THE WINGS AFFAIR

Act VIII: "I Think We Can Ditch Them If They're On Foot!"

          The low murmurs of voices and the squeak of chairs were the first thing Napoleon Solo noticed when he became conscious of his surroundings. He was no longer in the dark basement; when he cracked open his eyes he found he was in a bright, windowless office. The room was simply but completely furnished in a business style office.

          When he moved, he discovered his wrists were cuffed together behind the back of the chair he sat in and the chair was sturdy enough to discourage moving. In fact, it was a well-padded, rather comfortable chair placed against a wall facing the front of a large desk. The only door was to his right and closed.

The voice he'd heard was coming from the frightened looking man behind the desk. The poor man had a white-knuckle death grip on a phone receiver as he was whispering desperately in the mouthpiece, and kept throwing the agent wide-eyed glances as he spoke. Solo was sure the man would run out screaming if he said 'boo'. The wooden nameplate on the desk labeled the poor soul as William Grabert, Financial Officer. Below that was a familiar stylized wing logo.

After a string of whispered "Yes, sirs!" Mr. Grabert hung up the phone and began shifting papers around on his desk nervously. "Um," he said, making a pile with the papers. "Er, Mm .. Mr. Solo, you aren't to go anywhere."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Solo replied with a grin. "Can you tell me .."

"I can't tell you anything!" Blurted Grabert. "I mean, I have nothing to tell you."

"Ah," Solo nodded. "Not even the time?"

"The time?" Grabert looked slightly relieved. "Uh, I .. well, sure." He glanced at his wrist watch. "It's just past 4:30."

"In the afternoon?" Solo looked around the office. "There are no windows."

"Oh, right!" Grabert laughed nervously. "Morning. I like to start early." He returned to his papers, a bit more in control.

"I see," Napoleon said slowly. "No coffee, I assume?"

"No. No coffee." Grabert began to work again.

"Anyone else here?"

Grabert stopped again and gave him a nervous grin. "There's always someone here, Mr. Solo."

"Ah." Solo nodded. Again, Grabert returned to shuffling papers and Solo surveyed the room looking for a camera. He noticed a narrow heating vent over Grabert's head and squinted to see if there was anything mounted in the vent. He didn't expect to see a pair of blue eyes looking back at him between from behind the grate. He raised his eyebrows and settled back with an 'it's about time!' expression on his face. He saw the eyes glance at Grabert, then saw his partner holding him a small, round capsule between his fingers.

"Hey," Solo said, making noise to cover the plunk of the capsule on the carpet. "Don't they serve breakfast here?"

Exasperated, Grabert looked up, not noticing the small cloud rising behind his chair. "Look, Mr. Solo, I'm not here to keep you happy, I'm here to .. to .." Like a marionette whose strings were suddenly cut, Grabert fell forward on the table, his orderly piles of paper fluttering to the floor.

"I'll be back," Illya said as he disappeared.

Solo waited patiently, and within minutes the office door cracked open and allowed his partner to slide in.

"What took you so long?" Solo nagged as Illya unlocked the cuffs. The dark haired agent rubbed his wrists and stood.

"I'm sure they were expecting me so I had to be cautious. I didn't come here to find you."

"Just a bonus, I supposed. Expecting you? How do you know that?"

Illya quickly relayed his escape from the Rush dance and subsequent journey to the Wings Corporation Headquarters. Checking the halls, he motioned Solo to follow.

"How did they know where to find you?" Solo whispered.

Illya glanced back at him, hesitating before he replied. "Either I was recognized or someone told them." He ducked into a dark conference room, Solo on his heels. "It turns out Lindt's office was wired for video."

"So they recognized me and you," Solo reasoned, but the lingering look his partner gave him was not lost on him. "You don't think I told them, do you? The drug/hypnosis thing didn't work on me, either."

"How do you know?" Illya said. "From what I've seen, they place a whole new memory in place of the treatment. We both may be remembering false events. We both have been exposed to the conditioning," he paused. "And some of us for a longer period than others."

Solo straightened at the implication. "You don't think I was affected, do you? That's ridiculous! We're both conditioned against that very thing!"

"Yes, well, you're probably right." Illya brushed him off and peered out of the window.  "Can we get out of here, please? I got something from another office that we need to check on." He pulled out a small measure of explosive putty and began forming an exit hole on the plate glass window. It was still dark enough outside to escape without being seen.

"What is it?" Napoleon asked, following his partner to cover behind a sturdy chair. The "pfffftt!" of a burning explosive ended with a "pop!" and a section of the glass dropped out to the grass one story below.

"A list," Illya said, heading to the new hole. He crawled out to a very narrow ledge outside and began to slide his way over to a nearby drainpipe. His partner was on his heels the whole way.

