Disclaimer: I do not own the man From U.N.C.L.E characters (sadly). I am just borrowing them. So please don't sue, I'm not worth it!!!
Author's note: This is my first foray into Man From U.N.C.L.E territory (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!)
In fact and Michael Flanders might say: This is the first one so it doesn't count. Reviews and advice are more than welcome.
The Rock Affair
(set in 1965)
Heavy chains gripped his wrists and ankles, blind folded and gagged Illya could only tell that he was lying on sand. He could hear water nearby and there was slight drizzle in the air which possibly meant fog. Having been relieved of everything apart from his shirt and trousers, Illya shivered uncontrollably, the drizzle soaking through to his skin. He suddenly felt the barrel of a gun against his temple.
"Not long now Mr Kuryakin. The boat will be here soon."
Illya had been carrying important U.N.C.L.E information and had reached Los Angeles before Thrush had caught up with him. He had quickly memorized and burnt it. At first he tried to pretend he didn't know what he had been carrying, but, unsurprisingly, Thrush hadn't believed him. At this point he had been expecting the usual torture threats, when the leader, John Sanders said they would transfer him to the new California headquarters of Thrush. That atmosphere, he'd said, was ideal to make an unwilling prisoner talk. It was the tone of voice that Illya hadn't liked. It hadn't been heavy with suggestion and laden with threat as seemed to be normal, it had been matter-of-fact. Normally there was disagreement amongst thrush people on how to get people to talk, however Mr Sanders' second in command had readily agreed.
Illya could now hear an engine. The boat perhaps? A couple of guards grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet.
"Get him in the boat." Sanders' voice. They unceremoniously picked him up and threw him in. He landed painfully on the floor of the boat. Whatever water they were crossing there must be strong currents, Illya thought judging by the movement of the boat. There were no clues from the rest of the passengers as they remained silent. Ice cold spray from the water came over the side and hit Illya making him shiver even more with cold. Gradually the boat came to a halt and he felt the chains being removed from his ankles.
"Stand." Came the command from Sanders. Illya slowly got to his feet. Sanders grabbed his shoulders, turned him around and pulled the blindfold from his eyes. Illya couldn't hide his shock. This place had been in the news on-and –off for years. The media seemed to love the macabre rumours surrounding it and it's brutal reputation had spread through America.
"Welcome to California's headquarters of Thrush. Impregnable, practically escape-proof, and within an easy distance of San-Francisco. Welcome to Alcatraz."
Napoleon slipped through the secret entrance in Del Floria's shop into the U.N.C.L.E reception. He smiled allowing a long look and the attractive receptionist as she pinned his badge to his lapel. He was feeling relaxed and happy with the world having just returned from a wonderful 3 week vacation in the south of France. He knew that this relaxed happy state would only last until he stepped into Waverly's office and he got his mission. So he decided to delay the inevitable and took the long way up to the office. Numerous U.N.C.L.E agents passed him, heads down, looking busy, when he spotted a slim, raven-haired beauty. He caught her by the elbow and turned her towards him. She looked momentarily startled then lapsed into a relaxed smile.
"Hello Yvette." Napoleon said smoothly
"Oh Napoleon you're back! I'm sorry, but I must file these reports." Slipping out of his grip, she hurried along the corridor.
Odd, Napoleon thought, before his vacation she had been all over him. As he watched Napoleon was suddenly reminded of a bee-hive full of agitated bees. The atmosphere was thick with tension, now he noticed some of the younger agents casting furtive glances in his direction. It was with a growing sense of unease that Napoleon approached Mr Waverly's office. As the door slid open, he saw the old man standing facing him, waiting. As he entered he vaguely registered the fact that Mr Waverly was not alone and someone else was sitting at the large round table.
"Ah Mr Solo, back from holiday I see. May I introduce Miss Stevens, section 2 London."
Dark-skinned, jet-black eyes, slim and attractive she stood up from her seat and offered her hand to Solo.
"Makena Stevens"
"Napoleon Solo." He replied and taking her hand he kissed it gently. She had a charming smile, Napoleon thought in fact she was quite stunning. Mr Waverly interrupted his thoughts by clearing his throat.
"Yes sir." Napoleon snapped his attention back to Mr Waverly
"What do you know of John Sanders?" Mr Waverly asked and touching a button on his desk a photo appeared on the screen behind him. Napoleon secretly wished that Illya was there. Illya would naturally know who this was and be able to provide a detailed history. Illya had complained more than once that whilst he kept up-to-date on world affairs, Napoleon flirted with women. While that was an exaggeration, there was a grain of truth.
"Isn't he the industrialist who owns that hotel chain…." Napoleon frowned in concentration, trying to remember.
"Zeus Hotels. He also owns shares in a number of shopping centres, sorry malls over here. I think he also owns an oil company that is currently drilling the east." Napoleon looked over to Makena who was looking at Waverly However on catching his glance she returned his look with a quick wink.
