Written By: Solo's Girl

Chapter 6

"At What Cost."

Somewhere out of the shadows another hand took hold of the Gin bottle, pulling it away and throwing it across the room into the fireplace. The glass shattered and there was a tremendous roar as the alcohol hit the flames. Santar hear a familiar clicking sound and felt the cold steel barrel against his temple.

"And what a pleasure it is to see you again, Alexander," Bartomal said, "Is your shadow with you?"

Waverly reached over and took the scarf from the THRUSH's hand. Bill Del Floria stepped up on the THRUSH's other side.

"Oh good," Santar said, "Just like old home week…This isn't going to end well, Alexander, you know that as well as I."

"Perhaps...But at least it will end," Waverly said.

Bartomal Santar smiled and made a slight chuckle.

"You can't be serious…It will never end. THRUSH will always have the advantage. If one old goes out, two young move up. In this world there is an unending line of opportunistic, greedy, power-mongering individuals to keep THRUSH thriving for centuries."

Alexander and Bill both knew he was right, but didn't let their expression give away their thoughts. Instead they both stepped closer to the THRUSH. Waverly put his hand on Santar's shoulder and sharply pushed him down into the chair.

"How did you two get in here anyway?"

Del Floria smiled at Waverly, who in turn simply pressed his finger against the side of his nose, this being the sign for a secret. Santar looked around the room for his guards.

"At least tell me where my men are."

Bill walked a few steps to the closet and opened the door. Two THRUSH guards sat in the floor, bound, gagged and in a deep sleep. The THRUSH top man sighed deeply and shook his head. He looked at Waverly.

"I can imagine the deep satisfaction you are feeling right now Alexander," Santar said, "The enemy caught at last. It is nothing, however, compared to the satisfaction I had each time THRUSH destroyed your agents. Seeing the dead bodies, the tortured remains of your once gallant men, knowing that no matter how close you came, you never found us. Even the mighty Solo and Kuryakin couldn't make the grade in the end. Of course everything has been somewhat of an anti-climax….after I blew up your father's plane."

Bill looked at his old partner. Waverly clenched the scarf in one hand. His other readied the Webley for firing. Del Floria quickly radioed for extra agents.

"My deepest satisfaction though comes from the thoughts of, not what we did to UNCLE, but what I have done personally for THRUSH. Rising thru the ranks, money, prestige, power anything I want. Unlike you Alexander who has become merely older. Alone. Still looking for the glory of the past, not realizing that it has long since passed you by."

Del Floria walked back to the desk and held his weapon on the THRUSH.

"Come now Willie," Santar said with a half smile, "I thought you people preached the "not revenge" edict. I am unarmed, being forced to remain in this chair. Cold blooded murder isn't U.N.C.L.E. style."

Willie Del Floria pressed the barrel of his gun to Santar's temple. The THRUSH heard the hammer pull back and click. He couldn't help but tremble slightly. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as the front man stepped behind his chair.

There was a knock at the door.

Waverly cautiously walked to the heavy wooden doors. He slipped back the panel and saw two U.N.C.L.E. agents standing on the other side. He closed the panel and nodded at his partner. The Chief unlocked the door.

The heavy wooden doors where forced open and the bodies of two agents fell into the room, THRUSH darts embedded in their necks. Both dead.

Waverly quickly moved aside as three THRUSH guards made their way inside. They fired at Del Floria who was quick to return it. Waverly fired off two shots. One of the guards turned towards the sound and fired. Willie took him out with one shot, striking the guard at the base of the neck with pinpoint accuracy.

Santar grabbed a gun from the desk, in the dimly lit room all the guard saw was the firelight flash on the metal barrel. He fired striking the THRUSH Chief in the shoulder. Santar's chair flew backwards from the force and he fell to the floor. Del Floria took a head over heels tumble back, but regained his balance and continued to fire.

More shots were exchanged as two more THRUSH entered the room. Waverly and Del Floria took cover behind the heavy mahogany desk and returned fire. In a matter of moments several U.N.C.L.E. agents found their way into the room, disarming the remaining THRUSH guards.

