Chapter Eight
Dr. Heaford grabbed his gun and waited to know what his brother had found out. Wondering if they had more to worry about than Solo escaping his room and would he caught before he could find Delaney or Kuryakin.
Thinking the easiest way out outside by the court yard, Heaford went to the window. Solo couldn't see what he was looking at, because he was out of his line of sight behind the door. Opening it slowly and as quietly as possible Solo walked out into the office to see Heaford smile as he stood in front of the distracted doctor, flexing hand around his gun.
"I got to hand it to you, Mr. Kuryakin. You are very impressive." That was all Heaford said, slowly opening the window, level his gun, and was about to shoot at the half-naked man that was pushing a wheelchair at the courtyard's edge. "I'm not going to hurt you; much…"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Solo said quietly with his gun now raised and pointed at the good doctor. "I've a better chance in killing you from this range than you do killing my friend down there.
"Throw the gun on the floor, slowly, other there." Solo gestured with his gun, watching the resigned doctor do what he was told. "Now walk away from the window like a good Thrushie..."
Just as Heaford took a few steps away from the window, the bookcase door slid open and a breathless, angry Graff trotted through.
"They're both gone! What! How did you…"
Graff quickly brought up his gun and shot at Solo. In that same moment, Solo turned his gun to the new intruder into the room and fired as well. Pain shot through Solo's right side, making him drop his gun as he fell back. His eyes began to dim when a shadow of movement rushed toward him. His head swam while he tried to clear his mind to what was happening.
Before he could get up from the floor, Heaford jumped, grabbed at him, trying to force Napoleon back on the floor, and held him to the ground when they both struggled to get to Solo's gun that fell a few feet from where they rolled on the floor.
Heaford grabbed at Solo's shoulders and pushed him away to get a finger tip on the gun. Even as his flank burned and made it hard to him to move his right properly, Napoleon rolled into the doctor's motion. They were a tangle of arms and legs as they rolled back and forth.
Out of sheer luck, the last twist to the left, landed the gun in Solo's hands, and he tried to point it at Heaford, but with a jab to his wounded side and two hands grabbing his wrist, the gun was forced towards his own head.
Suddenly, another shot rang out between the two men who stared out at each other in shock and disbelief. Then, Heaford slumped back before he let out his last breath. Solo laid back on the floor panting in pain and shock. Blood from the bullet wound starting to soak through his white uniform and onto the floor.
Slowly, Napoleon brought his left arm up to sit across his abdomen with his gun tightly gripped in his hand. After a few deep breaths, Napoleon's minds cleared to allow him to detangle his legs from Heaford's and sit up. He couldn't tell if the bullet at his side had passed through his body or not as he placed his good hand above the front of his hip to help stop some of the bleeding after he put the smoking gun in the opposite pocket, pulled out the broken communicator, and tossed it onto the floor.
"Where's Graff?"
Napoleon thought to himself and looked to where he seen him last, but he was missing. Slowly, Napoleon got up and staggered to where Graff had been. All that was there on the wall by the hidden door in the bookshelf was evidence of a bullet hole with human blood and tissue dripping from the wall. The blood trail continued on to the floor in a small pool and then under the metal door leading to the hidden back hallway.
Remembering seeing where the button for the secret door was, Napoleon painfully held his gun at his side when he pushed the button with the index finger and turned to be ready, just in case Graff was waiting behind the door.
As the door opened, no one was there, and Solo slowly walked down the short corridor, carefully looking into each secret room as he went by. All three rooms were empty while Napoleon studied the pattern of blood on the floor. It showed that Graff was losing enough to leave a trail that lead to the outer door to the main passageway.
Opening the back door, the blood trail disappeared. Nothing else was seen by agent's weary eyes, who were trying not to spill anymore of his own on the floor while Napoleon weaved back and forth down the hallway. He had to use the wall for support after he put his gun in the uniform pocket.
With the alarm still blaring throughout the building, everything was on lock down and no one in the hallways to confront him when he turned the corner. Seeing the sunlight at the end of a dark intersecting hallway, Napoleon slowly and painfully made his way out of the building through the deserted offices. He knew that if he stopped moving forward, he wouldn't be able to get up again, and forced himself to continue his slow and steady pace toward the door.