"Perfectly correct Miss Stevens. He is also the head of Thrush California and may become head of Thrush's operations on the West coast. We think he is responsible for our increased operational loses. We have been trying for a long time to lure him out into the open, with no success. He always send his lackeys to do his dirty work."
"So you want me and Miss Stevens to lure him out?" Napoleon guessed
"On the contrary Mr Solo, do pay attention. We managed to lure him out 3 weeks ago. One of our agents was sent carrying information on a new U.N.C.L.E weapon, and the codes needed to use it. Complete fabrication of course. But the agent isn't aware of that."
"Was that necessary sir?" Napoleon asked, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Makena had started to look uncomfortable.
"Certainly. If Sanders had got any hint that the information was false he would have disappeared." Mr Waverly said, there was only a minute pause before he continued. "To make sure Sanders took the bait, it was necessary to send one of our top agents, someone experienced in slipping out of tight corners. Mr Solo Mr Sanders must be taken or disposed of."
"Hmm, I see, the harder was for Sanders to trap the agent, the more likely he is to believe the information he's carrying is genuine." Suddenly a thought struck Napoleon. "Who is the agent?" Although he knew the answer before Mr Waverly spoke
"Mr Kuryakin."
He should feel angry, Napoleon thought. However he had been working for Mr Waverly for years. Beneath the kind-hearted exterior he cultivated was a ruthless machine, who would use anyone in anyway to reach his goal. It wouldn't be the first time either of them had been used in this way. Napoleon had been kept in ignorance during the affair with the mind-reading machine. Mr Waverly had been furious that the machine had been destroyed, though secretly he and Illya had both agreed it had been for the best.
"Is Illya alive sir?"
"There is every reason to suppose so, Mr Solo. Thrush believes this information to be vital."
"If Illya has been in Thrush's hands for the past 3 weeks…"
"If Thrush had the codes Mr Solo, we would know it." Mr Waverly replied. Napoleon felt a small surge of pride, wherever Illya was, he was holding out against them.
"Do we know anything about where Illya is being held?"
"We don't know for certain. But there is reason to believe Mr Kuryakin is on Alcatraz."
"Alcatraz?" Napoleon sounded incredulous. Makena looked at him and said.
"Mr Kuryakin was taken in Los Angeles, he managed to get a signal to us saying that he burnt the information he was carrying, but had memorized it. That is the last signal we have had. We know a Thrush jet landed in San Francisco a few hours later. About the same time, we incepted a signal which seemed to indicate that Illya was being taken to Thrush's new California headquarters. We also know that since the prison's closure millionaire John Sanders has been negotiating for the island's purchase. Apparently he wants to turn it into a hotel and shopping centre. Thrush are hiring domestic staff from the area, and swearing them to secrecy as to where they are working."
"How do we know that?" Napoleon asked, Makena grinned. But it was Mr Waverly who answered.
"Miss Stevens cousin, Beatrice Evans and her husband are among those who were hired."
"We got lucky." Makena commented.
"So I assume that Miss Stevens here is going undercover?" Napoleon said. "You both are, Mrs Evans and her fiancé are coming here to New York where we can keep an eye on them. You will be taking their place." A momentary look of puzzlement flashed across Napoleons face, Makena saw it and rising slipped her arm around his.
"Don't worry, fiancé. " She said, her eyes sparkling mischievously "he's Italian-American."
Within an hour they were on a plane heading to San Francisco, Makena had all the details relevant to the mission and Napoleon would have to learn them on the flight.
"According to my cousin, the guy doing the hiring only saw her, as her fiancé was at was at work. I doubt they'll notice they difference between me and her." Makena took out a picture, she was prettier than her cousin and Beatrice looked a few years older and careworn. The shape of their faces differed too, Makena had a heart shaped face, whereas Beatrice had more of a square jaw. Still he knew what she meant; the Thrush people would not pay much attention to her. The attitude annoyed him, on this occasion however being overlooked would prove useful.
"And her fiancé?" Makena handed him another photograph.
"Costanzo Cortese, The resemblance is not that bad. I hope you can cook; he's been hired as one of the caterer's. He and Bea have been seeing each other for 6 months, last month he proposed…"
They continued with the background details for an hour until Napoleon memorized them. After, they sat in silence, Napoleon looking out the window. Suddenly Makena spoke.
"He means a lot to you." Napoleon, surprised by the statement, turned to look at her.
"What?"
"You reputation has spread to the UK Mr Solo. You haven't tried to charm me. I can't be that physically repulsive…" she smiled seductively and leaning on his shoulder looked at him with her sparkling jet black eyes.
"You're playing." Napoleon started smiling. His smile vanished as quickly as it had come "I am concerned for Illya." He admitted
"I would be more than concerned if it were Nikki." Makena said. Napoleon looked at her quizzically.
