THE RETURN OF R.A.G.E. AFFAIR
Chapter 3/Conclusion
"Same old Napoleon…"
1964
Having forced Dr. Malachi, at gunpoint, to pre-program a much simpler retro-temporal device for the same point in a pre-skewed past where Alexander Waverly had been assassinated by Darien Driscoll, Napoleon Solo forcefully brought his U.N.C.L.E. handgun down hard against the back of the leading science-tech's head hard enough to render him unconscious if not concussed…
…Napoleon next endured an agonizingly painful dematerialization of his atomic structure via anti-energies which literally sent the overweight, balding ex-U.N.C.L.E. agent 43 years into what was…
…whereupon a significant amount of vomit became the inevitable end of re-materialization within a time-period that was the crux of what turned out to be a significant revision of U.N.C.L.E. history.
"If this works," swore a still-nauseated Napoleon after spitting out the last of whiskey-tasting puke, "I'm damn sure not going to drink cheap whiskey anymore."
Having, finally, reclaimed control of himself, Walther P38 again shoved into a jumpsuit pocket, Napoleon Solo stepped around the street's corner in order to keep the secretive entry point of the New York U.N.C.L.E. HQ in sight until such time that Alexander Waverly needed to be saved from assassination at the hands of the half-scarred Darien Driscoll.
Just then, the Sixties sedan in which Alexander Waverly rode had pulled over to allow this recently-promoted British U.N.C.L.E. operative-turned-leader out even as, somewhere, a disguised Darien prepared to put his despicable plan in motion.
If only, Napoleon silently considered, I could explain to Mr. Waverly who I am and what was about to take place. But, if what I seem to somehow understand about 'time-travel' via R.A.G.E. is anywhere near accurate…to do so could alter the future just as seriously as this assassination.
Fortunately for Napoleon, his balding head fully visible since it seemed a little too distracting to have worn the beret back as well, the ex-U.N.C.L.E. agent didn't have long to wait as…
A greasy-haired, grimy bum approached the briefcase-carrying Alexander Waverly.
"That's him!" said Napoleon loudly, as every seemingly unused sense of heroism shifted into overdrive. "That's Driscoll!"
"Mr. Waverly!" shouted Napoleon as he rushed forward, pulling his pistol and subsequently causing both chieftains, one U.N.C.L.E. and one THRUSH, to turn toward him in palpable puzzlement. "Get down! He's going to kill you!"
Though Napoleon knew not whether it was the weapon in his hand or his shouted warning, Alexander Waverly never-the-less dropped to the pavement even as a disguised-as-a-bum Darien aimed his silencer-equipped Glock at the prone target…
Bak-cht! Bak-cht! Bak-cht!
…causing Napoleon to thrice fire his Walther P38 in the general direction of the assassin-from-the-future, immediately regretting not having kept up his pistol training as a trio of 9mm Parabellum bullets found no death-dealing points of impact, save for a superficial grazing of one of Darien's shoulder.
The superficially wounded THRUSH chief-from-2007 dashed for his parked two-seater Thunderbird in order to hurriedly reach a pre-planned destination whereupon he could return to the future. Just not the one for which he'd, quite literally, aimed.
"Damn!" swore Napoleon as he realized the THRUSH chieftain, half-scarred or not, would still exist in all potential futures.
Just as he turned to swiftly exit, as Alexander Waverly stood and brushed himself off…
"You there! Wait!"
Ignoring his once and future U.N.C.L.E. leader's proper British-accented shouts, Napoleon plowed headlong into a just-arrived-by-cab agent with dark hair, hazel eyes, handsome and slim as well as about to begin the first day of his illustrious life as a suave operative...
"S-sorry," stammered the old Napoleon Solo as the young Napoleon Solo couldn't help but wonder about the similar-looking, though much older, facial features as the jumpsuit-wearing slightly overweight, balding individual stumbled around the corner.
Shrugging it off as a trick of morning light combined with the lack of adequate caffeine, the younger Napoleon strode straight toward Del Floria's even as Alexander Waverly entered the little tailor shop's door in order to use the secret entrance into U.N.C.L.E.
2007
"No!"
"Anything wrong, Napoleon?"
After glancing around the elegance of his condominium's master bedroom, and quickly feeling for proof of remaining salt-and-pepper head hair, not to mention noting the lack of a fat abdomen and the presence of an exceptionally lovely lady lying next to him…
"Nothing, beautiful," said a suddenly smiling, still-virile Napoleon Solo while rolling toward her. "Just thought I was living a bad dream."
No sooner physically involved than Napoleon's cordless phone began ringing on the expensive night table next to the silk-covered bed, whereupon Napoleon promptly one-handed it into ringer off mode…
…leaving Illya Kuryakin, alive and well and in an upscale New York City condominium as well, just like his decades-old friend and fellow agent of the super-secret United Network Command for Law and Enforcement…
"Same old Napoleon," said Illya into his own cordless phone, after the suddenly-activated outgoing voicemail message said, in Napoleon Solo's instantly recognizable self-important tone, that he was entertaining and would call back unless such turned into a romantic marathon. "Give me a call as soon as possible, my American friend…just because we're not currently on-call doesn't mean a mission affair might not be on the tip of Allison Hall's lovely tongue. Oh, and don't forget to take your, uh…blue 'vitamins'."
END