MFU/MFU
"Stop right there, Mr. Kuryakin!"
Mother G's voice shot out from behind him and Caitlin as he tried to get them to the other side of the courtyard without being noticed by too many other people. Illya's hopes dropped and he began to shiver even more when he took a chance and quickly looked back without stopping. She was coming up fast and had two huge orderlies with her. He saw her motion to others ahead of him.
While trying to think of an idea fast, Illya turned back around to see two more hulking men on the way to block their path. He leaned forward to speak into Caitlin's ear while she was holding her breath to what might come next.
"Caitlin, give me the scalpel and you'll have to trust me." He told her, stopped the wheelchair and pulled her to stand up. Turning her around in front of him, he stood behind her, grabbed her by the waist and hurriedly started to walk backwards to one of the buildings.
"Stay away from us or she will die!" Illya threatened and put the scalpel close to Caitlin's neck. His hand trembled and he tried not to stumble. His strength was fading even more than when he'd first managed to escape from that restraints.
"Illya, you're not well. Don't do anything foolish. I know that you won't hurt Miss Delaney."
Mother G and the orderlies hesitated when they approach the two. She kept her voice calm and smooth as if trying to reason with a mental ill patient. That's what she wanted those in the courtyard to believe who were standing and watching the action while the alarm continued to blare.
Illya could feel Caitlin struggle with what Mother G was saying to her when a light mist shot out from her nametag. The scalpel flashed her in the eyes and she took a sharp breath in while trying to push his arm away. He didn't have the strength to fight Caitlin off along with Mother G and her goons.
"We are leaving. I know that you don't want her hurt. Back off," Kuryakin hoarsely shouted, knowing that he wasn't getting very far, but he couldn't give up. He watched both groups of thugs close in on him and Caitlin.
Suddenly, another hand from behind grabbed his injured wrist with the knife in it and yanked it back. Another orderly had come up behind him to help the first one. The excoriating pain caused Illya to drop the scalpel; the blond was jerked from his feet and away from Caitlin. He was roughly pushed to the ground by several hands. The weight on his back from the orderly's knee took away what little breath he had left away.
"Caitlin, how are you? I hope that this patient didn't hurt you." Mother G took a hold of the strawberry blonds' shoulders to support her and she steered her back to the wheelchair. The older nurse noticed that there were three syringes on the ground by chair.
"Illya would never hurt me," Caitlin said blankly, allowing Mother G to place her legs on the pedals with older lady crouched down in front of her. "He says Napoleon isn't dead. He's going to help me find him."
"Oh dear, you're confused and Illya used that thought to try to get to you. Let's get you back to bed and rest." Mother G looked her in the eyes to see if she needed another dose from her name tag and took her hands in hers. "I'll personally take care of you. Frank, here, will take you back to your room while I help our Mr. Kuryakin get settled and then I'll be right there."
"But..." Before Caitlin could refuse, the orderly took a hold of the handles to the wheelchair and propelled her back to the building that she and Illya had just left.
"Well." Mother G sighed in frustration, straightened up, waiting for Frank and Caitlin to be well on their way, before she turned to look at the struggling, panting agent, and then down to the syringes on the ground.
She picked the drugs up, carefully weighing them in her hands, and then walked up to where Kuryakin was being held down in the grass, out of the way of the dissipating onlookers. She put her empty hand on her hip while regarding the blond man's back that showed a history of surviving torture and pain.
"You have caused me so much trouble." She leaned over the prone agent smugly with her chest meeting her chin.
"I do try my best." Kuryakin barely squeaked out, fighting for breath with the knee on the small of his back increasing its pressure. It pushed even more air out of his tired, airless lungs.
"Well, no more." Her face went hard and she looked at those holding Kuryakin down. "Hold him still. Clay, go get a stretcher and a straight jacket."
"Yes, ma'am," the burly man nodded after let go of Kuryakin's feet, stood up, and trotted off down the path.