Santar lay curled up in the floor, a pool of blood formed beneath his shoulder. Waverly knelt down and looked at him. All his memories came rushing back, the treachery, the betrayal, the murder of his father and the attempted destruction of U.N.C.L.E.'s beginnings. Any other man would have put a gun to Santar's head and pulled the trigger, but Alexander Waverly wasn't that kind of a man.

The U.N.C.L.E. Chief stood back up and motioned his men to pick Santar up.

"Alexander!" Bill yelled.

Waverly felt something strike him in the chest and he fell back against the wall. The dull sounds of two shots rang thru the room. Willie fired once more.

The smoking derringer dropped from Santar's dead hand.

There was a soft moan, a gasp for air.

Alexander Waverly did his best to hold Willie up but he was slowly slipping to the floor. The chief knelt down holding his wounded comrade in his arms.

Del Floria's body went limp.

His eyes closed.

Sharpton and his men had the agents on the run. The sounds of gunfire rang from every floor of the building. Warning sirens began to blare as UNCLE's finest fought to gain control over the situation.

Illya, Napoleon and Marnie, all armed to the teeth managed to hustle several THRUSH operatives into the heavily fortified rooms, securing the door locks. The THRUSH pounded on the doors begging to be get out, promising to spill all if they would be spared the agony of incineration.

Illya only gave them a cunning smile, and a quick tip of his hat, and then disappeared along with the others down the hallway.

Jackie, Tag and the bomb disposal unit had located the tanks of gas in the basement storage area. They quickly disassembled the rigging from the ventilation system and secured the tanks. In all a total of sixteen had been found, fully charged. The Disposal Chief shook his head.

"That's enough to wipe out five city blocks," he estimated, "And no-one would ever have known what was happening until it was too late."

Tag began to make a deep throaty whine. He stared poking around some large crates and they watched as he began to scratch at one. The men walked over and carefully opened the wooden crate.

Jackie quickly opened her communicator and called Illya.

Kuryakin looked at his partners.

"The bomb team found crates loaded with warheads with rigging to up to gas canisters," he said.

"Have the detonators been attached?" Napoleon said.

"The first we found has, checking the other crates now," Jackie replied.

"Have any of them been set?"

"They don't appear to be," the disposal chief said, "But they need to be moved….carefully. Even without the canisters attached they are still lethal."

"Any markings on the crates to indicate their destinations?"

Several voices piped in softly as the men read the crates.

"Paris." "Moscow." "Istanbul." "Rome." "Rio." "Washington D.C." "…three for the San Andreas Fault…Two for Alberta."

"Chief Richards…Get your men in to secure the weapons and good luck. We are going to try and find the rest of the detachment. Jackie, we need you and Tag with us. Meet us at the foot of the main staircase. Kuryakin out."

Illya and Marnie stared towards the stair landing. A detachment of THRUSH suddenly appeared behind them and opened fire. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents had no choice but to make a dash down the stairs, firing back over their shoulders as they were pursued down the steps. Bullets ricocheted off the marble steps.

Sharpton appeared out of nowhere and struck Napoleon in the back of the head dazing the agent. Two men grabbed him and headed down the opposite end of the hallway. Down a back staircase and onto the lower floor, they entered the communications room.

Solo was bound and tossed onto the sofa for the time being. He and his Aunt would be the perfect means of escape. Sharpton informed the guards to watch the agent closely, then he slowly opened the door and made a dash for the front office.

Bullets whizzed thru the air around his head and he barely missed being flattened by Kuryakin in his dash. Illya saw the THRUSH but his shots missed as the man disappeared into the room across the hall.

Illya fired off several more rounds taking out two more THRUSH, one on the stairs, one fell limp across the stair landing rail. He ducked into the hallway just off the entryway. He could see into the other office at the end of the hall.

Several U.N.C.L.E. agents were working frantically inside the room. Jackie and Tag came out of the doors and approached the agent.

"Santar is dead. Mr. Del Floria got him," Jackie said.

"What about Mr. Waverly?"

Before Jackie could answer, Illya saw the agents whisk Waverly out of the office and the side entrance of the building. Two more men followed carrying a liter with Del Floria's bloodied body out. The rest of the agents stayed behind to document what happened.

"Where's Marnie?" Jackie asked.

Everything was quiet. Eerily quiet. Illya leaned tentatively around the corner and looked into the large open entry way.

The smoke from the guns still hung in the air. A dead THRUSH hung over the second floor banister his blood making a long slow drip onto the main floor below. Another was halfway up the stairwell, sitting un-naturally against the wall, his gun still in his limp hand, eyes staring blankly into the air. The entire front of his grey THRUSH uniform was now a deep crimson color.

Illya felt his chest tighten as his eyes found Marnie lying at the foot of the stairs, face down, her legs and feet still on the last step she had been standing on. Her .38 still clutched in one hand, she lay there, unmoving.

Tag made a sharp whining sound deep in his throat. Instinct told him to go to the wounded agent, but Jackie held him back. She stroked the dogs head and he stopped making the sound.

From directly across the entry they could hear the sounds of shouting. Sharpton and Nyman were arguing over the best escape plan. Sharpton grabbed Amy by the arm and gave her a hard shake.

"She'll make the perfect shield," he shouted, "Otherwise, we kill her."

Nyman twisted the other man's hand from her arm. He gently rubbed her arm and then moved her aside.

"It's quite out there," Nyman said.

"Jackie…" Illya said low, "I have an idea….Take Tag and see if you can get in behind them somehow."

The woman nodded and taking the dog with her moved future back along the small hall. Tag began to sniff and scratch at the closet door. She quieted him and opened the door cringing as it squeaked. The dog pushed inside and rooted around the shelves in the large walk-in space. Jackie smiled at her furry companion as he rose on his hind legs his nose pointed up towards the small hatch in the ceiling. She gave him a firm rub on the top of his head. She held the dog's face and pointed towards the hall.

"Tag…Go to Illya," she said quietly but firmly, "Go to Illya..."

The dog gave her cheek a lick and ran back to the Russian. Illya felt the dog nudge his shoulder with his head.

Jackie crawled thru the narrow space and found the opening in the closet of the other room. She lowered herself down into the small space. As she moved her arm brushed against something metal. Using the small penlight from her pocket, she saw the hinged metal panel. The fuse-box for the main house.

Illya looked around and saw a dead THRUSH operative a few feet away. He reached over and grabbed the blood stained hat. The Russian looked for any movement in the entry and on the stairs. It was clear so he quickly laid down on his side his head and shoulders in plain view, the bloodied cap at his head.

The office door opened slightly. Nyman looked cautiously out. He saw the dead girl at the foot of the stairs, the dead Russian just off the hallway.

"Go and get Solo," he said to Sharpton, "Come my dear, we're leaving."

"Bring Solo out," Sharpton shouted from the office.

There was a loud scuffling sound from somewhere across the room and two large doors opened near the back side of the stairwell. Two armed THRUSH guards dragged Napoleon out between them. The Agent was giving it everything he had as he struggled against them. They stopped just inside the doors and waited.

From his vantage point Illya watched as Solo's head pivoted slightly then fell forward. Napoleon gave his head a light shake and blinked a few times. The whack on the head had really disoriented him. Kuryakin saw his friend's mouth open and he saw Solo swallow a large knot that had suddenly moved to his throat.

The door directly across from Kuryakin opened and Sharpton walked out. He moved across the room to the THRUSH guards and Solo. He saw the body of Marnie lying at the foot of the stairs.

"Such a pity," he said stepping over her, "When will U.N.C.L.E. learn that women aren't suited for this kind of….."

Sharpton jumped straight up in the air a few inches. He landed flat on his feet his eyes staring blankly at his guards. He suddenly fell to the side and it was then that they saw the blood streaming from the seat of his tan trousers and the back of his neck.

The entrance and exit wound from Marnie's direct, point blank shot. Her hand fell limp to the floor once more and she rolled onto her side her legs falling off the step.

Nyman, holding tight to Amelia Penobscot started towards the door.

Jackie Reyno smiled and took another small metal tube from her shirt pocket placing it between her lips. She gave the silent whistle a hard blow.

The entire house was thrust into total darkness. Illya felt a rush of air as something went past him. The two THRUSH guards felt the same thing.

"What the hell is going on?" Nyman shouted, "Get the lights back on!"

One of the guards let Napoleon go and stated back inside the room. Solo took the opportunity to disarm the other and shoved him back inside the room. Illya slipped around the corner and helped his partner secure the door.

There was a loud terrified scream from behind the doors and the guards fought in vain to get them open once again. Solo and Kuryakin could only hear the cries of the THRUSH men and the ripping of cloth. A few shots were fired but to no avail. There was a low familiar pop, twice then silence.

Jackie gave a soft coded knock on the door and the two men let go of the knobs. The lights came back on and the door opened. Illya and Napoleon both snickered as they saw Tag sitting on his haunches, tongue lopping from the side of his mouth a very pleased expression on his face. The Russian reached down and pulled the piece of grey cloth from the dog's mouth.

A scream came from the other room and everyone turned to see Nyman holding Amy with one arm, his free hand holding a THRUSH gun to her head.

"Let her go Nyman!" Napoleon shouted.

Amy struggled against the THRUSH. He turned to look at the agents and she saw the bodies lying scattered around the entryway. Amy screamed in agony.

"My baby!"

Her daintily manicured nails caught Nyman in the side of the face. He yelped in pain letting his grasp ease. He saw her break free and run across the room. Towards Marnie.

"The girl?" he said to himself.

Nyman aimed and fired an action that was repeated by Solo and Kuryakin. Shots were exchanged again between the three of them. Tag made a dash in and caught the THRUSH squarely in the knees knocking him to the floor. Nyman struggled to sit up and fired several more shots.

A set of teeth dug deep into his wrist as he dropped the weapon.

But Nyman was dead.

"Amy!" Napoleon shouted.

Everyone turned to see the woman now slumped over in the floor. She was on her knees trying desperately to reach her daughter. She reached over to Marnie and fell forward, her body draped over her only child.

Illya saw the back of her beautiful pale blue coat was spotted red.

2:15 am

U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters Infirmary.

Alexander Waverly and Jackie Reyno sat across the hall watching the door of one of the rooms. Tag was curled up at her feet. She could see a look of pain in the U.N.C.L.E. Chief's face. Illya Kuryakin came down the hall and stopped next to them. He was about to speak.

The door opened slowly and Doctor Hendricks walked out.

Thru the open door they could see Napoleon sitting next to the bed his head resting on the side. Next to him, Marnie sat on the chair arm her good hand rubbing the back of his shoulders, her wounded shoulder immobilized by plaster.

"Miss Penobscot is going to be fine," he said.

Jackie made a sigh of relief. She reached down and gave Tag a reassuring pat on the head.

"Any news yet about Mr. Del Floria?" Illya asked.

"Only that Martz is still in surgery and doing everything he can," Hendricks replied.

"Alexander," a voice called from up the hallway.

Waverly stood up slowly, still sore from the fight and turned to see Martz standing at the end of the hall.

The doctor was removing his surgical garb. He slipped the bloodied gown off and handed it to an intern standing beside him. The younger man took the clothing and walked back to the operating room.

Waverly approached. He looked at the doctor and went immediately past him into the small room just off of surgery.

"Jackie, stay here," Illya said, "I'll be right back."

Kuryakin took off up the hall. Martz stopped him at the door and spoke low to the Russian. Jackie could see Illya lean back against the wall. He ran his hand over his head, pushing his hair back, and then ran his hand slowly down his arm. Martz reached over and put his hand on Illya's shoulder giving it a pat.

Waverly stood next to the bed and looked at his old friend.

Del Floria was struggling for every breath, his pain dulled but not gone. One side of his head was covered in thick gauze and held the tube feeding much needed oxygen to his body.

"I should have done this myself," Waverly said low.

"Y…you're a….rotten...surgeon…"Willie said slowly.

Alexander smiled. Same old Willie, he thought. He gave his wounded comrade's hand a gentle pat.

"Save your strength Willie," Waverly said.

