Illya's attention was drawn away from his partner as he glanced at their surroundings, noticing the tools of torture and the brazier burning red hot with the pokers inserted into the coals, he and Napoleon shackled together side by side hanging from a dark, torch lit wall... these elements were all too recognizable, giving him an overwhelming feeling of deja vú. The only thing missing from the scene was a skeletal companion shackled between the two of them...?*
"Napoleon, he mused, "you do not suppose that Edith Partridge might be lurking about here somewhere, this chamber looks too familiar for it to be a coincidence."
"Illya as I recall, she's dead?" he said as he made a funny face at the Russian.
"That does not necessarily mean anything my friend?"
"So correct and interesting that you should take note" a woman's voice spoke from the darkness; it was not that of Edith Partridge, but the speech pattern and something about it rang familiar to Illya's keen ear.
Astarte Lovely stepped out of the shadows. " these wonderful toys that surround you...you see they belonged to my dearly departed Aunt Edith. And I have the same penchant for their use as she did. I had them brought here all the way from East Snout just to make me feel at home. My dear Aunt did teach me everything I know." she smiled hungrily in anticipation of what she was about to do.
"You seem hardly the lady your Aunt Edith was." Illya quipped.
"I said she taught me everything I know...except manners of course. She and Uncle Emory were a bit too proper for my taste."
"Another niece...how big is your family?" Napoleon asked, then reminded himself silently not to mention he and Illya's involvement in the disappearance of her Uncle Emory in Mexico.**
Astarte pulled out her needle sharp stiletto from a sheath strapped to her thigh, running the blade along Illya's chest, exerting just enough pressure to slice through the top of his T- shirt down to the waist, but not to cut through to his skin.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity Mr. Kuryakin, my payback for something I rather liked that you took from me...my paramour to be precise."
Illya eyed her cleavage, her breasts pushing their way out like ripe melons being squeezed by the tightness of her jumpsuit. He swallowed, then looked her into her golden eyes.
"Why do I have a feeling there have been quite of few of those already?"
She increased the pressure of the blade, running it against his stomach but Illya gave no reaction as trickles of blood began to flow from the long slice she made into in his skin.
He did not learn his lesson as he continued baiting her."And who may I ask is it this one of many that I referred to?"
This time she kneed him in the groin, that causing him to yelp as he gasped with that pain.
"It was Eric Lehrner,"* she seethed at him. She slashed the blade again across his chest with one deft swipe of her arm. This time the Russian acknowledged it with a groan.
"Tovarisch" Napoleon called to him. "don't give her the satisfaction!"
"Shut your mouth Solo and wait your turn. I promise that I am not finished with you yet." Her voice was giddy with anticipation.
Illya gathered his composure enough to speak." You and Eric...there's an interesting clash of egos. So who always ended up on top you or he?"
That remark again brought a slash of the blade, this time cutting deeper into his skin.
Illya pressed his head back against the wall holding in his reaction, much to the disappointment of Astarte. "Maybe he had pushed her a little too far now?" he thought as he fought to hold back a moan.
"Didn't you ever wonder who lured Eric to Thrush?" she asked leering at him, moving in close to his face. Illya could detect the faint scent of jasmine in the air around her.
"Not really. He is dead and that is all that matters to me, he tried to murder my friend and my wi.."Illya stopped himself short.
"Wife?" she grinned, "so the rumours are true? Hhmm, perhaps I need to rethink my revenge? Yes, I may let you live, a disfigured cripple dealing with the death of your wife, knowing that it was your fault she died. You will suffer as I have suffered! You will be the impetus of my revenge against you but she the target." Astarte laughed at her own sick plan.
"Astarte, I have no compunction against killing a woman, I warn you." Illya said as he fought back his pain."
"You are hardly in a position to make threats." she said as she withdrew one of the pokers from the brazier. She drifted it first in front of Napoleon's face; the heat of it forcing him to turn his face away, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the agony it would create against his skin.
Astarte moved it past him, holding it now in front of the Russian who remained defiantly immobile, his breath dispersing the smoky heat through the air as it rose from the burning red hot poker in front of his face.
She lowered it, suddenly jabbing it into Illya's breast, then down to his thigh. He resisted for a moment, trembling, then broke out instantly into a pouring sweat as he finally could no longer withhold his scream.
"That's better," she smiled as she repeated the action several more times until Kuryakin passed out.
She replaced the iron rod back into the brazier, removing the other. Then Astarte turned her attention back to Napoleon. " And you, " she smiled, "you are going to suffer as well...no man spurns me!"
"Well if you give me a chance, I can remedy that?" Napoleon offered.
"I think not." she smiled as she jabbed the burning poker to Napoleon's thigh.
Napoleon lifted his head, grimacing as the hot metal touched him; the smell of burning flesh filling the air again.
"I think my face and body will be the last things ever seen by your eyes Napoleon Solo. You will regret that you rejected me."
"If thine eye offends thee then pluck it out" he quoted the bible, though the action was meant to be more of a spiritual one but in this case he was telling her to do her worst. His lack of fear infuriated her.
She raised her arm readying to vent her anger and drive the tip of the poker into his face.
"STOP!" Stavros hissed as he entered the room. "I told you to control yourself didn't I Astarte?" He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from Solo.
"We are ready to leave to test the solar cannon. I want Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin alive to witness the demonstration. Then you may play with them again as my little gift to you, but they must not be killed. I want them alive enough to be sent back to U.N.C.L.E. to attest to the existence and power of Thrush's new weapon."
Astarte whined, throwing a minor temper tantrum from being momentarily deprived of her torture session.
