THE PRINCESS BRIDE AFFAIR
by ardavenport and tlneill
-==-==-==- Act 3: "Marijuana, Mr. Solo."
A cadre of personnel, medical and otherwise, waited at the garage entrance to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. Illya was whisked off in one direction, Thea and friends in another, while Napoleon and Leslie headed toward Mr. Waverly's office.
The debriefing took some time, as Mr. Waverly sifted through reports to find out just how Thrush managed to infiltrate their careful security-Napoleon's careful security. Six guests had been wounded, only one of them by Thrush bullets. The other five appeared to be victims of panic. The only fatality was the Thrush agent Leslie had killed.
"I am curious as to why Thrush should wish to drug Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly commented.
"I'm curious as to why they'd get Illya and not anybody else. They had unlimited access to the food. They could have knocked out the whole party," Napoleon complained.
"He was the visible bodyguard," Leslie ventured, "but that should not have made him any more of a target than the rest of us. They made their attempt well into the party-any Thrush worth his salt should have had at least half you New Yorkers spotted."
The talk stopped as the door opened to admit Tanja Stanton, on night duty in the medical section.
"Ah, Dr. Stanton, you have some news about Mr. Kuryakin's condition?" Waverly asked as the door slid shut behind her.
She set a sheaf of reports on the rotating table and spun it around. "It's all there," she said in an accent of uncertain European origin. "The great horrible Thrush drug has been analyzed most thoroughly. It's a narcotic: tetrahydrocannabinol, otherwise known as THC. You'll like this bit. It comes from a plant-Cannabis Sativa."
A dawning of suspicion was showing on Leslie's face. Napoleon looked merely confused. "What's that to the layman?" he queried.
She chuckled. "Marijuana, Mr. Solo. Or perhaps hashish, since I doubt very much he noticed anything wrong with whatever it was he ate. Marijuana tends to have a distinctive texture."
"He's stoned," Leslie said wonderingly.
"Quite a bit more; it was a large overdose. He's going to have a rough night. That much THC can cause hallucinations in some people. I'm afraid Mr. Kuryakin will have to be removed from his current case."
"For how long, Dr. Stanton?" Waverly asked.
She shrugged slightly. "At least three days. It will depend on how long it takes his body to throw off the effects. He has a fast metabolism; that will work in our favor."
"When can we talk to him?" Napoleon wanted to know.
"He should be awake tomorrow afternoon. I'll have someone give you a call."
"You had best call me, Dr. Stanton," Waverly said. "Mr. Solo will be busy."
"I can give you an itinerary tomorrow," Leslie offered to Napoleon. "Or would you prefer a brief run-down tonight?"
"Both," he answered promptly.
She sighed. "You should know all this. You are in charge."
"I generally leave Illya to his own devices."
"Alright. We have, what, four more days before we leave for Corica? Thea has a whole lot more shopping to do. We have been spending most of the available shopping time in the past few days with the seamstress. Her bridal gown is almost finished; I think we can pick it up tomorrow. But there are five suits, six dresses, five ball gowns, three nightgowns, four blouse and skirt sets, and an assortment of riding and sport outfits that are in various stages of completion. That is not to mention the rest of the accessories and sundry items that she has to have before we leave."
"You're kidding."
"Not at all. More than half those things were ordered by her mother-in-law-to-be. I added a few more, and of course Thea had some things she wanted. It is quite a job getting ready for a royal wedding, Napoleon."
"I see. So we're going to be shopping for the next four days."
"You will spend a lot of time sitting outside the dressing screen at Bloomingfield's; Illya did. Bring a book."
Tanja smiled to herself, leaning back in her chair. This was fun, she wasn't often involved in Section Two briefings.
"This is all being done by the Bloomingfield tailors?" Waverly asked.
"Yes, sir, all her clothes. The Gaversons chose Bloomingfield's when the wedding was announced. They do very good work on a wide variety of clothes."
"Maybe Mr. Solo should ask about their services while he's there," Waverly suggested.
"They do only women's clothes, sir," Leslie pointed out.
"Ah, well," Waverly paused to reorder his thinking. "You still might be able to make use of their services, Mr. Solo."
