Author's note: April's ball gown in this chapter is inspired by the very beautiful dress designed by Sandy Powell for the 2015 film Cinderella.
Chapter 20
THE EMBASSY BALL
Jackson sat in a small, cold, ante-room, staring uncomfortably at the white screen that had been set into the wall. Two section three agents stood by the door, and two section 2 agents were right beside him. One sitting very close, the other standing right behind his chair. It made Jackson feel uncomfortable to be watched so closely.
"I thought I was supposed to be one of you guys now?" He protested as the attractive female agent, Miss Hazel Tyler readied the extension from the computer room next door, where her co-workers were busily checking the sound and visual aid link to the bug and the mini-camera that Agent Mark Slate was wearing. The section two man beside him Sam Darkly, harrumphed loudly.
"Plenty of time for you to earn our trust. Your employers, or rather your former employers recently killed our two very best men, who are…were very good friends of ours. All of us here at UNCLE are feeling even less friendly towards THRUSH than usual, so the minute you put a toe out of line…"
Jackson raised his hands in surrender.
"Hey, no sweat. I'm sorry about your friends, really. I'm just a security guard. That's all I ever was for THRUSH. I swear I'm not about to try anything…wow!"
He broke off with a whistle of admiration as a vision of loveliness appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Sweet!"
"Actually, in the real world, the name is April Dancer."
"Wow, you look…like you stepped out of a fairytale!"
April did indeed look stunning. Her blue gown had a close fitting off the shoulder bodice, decorated with sequins; at the hips the dress was huge and floaty, like a great blue waterfall. Her lovely auburn hair was rolled on her head in a mass of curls and fronted by a diamond tiara. She entered the room and took Jackson's hand lightly.
"I'm informed that you…" she trailed off, but Jackson nodded.
"…have been persuaded to leave THRUSH. Yes."
April looked into his eyes.
"Why were you there at all? You always seemed to me to be too gentle to be any serious threat."
Jackson looked slightly put out at that.
"I was supposed to be intimidating; like a night club bouncer. I seemed to intimidate the drunks and trouble-makers well enough on Saturday nights in the clubs."
He failed to notice the male agents in the room grinning at one another. April smiled slightly.
"I'm sure you did, but…no offense Jackson, but I'm a Section Two agent with U.N.C.L.E." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the nose.
"If you want a short-cut to being trusted, keep your eyes peeled this evening. We suspect someone from the Embassy is a T.H.R.U.S.H double agent, and we need you to keep my partner Agent Slate up to speed with everyone you see in the room who you know to be THRUSH."
Jackson nodded.
"I can do that. You really do brush up okay Miss Sw…er…Miss Dancer."
April chuckled.
"I'll take that as a complement." She turned to the other agents in the room.
"You also know what sorts of things to keep your eyes peeled for. If you see anything, let Mark know; but remember he will be doing a job at the same time. If you cause him to drop his tray we will lose our inside man."
"Why don't you wear a wire ma'am? See more with two of you all wired up." Agent Darius Fielding suggested seriously. April raised her eyebrows at him.
"Any suggestions as to wear I might put it? This dress was chosen for me, and it was not designed to be worn by someone working undercover."
The man turned pink and Jackson smirked behind his hand.
"I reckon your job is to attract attention and let your buddy do the dangerous work, right?"
April had just turned to leave the room, and his remark caused her to stop and look back.
"When this is over, Mister Jackson, I'll take you along to the gym shall I, and I'll show you what my job is really all about."
With that she turned and flounced out of the room, her skirts swinging regally behind her. Jackson looked taken aback.
"What did I say?"
Darkly shook his head.
"Shows how much you THRUSHes know about UNCLE!" he remarked with a slight laugh. "UNCLE women are all highly trained in self-defense and martial arts, and they are just the secretaries and clerical assistants. April is a cut above all of them. She's Section Two."
"What does that mean?"
