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section7mfu2013-05-21 08:35 am
glennagirl.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2013-05-21 08:35 am
Entry tags:
- gen,
- glennagirl,
- picfic,
- wip
A THRUSH By Any Other Name - PicFic 5/21
this is the fourth installment of a story that began with Stranger Things Have Happened here...Duck and Cover ... All Bottled Up
~~~~~:
With the two bottles of Grand Marnier in hand, Illya followed his partner out through the front door of the old house. Napoleon had retrieved his communicator from an empty vase that sat resolutely on an antique buffet facing the table where they had found the liquer.
With the communication to the San Francisco office, it was established that the two New York agents would proceed to the home of Ward Baldwin, albeit in a less than open manner. Illya insisted that they watch the house before announcing their presence, something that Napoleon agreed to, in spite of it lessening his preference for grand entrances.
“Baldwin is a dangerous man in spite of his condition. I cannot imagine that his home is not surrounded by THRUSH personnel. I do not relish being ambushed again.”
Napoleon had to agree with that line of reasoning. He could see his partner still wincing with pain when he used his arm, a reflection of the injured shoulder.
“We will need a position that isn’t too obvious, then. Maybe we ought to turn in this car for something less…”
“Less UNCLE?”
Napoleon grinned at the rancor in his friend’s voice. He really did dislike the little blue wonder car.
“Yes, a common sedan will do nicely.”
Illya looked at his partner with a discerning eye, a slow grin emerging as he delivered a verdict.
“I believe you might also want to change clothes, Napoleon. That suit is in bad shape for calling on THRUSH’s top man.”
The brunet considered it, looked over the blond in much the same manner as he had been perused.
“You don’t look so hot yourself, tovarisch. Maybe we ought to just go as we are, to illustrate how poorly Baldwin’s henchmen are treating us.”
Illya was shaking his head.
“Is that a yes or a no? I can never tell what you mean by that.”
A small snort of amusement followed, and Illya explained his position.
“First of all, I really do intend to visit Medical and see if they can straighten out my shoulder. Unlike you, I will easily procure a change of clothes that will suit me well enough. You can take care of your own clothing needs while I am in the care of San Francisco’s doctors.”
Illya’s willingness to head straight for Medical was an indicator of how painful his shoulder was, and Napoleon was willing to admit that he would rather arrive at the Baldwin house looking fresh and undamaged. Never let the enemy know how effective they have been.
“Very well, IK, straight to Medical for you and to the tailor’s shop for me. I hope Ward and Irene appreciate all of our little preparations.”
Illya sighed and leaned back into the seat, his eyes closing in a moment of needed relaxation. Napoleon turned the key in the ignition and headed for the city.
It was a three hour lay-over for the two agents. The Medical staff aligned Illya’s shoulder in a wrenching motion that set it back in place with only a bare whisper of Russian from the blond. The doctor chose to not inquire as to the translation.
Napoleon was outfitted in a new suit, something befitting a day in San Francisco and decidedly more West Coast than East. When the two men met up again in the office of the San Francisco Chief, Illya was in his usual black turtleneck and jeans; it made Napoleon wonder how he always managed to find that same set of clothing.
Concerns about wardrobe were soon set aside as Napoleon and Illya pulled up in front of the old Victorian home that they knew as the residence of Ward and Irene Baldwin. Having met him a few years previously while in the company of their own superior, Alexander Waverly, the two agents still retained a sense of the couple’s hospitality during the Dagger Affair. In spite of the courtesies bestowed by the Baldwins, there was no doubt as to their loyalties or the commitment to see THRUSH succeed in its endeavors.
It was nearing five o’clock, and here on the West Coast the sun was beginning set behind the big house. Another hour and it would be dark.
“Do you suppose he has Veronica in there?”
Napoleon didn’t turn to look at Illya as he answered.
“Maybe. Hmmm… I wonder if Robin still works for the Baldwins?”
Illya didn’t reply, but he did remember the pretty blonde nurse and her brilliant blue eyes. He and Napoleon had both been rather smitten by the young woman, in spite of her association with THRUSH.
