THE BLOND & BEAUTIFUL RAVEN AFFAIR
Chapter 1
"So what else is new?"
In an exceptionally expensive pre-condominium apartment atop a somewhat secret New York skyscraper locale...
Napoleon Solo, a still-suave yet gray-haired-and-wrinkled, but well within reason! re-activated U.N.C.L.E. agent from some forty-plus years in a mutual future shared by a blond, still!, blue-eyed Russian-born re-activated co-agent...
"Well, Miss McNabb," he sighed smilingly, whilst rolling onto his back in the big bedroom two had just passionately shared. "Still concerned about my heart now that an older Napoleon has replaced the younger here in 1964?"
With a broad and gratified grin, U.N.C.L.E. Agent 26, assigned mostly to Section 5, lazily rolled over to place her blond-haired head on Solo's shoulder. Whilst allowing well-manicured fingers to gratefully feel their way through a largely gray-haired chest of a super-sexy septuagenarian.
"No," she sensually said with a hint of a come-hither hum. "There's definitely nothing wrong with your heart, Mister Solo. Guess there really is fire in the furnace even when there's snow on the rooftop."
Just as the two started to press closer in promise of a kiss prior to a repeat of what they had done mere moments earlier...
Bee-dup! Bee-dup! Bee-dup!
As Napoleon's still-sharp hazel eyes denoted distinct disappointment at the transmission signal sounding from the vicinity of his bedside stand's top...
"It's not me, Napoleon," said a smirking in bemusement Miss McNabb even as Napoleon Solo leaned away to pick up the pen from a future period of Time. Then, with the slightest upward pressure upon the ball of the pocket clip of the Cross brand writing implement...
"Solo here," properly pouted Napoleon into the instantly self-converted device used for surreptitious transmissions 'twixt a secret agent and his headquarters. Or with another agent-in-the-field, when both were on active assignment anywhere in or around the world.
This time, however, 'twas Alexander Waverly's unmistakably British-accented voice that came forth from the microphone-speaker combo popping up atop the pen communicator held 'twixt the tips of the fingers of Napoleon's right hand...
"Mr. Solo, I need you back at headquarters as quickly as possible. Mr. Kuryakin is already here. As is usual for him. So bid a fond farewell to whatever lovely lady you happen to be spending so much time with this early evening and report in. Waverly out."
Even though the wireless link had been abruptly terminated by "the boss", Napoleon none-the-less said, "On my way," just before pressing down on that self-same pocket clip of the Cross brand pen to instantly turn it back into an expensive, from the Future!, writing utensil.
"Well, Miss McNabb, looks like," he had started even as he turned back toward the woman who'd shared much more than his bed after a romantic time of dinner and dancing. He wasn't at all surprised to see she had already nearly completely donned her darling little black dress. "Hm. You seem to be able to put on your finest frock as easily as you'd taken it off a couple of hours earlier."
"Yes," she said with shaky smile, "and after returning to my own apartment to change into something much more suitable for U.N.C.L.E., I intend to retake my place in Communications."
"But," the salt-and-pepper haired Number 11 said as he, too, picked out a fresh suit from the large closet situated to one side of his sizable master bedroom, "you're still off-duty...Agent 26. Why don't you just..."
"Nonsense," she said swiftly in order to prevent Napoleon's apparent expostulation from hitting home. "If you...and Mr. Kuryakin, of course...are heading out on a potentially deadly mission affair...I intend on being back on duty in Section 5. End of discussion."
Just as this exquisitely comely woman strode straight and sure toward the bedroom's door, Napoleon lightly held her back by a bare upper arm...
"You know," Napoleon, at long last, softly said, a crooked grin on his still-handsome-after-four-plus decades countenance, framed perfectly by graying hair. "You're sense of independence would've done well in the future from which I have very recently hailed."
Even as it seemed a kiss that surpassed the mere physical or sexual was about to aborn for both...
"I, uh, need to go hail a cab," Miss McNabb managed, whilst gently pulling free from a grasp that was very nearly Loving in nature. "So do you. Just because you're now in the same age group as Mr. Waverly...doesn't mean he'll be any less chastising should you be late."
"Right as always," answered Napoleon Solo with a smile and a wink, while tugging on his tie. "Miss McNabb."
A quick cab ride later, followed by walking into a supposedly closed-for-the-night Del Floria's tailor shop. Then entering through the super-secret blast-proof double-dense door, whereby a hallway walk led to an anteroom receptionist and color-coded, upside-down triangular tag-like badges...
