section7mfu | "Inquisitio Veritatis- to seek the truth" chapter 10

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Illya refused to take the painkillers given to him by the hospital, though he was feeling quite uncomfortable while heading back on the flight to New York.

Instead he had a couple of drinks to take off the edge; he’d be glad to be able to get up and move again once the plane landed, though he supposed being forced to remain still helped keep his stitches intact, for now.

An UNCLE taxi was waiting for him at the airport when he arrived, and quickly whisked him off to headquarters.

There was no conversation between he and the driver, which was pretty much the standard operating procedure.

He exited the cab in front of Del Floria’s and down the steps and opened the door. Hearing the tinkle of the little brass bell was like a welcome home to him and for a moment he breathed a sigh of relief.

The agent at the press said nothing and merely gave to shots of steam to signal an agent was coming in.

After stepping out from the dressing room in reception, as usual, he received his ID badge from Wanda. She handed it to him, unlike Solo who’d have it pinned on his lapel every time he entered headquarters. That little slight was something Kuryakin had finally gotten over.

It was part of Napoleon’s routine to flirt with the receptionist, and that was not Illya’s way.

“Welcome back,” Wanda said. “Glad you’re okay, I heard what happened.”

“Thank you, me too.”

“Mister Waverly is expecting you in his conference room.”

“I will be there as soon as I drop this off in my office,” he held up the garment bag for her to see.

He suddenly decided it would be best to go straight to the Old Man; better not to keep him waiting even for a minute.

“Wanda, on second thought, could you see that this is taken to my office?”

“Sure, I’ll have it taken care of for you.”

“Thank you.”

He handed over the garment bag and disappeared through the secondary entrance and down the corridor, heading straight for the elevator.

Waverly looked up as the pneumatic doors opened and his Russian agent walked into the room. His observation was that Kuryakin was moving a bit more slowly than usual. Given he’d been stabbed and poisoned a day ago, that wasn’t surprising. The Russian had remarkable abilities when it came to recovering from his injuries but still, the lad was only human.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Fine sir. Once I received a blood transfusion my body responded to it quite well. I am ready to return to the field and finish up this affair.”

“That remains to be seen, in the meantime repeat your theory to me again?”

“The Xaverian Brother’s story about THRUSH recruiting students to their ranks may have been a ruse to get Mister Solo out in the open. He was set up, and no doubt followed from the school by the woman who shot him. As to me being attacked, logic would have dictated that I would be the one to continue with the false lead Nap...Mister Solo had been given and what better place to start than the headquarters of the Xaverian Brothers in Baltimore. I was obviously set up as well. However, I do not think we have a mole here, as I am correct in assuming that only five of us were aware of what sent Mister Solo and myself a wild goose chase. Mister Solo and I were being manipulated like puppets on a string.”

“That makes sense young man, especially since there have been no attacks on any of the agents I dispatched to the other Xaverian schools across the country. No one at these locations have seen or heard anything untoward involving their students, or faculty for that matter.”

“Perhaps we need to bring in Brother Kelly for questioning, as he is the one who started the ball rolling,” Illya said.

“That we will do,” Waverly picked up the microphone at is console and flicked one of the toggle switches there. He gave instructions to have Brother Sean Kelly brought in for questioning.

The Old Man had stationed an agent near the school in Bay Ridge and moments later a call came in from him.

“Mister Waverly sir, this is Agent Craig. I’m sorry to report bad news. Brother Kelly is dead.”

“What the deuce? Do you know what happened?”

“Not exactly sir. I was only able to get a quick look at the body as it was being put into the Coroner's van. I saw no wounds, but his lips were blue. Perhaps he was suffocated, or maybe poisoned. No way to tell until the Medical Examiner gets to do an autopsy.”

Waverly huffed. “Thank you Mister Craig. Check to see if anyone was spotted on the premises who didn’t belong there, then report back to headquarters. Out.”

“It appears a loose end has just been tied up Mister Kuryakin. Perhaps it’s time for us to set a trap of our own,” the Old Man cocked a bushy eyebrow.

He flicked another switch on his console.

“Yes sir?”

“I want a report leaked over our unsecure channels. State that Mister Illya Kuryakin had been attacked in Baltimore and is now deceased. Mister Napoleon Solo who was attacked here in New York is alive and recuperating at Coney Island Hospital.”