In the deepening dusk it was more difficult to see into the shadows, but Illya spotted someone emerging from the side of the house from behind a row of bushes. It was one of the men who had been at the old Revere house.
“One of our welcoming committee just showed up.”
“She must be in there, Illya. Let’s…”
Napoleon never finished his sentence, he was too distracted by the gun that was nestled against his partner’s blond hair.
“Why don’t you just ease out of there, Mr. Solo, and I’ll try to resist the temptation to blow a hole in your partner’s head.”
The big man talking was the same one who had slammed Illya into the wall the night before. Somehow it wasn’t a stretch to believe that he would, indeed, shoot the Russian at the slightest provocation. Napoleon put his hands up, then opened his door and slid out from behind the steering wheel in one smooth motion. Illya was staring straight ahead, his breath seemingly on hold until the gun was removed.
“There, I’m out and so … Your turn. Please put the gun away, you already have us at a disadvantage.”
The big guy straightened up and motioned for Illya to get out of the car, then with the gun rammed into his back began to push the smaller man into the street.
“Why don’t you lead the way Solo. Blondie and I will be right behind you.”
With that dubious bit of direction, Napoleon crossed the street and headed up the slight incline towards the Baldwin house. He was being careful to not aggravate their captor and hoped that his stubborn and slightly irascible partner would observe the same cautious behavior.
As the trio reached the front door it was opened from within by another man, but not one that the UNCLE agents had encountered previously.
“Ah, come in, please. I hate to sound trite but we really have been expecting you.”
Napoleon smiled in a cautious manner while Illya was shoved into the foyer in a manner that indicated some sort of unresolved annoyance on the part of the burly fellow holding the gun. A slight grunt reminded Solo that his partner was still hurting from the last encounter with this goon.
“You seem to have us in the uncomfortable position of being ignorant. We have come here in the hopes of meeting with Mr. Baldwin. Is he home?”
The one who had welcomed them into the house shook his head, and from inside the living room another voice answered the question.
“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin … please, come in and join me won’t you.”
It was Irene Baldwin, the same genteel woman who had stood by her husband the last time she was visited by UNCLE. Now she was alone, and Napoleon was beginning to wonder about the situation they had stumbled into.
“Mrs. Baldwin, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Napoleon strode across the room and took her hand in both of his. Something wasn’t right here, and Ward Baldwin was nowhere to be seen.
“Mr. Kuryakin, come here as well. Dominic, you can go now, these men are my guests.”
Dominic nodded and with an economy of movement that belied his size, was soon out of sight. Napoleon took Irene’s direction and sat down in the chair opposite her while Illya sat on the couch at her side.
“You are wondering, no doubt, about Ward and Miss Revere … this entire situation. I will tell you as much as I can, but if you have come here to talk to my husband … ‘
Irene seemed to lose her concentration for a moment as she looked off to an unseen place.
“Ward is ill, very ill. Robin is still caring for him, only now her services are even more important to his well being. If you like I will take you to him, and then perhaps you will do something for me.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks that held questions and some skepticism. What could Irene Baldwin possibly want from them?
“I would like to speak with Ward, if that is at all possible. If we can do something for you, within reason of course, we will try.”
Irene sighed, looking first at Napoleon and then Illya. She shouldn’t involve these men, and yet …
“Follow me, gentlemen. Ward is down this hall.”
The UNCLE agents fell in step behind Irene Baldwin, following her down a hallway that led past several large rooms and finally into one that was full of medical equipment and a hospital bed. Ward Baldwin was not awake, perhaps unconscious by the looks of him. IV lines were pumping
something into his veins as the thin figure lay beneath white linens, his complexion only slightly more tinted than his bedding.
“Ward had what we thought was a stroke, but now suspect was an assassination attempt. He’s been mostly unconscious for the last three weeks.”
Napoleon caught a glimpse of his partner in a rare moment of surprise.
“Someone in THRUSH?” Illya asked the question, his voice almost unbelieving. Irene nodded, as though reluctant to actually voice her suspicions.
“What does this have to do with Veronica Revere? Did you stage all of this…?”
That took Irene by surprise, and she refuted the idea vehemently.
