ACT V: "And We Have No Shame In Flying This Particular Coop."
April Dancer didn't take the time to report in to the Solo. She dumped the dresses in the small car, quickly checked the area for sentries then moved into the riverbed, glad for the falling darkness and cloudy sky. Her breath puffed from her mouth like steam from a locomotive when she hustled into the cave, and her demeanor was just as bold with urgency.
"We have to go now," she said without preamble.
The others were gathered around the fire still stowing the remains of the 'surgical suite'. The blood on Dr. Timmons sleeves gave the female agent a moment's pause but the calm expression on everyone's faces put her at ease.
"Why? We can inform headquarters from here that they can start tracking Kozlov." Solo, struck by something in April's posture, stood and came to her side.
Meanwhile, she had pulled a paper from her pocket. "This is why. Kat got the tag planted, but took it upon herself to take this from her stepfather's dresser."
Solo took the paper and frowned. Curious, Mark moved to his side and looked over his boss' shoulder.
"That's a new code," Mark commented.
"Yes, it is." Solo pointed to the top lines. "It's a memo of some sort. This line looks like a date, followed by 'To' and 'From' lines. I think."
"New code but same old format," Mark mused, frowning. "Who can break it around here?"
Solo glanced to the still form under the sleeping bag at the far end of the cave. "Illya's the best bet here, but if we get this to the office in Berlin there's more staff."
April sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. "We have, at best, two hours before Kozlov realizes this is gone. We need to be out of here. But Napoleon, I'm worried about Katherine. She could be his first suspect, and as a result she could be in danger and he could find the tag tonight. I managed to place a bug in the main hallway of the house, so hopefully we can get a heads up if things start going south."
The new facts put a spin on their actions from this point and Solo quickly weighed what he knew with what he anticipated. Ideas came and went from his mind in quick procession as he decided on their course, which was tempered with a dash of Solo Luck.
"I am going to assume that this paper contains at least some of the information we're looking for with the tag. We are going to lay low in town and let Illya take a crack at this while we monitor Miss Tarasov and make sure she's all right. If this paper is what we need, and if the tag isn't discovered, we can remove it and insure the girl's safety."
Mark whistled. "That assumption is a big gamble."
"Not as big as the gamble I'm taking that the tag won't be found before we remove it." Solo waved the paper. "Start packing. This area will be swarming with guards as soon as this is discovered missing, and we need to be safely tucked away so Illya can start working on it."
April glanced at the unconscious agent as she started to gather their things. "That's also assuming he'll wake up soon."
"I can nag him awake. It's worked before."
Mark quickened his packing. "And I don't want to be anywhere around when you do that. Just make sure all the breakables are out of his reach."
********************
Everyone was grateful for their Russian comrade's slight build when it came to his extractions from the cave. Snow and darkness did nothing to make it easy. Dr. Timmons had the injured agent so tightly bound that Solo was reminded of another assignment where Illya had been wrapped like a mummy. At least this time it was the good guys' doing, but the American was glad his partner was unconscious. Illya still wouldn't be too happy about the situation.
Fitting everyone in the ancient Lada was another challenge. If the situation wasn't so dire, this would be funny, Solo thought. Like stuffing college students in a phone booth. Again, the group was happy at the senseless state of the patient. Otherwise, he would never allow himself to be draped across the laps of two men with a drift of designer dresses piled on him because April wouldn't allow them to be put on the floor. The car lumbered woefully through the blinding snowfall, the four cylinders doing their best for the American agent. April was constantly wiping fog from the interior window surfaces.
"As long as his torso and neck are straight and supported, I'm happy." For a doctor, Timmons was actually quite flexible and Solo was thankful for that. In the darkness of the car the feeble, dancing glow of a flash light was all the doctor and Mark had which to study the recovered bullet. They were almost to the boarding house when Timmons announced, "There's still a piece of the bullet in Kuryakin, somewhere. Agent Slate is sure this isn't a complete slug."
"What does that mean?" April asked immediately, realizing her window wiping efforts only resulted in more fog from the exertion and was akin to sweeping sand from a beach.
"That he could still lose the use of this arm. On the positive side, I'm satisfied that any internal bleeding has stopped." The pleased sound of his voice did a little to put the others at ease.
"That's one good thing at least," Solo grumbled as the car finally jerked to a stop in the parking area and wheezed into silence. He kicked his recalcitrant door open and felt strangely triumphant.
