As he neared the freighter, Illya quickly dressed himself in the radiation suit then sauntered up the gang plank that had been lowered to the beach side where the boat was listing. He carried the Geiger counter with him and if he was questioned his story would be that 'the boss told him to monitor the radiation levels.
The deck was strewn with bloated bodies, but from their appearance it was clear they had died of radioactive contamination.
Several men walked towards him carrying a small crate between them, bearing the distinct labels warning of radioactive material.
They passed him, taking no note of his presence as he went down below, locating the cargo hold quickly. As he stepped inside, the Geiger counter's meter jumped, buzzing wildly. It was no wonder, as there were dozens of crates there, with one of them having been opened and emptied most likely by an ignorant crew member, with some of the ore still lying on the floor.
It was obvious that there was more than 10 kg. here, as to Vintech being the sole source, that now became doubtful in his mind.
He headed up to the deck, intending to leave, since there was no way he could stop this many men. Best for him to contact Waverly and get some help sent down from Sydney for this situation.
Illya ducked behind the bulkhead, removing his head covering and pulling his communicator. "Channel D- overseas relay. Waverly, please," he whispered.
"Your report?" Waverly responded in a voice that was too loud, given the Russian's location.
"Sir if you could speak more softly, I am in a vulnerable position at the moment."
"Of course." He answered, his voice more subdued. There was a pause, and Illya realized the Old Man was waiting for him to speak. " I am on the Chesepeake Lady sir, and there seems to be a lot more than 10 kg. of ore in the cargo hold. Has Mr. Solo found additional uranium missing in Virgina?"
"I'm afraid Mr. Solo is more than twenty four hours overdue with his check-in. That being the case, agents from our Washington office were sent to Vintech and found the facility abandoned with a good portion of the personnel murdered. The was no sign of either Mr. Solo or Colonel Mirgorodsky and the remaining stores of enriched uranium were gone as well."
His heart sank at the news, then suddenly he stiffened as he felt something hard pressed against his back.
"Mr. Kuryakin, are you there?" Wavely called to him.
Illya slowly raised his hands above his head, still holding the open communicator.
A gloved hand reached out, snatching it from him, tossing it to the deck and he watched as it was crushed by a rather large boot.
"Alright mate, off the boat." A gruff voice ordered him.
Illya walked down the gang plank with his hands clasped, resting on top of his head. Once they had reached the shoreline he was ordered to remove his gear, allowing them to get a better look at him.
"Skinny little fella." The one of them seemingly in charge remarked."Alright, who are you and what you doing here?" His accent was clearly Australian.
"Oh just a tourist, doing touristy things." Illya quipped, but that quickly earned him a fist in the stomach.
"Search him."
They removed his sheepskin coat, with their efforts revealing his Special, back up pistol and several throwing knives. Luckily they did not discover the explosive putty in the heel of his shoe, nor the hidden knife masquerading as a buckle on his leather belt.
They removed his wallet, helping themselves to his cash, then withdrawing his gold ID card and recognizing it instantly.
"Boss is going to go wobbly on this one, maybe we shouldn't tell him we let an U.N.C.L.E. agent sneak up on us like."
"I don't care if he throws a tantrum or not, we have to report this," the leader said, pulling a radio from a satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Hey Sparks," he called a radio man."
"Yeah, Mike?"
"Patch me through to the Doctor right quick, we've got a bit of a situation here."
"Hey the boss'll have up at you for that," the radioman replied.
"I don't give a rat's ass, you stickybeak sheepshagger, now mind your business and patch me through."
"Screw you, Ocker. Here's your patch, go ahead."*
"Sir, we have a problem," said Mike. "There's an U.N.C.L.E agent here at the Chesapeake Lady. His name is Kuryakin, Illya Kuryakin"
"Illya did you say?" Genius smiled. "How fortuitous. And just exactly what was he doing?"
"Caught him snooping around with a Geiger counter, and he's seen us off loading the crates. Want us to get rid of him?"
The Doctor smiled. "Yes you do that Michael. How soon will you be ready to sail with the cargo?"
"Within the hour sir."
"Excellent, take care of things and I well see you when you arrive at the facility. Genius out." That news pleased him and he would use it to torment his guests a little bit, taking the wind out of their sails knowing their savior had been eliminated.
.
"Right, you heard the boss, we're to take care of this one. Tie his hands behind his back, then let's have at him for a bit of fun."
Illya was bound, then the Thrushmen proceeded to beat him up. He tried to defend himself, throwing a few kicks but there were simply too many of them and with his hands bound, he was losing his balance too easily.
Finally he fell to the ground with the wind knocked out of him, and after a few well placed kicks, they dragged him to his feet and down the beach towards the rusting remains of one of the old fish factories located along the western shores of Kaingaroa Harbor.
"We still heading to Doubtless Mike?" One of them asked the leader.
"Yeah ye drongo, of course we are."
