Chapter Six
Another month passed.
And then another and another.
And then Napoleon didn't care, and he stopped counting. Had they been there a year? More? Napoleon was no longer capable of knowing. He was as weak as a kitten. There hadn't been water in a long time.
Napoleon recalled finding two sandwiches one day. They had eaten like animals, tearing into the food. The hunger pains were unbearable, a knife twisting in the gut.
Despite his hunger, Napoleon had put part of his sandwich away for April, but the next day the sandwich was gone. Vanished like Scott and the record player.
They hadn't had food or water since. They were being punished for his attempt at saving the sandwich.
Hunger could consume the mind, tear apart the soul. Napoleon found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. A thought would pass through his mind like water seeping from a cupped hand under a waterfall. Still, he hadn't given up. He didn't care if he lived or died, but he had April to consider. She was lying on the floor, curled into herself like a tiny baby. Every now and then she would cry out and he would go to her, lie next to her, but he couldn't touch her. It was too hot.
One day, he'd pulled up the rug, hoping the coolness of a bare floor would make the heat more tolerable. It hadn't.
Napoleon didn't know the current temperature because the thermometer had broken weeks ago. He'd watched it shatter when the temperature hit one hundred and fifty degrees.
How were they still alive?
He crawled over to April. He touched her neck to see if she was still alive. Her pulse was slow and steady, but every day she slept longer and was harder to wake. Always the sun slithered across the floor and joined with the fireplace to suffocate them.
Napoleon had always believed he would go out in a blaze of glory. It was ironic that the blaze was literally one of fire and sun.
There was a part of him that was ready to die. The pain in his body was intolerable, but he lived for one reason—April.
"Don't let her die," he whispered.
He had never felt so helpless. Always, he relied on Solo's luck to get them out of tight spots. He was casual about it, making jokes under the direst of circumstances, because he knew he would survive. Because he knew that he had someone out there who would come for him.
But now, there was only one explanation he'd been left with, because as long as the Russian drew breath, he wouldn't give up. They were that way, both strong and dependent on each other for survival. They took turns rescuing each other.
"Where are you, Tovarish?"
In his mind, Illya was dead. In his mind, Illya was alive. He was both. Sometimes he could feel him sitting next to him and almost felt like he could reach out, take his hand. Then he would open his eyes to the cruel hard fact that he was still trapped and April was still dying. And his life didn't mean a damn without either of them in his life.
Napoleon staggered to his feet and padded over to the window, shielding his eyes against the rays of the sun.
No life existed beyond the window. He had come to accept it now. They were alone on the island. Scott and the two men were long gone.
He no longer remembered the names of the two men.
"Illya, where are you? You've got to save April." His voice was hoarse. "I don't care what happens to me, but you've got to save April."
He closed his eyes, his arms wrapped around his body, rocking back and forward. He slid to the floor and just lay. He saw April lying on the other side of the room and slowly crawled over to her. And there he lay.
Hours went by, perhaps days, months, years. And then the chime of the clock awakened him.
Another day had passed. It was getting hotter. It was midnight again.
mfumfumfu*
Illya stared at the woman sitting at the table near the center of the stage. She was dripping in diamonds and wore a white fur coat, her jet-black hair in stark contrast to her red dress. Every man had his eye on the beautiful Arden Kirk.
She had arrived a little over an hour ago on the arms of a man. He'd deposited her at the table and left.
This man had been questioned the minute he stepped foot outside. Illya already had the report from Jason. The man had been walking down the street when Arden stepped out of a limousine and whispered something in his ear. Several UNCLE agents confirmed this part of the story. She'd asked him to accompany her inside. He saw it as easy money and didn't ask why she couldn't just walk in on her own.
"Reminded me of my young days," he was reported to have said. "Lots of unescorted women couldn't get into swank joints like this back then."
The man had seemed familiar to Illya, but he couldn't quite place him. Perhaps he was in disguise, but he would worry about that later.
"She's playing games," April said. "She's playing games with Napoleon's life."
"I've given the order to hold the man until I can question him."
"Good. I've got a bad feeling," April said.
Illya looked at her. They were in the back room, watching through the two-way mirror. April looked very nervous. For his own sanity, he didn't ask questions. Arden was here now, that's all that mattered.
"Let's get closer."
Illya followed April out the door. Now they were standing in a corner, shielded by a large artificial palm tree.