"My partner in crime, Nicola Duran. We've been working together for about 5 years. How long..?"
"Seven years." Napoleon smiled slightly and put his arm around her shoulders. "And believe if we had the time, I wouldn't waste it."
1 week earlier
Apart from the toilet and basin there was nothing in the small, barren concrete cell; unless you counted the cold. Illya rubbed his bare feet vigorously to try and bring some life back to them. Slowly he tried to push himself up to a standing position but a wave of dizziness hit him and he fell back down. Sanders had thrown him in here, treatment block D Illya remembered him calling it, since then, he'd hardly seen anyone. A guard came in twice a day. Once to take away the straw mattress he slept on, and then once to throw it back later. During the day there was nothing but the cold hard floor and the hatch. The hatch opened, bread and water came in, the hatch closed. He'd had nothing but bread and water for 2 weeks. He was growing steadily weaker and weaker. They hadn't asked him anything. That had puzzled him to start with, but then their method had become clear. The choice was simple; die of starvation and cold or talk. Illya had tried to distract himself, thinking of anything else but the reason why he was there, but after 3 days the only things coming into his brain was the weapon U.N.C.L.E had developed and the codes needed for it. The sounds made it worse. Occasionally, presumably when the wind was in the right direction, he could hear San Francisco: people at parties, traffic, laughter and the sounds of ordinary life. He could resist it, he had to resist it.
Illya barely reacted to the cell door slamming open. Sanders stood in the doorway. His crisp, pressed, military-style thrush uniform contrasting sharply to Illya's dishevelled unkempt appearance.
"Mr Kuryakin, still no intention of talking?" he asked briskly. Illya raised his head a little but didn't look at him.
"None whatsoever."
"Very well, bring it in." Sanders snapped. The smell reached his nose before the guard appeared with the tray. It screamed at him. The pain in his stomach re-doubled. The guard stood opposite him holding the tray with food only a tantalizing few yards away. Illya tried to look away but Sanders appeared beside him and pulled his head around to look at it.
"Thrush and U.N.C.L.E had been at war for decades, Illya." He spoke softly into his ear. "with losses and triumphs on both sides. The war will continue as it has done so. Would one weapon make that much of a difference? You know as well as I do that Thrush agents and U.N.C.L.E agents will continue regardless. You are just one man Illya, what difference would you ever make? You will die, alone cold and starving when all it would take is one piece of information to set you free. Information which, even if Thrush central thinks it will make a difference. You and I know it won't. Not in the long run Illya."
Illya could feel himself being persuaded. Rather the smell of the food was carrying Sanders's argument. Perhaps Sanders was right, in the long run it probably wouldn't make much of a difference.
"Fight it boy, fight it!" Napoleon? No, he wasn't there, just a memory stirring. Sanders had pulled Illya to his feet and was holding him inches away from the tray. Resolve flooded through him, he knocked the tray out of the guards hands and managed to push himself away from Sanders. Sanders punched Illya hard in the stomach and he fell to the floor groaning.
"It says more for your determination than your intelligence." Sanders hissed at him. He turned to the guard. "It time to introduce Mr Kuryakin to the strip cell."
"How long for sir?" The guard asked. "It was only usually used for 2 days maximum." Sanders rounded on the guard, his eyes flashing with anger.
"He stays there until he talks!"
Makena's cousin had provided U.N.C.L.E with the location of the rendezvous with their employer. On a lonely road north of San Francisco, Napoleon, Makena and about 15 others milled around like lost, confused sheep. Talking to them they found out that the rest of the people hired by Thrush knew very little. They knew they were to meet a truck and the truck would take them to the place of work. They also knew they would be living at this place but nothing beyond that. At midnight they saw headlights approaching. When it stopped a Thrush official hopped out of the passenger side and started to take a register. He shone a torch in the faces of the people that responded and gradually they piled into the back of the truck. Makena passed this cursory inspection with barely a glance. As the torch was shone in his face, Napoleon got the impression that the official was looking at him more carefully. But he too was waved through.
"I thought I'd had it there." Napoleon whispered.
"You stick out." Makena replied. It was true. The majority of the staff that Thrush had hired were, to be politically correct, ethnic minorities, so Solo did stick out slightly. The truck rumbled on. Solo listened intently for changes in sound as there were no windows to see where they were going. As far as he could tell they stayed on road for the majority of the time. The truck suddenly lurched sending the people in the back flying. There was another lurch and the truck came to a stop. The people in the back picked themselves up brushing themselves off complaining. Makena found her way to Solo.
"I think we drove up into something." She said. Napoleon nodded.
"Judging by the way the floor is moving, I think we're on a boat."
The boat trip was short and before long the truck was driving uphill. Eventually they came to a stop and the back door was opened. Slightly shaken and in some cases seasick, the new staff gratefully clambered out of the back seemingly glad to be on the ground.
