retaliation against the satraps she reveals to us, at least for the next month."
"None at all?" Napoleon was surprised at that revelation, though not when it came to Angelique. She was quite the little negotiator, and usually got what she wanted, he had personal experience in that area...very personal. Who knew what other caveats Waverly had agreed to that he wasn't telling them about. The man was known for not revealing all the facts, and often kept information to himself.
The Old Man tossed a pair of airline tickets to the table, sending them around to his agents.
"Your flight leaves this evening and you'll be staying at the Remington Casino just outside of Las Vegas. Bring tuxedos gentleman as this is one of the more exclusive gambling establishments. It's not even located on the famous Sunset Strip. Altschuler has been spotted there and it is presumed he is gathering most of his money, by cheating at whatever game he's chosen. We don't know if he has any bombs ready yet, and to presuppose he doesn't would be foolhardy on our part. "
"And Angelique sir?" Napoleon asked.
"She will contact you there. Good luck gentlemen, if ever you needed it, this is the time. I will expect regular check-ins if you please. Work quickly on this one, as the world's safety truly depends upon your success more than ever. Now dismissed."
He waved them off with his hand, sending them on their way with little more than the photograph and their tickets.
They walked down the corridor together; Solo being the first to speak.
"Hmmm, laying it on a little thick 'the world's safety depends upon you.' Like we don't know that already," Napoleon mildly complained.
"My friend, when does it not depend upon our success? However, the presence of Angelique has me concerned."
"You're letting your dislike of her color your opinion tovarisch."
"And what of it? I will admit I do not like or trust her. How could she possibly help us in Las Vegas?
"Well for one, she knows what Altschuler looks like for sure and can identify him, and how do we know there isn't a satrap there?
"And if he is in disguise? What good will she be then?"
"Leave it to you to think of that… come on let's get down to wardrobe."
"So we could be starting off this mission with a potential big bang,"Illya mused.
"Being negative already?"
"No just being realistic."
After they picked up their tuxedos and other clothing appropriate for the assignment from wardrobe, they headed for the Commissary, but as soon as they walked in they did an about face. The disgusting odor coming from the room was overwhelming.
"Cookie has outdone himself this time, "Napoleon mumbled. "It smelled like rotten eggs in there."
"It was rotten eggs," one of the secretaries said as she quickly exited, holding a perfumed handkerchief over her nose, trying not to get sick. "That idiot left a whole crate of eggs unrefrigerated for weeks and sitting next to a heating vent. He swore he thought it was a box of new dishes. Oh my God, the stench is awful, " she finally gagged. "Some of the eggs exploded."
"Hmm, perhaps a new weapon to be added to the UNCLE arsenal," Illya chuckled.
"Don't let that idea get out to Accounting chum. They'll take away our C-4 and give us a carton of exploding eggs instead."
"Hey it worked for THRUSH with their exploding apples?" Kuryakin snickered.
"Yeah, well you use rotten eggs if you want to Illya. I'll stick with more conventional weapons."
"I did not say I wanted to use them, I was merely discussing the efficacy of such a weapon."
Napoleon shot him one of his snarky looks. Only Illya would follow that line of thinking…
They headed out of the building to their usual haunt, Chang's Chinese restaurant a few blocks away from headquarters. It was a chilly February day, around 23 degrees, and they opted for a taxi this time instead of walking.
After their an enthusiastic welcome from the restaurant owner, they settled into their regular booth in the back, out of view from most of the other patrons.
Lunch was basic, an order of beef with broccoli for Napoleon, Illya had chicken with cashew nuts, and both opted for hot egg drop soup, and a large pot of green tea accompanied by egg and spring rolls.
Just as they were finishing their meal, a familiar scent filled the air...bal à versailles perfume. That could only mean one person, as she started wearing the new fragrance as soon as it came out. It was not an inexpensive one either.
"Serena, fancy meeting you here. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit; you are visiting aren't you?" Napoleon asked.
"Yes what is the reason you see fit to disturb our lunch?" Illya added, his voice somewhat terse.
"Can't a girl just stop by to say hello?" Her accented voice though dangerous was still alluring.
She responded in German, leaning forward to show off a bit of her cleavage.
"Is it me or is it a touch chilly in here?" Napoleon eyed her bustline. "Seriously you want us to believe that you just want to say hello?" Napoleon smiled,'You always have a reason for everything my dear."
"Mir? Wie kannst du mir so etwas unterstellen? Das ist ziemlich gemein von dir, wo ich doch nur nett sein wollte. (Me? How can you assume something like that? That's pretty mean of you, while I just wanted to be nice)
"With your track record, it is not that difficult to presume," Illya quipped.
"Oh as miserable as ever aren't you Kuryakin. Napoleon dearest, how do you tolerate working with such a man?" She didn't wait for a reply...
