Jun. 9th, 2017
Illya winced slightly as he heard the rude remark being shouted out by his partner. It was unlike Napoleon to use that tone with a woman, and yet it was happening now, in public.
"Don't you worry baby, you'll not see my face again until it's time to watch your sorry self lowered into a grave. Adios and good riddance! And that goes for the Old Man too!"
The volatile rebuff was equally rude, equally vitriolic. These two were putting on a good show. Napoleon turned to his partner and tried to maintain his angry demeanor. In truth he could never be that angry with Agent Dancer.
"What do you think, was I adequately brutish?" Napoleon seemed pleased with himself, he didn't often get to play someone so ... unlikable.
"I assure you, the scene I just witnessed will convince anyone watching that the two of you are quite done. I believe she is going to be welcomed into the Wilmington satrapy with open arms and less suspicion; probably a lot of questions though."
Napoleon was thoughtful as he watched April drive away. The mission was not without its dangers, in spite of what could now be considered her departure from UNCLE. Thankfully, Mark was already in place within the complex and posing as one of the maintenance crew on the grounds of the big estate. Solo and Kuryakin would be close by, ready to step into place when the time came.
For now, it was business as usual. Which, by the very nature of things, was always quite unusual.
“Calling all agents in the vicinity of Fort Hamilton, near the Verrazano bridge,” Napoleon put out an emergency call on channel F. “Agents down. I repeat agents down! Need backup immediately!"
He’d taken a bullet to the shoulder, Kuryakin was flat out on the ground a few feet away and Napoleon had no idea his partner was dead or alive. Being pinned down by a constant barrage of bullets prevented him from checking on the downed Russian.
“Hang in there Illya I put in a call for backup,” Napoleon called out in hushed tones.
A voice came across his communicator. It was Waverly and he was demanding to know the status of the operation.
“No insult intended sir, but now is not a good time!” Napoleon barked as he got off another shot.
He and Kuryakin had been sent to investigate a suspected satrapy within the installation.
The original fort was completed in 1831, with major additions made in the 1870s and 1900s. However, all defenses and about half of the original fort had been demolished or buried with the construction of the nearby Verrazano Bridge.
It now served as the home for the United States Army Chaplain School as that had been moved from the recently closed Fort Slocum on Davids' Island in the western end of Long Island Sound, in the city of New Rochelle.
Hundreds of Army, Army Reserve and Army National Guard Chaplains and their assistants were now trained here for active duty and reserve ministries to soldiers and their dependents.
Just as THRUSH had infiltrated the Monks of St. Thomas in Switzerland, the organization had done so at the Chaplain School.
Their plan to infiltrate the U.S. military in the most innocuous manner through the clergy, still their ultimate goal for doing this hadn’t been clear.
Solo and Kuryakin had proof enough to try and stop the charade, and had freed the members of the clergy who were being held against their will.
They were all escaping when all hell broke loose as a hail of gunfire erupted from the fort.
Napoleon watched in horror as Illya was hit, not once but twice. His partner arched his back, then twisted as he was hit a second time, after which he dropped to the ground.
Solo turned to go after him, and that’s when he was shot as well.
The constant barrage of bullets kept him from getting any closer.
“What the deuce Mr. Solo? How dare you take that tone with me!” Waverly barked.
“Sorry sir, later, send help now. Kuryakin is down and I’ve been shot too. Can’t hold out much longer. Out!”
Napoleon was becoming lightheaded and got off one more round before he passed out.
When he awoke he was in a nice clean and comfortable hospital bed, though not in UNCLE Medical. There was a very pretty nurse standing beside his bed, and he did his best to give her a smile.
“Hello there handsome, how you feeling?” She was writing on a clipboard.
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck. Where may I ask am I?”
“Maimonides Medical Center.”
“There was a man with me, a blond. Please tell me he’s alive?”
“Alive and well, sort of...” Illya called to him as he walked in the room. Dressed in pale blue pajamas and wearing a matching terry cloth robe; his forehead was wrapped in a bandage and right arm held up in a sling.
“Like you I took a bullet to the shoulder, but I was grazed on the head as well. When I toppled over I hit my head on what I am told was a small cannon ball. An apparent leftover from the bygone days of the fort.”
“Everyone get out safely?”
“Yes. Your emergency call for backup helped win the day, and helped us as well.”
“All’s well that ends well then I would say tovarisch.”
“Not quite, at least for you that is,” Illya winced as he tried to shrug.
“What’d you mean?” Napoleon canted his head to the side.
“You need to meet with Mr. Waverly once you are released...something about you telling him off? You did not...did you?"
Napoleon raised his right hand to his head, covering his eyes as if he were in distress.
“Illya, could you get the nurse? I think I’m having a relapse.”
Kuryakin chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”