Mother G moved to Illya's left side and looked at his raw wrist. It had started to bleed again when the orderly had grabbed and wrenched it back, tearing the battered skin even further.
"Look what you've done to your poor wrist. Was it really worth it?" She asked with a scolding tone of a medical professional.
Kuryakin didn't respond while he waited for her to tell him what she had planned next. He was too tired to give much of a fight right now, but reasoned that a few moments of rest will help him for the next time he tries to escape.
"I think that we should start to get you ready for round four, although I don't know how you will fare afterwards?" Mother G's tone continued, shaking her head in a mock sympathy as she patted one of his tense shoulders. She didn't want him; she wanted to know where Lexi was. Illya's mind raced while continually being held down, denting the soft grass beneath it.
"No comment this time, my dear?" She asked sweetly.
"Would it matter?" Illya asked in almost resignation to what was to happen next. "I'm prepared to die to keep her safe. Are you prepared to kill me?"
"My, that's a bit over dramatic, don't you think?" Mother G smiled darkly with false humor and she shook her head at the startled looks on the orderlies gave her. "We're here to help you, not hurt you. We're here to take care of you, Mr. Kuryakin."
With that last comment, Illya felt her soft, warm hands on his arm and then the stinging jab of a hypodermic needle in a selected, abused vein. A warm flushing started to run up his arm when he began to shake and flowing colors were vibrating off the tips of the grass blades.
"Now, that's much better. Turn him over, but keep a good hold of him until we that straight jacket and cart. He still might try to get away and the medicine I gave him will make him seize." Mother G ordered the men.
"This man had a history of insanity. Most of these scars are self inflicted. He has also hurt others while he tried to escape treatment, because of his delusions. This man almost killed a little girl once because she got in his way," Mother G convincingly lied to the orderlies and smiled when the look of pity for the now trembling, obvious patient turned to hatred and they became less concerned in how much pressure they used to subdue him.
MFU/MFU
It took all of Napoleon's strength to push open the door to the bright outside by the office wing, when he was met by a gun leveled at him. Squinting his eyes, he tried to focus on who was attached to the gun. His vision dimmed despite the blinding sunshine.
"Mr. Solo," A man asked as he came into view. "Open channel D. We need an ambulance at the east side door. Mr. Solo's been shot!"
The agent's voice was all Solo could concentrate on before his vision slide to the side as did his body when he crumpled to the ground; his hand still on the door handle. Several UNCLE agents surrounded him and helped Napoleon to the ground while they waited for the gurney to round the corner.
Once the medic had got there: placed him on the stretcher; started an intravenous line; and put a mask of oxygen on his face; Solo woke up just enough to see Mr. Waverly. He was looking down at him with his usual concern. The pressure dressing helped stop some of the bleeding from his bullet wound to his right side.
"Sir," Napoleon croaked out through dry lips and tried to remove the oxygen mask only to have his hand slapped away by his boss.
"Rest, Mr. Solo. You're the first one we found," Waverly said simply, looking down at one of his top agents through bushy eyebrows. "Let the medics take care of you and we'll find the others."
"Caitlin…Illya…courtyard," He struggled to say as he winced in pain. "Heaford dead… Graff got away, but… badly wounded."
"Thank you, Mr. Solo, we'll take it from here. Get some rest."
"Yes, sir." Napoleon lay back, knowing that Waverly would take care of Caitlin and then promptly passed out.
"Gentlemen, on to the courtyard," Waverly waved to the rest of the Section Three agents to follow him when an agent came up to him who had been half way down to the courtyard to check the path.
"Sir, we have an orderly here saying he is to take a patient back inside. Away from the action in the courtyard per Mother G's orders and we found another one coming out of the back entrance with a stretcher and a straight jacket going to the courtyard. Again, saying it was Mother G's orders."
"Mother G?" Waverly asked in surprised and then smiled. "I think that we'll take the stretcher with us and take a walk to the courtyard after we have a look at that patient, Mr. Hill."
"Yes, sir."