"Lebt wohl, meine Lieblings spione."
Serena spun on her heel, whipping her long fur scarf around her neck and quickly disappeared out the door.
"Well she did call us her favorite spies," Napoleon smiled.
"Though I find it odd she used Lebt wohl instead of Auf Wiedersehen. It was so dramatic and ...terminal, more permanent than just a mere goodbye," Illya pointed out.
"Why do I have a feeling she knows about this joint UNCLE-THRUSH effort. It is as if she expects us to die soon. I would assume she does know of Altschuler's threat."
"You're just being paranoid, and since when do you make assumptions without having all the facts?" Napoleon smiled as he took a last sip of tea.
"I think not, but it is merely a bit of intuition on my part. Is there something wrong with that?"
That made Solo squirm just a little; when came to Illya's gut feelings, things generally went from bad to worse.
.
The partners returned to headquarters, finishing up some reports in their office before they gathered their luggage and supplies of UNCLE gadgets before heading out to the airport.
After a brief wait before boarding, they were finally winging their way to Vegas. The flight would take roughly six hours, much shorter than they were accustomed to traveling since the majority of their assignments as of late had been to Europe.
The inflight movie was unappealing, especially to the Russian. The idea of a musical just didn't seem right to him, an operatic story was fine, but this 'Music Man' bit of fluff was pure nonsense.
He laid back his head, opting to catch up on his sleep while Napoleon continued to pursue his favorite past time and that was flirting with the comely stewardesses, who didn't seem to mind a bit flirting back with the handsome American.
He'd most likely end up with their telephone numbers, but as to securing dates, Illya knew his partner would forego such pleasures given the importance of their assignment.
An announcement from the pilot woke Kuryakin from a deep sleep, so much so that he even passed on the inflight meal. For some reason when flying on a plane with Napoleon, his slumber was more relaxed; he guessed it was because the likelihood of being attacked was low on the scale of probabilities.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes, focusing on the announcement. They'd be landing in another ten minutes. The weather report gave the temperature in the mid-sixties. Though Kuryakin was very accustomed to the cold weather, such temperatures gave a welcome respite from bulky winter coats, hats and scarves…galoshes too.
The landing was smooth and the agents waited as the rest of the passengers deplaned, being last to leave as was their habit, just in case to cover their backs.
They breathed in the fresh night air of the desert as they stepped out to the top of the stairs; their winter coats thrown over their arms.
"Now this is more like it chum," Napoleon stretched, taking in another deep breath.
"May I remind you we are not here for the weather."
"You're forever putting the kibosh on things for me aren't you?"
"If by kibosh, I am guessing you mean putting a damper, then yes. We need to remain focused my friend."
"Don't worry your little blond knoggin. My head is in the right place I promise. I know this is a big one we're up against."
"That makes me feel much better," Illya said sarcastically as they stepped down to the tarmac." By the way, what language is this kibosh? I am unfamiliar with the word."
"It's a Gaelic term that translates to 'the cap of death,' referring to the black cap worn by a judge passing the sentence of capital punishment. So your guess at its meaning contextually was close enough."
Illya stopped and stared at the American for a second."Napoleon I am quite impressed."
"What, I can't know a few things now and then my encyclopedic friend?" He chuckled, admitting he'd learned it as a child from his Irish nanny who was quite knowledgeable when it came to teaching him the facts of life as well.
That elicited a chuckle from the usually serious Russian.
"You had a nanny?"
"Well she was more for my sisters, but since my brother and I were around, we learned a few things from her."
"One could only imagine," Illya mumbled.
"You have no idea tovarisch," Napoleon winked.
"Oh I think I do…"
Together they walked into the main terminal, located the luggage carousel and collected their belongings. Ten minutes later they were in a taxi headed for the Remington.
They were driven along the famous Strip, gaudily lit by so many bright neon lights, flashing in a cacophony of color. Figures danced, hands waved, playing cards winked on and off. There was music coming from within the casinos, and people outside calling out and extolling the virtues of their particular gambling establishment.
Illuminated palm trees, cowboys, showgirls and marquees were everywhere. The driver pointed out the different casinos and who was headlining where.
"Now the Sands is going to have a great show with Dean Martin, maybe Sinatra, and Sammy Davis Jr. too. They tend to show up for each other."
"That's a show I wouldn't mind seeing," Napoleon remarked.
"That is a show I would forego my friend."
"Tovarisch," Solo discreetly whispered so the driver wouldn't hear, "as I said before, you're just no fun sometimes. Martin is an idol in the Italian-American community, as is Sinatra and with the addition of Sammy Davis Jr. they've become known as the famous Rat Pack."
"Rat Pack? That does not sound very enticing. Why would a group of entertainers want to be called that? When I was growing up a rat was something looked upon as food, a distasteful one but it kept you from starving."
