THE TIME BEFORE NOW AFFAIR

Chapter 3

"…we might've actually planned for this"

After arriving at Heathrow Airport, some 27 kilometers Southwest of downtown London, and acquiring a pre-arranged GPS-equipped car, which, naturally, meant Illya Kuryakin would drive since Napoleon Solo still bore ill will for such high-tech contrivances…

"If my own general calculations are correct, Napoleon," said a science-minded, mission affair-centered blond-haired, blue-eyed, almost line-free faced U.N.C.L.E. Agent 2, Section 2, while following perfectly the moving map via GPS screen, "we should arrive at Stafford Place in less than…"

"Have you given any thought as to how we're supposed to get down into this subterranean THRUSH headquarters, my Russian friend?" Napoleon asked simply while successfully pulling Illya's attention away from a purely factual look at a decidedly not commonplace mission affair.

"Well, Napoleon," began Illya in ready response, "after the post-briefing R-and-D done by headquartered supercomputers, we know which ground floor flat acts as the entry point into…"

"Again, Illya," sternly inserted Napoleon Solo while rolling his eyes and issuing an exasperated sigh, "the question was: have you given any thought as to how we're supposed to get down into this subterranean THRUSH headquarters? Not where the entry point was located…but how the hell are we going to get in that particular flat to use it? It's a pretty sure bet that THRUSH has XM-8 toting, beret-wearing goons just waiting to…"

"Not XM-8s, Napoleon," cut in Illya matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"You said…"

"I know what I said," puzzled Napoleon with his still handsome, after forty years!, face screwing itself into a perplexed scowl. "Why did you say THRUSH was no longer using Heckler-and-Koch XM-8 full auto rifles?"

"I did some digging just after our meeting with Ms. Hall," coolly commented Illya Kuryakin, "and it seems that, for some reason, THRUSH operatives, those wearing the jumpsuits and the berets, have developed an arms affinity with new Heckler-and-Koch firearms, using 4.6mm rounds. The MP7 A1, which, as you no doubt know from weekly weapons work when not on active assignment, can penetrate Kevlar vests made of…"

"I know all about the MP7 A1, Illya," bemoaned Napoleon in a manner meant to top, in this particular field at least, his irritatingly intelligent Russian-born co-agent. "Compact. Lightweight. Full machinegun capable. 30-round clips. Can penetrate, out to 200-plus meters, vests containing 1.6mm titanium plates and 20 layers of Kevlar. Flash suppressor muzzle. And, if THRUSH is using them, have probably replaced standard sights with a compact night vision capable system. Something that is clearly a running theme with whatever weapon THRUSH decides to supply their 'soldiers'."

"Very good, Napoleon," said Illya a little too expressly, as if to add sarcastic insult to intellectual injury with someone whose expertise extended to a multitude of items, especially where lovely ladies were involved, simply not those that are essentially scientific. "Did that hurt? I mean, that's generally a lot more specifics than Napoleon Solo usually elucidates."

"Ha…ha, and…ha," mocked Napoleon disingenuously, "I can't tell you how funny that is, Agent Kuryakin. All I'll say, for the record, is that if we do end up going back in time to 1964 and we get killed…either the past Illya and Napoleon or the present…that is, the real us…then I just thought I'd illustrate the fact that I'm not a completely incompetent idiot."

"Ah, come now, Napoleon," playfully replied Illya in mock concern. "Nothing's 'completely' anything."

While eyeballing Illya, who'd stifled a self-amused smirk, the two fell into relative silence for the remainder of the moderately rapid trip into that part of London located within a proverbial stone's throw from the historically famous Buckingham Palace.

I wonder, thought Napoleon Solo seriously, as Illya continued to calmly and quietly navigated their U.N.C.L.E.-supplied vehicle through gradually growing traffic. Did THRUSH chieftain Darien Driscoll choose so close a location leading down into his multi-level lair on purpose…perhaps to prevent any massed military attacks due to the nearness of British royalty…or was it simply a case of satanic serendipity?

"Well," grunted a glad-to-be-there Illya Kuryakin as he pulled the U.N.C.L.E. car directly across the street from the building locality. "We're here."

"Yeah," grunted Napoleon Solo, even as he proceeded in swiftly transforming an innocuous-looking ink pen into a sophisticated satellite-accessing communications mechanism, cutting edge for its decades-gone day, and still a little true in the 21st Century. "Open Channel D. Open Channel D."

"Channel D open, Mr. Solo," a female voice, at last!, sensuously said via the speaker-microphone combination atop the slim cylindrical device. "Report, please."

With a subconscious smile meant for any and all ladies, which, of course, could not be observed via an audio-only connection, Napoleon said, "Illya Kuryakin and I have arrived at the above-ground target. Suggest radio silence until further notice. Solo out."

A ghost-of-a-smile facial expression denoted Napoleon's innermost sense of satisfaction in regards to a potentially beautiful Channel D U.N.C.L.E. operative speaking via cross-Atlantic transmission, from New York City headquarters to carried Comm-system by one of two agents sitting in a parked car so embarrassingly close to London's venerable Buckingham Palace.

