"The Did This Really Happen Affair" ~ for PicFic Tuesday Challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                           

                                                       

It was an overcast damp day, typical for the Emerald Isle, when Napoleon Solo pulled up the rental car beside the ruins of a small chapel located in county Limerick. The remains of the church were surrounded by the lichen covered headstones in an old graveyard and had a strangely peaceful feeling to it.

( Lean ar aghaidh,,,proceed. )

The did that really happen Affair~for Picfic Tuesday Challenge 3/19

[mlaw]

 Apologies, but the cut is not cooperating today...

                                         

It was an overcast damp day, typical for the Emerald Isle, when Napoleon Solo pulled up the rental car beside the ruins of a small chapel located in county Limerick. The remains of the church were surrounded by the lichen covered headstones in an old graveyard and had a strangely peaceful feeling to it.

 
He stepped out, wearing a tan raincoat, slowly approaching the grounds, but first climbing over a low stone wall, recalling they seemed to cross all of Ireland like the roots of a tree, linking the country together in a great green puzzle. Forty shades of green, one of the locals called it.

( Read more... )

The next step was to meet with the local members of the I.R.A. and sort out the ones who'd been approached by THRUSH in hopes they'd lead the agents to their whereabouts of a possible bird's nest.

This meeting was to take place in a more rural, out of the way area, at one of the neolithic sites in County Limerick, as stone circle similar to Stonehenge but not quite as complicated.

Illya was forced to follow in a separate car something. else that didn't sit well with him. He couldn't be seen with Napoleon and Smythe, sans the ridiculous costume now, as the representatives of the Irish Republican Army were only made aware of Napoleon, known as Seamus Vaughn.

The trip to the meeting was 22 km away, about 45 minutes south of Limerick City. and had it not been part of an assignment, it would have been a spectacularly scenic drive. They arrived at the henge of Lough Gur, a neolithic circle consisting of 113 immense stones standing shoulder to shoulder against a massive bank of gravelly clay. It was the largest stone circle in Ireland.

                                    

As they walked inside it Napoleon felt a strange tingling sensation, it was sort of eerie, as if some sort of presence surrounded them. He supposed it was the age of the place that had him somewhat awestruck. Illya had told him the Irish name for this place was 'Lios na Grainsi', translated, it meant 'Stones of the Sun' and was built around 2000 BC.

In the short time they had before heading out to this remote rendezvous, Illya had managed to glean some facts about it, as he always seemed able to do.

Though not quite as architecturally impressive as Stonehenge, the stones of Lough Gur, just as with the English grange circle, were also surmised to have been aligned with the rising sun at the Summer Solstice. On that morning the sun shone down directly in the center of the circle. The entrance stones were matched by a pair of equally impressive slabs on the southwest side, whose tops slope down towards each other to form a v-shape. It had been calculated that these stones and the entranceway were aligned with the sunset of the Festival of Samhain as well.

                                    

Napoleon recalled that coincided with Halloween...when the veil between the world of the living and the dead was at its thinnest, something he knew without hearing it from partner's endless list of facts.

Napoleon and Owen waited beside Rannach Cruim Duibh, as they'd been instructed; it was a black stone and the largest one within the circle weighing over 60 tons. Next to this huge stone stood a small stack of stones, thought to represent Eithne, the Irish Persephone - corn child and concubine of the dark god Crom Dubh. Illya said, according to Irish mythology, the whole embanked enclosure was dug by Crom Dubh with his two pronged spear.

Somewhere outside of the circle Kuryakin was hiding, making himself invisible, hidden somewhere as a backup, just in case.

Even though Sinn Féin, initially accepted Solo, based on Smythe's say so, the soldiers of the I.R.A. would be more suspicious and for the most part unpredictable.

Three young men dressed simply in leather jackets and worn dungarees appeared, an older fellow, perhaps in his thirties trailed behind them not, he was wearing a capiín style hat and Napoleon's view of him was blocked by the others.

As soon as he saw the man's face, Solo reacted.

"Shit," he cursed, that's John Kelly, a THRUSH agent, and he knows me."

"God dammit!" Smythe swore under his breath. "You've ruined a years work. He began to back away from the American.

The THRUSH agent stopped dead in his tracks. "Napoleon Solo?" What's going on here O'Malley?" Kelly demanded of Owen. "He's an UNCLE agent, ye amadán_fool!"

They all pulled their weapons, four guns trained against Napoleon's one. He turned, seeing Owen aiming a pistol at him as well.

"I was told he was a financial backer from the States, Mr. Kelly...Sinn Feín approved of him. That's why this meetin' was set up." Smythe put on a thick Irish accent.

Owen stepped forward, pistol-whipping Solo. "Feckin' lyin' bas-terd."

Napoleon dropped to his knees as Smythe hadn't really hit him that had, and as part of the act, he was forced to let his Special drop from his hand.

The others cocked their pistols readying to shoot Napoleon.

"I would not do that," Illya called to them, standing outside the circle, he aimed his Special at them in one hand, and his backup pistol in the other. "Toss your weapons now."

