Why Spy?

by supermantn

When "I Spy"'s Kelly Robinson and Alexander Scott find themselves against incredible odds, who should come to the rescure but the Greatest American Hero... and Bill.

WHY SPY

By

Dough Hubler

"Kel?"

Leaning back against the cool, damp, stone wall, Dr. Alexander Scott shoved repetitively at his partner's shoulder. The man was sprawled unconscious on the floor next to where Scott sat and the dark-skinned doctor weakly contrived to awaken him.

"C'mon, Kel, wake up."

A middle-aged moan escaped the other man's mouth only to be followed by, "I'm too sick to go to school today, mom."

"I'm sorry 'bout that." Scott sighed as his arm dropped to the floor by his side. "Now, get your face up off the floor before you catch the croup or something."

Kelly Robinson slowly, methodically pushed himself first up onto his elbows, then his knees, only to unceremoniously flop over onto his backside. His head throbbed with each attempted motion and he immediately recognized the sensation. Both he and Scott were suffering narcotic withdrawal.

"So, is this what a hangover actually feels like?" asked Scott, gently laying his graying head back against the chilly stone wall. He moved his hand along it, gathering its cool moisture, and sniffed it experimentally. Satisfied, he rubbed his face with the cool wetness and began to feel fractionally better.

"Yeah," Robinson replied, likewise wiping his own face. "Pretty much."

"Makes me glad I don't drink," said Scott as he carefully made his way to stand. Surprisingly, his partner was already on his feet, surveying their surroundings.

"Certainly," Kelly quipped. "The wonderfulness of your sobriety." Robinson moved around the room with the lightness of a dancer, due in great part to the years of athleticism that being a professional tennis player had afforded him. Add to that the equal number of years and training as one of the United States' top secret operatives and Kelly Robinson, now in his early fifties, still boasted a lithe and fit physique. He had achieved the status of department head, director of field operations for the SSA, and even though he no longer went into the field, his body retained a strength and economy of movement envied by agents decades younger.

As a young agent, Kelly Robinson had posed as a tennis pro, circling the globe on what was called "the circuit". Alexander Scott, a Rhodes scholar and SSA agent of equal ability, was recognized as Robinson's trainer. Scott, now a seated professor of romantic languages, had not maintained nearly as high a level of physical fitness as had his former partner. Although his waistline had expanded a bit and his legs had lost their boxer's bounce, Dr. Scott was still a man of strength and vitality.

They both wandered purposefully about the small room that enclosed them. Dirt floor, stone walls, one secured door with no handle, one barred and narrow window near the ceiling.

"Well," started Scott. "You know what we have here, Ollie?"

A well-worked and familiar grin began to spread across Kelly's face.

"Why, yes, Stanley, I believe I do indeed," he fairly sang in reply. "It's a locked room."

"Made famous throughout history in both story and song." Scott added. "Impenetrable by nature and inescapable by design."

"Uh, except by us!"

"I hope so!" Scott grinned.

"So," Robinson smiled, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against the damp wall. "Go for yourself."

"Beg pardon?"

"Go ahead, Scotty," Kelly repeated. "And do that voodoo that you do so well!" Scott's scowl drove Robinson to continue. "You know, uh, take some dry ice and some fertilizer and half a cigarette and blow up the door or something!"

"Do you see any dry ice or fertilizer in here?… aside from the fertilizer you happen to be full of?" demanded the doctor. "And as I recall, you quit smoking years ago!"

"Don't give me that stuff! I saw you make a bomb one time out of a tampon and some meatloaf, man!"

"Wet walls and a dirt floor! That's all we got to work with! Wet walls and a dirt floor!" Scott countered. "Now, if you wanna give up your cushy corner office and go into the mudpie business….!" He strode purposefully to and kicked at the door. He then threw his shoulder against it to no avail. "Besides, it's all your fault we're in here anyway! You get us out!"

