section7mfu | ABC Affair 2019 - E is for Endymion

Okay, off in a direction not entirely in keeping with New Orleans. Oh well... should we have a tag for Twisty Turny?

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E is for Eeeel-ya!

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days…

Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

All lovely tales that we have heard or read:

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences

For one short hour; no, even as the trees

That whisper round a temple become soon

Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,

The passion poesy, glories infinite,

Haunt us till they become a cheering light

Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,

That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast;

They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I

Will trace the story of Endymion.

The very music of the name has gone

Into my being, and each pleasant scene

Is growing fresh before me as the green

Of our own valleys: so I will begin

Now while I cannot hear the city's din;

Now while the early budders are just new,

And run in mazes of the youngest hue

About old forests; while the willow trails

Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails

Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year

Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer

My little boat, for many quiet hours,

With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.

Many and many a verse I hope to write,

Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,

Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees

Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,

I must be near the middle of my story.

O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,

See it half finish'd: but let Autumn bold,

With universal tinge of sober gold,

Be all about me when I make an end.

And now, at once adventuresome, I send

My herald thought into a wilderness:

There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress

My uncertain path with green, that I may speed

Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.

There was an audible sigh from the female audience as Illya closed his recitation of Keat's classic poem. Many of them immediately visualized the blond professor in the role of the Greek Endymion, whose physical beauty had made him a captive to the daughter of Zeus.

At the end of class, the line of young women in front of Professor Kuryakin’s desk prompted Napoleon Solo to smile in admiration. In some environments his Russian partner did indeed rule the roost. Illya spotted his friend while still keeping his attention and conversation among the students.

As the last girl reluctantly surrendered her place in line and headed toward the group still lingering by the door, Napoleon let out a low whistle. The smile on his face was an annoyance to Illya, he knew the train of thought on his partner’s track.

One track mind… now Illya was smiling at the unspoken pun.

“So, what have you come up with Professor?” Napoleon let the word stretch out for emphasis. He never quite got over the fact that his friend and partner was such a brainiac. Illya Kuryakin never even mentioned his degrees when the partnership was young, and in fact it had been Waverly who finally broke that bit of news. The irony was not lost on Solo that someone with Illya’s intellectual prowess was happily engaged in thumping the bad guys and taking his blows when it wasn’t going his way. Being a field agent just wasn’t what you expected a man with a doctorate in Quantum Mechanics to be doing as a day job.

Back to the poetry, Illya filled in the blanks.

“The person we are looking for is a member of the faculty, a Dr. Rebus McCallister, PhD.” Illya was still sorting through papers, looking for something specific it seemed.

“You think he has the microdot? Is it here on campus?” Napoleon knew it might be awkward to break into someone’s home or office, the security was tight in this little academic community. Enrolled here were, among others, the sons and daughters of prominent dignitaries and corporate chiefs. The money was staggering, as was the potential for larceny.

“I have been observing him for days, and the likeliest location is, unfortunately, on his glasses.” Napoleon frowned at that. It was a good idea, keeping the item very close like that.

“So, THRUSH plants a bonafide professor on this campus where he manages to steal a microdot with the formula for a new rocket fuel. And the fuel is something the Hierarchy would use to launch their own satellite into space for spying on world governments. They do come up with some interesting plots for us to foil.”

Illya nodded his agreement. This campus was purposely isolated, protecting the students from the world’s intrusion into their lives, as well as the lives of their parents. It was also the location of some top secret laboratories that delved into unusual experiments, the sort that did not welcome public scrutiny. It was impossible to gauge the damage should any of the information being processed here be leaked, or in this case, fall into the wrong hands.

“Any ideas?” Napoleon was the strategist, but this was Illya’s world and he would bow to his partner’s knowledge of this environment and the people in it.

“Well, we need to get his glasses, and I can’t imagine a scenario in which either of us could manage it. Can you?” Napoleon shook his head, but he knew immediately who they would call.

Less than twenty-four hours later the two UNCLE agents were now four. April Dancer and Mark Slate flew into the New Orleans airport and drove the hour’s distance out to Billings College.

“Darlings, what sort of naughtiness do you have for me?” April’s teasing made the men smile, and the future of their assignment seemed suddenly a fete accompli.

April showed up at a little coffee house frequented by Rebus McCallister. He would sit at the same table, order the same black coffee and then read. Illya hadn’t been able to ascertain the reading material’s content, only that the routine was the same every day.

Having spotted the professor, April headed in that direction, feigning a distraction that caused her to trip and land in the lap of the surprised academic. It was no small accomplishment to end up where she did, but April was a consummate professional, and she always landed where she intended.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Her gasping apology was all part of the scene needed for the glasses to be exchanged for a different pair, made to look like McCallister’s own. A little detective work had yielded his prescription so that there would be no immediate discovery of the ruse.

The professor tried to balance the pretty young woman and the book in his hand. In a move that would be described later as brilliant, April managed to know the man’s glasses off of his head and onto the table. Before McCallister could reach for them himself, Illya was handing him the fake glasses, the originals tucked discreetly into his trousers pocket.

“Dr. McCallister, I hope I am not interrupting.” Illya’s greeting included a smile, as though in on some mischief.

“Oh, no no no no… I don’t even know this, um… young woman.” April kissed him on the cheek and winked.

“More’s the pity darling. I’ll just be on my way I guess.” And just like that. April was gone, the glasses and microdot were safely in Illya’s pocket, and another THRUSH plan was summarily foiled by the agents from UNCLE.

As for the girls who dreamed that night of Endymion, it was the face of Illya Kuryakin in all of their fantasies. Each of them would be very disappointed when they learned he was no longer on staff.