A magic act was providing entertainment on the stage. Arden seemed like she was enjoying the show and sat confidently. Illya was certain that she was aware that she was being watched. There was just something contrived about the whole thing. She didn't just happen by. This was planned and probably for a very long time. She hadn't even bothered to wear a disguise.
April sighed. "She's beautiful."
"She looks like you. You could be sisters," Illya quickly said.
The hair color was different, so were the eyes, but Illya had always noted the similarities between the two women.
"I don't see it."
"It's because you see yourself in the mirror every day. You see the differences."
April shrugged. "She's a bit obvious."
The meaning was clear. April was not as vested in flaunting her sexuality as Arden. The woman they were watching exuded sex, but hers was the kind that burned quickly and then went out. Illya could never see what Napoleon saw in her. She was Angelique times ten.
"She's inviting us over," April said. "See, she's looking in this direction."
Men were craning their necks to get a better look at her. Illya saw several women kick their dates under the table.
"I don't trust her," Illya said.
The Satin Doll had been created for Arden. She was obsessed with the jazz clubs of the past. She spoke endlessly about their superiority to the current offerings. She'd gone on to talk about her childhood in Chicago and how she had tried unsuccessfully to sneak into various clubs as a teenager. That's what had given him the idea. Now, he'd finally found success.
"How do you want to play it?" April asked.
"Very carefully. She's too confident. Let's see what she does next."
Illya watched the audience carefully. He saw several regulars and lots of people who appeared to have come for the show and nothing more. Jason was again on bouncer duties and stood at the door. Dispersed within the crowd were ten UNCLE agents. Nothing seemed unusual, but he doubted Arden had stepped into the lion's den alone. He also doubted that she was relying on the skill of the chubby man they had in custody. She had backup. He just couldn't see it.
Arden lifted her hand and waved at them like she had just noticed dear friends.
"She can't possibly see us," April said. "We're too far away and it's too dark."
"And yet she can," Illya said slowly. "She knows we're here."
"That's a disturbing thought."
Neither of them moved. Illya watched Arden flag down a waiter who came over and took her order. This gave Illya an idea. He took out his communicator. "Open Channel A."
"Jason here."
"Jason, see that her drink provides a good night's sleep."
"Yes, sir."
Illya watched the big man slip away from the door and head into the kitchen to prepare the sleep drug he'd just requested.
"You don't think she'll fall for that, do you?"
"No. I'm issuing a challenge. Let's see what she does with it."
She was enjoying the floor show, swaying to the music. Two tap dancers were on stage now, dancing like the Nicholas brothers at the height of their career. A glass of wine arrived just as the act finished with a spectacular leap from the piano which had both men landing in a perfect leg split on the floor.
Another act took their place; this one a ventriloquist and his dummy.
The audience applauded, Arden crossed her legs, then took a sniff from her glass of wine, swirling it around as she looked at the ruby liquid. She then placed it on the table and nodded in their direction.
"Well, she's taken up the challenge. Now what?" April asked.
"Exactly as expected," Illya said. "She knows we had her drink drugged."
"So, what's she up to?"
"Everything. It's all been a game to her. She's here for the final chapter. We will wait to see what that is."
"Why don't we just go over and yank her out of here?"
"Because it's a trap. Don't you feel it?" Illya looked at April who merely shrugged. He turned back to the audience. The place was packed, standing room only, which was another reason it wasn't a good idea to confront Arden. He didn't want anyone to get injured. No. It was best to wait, at least until the crowd died down. She could have any number of guns under that mink stole she wore.
"What if she tries to leave?" April asked, clearly reading his mind.
"She won't," Illya said. "She is waiting as are we."
April looked disappointed but said nothing.
Three floor shows and ten drinks later, the final customer left the building. Arden sat there with the ten untouched glasses of wine, lined up on the table. She hadn't touched any of them. She made no move to leave. Instead, she ordered a bottle of wine and drank from it greedily once it arrived.
He was missing something. And it was sitting right there looking at him. Maybe it didn't matter. They had her now.
Illya dismissed the remaining non-UNCLE staff and ordered all enforcement agents to surround Arden's table. They stood there now, their hands poised to grab their guns. If she had backup, Illya didn't see them, but he wouldn't take chances with so much at stake.
Meanwhile, Arden sat there with her ten drinks as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"She's got someone on the inside," April stated.
"Yes," Illya said. He'd considered that which is why he'd ordered all agents to the area. A traitor was less likely to reveal himself if he thought he could be easily captured. He'd tied their hands. So why didn't the woman look nervous?
