Disclaimer: This took a while to write and to type. Work, you know. But, in the immortal words of Illya Kuryakin, "No man is free who has to work for a living… but I am available." I'm in a weird mood. Sorry.
I obviously don't own the series or the characters. The main plot in this really isn't mine as well. Will discuss more about it at the end.
The Hunt
The man ran through the dense forest, hearing only his ragged breath, his heart pounding in his ears, and the sound of the rapids. The river must be getting closer. It certainly was getting louder. The barking of the dogs were no longer in earshot.
If I can't hear them, maybe they can't hear me, he thought. He checked out the unfamiliar watch that had been supplied to him. Five hours to go.
He pulled out his communicator and looked around, straining to hear something other than the rapids. Hearing nothing else, he opened it. "Open Channel D," he whispered, praying that this time it would go through. Silence greeted him, as if he were talking into an ordinary pen.
He stood up and made his way deeper into the forest. "Five more hours," he whispered to himself, fearful that he was overheard.
"Do either of you gentlemen know Misters Robert Rainsford and Anthony Cardoza?" Mr. Waverly asked as Napoleon and Illya sat at the table.
Napoleon glanced at Illya who shook his head. "Isn't Cardoza Section 2 out of the L.A. branch office?"
"Yes. Mr. Cardoza was training Mr. Rainsford." Waverly turned the table so that the open files would be in front of the young men.
Illya picked up one file and took out pictures of Rainsford and Cardoza.
Napoleon flipped through the other file. "Who is this financier they were investigating?"
"He goes by 'The General.' No one really knows who he is, except he was one of Thrush's main financial backers. By all accounts, he died in a shipwreck coming back from a big game hunt five years ago."
"I take it that this General guy isn't quite so dead after all."
"He resurfaced about a year ago in Manila. We aren't sure if he is the same man. From all appearances, he is."
"Would he have faked his death?" Illya started reading the reports that Rainsford and Cardoza had sent back.
"Some of his estate went to organizations that are Thrush fronts," Napoleon read. "Most of the money disappeared."
Illya took off his glasses and laid them on the file. "And Rainsford and Cardoza also disappeared while investigating this General's return to life?"
"No, Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Cardoza's body was found in the midst of a shipwreck off Manila. But, they were investigating the disappearances of several people. We don't know the connection between the disappearances and the General."
"A lot of shipwrecks going on here." Napoleon could see Illya was thinking along the same lines. "Are we to assume that Rainsford wasn't found and that he is one of the people who 'disappeared'?"
"There are a lot of sharks in that area." Illya looked at Waverly. "Rainsford may have been a victim of an attack."
"I don't believe in coincidences. Therefore, gentlemen, you are to leave for Manila and report to the field office to find out what became of Mr. Rainsford and to continue to investigate the General."
With that, Waverly turned to the consul, dismissing the two agents.
Napoleon walked beside his partner back to his office. "So, let's avoid taking any boats or ships on this affair."
"Agreed."
Illya studied the map. He marked where the area where the ship's debris was found. Moving outwards from the mark, he tried to figure out where to go to discover the whereabouts of Rainsford. Currents tended to lead to a speck of an island that seemed to be uninhabited. Maybe due to what Filipinos called the island. "Island of Terror," Illya translated to himself.
Napoleon heard him. "Sounds like the kind of place that someone from Thrush might like to retire."
"Did you find out anything about the disappearances?"
"Not a lot. Most of the disappearances were tourists. Just a couple here and there."
"And now Rainsford."
"Yeah."
Illya sat back in his chair. "We have a plane we can borrow. The field office is lending us one. It's a two-seater, but it should be enough to check out the island. It's close enough to fly there."
"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"
"I still have a bad feeling about this."
Illya ignored Napoleon's comment. He had other things to concentrate on, due to this airplane seeing better days. It wasn't very responsive, and it kept feeling like he was forcing the levers into position.
The island was small, and it was covered with tall trees. A small waterfall emerged from the trees and emptied into a river, churning into rapids around exposed rocks. A small castle stood among some huts.
The plane suddenly jerked, and Illya muttered in Russian. "What is it?" Napoleon asked, alarmed.
"The controls are out. I'm no longer getting any power in the engines." Although Illya's voice sounded calm, Napoleon could detect a note of panic buried in it.
The plane jerked again and sharply dipped. "We just got some power back, but we're still in trouble." Illya pulled the throttle back in an attempt to keep the plane's nose up. He flipped some switches as the plane shuddered.
"Can you do something to compensate? Is there any place to land?"
"There's a clearing I saw that I'm trying for. It looks large enough for at least a helicopter. I'm not sure if there's enough room for us. But, it'll have to do." The plane clipped a tree, and Illya managed to get the landing gear down as the plane started to spin. "We're going to land one way or another. Brace yourself."
Napoleon put his harness on as the plane clipped another tree, causing another spin. He felt the plane hit the ground, and he slammed hard against the harness. The plane hopped once, then came to a shuddering stop.
Christina wandered through the trees, taking pictures. While the trail, which had been cut out of the jungle, was well lit, the jungle itself lay in dark shadows. Even during the light of a sunny day. She never wanted to step too far off the trail. It would be easy to quickly get lost or break an ankle.
Even though she wouldn't admit it to anyone, this island gave her the creeps. All her life, she had been told stories about this island. It was supposed to be haunted, it was full of monsters, it was owned by a madman. All sorts of stories throughout the years. This island had always been the stuff of legends. Although Christina wasn't superstitious, old beliefs die hard.
Which was why it came as a shock to her and her siblings when their father announced he was going to work for the island's new landowner and live on the island.
