It was an overcast day as Alexander Waverly stood looking out the narrow windows of his conference room.
"Looks like rain," he muttered to himself, giving him pause to cancel his lunch at the club. There was nothing pressing to make him need to go there, no chess game in progress; sadly many of his acquaintances were disappearing one by one. Not in the mysterious sense, as they were simply dying of some wretched disease or merely old age.
Still he himself felt healthy and hale but supposed when he stopped moving, stopped working at this monumental job, he'd probably give up the ghost and move on to the great beyond.
Today though, he didn't feel up to his usual snuff, as his bones were aching a bit. He put it off to the weather and tried to ignore his thoughts about his late contemporaries bringing down his spirits.
His agents thought he never slept and at times that seemed true, but being young they didn't realize that the older you get, the less sleep a person needs. They'd learn that fact eventually and there was no need for him to let them in on the secret, especially Solo.
He'd make a fine CCO when the time came, despite his proclivities when it came to the fairer sex. It was Alexander's hope that Napoleon would eventually slow down in that respect, though he suspected the man wouldn't just yet. Once he assumed the position of Continental Chief for U.N.C.L.E. Northwest he'd be permitted to marry, if that was at all possible with the man.
He could understand Solo's eye for the opposite sex as Waverly was a bit of a ladies man in his day, but that was a different time. Decent women didn't throw themselves at a man, and the courtship between them was more of a delicate nature. Oh there was still the pursuit, and what a wonderful thing that was.
Women today were different, so independent. They knew what they wanted and went after it, and that just wasn't in regards to a man. They were out there in all sorts of professions now, performing their jobs with great efficiency. They weren't just homemakers, sales clerks and secretaries; they were becoming doctors, lawyers and other such occupations, breaking down the barriers between the sexes as it were, through something called the 'Women's Liberation movement.'
"Brava," Waverly thought to himself. That was exactly why he'd requested that females be recruited to UNCLE and not in the capacity of file clerks and such, no he wanted a female field agent. He found that agent in April Dancer and now he knew it was time to add more such capable women to join the Section II ranks, though Section I was still fighting him on the idea.
THRUSH was ahead of the Command in that respect, having numerous women functioning as agents for the nefarious organization; he be damned if the birds were going to out do UNCLE. Having female operatives was one of the few ideas they'd hit upon that wasn't hairbrained in his estimation.
Still finding women to recruit to UNCLE wasn't the easiest of tasks. He wondered how THRUSH was able find so many willing cohorts in crime from the ranks of the ladies?
The allure of wealth and power were the carrots that were dangled he supposed, whereas UNCLE could only offer a decent salary and lots of danger along with little hope for retirement. Real retirement, and not some exploding gold watch that waited for some foolish lackeys of THRUSH who believed the balderdash that the Hierarchy and their upper echelon fed to their people.
The Old man looked up from his thoughts as the pneumatic doors opened and his top team of Section II agents entered his office, having responded to his summons.
"Gentlemen, thank you for being so prompt," his voice was not to its usual strength as he walked over and sat at his conference table in front of a small console, seemingly distracted.
"Please be seated." He cleared his throat as flicked the switch to his intercom, speaking to his assistant. "You'll excuse me if I let Miss Rogers brief you as I am a bit under the weather." Waverly buzzed the intercom to his assistant.
"Yes sir?" Lisa Rogers answered.
"If you could be so kind as to come in and brief Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin, my voice is not feeling up to it.
"Right away sir."
The doors opened and in walked Lisa carrying a tray with a teapot, along with china cups and saucers. She placed it on the table beside her boss and poured him a piping hot cup of tea, offering cups to the agents as well.
"Rosehips, sir. I just added a little honey as it tastes a bit tart, but it's good for your throat. It has vitamin C in it."
"Thank you Miss Rogers, what would I do without you?"
He took a sip of his tea with a sigh of satisfaction. Miss Rogers was a fully capable agent, and had turned down a position in the field to become his assistant.
Waverly thought it a bit greedy on his part, as he could have insisted she become a Section II agent, but dash it all, she made a fine cup of tea, and seemed to be telepathic when it came to his needs. She was also a fine sounding board when he needed to discuss a particular situation that had erupted somewhere in the world.
Still, he'd requested she transfer to Section II, as she'd graduated at the top of her class in Survival School, but Miss Rogers declined. She felt she better served the organization as his assistant.
Still there was a female agent in the London office who had been promoted to the field. Waverly had his eye on her, though she was a bit of an upstart with a chip on her shoulder. He thought, once the calmed, she would set a good example like Miss Dancer to help recruit other ladies to the field...much to the consternation of Section I.
At the moment, there seemed to be some difficulty with her regarding Harry Beldon, and Alexander knew he needed to keep a close eye on the developing situation. *
"Sir, going home and letting Mrs. Waverly tend to you would be a good start," Lisa chided her boss.