Dancer and Timmons went ahead to prepare the room for Illya while Solo and Mark prepared to get past the clerk by using the 'drunken-and-passed-out friend' routine that was usually successful anywhere in the world. It was complicated by the one arm being snugly wrapped to Illya's torso, but they managed to slip him by the bored clerk without a second glance and got him positioned on the better of the two small beds.
April immediately began to fiddle with a tiny receiver pressed to her ear, and nodded sharply after a few minutes. "Got it. The bug in the hallway is working fine." Meanwhile, Solo contacted Berlin to begin tracking the tag.
That left the unconscious one. Timmons was by his side monitoring his vitals and testing nerve reactions. He sighed loudly and rubbed his tired eyes. "I won't know anymore until he's awake."
"Let's do it, then," Solo decided.
"Ah, I'm going to clear out to the other room so I can hear." April got up and moved to leave.
Mark joined her immediately. "And I'm going to clean up and help her. Partners. You know."
Solo couldn't help but grin. He'd seen his own partner's reputation clear a room before. "Chickens."
"And we have no shame in flying this particular coop. Later, mates!" The door clicked shamelessly shut on Mark's heels.
Dr. Timmons faced the CEA with a professional demeanor and waited for orders. He knew what was at stake and through the years with UNCLE, knew when to back off as a doctor and give lead to an agent. "I guess it's no use to voice my objections."
Solo was well aware of the doctor's position and appreciated his tractable stance. "Not really, no. Let's wake him up. A girl's safety may depend on it."
Timmons rifled through his small doctor's bag and came up with a vial. Carefully, he drew out a small amount and injected it in the agent. "It's a stimulant which will work to counteract the anesthesia. Talk to him."
Solo sat on a tiny patch of open mattress edge and patted Illya's cheek. "Hey, Illya! Wake up! Come on, partner, we need you here."
First there was a facial twitch which morphed into a grimace, then a frown. Illya's body shifted and his right arm felt automatically for his non- existent gun before his eyes were fully open. He groaned, blinked, and groaned again before his eyes stayed open. Solo could see the confusion in the pools of fuzzy blue, which slowly cleared then shadowed again with pain and recognition.
"What did you do to me now?" He croaked, using his good arm to brush his hair from his forehead.
"Not much. Just sliced you open like a Christmas turkey. Where does it hurt?"
Illya closed his eyes and covered them with his arm. "Ask me where it doesn't hurt," he mumbled.
Solo pulled the arm down. "Illya, we need your brain. Can you see this?" He held the paper in front of his partner's face.
The blond agent scowled at the paper, tried to sit up and hissed in pain. With Solo on one side and Timmons on the other, they were able to maneuver the agent into a sitting position while he punctuated the air with Russian expletives. Solo recognized a few of the phrases, guessed at the rest and turned his eyes briefly to the doctor. "You know Russian slang?" He asked conversationally.
"Better than I wish to at the moment," Timmons grunted. "Remind me to school him on anatomy when he's all healed."
"Oh," Solo replied between his physical efforts, "I think I it's best to let that sleeping dog lie, doc."
With flimsy pillows and folded blankets they were able to stabilize the Russian in a sitting position. Timmons noticed immediately the fresh blood that blossomed from the bandages, but Illya was too intent on the paper in front of him to care.
"Let me get you something for the pain."
"Aspirin. Nothing more," Illya growled automatically.
Timmons opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut with the warning glance from Solo. "Aspirin it is," he replied. He got the pills, gave them to his patient, and then motioned Solo to the side. "I need to evaluate his arm."
"Later," Solo shot back. "Right now I want his full attention on that paper. Your job is to make sure he does just that. All else is secondary right now." He met the doctor's eyes and held them. "Understand?"
The doctor pressed his lips together to keep his opinions to himself, and nodded silently. Experience had taught him when to back off, but he didn't have to like it. He could see that his patient was doing an admirable job of concentrating on the paper through the pain he knew the man was feeling. UNCLE agents are simply a breed to themselves, he thought.
After checking in with Berlin and Headquarters the CEA stationed himself next to the bed with notepad in hand. "What do you have so far?" he asked bravely.
Illya grunted. "Optimist. I can barely see the print." His voice was low so that only his friend would hear.
"I have faith. I see this as a date and delivery headers. Am I right?"
