There was something about this situation that was beginning to feel…wrong. Not that it could ever feel right to be inside of Thrush; this was something else that was niggling at the back of Illya's neural sensitivities. He didn't trust Duvall, and that was beyond the obvious. He was being treated more like a captive than a new comrade, regardless of how many precautions they might take in a situation like this.
The wound was beginning to feel better. It was amazing to him that his breastbone had stopped a bullet from going through him. He wondered what the respirator had been for, perhaps just for effect. He knew that the pain killers were wearing off, so someone would be scheduled to come in soon. He had better figure out a way to get something going, because suddenly he didn't feel like defecting.
At UNCLE headquarters, Mr. Waverly and Napoleon, along with a select few additional agents and staff, were scanning every available bit of information concerning Marianne Lucas. The woman had been in a car accident in Maine, but had not required time off. She had been taken to a hospital for minor cuts and bruises and then released. She was at work the next day. Something about the report sent signals off in Solo's brain; something about the hospital…
"Let's check on that hospital in Maine where they took Lucas…what's the name of it?" He was sure something was triggering an alarm.
"Volière Hospital is the name, Mr. Solo. Say, that's French for aviary". All conversation stopped in the room. Thrush was nothing if not completely audacious in their use of descriptive names and titles.
"Something happened at that hospital. Marianne Lucas is our mole, or something like it.' Suddenly there was an increased sense of urgency to this situation, and that included extracting Illya from the Thrush satrap where he was being held. Marianne Lucas had been involved with the entire episode of getting his partner to play this game. It was a trap, one into which they had thrown him unquestioningly.
"Mr. Waverly, do we have any intelligence on where this Deacon Duvall is headquartered? Thrush has moved throughout the city several times, but there must be something to indicate where this man runs his operation. Illya was injured, so they would have taken him to a medical facility…' He was answering his own questions.
"Riley, get a team up to Maine, to the Volière Hospital. We need to start where we know they've operated before". With that order, the search was begun for the missing Russian. Against all odds, they had a beginning to unraveling this mystery and retrieving his wounded partner.
Illya needed to get out of this bed; there was one major hindrance attached to his body: a catheter. He'd had to deal with these more times than he cared to remember, and he knew the doctor wasn't likely to approve removing it now. He would have to do it himself. There was a slight risk of doing some tissue damage, he knew that much. Still, he didn't have a choice, so on the count of three…one…two…threeeee…Out it came with just a little leakage and he was free of the damned thing. With that accomplished, he was ready for the next move.
When the doctor came to check on the UNCLE agent, he anticipated nothing more than to order another round of pain killers and sedatives.
Mr. Duvall wanted to keep the man under for as long as possible, until the operation on the UNCLE headquarters had been completed. It was in that frame of mind that he entered Illya's room. What he hadn't expected was for the man to be fully awake and asking questions.
"Doctor, the catheter is uncomfortable…do you think I could have a little privacy while someone looks at it, or adjusts it?" He knew they were watching him, and thought he could appeal to the physician's sympathies…man to man.
"Privacy…what do you mean by that?" He hedged a little, but it made him nervous to be around someone who obviously knew how things worked.
"Please, I know they're watching me. But, for this…just a little less surveillance". This one looked so young and harmless. He was small and didn't look dangerous…
"Yes, alright. Let me turn it off and then we will check you out". His accent was German, and Illya appreciated that at least he did have some compassion for his patients. Too bad about what was going to happen to him.
The doctor walked over to the two way picture viewer and pushed a hidden button on the bottom of the frame. As he approached the bed again, Illya was ready and with a speed that belied the fracture in his sternum, he was out of the bed and had incapacitated the unsuspecting physician. The blond was gasping slightly, the pain in his chest more pronounced than when lying prone in the bed. No time for that, however. He relieved the man of his white coat and his pants and shoes. He didn't have time for more; someone would notice the screen had been turned off. He had to get out of here quickly, and getting the unconscious man into bed took more effort than he cared to admit. For good measure he took the stethoscope as well, pushed the button to reactivate the viewing screen and slipped out the door into the hallway. There was one nurse, and she was busy over a chart paying no attention to him as he walked past the desk and through the hissing doors.