"This is where you'll be staying." The thrush official said indicating the concrete block like buildings around them. "I'll be telling you who's where in a moment. I must now repeat the rules of working here. You must not communicate with the outside world. You must not tell anyone where you are or attempt to make any kind of signal to the mainland. If you do, punishments will be necessarily severe. Now, I'll allocate your apartments…"
Despite knowing where they were going, Napoleon still found himself shocked at finding themselves on Alcatraz island.
The apartment they were allocated was no more than a small studio flat with a kitchen in one corner and a sofa that turned into a double bed. They checked for apartment for bugs. Naturally Thrush did not trust their employees so there were several. Napoleon set up a device on one of the table that would scramble their signal.
"They certainly spared no expense." Makena commented drily and she looked critically at the sparse décor.
"Don't tell Mr Waverly, he might get ideas." Napoleon replied. He reached for his communicator to talk to Mr Waverly The discussion did not go well. Makena marvelled at Napoleon, the way he managed to hide his increasing frustration and temper at his superior. His voice never appeared to change, but there were slight changes in his posture, his shoulder stiffened, his jaw became set, his eyes darkened.
"Mr Kuryakin is not your priority." Mr Waverly had said, the increased irritation showing more readily in his voice. "Mr Sanders is. He must be taken back to U.N.C.L.E headquarters for interrogation. You must also compromise Alcatraz Mr Solo. The thought of Thrush operating from such an impregnable position is...is quite terrifying."
"Yes sir." Napoleon said. Makena though she could hear the faintest trace of a growl in his voice. He replaced his communicator in his pocket and sighed deeply. Makena sat beside him and put her arms around his shoulders.
"I still intend to go after Illya." He told her. Makena sighed.
"Of course."
Working in the canteen had its advantages. The guards talked. They loved talking, all Napoleon had to do was to keep his ears open and remember to respond to his cover name Constanzo, although most of his co-workers and the guards had shortened this to 'Connie'. His main job in the kitchen was to clean the surfaces whenever asked and occasionally serve. Cleaning provided the best opportunity to eavesdrop. He could linger by a nearby table, ostensibly to get it really clean and listen to guards on the next table. This way Napoleon quickly learned where most of the guards were situated and when guard changes took place. Makena was doing an excellent job at finding out specific pieces of information. The attractive U.N.C.L.E agent flirted with the guards whenever she could and frequently managed to obtain information that the guards really should not have passed on. This way they found out exactly where Sanders's office was, what his daily routine was and even what brand of sherry he drank. However by the end of the third day they were there they still had no news of Illya. Napoleon had paid close attention to the amount of food prepared, and there seemed to be no extra portions. There didn't even seem to be any evidence that there were prisoners being kept in the cell block. Perhaps Illya wasn't there after all.
At the end of lunch service on the fourth day they had been on Alcatraz, the Chef called all the canteen workers together.
"Today, officer Robert Simmons celebrates his 30 birthday, and Mr Sanders has agreed to allow the canteen to stay open late and serve alcohol by way of celebration. I need a few volunteers for this."
Naturally Napoleon stepped forward. It seemed likely to him that Illya's imprisonment on the island might be a subject of extreme secrecy, but the presence of alcohol might loosen a few tongues.
Makena got back to the place she was sharing with Napoleon and sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs. She stared out of the window not really taking in the view. She and a couple of the other cleaners had been chosen to clean out one of the cells. A tray of food scattered over the floor, not much to clean and it hadn't taken them long. Makena had noticed that the spillage appeared to be at least a couple of days old, and had mentioned this to the guard, who told her to mind her own business. Then she turned her attention to the straw mattress and started to brush it down and at one end of the mattress she had found a couple of hairs, blond hairs, which she quickly pocketed. She had felt curiously elated at the time; Napoleon's worry for his friend was becoming infectious. The hairs proved to her that Illya had been in this cell a couple of days ago and had felt spirited enough to attack a guard. But what had become of him after that? Illya's attack had obviously resulted in him being moved, but how to find out where? It was this question she had been pondering in her mind as she and the other two cleaners had packed up to leave the area. As they passed Makena noticed two heavy looking steel doors. One of the guards noticed her interest.
"I wouldn't be to curious about them." The guard said and approached her with a slight swank in his step. She turned on the most charming smile she could manage and asked quietly.
"Why?" The guard leaned closer to her, breathing on her neck, she could smell his barely digested lunch and had to resist the strong urge to forcibly shove mints down his throat.
"Strip cells…" Then he proceeded to tell her exactly how the strip cells had been used. It had disgusted her. As she walked by the guard that controlled the lights and other functions in the cell she thought she heard something and turned to look. The guard was flicking a switch on and off constantly and sniggering. Beside it was the word 'light'. One of the cells was in use.