The two experienced agents put their heads together and worked steadily for nearly two hours. The Russian grew more pale and shaky and began to perspire, but pressed on. The American, knowing he was pushing his partner's physical limits, kept the feeling of urgency to himself, and the doctor at bay. It was almost nine o'clock when April let herself in the room following a single knock.
"I think there's trouble. The staff sounds restless and they seem to be searching the house. I don't like it, Napoleon, and Mark and I have come up with a way to get Kozlov off Kat's scent. A permanent diversion."
The lead agent left the bedside and spoke quickly and quietly with her. "We're on an open line with Berlin cryptology and doing all we can in that area." He thought for a moment. "What would you need for your diversion?" His eyes brightened at the thought.
"The original code sheet, a handwritten copy and one of the dresses."
"Easy enough. Are you going to tell me your plan?"
Her eyes sparkled in mischief. "It's rather complicated, but in essence, meet Kozlov's new mole in UNCLE!" She threw her arms open and smiled evilly. "Me!"
The only hitch was that the diversion couldn't be fully implemented until Illya and Berlin broke the code. When they did so, Solo would call her on the communicator and give her the go-ahead.
*************
Solo's eyes were grainy and itchy from lack of sleep. He fortified himself by splashing cold water on his face then soaked a small towel to do the same for his fading partner. The task was taking its toll on Kuryakin; Solo could see his eyes growing glassier by the minute. The surgical wound finally stopped bleeding, but the pillows and wall were stained with the Russian's blood. They had to hurry, but the CEA didn't want to pressure his partner any more. Illya knew what was at stake.
Mark and April had been sent away in the car to keep any of Kozlov's snoops from zeroing in on them for the moment. The goons would soon search the hotel based on any information gained from the shop owner where April got the dresses. Luckily, it was after hours and that information would take time to get.
Napoleon applied the cold cloth to Illya's face, and he jerked awake, embarrassed. Solo could feel the heat of the pale skin and knew the fever had not abated. Timmons gave the patient another shot of antibiotics.
"Come on, Illya, we're running out of time."
"I know, I know. I can't breathe." He began to pick dispiritedly at the wrappings and Solo helped. Dr. Timmons also pitched in; Solo knew the doctor had been eager to check the injured arm, and wasn't going to let this chance pass.
As soon as the arm as free, the doctor grabbed the hand. "Do you feel this?" Carefully, he poked the Russian's palm with his fingernail.
Illya stared at it. "No," he said slowly, and then more dangerously, "This can wait." He tore his eyes from his hand, and looked to his partner. "What did Berlin say?"
Solo could see anger and resentment growing in the hot, blue eyes and knew his partner was upset and trying to deflect attention to keep his cool. Solo doubted he would be successful for very long due to his depleted state. He repeated what the cryptologists had suggested in the last message; it was the fourth time he'd had to repeat the message, and his nerves were as tense as the air in the room. He felt like screaming. Timmons seemed oblivious to the fact that he was messing with a time bomb.
"How about this?" The doctor picked the skin on the back of the limp hand.
Illya locked his burning eyes on the doctor and gave him a look that made Solo's heart stop. The doctor must have had a death wish, because he didn't back off. In the next second, the sickly blond grabbed the doctor's collar in a blinding move and held him firmly. His breath was short and gasping, his face red. "I said, go away."
Calmly, the doctor dropped his eyes. "Are you going to hit me?" he said after a moment. "Because if you do, you risk breaking those fingers. Look."
Taken aback but still fuming, Illya followed the doctor's gaze as did Solo.
"You're making a fist!" Solo said in quiet amazement.
"I think you're going to be alright." The doctor said softly. "Can I breathe now?"
The patient looked up, surprised, and released the physician. "Certainly." The one word carried away all the tension that had charged the room. "Can I get back to work now?" Illya's voice was gruff, but the other two men could see relief in the blue eyes. "Napoleon, I have an idea. Tell Berlin to run a logarithmic progression starting with the second vowel of each grouping and apply it to the matrix they already have." Now the Russian simply looked exhausted; he let his eyes slide shut and his body sag back against the wall. Solo repeated the directions in the slim, silver pen.
The seconds dragged past and the silence was deafening. It was finally broken by electronic chatter.
"That's it, partner! They got it going. It'll take a few minutes to decode the whole page."
His words fell on deaf ears. Illya had finally given in to sleep and the doctor finally looked happy.
