A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Thirty-Nine : (I Get By) With A Little Help From My Friends
Rated: PG
****
The freeway is open. Ocean on one side, asphalt and fields on the other. Very few on ramps out here. This is poor territory for an ambush. Even so, we stay alert.
"Who knew we would be here?" Napoleon opens his jacket and readjusts the holster.
"Every spy in California ....if they were at the party last night."
I check my clip. No extra ammo. Perhaps it would be worth a stop in the next town? The next little city is named Los Alamos. Not the significant one, however. Otherwise we *would* be in trouble.
"Even if *they* weren't there themselves," Napoleon adds, "Everyone seemed to have friends..who have friends."
"I am beginning to question the sincerity of such friendship."
"You don't say?" Napoleon checked his tie in the mirror, at the some time reviewing the road behind us. Two pickup trucks and a older sedan. None of them behaving suspiciously. I had already checked. Holding up fingers with the count, he continues: "Valley was CI. Miss Davis was CIA. Mrs. Peel was something British. Dumas didn't say, but he's clearly overseas French.
I nodded. "Grustov is GRU, Hans Streck is *not* Stazi, and Fleming is a blue-blood from MI5. Dan Briggs looked like a freelancer, but either American or Canadian. Shapiro is openly Israeli. The Smiths are mysteries, even for that crew."
"Seven countries just from our drinks list." Napoleon takes the off ramp, pulling over a few minutes before taking the paired onramp back up to the highway. "That does tends to make for a wide field."
When we reemerge, the three car I had seen before were now far in front of us. Good. I do not see anything else that looks like a threat.
"Maybe we should call April?" I suggest. "Someone does not seem to respect our retirement."
"Do you remember her number?"
********
Napasha clicks off the music while I dial. There are three rings, then the line picks up.
"Director's Office, Mari speaking."
So this is indeed April's direct line. Excellent. "April Dancer, please."
"Who shall I say is calling?"
"Illya Kuryakin."
"Just a moment, sir."
She apparently remembers the name - or else has a secure callers list. Either way, the next sound I hear is the click and hiss of a line scrambler coming on. Then a series of beeps. Likely my call is being transferred. It is only a few seconds before a more familiar voice comes from the phone.
"Illya." April's tone is pleasant. "How are you doing?"
"Interesting question." I turn up the volume so Napoleon can also hear the call. "At the moment I am alive, but I believe someone just tried to alter that."
"What?"
I clap my hand over the speaker. Amplification plus her shout combine a bit too loudly in a small car.
"Three men in a blue automobile just tried to run us off the road," I reply.
"Are you sure?"
"Reasonably." I look at Napoleon, who signals 'why not'. "If you would care for another opinion, perhaps you could ask the other driver? Or either of his overly armed passengers? We left them in a ditch, and from the sound as we left they should be in police custody by now."
"Where are you?" An added hum in the background tells me that our conversation is being either recorded or shared. Perhaps both. " What road? What county?"
"Why?" I ask
"So I can send a team out." More clicks. I would bet that team has been dispatched even without my consent. "It's probably just industrial, but...... I very much want to know what is going on." A pause, and the dead air of a phone set to mute. Only a few seconds, and then April is back. "But you are all right?"
"Yes."
"Is Napoleon with you?"
"He was driving."
That brings a chuckle. "And it was the other guys who ended in the ditch?"
"April." Napoleon takes the phone. "That was cruel."
"You forget, my dear Mr. Solo - I've seen you drive." Her voice sobers as she gets down to business. "You don't have my phone, so..."
"How do you know that?" Napoleon interrupts.
"Because Major Hovsepian shipped it back to me, of course. Give me your number, and as soon as we learn something I'll have someone call you. Unless you want to come in? I could send a team.."
"Please, April." Napoleon's voice takes on hard edge. "Just when did you decide we were incompetent?"
********
*brring* *brring*
I unplug my phone and flip it open.
"Yes."
"Ah, Illya," April Dancer's soft soprano comes from the speaker. "With such a charming greeting, that must be you."
"Yes." I am neither charming or charmed.
"I have some good news and some bad news."
"What is the bad news?"
I again turn off the music and set the volume so Napoleon can hear.
"We found a photo in the car. Apparently they were in fact after you two. Professional thugs. Not too high level. Kidnapping run, we assume, although we haven't gotten the name of their employer."
Napoleon leans over. "What's the good news?"
"Ah, Napoleon. The incident let me wrangle you full sanction authority. You are both now in at Policy Level One."
He looks at me. I say nothing.
