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section7mfuTitle: The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair, chapter four
Summary: Napoleon and Illya and their groups are under attack.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: Sorry about the brief phone references in the past chapter and this one. I had to continue that thread of plot from the prior chapter, so the phone is mentioned again in this one. I try to not say within the stories, but near the end of that last chapter I pretty much had to reveal that these U.N.C.L.E. stories, like the ones I tinkered with two or three years ago, have moved the setting to the present-day. I know most people prefer it as a period piece, so I try to accommodate that by not pinning down any time period. But since the show rarely dated itself and there wasn't a lot of suspicion concerning a Russian working in U.N.C.L.E., I feel that the adventures work every bit as well in the present-day. But I will still try to keep all such references to a minimum and only mention them if there are other occasions where the plot forces my hand.
“So tell me,” said Illya, as he closed his book while sitting in his favorite living room chair, “why are you not with your partner? You’re both dead. You should be with him and not with me.”
“I’d rather be with him,” Ecks replied, his eyes burning. “But how do you know he’s dead? Maybe he got away.”
“He’s dead,” Illya said matter-of-factly. “According to the information I have on the situation, he attacked a former female agent in a fit of blind rage, babbling some nonsense about blaming her for what happened in the park. He was eventually shot by a female sentry in your organization. It was an accident, but nothing could be done for him. I saw him lying dead.”
He wasn’t expecting Ecks’ reaction. The spectre fell back, looking haunted himself. “I thought he was alright,” he said, his voice vague and far away. “I thought if he wasn’t, we would have met up.” Suddenly angry, he leaped off Illya’s coffee table, his coat swirling open at the motion. “Instead I’m stuck here with you, my killer! Does that mean he’s haunting some female sentry?!”
“I don’t know,” Illya said honestly. “I’m still having trouble believing any of this is truly happening.” He paused, weighing his words. “If you cared for him, I’m sorry. He certainly seemed to care a great deal about you.”
“What do you know about it?” Ecks asked, sounding broken and saddened again.
“Both of the times I saw him after I stabbed you, he behaved as though he was reacting to that. It was a far stronger reaction than most people would have for someone who was only a comrade and not a friend.” Illya stood, closely watching his ghostly visitor.
Not facing him, Ecks merely gave a nod. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “We were friends, Kuryakin. Just like you and Solo.”
“How do you know about Napoleon and I?” Illya frowned, not sure he liked that this character was aware of that friendship. Not that he could use it against Napoleon and Illya, but it still made Illya feel very uncomfortable, all things considered.
A humorless shrug. “How do I know anything about you?” Ecks said morosely. “I know your name, where you live, and who is most important to you.” He turned back to face Illya. “We fought on opposites sides, but on some things we’re not so different, you and I.”
“And what would you do about that?” Illya asked warily.
Ecks smirked at him now, but it was without his usual sass. “Nothing, even if I could. What would be the point? We have our separate lots in life. I have no desire to try to take revenge on you, Kuryakin. Certainly not by harming your friend.”
“Some people don’t need a point,” Illya said. “But thank you for telling me that, even if it is an irrelevant issue.”
“I aim to please,” Ecks said with a bit of a sarcastic sneer. But from the sadness in his eyes, Illya could see he was telling the truth about not intending to harm Illya or Napoleon. He was a spy whose usefulness had faded out, even though his feelings burned as strong as ever. And Illya had to wonder—would death be like this for him someday?
Perhaps to everyone’s surprise, it was Phillipe who spoke first following Arr’s unpleasant announcement in the shop.
“Look here,” he said angrily, stepping forward. “I own this bookstore. I certainly do not intend to stand by and let you kidnap and kill right under my nose!”
Arr didn’t look impressed. “It’s not like I’m giving you any choice,” he retorted. “And I know about you, Mr. Bertain. You’ll be a pushover. You can’t fight.”
“I can,” Cue frowned. “What is this, Arr? What do you want with me? In case you aren’t aware of it, the organization is over. Ended. Defunct. I’m free to live my own life.”
“You’re living on the run because there’s a warrant out on you,” Arr scoffed. “That isn’t freedom.”
“Going with you isn’t either,” Cue said, folding her arms.
