The Antarctica Affair
By WendieZ
Author's comments: There will be those reading who may be disappointed by the way I handled certain scenes in this affair. I tend to adhere to the "Hitchcock-ian" view of story-telling. Remembering that the famous "shower" scene in Psycho showed no nudity or actual "stabbing" of the body, yet, in my opinion, was one of the most violent scenes ever filmed. And it was because our imaginations provided the substance suggested by the film. Feel free to imagine as much substance as you like from my suggestions—and as always, thanks for reading.
Prologue
Illya Kuryakin awoke with a gasp. Grimacing, he pressed his left forearm against the broken ribs on the same side of his chest while he held his breath to ease their biting pain. As his gaze circumvented the room from his location, seated with his back against a fallen table on the recreation room floor, he realized that he must have passed out.
In front of him, a mere ten feet from where he sat, a female body lay sprawled on the floor, her blood pooled under her, clotting into a burgundy puddle. Illya looked down at his own body, slouched against the tabletop, his legs splayed in front of him. There was a ragged hole in the fabric of his black jeans with a darker stain surrounding the hole and a slowly-widening bright red spill on the floor under his right leg. His Special rested on the floor beside his hip, his hand closed loosely around the butt. He gazed curiously at the body that stared back at him with unseeing eyes and felt a twinge of sorrow, but his mind was too muddled from pain and blood loss to remember exactly how she had come to be in this state.
A footfall to his right caught his attention and raising his weapon, he looked up into the face of Dr. Lester Milton. "So, Mr. Kuryakin. It looks like Waverly's pet Russkie has really put his foot into it this time—"
Act 1: "I never leave home without it."
Nine days earlier, UNCLE Headquarters, New York
"I can't believe it!" Napoleon Solo exclaimed. The handsome dark-haired agent sat across the commissary table from Illya Kuryakin, his friend and partner of many years, his mouth open in utter amazement. "You actually volunteered to go down to the outpost in Antarctica? What in God's Name possessed you to do a thing like that? If you needed a vacation or some time off, why didn't you just tell me? And right before Christmas yet!"
"Well, I'm telling you now, and it has nothing to do with a vacation or time off. Dr. Pinchot in Section Eight and I have been working on some modifications to our satellite-monitoring equipment and he asked me to accompany him down there to upgrade the system. That'll give you time to get your Christmas shopping done without badgering me to go along with you to scour the stores for exactly the right scarf for your sister."
"I thought you liked the stores with all the lights and decorations."
"It was a novelty my first year in America. It was picturesque for a few years after. Now, it's just an unpleasant reminder that I'm really a socialist at heart, living in an incredibly capitalistic society. It long ago lost whatever meaning it had, if it even had a meaning to begin with and I'd just as soon be out-of-town."
"Antarctica is a little extreme, don't you think?"
"You're welcome to come along if you like. You can hold the toolbox."
"No, thank you. I spent a month there once early in my career when I pissed off the Old Man about something I did on a mission. I am not making that mistake again."
"Yes, I imagine your social life suffered greatly being stuck there for that long."
"You have no idea. And to think there are people who actually like being down there."
"It happens to be late spring in Antarctica. Dr. Pinchot and I will be able to get a lot of outdoor work done. The sun shines twenty-four hours a day this time of year."
"Yeah, and you could work on your tan, too. Why, the temperature must be up to minus twenty."
"You can stop with the sarcasm, Napoleon. It's a perfect time for me to go. THRUSH, for a change, has been reasonably quiet, and I can put this time to productive use. It has to be done. I know you can't get along without me, but you're just going to have to find alternative company for a few weeks. Knowing you, I won't even be missed. You'll be fine."
"When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow. It takes a few days to get down there. Don't worry, I'll make sure I'm home by Christmas. I'll even bring you a souvenir from the South Pole."
"Great. What am I going to do with a block of ice?"
"Save it for New Year's Eve and we'll use it to chill the expensive vodka you got me for Christmas."
"Who told you I got you a bottle of vodka?"
"That's what you always get me."
"Well, that was last year. This year I got you something different, or I will have by Christmas."
