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section7mfuNapoleon and Illya have been asked to meet a possible Thrush defector.
You can find the story beneath the cut, or you can click the link to go to AO3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417495
"A storm is coming.”
“Are you psychic now?” Napoleon Solo asked his partner, as they walked towards the promontory which marked the end of the beach. “It’s a beautiful day.”
The temperature on the island was on just the right side of balmy. The breeze that was blowing around them was a little stronger than usual, but not so strong that it lessened the pleasantness of the place.
“I was taught from an early age how to read the wind,” Illya answered, sounding absolutely earnest. “Plus, I listened to the weather report while you were hogging the hotel shower.”
“Smart Russian!” Solo retorted. “And I wasn’t hogging the shower.”
Illya smiled at Napoleons false outrage, but didn’t say anything further. Most of his thoughts were centred on the mission at hand. U.N.C.L.E. had been contacted by a man, calling himself Smith, who claimed to be a Thrush operative who wished to defect. While the whole thing could very easily be nothing but a trap, it was just as likely to be the truth. Napoleon and Illya and duly been dispatched to meet the man.
For reasons that bemused and worried both men, Smith had insisted that they meet on top of the promontory, to which they were headed. He had also told them that they must reach his position by climbing up the side. The agents had checked out the area the day before, but could find no reason why they couldn’t use the direct route. However, when it to came situations such as this, they had little option but to do as requested.
Reaching the base of the promontory they wasted no time in beginning their climb. It was difficult and was compounded by unstable handholds and the strengthening wind. There was a brief moment of terror about two-thirds up as Illya’s foot slipped before his hand had a good grip. Fortunately, both men were using pitons to anchor their climbing ropes to, and he was prevented from falling. Of course, this didn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, before racing with adrenaline. After once again gaining a safe foothold, Illya allowed himself a sigh of relief.
“You okay, Tovarisch?” Napoleon asked, from a just above him.
“This man had better be worth this ridiculously unnecessary course.”
They continued on to the top, where the wind was really beginning to pick up. The ground was relatively flat and, at first, neither man could see anyone else.
“He is not here,” Illya commented.
“Yes he is,” Napoleon replied, suddenly pointing to a body at the opposite edge of the promontory.
He and Illya instantly drew their guns and scanned the area for the assailant. After several minutes, they were satisfied that that they were the only people there. While Illya continued to keep a look out, Napoleon went to investigate the body.
The man was laid face down and, after checking for a pulse and not finding one, Napoleon rolled the body over. He noticed several things at once. Firstly, there was a bullet wound in the middle of the chest. Secondly, there was a note pinned to the jacket which read ‘Sorry, our secrets are not for sale.’ Thirdly, and most the urgent, there was an explosive device which had previously been covered by the body. There was a timer which told him he had seven seconds left.
Napoleon’s survival instinct took over and commanded his legs to move. As he ran from the imminent detonation he yelled for Illya to get down. The Russian didn’t need telling twice, despite not knowing why he was ducking. The explosion, when it came, was much larger than expected. The shock wave slammed into Napoleon’s back, sending him flying forward. He landed hard, and unconscious. Illya felt the wave, but had managed to shield anything vital.
Picking himself up, he checked on Napoleon, who was starting to come round. Before he could ask how he was, Illya became aware of the land slipping away from the side of the promontory. The explosion had clearly destabilised it.
“Get up, Napoleon!” he urged his partner. “Quickly!”
“What?”
“Never mind the questions, just run!”
Solo turned to look at what Illya was staring at with such terror. Once again, his hindbrain kicked in and forced him to move. Reaching a stable part of the land, the two men watched in horror as a large chunk of the promontory fell into the sea.
“This is going to take some explaining,” Napoleon commented.
“The truth is simple enough.”
“Not our explanation to Waverly,” Napoleon replied. “His explanation to the authorities.”
“It would not be the first time he has had to explain something like this.”
The pair watched for a few minutes longer, in silence, but nothing else fell. As assignments went, it hadn’t exactly been a success. However, since they had both survived, it wasn’t exactly a failure either.
“How about lunch?” Napoleon asked. “After we’ve reported in, of course.”
“It is your turn to pay.”
“I just nearly died,” the American protested.
“I nearly died first,” the Russian countered. “Besides, you owe me at least four lunches.”
“Okay, okay, you win.”
On the horizon dark clouds had appeared, and were rapidly heading their way. Illya pointed out that a heavy rain could cause even more of the land to break away.
“We’ll get headquarters to make sure the relevant people are informed,” Solo told him. “I really hate days like this.”