"Ready, my Russian friend?"

"Always, my American friend."

With that, the two over-the-hill U.N.C.L.E. operatives, still wearing tailor-made suits no doubt costing more, combined of course, than the perpetually-leased sedan that had brought both from Heathrow, trotted across the street called Stafford Place.

Moving fast-yet-stealthy, the two agents entered the building wherein a secretly held-by-THRUSH flat stood as entry-point into a substantial subsurface edifice quite possibly larger than what U.N.C.L.E. Agents 2 and 11 had encountered in Canada's wilderness and in the Slavic seaport city of Aqtau, Kazakhstan during these last set of months since their reactivation.

For this site held, deep underground, a miles-long super-subatomic accelerator with which, theoretically, two THRUSH operatives would time-travel back to 1964 in order to, ostensibly, assassinate two forty-year younger U.N.C.L.E. agents who had, more times than such as Darien Driscoll deigned to address, saved the entire planet and its peoples from certain destruction and/or domination by such as THRUSH.

Still tugging at the forethought of both recently out-of-retirement U.N.C.L.E. operatives was the seemingly impossible notion that they might simply cease to exist should these two time-traveling THRUSH thugs, no doubt dressed in Sixties-styled suits, succeed in shooting them dead at their clandestine career-creating start.

Thus making it possible for THRUSH to succeed during their first chieftain's, Andrew Vulcan, rabid bid for world domination.

The only thing bugging such as Napoleon Solo was the possibility that the deaths of their past Selves might irrevocably erase their present Selves.

Something someone as amusingly narcissistic as Napoleon definitely did not wish to take place.

For the more mission affair transfixed Illya Kuryakin, it was a case of wishing to save untold millions from unnecessary torment and/or utter obliteration.

A light knuckle-knocking on the double-locked, naturally, door acting as façade for the flat-in-question and the two U.N.C.L.E. agents, silencer-equipped, before knocking, Walther P38s already in hand, await the inevitable unlocking/opening of said door by one or more THRUSH thugs before…

"Greetings from our Uncle!"

Pft! Pft! Pft! Pft! Pft! Pft!

Six THRUSH hoodlums, dressed in the expected jumpsuits-and-berets, carrying, as earlier explained by Illya, ready-to-fire, non-silencer affixed, Heckler-Koch MP7 A1s, now lay dead and bleeding out via head shots on the quite comfortably furnished flat's floors.

"Well," quipped Napoleon Solo after re-locking the flat's front door and glancing all about the more-than-adequate décor that included a satellite-accessible, large-screen plasma television, complete with SurroundSound, "nice to see, in England at least, THRUSH has no problem with presenting a cozier environment for their less-important operatives. Maybe we should request a cost-of-living increase when we report back to New York, Illya."

Ignoring Napoleon's sarcastically playful lamenting, Illya Kuryakin quickly located that one fake area of the otherwise well-adorned walls whereupon the super-secret subterranean-bound elevator could be called.

"Let's go," tensely suggested Illya, silencer-equipped Walther P38 still in hand, even as Napoleon, his silenced pistol still in hand as well, hurriedly followed the blonde-haired Russian-born U.N.C.L.E. agent inside.

"Wonder if there's any hidden cameras in this elevator car," he pondered aloud even as the door, along with its false wall, closed to allow for a gentle-yet-swift downward drop from ground level to sub-level.

"I don't know," absently said Illya while pulling, from the pack of pistol attachments situated behind his suit-coat covered back, everything necessary for swiftly restructuring a pistol into the unique-to-U.N.C.L.E. full auto carbine with extra-long ammo clips in place of the shorter standard ones. "But I believe in erring on the side of circumspection."

"Uh," sardonically said Napoleon, while quickly altering his own Walther P38 into an U.N.C.L.E. carbine, "if that's your way of taking the classic 'Always be prepared' motto of the Boy Scouts, Illya, I'm all for it."

After a swiftly passing several seconds of unresponsiveness, Illya finally furrowed his brow and turned slightly perplexed blue eyes toward his friend and fellow agent…

"I wasn't aware you were ever a Boy Scout, Napoleon."

With a sexually sinister half-smile, Napoleon Solo said, "Only to get as close to cute little Girl Scouts as possible, my friend."

Nodding his amused understanding, Illya fell seriously silent again as the two aging agents proceeded down, down, down, down…

…until, at long last, the elevator halted and its door rumbled open to reveal…

"Looks like the answer to my question about hidden cameras has been answered," said a slowly surrendering-his-weapon Napoleon Solo as both essentially stared down the flash suppressor muzzles of a half-dozen MP7 A1s.

"Too bad I wasn't a Boy Scout," bemoaned Illya while surrendering his U.N.C.L.E. carbine. "Between the two of us, we might've actually planned for this."

END OF CHAPTER 3