"Section Two are the field agents. April eats guys like you for breakfast every day out in the field. Now that Solo and Kuryakin are dead, Dancer and Slate are the best we have. If you let her take you down to the gym, first make sure your medical insurance is up to date."
"But she looks so…"
Darkly nodded, grinning.
"Yup!"
Mark Slate had spent seven months of his adolescence waiting tables in the restaurant of his local hotel The Cocked Hat, and he had eventually been dismissed for getting into an argument with a particularly vitriolic customer which had ended with his tipping the man's tankard of beer into his lap. Needless to say, Mark had never felt that he had missed his calling, and to find himself once again waiting tables and carrying silver trays of expensive champagne around a crowded ballroom filled with rich and upper-crust guests, who noticed only the tray but never the man carrying it, was certainly not the stuff his dreams were made of. Mark wondered if they would even notice if the tray had drifted among them, floating unsupported. Perhaps they all assumed that it did, for all the notice they took. Already he had been bumped into twice from behind, and then sworn at by the perpetrator; his right foot had been stepped on by one very heavy person wearing a particularly sharp and pointed stiletto heel…his right big toe was still smarting from that one. At the same time, he was having to listen to a running commentary in his right ear by the agents back at headquarters sitting with that fellow Jackson, commenting on the fashions of everyone woman in sight. He wished he had a microphone connected to his ear-piece, as he would have liked to have declared an end to it all. In fact, the only voice he had not heard at all was Jackson. He wondered why that was.
As Mark divested himself of his last full glass of champagne and started to collect the empties, he took another long searching look around the room. Suddenly he heard a loud "Hush!" in his ear, surprisingly, it was Jackson's voice. The babble of chatter switched itself off as if by magic, and Mark had only Jackson's low, confident tones in his ear. Clearly, whatever the rest of the guys were doing, eyeing up the talent, Jackson had been taking his duties seriously.
"Agent Slate, look round the room again as you did just now…STOP! Back…There! The man standing beneath the glitter ball in the ceiling…tuxedo with red cummerbund, red bow tie…bald head with the thin comb-over hairstyle. Yes, that's the one. His name is Sidney Halloway. He owns the house on Long Island where you found me. He's not officially a member of THRUSH, but is extremely wealthy and he invests in people he thinks THRUSH may one day have an interest in… scientists and the like. He gets them in a position where they are indebted to him, then he sells their services to THRUSH. His only living relation is his brother-in-law Antonio Del-Paglio, and Antonio's daughter Olivia. Olivia is there talking to him…see? She is the sole beneficiary of his will. She IS a member of THRUSH, as is her father."
Mark had no way of acknowledging Jackson's words vocally, accept with a pre-arranged signal of momentarily clapping his hand over his bow tie, where his hidden camera was located. He filled his tray with empty champagne flutes and made his way through the throng towards the servants' pantry. As he passed a beautiful young red haired woman wearing an exquisite blue ball-gown, he paused briefly.
"May I have your empty glasses ladies and gentlemen?"
He gave no sign of recognizing Alexander Waverly or April Dancer, but as they put their flutes on his tray, he muttered without moving his lips;
"Comb-over beneath the glitter ball…and his niece."
Without looking back, Mark vanished from the ball room to collect another prepared salver of champagne for the thirsty guests.
MFU
Jackson saw the camera fade to black for a moment, as Mark's hand obscured the lens, and Darkly nodded in satisfaction.
"He understood. He'll pass that on to April. Keep looking though Jackson. April knows that bird Olivia already. Anyone else there you recognize?"
Jackson was scanning the available footage desperately. Unfortunately, at this moment, Mark was in the process of washing out dirty champagne flutes, drying them carefully until they sparkled and then very carefully refilling them under the eagle eye of the Butler. Suddenly he almost leapt out of his seat and shouted.
"Hey! I remember!"
Darkly and the others jumped. Mark jumped visibly, as Jackson's bellow had been conveyed loudly into his ear. He managed to avoid dropping anything, and put his full tray down again, his heart pounding in shock. Mark felt someone grab his arm.
