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section7mfu You can find the story down below the cut, or you can click either of the prompt pictures to go to AO3.
Illya Kuryakin stood in the shadow of the observation room and silently watched the drama through the two way mirror. On the other side, in a medical room of U.N.C.L.E. Los Angeles, a dishevelled and frantic Napoleon Solo was raving and shouting at his doctor. It was mainly nonsense, but several pieces of classified information were also being yelled out.
Solo had been admitted to the medical facility the day before, having been found apparently wandering the desert. Several hours under the glare of the hot sun had seemingly affected his mind.
Kuryakin had been called in from New York, and had made his way to medical almost immediately upon arrival; making sure to first check in with the chief as a matter of courtesy.. Although his presence in the building was registered, no-one one saw him enter the observation room. For the moment, he needed to watch what was going on without any interference. After almost twenty minutes of listening to Napoleon blurting out top secret information. Illya headed in to see his friend.
“Hello, moy droog,” he said to Napoleon, before offering the medic a nod of greeting. “I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble, doctor.”
“Mr Kuryakin,” Dr Hanson said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you in here looking fit and well.”
“It certainly makes a change,” Kuryakin replied, with a slight laugh.
“Illya?” said Napoleon, sounding as though he’d had to dig into the back of his mind for the name.
“That is right, Napoleon. Sit tight a few minutes while I have a quick word with the doctor.”
With a slight jerk of his head, Illya indicated to Dr Hanson that he wished for them to leave the room.
Once outside, he enquired about Napoleon’s condition.
“I can’t see any of the usual symptoms of heat stroke,” Hanson told him, “So I don’t think he was exposed to the hot sun for as long as we first thought. He is very confused, which I believe to be the result of some unknown drug. Hopefully, it will wear off very soon.”
“I was told that he has been ranting and raving,” said Illya. “Has he said anything which could be related to anything top-secret?”
“Not that I am aware of,” the doctor replied. “I will ask the nurses if they have heard anything.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed as he watched the medic walk away. The man’s blatant lie had just backed up what Waverly had suspected. Going back into Napoleon’s room, Illya indicated to the other man, using a sign language of their devising, to keep acting.
“Got yourself into trouble again, my friend,” he said. “With a bit of luck everything will be clearer for you soon.”
Napoleon nodded almost imperceptivity, letting Illya know he understood the message. All they had to do was wait and they would soon know if Dr Kenneth Hanson was passing on information to Thrush.
“I’m tired,” Solo mumbled, lying back on the bed.
“Sleep well, Napoleon. I am staying in one of the guest rooms, so if you need anything, just let me know.”
The following morning, Illya was woken by an insistent knocking on the door of his room. Upon opening it he was greeted by James Fennimore, the chief of U.N.C.L.E. Los Angeles.
“Good morning, Mr Kuryakin, may I come in?”
Illya beckoned the man in and offered him a cup of coffee; which was declined.
“I have just received some disturbing intelligence from Mr Waverly,” Fennimore stated. “Whilst I’m a little unhappy at the underhandedness of you and Mr Solo, I understand the need for secrecy.”
“I take it that the secrets Napoleon gave away are now in the hands of Thrush.”
“Agents have picked up chatter about at least two of the missions spoken of by Mr Solo. I am going to assume they were false intel.”
“What is the next move?” Illya asked.
“Hanson will be relieved of duty,” Fennimore told him. “Then you and Mr Solo will be taking him to New York.”
Fennimore and Kuryakin, along with two security guards, confronted Hanson in Napoleon’s room. When he was presented with the evidence of his betrayal, Dr Hanson first tried to bluff it out. He then claimed he was set up, before finally saying he was being blackmailed. His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he was informed that he would be taken to New York to face Mr Waverly. His pretence was dropped instantly and pulled a pill from the pocket of his white coat. Realising what Hanson was doing, Illya dived at him.
“Too late,” Hanson gasped, as Illya straddled him and held his wrists.
Within seconds, the medic went limp as the life left him. Illya clambered to his feet and shook his head sadly.
“What made him turn to Thrush?” Fennimore asked, with exasperation. “And how long has he been informing for them.”
Napoleon shrugged resignedly. “We may never know the answers to either of those questions.”
.
