CHAPTER FIVE
Trudy tried to keep some talk going in an effort to keep Illya conscious, but she was unsuccessful. Finally running across a small road, she followed it out of the small valley. She stopped when the road crested a long, sweeping hill. Far below, she could see a collection of buildings she assumed was a town. Knowing her patient needed rest, she ventured offroad again to a small stand of trees and parked.
"Hey," she prompted, feeling his forehead. "You have to wake up soon."
"I am awake," Illya grumbled. "Just quite pounding on my head."
"Headache, huh? I'll just add that to the list." She got out of the truck and went around to his side. "We're near a town, I think. Are we going disguised as soldiers?" She held her arms out, indicating the uniforms.
Illya squinted at her, then looked around. "They are a dark color, and it will be night soon." He struggled out of the truck.
Trudy's every instinct was to jump to his side, but she held back, first, to judge his condition and second, because she knew he didn't really want any help. He'll collapse soon anyway. Then he won't have the choice, she thought. The determined Russian fixed his eyes in the direction she pointed. "That a-way," she said.
He made his way slowly to the edge of the trees and studied the gathering of buildings in the distance.
Trudy could see his eyes take in the town and surroundings, and could tell that is mind was hard at work. Instinctively she knew that this was his ball game, and she would trust what ever he came up with. She didn't know much about Mr. Kuryakin, but the collection of scars she had seen on his body attested to his survival skills.
"We have a couple of hours. Let's inventory the truck." Illya started to make his way back to the vehicle, but Trudy stopped him.
"I already have. I'll show you what I found." She made his sit under a tree and rest while she retrieved the ammo box and camouflage tarp. "There's this and the spare tire and jack. That's about it."
Illya raised his eyebrows and nodded at the contents of the box. "A grenade and flares! Actually, that's more than I was hoping for. This tarp can work for us, too. That box, though, is a bit obvious. We need to leave that. We can use the crank bar to the jack, too. And there's still a couple of rounds in the rifle, and I still have the handgun."
Trudy patted her pocket. "And I still have two doses of morphine."
Illya threw her pocket a suspicious look. "And there they will remain, Mrs. Kidd. Unless, of course, you're aiming for the opposition's blood."
She gave him a crooked smile. "We'll see, my friend. We'll see." She sat down next to him. "OK, we have a little time before dark. Why don't you teach me some of the language so I don't feel so left out?"
They spent the next few hours as student and teacher as Illya attempted to supply Trudy with some basic Russian. Illya knew he had a knack for learning new languages, and had a difficult time trying to break down Russian for a beginner. "Now I know why I never taught my partner Russian," he sighed. "It's simply a lesson in frustration for me!"
Trudy was undaunted. "Oh, come on! I'm not that bad. Here, listen!" and she said a sentence for her teacher. "See?"
Illya shook his head. "That's great, but you just asked me if a cow bit your fireplace. Not exactly a useful utterance."
"I did not! Did I?" she tried unsuccessfully not to giggle. "I wasn't very good in Spanish class, either! But I did say 'friend' correctly, right? 'Tovarich'?"
Illya winced at the pronunciation, but nodded. "Yes. And that in itself is odd because that's the only word my partner really knows, too."
"What's your partner's name?"
"Solo. Napoleon Solo. And if I know him, he's waiting for us somewhere off the coast." Illya pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and sighed. "And I must be worse off than I thought. I shouldn't have told you that. Not at this point, anyway."
Trudy threw both of her hands up in a surrendering motion. "Consider it forgotten." Then she leaned in to him and dropped her tone. "You think he'll really find us? That seems impossible."
"I was able to get off a short message to U.N.C.L.E. and told them about that device in the truck. Hopefully, they'll figure out how to use that information to find us. If I can get that device to work, and if they can figure out what to look for, we can use it to lead them right to us."
"That's a lot of 'ifs'," Trudy pointed out. "Can you even get that thing to work?"
Illya grinned. "Add another 'if' to the list. I've worked with less." He turned his attention to the horizon. "It's getting dark. Let's pack up."
