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section7mfuYou can read Part I here.
The silver and crimson stopped in front of Napoleon while the emerald and gold stopped in front of his partner. “These are…presents for us? From Santa?” Napoleon said in disbelief.
“Not quite, Mr. Solo,” came the reply. “As I’ve said, I’ve gotten a field commission.” The two agents watched in astonishment as Mr. Waverly reached into the bag and pulled out a red cap trimmed in white fur with a white ball of fur at the end of its triangular shape. He popped it on his head and slid his hands down his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of a white beard. “Now, you have received presents from Santa. Open them, please.”
The CEA glanced at Illya. “What was that you were saying about ‘altered perception’? I feel like I’m in an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone.’” He reached for the box and began to unwrap it as if at any second it might explode. He pulled out what appeared to be a journal. He fanned the pages. All were blank. “Ah, thanks, it’s what I’ve always wanted?”
“Look at the first page again, Mr. Solo.”
He did and was shocked to see print. Aloud he read, “I am what you have always needed, Napoleon; the voice of your partner. You will need me in your search for Santa. Whenever you have a question, ask me and I will give you the answer he would have if he were with you.” He turned to gape at his partner. “’If he were with you?’ What the…?”
Illya’s eyes had gone wide in confusion. He snatched the top off his gift and peered inside. He took out what appeared to be a red and green felt hat. “I do not know what to make of this,” he finally admitted as he turned it this way and that.
Napoleon’s lips quirked up into a slight smile. “It looks like an elf’s hat.”
“An astute observation, Mr. Solo, as that is exactly what it is. Put it on, Mr. Kuryakin.”
For the first time in his life, the Russian seriously considered disobeying a direct order from his superior. Resolutely ignoring the giggles coming from his right, he donned the cap and schooled his face into an unreadable mask.
“You have also received a field commission, Mr. Kuryakin. You are officially Santa’s Helper.”
The giggles he had been ignoring now turned into guffaws that he could not. “Napoleon, if you do not stop laughing…” he snarled as he glared daggers at the man. A few seconds of that quieted his partner and he turned his attention back to Mr. Waverly to plead his case. “Sir, I am a Communist, I am an atheist! I cannot be Santa’s Helper!”
“And I am Number One, Section One of UNCLE North America, but tonight I am Santa Claus! And you, Mr. Kuryakin, are Santa’s Number One Elf!” The Old Man stood and reached into the sack and pulled out Santa’s red and white jacket and when he put it one and fastened the black belt, both men noticed how much longer and whiter his beard had become and how big his belly had grown.
“Stand up, Mr. Kuryakin.”
Illya slowly rose from his chair and at Napoleon’s gasp, he looked down to see that his black suit, tie and white shirt had transformed into a green tunic and tights. His black wingtip shoes were now red shoes that ended in an up tilted point and matched the collar of his tunic. “How am I supposed to walk the halls in this?!? I will be the laughingstock of UNCLE!”
In the blink of an eye, the three men were standing on the roof and though it was a sub – freezing New York City night, they weren’t cold. However, Napoleon and Illya barely noticed as their attention was on the eight reindeer harnessed to a rather large red and gold sleigh. On the back of it, was a huge red bag out of which poked gaily wrapped presents.
“Get on board, Mr. Kuryakin! You’re with me tonight. And you too, Mr. Solo; we’ll drop you off near where the Central Committee is keeping my friend.”
“You, you know where the Central Committee is? How? And why don’t we send our Strike Teams to quash them once and for all?”
“I’m Santa Claus now,” Mr. Waverly answered with a twinkle in his eye. “I know when they’re sleeping, I know when they’re awake, but as Santa Claus I cannot order death and destruction. You must rescue Noel Perry, but you must not use violence.”
“But Sir, if I can’t use violence and I don’t have Illya with me, how am I supposed to get this done?”
Santa Waverly sighed. “Very well, then.” He reached into the sack and handed Napoleon an unwrapped box. “Keep that in your suit pocket. Whenever you need something to assist you, open the box and it will be there, regardless of size. Now let’s go, Gentlemen. There is much to do before the sun rises.” As soon as the men settled in, Santa shook the reins and the reindeer took off into the night sky.
“Hey,” Napoleon said, “Where’s Rudolf?”
“Is it not obvious, Napoleon,” Illya answered, “It’s a clear night. His nose is not needed!”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa Waverly said as they flew over the New York skyline.