"You really need not bother. I'm perfectly content with what I do have."
"And you need to stop being such a socialist and allow a friend to show that you're appreciated."
"A simple statement would convey the same message."
Solo let out a frustrated sigh. "Is there any way you can leave today? This conversation is becoming just a tad annoying."
Illya smiled apologetically. "You're really referring to my side of it. Sorry to give you such a hard time. I really do appreciate your gifts, even if they're somewhat spoiling."
"I enjoy spoiling my friends."
"Far be it for me to stifle your pleasure."
"Same here, my friend. I really believe you're looking forward to going down there."
"I've never been to Antarctica. I like new experiences."
"You just be careful down there. I don't want to get a report that you refused to wear your hat and mittens when you went out to play."
Three days later at the UNCLE observation outpost on the continent of Antarctica
The weather was a balmy minus 30 degrees Fahrenheit when the plane touched down on the airstrip of NULL, the UNCLE outpost about two hundred miles inland from the Indian Ocean coastline, and well-away from any of the other outposts that dotted the barren, ice-covered continent. Officially, NULL, as its name implied, did not exist on any map, and the population of the station was minimal, ranging from ten, in the winter, to as many as twenty-five scientists and support staff in the summer. From its position, the station could monitor a multitude of international frequencies, as well as collect weather, tectonic, and atmospheric conditions from the entire globe via their state-of-the-art monitoring equipment. It would to be up to Dr. Pinchot in Section Eight and Illya Kuryakin to upgrade the system to beyond-state-of-the art.
The plane carried all the equipment they would need as well as four additional personnel as replacements for staff ending their tour of duty. Kuryakin climbed down the ladder from the plane and helped his colleague egress. The other four passengers began to unload the cargo while two members of the station placed the containers on a transport. Dr. Pinchot and Illya were greeted by the station's second-in-command, Gloria Banks.
After shaking Dr. Pinchot's hand, the tall-redhead smiled more widely at Kuryakin. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Kuryakin. Your dossier photograph doesn't do you justice."
A half-irked, half-embarrassed smile touched the Russian agent's lips. "Let's hope the rest of my dossier does, Miss Banks. " I'm sure any photograph of you is but a pale facsimile of the real thing."
Gloria's emerald eyes acknowledged the compliment. "And I was led to believe that your partner was the smooth-talking one. You certainly have a way with words. And it's Gloria."
"I'm more sparing with words than my partner is, but I'm certain I could offer a few more at dinner tonight, Gloria. Please call me Illya."
"It would be a pleasure, Illya. I'm looking forward to it. Why don't you and Dr. Pinchot follow me and I'll introduce you to the boss." She turned from them and began to walk towards the compound.
Dr. Pinchot looked down at Kuryakin. "You don't behave like that with the women in the labs."
Illya smirked. "The women in the labs apparently don't need the enticement that Miss Banks does. Besides, they love me for my mind." The two chuckled over Illya's little joke, and followed their host.
The two scientists were greeted by the commander of the station, Robin Baxter, an Australian member of UNCLE Section One.
"I didn't think UNCLE had any Section One people positioned this far from civilization," Illya commented.
The Australian grinned toothily and answered with a thick accent. "Actually, I asked this posting. Always been somewhat of a loner, and always hated the heat; hard to believe coming from an Aussie, eh? Well, it's quiet and laid-back here, and that suits me just fine. Besides, I get a special pleasure out of torturing the naughty Section Twos they send down here occasionally."
"How long have you been stationed here?"
"Ten years this month."
Kuryakin smiled. "Then I must extend greetings from my partner, Napoleon Solo. He mentioned spending a little time here."
"Solo—I remember him. Arrogant sort of chap, as I recall. We went round and round a few times."
"That sounds like Napoleon. I will be sure to tell him that he's fondly remembered."
"When you have some free time, I can give you some good stories."
"I would like that. It's always good to have a complete arsenal at one's disposal."
"Well, I'll let you lads unpack and check in with the doctor. We'll see you both at dinner."
"Excuse me, Mr. Baxter. Why would we need to check in with the doctor?"