The rest seemed to have revived him a bit, and he moved a little easier, much to Trudy's relief. She knew it was short lived, though. They both needed water and food, and she knew it was deceptively quiet right now. The patrols were out there, and they had to stumble into them sometime.
They worked their way slowly towards the town. There were more times than Trudy could count when the noise of a vehicle made them drop into the brush. Soon it was an automatic reflex. As darkness fell, to grew colder, and she wondered out loud why they took the effort to hide from the vehicles in the dark.
"There is such a thing as ultraviolet binoculars. They can pick up figures in the dark. I don't think Asikov has access to any out here, but there are others to worry about.
Trudy's eye perked up. "Others? What others?"
The agent gave her a brief rundown on Thrush, and the possible tie in with the device. She gave the device a more respectful lookover. Illya had hauled the box with him, not without difficulty, and now she new what was at stake: Worldwide dominance of air travel.
It seemed like forever before they made it to the edge of the town. Illya had Trudy stay while he circled the perimeter, looking for a haven in the collection of buildings. She was beginning to doze when she finally felt his hand on her forearm and jumped.
"How long have I been asleep?" She whispered groggily, wiping her eyes and longing for a drink of water.
"A few hours. It took me a bit longer than I expected," he replied, his tone a bit ragged to her ears.
Trudy tried to make out his face in the darkness, but wasn't able to see much detail. She could tell that he was at the edge of his endurance just by the sound of his voice and the fogginess of his eyes.
"You need to rest," she started.
"Later," he snapped. "Take off the uniform and roll it into a bundle." She did as she was told and tucked the bundle under her arm. She watched him roll the metal box in his uniform, using only his good arm. The broken one was cradled tightly against his body, and she knew it must be hurting. "There's troops all over the streets, but it doesn't look like they are searching. I don't think they believe we could make it this far. We're taking advantage of that." His breathing was uneven and ragged, but his grip was firm on her arm. "Let's go."
He guided her none too gently off in one direction so they would enter the town from a different direction. They finally came across a small, well used footpath.
"This path leads to some produce fields just outside the perimeter," he explained. "Every town in Russia has community fields. They can't rely on outside supplies a lot of the time. This way." He took her just off the path, then paralleled it towards town. He stopped her, and raised his finger to his lips, the universal sign for quiet. She nodded.
He slowed the pace to almost a crawl. When they reached the end of the brush, she saw that the first of the town buildings was just a few yards across an open space. Illya pulled her down to her knees, and he knelt beside her and put his face close to hers. It was then that she saw how ragged he really was, and knew he couldn't keep on his feet much longer. She wondered how he kept going now.
"Keep close and move quickly, but watch your step. There are patrols by the footpath, but none here. They could hear us. Understand?"
She nodded, her eyes locked on his. It was difficult to quell the fear, and she knew it was clear in her eyes. His, however, looked shiny with pain, but confident and ... deadly. Trudy wasn't going to let him down.
He led off, with her right behind, following his every move. The blond man moved like oil on water; fluid and completely silent. Her own footsteps sounded like thunderclaps in comparison, but it must have been an illusion to her because they made it safely to the alley between two buildings. He kept her moving until the hard packed dirt changed to ill-kept asphalt, then he slowed. She could see his breathing as little puffs of clouds due to the cold, and noticed that he was panting compared to herself.
Instinctively, she took his good arm and moved in to support him. He didn't complain. That's when she knew he was in a bad way.
"You have to rest," she insisted quietly.
"I will. Just a little longer," he growled, directing her.
Soon Trudy had no idea where in the town they were. Illya weaved and ducked between buildings as if every turn held imminent danger. She supposed it did, but was focusing on keeping him on his feet and let him take on that worry.
There was only one time that she actually saw a patrol. Illya had dropped suddenly, pressing both of them against a cold, brick wall, wet with night moisture. They huddled against a crumpled cardboard box and tried not to breath as a pair of military men strolled by on a cross street not six feet away. The men were chatting, and one laughed briefly. They both had rifles across their chests.
Trudy waited almost a full minute after the soldiers were out of site before she dared to look at Illya. His eyes were closed, and his head was leaning back against the wall. His breathing was in short gasps.