Illya Kuryakin stood in the shadow of the observation room and silently watched the drama through the two way mirror. On the other side, in a medical room of U.N.C.L.E. Los Angeles, a dishevelled and frantic Napoleon Solo was raving and shouting at his doctor. It was mainly nonsense, but several pieces of classified information were also being yelled out.
Solo had been admitted to the medical facility the day before, having been found apparently wandering the desert. Several hours under the glare of the hot sun had seemingly affected his mind.
Kuryakin had been called in from New York, and had made his way to medical almost immediately upon arrival; making sure to first check in with the chief as a matter of courtesy.. Although his presence in the building was registered, no-one one saw him enter the observation room. For the moment, he needed to watch what was going on without any interference. After almost twenty minutes of listening to Napoleon blurting out top secret information. Illya headed in to see his friend.
“Hello, moy droog,” he said to Napoleon, before offering the medic a nod of greeting. “I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble, doctor.”
“Mr Kuryakin,” Dr Hanson said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you in here looking fit and well.”
“It certainly makes a change,” Kuryakin replied, with a slight laugh.
“Illya?” said Napoleon, sounding as though he’d had to dig into the back of his mind for the name.
“That is right, Napoleon. Sit tight a few minutes while I have a quick word with the doctor.”
With a slight jerk of his head, Illya indicated to Dr Hanson that he wished for them to leave the room.
Once outside, he enquired about Napoleon’s condition.
“I can’t see any of the usual symptoms of heat stroke,” Hanson told him, “So I don’t think he was exposed to the hot sun for as long as we first thought. He is very confused, which I believe to be the result of some unknown drug. Hopefully, it will wear off very soon.”
“I was told that he has been ranting and raving,” said Illya. “Has he said anything which could be related to anything top-secret?”
“Not that I am aware of,” the doctor replied. “I will ask the nurses if they have heard anything.”
Illya’s eyes narrowed as he watched the medic walk away. The man’s blatant lie had just backed up what Waverly had suspected. Going back into Napoleon’s room, Illya indicated to the other man, using a sign language of their devising, to keep acting.
“Got yourself into trouble again, my friend,” he said. “With a bit of luck everything will be clearer for you soon.”
Napoleon nodded almost imperceptivity, letting Illya know he understood the message. All they had to do was wait and they would soon know if Dr Kenneth Hanson was passing on information to Thrush.
“I’m tired,” Solo mumbled, lying back on the bed.
“Sleep well, Napoleon. I am staying in one of the guest rooms, so if you need anything, just let me know.”
The following morning, Illya was woken by an insistent knocking on the door of his room. Upon opening it he was greeted by James Fennimore, the chief of U.N.C.L.E. Los Angeles.
“Good morning, Mr Kuryakin, may I come in?”
Illya beckoned the man in and offered him a cup of coffee; which was declined.
“I have just received some disturbing intelligence from Mr Waverly,” Fennimore stated. “Whilst I’m a little unhappy at the underhandedness of you and Mr Solo, I understand the need for secrecy.”
“I take it that the secrets Napoleon gave away are now in the hands of Thrush.”
“Agents have picked up chatter about at least two of the missions spoken of by Mr Solo. I am going to assume they were false intel.”
“What is the next move?” Illya asked.
“Hanson will be relieved of duty,” Fennimore told him. “Then you and Mr Solo will be taking him to New York.”
Fennimore and Kuryakin, along with two security guards, confronted Hanson in Napoleon’s room. When he was presented with the evidence of his betrayal, Dr Hanson first tried to bluff it out. He then claimed he was set up, before finally saying he was being blackmailed. His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he was informed that he would be taken to New York to face Mr Waverly. His pretence was dropped instantly and pulled a pill from the pocket of his white coat. Realising what Hanson was doing, Illya dived at him.
“Too late,” Hanson gasped, as Illya straddled him and held his wrists.
Within seconds, the medic went limp as the life left him. Illya clambered to his feet and shook his head sadly.
“What made him turn to Thrush?” Fennimore asked, with exasperation. “And how long has he been informing for them.”
Napoleon shrugged resignedly. “We may never know the answers to either of those questions.”
.
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no subject
Date: 2019-07-31 07:37 am (UTC)It just makes sense to me that partners in their line of work would have some way of communicating silently.
no subject
Date: 2019-07-31 12:23 pm (UTC)