“As do I, my friend,” Illya agreed. “But such is life.”
.
You can find the story beneath the cut, or you can click the link to go to AO3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417495
"A storm is coming.”
“Are you psychic now?” Napoleon Solo asked his partner, as they walked towards the promontory which marked the end of the beach. “It’s a beautiful day.”
The temperature on the island was on just the right side of balmy. The breeze that was blowing around them was a little stronger than usual, but not so strong that it lessened the pleasantness of the place.
“I was taught from an early age how to read the wind,” Illya answered, sounding absolutely earnest. “Plus, I listened to the weather report while you were hogging the hotel shower.”
“Smart Russian!” Solo retorted. “And I wasn’t hogging the shower.”
Illya smiled at Napoleons false outrage, but didn’t say anything further. Most of his thoughts were centred on the mission at hand. U.N.C.L.E. had been contacted by a man, calling himself Smith, who claimed to be a Thrush operative who wished to defect. While the whole thing could very easily be nothing but a trap, it was just as likely to be the truth. Napoleon and Illya and duly been dispatched to meet the man.
For reasons that bemused and worried both men, Smith had insisted that they meet on top of the promontory, to which they were headed. He had also told them that they must reach his position by climbing up the side. The agents had checked out the area the day before, but could find no reason why they couldn’t use the direct route. However, when it to came situations such as this, they had little option but to do as requested.
Reaching the base of the promontory they wasted no time in beginning their climb. It was difficult and was compounded by unstable handholds and the strengthening wind. There was a brief moment of terror about two-thirds up as Illya’s foot slipped before his hand had a good grip. Fortunately, both men were using pitons to anchor their climbing ropes to, and he was prevented from falling. Of course, this didn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, before racing with adrenaline. After once again gaining a safe foothold, Illya allowed himself a sigh of relief.
“You okay, Tovarisch?” Napoleon asked, from a just above him.
“This man had better be worth this ridiculously unnecessary course.”
They continued on to the top, where the wind was really beginning to pick up. The ground was relatively flat and, at first, neither man could see anyone else.
“He is not here,” Illya commented.
“Yes he is,” Napoleon replied, suddenly pointing to a body at the opposite edge of the promontory.
He and Illya instantly drew their guns and scanned the area for the assailant. After several minutes, they were satisfied that that they were the only people there. While Illya continued to keep a look out, Napoleon went to investigate the body.
The man was laid face down and, after checking for a pulse and not finding one, Napoleon rolled the body over. He noticed several things at once. Firstly, there was a bullet wound in the middle of the chest. Secondly, there was a note pinned to the jacket which read ‘Sorry, our secrets are not for sale.’ Thirdly, and most the urgent, there was an explosive device which had previously been covered by the body. There was a timer which told him he had seven seconds left.
Napoleon’s survival instinct took over and commanded his legs to move. As he ran from the imminent detonation he yelled for Illya to get down. The Russian didn’t need telling twice, despite not knowing why he was ducking. The explosion, when it came, was much larger than expected. The shock wave slammed into Napoleon’s back, sending him flying forward. He landed hard, and unconscious. Illya felt the wave, but had managed to shield anything vital.
Picking himself up, he checked on Napoleon, who was starting to come round. Before he could ask how he was, Illya became aware of the land slipping away from the side of the promontory. The explosion had clearly destabilised it.
“Get up, Napoleon!” he urged his partner. “Quickly!”
“What?”
“Never mind the questions, just run!”
Solo turned to look at what Illya was staring at with such terror. Once again, his hindbrain kicked in and forced him to move. Reaching a stable part of the land, the two men watched in horror as a large chunk of the promontory fell into the sea.
“This is going to take some explaining,” Napoleon commented.
“The truth is simple enough.”
“Not our explanation to Waverly,” Napoleon replied. “His explanation to the authorities.”
“It would not be the first time he has had to explain something like this.”
The pair watched for a few minutes longer, in silence, but nothing else fell. As assignments went, it hadn’t exactly been a success. However, since they had both survived, it wasn’t exactly a failure either.
“How about lunch?” Napoleon asked. “After we’ve reported in, of course.”
“It is your turn to pay.”
“I just nearly died,” the American protested.
“I nearly died first,” the Russian countered. “Besides, you owe me at least four lunches.”
“Okay, okay, you win.”
On the horizon dark clouds had appeared, and were rapidly heading their way. Illya pointed out that a heavy rain could cause even more of the land to break away.
“We’ll get headquarters to make sure the relevant people are informed,” Solo told him. “I really hate days like this.”
“As do I, my friend,” Illya agreed. “But such is life.”
.
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