Christina didn't scare easily. Her editor had sent her all around the world as a photo journalist. She took pictures in Vietnam. She had been in Dallas and had pictures of Kennedy's assassination. She had taken pictures of the Selma, Alabama march. Very little frightened her. Still, this island gave her the creeps. When she called her father, wanting to visit him and see what his new job entailed, he had told her in no uncertain terms to stay away. She was frightened for him and concerned about his advancing age and his blindness, and, spurred on by her natural curiosity which was greater than her fright, she disobeyed his wishes and came anyway.
He wasn't happy that she was there. However, her boss, the landowner, had invited her to stay in the main house, which she accepted, although she preferred to stay in the gardener's shack with her father. The General was a gentleman, but he also gave her the creeps, like the island he owned. His butler, Ivan, equally frightened her.
She snapped another picture, intrigued by the way the light and shadows played off the overhead leaves, when she heard the roar of an airplane. The roar didn't sound right. Moving to where she could look through the canopy of leaves, she saw the plane flying dangerously close to the tops of the trees. Instinctively snapping as many pictures of the failing aircraft as she could in a few seconds, she saw the plane go into a spin as a tree cut through a wing and the plane disappeared out of her sight.
She crossed herself, thinking once again that old beliefs die hard, and made her way to the clearing. She figured that the angle of the plane's trajectory indicated that the pilot was trying for the clearing to make as soft of a landing as possible. If the pilot didn't make it to the clearing, Christina figured she would discover the wreckage and get some great pictures of it.
Napoleon swallowed hard, trying to control his pounding heart and ragged breathing. He was already starting to feel bruises from when he slammed against the harness. He took a mental assessment of his injuries and figured he was in one piece. And, most importantly, alive.
He cautiously looked over at Illya, hoping he would find him in the same condition. Illya was gripping the plane's throttle and brake so tightly that his knuckles were whiter than his ashen face. Napoleon laid his hand on Illya's, causing the tight fist to release. "Are you all right?"
Illya took a deep breath. "I think so. Are you?"
"I'm going to feel this in the morning." Hoping to lighten the mood, Napoleon chuckled as he began unbuckling himself. "Are you sure you know how to fly?" Illya shot him a glare and unbuckled himself. "It was a joke!"
Another glare was shot as Illya got out of the plane. Napoleon noticed a slight limp in the blond man's exit.
Napoleon squeezed his fist closed in an attempt to stop the shaking. "Or, at least an attempt at a joke," he called as he exited the plane.
As they inspected the damage to the plane, Napoleon had to admit that Illya accomplished a successful landing in spite of the damage the trees had caused and the spin outs. Although the plane's tail had slammed into another tree before it had come to a complete stop, Illya had prevented anything worse than minor cuts and bruises to both of them. Although Napoleon knew he was an accomplished pilot in his own right, he had to admit that he felt safe if Illya was flying.
However, Napoleon had to keep the mood light, even though Illya was not having it as he continued to check out the damage.
"The electrical system is fried," Illya announced.
Napoleon nodded and pulled out his communicator. "Open Channel D." Silence greeted over the communicator, although he could hear a strange, quiet buzzing in the air, just barely over the breeze. He tried again, but with no success. He tried a new frequency. "Open Channel E?"
Illya looked over at him and tried his own communicator. "Open Channel D?" Glancing over at Napoleon, he said, "Nothing."
As Napoleon tried every channel he could think of, plus a few that didn't exist any longer, noises at the other side of the clearing caught Illya's attention. A woman carrying a professional camera stepped out of the tree line, snapping pictures.
"Hi!" She said brightly, advancing toward Illya. "I'm Christina Mamuric. I saw this plane going down…"
"So, you decided to take pictures of the carnage?" Illya asked.
She blushed and shrugged at the same time. "I'm a photographer. It's what I do." She glanced over at Napoleon then back at the plane. "Were you two in this plane? One of you must be a hell of a pilot."
"Are you connected to that castle we spotted?" Napoleon gestured in the direction of the castle.
"Yes and no. My father is the gardener, but he's only been employed here not yet a year. I'm just here for a visit." She snuck another picture of the two men in front of the wreck. "I'm sure the General will be happy to give you a lift back to Manila in the morning. He's got a helicopter, motor boats…" she took a final picture. "Are either of you injured? Will you be able to walk all right? It's about a three hour walk by the trail to the castle." With that, she started walking away.
As Illya stretched out his knee, Napoleon held up his communicator. "Something is jamming us. Hear that buzzing?"
"Or someone. I'm pretty sure that was an EMP which fried the electrical equipment."
"This General… looks like we're going to meet him sooner than we were wanting to."
"And I get the feeling that he won't be as happy to give us a lift as she thinks."
Christina turned back to the men. "Are you guys coming?" she called.
"After you," Napoleon gallantly indicated Illya should follow her.
"Thanks," Illya muttered sarcastically.
Christina lifted the unusual heavy knocker and let it fall against the door. It was a wrought-iron gargoyle holding a woman. The woman's body was the knocker.
Illya looked around, feeling an overpowering sense of dread. He could tell Napoleon felt the same way.
After two knocks, the door flew open as if the door were on a spring, and the biggest man either Illya or Napoleon had ever seen glared down at the trio. He had to be close to 7 feet tall, built like a house, with a black beard down to his chest.
"Ivan?" Christina's voice sounded a little frightened. "These two gentlemen's plane crashed in the clearing. You must have seen it or heard it. I invited them to spend the night until arrangements can be made for them to get to Manila." Ivan continued to glare down at them. Christina swallowed hard. "Where's my father?" she tried again.
"Ivan, let our guests in," a man's deep voice rang out from behind the giant.
Ivan immediately moved to the side and held the door open. Illya and Napoleon walked inside as a tall man just past middle age swept gracefully down the stairs. An ugly scar running from above his eye down to his ear marred his hawkish looks. "Was that your airplane that was having problems?" the man asked. "I do apologize for your misfortunate, gentlemen. Likewise, I must apologize for my manservant. Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow and serves me well. But, unfortunately, he's mute." He waved at Ivan, dismissing him. "Gentlemen, you may call me 'General.'"