“Mr. Pea was going to start the sacred organization again,” Arr snarled. “But everyone who wasn’t with us was going to have to be eliminated so that they couldn’t use their information against us. That included you.”
“Perhaps you don’t realize,” Illya spoke up. “Mr. Pea is dead.”
“I realize,” Arr said darkly. “You killed him.” He regarded Ecks with a twisted, hateful expression. “I knew something was wrong with you when you were such a quiet kid who didn’t even appreciate that your parents were making a great contribution to eventual world peace.”
“My parents were making a great contribution to being part of an insane group with, as Wye would say, delusions of grandeur,” Ecks replied coldly. “And they stuck me with their legacy when they were killed.”
“And you should have been honored to carry it out!” Arr snapped. “Instead, you eventually turned against the organization and tried to take it over with Wye and Zed.” He looked to Illya. “I wish you had killed him in Hyde Park. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, not wanting to antagonize the man further. He was clearly fanatic and unstable.
Arr whipped back to look at Ecks. “Then you went to Mr. Pea’s set-up in Peaceful Meadows and you helped this U.N.C.L.E. trash fight him! And you killed Mr. Pea when he was just about to rid the world of one of them!”
“But you decided to stick to the plan even after discovering that,” Illya spoke now, hoping to get Arr’s mind on something other than his hatred for Ecks.
“Of course,” Arr snarled. “We planned it all out together. Mr. Pea fell heroically and will be hailed as a martyr to the cause. I will be its new leader.” He looked to Ecks. “I wish I could keep you alive and kill you slowly, but I don’t have the facilities for that joyous event. I’ll have to kill you now. At least I can watch you writhe in pain as the life fades from your eyes.”
“No!” During Arr’s crazed spiel, Phillipe had been quietly creeping up on him from behind. Now he tackled Arr to the floor, surprising the madman.
Illya immediately stepped on Arr’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun in the affected hand. “Run!” he commanded Cue and Ecks.
Ecks grabbed Cue’s wrist, but she held fast. “Tell me this,” she said. “If you’re just going to kill me anyway, why do you even want me to go with you while the others die here?”
Arr looked up at her and spat a foul name. “I won’t tell you that.”
“Or what’s happening to Wye and Solo?” Ecks finally burst out. “You know, don’t you?!”
That brought a sneer to Arr’s scarred face, even as Phillipe continued to force him to the floor. “Maybe I’ve got it all wrong,” he hissed. “Maybe Wye should die and you should stay alive. You love that man. It would really make you suffer to find his ravaged body and know that he suffered immensely before expiring.”
Hatred flashed in Ecks’ eyes and he took a step forward. But then, gathering his emotions just as quickly, he turned and pulled Cue with him instead. “Come on. They’re buying us time. Let’s get out of here.”
Cue opened her mouth to protest, but then didn’t. She knew Ecks was right. She ran out with him into the waning afternoon light.
Illya frowned down at Arr. “Why do you hate Mr. Ecks so much?” he asked. “Why not hate Mr. Wye just as much or more?”
“I hate them both,” Arr said. “But I was around Ecks more. Wye just joined for kicks. You can’t expect loyalty from someone like that. But someone in Ecks’ position, with two heroic agents as his parents, should have grown into one of the organization’s staunchest warriors.”
“Instead he apparently became one of its staunchest opposers,” Illya intoned.
Without warning Arr violently jerked and rose, sending both Phillipe and Illya falling back in surprise and shock. “Now you’re probably wondering why I just let you subdue me without a fight,” he sneered as he got to his feet.
“You were just biding your time,” Illya said from where he had crashed, sitting down hard in back of the window display. “Perhaps you wanted Ecks and Cue to run out.”
“Perhaps I did,” Arr nodded and grinned. “Perhaps they’ll find more danger out there.”
Phillipe, dazed against a shelf, struggled to stand. “You are a beast!” he proclaimed. “Going after any woman like that and wanting to tear apart a beautiful friendship and leave one man alive to suffer worse!” He pulled a heavy volume off the shelf.
“Sticks and stones,” Arr quipped.
“Well, I do not have a stone, but perhaps this will work just as well!” Phillipe brought the book down on the side of Arr’s head. Not expecting the attack, the extremist slumped to the floor.
Illya regarded the scene in approval. “Good work,” he congratulated.
