A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Twenty-Five: Secret Agent Man
Rated: PG
*******
April Dancer has a nice office. Wide desk, deep carpet, big leather chairs. It would be even better if the windows worked. The are dead black - just like the cars. The driver again holds the door while we enter.
April is still chatting. "You are both looking wonderful." Heading to the wet bar, she pours us each a coffee. "Have a seat." She hands them over as she herds the black-clad crowd from her office. Only when the last is through the door does she settle.
"Napoleon." She crosses her arms. Such a remembered gesture. "What have I done now to peeve you?" Her tone is sharp and bright. So very much like the April I remember.
Napoleon remains standing. "Our Specials?"
"Oh." Her face twists like she had bit into a sour peach. "That could be a glitch. We don't use those any more."
I move behind her, sipping my coffee. "Lack of enemies?"
"Hardly." she snorts. "New technology."
"I'd offer, but..." Dancer shakes her head as she drops into her chair. "You two are a bit off on qualifications. And *seriously* past review date."
Napoleon says nothing. Just stands there.
"OK. Maybe if..." She looks up from under thick lashes.
He still says nothing.
"OK. Let me see." She punches a few buttons on a box on her desk. "Mr. Grimm? Dancer here. Could you come up to my office?" Very polite, but it does not sound like a request.
The man must hear it the way I do because there is a knock in the door before we have finished our coffee. April stands as he enters.
"Mr. Grimm. My Ordinance Chief."
We shake hands. Napoleon first, being nearer, then me. I take the opportunity to check him over. Another man in black. Perhaps fifty. It is hard to tell. Grey hair, solid build. The no nonsense expression that screams 'former field agent'. I am impressed. Wary, but impressed. Not many of us reach mandatory retirement age in a shape to keep working.
"Grimm." Dancer says. "I have a problem. Overdue certification"
"How long?"
"1968" She waves off his shocked expression. "Don't complain - solve!"
He rubs his chin. "Something....shelf?"
"OK. Fine. That will work." She points to Napoleon. "Take Mr. Solo here to the range. Find him something usable. If he passes cert, I will sign for a Temporary Federal Permit."
"That work?" she asks the room.
Napoleon smiles. The Dancer woman appears immediately relieved.
"Thanks. " Napasha says as he steps beside Mr. Grimm. "Illya?"
I start to follow, but...
"Illya can stay here and chat with me, " the lady insists. When Napoleon frowns, she just smiles wider. "Mr. Grimm can only handle one of you at a time. You first. Then, when you're finished, Illya can come down."
Napoleon looks at me. I signal 'Why not?' We have no proof of treachery. And very few other options.
"Sit, Illya." she says.
Charming, but with the edge of command. I take a chair.
Once we are alone she pours vodka. Very good stuff. I wish I could drink it. After she hands me mine, she sits down as well. "You are very sure you would not like to be Ukrainian?"
I start to rise.
"Just joshing. Relax."
"What is this fixation with the Ukraine?"
"There is a joke - not too funny. 'What is the Russian word for Ukrainian? Traitor.' She takes a deep sip if her drink and sighs. "What can I expect? Every senior Ukrainian military official ... well? Twenty years ago they were all senior Russian military officials. Now? Lots of hard feelings. If I can get two to work together for fifteen minutes, its a miracle." She shakes her head. "But... there are gobs of missiles still in the Ukraine and we have a contract to make them go away. Which does not mean sold to Iraq or North Vietnam. With your background and knowledge? Your reputation? You would have a lot to contribute."
I touch the glass to my lips. "I am not certain I am still interested in enforcement."
"Yes well....."
"And I am no longer qualified for Section Two."
"I would not say...."
"I would." I interrupt her. "If thirty years is long in history, it is impossible in science."
"Not if the damn science is also thirty years old."
Odd response. Over-close to matters best undiscussed. Time to change the subject. "My partner?"
"Napoleon? I sure *hope* he'll be with us." April takes another sip. "The details would have to depend on your separate decisions. We have the usual anti-discrimination and domestic policies." She shrugs and adds, " For what they are worth."
That is a strange statement. I am wondering how to respond when she continues. "I absolutely would not hesitate to assign you separately if that was my need. Domestically? You know we discourage any sort of family ties in our field agent, preferring to have them more flexable- but in your case? I will not make any promises, but I believe I can place you in the same sector. At least between assignments."
"Which in my case would be counting missiles in the Ukraine?"
"Not quite like the old days, is it?" Another sip finishes her drink. "No car chases, or shootouts, or blowing up islands." She puts her empty glass down on her desk. "We still do good work. Treaty monitoring, tracking sanctions, weapons violations."
"And If you find one?" I touch my glass again.
"We report it to the United Nations, or to the contracting country."