"Jason?" April said.
"In the back room watching."
Illya trusted him implicitly. He'd worked with him a few times. The man was honest and trustworthy. Of course, he would have said the same of the ten agents he was looking at now.
Still, his instincts rarely failed him. The mole was one of ten agents. It was as simple as that.
"Let's go," he announced, stepping out in full view of Arden.
The woman merely smiled, her blue eyes meeting his in a challenge.
Had he already lost, he wondered.
He took out his gun and so did April, aiming it at the woman.
"Now, now. There's no need for that, Illya. Afterall, we're old friends." Her voice was deep and throaty.
"A few drinks with you and Napoleon hardly constitutes a friendship, Arden"
She laughed. "Why, didn't I hand you your badge efficiently enough?" She leaned forward, pushing the mink back from around her shoulders, displaying ample cleavage. If her intent was to seduce him, it wasn't having the desired effect. Arden Kirk was as dangerous as any spider.
What did Napoleon see in women like her?
Arden laughed seductively. "Well, if you insist on guns, then let me introduce you to my guns." She waved a hand in the air and suddenly every UNCLE agent in the room took out their guns and aimed it at him and April.
MFU*MFU*
The fireplace had renewed itself again, the flames flickering in its endless dance.
Napoleon Solo sat mesmerized, watching the flames, his back to the sofa. There was something oddly soothing about it. Something that made him want to step within its grasp, feel the flames licking at his body. It would be over then. Finally, over. He was losing his mind and knew it. Even now his stomach clinched, making him fold into himself, his breath taken away in a sea of pain. Beside him, April lay dying. He could not save her.
The last time he'd checked, her pulse had been slow. He figured she had an hour at most to live.
He'd failed her.
She'd passed out a few days ago and he'd fought to revive her, literally begging her to live. But she'd remained unresponsive in the sleep of the dying. Was it cruel to ask her to live and go on suffering?
He dropped his head into his hand, tremors running through his body. Would he die the moment she died? He wondered. There certainly wouldn't be reason to go on living. Another failure to add to his list, but for some reason he couldn't remember the other failures.
"There is nothing." April whispered. "Can't you see that I'm not here."
She was delirious, or was she speaking of her impending death? She was looking at him, her soft brown eyes fading, her hand intertwined with his.
"I don't understand," he said.
"You must leave this place, Napoleon. You can see that, can't you?"
He shook his head. "No, there's no way out. I tried."
She drifted away, closing her eyes. Still alive, but just barely.
Napoleon softly caressed her face, mouthed the words he'd never told her in life. "I love you."
Then he stared at the fire-dance as he remembered the early days of their captivity when he had hope for getting out. It had seemed simple then—wait for the flames to die down, then slip out through a hidden door in the back of the fireplace. Napoleon's eyes traveled to the window, the bright sun searing its way inside. There was a message there for him, a key to escape their torment, but he was delirious, unable to understand it. He knew only that they were dying.
Napoleon rose slowly and stared at the fireplace. "It's the only way. Why couldn't I see that before?"
In his mind's eye, he saw a door at the back of it, a door to freedom. He pictured himself, walking through it, carrying April in his arms. He would burn, and probably die, but maybe not in time to stop him from opening the door and getting her safely on the other side. There she would regain consciousness and find her way to safety.
He smoothed her hair, then scooped her up in his arms and slowly made his way to the fireplace.
MFUMFU* MFU
Illya expected one traitor; he got ten. They were surrounded, outgunned, and he had put them there. How was it even possible to find that many disloyal UNCLE agents?
Arden laughed. "This was so much fun watching you two cozy up in that dump across the street. And then coming here to play, what is that instrument of yours called, Illya? Bass is it…" she shook her head. "Well, whatever it's called, your playing days are over." She gestured with her hands. "By the way, how do you like my staff? Did you really think they were yours?"
Arden turned around to look at each man. "Now, someone get their guns. We wouldn't want them to get any nasty ideas about shooting us."
This was met with laughter from all of the agents. Then one of them stepped forward and took their guns. No point in fighting. There were too many of them. Still, they were one agent short. Jason Grier was nowhere in sight. He was in the back room and probably calling for help.
"What do you want, Arden? Illya grinded out. "Tell me and I can see what I can do."
"Do I look like a fool?" She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them and leaned forward. "Do you really think I am? Look where your inaction put me."
