Hello everyone! As you see, I'm back with a new tale to tell :-D which I hope you will enjoy.

I'd been watching some of the earlier MFU TV episodes and had finished "The Mad, Mad Tea Party Affair" when I'd gone into the kitchen for something and the iconic 1960s song "White 'Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane came on the radio. The strange synchronicity of the two events ultimately served as the inspiration for "The Jabberwock Affair".

The title of this story as well as all heading quotes are taken from Lewis Carroll's books, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through The Looking Glass.


WARNING! Although *T* Rated, this story contains adult content (some depiction of sex and nudity) and is not suitable for younger readers.

GENRE: Drama, Suspense, with adult romance, non-graphic violence (no erotica or slash)


Disclaimer: I do not own the Man From U.N.C.L.E. series, images, or its original characters. This story is intended to be read and (hopefully) enjoyed solely as a work of fanfiction and is dedicated to the talented actors who portrayed these beloved characters in the two original 1960s television series—Robert Vaughn, David McCallum, Leo G. Carroll, Stefanie Powers, Noel Harrison


This story features Illya Kuryakin, with appearances by Napoleon Solo and Alexander Waverly


PROLOGUE

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!"


Heedless that he was jaywalking, Illya Kuryakin strode quickly across the familiar New York City side street as he headed to Del Floria's Cleaners, the cover facade for U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. He was running late for a meeting with Alexander Waverly, who had little tolerance for tardiness from his agents when they were scheduled to confer with their no-nonsense Section Chief.

Illya could already envision Waverly's disapproving scowl and Napoleon Solo's sympathetic warning glance once his partner arrived.

Usually punctual, the fair-haired Russian had simply overslept. Apparently his alarm had failed to either go off or awaken him; but fortunately his internal clock had kicked in and he had awoken with a start, sensing he was running late. A quick glance over at the electric Westclox sitting on the bedside stand showed him he had overslept by nearly twenty minutes.

The blond agent had just reached the few steps that led down to Del Floria's entrance when he heard a loud, persistent honking behind him. Hesitating on the top step, Illya glanced back toward the curb and saw a sleek black limousine pull up. Immediately one of the dark panes on the passenger side facing him glided smoothly downward, and Kuryakin saw and heard Alexander Waverly call to him from the shadowed interior of the large car.

Although surprised that the Section Chief was in the limo and not in his office inside headquarters, the youthful Russian hurried over to the vehicle and leaned down.

"I am terribly sorry I am late, Sir, but my alarm…" he began to explain, but Waverly interrupted gruffly, "It is of no consequence, Mr. Kuryakin. Please get in. Time is of the essence. We are heading to the airport where an U.N.C.L.E. jet is on standby. I'll apprise you of what is happening on the way there."

Nodding, Illya opened the door and slid onto the wide, comfortable dark leather seat across from the impeccably-dressed older man in the expensive grey suit with matching Fedora hat. It was rare that Waverly himself went on an assignment, but it did happen on occasion, and so Illya had no reason to question that.

As the limo pulled away and merged back into the flow of New York City traffic the blond agent glanced around the limo's spacious yet gloomy interior.

"Isn't Napoleon coming along on this mission? I thought he was also scheduled to meet with you this morning." It was apparent that aside from Waverly, the chauffeur and another man seated in the front—neither of whom Illya recognized but assumed were U.N.C.L.E. security agents—were the vehicle's only other occupants.

Alexander Waverly pulled out his neatly-folded white handkerchief from the left breast pocket of his tweed Brooks Brothers suit coat.

"We have no need of him. It is you we want," he replied, but this time the Section Chief's voice was less cultured in its inflection and tone, the accent different. Illya turned his head to look at him with obvious confusion.

"Now, Mr. Kuryakin, carefully remove your gun from its holster under your suit jacket and hand it to the chap pointing his own weapon at you," the bogus Waverly said, adding, "He won't kill you since we need you alive, but he also won't hesitate to wound you if necessary to incapacitate you."

Illya looked back at the two occupants in the front seat and saw that the other passenger had turned and was indeed pointing a lethal-looking Soviet Tokarev TT-33 semi-automatic pistol at him; and in this close range, he could not miss.