Napoleon introduced himself and Illya. As he looked around the foyer he asked, "'General' what?"
"Nobody has really ever known. Well, gentlemen, you have a few minutes to relax after your ordeal and walk. We dress for dinner here."
"I'm afraid we have no other clothes," Illya stepped around the General, eyeing the closed doors leading off the foyer. "We were on a one-day air tour of the islands."
"I have clothes in storage that may fit you. Both of you look like you could fit in my son's clothes easily. He doesn't need them anymore. I'll have Ivan set them out for you. Now, let me show you to your bedrooms." He turned to Christina. "Miss Mamuric, I will let you get ready for dinner. Now, gentlemen, if you will follow me…"
Seeing no other option, both men followed the General upstairs.
Illya looked out the window of the bedroom he was placed in. He could see the river flowing near the castle. Lying behind the river was the dense jungle. Huts surrounded the castle, forming a little village. Dogs barking caught his attention, and he looked over to see a pack of large dogs. They were running to the gate of their enclosure. Ivan appeared, throwing meat to the hounds. Watching the dogs tear the meat apart made Illya uneasy.
Napoleon came in. "I hate wearing borrowed clothes."
"You'll live."
"What do you think of our illustrious host?" Napoleon took a seat in the chair.
"I'm wondering what happened to his son. Did you find out anything about the clothes?"
"No." After a few moments, Napoleon asked "Are you going to distract the General, or will I?"
"You distract."
Napoleon looked around. "This is bigger than your apartment."
"The bathtub is bigger than the house I grew up in."
"Really?"
Illya grabbed his jacket. "I have a feeling this will be a long night."
"I still have a bad feeling about this whole thing." He followed Illya out into the hall.
"You two clean up nicely," Christina's voice called from behind them.
"Young lady, you are a picture of beauty," Napoleon said, offering his arm. She was wearing a dark green gown which highlighted her hazel eyes.
"This old thing?" she joked, switching the bag she was carrying to the other arm and taking his. "It's the nicest thing I own to wear. It's my bride's maid dress from my older sister's wedding. At least it's not hideous like the one I was forced to wear for my oldest sister's. But, the General insists on formality. Even though I'm just his gardener's daughter."
"What's he like?" Illya asked. "Beyond first impressions?"
She sighed. "He's obsessed with hunting. It's usually all he talks about. That's a problem for me. I'm a vegetarian. I think animals feel more than he thinks they do. He's certainly chivalrous to me, but he kind of creeps me out. It may be the hunting thing."
They turned toward the stairs to find the General waiting for them. "Gentlemen and madam," he said smoothly. "In deference to Miss Mamuric, tonight's dinner will be vegetarian, everything raised by her father. I do hope you won't mind."
Illya thought about the meat thrown out to the dogs and how eagerly they tore it apart and didn't mind.
The General led his guests into the sitting room. Except for the grand piano, it was decorated almost entirely with hunting trophies. Christina was clearly uncomfortable, not straying too far from Illya and Napoleon's sides.
"I hate this room," she whispered."
The General sat at the piano and began to play. "Do either of you gentlemen play piano?" he asked.
"A little," Illya picked up a tiger's skull. "Do you do much hunting?"
"You'll have to play for me sometime, Mr. Kuryakin," the General said. He looked up at the skull. "I don't hunt tigers that often anymore."
"Probably not a lot to be found here."
Napoleon pointed up to the giant tusk. "Am I to assume this is real?"
The General got up from the piano and walked over to Napoleon. "It is very real, Mr. Solo. Do either of you hunt?"
"My grandfather took me deer hunting every fall while I was growing up."
"Deer hunting? How pedestrian. Rifle or bow?"
"Bow." Napoleon glimpsed Illya slipping out of the room. Christina sat on the couch with a bored look on her face.
"Better, but still ordinary. No big game?"
"As in elephants and tigers? No."
The General ran his finger over his scar. "All my life, I've hunted these animals. I've had many close calls. A Cape buffalo did this to me. Threw me against a tree and I fractured my skull. But, I still got him. His head is hanging in my trophy room."
"This isn't your trophy room?"
"Good heavens, no. These are just mere trifles. It was during my convalescence that I realized that hunting these so-called dangerous animals bore me. What I spent money on bored me. What I gave money to bored me. So, I moved on. In more ways than one."
Napoleon noticed a small box on the General's desk and quietly flipped it open. It looked like radio equipment. He made a mental note to show it to Illya. "What do you mean?" he asked the General, still studying the controls.
"I took advantage of a shipwreck to figure out my own style of life and hunting. I wanted to live and hunt on my own terms. So, I bought this supposedly haunted island where I can do both."
Christina stood up. "If you men are only going to talk about hunting, I'm going to turn in." She looked around. "Where's Illya?"
"He was complaining of a headache before supper. He must have gone to bed. He's not much of a talker."
She nodded. "I hope he feels better tomorrow. Good night." She left the room.
The General's eyes narrowed. "Your compatriot did not have a headache. Where did he go?" He grabbed Napoleon's arm and pulled a rope with the other hand. Bells started ringing. "Let's go find Mr. Kuryakin, shall we?" Three guards come in. "Find Mr. Kuryakin and bring him back here. Alive and uninjured." He turned back to Napoleon. "I think you and your partner will do just fine."
Illya slipped out of the room and into the dark dining room. The kitchen stood off to his left, but he was more interested in a closed door that he noticed during supper.
As he headed for the door, a man's voice came from the shadows, "That's the trophy room. It's where he keeps his most prized possessions. It's also where he keeps his guns and knives. His own personal armory."
