Lisa Rogers watched as her boss took his first sip of tea. He turned to her, smiling just slightly.
"You do make a fine cuppa, I must say," he spoke softly.
She nodded her head in thanks but said nothing, waiting for him to do the talking as she knew that he needed a sounding board just to clear his thoughts. There were times he asked her opinion, but more often he needed her just to listen while he voiced his thoughts.
"We have a most dangerous situation in the making my dear. The plane carrying Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin has been hijacked." He exhaled deeply, taking another sip of tea.
"Oh dear, the dog? Is it the attempt at the dog-napping ?" Lisa asked.
"No, it is a terroristic undertaking by a German group who are intending to execute the passengers if their comrades being held in prison in West Berlin are not released. The Chancellor has refused to do so..." Waverly's shoulders drooped ever so slightly.
"Sir I'm sure Napoleon, err...Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will stop them."
"Would that I could count on that, but they are hostages as well. There is an assault team fully prepared, waitiing in the city of Tunis, as we're tracking the flight to Tunisia...but I fear if we try to take the plane once it lands, innocents will perish."
"Do we know where in Tunisia?"
Alexander Waverly looked at his wristwatch, seeing nearly thirty-five minutes had passed. "We should know very shortly...very shortly indeed." His bushy eyebrows raised with that statement.
The Old Man's communication panel came to life as a red light flashed and he flicked a toggle switch, lifting the hand-held microphone to speak into it.
"Yes?"
"Williams in Section IV, Mr. Waverly. We have a projected landing site for the hijacked SAS flight. 36˚ 41' 47"/ 10˚ 29' 30" East. That's the location of a small abandoned airstrip used during the war, it's near a town called Sulayman, just off the coast. Waverly's brow furrowed as he sought to recall that name, but nothing came to mind. "How far is it from Tunis?"
"Roughly eighteen miles sir."
"Hmmm, it will take our team three quarters of an hour to travel there. Alert them and tell them to head with all alacrity to Sulayman. "
"Immediately sir. Williams out.
Alexander absent-mindedly tapped his pipe in the large crystal ashtray sitting atop his conference table, emptying it of the burned tobacco and laying it aside. He took a deep calming breath, though anyone seeing the man would think his nerves were solid as brink.
He'd always been good at hiding his feelings, and supposed that was one of the reasons he'd taken a liking to Kuryakin, as the Russian possessed many traits that he himself exhibited when he was a but a young agent.
Those were different times, and even though it was the spy business, there were unwritten rules of mutual respect that one honored with one's enemy.
There was no such respect with these Red Army people, and that was something that troubled him deeply, no honor among thieves, as it were.
Lisa watched him carefully, seeing the discontent in the man's eyes.
"Another cup of tea sir?"
"Mmmm? Ugh, yes my dear, thank you." He held up his porcelain cup as she uncovered the teapot from the cosy and poured him another one.
"Mr. Waverly I have no doubt that our agents will get through this and succeed,' she smiled at him.
"I wish I could convince myself of that with your assurance."
Alexander Waverly took another mouthful of tea, and seemed to lose himself in his thoughts.
.
There was the annoying sound of high-pitched feedback as one of the stewardess' voices came over the public address system on the plane. It was lacking confidence and her fear could be heard as she spoke.
"Meine Damen und Herren...May I have your attention," she said in German. " We are have arrived at our ummm... destination. I ask that you return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing. Please extinguish all cigarettes at this time," she hesitated for a moment."I'm told it may be a bit rough." The announcement was repeated in English and French until the loudspeaker silenced with a click.
"So what is your plan?" Illya whispered as he closed the latch on his seatbelt.
Napoleon looked rather displeased with himself. "For once I haven't come up with a plan my friend. I suppose we'll have to wait to see if they're keeping us on the plane or taking us elsewhere."
Illya swallowed hard; he wasn't used to his American partner being at such a loss, though Napoleon was one for thinking quick on his feet and improvising at the snap of a finger. He'd be right beside the man whatever course of action Solo might eventually propose.
The plane banked left circling before making its approach to land. As the Russian looked out the window, he could see the azure blue waters of the mediterranean sea turn into nothing but desert, and in the distance, there looked like a primitive airstrip. He elbowed his partner, nodding his head to the side.
"We are not far from the coast."
"Yeah but where...any ideas chum?"
The Russian shrugged his answer, though he was racking his brain thinking view looked familiar to him.
The pressure in the cabin changed as the jet descended, building in their ears until they both swallowed to relieve it. In the front of the plane there was the wail of an infant, the change in cabin pressure affecting it as well. The words of prayers could be heard whispered throughout the plane.
The Swiss Air jet dropped lower and lower until there was a loud thud as it touched down, and the engines roared to slow the forward momentum. It lumbered along the runway, hitting plenty of bumps that jostled the passengers, until it finally eased to a stop.
With all the commotion, Napoleon and Illya slipped their guns from under their seat cushions, quickly tucking them into the waistbands of their pants, hidden from view beneath their jackets.
If they were frisked before leaving the plane...they would be dead men for sure.
The other passengers began to whisper among themselves. The sounds of whimpering and crying began again as fear of the unknown was creeping back.
Rolf Baader stepped out again from the first class section, rejoining the man Otto.
"Tears will not help, nor will prayers...unless you pray the German government releases my people and spares your lives."
"Pourquoi voudriez-vous faire cela_why would you do this," a man seated beside Baader called out in French. "We are innocent and have done nothing to you and have nothing to do with the German government, or it's politics."
"You are but a means to an end. Stop whining and be a man, if and when it comes your time to die," Rolf snapped at him.
The passenger cursed at him and as a reward was pistol-whipped for his boldness.
"Anyone else wish to voice an opinion?" Baader called out. He flashed a feral smile as his question was met with silence.
""Now prepare yourselves. Some of you will be removed from the plane to a nearby building that has been prepared for you. Take nothing with you, but you will, however, be searched. The rest will remain temporarily onboard."
"Shit," Napoleon cursed under his breath, glancing at his partner.
Illya said nothing. What could he say? Until they were or were not chosen to leave the plane, that would determine if they would have to abandon their Specials. If they remained onboard, less passengers and hijackers to deal with and that would increase their odds at success and if they were separated, that would be even more problematic.
Still, those passengers taken outside were at peril. If Solo and Kuryakin managed to take the plane, the others could be killed if the UNCLE agents didn't surrender. No matter which way Illya looked at it, it seemed an impossible situation. Strategy was not his forté; often relying on Napoleon for that ... and they'd managed to overcome the impossible before.
Still.
