A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Two - You Ain't Going Nowhere
Rated: PG
******
I take advantage of the quiet to check out the room. Not bad for a hospital. In the last few years I have had the opportunity to become something of a connoisseur of such things. One bed, water faucet in the cupboard by the wall, telephone within reach. Decent light from a large window. From the bits of greenery glimpsed through the blinds, very possibly on the ground floor. Private nurse, if I am to judge by the way my sloppily garbed companion sits reading rather then leave the room. Only one thing missing,
"Nurse?"
"Mr. Kuryakin?" She puts down her book. "Try to rest."
"My partner." The command is not as forceful as I would wish, loosing more then just volume in its passage through a graveled throat.
"Mr. Solo?" That brings the same smile I had seen on the Major. " He's fine. Not out of shock yet, but...." I try to rise but she is faster, out of her chair and beside me before I can clear the covers.
"Please, lay back!" I ignore her. If I am a prisoner, best learn that now. She pressed against my chest briefly, then releases. "Oh, very well. Dr. Bastajian said you were to be accommodated. Just wait for one minute."
One hard push to put me back on the pillow, then she vanishes through the beige door. So I can have privacy. Useful information, although just now I can not judge what to do with it. Things seem almost safe, except for my utter certainty that U.N.C.L.E. would never leave an agent alone in foreign hands. Not even 'domestic' foreign hands. If Napasha is injured and April is on her way - where is Mark? Or even one of the local hemispheric officers?
I have barely enough time to form these questions before the nurse returns, this time with a rather large man in tow. Bad sign. But the man waits by the wall while the nurse comes over to my bed.
"Just a bit while I disconnect the IV." She smiles, reaching for my strapped hand. "This might sting."
It does, but that is the least of my discomforts.
Unhooked and bandaged, I watch with interest as the large man unfolds a wheelchair. Orderly, I decide, although these people's shapeless green clothing show no indications of rank. Once the chair is assembled and rolled up beside the bed, the nurse shakes out another blanket and spreads it carefully.
"Can you sit up?" she asks.
Of course I can. And do. After a bit, the dizziness passes.
'I'll transfer you to the wheelchair. Right leg first.."
I know the routine. A clumsy operation, although the crew seems quite competent at it. I must start walking soon. For now? This will do. As long as it gets me to Napoleon.
The nurse produces another blanket, tucking it around me like a child. Even, for a moment, over my arms. I protest that, forcing my hands free. Bad enough that someone will push me. I must have some freedom.
An empty hall, bland with closed doors. Mine is number twelve. A very short ride brings me to number sixteen. We must be expected, because this door opens before the nurse can knock.
Quick scan. Another room identical to my own. Two chairs, one nurse, and in the bed... at least he is breathing. I can see no serious injuries, but he is so pale.
Ignoring the orderly, I reach for the wheels. One hard crank maneuvers me up by the head of the bed.
"Napasha?" I whisper. No response. Then louder, " Why is he...?"
"Ah. Mr. Kuryakin?" Another green clad man, this one older and thinner, and wearing a stethoscope. " I'm Doctor Bastajian. Mr. Solo is still sedated. I'm afraid it required a slightly heavier dose to prevent his convulsions, but we are expecting a full recovery."
Convulsions? Was that the source of my aches? No matter, they appear to have passed without effect.
"When?" That was the relevant question. "When will he...?
"Two to five hours." By which I assume the doctor means consciousness, not full recovery. " You should be able to talk with him tonight. Perhaps after dinner." Very well, I decide. It could be worse. This seems like a comfortable place to wait.
I check the angle of the light. To judge by that, this appears to be summer. Five hours to dinner would make this just about noon. Possible. The light casts very few shadows. After a quick calculation, I decide we are on the south side of the building, and somewhere much farther north then Minsk.
*BUZZZ*
Not the telephone. A communicator in the doctor's pocket. The angle prevents me from getting a good look at it. He speaks briefly before addressing me.
"Sorry, Mr. Kuryakin. You'll have to return to your room now. You have a visitor."
I almost refuse, but remember that April is expected. "Yes." The orderly is reaching for the handles when I ask. "Bathroom?"
"Of course." Dr. Bastajian appears embarrassed at his oversight. He glances at the nurse, who nods at the orderly. "Ragsac, if you'll help Mr. Kuryakin."
So. Now I know the man's name. And have guessed correctly at his rank.
The second door leads to an attached bathroom. Toilet, shower, tub, and sink. These are luxury facilities. The orderly guides the wheelchair near some convenient rails.
"Do you think you can stand ?" he asks. Southern accent. Maybe Turkistan.