“Please go after them,” Phillipe implored. “I will call the police about this man.”
“I can’t leave you alone in here with him,” Illya objected.
“Tie him up and it will be alright,” Phillipe replied. “I don’t want anything to happen to Ms. Rebecca, no matter what she may have been involved in. She doesn’t deserve to be taken prisoner by a monster like this.” He regarded Arr in revulsion. “And I’m worried about the man who left with her as well.”
“They can take care of themselves,” Illya said brusquely. “They are trained spies. You are a civilian. But yes, call the police.” He turned away and bent down to commence restraining Arr with handcuffs.
Under his breath he said, “And you had better prove that you can both still fall back on your training in this situation.”
His thoughts turned again to Napoleon and Wye. What was wrong? Why hadn’t Napoleon answered Illya’s call? Why had Ecks ended up cut off with Wye?
He snapped the handcuffs closed, his eyes dark. Whatever was going on, he would believe that Napoleon would manage to get out of it. They had always come through everything before.
But someday they very likely wouldn’t. Someday it would be one or both of them outsmarted by the opposite side, just as Illya had outsmarted Ecks that day in Hyde Park. Someday their dangerous lifestyle would catch up with them and they would be dead. Maybe even this day.
Illya straightened and reached for his communicator pen to try Napoleon again. No. It would not be this day. If it was, if Napoleon was already gone, there had been no chance to say Goodbye. Illya tried not to give in to sentiment, and he knew very well that he had been trained to accept agents’ deaths, even his partner’s death . . . but he also knew that even the most efficient agent’s training could fail at such a time.
“Open Channel D,” he barked. “Come in, Napoleon. Napoleon, come in!”
Only silence answered him. Finally he gave up, cursing in his mind as he opted to contact Mr. Waverly instead.
But even though he wasn’t sure what he believed, he could not refrain from sending a prayer for Napoleon’s safety to whatever God might exist. And, he reflected, Wye’s, Ecks’, and Cue’s safety as well. They needed to bring Cue back to complete their mission successfully. And when he thought on it, he really didn’t want to see Ecks and Wye torn apart as they had nearly been in London. He had saved Ecks’ life because he felt the obnoxious former enemy agent deserved another chance. Under the circumstances, he felt Wye did too. Neither would really be happy without the other; an irreparable hole would be torn in the life of whichever friend was left if one was killed.
And Illya knew that after so many years of knowing Napoleon, that would be his own feeling if the unthinkable ever happened and Napoleon did not come out of a mission alive, either this one or another one.
****
Wye swore in aggravation as the torpedo knocked the phone out of his grasp. He and Napoleon had been ambushed before they could get out of the San Fernando Valley. Now they were fighting in a park, and although they were managing to hold their own, Wye wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep it up.
“There’s four more coming!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “They’re really out to get us!”
Napoleon, struggling to restrain the one in front of him, was suddenly grabbed from behind by a second. “That could be . . . decidedly awkward,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Do you ever lose your temper?” Wye grunted as he finally managed to judo-flip the hitman attacking him.
Napoleon kicked back at the thug behind him while shoving the one in front away. “I try to make it a point not to,” he answered, smoothing his hair before turning and karate-chopping another approaching enemy.
“That’s the best policy for a spy, of course,” Wye acknowledged, kicking a third attacker in the stomach and sending him falling back, gasping in pain. “Just like Kuryakin.”
“Or Mr. Ecks,” Napoleon intoned, sending a fourth crashing back into a tree.
One of the approaching four started to draw a gun. Wye responded by shooting him down. “What if somebody did something to Kuryakin?” he asked. “Could you stay so calm, cool, and collected then?”
Napoleon inwardly tensed at the question, although outwardly he tried not to react. “We’ve been in plenty of tight spots before,” he said. “I’ve always remained calm and we’ve come out of them.” As a second one raised a gun, he fired back and dived behind a bush.
Wye fired twice and joined him. “But what if he didn’t come out of it? What would you do?”
Napoleon gripped his gun tightly. He had thought about that many a time, although he hoped the time would never come that it would become reality. “I would see that the killer was brought to justice, if at all possible,” he answered, his tone low and clipped.