"My fault!" Kelly bellowed. "My fault, did'ja say? May I remind you that it was you who came into my cushy corner office last week, feeling all nostalgic and everything, saying you wanted just one more assignment! 'Just to keep our hand in' I believe were your exact words! Then you said you wanted to follow up on that Korean arms cargo that went missing in Hong Kong!"

Scott grinned.

"I like Hong Kong."

"So, how's it all MY fault?"

Scott shrugged and replied, "You said 'yes'!"

Kelly let out a deep and resigned sigh, saying, "Well, ya have me there, Holmes! After all this time, I should'a known straight up that the minute we left the country you'd….."

"Mr. Robinson!"

An unexpected third voice, hushed and hesitant, joined the conversation, drawing both agents to face each other.

"Mr. Robinson, sir, are you in there?"

Kelly and Scotty both looked up at the impossibly high window.

"Did you go and order room service without telling me again?" Kelly asked quietly.

Scott answered, saying, "I didn't even peek in the mini-bar!"

"So, how do you propose we find out who that is up there?"

Scott waited a moment, and then shouted, "Who is it up there?"

"Mr. Robinson," the voice was a bit louder and more assured. "I'm a friend, sir. Are you and Dr. Scott together?"

"Through all kinds of weather!" Kelly beamed. "Uh, look, I don't know if you can get to the door, but there's no latch or doorknob or anything on this side."

"Gentlemen, if you could just stand away from the window, please."

Robinson and Scott began a rehearsed retreat, slowly stepping back in unison until an instilled sixth sense told them that they were near the rear wall. They both watched the window and instinctively rested forearm against forehead in case of a sudden flash of explosives. Neither agent expected to see slim fingers wrap around the bars and easily pull the window away and out of sight.

Perfect, they both thought. No concussive force, no sound of any kind save the errant chunks of stone that softly fell to the dirt floor. What little sunlight that lit the room from the window cast an eerie glow about their rescuer's head, almost a halo around a head of tousled, cherubic blond curls.

"We have ourselves an angel!" Scotty exclaimed as their savior dropped through the window to join them. The doctor's grin faded as he added upon closer observation, "An angel dressed all in devil red?"

The young man straightened, smiled, and offered his hand to Scott, saying, "I'm Ralph Hinkley, Dr. Scott! It's truly an honor to meet you, sir! I attended your lecture series at SoCal last year and was completely blown away!"

Scotty hesitated a moment in accepting the handshake. He was an exceptionally well-traveled and well-read Rhodes scholar who literally believed he had "seen it all"… until this moment when confronted with a slim, young man dressed head to toe in a red, fitted, comic-book costume and cape.

He took the offered handshake and smiled. "Mr., uh, Hinkley, is it? This is my friend, Mr. Robinson."

Ralph turned to Kelly, who grinned disarmingly, saying, "I gotta say, I love your tailor, man!"

Hinkley stood stunned, staring at the elder operative's face for an uncomfortable measure of time. He finally, slowly took Kelly's hand, saying, "Remarkable… it's remarkable!"

"Yeah," Scott stated flatly. "That's what she said. Mr. Hinkley, when you… dropped in on us, did you have a plan for getting back out? I mean, like a rope or a ladder or something!"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry!" Ralph shook off his reverie and pulled a small, slim device from his sleeve. It had the appearance of a metallic disposable lighter until he spoke into it, saying, "Bill. Come in, Bill."

"Go ahead, kid, I gotcha loud and clear!" came a gruff reply.

"Bill, Mr. Robinson and Dr. Scott are fine… they're here with me now, but there's not enough running room in this building to fly them out the window."

Kelly and Scotty exchanged glances of concern as if to ask, "Did he just say 'fly'? Wonderful. Couldn't be better. We've placed our rescue and the fate of the free world in the hands of Clark Kent's little brother!"

"What about the door, Ralph?" the radio asked impatiently. "After all, they didn't build the bunker around these guys! Think you can you force it?"

"Well, Bill," answered Ralph, rubbing a hand over the smooth metal door. "There's no knob or handle on this side to get a hold of. There's not even any hinges to tap out." He rapped on it soundly with his knuckles, adding, "Seems pretty solid."