The agent nodded and waved another agent to bring the orderly named Frank and the patient in the wheelchair over to Mr. Waverly. With a show of relief on his face and a smile, Waverly knew Miss Caitlin Delaney from her picture he had seen a few days ago. The giant orderly nervously looked at the UNCLE agents with guns in their hand and he did what he told.
Caitlin looked around in confusion and held on tight to the armrests of the chair. Her eyes were glassy while she was tried to clear her head. Waverly walked the last few feet to meet her wheelchair and gently took her hand.
"Miss Delaney, we finally meet."
Caitlin looked up at the warm soft smile and pleasant face of Mr. Waverly blankly, not realizing who she was meeting. "Do I know you? I've met so many people lately; I can't keep them all straight. Are you a good guy or a bad one? I'm having trouble determining which is which right now."
"I'm a good guy." Waverly humphed pleasantly. "Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin work for me."
"Napoleon's dead. Killed in the car crash that I got had gotten hit in the head. Illya's not right in the head. He told me to trust him and then there was this knife in his hand…" Caitlin said in gush of information that she herself didn't quite understand.
Mr. Solo dead? No my dear, he's shot, but not dead. You've been misinformed." Waverly squeezed her hand and then patted her shoulder gently before straightened up to talk to an UNCLE agent. "Take her to see Mr. Solo."
"Napoleon alive? This is all so confusing…" Caitlin mumbled, rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, and then shook her head. "I don't understand…"
"You will, my dear, and soon." Waverly said softly when she passed by him. "She'll need to be checked out by Dr. Thompson as well. Is he on his way, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, Sir, George will be here in less than ten minutes."
"Good, let us proceed to meet this Mother G."
Waverly and four Section Three Uncle agents turned down the steep pathway to the courtyard. About half way down one of the gravel paths, they saw a plump nurse in white standing over what appear to be several burly orderlies, holding down a body on the well maintained grassy lawn. The down man was well hidden from the rest of the courtyard to prevent additional on-lookers except those coming from the sides.
"Where is Clay with that stretcher?" Mother G brought the level of her voice up to express her frustration.
"I'm afraid that Clay will not be bringing you a stretcher, my men will be taking care of Mr. Kuryakin from now on," Waverly said with authority, his suspicions were correct. "Mother G I presume or should I say Mrs. Gladys Fairbanks, owner of the Newport High Society Social Club founder and now, one of the newest members of THRUSH?
The older lady's back stiffened as she straightened up to do a full body turn to meet Alexander Waverly, Number One of Section One. He was someone she has known very well from many of her travels. She wasn't surprised to see that the UNCLE agents had their guns drawn and ringed around their leader.
"Alex Waverly, aren't you suppose to be dead or something? What are you, a hundred and twenty now and sadly looking very much your age?"
"It's always a pleasure talking with you too, Gladys." Waverly smiled darkly. "Your husbands' never could quite pull off ruling the world or killing me and I see that now your sons are falling into the same pattern. Dr. Heaford's dead, the other one's gone, but not before we got a shot off, making him an easy target to find, and now you. Captured and taken to prison for your many crimes."
"Andrew's dead?" Gladys' voice tightened ever so slightly as she grimaced. "At least Jordan was smart enough to get away. I'll have to catch up with him later."
"Don't plan on it." Waverly said evenly with a very serious tone. "Now, what have you done to my agent?"
"Oh nothing," Gladys said wistfully, waving her hand carelessly towards Kuryakin. "Just a little gift from my third husband, but he'll need to go through the whole process to get back to normal. Well, almost normal. We haven't had a subject live past the fourth round of treatment yet."
"Gladys, are you still playing your old tricks again? You were never good at bluffing. I know that there is something you're not telling me."
Gladys smiled malevolently, brought her arms up, and crossed them up above her ample chest. Just when she gave Waverly a challenging look, the orderlies holding Kuryakin down were ordered to release him by a couple of UNCLE agents with guns still raised and backed away.
Before the Section Three Agents could assess Kuryakin's condition, he jerked suddenly and twisted in a spasm. He laughed out and threshed his head wildly.
"Question is, Alex." Gladys turned back from looking at Kuryakin to Waverly. "How much is he worth to you?"