The final two thugs came to the bush and towered over it, readying their weapons. Napoleon and Wye each fired and each hit one. The hitmen crumpled to the grass. Napoleon and Wye slowly began to rise.
“Yeah,” said Wye. “That’s the normal, human reaction.”
Napoleon looked around for other conscious enemies. Seeing none, he moved to replace his gun. “We’d better get out of here and find out where Illya and Mr. Ecks have got themselves,” he said.
“I hope your communicator is in better shape than this,” Wye said in annoyance as he plucked the phone out of the grass and held it up by one corner.
Napoleon winced at the cracked screen. “Luckily, U.N.C.L.E. communicators are built to withstand a lot of chaos, unlike those.” He nodded at it.
Wye snorted. “Well, of course. Phone companies ain’t expectin’ their customers to go gettin’ into fights with assassins and havin’ their devices go spinning into space.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe they are. Then they get a lot more money when the customers have to replace the things.”
Napoleon found himself amused. “That sounds something Illya would say.” Finally locating his communicator in the grass, he pulled it out and uncapped it. “Channel D, open. Illya, are you there?”
The device crackled to life. “Napoleon, what on Earth is going on there?!” Illya sounded highly putout and aggravated, but Napoleon could hear the underlying worry in Illya’s voice.
“Mr. Wye and I were attacked,” Napoleon explained. He started walking, deciding it prudent that they get out of the park before the thugs still alive recovered enough to come after them again. Understanding what Napoleon had in mind, Wye strode after him.
“Are you alright?” Illya demanded.
“Yes, we’re both fine,” Napoleon assured him. “What about you and Mr. Ecks? And Ms. Cue?”
Illya sounded frustrated as he replied, “We were attacked as well. I sent Mr. Ecks and Ms. Cue away while my double and I grappled with Mr. Arr.”
Wye stiffened. “So he is still alive,” he said darkly.
“Not only alive, but he seems to have a vendetta against Mr. Ecks,” Illya said flatly. “The police have been called and they’re on their way to pick him up. I just finished telling Mr. Waverly what’s been happening. As you can imagine, he is less than pleased. Although he is gratified that Ms. Cue has been located.”
“She must have been chuffed to see Ecks again,” Wye commented.
“Actually, no,” Illya told him. “She seemed very bitter against him and you. She said you betrayed the organization for the wrong reasons and not because you wanted to get out, as she did. It was rather difficult to get her to agree to trust us.”
“Well, how do you like that,” Wye muttered.
“If you know how to contact Mr. Ecks, I recommend that you do it,” Illya continued. “We need to arrange a new place to meet.”
“I’ll have to use a payphone,” Wye said in irritation. “If there’s even any around here.”
“We should be able to find one somewhere,” Napoleon mused. “Keep in touch, Illya. By the way, what’s your double like?”
“Interesting,” Illya said brusquely. “He isn’t as much of a pushover as Mr. Ecks implied; he knocked out Mr. Arr with a heavy book.”
“Well, good for him,” said Napoleon.
“Oh, and Napoleon, be careful,” Illya implored. “Mr. Arr is completely deranged. If anyone else is working with him, they will most likely be just the same.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Napoleon replied. “That’s certainly a grim picture.”
Wye was troubled as Napoleon disconnected and recapped the pen. “I don’t know what to think about this,” he said. “Oh, I’m not surprised about Arr. And people can change, of course, but I just can’t feature Ms. Cue turnin’ against us like that.”
“I remember you and Mr. Ecks said she always felt you two would find a way to get out of the organization,” Napoleon said. “Maybe it really was a shock for her when you decided to go along with Mr. Zed’s plans instead of escaping.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Wye said. “I’ve certainly seen a lot of people changing through the years, mostly in unfavorable ways. Still, though, it makes me worry. If she’s that against us now, and Ecks is somewhere alone with her, maybe she’ll try to hurt him and run off.”
Napoleon’s eyes flickered in concern. “You could be right. We’d better find a phone, and fast.”
“You really don’t have anything other than that pen thing?” Wye sighed.
“I’m afraid not,” Napoleon replied. “You see, the people I speak with most frequently can be reached by this pen. It would be cumbersome to carry other devices with me.”
“Well,” Wye said in resignation, “I guess that’s not much of a surprise. Alright then. Lead on, Mr. Solo.”