"Wait a minute, kid," the voice referred to as "Bill" interjected. "Did you say there's no hinges? That's great!"

Ralph turned back to the two agents, his brow knit in confusion. Both Kelly and Scott tried to ignore the young man's garish attire, choosing instead to concentrate on the facts at hand. Their whereabouts were known by friendlies, the window had been taken out, they had two-way communication with the outside, and no bad guys were rushing in to take all of that away from them.

"Why would Bill think it's great to not have any hinges?"

"Maybe because he knows that if they're not on this side of the door, they have to be on the other side," Scotty replied, placing both hands against the door and testing its resistance.

When Ralph's brow refused to unfurrow, Kelly added, "Which means that the door opens out rather than in. Easier to force open that way." He joined his life-long friend and partner beside the door and placed an ear against it, adding, "Since nobody has come in here to punch us right in the face, I don't think there's anybody out there!"

"Either that," Scott agreed, placing his own ear against the door. "Or they're a whole lot quieter than we are!"

Kelly suddenly felt two deceptively strong hands on his shoulders and silently cursed himself that someone could so easily breach his personal perimeter unaware. "Mr. Robinson, sir, if you and Dr. Scott wouldn't mind." The two agents unexpectedly found themselves being shunted aside, away from the door. Ralph's compact two-way was in Kelly's hand and it squawked, "Ralph! Kid, c'mon, what's goin' on in there?"

Kelly studied the device for a moment then thumbed a button, saying, "Uh, Bill, is it? This is Kelly Robinson. What's your POV out there? Can you see this building and tell us if there are any unfriendlies on the other side of this door?"

"Mr. Robinson!" There was a distinct and uncharacteristic air of awe in Bill's voice. "Bill Maxwell, sir, FBI, LA division. Your, uh, organization contacted my boss, Carlisle, about your situation, and he sent us… well, he sent me, and… uh, this is truly an honor, sir, to get to work with one of the greats, the super secret spy guys, one of the legends….."

"Uh, Mr. Maxwell? The door?"

"Oh! Yeah! The door! Its clear! Give Ralph the green!"

Hearing the exchange, Ralph took a short run and slammed into the door, which promptly slammed him back. The blow forced Ralph stumbling back, but not before cracking the stone frame surrounding the metal door. Both Robinson and Scott stood slack jawed as dust filtered around the small, slight frame of the ridiculously dressed young man.

Ralph shrugged and with an ironic grin said, "One more oughta do it!" and successfully burst through the doorframe, sending the door itself flying and the wall surrounding it fracturing and crumbling.

Robinson and Scott slowly peered through the opening, gazing at the costumed hero brushing mortar and dust from his primary colored costume. They suddenly realized that they had been locked in a small, stone bunker and not just a room of a larger structure. The landscape was barren around them, rising to hills nearly devoid of vegetation.

"Great, kid! I knew you could do it!"

Bill Maxwell came stumbling down the embankment next to the bunker that his partner had just breached. He was middle-aged and graying, a bit thicker around the middle than he was as a rookie federal agent. He was dressed in khaki fatigue trousers, a flack vest, a fishing hat and a once-white t-shirt that read, "Happiness Is A Warm Pistol". He stumbled to a stop beside Ralph just as Kelly and Scotty joined them.

"But, we're not outta the woods yet, boys and girls, mommies and daddies," Bill informed the group as he whipped off his aviator sunglasses and cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "We got bad guys just a couple'a klicks down the road, headed this way!"

Robinson stepped forward and offered his hand to Maxwell, saying, "Mr. Maxwell? Kelly Robinson. Scotty and I truly appreciate the FBI's assistance in this! I don't think we could'a gotten out without you!"

"Uh… yeah… right….." Bill stammered, watching in abject awe as Kelly's hand pumped his. "It was our pleasure! Like I said before, you guys are the stuff they make TV shows out of! The super secret agents, the iron curtain, cold war, cyanide capsules… God, I love that spy stuff!"

