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section7mfuJust saw the 'Impromptu Challenge' a couple of hours ago and this popped into my head, so I scribbled it down...
A Beautiful Friendship
He had come to New York to do a job, and had been expecting to be thrown in at the deep end, as it were. He wasn't quite prepared, however, for how soon his first assignment would come.
He had taken a cab from the airport to Headquarters as soon as his flight from London had touched down, in order to meet with his new boss, Alexander Waverly, expecting a routine meet and greet. He would soon learn that there was nothing routine about working for UNCLE New York.
"Ah you must be Mr Kuryakin," the older man greeted him on his arrival, turning his attention away from the briar pipe in his hands.
"Yes, Sir."
"Very good, very good," Waverly shuffled the files stacked in front of him, squinting at the contents of one before laying it down and turning his sharp focus directly on the young man before him. "Yes, coming in to Section Two, I remember. I had rather hoped that you would be partnered with one of our more experienced agents, at least to begin with, but he seems to have got himself into a spot of bother."
"Bother, Sir?"
Waverly harrumphed, in a way that suggested that the entire affair had been sent to try him personally.
"Yes, as Mr Solo had no partner he had been assigned to a routine surveillance operation downtown. However, it's beginning to look rather like he was the one being watched. He's missed his last two check-in, but we're so blasted short staffed at the moment that we've had no one to spare to investigate. That's why you're here of course."
Illya's brow furrowed in confusion.
"To find Mr Solo?"
"No young man, to help with our staffing issues," there was a momentary pause as Waverly opened his humidor, "Of course, ascertaining Mr Solo's status would be useful, and you are at rather a loose end at the moment."
Illya nodded, finding himself warming to this straight-talking gentleman.
"Well, off you go then," he found himself abruptly dismissed, "Miss Rogers can give you the address, and Supplies have your standard issue equipment waiting for you."
Feeling somewhat unbalanced, Illya Kuryakin set off on his first assignment for his new employer.
***
With the aid of a taxi driver he had found his way successfully to the address that Mr Solo had been observing. it was an industrial unit, with an attached warehouse, that was clearly utilised for distributing goods of some sort. There had been little activity around the site, so, with the aid of a newly issued lockpick, he had let himself in.
Nothing.
Just a large, empty space with a staircase tucked in one corner, leading to what appeared to be office space above.
Silently, Illya crossed the room, and began to ascend only to stop, halfway up, as the door at the top was abruptly flung open, by a rapidly moving, dark-haired man brandishing a pistol.
"Move!" the man yelled as he continued to move toward Illya. Momentarily surprised, the young Russian instinctively stepped to the side, allowing room for the other man to pass. A man who, on closer inspection, looked suspiciously like the photo he had seen in the file handed to him by Miss Rogers.
"Are you Mr...."
"Listen," he was cut off sharply, "Now isn't really the time for polite introductions. I don't know who you are but this whole place is going to blow in about thirty seconds, so if you want me to find out I suggest you run!"
Illya needed no further bidding, and turned to fling himself down the stairs behind the man that he assumed was Napoleon Solo. Halfway across the warehouse floor, the senior agent began an ominous countdown...
"10... 9....8..."
They picked up the pace, but were still just inside the warehouse door at Solo reached zero prompting them each to launch into a dive. An ominous rumble began above them... before rapidly dissipating to nothing.
After a long moment, Kuryakin looked up, meeting Solo's confused gaze.
"Is that it?" he asked, voice incredulous.
Solo frowned.
"I had hoped it would be a little more impressive."
"What did you use?" Illya asked, professional curiousity coming to the fore. Solo's attention was evidently elsewhere, as he answered the question reflexively, rubbing wrists marred by rope burn.
"A heel charge."
Illya didn't bat an eyelid.
"And where did you set it?"
"Setting it wasn't really top of my agenda... I threw it in the room and ran for it."
Illya did some quick mental calculations in his head.
"That's your problem, there was probably nothing significantly combustible nearby to help finish the job. You're better off setting them near a generator, or electrical equipment if you want to really ensure the target is eliminated."
He tailed off as he found himself the objective of Solo's focussed stare.
"Who are you?" the agent asked, his gun, clearly taken from his captors, suddenly directly in Illya's line of sight.
"I'm Illya Kuryakin," his tone was even, "I've just been reassigned to New York from UNCLE London."
Solo didn't relax.
"If you will permit me," the blond Russian began to very slowly move his hand towards his pocket, "My ID is in my pocket."
"Hold it, " Solo ordered sharply, "I'll get it."
Illya acquiesced with a nod, watching with calm blue eyes as Solo scrutinised the gold card carefully. Finally, the American lowered his weapon.
"Mr Waverly mentioned you," he admitted, "I didn't expect to meet you so soon."
Illya smiled crookedly, looking around him.
"I could say the same," he confided, "I only arrived this morning."
Solo paused for a moment, looking back into the warehouse with a frown.
"I'm beginning to suspect that I might not have been entirely successful."
Illya looked at him quizzically.
"You needed to destroy something?"
Solo nodded without elaborating further, before turning thoughtfully to the other man.
"Say... you've been issued your kit?" at the blond's assent he continued, "how do you feel about putting your theories into practice?"
Illya Kuryakin's grin turned wolfish.
"Mr Solo, it would be my pleasure."
The two men headed back into the building, side by side.