Napoleon nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
Summary: Napoleon and Illya and their groups are under attack.
Notes: Sorry about the brief phone references in the past chapter and this one. I had to continue that thread of plot from the prior chapter, so the phone is mentioned again in this one. I try to not say within the stories, but near the end of that last chapter I pretty much had to reveal that these U.N.C.L.E. stories, like the ones I tinkered with two or three years ago, have moved the setting to the present-day. I know most people prefer it as a period piece, so I try to accommodate that by not pinning down any time period. But since the show rarely dated itself and there wasn't a lot of suspicion concerning a Russian working in U.N.C.L.E., I feel that the adventures work every bit as well in the present-day. But I will still try to keep all such references to a minimum and only mention them if there are other occasions where the plot forces my hand.
“So tell me,” said Illya, as he closed his book while sitting in his favorite living room chair, “why are you not with your partner? You’re both dead. You should be with him and not with me.”
“I’d rather be with him,” Ecks replied, his eyes burning. “But how do you know he’s dead? Maybe he got away.”
“He’s dead,” Illya said matter-of-factly. “According to the information I have on the situation, he attacked a former female agent in a fit of blind rage, babbling some nonsense about blaming her for what happened in the park. He was eventually shot by a female sentry in your organization. It was an accident, but nothing could be done for him. I saw him lying dead.”
He wasn’t expecting Ecks’ reaction. The spectre fell back, looking haunted himself. “I thought he was alright,” he said, his voice vague and far away. “I thought if he wasn’t, we would have met up.” Suddenly angry, he leaped off Illya’s coffee table, his coat swirling open at the motion. “Instead I’m stuck here with you, my killer! Does that mean he’s haunting some female sentry?!”
“I don’t know,” Illya said honestly. “I’m still having trouble believing any of this is truly happening.” He paused, weighing his words. “If you cared for him, I’m sorry. He certainly seemed to care a great deal about you.”
“What do you know about it?” Ecks asked, sounding broken and saddened again.
“Both of the times I saw him after I stabbed you, he behaved as though he was reacting to that. It was a far stronger reaction than most people would have for someone who was only a comrade and not a friend.” Illya stood, closely watching his ghostly visitor.
Not facing him, Ecks merely gave a nod. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “We were friends, Kuryakin. Just like you and Solo.”
“How do you know about Napoleon and I?” Illya frowned, not sure he liked that this character was aware of that friendship. Not that he could use it against Napoleon and Illya, but it still made Illya feel very uncomfortable, all things considered.
A humorless shrug. “How do I know anything about you?” Ecks said morosely. “I know your name, where you live, and who is most important to you.” He turned back to face Illya. “We fought on opposites sides, but on some things we’re not so different, you and I.”
“And what would you do about that?” Illya asked warily.
Ecks smirked at him now, but it was without his usual sass. “Nothing, even if I could. What would be the point? We have our separate lots in life. I have no desire to try to take revenge on you, Kuryakin. Certainly not by harming your friend.”
“Some people don’t need a point,” Illya said. “But thank you for telling me that, even if it is an irrelevant issue.”
“I aim to please,” Ecks said with a bit of a sarcastic sneer. But from the sadness in his eyes, Illya could see he was telling the truth about not intending to harm Illya or Napoleon. He was a spy whose usefulness had faded out, even though his feelings burned as strong as ever. And Illya had to wonder—would death be like this for him someday?
Perhaps to everyone’s surprise, it was Phillipe who spoke first following Arr’s unpleasant announcement in the shop.
“Look here,” he said angrily, stepping forward. “I own this bookstore. I certainly do not intend to stand by and let you kidnap and kill right under my nose!”
Arr didn’t look impressed. “It’s not like I’m giving you any choice,” he retorted. “And I know about you, Mr. Bertain. You’ll be a pushover. You can’t fight.”
“I can,” Cue frowned. “What is this, Arr? What do you want with me? In case you aren’t aware of it, the organization is over. Ended. Defunct. I’m free to live my own life.”
“You’re living on the run because there’s a warrant out on you,” Arr scoffed. “That isn’t freedom.”
“Going with you isn’t either,” Cue said, folding her arms.