"Yes."
"Good. It will make the transfer easier." I unwrap my blanket while he drops the rails. "Best you do this sitting. Not a problem?" I nod. Not a problem at all. He grabs my hands and positions them. "Hold the rail here, and here. On three. One, two three....." I know the routine, and manage without too harsh of a bump. "Good." He nods. I stare back. " Oh. Privacy thing? I will go behind the screen. But you call if you think you are going to fall. You get hurt now and I do punishment detail."
Reasonable request. I will not fall.
The privacy is required for more than my bladder, which is not yet that uncomfortable. It gives me a chance to check my injuries. Minor. Scrapes and bruises, but no burns, and any stitches required have since been removed. A very good sign. Once Napoleon is awake, we will be mobile.
Still, since I am here? It is good to find that everything still works. Relived, I look behind me for the handle.
"Finished?" Ragsac steps away from his screen.
"The handle?" I ask.
"Photo cell." He points at a small red light on the lid. "It will flush when you stand up. Ready to transfer back?"
"I can walk." At least, I suspect I could if I had to. Now is the time to find out.
"So you say. But Doctor Bastajian says you ride. And he is one man I do not argue with. So for now?"
He reaches for my arms. I give him the *look*.
He stops, then. "Compromise? Once you are in the hall, you can steer"
No answer. Just another *look*.
"If you insist. I will call for a walker."
Unacceptable. Another *look*.
"That is my best offer. Otherwise I carry you!"
Not likely. He is large, but I have an excellent angle on his elbows.
"Very well." He surrenders. "Nurse? Can you help me?"
The nurse brings a robe and slippers. Navy plush with a complex embroidered logo. The base insignia, I assume. Very nice.
It is a slow walk, and I use the nurses arm for balance, but I manage. We are almost back to the room when 'my' nurse reappears.
"The other room." She nods at a door just across the hall. "More space , and we can clean this one."
"Very well." I answer, and she opens the door for me.
It leads to an inside room, windowless but well lit. Tall lamps plus a ceiling fixture. Sofa, two stuffed chairs, and a large television in its cabinet placed against the side wall. A table with a samovar in the corner. Seascapes in oil on the walls. Who do they normally treat here? Generals? Several additional chairs have been brought in, but there is still room to move comfortably.
A badly barbered young man in a rather strangely tailored blue suit is seated near the back, next to the blonde woman I spoke with earlier. The loose coat is gone, and now I can see the tabs of her uniform. She *is* a major. Rather a high rank for her apparent age, but the display of field ribbons may explain that. No unit designation. Not surprising, given her service. She is either executive or covert. Perhaps both.
The pair wait patiently while the nurse helps me into one of the soft chairs.
"Mr. Kuryakin?" The young man in the suit stands. I'm Daniel Quinn, C.I.A. I'm the American task-force representative for this operation. You've met Major Hovsepian?" He phrases it as a question, but it is not one. I ask my own.
"C.I.A.? Where is U.N.C.L.E.?"
"How are you feeling?"
He ignores my question, so I return the favor. "U.N.C.L.E.?"
The Major answers "That is who we are waiting on."
The CIA man nods agreement, clearly getting the message.
"I would have preferred to wait until Mr. Solo could join us, but" she shrugs " Dr. Bastajian expects him to sleep for a bit longer." Which clearly annoys her. Too bad. I also would prefer otherwise. "And your personnel profile suggests it might be" she pauses, looking for words "an *error* to delay.... so..." She smiles, intending to be charming. "We will brief you now, and your partner later."
A strange choice of words. Not, I think, accidental. "Do not you mean de-brief?"
The Major looks relieved. "No. Not at this time. Although, when you are stronger, Dr. Stejan has requested a full report, if you would, and ..."
"Illya?" A familiar voice comes from the open door.
"April." Finally. The chair is deep, but I turn and....what is this? That woman is at least fifty, although she looks...."April???"
I hear the others stand up behind me.
"Hello, Illya." She perches on one chair arm and smiles a familiar smile. "Do I look that bad?"
"No. Not bad, but....."
"We should have told him." Quinn again.
"He would not have believed you", the woman named April answers him. "I'm not at all certain he'll believe me."
"Illya." She smiles comfortingly. Even her teeth are like April's. "Good news or bad news? The good news is...... you're home. You're back, and you succeeded." So I have been told. What I do not know is where they think I have been. "The bad news is....... it's been a while?"
Long enough for April to age so visibly? Perhaps amnesia? I glance down at my hand. It does not appear to be aged.