"Hey," she whispered, shaking his arm. His eyes immediately snapped open, and she felt him tense. She raised her hand to her throat without thinking, remembering the last time she woke him up. This time, however, his eyes focused more quickly and he began to struggle to his feet. She helped him, and they staggered off down one last, dark alley behind a larger building.
When they managed to make it to the door of the building, Trudy looked up, Illya now hanging on her arm. "This is a church!" She said between gasps.
"I know," Illya mumbled, concentrating on trying to keep his feet as his head swam.
"Aren't churches looked down upon by the government?"
"Yes, they are. And Asikov wouldn't think I would be brazen enough to hide here. What better place to hide out than one as conspicuous as this?" He sagged heavily against her as they stepped in the dark doorway.
It was a church, but barely. The Kremlin took the stand that the country should be agnostic, and the only church it barely tolerated was the Russian Orthodox Church. If a church ever proved to be a problem, it was immediately shut down, so they generally kept to themselves and didn't make waves. Illya was counting on that; the General would presume that the church would turn the agent away immediately to avoid problems. Illya knew Pietor Asikov thought only along Party lines. He was counting on that, anyway, and hoped the man hadn't changed much since their time in the Navy.
As they stumbled into the vestibule area an older man in a long coat appeared at their side out of nowhere.
"Let me help you, brother," he said, taking the load from Trudy and dragging the stumbling blond agent to a very small, dark room with a wobbly cot. Trudy was amazed the cot didn't collapse when he lay Illya down, but quickly brushed aside the thought as she began to minister to her patient.
"I need warm, soapy water and clean cloths," she said in a calm, but direct manner as she began to strip the shirt off the fading Russian. Illya mumbled a translation, and the man that helped them slipped away to comply without a word. Even in his depleated state she had to pry the wrapped box out of his injured arm, and placed it gently under the cot. She examined the purple, swollen hand, and loosened the splint to keep circulation to his fingers. She checked his shallow breathing, and noticed the ugly bruises on his chest from the truck crash. It's unimaginable how painful breathing must be for him, she thought. Checking his eyes in the poor lighting was difficult, and she wasn't sure about the uneven pupil response she saw. I'm sure that's from the concussion, she thought. There wasn't much she could do about that, but she could clean the open wounds and bind his chest.
The man Trudy assumed was a priest due to the robes returned with a bowl of warm water, a sliver of soap, and some clean towels. "Thank you," she said with a smile. The priest understood her tone and nodded.
The priest knelt on the other side of the cot and examined Illya with his eyes. Then he looked at her with a small smile. "I assume you are the reason for the soldiers on the street." He said quietly. She had no idea what he was saying, but Illya mumbled a translation.
Trudy's heart raced as she cleaned the blood from Illya's shaggy bangs, but kept an outer calm. Will he turn us in? She thought nervously. Can we trust him?
Out loud, Illya responded slowly, "I don't know about that. I hurt my self in the fields." As his eyes drifted shut, he told Trudy what he'd said.
After a silent apology to God for his lying, she risked a quick glance at the man and saw his eyes sparkle as a smile passed quickly over his lips. Obviously, he didn't believe that one, she thought.
He reached to help roll the agent on his side so she could reach his back. "God is the one that judges here," he said quietly. "And God is the one that brought you here. You are safe." Illya's voice trailed off as he lapsed into unconsciousness at the end of the translation.
She spared a grateful look and a smile at the priest. "Thank you," she whispered, knowing she was understood, then turned her attention back to her patient.
*******************
Stevie Inturi was a captivating woman. She carried herself with confidence and grace, and was a pleasure to talk with. Solo had enjoyed tea in her small house at her insistence, and found himself telling her more than he probably should have about the assignment.
"So, you need to set up some equipment to look for this radar anomaly?" She questioned after he explained everything.
"Yes. It is being done now at the hotel."
"Would it not be better to be closer to the boat?" She asked softly, indicating her small house with her hand. "That way, when you finally get the tri-ang-u- lation," she said the word slowly and carefully, "you can leave immediately?"
She is sharp, Napoleon thought, smiling and unable to stop staring at her dark, exotic eyes. "Well, that would be ideal, yes."