"A list of what?" Solo steadied the downspout as Illya made his way to the ground. He joined his partner on the grass moments later and they dashed to the cover of the landscaping.

They crouched behind a flowering bush as Illya oriented himself. "It looks like a list of new supervisors for the San Onofre power plant. They have a training class today in San Juan Capistrano." He rose to dash off.

Solo mulled that over then tugged his partner back by the sleeve. "And why does that interest us?"

"Because it was in the envelope I saw Reggie deliver to Lindt. There was a distinctive stamp on the front I recall seeing when Reggie first got the envelope from Lighten's car, a gold seal of some sort. The training is supposed to start later this morning, so we have to hurry."

They moved quickly through the brush to where Illya had parked his transportation. They stepped to the sidewalk, and the blond agent stepped up to a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Solo stopped in his tracks.

"You've got to be kidding," he said unbelievingly as he studied the car.

"It was the best I could do on short notice," Illya replied brightly as he opened the door. "Besides, it's economical on gasoline!"

Reluctantly, Solo glanced around. "Couldn't you have borrowed a sporty, red convertible?"

Before Illya could reply there was a gunshot and the glass of the passenger door shattered. "Too late!" the Russian yelped as he jumped in and fired up the puny engine. Another shot forced Solo to dive through the broken window as his partner peeled away from the curb. Several pings sounded on the side of the car as they sped off, and Solo looked nervously behind them.

"I hope they aren't chasing us in a car. I think we can ditch them if they're on foot!"

"Just hang on," his dour partner replied, intent on escape as the tiny car squealed around a corner. Several more jig-jags and a jaunt the wrong way down a one-way street finally convinced the agents that they hadn't been followed. Illya slowed and parked the vehicle on a dark street. "I saw a few guards on foot outside the building, so I'm sure they didn't get to a car. We're clear."

Solo surveyed the surroundings carefully as they exited the Beetle and only saw the slumbering form of an ill-dressed bum in the doorway of a closed business. He wrinkled his nose as the thought of what he would smell like. "Nice part of town you selected. How do you propose we get to San Juan Capistrano since now that they know to look for that?" He swept his arm in the direction of the insect shaped car.

"Train." Illya said simply, combing his hair with his fingers and straightening his jacket. "That way. Do you need a gun?"

"As a matter of fact," Solo replied, patting his pockets, "I do." His partner tossed him a small revolver that was usually strapped to the Russian's ankle. "Don't lose it. I paid for that one myself."

Solo examined the weapon. "Figures. Bare bones style." He tucked the gun in his waistband.

"Ingrate," the blond grumbled as they moved off in the early morning darkness towards the train station.

They obtained tickets for the first train of the morning and watched the sky lighten over the eastern hills with the rising sun as the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the dawning light. Surfers dotted the shoreline as the train raced north.

"That looks kinda fun," Solo noted as the surfers rode the waves to shore.

"You don't like swimming," Illya pointed out.

"I could like it if there were surfer girls waiting for me on shore." Solo reasoned.

"I should have figured that," Illya concluded. "I'll be back," he then said. He rose, and walked the aisles. "Looks clear," he said on his return. He pulled out a paper from an inside pocket. "Here's the list. I remember some of these names from the journals I've read. They are going to be the top level managers of the Onofre plant on completion."

Solo perused the list. "Sounds like a perfect group to have on your side if you're interested in controlling the plant."

"Exactly." He pointed to a subtitle on the page. "And it looks like this is the first of a series of meetings. Lindt's technique would be perfect to obtain that goal based on what I've seen of the Delts."

As his partner spoke, something suddenly didn't seem right to Solo, and as uncomfortable as it made him, he couldn't seem to push aside the feeling of suspicion surrounding Illya. He was holding something back, his instincts told him. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold seal on the envelope?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"I only remembered when I saw it in the office," Illya responded without hesitation as he folded the paper.

Solo reached over and took the paper. "And how did you find this list and me in that entire building?"

Illya let the paper go without resistance. Solo saw his eyes shift in his direction as he tucked the list away.

"I could hear your inane chatter a floor away," he said slowly. "And like most powerful businessmen, they put themselves on the top floor."

 "True," Solo replied, then fell silent. The rest of the ride had a palatable feel of tension. Solo was battling with a nagging feeling of suspicion centered on his partner, and found himself questioning where the Russian's loyalties really were. There was so much to his past that was unknown, and for the last few years there has been no indication of betrayal, but Illya Kuryakin was a smart man. Was he aloof for a reason?

He shook his head, alarmed at the thoughts, and tried to push them aside, but they wouldn't go completely away. The only thought that came forth was, who else would like to have information on a nuclear power plant in the United Stated, especially one so close to the coast and approachable from the sea? Only one other group came to mind: Russia.