It had been weeks since Illya Kuryakin had been held as a prisoner by T.H.R.U.S.H. in a satrap located in the Kazakstan region of the Soviet Union.
His cell was bitterly cold, as it was winter. No glass panes, only bars in the small window letting in the frigid wind and sometimes snow.
He lay there on his cot; the mattress strangely enough covered in what looked like a chidren's sheet. Dressed in his black suit, though it was in tatters; still, thankfully they had not removed his clothing. There was no heat, or blankets to ward off the numbing temperatures.
At the moment his hands were bound together with heavy chains, as were his ankles. He wore a blindfold and his captors had put ear plugs in his ears….some sort of a sensory deprivation thing. Though for what purpose, he did not know other than to try and break his will.
The last thing they'd done among their many torture sessions was to shove the Russian's head under ice filled water in a utility sink...a version of waterboarding.
They'd pull him out, just as he starting choking, and laughed as he gasped for air. Illya's captors would throw their questions at him between dunkings, repeating the process over and over until he finally passed out.
Kuryakin was determined to die before he told them where the formula for an experimental explosive had been hidden; it was so powerful that just a small amount of the liquid could destroy a city block.
It had been his assignment to retrieve this formula from a private lab, but after doing so, T.H.R.U.S.H. goons had caught up with him…they wanted the formula as well.
Illya was shivering badly now, and a rasping cough had set in, yet he felt as though he was burning up. He was sick and that would make it even harder to maintain his defenses. It would be by sheer will to fight back the urge to tell them the formula was in his head, as he'd memorized it and destroyed the original document.
They'd tried their truth serums on him, but his body had built up a tolerance to them over the years….the feathered ones were creatures of habit and for some reason never changed their own formulas.
They resorted to their usual physical interrogations...beatings, cigarettes burns, knives, and the water toture, but still the U.N.C.L.E. agent resisted; making them all the more frustrated. With that frustration came anger, and anger upped the ante, making their questioning become more brutal.
.
"Mr. Kalinin. " The head guard stood in his supervisors warm office carefully wording what he was saying."The prisoner is quite ill. If he is not treated, he surely will die and all will be lost."
"Vyzovite vracha_call the doctor," Kalinin said in Russian. He was angry they had been unable to break their fellow countryman. The thought of losing him without learning the whereabouts of the explosive formula was simply unacceptable.
Twenty minutes later, a man with dark hair greying at the temples appeared wearing a white lab coat and carrying a black physicians bag with him. He was escorted into Kalinin's office.
"Vy ne Doktor Rytikov, kto ty? "You are not Doctor Rytikov, who are you?" Kalinin barked.
"YA yego pomoshchnik , Doktor Yuriy Melnikov . Doktor Rytikov byl otsrochen, i poslal menya na yego mesto_I am his assistant, Dr. Yuri Melnikov. Dr. Rytikov was delayed and sent me in his place."
"Your accent sounds odd. Where are you from?"
"Moskva, but I grew up in France, so my accent is somewhat bastardized," the doctor dryly responded.
"You have proper security clearance? I want no trouble from Central," Kalinin groused.
"I assure you, Central is very much aware of me. Now I understand you have an extremely ill prisoner. I must see him at once," Melnikov asked politely.
"Yes, the guard will take you there. I caution you Doctor, the prisoner has valuable information that we must have. Make him well or you will pay for your failure."
"Ah, yes. I will have him in good shape in order to allow you to continue your 'interrogations," Melnikov snickered.
For some reason Kalinin seemed to find that quite amusing, and burst out in a loud belly laugh. "I think I like you Doctor...now off with you!"
Minutes later Melnikov arrived at the cell, and clicked his tongue at the conditons of it as well as the prisoner himself.
"It's no wonder you're a sick man." It was then the doctor saw the ear plugs and blindfold Kuryakin was wearing along with his bindings. His hands were turning blue...
"Those must be removed," Melnikov said to the guard.
"Sorry Doctor, but they cannot. We have strict orders to keep him that way...part of the interrogators method. His hands must stay bound as he killed one of our guards when he was first taken prisoner. Did it with just his bare hands...and he moved lightening fast. No, he is too dangerous to be freed of his chains."
Melnikov checked Illya's pulse...it was rapid and he was burning up with a fever.
"This prisoner must be moved to a room with heat, otherwise I cannot guarantee he will live….and Central would not be happy about that, would they?"
"No sir," the guard replied. "I will have a room prepared and he will be moved immediately."
Within the hour Illya's feet were freed and he was lifted between two guards, half-dragging him to his new quarters.
A windowless room had been converted into a pseudo cell. There was a cot with heavy blankets and a pillow, a bed table with a pitcher of water and a glass along with a small lamp...that was about it. The best thing was that it was nice and warm.
Once brought in, Illya's chains were removed and one wrist was handcuffed to the metal headboard, though at this point he was so weak, he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to.