"Hey, move yourself buddy, those people out there are not gonna come in and fetch them for themselves now, are they?"
Mark nodded to the head waiter and took up his tray of flutes once more. He listened carefully to Jackson's exited apology and explanation of his outburst, while at the same time making his way through to the center of the room to offer the drinks.
"Sorry, guys." Jackson was saying contritely, "I wondered who the fellow was when he came to the house. I recognized him a few minutes ago, but I couldn't remember why. Now I do."
"Well? Who? Spit it out man!" Mark heard Agent Fielding exclaim. There was a pause, then Jackson spoke again almost apologetically.
"He came out to Long Island, but it was only once. About… what? Six or more weeks ago now? I remember Del Paglio abused him for coming to the house in person and said he should have used their usual method of communication…"
"What was that?" came Darkly's voice.
"No idea." Jackson replied. "The guy just said it was too urgent and that there was no time to arrange anything else. He said something about having received a message about some Russian Mine that the KGB destroyed, and some valuable intelligence had come to light as a result."
"What else was said?"
"I don't know. They went into the study and locked the door after themselves. It was the man who was talking to Mister Waverly and Miss Dancer."
Mark almost dropped his tray in shock. The man talking to April and Waverly was Waverly's old friend…or rather acquaintance as Waverly had put it. He was an important man in the Embassy apparently. All Mark knew about the guy was that his father had been a Russian ballet dancer, and his mother a British Ballet student. He had never known his father and after the death of his mother he had defected to the Soviet Union. Clearly he had since progressed a long way. Mark tried hard to remember what Mister Waverly had said about the man's position. First Secretary, that was it. The Ambassador's Chief of Staff.
Mark made his circle of the room with his tray of drinks as nonchalantly as he could, and made sure that he passed by his partner on his way back to the pantry. As he passed her, he cleared his throat in their pre-arranged signal. April blinked suddenly in apparent confusion.
"Is it hot in here?" She asked faintly. Mister Waverly touched her shoulder lightly.
"Are you all right my dear?" He asked her concernedly. April wiped the back of her hand across her face.
"I think it's too hot in here…" she murmured, and fainted. Mark caught her deftly. He looked up.
"I'll take her to the library, sir. It is cool in there and the young lady will have privacy in order to recover."
"I'll come along and help see that she is all right." Waverly replied with a nod. "Will you excuse us for a moment, Sebastian?"
His companion nodded.
"I'll pass the word to the servants that you are not to be disturbed. You, sir, Mister…Slate isn't it? I wish you to stay with the young lady until Mister Waverly no longer has need of your presence."
"Sir!"
Mark nodded briskly, as he scooped April into his arms, her voluminous skirts making walking difficult. Mark carried April in his arms through the crowd, Mister Waverly answering queries as to the young lady's welfare, until they reached the main entrance hall. Mark led them round to the left, through a door and along a short corridor which opened out into a wide and cool library, literally stuffed with books of all types. Waverly followed them inside and closed the door. He hurried across the room and joined Mark as he laid his partner down on the couch. April did not stir. Mark looked up at Waverly.
"Is this room clear?" Waverly asked. Mark nodded.
"I knew we might need somewhere to lay a young lady who is overcome by the heat, so I checked out this room thoroughly sir. It is ideal for the purpose."
They both looked down at April. She opened first one eye, then the other.
"It's safe for me to wake up now?"
Mark grinned at her.
"For a lass who can fight and arm-wrestle as well as you can luv, you did a pretty good job of getting the vapours!"
April's eyes were laughing.
"That Jackson thinks I am a weak and feeble woman, Mark. This performance will not have done much to persuade him otherwise."
"Weak and feeble? After you knocked him out with that high kick of yours?"
She shrugged.
"I dunno, maybe he has a white horse and some shining armour stashed away somewhere hoping to find some damsel to rescue with it."