"I keep forgetting how you Section Twos hate Medical. Just give the doc a run-down on any recent injuries, medications, and the like. You don't need a physical or anything. But he's going to want to monitor all the new people for problems with acclimation."
Dr. Pinchot shook his head. "Acclimation? I don't understand."
"There are several characteristics unique to very cold climates. First, the air is very dry. Secondly, the carbon dioxide levels here are lower than what you're probably used to and that's because all the water vapor and CO2 freeze out of the air.
"You can probably count on some headaches, earaches or nosebleeds. A lot of new people also lose their appetites or have trouble sleeping. And you'll probably drop a few pounds. The doctor wants to keep tabs on your weight, blood pressure and any discomforts you might experience."
"Yes," Illya agreed. "And just about the time we've adjusted, we'll be back on a plane to New York."
"Where no one fully adjusts," Robin Baxter finished with a laugh. "You can always stay."
"It's a kind offer, Mr. Baxter, but we'll have to decline. Napoleon would never forgive me if I resigned from Section Two for research in Antarctica." Kuryakin turned towards Dr. Pinchot. "If you don't mind, Carl, I need to have a private word or two with Mr. Baxter. I'll meet you in the doctor's office in a few minutes."
Dr. Pinchot nodded and went to the door. "This wouldn't be a ploy to accidently forget, now, would it, Illya?"
The blond-haired Russian smiled a small smile. "Cross my heart," he said innocently.
"I'll start looking for you if you're not there in fifteen minutes."
"There won't be a need for a search party, I promise."
Carl Pinchot seemed convinced and left the two men alone. The door had barely closed before Illya began to peruse the room, running a practiced eye over the walls and furniture.
Robin Baxter eyed him curiously. "What's going on?"
"In a moment, Mr. Baxter." After he had made the full perimeter of the room and stood once more where he had been before, he spoke again, though in a subdued voice. What kind of security do you use at the station? Your assistant didn't even ask to see our identification."
"We don't really use a security system. The logic is that you were vetted for the flight that brought you here. Otherwise, it's one hundred miles from the coastline and over three hundred miles from the nearest outpost. What, were you looking for bugs or something? Look, Mr. Kuryakin, we're pretty isolated here and we get to know each other rather well after the first few weeks."
"Your logic could work against you if you aren't careful."
"You gotta remember; nearly everyone here is a scientist, even me. I started out in Section Eight. We're doing research, not espionage. Even you are here under Section Eight orders."
"You're partially correct. I am here under the guise of upgrading equipment. In actuality, I'm looking for someone here who really is doing espionage. There is a leak emanating from this station and Mr. Waverly assigned me to find out who it is and stop them. No one else, not even Dr. Pinchot knows about this. Mr. Waverly has vouched for you personally, so therefore I am including you in this little covert operation."
"I'm grateful that you feel you can trust me. Tell me what you need."
"Initially, I am going to need access to everyone's file. I'll let you know what else I may need when I'm finished. It's important that you continue to do business as usual, so no one becomes suspicious."
"It's hard to believe that we have a spy in our midst."
"This person is obviously very good at covering their tracks, but you said yourself that you are scientists, not covert operatives. I am a covert operative and I know what to look for. It's also fortunate that I am a scientist, too, for I have a legitimate scientific reason for being here. Don't worry, I'll find our little THRUSH infiltrator."
"You'd better get down to medical. Dr. Pinchot sounded very sincere about coming to get you."
"He knows my reputation well. I'll catch up with you after dinner, Mr. Baxter."
"We're not going to work well together if you keep calling me 'Mister'."
"Robin, then."
Baxter reached out with his right hand. " I look forward to working with you, Illya."
Kuryakin shook the hand warmly. "Likewise."
While Medical personnel were normally on a Section Two agent's list of people to avoid, Kuryakin had found in his career, several professionals worthy of friendly conversation as long as it was held on neutral ground, such as the commissary or a neighborhood bar. Fifteen seconds after meeting Lester Milton, the station's medical doctor, Illya had the man firmly ensconced at the top of his "avoid" list, unseating several THRUSH crazies who had been previously engraved there.