Right now, as she sat biting her lower lip staring out the window, she would cheerfully take on a battalion of thrush guards armed only with a spoon if only it meant avoiding the inevitable conversation with Napoleon when he returned. Napoleon showed no outward signs of a temper preferring to keep it all internal. She was sure he would not direct his anger at her, and she had no sympathy at all towards the guards who be at the receiving end. She hoped that some would be left over for her. Yet before that she had to tell him somehow, in the kindest possible way, that his partner and best friend had been stripped naked, beaten up, thrown in a cell that deprived the occupant of any sensory stimulation, fed on a meagre amount of bread and water and oh yes, with a guard outside who thought it was funny to turn the lights in the cell on and off all day. Makena started to wonder whether there was a lead lined bunker she could hide in.
Napoleon returned late from the party. His normal iron control over his emotions rusting at the edges. Even with the copious amounts of alcohol provided by Sanders, the guards had revealed very little. He had only picked up the merest hints that there was a prisoner in solitary being badly treated. Napoleon could feel his anxiousness increase. Only Illya could ever provoke such a reaction. Mr Waverly disapproved. He had told Napoleon on a number of occasions that Illya was a competent operative who could look after himself. After all, Mr Waverly would not have picked Illya for this mission in the first place if he wasn't and Napoleon wouldn't continue to work with him if he didn't think the same. Yet there was something about Illya that made him automatically worry for him. Illya was resilient and a lot stronger than most give him credit for. Whatever was happening to him, Illya would recover from it. As Napoleon reached for the handle for the door to the studio flat he paused suddenly, realising that he was trying to convince himself. If Illya didn't recover or was dead, Napoleon decided, Sanders would be made to suffer. As he entered he saw Makena sitting at the table looking out of the window.
"Where is Illya?" he growled, a lot more severely than he meant. He joined at the table sitting down opposite her. Her black eyes fixed on his and for a moment it looked like she would not say anything.
"I'm sorry." Napoleon started to say but she interrupted him.
"I am also concerned for Illya." They sat together in silence, the lengthening shadows spreading around them like liquid spilled on the floor. After a while Makena spoke again.
"I cleaned a cell in the treatment block today…" Makena had considered several ways to tell Napoleon what she had found out. Her favourite had been. "I found out he is being held in one of the solitary cells in the treatment block" tell him where the cell was located and leave it at that. In end the end she decided to tell him everything. The reason being that in order to rescue Illya they would have to know what kind of a state he would be in and Napoleon, if given the full details, would be the best person to judge. However she still flinched slightly at having to tell Napoleon the full conditions his friend and partner was kept in. She knew the boiling fury she would feel if it were her own partner. As it was another U.N.C.L.E agent and a colleague her anger was only lessened slightly. She watched Napoleon's reaction with interest. Again she realised that the only outward signs he showed of a rising temper were in his darkening eyes and frowning face. It was a cold reaction, not volcanic, but perhaps resembling a large iceberg purposefully looking for a particular ship to sink. Napoleon could focus his anger, she realised.
"What are we going to do?" Makena asked. Napoleon thought for a moment.
"We have to plan. Somehow we have to get Sanders, discredited Alcatraz as a holiday destination for Thrush and rescue Illya." Napoleon smiled briefly. "This job doesn't get easier. First we have to get a plan of the prison."
"Napoleon, of all the people that escaped, most were caught within the hour." Makena pointed out.
"Hmm, I think we could exit via the basketball court. If Mr Waverly will provide a helicopter."
Makena frowned. "Hardly inconspicuous."
"That's the idea. If we can effect a visible escape from Alcatraz, Thrush should lose confidence in the security of its island." He looked at her seeming waiting for approval. Makena seemed dubious.
"Just the two of us?"
"Three once we have Illya. The fewer the better." Napoleon replied. Makena nodded. "And the other two thirds of our assignment?"
Illya huddled on the floor of the cell in a desperate attempt to keep warm. With bare skin on cold concrete it was easy. Dignity, it was the first thing you had to be prepared to lose when you were caught by Thrush. But at least through the wound of it's loss you knew you were still alive. Thrush enjoyed it petty humiliations, as an U.N.C.L.E agent you either had to build a defence against it or go mad. Through too much experience Illya had managed to build up a considerable defence.
Complete ink-black darkness filled the cell. Illya preferred the darkness, it was better than seeing the cell in all it's barren glory. Though it was just as dark with his eyes open as with them shut. At least it meant the guard had got bored playing with the lights.