“Mr. Pea was going to start the sacred organization again,” Arr snarled. “But everyone who wasn’t with us was going to have to be eliminated so that they couldn’t use their information against us. That included you.”
“Perhaps you don’t realize,” Illya spoke up. “Mr. Pea is dead.”
“I realize,” Arr said darkly. “You killed him.” He regarded Ecks with a twisted, hateful expression. “I knew something was wrong with you when you were such a quiet kid who didn’t even appreciate that your parents were making a great contribution to eventual world peace.”
“My parents were making a great contribution to being part of an insane group with, as Wye would say, delusions of grandeur,” Ecks replied coldly. “And they stuck me with their legacy when they were killed.”
“And you should have been honored to carry it out!” Arr snapped. “Instead, you eventually turned against the organization and tried to take it over with Wye and Zed.” He looked to Illya. “I wish you had killed him in Hyde Park. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, not wanting to antagonize the man further. He was clearly fanatic and unstable.
Arr whipped back to look at Ecks. “Then you went to Mr. Pea’s set-up in Peaceful Meadows and you helped this U.N.C.L.E. trash fight him! And you killed Mr. Pea when he was just about to rid the world of one of them!”
“But you decided to stick to the plan even after discovering that,” Illya spoke now, hoping to get Arr’s mind on something other than his hatred for Ecks.
“Of course,” Arr snarled. “We planned it all out together. Mr. Pea fell heroically and will be hailed as a martyr to the cause. I will be its new leader.” He looked to Ecks. “I wish I could keep you alive and kill you slowly, but I don’t have the facilities for that joyous event. I’ll have to kill you now. At least I can watch you writhe in pain as the life fades from your eyes.”
“No!” During Arr’s crazed spiel, Phillipe had been quietly creeping up on him from behind. Now he tackled Arr to the floor, surprising the madman.
Illya immediately stepped on Arr’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun in the affected hand. “Run!” he commanded Cue and Ecks.
Ecks grabbed Cue’s wrist, but she held fast. “Tell me this,” she said. “If you’re just going to kill me anyway, why do you even want me to go with you while the others die here?”
Arr looked up at her and spat a foul name. “I won’t tell you that.”
“Or what’s happening to Wye and Solo?” Ecks finally burst out. “You know, don’t you?!”
That brought a sneer to Arr’s scarred face, even as Phillipe continued to force him to the floor. “Maybe I’ve got it all wrong,” he hissed. “Maybe Wye should die and you should stay alive. You love that man. It would really make you suffer to find his ravaged body and know that he suffered immensely before expiring.”
Hatred flashed in Ecks’ eyes and he took a step forward. But then, gathering his emotions just as quickly, he turned and pulled Cue with him instead. “Come on. They’re buying us time. Let’s get out of here.”
Cue opened her mouth to protest, but then didn’t. She knew Ecks was right. She ran out with him into the waning afternoon light.
Illya frowned down at Arr. “Why do you hate Mr. Ecks so much?” he asked. “Why not hate Mr. Wye just as much or more?”
“I hate them both,” Arr said. “But I was around Ecks more. Wye just joined for kicks. You can’t expect loyalty from someone like that. But someone in Ecks’ position, with two heroic agents as his parents, should have grown into one of the organization’s staunchest warriors.”
“Instead he apparently became one of its staunchest opposers,” Illya intoned.
Without warning Arr violently jerked and rose, sending both Phillipe and Illya falling back in surprise and shock. “Now you’re probably wondering why I just let you subdue me without a fight,” he sneered as he got to his feet.
“You were just biding your time,” Illya said from where he had crashed, sitting down hard in back of the window display. “Perhaps you wanted Ecks and Cue to run out.”
“Perhaps I did,” Arr nodded and grinned. “Perhaps they’ll find more danger out there.”
Phillipe, dazed against a shelf, struggled to stand. “You are a beast!” he proclaimed. “Going after any woman like that and wanting to tear apart a beautiful friendship and leave one man alive to suffer worse!” He pulled a heavy volume off the shelf.
“Sticks and stones,” Arr quipped.
“Well, I do not have a stone, but perhaps this will work just as well!” Phillipe brought the book down on the side of Arr’s head. Not expecting the attack, the extremist slumped to the floor.
Illya regarded the scene in approval. “Good work,” he congratulated.
