A Quick Rescue - Short Affair (a day late) - May 21st

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Prompts - Narrow / Identity / Pink
Word Count - 554

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Denis Peeves watched the suffering man, on the other side of the glass, intently. He was believed to be an U.N.C.L.E. agent and, for the last few hours, he had been subjected to many torments designed to make him talk. So far, nothing had been forthcoming. The man was stripped to his underwear, strapped to a metal table, and was experiencing random electric shocks across his body. Peeves planned to wait another twenty minutes before resuming any questioning.

Knowing that the subject could be stubborn, Peeves’ superiors had sent for an expert from Central, who was due to arrive at any time.

“Are you getting anywhere?”

Peeves turned and frowned, not recognising the man. He was slightly shorter than average, blond, and had a slight Eastern European accent. The man had a Thrush badge pinned to his lapel, and Peeves remembered that the specialist they were expecting was Polish.

“Are you Dr Lasal, from Central?”

“Indeed,” Illya Kuryakin replied, hoping his slight hesitation hadn’t been noticed.

It had taken him longer than he’d hoped to break into the Thrush facility and, as was the nature of impromptu rescues, he was having to strategise on the fly. While he was quite capable of such a thing, he wasn’t the one who was best at it, and he’d had no real plan for the endgame. Being identified as someone who was expected could just make things much easier.

“You have not answered my question,” he continued.

“Erm. . . not yet, doctor,” Peeves replied. “We don’t even have an identity for him, other than he’s probably an U.N.C.L.E. agent. We are hoping you will be able to help.”

“Stop what you are currently doing, and take me in to him.”

As they entered the interrogation room, Napoleon Solo was beginning to lose consciousness. Through the pink haze of endless hours of torment, he vaguely recognised his partner but, luckily, had just enough awareness not to show it.

“What would you suggest, Dr Lasal?” asked Peeves, who was facing away from Illya.

“Well,” said Illya, unholstering his special. “I think you should go to sleep.”

He darted Peeves and, after tucking the gun away, he found a storage closet to shove him into. Turning back to Napoleon, Illya realised he was now fully unconscious. There was no way he could carry him out without being caught so, digging around in his jacket pocket, he produced an ammonia capsule and broke it under Solo’s nose. While the American gathered his senses, Illya freed him from the table and found his clothes.

“Get dressed as quickly as you can,” Illya instructed. “I suspect our escape timeframe is exceptionally narrow.”

Napoleon moved frustratingly slowly, with the Russian desperately trying to chivvy him on; finally resorting to dressing his partner as though he were a child.

“We should be able to get out the way I came in,” Illya told Napoleon. “I have a vehicle waiting half a mile away. Can you make it?”

“With your help,” Solo replied, the first thing he’d said in hours.

The agents got away without any interference, and without any of the facilities personnel ever finding out that they’d had one of U.N.C.L.E.’s top men in their clutches. Denis Peeves, when he was finally discovered, soon came to know the real Dr Lasal exceptionally well.

.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you muchly :-)