"My agents know that they are expendable." Waverly didn't falter and he leveled his look at her. He calmly ignored the practically convulsing agent on the grass laughing and babbling out to no one in particular. The other UNCLE agents struggled to get the disjointed Kuryakin on the stretcher. "They all know that."
"But he's not in this position because of UNCLE, but because his little girlfriend. Love is thicker than UNCLE it seems."
"Yes, it looks that way at first, but this mission was for UNCLE to protect her from you and THRUSH. He is meeting his objective. You'll not get to Miss Roth, because we have her. Your game is up Gladys. You've lost one son, and you'll be arrested. I may be persuaded to offer my help when the time comes if you cooperate."
Waverly and Mother G stared at each other for a few moments and then she sighed in calculated frustration.
"Fine, I'll help your young man. You have to take him back inside and into the treatment room. These two syringes plus a gas mixture will complete the process." Mother G held out the syringes she was holding in her plump hand. "I'm not making any promises for his survival."
"Dr. Thompson." Waverly turned to the doctor. "Please accompany Mrs. Fairbanks to her treatment room with Mr. Kuryakin. See that he is taking care of while he goes through this process to get him back to normal. I still have need of him."
"Yes, sir," Thompson acknowledged as he had just walked up behind Waverly and had missed most of what was going on and he held out his hand for the syringes, walked over to Illya, and checked his eyes.
MFU/MFU
Through a dense fog, Illya started to make out shapes. Then, those shapes started to sharpen to things. He could now make out blurred faces and an oxygen mask hovering in front of him from above. Sounds of beeping and muffled words began to fill his ears with undistinguishable noises that kept him from melting back into a warm dark blackness.
Ever so slowly, things started to come into focus when he felt the mask being placed over his nose and mouth with air being forced into his lungs along with an odd smell of rubber. Illya's jaw was painfully held forward by a strong hand.
Weakly, Illya tried to bat the hand and mask away; irritated to have someone try to wake him up and have this rigid mask on his face. His whole body screamed to be left alone so he could sleep off this weariness.
"Illya, you need to wake up long enough to show us that you're okay." Dr. George Thompson nudged the agent gently on the shoulder when he was repositioning the oxygen mask and relaxing his hand on his chin. He was happy to see his friend try to be his stubborn self as usual by resisting his help to get him to breathe on his own.
"I'm fine! Now let me sleep." Illya tried to sit up and instantly regretting it. His eyes started to roll back and his heart stated to thump in his chest threatening to bust through his bruised ribs. "Oh, I'm not feeling very well…"
"And you shouldn't be," Napoleon chimed in from the corner, sporting a smile and Caitlin on his arm while he nervously watched his partner. "Poor George here had to beat your chest and shock your heart, not once, but twice to get you through that last round of Mother G's special treatment. You're lucky Mr. Waverly likes you enough to keep you around."
"I'm his favorite," Illya sarcastically said and brought one of his hands up to shield his eyes from the bright lights in the room. "I feel fine. I just need to rest a little. How long have I been out and when can I go back to sleep? What happened to Mother G, Dr. Heaford, and Jordan Graff?"
"You've been on the ventilator for two days now and I'll have to keep you awake for a while longer to make sure you can protect your own airway. The weakness will stick around for a week or so, I imagine." George shrugged. "The rest is all up to you, boy-yo."
"Dr. Heaford is dead, Mother G is in our custody, and no one knows where Graff is after I shot him, but I bet it'll be a while before he'll try anything. Trixie was one of the first people that Mother G experimented on and sort of snapped out of it when she saw me and helped get Mr. Delaney out and back here to headquarters. UNCLE owes her a college education and a job." Napoleon tried to fill him in quickly, keeping the information as short and simple as possible.
"How is Caitlin doing?" Illya asked feeling too tired to even uncover his eyes and open them to look towards the direction of Napoleon's voice.
"Oh, I'm fine, Sunshine." Caitlin chimed in, looking from Illya to Solo and gave Napoleon a smile and leaned in closer to him. "I'm going to be right here and make sure things are going to work out for the best. We just need to iron out a few of the details still."
