Two men ran along a gravel path that seemed to lead nowhere in the face of winds and rain that blew in against them. Their goal was up ahead, straight into the fiercest part of this hurricane that threatened to engulf them.
Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had started down this path an hour earlier, before the tides rose to tower above their heads and the palm trees bent low enough to climb over the straining trunks. The prey was up ahead; he was getting away now as the UNCLE agents battled against impossibly strong winds that continued to impede their progress.
Without warning a surfboard flew up in front of them, striking Napoleon before he could duck out of its way. Kuryakin slowed his pace in order to help up his friend, nearly stumbled and fell himself as he became an even larger target for the 60 mile per hour winds. He managed to get Napoleon up from the graveled path, fighting against the wind and Solo's weight. Finally upright, the two men continued on, not willing to give up the chase.
Ahead of them was the man they sought to apprehend. Thomas Merk had shown up on this island with a nice boat and an eye for beautiful women. No one paid much attention to Merk until a vacationing Interpol agent caught sight of him and remembered seeing his face on a bulletin. He was wanted for the murder of a French socialite by the name of Francine Marton; she was a niece of Victor Marton, of THRUSH. Not only was Merk being sought by the French police and Interpol, he had THRUSH on his trail and now, on this storm swept beach, he was being chased by UNCLE agents.
Merk would have stayed off of UNCLE's radar except for one very big mistake on his part. In his travels on and around this island, he had become smitten with a certain auburn haired woman who was vacationing in this pristine setting. April Dancer had been only slightly wary of the handsome Englishman with the pretty boat, but still she called in to have UNCLE check him out. By the time she should have received the information about his flight from French justice, she had succumbed to a drugged cocktail and the dubious intentions of Thomas Merk.
Back in New York, having failed to contact April, her partner Mark Slate was sent to find her. When Slate confirmed that she had been seen with Merk and was now missing, Solo and Kuryakin were sent in as well. Now all three men were on the Caribbean island, Slate following the trail of a THRUSH assassin sent to kill Merk, with Illya and Napoleon caught in between the prey and his pursuers.
Behind the pair of agents from UNCLE lay the remains of Merk's impressive yacht. He had been caught in the storm, pushed ashore by the merciless waves and unrelenting wind. When they discovered the wreck it had been hoped that April would be onboard still, left behind as Merk fled from those who sought his life in return for the one he had taken. It wasn't to be, however, and he forced the still drugged Dancer to accompany him as he fled for the safety of his island home, a bungalow tucked neatly into groves of coconut palms that sheltered it from prying eyes and storms such as battered the shoreline now.
UNCLE knew of the hideaway, as did Interpol. With the THRUSH hot on the trail behind Solo and Kuryakin, it would be a literal showdown when all parties finally converged on Merk's last hope of escape. The driving rain that pelted April's body was quickening her return to full cognizance of her surroundings. The initial suspicion of the man she found herself with returned, sure that he was indeed one of the bad guys as he tugged at her to hurry, the grip on her wrist never loosening in spite of the rain.
"Hurry up, and don't even think about running away. I still have a gun and I'll use it!" He shouted above the noise of the wind and surf that crashed behind them. They were turning inland, and April thought she could see the red tile of a roof mingled into the green of the palms and shrubbery that bordered their path.
"You're hurting me! You'll never get away with this, I'm an agent for the United Netw…" He cut her off, turning as he stopped in mid-stride.
"I know who you are and who you work for. Your people, THRUSH and Interpol are all after me, so don't think for a minute that I won't shoot you and leave you here for them to find if you give me any trouble. I'd rather not, luv, but I will."
April looked into his eyes, not willing to risk finding out if Merk truly meant it. She nodded her head, ascent to his demand implied in that motion. He smiled, a crooked, perverse look of triumph over something unseen.
With a jerk on her arm they were off again, pushing through the rain and wet sand that would lead them to the little house April could now just make out in the distance.
Some distance behind them Napoleon faltered slightly, the effect of the surfboard slamming into him was now being fully felt as his right side ached from the impact. Illya was ahead of him, turned to look back and saw his partner fall to his knees. Running back to him he tried to hoist him up, but the grimace of pain let him know that there was some type of injury.
"Napoleon, stay here!' He had to shout, the noise of the storm was beginning to rise in volume. The other man shook his head and tried to stand up.
"You'll only slow me down. That board came at you with a great deal of force, you're not …" Napoleon held up his hand and glared at the Russian.
"Don't tell me what I am. Now help me up and let's get going, they're getting farther ahead of us and that goon from THRUSH will be gaining on us. April is counting on us Illya.' That last was said with a wince of pain as he realized the hand he had held up to Illya's face was swollen, especially his ring finger. Broken probably.
"I'm ready, now let's go." They proceeded with that, Kuryakin pulling at his partner as the two trudged through the sand and, turning on the same path that Merk and April were on, suddenly felt the wind at their backs and the brunt of the storm behind them.
The bungalow was about a half mile inland, and when Merk and April arrived on its doorstep they were each soaked to the skin, breathing heavily from the exertion. April was fully recovered from the drugs she had been given and immediately upon entering the little dwelling began to look for a way to break free of her captor until…
As the thought was running through her mind Merk backhanded her, sending her to the floor. Dazed and hurting from the assault, April was too slow to outmaneuver the man as he tied her hands behind her back and then bound her ankles. It happened so quickly that April wondered if he had been trained by someone. But who?
"Why Thomas? What have you done that makes you run like a hunted animal? And why are you doing this to me?"
Merk smiled, a twitch pulling at his lips betrayed the nerves that were being taxed by this turn of events. He tugged at April's shoulders, sitting her upright against a wall as he caught his breath. As he stood upright she noticed a small dot of red on his shoulder, watched as it expanded.