"We also need to visit the hairdressers, but not until the last day."
A light blinking on the communications console drew Waverly's attention. He pressed the corresponding button. "Yes, Miss Johnson?"
"Miss Gaverson has something to tell you, sir," the secretary said. "Shall I have her come up, or would you like her to wait?"
"What does she wish to say to me?" Waverly asked.
"Something about cookies, sir-at the party."
Tanja sat up and nodded her head vigorously at her superior.
"Have her brought up, Miss Johnson. Immediately." He turned to Tanja. "Do you have a particular interest, Dr. Stanton?"
"Yes sir. Mr. Kuryakin was dosed orally. Thrush doesn't generally use drugs of this sort," she continued wryly. "But teenagers do."
"You think Thea . . . " Napoleon began.
"It's possible they were available, and no one told your partner," Tanja corrected him.
"I think Thea is going to have much explaining to do," Leslie muttered before the door opened to admit the young woman and her escort.
-=X=-=X=-=X=- END Act 3
-=X=-=X=-=X=- Act 4: "We need a plan."
A man walked quickly on the deserted New York sidewalk. He kept his hands in his coat pockets to keep warm in the chill pre-dawn air. He stopped outside of a closed flower shop, pulled out a set of keys and let himself in. He scurried to the back of the darkened store. Behind the counter he carefully rearranged the roses in a 'forget me not' display. A line of light appeared at his feet; he opened the trap door and went down inside.
A single, bored looking man in a torn caterers uniform, holding a standard Thrush rifle greeted him.
"He's in the back. And he ain't lookin' too good neither," the guard told him.
The newcomer nodded and hurried through a steel door. He found his superior, a middle-aged man with sandy hair despairingly going over a pile of hand-written notes.
"Not a good night, eh, Justin?"
"Adolfo!" The man at the desk brushed the pages aside and stood up for his friend. "It was a complete debacle."
Justin Deverel sat down and urged Adolfo Perelli, his second-in-command, to sit also.
"Not only did we fail to kidnap the Gaverson girl, we have one dead and five captured by U.N.C.L.E.," Deverel told him.
"They don't know anything of any importance?"
"No, of course not. But if we ever get them back they'll have to be processed and sent somewhere else." Justin covered his face with his hands. "Oh, why couldn't Central have asked for a simple assassination? A few well placed bombs and she'd be a teen-angel by now."
"It's a bad plan that Central has given us." admitted Perelli, tasting a cold cup of coffee. He grimaced and put the cup back down. "But you saw the printout. Gaverson would have become completely unusable if we'd killed her outright. This way, all we do is besmirch her virtue and ruin a marriage. Leaving the bank safe for the likes of us."
"We should kill them all and forget about that stupid little gold exchange in that stupid little country. You might have my job sooner than you'd like."
"I won't look forward to it."
Deverel leaned back in his chair. "We've got to get that girl. I've already sent the report in to Central." He handed Perelli another printout. "I've got to get my hands on that girl by the end of the week or my position in Thrush will be 're-evaluated'." Deverel drew a finger across his throat to emphasize the point.
"I regret that I have more bad news." Perelli pulled an envelope from an inside coat pocket. "Kuryakin was somehow poisoned at the party last night which means that U.N.C.L.E. will assign Napoleon Solo personally to look after Dorthea Gaverson."
"Of course." Deverel threw up his hands. "Why should they make it easy? My life expectancy went on a timeclock when I got this job; we're just hitting the final countdown. I should have stayed with the technical work."
"It doesn't pay nearly as well."
"True. In the meantime we need a plan." Deverel began leafing through the papers on his desk and the two set to work.
-=X=-=X=-=X=-
"We've taken extra precautions so that there should be no further attacks on your daughter, and the fake caterers from last night are being questioned right now," Napoleon concluded.
"Can you guarantee there won't be any further attacks on my daughter?" Jake Gaverson demanded.
"No one can guarantee what Thrush will do, Mr. Gaverson," Waverly interceded on Solo's behalf.
"I contacted U.N.C.L.E. because I didn't want anything to do with Thrush . . . "
"And we appreciate your good citizenship," Napoleon told the millionaire.