"It's about time someone took charge of the infamous Napoleon Solo." Illya smirked, finally lifting his arm over his eyes high enough to see how they looked at each other while protect them from the overhead lights.
"I don't think that Illya's right in the head, George. Maybe he needs some more of Mother G's special blend?" Napoleon suggested to Thompson to bait his partner.
"I think that you and Caitlin need to say your goodbyes and get some rest; let your side heal." George said to Napoleon with stern merriment and he waved them out of the room.
"We can take a hint." Napoleon joked, stepping up to the bed and gave his friend's shoulder a warm squeeze before he and Caitlin started to leave to room. "Take care and get some sleep, partner. I'll see you in the morning."
"Hmm…" Illya nodded, almost sound asleep again and then smiled darkly. "I will want to hear what rules you will have to follow when you're out on assignment, so I can keep you on the straight and narrow…"
"It's all just a game anyway, right?" Napoleon smiled at the joke between the two partners. He saw a small grin tugged at Illya's lips.
"What are you talking about? What game?" Caitlin raised one of her eyebrows and placed her hands on her hips, making Napoleon chuckle out loud and held up his hands up in self defense.
"I'll tell you all about it when we spend lots of time together, I promise." Napoleon started to back out of the hospital room. "See what you started, you sly Russian! Wait until you're better, I may have to follow my orders I was given on you by a certain someone."
"Not right now, Napoleon, I'm too tired to even care what you can think up for me to endure. You can threaten me later."
"You can count on that. Oh, I left you that snow globe on your nightstand. Bye!" With those last words Napoleon said was in haste, Caitlin grabbing his elbow, starting to pull him away from the door, and down the hallway.
"Bye…" Illya barely got out, sighed, and began to drift into the oblivion once more.
"Illya, I hope you can hear me." George said causally. "A note was left for you in your lab."
"Note?" Illya barely heard the words, let alone understood what George had meant.
"Yes, an odd message really. Not traceable to where it came from," George said, stating his concern in an odd manner.
"You're losing me, George. What was the message?" Illya couldn't help but wonder what he was getting at and grimaced; he wanted to sleep and he promised himself that he would sleep for the next two months and now these thoughts were preventing that.
"It's just that, I don't think that it was translated right. It has only two words in the message."
"George!" Illya pleaded, instantly wishing he hadn't raised his head with his voice as his bruised chest screamed out in protest when his next breath caught in his throat.
"All right, the message said, Logan Strasse." He shrugged his shoulders.
George watched Illya stiffen up and then settle down more comfortably in the bed with a peaceful continence on his face. "What does it mean? Is it from Lexi?"
"Yes, she's scolding me for getting hurt and telling me that she cares for me."
George was one of the few people that knew their history and shared a lab with Lexi.
"Wow, all that in two words?" George was hinting for more of an explanation.
"Logan Street in Munich, Germany is where we came to realize what we had really meant to each other and how each of us had promised our fathers to watch over the other one. Chance put us together, General Boris Kuryakin tried to make us into his killing machines, and Logan Strasse is where we decided that we truly loved one another and vowed to try to be together whenever we could. I was on medical leave, because I had gotten injured during a mission by not trusting my gut feeling"
"Thoughts like that make sleeping for days worthwhile, which is what you will be doing at least for the first few days." George observed simply. "Now I know that you're breathing okay and in your right mind for you, I'll let you get back to your dreams."
"George?" Illya asked before he started to sink back into the warm darkness.
"Yes, Illya?"
"How is Cassidy doing? And the baby?"
George smiled and patted the pale agent softly on the shoulder after he stood up. "She is fine. Any day now. I wish that I could say the same about me. I'm a nervous wreck thinking about her and taking care of you like I promise my partner."
"You're off the hook, George. She made Napoleon promise to look after me too. Go home to your wife. In a few days, I'll come see you and Cassidy once the baby is born and show you the gift Lexi and I have for your family. I promised her that I would take care of you as well while she was gone."
"She really is a piece of work!"
Both men shook their heads in shared enjoyment of knowing their shared female partner. George left Illya to fall back sleep and closed the door.