April Dancer didn't take the time to report in to the Solo. She dumped the dresses in the small car, quickly checked the area for sentries then moved into the riverbed, glad for the falling darkness and cloudy sky. Her breath puffed from her mouth like steam from a locomotive when she hustled into the cave, and her demeanor was just as bold with urgency.
"We have to go now," she said without preamble.
The others were gathered around the fire still stowing the remains of the 'surgical suite'. The blood on Dr. Timmons sleeves gave the female agent a moment's pause but the calm expression on everyone's faces put her at ease.
"Why? We can inform headquarters from here that they can start tracking Kozlov." Solo, struck by something in April's posture, stood and came to her side.
Meanwhile, she had pulled a paper from her pocket. "This is why. Kat got the tag planted, but took it upon herself to take this from her stepfather's dresser."
Solo took the paper and frowned. Curious, Mark moved to his side and looked over his boss' shoulder.
"That's a new code," Mark commented.
"Yes, it is." Solo pointed to the top lines. "It's a memo of some sort. This line looks like a date, followed by 'To' and 'From' lines. I think."
"New code but same old format," Mark mused, frowning. "Who can break it around here?"
Solo glanced to the still form under the sleeping bag at the far end of the cave. "Illya's the best bet here, but if we get this to the office in Berlin there's more staff."
April sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. "We have, at best, two hours before Kozlov realizes this is gone. We need to be out of here. But Napoleon, I'm worried about Katherine. She could be his first suspect, and as a result she could be in danger and he could find the tag tonight. I managed to place a bug in the main hallway of the house, so hopefully we can get a heads up if things start going south."
The new facts put a spin on their actions from this point and Solo quickly weighed what he knew with what he anticipated. Ideas came and went from his mind in quick procession as he decided on their course, which was tempered with a dash of Solo Luck.
"I am going to assume that this paper contains at least some of the information we're looking for with the tag. We are going to lay low in town and let Illya take a crack at this while we monitor Miss Tarasov and make sure she's all right. If this paper is what we need, and if the tag isn't discovered, we can remove it and insure the girl's safety."
Mark whistled. "That assumption is a big gamble."
"Not as big as the gamble I'm taking that the tag won't be found before we remove it." Solo waved the paper. "Start packing. This area will be swarming with guards as soon as this is discovered missing, and we need to be safely tucked away so Illya can start working on it."
April glanced at the unconscious agent as she started to gather their things. "That's also assuming he'll wake up soon."
"I can nag him awake. It's worked before."
Mark quickened his packing. "And I don't want to be anywhere around when you do that. Just make sure all the breakables are out of his reach."
********************
Everyone was grateful for their Russian comrade's slight build when it came to his extractions from the cave. Snow and darkness did nothing to make it easy. Dr. Timmons had the injured agent so tightly bound that Solo was reminded of another assignment where Illya had been wrapped like a mummy. At least this time it was the good guys' doing, but the American was glad his partner was unconscious. Illya still wouldn't be too happy about the situation.
Fitting everyone in the ancient Lada was another challenge. If the situation wasn't so dire, this would be funny, Solo thought. Like stuffing college students in a phone booth. Again, the group was happy at the senseless state of the patient. Otherwise, he would never allow himself to be draped across the laps of two men with a drift of designer dresses piled on him because April wouldn't allow them to be put on the floor. The car lumbered woefully through the blinding snowfall, the four cylinders doing their best for the American agent. April was constantly wiping fog from the interior window surfaces.
"As long as his torso and neck are straight and supported, I'm happy." For a doctor, Timmons was actually quite flexible and Solo was thankful for that. In the darkness of the car the feeble, dancing glow of a flash light was all the doctor and Mark had which to study the recovered bullet. They were almost to the boarding house when Timmons announced, "There's still a piece of the bullet in Kuryakin, somewhere. Agent Slate is sure this isn't a complete slug."
"What does that mean?" April asked immediately, realizing her window wiping efforts only resulted in more fog from the exertion and was akin to sweeping sand from a beach.
"That he could still lose the use of this arm. On the positive side, I'm satisfied that any internal bleeding has stopped." The pleased sound of his voice did a little to put the others at ease.
"That's one good thing at least," Solo grumbled as the car finally jerked to a stop in the parking area and wheezed into silence. He kicked his recalcitrant door open and felt strangely triumphant.