"Ye may kill some of us, but yer friend here is a dead mon!" One called out to him.

Napoleon grabbed his weapon and fired, hitting the one who'd just threatened to kill him with a sleep dart. Owen who was packing a gun with live ammo aimed at Kelly.

Before Smythe or Illya could get off a shot, something strange happened. All the pistols within the stone circle flew into the air, not deliberately, but seemingly of their own volition.

All six men were suddenly lifted up by some unseen force, dangling them several feet from the ground, making them breathless and near paralyzed.

"Napoleon, Vytyanite vashi karmany bryuk naiznanku!" Illya called out in Russian.

Solo pulled his pants pockets inside out as instructed, and instantly he dropped to the ground. He yelled to Owen to do the same, and the Englishman too hit the soft green grass.

The two agents ran, joining Illya while the others remained suspended in the air, watching as the wind began to pick up and spin inside the circle, catching the four men in it like a vortex. In an instant it was gone, the men along with it, and there was absolute silence as the sun began to set.

The UNCLE agents were at a loss for words as to what had just happened.

"Illya how did you know about turning trouser pockets inside out would help us?" Napoleon asked suspiciously.

"Irish lore says when one is caught in the grasp of those from the fairy realm, an article of clothing turned inside out frees you."

"Seriously Illya, fairies?" Napoleon smirked, but then again he remembered his partner's Russian beliefs.

"I read the locals would not come near this place after sunset because they believe it returns to the Fey and the otherworldly beings. The entities will tolerate visitors during the day, but at night Lios na Grainsi, belongs to them and that needs to be respected. I suspect our friends were perceived as not being very mannerly."

Napoleon still wasn't quite sure about that, but at the moment there was no rational explanation for what they'd witnessed.

"How am I going to put this in my report?" Smythe interrupted, his face contorted with a scowl. "No one will believe this, and will think I've gone daft."

"Just say the I.R.A. never showed up," Illya suggested, still staring into the circle. "Your cover will be intact as well, since that will be your story when you report back to Sinn Féin. Tell them the American backer was angered and decided to withdraw his support. As to the disappearance of the men... let THRUSH and the others worry about that."

"I suppose," Owen grudgingly agreed.

"Come on tovarisch, lets go home," Napoleon said. "I think we're done here. Unless these so-called fairies decide they don't want Kelly and his lackeys and throw them back."

"I have my doubts about that," Illya replied. "I think their evil intentions have doomed them to an eternity in the otherworld, if there truly is such a place.."

Illya touched his hand to the black stone of Cruim Duibh, felt a vibration, and a sense of power to it. He suddenly had the urge to speak to whatever it was that had intervened.

He concentrated for a moment, recalling the words in Irish, though it was a language he hadn't studied, and knew little of it.

"Go raibh míle maith agat...thank you," he spoke softly.

A strange, ethereal mist appeared in the middle of the circle, and for the briefest moment, it seemed to gather into the form of a lithe figure of woman in white with long golden hair...

There was a strong gust at that exact moment, dissipating the vaporous vision but Illya swore he heard a voice speaking in Irish.

"Tá fáilte romhat," meaning you're welcome." The words were uttered, whispered on the breeze...

"Did you hear that, it sounded like a voice?" Napoleon halted in his tracks.

"I heard nothing," the Russian answered cautiously.. "It was just the wind blowing among the stones..."

 

The Not You Again Affair - PicFic Tuesday

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

“What you’re looking at gentlemen is a photograph of a cemetery on the outskirts of Dublin…”

Napoleon Solo was all smiles as he amended his boss’s narrative.

“Ireland?  I take it we’re on our way to the Emerald Isle.”

The bushy eyebrows of the Continental Chief rose in mild amusement at what he would say next.

“Ohio, Mr. Solo.  Dublin, Ohio.  United States of America.”

Kuryakin offered a rare smile, baring his teeth in a manner that made him appear slightly predatory.  In some ways he was.

( going to Dublin... )

Picfic Tuesday: Retaliation

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

( Retaliation )

PicFic 3/19

[avirra.livejournal.com]

Inquietum Mortuus

The cemetery looked ancient, but some of the shorter stones were of a newer vintage. A thick woolen blanket was tucked snuggly around the old man in the wheelchair as his doctor slowly pushed the chair along the narrow stone path. Ireland? Scotland? Or some other spot that bore some resemblances to those places? The old man couldn't be sure and the holes in his memory were getting more annoying by the minute. No-one observing him would know that, however. His outer features were placid. Accepting.

Regardless of appearances, Alexander Waverly's eyes had a slight bit of difficultly focusing - something he attributed more to something running through his veins than to his eyesight. Still, he could make out the last names on the stones well enough. Dancer, Slate, Solo and Kuryakin. He leaned forward a bit - all had the same date of death - February 23, 1974. Except for Solo. His date of death was two days past the others.

Seeing the way Mister Waverly was looking at the dates, the doctor cleared his throat and spoke.

