#14 – Rope

Mr. Waverly calmly listened to the agents' tale of the malfunctioning, hacked computer. He was leaning back in his chair, his hands laced against his chest.

"Mr. Waverly, what do you think we should do?" Napoleon asked at the close of their narrative.

"Well, Mr. Solo, what were you going to do?" Mr. Waverly returned.

"We've sealed off the computer in question," Napoleon said. "And we've already notified the computer lab about the hack. They should be working on it right now."

"Good," Mr. Waverly nodded, sitting up straighter in the chair.

"But Sir, the culprit appears to be someone from our past," Illya said now. "Only we can't seem to think of who it could be."

"Apparently he's someone you might remember more than Mr. Solo, judging from his comments," Mr. Waverly mused.

"Yes, we came to the same conclusion," Napoleon said. "Unfortunately, it hasn't helped much."

"Well, think harder!" Mr. Waverly advised as he climbed out of his chair. "There's a possible maniac at large, insisting he knows you, and you don't know what manner of disasters he might bring forth next!"

Illya looked down. "We are aware of this, Sir." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose the next step is to start examining the records of all of our past cases."

"Yes, that would be a good start," Mr. Waverly agreed.

Napoleon winced. "That will take hours," he said. "And perhaps we didn't even record that particular person."

"Then you are not making complete reports," Mr. Waverly returned. "You had best get to it, Mr. Solo. I'm sure Mr. Bowen will be available to help you." He eyed their assassin recruit, who raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Mr. Waverly, I'm not here to go through old files," he objected.

"You can't do much else until you're fully healed," Mr. Waverly returned. "And it will give you a good chance to get further acquainted with Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. You may be working with them on future cases."

"Wonderful," Napoleon muttered.

"What was that, Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon looked to Mr. Waverly with a start. "Oh . . . we'll get right on it, Sir," he promised through partially clenched teeth.

It was shaping up to be a very long afternoon indeed.

xxxx

Two hours later, the three agents were still in one of the conference rooms, stacks of files spread all over the long, oval table.

Lucius made a face as he deposited yet another folder onto one of the stacks. "This is why I make it a point to be observant on my assignments," he said.

"We generally are, too," Napoleon said in irritation. "This stranger informed us that we'd only met him briefly and that he doubted we'd remember him."

"Don't forget that he also said I would be 'gutted' if I knew his identity," Illya said, running his fingers through his bangs to brush them out of his eyes. "If that is meant to be a clue, I am not getting it."

Lucius shrugged. "Maybe it's someone you stabbed in the course of a mission?"

"Yes, but that is a very long list," Illya said flatly.

"You often go around knifing people in the stomach?" Lucius gave a dark smirk. "And your partner thinks I'm brutal."

Napoleon deliberately ignored him. Illya, meanwhile, was frowning in curious concentration.

"I don't make a habit of it," he said. "The problem is, most such people are just lackeys whom I see and fight with for a very few minutes. I can't possibly remember every one of them."

"And whoever this is most likely knows that," Lucius pointed out. "He dropped a clue because he thinks maybe if you think hard enough, you might remember him. As far as I'm concerned, it means that whoever this is must be someone you met in a situation other than a free-for-all."

Napoleon slowly nodded, having to silently concede to the logic of that argument. "Perhaps someone we encountered two-on-one?" he mused.

"Perhaps," Illya agreed.

The sudden clattering of something on the roof above them startled them all to attention. ". . . The pigeons are certainly restless today," Napoleon frowned, starting to take out his gun as he rose from his chair.

"That's too big to be pigeons," Lucius declared, grabbing up his cane.

Not to be left behind, Illya chased after them both.

None of them were sure of what to expect on the roof of U.N.C.L.E. HQ, but it most certainly wasn't the sight of what seemed to be a giant piece of toast with arms and legs.

All three agents stood stock still in the doorway, staring and gaping.

"Please tell me I am imagining things," Illya exclaimed.

"Then we must be under group hypnosis," Napoleon said. But he rubbed his eyes anyway, half-wondering and half-hoping the sight would go away.

It did not.

"Do-gooders, beware!" the toast sneered, turning to face them. It was wearing a red mask and cape and was adorned in yellow-and-red tights. It was also holding a toaster. "I am the Toastinator!"

". . . Okay," Napoleon said slowly. "And exactly how do you know that we are 'do-gooders'?"

The Toastinator shrugged. "I've seen your pictures in the paper."

"And may we assume you are a villain?" Illya spoke.

"You may." Another sneer. "I am an arch-villain."

"Well, I guess if someone dresses up like a piece of toast in his spare time, he must have at least a few screws loose," Napoleon muttered.

"If you're an arch-villain, we're going to have to stop you," Illya said.

"I'm only walking across this roof," The Toastinator replied.

"Yes, but you're trespassing," said Napoleon.

"Take this!" Without warning The Toastinator turned the top of the toaster to face the group. The tab popped up and the contents went flying.

"Look out!" Napoleon yelped. He and Illya shot at the incoming toast, while Lucius batted his cane at it. The slices of toast, which were really high-powered projectiles, fell to the roof.

Cackling madly, The Toastinator turned and ran to the edge of the roof by the time their battle was finished. Shooting out a grappling hook, he swung to the next building on his rope. "We'll meet again, do-gooders!" he yelled.

The agents ran and limped to the edge, but they were not quick enough to catch him. In a puff of burnt smoke, he vanished.

Napoleon held an arm to his mouth, coughing. ". . . I have to say, I think that was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had," he declared.

Lucius half-turned, coughing too. "I always heard New York was full of eccentric people," he said.

"This goes far beyond eccentric," Illya said.

"You don't suppose he's the person we met in the past?" Napoleon wondered. "Under a different identity, of course."

"I wouldn't think so," Illya frowned. "But then again, anyone who can rewire a common household toaster to be a deadly weapon must have quite a knowledge of electronic devices."

"Exactly my point," said Napoleon.

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Lucius frowned. "We might as well go back inside. We'll probably see him again."

"Hopefully not too soon," Napoleon declared, as he turned to head for the door.

"I second that," said Illya.

"Seeing him again, at any time at all, would be too soon," Lucius said matter-of-factly.

Napoleon had to admit he felt the same.

xxxx

"Well, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin have certainly had an interesting day," Mr. Waverly mused from his office. "Mr. Bowen as well."

The man he was addressing pushed back his dark fedora hat. "You didn't count on that nutter they just dealt with, did you?" he wondered.

"Oh no, not at all." Mr. Waverly glanced up at him. "I had only planned on your little interruption and had hoped to teach my agents how to work together in peace while attempting to decipher the truth of your identity."

A thoughtful nod. "I guess they've been doing alright with that."

Mr. Waverly nodded as well. "It will take them a while to get used to each other, of course. Particularly considering Mr. Bowen's past profession. But I have hopes that they will eventually warm up to each other, perhaps with a bit more of your help."

"And that Toastinator fellow, too, maybe," his visitor remarked.

"Maybe," said Mr. Waverly.