Illya looked at the man sitting in the shadows. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't see me. It's all right. No one sees me anymore. I used to think it was a curse. Now, I know it's a blessing." The man flipped on the lamp, and Illya could see the man was blind.
"You're Christina's father?"
"You and your partner take Christina and leave. Tonight. I can take you where the helicopter is or where the boats are. Get away and never come back." His voice lowered. "The things I've heard…"
"There you are!" Christina's voice interrupted her father. "I heard that you had a headache, Illya. I was hoping to find out how you're doing."
"I'm doing better. I'm just talking to your father."
She looked down at the older man. "Getting your supper OK? Anything I can help with?"
"Christina, show Mr. Kuryakin the helicopter and boats. And don't argue about it."
"Yes, father." She gestured towards another door. "Shall we?"
The door led to the outside. Illya could hear the river gurgling a few yards away.
"My father wants you and Napoleon to take me back to Manila, right?"
"Tonight."
She shook her head. "I don't know what he's doing. I hope he didn't disturb you. Lately, he's getting more and more irrational, telling my siblings and me that he's been hearing things but not going into any more detail. If I go, he's coming with me. And I'm planning on leaving soon. But, probably not tonight."
She opened the unlocked boathouse. Three motor boats built for speed and a yacht floated on the river under the shelter.
"Now, if you want to see the helicopter…"
Illya followed her, eyeing the radio tower looming overhead. There were devices on it that generally weren't on radio towers. He wondered if those electric magnets were powerful enough to create a pulse large enough to take down a plane. Other equipment on the tower looked suspiciously like large jamming devices. The current hummed through them.
"And here's the helicopter."
Illya walked around it. "It's on a helipad."
"Yeah?" She moved back to his side. "So what?"
"Why would there be a clearing that can accommodate landing a helicopter with a helipad so near? What would be the purpose of a clearing like that?"
"Maybe the clearing is for something else. Maybe it's a coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidences." He looked back to the castle. There were running feet and shouts coming from there.
"Maybe it's a place to land imported wildlife. The General still hunts, although I don't know what he hunts." She also looked toward the castle. "What's going on?"
Several men came running up, leveling rifles at them.
Christina stepped closer to him. "What do we do now?" she whispered nervously.
Ivan came up in the midst of the crowd, towering over everyone. He grabbed Illya's arm and pulled him forward.
"I think we're supposed to go with him."
"Gentlemen, you disappoint me." The General ran his hands over the surrendered guns. "I offer you hospitality. I offer you nice clothes. I offer you food. And you continue to hunt me. I faked my death and got away from Thrush. You continue to hunt me. I want to live my life on my terms. But U.N.C.L.E. won't let me."
Napoleon glanced at Illya. "Did you encounter another U.N.C.L.E. agent named Robert Rainsford?"
The General laughed a crazed, high-pitched squeal. "I want to invite you on a hunting excursion."
"That's not exactly the comment I was expecting," Napoleon whispered to Illya.
"What sort of game?" Illya asked.
The General grinned and clapped his hands. "Come with me, gentlemen!" As he walked out the door of the sitting room, he called, "You too, Miss Mamuric!"
"Why do I have to come?" Christina asked as they followed the General. "I hate hunting! You don't know that animals can't feel fear."
The General unlocked the door to the trophy room. "That's part of the issue, Miss Mamuric. See, after my run-in with that Cape buffalo, I realized that everything bored me. Thrush, hunting. Then, I figured that I needed a new challenge when it came to hunting. A new type of prey. Hunting tigers, elephants, buffalo, bear, was too easy. And, to answer your question, Mr. Solo, yes, your Mr. Rainsford was invited on the same hunting excursion."
"What sort of game?" Illya repeated.
"Well, Mr. Kuryakin, the most dangerous kind. An ideal animal! One that didn't need to rely on instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. And this island was perfect to make that happen. Jungles with a maze of traits. Hills, waterfalls, raging rivers, swamps. I hunt, and I never get bored."
Illya glared at the General. "Man. You hunt human beings." He spit out.
Christina burst out laughing. "This is a joke, right?"
"I never joke about hunting, young lady." He flipped a switch and a klaxon started blaring. "This is a signal to my men that I'm initiating a hunt. You'll be very interested in the game."
Napoleon looked over at Illya, who had frozen in place, glaring at the General. "Suppose we refuse?"
"I never force anyone. The ones who refuse have two options." The General reached into the room without taking his eyes off the men. "Refusers can be turned over to Ivan. He has his own ideas of sport. Or…" with that, he leveled a rifle at them. "I can shoot you right now. You are trespassers on my land. I caught you stealing from me. I caught you violating Miss Mamuric. I'm well within my rights."
"I'm not backing up that lie," Christina said, shakily.
"You won't have to." Without waiting for an answer, the General continued, "So, here are the rules. You will be flown to the clearing now. You have 36 hours to get back here, on your own power. I'll give you a 3 hour head start, and I'll work my way up from the house. If at least one of you elude me for 36 hours, I will admit defeat and let both of you go. But, if I catch you and you're able to fight me, I will kill you. I want you to know that you're going to die. I want you to be looking at me. I want to see the light leave your eyes. Don't worry. If you're injured and captured, I won't kill you outright. I'll give you the 36 hours. Let you suffer a little and come to the realization that I am the greatest hunter who ever lived."
Illya's voice was low and steady. "I've been hunted before. I won, my hunter lost. He was a more formidable opponent than you will ever be."
The General smirked. "I doubt that. But, you already know the routine, which is good. I'd also advise you to stay off the main path. I'll have guards patrolling every mile of it. They are under orders to shoot to kill. Good luck, gentlemen, and happy hunting. Well, at least for me."
