Chapter 1
Napoleon's heart sank. To uncle agents there was no place more vile than this house of horrors. The underground bunker below this expansive Thrush villa, where they performed their most secret experiments.
Uncle agents dreaded this place above any other torture facility. Random experiments were carried out on captives, reckless invasive procedures performed with no thought for the life of the poor individual. Uncle agents rescued from this place were never the same again. Limbs amputated, brain damage was common, one poor soul had his tongue surgically removed.
As he walked along the clinically spotless corridor Napoleon prayed that the tip off he had received had been correct. Last cell on the left the drunken Thrush agent had told him. Napoleon gave him enough money to pay at least some of his gambling debts and enough for another beer. The Thrush agent nodded his thanks knowing that his days were now numbered.
Napoleon peered in through the tiny squared window half expecting a trap.
Instead, he noted the ruffled blond head on the cot. The face was turned away from him and Napoleon had the sudden worry that they may have disfigured his friend in some way.
"Illya, Illya," he whispered.
His partner didn't move, which worried him even more.
Without further efforts to rouse him Napoleon went to work on the door. Seconds later, in a blaze of light it shot open. Napoleon shook his head, this was all a little too easy.
He instantly went to the cot and gently shook his friend. Illya shot up and turned abruptly to face him.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Napoleon grinned, heartily relieved to see that Illya was still in one piece.
Illya let out a ragged breath and put a hand up to rub strain out of his eyes.
"I thought you were one of them," he said.
"Are you ok, did they hurt you?" Napoleon asked.
"No, I don't think they had started yet. I don't actually know. I can't remember much," Illya winced, trying to remember the details of his captivity but just now he couldn't even recall when it began.
"They must have kept you asleep, you don't look like you've been subjected to anything yet, Come on."
"I hope you have a plan to get us out of here?" Illya asked.
"Don't be silly," Napoleon answered as he led his friend to the end of the corridor.
"We go back the way I came and hope they are just as clueless the second time round."
It was not to be. They were met at the top of the stairs by a small group of Thrush agents. A scrappy fight ensued, Napoleon kicked the gun out of the hand of one agent and head butted the other one sending him sprawling out in front of two approaching security guards. The Uncle agents then made a run for it as more Thrush henchmen appeared on the scene, Napoleon pulling Illya along by his jacket.
Somehow they managed to make it out of the compound running blindly across an expansive grass verge towards the large iron gates. It was dark and a massive flood light came on as they crossed the green. Agent Grimes heard the sirens and smashed his truck through the gates just in time. Despite everything that could have gone wrong they had made it. They jumped into the back of the van and it took off speeding down the country lanes towards the motorway.
~o~
They were due to fly back to New York in four days time, that was literally the earliest flight they could get. Grimes was needed for a solo mission in England, he left early the following morning to catch the first sailing.
Napoleon was ordered to lie low, with that in mind he took rooms for them in a bed and breakfast near the beach. There were loads of little guest houses in this area so he hoped they could blend in with the holiday makers.
"Are yis on your own?" the middle aged landlady asked as she dropped the breakfast tray down on the little wooden table.
"Eh, yes. We're here on business," Napoleon told her.
"Ah that's terrible. Two lads on your own. I'm sure your girls are missing ye. Are you married Mr Solo." She asked.
She waited, looking up at him, her arms folded in front of her ample chest.
"No I'm not married." He smiled patiently.
"Well you'd want ta hurry up. Those good looks won't last forever ye know. And there's nothing worse than an owl fella livin alone. People talk."
As she spoke she toured the small living room picking up newspapers and straightening his jacket on the back of the chair.
"I'm telling ye, she'll get bored waiting for ye if you don't hurry up and ask her. There's plenty of others that will."
Just then Illya appeared at the bedroom door.
"There's bacon there," she pointed. "You look like you could use a meal or two or three."
"Thank you," Illya mumbled.
He trudged out of the bedroom in bare feet wearing black faded pants, vest and his white shirt he hadn't managed to button up yet. Napoleon looked at him with a frown.
"Well I'll be off now, I haven't all day to be talking,"
She shuffled out then leaving them alone. Napoleon still continued to stare.
"What are you looking at," Illya asked around a mouthful of bacon.
Napoleon sat down beside him.
"Nothing, it's just, I didn't notice yesterday you have lost weight Illya. Did they feed you anything?"
"I can't remember,"
"Do you remember anything?" Napoleon asked.
"No, it's strange. I've had many run ins with Thrush and a lot of things have happened I care not to remember but I don't remember anything Napoleon. I don't like it. I feel like I've been compromised."
"Don't worry about it Illya, even if you were it's hardly your fault. But when we get back to New York you'll need to go straight to the infirmary. You're practically skin and bone. To be honest, I don't much like your gaunt appearance, you need to get checked out."
"You don't look so great yourself," Illya answered, his cheeks flushing slightly in temper.
Napoleon put his coffee cup down.
"Illya, I'm just saying that you need to get checked out that's all. You don't know what they did to you. Now I think you're probably fine. You perhaps missed a meal or two but I know the brass in Uncle will want you to have a full physical."
Illya nodded but his eyes were cast down and his cheeks were still flushed showing that he was perhaps still affronted by Napoleons comments.
"Look, you're tired. Why don't you go back to bed for a couple of hours. Get some decent sleep,"
Looking slightly embarrassed Illya got up and headed towards the bedroom.
"I'll bring you in some lunch later," Napoleon told him.
"Napoleon...sorry," Illya blurted out.
"That's alright, that's what I'm here for, to be abused." Napoleon smiled.
Illya grinned despite himself.
"I'll see you in a while,"
"Sleep well Tovorich,"
Once the door closed Napoleon's smile faded. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something wrong. Illya didn't look right, how could he have lost so much weight in the space of five days captivity. He almost looked like a different person.
Napoleon left him to sleep as he went down the little cobbled street to find a newspaper. It was asking a little too much that they'd have the New York Times, he settled for the Irish Press and a map of the area. Since they'd be here for the next four day perhaps they could do some sight seeing. Though Napoleon knew instinctively that when Illya was any way better they'd most likely end up in one of those little pubs drinking Guinness and eating fresh oysters out of their shells.
He arrived back with freshly cooked fish and chips wrapped in newspaper for them both.
"Come on skinny or I'll eat it all myself," he yelled as he dumped the food down on the little table.
The door opened behind him as Napoleon went to fetch the salt and vinegar.
He turned around with a smile but froze in horror as he gazed upon his friend.
"Can I get up now?" Illya asked.
Napoleon could only nod in answer.