From the moment Dr. Milton laid eyes on the Russian agent, a cloud of acrimony emanated from the man that was impossible to ignore. With blatant disregard, the doctor turned his attention back to Dr. Pinchot and continued his conversation. "I'll need you to stop in each morning for a vitals check. If you experience any severe symptoms, I want to know about them."
"I hope I didn't miss anything important," Illya said casually.
"Your colleague can fill you in on the details."
"That will be fine. I am not currently recovering from any injuries or illnesses, nor am I taking any medications. Do you wish to take a blood pressure reading to serve as a baseline?"
"No," the doctor said tersely.
"Very well. Then I will see you tomorrow morning as instructed."
"Robin tends to be over-cautious when it comes to adjusting to the climate down here. Maybe had something to do with the fact that he went through three months of hell before he did. You're a Section Two; as far as I'm concerned, you can forget it."
"Well, that's a relief," Illya replied. "It's comforting to see that your hostility is just a matter of me being in Section Two."
"Don't flatter yourself, Commie-rade," Dr. Milton countered, deliberately mispronouncing the Russian word. "Everybody knows it's only because of Waverly that you're in UNCLE. How much you're passing along to your KGB friends is anybody's guess."
Illya was more than a little annoyed with the doctor's boorish attitude. "Your information is a little flawed, doctor. While it is true that Mr. Waverly recruited me, my former position was Russian Naval Intelligence or Glenore Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye (GRU), not KGB. The only information I pass along is what I am able to extract from THRUSH, or inadvertently give up under extreme duress. Truth is, I am not here as a representative of the Soviet Union or even UNCLE, Section Two, but as a colleague of Dr. Pinchot. And we are here to upgrade equipment. I would advise you not to make my presence here more than it is. Good afternoon, doctor." He turned on his heel and left the room.
Dr. Pinchot glared at the physician. "You have got to be one of the most ill-mannered people I have ever met, doctor. You should have asked him to stay and take off his shirt. He didn't get his scars passing information to the KGB, I can tell you that. You might want to get a copy of the UNCLE charter and see what he swore on his life to uphold." This time it was Carl Pinchot's turn to storm from the room.
When the door had shut, the doctor murmured. "Goddam Commie son-of-a-bitch!"
In their shared quarters, Dr. Pinchot railed about the reception from the station's doctor.
To his colleague's tirade, Illya only replied quietly: "I learned early on that even UNCLE personnel are not immune to political prejudices. I cannot change what my country ultimately does in the world any more than you can change yours, whether we agree with their actions or not. I think it's safe to generalize that the common people of a country are not its government. Our needs are much more basic." Illya looked up at Dr. Pinchot. "I've found that the best way to deal with narrow minds is to ignore them, for no argument will persuade them to widen their vision." He smiled slyly. "And if that doesn't work, I can always kill them."
"Section Two humor," Dr. Pinchot sighed. "You can thank your lucky stars that I know you don't really mean it."
"You just haven't been around me long enough to know better," Illya answered with a rare full grin. "If it's all right with you, I'm going to take a look about the place."
"I'll check the equipment and later we can go over the upgrade schedule with Mr. Baxter."
"Do you want to begin outside work tomorrow?"
"Considering that we may have some physical problems culminating in several days, I think we should get the strenuous work done while we're at our best."
"My thoughts exactly. We can afford to take a day off if the modifications are in place. Very good, then. I will see you at supper." The Russian closed the door behind him as he left. Only then, did Dr. Pinchot realize, that though the station was comfortably warm, his roommate still wore a medium weight jacket over his black turtleneck sweater, probably concealing that he was as fully-armed as any Section Two field agent on assignment.
Illya took a self-guided tour throughout the facility, getting a feel for the interaction of the personnel and locations of the various work stations. His observations were casual-appearing, but in reality he was scrutinizing every aspect of the station with the practiced eye of an experienced field agent who took nothing at face value because his life could and often did depend on it. Because he radiated an air of mild interest, the people at their stations regarded him informally and answered any questions without hesitation. The station's complement was mostly male, so there were fewer women to charm, but after the unpleasantness with the doctor earlier, he consciously adjusted his accent towards an Oxford inflection. He wanted as little attention drawn to himself as possible while he gleaned for clues.