"You are still headed to Santa Barbara?" April asks. "One of our people will meet you at the police office in Goleta. And Illya? Try not to shoot anyone unnecessarily. I do not need the political hassles. Really I don't."
**************************
Goleta is a small town. Rather convenient in this case, as it renders the police station easy to locate. Sitting between the courthouse and the post office, it was a rather drab concrete building with federalist pretensions in the details.
Napoleon, with his usual flare for such things, pulls into a metered parking space directly in front of the main steps.
"Illya? You have a quarter?"
I start to reply with my automatic complaints, then stop. This day has been long enough already. And I no longer have the hope that it will soon be over.
Our contact is waiting by the reception desk. A fit-looking Asian man in black jeans, black undershirt, and a black and white printed shirt worn loose enough to cover the shoulder holster. Just the thing for a relaxed afternoon funeral. The distinctive black glasses are unchanged, and behind them I can discern little expression.
I look at Napoleon.
"California casual?" he whispers.
I reply, "At least we will not need to ask for directions."
"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?" The young man approaches us with one hand outstretched.
"Lee. Regional Control Officer. I believe these are for you?"
I begin a handshake , only to stop when I realize his palm is not empty.
The shiney black cards have our names engraved on the surface.. and nothing else. As I give mine a careful inspection, Mr. Lee explains. "Magnetic encryption. Also an implanted chip. If necessary, the public information can be read on any credit card machine. Not that we hope you'll be showing them to too many people. Company policy is to keep a low profile."
"Yes, well. " Napoleon gives the man an impatient look. "That was my policy until about an hour ago. Now I have a new policy. One that involves *not* being shot at. If at all possible."
"We are proceeding on the assumption that Agent Kuryakin was the target. Most likely as the result of the altercation on the Warsaw Express. Not that there is yet any direct connection, but it's the best motive me can come up with. And the only likely target. He had the appointment, and there was no way for anyone to anticipate that you would be in the car."
"With the exception of Vally and Bierbaum. Also possibly his employer."
"OK. We'll check them out. But it's a long shot. Too tight a time frame to hire the muscle. Unless you're suggesting Avian keeps thugs on their payroll?"
Why not? I thought. Everyone else seemed to be hiring. Fortunately I have considerable experience in keeping my opinions to myself. I contented myself with asking, "Will it be safe to proceed with our appointments?"
"I don't see why not." April's officer shrugs. "If these guys wanted Decker, they could get him any time."
I put the card in my pocket and start to turn.
"Before I forget." He calls us back. "You'll also want these." He reaches down and produces two flat black cases from a paper grocery bag stashed under the desk. Laying then on the desktop, he directs. "Place your right hand on the surface and pronounce your full name."
I do so. The case springs open to reveal a dead black pistol devoid of markings. Beside it in the eggshell foam lay several snap-ons. Silencer, I assume. Sight. Several colored cases I assume are clips.
"The firing operation is fairly straightforward," Lee continues. "Two hundred shots per clip, more penetration and less recoil then you are probably used to. The red clip is explosive.The blue is sleep darts. Other then that?" He give us an unreadable look. "If you know how to shoot, you know how to shoot."
"Although." He gives me a careful inspection. "If you could avoid any further shoot outs we would all be most appreciative. It's really not done these days."
"Indeed?" I ask, closing the case. "And how does the other side feel about that?"
As we settle back into the car Napoleon turns to me. "I hope Dr. Decker won't mind that you're a few minutes late."
"I will blame it on the traffic," I reassure him. "Every delay in California can be blamed on the traffic."
*********
With his usual driving style, Napasha gets me in front of the Fig Memorial Sciences Building only a few minutes after my scheduled time.
I step from the car and walk over to Napasha's side. "You have your phone?"
He pulls back his suit jacket to show the flat case clipped to his belt. "Yes, Illya."
"Good. I have programmed in April's number. That is number two. The local office is number three."
"What are you, Illya?"
I give him a wide smile. "I, lyubovnick ,am number one!"
"Always!" His eyes sparkle, and I suddenly regret we must part even for an hour. Foolish thought.
"I will expect you at two? Call if you are delayed. If you get here after two, I will be at the library."
"You always are." He starts the motor.
As he presses on the gas I suddenly say "Oh, and Napasha?"
Expecting another question, he looks up. And I bend down and place a kiss on his cheek. "Have a nice lunch."
As I watch him drive off, I think, 'That was incredible'. Which it is. Something I never would have *thought* that I might do before these days. Even if I have to study for a hundred years...It will be worth it.
END CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE