Chapter 4
"What Goes Around.."
Waverly sat bolt upright in his chair.
"Say that again, Mr. Kuryakin."
"They took Miss Penobscot as well….She was arriving at the building as Napoleon was going out. THRUSH has them both."
Everything went quiet on the other end. Illya looked at the two female agents.
"This changes everything," Waverly said, "I want the three of you to return to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters immediately."
"Yes sir…We're on the way. Kuryakin out." He closed the pen and returned it to his pocket.
Marnie looked at Illya with a shocked expression on her face. Return to U.N.C.L.E? With Napoleon and her mother in the hands of THRUSH, Waverly wanted them to return to headquarters? She checked her clip and started to walk off.
"Where do you think you're going?" Illya asked stepping in front of her to block her retreat.
"I'm going after them," Marnie said, trying to get past him.
He blocked her movements.
"Don't make me have to hurt you, Mr. Kuryakin," she said glaring at him.
Illya smiled one of those rare, amused, smiles and in one swift motion, took hold of both of her wrist. The Russian casually picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Her protest went unheeded as they left for headquarters.
The tension around the conference room table was high. Barker and Waverly went over every aspect of what had happened so far.
"I do not believe Miss Penobscot is in any immediate danger," Waverly said, "Nyman may use her to intimidate Mr. Solo…"
"Why haven't we been allowed to run on the THRUSH satrap, Sir?" Kuryakin asked.
The Russian knew it was over stepping a bit. He saw Waverly's expression turn deadly serious.
Barker looked at the UNCLE Chief. Waverly nodded to the head of security.
The back panel that separated Waverly's office and communications room, from the main conference room, hissed as it slipped shut. Everyone heard the door seal. There was another hiss as the main door became pressurized and locked. The room was now totally sealed off from everything in the building.
Barker walked over to a small metal cabinet just behind Waverly's chair. He punched in his silent code and they heard a click as the cabinet unlocked. The Security Chief took out a large thick folder and brought it to the table.
Waverly broke the seal and opened the file. He handed Barker two transparent sheets. The head of security slipped them into the projector at the other end of the room. He walked back and pulled the screen down.
Two different images came up on the screen. Photos of the THRUSH safe house were on one side, a detailed blue print of its interior on the other.
"These were taken from the micro-dot you gentlemen retrieved on your last mission. Section 3 has managed to decipher most of the code on the remaining documents pertaining to the house and THRUSH's "ambitions"."
Illya, Marnie and Jackie looked closely at the drawing.
"THRUSHs weapons man, Randolph Sequa has been experimenting with DS that much we already know. We found the power form on the ammunition clip of Mr. Solo's gun. He has not only managed to reduce it to a powder form, but according to the reports is attempting to make a gas version as well. This we can only assume is to be used in another attempt to wipe out U.N.C.L.E. headquarters."
"Our Lab technicians have assured us that such an attack on U.N.C.L.E. would be useless. The air ventilation system is too advanced. It would be able to detect the gas and shut out any contaminates. With the thickness of the inner walls and the layer of asbestos between the inner and outer walls of the building, THRUSH would almost have to drop it in bomb form to even make a dent," Barker said
"Charles Nyman has been sent to check the new operation and the progress of the research," Waverly said, "The information we have indicates that once we have been taken out, THRUSH is setting up a nest of its own here in New York, to act as its first permanent base of operations in the United States."
"THRUSH has never had a permanent location anywhere," Illya said studying the blueprint.
"Quite right Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly continued, "That is one of the reasons we have had difficulties with finding their main control center…Thanks to an accidental discovery by Mr. Solo we are in a position to get the next best thing…."
Alexander Waverly looked at the photo staring at him from the file. He felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck as he stared back at the cold dark eyes. He took the photo and handed it Barker.
The photo came up on the screen. The face was ancient. The photo slightly blurred as it had been obtained from quite a distance and enlarged. The man in the photo looked old and tired. His gnarled hands and slightly hunched posture made him look at least ten years older than his actual age. When in fact he was only a few months older than Waverly himself.
Even in the blur of the photo, the man's dark eyes seemed to stare right through you. His once black hair was streaked with grey and his pencil thin mustache was nearly lost in the wrinkled skin around his mouth and nose.
"Sleazy looking guy," Jackie said, "You almost expect him to reach up and give the tip of that mustache a twist."
Waverly looked at her and smiled slightly.
"He use to do exactly that," the Chief said, "He has been a thorn in U.N.C.L.E.'s side since the inception of the organization. He is a cold blooded murderer, a traitor to his country. We had him once, but he was liberated by another party and has been on THRUSH's payroll ever since."
Waverly handed them photos of the man when he was younger and copies of the latest photo.
"His name, or the name he has used for the last thirty-three years, is Karl Liventon. He is the last of THRUSH's five original operatives…." Waverly continued.
Kuryakin felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck. Waverly pressed his palms flat on the table top, leaning towards his agents. His eyes narrowed slightly. Although the air in the room was warm, everyone seemed to feel a chill run through them.
"…..and the current head of all THRUSH operations in the Northwest sector."
Amy pounded on the heavy wooden door. She tried frantically to turn the brass knobs, but the door was locked. Turning around, she leaned back against the door and looked across the dimly lit room.
"All that energy," Nyman said taking a sip of Brandy, "Wasted on a door. Now that you know you are here to stay, have a seat…Can I offer you a Brandy?"
"What do you mean by "here to stay"?"
Charlie Nyman stood up and strolled over to the wet bar. He poured out a second snifter of Brandy and walked over to the woman. Amy's hand was shaking as she took the glass.
"What shall we drink to, my dear Amy?" Nyman said, "To us? To what we once meant to one another? To what we will become? I can make your life a paradise or a living hell, your choice."
Amy looked down at the crystal snifter in her hand. She gave the elixir inside a soft swish, and then threw it in Charles Nyman's face.
"You've already made it a hell," she said, "You were scum then and, unlike the Brandy, you haven't improved over the years."
To her surprise, Nyman simply smiled and took the handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the Brandy from his face and shoved the cloth into his pocket once more. Amy watched him carefully as he walked across the room to a large cabinet.
He opened the doors, reveling what looked like a large television screen inside. After a few switches where flipped on and a few other adjustment were made, the screen began to pop with static. The wavy lines began to slowly clear.
"Let me re-phrase that then…..I can make your life a paradise…."
Amy looked as the screen cleared. She could see Napoleon on the screen. He was stretched out and shackled down on a metal cot, the bare springs exposed. They had taken his shirt off and his bare back was flat against the springs. She saw two of the men remove his trousers leaving the agent in his underwear.
"…..or his a living Hell…" Nyman said. He pressed a button on the monitor. "Proceed, gentlemen."
One of the THRUSH guards looked into the camera and gave a nod.
Amy felt her heart move to her throat. What were they going to do to her wonderful Napoleon? Electrocution perhaps? Were they going to beat him? She knew what THRUSH was capable of. She had seen already what they had done to him.
To her horror she saw the springs of the bed being slowly pulled down at several different points. Napoleon's body moved down with them as well. The agent could feel the metal springs expanding beneath him. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for what was about to happen.
Amy screamed as the springs released and snapped back into place. She could see Napoleon's face twisted in agony as large sections of his skin became caught in the metal. His body twitched and it took his last ouch of willpower not to cry out. She saw small pools of blood on the floor below the cot. Her hands instinctively reach towards the screen.
"Napoleon!...Oh, Napoleon…" Amy cried. She pressed her face to the cold glass screen.
"Crude but effective, THRUSH old school, brought back by our current boss. Sometimes the simplest tactics work the best," Nyman said smiling sickly.
Amy, her face still pressed to the screen, felt tears fell on her cheeks.
The THRUSH stood to the side, his arms folded. He casually lifted his snifter once more and took a sip.
"This wouldn't have been nearly as gratifying without you here, Amy," he said, "Now maybe you'll comprehend the position you are in..."
Napoleon's aunt could see the pain on her Nephew's face. She saw his face turn slightly towards the camera, not an easy task as his hair was also trapped in the springs. She looked into his eyes.
"I'm here Napoli, everything is going to be alright," she heard herself whisper as she stroked the face on the screen; "Everything is going to be alright."
Napoleon Solo felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach, his thoughts only on his aunt. Where was she? What was happening to her? His own pain he could push aside, but the thought that THRUSH might do something to her….
Nyman stepped up behind the woman and put his hands on her shoulders. Amy trembled as his face came closer to hers.
"Charlie, let him go….please," she sobbed, "I'll do whatever you want...Just make them release Napoleon."
Nyman smiled. His hand reached around and he flipped a small switch.
"Retract the springs," he said, "Take Solo to a holding room."
They watched as the metal springs were pulled apart once more. Two of the guards released the chains around his wrist and ankles and lifted him off the springs. Slipping his trousers back on, they turned his back to the camera as they started to put his shirt back on him.
Amy felt sick at the sight. Nyman turned off the camera. He sat his glass down and put both hands on the woman's shoulders pulling her close. The THRUSH felt her tremble as he held her.
"I want to see Napoleon," she said her voice cracking slightly.
"Of course," Nyman replied.
He led her back to the desk and picked up the phone.
"Lewis….Can you come in here?" he said.
There was a muffled sound on the other end. And Charlie hung up the phone. Within a few minutes the door opened and Lewis Sharpton walked in.
"Lewis I want you to take Miss Penobscot up to the holding cell. She wants to see Mr. Solo."
Sharpton gave his boss a strange look. What was he now a fetch and carry? A go-fer? Before Nyman arrived there he was in charge, now he was nothing but another THRUSH lackey.
"Yes sir," Sharpton said a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "Would she like a cup of tea while she's visiting?"
"You know, Lewis," Nyman said coolly, "Sequa still needs more "volunteers" for his DS experiments. How would you like to be one?"
Sharpton took the woman by the arm, mumbled something low to himself and led her from the room.
Amy noted that the house was very deceiving in appearance. From the outside it looked like a simple Manhattan townhouse, stuck in-between several others on the block. But inside in was large open and airy.
They stepped out of the front office into the grand foyer. A beautiful crimson red Persian rug covered most of the floor and in the center a heavy maple table stood beneath the ornate chandelier. The light fixtures along the wall matched the opulence of the crystal hanging from the high ceiling and the light was low, creating a strange sense of calm.
The large marble staircase wound around the curved walls. The steps were partially covered with a heavy hunter green velvet carpet, long brass rods holding in firmly in place at the base of each step. The walls were covered in various paintings many of them work of the old masters.
Only when they reached the second floor did she realize why the place looked so much bigger inside as it did from the outside. The buildings on both sides had been opened to accommodate offices, and various other spaces. She was surprised at how much it resembled U.N.C.L.E. headquarters
One more floor and she could see a large desk positioned at the end of the hallway. They walked to it.
"Nyman said to let her see Solo," Sharpton said.
The THRUSH behind the desk pressed a small release button and the door behind him opened. Amy and Sharpton walked into the dimly lit hallway lined with prison styled doorways. They walked a few yards and stopped.
"There he is," Sharpton said, "Enjoy."
Lewis turned and walked away leaving the woman standing at the bars.
Napoleon lay on the small cot against the wall, his back to the cell doors.
Amy felt her heart sink. She could see small patches of red dotting the back of Napoleon's shirt and trousers. She watched the slow movements of his shoulder and arm as he made each breath full and deliberate as if each would be his last.
"Ti amo, Napoli. La mia dolce, dolce Napoli." ("I love you, Napoli. My sweet, sweet Napoli.") Amy said low.
"Je t'aime aussi, tante Amy.
Napoleon slowly rolled over on his stomach. He laid there for a moment, giving the pain a chance to lessen then he rolled to his other side.
"Are you alright?" he said low, "They haven't hurt you have they?"
"I'm alright Napoleon," she said smiling, "Just worried about you, my pet."
"Aunt Amy, I want you to promise me something," Napoleon said, cringing slightly from the pain, "No matter what they say or do to me….Don't give into them. U.N.C.L.E. is watching our backs. Mr. Waverly isn't going to let anything happened to you."
Amy smiled at him. Always her brave Napoleon. She took off her coat, folded it and placed it on the floor next to the door, sitting down in the floor next to the cell. She laid her face against the cold iron bars and stared at her strong nephew. Strong yes, but for how much longer.