The Old Man cast her a warning glance as sometimes she did overstep her bounds, though in the end Alexander found it a bit amusing.
It was if his wife Estelle were standing there at times. He reminded himself to check the phone logs to see if his wife had been in communication with his assistant; it wouldn't surprise him it at all if the two women were in cahoots.
"Yes Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin," Lisa began, handing them their folders. "As you may already be aware, Pope John XXIII passed away on June third at the age of 81, and the Roman Catholic church is now preparing for the arrival of the College of Cardinals in Rome to elect the new Pontiff. Intelligence sources have indicated that one of the Cardinals who is among the group considered to be frontrunners to be elected Pope is a member of T.H.R.U.S.H."
Napoleon cast a wide-eyed glance at his partner.
"If this man were to be elected to the office of the Pope and head of the Catholic church, his influence could be catastrophic. He could exert influences over the faithful and attempt to change their belief systems, not to mention he would have access to the tremendous wealth of the Vatican."
Waverly cleared his throat, as a gentle reminder to his assistant.
"Oh yes, it was Cardinal Spellerman who first called our attention to the possible infiltrator from THRUSH."
"Cardinal Spellerman, here in New York?" Napoleon asked with raised eyebrows. "He's aware of the Hierarchy?"
"Yes, the Cardinal and I are well acquainted. We get together now and then for a casual game of chess at his home," Waverly coughed.
"Do we know the identity of this so-called infiltrator?" Illya asked, jotting down some notes on a yellow legal pad as was his habit during a briefing.
Waverly nodded to Lisa."No Mr. is the purpose of your and Mr. Solo's assignment. You are to pose as priests and enter the good graces of the conclave to find the culprit or culprits."
"Pardon me," Napoleon said,"I was raised Catholic and it's my understanding that ordinary priests were excluded. The conclave is the purview of the College of Cardinals."
Lisa looked to her boss, not sure how to address that.
Waverly cleared his throat again,"I will answer this Miss Rogers. His eminence, Cardinal Spellerman has informed me that each Cardinal can bring up to two conclavist assistants who are permitted to be present. They are of course, sworn to secrecy as well. Rather than assigning you both to one cardinal it was decided that you, Mr. Solo, will be the assistant to Cardinal Spellerman. Mr. Kuryakin, you are to report to one Cardinal Szymon Wiśniewski of Poland. He is Cardinal Spellerman's friend and is the only other person, outside of those present in this room, who is aware of the situation.
"Any questions gentleman?" Lisa stepped in, pouring more tea for her boss as he began to cough again.
"None at the moment," Napoleon, after looking to his partner, answered for the both of them.
"Then here are your tickets to Rome," she handed them over." Wardrobe will supply the appropriate clothing, and you are to travel in character, wearing your priest's collars, with cassocks to be worn once you reach the Vatican. Cardinals Spellerman and Wiśniewski are expecting you and will brief you on the presumed leading candidates for the position of Pope. Oh and in your briefing folder is the passcode to be used. His Eminence Cardinal Spellerman insisted on one."
"Good luck gentlemen and keep me informed,"Waverly wheezed.
"I think it's time you headed up to Medical sir," Lisa prompted."And no arguments."
It was no use tilting with the woman as she was right.
"Very well," he turned to his agents, waving them off. "Now what are you waiting for...dismissed."
Solo and Kuryakin left promptly, tucking their airline tickets in their breast pockets.
"Well aren't you the lucky one?" Napoleon smirked.
"Why is that?"
"As a priest you get to still dress in your favorite color…"
"Hmm, how fortuitous," Illya let go a wry smile."And by the way, I remind you that black is not considered a color."
"What?"
"Black is the absence of color and is therefore not a color."
Napoleon shook his head," And I suppose you're going to tell me white isn't a color either?"
"White is an achromatic color, that is a color without hue. The color of a tangible object is the result of pigments or molecular coloring agents. For example, the color of a red apple is the result of molecular coloring agents on the surface of the apple. Also, a painting of a red apple is the result of red pigments used to create the image."
Solo shook his head at his encyclopedic partner; his head was just full of unimportant facts...well important ones too.
"Tovarish, do you actually know what a conclavist is?"
The word conclavist comes from conclave which is derived from the Latin cum clave , meaning 'with a key. The term evolved during the thirteenth century and was formalized by Pope Gregory X's Ubi periculum in 1274 during the Second Council of Lyon. The procedure of locking in the papal electors was intermittently used until, and exclusively used after 1294... "
"Illya?"
"Yes Napoleon?"
"Enough already, please?"
The Russian snickered to himself, knowing he'd annoyed his partner; he always enjoyed getting his digs in when he could.
.
* Ref to "The Mind Control Affair" (an AU story)