Napoleon shook his head. It just wasn't worth getting into this. "Never mind, it's not really important."
Twenty-five minutes later the cab pulled curbside to the entrance of the Remington Casino and Hotel. It was tastefully appointed, with a lit sign and marquee advertising a young singing sensation named Wayne Newton.
The the hotel numbered a dozen floors with the casino standing beside it.
A bellhop dressed in a short double-breasted red jacket, black trousers, red cap and white gloves came out immediately with a luggage trolley, taking Solo's valise both their garment bags.
Illya insisted upon holding onto their silver briefcases and his duffle bag, knowing they were packed with a plethora of weapons and explosives tucked in with his incidental clothing. He had a sudden vision of one of them falling off the trolley, popping open and spewing the contents all over the ground.
"Not bad," Napoleon remarked," eyeing the lavish palm tree and gilt appointed lobby. It screamed opulence. Guests were handsomely attired in tuxedos and dinner jackets and the ladies in tea length sequined chiffon dresses seemed to be the norm.
The agents checked in at the desk and were pleasantly surprised they had separate rooms for once.
As they headed up to the fifth floor, Illya mentioned the difficulty level of their situation.
"You know it is going to be like looking for a needle in the haystack."
"You read my mind tov...chum. Who knows what he's going to look like or if he has any idea we're looking for him."
"I wonder when Angelique will make her presence known to us?"
"I am sure she has already seen us, though we have not seen her. Therefore, I think it is safe to assume we will be hearing from her very soon."
"Illya, I for one want to take a quick shower before I change into my tux and head down to the casino, or maybe get some dinner?"
"Excuse me for listening in sir," the elevator boy interrupted,"but the casino has a free buffet so you could eat there."
"Thank you," Napoleon smiled as he reached into his pocket, giving the young freckle faced fellow a tip.
The doors opened to their floor, revealing more potted palm trees on either side of the elevator. The floor itself was covered with a lush Persian style carpeting, and highly polished brass art deco lighting fixtures; the walls were appointed with white wainscot.
The bellhop rolled the trolley to their doors unloading Illya's first, and receiving nothing but a thank you before Kuryakin ducked into his room. The it was to Solo's room where the young man stood, holding out his hand.
"Oh yes the tip," Napoleon shrugged, digging into his pocket again and handing him the money and thinking to himself that he needed to talk to Illya about that. He knew the Russian was a bit of a tightwad, but this was an environment where tipping was expected.
Napoleon was a bit surprised UNCLE was flitting the bill for separate accommodations in a pricey place like this, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Illya quickly closed the door behind him, and drawing his weapon; he checked for intruders as well as bugs. Once satisfied everything was clear, he pulled his communicator.
They had agreed he would make the first check-in with Waverly.
"Open Channel D- Waverly."
"Yes Mr. Kuryakin."
"Mr. Solo and I have arrived at the Remington. No contact with Miss La Chien as of yet sir. Though I'm sure we'll be hearing from her soon."
"Well let me know when you do. Out."
Short and sweet. Typical of Alexander Waverly as the man never minced words.
Illya unpacked his bag, hung up his suits and tuxedo and following his partners suggestion, he decided to take a quick shower as well.
.
Napoleon closed his door behind him, locked it and withdrew his gun; walking through his suite with caution as he checked for company and any listening devices.
He slowly opened the bedroom door, and it was then his instincts went on full alert. The bed was unmade and it looked as if someone had been ...no, was in it.
"Who are you?" He pointed his Special at the intruder.
"Oh darling put that thing away before someone gets hurt."
He huffed, slipping his gun back into its holster as he stepped over to the bed.
"I knew you'd be contacting us, but I didn't expect it to be like this?" He smiled at her, seeing as she sat up in the bed that she was obviously naked beneath the sheets.
"It eliminated a lot of walking for me. I had no desire to look for you and I figured this would be much more convenient, sharing a room with you."
"Sharing? As in this is your room too?"
"You heard me right. Your cheapskate organization had you staying with the Russian in the same room, and I had no desire for a threesome, at least not with him, so I paid for a separate room for just you and me darling," she practically cooed at him as she let the sheet drop now, revealing her beautiful breasts.
"Angelique, this isn't really a good time...ah for indulging ourselves. We need to get going to find this Willie Altschuler don't we? I'll get my things and bunk with Illya if you don't mind?"
"I do mind Napoleon Solo. These are my terms; you want my help then you stay here with me, and besides I know sex relaxes you. Right now you do look a bit tense to me darling."
"Well I am a little." He sat down beside her and instantly they were in each other's arms. Napoleon threw caution to the wind when it came to her. She helped him remove his clothing, and lifting the covers; she spread her legs, inviting him in.
Napoleon gladly obliged her welcome...