Chapter two

A Month Later

Perspiration broke out on Solo's upper lip. He closed his eyes defiantly. The expected punch never came. He opened one eye cautiously. He was alone in the cell. He looked up at the eyebolt in the ceiling to which he was chained by the wrists and around the small room helplessly. There was no way he was getting out of this one on his own. His face was already puffy and sore, and his arms were becoming very sore. He had been left hanging there for hours now. He hoped his partner would be able to rescue him soon. He hadn't seen Illya for almost two days now, but Illya would find him. He was sure of that.

For the first week or so following his return from China, and Illya's return to active duty following the death of his brother, they had remained at headquarters, catching up on paperwork, conducting debriefing interviews with the junior agents and in Illya's case, hiding down in the labs with his scientific experiments. Once Illya felt a little more settled and centered, they were once again sent back out into the field, but for some reason, although they had made no particular blunders, and had not had to report any failures, they had seemed to suffer one setback after another. This last mission was a case in point. They had each had their own tasks to perform this time, which had meant that they had seen little enough of each other outside of their hotel suite, but up until a few hours ago, things seemed to have been going fine…and then Solo was captured. He only hoped that Illya had managed to get his task completed and by now be making plans to rescue him.

The door opened once again and his tormentor was back, this time armed with a cat-o-nine-tails… the strips of leather barbed with something sharp, pieces of glass or bone it looked like. Solo closed his eyes again and looked away. If they were going to use that on him, he would rather not look. He clenched his teeth and waited for the strike.

And waited.

And waited.

Cautiously he opened one eye. The man, along with his vicious cat-o-nine-tails was lying on the floor with his head at an unnatural angle, and Illya was standing beside him, panting slightly. Illya looked terrible.

Illya' s entire face was puffy, one eye completely closed, the other almost closed, blood running freely from a large cut in his hair which plastered his hair to his head. The blood that was caked in his hair was turning sticky. His bottom lip was swollen and split. His jacket was gone, his shirt was reduced to a few vertical strips, and his torso a mass of bruises and cuts, some of which were still bleeding.

"Hello my friend. Not a moment too soon. I must say you've looked better."

"Thanks. I've felt better. How am I going to get you out of that?" Illya asked Solo, peering up at the chains. "Is there a padlock up there?"

"Yes, but I can't reach it. Those men used a stepladder to put me up here."

"Well I don't have time to go search for a stepladder, Napoleon. I am going to have to climb up you…this is going to hurt, but I'll have you down in a few moments once I reach that padlock."

"Just do whatever you have to Illya. I told you that right at the beginning, if you remember."

"I thought then you were talking about torture?"

"Everything and anything. Come on partner, let's get out of this place."

Illya fished for the lock-pick he always kept in the buckle of his belt, slipped it between his teeth and started to climb up the hanging form of his friend. Napoleon felt the strain in his shoulders increasing at the added extra weight, although Illya was a lot lighter than he looked. He gritted his teeth and put up with it. They would both be out of there soon.

Once Illya was able to reach the padlock, he locked his legs together around Napoleon's waist and started working on it. Within a few seconds, the padlock was unlocked. It was the work of a couple of seconds then to remove it from the chains. Both men landed with a heap on the floor. Both lay there for a moment, winded, nursing their injuries, then Illya groaned and got up.

"I was discovered in the laboratory made a fight of it rather than let myself get captured. It means that I didn't get a chance to destroy their records or the samples of the virus, so I had to activate the explosives sooner than we intended. That means we have no more than five minutes left to get out of here before this whole place blows sky high, so I suggest we run for it!"

Napoleon and Illya ran for it.

They were accosted twice on their way out of the building, but ignoring the order to stop, they kept on running.

"Stop or I will shoot you in the back!"

"Do they really think we are likely to stop when they say that?" Napoleon panted as they saw the exit hove into sight.

"Save your breath my friend, we have five seconds…."

The explosion five seconds later lifted them both off their feet and hurled them thirty feet through the air, landing with a brutal thud on the rough dirt. Neither man moved.

Alexander Waverly frowned once he had finished on the telephone with the police. Another close call for Solo and Kuryakin? What was happening? If it were another pair of agents, he might seriously consider that they were starting to lose their touch, but these two were beyond doubting. They always came back with results. They had always tended to get themselves beaten up a little, but considering the nature of the tasks they were given, that was not a surprising thing. The last two missions, however, they had barely escaped with their lives; and it was not through any kind of mistake or error in judgement either. It was as if they were being besieged by ill-fortune…if one believed in such a thing. Waverly did not, however, and he knew that although neither of his two top agents were perfect, on neither of the two previous cases had they made any mistakes either. There had to be some other reason. Were they being pursued? Were they being set up by THRUSH in some way? This was the third time they had met with some seemingly monumental stroke of ill-luck. Even though, yet again, they had been successful, they had barely escaped with their lives.

This one really had been a very close thing. The local people had heard a huge explosion in the old abandoned glass factory on the old North Road, and had called out the police and fire services. On arriving, the emergency services had found two men lying close to the blast area, clearly suffering from severe blast injuries. Once their identities had been verified, the police had, of course, got straight on to UNCLE New York to report that two UNCLE agents were being taken to the local hospital.

Alexander Waverly and Doctor Simpson, with agents Slate and Dancer and four section three agents had immediately set off for the hospital, fifty miles away. On arrival, doctor Simpson was whisked straight off for an examination of the two agents, and a conference with the doctors. Section three agents were stationed around the intensive care ward where Solo and Kuryakin were being treated, whilst Mark and April paced up and down in the doctor's office with Mr. Waverly.

They had been waiting for three hours, when doctor Simpson came into the room. He was besieged at once by the two weary and worried section two agents.

"How are they?"

"Are they going to be alright?"

Simpson gave them a bleak stare and turned to the boss.

"Mr. Waverly, we need to speak to you in private please."

Mark and April stared at each other, the apprehension clear on their faces as Mr. Waverly followed doctor Simpson out of the office and down the corridor. They could see him through the window talking to three doctors, then they saw his shoulders slump, and he was walking back to the office, doctor Simpson close behind. April stared at her partner, her face white.

"No, they have to be all right. This is Napoleon and Illya. They have to be okay."

Mark hugged her briefly.

"They were caught in an explosion, luv'. They're only human after all. Let's pray, eh?"

They stood silently as Simpson and Waverly came back into the office. Waverly looked as though he had aged five years in the last two minutes. Simpson was looking his normal, professional self, but his eyes lacked their usual sparkle.

"What has happened? Tell us quickly!" April begged.

"Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate…" Waverly began, then he stopped, as though the words were stuck in his throat. Doctor Simpson glanced at him and looked down at his feet.

"Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were brought in with serious multiple percussive injuries following an explosion. We did all we could, but…" he shook his head. April started to whimper, and buried her face in Mark's shoulder. Mark said nothing, but continued to stare at the doctor. Simpson sighed heavily.

"I'm so sorry, but Illya died thirty minutes ago, Napoleon just five minutes later. We tried so hard to revive them, but their injuries were too severe. We've lost them." Mark and April stared at their boss, close to despair. Napoleon and Illya gone? Whatever would they do now?

to be continued...