Sickness and Wealth (Part 1) - Short Affair - February 8th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Prompts - Cascade/Blue
Word Count (Approx.) - 976


This is the Foxton Clinic,” announced Mr Waverly, indicating the brownstone building being shown on the projector screen. “It specialises in the gastro-intestinal disorders of New York’s elite.”

“What is our interest?” Napoleon asked.

He was sitting at the round conference table beside his partner. In answer to Solo’s question, Waverly changed the image on the screen to one of a distinguished looking, grey haired gentleman in a white coat.

“Dr Frederick Foxton,” he stated. “Owner of the clinic, and apparent THRUSH associate. We believe he is a go-between for the Hierarchy and some of his more affluent patients.”

Waverly explained to the two men that some disturbing intelligence had been received. It seemed to suggest that several well-known businessmen and socialites were bank-rolling some of THRUSH’s projects.

“We need to know exactly who these patients are. To this end, Mr Kuryakin is going to infiltrate the clinic as a patient.”

“Me, Sir?” Illya asked, clearly confused. “Surely Mr Solo is more suited to passing himself off as a wealthy businessman.”

“Ordinarily this would be the case,” Mr Waverly agreed. “Unfortunately, there is a small chance that he may be recognised, given his propensity to mingle in higher social circles. We will, of course, be giving you a suitable identity. You are to be the Polish Count, Armand Poplawski.”

As he was speaking, the door to the office opened, allowing UN.C.L.E.’s chief medic to enter. Dr Barrie was carrying a small flask, which he placed on the table as he took a seat next to Napoleon.

“Welcome Dr Barrie,” Waverly greeted him. “I believe you have something which will persuade Foxton of Mr Kuryakin’s need for his clinic.”

“Indeed I do,” the medic confirmed. “In this flask is a solution which will cause, among other symptoms, severe stomach cramps.”

Illya grimaced at Dr Barrie’s all-to-breezy tone. The man was obviously proud of whatever he had created.

“I can fake cramps without having to resort to such measures.”

“But you can’t fake the other symptoms,” Barrie replied. “Dr Foxton will need to be convinced that you are a sick man.”

“What will it do to him?” asked Napoleon, reaching for the flask only to have his hand slapped away by the medic.

Although he had sympathy for the discomfort Illya was facing, he was extremely glad he had not been chosen for this part of the assignment.

“On top of the cramps he will experience sweating, shortness of breath, and heart palpitations.”

Waverly frowned. He expected his agents to do what was needed for an assignment, but he had no wish to cause any unnecessary health issues.

“Will this be a danger to him?”

“He will suffer no long-term problems,” Dr Barrie assured him. “My Kuryakin is a very fit and healthy young man. I can’t deny that it will be unpleasant, but it should achieve the aim.”

He turned to Illya. “You will be in a lot of pain for the first two hours. That should be more than enough time for Foxton to discover just how wealthy Count Poplawski is.”

“We are working on the assumption that Foxton will have files on each financial donor,” Waverly cut in. “The first chance you get, you will find what you can. You are to maintain radio silence until your assignment is complete, unless you get into difficulty. Once you have what we need, get out.”

Illya replied with a neutral ‘yes sir’, but inside he was deeply unhappy. It was bad enough for the enemy to cause him pain a lot of the time, but now his own side were doing it. Of course, he knew it was necessary, but it still felt a little unfair to him.


………………………………………………………………………………………………………….


Ellie Chisholm smiled professionally at the good looking blond who had just entered the reception foyer of the Foxton Clinic.

“Good morning, Sir,” she greeted him. “How may I help you this morning?”

Illya, who had been decked out in the latest European fashion, weakly returned the smile. He had taken Dr Barrie’s concoction twenty minutes previously and it was beginning to kick in.

“I am in need of assistance from Dr Foxton,” he told the receptionist breathlessly. “I am told he is the man to see about my intestinal distress.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she replied, in her best let-them-down-gently voice. “The doctor has an exclusive patient list. There is a hospital three blocks away.”

Despite having been warned of what he would experience, Illya was not prepared for the force of the cramps. His guts felt as though they were tying themselves in knots, and the pain was excruciating.

“I would appreciate it very much if you could inform Dr Foxton that Count Armand Poplawski would be grateful for a moment of his time. “

Just as he reached the end of the sentence Illya was gripped a particularly powerful cascade of cramping, which brought almost him to his knees. The receptionist still seemed hesitant so, as he used the desk to stop himself from falling, he hit her with his tried and tested puppy eyes. Illya was far from ignorant as to the effect his eyes had on people and he wasn’t above using that knowledge to get what he needed. The icy glare was the one he deployed the most, but he knew he could make women melt with his puppy-dog expression.

Ellie Chisholm’s professional demeanour slipped slightly as she stared into the pale blue pools in front of her. She found herself looking for some justification to disturb Dr Foxton. Although the man was not on their patient list, he did say he was a count. She picked up the telephone.

“I’m sorry to bother you, doctor,” she spoke into the receiver. “Could you spare a minute for a Count Poplawski?”

Illya smiled inwardly. Part one of the mission had been achieved; albeit painfully.


To be continued with next week’s Short Affair.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I guess he's just unlucky like that.