Dancer and Timmons went ahead to prepare the room for Illya while Solo and Mark prepared to get past the clerk by using the 'drunken-and-passed-out friend' routine that was usually successful anywhere in the world. It was complicated by the one arm being snugly wrapped to Illya's torso, but they managed to slip him by the bored clerk without a second glance and got him positioned on the better of the two small beds.
April immediately began to fiddle with a tiny receiver pressed to her ear, and nodded sharply after a few minutes. "Got it. The bug in the hallway is working fine." Meanwhile, Solo contacted Berlin to begin tracking the tag.
That left the unconscious one. Timmons was by his side monitoring his vitals and testing nerve reactions. He sighed loudly and rubbed his tired eyes. "I won't know anymore until he's awake."
"Let's do it, then," Solo decided.
"Ah, I'm going to clear out to the other room so I can hear." April got up and moved to leave.
Mark joined her immediately. "And I'm going to clean up and help her. Partners. You know."
Solo couldn't help but grin. He'd seen his own partner's reputation clear a room before. "Chickens."
"And we have no shame in flying this particular coop. Later, mates!" The door clicked shamelessly shut on Mark's heels.
Dr. Timmons faced the CEA with a professional demeanor and waited for orders. He knew what was at stake and through the years with UNCLE, knew when to back off as a doctor and give lead to an agent. "I guess it's no use to voice my objections."
Solo was well aware of the doctor's position and appreciated his tractable stance. "Not really, no. Let's wake him up. A girl's safety may depend on it."
Timmons rifled through his small doctor's bag and came up with a vial. Carefully, he drew out a small amount and injected it in the agent. "It's a stimulant which will work to counteract the anesthesia. Talk to him."
Solo sat on a tiny patch of open mattress edge and patted Illya's cheek. "Hey, Illya! Wake up! Come on, partner, we need you here."
First there was a facial twitch which morphed into a grimace, then a frown. Illya's body shifted and his right arm felt automatically for his non- existent gun before his eyes were fully open. He groaned, blinked, and groaned again before his eyes stayed open. Solo could see the confusion in the pools of fuzzy blue, which slowly cleared then shadowed again with pain and recognition.
"What did you do to me now?" He croaked, using his good arm to brush his hair from his forehead.
"Not much. Just sliced you open like a Christmas turkey. Where does it hurt?"
Illya closed his eyes and covered them with his arm. "Ask me where it doesn't hurt," he mumbled.
Solo pulled the arm down. "Illya, we need your brain. Can you see this?" He held the paper in front of his partner's face.
The blond agent scowled at the paper, tried to sit up and hissed in pain. With Solo on one side and Timmons on the other, they were able to maneuver the agent into a sitting position while he punctuated the air with Russian expletives. Solo recognized a few of the phrases, guessed at the rest and turned his eyes briefly to the doctor. "You know Russian slang?" He asked conversationally.
"Better than I wish to at the moment," Timmons grunted. "Remind me to school him on anatomy when he's all healed."
"Oh," Solo replied between his physical efforts, "I think I it's best to let that sleeping dog lie, doc."
With flimsy pillows and folded blankets they were able to stabilize the Russian in a sitting position. Timmons noticed immediately the fresh blood that blossomed from the bandages, but Illya was too intent on the paper in front of him to care.
"Let me get you something for the pain."
"Aspirin. Nothing more," Illya growled automatically.
Timmons opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut with the warning glance from Solo. "Aspirin it is," he replied. He got the pills, gave them to his patient, and then motioned Solo to the side. "I need to evaluate his arm."
"Later," Solo shot back. "Right now I want his full attention on that paper. Your job is to make sure he does just that. All else is secondary right now." He met the doctor's eyes and held them. "Understand?"
The doctor pressed his lips together to keep his opinions to himself, and nodded silently. Experience had taught him when to back off, but he didn't have to like it. He could see that his patient was doing an admirable job of concentrating on the paper through the pain he knew the man was feeling. UNCLE agents are simply a breed to themselves, he thought.
After checking in with Berlin and Headquarters the CEA stationed himself next to the bed with notepad in hand. "What do you have so far?" he asked bravely.
Illya grunted. "Optimist. I can barely see the print." His voice was low so that only his friend would hear.
"I have faith. I see this as a date and delivery headers. Am I right?"
