![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfu
The threat was deemed more than credible, but only at the last minute. Warnings given by the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement had fallen on deaf ears until it was nearly too late.
MI6 finally confirmed the information first relayed by Harry Beldon, only after Alexander Waverly stepped into the picture; insisting the houses of Parliament be evacuated.
His word carried the weight needed to convince them, given his past history of loyal service with British Intelligence during the war.
Some members of Parliament simply refused to cooperate, swearing to stand their ground. Saying things like no upstart with a bomb was going to frighten them into submission; showing the same sort of tenacity the people of London had displayed during the blitz.
In this case it was pointless bravado. The man who’d issued the threat said he was going to destroy the Palace of Westminster unless he received an obscene amount of money to be returned by UNCLE. He didn’t care about their courage or the British stiff upper lip; all he wanted was his money.
That was what Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin tried telling those who remained. There was no righteous cause for which they would die, no ransom for which the Crown was obligated to pay.The ball was in the court of UNCLE and no one else.
It was November 5th, and everyone in the United Kingdom was well aware of the significance of that date. Though blowing up the houses of Parliament would not be an act of civil disobedience on the part of Venganza de Sangre, an old foe who had managed to elude capture by UNCLE time and again.
With de Sangre it was all about money. He didn’t want to rule the world; his obsession was with wealth and the acquisition of it solely for his comforts. In truth though, the man was quite barmy, and perhaps his allegiance to money wasn’t his only vice. Anyone who went to such extremes to endanger and kill so many people had to be crazy.
Little by little the Command had tracked down his caches of money in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands. Undoubtedly there were more stashes around the world yet to be found, but what UNCLE had done by seizing the money was to cut the man off from a substantial amount of his funds.
“Dare I say money is the root of all evil?” Illya quipped.
“That’s a misquote partner. Translated from the bible it’s actually, ‘For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil,’ so it’s not the money itself but the love of it,” Napoleon countered.
“Does it matter in the end my friend. Gathering wealth to oneself at the expense of the lives and property of others is the evil, regardless of the cause.”
They were searching throughout the Palace of Westminster, trying to find any explosive devices. Aided by MI6, and bomb squads from Scotland Yard as well as UNCLE, they were coming up empty handed.
“Could it be a bluff on the part of de Sangre? Perhaps he is trying to keep our attention here whilst he concentrates his efforts elsewhere?”
“I don’t know Illya, it just doesn’t make sense.” Napoleon was stumped and feeling frustrated. Granted if Illya was correct, that would be a change in tactics on the part of de Sangre. It was too late to play a guessing game and look for another target. Time was simply running out.
Once the sun went down and the celebrations for Guy Fawkes began, somehow De Sangre claimed he was going to destroy the historic building that housed Parliament, along with anyone who remained there. So far, despite not finding a thing, the agents had to consider the threat was still legitimate.
Venganza de Sangre and his methods were never a bluff. Luckily Solo and Kuryakin had been able to thwart the man in his previous attempts at creating murder and mayhem until tonight. Time was ticking away...
.
The agents were passed by dozens of policemen and detectives who were charged with forcibly removing everyone left inside, with the exception of those still involved in the search..
“Beg pardon Mr. Solo,” an officer stopped and saluted.
”I’m Captain Lyttleton.”The ‘old outs among the senior members of all the parties ‘ave been removed and taken to a safe location sir. That’s the last of them.” He looked at his wristwatch,”It’s nearly sunset and I think we should evacuate the rest of us as well, I do. If we ‘aven’t found anything by now, it may be too late to disarm…”
His words were interrupted by the familiar chimes of the tower clock signalling it was a quarter to the hour.
Napoleon and Illya heads jerked, looking each other in the eye, having the same thought.
“Captain, get everyone out,” Napoleon barked.”Mr. Kuryakin and I have a bomb to disarm!”
“Where?”
“The tower.”
