APRIL – Where Mark and I start poking about

As section two agents, we see a lot of death, but there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for meeting it yourself when it touches someone that you love. Personally, I would say that our brief meeting with Napoleon and Illya at Joe's place was about the most awkward I had ever felt in their company.

Illya, very much the `Ice Prince', was clearly distraught. I had a very strong impression that his impassivity was a very thin veneer that he was able to keep up only because of Napoleon. I could almost see the Russian drawing strength from Napoleon, that Napoleon's close presence and support was the only thing Illya had to hold on to. The only thing keeping him from completely going to pieces. I hope you know what I mean by that. I know I'm not explaining it very well. I felt so strongly that I wanted to do something to help Illya, but what was there anyone could do or even say that would even remotely help? Illya will cope, because he will have no choice about it. He knows that the alternative would mean letting THRUSH win, and Illya would sooner die himself.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I was relieved when things were resolved the way they were. Darkly and the others would clean up the crime scene, as it were, Mark and I would stay out here in the field to find the shot-gun sniper and anyone else who might be behind him, whilst Napoleon and Illya returned to headquarters to tackle the difficult job of finding the traitor. Difficult though their job was, I somehow thought that at least as far as bullets went, it was likely to be the safer task. No bullets flying around, Illya for one could not then be tempted to do anything silly. Hmmm.

Anyway, let someone else tell you about all of that later. Mark and I were already on to research to get us details on the owner of the transit van. We were not surprised to find that it was owned by a car and van hire company. We removed all of the `additions' that had been made to it; the shotgun for example, topped it up with some fuel and drove it back there ourselves. Whilst Mark went into the office to talk to the owner of the company, I drove the van into the garage at the back and getting out, I started to peer and poke about as if fascinated by vehicles. In reality, I know very little about them beyond the necessary basics, but I made appreciative little noises and pretty soon a head popped up from beneath a raised hood.

"Who are you Misses? What are you poking around here for? You could get yourself hurt!"

I smiled at the man in greasy overalls and raised my hands in mock surrender.

"Not touching anything, Chief, honest! I'm just waiting for my…er…friend. In the office. We brought back the blue van we hired."

"Uh-huh!" The man did not seem particularly interested.

"It was far too conspicuous. Perhaps something smaller might have suited us better…"

The man raised an eyebrow at me.

"Too conspicuous? It was chosen because of being completely inconspicuous! Your pal specifically pointed it out and said that it would be perfect!"

"Perhaps he had a different idea of what we would be needing it for!"

"Perhaps."

The man returned to his engine. I heaved a sigh and went to his side.

"Oh well, my fault I suppose. He'd been on at me for ages and I wanted it to be really special! When he told me he had hired a van I knew what he had hired it for…or I thought I did. But a van like that…I still think a hotel room would have been cheaper, personally, but…"

The man smirked, and the look in his eye as he looked up at me made me squirm inside.

"The old devil!" he remarked with a chuckle. "When Merlin asked for it, he said it was needed for business reasons…I admit that this was not quite what I thought he had in mind."

I nodded ruefully.

"Nor do I…now."

"So you have the hots for Merlin? I wouldn't have guessed you would be his type. Surprised you never cottoned on actually. Most girls pick it up a mile away. Scares most of 'em off!"

I frowned, wondering what he was getting at.

"Are you telling me that he's actually gay? And he's been leading me on all this time?"

"Nah, are you kidding? But you really don't look like the bondage type either…the last girlfriend he brought in here had more metalwork than this car I'm working on…and I don't mean in her mouth!"

I gave him what I hoped was a coquettish smile.

"Well, it shows you can't judge people on appearance. Merlin says hi by the way. I'd better go back to the office and find out why I'm still waiting. See ya."

The man grunted and returned to his work, and I went back to the office doorway, where my partner was in the act of leaving.

"Fine, okay. Thank you for your co-operation. Bye!"

Together we left the premises and walked a safe distance down the road together before we ducked into a doorway and pretended to be in a clinch together in order to talk without being overheard.

"So, what did the boss tell you about the van?" I asked my partner. He shrugged.

"Nothing at all. He says that once the van is hired by someone and leaves the premises, he has no control over what the customer does with the van until it is returned. He insists that whether the van is used in a murder, a robbery, or simply as a removal van is none of his business. He refused to give me any information and insists that all details of such transactions are confidential and only a court order will persuade him to give."

"Did you tell him you were U.N.C.L.E, and entitled to insist?"

Mark shook his head.

"No. I thought it better to let him think I was just an `inquisitive prat', his words by the way. If we need to get those details, I would suggest sending Solo and Kuryakin in there for it. That will teach him to cooperate next time. I am hoping that you had more success than I did?"

I grinned at him and recounted my conversation with the mechanic in the garage. Mark started to chuckle as I concluded.

"So he thinks you are a chick that is into heavy metal and bondage eh? Little does he know!"

I thumped my partner good naturedly on the arm and opened my communicator.

Whilst we waited for research to find a gentleman called Merlin with the tendencies described, Mark and I looked back up the street.

"Mark, did you find out anything at all from that man?"

"He told me that the van was hired via a phone call two days ago, and it was picked up this morning at six. That's all he would tell me." He frowned. "April, from what that mechanic told you, this chap who hired it, Merlin, was well known there? Would he be a regular customer maybe? Or a personal friend?"

I shrugged.

"Would you own and run a car if you live and work solely in Manhattan? It would always be easier to use the subway. But living slightly further from the center of everything, anyone would want to own a car, or use one from time to time."

