section7mfu | Hidden Battles - Picfic Tuesday

At the risk of spoiling the story a little, I feel that I must warn you that there is mention of self-inflicted death. If this may be a problem to you, then please don't read it.

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Whenever an U.N.C.L.E. employee died, it was up to senior agents to sweep the employees home for anything which could relate to the command; such as weapons or personal defence items. Sweeps usually took about an hour, but when it came to the apartment of Section 3 agent, Bartholomew Stafford, it took four times longer. Stafford’s paranoia about his personal safety was almost obsessive. He had barely scraped through his last psych evaluation. In the end, it was his paranoia which had killed him.

Stafford had booby-trapped his apparent dozens of different ways, and had seemingly forgotten what he had placed, and where. As such, when he’d taken a drink from one of the two bottles of whiskey on the cabinet, he’d picked up the one he had laced with poison. So far, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had found hidden trip wires, a crossbow, which was ready to fire, several gas canisters, and many points of electrocution.

“I do not understand how Mr Stafford was still working for U.N.C.L.E.,” Illya commented. “He obviously had very serious problems.”

“Your guess is as good mine, chum,” Solo replied. “But that is a question for later. Do you see those katana swords there?”

Illya looked the weapons which were displayed crossing each other.

“Yes, what about them?”

“When I was last here,” Napoleon began. “They were pointing up. Now they’re pointing down.”

“I think Stafford took his own life,” Illya suddenly announced.

The American looked at the Russian with incredulity.

“It was his paranoia which killed him. What makes you think it was suicide?”

Kuryakin strode over to where the swords were hanging.

“In the symbolism of crossed swords, blades up denote that the owner is ready to fight,” he explained. “When the blades are pointed downwards, it means the battle is over. Bartholomew Stafford was clearly battling something that no-one else knew about, and I would say that he surrendered.”

Napoleon had to agree. There was no way for them to ever know if Stafford’s death was an accident or deliberate, but the likelihood was that it was by his own hand. The CEA had every intention of launching an inquiry into why nobody, himself included, had noticed the man’s state of mind. His first call would be to the psychiatrist who had declared him fit for duty.

“These are beautiful swords,” Illya said, intruding into Napoleon’s thoughts.

Almost without thinking, he took one down and ran his finger along the cutting edge to test its sharpness. Within seconds, he was unconscious.

……………………………………………………………………………………

He awoke in medical the following day, with no knowledge of how he’d got there. Napoleon was just coming into the room as Illya opened his eyes.

“You were very lucky, Tovarisch,” he told his partner. “Not every booby-trap was designed to be lethal, and the poison on the katana was a simple long-lasting knockout drug.”

Illya’s forehead rumpled as he reached into his foggy mind, and then silently chastised himself for doing something so stupid.

“Anyway,” Solo continued. “I’ve been interviewing Stafford’s psychiatrist, and it seems he was all ready to declare him unfit, but changed his mind when he was offered a very large bribe. As you can imagine, Mr Waverly is very unhappy. Had Dr Reynolds raised his concerns, Stafford could have been given the help he needed.”

“What happens now?”

“Reynolds will be leaving us and Stafford’s funeral is set for Monday.” Solo told him. “Also, every single agent is going to have to attend an in-depth psych evaluation.”

At any other time, Illya would have bemoaned having to see the psychiatrist. This time however, he knew he would endure it if it meant preventing anyone from taking Stafford’s route.