Dead Man's Switch - Picfic Tuesday - Nov 10th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Slamming the door behind them, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin dragged a heavy cabinet in front of the door. The task was made a lot harder by the injury the senior partner had sustained during their capture.

The two men had been exploring a THRUSH electronics facility when they were happened upon by a heavily armed patrol of six men. The U.N.C.L.E. agents put up a good fight, but Solo had ended up with a bullet in his right thigh. It would have gone a lot worse for the pair if the facilities commander hadn’t arrived and recognised them both. It was a strange quirk that their notoriety almost guaranteed their extended survival when caught.

They’d been thrown into a cell, causing Illya to wonder why THRUSH always seemed to have one readily available, to be dealt with later. Naturally, as soon as their captors departed, Illya had immediately set to work on their escape. They had, of course, been divested of all their equipment, but the Russian always had a lock pick about his person. On this occasion it was secreted in the tip of his belt. Within minutes, the two of them were back out of the cell, but Napoleon’s gunshot wound was bleeding too quickly for comfort and he was beginning to flag already. Without weapons, and having a wounded partner to help, Illya knew the likelihood of getting out was slim; and so it proved to be.

They had been making their away along quite a lengthy corridor when two guards round the corner. Knowing Napoleon was in no state to fight, and realising they wouldn’t have time to get back along the corridor, Illya open the nearest door and they both darted in.

“Well, that could have gone better,” mumbled Napoleon, as the last of his strength left him and he slumped to the floor.

Illya looked around the windowless room and took stock of their dire situation. The small room seemed to be a store for electrical spare parts, and the only way out was through the door which was currently being pounded on by the guards. In a flash, an idea came to mind.

Ten minutes later, the two guards were still trying to get through the barricaded door. They were interrupted in their endeavours by their commander, Lucille Payne.

“What is going on?” she demanded, her green eyes flashing with pure anger.

“The prisoners escaped, Ma’am,” one of the guards replied. “They trapped themselves in here.”

Before Miss Payne could voice her opinions on the incompetence of her subordinates, her attention was taken by the sound of Illya Kuryakin calling out his surrender.

“Move away from the door and we’ll come out.”

Inside the room, Illya moved the cabinet out of the way. He then picked Napoleon up and, with a grunt, slung him over his shoulder.

“You really need to cut down on all that fancy food you love too much,” he muttered.

Finally, he picked up a white, stubby cylindrical object, which was about the size of his palm. On it was a set of flashing lights and a switch. He held it out in front of him and stepped out of the room.

“Come anywhere near us and I’ll activate the switch on this device,” he stated.

The calmness of his tone sent a shiver down the spines of the two guards.

“You can’t have made a bomb out of the things in there,” one of them challenged.

Miss Payne held her hand up to silence the man.

“You’ll blow yourself and your friend up also,” she told him.

“That’s true,” Illya conceded. “But I speak for both of us when I say we’d rather die by my hand, than by yours. Oh, and if you think you can just shoot me before I can do anything, kindly note that my thumb is on a dead man’s switch. If the contact is lost, then the device does what it was designed to do.”

“Let them go,” Miss Payne commanded the guards. “Follow them to make sure they aren’t impeded, and don’t try anything stupid.”

Hanging over Illya’s shoulder, Napoleon had returned to consciousness in time to hear Illya issue his threat. He decided it was more prudent to act as though he were still insensible, and didn’t say anything until Illya had them in the car and driving away from the facility.

“Where did you get a bomb?” he queried, groggily.

“I haven’t got a bomb,” Illya replied simply.

“So what exactly is that object designed to do if you take your thumb off the switch?”

“The flashing lights stop flashing.”

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Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much :-) I'm glad everyone is finding that line as funny as I did.