I show nothing but she knows me well enough to imagine my surprise. She stands up and walks over to pat my shoulder. "Illya, the world in no longer a place for cowboys."
"I do not know.."
"Think it over." She his another button and her door opens. A handsome young man enters wearing a lab coat. White. Apparently there are some exceptions to the dress code.
April introduces the new man. "Dr. Saint-Pierre, Dr. Kuryakin." We shake hands as she continues. "Dr. Saint-Pierre will show you around. Not everywhere, natch, but I'm sure we have enough open work to tweak your interest. We work in an expanding field. Here, we have the resources to expand with it. You could find being back with us very comfortable."
I nod attentively, but answer "I would prefer to join Napoleon."
"Very well." She throws up her hands. "Let's all go."
***************
Grimm is cleaning his hands when we enter the range. "He passed."
"Good." Dancer answers. "Send the paperwork up to Mari and I'll get it started." She pauses, then adds. "Now that's done, why don't you find something for Dr. Kuryakin? He can check out while Napoleon and I catch up in old times."
At my hesitation, April just drawls "Relax. You guys have been safe with me for years. I'll keep an eye on Napoleon and guard him from the typing pool. You just do the drill. Then Grimm can bring you up to my office when you're done."
Napoleon signals 'go along' , so I do.
Grimm leaves with them and comes back with a pistol. Smith and Wesson. Standard automatic. Long in the barrel, but workable.
I check the load. "What is passing?"
"Minimum? 85% of 100 rounds."
I don the ear protection and take my place on the line. Five clips. This piece throws to the right. After three shots I have learned to compensate. Even so, the sights will have to be reset.
I finish, pull the clips, and check the barrel. That is also a bit off, I think. I mention the flaw to Grimm. He starts to argue, then thinks better of it. He leaves again, and this time returns with a Makarov.
"This suit you better?" he asks.
I strip the clip. Eight rounds. Not my model, but close enough. I take a few test shots. Much better. This model is light, but accuracy is more important then range. I empty another five clips, reload, then fire again. That should be more then sufficient.
I wipe down the weapon, then hand it to Grimm. He checks it over while his assistant resets the target.
"92%. You pass."
"Thank you." I answer, holding out my hand for the gun. "I would like another box."
"Why?" Grimm asks. "You passed."
"With a new weapon, It will take at least a thousand rounds to become accurate."
He shrugs, but hands over the box. I pick the shoulder holster off the counter and strap it on.
The assistant leans over. "You might get closer without the knife."
"I need to know how to fire accurately with the knife."
"Why? Do you sleep with that thing?"
"Generally."
I finish two more boxes. One for target, one for draw. Not enough, but it will have to do. I have places to be. Such as upstairs. With Napoleon. I clean the gun, holster it, and turn to Mr. Grimm. "Perhaps now we should rejoin Miss Dancer?"
****
Napoleon is drinking Scotch and being charming. From all appearances he is having a marvelous time. But he stands as I enter the room.
I turn to the Dancer woman. "Thank you, April. You have been very kind."
"Absolutely wonderful." Napoleon adds.
"But we should go. It has been a long trip."
"Sorry, doll." Napasha strolls over and drops a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be thinking about you."
I doubt she is fooled by our routine, but she accepts it. "Where are you staying?"
Napoleon raises one eyebrow and her smile edges into embarrassment. "I'm afraid your apartments have been turned."
"One can't rely on rent control forever - even in New York."
"Mark and I packed up your stuff. Furniture and clothes and all that. It may take a bit but we'll find it." April laughs a bit. "When did a bureaucracy ever toss anything?" Then she pauses. "I think Mark may have kept some of your personal papers. He never would completely trust Sir John."
"There's always the Ritz."
"On my tab?" April shakes her head. "I'm not Waverly, but I'm not a fool. I know you far too well, Napoleon. Besides, New York hotels are all famously terrible. You deserve better then that." She makes a show of shuffling through papers. "I think...yes..we do have one apartment open in your old building." Reaching over her desk, she presses another button. "Mari? Could you find the keys to building 4, 2-C."
A young woman - Mari, I would assume - comes in and hands us each a set of keys on a black fob. From her speed, it is obvious this offer is far less spontaneous then implied. So? It is smoothly done.
"Not quite home, but at least you'll know the neighborhood." April nods at Mari, saying "Call a car." Then turns to Napoleon. "The driver will drop you back at the shop. From there you know the way."
April hands us each laminated cards."Keep these on you."
I check out the plasticized rectangles. They say ' Interstate Federal Firearms Permit' and are signed April Dancer. The photos are from our old files. Obviously some things are more easily found than others.
"Boys?" she adds. "Please don't shoot anyone. You have no idea what a hassle that could be."
*******
Napoleon says nothing until we are back at our car. "So?" he asks me.
I shake my head. "All are not cooks who walk with long knives."
END CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE