Higher Objectives - Conclusion

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Okay, I want you all to think of the ACE paperback and then set your minds to Outlandish.  A merry time has been had by all.
HERE is how we got to this last chapter.
............................................................

The two men from UNCLE dispensed with their disguises, this was a frontal assault with no room for subtleties.  Speed, however, was required; as Napoleon and Illya made their way back to the satrapy where this had all begun they were aware of time and the toll it would take on their efforts.

Rounding a corner they were confronted with their first obstacle.  Two FBI agents, or what looked to be FBI, were standing in front of the old brownstone.  Illya decided the first move on an impulse, forcing Napoleon to back him up with whatever came to mind in the wake of what was coming.

"Zdravstvuyte tovarishch!" A hearty greeting in any language, Illya's smile caused the two men on the steps to hesitate just long enough for Napoleon to fire off sleep darts, a kinder solution than one might expect.

"What are you thinking? They might have…" Napoleon was accused of recklessness often, but when Illya stepped into that mode it could be truly frightening.

"And yet they did not.  I suggest we get inside now, before anyone notices the guards are gone."  And so they pulled the bodies inside the little foyer and locked the door behind them.

Heading down a hallway that each man recalled vividly, they found the door to the room where Illya had been held.  No one seemed to be about, so much the better for the intruders.  A thorough search of the room produced nothing; no cracks, no secret doors.

"Another room, perhaps?"  Illya had no doubt that the tunnel entrance was in this building, it just had to be found and found quickly.

"I saw a smaller door, between here and one of the apartments.  It looked as though it might be something like a dumb waiter."  Napoleon figured the building was at least eighty years old, and that would place it in an era where things like dumb waiters would have been used by the affluent family that lived here at that time.  Its present condition belied its origins.

"Yes, that would make sense.  A dumb waiter would go from top to bottom." They exited the room and headed for that spot, making quick work of the lock.  That detail alone was enough to create suspicion, and once it was opened the mystery was closer to being solved.

"Do you see…?"  Napoleon was staring at a panel of lights and switches.  Certainly not standard equipment on this outdated mode delivery.

"I do, and if I am correct this is the link to whoever is at the other end of this plot.  Shall we?"  And with that the two agents climbed aboard the not so dumb waiter, ready to push some buttons and see where they landed.

Once inside an interior light turned on automatically.  The panel awoke, blinking red and green as Napoleon and Illya looked on, fascinated by the sophisticated system.

"What are the chances that this is an FBI operation?"  Illya was beginning to have doubts about that theory.  This type of technology seemed more consistent with another entity with which they were only too familiar.

"THRUSH? All of the subterfuge and innuendo about nationalism, and it's back to those megalomaniacs?"  Illya nodded, his eyes still scanning the control board of their ride.

"I think so.  Napoleon, I am going to push this button." Illya pointed to a spot on the panel that was emblazoned with two letters: U.N.

"I have a bad feeling about this, but do it.  Let's see where we can go in this thing.' Napoleon thought about the bundle of explosives they had brought with them.

"I think we ought to hold off on blowing up anything.  How about you?"

Illya nodded, took a breath and pushed the button label U.N., unsure of the outcome but certain that he had no other choice.

As the cubicle began to purr out the beginnings of an engine starting, a noise was erupting from out in the hallway.  The two sleeping guards had been discovered, and with lights flashing above the dumb waiter, it was obvious that someone was inside and preparing to launch to wherever it was this thing could take them.  Voices were muted by the sounds inside where Napoleon and Illya waited for take off, hoping they would not be interrupted by whoever was in the hallway outside.

Suddenly there was movement, slow at first and then gradually it increased in speed.  Illya felt slightly nauseous as the dumb waiter/vehicle careened through a tunnel especially constructed for this journey.  Unknown to the two men inside they were traveling beneath the street, utilizing an old water system that had been abandoned as the city grew and improved its services.  THRUSH has managed to discover and implement this method of transportation in their usual, brilliantly corrupt way; their use of strange science and legitimate technologies once again proving their capacity for invention.

Napoleon watched as a screen popped up from the dashboard of their little boxcar.  It showed a map, traced their path from Brighton Beach to the U.N. building just minutes from UNCLE Headquarters.  This was one of the most impressive things he had ever witnessed, but the prospect of landing at the U.N. with no idea of what else their conveyance might do or what it was programmed to accomplish, made him wish that he had a manual or the fellow who invented it sitting here next to him.