“Please go after them,” Phillipe implored. “I will call the police about this man.”
“I can’t leave you alone in here with him,” Illya objected.
“Tie him up and it will be alright,” Phillipe replied. “I don’t want anything to happen to Ms. Rebecca, no matter what she may have been involved in. She doesn’t deserve to be taken prisoner by a monster like this.” He regarded Arr in revulsion. “And I’m worried about the man who left with her as well.”
“They can take care of themselves,” Illya said brusquely. “They are trained spies. You are a civilian. But yes, call the police.” He turned away and bent down to commence restraining Arr with handcuffs.
Under his breath he said, “And you had better prove that you can both still fall back on your training in this situation.”
His thoughts turned again to Napoleon and Wye. What was wrong? Why hadn’t Napoleon answered Illya’s call? Why had Ecks ended up cut off with Wye?
He snapped the handcuffs closed, his eyes dark. Whatever was going on, he would believe that Napoleon would manage to get out of it. They had always come through everything before.
But someday they very likely wouldn’t. Someday it would be one or both of them outsmarted by the opposite side, just as Illya had outsmarted Ecks that day in Hyde Park. Someday their dangerous lifestyle would catch up with them and they would be dead. Maybe even this day.
Illya straightened and reached for his communicator pen to try Napoleon again. No. It would not be this day. If it was, if Napoleon was already gone, there had been no chance to say Goodbye. Illya tried not to give in to sentiment, and he knew very well that he had been trained to accept agents’ deaths, even his partner’s death . . . but he also knew that even the most efficient agent’s training could fail at such a time.
“Open Channel D,” he barked. “Come in, Napoleon. Napoleon, come in!”
Only silence answered him. Finally he gave up, cursing in his mind as he opted to contact Mr. Waverly instead.
But even though he wasn’t sure what he believed, he could not refrain from sending a prayer for Napoleon’s safety to whatever God might exist. And, he reflected, Wye’s, Ecks’, and Cue’s safety as well. They needed to bring Cue back to complete their mission successfully. And when he thought on it, he really didn’t want to see Ecks and Wye torn apart as they had nearly been in London. He had saved Ecks’ life because he felt the obnoxious former enemy agent deserved another chance. Under the circumstances, he felt Wye did too. Neither would really be happy without the other; an irreparable hole would be torn in the life of whichever friend was left if one was killed.
And Illya knew that after so many years of knowing Napoleon, that would be his own feeling if the unthinkable ever happened and Napoleon did not come out of a mission alive, either this one or another one.
Wye swore in aggravation as the torpedo knocked the phone out of his grasp. He and Napoleon had been ambushed before they could get out of the San Fernando Valley. Now they were fighting in a park, and although they were managing to hold their own, Wye wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep it up.
“There’s four more coming!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “They’re really out to get us!”
Napoleon, struggling to restrain the one in front of him, was suddenly grabbed from behind by a second. “That could be . . . decidedly awkward,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Do you ever lose your temper?” Wye grunted as he finally managed to judo-flip the hitman attacking him.
Napoleon kicked back at the thug behind him while shoving the one in front away. “I try to make it a point not to,” he answered, smoothing his hair before turning and karate-chopping another approaching enemy.
“That’s the best policy for a spy, of course,” Wye acknowledged, kicking a third attacker in the stomach and sending him falling back, gasping in pain. “Just like Kuryakin.”
“Or Mr. Ecks,” Napoleon intoned, sending a fourth crashing back into a tree.
One of the approaching four started to draw a gun. Wye responded by shooting him down. “What if somebody did something to Kuryakin?” he asked. “Could you stay so calm, cool, and collected then?”
Napoleon inwardly tensed at the question, although outwardly he tried not to react. “We’ve been in plenty of tight spots before,” he said. “I’ve always remained calm and we’ve come out of them.” As a second one raised a gun, he fired back and dived behind a bush.
Wye fired twice and joined him. “But what if he didn’t come out of it? What would you do?”
Napoleon gripped his gun tightly. He had thought about that many a time, although he hoped the time would never come that it would become reality. “I would see that the killer was brought to justice, if at all possible,” he answered, his tone low and clipped.
The final two thugs came to the bush and towered over it, readying their weapons. Napoleon and Wye each fired and each hit one. The hitmen crumpled to the grass. Napoleon and Wye slowly began to rise.