"Hey I'm not stupid you know, I was just asking."
"Well then stop asking." Mike snapped at him." and keep your laughing gear shut."
They dragged Illya through the abandoned site, following along the remnants of some railway tracks probably used at one time for the on and off loading to fishing boats. Then they came to stop at a dark, barnacle encrusted rocky shaft not far from the waters edge.
It was deep enough that when Illya peeked into it, he was unable to see to the bottom. Guessing the diameter of the opening it looked to be approximately four to five foot square, not too big.
He had no idea of the purpose of the shaft but the presence of the parasitic barnacles meant there was sea water in it at times, no doubt coming in and out with the tide.
"End of the line for you Kuryakin," Mike laughed with an air of satisfaction in his voice..
Illya was annoyed, as the man was wearing his sheepskin. He liked that jacket...
"You would not want to talk this over a drink perhaps, it is a little chilly out here?" Illya hedged."Could I at least have my jacket back, please?"
"You know that drink sounds like a good idea, for us that is. And as for the jacket...you're not going to need it where you're going."
He snickered at Kuryakin's feeble attempt to delay the inevitable. "Don't worry, you'll have company real soon," the man gestured with his fingers making them look like little pincers, indicating there would be crabs and other such crustaceans down there."
"So long ye wanker," he said, giving the Russian a shove with his foot.
Illya went head first down into the dark opening, snapping his body inwards in the hopes of protecting himself while plummeting downward. He let out a cry of pain as his back slammed against the wall, strafing across the barnacles that tore through his T-shirt and into his flesh as he fell, hitting bottom with a thud and was knocked into unconsciousness.
He woke to the sounds of sloshing water as the tide was rising through a metal grate beneath him and there were the clickity-click sounds of what he could see looked like paddle crabs scuttling around him having come up out of the wet sand, waiting for him to become bait for their next meal like some dead fish.
They could be very aggressive and were known for feeding on any sort of animal material, including live shellfish such as cockles, pipis, tuatua, dead fish and other carcasses.
He yelped as one of of them suddenly grabbed at his fingers with its powerful claws.
Illya hiked himself painfully to a sitting position, looking upwards to the light from the opening. Once his eyes adjusted to the dimness he could see nothing but layers of those sharpened barnacles on the four walls.
"This is going to hurt," he told himself as he began rubbing his bindings against them until little by little the sharp surface cut through the ropes. He rubbed his wrists as he stood up, pleased that he hadn't injured them then took a deep breath as pushed his back against one wall.
Illya let out a gasp of pain, then as he reached up with his foot against the other wall, he hiked himself up one step at a time, climbing up the shaft like a human spider, gritting his teeth in pain.
Each time he shifted his back, pressing it against the wall to continue his upward movement, the barnacles cut into him. He was shivering with the wet and cold as the operation took around more than thirty minutes for him to near the top. But as he did, that's when he felt his strength drain, as the effort and the pain became overwhelming.
Illya felt himself begin to slip, then suddenly he was grabbed by the shoulders and hoisted up and out into the light with a mighty groan.
"Hey little Pākehā, it's okay, we here bro." Jollie reassured him. The Russian looked up from the ground, staring at the faces of the two Māori.
"I told you not to come after me, no matter what," he gasped.
"Sorry, that's not how we do things down under," Andy said while he and his cousin helped Illya to his feet and untied his hands.
He turned his head quickly, looking for a Thrush presence.
"No worries, your friends took off in their boat about ten minutes ago."
Together they doubled back along the railway tracks as they followed the shoreline among the remnants of the factory there; rotted barrels, a rusting aged truck, decrepit remains of keels, huge anchors and other ship parts lay half buried among the weeds with bits of corrugated metal strewn everywhere.
Jollie and Andy supported Illya between them, trying to offer him some body heat as he continued to shiver violently.
The gravel beneath their feet crunched as the cries of cormorants and albatross echoed, soaring on the air currents out over the bay. A lone brown fur seal scrambled from the strand into the water with a rolling motion, using its flippers to propel itself forward to escape the three humans.
When they finally reached the utility vehicle, Andy grabbed a blanket and first aid kit from the back as his cousin help stripped Illya of his wet clothing.
Andy cleaned the cuts on his back as best he could, applying bandages to the worst of them, at the same time he took note of the surprising number of scars already on the man's torso.
The Russian's shoulders began to slump as he tried to remove the rest of his wet clothing by himself.
"Come on little Pākehā, drop your gear. You need to get into some dry duds." Jollie warned.
After a few minutes Jollie succeeded in getting Illya into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then kept the blanket wrapped around him.
It was then that Andy challenged the cover story he'd been told. "You're no insurance man bro, what gives?"
Kuryakin straightened his shoulders. "No you are right. I am an agent for an organization called U.N.C.L.E. and I was here tracking a shipment of stolen enriched uranium. That was what those men were off-loading from the ship. They work for an organization called T.H.R.U.S.H. whose sole aim is world domination. Right now their current scheme involves the building of nuclear bombs."
