Chapter Nine: Control
Disclaimer: I do not own Illya, Napoleon or any part of the UNCLE universe: I just borrowed them for a bit.
The door to the penthouse suite was ajar. Napoleon knocked all the same, drawing his gun at the same time. He had mentally catalogued the escape routes up to this point and knew that Illya had done likewise. An agent's instinct never switched off.
Carlotta flung the door open and looked askance at the weapon. "Really, Mr. Solo. Guns aren't necessary. I fully intend to keep my side of the bargain." She caught sight of Illya in his casual clothing. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. Dress was formal on the invite, you know. How nice to see you again."
"I wish I could say the sentiment was mutual."
"Do come in, gentlemen. Dr. Lander is waiting."
The pair of them walked into the well-furnished apartment and all the metaphors of spiders and parlors ran through both their minds. The window to their left opened out on to a balcony overlooking the city and sitting at the dining table in front of it was Marco Lander, who nodded genially at both of them as if they had arrived for an evening's bridge party. To their right was a heavily stocked bar. The whole apartment exuded luxury and wealth. Who said that crime didn't pay, thought Napoleon wryly. The lavish theme continued with the sprawling white leather sofa and armchairs in front of them. What held their attention, however, was the small, neat man dressed immaculately in a Saville Row suit who sat in one of the chairs with two heavy-set bodyguards standing behind him. The U.N.C.L.E. men glanced quickly at each other: Illya gave the smallest of frowns and Napoleon lifted his eyebrows a fraction. Neither of them knew who he was. Napoleon tightened his grip on his gun.
Carlotta indicated that they should sit down on the sofa: an invitation which they both ignored.
"Why don't we get down to business." It was Illya who broke the silence. "I understand from Napoleon that you have some deal to propose regarding restoration of my hands."
Carlotta walked over to the drinks cabinet and started to fix herself a martini.
"You speak with a great deal of authority, Mr. Kuryakin, for one who is in no position to dictate terms." She added an olive to her drink and sipped it delicately as she studied him. "I would suggest a vodka, but…" she waved an expressive hand in the air.
"Enough," Illya said, tight-lipped. He did not want to show her how successfully she had hurt him but was finding it hard to keep his tone neutral and the harsh anger out of his voice.
Carlotta, however, was enjoying herself too much to stop toying with him. She made her way over to the Russian. They were of similar height and the dark green eyes bored into the clear blue ones as she searched for evidence of his pain. "So what did they say in Medical, Illya? Did they suggest amputation?"
Napoleon saw his partner flush with impotent fury and decided to intervene. "Miss Merrick, I believe you have a proposition to discuss."
Carlotta drained her glass, her eyes never leaving Illya's. "All in good time, Mr. Solo. First I'd like you to meet an acquaintance of mine."
Napoleon's gaze switched straight to the stranger. Reluctantly, Illya looked away from Carlotta and followed suit.
The unassuming middle-aged man, who seemed almost lost in the big armchair, stood up. When he spoke, it was with a cut-glass English accent.
"Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Barrett. I am in the enforcement business for Thrush. Enforcement, persuasion, compulsion…there are many words for what I do."
Napoleon caught his breath and looked again at someone he would not have given a second glance if they had passed on the street. This was one of the unseen powers that be. No Thrush operative they had interrogated had seen his face; his name alone had been whispered with reverence. The fact that he had introduced himself did not bode well for either his own longevity or Illya's.
Barrett crossed the room, his guards in attendance and stood in front of Napoleon. "You may have been wondering what Thrush's interest is in all this," he continued pleasantly, his manner of delivery that of a schoolteacher explaining a difficult lesson to a pupil. "I am very willing to tell you, but first things first. Jackson?"
He stretched out a hand and from nowhere Jackson handed him a slim revolver fitted with a silencer. Taken by surprise, Napoleon started to train his own gun on the Thrush operative but before he could fully react, he felt a searing pain in his left thigh which told him where the silent bullet had entered. As he started to crumple to the floor, he tried to shoot back but Jackson had already moved to disarm him.