“Yeah,” said Wye. “That’s the normal, human reaction.”
Napoleon looked around for other conscious enemies. Seeing none, he moved to replace his gun. “We’d better get out of here and find out where Illya and Mr. Ecks have got themselves,” he said.
“I hope your communicator is in better shape than this,” Wye said in annoyance as he plucked the phone out of the grass and held it up by one corner.
Napoleon winced at the cracked screen. “Luckily, U.N.C.L.E. communicators are built to withstand a lot of chaos, unlike those.” He nodded at it.
Wye snorted. “Well, of course. Phone companies ain’t expectin’ their customers to go gettin’ into fights with assassins and havin’ their devices go spinning into space.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe they are. Then they get a lot more money when the customers have to replace the things.”
Napoleon found himself amused. “That sounds something Illya would say.” Finally locating his communicator in the grass, he pulled it out and uncapped it. “Channel D, open. Illya, are you there?”
The device crackled to life. “Napoleon, what on Earth is going on there?!” Illya sounded highly putout and aggravated, but Napoleon could hear the underlying worry in Illya’s voice.
“Mr. Wye and I were attacked,” Napoleon explained. He started walking, deciding it prudent that they get out of the park before the thugs still alive recovered enough to come after them again. Understanding what Napoleon had in mind, Wye strode after him.
“Are you alright?” Illya demanded.
“Yes, we’re both fine,” Napoleon assured him. “What about you and Mr. Ecks? And Ms. Cue?”
Illya sounded frustrated as he replied, “We were attacked as well. I sent Mr. Ecks and Ms. Cue away while my double and I grappled with Mr. Arr.”
Wye stiffened. “So he is still alive,” he said darkly.
“Not only alive, but he seems to have a vendetta against Mr. Ecks,” Illya said flatly. “The police have been called and they’re on their way to pick him up. I just finished telling Mr. Waverly what’s been happening. As you can imagine, he is less than pleased. Although he is gratified that Ms. Cue has been located.”
“She must have been chuffed to see Ecks again,” Wye commented.
“Actually, no,” Illya told him. “She seemed very bitter against him and you. She said you betrayed the organization for the wrong reasons and not because you wanted to get out, as she did. It was rather difficult to get her to agree to trust us.”
“Well, how do you like that,” Wye muttered.
“If you know how to contact Mr. Ecks, I recommend that you do it,” Illya continued. “We need to arrange a new place to meet.”
“I’ll have to use a payphone,” Wye said in irritation. “If there’s even any around here.”
“We should be able to find one somewhere,” Napoleon mused. “Keep in touch, Illya. By the way, what’s your double like?”
“Interesting,” Illya said brusquely. “He isn’t as much of a pushover as Mr. Ecks implied; he knocked out Mr. Arr with a heavy book.”
“Well, good for him,” said Napoleon.
“Oh, and Napoleon, be careful,” Illya implored. “Mr. Arr is completely deranged. If anyone else is working with him, they will most likely be just the same.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Napoleon replied. “That’s certainly a grim picture.”
Wye was troubled as Napoleon disconnected and recapped the pen. “I don’t know what to think about this,” he said. “Oh, I’m not surprised about Arr. And people can change, of course, but I just can’t feature Ms. Cue turnin’ against us like that.”
“I remember you and Mr. Ecks said she always felt you two would find a way to get out of the organization,” Napoleon said. “Maybe it really was a shock for her when you decided to go along with Mr. Zed’s plans instead of escaping.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Wye said. “I’ve certainly seen a lot of people changing through the years, mostly in unfavorable ways. Still, though, it makes me worry. If she’s that against us now, and Ecks is somewhere alone with her, maybe she’ll try to hurt him and run off.”
Napoleon’s eyes flickered in concern. “You could be right. We’d better find a phone, and fast.”
“You really don’t have anything other than that pen thing?” Wye sighed.
“I’m afraid not,” Napoleon replied. “You see, the people I speak with most frequently can be reached by this pen. It would be cumbersome to carry other devices with me.”
“Well,” Wye said in resignation, “I guess that’s not much of a surprise. Alright then. Lead on, Mr. Solo.”
Napoleon nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
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