"So you're some sort of demon?"
"Demon? I do not understand, I am not an evil spirit or devil."
"No mate, that's slang for a cop round here." Jollie laughed.
"Oh, yes then, I am with law enforcement per se. U.N.C.L.E. stands for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."Illya let the control of his accent slip, no longer concerned about keeping up the pretense.
"Crikey dick, you ain't a Brit either, where you from?" Andy asked.
"I am from Russia but I live in and work out of New York. Now if you could do me another favor...there is a silver pen in the side flap of my suitcase, could you get it for me please?"
"And these Thrushie blokes, who are they?"
"They are an insidious group of people. The meaning of their name says it all...Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity."
"Wow sounds positively mad."
"Yes it is sort of crazy, they are unrelenting in their never ending and vile schemes." Illya said, his voice sounding stronger. He opened his communicator pen, thankful that his instincts had told him to bring a backup this time. "Open Channel D- overseas relay."
"Mr. Kuryakin, what the devil happened to you?" Waverly balked.
"I was temporarily side tracked. Sir, I have some bad news. Thrush got the rest of the shipment."
"That is unfortunate Mr. Kuryakin, unfortunate indeed. Do you have any idea where it's being taken?"
"Not as of yet sir, the person it is being taken to was referred to as Dr. Genius."
"Hmmm," pondered the Old Man, "That name is sounding familiar, I'll have to get research to look further on it. Anything else Mr. Kuryakin?"
"One of the men mentioned the word doubtless."
Upon hearing that Jollie became very animated, waving his hands to get Illya's attention.
"Excuse me a moment sir, I may have an answer to that."
"Bro that's Doubtless Bay on the North island."
"Mr. Waverly, I have just been informed that it is a bay located on the..."
"Northeast." Jollie whispered.
"On the Northeast coast of the North island of New Zealand."
"Excellent, then that's a start. Keep me informed of your progress."
"Excuse me sir, but any word from Mr. Solo?"
"No I'm afraid not, best not to dwell on that and stay focused young man. Waverly out."
Illya tucked the communicator into his pants pocket, looking disheartened at the news.
"Hey bro who's this fella Solo? You looking like it's the end of the world for you?" Jollie asked.
"Mr. Solo, Napoleon is my best friend and my partner. We are a team. I am concerned that something bad has happened to him and another friend... a woman."
"Hey mate if he's half as tough as you are then I bet he'll be right as rain. And your woman, bro...bet he's taking good care of her."
"That Jollie, can be looked upon from several different viewpoints," Illya muttered, surprising himself that he did not take umbrage to Mishi being referred to as his girlfriend.
The Māori looked at him with unsure eyes but the agent diverted his attention back to the matter at hand. "Are you familiar with this Doubtless Bay?"
Jollie smiled. "Do I know it, that's where our iwi is from, our whanau's Marae is on Karikari Peninsula on the northwest side of Doubtless Bay."
"I know a Marae gathering place, but what is a whanau?"
"Kinfolk bro, family."
Illya turned to the cousin. "Andy is there another means of transportation off this island besides the Bristol Freighter?"
"Boat...but that would take too long. Say, there's a fella that owns a sea plane up the coast, at Taupeka, near the eastern tip of the island, recon just under 10 km. from Cape Young."
"Does this plane take private charters?" Illya smiled.
"For a price," Andy snickered. "If you don't mind dealing with bit of a dishonest bloke."
"Smuggler?"
"Yep."
They headed up the coast to Taupeka, though on this route the landscape changed, with sandy hills behind and behind them it became wooded a short distance inland.
When they arrived at the bay, they found a four prop Sunderland Mark III, anchored in the bay, It was an old plane used during the war but was now been demilitarised with the armament removed, the gun positions covered over, and simple seating fitted in place with space for freight.
After some negotiation, the Aussie pilot named Rick agreed to take them to Karikari Peninsula.
"Give my best to my dad will ya Jol?" Andy asked as they said their good byes to him, then Illya and Jollie headed out with Rick in a dinghy to the plane that was anchored a few hundred yards off shore, near the Ngatikitiki, four needle-like rocks in the middle of harbor.
The take off was smooth, and Illya settled into his seat mindful of his back, but still wrapped in the blanket that Andy had given him. "Once we reach Karikari, I think it best for you to return to your Marae. This is going to get quite dangerous and I cannot risk having you injured."
"Hey little Pākehā, I'm in this whether you want me or not. You're a likable fella, and I don't want to see you get roughed up again. I'm thinking you'll need help."
Illya didn't argue and simply closed his eyes, letting sleep take him for now.
.
Authors note:
stickybeak sheepshagger, is derogatory slang for a New Zealander
Ocker is slang for an Australian
Pākehā is Maori for a non-New Zealander, usually of European ancestry
drongo is an idiot