The two experienced agents put their heads together and worked steadily for nearly two hours. The Russian grew more pale and shaky and began to perspire, but pressed on. The American, knowing he was pushing his partner's physical limits, kept the feeling of urgency to himself, and the doctor at bay. It was almost nine o'clock when April let herself in the room following a single knock.
"I think there's trouble. The staff sounds restless and they seem to be searching the house. I don't like it, Napoleon, and Mark and I have come up with a way to get Kozlov off Kat's scent. A permanent diversion."
The lead agent left the bedside and spoke quickly and quietly with her. "We're on an open line with Berlin cryptology and doing all we can in that area." He thought for a moment. "What would you need for your diversion?" His eyes brightened at the thought.
"The original code sheet, a handwritten copy and one of the dresses."
"Easy enough. Are you going to tell me your plan?"
Her eyes sparkled in mischief. "It's rather complicated, but in essence, meet Kozlov's new mole in UNCLE!" She threw her arms open and smiled evilly. "Me!"
The only hitch was that the diversion couldn't be fully implemented until Illya and Berlin broke the code. When they did so, Solo would call her on the communicator and give her the go-ahead.
*************
Solo's eyes were grainy and itchy from lack of sleep. He fortified himself by splashing cold water on his face then soaked a small towel to do the same for his fading partner. The task was taking its toll on Kuryakin; Solo could see his eyes growing glassier by the minute. The surgical wound finally stopped bleeding, but the pillows and wall were stained with the Russian's blood. They had to hurry, but the CEA didn't want to pressure his partner any more. Illya knew what was at stake.
Mark and April had been sent away in the car to keep any of Kozlov's snoops from zeroing in on them for the moment. The goons would soon search the hotel based on any information gained from the shop owner where April got the dresses. Luckily, it was after hours and that information would take time to get.
Napoleon applied the cold cloth to Illya's face, and he jerked awake, embarrassed. Solo could feel the heat of the pale skin and knew the fever had not abated. Timmons gave the patient another shot of antibiotics.
"Come on, Illya, we're running out of time."
"I know, I know. I can't breathe." He began to pick dispiritedly at the wrappings and Solo helped. Dr. Timmons also pitched in; Solo knew the doctor had been eager to check the injured arm, and wasn't going to let this chance pass.
As soon as the arm as free, the doctor grabbed the hand. "Do you feel this?" Carefully, he poked the Russian's palm with his fingernail.
Illya stared at it. "No," he said slowly, and then more dangerously, "This can wait." He tore his eyes from his hand, and looked to his partner. "What did Berlin say?"
Solo could see anger and resentment growing in the hot, blue eyes and knew his partner was upset and trying to deflect attention to keep his cool. Solo doubted he would be successful for very long due to his depleted state. He repeated what the cryptologists had suggested in the last message; it was the fourth time he'd had to repeat the message, and his nerves were as tense as the air in the room. He felt like screaming. Timmons seemed oblivious to the fact that he was messing with a time bomb.
"How about this?" The doctor picked the skin on the back of the limp hand.
Illya locked his burning eyes on the doctor and gave him a look that made Solo's heart stop. The doctor must have had a death wish, because he didn't back off. In the next second, the sickly blond grabbed the doctor's collar in a blinding move and held him firmly. His breath was short and gasping, his face red. "I said, go away."
Calmly, the doctor dropped his eyes. "Are you going to hit me?" he said after a moment. "Because if you do, you risk breaking those fingers. Look."
Taken aback but still fuming, Illya followed the doctor's gaze as did Solo.
"You're making a fist!" Solo said in quiet amazement.
"I think you're going to be alright." The doctor said softly. "Can I breathe now?"
The patient looked up, surprised, and released the physician. "Certainly." The one word carried away all the tension that had charged the room. "Can I get back to work now?" Illya's voice was gruff, but the other two men could see relief in the blue eyes. "Napoleon, I have an idea. Tell Berlin to run a logarithmic progression starting with the second vowel of each grouping and apply it to the matrix they already have." Now the Russian simply looked exhausted; he let his eyes slide shut and his body sag back against the wall. Solo repeated the directions in the slim, silver pen.
The seconds dragged past and the silence was deafening. It was finally broken by electronic chatter.
"That's it, partner! They got it going. It'll take a few minutes to decode the whole page."
His words fell on deaf ears. Illya had finally given in to sleep and the doctor finally looked happy.