Endless waiting. How long had he been there? He tried to keep track of how many by times the itchy straw mattress was taken in and out. It should have been simple to keep track of, but now he was only fed once a day, and he was starting to find it difficult to concentrate. Waiting. Sanders was waiting too. Waiting for Illya to break and tell him what he wanted to know. Was it strength that was preventing him for talking? Partly, but there was a strong dose of stubbornness too. It was his stubbornness that provided the strongest shield against the torments he was be subjected to. Sanders had visited once, only once, since he had been in here. He had told him, in an bored voice, not to expect rescue as they had intercepted a message from Mr Waverly saying that he had recalled all agents he'd sent to look for him. It had been intended as a parting shot, a final nail Illya's coffin. Sanders had intended Illya to feel completely isolated, not just physically but mentally as well. With nothing else to do but stare at the walls thoughts he had tried to bury started to bubble to the surface. He had tried not think of Napoleon, but now he seemed to be his only hope. But if Sanders was telling the truth and Waverly had forbidden any to look for him… Illya tried to recall an occasion when Napoleon had deliberately gone out of his way to disobey Waverly, his heart started to sink when after a while he couldn't recall an occasion. Then he remembered Terbuf. But even that didn't really count as Waverly hadn't forbidden them to go. Waverly's instructions were usually sufficiently broad to allow them to interpret them in their own way. Illya tried to push Napoleon from his mind, mainly to try and avoid second guessing him. The last thing Illya needed right now was false hope.
The gun gallery that overlooked the cells was the main problem. Even though all the cells bar one was empty, the gallery was constantly patrolled. Machine gun posts were intermittently placed along it and manned by at least three people. As Napoleon and Makena studied the cell house diagram stolen from a guard, she started to have serious doubts of how successful they could be. Still, Napoleon had come up with a plan, which should empty out the gun gallery for a short time, she would have to charm her way through the gate that separated the treatment block from the rest of the cell house, deal with the guards there and get Illya out.
"Do you think you can handle the guards?" Napoleon asked her. Makena sighed exasperated. Napoleon flashed a smile.
"Sorry." Makena smiled malevolently.
"They will be!"
"Now once you have Illya, get to the exercise yard. The helicopter will land at precisely 4am and take off 30 seconds later. This is important, take off the instant you get Illya there."
"Hmm, I suppose it is pointless saying 'I won't leave without you'?" Seeing the look on Napoleon's face she nodded to herself. "Thought not."
"Make sure you're on the cleaning rota in the Dinning hall in the evening. There is a place where you can hide. I'll try and buy you as much time as possible while I deal with Sanders."
Exactly what Napoleon intended to do with Sanders to cause the distraction she didn't know, and now seeing the look in his eyes, she was sad she'd miss it.
Napoleon had chosen her hiding place well. In a large cupboard in the kitchen she crouched down behind a large can of cooking oil. Just pulling it out from the wall created a small but perfect hiding space. Only when the caterer's had finally left and the lights were turned off did she finally move. Stretching her out her legs she massaged the stiffness from them. Now all she had to do was wait and pass the long hours in darkness. Then at 3.40am they would act.
From the map Napoleon had procured from a guards pocket, plus gossip overheard from the guards themselves, he knew that Sanders had set himself up in the Wardens office at the front of the building, and conveniently the armoury was nearby. The warden's secretary room had been turned into a bedroom. Stairs on the side of the front building lead up to an outside door to the Wardens room and Napoleon made his silent way there at 3.30 am. Dressed from head to foot in black he easily evaded the patrolling guards. He did not want their attention yet. He picked the lock with ease. The room he entered was shrouded in darkness and yet in the moonlight shinning in through the windows he could make out the rich dark oak desk and chair, the expensive leather bound books on walnut shelves. A man who liked his luxuries. Napoleon crossed the room silently to the door into the main building. He opened it just enough to look through. Just to the right he could see a desk, seated at it was a guard in uniform fast asleep. Napoleon smiled slightly. Thrush were too confident about this island and it's security, even if they didn't leave after his stunt tonight, they should tighten up it's security. Napoleon stepped into the corridor and helped the guard to sleep for a lot longer by darting him. Then he helped himself into the armoury. He was in there for about 5 minutes before leaving it and returning to the wardens room.
As the bedroom door slammed open Sanders sat up in bed startled to find himself looking down the barrel of a gun. Looking up slowly he smiled as he saw and recognised Napoleon Solo.
"I wondered when I would be seeing you. You're late, I was expecting you 3 weeks ago."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"Mr Waverly finally grant permission for a rescue? Aww how sweet." Sanders looked at Solo mockingly, the gun twitched ever so slightly in his hand. But to Sanders's surprise Napoleon smiled.
"I'm not here for Illya." The shock on Sanders' face was worth it. Maybe Solo would make the extra effort to bring him back alive after all. Sanders recovered quickly, a thoughtful look passing over his face.
"He was bait. I see. Even I didn't appreciate the ruthless nature of Alexander Waverly. So I am your prisoner?"
"One way ticket to New York, Single room accommodation."
"A plenty of time for talking. I assume you have a plan for getting me off the island? And yet I cannot believe you leave Mr Kuryakin..."
