"There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch.- Anything can happen."
― Raymond Chandler, Red Wind: A Collection of Short Stories
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The explosion was huge and horrific, with a billowing plume of orange and yellow flames surrounded by black clouds mushrooming into the sky in the middle of the scenic Sonoran desert.
The area once teeming with wildlife and flora had been laid waste and the Santa Ana winds blowing in cleared away the smoke after several minutes, but they helped spread hot embers along with whirling sand; setting the hazy landscape of tumbleweeds and sagebrush and cacti ablaze just outside the blast area.
Napoleon Solo emerged from his place of safety; hanging from a chain tossed over the side of an old dried up well; he'd clung there as the pyrotechnics took place.
Opening up his tightly-shut eyes and deeming it safe once the rumblings had ceased; he hiked himself up hand over hand until he reached the top of the well and pulled himself out with one mighty heave.
Napoleon surveyed the landscape…another T.H.R.U.S.H. satrap had been blown to smithereens and possibly his partner along with it.
There was nothing but utter devastation surrounding him as he looked at the scorched earth, that and the remnants of the old adobe house behind him to which the well once belonged. It was amazing the place remained standing, as the T.H.R.U.S.H. building that had blown was nowhere left to be seen.
"Don't build them like they used to," he muttered to himself.
His heart sank at the thought; Illya might not have gotten out in time.
Though the Russian had given his American partner a few minutes warning to get to a place of safety; Illya was no doubt close to the building if not in it when it blew.
Napoleon walked out into the destruction, ignoring the small fires that had erupted around him. He had to search, there had to be a small chance Kuryakin had made it out alive.
Illya was like the proverbial cat with nine lives who somehow managed to land on its feet and walk away from a fall. More often than not he was injured, but at least he lived to tell the tale.
"He lived," Napoleon said aloud as if by doing so he could wish it to be so.
The Russian was always a bit of a bull in a china shop that way; willing to put his life on the line to get the job done.
His partner always took those words to heart, "We go where we are told and do as we are told…" even if it meant losing one's life.
It always seemed as though Illya was willing to sometimes take an unnecessary risk for that reason, but now had he run out of lives?
There was a pile of bricks, pretty much what was left of the satrap, and beside them, amazingly, was a flower...there was one bloom left after it was all over.A single, bright pink flower had managed to survive the destruction. Proving that life would resist and overcome the foolishness of man.
The bricks suddenly began to move, one toppling down over the other as an outstretched hand emerged, reaching upwards. Solo immediately recognized the cufflink and began to dig in the rubble.
"Illya I'm here buddy!" He called out as he feverishly moved the bricks that were still hot to the touch.
Minutes later the blond was freed of his imprisonment; battered and bruised with some of his hair singed; though considering the size of the explosion his injuries could have been far worse, if not fatal.
Solo helped the dazed Russian to his feet, and steadied him as they walked away, heading back to the adobe where they'd stashed a few of their desert supplies...mainly a large canteen.
He sat Illya down, leaning his back against a wall; giving him water to drink. As Kuryakin downed it greedily Napoleon soaked his handkerchief, laying it across his partner's brow to help cool him.
Loosening Illya's tie and collar button; Solo took stock to make sure nothing was broken. Kuryakin's pale skin was blossoming everywhere with bruises, but thankfully there were no major injuries as far as he could tell.
The last thing Napoleon did was hold a finger in front of his partner's eyes
"How many am I holding up tovarisch?"
"One, and why are you giving me a rude gesture?"
"Good, just checking. Now, how are you feeling?"
"Napoleon I was just blown up, how do you think I feel?"
"No need to be snarky about it. You did do it to yourself may I remind you?"
"It was not intentional, trust me on that. I did not use that much explosives so there must have been some volitile substances in their lab that reacted to the blast. It should have been only been that part of the building that was destroyed, not the whole place...which is why I was caught inside when everything went up," Illya muttered defensively; taking another swig from the canteen. "I will tell you though ...blowing up things for some reason gives me an appetite."
Napoleon canted his head to one side as he squinted at the Russian.
"An indication that you're going to be right as rain buddy boy," he finally smiled."Do you think you can make it to our jeep or do you want me to go it alone and come back for you?"
