Some people have a great deal of knowledge by which they navigate through life; knowledge being the sum total of information and facts, both trivial and truly useful. Of course it must be allowed that even the trivial can be of use at times.
There are those other folk who have the innate, instinctive knowing nature that propels them from one triumph to the next. It is without explanation or logic, and tends to be a prickly thorn in the sides of those who rely on their intellect above all else.
Among the roster of agents whose lives belong to the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement there are two men, partners in fact, who both embody and defy the ideals and parameters of knowledge and knowing. The Russian, Kuryakin, would be quick to point out that logic is imperative to the successful operation of any organization; knowledge and perception intwined in order to produce victory. He likes to have the facts and a means of facilitating those facts. He approves of a good report on any given subject.
The other half of this partnership, the American, will not argue against having knowledge of one's enemy, or that knowing how one'S enemy operates is valuable. He is, however, the first to jump into a problem without any preconceptions about what will make it turn out in his favor; Solo believes in his own abilities far more than the efficacy of anyone else's estimation of a situation. No one can give him facts that will facilitate success better than his instincts can, the inner knowing that has been dubbed Solo's Luck.
Case in point:
Solo and Kuryakin were sitting in a car across from the Donegal Flatts Pub, a known hangout for THRUSH operatives and a favorite spot for handing off information. The intelligence regarding this particular assignment was that a red-headed woman would be passing a document to the bartender; it contained pertinent details regarding a THRUSH installation being built near the Panama Canal. There really was no end to their aspirations and deviousness. The installation, when in operation, would be able to track the cargo being carried across the canal, making targets for a pirating venture on the open seas.
Illya had his eyes on the walk in front of the pub, ready to move when the redhead appeared. Napoleon, always appreciative of an attractive titian haired woman, was calculating the odds of finding a redhead in an Irish pub.
"You know Illya, I think one of us ought to be on the inside rather than waiting for her to show up. I realize this was the plan, to avoid being seen beforehand, but something tells me that the plan isn't going to work."
Illya sighed, he had anticipated this. If one thing could be counted on when dealing with his partner, it was that you shouldn't count on anything to just go according to plan.
"And I suppose you are the right man to be inside?' The blond shook his head, surveillance was generally left to him anyway.
"Very well, I shall watch from out here. Perhaps you're right. Just don't interrupt the exchange, the report said ..."
"The report? Tovarisch, we're here and this scenario doesn't have a script. We need those documents and I intend to have them... tonight."
With that Napoleon launched himself out of the car and across the street. He looked back over his shoulder once before turning to see a woman approaching who, as luck would have it, had shoulder length auburn hair. Illya stared in amazement at the pair as Napoleon opened the door for the attractive THRUSH agent. There was no doubt about it, because as the UNCLE agent held the door she produced a gun and pointed it at his chest.
"Bozhe moy... You and your instincts Napoleon." The Russian fumed beneath his breath as he gathered himself together and prepared to go in and rescue his partner.
Inside the pub Napoleon found himself surrounded by what he assumed was a gaggle of THRUSH (he had long ago decided to categorize them like geese, loud and threatening but lacking good sense). As the group circled around him and the redhead, Napoleon smiled his best imitation of bravado, something that amused the woman.
"Mr. Napoleon Solo... You don't remember me, do you? We met once, several years ago. I was a blonde back then, but you... You haven't changed a bit."
The agent looked hard at the woman, his memory not giving up any clues as to her identity, then or now. As Napoleon attempted to cajole his way around this predicament, Illya was sneaking in unobserved. All eyes were on the American, making it a little easier for his Russian partner to gain the advantage.
"Ahem..." He interrupted the proceedings just as he drew close to the redhead, and was only slightly taken aback when the entire room turned to him with guns raised.
"If you do not put down your weapons I shall shoot this woman...' Illya put his Walther to her temple.
"Dead."
Napoleon pulled free from the man who had been restraining him and retrieved his own weapon, motioning for the assembled crowd to all huddle together in a corner he designated with a wave of the Special. The woman sighed in an exaggerated expression of disdain, still unidentified but immobilized by the threat of having her skull blown apart. She knew the Russian would do it, which made her all the more resigned.
Solo, content that the room was under control, approached the mystery woman and took a closer look, hoping to remember where they had met previously.
'Oh... I remember now. You were with Dr. Dabree." His sing song delivery made her mad as she recalled how mercilessly her mentor had been treated as Solo made way for her into the cavernous depths of the elevator shaft. Only the kindness of Fate had seen to it that Dr. Dabree fell onto the roof of the car beneath her.
"You deserve to die Mr. Solo, and I feel ashamed that I have failed in that task."
Napoleon was used to threats, but this sent a shiver up his spine that he was unwilling to acknowledge. Illya noticed a fleeting shift in his friend's expression, but then it was gone, replaced by a grin intended to both charm and annoy depending upon the recipient.
"Flo. Nurse Flo, the ever faithful companion and protege´ of the deranged Dabree. Well, just consider yourself lucky that we've stopped you short of doing something silly like killing me. You know, ignorance is not so blissful as one might suspect."
Flo shot a look at Solo that said she was not ignorant of his evil nor of the accountability for his deeds. She knew who she was dealing with, that was was had propelled her to accept this assignment.
"There are reinforcements on the way Napoleon. I took the liberty of calling in before I came to rescue you."
That comment made Solo cant his head to one side, almost as though he didn't quite understand what Illya had said.
"Oh? Well, you didn't actually know I would need rescuing."
The blond smiled. It was good to be right, to have the upper hand.
"I saw her point a gun at your heart."
"Oh. Okay then ...' Napoleon turned again to Flo.
"And you my dear,' He leaned in so only she could hear him...
The redhead raised her hand to slap his face, but Illya caught her hand in mid-air. Napoleon laughed at her, knowing as he did how serious she had been about seeing him dead.
Before more annoyances could be fueled a team arrived, ready to process the THRUSH and finish up in that location. Napoleon and Illya drove back to Headquarters in silence, neither man anxious to revisit the tragic events surrounding the Brain Killers Affair, or today's near fiasco.
As Illya pulled up in front of Del Floria's, he needed to ask one question of his partner.
"Napoleon, did you see Flo before she approached you at the door to that pub?" The thought had been niggling at the Russian's brain during the drive. Something about Napoleon's actions seemed to be more informed than he had first thought. Confronted now with admitting it, Napoleon nodded.
"I did see her, that's why I didn't give you a chance to stop me. Knowing she had to be the one, well... I didn't see any reason to wait. Opportunity tovarisch, that's all."
Illya shook his head, not sure whether to be annoyed or concerned at Napoleon's cavalier attitude.
"She could have killed you on the spot Napoleon. Just because you knew she was the courier didn't guarantee your having the upper hand on the situation."
Hmmm. Napoleon wasn't sure whether his friend was concerned or just angry at his seeming impetuousness. He knew what he was doing, whether it was apparent or not; Napoleon Solo always knew what he was doing.
"I promise I won't do it again."
"Liar."
"At least you know I'm lying. That ought to count for something."
Ironically, it did.