A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Thirty-Two: Prelude Pour Une Nouvelle Amour
Rated: PG
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Mark looks up as Napoleon helps me unload my purchases. "First notebook?" he asks.
Napoleon gives me an indulgent look and answers. "First personal computer, period."
"Lord luv it, I remember that now. Reel to reel. The whole bloody room." He chuckles a bit, then adds. "Oh, ducks, are you going to enter a whole new universe. Wait until I explain the World Wide Web."
***********************
I am reading the Report of the National Commission for the Review of the National Reconnaissance Office when Napoleon walks in, carrying a cup of coffee.
I point to the screen, with its satellite and rocket symbol transposed over the title. "They have a comment box. I wonder if I should...no, let them find out for themselves."
"It's midnight, Illya. What are you reading now?"
"A report on American Spy Satellites." I reply without looking up.
"What?" Napoleon pulls up a chair and sits beside me.
"I asked for rocketry and radio electronics. This was on the list. They have the site and the general frequencies." I click to the display page. "But so far I have not found the trigger codes."
Finished, I close that window and type in Rocketry + Radio electronics + Russia. The bar spins, and after a few seconds another list appears on the screen. I pick the most promising. It opens, then gives me a choice: Public access, or restricted. I click restricted, and watch as another screen appears. This one asks for my ID number. I start to type, then hesitate.
"Illya?" Napoleon stares at the screen, setting the hot cup beside me on the desk. "What are you doing now?"
"Just wondering."
"About what?"
"I wonder if my old codes still work."
"Why?"
I type in a remembered babble of numbers and letters. Another spinning bar, and then a page of text appears. "If they do... yes..... let's see just what they have to say about us."
"No, Illya." Napoleon declares, taking on his command voice. "You are NOT going to hack the Kremlin. No!"
"I am not hacking. That is my authorization code."
"No, Illya."
"Very well." I cancel that address and type instead one I remember for the CIA.
"Illya!" Napoleon snaps as the familiar seal appears. "Not them either! This has got to be illegal."
"Why?" I ask reasonably. "No one has revoked my security clearance."
"That's because you're supposed to be dead."
"Not this week."
"NO!" he repeats. It is his command voice.
I close the window and cancel the search. "Very well. I suppose I should show some respect." I give that a moment's thought, then add. " How do you feel about the Canadians?"
***********************
"You still up?"
I look over to see David standing in the doorway with a pot of coffee in one hand and a thick sheaf of papers in the other. "What time is it?" I ask.
"Six thirty - in the morning." He smiles at my shocked expression, then shakes his head. " Don't worry about it. The Web does that to people. Especially their first time out. You'll get used to it." Picking up my empty cup, he pours a fresh brew. "By the way," he adds, holding out the papers, "I collected your messages."
I flip through them. "Who are these people?"
"No idea about some of them," David replies. "Avian is a big electronics place down the coast. Global-Sat? I think they are in Santa Monica. Way south. Hughes and Rocketdyne are pretty much everywhere. Trans-Tech has a place just off campus - and they called twice."
"What?" Mark quips, joining his partner in the doorway. "Nothing from Larry's? They are usually a bit quicker than that."
At my perplexed expression, David adds, "Standing joke. Every physicist that lands on campus, they call the next day. One lunch - then you never hear from them again."
"Who is this Larry?" I ask.
"Rad lab?" David answers. "Laurence Liverpool Laboratories?"
I give him a *look*. "I do not believe they would wish to hire a Soviet spy. Even if my degree was not thirty years our of date."
"Wouldn't be the first," David chuckles.
"Sadly true," Mark acknowledges, " although those folks we aren't supposed to know about." He shrugs. "Sorry, Illya. Security problem a few years back. Turned a bit nasty. All over now, thank God, but it caused quite a row on campus. Nothing to do with you." He gives that a thought, then adds. "You are retired, aren't you?"
"Not officially," I answer. "I have yet to sign the papers."
"Oh. Then I suppose that might bollox your security clearance just a tad." He rubs his chin, glances at the papers, then adds, "Your business, but if you plan to stay...associated.... you probably ought to tell the recruiters up front. Save them a lot of time and hassle with the CI chaps." Another pause, then he adds "Still, it shouldn't be a problem for everyone."
"That is what these calls are?"
"What did you think?" Mark answers. "Reputations get around. You two are the hot new prospect in town." He glanced down at the various names and numbers. "Some of those are tech. Most are probably management. With the new configurations.. well, there are a lot of joint projects. Site managers that can pass two or more sets of security are getting scarce." He purses his lips, clearly recognizing some of the names. "Don't rush it. You'll meet a lot of people at the Cold Crew. They can give you better contacts then these. And you don't want to look too eager."
"You mean there is really a job market for ex-spies?"
David laughs at my shock. "Ex or otherwise."
"Damn straight," Mark concurs. "We keep it quiet but - other people's business is big business around these parts."
END CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO