Terminus - Part I

Hands bound behind him, U.N.C.L.E. agent Robert Derivaux glanced upward at the outline of a large cat - a panther, perhaps - above the archway that he and his partner, Stanley Kemp, were being herded toward. From a distance, the buildings gave the impression of a grand old estate. From this close, it had more the appearance of a fortress.

The number of guards and how well they were armed did not bode well for thoughts of escaping this particular THRUSH establishment, but this was hardly the first time they had fallen into the enemy's hands. One thing made this situation bleaker than those other occasions - this time they had been betrayed by one of their own and they hadn't had the opportunity to send even a vague warning up the chain. There was a very good chance that no-one even knew of their capture.

While Derivaux was dwelling on those thoughts, Kemp was studying the guards. Even for THRUSHies, they seemed a grim lot. What really caught his eye was the mixture of weapons. Every man seemed to carry a pistol, but they also carried a variety of less noisy weapons, some carried billy clubs, some had long, wicked looking blades and other even carried crossbows that could kill from a distance without ever disturbing the neighbors.

More than a few sets of those weapons were trained on the pair as they were made to walk up marble stairs. At the top, a pair of reclining cats in a dark marble bracketed the doorway they were now led through. Once their eyes adjusted, the two agents found themselves facing an enormous desk in the most elaborate office they had ever laid their eyes on.

The man behind the desk rose and Kemp estimated the man to be in his forties, around six foot two and fit in a non-body builder sort of way. The THRUSH sub-chief had what Kemp had heard Agent April Dancer call movie star good looks and he was impeccably dressed as he moved around the desk to look over the two agents with his cool blue eyes. From both his attitude and tone, anyone listening would have though he was talking to expected guests instead of two men who were bound and currently being forced into a kneeling position by their guards.

"Gentlemen, you don't know how very long I have waited to meet some of U.N.C.L.E.'s finest. I am Ramiro Bedoya - welcome to El Cincuenta Gatos. My men will show you to your accommodations for the duration of your time with us, but first, I will take a few minutes of your time."

Without warning, a thick swath of cloth was snapped over each agents face and drawn back sharply, obstructing both their vision and their ability to draw in more than minimal air. Kneeling with bound hands and their heads held back, there was little they could do to prevent their clothing from being sliced from their bodies. After their shoes and socks were stripped from their feet, the cloths were loosened enough to allow them to breathe again, but not removed. In fact, they could feel the cloths being roughly knotted behind their heads before they felt ropes being looped around their ankles and tightly cinched. A sickly chemical smell warned them what was next, but they had no chance of avoiding the application of chloroform. Derivaux was only vaguely aware of the guards lifting him before the darkness claimed him.

Kemp was the first to awaken in their surprisingly warm cell. He was no longer bound, but nothing was left of his clothing. Two pairs of gym style shorts were in the cell with them and he took a moment to slip one of the pairs on before moving over to check on Derivaux. His partner never responded well to chloroform. To his relief, Derivaux was breathing well and starting to stir. Kemp took a better look at their surroundings while waiting for him to wake.

No windows, so they were either in an inner room or underground - Kemp's guts said underground. Where underground was the question. They could still be at the fortress estate or they could have been moved to any number of other places while they were unconscious.

"Stan?"

Reacting immediately to the rough voice, Kemp moved back to his partner's side.

"Easy, Bob - I'm here. Wherever here is."

Helping Derivaux into the other pair of shorts, Kemp filled him in on what little he knew. Derivaux rubbed his forehead. At least a headache was the mildest of the side effects he tended to suffer from chloroform. For a moment, they just sat together and drew strength from one another.

They had become partners under unusual circumstances. Both men had been paired briefly with U.N.C.L.E.'s golden boy - Napoleon Solo - during Mister Waverly's search for a permanent partner for his mercurial CEA. Both worked well enough with Solo, but not to the level that Waverly was looking for. Something else apparently drew the Old Man's eyes though - within a month of Kemp being pulled from working with Solo, they had been teamed together and Mister Waverly's instincts had been right. The two had clicked and had been a force for THRUSH to reckon with for the past three years.

Bringing his thought back to the present, Derivaux recalled what Bedoya had called the fortress.

"My Spanish is mostly limited to ordering tacos, but he called this place something to do with cats, didn't he?"

Kemp nodded, too worried to be amused.

"El Cincuenta Gatos - The Fifty Cats."

A voice from across the room had both looking up.

"You will find many things here related to cats, Agent Kemp."