"What about me?" Christina asked. "If you think I am going to go along with your insanity…"
"You think I'm insane? Very well, you are welcome to join them. Same rules apply to you."
Ivan came in. The General ordered, gleefully, "Get the helicopter ready. We're going to have a night hunt! I love night hunts!"
The jungle was pitch black at night away from the path. Christina slipped off her shoes and put them in her camera bag. Better to go barefoot on the wet ground than to break her ankle with these heels. "I wish we could have been able to change into more sensible clothes," she said out loud, hiking up her long skirt and following Illya further into the jungle. She looked behind at Napoleon, trying to see him. "Do you think the General was really serious? I mean, this is ridiculous. Hunting humans. Giving us 36 hours to evade him…"
"He's serious."
"Why?"
"Because you're correct that he's insane," Illya whispered ahead of her. "Christina, keep your voice down."
Napoleon crouched down beside Illya as he discarded his dress shirt in favor of the T-shirt he wore underneath it. "What do you think?"
"We follow the river. It flows right past the castle and village." Illya tossed his shirt away from them.
"I'd like to get a hold of some weapons. I don't like the idea of just running. We need to mount some sort of defense." Napoleon started to unbutton his shirt.
"What are you guys doing?"
"The dress shirts practically glow in the dark." Illya bumped her camera bag. "You know you should get rid of this. It's going to slow you down."
"I'm not going anywhere without my camera bag."
He grabbed her arm. "You didn't have to join us, but you did. This isn't an adventure, and it's not being staged for your camera. This is a matter of life and death." He let go of her arm as dogs started to bark in the distance.
"I know…" her voice trailed off. "I just can't let go of it yet."
"Let's go." Napoleon got up and quietly walked away.
Illya helped her to her feet, and she swung the camera bag over her shoulder. "I just can't let go of it yet," she repeated.
In the dark, she thought she could see him nod, and they followed Napoleon deeper into the jungle.
"We may just be going around in circles." Christina switched the shoulder strap to her other side.
"I think I hear the waterfall somewhere. I think we're heading in the right direction." Napoleon watched her shift her bag around. "Do you want me to carry that for a while?"
She looked over at Illya, although she could dimly see him in the blackness. "I'm fine."
Just then, she heard a bullet hit a nearby tree. Napoleon yanked her to the ground and laid over her. She heard Illya scramble to their sides. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her cheek to keep from screaming.
After a few seconds, silence fell, broken only by the sounds of their struggling breaths. "Is everyone all right?" Napoleon asked.
"Yes," Illya answered softly. "Where are they? How close are we?"
"I think the guard is just shooting out here blindly."
"I think we can go now." Illya gently touched Christina's shaking arm. "Are you ready?"
She nodded, although she was dimly aware that he wouldn't be able to see her. She felt Illya's arm around her as he steadied her and followed Napoleon way from the direction of the shots.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, Christina felt her chest tighten and her shaking intensify. She thought her sobs that she was trying to repress may kill her quicker than the General and his goons. "We're going to die, aren't we?" she burst out.
"Absolutely not," Illya said. "That is not in either of our plans. No one here will be dying."
"Besides, Illya is an old hand at escaping from madmen bent on hunting him. I'm not too bad myself. You've got good company here."
"Is that true? You weren't giving empty boasts?" Christina tried to look up at Illya, but his face was hidden in shadows.
"With a target painted on my back and my hands chained behind me." He shifted his arm. "Why don't you rest for a few minutes? Napoleon, I'm going to look around."
She sat down and felt rather than saw Napoleon sit beside her. Illya's footsteps softly faded into the dark. She leaned up against Napoleon. "I'm sorry."
He put his arm around her. "For what?"
"I'm so embarrassed."
"Again, for what?"
"I used to think that I was so tough and nothing scared me. Guess I was wrong. I'm so embarrassed for breaking down like that."
"It's been kind of a stressful day. Besides, this is one of the best parts of our job."
"What is?"
"Comforting beautiful women."
She laughed softly.
She sat for a few minutes, feeling comforted. Everything will be all right.
She heard Illya come back to them. "Come with me."
They followed him until he laid on the ground by a tree. Up ahead a few yards away was the path. A young man was kicking at the ground, clearly bored.
"You wanted weapons, Napoleon. He has a rifle, hunting knife. I want that radio he has on him. Maybe we'll be able to avoid another nervous guard shooting blindly into the dark."
"Since I doubt we can go up and ask him for them, we need a distraction."
As they were debating how they could get the radio and weapons, Christina rolled her shoulder under her camera bag. Maybe Illya was right. Maybe she should leave it behind.
A distraction? She thought. "Guys," she whispered "I might be able to help you with that." She pulled her camera and two small bulbs and a large bulb out of her bag. "These are flash bulbs. This big one will blind him for a few moments. Not long, but it might be enough time for you to make a move." She snapped one of the smaller bulbs on her camera. "We need to get him close enough for this to work."
"Let's try it. But, if something goes wrong, run." Illya stood up and quickly swung up into the tree.
"Let's move back a little. We need to get him under that tree." Napoleon started crawling back. Christina followed. After a few feet, she started to flash the bulbs.
The man looked out toward them curiously. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Napoleon whispered. "Check out the bright lights."
The man stepped off the path and started walking toward the flashing lights. After using up one bar of bulbs, Christina quickly put in the second bar and started flashing it as the man slowly stepped closer to the tree.
The bar was used up and Christina screwed on the large bulb. "Wait until he's underneath Illya." Napoleon whispered.
"I don't want to blind Illya, even if it's for a few moments."
"You won't."
"OK." The man finally stepped under the branch she knew Illya was waiting on. "On the count of three, shield your eyes. One… two… three."
Napoleon closed his eyes and looked away, although he could see the white hot light flash across his closed eyes.
