THE TIME BEFORE NOW AFFAIR
Chapter 4
"…for a one-eyed, half-faced freak…"
"One would believe," began a grinning-beneath-silken hood, due to his half-scarred countenance thanks to these two U.N.C.L.E. agents, "that you would've learned from before that access into any underground THRUSH headquarters would never be easy or completely unmonitored. Much less this facility. Why didn't you at least, like you did at the Canadian wilderness headquarters, don the jumpsuits-and-berets of a couple of the six shot-to-death guards in the flat above?"
"Maybe," sarcastically said Napoleon Solo with an insultingly sly smirk, "we're getting a little too careless in our old age, Darien, my boy."
Suddenly stepping closer to the secured-to-straight-backed chairs, made of cold medal like before, where two forcefully defrocked of expensive suit's coat and U.N.C.L.E. carbine-converted Walther P38s enemy agents seemed so self-assured, came the hidden-by-purple silk hood, save for the one and only good eye visible via the single, solitary perfectly-aligned eyehole.
As expected, he brought a hard black-gloved backhand against Napoleon that very nearly knocked out the dapper, salt-and-pepper, hazel-eyed enemy of both THRUSH and Darien Driscoll.
"I'll assume that, in order to facilitate the specifics of your mission," Darien's devilishly delighted voice said triumphantly from within the one-eyed hood of purplish silk, "you decided to purposely get caught. Either that…or you truly are moronically ancient."
"Neither," grunted Napoleon while spitting out some blood-tinged saliva due to said backhanded blow, leaving his jaw hurting like hell!, with his wit still intact. "We just don't have much respect for a half-faced follow-up to Andrew Vulcan…or any of the dozens of other really tough THRUSH leaders Illya and I have had the pleasure of destroying. Maybe a different color handkerchief hood would…?"
Once again, the black gloved hand slammed staggeringly hard into the side of Napoleon Solo's otherwise handsome face, bringing forth ever more blood-tinged spittle and unexpressed pain.
"You know, Napoleon, I'd love to spend the next hour beating the hell out of you," said Darien Driscoll after finally reining in his hatred and rage at the thought of something much more important. "But it's almost time to actually send two THRUSH operatives…skilled assassins, really…back to 1964 to kill two overtly annoying agents of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement in New York. It'll be interesting to see what happens to you…after your earlier Selves are shot dead."
Just as the silken hooded THRUSH chieftain turned to exit the smallish subterranean room, to be left guarded by only two thugs toting MP7 A1s…
"What about Andrew Vulcan in 1964, Mr. Driscoll?" called Illya Kuryakin with feigned deference. "If Napoleon and I are dead during that all-important first mission affair…what happens to you in this present-day situation? Will his unstopped plan prevent the events which eventually lead to your prospective rise to absolute control over THRUSH? Will you simply remain a lowly lieutenant to his unflagging leadership?"
Such caused the silken hooded, single black gloved Darien Driscoll to slowly look in Illya's secured-to-chair direction in order to ominously reply, "He shall also be assassinated, Mr. Kuryakin. So that such a reversal does not occur. But I shall not be so scarred as to have to hide my hand and head as I do now. Not with both of you long gone…in the past and the present."
No sooner did the hooded head of THRUSH swiftly exit, with most of the jumpsuit-and-beret wearing heavily armed guards in lock-stepped tow, thus leaving a couple of the thugs behind, than Napoleon Solo looked over at his lifelong colleague…
"Nice try, Illya. You almost caused him to second-guess his sick little plan…for all of a millisecond!"
"Just stalling for time, my American friend," the Russian-born, blonde-headed U.N.C.L.E. agent grinned, while tugging on a pre-selected section of his expensive dress shirt's cuff in order to slip out a small-but-sharp blade he would next use to slice through the PlastiCuffs zip-tying his hands behind the metal straight-backed seat. "All part of a pre-conceived plan by yours truly."
It didn't take long for Napoleon to notice such as he next half-smilingly spoke loud enough to be heard by the two armed-with-MP7 A1s THRUSH thugs…
"I've said this before, Illya, and I'll keep saying it…THRUSH is nothing but a bunch of cowardly dogs so afraid of any U.N.C.L.E. opposition that even two old farts like us pose some sort of threat. Isn't that right, fellows?"
"Shut the 'ell up," snarled one of the two British-born beret-wearing guards still standing in the makeshift confinement room with more than enough Cockney in his tone, not to mention really lousy teeth.
"Yes, well, that's certainly convincing," Napoleon continued to taunt both. "Tell me, boys, did you answer an ad in some white supremacy magazine or did they recruit you two straight out of a gay bar or…"
"I said…shut the 'ell up, ya bloody yank!"
No sooner had the insulted THRUSH thug, with the bad British accent, shouted such than he stepped uncomfortably close to the still-secured Napoleon Solo, with the other thug, also a lowly English ruffian judging by his equally terrible teeth, turning to watch his hoodlum colleague roughly handle the older-by-decades U.N.C.L.E. operative.
After weathering two or three too-solid punches, both to the breadbasket and to the chin, Napoleon said by way of a grunting/groaning hushed aside, "Anytime, my Russian… Ooof!"