Sharpton walked back down the stairs. As he stepped off the last step, a guard walked out of the operations room at the base of the stairs. They nearly collided. The young man stopped in his tracks.
"What's the big hurry, Martin?" Sharpton asked.
"Sir, we just received this message from….him, sir."
Sharpton took the paper from the flabbergasted young man.
"Holy crap," Sharpton said, "He's coming two weeks early...He'll be here tomorrow afternoon. Not a word of this to anyone do you understand?"
The young guard saluted and turned, quickly heading back into the room.
Sharpton started towards the front office then stopped. A slick smile crossed his thin lips. Should he tell Nyman that the big boss was coming earlier than expected or let him be caught off guard?
Nyman walked out of this office and saw him standing there with the paper in his hand.
"What's that?" he said snatching the paper from the other man's grasp. He looked it over. "Why didn't you bring this straight in to me?"
"Martin just handed it to me a moment ago," he stammered, "I was…"
"Trying to decide whether or not to pass it along.." Nyman said staring him down.
"No Charlie….I.."
"Martin!" Nyman shouted, "Out here on the double!"
The startled young THRUSH operative ran from the communications room, his headphones still intact, and the long cord dangling to his side. He stopped before the two men and quickly saluted his superiors.
"Yes sir," the young man said.
"When did this come in?"
Nyman handed the guard the paper.
"Approximately six minutes ago…Sir."
"Why didn't you bring it to me?"
"I was bringing it to you when Mr. Sharpton came into the hallway," Martin said, "He asked why I was in a hurry. I told him about the message…"
"What did he say about it?"
Sharpton glared at the younger man. Martin began to sweat and swallowed the large knot in his throat.
"He told me….he told me….not to say a word to anyone about it. I assumed he meant just the guards sir, not you as well," Martin stammered.
Nyman saw the look on Sharpton's face. He dismissed the young guard who, wisely, backed away and into the communications room. Charlie turned to his second in command. He stared at the other man as he tapped the message paper in his hand.
"Well?" Nyman said.
"He's lying, Charlie," Sharpton said, "The dirty little…"
"At the risk of being shot….or worse. I have no doubt you told him to keep quiet about this. That's two, Lewis. And that is two too many. I'll let Mr. Liventon decide what to do with you. There aren't a lot of options you know, demotion, as I said before, Randolph can always use new volunteers….or my personal favorite, annihilation."
Nyman started up the stairs towards the holding cells.
Amy was startled by the touch of a hand on her cheek. She could still feel the cold bars against her skin as her eyes opened. She reached up to move it only to find the hand attached to Napoleon. He had made his way from the cot to the bars. She smiled at him.
"How did you find your way over to the bars?" she whispered.
Napoleon smiled and raised a finger to his lips. He leaned as close to her as possible.
"I put some things in your coat pocket when we were in the car," he said quietly, "Can you get them for me?"
Amy slipped the coat out from under her and found the pocket he was referring to. In it she found his communicator pen, a watch, a small packet of grey clay and a tiny white plastic box. She handed them to Napoleon. He slipped the plastic box back into her hand.
"Just in case," he whispered.
"What is this?"
She opened the box and saw the two small white capsules. A chill ran down her spine. She looked into his face.
"Napoleon…You don't think…"
"No….But just in case," he said as he opened the communicator pen, "Open channel D..Code red..repeat code red….Priority one."
There was a faint hum. It was taking the signal a bit of time to penetrate the barriers in the wall.
"Channel D open….Waverly here….." the voice was faint and kept breaking up.
"Stand by…someone's coming," Napoleon said, "Keeping line open...Go to mute.."
Napoleon covered the microphone with his hand as he heard voices at the end of the hallway. He quickly slipped the open pen to his aunt and she concealed it. Solo tucked the watch and clay into his pants pocket and made his way back to the cot.
The hallway door opened and Nyman stepped in.
"That stupid jackass," he mumbled as he came closer to the cell. He helped Amy stand. "When I told him to bring you here I meant to actually let you into the cell….Come my dear, I am having a sumptuous dinner prepared. Important things going on here tomorrow and I want you ready. Don't worry about Napoleon, his dinner will be brought to him."