Willie looked off across the room and smiled slightly. Waverly saw him make a small nod and looked to see what his friend was looking at. No one else was in the room but them. He looked back.

Del Floria took a deep breath and sighed.

"He's…really proud…Alex…"

Waverly looked puzzled.

"Who's really proud Will?"

"Your dad….my dad….the…Cornel…all proud…"

Waverly felt his lip tremble. He clasped his partners hand firmly.

"….we made…..we made it work…U.N.C.L.E…you…and me…"

Waverly looked at him and forced a smile. He gave Del Floria a wink.

"We done good, partner," Alex said in his best New York tone.

Del Floria smiled.

"See….speaking American…..isn't easy….either.."

Waverly laughed as he remembered those two young agents in London so many years ago. Willie was right. They had been U.N.C.L.E.'s first real team and thru their special abilities had helped to nurture the organization into what it was now.

"Alex?...Alex!"

Bill Del Floria's hand began to shake as he tried to feel his partner's strong hold. Waverly took his arm much in the same way the ancient Roman's would greet one another and held on.

"I'm right here Willie," Waverly said, "You know for a fact….." he words caught in his throat, "A great U.N.C.L.E. agent….always…"

"…protects his partner..." they said together.

Del Floria smiled weakly, still holding his partner's arm. His eyes closed.

Alexander Waverly sat there quietly, never letting go.

For the next twelve hours.

Things were unusually quite at headquarters the next day. Tales of the raid, the rescue and taking down the head of THRUSH were whispered from agent to agent. They knew that another man would be poised to take over the evil empire; but U.N.C.L.E. had seceded in getting the top man on its most wanted list.

The Bomb Disposal team would be taking the canisters of DS gas out into the middle of the Atlantic ocean. Detonators set, the canisters where dropped overboard into the water. The rigging exploded, the water set off the gas and a huge fireball rolled up from the sea. After water samples were taken and analyzed, no harm had been done to the water or lifeforms and no contaminates were found.

Napoleon had finished filling out his report and walked it to Waverly's office. The agent made a deep sigh as he saw his boss sitting at his desk.

The Chief was leaning back slightly in his chair. One elbow resting on the arm, his hand pressed to his forehead. Waverly slowly turned his head and acknowledged his agent. Solo walked over. The Chief sat up as the agent came closer. Napoleon noticed something in Alexander's hand.

The thick piece of cardboard on which was mounted an old faded tan and brown photograph shook slightly in the old man's hand. Solo looked at the picture of the two young, excited faces. Dressed in knee-britches, argyle vests, ties and crisp white shirts the two boys mugged for the camera, despite the chilly weather.

The taller of the two was 17, well defined features and thick black hair, the smaller, age 15, slightly on the pudgy side but muscular, bright eyed, and light hair. Hands resting on each other's shoulders their friendship literally jumped out of the photo at you. They were smiling, young, innocent and adventurous.

Ready to take on the world.

Below the photo was printed "Alexander and William - February 1919 Paris France".

Waverly saw the smile on Solo's face. He laid the photo on the desk and started to take the report. The pneumatic door hissed open and both men turned to see Doctor Martz walking towards them. Simply out of reflex, Napoleon felt himself place a hand on his boss's shoulder.

"I can't figure out which of the two of you is the most stubborn," the doctor said a relieved but exasperated sound in his voice.

Waverly leaned back in his chair and sighed. His hands reached up and brushed across his face.

"I would say at least four weeks…six would be better," Martz continued, "He wants to see you."

Waverly simply nodded words unable to find him at the moment. His shaking legs carried him across the room. Martz gave him a reassuring pat as he passed. Waverly disappeared out the door.

The doctor looked at Solo. The agent had a wide smile on his face and he picked the photo up from the desk. He held it out for Martz to see.

"1919! Almost fifty years," Martz said, "I guess some partnerships last forever."

Illya walked in and stopped just inside the door.

"There you are Napoleon," he said, "Chief Barker wants to see you, and then you need to come to the infirmary."

Illya smiled at his partner.

"I certainly hope so Doctor Martz," Napoleon said as he started towards the door, "I certainly hope so."