"Mister Kuryakin died instantly. He was in the process of approaching the bomb to try and disarm it when it went off. Mister Slate and Miss Dancer had tried to shield you and succeeded for the most part. Mister Slate died in route to the hospital, Miss Dancer died on the operating table. Mister Solo was shielding Mrs. Waverly. She escaped with the fewest injuries, but Mister Solo never regained consciousness and died two days after the explosion."

"I still don't recall a thing past 1968."

"I'm afraid with a traumatic head injury such as you suffered, that you may never regain all of your memories, sir."

"Yes, I suppose. A bit unsettling to lose those years with my wife though. Why are they all buried here?"

"That was your wife's doing, sir. She bought a family plot after she found that neither Mister Solo or Mister Kuryakin had family remaining to claim their bodies. Mister Slate and Miss Dancer's family members didn't claim their remains either, so she arranged for them all to be buried here together.

The doctor pushed the chair a bit further to the newest stone in the row. Millicent Waverly - born January 1, 1900, died January 2, 1977.

"My wife passed away just two months ago then?"

"I'm afraid so. She held on a good long time. Spent the majority of it by your bedside."

Something about the whole affair was not settling right with Waverly, but the medication still in his system might have something to do with that. Unwilling to write off his instincts on that, he decided to probe a bit.

"I imagine that you and my wife must have spoken a great deal over the years."

"Oh yes indeed, Mister Waverly. Millie and I became quite close over time. She had a very kind soul."

"Oh yes, yes she did. So, I believe you were saying that getting back around places that I do still recall might help me regain some of those lost memories?"

"That sort of thing has been quite successful with other patients, sir. I have already been in touch with the current Number One of Section One in the New York office and he has no objections so long as it is only you and myself doing the visiting. We will go into headquarters as you normally do and then we will see where your memories will lead you."

"Ah yes. I'm sure you were thoroughly vetted when you were assigned to my long-term care."

"Quite thoroughly. Your wife was quite insistent."

"I can imagine. Dear Millie always was a force of her own. I am recovered enough to travel by plane again?"

"A chartered flight has been arranged and, since I will be with you to monitor your health, I expect that everything should go smoothly."

"Very well. Tell me, I know that I've been in care for three years and many things have changed, but do you still have my wallet and my other possessions? Memories really. That seems to be all that are left to me."

"Of course. We go back inside and I'll fetch them for you. I expect you'll want to pack them away for the trip. Your weapon will have to travel in a secure case while in transit."

"Yes, yes - of course."

The doctor wheeled the chair back inside and pulled over a small table before bringing over a small basket of items. Mister Waverly picked up the communicator pen and turned it over in his hands.

"I can recall when the first of these were given to our people. Should be interesting to see what they've come up with now."

Dropping it back among the other items, he reached for his wallet next, opening it to the pictures.

"There's my girl. I shall miss her terribly. I don't have a great deal to pack, do I?"

"Not really, Mister Waverly. The clothing you wore at the time were ruined, but we've purchased a set of clothing for you to travel in."

"I'm sure whatever it is will suffice. However, I fear that this small bit of activity has fatigued me."

"We'll get you settled back down for a nap then, sir. Plenty of time to finish getting ready to leave."

It was near midnight when the attack came on the small clinic. Mister Waverly listened to the shots and kept a close eye on the door to his room. He was briefly blinded by the light as the door opened.

"Napoleon! He is here!"

"Mister Kuryakin. A pleasure to hear your voice from beyond the grave."

"Sir?"

"A rather involved scheme on THRUSH's part, Mister Kuryakin. The day and date, if you please?"

"Tuesday - March 19, 1968, sir."

"Three days then. Quite preferable to three years. Ah, Mister Solo. Are we ready to depart?"

"We have this satrip under control, Mister Waverly. Are you hurt, sir?"

"Weak perhaps, but I believe that is more due to the drugs in my system than to any actual ailments."

"We can leave whenever you're ready. Mrs. Waverly has been quite anxious ever since the emergency signal in your communicator went off."

"I can well imagine. My Millicent has many virtues, however, her patience is not one of them when family is involved, I fear. You gentlemen can thank her later for helping me see through their ruse despite the current fuzziness of my thoughts. The young man pretending to be my doctor had everything well thought out except for his lack of knowledge about how much my dear wife despises the nickname of Millie  Of the things that might have changed during my supposed coma, I knew that would not be one of them."

All heads turned toward the door as April and Mark appeared there, looking a bit shaken.

"Napoleon - Illya. Did you know we're all buried outside?"

"Come again, April?"

"Might I take it that is what you meant by hearing me beyond the grave, Mister Waverly?"

"Quite right, Mister Kuryakin. Since 1974 is still a few years away, I think we can discount those tombstones for now, don't you?"

"1974? Talk about premature burials."

"Let us be gone.  And be careful where you step.  It is supposed to be bad luck to step on one's own grave."

"Normally, I don't worry about superstitions.  But why take chances?"

"Why indeed, Mister Solo.  Let's not keep Millicent waiting."