The klaxons suddenly blared in headquarters, sending everyone out into the corridors on high alert with their weapons drawn.
Kuryakin who was in the Commissary and just ready to take a bite from his pastrami on rye sandwich, dropped it to the plate. No time to sigh the loss of his lunch as he tossed aside the napkin from his lap and drew his gun from its holster.
He rushed out into the chrome and gunmetal corridor that was now filled with a flurry of activity.
As the red and green overhead emergency lights flashed, he heard his name announced by Lisa Rogers over the public address system.
"Illya Kuryakin to bomb disposal, Illya Kuryakin to bomb disposal."
There was no need for her to add the word 'immediately'...the sounding alarm was sufficient, as was his being summoned.
The Russian practically burst through the doors to the bomb disposal unit located in the bowels of headquarters.
A delivery to Del Floria's had been dropped down the shoot and landed in the concrete well where any suspicious package was detonated.
The heavy steel cover used to seal the well was not in place, and Kuryakin barked for it to be closed.
"It's jammed sir," one of the two techs in the room yelled as he struggled to move the door. Kuryakin joined the men; the three of them pushing with all their might, but it wouldn't budge.
The sliver wrapped package began to smoke.
"Clear the area" Illya ordered. He quickly opened his communicator. "Disposal has failed, evacuate evacuate!"
As he stepped into the corridor the concussion from the blast sent Kuryakin flying against the wall, the doors had blown out and slammed on top of him.
There wasn't enough time to evacuate the upper levels, and the explosion shook the building, knocking some people to the floor.
The dust settled and Solo dashed to the lower level in search of his partner. He moved amid the debris with bile rising in his throat as anger and fear filled him.
If Illya was dead, Napoleon vowed to would bring those responsible to justice, his justice as they'd die by his own hand. This he swore under his breath.
"Illya!" He called again and again in desperation. Napoleon finally stopped, listening carefully as he thought he heard something.
It was Mark Slate and Tommy Lopaka from Security walking carefully behind him.
"There!" Mark called out, pointing to a pair of legs sticking out from debris from the collapsed ceiling in the corridor. A moan came from beneath it..
It was Brian Kennedy, one of the demolition techs.
As he came to, Solo spoke to him.
"Kuryakin? Did he get out?"
"Yes sir," Kennedy was helped to his feet and was shaky but seemed fine except for a few cuts and bruises."He came out right after us but was in front of the doorway when the bomb exploded."
They saw the mangled doors lying against the wall opposite the entrance to the bomb disposal room. As they pulled the doors away, Kuryakin was laying there, just returning to consciousness.
He lifted his head, blinking a few times until his eyes were able to focus.
"Anything broken mate?" Slate asked.
"No, the doors shielded me. I am fine."
"Illya how many fingers am I holding up?" Napoleon asked, as he showed his partner two fingers.
"Two too many, now do you mind, I would like to get up and start inspecting the damage."
"Oh no, you just survived an explosion, I think you need to go up to Medical and get checked out and as senior agent, that's an order."
"Fine, pull rank on me," Illya huffed as he rose, dusting off his black suit with his hands.
"Kennedy and Williams, are they all right?"
"Kennedy is fine," Lopaka said.
"Me too," Williams called as he made his way back up the corridor.
Kuryakin wasn't satisfied until he took a look in the disposal room. There wasn't as much damage as he anticipated. The concrete well remained intact, though the steel door was bent off its hinges.
He made a mental note to investigate why the door failed to close as Napoleon took him by the arm, leading him to the elevator with Kennedy and Williams in tow.
"I think Tommy and Mark can take it from here," he winked.
In truth, Illya had a massive headache and was in no mood to argue with his partner, for now…
Doctor Greene prescribed bed rest for all three men as they were in a state of shock, Kuryakin did have a mild concussion and the doctor made sure he gave the Russian a special warning if he tried to escape.
"I have a straight jacket ready and waiting for you Illya, understood?"
"Yes sir."
"And no tormenting my nursing staff, just let them do their job."
"Yes Doctor," Illya responded like a contrite child. He'd lied when he told Napoleon he was fine, as every muscle in his body was now aching, especially his lower back.
Several days later Illya was permitted to return work, light duty only and was he ready to investigate the explosion, but apparently there'd be no need for him to do so.
Before he entered Waverly's conference room, he paused, straightening himself as he'd been slightly hunched over from his back pain. Though it was pointless really, as the Old Man would have known his condition from Doctor Greene's report.
The motor controlling the lid to the disposal well had burned out. It was recommended there be a hand crank installed so the door could be closed manually should such a failure occur again.
As the meeting progressed Illya was told the bomb had been sent by their friendly neighborhood birding society, as a note arrived after the fact, telling UNCLE they hoped they got a real 'blast' out of their gift.
There was no signature, only the familiar mark of the THRUSH emblem.
Napoleon had remained unusually quiet during the meeting, thinking of his vow to kill the persons responsible if Illya had died. He wasn't a man prone to such viciousness, but when it came to his Russian friend, all bets were off.
He'd find out who did this and they'd eventually pay the piper.
Not death, but perhaps their punishment would make them wish for it…
It wasn't just about Illya; these perpetrators violated U.N.C.L.E. itself, this building was home, and supposed to be a safe haven for all who worked here.