Napoleon rushed through the tailor shop so fast that Del Floria hardly had time to buzz him through the passage into headquarters. The agent didn't take time for the usual pleasantries and flirting with the receptionist. Instead, he grabbed his badge and sprinted to the elevator that would take him to Mr. Waverly's office. His pace quickened as he approached the pneumatic doors leading to the Old Man's office nearly running into them as they didn't open fast enough. Solo checked his watch, 5:35 AM. Only thirty-five minutes had passed since he spoke with Waverly on the communicator.
Mr. Waverly sat at his desk sending orders over the intercom. He looked up as the doors open. "Mr. Slate, Mr. Solo has arrived. I'll fill him in and then you two can collaborate on how best to carry out the mission." He flipped the switch and gestured to Napoleon. "Please, Mr. Solo, have a seat."
"Yes, sir! Please…what have you heard?"
"At 4:25," he looked at his watch. "A little more than an hour ago, our communications office received a phone call. It was fairly brief, but the caller identified herself as Emma Stanford. Apparently, she is in the employment of THRUSH as a nurse. She mentioned that she had been called in to evaluate the health status of a prisoner. It is, she believes, an UNCLE agent and quite possibly Mr. Kuryakin. Since we have no missing agents, I'm inclined to believe her."
"Why would she call us, sir? I mean, if she's with THRUSH…" his voice trailed off as he came to a realization. Solo leaned forward in his chair. "Illya's…alive, sir?" Oh my God! He's been a captive for nearly two months!
"Maybe, Mr. Solo, maybe. This, ah, Miss Stanford was most distressed. She said the prisoner has been locked up in horrible fetid conditions, and…" he paused, gathering his thoughts, "…and, Mr. Solo, she doesn't think he can hang on much longer. He may only have hours left to live, at best… a day or two. Therefore, you and Mr. Slate are to pull a team together immediately and the necessary equipment and rescue Mr. Kuryakin, if it is indeed him and bring him home."
Both dread and hope surged in Napoleon's chest. "Sir, where is he bring held?"
"From what Miss Stanford said and based on our triangulation of her call, it appears he is located in a conclave just north of Riggins, Idaho. I was able to coordinate with the Pentagon and procure some rather rudimentary satellite photos of the area. Our team of experts has viewed them and pinpointed where they believe the satrapy is. You and your team will fly to Boise. There will be be three helicopters waiting for you. One of them will be a medical helicopter. They will get you within ten miles of the satrapy. From there you will procure four wheel drive vehicles to get you as close as possible."
Napoleon was impressed by how much research had been accomplished in a short hour. The Old Man had certainly pulled out all the stops to gather so much information in a short time. He knew it would still be hours before his team could be in place to invade the satrapy and extract who he desperately hoped was Illya.
"Any questions?" Mr. Solo.
"A thousand, sir, but we'll figure out the answers as we travel."
"Good! Then get going, Mr. Solo. Time is of the essence."
Napoleon stood up and headed for the doors.
"And, Napoleon," Mr. Waverly, spoke softly. "Bring, Illya, home. He's been sorely missed."
Napoleon turned to face his boss. "Yes, sir!" He turned again and raced down the corridor.