“Napoleon, not us,” Illya said,”I will do it my friend. It is bad enough all the priceless artworks within the Palace might be destroyed. You, however must not be; get to safety, please.”
“Not a chance,” the American clapped his partner on the back. “Wither thou goest.”
“Fine, then we better goest now,” Illya turned, heading off to the tower entrance.
Both men were winded after climbing the hundreds of spiralling steps in the tower, finally coming to the mechanism room.
They searched among the gears, desperately looking for signs of explosive devices but still there was nothing. This was their last shot as it was almost dark, and the bonfires of Guy Fawkes would be lit; unbeknownst to the revelers throughout London, their beloved Big Ben was about to be blown up, creating the biggest bonfire of them all.
“Wait, not here. Perhaps the bell itself?” Illya hissed. He suddenly suspected the bell chiming within the hour would set off whatever bomb de Sangre had set.
Napoleon and Illya scrambled up to the belfry. There they found the chief bell keeper lying dead; the man had spent most of his life tending to the bells of the tower and now had made the ultimate sacrifice to defend them as he'd died with a large pinch bar in his hand.
Looking up inside the thirteen and a half ton bell affectionately known as Big Ben...that weight about the same as a small elephant; it hung very still.
Both men saw there was no clapper inside it as it was struck by a hammer located on the outside.
That’s where they spotted it, a device that was positioned on the far side of the bell. A black box with an electronic timer attached to it. A wire ran up the side of the bell, to the top where a large amounts of C-4 had been placed, more wires ran to explosives near the clock face as well.
The countdown had begun as the red numbers flashed on the timer, and there was barely a minute left.
“Napoleon go!” Illya called.
“No, we’re in this together tovarisch.”
Kuryakin knelt beside the box, and giving it a quick visual inspection; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen knife. He ran it along the side of the box, scoring the edge and handed the knife to Solo to to the same to the opposite side, where the American had knelt as well.
Together they carefully lifted the top, keeping it level. Once seeing it wasn’t attached to anything else, it was tossed aside. Inside there were a myriad of wires; black, yellow, red, blue and green. Which one to cut?
Napoleon could see the conflict in his partner’s eyes.
“Take your best guess,” Napoleon whispered.”I trust your judgement.”
“And that trust may lead to your end.” Illya took a deep breath; using his knife, he sliced...the black wire, just as the quarter bells began to chime; twenty-five seconds before Big Ben would ring out.
Nothing happened. All hell was going to break loose as the electronic timer on the black box hadn’t stopped. They’d run out of time.
Napoleon closed his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable.
“Thanks for everything tovarisch.”
The big bell began to sound, and the two men could feel the vibration reverberating throughout their entire bodies.
Illya suddenly leaned forward, peering inside the box and he reached down, flipping a small toggle switch.
The timer stopped.
“You can open your eyes my friend,” Illya flopped back, heaving a great sigh and listening as Big Ben continued to chime. It was surprisingly not as loud as one would think, given their proximity to it.
“You did it.”
“Not really. I merely found the off switch.”
“It had an off switch?”
“Apparently so.”
Napoleon and Illya were startled as a black flag with a white ‘V’ in the middle of it popped up from one side of the box, followed by another flag on the other side, this time a white one with black letters spelling out the word, ‘BOOM!”
It wasn’t a bomb...or was it? Why go to the trouble of planting the C-4 when the detonator wasn’t real?”
Outside the Guy Fawkes celebrations had begun, and would continue throughout the night into the wee hours. None of the revelers had any idea what had taken place in the Palace of Westminster and never would.
As to why Venganza de Sangre had planted a phoney device in the tower; that was going to be a head scratcher for all parties who knew what had transpired.
“He apparently doesn’t know that UNCLE never pays ransoms,” Napoleon said. “But still why bluff...he’s never done that before?”
“Surely he must have known that if he destroyed one of the most iconic images in all of England, he would not only be hunted down by UNCLE, but perhaps by everyone in the United Kingdom as well,” Illya said as they stepped out into the the early night air. They were greeted by some of the MI6 agents who were waiting at the Speaker’s Green.