"Now now my dear." Stronghilos grabbed her by the throat. "That isn't becoming of such a beauty as you, really if you are going to get good at this you mush learn to control your emotions. Torture and revenge are both best severed when dealt with coldness and sterility." He let her go without further thought.
Stronghilos' minions took Kuryakins unconscious body from the wall first, whether he had really been conscious and just feigning or if he had suddenly come to; it was hard to tell as he lashed out with his legs, kicking himself free of their grasp. He spun into a round house kick sending one back near Napoleon who grabbed the man in a scissor hold with his legs, trying to hold the man off from his partner.
Astarte lashed out at Kuryakin with her stiletto, bringing him down with a shallow stab of the blade to his side. He dropped to his knees, then fell forward holding himself up with one hand while he grabbed his wound with the other.
Astarte shoved him with her foot, pushing the wounded Russian collapsing to the floor.
Napoleon released the man he held with his legs, realizing the futility of continuing.
The guards undid the shackles from his wrists, he pulled himself gently from their grip, "Please, let me help my friend? I'll behave, scouts honor."
Astarte nodded her approval while the guards aimed their weapons at the two agents.
Napoleon knelt beside his partner, rolling him over gently, then pulling him up to a sitting position; he looked quickly at the blossom of red that stained the remnants of Illya's shirt.
He pulled one of Illya's arms over his shoulder, hiking him up to his unsteady feet. "Come on buddy, alley oop!" Gotta go."
Illya lifted his head weakly, then signalled to his partner with a wink.
"Astarte, Stavros said he wanted us alive. If I don't get something to stop this bleeding, then Kuryakin is in trouble."
Astarte left them with the guards for a moment, returning with a towel, throwing it at Napoleon. He grabbed it before it hit him in the face then tore the cloth, tying the ends together then he wrapped it tightly around Illya's waist.
"Come on tovarisch, let's get moving before the bitch does something else." He hoisted Illya up from the floor with a grunt, supporting his slightly built friend as they walked between the two guards. When they reached the court yard. Illya was pulled from his partner's arms, then both the agents hands were cuffed behind their backs.
Astarte Lovely huffed her dissatisfaction, much preferring that Illya Kuryakin were permitted to die, but knew that Stavros would be very cross if that happened. And she knew better than to make Stavros Stronghilos angry with her.
They were lead out a side door from the court yard then loaded into a jeep that was parked behind the villa, leading to narrow road that spiralled down the cliff and across the island.
Their destination Napoleon overheard was Akrotiri nearly 10km. away from Firostefani. But given the conditions of the roads, the traffic of motorbikes and herders with their live stock, the trip was going to take nearly a half hour.
Though they were farther inland, the wind was still quite strong, and Napoleon continued to glance over his partner long blond hair was blowing wildly as his head bobbed forwards against his chest as the jeep moved along the uneven surface of the road.
He wasn't sure if Illya was unconscious or asleep, as the latter he would often do in a car, even under the most dire of circumstances, and this to Solo was beginning to look like one of them. Though his partner had said to trust him; he hoped that Illya had something up his sleeve.
The landscape was not much to look at as the jeep rumbled along. There were miles and miles of grapes growing as far as the eye could see, but not in the traditional sense in arbors, but growing low to the ground in baskets which were actually made up of the stems and stalks themselves. As Napoleon stared out at them, he wished he had a glass of that Santorini wine and was sitting on a terrace enjoying the view of the aqua blue ocean.
He looked over again at Illya as his head still bobbed with the swaying of the jeep, hoping he was alright. At last the vehicle entered a small village, but it was not the Akrotiri that Napoleon expected; it was a the actual village Akrotiri, off the beaten track from the busy archaeological dig of the Minoan site of the same name. The jeep was driven along a spiraling road that circled up and around the base of a rocky hill.
Except for a few old kerchiefed women sitting involved with their daily work in front of their homes, there was no one else to be seen, as most of the residents worked across the island.
Akrotiri was a town that had originally been located at the top of a hill, the site of an ancient medieval goulas_ fortress that had been all but destroyed in a large earthquake in 1956. The town was abandoned and a new one rebuilt, this time at the base of the hill. No one apparently went up to the ruins of the fortress as it was too dangerous.
They drove slowly through the village, coming to a halt at the base of the stony rise, from there they would travel by foot up to the ruins.
Stronghilos snapped his fingers, saying nothing as his men pulled the agents from the vehicle. Illya looked up at Napoleon, not appearing as well as his partner had hoped but the brightness of his blue-eyes and another wink told Napoleon the Russian was okay and was up to something.
He watched as Astarte, not to be deprived of her revenge, kick Illya behind the knee, sending him stumbling face down to the rocky ground, unable to catch himself with his hands cuffed behind his back.
"That was clumsy of you Kuryakin," she laughed. One of the guards pulled him to his feet, this time there was blood on his cheekbone and chin from where he had stuck the rocks.
They reached the center of the dark terracotta colored ruins, some of it remained intact, the outer walls and small buildings, but most of it had collapsed onto itself. In the center of a small plaza was something fairly large covered with a canvas tarp.
Stavros gestured for the two agents to be seated on a small wall, while he uncovered the weapon. It was impressive, larger than Napoleon had first imagined in his mind's eye, each side it had ten triangular panes of highly polished crystal fitted together seamlessly, it resembled a double-pointed top and was mounted on a support that allowed it to pivot in place.
"Now gentlemen you will witness possibly the most powerful man made weapon next to the atomic bomb, but unlike the A-bomb, this can be targeted precisely at specific targets. The coordinates need just to be calculated and set on the Antikythera, then once the mechanism is activated the crystal will absorb the power of the great Apollo himself!"
* MFU "The Gazebo Maze Affair" ** ref "THe Summit Affair"