Chapter Eight: On the Move
Disclaimer: I do not own Illya, Napoleon or any part of the UNCLE universe: I just borrowed them for a bit.
"Mr. Waverly?"
"Do come in, Doctor," Waverly took the pipe from his mouth and waved Thornton into his office. "Do you bring news?"
"I'm not sure what I bring," Thornton confessed. "It's those anomalies."
"Ah, yes, the anomalies," Waverly nodded his head sagely and waited for enlightenment.
----
Medical was quite deserted when Napoleon entered. Illya looked up, words of apology forgotten as he saw his partner's face which was a mixture of apprehension and barely suppressed excitement. "What is it?"
"I've been propositioned."
Illya raised his eyebrows.
"Lander can reverse the operation."
A series of emotions washed over Illya's face including surprise, relief and curiosity in equal measure before settling on suspicion. "What's the price?"
His partner ignored the question. "You have to leave tonight. Now, in fact." He held up a sweatshirt, tracksuit bottoms and sneakers and reached over to disconnect the IV feed.
"Napoleon—"
"If we don't act now we may lose the opportunity." He looked down at his partner. "Please, Illya."
"I'm not going anywhere till I've heard you explain what the deal is."
"Can't we walk and talk? Now? Before Thornton or another medic does the rounds?"
Illya started to argue then stopped, seeing the earnest look on Napoleon's face. He gave in and with a little help, struggled into the loose-fitting clothing, allowing his partner to lace him into the sneakers.
"Why the hurry?" he asked as they made their way to a little-used exit.
"Apparently, there's a time limit after which Lander can't undo what he's done."
"A time limit? That doesn't make sense!"
"Are you a doctor? Neither am I. And neither of us are mad scientists. The clock is ticking, my friend."
They emerged onto a back street and crossed hurriedly to Napoleon's car. As he was helped in, Illya began firing questions. "All right, where are we headed? Who contacted you? And what did you have to promise?"
Sliding behind the wheel, Napoleon answered as honestly as he wanted to. "Carlotta met me outside my apartment. She had some protection with her which is the only reason she lived long enough to deliver her message."
He pulled out into traffic and continued: "She told me she could arrange for Lander to repair what he did to you but that it had to be tonight. Otherwise, it's too late."
----
"Is it possible?"
Waverly thought back to his agent's account of the operation; the low lighting, Carlotta's serpentine voice. "Yes. It is possible."
"But do you see what it means? Illya said Thrush were involved. To double-cross them like this…" Thornton tailed off.
The U.N.C.L.E. chief shrugged. "Revenge can make one very blind."
A beep interrupted their conversation. Waverly answered an incoming call from Pinner, one of his Section 2 operatives.
"Sir, Mr. Kuryakin isn't in his bed. And…I tried to call Mr. Solo but his communicator is disabled."
"Hmm. One moment." Waverly switched to another channel. "Miss Tyson? Kindly activate the tracking device on Mr. Solo's car."
"You bugged his car?" Thornton couldn't stop the disapproval showing.
Waverly shot him a look of pure ice. "For just such an eventuality," he said then switched back to Pinner. "Assemble a small team. Meet Dr. Thornton and myself in the communications room. Right, Doctor. Let's see whom we can flush out."
----
The two agents drove through the city toward the Upper East Side, Illya still puzzling aloud.
"Having gone to so much trouble to kidnap me and carry this out in the first place, why on earth would she make such an offer?"
"Maybe she got religion."
Illya contemplated the hatred that had oozed from Carlotta. "I find that very hard to believe." He shot a sharp glance sideways at his partner. "What did she want in return?"
"We're nearly there," Napoleon said by way of answer.
Illya could feel his temper, usually so well controlled, rising. "Very well, let me guess. They can't have made you promise to do something because once my hands were fixed, there would be nothing to stop you going back on your word. You didn't set off any alarms when we left so they haven't asked you to smuggle out any secret documents. That rather leaves you, doesn't it?"
Napoleon's grip on the steering wheel tightened; his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
A soft Russian curse came from his passenger. He turned angrily. "So what's the plan, Napoleon? They restore my hands, take you away and leave me free to go? Not very likely."
Napoleon pulled in to a parking spot in front of an up-market apartment block, sighed and came clean. "Carlotta said she would arrange for Lander to reverse the operation if I got you out of U.N.C.L.E. medical and came willingly with you. I think our little feathered friend will be waiting." He held up a hand to quiet Illya's protests. "It's undoubtedly a trap. A trap for both of us. But if there's a chance they can make you whole again…as for what happens after that…well, I never was a Boy Scout when it comes to promises," he said lightly.
Illya shook his head in disapproval but his expression showed that he accepted the futility of trying to persuade Napoleon to change his mind. "It still doesn't make sense," he argued. "If they wanted you, why didn't they just take you? They didn't need to offer you any deals. Why did they suggest this?"
Napoleon said nothing as Carlotta's words echoed through his mind: "I have unfinished business with Mr. Kuryakin."
"Tell me," he said as he helped Illya out of the car, "what would you have done in my position?"
Illya scowled. "The same, obviously."