This is a quite short piece which is going to be added to my ever lengthening list of things I should expand.
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"You're pulling my leg!" Napoleon Solo exclaimed, as he took in Illya's escape plan.
"There is no pulling of legs involved," Kuryakin replied, with resolute seriousness. "Please tell me if you have something better."
"I always knew I would end up in one at a relatively young age," Solo continued. "But I had hoped I would be dead when that day came."
"Napoleon, either you get in the coffin, or the THRUSH guards heading this way will discover us."
The two agents had been investigating a lead to a satrap based at a production plant, which specialised in coffins and caskets. Having managed to steal all the files and microfilms they could carry, they had destroyed the offices of the satrap but had managed to get themselves trapped in the warehouse. Their only option seemed to be to hide in a couple of coffins and hope the guards didn't look inside. Napoleon had to agree that it was currently their only plan, despite it resting entirely on luck.
The two men each dived into a coffin and closed the lids, both attempting to breathe as quietly as possible. After a few minutes, four guards entered the warehouse and began a systematic search for the agents. One coffin, in a line of identical white coffins, caught the eye of one of the guards. Holding a silencing finger to his lips, he pointed out a piece of blue pinstriped fabric which was poking out from beneath a lid. He silently instructed the other three guards to pick up the coffin and they carried it away.
Inside the box, Napoleon felt the movement and almost panicked. Whoever was carrying him must have known he was in there, from the weight alone. He decided to stay quiet and see what happened. There was no point in showing himself yet until he knew what was happening.
Illya had heard the sounds of the guards moving around and, a short while after the sounds stopped, he lifted his lid and peered out. He was horrified to see that the coffin containing Napoleon had gone.
"He's going to blame me for this," he muttered to himself, wondering why they hadn't looked in any of the other coffins.
He climbed out and went in search of his partner. The production plant was massive so it took Illya quite a while to find where they'd taken Napoleon. As it turned out, he'd been carried outside and was being lowered into a grave. The hole had been hastily dug with a mechanical digger, and though it wasn't very deep, it would serve its purpose.
When the first load of soil was dumped into the grave, Napoleon realised what was happening and no choice but to try and get out. Unfortunately, one of the guards punched him back down and he dropped back in, unconscious; another load of soil was emptied on top of him.
"Chyort!" Illya hissed.
Arming his special with sleep darts, he quickly took down the four guards and the digger operator. Jumping into the grave, careful not to stand on his stricken partner, Illya moved the dirt aside. He breathed a sigh of relief on seeing Napoleon's chest moving. Grunting with the exertion, Kuryakin hauled Solo from the hole and tried to rouse him. When the cheek patting failed, he rooted around in his pocket for one of the hated smelling salt capsules. He broke it and waved it under Napoleon's nose. Solo awoke instantly and batted the offending item away. He glared up at Illya.
"This is the last time I listen to you," he grumbled, not really meaning it.
Illya helped Napoleon to his feet and smiled at the sour look the American was giving his dirty suit.
"I would suggest we leave here before these five men wake up," Kuryakin suggested.
"Lead on, Tovarisch."
The End