"Then I invite you and your team to set up here," she said in soft but final tone. "There is a life at stake, and my father always says 'If you do a job, always do it well.'" Her smile dazzled Solo with its openness.
"Thank you, Miss Inturi. I accept your offer, with the understanding that U.N.C.L.E. will reimburse you for your kindness." He stood, bowed his head slightly in thanks, and offered his had to help her up. "And I would love to meet your father some day. He sounds extraordinary."
"Yes, Solo-san. I think he is," she said as she got to her feet. "Now I have some marketing to do. Please feel free to come and go as you wish. I must inform my neighbors that you will be setting up so they will not be alarmed."
"What are you going to tell them?" he asked curiously. He had told her of the need for secrecy.
Her eyes glimmered as she smiled and spoke with a grin. "I will tell them that you are testing a system for finding fish at sea. They know my father keeps up on the latest technology, and think he's wasting his time. They will not bother you."
The day flew by as Solo returned to the small hotel and retrieved the technician and his equipment. They were both glad to get to the quieter setting, and were soon finishing up the needed connections as Stevie assembled a simple yet filling dinner. After cleaning up from the meal, she studied the equipment piled in one side of her small living room area with a cocked head. Solo skipped the technical side of the explanation and went directly to the radar screen and gave her a verbal description of what they thought they were looking for.
"You see," Solo explained, "If we have a set radar reading in a set spot, and the reading changes three or more time, we can triangulate and possibly estimate where the device, and my partner, are." He pointed to the spot that designated Habarvrosk. "We know the device was there. When we get an altered reading now, we will note the difference between this set reading and the new reading. After three readings, we should have an idea where Illya is." He smiled at her frown. "It's rather complicated, really. I don't get it entirely. That's why he's here!" Solo nodded his head at the technician who let out a short snort of laughter.
"So this screen must be constantly monitored."
"Yes. We have it programmed to alert us when there's a change, however, so we don't have to stare at it all day and night."
"If this device is so new, how can your partner...Illya?...figure it out?"
Napoleon couldn't help but smile. "Because my partner has the brain of a computer and the tenacity of a bulldog. I know he'll figure it out."
Trudy tried to keep some talk going in an effort to keep Illya conscious, but she was unsuccessful. Finally running across a small road, she followed it out of the small valley. She stopped when the road crested a long, sweeping hill. Far below, she could see a collection of buildings she assumed was a town. Knowing her patient needed rest, she ventured offroad again to a small stand of trees and parked.
"Hey," she prompted, feeling his forehead. "You have to wake up soon."
"I am awake," Illya grumbled. "Just quite pounding on my head."
"Headache, huh? I'll just add that to the list." She got out of the truck and went around to his side. "We're near a town, I think. Are we going disguised as soldiers?" She held her arms out, indicating the uniforms.
Illya squinted at her, then looked around. "They are a dark color, and it will be night soon." He struggled out of the truck.
Trudy's every instinct was to jump to his side, but she held back, first, to judge his condition and second, because she knew he didn't really want any help. He'll collapse soon anyway. Then he won't have the choice, she thought. The determined Russian fixed his eyes in the direction she pointed. "That a-way," she said.
He made his way slowly to the edge of the trees and studied the gathering of buildings in the distance.
Trudy could see his eyes take in the town and surroundings, and could tell that is mind was hard at work. Instinctively she knew that this was his ball game, and she would trust what ever he came up with. She didn't know much about Mr. Kuryakin, but the collection of scars she had seen on his body attested to his survival skills.
"We have a couple of hours. Let's inventory the truck." Illya started to make his way back to the vehicle, but Trudy stopped him.
"I already have. I'll show you what I found." She made his sit under a tree and rest while she retrieved the ammo box and camouflage tarp. "There's this and the spare tire and jack. That's about it."
Illya raised his eyebrows and nodded at the contents of the box. "A grenade and flares! Actually, that's more than I was hoping for. This tarp can work for us, too. That box, though, is a bit obvious. We need to leave that. We can use the crank bar to the jack, too. And there's still a couple of rounds in the rifle, and I still have the handgun."
Trudy patted her pocket. "And I still have two doses of morphine."