"You've been shot haven't you? What.. who is after you Thomas? Perhaps I can help, UNCLE might be willing…" He cut her off with a slap across her cheek.
"Shut up. I have something that everyone wants, and Victor Marton is hunting me down for something entirely different. You think I care what happens to you? I don't. I killed a woman in France, and the only reason you're still alive is so I can use you for a shield against your fellow agents. They won't risk hurting you, I'll wager."
April was trying to not look shocked, but if Marton was after Merk then it must be personal. Where was Mark? Where were her rescuers? She did believe Merk, he would kill her if necessary for his own survival, and she didn't want to die. Working for UNCLE meant being willing to give your life for a cause, but this wasn't a cause. It was a man running from justice who wanted to use her like a pawn. That was unacceptable, and April intended to get out of here alive. She just figured it might take some help to do it.
Illya and Napoleon saw the bungalow, knew it was the right place. Not far behind was the THRUSH sent to kill Merk, and he wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone else in order to complete his assignment. Jonas Hiller had seen the UNCLE agents, recognized Solo as one of them. Killing him would be a bonus, but he had to do it before the Interpol agent caught up to him. Something had slowed down the two men ahead of Hiller, and now he could see them as they approached the little bungalow where Merk was hiding.
Napoleon stopped, pulling at his partner as they both slipped into the trees to one side of the path. It wouldn't do to make a direct approach, they needed to assess the situation and devise a plan. Hiller realized they were gone without having seen at what point his prey stepped away from his line of sight. This was going to make things more interesting.
The Interpol agent assigned to apprehend Merk had come upon the wrecked Bijou, Merk's boat, only minutes behind the others. The procession of men, all of them with different intentions in spite of the same search, was weighing on Merk's thoughts and actions. He knew that Hallinger would not be far behind the others, and he was unwilling to go with him; as unwilling as he was to be shot by Hiller or the UNCLE agents. They would make a pretense of taking him in, but if he were to hurt Dancer he knew they would eventually find him and kill him. This situation could have been worse, but right now Thomas Merk couldn't think how.
Illya wanted to go in alone, apprehensive about Napoleon's injuries. He expressed it and was immediately vetoed by the senior agent.
"I'm going in through the back. You take one of the side windows, he can't deal with both of us." Illya agreed. The bungalow was small, maybe a thousand square feet by the looks of it. There wouldn't be many places to hide. Merk had backed himself into a literal corner, without hope of surviving the onslaught from three different forces. What did that mean for April?
"We get April out safely. I don't care about Merk." Illya nodded his agreement and stood up, ready to approach the target. Napoleon stood up as well, once again aware of the aches, possibly worse, as a result of the surfboard collision.
Hiller was still a hundred yards away, but he thought he caught sight of movement around the little house. He knew it would be Solo and whoever was with him. As he contemplated a course of action, something pierced the skin behind his ear. As he collapsed to the ground his last image was of a lanky blond wearing a grim expression.
Napoleon was at the back door now, his head full of thundering noises and a pounding sensation that mimicked the wind. Just get inside and get April. Surely he could manage that without collapsing from the pain. Illya would have his back, of that he had no doubt. As each man stealthily gained entrance, they heard the voice of April Dancer as she tried to reason with Merk.
He was agitated, knew full well that he had no way out of this mess. He had not meant to kill Francine Marton; it was a night of too much alcohol that led to an argument. He struck her, but he didn't intend to kill her, that was the result of her head meeting abruptly with the mantle of the carved stone fireplace. It didn't matter now, he was a dead man. Jewel heists had been his only crime, not murder. This THRUSH group scared him worse than the thought of being jailed for his thievery, but even if he surrendered to the Interpol officer chasing him, there was no doubt in his mind that THRUSH would find him and kill him.
April could see the state of mind, hoped against hope that someone was coming for her. It was sudden and swift when it happened. Illya bounded through the bedroom door as Napoleon rushed at Merk, surprising the man and tumbling with him to the floor. Merk's gun was waving furiously in the air as shots went off, pinging against the wood beams in the ceiling. Illya wrestled the gun from his fingers kist as the front door burst open. Illya took a shooters stance and relaxed only at the sight of Mark Slate coming into the room.
April's sigh of relief was punctuated with an exclamation.
"You're all late! I've been waiting for you to show up.' She smiled, grateful beyond words for the three men in the room. Merk was done, all fight vanquished now. Illya relieved his partner of the job of tying up the man as Napoleon slumped to the floor, all adrenalin gone now. Within a few minutes a fourth man entered the room, the Interpol man Ian Hallinger.
"Freeze, everyone drop your weapons!". The other just looked at him, he had Interpol written all over his face and demeanor. Mark motioned to his pocket… "May I? We're from the U.N.C.L.E., my ID is in here…" He removed his card and showed it to Hallinger who then dropped his weapon to his side.
"Well, we've quite an assembly here. I saw someone else tied to a palm tree back on the path coming in…" He looked around at everyone before Mark spoke up.
"Yeah, well, you see mate… "
An hour later and there was an UNCLE team on their way to collect Merk and Hiller. The storm had passed, communicators were operating efficiently once again, and by all appearances everyone was fine. All except Napoleon, who would need to check into Medical to ascertain the damage from his encounter with the surfboard. Fortunately it was a broken finger and extensive bruising, nothing to keep him from joining his friends and colleagues later on.
Everyone met in the evening for dinner and drinks. After everything they'd been through, the semblance of civility and normalcy was impressive. No one else in the restaurant could have guessed what this group had just been through. No one among the group of agents would wish to do it again.
Then again, none of them reckoned they wouldn't.