Illya had no idea what she was talking about. He decided to ignore it and press on. "You're here for a reason. Let's discuss it. I'm certain you didn't come here just for the entertainment and food."
"You already know, Illya. You know why I'm here. You and that partner of yours."
He and April exchanged looks. She looked just as confused as he felt.
"We've been waiting a long time," another agent said, his voice trailing off.
"I've been waiting for my revenge for what you and Napoleon failed to do," Arden said. "Both of you went on living as if I didn't matter. I'm here now to give you a taste of your own medicine."
A cold feeling gripped him. He didn't remember. She was the receptionist and then she wasn't. What happened in between?
"You don't remember, do you? You were allowed to go on with your lives. You saw what happened to me and comforted yourselves in the knowledge that I knew the risk involved when I took the job. Now, I want you to feel something. Anything at this point. That's why I'm here. To make you feel something."
She was crying and there was something at the edge of his memories, something that wanted to get through but couldn't. But he knew her pain was real. If he could, he would go over and wipe the tears from her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened, Arden."
"But you don't remember."
Illya slowly shook his head. "Something must be wrong with me. Perhaps a head injury. I don't know. I only know that I must have caused you pain and for that, I'm sorry."
She wiped her face. "But that is not enough."
Too late, Illya saw the gun in her hand, heard the bullet as it left the chamber. It took a moment to realize he hadn't been shot. Then he looked to his right and saw April lying on the floor, clutching her abdomen. Blood poured through her fingertips; her mouth open as she breathed.
He dropped down to his knees, saw the color red spread across the floor. He stripped off his jacket, placed it over the open wound, and pressed down. "April, April, it's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. Stay with me."
He looked up at the silent audience. "Call an ambulance."
"Did you say those words to me, Illya. Did you say them when I died?"
Illya still didn't understand. All he knew was that April was dying. He had to get medical help for her to save her life.
"I'm sorry for what I did, Arden. Just call an ambulance. Please."
He was willing to grovel, beg, whatever it took to save April's life. But Arden watched him coldly, one eyebrow arched, the gun still in her hand.
"Run, Illya. Run. It's the only thing you can do to save her."
Illya saw the intent clearly. She was giving him a chance to save April's life. If he could make it past the agents, past her gun, find a way to get outside, then he could save April.
But it was impossible. He was facing ten highly trained enforcement agents. he was by himself unless Jason had managed to call for help. He didn't stand a chance.
"If you make it outside, then you're free. You can flag down a cop. You know they're there."
The police stayed a few hours after closing. They left when Jason finished counting the cash receipts. If he made it to the alley, he was certain to find at least three of them. The question -whose side were they on?
"Would you rather stay and watch her die?" Arden asked, raising a brow.
Illya took off, moving so fast the room seemed to blur. He was running for April's life, Napoleon's life. His life meant nothing without them.
He passed several agents who smiled as he passed. Then he saw Jason lying on the floor with a knife coming out of his throat. He didn't stop. They were behind him, close enough that he could feel their hot breaths.
He was headed for the back hallway and so were they.
Ahead, blocking the entrance to the corridor stood an enforcement agent. Illya ran faster, hoping to knock him off his feet. He'd done it before, but now as he crashed into the big man, he felt as if he'd run into a wall. Someone grabbed him from the back and the big man grabbed his feet as Illya did a double somersault that broke the grip of both men. Then he was running down the corridor, the men in pursuit of him sounded like galloping horses. He wouldn't allow them to catch him. His size, strength and endurance would ensure his success.
The door to freedom was just up ahead. All he had to do was reach it.
"There is no escape, Kuryakin. You'll live it over and over as I've been forced to do," a voice called out. "Over and over."
Illya turned around but kept moving. There was one man standing there. Everyone else was gone.
"There is no escape, Mr. Kuryakin. No escape at all," the man said.
He was short, balding and wore glasses. He was the same man who'd accompanied Arden inside. Why hadn't he noticed? It was Robert Scott.
Illya turned away from him. The door was just to his left. All he had to do was reach out for it. All around smoke drifted and it was as if an unseen force was pushing him forward, away from the door and to the stage that awaited him.
He could see April sitting there, her silver hair and dress dazzling in the candlelight. She was surrounded by an audience that seemed mesmerized by her presence. He took his seat. The audience sat quietly as Illya reached for the instrument. He was on bass, the only instrument needed for this rendition of Cry me a River.
Jullie London would be jealous.