"What if you live and work in the middle of Manhattan somewhere, and so own no car, but you do have reason to drive out of town occasionally. Would you rather hire a vehicle for that? Or use the train or a bus?"

"That would depend on where it is you have to go." I replied. "Car hire is probably more expensive, but more convenient…especially if you have an organization like THRUSH to pay for you."

"So this Merlin is likely a regular visitor there then? He must live and work in the center of the city, and work for some THRUSH satrap outside the city, and hires a vehicle…no April, that makes no sense. Who says that this satrap is not already in the city?"

I frowned, thinking hard.

"I'll tell you one thing, Mark, finding property in the prime areas of Manhattan can't be easy…vacant property I mean. If this chap Merlin is involved, and if he does work in the city, maybe THRUSH are using his premises as their base?"

"I guess that would depend on what he does for a living."

"Hmm. Now you said the van was picked up at six? So in four hours, the van was taken somewhere where it was adapted as a sharpshooter base, and then driven and put into position…and it would have had to be there pretty early or our guys would have been suspicious of it…"

Suddenly our eyes met and Mark smote his forehead.

"Of course, April, it would have been included in the general sweep of the area three days ago, and repeated every morning! So it would make sense that it must have been already there…"

"Mark, the only reason any vehicle can be exempted from suspicion is when it is already a familiar sight. If you know there is always a blue van parked in a certain place, and everyone you speak to says so, you are not worried when one turns up."

"So that was why it was not as thoroughly checked out? So if this is not the van that is usually parked there, where is the other one? It would make sense that…"

Mark nodded to me, and whipped out his communicator. Finally, we had a number plate for a blue van that was registered to an August Daines who apparently ran a small window cleaning company from the same address, and whom lived in a one room apartment above the office. When Mark asked if there were any personal details available on him, he was informed that August Daines was a widower in his early forties; with a tubby build; thinning, greying hair; watery grey eyes and a fondness for beer and cacti. Somehow, we both felt that even though that was still a pretty vague description as descriptions go, we would still be able to pick him out of a crowd. Where was he, if his van was missing? With an alert to all agents to look out for a van with those plates, Mark and I felt our next move should be to check out the business premises registered to our friend Gus, right where the sniper's blue van had been parked all morning.

A little investigation led us to a narrow back alley that gave us access to the rear of the property, and we found our first obstruction. A large wooden door with an almost equally large rusty iron padlock. I got out my set of lock-picks and although it took slightly longer than usual because the padlock had rusted almost solid, we soon had the door open. Beyond was simply an old shed, with piles of plastic buckets, paint tins, brooms and brushes, an old car engine leaning against a wall, a large cart wheel leaning against the adjacent wall, several broken chairs, an upturned table with one leg missing and a child's tricycle with a ripped seat. We looked around the room, but there was nothing outstanding to notice. In front of us a wooden door with broken window panes sat ajar. I nudged my partner, and Mark nodded. He removed his gun from its holster, and we pushed the door open and stepped into a narrow area consisting mostly of cracked paving stones and a drain. Looming up ahead was the rear of the building itself. We pulled at the door. Again, it stood slightly ajar and opened easily.

Mark and I exchanged a look, and we were both thinking the same thing. If this chap Gus was at home, as it was still business hours, why was the front all locked up, and where was his van? If he was out, either on jobs or a holiday of some kind, then why had he left half his doors unlocked? True, many people would be unable to enter the back through the padlocked door, but it would not take very much for anyone to enter from the back of one of the neighbouring properties. Something was very wrong here somehow.

I withdrew my gun and carefully and silently we searched the building in tiniest detail. Nothing. The business part of the property gave evidence of an office and a storage room, little more than that. A little searching elicited evidence that the office was generally manned by a female…someone rather elderly judging by the styling of the glasses and cardigan that had been left behind. So there were two people missing? Our friend Gus presumably, and an elderly female who answered his phone for him. Upstairs we found a rather rundown room comprising of a large bed, a winged armchair, a table with a kettle, a T.V set and a wash stand.

I looked around sadly.

"Is this what a man works hard all his life for, Mark? A dingy single room without even his own oven?"

Mark gave me a half grin, although his eyes too were sympathetic.

"Don't judge the man based on not having an oven, April. Not having to cook every day would be paradise to some blokes."

"So is he on a vacation or what?"

"Not according to Leah in records."

"I don't like this Mark. I keep thinking about that shed out back. If they were kidnapped or something, why was that door left open? I want to go back and take another look around."

"Come one then partner."

Mark followed me back down the stairs, and we returned to the shed, this time determined to check every inch of it. We still came up with nothing. I looked around at the mess, and my eyes rested on the upturned table. It was positioned right in the middle of the floor, so that you had to walk around the thing to get from one door to the other. Who would deliberately put it down here in the way? Even though the back door was padlocked and hardly used, it would still make more sense to move a broken table out of the main walkway wouldn't it? I glanced at Mark and he nodded, clearly thinking something very similar. Together we heaved at the heavy oak table and shoved it to one side. There it was. A large trap door set in the floor.

"A cellar? A dungeon?" Mark asked me under his breath as he seized hold of the iron hoop and pulled. The door came up smoothly and silently; clearly it had not been neglected as had the rusty padlock.

"The hinges have been kept well oiled…pretty unusual considering how neglected everything else is around here." I replied. "So, who goes down? Toss you for it?"

Two minutes later, my communicator set on open channel, I lowered myself down the hole, into the darkness.