After the Boom - PicFic Tuesday

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Last week I wrote Fall Down Go Boom, and it was suggested that a second, maybe third chapter would be welcomed.  Here is the second...
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Illya Kuryakin was puzzling over something.  Sitting in the Canteen, alone and as far into the corner of the room as he could arrange to be seated, the blond agent reviewed the events of the past few days.  He had nothing conclusive on which to base his sense of foreboding, yet every instinct he possessed was pointing him towards yielding to it.

Waverly’s Soviet Wunderkind, a term that Kuryakin abhorred and that his partner, Solo, reverently eschewed, was nonetheless so well versed in the science of explosives (in addition to quantum mechanics), that any thoughts he had on the recent affair with the THRUSH scoundrel Henry Jones was worth exploring.  Illya was attempting to figure out a way to explain to his superior just how much more.

When Napoleon entered the Canteen he immediately spotted the morose figure seated in the corner.  Illya sat with his face in his hand, the very image of someone in a dreary mood. 

“Say, what’s bothering you now, tovarisch?”

Illya grunted something unintelligible, probably due to the fact that his mouth was buried in the palm of his hand.  Napoleon’s quizzical expression prompted the blond to say it once more.

“I said ‘the meeting’.”

Raised eyebrows and a half smirk from his partner did not lighten the Russian’s mood.

“We have not heard the last of Henry Jones, Napoleon.  I am certain of it.  The way he treated us to that little show was a preamble of some sort, in spite of his admission concerning the destruction of that facility we were in.’

Now it was Illya with the raised eyebrows.

“Mark my words, my friend, he has something else planned.  The question is whether or not he has the capability to launch it from where he is now.”

Napoleon knew Illya wasn’t speaking without having given this a lot of thought.  The smirk gave way to a look of concern that mirrored the expression on his friend’s face.

“So, what do you propose we do about it, Illya?  Waverly will most likely give you the go ahead to proceed however you think is necessary.  He does respect your opinion in these things; you’ve more than proven yourself, in a very short period of time.”

Illya nodded, his expression was less strained as he realized the support he would have from his partner and Mr. Waverly.  Now it was a matter of solving this puzzle.  The first clues were in the original explosions that had been witnessed by Napoleon and himself, and Kitt Kittridge.

The three of them had been on separate missions, each on a different continent.  Jones had gone to a great deal of trouble to gather them together for his little production.  The intense interrogation sessions with UNCLE’s best had yielded little in the way of explanations for any of Jones’ actions.  Whether or not he was as demented as it appeared was a matter of conjecture, at best.  So far, Henry Jones was outwitting the experts.

Within the hour Solo and Kuryakin were seated across from Alexander Waverly.  As the head of UNCLE Northwest fumbled in his coat pocket for a pipe he expected to find there, the two younger men waited.  Not long ago they had been partnered and then touted as the poster boys for détente: A Soviet and an American, working together for law and order.  Only the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement had been able to command the bragging rights for this unlikely union, and no one except Waverly could take the credit.  Wiley and wise, the old man had engineered the partnership from the first time he laid eyes on the young Soviet. 

Sitting in front of him now, the young man from unlikely beginnings in the Ukraine and the suave American were as much like college frat brothers as the deadly, efficient agents they really were.  Waverly was proud, and much like a professor, he welcomed his students into the classroom that only he could bring to life.

A final tamp on the pipe bowl, the strike of a match and then a plume of hard won smoke that spiraled to the heights above the three men.  Illya resolved to not follow its path as it trailed above their heads, while Napoleon extended his arms, checking his cuffs as though it were a prescribed action before this meeting could begin.

“Gentlemen… er, Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Yes sir.”

“I believe you have some concerns about… Henry Jones.’

The bushy eyebrows rose with the furrows in Waverly’s forehead as he looked at the blond questioningly.

“Is that correct?”

Illya swallowed. He wasn’t afraid of Alexander Waverly… exactly.  He was however always mindful of the consequences of failing to meet the man’s expectations.  It was a state of mind that Napoleon still failed to comprehend entirely.

“Yes sir.  Based on the situation we encountered in Jones’ compound, I believe that there is still some danger of his scheme continuing to advance.”

Waverly took a puff on the pipe, never taking his eyes off of the file in front of him.

“And, what is it that leads you to this opinion?  Henry Jones is in custody, his compound destroyed…’

Another puff.

“I fail to understand how you have reached the conclusion that there is still eminent danger, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Mr. Kuryakin swallowed again, cutting a glance at his partner to see if he was still with him.

He was.  Blind faith, perhaps.

“Yes, well…um… I observed, while in Jones’ custody…’

Another look at Napoleon.

“There was a separate set of controls that he indicated were to be utilized for a second assault.  Jones, in fact, told us that he was going to blow up THRUSH Central. I believe that it was a ruse intended to divert our efforts once the compound was destroyed.”

Waverly held the pipe, his eyes now focused on the blond man at his table.  Illya continued.

“The three initial explosions, those detonations that we witnessed, were a show.  I do not believe that Jones actually has, or had, the capabilities he tried to convince us were present.  What I cannot quite figure out is what the purpose was, or why he wanted the three of us in particular to be there.”

Waverly took a deep breath, a cleansing breath as it were, and stared into the blue eyes of his Russian agent.  No guile in this one, was his first thought.  It was out of place and yet utterly undeniable.

“All right, I’ll concede the possibility that Henry Jones was manipulating us with a false show of strength.  To what end?  What is he hopes to gain by telling UNCLE that he intends to blow up THRUSH Central?”

Napoleon remembered something, recalled that it was in the report as well.

“Mr. Waverly, Jones did somewhat facetiously ask if he could join UNCLE.  Do you suppose that is the actual intent here?  Perhaps he really is trying to leave THRUSH, and figured the best way out was to gain our attention by…”

“By luring us in with a common goal.  Yes, that could be it, Napoleon.”

Illya was glad to have another voice in this.

“I see.  Yes, I see how this might be plausible, and clever if he really did intend this.”

Waverly was impressed, both with Henry Jones’ little production and the tenacity of his agents in not letting go of this affair so easily.

“Very well, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin… Go and see what you can get out of Henry Jones, rather more than has been accomplished up until now I should think.  I suggest sooner than later.”

Dismissed.  Next stop, Interrogation Room 2.

Part 3