"This is the last known location of Di Nucci and McGinty," Napoleon stated, as he and Illya arrived at a cave opening, hidden deep within dense woodland.
"Their communicators at least."
"Thank you, Mr Pessimist."
"That would be, Mr Pragmatist," Illya replied, as she scanned the ground for any physical evidence of the missing agents. "There are several footprints going towards the cave."
"Then I would say that I our course is clear."
The two agents checked their pocket flashlights and headed into the cave. A few metres in it became apparent that the flashlights weren't needed. The pathway in sloped into the earth and was surprisingly well lit. It made both agents feel very ill at ease; so much so that they drew their specials. They continued on in silence, expecting some form of attack at any moment, until they came to a fork in the path.
"Do we each take a path, or stick together?" asked Illya. "Our communicators probably won't work down here so we will not be able to contact one another if we find something."
"We'll split up," Napoleon decided. "You're a big boy now, I'm sure you can take care of yourself."
Illya ignored Napoleon's infuriating grin and opted to take the passage to the right. As he descended farther into caves, he began to feel as though he were being watched. Being an agent, it was a natural paranoia, but this time he definitely felt eyes on him. Looking around he couldn't see any obvious cameras or windows. Behind him a panel silently slid open and two men in THRUSH uniforms. One of the men gave a polite little cough, causing Illya to spin around in surprise. Before he could do anything, the man sprayed something into is face and he dropped to the ground. He was unconscious before he landed.
In the other passage, Napoleon progressed unimpeded and eventually found who he'd been looking. In a large cavern, he discovered Tommy Di Nucci dressed as a firing range human target and had been propped up between two cardboard ones. He was quite clearly dead, having been used for that purpose.
Terry McGinty was lying on the ground. He was still alive, but barely. Given the amount of blood which was pooling around him, Napoleon didn't expect him to last for very much longer.
"Hey Terry," he whispered, as he crouched and attempted to rouse the injured man. "Are you still with me?"
McGinty's eyelids fluttered but he didn't wake.
"I believe it's a little late for him, Mr Solo,"
Napoleon heard the sound of a gun being cocked so he slowly straightened up and, raising his hands, turned to face the owner of the voice. He found himself face to face with a man in a badly cut suit, which seemed to have been made for a man a least six inches taller than he was. Behind him, an unconscious Illya hung limply between two goons. Napoleon tried not to let his horror show when he realised that his partner had been dressed in one of the human target costumes.
"You have me at a disadvantage," Napoleon said, conversationally. "I take it you are responsible for the condition of my colleagues."
"I am George Townsend," his captor informed him. I'm sure I'm in the U.N.C.L.E. files somewhere."
Solo shrugged. He'd never heard the name before.
"Unfortunately," Townsend continued. "Mr McGinty was unwilling to save his partner's life. All he needed to do was give me a little information."
Moving over to Illya, he grabbed a handful of blond hair and raised his head. Napoleon could see that his mouth had been taped over.
"As you can see, your Russian friend will be unable to answer my questions, but I'm sure he will make for an excellent incentive."
Townsend nodded to his goons, indicating that they should replace Di Nucci with Illya. Once that was done Napoleon was relieved of his gun and ordered to his knees. The two guards drew their weapons and kept them aimed at Solo.
"Let's begin. I want to know the details of Alexander Waverly's movements for the next two weeks."
As expected, Solo remained silent, prompting Townsend to shoot the target to Illya's right. It was a perfectly aimed shot to the heart.
"What are the planned movements for Alexander Waverly for the next two weeks?"
In front of Napoleon, Illya began to awaken; the sound of the gunshot having penetrated his subconscious. He noticeably flinched as Townsend took a shot to the target on his left. Looking around, it didn't take Illya long to work out what was going on.
"The next bullet goes into your Russian friend."
"You really are wasting your time," Napoleon told their captor. "My partner will understand if my silence leads to his death. He knows that I will not divulge any sensitive information."
Illya nodded in agreement, but Townsend remained undeterred. He took aim and sent a bullet directly into Illya's left shoulder, causing him to grunt behind his gag.
"I will keep shooting until my question is answered."
From the corner of his eye, Napoleon could see movement from behind the two goons. The agent was practically dead, but he was summoning some strength from somewhere. With a cry of agony, McGinty launched himself at the legs of the guards. The men fell forward, each of them dropping their weapons. The commotion gave Napoleon just enough time to tackle Townsend. He very quickly knocked him out with a karate chop to the back of the neck. Grabbing the man's gun, and warned to goons not to go for their own, and to kick his own towards him. Snatching it up, he fired a sleep dart into both men. The whole thing was over as quickly as it began.
Napoleon knelt down beside McGinty and gently turned him over. He was fading fast but managed to smile after Solo thanked him for the rescue. His eyes fluttered closed and he finally breathed his last.
Allowing himself a brief moment of sorrow, Napoleon then turned to Illya, who was waiting patiently for his own rescue. Solo ripped the tape from his mouth and released him from his bonds.
"They were good agents," Illya commented, gritting his teeth against the pain from his shoulder, "I would like to formerly recommend Terry McGinty for a posthumous commendation."
"Seconded," Napoleon agreed. "We'd better get this lot secured, along with some first aid for you. Once we get a clean-up team in here, we'll get you some proper medical attention."
Looking down at the clothing he had ben dressed in, Illya wondered out loud why he had been made into a physical target for the second time*.
"I couldn't even begin to image," Solo replied, in a tone which suggested he could. "Come on, we have a lot to do."