She sat up, and Waverly sat on the couch beside her, rubbing her shoulder, just in case there was any hidden cameras in the room that Mark had not discovered in his search earlier.
"What have you learned, Mark?" She asked him. Mark looked troubled and turned to their boss.
"Sir…Jackson pointed out a few people in the crowed who are members of the Long Island satrap, including the chap who owns the house, but he got all excited at one point and shouted out. I almost dropped the tray I was carrying. He said he had spotted someone he recognized as visiting Long Island a few weeks ago to talk about something that had been discovered after the destruction of some Ukrainian Mine…"
Mark paused for effect and saw his companions catch their breaths. They looked at him expectantly. Mark frowned. Waverly started to become impatient.
"Well come on man, spit it out. Who was it? That has to be our traitor!"
Mark glanced at April and then turned to Waverly.
"I'm sorry sir, but according to Jackson, it is your friend, sir. Sebastian Koskov."
In Waverly's office the following day, April, Mark, Jackson and the Section Two Agents Darkly and Fielding sat around the table as the footage recorded at the reception the previous evening was replayed. Jackson kept up a running commentary of several people in the room whom had been guests from the Long Island satrap. The thing was, none of them had done or said anything remotely suspicious all evening. Then the footage showed Mark approaching April and Waverly, talking to a tall, dark and handsome man in his early thirties wearing a black tuxedo with effortless ease. He leapt to his feet and pointed.
"Him, that man you are talking to Mister Waverly, he's the one who came by the house a few weeks ago. He's THRUSH!"
Alexander Waverly's mouth became a thin line. He had known Sebastian Koskov for several years, ever since the Soviet Government had first sent him to the Russian Embassy as a lowly assistant. Now he had risen to be First Secretary, a man with a lot of clout. How could he have been a THRUSH agent all along under his nose without him even guessing? Waverly wondered if he wasn't starting to lose his touch? His agents were all watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. After a long pause, Waverly glanced at Mark.
"Mister Slate, you mixed with many of the servants below stairs. Was there anything else you saw or heard that might be relevant in this sorry tale?"
Chewing his lip, Mark put his head to one side.
"I've been racking my brains sir, but nothing untoward comes to mind. The Embassy waiting staff were pretty close-lipped around me, being an outsider, and English to boot. They were all polite and efficient, but nothing revealing was said or implied in my hearing. That chap Koskov came below stairs briefly after all the guests had left or retired for the evening and thanked everyone for doing a good job. He thanked me for looking after his good friend, Mister Waverly's date so well after she collapsed, and told me that he will be sending a favourable report to my agency about my hard work throughout the evening. Apparently the fact that I didn't drop, spill or throw anything all evening goes a long way to making me a passable waiter."
"You didn't observe him or any of the other THRUSH people talking to anyone that struck you as out of place or odd?"
Mark frowned. April nudged him.
"You've thought of something. What?"
Mark nodded slowly.
"Well, it's not something anyone said exactly…but did you notice that the fellow Halloway and your young friend Livvy, April, were standing beneath that giant glitter ball last evening?"
"Yes…" April's eyes widened. "Of course, yes, I see! Oh partner, you are good!"
"What?" Waverly turned tired eyes on the pair. Jackson and the other two agents looked confused. April explained.
"Halloway and Livvy Del Paglio were standing in the exact center of the ballroom last night…all evening. They did not move from that spot, either of them. They did not dance or mingle. They stayed in that one place for the entire evening."
Mark nodded.
"And if you remember, Mister Waverly, your friend Sebastian did not move either. He was standing with you and April, and whenever you two moved away to speak to others or to dance, he stayed put. Other people came to talk to him instead."
