CHAPTER THREE
If the following hours were very hard for Illya, they were no piece of cake for Napoleon either, who spent them constantly forcing himself not to get out of his car, dispose of the two guards and rush inside the house to help his friend.
He knew he had to stick to the plan, but he didn't have to like it. He hated the thought of Illya in the hands of those ruthless people, especially because he was perfectly aware that his Russian ex partner was particularly gifted in enraging his captors with his stubbornness, his defying attitude and his quick-witted remarks. The only thing he could do until the agreed time was hope that his reckless friend was still alive.
So it was a very impatient and determined Napoleon Solo who stealthy and efficiently subdued the two hefty guards at midnight. He exploited his never forgotten UNCLE agent's experience to get rid of the younger and stronger men, smugly smiling at himself after leaving them unconscious on the ground, effectively tied and gagged to prevent untimely alarms.
Once inside, he quickly took his bearings, heading for what a staircase leading downstairs. He only had to dispose of one other man on his way to help his friend; he was counting on the fact that the security measures would be quite slack during the night shift.
He rapidly spotted a locked door in what looked like the building's cellar. It had a small glass rectangle that allowed him to peek inside. He immediately noticed the curled up form of Illya's battered body. He could see the bruises on his friend's face even from where he stood looking in. When he unlocked the door and entered the room, crouching beside Illya's limp form, he winced when he noticed how badly hurt he was.
One side of his face was turning an angry shade of purple. His nose sported a dried streak of blood and his lips were swollen and chapped. And, judging by his curled up position, he probably had a few cracked ribs, too.
He cursed under his breath, vowing retribution on the man who inflicted such inhumane treatment on his friend. When he gently touched the Russian's arm and tried to move him to have a better look at his wounds, a quiet moan of pain escaped the battered man's lips.
Napoleon sighed: "Oh, Illya. Once again you managed to get more than you bargained for."
He was not expecting an answer, but surprisingly enough the Russian opened his eyes and croaked: "It worked, didn't it?"
Solo was torn between feeling happy because his friend was conscious and evidently not too seriously hurt, and feeling angry at his hopeless recklessness. He settled for a hissed remark: "Damn, Illya, your Russian shell might not hold for long. Or have you forgotten you're not thirty anymore?"
Kuryakin's crooked smile drew a few more drops of blood from his cracked lips.
"Right now I feel like I'm eighty, my friend. Help me up, will you?"
With Napoleon's help, he painstakingly stood, leaning heavily on his friend for support, his cracked ribs sending shots of pain to his nerves.
They slowly moved to inspect the other rooms of the cellar. Just as they expected, one of them was locked, which meant that it probably contained something valuable. Or dangerous. Napoleon let Illya leaning against the wall, and skillfully applied a few drops of a transparent liquid from a small bottle he had in his pocket. As soon as the liquid touched the lock, the metal started smoking and quickly dissolved.
Illya commented: "Wow. Can I borrow it for later on?"
Napoleon smirked: "Sorry, tovarich, I only have enough for two locks, so you cannot waste it on Harry's face."
He missed the Russian's mumbled answer, too busy watching the content of the room in awe. There were probably a hundred wooden cranes, each full of different kinds of explosive substances, judging from the names printed on the sides.
Solo let out a long, low whistle. "Dear goodness. This stuff could blow up a full neighborhood into kingdom come."
When he turned to look at Illya's face, he noticed that his friend was very much torn between dread and reverence.
He scolded him: "Stop looking like a child let loose in a toy shop. This changes our plans."
Kuryakin had to shake himself to overcome the sight of so many explosives. "It sure does. We certainly cannot get rid of this stuff by blowing it up as we were planning to. We would turn the whole area into ashes."
"So what do you propose?"
After a few seconds, the Russian's mouth twitched in a wicked grin. "I think I have a plan B."
Solo commented glumly: "I don't like that smile. It usually means troubles for all parties involved."
"If your famous luck holds, my friend, troubles will fall only on the bad guys, one in particular."
Napoleon's curiosity was now piqued: "Tell me what you have in mind."
While the Russian was explaining his plan, Solo's face broke into a broad smile, too.