Kuryakin carried the black box under his arm and planned to examine it more carefully once they returned to UNCLE headquarters here in London. He wondered about the little flag with the ‘V’...for Venganza or perhaps it stood for Vendetta, which is what his name meant. Was it a vendetta against UNCLE or perhaps he and Napoleon for foiling his plans so many times in the past?
Napoleon put the MI6 agent’s minds to rest, telling them the threat was over; he did recommend Parliament and the clock tower be closed and kept under guard temporarily, while the explosives were removed, that’s if they were indeed genuine, and therefore still posed a danger.
Solo pulled his communicator, calling overseas relay; he gave his report to Alexander Waverly.
“Well done gentlemen, though I’m sure this will not be the last we’ve heard of this de Sangre fellow. Tonight though, take the evening off, go enjoy yourselves as you’ve earned it. I have rather fond memories from my youth of Guy Fawkes day. Tomorrow is time enough to examine that box, however, I suspect it will give us no answers.”
“With all due respect,” Illya interrupted,” Guy Fawkes makes for a rather boisterous evening and after what we just went through today, I would much prefer the quiet of a lab while dissecting wires and the supposed detonator.”
He could hear Waverly chuckling.
“And you Mr. Solo?”
“I think my partner is on the right track. After a nightcap, I’m going to go to bed, alone.”
There was no response from Alexander Waverly, merely silence, making it uncomfortable enough that Napoleon wasn’t sure he was still there.
“Sir, is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes. Fine, fine. On the contrary are you all right Mr. Solo? I expected you to tell me you had arranged a date for the evening with some lovely young lady.”
Napoleon grinned. “I’m fine as well sir, and thank you. Solo out.”
“He is right Napoleon. We have not seen the last of Verganza de Sangre.”
“Well for the moment tovarisch, out of sight out of mind.”
The partners hitched a ride to headquarters with one of the MI6 agents, and were unaware they were being watched by a dark figure wearing a black cape and hat, his face covered by a white mask resembling that of Guy Fawkes.
A/N: Venganza de Sangre is my OC, an evil Spaniard baddie mentioned in “Escape from Almeria,” “The Androcles Maneuver,” as well as in “Keeping Count.” All can be found under Mlaw on Fanfiction.net.
The name Vernanza de Sangre translated in Spanish to 'Blood Vendetta'
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-09-08 04:28 pm (UTC)By the way, managed to write something. Apologies for bad story and bad posting. I've forgotten how to do it!
no subject
Date: 2015-09-08 04:55 pm (UTC)I left it open ended but not planning to keep the story going at this point. I still have another WIP posting that needs to be finished...hmm, also taking place in England but in Lytham St. Annes.
Thank you for reading and commenting on my fic and glad you liked it. I loved your story and in no way shape or form was it bad. So good to see Tess again! Your stories of Illya and Tess were the inspiration for my Illya and Elliott AU stories! Thank you for that my friend!
no subject
Date: 2015-09-09 08:04 am (UTC)Have been reading your adventure in Lancashire! I know Lytham St Annes quite well; my cousin lived near there, and her husband ran a garage at St Annes.
Glad that you liked the story. I haven't written about Illya and Tess for a while - as you know, there are mixed views among this community about writing such stories. However, I am about to start another story in this line soon I think. You should do the same. These Kuryakin wives need to live again!!!
no subject
Date: 2015-09-09 03:02 pm (UTC)Yes I agree, time to get back to these Kuryakin wives! There's plenty of people out there who enjoy these sort of AU stories...they're nice for a change.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-09 05:31 pm (UTC)You should get to Ellis Island. It is a moving tribute to all those who passed through on the way to what they hoped was a better life. It is certainly an apt reminder to us in Europe of what it means to be a refugee.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-09 05:55 pm (UTC)