Amy looked back and saw Napoleon nod his head slightly. She folded her beautiful light blue coat over her arm. Nyman led her down the hallway and out through the door towards his private chambers.
Charlie Nyman opened the door of his sitting room. Low lights, a beautiful table laid out, and a small rolling table with dinner sitting next to it. It did smell delicious.
He helped her to her seat.
After serving his guest, Nyman took a seat across from her. He raised his glass in a toast to her. Amy remembered what Napoleon had said, and remembered that the communicator pen was still transmitting. She acknowledged his toast.
"You said something important was going to happen tomorrow?" she asked softly as she took a bite of her meal.
Nyman swallowed his mouth full of food and washed it down with the wine. He nodded.
"Important is an understatement," he said, "A very important man is paying us a visit tomorrow…To see the setup here and a small demonstration of our effectiveness…..Don't worry…He is looking forward to meeting Napoleon.."
Waverly looked at Illya and the two women in his office. He felt a twinge in his neck. Liventon was coming ahead of schedule. The U.N.C.L.E. Chief had great confidence in his agents' abilities to be ready. The ones briefed for this particular operation were immediately called into service.
"I need the three of you to coordinate with the other agents on this affair. Meet them in the security conference room for briefing and make sure they are all supplied with the proper equipment. Mr. Kuryakin I want you to coordinate the field operation. You will be the main point of contact for the agents."
At this Illya looked a bit uneasy. He had no problem with the assignment, but Waverly usually did the field coordination from the office. He looked at his boss.
"I will meet you in security," Waverly said.
Barker and the three agents nodded. They turned and quickly left for the security office to meet the others. For a few moments Alexander Waverly just stood and looked at the photos from the folder. He closed it and put the file away in the locked metal box. He took off his jacket and carefully placed it over the back of his chair. His hand brushed across the console on the table, and then he pressed one of the buttons.
"I need you to come to my office," he said firmly.
"On my way," the other voice said.
The U.N.C.L.E. Chief took a deep breath and opened his private office. He walked in and stepped up to his closet. His hands took hold of the two handles and for a few seconds he simply held them, his head bowed slightly. Another deep breath and he opened the doors.
His tan cashmere coat hung to one side of the open space. The other was set up as a locker. Two small shelves were at the top with a locked drawer beneath, one long open space below that. He reached into the open space and removed a well worn leather shoulder holster. His fingers caressed the soft leather a few times and he carefully slipped it over his shoulders.
It still fit like a glove, after all these years. Once it was secured, he removed a set of keys from his pocket and opened the locked drawer. Waverly looked at the contents.
An old Webley laid patiently waiting for its owner to recall it to duty. It was carefully placed on top of a neatly wrapped square of tissue paper which was protecting something more precious to the man then the weapon. And just below the ribbon holding the package secured was an old faded photo.
The photo was grey and had small flecks missing here and there. But the picture had retained most of its sharpness over the years. An old Vickers MK IV airplane took up most of the photo. In the seat behind the pilots, leaning carefully over the edge was a young boy about fourteen years old, his arms folded to support him, his tweed newsboy cap pushed back to show his beaming face. Beside him was a tall handsome flyer, dressed in black boots and light flight trousers, his leather jacket unzipped his white silk scarf blurred from blowing in the light breeze. His leather flight cap hung loose, the goggles holding tight to his forehead.
The photo slipped into his shirt pocket, the Webley into the holster. He heard the door open and turned.
Bill Del Floria was taken back to see his old friend with the Webley. He watched Alexander slip his suite jacket back on as he crossed to the table.
"Alexander?"
Waverly stepped back to the closet and took the small package wrapped in tissue out. His fingers brushed across the paper a few times as he looked down at it. He pressed it firmly between his palms.
"He's back Willie…." Waverly said slowly.
Del Floria's mouth dropped open.
"He can't be…Certainly he must be dead by now…"
Waverly folded the tissue paper package over and put it in his pocket. He walked over and took the photo from the file.
"He is using another name now but it is him..." Waverly said pushing the photo to his old partner.
Willie Del Floria looked at the face in the photo and then looked up at Waverly.
"Bartomal Santar," both men said together.