Waverly nodded. He looked round at his agents…and Jackson. So they had found their man inside the Embassy, it seemed. Now to find out who within UNCLE was his contact. He blinked, and looked round the room. He could guess what was in their minds. There was one very definite contact within UNCLE, sitting here in this very room. Waverly himself. They were looking for an UNCLE traitor, a double agent or an informer, someone who was close to Koskov, and someone who was in the position to be able to pass on privileged information. He knew the traitor was not himself, but they would be wrong to discount him as a suspect simply because he was the chief. He stood up.
"Mister Slate, Miss Dancer, as you are our current joint CEA agents, you will, for the time being, take command of this investigation. You will need to set some kind of trap perhaps, do whatever you need to, to identify our UNCLE traitor. When you have decided the actions to take, you will not inform me of them."
"Sir?" Fielding looked slightly bemused. Waverly gave a bittersweet smile.
"Mister Fielding, considering that I am Koskov's only contact that we know for certain about within UNCLE, that makes me currently your chief suspect. So for the time being, Mister Slate and Miss Dancer will be your acting chiefs and will take full charge until the identity of our mole can be proven beyond a doubt. Until that time, I am to know nothing of your activities. Just be certain that you do not cross any lines, understood?"
He stood up.
"I am going to activate my home office system, so that anything that comes up that requires my personal authorization can be redirected to me. Contact me whenever you need to. Oh, and Mister Slate…"
"Sir?"
"Good luck. The future of UNCLE could well be depending upon you and Miss Dancer."
With that, Alexander Waverly left the room, suddenly looking very much older. Mark and April exchanged glances. They would need to find a way to expedite this investigation. Damn that fellow Koskov. Of course Waverly was not the mole. But procedure was procedure. Once Waverly was gone and out of earshot, Mark got up from his seat.
"Very well, we need a plan. Any ideas?"
Jackson sat quietly in his seat, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. He too understood the implications of all that had passed in the last few minutes. He couldn't help wishing that he had not been here to witness all of that, but he was. He was now unavoidably a part of this thing. He genuinely liked that remarkable old man, and having formerly been THRUSH himself, he couldn't help but feel a portion of the blame for what had happened to him. But how to help? He frowned and leaned forward in his chair. April glanced round.
"Jackson?"
"April…do you have a way of…er…some kind of invisible tracking solution? Mister Slate, Mister Waverly said something about laying a trap. Why not release, sort of accidentally, that you know who the Embassy Mole is, and that you have documentary proof of it, locked up in your desk. When your UNCLE mole hears the rumour, he or she will want to destroy it, right?"
"Good plan, but files get moved about all the time. It has to be more foolproof than that…"
April grabbed Mark's elbow.
"Mark, something Illya was telling me about before they…uh… well anyway, I remember him telling me that he had been working with R and D department on some kind of tracking solution. Something that fluoresces under ultraviolet light, but is invisible and untraceable under normal conditions. This stuff comes off on everyone it touches and can only be washed off with some particular solution."
"So anyone with this stuff on their fingers, say, would be leaving an ultraviolet trail behind them wherever they go?"
April nodded. Mark nodded thoughtfully.
"But how to get hold of some without asking a member of R and D? Who knows but that the real mole might be a member of that department?" he asked. April smiled.
"As it happens, I know where we can get some. As its' primary creator, Illya was testing it himself. He had some in his apartment."
"Everything in Solo and Kuryakin's apartments have been removed and placed into storage." Darkly reminded them. Mark shook his head.
"Solo's belongings have gone to his family, and they have secure his apartment for the time being. Kuryakin's belongings were crated up and sent to Solo's people. They'll have it stashed in an attic somewhere."
Darkly looked unhappy.
"I don't envy the lucky person who has the job of having to visit Napoleon's family. Not under the circumstances."
Mark and April exchanged glances.
"Well someone has to do it." April replied. "Darkly, you and I will travel out to visit the Solos. Mark?"
"Jackson and Fielding can work together on creating a document that will fool anyone, both UNCLE and THRUSH alike. Myself, I have one or two other matters that I need to catch up with. I need to talk to the head of section three. All right, we'd better get to work."