Illya swung down, kicking the man in the head. As the man staggered back, Napoleon ran up, grabbed the rifle, and hit him in the face with the butt of the rifle. The man dropped to the ground unconscious.
By the time Christina had put away her camera and joined the men, Napoleon was checking the rifle, and Illya had sheathed a hunting knife at his hip and was taking the radio. He put the earpiece in his ear.
"Now we're not going to be sitting ducks as much. We have a defense." Napoleon said.
Illya stood up. "Are we ready now?"
"I am." Napoleon put the rifle's strap on his shoulder.
"I'm ready for this night to be over," Christina said.
She walked away, leaving the men to follow her. Illya caught up to her. "Great idea, Christina."
He walked around her to lead, and she grinned to herself.
The shadows lightened as day broke, but it stayed dark under the canopy of leaves. The earpiece in Illya's ear kept him updated on the movements of the guards, although the General was unheard. No one had shot at them again, so Illya was counting this night as a success.
The bruises from the plane crash and the stresses of the night were starting to wear on him.
"How long has it been?" Christina asked behind him.
Napoleon checked his watch. "About six hours."
"Thirty more to go?" She groaned. "So, let me get this straight—if the General catches us within the next thirty hours, he will kill us, right? Unless we're injured or unable to fight him?"
Napoleon thought for a moment. "Illya, maybe we should split up. The General said he'll give us the full 36 hours if he can't find one of us. It may buy us time."
"Sure, because splitting up has always served us so well in the past."
Christina continued, "So, he will kill us if we fight back. Or he'll capture us and kill us later, maybe on a whim. Is there any other options?"
"He could surrender to us, but that will probably not happen." Just then, the earpiece in Illya's ear crackled to life, and he stopped walking.
"Gentlemen," the General's smooth, cultured voice growled into his ear. "I know one of you now has a radio and can hear what I'm saying. You have weapons. Naughty, naughty." With that, the radio went silent.
Illya told Napoleon and Christina what the General had said. "I guess he's not used to his prey mounting some sort of defense."
The baying of dogs sounded in the distance. The dogs were closer to them than last night. "How close do you think we are from the river?" Napoleon asked.
"Judging from the sound of the waterfall, I'd say four hours, provided that we're not just wandering around." Illya took out the knife. "Maybe we need to stage some sort of offense. It might not do much, but it will feel so good."
He grabbed a young sapling and tied it around to the hilt of the knife, with the blade pointing toward the trail they've left behind. Then he tied the sapling back with some hanging vine. He then tied another vine around the one holding back the sapling and stretched it across the small path, tying it around a tree.
"OK, let's go." He carefully stepped over the vine and caught up to Napoleon and Christina.
"What did you do?" Christina asked.
"It's a trip line. Either the dogs or the General will spring it, and they'll get a surprise. It may only take out one or two, but that's something. And it they get close enough to be seen, Napoleon can shoot."
Christina nodded, but she felt confused.
The distance between trees started to increase and the ground became rockier as they walked. After a couple hours of hearing nothing but the baying of dogs and the ever increasing sounds of the waterfall, they suddenly heard the whine of some dogs and then a piercing whistle. The bays decreased.
The earpiece crackled to life, and the General's voice sounded less cultured and more distraught in Illya's ear. "Whichever one of you planned that nice trap probably didn't do what you hoped it would."
"The trap didn't work," Illya told Napoleon who nodded.
"And I will pay you back for what you did to Ivan…"
"Hold on, Napoleon. Apparently it took out Ivan!"
"So, I'm cutting the time you have to get back to the castle safely. You have now 12 hours." With that, the radio went silent again.
"We need to pick up the pace. Instead of 27 hours, we're down to 12 hours."
The radio came to life again with a taunt. "10 hours to go!"
The waterfall roared near them, so close they could feel a little spray from it.
Napoleon balanced the rifle on a rock on a ledge and looked through the scope. "I can see the General."
Illya lay on the ground beside him. "How far out?"
"About 300 yards out. Between trees. I'm not trying the shot. I'm good, but I'm not that good. It'll only alert him to where we are."
Illya got up and walked to the ridge above the waterfall, which tumbled below them. He had hoped that they would have time to get to the other side of the river and walk back to the castle. They needed to climb down and get to a smoother part of the river to get across, as well as avoid the General and dogs.
"Can you swim?" he asked Christina.
"I'd prefer not to, but I know I will probably have to."
"We're going to need to climb down this rock face. Will you be able to do this? You're barefoot."
"I guess I'll have to, right?"
Napoleon came up as Illya noticed a small cave a little more than halfway down the rock face. He took the camera bag from Christina and started to work his way down.
"I'm a little nervous," Christina admitted. "I'm not a fan of heights."
"Just follow Illya. And I'll be right behind you."
Her hands shook as she inched her way down the rock face. As she moved closer to the cave, the rocks became wetter and slicker, while the roar of the waterfall beside her was nearly deafening. She looked up to see Napoleon waiting for her. She looked down to see Illya had reached the cave. It was more of a sheltered ledge. He put down her bag and reached up for her.
A few feet more, and she could feel Illya's strong hands around her waist as he gently lowered her. "You like carrying that bag around? It feels like you packed rocks"
"I don't like it, but I'm used to it."
As he reached up to see if Napoleon needed any help, dogs barking rang louder than the waterfall. Napoleon jumped down the last few feet and took the aimed the rifle out of the mouth. One dog's head appeared over the lower ridge, snarling and showing teeth. Napoleon shot and the dog immediately dropped out of sight.
Illya went around near the waterfall's edge, judging the distance of fall. The water churned several feet below. They were about halfway down the falls.
Another shot rang out, and another dog disappeared.
