A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Four -Dangling Conversation
Rated: PG
****
Another ten minutes waiting. They push me out of the way while Dr. Bastajian comes in to check and fuss. Napoleon fades a bit, but in the end I get back to find him propped up and comfortable. One nurse remains on duty, but he sits near the door and reads, leaving us almost alone.
"Where?" Napoleon's voice is low, but intentionally so. The earlier weakness has all but vanished.
"Gugarian Military Hospital."
"No nurses?" he asks.
"Several. Mostly men." Actually, his nurse is a pretty young woman, but I cannot resist teasing just a bit.
"Oh." He looks at my robe and hospital shirt. Not my usual garb, even if I am not the clothes-horse he is. "You?"
"I woke up myself less then three hours ago. April has been by." I hesitate at that, uncertain. "April Dancer." I have some doubts about that , but we can not discuss them with an observer in the room.
"Mark's partner." If my doubts creep into my voice, Napasha does not catch them. "Where's Mark?"
That was my question also. "I do not know. She did not say."
"T.H.R.U.S.H. base?"
"Destroyed." Or so she had said. "Quite thoroughly." I consider what I remember of my explosive charges. That, at least, was quite likely the truth. "Rest. The briefing has been adjourned until tomorrow, so you can join it." My briefing will come tonight - in private.
Napoleon lays back again. He is paler than I would wish, his skin more jaundiced then olive. Six months in a hospital would do that, although? In truth, that part of the story is almost as impossible as the rest. If I had been in bed for six months I surely would not be able to walk. Yes, I decide. That disproves their story in and of itself. I lay my head back against the support and rest my eyes. A moment only. Just to rest.
*******
I wake at the sound on heels on concrete. The large male nurse is gone, replaced by someone far more to Napoleon's taste.
"Dinner, gentleman?" This pretty blond I had seen before. Napsha's real nurse. I watch that awareness pass over his face along with his most beguiling smile. Four hours out of a coma and already flirting. That was my Napasha.
"Something tasty," he answers.
"Food!" Her voice is sharp, but I notice her eyes are not. Some men just have it. "You are still in bed."
"Exactly." His smile grows teeth.
"Behave, Mr. Solo."
How often had I heard that tone from his flirts. Exasperation warring with warmth. "We have been warned about you and your 'appetites'. I am not on the menu. So - perhaps some ham?"
She produces bed tables for both of us. Place mats, napkins, heavy stainless cutlery stamped with an emblem to match my robe. Which reminds me of one I *hadn't* seen. Removing two covered trays from the cart beside her, she places the warm plates in front of us.
I raise the lid. It is ham. Very thick and edged with spices. Mashed potatoes and cabbage centered with butter. Green peas. Sliced beets. Dark rye bread with more butter beside it. Suddenly I am very hungry.
"Sorry for the bland diet." she says. "Doctor's orders."
We say nothing, just eat. I am halfway through when Napasha raises his fork.
"Illya, this is excellent. And you were always criticizing the military food."
"It appears there have been some changes."
He gives me *his* look, but.... not now. Not here.
"Later", I grumble. " Just eat."
We finish our meals in silence.
"That was wonderful." Napasha drops his fork on the tray. "Or perhaps I was just hungry. I could swear I haven't eaten for a week."
"At least." I mutter, thinking of April.
The nurse removes the trays out to the hall, which grants us a precious moment alone. I gave him the signal.
"What?" he whispers.
"Problem, Napoleon."
"Not safe?"
"Who knows? Napoleon, just before you woke...? I came out of a conference with a woman who identified herself as April Dancer."
"Identified herself?"
"Things are... strange." I think what she had said, then about our luxury rooms and fine dinners. Make that improbable. I rest back against the neck support. "Napoleon? Either we are in the most elaborate triple-think operation in the history of T.H.R.U.S.H. or.....we are really in trouble."
I stop . The nurse is back. With ice cream. It is vanilla, and excellent, and just as I remember. Some things, at least, are unchanged. We eat it without comment.
"Finished?" the nurse asks as my spoon hits the tray.
"Yes, thank you." I smile. My smiles do not always work as well as Napasha's. Still..
"I'll just clear this away. Now if there's anything you might want" which brings a smile and a *look* - "other then that, Mr. Solo - just buzz. The red button on the bed table?"
She turns to me. "If you want to return to your room, Mr. Kuryakin...."
"I would rather stay here." With my tone I make it - I am *going* to stay here.
"Well, visiting hours are officially over, but I suppose I can make an exception in your case. Would you care to watch TV?" A strange question. Before I could formulate an answer she hands me still another black box with buttons. "Just keep the sound low. People may be sleeping." She opens a wall cabinet to reveal the tube.
I wait until she was out of the room.
Napoleon gives the box an interested once-over.
"I believe that is a radio controller," I say, holding the box where he can see it.
"Interesting idea."
"Perhaps. They seem - very popular around here." I examine the face. More numbered buttons. Channels, I assume. The number is correct. Various arrows for volume and tone. Nothing marked on. "The red button , do you think?"
"The one marked power? Try it."
I do. The screen roars to life. In color. Reasonable. Given the other luxuries here, they could be expected to provide a color set. It was some music program. The screen showed a man playing a violin. I push the volume button a few times. Not too much, I have no wish to attract the nurse.
"There, enough noise to cover our conversation." I lean closer to Napoleon. "According to the April woman we are in Russia. In summer of the year 2001. She said the we had been - suspended in animation was the term she used - by Professor Grimlove."
"What!" He drops his voice again. "Illya."
"I did not believe it either. It is impossible. But the woman named April was most convincing." I hesitate, then..."She... looked like April would in her late fifties. I think. She sounded like her. She recognized and responded to all our body codes. I handed her my tea glass, while it was hot, and .... I believe she had April's fingerprints."
"Still. How gullible do they think we can be?"
No answer for that. My hand tightens on the box, which brings a instant change to the sound. "The arrow buttons would appear to change the channel." This time it was some woman in a hat, kneeling beside some flowers. A gardener? She is too well dressed for a real farmer, but perhaps she is an actress in some show on agricultural production.
"Try it again." Napoleon says. "See what we can get."
"They will be doctored signals."
"Even so..." He holds out his hand for the box. I give it to him. *click*click*click* He stops at the image of a woman behind a desk. A news show. Good choice. Even disinformation can inform. She is pretty, and the presentation is very fast and colorful, with many films inserted. I watch with.....well....
'Chechen rebels attack home in Grosney'?
'Headless body found outside Kiev'?
I look at Napasha.
'Court delays espionage trail at *lawyers* request?'
'State gas company to repurchase stock in effort to raise value of shares.'?
He looks at me.
'President Vladimir Putin meets with German Chancellor Gherhard Schroeder.'
We look at each other.
"President Vladimir Putin?" My voice rises, incredulous. "Of Russia?"
"Brother, wasn't he?" Napoleon asks. It is not really a question.
"From enforcement." I consider the chances. Not likely, but... "It does look like him."
The television continues in the background, almost ignored except...
"Napoleon." I look over. "Did she just say 'Polish Command of NATO'?"
"Illya, I think we are in a lot of trouble."
This must be psy-ops, but..."Check the other channels."
He clicks again. Annoying music, strange angles, and young people dancing. I am confused until the camera pans in on one young woman's buttock. It is an ad for Levi jeans.
"Napoleon, now I *know* we are in a lot of trouble."
END CHAPTER FOUR