Now moving with an agility and voracity betraying the physical fact the blonde-haired, blue-eyed agent was at all aged, Illya quickly used Karate-type blows combined with a Judo-type over-the-shoulder fling…
"W'at the bloody 'ell…?"
No sooner had such escaped the Cockney-sounding THRUSH thug hurting Napoleon, than the still fast-moving, regardless of recent retirement, U.N.C.L.E. agent opened fire, only a short burst, with the taken-from-beaten down Englander MP7 A1…
Brrrrrrrttttt-Brrraatttt!
"Gyii—"
…than the quick-thinking, planning-ahead agent cut away the PlastiCuffs keeping his partially-battered partner, Napoleon Solo, secured to his seat. Then…
"Let's kill the killers before they're sent into our past," swiftly said Napoleon after snatching up the MP7 A1 dropped by his now-dead assailant, "and destroy that damnable device…"
"Yes," chimed in Illya Kuryakin quickly and curtly, "so long as THRUSH has such an impossible machine…all persons of the past, from U.N.C.L.E. operatives to presidents, are endangered. As well as our present."
"C'mon!"
"All past-time sequencers are ready, Mr. Driscoll, sir," said Dr. Sabastian Malachi with a proud grin after having thoroughly tested said device. "Even now the two THRUSH agents chosen by you are ready to step into the Retro-temporal Anti-Gamma Emitting unit in order to…"
"Activate R.A.G.E., Doctor!" snappishly said an impatiently irritated THRUSH leader even as, from the elevated lead-glassed observation blister, he could see those two handpicked hit men. Both dressed in classic 1964-style suits and ties, as they step into an automatically opening/closing, as well as magnetically locking, multi-faceted spheroid. One acting as energy accretion chamber for the super-accelerated subatomic quantum tunneling dynamism needed to reach to a preprogrammed point whereby physical past-time regression, albeit agonizingly so, could take place.
"Charging system, sir," said Dr. Malachi as the rising roar of the miles-long super- accelerator reached an observation blister-shuddering pre-release power level. "Activating R.A.G.E. in five…four…three…two…"
Brrrrrttttttt-Brrrrraaaa-taaat-atataaaat! Brrraaatttt-Brrrrttttt!
Not only were the gathered guards brandishing their own MP7 A1s, but the scientific-technicians, including Dr. Sabastian Malachi, dropped in blood-drenched lifelessness via some sixty 4.6mm bullets rapidly fired by two just-escaped U.N.C.L.E. agents…
Bzzzzzzzzzzzz-RRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMM-SSSSSSSSSSSSSZZZZZZZ!
…but the intricately interconnected control consoles were basically destroyed…
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
…instantly causing a sudden overload of subatomic quantum tunneling energies that both turned two Sixties-suited THRUSH assassins inside-out in the most excruciatingly bloody fashion conceivable…
pop-SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
…than the suddenly hood-free, half-scarred, one-eyed Darien Driscoll, evidently ready for anything as well, hurriedly hurled down a tear gas grenade…
"He's…," harshly coughed Napoleon, "getting away…!"
"Can't…," severely retched Illya, "see…to reload…!"
…until, after hurrying out of the tear gas dominated observation blister, all that remained of the evidently escaped Darien Driscoll was the dropped purplish silk cloth previously used to hide his horribly disfigured face…
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
"The device is about to explode!" managed Napoleon after finally catching his breath.
"We have to get out of here! Now!" said Illya immediately after, just as the two THRUSH-armed, ammo clips freshly reloaded, U.N.C.L.E. agents ran far faster than their physically aged exterior implied was remotely manageable.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Fortunately for innocent Britons of Stafford Place, as well as the British royalty located at Buckingham Palace not so very far away, the self-destructing R.A.G.E. system was situated so far beneath the British surface and was so supremely reinforced, not to mention the unleashing of unknown anti-energies so impossibly alien within its own subatomic structure, that no one aboveground died.
So, too, had Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, thanks to training and experience that stretched all the way back to said Sixties, executed an escape with only seconds to spare.
Unfortunately, Darien Driscoll was nowhere to be found.
Hours later, having returned via privately-retained Learjet and prearranged car, even though contact had to be made in a manner other than their pen communicators, since they along with two fully-converted U.N.C.L.E. carbines, had been obliterated along with the London-located THRUSH headquarters…
"So," heaved Ms. Allison Hall, head of the New York U.N.C.L.E. HQ, with both tone and affectation, beautiful or not, denoting a disappointment matched only by such shared by Napoleon and Illya. "From your mandatory debriefing, it would appear that Darien Driscoll is still a THRUSH thorn in our side. How is it possible your spray of, uhm, let's see here…ah! Of MP7 A1 machinegun fire killed everyone else except Mr. Driscoll?"
"As we've already explained in our reports, Ms. Hall," Illya slowly said even as Napoleon appeared at the end of his proverbial rope.
"Let's just say," snidely interjected Napoleon, "for a one-eyed half-faced freak…he moved like a ballet dancer."
END