"Am fine. Let us go now; I want to eat. There was that little Mexican restaurant in… I cannot recall the name of the town?" Illya's face become visibly upset at not being able to remember.
"Ummm, you just survived a major explosion so I wouldn't be surprised if you had a bad knock on that noggin of yours. Tell you what, we'll stop at our motel and get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes; we can have the local doctor check you out just in case. Wouldn't want you scaring the local senoritas with your dirty self; clothes filled with burn holes and your mad Russian demeanor would we?"
"Perish the thought I frighten the ladies Napoleon," Illya broke a smile as his partner offered him a hand; pulling him up to his feet.
"Very considerate of you Mr. Kuryakin. I think you're going to need a haircut though to get rid of those singed ends."
"No haircut, or doctor for that matter," he grumbled his reply.
"Whatever you say buddy."
"Stop humoring me."
"I wasn't."
"Yes you were."
At that moment, Illya abruptly fainted and Napoleon hiked his unconscious comrade onto his back, carrying him the rest of the way to the jeep.
Along his half-mile trek signs of the desert coming back to life were everywhere. A tortoise crossed Solo's path; halting to stare at the two humans. A jackrabbit tore past with a fox in pursuit and lastly Napoleon found himself sidestepping some sort of lizard that looked like it could be a stand-in for a dinosaur in some cheap B monster movie.
Life was continuing inspite of the blast...something positive coming out of this mess.
Solo lowered his partner into the passenger seat; deciding Illya would be seeing a doctor whether he liked it or not…
When Kuryakin slowly awoke, he found himself lying in a hospital bed in U.N.C.L.E.'s Tucson headquarters.
"Hey pal, nice of you to rejoin the world of the living," Napoleon looking a bit tired, smiled as he leaned over his partner.
"How long?" Illya whispered.
"Three days this time. You had a pretty good concussion, but other than that, the doctors have pronounced that you'll live to blow up things another day."
"But of course," Illya hiked himself up in the bed. "When last I was awake, I believe we were discussing me getting something to eat? I am still hungry, if not more so, and I am still in the mood for Mexican food... that restaurant was called Cantina de Manolo in Nogales."
"
Nothing wrong with your memory after all," Napoleon chuckled."I'll go get you a tray."
Minutes later Solo reappeared with a single covered dish, setting it down on the table now positioned in front of his partner.
"Drumroll please….et voila!" Napoleon removed the cover to reveal the dreaded bowl of green jello.
"Napoleon, if you do not remove that...vile substance; I cannot be held responsible for my aim; after all I did suffer a concussion. You have until the count of five."
"But doctor's orders chum.''
Illya counted down in Russian…"Odin -dva -tri -chetyre .."
Napoleon ducked just in time to watch the jello go flying out the door.
Stepping inside at that exact moment was Doctor Fernandez; his white jacket now covered in green goo.
"Ahhhh I see you're awake Mr. Kuryakin...I was going to release you once that happened but now I think you're in need of a psych exam."
"I just blew up one of the largest T.H.R.U.S.H. satraps on the West coast and that is the thanks I get?" Illya crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"And I treat you Section II agents day in and day out and get pelted with green jello as my thanks?"
"Sorry Doctor. If it is any consolation, I was not aiming for you," Illya sheepishly shrugged.
"Nice try Mr. Kuryakin."
Dr. Fernandez turned on his heels, leaving the room with Napoleon dashing straight after him.
"Doctor, my partner is needed in New York and must report to Alexander Waverly immediately. He has vital information on the chemical compounds being manufactured in the T.H.R.U.S.H. lab he'd blown up."
"Nice try Mr. Solo."
"Doc, I hate to pull rank...but I'm CEA of U.N.C.L.E. Northwest and I must insist you clear Mr. Kuryakin for immediate release."
Fernandez shook his head. "You Section two's really watch out for each other, don't you?"
"Part of the job."
"Very well, once we've checked your partner's vitals he'll be released."
"Can a more substantial meal be brought up for him; otherwise he's going to be one very cranky Russian."
"Fine Mr. Solo, I'll have today's lunch brought up...is Mexican agreeable with him?"
"You have no idea," Napoleon smiled.