Illya threw her pocket a suspicious look. "And there they will remain, Mrs. Kidd. Unless, of course, you're aiming for the opposition's blood."
She gave him a crooked smile. "We'll see, my friend. We'll see." She sat down next to him. "OK, we have a little time before dark. Why don't you teach me some of the language so I don't feel so left out?"
They spent the next few hours as student and teacher as Illya attempted to supply Trudy with some basic Russian. Illya knew he had a knack for learning new languages, and had a difficult time trying to break down Russian for a beginner. "Now I know why I never taught my partner Russian," he sighed. "It's simply a lesson in frustration for me!"
Trudy was undaunted. "Oh, come on! I'm not that bad. Here, listen!" and she said a sentence for her teacher. "See?"
Illya shook his head. "That's great, but you just asked me if a cow bit your fireplace. Not exactly a useful utterance."
"I did not! Did I?" she tried unsuccessfully not to giggle. "I wasn't very good in Spanish class, either! But I did say 'friend' correctly, right? 'Tovarich'?"
Illya winced at the pronunciation, but nodded. "Yes. And that in itself is odd because that's the only word my partner really knows, too."
"What's your partner's name?"
"Solo. Napoleon Solo. And if I know him, he's waiting for us somewhere off the coast." Illya pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and sighed. "And I must be worse off than I thought. I shouldn't have told you that. Not at this point, anyway."
Trudy threw both of her hands up in a surrendering motion. "Consider it forgotten." Then she leaned in to him and dropped her tone. "You think he'll really find us? That seems impossible."
"I was able to get off a short message to U.N.C.L.E. and told them about that device in the truck. Hopefully, they'll figure out how to use that information to find us. If I can get that device to work, and if they can figure out what to look for, we can use it to lead them right to us."
"That's a lot of 'ifs'," Trudy pointed out. "Can you even get that thing to work?"
Illya grinned. "Add another 'if' to the list. I've worked with less." He turned his attention to the horizon. "It's getting dark. Let's pack up."
The rest seemed to have revived him a bit, and he moved a little easier, much to Trudy's relief. She knew it was short lived, though. They both needed water and food, and she knew it was deceptively quiet right now. The patrols were out there, and they had to stumble into them sometime.
They worked their way slowly towards the town. There were more times than Trudy could count when the noise of a vehicle made them drop into the brush. Soon it was an automatic reflex. As darkness fell, to grew colder, and she wondered out loud why they took the effort to hide from the vehicles in the dark.
"There is such a thing as ultraviolet binoculars. They can pick up figures in the dark. I don't think Asikov has access to any out here, but there are others to worry about.
Trudy's eye perked up. "Others? What others?"
The agent gave her a brief rundown on Thrush, and the possible tie in with the device. She gave the device a more respectful lookover. Illya had hauled the box with him, not without difficulty, and now she new what was at stake: Worldwide dominance of air travel.
It seemed like forever before they made it to the edge of the town. Illya had Trudy stay while he circled the perimeter, looking for a haven in the collection of buildings. She was beginning to doze when she finally felt his hand on her forearm and jumped.
"How long have I been asleep?" She whispered groggily, wiping her eyes and longing for a drink of water.
"A few hours. It took me a bit longer than I expected," he replied, his tone a bit ragged to her ears.
Trudy tried to make out his face in the darkness, but wasn't able to see much detail. She could tell that he was at the edge of his endurance just by the sound of his voice and the fogginess of his eyes.
"You need to rest," she started.
"Later," he snapped. "Take off the uniform and roll it into a bundle." She did as she was told and tucked the bundle under her arm. She watched him roll the metal box in his uniform, using only his good arm. The broken one was cradled tightly against his body, and she knew it must be hurting. "There's troops all over the streets, but it doesn't look like they are searching. I don't think they believe we could make it this far. We're taking advantage of that." His breathing was uneven and ragged, but his grip was firm on her arm. "Let's go."
He guided her none too gently off in one direction so they would enter the town from a different direction. They finally came across a small, well used footpath.
"This path leads to some produce fields just outside the perimeter," he explained. "Every town in Russia has community fields. They can't rely on outside supplies a lot of the time. This way." He took her just off the path, then paralleled it towards town. He stopped her, and raised his finger to his lips, the universal sign for quiet. She nodded.