Illya seemed less concerned with that, concentrating instead on the map that he now studied with the acuity of one plotting out a plan of action.  It seemed that there was a corresponding landing point to the starting place they had left behind.  As they neared the U.N. building, it was imperative that they emerge from this box and head directly to both the American and Soviet delegations.  Only by warning of the impending disaster, and the plot behind it, could world peace be sustained.  Time was of the essence now that THRUSH were aware of what had happened.  They wouldn't let the loss of their contraption stop the plot they had orchestrated.  THRUSH aimed to take over the world, and nothing was going to stop that from happening.

Napoleon and Illya felt their ride slowing down, the engine's whirring sound becoming more of the purr they had first heard.  Finally it came to a stop; the lights quit flashing and with one last whish as the engine shut down, the door opened onto a landing that had been built for this purpose.

"Where are we?" Illya looked around, not believing it possible that THRUSH could have infiltrated the U.N. building in order to construct a piece of their plot against it.

From beyond them came a voice in response to Illya's question.

"Where indeed, Mr. Kuryakin.  Please, look around and take note of our genius.  Then, prepare to die."

Napoleon and Illya looked in every direction until finally, from out of a dark corner, a figure  appeared like a ghost from a nightmare.

"Yes, Napoleon, it's me.'' Napoleon squinted into the darkness until he clearly saw the man whose voice had sounded so familiar.

"Colonel Morgan…?'  Disbelief, shock and a sudden sense of nausea all roiled within him as Napoleon looked on the man he had thought dead. The Secret Sceptor Affair had cost him more than he had cared to admit.

"Illya shot you.  You were…" Morgan laughed at that, the bitterness evident as he looked towards the blond who had failed to kill him.

"No, I was close, but then you didn't stay around did you?  No, you left me for the Paris police, but someone else was close by, someone who saved me and … well, I suppose you can imagine who else is responsible for my triumphant return to the world stage."

"THRUSH…" Two men voiced the same reply.

"Yes, THRUSH was very helpful, both in keeping me alive and helping to accomplish what you now see is going to happen.  Even though you hijacked my little ride to glory, as it were, you can't stop me.  I will have my kingdom, I will have those who betrayed me.  You see Napoleon, I am destined for greatness, and this is my destiny."  He was mad, like so many before him, and as had been done so many times, Napoleon intended to stop Morgan and THRUSH from completing the diabolical plan.

"You won't succeed Colonel.  Oh, wait… you are no longer entitled to that.  I'll just call you Morgan.  And we will stop you, and THRUSH.  You're on the losing team, I'll make sure of that."  Morgan laughed at that, he considered it bravado without any force to back it up.

"Oh, I doubt that.  You see…"  Illya had heard enough.  Morgan seemed not to have considered that these men were armed, so that when Illya shot him yet another time, there was no doubt that Morgan was dead.

"Between the eyes? You really are a show off."  Napoleon didn't betray the lingering emotion that remained for a man who had once meant so much to him, to his career.

"I felt it my duty to make certain he stayed dead this time.  I am sorry, Napoleon.  It would have been better for you had he not risen from the grave.'  The sentiment was genuine, but now they had work to do.

"He won't have been alone you know.  We need to get to the ambassadors as we planned to do, warn them of what remains of this plot. THRUSH will not quit simply because Morgan is dead."  Napoleon agreed, and with one last nod the two men went, each in the direction of his country's delegate within the United Nations.

Within the hour two countries had been notified of the plot to start a war between them and their counterpart in the Cold War.  What THRUSH had intended was quickly dismantled as the Soviets went into hyperdrive activity to seek out the saboteurs, leaving the U.S. to spin a story that would veil the near disaster being covered up by both countries.  UNCLE's part would never be disclosed, its role as peacekeeper a veiled component in the world of spies and diplomats of peace.

When it was all accomplished and the dust had settled, each of the two men responsible for keeping war at bay settled down around Mr. Waverly's big desk to debrief and catch their breath.  The fake FBI agents had been rogue, recruited by THRUSH to betray their own country with the easy bait of blaming it on the Russians.  It was some relief to all involved that the real FBI had not been part of this business, although no one doubted that surveillance on Kuryakin was not likely to be over just yet.

For the sake of the Command, the Old Man had sent his men out on a mission that might have turned out quite differently had they been any less talented than they were.  No amount of training or ideology could produce the intelligent and precise partnership that was Solo and Kuryakin.  Waverly was proud, and profoundly silent on the subject.

Napoleon decided to reward Cindy for her participation in this affair.  Even though it was limited, that envelope she handed to him had broken things open.  She deserved a night on the town.  Hell, he deserved a night on the town.

As for the Russian, Illya kept his word to Valeriya, and so much more.