The common area was three-quarters filled with personnel by the time he finished his "rounds". Though he had expected to sit with Dr. Pinchot for dinner, Gloria waved to him and pointed to a vacant space next to her. He caught Carl's attention on the opposite side of the room and raised his eyebrows in an apologetic expression while he tilted his head in the redhead's direction. Dr. Pinchot's answer was a knowing nod of the head. He knew Kuryakin's reputation in the New York office.
"So, were you able to find your way around the station?" Gloria asked as Illya sat in the chair beside her.
"Absolutely. I know how to find the bathroom, the recreation room and the back door, if I need it."
"What do you think of the place?"
"An efficient blend of form and function."
"Spoken like a true scientist."
"I hope so." The conversation was centering on small talk, but he could sense that it was about to change.
"But I read your dossier," Gloria said softly and Illya's hunch was correct.
"And—?" he replied just as softly.
"Are you packin'?" she said, her voice clearly advertising that the question was a double-entendre.
Illya smiled enigmatically. "I never leave home without it," he said in kind. "Perhaps I should ask you the same question?"
She matched his smile. "What you see is what you get."
"As a scientist, I would say that this might require more study."
"Biological study?"
"I'm a physicist, but I can adapt."
"I'm free after dinner."
"Sadly, I am not," he said, his smile dimming for a moment. "But I will be later this evening."
"Your place or mine?"
"I have a roommate."
"That's all right. I don't. One of the benefits of the job, so to speak." She rose from her seat. "Come and fill a plate."
Illya followed her to the table set neatly with hearty cold weather fare. Unfortunately, the end of the line was occupied by Dr. Milton, who, when he saw Gloria approach with Illya in tow, stepped out of the line and went back to his seat.
She watched him curiously. "What's his problem this time?"
The corners of Kuryakin's mouth turned up in amusement. "He doesn't care for Section Twos who drink vodka."
"Oh, yeah. Well, don't take offense. He doesn't like a lot of other people either."
"Friendly guy."
"Well, he's good at what he does. He just doesn't like being here."
"How long has that been?"
"About a year. I heard he pissed off some supervisor and they transferred him down here."
"He must have really gone out of his way to offend. I was under the assumption that disciplinary tours are less than three months. But if his personality is what you say it is, I can see him getting lost in the shuffle."
The pair filled their plates and returned to their seats. Illya addressed himself to his meal before Gloria had the chance to begin another conversation.
"Well, you certainly haven't lost your appetite yet," she observed.
"The provisions on the plane were rather sparse and it was a long flight from Perth."
"The cook doesn't like leftovers, so eat your fill while you still feel like eating."
Illya chuckled to himself and continued his meal.
After the staff had cleared away dinner and most of the personnel left for their quarters or the recreation room, Dr. Pinchot and Illya met with Robin Baxter to discuss plans for their outdoor work. The work schedule would run on forty-five minute shifts outside with another forty-five minutes inside to warm up. Their work would be monitored by a staff member at the airlock in case of emergency. There would be no more than four outdoor shifts. With the schedule outlined, Dr. Pinchot believed that they would be able to finish outside work in three days.
The details settled, Dr. Pinchot decided that he would spend the rest of the evening in the recreation room watching one of the movies that had been brought along on the plane with them. Kuryakin declined the invitation with the excuse that wanted some solitary time, but would join them later. Five minutes later, he was carrying a box of personnel files to his room to review during his "solitary time".
He laid the box on his cot and then made the same circuit of inspection as he had in the director's office. The only surveillance devices he found were the ones he had placed in the room before Dr. Pinchot had returned from the doctor's office. When he scanned their memories, a familiar figure appeared in the still images and that figure was busily searching the contents of the room. Kuryakin smiled with satisfaction. Sitting down on his cot, he found the personnel file belonging to their unwanted guest and began to read.