He slowed the pace to almost a crawl. When they reached the end of the brush, she saw that the first of the town buildings was just a few yards across an open space. Illya pulled her down to her knees, and he knelt beside her and put his face close to hers. It was then that she saw how ragged he really was, and knew he couldn't keep on his feet much longer. She wondered how he kept going now.
"Keep close and move quickly, but watch your step. There are patrols by the footpath, but none here. They could hear us. Understand?"
She nodded, her eyes locked on his. It was difficult to quell the fear, and she knew it was clear in her eyes. His, however, looked shiny with pain, but confident and ... deadly. Trudy wasn't going to let him down.
He led off, with her right behind, following his every move. The blond man moved like oil on water; fluid and completely silent. Her own footsteps sounded like thunderclaps in comparison, but it must have been an illusion to her because they made it safely to the alley between two buildings. He kept her moving until the hard packed dirt changed to ill-kept asphalt, then he slowed. She could see his breathing as little puffs of clouds due to the cold, and noticed that he was panting compared to herself.
Instinctively, she took his good arm and moved in to support him. He didn't complain. That's when she knew he was in a bad way.
"You have to rest," she insisted quietly.
"I will. Just a little longer," he growled, directing her.
Soon Trudy had no idea where in the town they were. Illya weaved and ducked between buildings as if every turn held imminent danger. She supposed it did, but was focusing on keeping him on his feet and let him take on that worry.
There was only one time that she actually saw a patrol. Illya had dropped suddenly, pressing both of them against a cold, brick wall, wet with night moisture. They huddled against a crumpled cardboard box and tried not to breath as a pair of military men strolled by on a cross street not six feet away. The men were chatting, and one laughed briefly. They both had rifles across their chests.
Trudy waited almost a full minute after the soldiers were out of site before she dared to look at Illya. His eyes were closed, and his head was leaning back against the wall. His breathing was in short gasps.
"Hey," she whispered, shaking his arm. His eyes immediately snapped open, and she felt him tense. She raised her hand to her throat without thinking, remembering the last time she woke him up. This time, however, his eyes focused more quickly and he began to struggle to his feet. She helped him, and they staggered off down one last, dark alley behind a larger building.
When they managed to make it to the door of the building, Trudy looked up, Illya now hanging on her arm. "This is a church!" She said between gasps.
"I know," Illya mumbled, concentrating on trying to keep his feet as his head swam.
"Aren't churches looked down upon by the government?"
"Yes, they are. And Asikov wouldn't think I would be brazen enough to hide here. What better place to hide out than one as conspicuous as this?" He sagged heavily against her as they stepped in the dark doorway.
It was a church, but barely. The Kremlin took the stand that the country should be agnostic, and the only church it barely tolerated was the Russian Orthodox Church. If a church ever proved to be a problem, it was immediately shut down, so they generally kept to themselves and didn't make waves. Illya was counting on that; the General would presume that the church would turn the agent away immediately to avoid problems. Illya knew Pietor Asikov thought only along Party lines. He was counting on that, anyway, and hoped the man hadn't changed much since their time in the Navy.
As they stumbled into the vestibule area an older man in a long coat appeared at their side out of nowhere.
"Let me help you, brother," he said, taking the load from Trudy and dragging the stumbling blond agent to a very small, dark room with a wobbly cot. Trudy was amazed the cot didn't collapse when he lay Illya down, but quickly brushed aside the thought as she began to minister to her patient.
"I need warm, soapy water and clean cloths," she said in a calm, but direct manner as she began to strip the shirt off the fading Russian. Illya mumbled a translation, and the man that helped them slipped away to comply without a word. Even in his depleated state she had to pry the wrapped box out of his injured arm, and placed it gently under the cot. She examined the purple, swollen hand, and loosened the splint to keep circulation to his fingers. She checked his shallow breathing, and noticed the ugly bruises on his chest from the truck crash. It's unimaginable how painful breathing must be for him, she thought. Checking his eyes in the poor lighting was difficult, and she wasn't sure about the uneven pupil response she saw. I'm sure that's from the concussion, she thought. There wasn't much she could do about that, but she could clean the open wounds and bind his chest.