Shouts of men sounded louder. A man appeared, and Napoleon wounded him. Illya looked down. He could see the General, leaning against a tree, grinning at the scene playing out in front of him.
"Bullets will be running out soon."
Illya looked down the waterfall again. He wondered if he would be able to make it.
Napoleon's rifle jammed. "This rifle is pretty worthless."
Christina eyed her bag. "If you're unable to fight the General, he won't kill you," She muttered.
While Illya was judging the waterfall, a man climbed up to the ledge, hidden by the spray of water. Illya saw him a split second too late as he started bringing his hunting knife down into Illya's shoulder. Illya grabbed the man's wrist before the knife plunged in. As both men struggled, Napoleon turned the rifle onto the two of them, waiting for a clear shot to take out the man and not hit Illya.
"We need time." Christina said out loud.
Napoleon ignored her, concentrating on the struggle at the edge of the ledge.
"I'm sorry," Christina said.
Napoleon turned his head to her, momentarily, in time to just catch her camera bag slamming into his head. He heard glass breaking inside it as it connected, stunning him. He was about ready to ask her why when she swung again, this time connecting his head to her camera.
As he fell to the ground, with darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, he saw the General stalk up, grinning a predator's grin. He ignored Napoleon and aimed his rifle at the two struggling men at the edge of the ledge. The General fired his rifle, and both men dropped over the edge and into the waterfall.
Everything went dark.
Napoleon opened his eyes to find himself handcuffed to a chair in the General's sitting room. His head was splitting.
"I'm sorry." Christina's tearful voice came from behind him.
"You hit me." His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his head felt abnormally large.
"I was trying to buy us some time…"
"Do you carry rocks in that bag?"
"Your head broke my camera, if that's any consolation."
"It's not." He looked around. "Illya?"
"I couldn't buy him time. I'm so sorry."
"Where is he?"
"They haven't been able to find him yet."
"No, Mr. Solo," the General's voice rang out, as he walked into the room. "It's just a matter of time before we find his body, though. The river is deep and it's rocky. Too bad about my man who went down with him. He's dead too." He laid the confiscated guns on his desk.
"Then why haven't you killed us yet?" Napoleon asked, testing his handcuffs.
"I want to find your compatriot's body. I want you suffer thinking about it. And I want you to wallow in my hunting excellence."
A man came to the door, and the General walked out to talk to him.
"How long have I been out?" Napoleon asked.
"A couple hours."
"Two? Three?"
"I don't know. I kind of passed out so I don't exactly know. Why?"
"Because I don't think Illya is dead. If they can't find him, he's not dead."
"The river is really deep and rapids where the waterfall is. I know you want him to be alive. I do too." She sighed. "I really wish I could have helped him."
"By clobbering him on the head with your camera?"
"It saved your life!" She sighed again. "For a few minutes anyways."
"Don't worry about Illya. He's gotten out of worse situations than this." Napoleon tried the handcuffs again, eying his gun. "Any idea what the General has in mind for us?"
"No. He kept laughing every time I asked him."
"What I have in mind for you, Mr. Solo, is pain. You'll beg for your death. Just because I can." The General back in and sat down at his desk behind the radio controls. He pulled Illya's gun out of the holster and aimed it at Napoleon.
"If you hunt, you should know that the most dangerous animal is an injured, cornered one."
"You're too domesticated for that." The General grinned. "These will be a most honored trophy in my case. And your heads will look good mounted on my wall. If only we can find your friend."
Suddenly, the blast of a shotgun thundered in the air, destroying the radio controls that the General's hand was resting on. He dropped the gun, whimpering, holding his wounded hand. The constant buzzing disappeared in a shower of sparks and acrid smoke from the box.
Napoleon looked over to see Illya walk in the room the room holding the shotgun. He grinned.
"Illya?" Christina breathed out.
"Told you he wasn't dead."
"Get away from that desk," Illya ordered, his voice deadly calm.
"You're dead!" the General stumbled out of his chair. "I shot you. You went off the ledge."
"You shot your man. I took a chance and went over with him. It was quicker than walking." He gestured with the shotgun. "Release them."
Behind Illya, Christina's father appeared. Illya glanced at him at him but kept his attention on the General.
The General grinned. "Oh, I see. You got some help, didn't you? You didn't find that shotgun on your own, did you?"
Illya cocked the shotgun. Napoleon could see slight shaking in the shotgun as Illya took aim again.
The General continued, "I bet you're more injured than you're letting on. You're shooting my shotgun with your left. I know you're right-handed. So, your right side probably can't take the recoil."
"Is that how you kill people? Talking them to death?" Napoleon asked.
The General ignored him and grinned widely and wolf-like at Illya. "You have some bad bruises there. Probably seeing double of me." He ducked as the shotgun boomed again, embedding the buckshot into the wall just behind the General.
"So, I'll aim for the one on the right. Got it." Illya ejected the shells and quickly reloaded new shells.
The General started to reach in his pocket. Illya cocked the gun and aimed again. The General slowly drew out keys.
"Good. Unlock them."
He slowly walked over to Napoleon and unlocked his handcuffs. Napoleon jumped out of the chair and grabbed his gun on the desk as Illya slowly advanced.
Illya gestured to the General to unlock Christina's handcuffs. Napoleon kept his gun trained on the General while he went to stand by his partner. He quickly assessed Illya's condition. While Illya was certainly upright and conscious, Napoleon could see by the set of his jaw that he was in pain. Beneath the torn T-shirt, Illya's side was a mess of angry cuts and bruises. Napoleon was sure that while some of those bruises were from their rough plane landing, most of them were probably from the fall or the trip down the river. The shotgun still trembled, although Napoleon figured that it was only noticed by him.
"Are you all right, Tovarisch?"
Illya ignored the question, never taking his eyes off the General. Napoleon thought that R&D should figure out how to weaponized Illya's glare. It would be effective.