"Well!" blurted Ralph, grinning like a fool and looking back and forth from Bill's face to Kelly's. "Don't you think that's pretty remarkable?"

"What, Ralph?" asked Bill with a hint of annoyance. Robinson looked questioningly at the young man as well.

"Oh, come on!" Hinkley exclaimed. He turned to Scott and, gesturing back to the other two men, asked, "Dr. Scott, you see it, don't you?"

Scotty stared hard at both men, trying to decipher what Ralph was talking about.

"He's a good kid," Bill said apologetically to Kelly, shrugging. "A good little soldier… gets a little touchy-feely with the tree-huggin' hippie crap from time to time… and when he starts blatherin' like this its kinda like chewing aluminum foil, but still….."

They felt chips of the building smacking them at the same time they heard the deadly staccato of automatic gunfire. Instincts borne of years in the field sent Kelly, Scotty and Bill to the ground, rolling immediately behind cover from the assault.

Ralph stood stock still, a living, breathing, scarlet bulls-eye before Bill's shouted, "Ralph! Will you please wake up!" shocked him into motion. He brought his arms up to cover his face just as another volley of gunfire burst forth. This barrage began hitting Ralph's slim frame and, amazingly, bounced off of him!

"That suit," Scotty shouted to Bill. "Some new form of Kevlar?"

"What? You mean the red jammies?" Bill grinned in answer. "Well… yeah, something like that!"

"With enhanced strength?" Kelly added, shaking his head appreciatively.

"Must be an integrated exoskeleton," offered Dr. Scott. "There's been plenty of times that I'd've loved to be wearing one'a those!"

"Yeah," Bill sighed. "Tell me about it. Ralph! If you're quite finished adding to your scrap lead collection, why don't you give the suit a little air?"

Hinkley shot a quick glance back at the three pinned-down agents and asked, "Are you sure, Bill? You don't usually let anybody else in on this!"

"Are you kiddin' me!" Bill shouted back. "These are the prototype good guys! The white hats! Personna WAY grata! Show 'em what'cha got, kid!"

Ralph Hinkley shrugged, took three running steps, jumped into the air… and kept going! It wasn't graceful. In fact, it could barely be called "controlled", but Ralph was actually in unassisted flight, looking for all the world like the greatest American hero imaginable! He tumbled, compensated, over-compensated, and bellowed through the air towards the converted transport truck at the top of the next ridge.

Both Robinson and Scott, for quite possibly the first time in either of their lives, stood speechless. Bill stood as well, beaming like a proud parent as Ralph roughly dispatched the three terrorists who had been firing upon his party. Ralph twisted gun barrels, crushed ordinance in his bare hands, and sent all three men sailing through the air to bounce, bruise and skitter to a stop a mere ten feet away from Maxwell, Robinson and Scott.

"Ralph!" Bill shouted up the hill. "I've only got two sets of cuffs down here… find me something, will ya? Now, kiddies," he said unnecessarily to the unconscious men at his feet. "These bracelets are the very latest in federal fashion. Let's just try 'em on for size, 'kay?"

"Uh, Mr. Maxwell?" Kelly started as he and Scotty watched Ralph coming down the hill with a long, iron crowbar in hand. "As much as I hate to interrupt a man in his merry work, and as many questions as I have about your partner.…." He gestured to the surrounding terrain. "Scotty and I have been here more times that either one'a us can remember, but I've never seen this part of Hong Kong before! It looks almost like….."

"Palmdale," Ralph finished the sentence as he joined the three agents. "Palmdale, California." He bent to the last remaining unrestrained terrorist and crossed his hands at the wrists behind his back. Hinkley then miraculously bent and twisted the crowbar around the clasped hands.

"California?" Kelly repeated, staring incredulously at the area around him. "How did we get from Hong Kong back into the States?"

"Well, sir," Bill offered hesitantly. "Uh, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Dinner." Scotty replied.

"That's right," nodded Kelly. "We were having dinner… the, uh, Purple Pagoda… with Tatia."

"Tatia?" asked Bill.

"Tatia Loring," said Scott. "Our connection in Hong Kong."