...Number 11 of Section 2 soon sat across from Number 1 of Section 1, along with Number 2 of Section 2, with the circular metal-and-oak escritoire 'twixt they and he...
"So," Solo said with a sly smirk disguising his desire for agent action, "what's THRUSH up to tonight?"
Leaning closer and sniffing, whilst speaking in a hushed aside for the ears of a dear friend and fellow U.N.C.L.E. operative, Illya Kuryakin, still nearly untouched-by-Time, unabashedly asked, "Switched your usual cologne for a lady's perfume, Napoleon? Very nice. Chanel Number 5?"
The gleam in the blue eyes of the blond-haired Russian left little doubt that the whispered question was just a gentle gibe from a fast friend of forty-plus years...
"It still smells better than what you're wearing, Illya," quietly quipped Napoleon Solo with as much muted humor as his lifetime teammate. "Still sticking to Old Spice, I see. How...'old' of you."
Suspecting his two top U.N.C.L.E. agents, no matter their current older-by-decades age, were sharing an amusing moment, Alexander Waverly laid a folder, brandishing the U.N.C.L.E. logo, upon his side of the large Lazy Susan top. Then slowly spun it 'round to two of his best.
"Though, from your curiously estranged-via-Time perspective, this will be more of a memory of some past mission affair already long accomplished," started Mr. Waverly, even as both Napoleon and Illya looked over everything within that U.N.C.L.E. folder. Including a black-and-white five-by-three photo of a beautiful blond forever burned into the recollections of two seemingly, on the surface, over-the-hill operatives. "This young lady seems to be the focus of THRUSH's unwanted attention yet again."
"Marion Raven," avowed Napoleon with more in regards to an agent's emotionless remembrance of a mission affair already, for them, ended decades ago.
"Yes," softly said Illya as a more personal recollection revealed, momentarily at least, a little more feeling from the normally cool Number 2. Something he swiftly tried to hide. "Uhm...what is it this time, sir?"
While a half-smiling Napoleon Solo stayed mercifully silent, Alexander Waverly locked eyes with equally-aged, at least for the nonce, men from U.N.C.L.E. Then coldly told both...
"It would seem that Gervaise Ravel...I'm quite certain you, Mr. Solo, quite clearly recall her...has decided the time may be right to exact a measure of revenge against the two of you...by kidnapping and, quite likely, killing Miss Raven. Amongst some other sufficiently devious and diabolical deed or deeds, no doubt. After all, Miss Raven did help on more than one occasion against Miss Ravel and led to the inevitable death of her Mr. Bufferton."
"Hell hath no fury," started Solo with a tightly terse smile, just as Kuryakin quickly cut in.
"So you wish us to seek out and protect Marion...er, uhm...Miss Raven?"
Even Waverly's basset hound affectation offered up a brief half-grin. He then, with a hard nod, said, "Yes, Mr. Kuryakin. But, this time, I want Mr. Solo to 'baby-sit' Marion Raven...while you, Mr. Kuryakin, seek out Gervaise Ravel."
After both abruptly shot very hard glaring glances at one another, it would be Napoleon who first asked, with a pensive and puzzled look dominating a mien much, much older than that either years-younger lovely ladies would invariably recall...
"But neither are expecting us as we are now, sir. Why are you...?"
Though ostensibly silent, Illya's look seemed to scream vast volumes, as Waverly promptly replied, "Because neither of you should enter into this particular mission affair with pre-conceived emotions nor remembered motivations. It is vitally important that Miss Gervaise Ravel...and, by at least a little true extension, THRUSH...be permanently stopped! That's it, gentlemen. Section 5 has the individual details for you both. On your way now."
Turning his British attentions to other mission affair folders now neatly littering his side of the oaken oval desktop, Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo slowly stood in order to retreat through the automatically opening blast-proof inner office door leading away from Waverly...
...and, after a brief stop in Section 5, where Miss McNabb had discreetly resumed her duties, whilst wearing the appropriate attire with upside-down triangular, color-coded badge brandishing the number "26"...
...and, after taking temporary possession of two stylish-for-the-Sixties automobiles in order to head in two dramatically different directions: Napoleon simply to a still-in-New York apartment wherein an unsuspecting-and-very lovely blond could be quite carefully defended; Illya for the airport in order to be borne by jet plane to where a certain THRUSH-ette could be clandestinely located...and killed?
Thus two older-looking men from U.N.C.L.E. would likely encounter a helluva lot more than either had been led to believe.
As Illya Kuryakin would quite characteristically mutter to himself shortly after take-off, "So what else is new?"
END OF CHAPTER 1