Chapter Three: Waiting and Wondering
Disclaimer: I do not own Illya, Napoleon or any part of the UNCLE universe: I just borrowed them for a bit.
A/N: Because I know it's in here...a sincere thank you to Mr David Mamet for one of Napoleon and Illya's exchanges. Mr D, you have a marvellous way with words. Anyone who has seen "The Untouchables" will spot it in an instant.
Napoleon rubbed his eyes and took another swig of black coffee. He had told Waverly of Illya's disappearance and had steeled himself to do battle with the Old Man. No doubt, he would be told that Illya could look after himself and that the assignment in hand was the most important thing.
But Waverly had surprised him. It seemed he took a very dim view of agents being snatched right in front of his nose. "Locate Mr. Kuryakin with all speed, Mr. Solo," he had instructed. "I don't want our enemies to think they can do this with impunity."
Napoleon had half-heartedly played devil's advocate, protesting "But the Countess—the warehouse—"
"Both will still be waiting when Mr. Kuryakin rejoins us. Now see that he does."
That had been four hours ago and Illya had been missing for over six. Napoleon knew that leads had to be acted on while they were hot but he had precious little to work with. He had Records call up a photo selection of possible villains: an eclectic mixture of criminals, Thrush personnel and megalomaniacs with whom Illya and he had had run-ins over recent years. He had then taken the paperboy into U.N.C.L.E. HQ custody and had him look at each one in turn. The paperboy whose name was Johnny was not impressed.
"Look, mister, I told you. I don't remember the guy. I'd help if I could, honest I would."
"Just look at the photos, Johnny. Maybe something will jog your memory." But none of them had.
Records had accessed a long list of possible vehicles that matched the description of the car. Napoleon had assigned three teams of agents to work on this list and ignored their mumbled protests.
He had held a brainstorming session with Waverly as to who might be responsible. It had yielded a few serious contenders but when he'd checked them out, they were all behind bars and accounted for.
Waverly had made discreet enquiries with other agencies. Nothing.
Napoleon had put word out to their informants in the underworld but so far no word had come back. If it was a kidnap, there was no ransom demand. It was as if Illya had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Napoleon stared down at the mountain of files he had pulled out of archive, cases which Illya had worked on either with him, with another partner or on his own. He knew instinctively that the answer lay in one of them. So far he had been thoroughly through less than twenty. He stared at the next one with unseeing eyes as his mind wandered and wondered where Illya was. Alone. Tortured? Dying? He shook himself. Wherever he was, he was waiting for his partner to find him. He opened up the next dossier and read.
Carlotta had taken the file and the photos and had left Illya sitting in the semi-darkness of a winter afternoon. The only light came from a street lamp outside the window. He guessed that he was a couple of floors up. There was no noise from the street and he guessed again that the room was soundproof. No one had come when he had shouted so he had stopped shouting.
Dr. Samuel Merrick. He shuddered involuntarily. The last thing he wanted to do was think about that twisted mind but Carlotta's revelation made it impossible to do anything else. He and Napoleon had worked on the case some eighteen months ago. Once a respected scientist, Merrick had been driven out of America because of the extreme nature of his experimentation. Towards the end, he had been funded by Thrush: it was only a matter of time before he surfaced again and U.N.C.L.E. were watching for him.
Children were disappearing from the streets of Rio—nothing new there but they were reappearing some days later with limbs missing. Questioning these innocents had proved futile. They had been drugged and could not remember where they had been taken. Illya swallowed hard as he recalled gently pressing a small legless boy, no more than eight, for information.
"Where did you go?" he asked in Portuguese.
"A bad place," came the whispered answer.
"Who was there?"
"Monsters!" And the boy dissolved into tears, burying himself into Illya's shoulder.
Illya had looked down at the little boy clutching him and had met Napoleon's gaze. The two partners agreed silently; this had to stop.
It was the boy's older brother, Felipe, who had volunteered to be bait, something neither of the U.N.C.L.E. agents wanted to ask of a child but in the end, as Napoleon had said, really the only way they were going to find an answer.
The snatch was almost immediate and they had tracked Felipe and his abductors to a clinic in the hills. It looked from the outside like a health farm but Napoleon and Illya discovered a warren of underground chambers. They found their way in through the drainage system and padded silently past cells full of frightened children.
A turn in the corridor had led them into a macabre freezer room with neat rows of arms and legs packed in ice. "It's like an experiment at a concentration camp," Napoleon had whispered and Illya had not trusted himself to comment.
They moved on towards the main laboratory, overcoming guards they met along the way. Napoleon sent Illya up through the ventilation shaft whilst he burst into the room. Illya had heard Napoleon challenging Merrick: when he dropped silent as a cat behind the surgeon with his gun drawn, he briefly wondered why Napoleon had not already shot this madman. Then Merrick, sensing his presence, had swung round and Illya saw he held Felipe with a scalpel pressed to the boy's throat.
"I'm walking out of here," Merrick declared. "I shall continue my work elsewhere."
"Your work?" Napoleon asked in spite of himself.
"I am at the forefront of my field," Merrick boasted. "I shall go down in history as the first man to successfully transplant limbs."
"You don't seem to have been very successful so far," Illya remarked, his gun trained on the surgeon, his eyes ice-blue and unblinking.
"My day will come! I will be feted! I will be honored!"
Looking at the terrified Felipe and the trickle of blood that was running down his neck, Napoleon had heard enough.
"Have you got him, Illya?" he asked.
"I've got him."
Napoleon exhaled. "Take him."
And Illya drilled his shot straight into the middle of Merrick's forehead. Napoleon pulled Felipe out of the way. They set the children free. And that had been that.
Until now. He comforted himself with the thought that mad surgeons did not run in the Merrick family. However, as an abductor, Carlotta could carve out a whole new career. Isolation, physical confinement…he could only hazard a guess as to the time… No food, no water…nothing on his feet so that even if by some miracle he had freed himself, he wouldn't be running very fast…and above all, the waiting. Illya realized that anticipation could weaken a man's defenses more quickly than actual punishment. Depending on the man, of course—he knew he was made of sterner stuff than most. Very well, he would sit and he would wait. He tried to ignore the cramps in his toes and to take no notice of the shadows. Above all, he told himself to pay no heed to his imagination.