His thoughts racing as he tried to make sense out of what was happening, Illya had little choice but to do as he was told. It was obvious now that this had been some sort of trap, and his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in.

Once he had handed his U.N.C.L.E. Special over to the man in the front seat, the fake Waverly pushed a button on a small control panel in front of him. Immediately a glass partition rose, separating the passengers in the back of the limo from the chauffeur and his armed companion in the front.

Watching the older man warily, Illya decided that he would take his chances and throw himself out of the moving vehicle into the middle of New York City traffic, and subtlety placed his right hand onto the door handle. However, when he tried to yank it open he found that the car door was securely locked.

The craggy features of the bogus Waverly gave him a chilly smile. "Nice try, young man, but you won't be escaping that easily. And because I have heard that you can be very tricky and dangerous, I think it would be prudent if I render you harmless until we arrive at our destination."

Alarmed by what he'd just said, and hoping to stall for time while he figured a way out of this, Illya asked, "Which is where exactly? And what do you want from me? Who are you really?"

However, instead of answering him the other man placed his handkerchief over his nose and mouth and raised his walking stick to point its tip at the U.N.C.L.E. agent, pulling a trigger mechanism hidden in the handle.

Immediately there was a puff of pale yellow smoke. Taken by surprise, Illya jerked back in the seat and threw his arm up to cover the lower part of his face but was unable to avoid inhaling some of the potent tranquilizing mist. Coughing violently he tried to clear it from his lungs and throat, but to no avail: within a matter of moments his blue eyes began to glaze…and then closed as he slid sideways over onto the seat and lay limp and still.

Smiling with satisfaction, the bogus Waverly pushed the intercom button. "Lower the windows to allow some fresh air in here for a few minutes, Jackson," he ordered, his voice muffled by the protective barrier of the chemically-treated kerchief that neutralized the effects of the knockout fog. "Then pull off into an ally so Jenkins can better secure our prized captive."

***"

"Keep trying to locate Mr. Kuryakin," Alexander Waverly said into the console microphone. He then sat back in his large leather chair with a heavy sign of exasperation.

Seated across from the Section Chief, Napoleon Solo commented worriedly, "It isn't like Illya not to check in or respond to our efforts to reach him."

"I agree, Mr. Solo," Waverly replied, also looking concerned. "Perhaps you should go to his apartment and see if…."

A buzzer on Waverly's control console sounded, and he flipped the appropriate switch to respond. "Yes, what is it? Has Mr. Kuryakin arrived or been located?" he asked.

"No, Sir," came the terse reply. Solo recognized the voice as that of Brad Campbell, one of their security chiefs. "Mr. Waverly, I'm sending you a section of surveillance footage taped a short while ago that shows Illya was coming here. There is something on it you will…well…want to see." Brad's anxious tone and his choice of words immediately put both Solo and Waverly on alert.

"Very well, Mr. Campbell. Send it through," Waverly responded, and then swiveled his chair around so that he could view the large screen on the wall behind him.

Immediately a segment of film appeared which had been edited from one of the security cameras installed on the front of the brownstone building complex which housed U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

Although there was no sound, the angle of the camera had caught the image of Illya Kuryakin crossing the street and approaching the steps leading down to Del Floria's. The time line at the bottom of the scrolling video showed that the blond agent had been arriving just a few minutes late for his scheduled meeting with Waverly and Solo.

They saw a black limousine pull up to the curb behind him, and could see Illya turn to look at it. A rear window of the vehicle was lowered, showing a glimpse of a shadowed figure wearing a Fedora hat seated inside. Inexplicably Illya walked over to the car, leaned down and said something before nodding and gutting into the vehicle, which then pulled away.

It was apparent by the youthful agent's manner and body language he was not being threatened or coerced.

Before either Solo or Waverly could comment on this puzzling sequence of events a different camera angle appeared on screen, and this one zoomed in to focus on the man seated inside the limousine who had spoken to Kuryakin—a man who looked remarkably like Alexander Waverly!

With a disbelieving stare that matched the Section Chief's startled reaction, Napoleon Solo leaned forward a little and said, "Uhh, Sir, do you by chance have an…evil twin?"