"Long, black hair, short, black dress." Kelly smiled wistfully.

"And something she obviously put in our hot, black coffee." finished Scotty in a disgusted voice. He began pacing the ground, kicking up small clouds of dust.

"You think Tatia went south on us?" asked Kelly. He snarled up his nose and shook his head dismissedly, adding, "Nah! Couldn't be. She loves me, man!"

"Riiight!" Dr. Scott drew out. "The renowned Robinson charm! No woman on the planet is immune! Well, let me tell ya, Jack… you're not nearly as good as you once was!"

"But," grinned his partner. "I'm as good once as I ever was! Okay, Tatia is a mystery for another time. Right now, we gotta find out if we can still fulfill this mission that seems to've turned left on us! That Korean arms cargo….."

"Uh, Kelly?" Bill interrupted. "Can I call you 'Kelly'?" Robinson shrugged and Bill continued. "We kinda sorta already took care of that, me and the kid here!"

Seeing that he had the agents' complete attention, Maxwell continued, his voice rising in strength and forcefulness. "Oh, yeah, we were able to triangulate on the ship as it made its way to open sea and Ralph here flew out and kicked a big hole in its belly! Recovery teams are out there right now, pulling the pop-guns outta Davy Jones' locker!"

"How did the Monkees get involved in this?" asked Ralph, drawing all three sets of eyes to glare at him. "A joke… s'just a little joke."

"Anyway," Bill blurted, a grin growing on his face. "All that's left to do now is fill out the paperwork and gather up the kudos!"

"Bill? What about these guys?" asked Ralph, standing over the three trussed-up terrorists.

"Oh, well, yeah, them…" stammered Agent Maxwell "I, uh, I'm not really… that is, they're probably….."

"Involved on a level we have yet to ascertain." Kelly finished. "Perhaps if Scotty and I were to take them with us….." He gestured to the abandoned transport.

"Yeah! That'd be my scenario." Bill agreed haughtily.

Kelly offered his hand once more to Maxwell, saying, "Again, Agent Maxwell, the SSA, as well as the good ol' United States of A, is deeply indebted to the both of you as well as the FBI."

Scotty shook Ralph's hand, adding, "It's been an enlightening pleasure, Agent Hinkley!"

"Well, uh, Dr. Scott, that's the thing, see?" Ralph said apologetically. "I'm not really an FBI agent… I'm a high-school teacher. Special ed."

"And you'd really like it," Scott interpreted, looking to Maxwell. "If the bureau didn't know anything about Ralph and the red 'jammies'?"

"I believe it'd be in the best interest of all involved," sighed Robinson. "If that part got left outta everybody's report!"

"Bill?" Ralph stated. "I have a physics class in thirty minutes, so you better climb aboard the Hinkley High Smoker!"

"Uhhh," Bill stalled, then turned to the two spys. "Maybe you guys could drop me off at the bureau office on your way to the airport?"

"Oh, Bill, don't be ridiculous!" Ralph snorted. "I've got this down to a science, now! I mean, when was the last time I actually dropped you?"

Before Bill could effectively protest, Ralph snatched him up in a modified fireman's carry.

"Ralph! No! I can walk back to town if I have'ta!"

Ignoring the pleas, Hinkley gave a short wave and a broad smile to Kelly and Scotty, took three running steps, and sailed fumblingly over the hillside and out of sight… with only the combined screams of hero and mentor to mark their departure.

Kelly and Scotty watched and listened until there was nothing left to watch or listen to. Scotty then offered as he began walking towards the transport, "Okay, you carry these guys up the hill and I'll go warm up the truck."

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Kelly quipped as he fell in beside him. "Leave me the hard work while you sit on your copious backside!"

Their voices became more distant by degrees as Scott responded, "Well, you're the one who's always talking about how fit he is and everything!"

"You realize, of course, that I'm gonna talk to your mother about you! You're getting very mean in your old age!"

The two life-long friends continued to quarrel until the good-natured sound was swallowed up by the desolate nature of the desert.