And There Was Great Rejoicing - The Shot In The Park Affair Conclusion girlintheglen
As soon as Illya passed through Del Floria's and into Reception, there were medical personnel preparing for him. Waverly had alerted the staff that his agent would need care; since that was the case, he met the Russian in Medical to receive his report and the microfilm.
Illya grunted through the process of getting his shirt off and the painful examination. Time was of the essence, and rather than being subjected to an X-ray, the doctor's practiced physical examination confirmed that his ribs were not broken. Even if they weren't, everything hurt.
Not enough to keep him for helping his partner.
The attending physician, Greg Durbin, instructed his nurse to hand him a pair of scissors. He removed the scarf that Illya had tied around his leg, then cut up from the hem of his trousers leg to just above where the tiger had taken his pound of flesh.
"Geez… that was a close one, eh?" The Canadian was new on staff at Headquarters, a veteran who had served in Korea. It always surprised people to know that Canada had been a valuable ally to the US during that conflict, but Greg Durbin had a prosthetic leg to prove his part there.
Illya knew most of the medical staff from frequent visits there, and Doctor Durbin was a man he was happy to call a friend. It did not, however, keep him from his intense dislike of what he had to endure while under his care. This time was no exception.
Greg cleaned the wound, found that in spite of how it looked, the injury was not in any way going to cause permanent damage. Illya would walk with a slight limp for a week or so, but the muscle was intact. Hearing that gave Illya a renewed sense of energy, so much so that he renewed his insistence on returning to Central Park, and to the task of saving his friend.
Illya stood in Alexander Waverly's office, a little the worse for wear but feeling able to get back out in the field and find Napoleon. The Old Man admired his agent's determination, and after consulting with Doctor Durbin, agreed to Kuryakin's request. Section III agents were already heading to the Park, but Illya intended to get there in time to be part of ending this THRUSH plot.
In the time it was taking for Illya to get on his way, Napoleon was trying his best to stall Slay and his seeming desire to put a gun to his head, and to Antonia's. Something was going on there, perhaps a power struggle between two aspiring THRUSH wannabe's. In any case, Napoleon needed to not get killed by these thugs. He'd rather not see Antonia die either, but if he had to choose (all things considered), she was on her own.
In a not uncommon occurrence of serendipity, Napoleon saw a small object that looked remarkably like something in which microfilm might find itself. It looked like something a child might have played with, a miniature from a dollhouse perhaps. He made a loud exclamation that he had found the elusive item upon which his life seemed to depend, and presented to his captors a small box that featured a cereal logo. It was risky, but it was all he had, and he was going to make it work.
Antonia looked incredulously at the little cereal box replica. That wasn't how it was packaged by THRUSH, so what on earth…?
"You're lyin', that is not the microfilm!" Slay's face was red from exasperation and, with any luck, something much worse. Napoleon thought he could see small beads of sweat on the man's forehead, but could not account for why.
Tasked with guarding the perimeter of their location, Snowman kept a closer eye on Slay and Antonia. It was an unusual act of diligence on his part, or perhaps it was something else.
Antonia was looking from Solo and back to Slay, she could see that something was wrong with the man. Snowman and Belz were still standing guard, but each of them turned their attention to Antonia as she screeched and fell to the ground.
Napoleon wasn't sure what was going on, but Slay was shaking violently now, and watching Antonia's sudden collapse understood in an instant what was happening to both of them.
"We've been poisoned…traitors…" His words trailed off as the gun fell from his hand and he collapsed in a heap next to Antonia's now lifeless body. Snowman smiled, his face an indictment of guilt to Napoleon's trained eye.
"You've killed them? But why?" It was a never ending puzzle concerning the people who populated THRUSH. They longed for power, making everyone around them expendable. Snowman was looking to advance to THRUSH Central; Slay and Antonia were the two people standing in his way.
It was simple mathematics: three minus two equaled Snowman's in charge.
"What do you think, Solo? Now, hand over the microfilm and maybe I won't feed you to the tigers." Napoleon took one last look at the little cereal box miniature, handing it to Snowman. Belz, watching the scene unfold, was unaware of the blond man standing behind him. Illya fired, felling the man with a dart that would keep him unconscious long enough for him to save his partner and finish this affair.
Napoleon watched Belz fall and Snowman heard the soft thud as he hit the snow covered ground. When he turned to fire, it was already too late. Illya fired a second dart into the would-be assassin, watching the surprised expression on his face as he failed to shoot the pesky Russian agent.
Napoleon straightened up, showing his partner a smile that said 'thanks' and 'glad to see you'. He then added…
"What took you so long?" Illya smirked, acknowledging the question and the expected sarcasm. He motioned for the four Section III agents to move in and secure the site.
"So, what do you think killed these two?" Illya pointed down at Antonia and Slay.
"I don't know, but it was Snowman making his bid to take over the operation. I guess we'll let the lab guys figure it out. It was extraordinary timing though. Slay was about to shoot me, and probably her as well. So, my thanks to Snowman for saving my life. Oh, and you as well. It's always good to see you in the nick of time.' Napoleon looked around and watched as the other agents began the job of handcuffing the two remaining THRUSH.
"So, I did think that there would be a bigger show of force, you know, to make sure I didn't die in the line of duty."
Illya shrugged.
"I convinced Mister Waverly that I could handle it. My injuries were not as serious as I first surmised. I might have overreacted… a tad."
"I am truly shocked to think you might overreact. I am not, however, shocked that you came yourself."
A silent assent to the unchanging commitment they shared to always come back for the other passed between them.
As had happened at the beginning of this affair, Officer Kelly showed up with his now patent frustration at dealing with UNCLE and the growing number of dead bodies.
"You fellas ever get tired of landing in the middle of this? Geez… I know the routine, but I gotta call this in. I mean, four bodies…" The exasperation was real. Illya felt sorry for the man.
"Actually, only two of them are dead. The other two are just …''
"What? Just mostly dead?' Kelly was a comic.
"Very funny. No, they're just knocked out. We'll be taking care of them. You can have these two." Napoleon indicated the bodies of Antonia and Slay. They were criminals, and they had tried to kill both Illya and himself.
Kelly nodded, a crooked smile creasing his chiseled features.
"Right. Okay, I see your crew coming and mine will be here shortly. You two gonna stick around or disappear into your spy copter and fly off?"
The sound of Napoleon's communicator warbled in the still air. He turned away to answer it while Illya endured Kelly's quizzical expression. He had no intention of explaining the instrument to their cynical copper.
Later, after delivering their prisoners to the agents who would complete the necessary activities at the scene, they reported to Waverly in order to update him on everything that had taken place. Both of them decided on a quick shower and a change of clothes before heading to a spot where they could decompress and get a good meal.
The two friends found comfort in the warmth of the big fireplace in Luigi's, and the congeniality of the host who had no need of taking their orders; he served up something special for his favorite customers. The men drew little attention as they reviewed the past few days. Illya's injuries were less than he had expected, and Napoleon's performance had saved his life for long enough to see this affair end with another victory for UNCLE. Neither of them liked that people were dead, but they liked less the idea of it being either of them in the morgue.
"I'd say we have come to a happy conclusion Illya. Here we are, enjoying a delicious meal in front of a roaring fire, and we live to fight another day."
They toasted their good fortune, raising glasses filled to the brim with a red wine that sparkled in the light cast by the fire, like two bright ornaments to commemorate what remained unspoken.
Friendship, brotherhood … the gifts of the season.