The man Trudy assumed was a priest due to the robes returned with a bowl of warm water, a sliver of soap, and some clean towels. "Thank you," she said with a smile. The priest understood her tone and nodded.
The priest knelt on the other side of the cot and examined Illya with his eyes. Then he looked at her with a small smile. "I assume you are the reason for the soldiers on the street." He said quietly. She had no idea what he was saying, but Illya mumbled a translation.
Trudy's heart raced as she cleaned the blood from Illya's shaggy bangs, but kept an outer calm. Will he turn us in? She thought nervously. Can we trust him?
Out loud, Illya responded slowly, "I don't know about that. I hurt my self in the fields." As his eyes drifted shut, he told Trudy what he'd said.
After a silent apology to God for his lying, she risked a quick glance at the man and saw his eyes sparkle as a smile passed quickly over his lips. Obviously, he didn't believe that one, she thought.
He reached to help roll the agent on his side so she could reach his back. "God is the one that judges here," he said quietly. "And God is the one that brought you here. You are safe." Illya's voice trailed off as he lapsed into unconsciousness at the end of the translation.
She spared a grateful look and a smile at the priest. "Thank you," she whispered, knowing she was understood, then turned her attention back to her patient.
*******************
Stevie Inturi was a captivating woman. She carried herself with confidence and grace, and was a pleasure to talk with. Solo had enjoyed tea in her small house at her insistence, and found himself telling her more than he probably should have about the assignment.
"So, you need to set up some equipment to look for this radar anomaly?" She questioned after he explained everything.
"Yes. It is being done now at the hotel."
"Would it not be better to be closer to the boat?" She asked softly, indicating her small house with her hand. "That way, when you finally get the tri-ang-u- lation," she said the word slowly and carefully, "you can leave immediately?"
She is sharp, Napoleon thought, smiling and unable to stop staring at her dark, exotic eyes. "Well, that would be ideal, yes."
"Then I invite you and your team to set up here," she said in soft but final tone. "There is a life at stake, and my father always says 'If you do a job, always do it well.'" Her smile dazzled Solo with its openness.
"Thank you, Miss Inturi. I accept your offer, with the understanding that U.N.C.L.E. will reimburse you for your kindness." He stood, bowed his head slightly in thanks, and offered his had to help her up. "And I would love to meet your father some day. He sounds extraordinary."
"Yes, Solo-san. I think he is," she said as she got to her feet. "Now I have some marketing to do. Please feel free to come and go as you wish. I must inform my neighbors that you will be setting up so they will not be alarmed."
"What are you going to tell them?" he asked curiously. He had told her of the need for secrecy.
Her eyes glimmered as she smiled and spoke with a grin. "I will tell them that you are testing a system for finding fish at sea. They know my father keeps up on the latest technology, and think he's wasting his time. They will not bother you."
The day flew by as Solo returned to the small hotel and retrieved the technician and his equipment. They were both glad to get to the quieter setting, and were soon finishing up the needed connections as Stevie assembled a simple yet filling dinner. After cleaning up from the meal, she studied the equipment piled in one side of her small living room area with a cocked head. Solo skipped the technical side of the explanation and went directly to the radar screen and gave her a verbal description of what they thought they were looking for.
"You see," Solo explained, "If we have a set radar reading in a set spot, and the reading changes three or more time, we can triangulate and possibly estimate where the device, and my partner, are." He pointed to the spot that designated Habarvrosk. "We know the device was there. When we get an altered reading now, we will note the difference between this set reading and the new reading. After three readings, we should have an idea where Illya is." He smiled at her frown. "It's rather complicated, really. I don't get it entirely. That's why he's here!" Solo nodded his head at the technician who let out a short snort of laughter.
"So this screen must be constantly monitored."
"Yes. We have it programmed to alert us when there's a change, however, so we don't have to stare at it all day and night."
"If this device is so new, how can your partner...Illya?...figure it out?"
Napoleon couldn't help but smile. "Because my partner has the brain of a computer and the tenacity of a bulldog. I know he'll figure it out."