The General slowly unlocked Christina, glancing over at her father. She sprang out of the chair as soon as she was unlocked, but the General was quicker. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into him, holding a hunting knife at her throat.
"This is punishment for your father's betrayal," he hissed in her ear. "Tell your father what's happening." As she started to sob and babble incoherently, he looked over at the two UNCLE agents. "And this is for not playing fairly. Sorry. I'm still claiming a trophy. Plus, I may have some fun before claiming this trophy. After all, man doesn't live by hunting alone."
"Napoleon," Illya said softly. "If you see a shot, take it. It's all yours. I don't want to hit her."
Christina was sobbing and praying in Filipino as the knife pressed closer to her throat.
"Keep it up, my dear," the General said soothingly. "I like this. Plus, I have your heroes scared.
"Christina, it will be all right," Napoleon said, waiting for an opportunity to shoot. "Just breathe. We're not going to let anything happen to you."
She nodded and gasped for breath.
The General continued dragging her backwards toward the door. As he straightened up to open the door, Napoleon saw an opportunity. He shot, and the General fell, writhing on the ground and screaming in pain.
Christina bolted away from the General and into her father's arms.
Napoleon kept his gun trained on the General while he pulled the communicator out of his pocket and turned it on. "Open Channel D."
After a moment, a voice over the communicator said "Channel D open."
He grinned at Illya, although his grin quickly faded. Illya was pale and shaking. The shotgun slipped from his hands. He caught Illya as he started to drop and eased him to the ground.
"Hey, Tovarisch. It's over. Everything's all right."
Illya blinked at him, focusing his eyes. "Yes."
Napoleon held up a finger. "How many fingers are you seeing?"
Illya slapped his hand away and grimaced as he held his side. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, right. Obviously."
"I went over a waterfall and into rapids. How do you think I'm doing?"
"You took a chance. Kind of idiotic, foolish chance, though."
"I miscalculated. Do you know rocks don't move if you slam into them? Still saved you, though."
"I was figuring out a way out. You were just a distraction."
"Sure I was." Illya glanced over at Christina and her father. "Napoleon, by the way, when you get people in, Bob Rainsford's head is in the trophy room, as well as dozens of others. It's pretty macabre."
Napoleon nodded and got on his communicator again.
Napoleon was walking back to the hotel. He had been making last minute arrangements at the Manila office to accompany Rainsford's body back to Los Angeles in the morning.
Illya was being his usual stubborn self, checking himself out of the hospital against medical advice, although he was keeping to his promise to Napoleon that he would rest until it was time to go. While both had pretty bad bruises, and Napoleon had a mild concussion, Illya had a serious concussion. His right side ribs were cracked or broken. And his collarbone was fractured.
And half-drowned. When no one was around, he had told Napoleon that he was knocked out when he slammed into a rock, which probably also broke those bones, and only woke up when Christina's father found him on the side of the river by the house. He had taken Illya to the trophy room and gun room. But, Illya's memory was a little hazy on the whole ordeal.
Or he just wasn't talking about it. That was probably more likely, knowing him. It destroyed Illya more to admit when he was in pain than actually being in pain.
Approaching the door to the hotel room and Illya were sharing, he could hear Illya's voice and a woman's voice. Opening the door, he found Illya sitting in the chair by the table and Christina sitting on the bed.
She smiled at Napoleon as he entered. "Apparently, I have a rich UNCLE who bought me a new camera and equipment. I wanted to thank him."
"Try not to knock anyone over the head with them."
She turned back to Illya. "Nothing I can say will make you change your mind?"
"I'm flattered, but sorry."
"All right." She stood up and walked over to him. "If you do change your mind…"
"I'll call you."
She kissed him on the cheek and walked away. "Thanks for everything, Napoleon. I'm glad it worked out like it did."
Napoleon nodded, looking over at Illya, who was sitting there with an innocent look on his face. When she left the room, he burst out, "You get a kiss and I get a 'so long'?"
"I guess."
"Oh, aren't you the picture of innocence. You were yourself around her the whole time—rude, stubborn. And she preferred that?"
"I guess."
Napoleon sighed and gave him his food. "So, are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"What was that all about?"
"She wanted to take my picture. She's wanting to do a story about this 'adventure,' as she called it. I told her that it wasn't a good idea."
"She didn't ask me."
"Oh." Illya hid a smirk and kept his most innocent face on. "I guess she thought I spoke for us both. Is this something you'd be interested in?"
"No."
"Then, what's your problem?"
Napoleon sighed, feeling the twinge of jealousy he always got when a woman liked Illya more than him. "I guess I don't have one."
End
A/N: Obviously, I got this plot bunny from both the Man from U.N.C.L.E. episode "The Virtue Affair" and "The Most Dangerous Game." The 1932 movie more than the short story by Richard Connell. Although I have read the short story in middle school and I re-read it seeing that this bunny was waving at me and dancing around, trying to get my attention. But, it's the 1932 movie starring Joel McCrea that captured my attention. I've seen it a bunch of times, and I highly recommend it. I lifted some descriptions from the short story, changed some things around. There are passages of the short story in here, because, frankly, I couldn't figure out how to translate the images playing in my head to typed word without some help. I'm not a hunter, and I've never been hunted.
It's in the public domain. (Same as the movie, actually.) So, luckily not violating any copyright rules. (But, again, see my disclaimer. I don't own anything. Seriously.)
Oh yeah, "The Virtue Affair" is one of my favorite episodes.
Hope this was halfway decent.
Also note that I know nothing about the Philippines. I know nothing about Manila. I have a friend who was born there and she still has family there. The last name is her family's last name. I also know that there are a ton of islands around there. That's it. Besides, I wasn't attempting to be all that accurate.