"Mr Kuryakin, I feel that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."
A Beautiful Friendship
He had come to New York to do a job, and had been expecting to be thrown in at the deep end, as it were. He wasn't quite prepared, however, for how soon his first assignment would come.
He had taken a cab from the airport to Headquarters as soon as his flight from London had touched down, in order to meet with his new boss, Alexander Waverly, expecting a routine meet and greet. He would soon learn that there was nothing routine about working for UNCLE New York.
"Ah you must be Mr Kuryakin," the older man greeted him on his arrival, turning his attention away from the briar pipe in his hands.
"Yes, Sir."
"Very good, very good," Waverly shuffled the files stacked in front of him, squinting at the contents of one before laying it down and turning his sharp focus directly on the young man before him. "Yes, coming in to Section Two, I remember. I had rather hoped that you would be partnered with one of our more experienced agents, at least to begin with, but he seems to have got himself into a spot of bother."
"Bother, Sir?"
Waverly harrumphed, in a way that suggested that the entire affair had been sent to try him personally.
"Yes, as Mr Solo had no partner he had been assigned to a routine surveillance operation downtown. However, it's beginning to look rather like he was the one being watched. He's missed his last two check-in, but we're so blasted short staffed at the moment that we've had no one to spare to investigate. That's why you're here of course."
Illya's brow furrowed in confusion.
"To find Mr Solo?"
"No young man, to help with our staffing issues," there was a momentary pause as Waverly opened his humidor, "Of course, ascertaining Mr Solo's status would be useful, and you are at rather a loose end at the moment."
Illya nodded, finding himself warming to this straight-talking gentleman.
"Well, off you go then," he found himself abruptly dismissed, "Miss Rogers can give you the address, and Supplies have your standard issue equipment waiting for you."
Feeling somewhat unbalanced, Illya Kuryakin set off on his first assignment for his new employer.
***
With the aid of a taxi driver he had found his way successfully to the address that Mr Solo had been observing. it was an industrial unit, with an attached warehouse, that was clearly utilised for distributing goods of some sort. There had been little activity around the site, so, with the aid of a newly issued lockpick, he had let himself in.
Nothing.
Just a large, empty space with a staircase tucked in one corner, leading to what appeared to be office space above.
Silently, Illya crossed the room, and began to ascend only to stop, halfway up, as the door at the top was abruptly flung open, by a rapidly moving, dark-haired man brandishing a pistol.
"Move!" the man yelled as he continued to move toward Illya. Momentarily surprised, the young Russian instinctively stepped to the side, allowing room for the other man to pass. A man who, on closer inspection, looked suspiciously like the photo he had seen in the file handed to him by Miss Rogers.
"Are you Mr...."
"Listen," he was cut off sharply, "Now isn't really the time for polite introductions. I don't know who you are but this whole place is going to blow in about thirty seconds, so if you want me to find out I suggest you run!"
Illya needed no further bidding, and turned to fling himself down the stairs behind the man that he assumed was Napoleon Solo. Halfway across the warehouse floor, the senior agent began an ominous countdown...
"10... 9....8..."
They picked up the pace, but were still just inside the warehouse door at Solo reached zero prompting them each to launch into a dive. An ominous rumble began above them... before rapidly dissipating to nothing.
After a long moment, Kuryakin looked up, meeting Solo's confused gaze.
"Is that it?" he asked, voice incredulous.
Solo frowned.
"I had hoped it would be a little more impressive."
"What did you use?" Illya asked, professional curiousity coming to the fore. Solo's attention was evidently elsewhere, as he answered the question reflexively, rubbing wrists marred by rope burn.
"A heel charge."
Illya didn't bat an eyelid.
"And where did you set it?"
"Setting it wasn't really top of my agenda... I threw it in the room and ran for it."
Illya did some quick mental calculations in his head.
"That's your problem, there was probably nothing significantly combustible nearby to help finish the job. You're better off setting them near a generator, or electrical equipment if you want to really ensure the target is eliminated."
He tailed off as he found himself the objective of Solo's focussed stare.
"Who are you?" the agent asked, his gun, clearly taken from his captors, suddenly directly in Illya's line of sight.
"I'm Illya Kuryakin," his tone was even, "I've just been reassigned to New York from UNCLE London."
Solo didn't relax.
"If you will permit me," the blond Russian began to very slowly move his hand towards his pocket, "My ID is in my pocket."
"Hold it, " Solo ordered sharply, "I'll get it."
Illya acquiesced with a nod, watching with calm blue eyes as Solo scrutinised the gold card carefully. Finally, the American lowered his weapon.
"Mr Waverly mentioned you," he admitted, "I didn't expect to meet you so soon."
Illya smiled crookedly, looking around him.
"I could say the same," he confided, "I only arrived this morning."
Solo paused for a moment, looking back into the warehouse with a frown.
"I'm beginning to suspect that I might not have been entirely successful."
Illya looked at him quizzically.
"You needed to destroy something?"
Solo nodded without elaborating further, before turning thoughtfully to the other man.
"Say... you've been issued your kit?" at the blond's assent he continued, "how do you feel about putting your theories into practice?"
Illya Kuryakin's grin turned wolfish.
"Mr Solo, it would be my pleasure."
The two men headed back into the building, side by side.
"Mr Kuryakin, I feel that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."
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Date: 2016-04-08 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 07:19 am (UTC)