The silver and crimson stopped in front of Napoleon while the emerald and gold stopped in front of his partner. “These are…presents for us? From Santa?” Napoleon said in disbelief.
“Not quite, Mr. Solo,” came the reply. “As I’ve said, I’ve gotten a field commission.” The two agents watched in astonishment as Mr. Waverly reached into the bag and pulled out a red cap trimmed in white fur with a white ball of fur at the end of its triangular shape. He popped it on his head and slid his hands down his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of a white beard. “Now, you have received presents from Santa. Open them, please.”
The CEA glanced at Illya. “What was that you were saying about ‘altered perception’? I feel like I’m in an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone.’” He reached for the box and began to unwrap it as if at any second it might explode. He pulled out what appeared to be a journal. He fanned the pages. All were blank. “Ah, thanks, it’s what I’ve always wanted?”
“Look at the first page again, Mr. Solo.”
He did and was shocked to see print. Aloud he read, “I am what you have always needed, Napoleon; the voice of your partner. You will need me in your search for Santa. Whenever you have a question, ask me and I will give you the answer he would have if he were with you.” He turned to gape at his partner. “’If he were with you?’ What the…?”
Illya’s eyes had gone wide in confusion. He snatched the top off his gift and peered inside. He took out what appeared to be a red and green felt hat. “I do not know what to make of this,” he finally admitted as he turned it this way and that.
Napoleon’s lips quirked up into a slight smile. “It looks like an elf’s hat.”
“An astute observation, Mr. Solo, as that is exactly what it is. Put it on, Mr. Kuryakin.”
For the first time in his life, the Russian seriously considered disobeying a direct order from his superior. Resolutely ignoring the giggles coming from his right, he donned the cap and schooled his face into an unreadable mask.
“You have also received a field commission, Mr. Kuryakin. You are officially Santa’s Helper.”
The giggles he had been ignoring now turned into guffaws that he could not. “Napoleon, if you do not stop laughing…” he snarled as he glared daggers at the man. A few seconds of that quieted his partner and he turned his attention back to Mr. Waverly to plead his case. “Sir, I am a Communist, I am an atheist! I cannot be Santa’s Helper!”
“And I am Number One, Section One of UNCLE North America, but tonight I am Santa Claus! And you, Mr. Kuryakin, are Santa’s Number One Elf!” The Old Man stood and reached into the sack and pulled out Santa’s red and white jacket and when he put it one and fastened the black belt, both men noticed how much longer and whiter his beard had become and how big his belly had grown.
“Stand up, Mr. Kuryakin.”
Illya slowly rose from his chair and at Napoleon’s gasp, he looked down to see that his black suit, tie and white shirt had transformed into a green tunic and tights. His black wingtip shoes were now red shoes that ended in an up tilted point and matched the collar of his tunic. “How am I supposed to walk the halls in this?!? I will be the laughingstock of UNCLE!”
In the blink of an eye, the three men were standing on the roof and though it was a sub – freezing New York City night, they weren’t cold. However, Napoleon and Illya barely noticed as their attention was on the eight reindeer harnessed to a rather large red and gold sleigh. On the back of it, was a huge red bag out of which poked gaily wrapped presents.
“Get on board, Mr. Kuryakin! You’re with me tonight. And you too, Mr. Solo; we’ll drop you off near where the Central Committee is keeping my friend.”
“You, you know where the Central Committee is? How? And why don’t we send our Strike Teams to quash them once and for all?”
“I’m Santa Claus now,” Mr. Waverly answered with a twinkle in his eye. “I know when they’re sleeping, I know when they’re awake, but as Santa Claus I cannot order death and destruction. You must rescue Noel Perry, but you must not use violence.”
“But Sir, if I can’t use violence and I don’t have Illya with me, how am I supposed to get this done?”
Santa Waverly sighed. “Very well, then.” He reached into the sack and handed Napoleon an unwrapped box. “Keep that in your suit pocket. Whenever you need something to assist you, open the box and it will be there, regardless of size. Now let’s go, Gentlemen. There is much to do before the sun rises.” As soon as the men settled in, Santa shook the reins and the reindeer took off into the night sky.
“Hey,” Napoleon said, “Where’s Rudolf?”
“Is it not obvious, Napoleon,” Illya answered, “It’s a clear night. His nose is not needed!”
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa Waverly said as they flew over the New York skyline.
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