“Yes sir, right away.”

He turned to Kuryakin again. “We’ll have only one guard posted outside Mister Solo’s room, someone who should seem to be easily distracted. as it were. However, you will be there in disguise Mister Kuryakin. We can only hope the mystery woman will return to finish the job.”

Illya’s smile grew as he listened to Old Man’s strategy.

“Of course Mister Solo will be in on the plan,” Waverly tapped the contents of his pipe bowl into a crystal ashtray to the side of his console.

It was then Illya noticed it wasn’t the Old Man’s usual Briar pipe.

“New sir?” He pointed to it.

“Wot, oh... ahem, yes quite. A gift from the wife. This one is made of meerschaum instead of briar wood. Just breaking it in here; I’ll most likely keep it home and use it there to keep Mrs. Waverly happy. I do like my old Briar pipe better, but I wouldn’t want to insult her gift.”

Kuryakin looked at the humidor, his concern evident in his eyes.

“Don’t worry young man, I won’t light up until you leave. Though there are times I do forget your allergy to my pipe tobacco. I must admit, there’s nothing like Isle of Dogs number 22.”

“Yes sir and thank you. I appreciate your consideration.”

The last thing he needed was a fit of coughing and sneezing that could tear open his sutures.

Illya went to wardrobe to prepare his trickery. Hospital gear would do but he’d have to alter his physical appearance as well.

The announcement was made over the unsecure channels once Illya being disguised was in place at the hospital.

He was dressed as an orderly, wearing a 3/4 sleeve white shirt with a caduceus embroidered on the right breast pocket. His trousers and shoes were white as well.

Illya’s blond hair was now a dark brown, and he wore a matching false mustache. To complete the look, he put on a pair of wire rimmed spectacles.

The medical staff had been instructed by the head of the hospital to leave him be, though no explanation was given.

Most of them figured he was guarding the gunshot patient in room 307. He was recovering nicely, though certain details of his being unconscious for far too long had been left off his medical charts. The staff figured he was an important man, for whatever reason, they were left out of the loop.

There’d been a few visitors, and only in the very beginning. The blond haired man who stood guard over him, then a platinum blonde and finally an auburn haired woman who was present when the patient regained consciousness.

The attending, Doctor Richards, was closed mouthed about his patient and anything to do with him.

Now there was a guard standing outside Mister Solo’s door, a really cute British guy wearing a weird corduroy hat. He seemed to be more interested in flirting with the nurses or going to get tea. He called all the ladies luv.

Most of the women melted when hearing his accent, it made them think of the Beatles. One of them even asked him if he knew John, Paul, George or Ringo.

“Sorry luv, I have to say I’ve never had the pleasure, though I did see them perform back at the Cavern Club. Now I’ve met Mick Jagger and several of the Rolling Stones.”

“Who?” The nurses asked.

“You’ve never heard of the Rolling Stones, well ladies you will. Great British rock band. Though they can come off a bit rough, not posh like the Beatles.”

The nurses concluded it was a good thing the mysterious orderly was there, as the English guy wasn’t doing a very good job of watching over the patient.

Rumor had it was that someone had tried to murder Mister Solo, though none of the nurses wondered who would want to do that to such a gorgeous and friendly guy.

Could it be the effect he had on women angered a jilted lover, and she tried to get even with him?

While on their breaks and between seeing other patients Mister Solo was quite the topic of conversation at the nurse's station.

Illya waited and waited, Mark Slate walked over to yet again chat up the nurses, and it was then he spotted the woman.

She was wearing a pale blue mini dress, carrying a large shoulder bag. He didn’t recognize her, but she was a blond, and was making a bee line for Solo’s room.

As she stepped inside the room, she reached into her bag, pulling out a handgun and she quickly screwed on a long silencer to the end of the barrel.

She raised the weapon, aiming it her target.

“I would not do that if I were you,” Illya whispered, pressing the barrel of his own gun to her neck.

“So not a good idea,” Napoleon said as he lifted his hand from beneath the blanket revealing his gun. He aimed it at her while flashing one of his bewitching smiles.

She snarled, and just as she was going to fire her Beretta both Napoleon and Illya hit her with sleep darts.

“Was she the one who shot you?”Illya asked.

“Oh yeah,” Napoleon replied.