Green stretched out in all directions far below the little yellow, blue, and white Britten-Norman BN.2a Islander airplane that was humming through the air. Normally, there would have been several people in the craft, but today there were only two; the pilot and co-pilot.
Illya Kuryakin carefully watched the green expanse far below them as it drifted by, one mile looking much like the last. How he and his partner were supposed to spot a secret base in the middle of the Brazillian rainforest from a mile and more above its canopy was anyone's guess. None the less, they didn't have much else to go on and a preliminary search from the air was generally a lot safer than blindly wandering through the jungle.
The light brown squiggle on the landscape that was the Rio Jutai had just passed beneath them. Illya consulted his map for the next recognizable landmark and found little of note until they crossed the Rio Jurua. Between them was nearly a hundred miles of mostly uncharted rainforest.
"Well, if THRUSH has a satrap down there," Illya said to his partner, "this would be the perfect area. Almost nothing for a hundred miles."
Napoleon Solo momentarily took his eyes from the plane's instruments to gaze out his own window. "Yeah," he mused, "the perfect place for a hidden THRUSH scientific research facility. It's pretty dense, down there. We'll have to make several passes, I think."
"And Waverly was certain about the intel?" Illya asked.
"Certain enough to send us all the way here," Napoleon replied.
"Well, some x-ray glasses wouldn't have gone amiss," Illya carped, looking back down at the dense canopy below. Napoleon chuckled in response.
They flew in companionable silence for several moments, Illya closely studying the ground below, Napoleon dividing his time between the guages and the view out his own window. The plane looped around to make another pass over the area.
"What do you suppose it is, anyway?" Napoleon asked, absently. "What makes a man leave the civilized world and wall himself off in the middle of nowhere?"
"Actually, I can understand it completely," Illya said, "after all, we know better than most that the civilized world is often rather uncivilized. Leaving the rest of Humanity behind for a while has a certain appeal."
"You maybe," Napoleon replied, "but not me. Give me a comfy home in the middle of the city any day. I like having the movie cinema and nice restaurants to go to right close by."
"With a woman, I suppose," Illya deadpanned.
"Is there any other way?"
Illya rolled his eyes and shook his head, minutely. "One of these days, my friend," he said, "that's going to get you into a lot of trouble. Back home, we're brought up believing that a woman can be every bit as deadly and treacherous as a man."
"Ah! But that's what makes it exciting, chum!" Napoleon said. "See, every woman has-"
In the middle of what was likely going to turn into a long treatise on the wooing of women, the plane gave a sharp lurch and everything in the cockpit went dark and silent. Both their conversation and their search instantly forgotten, the two partners jolted upright in their seats and began plying the various cockpit controls.
"What happened?" Illya asked.
"I dunno. Everything just went out," Napoleon replied, gripping the yoke with both hands, pulling at it with every ounce of strength he could gather, "like it was just turned off. I don't have any control at all. I'm barely keeping her gliding!"
Somewhere in the wings, the rumble of the engines sputtered out, leaving them in a very ominous silence. Illya immediately got up and looked out one of the passenger windows.
"The engines just went out," he reported.
"Sure, no more fuel pump," Napoleon agreed, "I don't think I can put her down safely in the jungle. There's just no where to go. We're gonna have to ditch! I'll keep her steady as long as I can. Grab the parachutes!"
"Right," said Illya with a nod, already in motion toward the aft of the plane. With the floor bucking under him, he stumbled to the emergency locker and tore it open. He grabbed two parachutes from its compliment and made his way back toward the cockpit. Napoleon was casting about for something to brace the yoke.
The plane hit some turbulance and shook beneath them and Napoleon's hands snapped back to the yoke. "Get your chute on!" he snapped at Illya.
The Russian was already doing so, as quickly as he could manage, buckling the harness. Then he went over to stand next to Napoleon and placed his hands on the yoke, allowing the American to leg go and switch places. Napoleon wrestled into his own parachute and then went toward the back of the plane. He came back with a thick crowbar.
"I'm gonna brace it," he told Illya, taking over on the yoke again, "then I'll be right behind you."
"Napoleon-" Illya started to protest.
"Get in the air! That's an order!"
And with that, the protest was instantly overridden. Illya was nothing if not a loyal second-in-command. Without another word, he moved back to the passenger section and made for the hatch. He cranked the handle to unlock it and pulled it open. Looking out the door for a moment, he then cast a glance back toward Napoleon. His partner was threading the crowbar through the yoke to try and keep it in place long enough for him to get to the door himself. Still conflicted and half-tempted to delay just a few more seconds, Illya grabbed the sides of the door and pitched himself forward through it.
Brother, how he hated drops from planes. He trusted the physics of it all, but there was still something about a thin sheet of nylon being the only thing between him and becoming a grease stain on the landscape that was horribly unsettling.
As soon as he was far enough from the plane to avoid any unpleasant entanglements, he pulled his shoot open. The white nylon blossomed into a bubble and the cables to his harness went taught with a sharp jerk that left him momentarily breathless. Suspended in mid-air, he twisted around trying to catch sight of the plane and watch for Napoleon's chute.
Illya saw the plane buck a couple of times. Looking around, he did not see another chute in the air yet. So when the plane gave one more shudder and then pitched toward the ground with no sign of his partner's exit, Illya's heart jumped into his throat. Suspended in mid-air and at the mercies of the wind, he watched the plane spiral toward the rainforest canopy. Napoleon never came out.
Illya was fairly certain he had shouted his partner's name and several choice curse words, but they were swallowed by the rush of air around him.