The explosion was so loud it shook the room. Only Solo remained still. He motioned Sanders to stand up. Close by there they could hear shouting and people running. Sanders put on his dressing gown over his pyjamas.
"Now I understand, you did not come here alone."
At 3.38 Makena ran from her hiding place, and crossed the kitchen. At 3.39 she was at door that lead from the dinning room into the main cell house. Turning right out of the dinning room she ran as fast as she could to the gate to D block. There were no guards near the gate, that made her job easier. Pressing some small explosive into the lock she looked at her watch and counted down. At precisely 3.40, Napoleon blew up the armoury which masked the smaller explosion that took of the lock to the gate. Drawing her gun she ran in. The guards were running away from her in the direction of the explosion. The guards in the gun gallery had vanished. The two remaining guards in D block got as far as the gate to the library.
"You two stay there and guard the prisoner." A voice floated back. The two guards glanced nervously at each other. Then the hairs on the backs of their necks rose and they turned slowly around, only to see Makena standing there, gun in hand, malevolent smile on her face.
"You two. Is everything alright? The door the the gallery jammed, we can't get back in."
"Everything is fine." Makena whispered to them. The two guards raised their hands and one of them shouted back.
"Everything is on order here sir." One of them said.
"Open one of the solitary cells, then give me the keys." Such was the command in Makena voice, the guards complied. Once they had given her the key, they looked into the solitary cell she had made them open, rather like nervous sheep wondering if they should enter the pen. Makena nodded, and they went in. Standing in the doorway, gun still aimed, evil glint in her eye she said.
"Just one more thing..."
The only person on Alcatraz island who didn't hear the explosion was Illya. Lying on the itchy straw mattress he tried to get to sleep. He was growing weaker. A couple of days longer he thought, then nothing would matter. He didn't notice the door open, nor the cautious approach of the person who entered. Makena hadn't turned on the light in the cell, relying instead on the light that flooded in from the corridor. Time was short and they needed to hurry yet Makena was cautious about waking Illya, Napoleon had told her he was likely to be jumpy. He looked pale and drawn. She wondered whether he would have the energy to run. She crouched down and laid her hand gently on his shoulder. He did jump, and tried to grab her hand, but his reactions were slow and she snatched her hand away form him.
"Illya, I'm a friend. I'm here with Napoleon. Drink this." She handed him a small carton. "It's a high protein energy drink developed by Section 8. It should give you enough energy for us to get out of here." His eyes focused on her suspiciously, but he started to drink. Getting up she pointed to the pile of clothes she had dumped on the floor.
"Pick out what you can wear from that. Hurry, we have 7 minutes before the helicopter lands." Drawing out her gun she moved to the door to keep an eye on the corridor. Hoping Napoleon diversion was keeping the guards busy. There were gun shots and sound of people trying to open the doors to the west and east gun galleries. She deliberately kept her back to Illya who she could hear was getting dressed.
"Their guns are there as well." She commented as Illya joined her by the door, gun in hand. He had put on a pair of trousers and the guard's blazer.
"Where is Napoleon?" Illya asked. He sounded a little weak but already former strength was returning. Makena smiled evilly.
"Politely inviting Sanders to New York." Just then they both heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter outside the windows, it's lights shining through the windows into the corridor.
"Where will it land?" Illya asked.
"The exercise yard."
They ran back down corridor and through the gate Makena had blown open. Short work was made of the door to the exercise yard. In the centre of the yard was the helicopter surrounded by 3 high concrete wall topped with razor wire. The fourth wall was provided by the cell house itself. The only way in the exercise yard was through the cell house, which in the past preventing prisoners from escaping that way. It also prevented people from coming in. They reached the helicopter at 4.04. Illya and Makena stood at the helicopters door.
"Right get in, we're taking off In 1 minute…" The pilot's voice faded into silence, as he saw the 2 guns aimed at him. Illya spoke, his voice cold and steady.
"We do not leave without Napoleon."
"Knew you were going to say that." The pilot sighed and reached down beside him and produced a small sub-machine gun. The pilot hesitated for a moment and handed it to Illya.
"You'll need more than those pea shooters to hold of that lot." The pilot said. They turned around. The exercise yard was flooded with thrush guards. Illya and Makena started firing. At the sound of the machine gun, most of the thrush guards fell to the ground, not quite willing to die for the cause. Those that remained standing…did not remain standing for long. In the distance two more figures came out of the cell house. One behind the other. The man in front hand had his hands up, whilst the man behind him held him at gun point and shouted something. Illya and Makena stopped firing. Makena glanced briefly back at the pilot.
"Why didn't I get one of those?" She asked with a pout.
"Have you ever tried to smuggle a machine gun past Waverly?" the pilot hissed back.
Napoleon held Sanders at gunpoint and was herding him towards the Helicopter. One or two of the thrush guards made a move towards them.