"Here." The April woman hands me a thick report with a familiar cover. The paper does feel rather brittle. I ignore that. Such effects are easily reproduced. "The lab report on Professor Grimlove's machine. What we could recover from it."
I flip through it. The format appears correct. Too many pages to read quickly.
"That is.." The CIA man starts to object, then stops at April's glare.
"Agent Kuryakin's clearance is higher than your own... and I see no reason to change that as this time."
"Yes ma'am." He sits down, chastened.
"Short form?" April waves at the report. "It was a ' time machine' - we think. Or perhaps more like 'suspended animation'? You vanished into Grimlove's 'tunnel' on January 30, 1968. You reappeared six months ago. January 30, 2001."
I do the math. Thirty three years. Ridiculous. I ignore that. If I have been in the hospital six months? That is not a pleasant thought. No wonder my injuries have healed.
"I don't fully understand it, but.." she laughs slightly. It is a familiar sound. " You're the scientist. You go over the report and fill in where you can. And yes, that's an order." She laughs again, a bit more sincerely. "At least I think it is. There could be a bit of a jurisdictional question.
She gives Quinn a *look*. He tries to appear innocent. The Major tries to disappear altogether. Excellent. Whatever the difficulties, U.N.C.L.E. clearly has the upper hand.
Satisfied, April continues. "We've been waiting for you, of course. Professor Grimlove survived the explosion, and under the circumstances.....well, he was all too eager to assure us we would 'get our agents back' . Unfortunately, he couldn't say when. So we... waited. A bit longer then we expected but... you're here now. That's all that matters today." She reaches over to take my hand, and I do not refuse. "So, Illya Nickovetch. Welcome back."
She smiles expectantly. I do not know what to say.
"Questions?"
She waits. So do I. Questions can be as dangerous as answers.
"Would you prefer the others to leave the room?" She matches the words with one of our hand signals. If this is a trap, it is very well prepared.
I risk a signal in answer.
"Really, Ms. Dancer......" The man named Quinn starts to object again. It earns him another glare.
"Mr. Kuryakin is *my* agent. I believe you can trust me alone with him for five minutes." This time the laugh is far less pleasant. "Of course not. Well, I'll make it an order, then. Out. Both of you. And come back *after* you have called Moscow and complained."
They grumble, but they go.
The April woman produces a small box from her purse and places it between us. One tap produces a faint green glow. "There. Secured."
I look, but say nothing.
"Oh." She fumbles through her purse again, and this time come out with a more familiar tool. One of our 'cones of silence'. I check it carefully. It appears to be working.
"Who are you." My first question. She produces a slightly unfamiliar ID. Black, with gold letters. April Dancer - Chief Policy Officer, Hemispheric Operation, North America."
One from the top - if she is telling the truth. Which is impossible. Still...
"Director Dancer." She does not seem surprised at the title. Very smooth. " If this is an U.N.C.L.E. operation, then.....
"Why the fellow spooks? Professional courtesy?" She smiles, then continues. " Well, this *is* Russia. We can't expect them to let us operate without some 'assistance', now, can we? And Quinn? He's there to make sure Hovsepian doesn't assist us to too much."
No surprise there. I say nothing.
"When you and Solo first vanished - we though it would be for one year. Professor Grimlove said the machine worked in year increments, so... we were there. In force. But you didn't arrive. Not that year, not the next, not the next."
Or for several more, if her story was to be believed. Which it was *not*.
"And - the world changed. T.H.R.U.S.H. was destroyed. It never recovered from the blow you gave them. Never. You did that." She smiles up at me, and I can almost see tears in her eyes. Most effective. " You ended T.H.R.U.S.H. So - U.N.C.L.E. changed. I still have that ID. We never abandoned the charter. How could we? We had agents in the field." She pauses, as if the thought hurt her. "Illya. We never gave up hope!" Her tone becomes insistent. "We were there!"
"But...in truth?", she searches for the words. " There are other agencies now. Including the one I run. Don't ask. Not yet. Later - I promise." She shakes her head, then continues. "Our treaty for the site post included a KGB monitor. That's reason one why Major Hovsepian is here. But with U.N.C.L.E.- altered - you have noticed this is a Russian military hospital. It was convenient. So the Major has some authority. But don't let her push it. You still outrank her, if it comes to that."
"Mr. Quinn? You can ignore him. No real authority. But as long as Hovsepian has an American citizen? I wouldn't let them separate you two. This is going to be rough enough. There will be major changes. I know it will be difficult. Some of my advisers were worried. I'm not. I have faith in you and in Napoleon."
She sits back, finished. "It's a very different world, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. But - I think you'll like it."
END CHAPTER TWO