"Good morning, gentlemen. Please be seated." Alexander Waverly, Number 1, Section 1 of the Northwest chapter of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, motioned to the round conference table. As the agents took their customary seats, Waverly placed a couple of folders on the table top and spun them around so a folder sat in front of each agent.
Both agents noted the empty briar pipe sitting on its stand, a solid clue that whatever circumstances brought them to Waverly's office something extremely serious was afoot if their boss was ignoring it.
As each man opened his folder, Waverly began. "Gentlemen, the man in the photo is Dr. Gerald Xavier Ridenour. He is currently one of the executive officers in charge of nuclear studies at…"
"…the Los Alamos National Laboratory…" interrupted Kuryakin. He blushed when Waverly glared at him. "I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to interrupt you.
"Do you know this gentleman, Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Ah, no sir, although I have read some of his research articles."
"I see. Well, he has a five year old daughter. As you can see from her photo, she's a pretty little girl who was born with Down's Syndrome. Her name is Lucinda. As of last night she was abducted by none other than THRUSH operatives. Several THRUSH agents climbed through an upstairs window and held both Ridenour and his wife at gunpoint before tying them up and locking them in a closet. They then gathered up the little girl and left through the front door."
Waverly indicated the folders. "You have a copy of the letter that was left behind stating what is being demanded of Ridenour."
Napoleon picked up his copy of the letter.
IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR DAUGHTER AGAIN YOU WILL FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTION AND YOUR WIFE ARE TO COLLECT 3 MILLION DOLLARS AND BRING IT TO THE PLAZA IN SANTE FE ON WEDNESDAY, MARCH 23RD AND STAND BY THE THIRD PILLAR FROM THE LEFT. AT THAT TIME ONE OF THE AGENTS WILL COLLECT YOU AND THE MONEY. YOUR DAUGHTER WILL BE TURNED OVER TO YOUR WIFE. IF WE EVEN THINK THERE ARE LAW AUTHORITIES WITHIN TEN MILES YOUR DAUGHTER AND WIFE WILL BE KILLED INSTANTLY. The paper on which the note was typed bore the watermark of the THRUSH logo.
"The bastards!" Solo spat. "But sir, doesn't this come under the jurisdiction of the FBI?"
"Normally, yes," Waverly stated. "However because THRUSH is involved the case has automatically been turned over to us. In addition, Dr. Ridenour is reportedly in the middle of a very important top secret project. I've been told that he is the only one who can complete the project successfully and that if THRUSH ever got possession of the research it would mean the security and well being off all nations would be in jeopardy.
"We have another problem. Dr. Ridenour has promised that if any harm comes to either his daughter or wife, he will sabotage the research project and destroy the whole Los Alamos complex. The latter I don't think he can accomplish - the former, however, he is quite capable of doing. The project is of utmost importance to national security.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I'm assigning you to this mission because of your scientific background. It may give you the advantage of connecting with Dr. Ridenour as a sort of kindred spirit. Maybe he will open up to you and perhaps you can keep him calm."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Waverly," interjected Solo. "The FBI may already be a bit miffed that we are taking over jurisdiction. And we all know how they are rankled that we have A Russian in our ranks. Don't you think that sending Mr. Kuryakin on mission, one that involves nuclear secrets, ruffle their feathers? It could make him a target for both THRUSH and the agency."
"And that's why I'm sending you to accompany Mr. Kuryakin. It will be up to you to soothe any hurt feelings the FBI may harbor, and to assist Mr. Kuryakin in finding the daughter and bring her back safely."
"Yes, sir!" Napoleon breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn't want his partner to have to face this assignment alone. He glanced over to his friend but Illya's expression gave no hint as to what he was thinking. Napoleon turned back to Waverly to say something else but the Old Man had already turned his attention to a stack of folders sitting by his elbow.
Two hours later, the two agents found themselves poring over the file for their next assignment as the UNCLE jet flew westward into the darkness.