Illya was at his side in an instant. Napoleon waved away his concern. "I'm okay, I'm okay." The stream of blood pouring from his leg belied his words.
"Do help Mr. Solo up and bring him to the sofa," Barrett instructed.
Illya shot him a look which would have cowed many a man; Barrett was unimpressed. "Carlotta, could I trouble you for a towel? Bloodstains can be the very devil to remove and I wouldn't want to soil your apartment further."
Carlotta disappeared into an inner room and came back clutching a fluffy white bath towel which she laid on the sofa. Illya put his head under Napoleon's left shoulder and used his body strength to support him till they reached the couch.
"Stupid," Napoleon whispered to him as they sank in to the leather seat together. He wrapped the towel around his leg and pressed down on the wound to stem the blood flow.
Illya risked a small smile to himself. Hearing Napoleon admit he had made a mistake was rare enough that the event should be marked on a calendar. Looking up at the mild-mannered, thoroughly dangerous Barrett, Illya bit back on the smile. He had shot to wound, not kill, but like Napoleon, Illya had no doubt that this was only a temporary state of affairs.
"Now we've established that neither of you are going anywhere, I'll continue." There was no doubt where the balance of power lay in the room. Barrett went on, "Sometimes Thrush needs to… persuade people to cooperate who might otherwise have refused. You know how it is, it can get so messy when someone is stubborn. Once you've threatened to kill them or a loved one, you have to back that threat up. Even causing permanent mutilation can have the wrong effect. I've known the sight of a beautiful face scarred for life to drive a man over the edge. Makes him a bit of a loose cannon, I believe you would say, Mr. Solo. Thrush doesn't want that."
Barrett reached into his jacket pocket. Napoleon tensed but he pulled out a cigarette case and waved it towards Napoleon who shook his head. He motioned towards Illya and then a brief look of apology crossed his face. He lit up and went on: "We want control. We want someone to need us to repair the damage. That way, the people we persuade stay in line. And it mustn't be an empty promise. Merrick had vision and genius but he was operating on too grand a scale. It wouldn't have worked for us. We are indebted to Miss Merrick for acquainting us with the work of Dr. Lander. The technique he has carried out on Mr. Kuryakin here appears to have struck the right balance."
"Is that the reason for having me bring Illya here?" Napoleon asked, blinking back the pain. "So that Lander can demonstrate this new method of intimidation?"
"Indeed. I had hoped that this entire affair could have been carried out in Dr. Lander's clinic. Unfortunately, my plane was delayed and Miss Merrick started without me. I thought I had arrived in time to witness its conclusion, but by then you had liberated Mr. Kuryakin."
"I told you there was unfinished business," Carlotta purred from behind Barrett.
"In actual fact, Mr. Solo, it has worked out quite nicely. Not only can I see how effectively the threat and promise work—it made you bring Mr. Kuryakin away from the safety of U.N.C.L.E., after all—but I have two U.N.C.L.E. agents for the price of one. Time for proof, gentlemen."
Barrett motioned impatiently to his two guards who moved in unison. From behind the sofa, Jackson leaned down heavily on Illya's left shoulder with one hand and supported Illya's left arm at the elbow with the other. His right arm was similarly locked into extension by the other guard: one palm up, one palm down.
Illya started to move in protest but Barrett's gun had reappeared in the hand not holding the cigarette.
"This time, I will not be aiming for Mr. Solo's leg."
The two U.N.C.L.E. agents exchanged a grim look. Napoleon sat back on the couch, sick as he always felt after being shot and sick with apprehension over what Barrett had planned for his partner.
Illya gritted his teeth. "Get it over with," he growled then gave an involuntary cry as Barrett suddenly brought his lit cigarette down on his unprotected hands. Again and again, the Thrush man burnt him as Illya bit back on his pain. At no time did Barrett take his eyes off Illya's hands; at no time did Carlotta take her eyes off Illya's face.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity for the helpless, watching Solo but which was in fact no more than a few minutes, Barrett straightened up, satisfied, stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray and gestured to his men to release their hold.