It was Bedoya again, accompanied by six of his guards. It was no real contest as the two agents were drug out and each strapped face forward to a frame.

"The cat you are about to get to know intimately is the cat o' nine tails. It will be far easier on you both if you tell me what I wish to know about U.N.C.L.E. headquarters now."

There were no bravado statements. They allowed their silence to speak for them. After a minute Bedoya laughed.

"Two of Waverly's finest - I would have been disappointed with less."

The two men lost track of time, but it was two days later when the agents were bound again and shoved back to kneeling positions in the office where they had first seen Bedoya. In those forty-eight hours, they had received multiple whippings, beatings and burns. They had been allowed water, but no food and barely any rest. Kemp had been blinded in his left eye - Derivaux's right arm was broken. Both were haggard looking and pale from blood loss.

For a few minutes, Bedoya silently studied the two agents. He and his men had failed to even get the two agents to admit their own names, let alone any information that was valuable. Still, they would serve him in a fashion.

"I will admit to being impressed. You have shown far more determination and greater fortitude than I expected. In fact, I think I would like to see exactly how much willpower the two of you have remaining. I will release you at the edge of the main grounds. If you manage to make it off of the estate, you are free to go. But both of you must make it. Together or not at all."

Derivaux looked up, weakened, but still defiant.

"that is the only way we would leave regardless of your conditions."

Bedoya smiled.

"Excellent. Let us begin then."

Hoods were jerked down over the agents' heads and they were carried away. Kemp's prayers that chloroform wouldn't be used were answered, but he still winced as he heard Derivaux try to bite back cries of pain as his bad arm was jostled.

When the hoods were removed, both men fought back a shudder. They were facing a swampy area with no indication of how far they would have to go to get free of it. The sucking muddy ground was bad enough, but little doubt that there were creatures lurking in those waters as well as unknown depths to deal with. Not that they had a choice in the matter.

Still wearing nothing but the gym shorts - now filthy - the two agents began to make their way through. Insects swarmed their bare flesh and Kemp disappeared below the surface for a moment before breaking back up, sputtering and coughing up the stagnant water. The worst for Kemp was the sound of Derivaux's scream when a snake struck out and bit him in the already broken arm. Kemp managed to yank a vine free and made a tourniquet as best he could with the vine and a stick, but after that, he was bearing most of his partner's weight as Derivaux was fighting off shock. Still, they trudged on, mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other as minutes turned to hours.

Leeches were adding to their problems and Kemp didn't know how many more times he would be able to force his legs move, but he couldn't quit - Derivaux would never make it out without him. Blinking the sweat out of his remaining eye, Kemp looked ahead and almost sagged with relief. Through the mist and trees, he could see higher ground - and more land beyond it. Heartened, he turned to his friend to encourage him.

"Stay with me, Bob. We're almost out, buddy."

"I'm trying, Stan. I'm -"

Derivaux gave a sudden gasp and fell forward, partially dragging Kemp down into the water with him.

"Bob!"

Kemp frantically tried to pull his partner back out of the muck, but then he saw the end of the crossbow bolt protruding from Derivaux's back. He was still looking at it when another bolt pierced his own body. Eyes rolling back, Kemp collapsed over the body of his dead partner as Bedoya watched through a pair of high powered binoculars.

"A good day's sport, men. Pull up the bodies and take them to the dump. Toss them in with the rest of the trash and leave their gear with their bodies as well."

Orders given, Bedoya headed back to his fortress. A very good day of sport. He'd worked up quite an appetite.

Early the following morning, Mister Waverly was in his darkened office. The only lights were the soft lighting coming off of the equipment in the room. Standing almost as still as a statute, he quietly smoked his pipe.

The two bodies had been retrieved after a trace was done on Derivaux's communicator after the team failed to report in on schedule. It was official. One of his top teams was dead - tortured and murdered before their bodies were contemptuously dumped on a garbage heap. According to the autopsy reports, both had suffered greatly - even without the crossbow bolt that had pierced his heart, it was doubtful Derivaux would have survived the water moccasin bite he had sustained in addition to his other injuries.

The anger Waverly was feeling was a red-hot coal inside. To lose agents was one thing - to have them treated so disrespectfully was another. The THRUSH sub-chief responsible for the atrocity must pay - and he knew exactly who to send to extract the pound of flesh on behalf of the dead agents.

Moving with sure, determined steps to his intercom, he activated the unit.

"Miss Eklund? Summon Mister Solo and Mister Kuryakin to my office immediately."