Song Story - A Man for the People

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Can this world be a masquerade
Are you really what we see on the outside
And hidin' what what you really are on the inside
Pretending that you're something you're really not, yeah yeah

……………………………………….

The auditorium was full and the crowd generated a buzz that could only come from heightened anticipation of the man they were about to see onstage.  From a corner of the room two men stood in the shadows, their faces not reflecting the jubilant atmosphere in which they found themselves.

The blond pulled out a silver pen, or so it seemed.  No one could hear what was coming through it as he held it near his face, turning so that it wasn't immediately visible to anyone who might see him.

"Yes sir, I … we will.  Mr. Solo is standing next to me, we are ready."

Something else was said from the other end and then it was over.  Illya kuryakin closed the communicator and turned to his partner, each of them once again keenly aware of what was going on around them.

"Mr. Waverly is certain that an attempt will be made on the life of Antonio Esteban.  All information seems to point in that direction."  Napoleon Solo nodded, he too believed that the intel they had been tracking indicated an assassination attempt was inevitable.  Antonio Esteban had stirred up a lot of people with his talk of change, of plans to rewrite the economic balance of power and elevate those who were struggling into a new class of workers.  He sounded good, he looked good and for those who needed to hear it, he had made inroads unlike any politician in this little country's recent history.  His charisma and speaking abilities had insured that the national press  discovered him, making him an instant celebrity.

UNCLE was here because it had been suspected that THRUSH was also involved.  It was unknown whether they were behind Esteban, or if they opposed him.  Either way, their presence was not welcome when the future of this small country was concerned and vulnerable.  Esteban seemed to have no past, and that made UNCLE suspicious.

"Napoleon, you look skeptical and he has not even come out on stage.  What is troubling you?"  Napoleon Solo was an informed citizen, interested in furthering democracy where he could, supporting those who did in their own countries.  Something about Esteban just didn't add up though, and Napoleon had a feeling the man was only masquerading as a savior to this poverty stricken region.  Feeding people a line of rhetoric rather than the real food they needed made him  question Esteban, and his motives.

"You'd think that someone like Antonio Esteban would already be a part of THRUSH.  For them to be after him… it's puzzling Illya.  I don't understand it.  And that makes me uneasy, because none of this makes any sense."

Illya took a moment to digest what his friend was saying.  The ravages of war weren't any more oppressive than poverty, especially when it was in a land like this where some people lived opulent lifestyles only a few miles away.  This wasn't indicative of the entire country, but it was a reality here, and one that Esteban had targeted as he sought political power.  Like Napoleon, Illya had a feeling that the man was hiding something, as though a mask obscured the man behind it for reasons he wanted to keep secret.

A shriek came up out of the crowd, and then people were  pointing, some even crying as Antonio Esteban appeared on the stage.  He was a commanding presence, handsome by most standards and an excellent speaker.   He wore jeans this night, his chambray shirt a nod to the working classes he was courting.  He stood to one side of the podium and began to speak, without notes, imploring the people in front of him to support his movement, to come up out of the drudgery of their lives and join him as he assaulted those in power and sought the changes that would impact all of them.

It culminated in a loud roar of applause and cheering.  So loud that the popping sound of a gun was barely heard.  Napoleon and Illya had moved in closer to the stage.  Esteban's own people were flanking him on either side of the stage, while police were stationed at strategic points throughout the auditorium.

No one was behind the curtain, however, and Esteban felt the sting of a bullet piercing fabric and flesh while the crowd continued to cheer.

"He's down! Where did it come from?"  Napoleon leapt onto the stage, Illya bounding past Yancy's entourage as he headed to the backstage area behind the curtain.  What he found was a gun still hot from use, but no one in sight who might have fired it.  The Russian scoured the area both visually and with a fierce exploration of every possible hiding place.  Whoever had shot Yancy was gone.

Onstage, Esteban was now standing as he held his shoulder, a rag of some sort absorbing blood as it oozed from beneath his shirt.  Napoleon had stepped back, his presence not invited into the circle of men who surrounded the candidate.

"My friends… Settle down, I'm going to be fine.  This is just a scratch, but more than that it's an indication of just how far some people will go to stop us.' He scanned the audience, the hopeful faces now morphing into one solid expression of determination.

"We'll not let them stop us.  We are here to stay.  We are here to stay!"  And then it started, the chanting of what their man had said to them.  "We are here to stay!"

As Illya came from the backstage area and joined his partner the sound of the chant reverberated throughout the building, increasing in volume as new voices joined in.  Napoleon motioned for Illya to follow him as he led the way to the door.  Once outside he asked what had been found behind the stage curtain.

"Nothing,' Illya shook his head as he spoke. " It's as though a ghost shot him and left the gun as a calling card.  I don't believe in ghosts Napoleon."  He cut his eyes back towards the auditorium, a thought occurring to him that hearkened back to his days in the Soviet Union.

"What is it, Illya?"  Napoleon knew enough to recognize that his friend doubted the scene they had witnessed.  He was of the same mind.

"I think the entire thing was staged.  Esteban was only grazed by that bullet.  Whoever pulled the trigger was looking from between the two sections of curtain, and able to discern where his shot would land.  It would have been easy enough to run around to the front and join the others onstage."  Napoleon's chin dropped, his mind now embracing what Illya had described

"Yeah.  I think you're right.  But to what end?  What does Esteban have to gain by faking being shot?  These people are already behind him and…"  And then it dawned on UNCLE's top agent just what was about to happen if Antonio Esteban wasn't stopped.

A roar seemed to rip apart the wood structure, alerting Solo and Kuryakin to a scene they would later recall with great sadness.  Unknown to them, inside of the building, someone had set a fire and ignited the curtain behind the podium.  Within seconds the stage was engulfed in flames as Esteban and his entourage fled by a side entrance, leaving the audience to their fate.  The wooden structure was old, left from a  previous period of prosperity many decades before.  The seats, all upholstered in faded velveteen fabric, were especially flammable, as was most of the clothing worn by those inside.

As the crowd pressed toward the front of the building and the doors leading out, the two UNCLE agents were able to get out of the way with only seconds to spare.  Many people were trampled inside the building, some of them left to die in the smoke and fire that was quickly filling the room.  It would have been useless to go back inside, the tide of humanity that filled the doorway wouldn't allow anyone to pass by.

In the end, nearly one hundred people had been trapped, their lives abruptly over due to the smoke that had most probably choked them to death.  Antonio Esteban had been discovered safe, albeit still shot and only a little worse for the effect of breathing in smoke for considerably less time than the crowd that had barely escaped death.  The spin on the event was all in his favor, however, as stories began to spread about the opposition and plots to assassinate the hopeful contender.

Napoleon and Illya returned to New York having accomplished little more than to have observed the beginning of what would become Esteban's victory.  He was elected by a landslide, and when he moved into the Presidential Palace, his staff came with him.  A staff that included several members of THRUSH.

Waverly had no doubt that his men would someday return to do business with Antonio Esteban and his nest of THRUSH advisors.