THE WINGS AFFAIR
Act IX: A Spy In The Ointment
Little alarms were going off in Illya's head; he knew there was a problem brewing. Napoleon had been unusually quiet during the train trip, and was still that way on their arrival at the small, seaside town. He'd noticed the looks and tone of the comments he'd made towards him, and figured the paranoia had to have been planted in his partner's mind. To what end? He thought, now suspicious of the fact that they hadn't been aggressively followed. And has this train of thought been planted in my mind as well? The closer they got to the small hotel where the training was to take place, he heavier the agent's feet felt. Why do I feel like I'm walking into a trap?
The agent also knew that his careful attitude would now be read as suspicious by Solo. Mentally, he made the decision to focus on the detail at hand, which was to stop Lindt and dismantle the Thrush hierarchy disguised as the Wings Corporation.
The listings for the hotel events told him where the training was to be held, and they decided to let Lindt come to them. The hotel itself was high on the cliffs overlooking the sparking Pacific Ocean, and the conference room was on the first floor level and had generous windows taking advantage of the view. Side doors opened to a patio and there was a small lawn edged in hedges between the patio and the cliffs.
The agents made there way to the hedge, and found that they had a clear view of the conference room. They laid flat, waiting, the air thick with tension between them.
"Napoleon," Illya asked lowly, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "I'm not sure your mind is on your job here, and I think Lindt has something to do with it."
The look his partner locked on him gave him a chill. "I don't think Lindt has anything to do with it. I just realized some things that I never put together before," Solo checked the weapon Illya had given him as he spoke.
"Like what?" Illya asked, his own gun hand itchy. In his peripheral vision he saw the conference room beginning to fill.
"Like, why is your background so sketchy? And why are you so tight lipped about your personal life? You're too good of an agent to be let go by the Russian government."
Illya could feel sweat beading on his forehead. "Napoleon, think. Think hard. We've been partners for years now. Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"
Solo, his eyes clearing burning with what Illya interpreted as hate, glared back. "No. But that doesn't mean anything if you're a double agent. In fact, that would strengthen your position." Suddenly, Illya saw the muzzle of his own gun mere inches from his face backed by the smoldering eyes of his partner. "And now I have proof."
"You have nothing," Illya replied evenly, his eyes cool. "You have suspicion planted in your mind, and that's all. Think, Napoleon. Think about all these past years. You have to trust me!"
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On the other side of the patio in the conference room, the gathering had moved from the refreshment table to the large conference table. As the men sat, Lindt and Nash entered and stood in the back of the room, nodding approvingly at the food consumed and drinks accepted. One man stood and introduced himself as the head of personnel at San Onofre, and gave a brief history of the plant.
As he spoke, Weddel entered the room quietly and sidled up next to Nash. "So far, it's going how we planned," he whispered to his boss. "We avoided any dirty business at the Headquarters, and they are here now, somewhere."
"Is security here?" Nash asked softly.
"Yes. They are posted at inconspicuous spots with explicit instructions not to shoot unless shot upon."
"Fine. Are you sure he won't shoot at us?"
Weddel chuckled. "We have Solo so paranoid that he'd shoot his own mother but the impulse to run will be too much. The fight or flight reactions were high in him."
"And you're sure the no shooting at us thought was also implanted?"
"Yes. We will be safe, and he'll take out his partner for us, neat as a pin. Our hands will be clean. U.N.C.L.E. with have a hard time finding their wayward agent. He'll be so paranoid that they won't be able to get within a mile of him."
Nash glanced at Lindt. "Even with all the study we've done on his method, it's still difficult to place one's own life on it, isn't it?" he mused out loud. "And you watched the whole procedure? He hasn't backstabbed us? Planted anything unknown in Solo's mind?"
"I was there the whole time." Weddel glanced around. "We're clear. And all these men here have had a good first dose of Lindt's compound based on what's gone from the table, here."
"Good. I'll leave you to monitor things here. I'm going back to the office so I'm not around when things happen."
"I'll keep you informed." With a quick handshake, Carlton Rush left the building.
Donald Weddel settled into a comfortable chair in the back of the conference room to oversee Lindt's first treatment. When the psychologist was introduced and stood, a sudden shouting match outside drew everyone's attention to the patio. Weddel jumped in his seat then had to keep the smirk from his face when he looked outside.
Two men had leaped to their feet from behind the bushes, engaged in a shouting match. Startled at first, the talk in the room sputtered to a stop as all eyes turned to the windows. A blond man and a dark haired man were in a bitter argument, the details muffled due to the windows and distance. Suddenly, the dark haired man pointed something at the blond, and a loud "crack!" was heard. The blond flew backwards out of their sight.
"Oh my God! He shot that man!" yelled one of the supervisors. Before any of them could move, the dark haired man turned and ran.
"Call the police! Stop him!" The group scattered, most of them going to the windows.
Weddel stopped the men trying to leave. "We've called the police already. Please, stay put. They will want statements!"
A few men pushed the patio doors open and ran to the hedge. "He's on the beach! He's not moving! He needs help!"
Weddel made his way to the hedge with Lindt by his side. The looked over the cliff to the beach below to the body sprawled on the sand. Weddel had to fight to keep the grin off his face, but Lindt looked scared, his eyes wide open in fright. Calmly, Weddel put a hand on Lindt's forearm. "Just as we planned," he said lowly. "Good work. Thrush will be pleased."
Lindt swallowed and nodded nervously, looking a bit more relieved.