The doctor finally got his way and after shooing off the guard, sending him away to fetch a pair of THRUSH overalls, saying the prisoner needed clean, dry clothing...finally the earplugs and blindfold were removed.
Illya blinked his glazed eyes several times before they were finally able to focus on the doctor who was bending over him, preparting to shove a thermometer into the agents mouth to check his temperature.
"Hi there," the physican whispered, flashing a smile at the prisoner.
"Napo…"
"Shush," Solo hushed him."Don't want to blow my cover do you? You're really sick tovarisch, no arguments...you're going to take some aspirin and I'm going to give you a couple of shots."
"Mmm, fine," he answered weakly, not having the will to fight back at the moment.
"Good boy." Napoleon helped his partner roll over, and pulling down the Russians tatterered drawers he quickly cleaned a spot of dirty skin with a cotton ball swabbed with alcohol before injecting him with a mega-dose of antibiotics. There was a second injection of B12 to fortify him as well...
"We'll be getting out of here shortly chum, you just hang in there, okay?"
Illya had closed is eyes again, seemingly asleep.
The guard returned moments later, and as he stood at Illya's bedside, holding out a green jumpsuit. "I'm not changing this filthy dog, you have to do it Doc…" Napoleon came up behind him, giving a well-placed karate chop to his neck, rendering him unconscious. The first thing Solo did was retrieve the keys and uncuff Illya's wrist.
Solo stripped the guard of his boots, beret and belt; tying him up with the electrical chord he'd ripped from the table lamp. He pulled off the pillow case and tearing it, he used that to gag the man.
"Come on tovarisch," he whispered, turning to the Russian, "time to get dressed." He sat Illya up, helping to strip off what was left of his clothing and struggled to help him dress in the jumpsuit. Kuryakin was as limp as a wet noodle and it was a major effort to get the task done.
"Come on buddy, a little help here would be good."
"Mmm, sorry...am as veek as newborn," Illya mumbled, his accent suddenly very thick.
After minutes of trying, he was finally dressed, but the next problem they were facing was the fact that Kuryakin could barely stand.
What to do to get his partner safely out of the building without being noticed? Napoleon snapped his fingers as an idea finally hit him...'hit' being the operative word.
He dug into his medical bag, pulling out a roll of gauze and tape, and smiled to himself.
"Okay buddy boy," he said to Illya who was sitting listlessly on edge of the bed. "I need you to get up for a minute. I know you're tired and it hurts, but trust me, this is going to work."
He helped his partner to his feet, leaning against against the wall, but watched in dismay as IIlya slowly slipped down to the floor, unable to hold himself up.
Solo lifted the guard, placing him on the bed. He handcuffed his wrist to the headboard for good measure, gave him an injection to keep him unconscious, just in case. Once that was done, he covered the guard with the blanket to disguise his identity.
Napoleon took a deep breath, and using a scalpel, he sliced across his left palm with a hiss, reaching over and letting the blood trickle onto Illya's scalp. He quickly wrapped his friends head in gauze, covering most of his face, letting more of the blood drip onto the bandages before wrapping some gauze around his own hand.
He mussed his hair, and stuck his head out the door, calling to another guard.
"Quickly! I need a wheel chair. The prisoner attacked the guard and I need to get him to a hospital...I can't treat him here. Don't worry about the prisoner, I knocked him out with an injection, he'll be unconscious for hours."
Minutes later not only did the guard arrive with the chair, but he helped Napoleon get Illya into it and through the building to the outside, where Dr. Rytikov's car was parked.
"Tell Kalinin nothing of this, or he'll have our heads for it, "Napoleon said. "I'll be back to check on the prisoner later. In the mean time I suggest you guard his door and let no one enter under any circumstances. Do as I say or your head will roll as well as mine."
"Yes sir Doctor, I will not let you down," the guard saluted nervously.
Solo took off in the car with Illya seated in the passenger side, leaning weakly on the door with his head resting against the window.
The Russian finally stirred, clawing at the bandages.
"What is this...have I been wounded?"
"No partner mine, I sacrificed a little blood for a ruse to get you out and it worked. There's an UNCLE team waiting for us just another ten minutes away with a chopper to get us out of here. You're going to be fine buddy, I promise."
"Thank you for coming to get me, yet again,"Illya mumbled, barely able to speak before he closed his his eyes again.
"I'll always find a way tovarisch...I promise," Napoleon replied.
"Why did the team not storm...come with you to get me?" Illya spoke barely above a whisper now.
"Waverly wanted the location left intact as T.H.R.U.S.H. will be taking care of Kalinin and his ilk for losing their prisoner. Most likely they'll abandon this satrapy as they always do, since it's been compromised. A rather tidy conclusion for once.
"So...no explosions then?"
"Sorry buddy, not booms...not this time."
"Pity, I would have enjoyed seeing a good demoliton,"Illya began removing the bandages.
"I'm sure you would have chum," Napoleon smiled knowingly.