Illya lowered his wounded hands shakily to his lap and let out an unsteady breath. Sensing Napoleon's unspoken anxiety, he shook his head; in relative terms, he was all right.
"Dr. Lander, I am impressed. As a student of anatomy, I am certain there is no way a man could have withstood that who had his tendons intact. And now I am very much looking forward to the second half of the operation as it were. Miss Merrick?"
Carlotta exchanged a glance with Lander and Illya could have sworn the doctor gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"All in good time, Mr. Barrett. I think I'd like to hear Mr. Kuryakin beg first."
At this, Illya could not repress a snort.
Barrett narrowed his gaze.
"Carlotta, you have been very useful to Thrush. Without you, we would have not had the chance to meet Dr. Lander as easily as we have. His pioneering technique might have been wasted on some altruistic purpose. In return for the introduction, we have furnished you with the information you required on your father's killer, we have set Dr. Lander up in practice and we have allowed this rather melodramatic episode with Mr. Kuryakin as a test experiment. An experiment that should have been concluded by now if you hadn't been careless enough to let U.N.C.L.E. rescue him. As I said you have been of great use but do not overestimate your present value to us."
Carlotta wasn't listening. "I just want Illya to plead a little. That's all."
"There won't be any pleading," Illya told her firmly.
"Miss Merrick, I will not ask you a third time."
Carlotta ignored the quietly spoken threat. "Then your hands stay as they are!" She pushed past Barrett and delivered a furious slap across Illya's face. "You'll never—" She stopped in mid-sentence and arched her back then with wide-eyed surprise collapsed on the floor.
Behind her, Barrett was reloading his weapon. "Johnson." He gestured towards Lander who, misunderstanding, started to back away in fright.
Illya watched with growing alarm as the surgeon edged through the open window on to the balcony: this was the one person who could repair the damage done to his tendons.
"Dr. Lander, I mean you no harm." Barrett's tone was quiet reason but Lander was beyond that. He retreated further onto the balcony moving away from the approaching guard.
Barrett tried again. "Dr. Lander…I am anxious to see your work come full circle."
Lander found himself pressed up against iron railings as Johnson stepped on to the balcony. He tried to move further away but started to overbalance. He swayed for a horrible moment between life and death and then fell. Illya realized that his deathscream was the first noise he had heard him utter; he exhaled slowly, knowing the certainty of having his hands back had died with Lander. He glanced over to Napoleon who had his eyes closed and was breathing shallowly and a whole new world of worry opened up.
There was a long, stunned silence and then Barrett let out an exasperated sigh.
"A pity." He turned back to Napoleon and Illya. "I would declare this whole thing a fiasco if it weren't for the fact that it delivered you two up to me."
"Sir?" The sound of Jackson speaking made Illya jump; he had decided that the Thrush guards were as mute as Lander had been. Jackson was listening intently to a radio earpiece. "Sir, Ground Control report that a small U.N.C.L.E. team are in the building. They'll be here any—"
At that instant the door to the apartment crashed open. Fighting off dizziness, Napoleon opened his eyes at the sound and recognized Pinner and Doyle, Morris and Townsend and Warrington and Lee as they entered the room, their weapons drawn. Illya, with more self-preservation than curiosity, threw himself at his partner knocking him sideways to the floor in anticipation of the gun battle that would ensue.
Barrett surprised them both however. "U.N.C.L.E. agents, I presume? Well, we surrender. Jackson, Johnson, be good enough to hand your weapons over."
As the guards complied and the three of them were led meekly away, Waverly and Thornton entered the room.
"Gentlemen," Waverly greeted them. "We met what remains of the unfortunate Dr. Lander downstairs. And this must once have been Miss Merrick." He moved delicately past the corpse to where the pair of them were sprawled.
"We bring some tidings, Mr. Kuryakin. Dr. Thornton?"
Thornton moved forward and exclaimed when he saw how badly Napoleon's leg was bleeding.
Napoleon felt himself on the brink of fainting but waved away his ministrations. "What about Illya's hands?"
Thornton beamed. "Good news," he announced and that was all Napoleon heard before consciousness deserted him.