"Come any nearer and your boss won't have anywhere to put his hat!" Napoleon threatened, the guards drew off. Even at gun point Sanders still had a smug satisfied expression on his face. Makena looked at Illya.
"I would love to wipe that expression from his face." She said. Illya shook his head.
"He's doing it to provoke a reaction from me." Tired and hurt as Illya was the expression on his face had barely changed. Yet as she looked more closely she could see his jaw had tightened slightly. Yet in the gloom she was sure Sanders would not be able to see. Napoleon and Sanders approached. Illya climbed into the helicopter. Makena followed.
"Right, get in." Napoleon indicted with his gun. A sour look passed over Sanders' face as he climbed up. Jumped in in beside him and pressed his gun into Sanders side. The helicopter powered up and they took off. The guards on the ground below now seemed to deem it safe enough to start firing at the helicopter, but the pilot was a good one and they managed to avoid getting hit.
"You can take you gun away Mr Solo, I don't think you would shoot me in here." Napoleon drew his gun back slightly.
"No, you're right, I'm not going to shoot you." There was a soft popping noise. Sanders' eyes widened and he slumped forward.
"Makena is going to dart you." Napoleon continued. He looked anxiously at Illya.
"How are you?" he asked softly. Illya rubbed his forehead.
"Tired. I think that drink must be wearing off." He looked at Napoleon the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.
"Thanks for the rescue."
"Anytime." Napoleon replied.
Epilogue
It would be wrong to assume that UNCLE agents were above revenge. Naturally they did not indulge in the type that was Thrush's speciality. UNCLE's interrogation section was usually considered to be just desserts for any Thrush agent that had been caught, and the interrogators were not normally told any details surrounding the mission just in case they decided to take it out on the captured agent. However rumours flew around the New York office after Mr Waverly visited Illya in hospital and 'accidentally' let a few details slip to the interrogators. It was said that forever afterwards Sanders could never look at a stuffed bear again without screaming.
Illya was an exasperating patient. Keeping him in hospital was roughly the equivalent of trying to get a cat into a carrier and take it to the vet. As in both cases, it would be easier, if not ethical, to knock them out first. Illya and the doctor looking after him had a history of clashing. As Illya had been effectively starved for 3 weeks the doctor said that they had to keep him in hospital for a while for tests, not to mention rest. Though the doctor speculated that the only way to get Illya to stay in bed and rest would be to chain him to it. Napoleon, who had been there at the time, commented that that would delight some of the female members of staff. The Doctor, on seeing Illya's reaction to this, thanked Napoleon profusely as he now had something he could threaten Illya with. Napoleon had rapidly exited the room as Illya threw one of his pillows at him.
The next day at UNCLE's headquarters, Napoleon saw Makena, bag in hand, heading towards the exit.
"Are you leaving already? We barely got to know each other." He slid his arm around her waist whilst with the other hand took her bag. She looked him up and down briefly and smiled.
"Is that a proposition?"
"Well we could have diner tonight…"
"My flight leaves in 3 hours."
"Hmmm." Napoleon commented sadly, "maybe another time. Are you heading straight to the airport?"
"I hoped to see Illya first." Makena said. Napoleon smiled briefly.
"I might not be Illya favourite person right now. But I'll risk his wrath and give you a lift." Makena accepted then asked.
"What did you do?"
"I tell you on the way."
"You have to stay here Illya until Doctor Khan says you can go." Napoleon told him. Illya looked sour.
"I cannot help but think he is keeping me deliberately."
"Well you probably shouldn't have argued with him." Napoleon commented with a shrug.
"Does he always complain this much?" Makena asked
"Frequently." Napoleon replied.
Illya had apparently forgiven Napoleon from yesterday and seem grateful to receive any visitor that wasn't to do with the medical staff. He lay in his blue pyjamas on top of the bed his arms and legs crossed, there was pile of books on one bedside table and some flowers on the other. Napoleon picked up the card on the flowers.
"Madame Sophia Grushenka?!" He said astonished "You haven't gotten rid of her yet?!"
"She is somewhat persistent." Illya grumbled a little embarrassed.
"Who is she?" Makena asked.
"A voice instructor we met on a mission in Paris." Napoleon told her. "That why I sent you to Amsterdam…"
"Oh I see.." Illya said lightly. "That's why you got me in trouble with Mr Waverly, by telling him I forgot to search the apartment. So I could spend two cold wet weeks in Amsterdam. Well for your information that only provoked her sympathy."
"Oh." Napoleon glanced at Makena. "Oops."
"I would love to stay and watch. But I have to catch my flight." Makena said smiling.
"Au revoir Illya." She turned and headed for the door, when she had a thought and went back to Illya. Bending down she whispered something quietly in his hear that turned Illya a delicate shade of crimson. She walked back to the door but before she walked through it she turned, winked at Napoleon, and left. Napoleon looked back at Illya.
"What did she say?"
"Eer, nothing important."
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