"Good citizenship has a lot less to do with it than good old fashioned common sense, Mr. Solo. I've seen their kind before and I've steered clear of them. I called you people in when they wouldn't take 'no' and tried to horn in on my deal with the Corica gold exchange. I didn't expect to be called up to be told about what went wrong at my Thea's party last night," Gaverson challenged them from his side of the circular table in Waverly's office.
"A lot less would have gone wrong if your daughter hadn't interfered with Agent Kuryakin," Solo reminded pointedly.
"I'll talk to her about that, don't you worry," Gaverson reassured them in a less antagonistic tone. He was a Texas-style millionaire from an old-fashioned upbringing and he was a bit embarrassed that his one and only daughter was connected to anything involving marijuana. "But I don't want anything to happen to her. You hear me?"
"Quite well, Mr. Gaverson. But you must understand we cannot offer any assurances that Thrush won't attack again, so long as you insist on this public wedding between your daughter and Prince Edward."
"Well, they can't very well elope. The announcement was made six months ago. If I cancel I might as well admit to running scared."
"And it might jeopardize your new position on the Corica gold exchange."
"I don't like what you're implying there," Gaverson answered, his voice hard. He broke his glare at Napoleon and stood. "I take my daughter's future very seriously," he told the two U.N.C.L.E. men. "I want the best for her and I expect the best from you to make sure she lives happy ever after with this prince of hers. Right now I'm going to have that little chat with her." He nodded and left the room.
Napoleon sighed. "I suppose they really can't call the wedding off now."
"No, Mr. Solo, unfortunately not. Too many people are involved. However, I have just been in touch with Mr. Haaversson and informed him of last night's events. He has assured me that security will be correspondingly upgraded. He would like you to contact him before you leave on Tuesday. By then, Mr. Kuryakin should be back on active duty also. He and Mr. Campbell have made arrangements to pilot the U.N.C.L.E. jet to Corica."
"I'll call Steve tonight. I have some suggestions for Corican security, and I'm sure Leslie wouldn't mind talking to her partner again."
Waverly's intercom blinked. "We have an appointment in thirty minutes at Bloomingfield's, sir." Leslie's voice came over the speaker. "Would you tell Napoleon, please?"
"He will be with you shortly, Miss Goodlow." Waverly told her. "I trust you appreciate the importance of this change in your assignment," he said turning back to his operative. "It appears Thrush does not want to kill her. I shudder to think of what they might do to prevent this wedding. If Miss Gaverson's reputation is at all in question, then . . . "
"No wedding bells for Thea."
"The traditions of the Royal House of Corica are rather strict on that point. You'd best not keep Miss Gaverson waiting.
"And Mr. Solo." The agent paused at the door. "She is a virgin. We'd like to keep her that way."
"Ready, Miss Gaverson?" Napoleon held the door open for her.
"Thank you, 'Monroe'," Thea teased. She smiled playfully and slipped through the door. Napoleon's smile became a tiny bit strained.
"Ah, Miss Gaverson, before we go I think we need to have a little talk."
"Oh, my father already mentioned it to me. I'm really sorry about what happened to Illya. We just didn't keep track of how many he had." Thea almost giggled and batted her eyes at him.
"Miss Gaverson."
"Thea. You know, you sound a little bit like Illya."
"Thea. I think that we need to come to an understanding. I know you thought it was only a prank to give Illya those cookies, but I think it's time you realized how serious the situation has become."
"I said I was sorry. He shouldn't eat so much, you know-it's all he ever does."
Napoleon took her arm and turned her to face him. "It is not the only thing that Illya does. Last night he was protecting you from an attempted kidnapping or worse. At least he was trying to before you interfered."
Thea bit her lip and adopted a more repentant stance.
"I think you should understand that you put him, yourself and the people around you in great danger. And we're not going to have any more antics like that, are we?"
"No," She answered in a smaller voice.
"Good." His voice returned to a more cheery tone. He steered her down the hall toward the waiting limousine. "Now, what's on the tour schedule today?"
-=X=-=X=-=X=- END Act 4