“No, oh my goodness no. That situation is real, but her life was in danger for what she was doing and I had Dominic bring her here. I apologize if he was rough with you gentlemen, but …’
Was that a twinkle in her eye?
“Well, you are UNCLE agents, after all. We had no reason to believe that she was any safer with you. But when I was informed that if was the two of you, well… I was hoping you would help me in exchange for the information Veronica promised you.”
Now it was Napoleon’s turn to be surprised.
“You want us? To help you?”
Irene nodded.
“Yes. I want you, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, to find out who tried to murder my husband.”
Now each man looked at the other for some type of help. Would they do it? Should they?
It was time to call Mr. Waverly.
~~~~~:
** Ward and Irene Baldwin are characters first introduced in the Ace novel The Dagger Affair, written by David McDaniel
~~~~~:
With the two bottles of Grand Marnier in hand, Illya followed his partner out through the front door of the old house. Napoleon had retrieved his communicator from an empty vase that sat resolutely on an antique buffet facing the table where they had found the liquer.
With the communication to the San Francisco office, it was established that the two New York agents would proceed to the home of Ward Baldwin, albeit in a less than open manner. Illya insisted that they watch the house before announcing their presence, something that Napoleon agreed to, in spite of it lessening his preference for grand entrances.
“Baldwin is a dangerous man in spite of his condition. I cannot imagine that his home is not surrounded by THRUSH personnel. I do not relish being ambushed again.”
Napoleon had to agree with that line of reasoning. He could see his partner still wincing with pain when he used his arm, a reflection of the injured shoulder.
“We will need a position that isn’t too obvious, then. Maybe we ought to turn in this car for something less…”
“Less UNCLE?”
Napoleon grinned at the rancor in his friend’s voice. He really did dislike the little blue wonder car.
“Yes, a common sedan will do nicely.”
Illya looked at his partner with a discerning eye, a slow grin emerging as he delivered a verdict.
“I believe you might also want to change clothes, Napoleon. That suit is in bad shape for calling on THRUSH’s top man.”
The brunet considered it, looked over the blond in much the same manner as he had been perused.
“You don’t look so hot yourself, tovarisch. Maybe we ought to just go as we are, to illustrate how poorly Baldwin’s henchmen are treating us.”
Illya was shaking his head.
“Is that a yes or a no? I can never tell what you mean by that.”
A small snort of amusement followed, and Illya explained his position.
“First of all, I really do intend to visit Medical and see if they can straighten out my shoulder. Unlike you, I will easily procure a change of clothes that will suit me well enough. You can take care of your own clothing needs while I am in the care of San Francisco’s doctors.”
Illya’s willingness to head straight for Medical was an indicator of how painful his shoulder was, and Napoleon was willing to admit that he would rather arrive at the Baldwin house looking fresh and undamaged. Never let the enemy know how effective they have been.
“Very well, IK, straight to Medical for you and to the tailor’s shop for me. I hope Ward and Irene appreciate all of our little preparations.”
Illya sighed and leaned back into the seat, his eyes closing in a moment of needed relaxation. Napoleon turned the key in the ignition and headed for the city.
It was a three hour lay-over for the two agents. The Medical staff aligned Illya’s shoulder in a wrenching motion that set it back in place with only a bare whisper of Russian from the blond. The doctor chose to not inquire as to the translation.
Napoleon was outfitted in a new suit, something befitting a day in San Francisco and decidedly more West Coast than East. When the two men met up again in the office of the San Francisco Chief, Illya was in his usual black turtleneck and jeans; it made Napoleon wonder how he always managed to find that same set of clothing.
Concerns about wardrobe were soon set aside as Napoleon and Illya pulled up in front of the old Victorian home that they knew as the residence of Ward and Irene Baldwin. Having met him a few years previously while in the company of their own superior, Alexander Waverly, the two agents still retained a sense of the couple’s hospitality during the Dagger Affair. In spite of the courtesies bestowed by the Baldwins, there was no doubt as to their loyalties or the commitment to see THRUSH succeed in its endeavors.
It was nearing five o’clock, and here on the West Coast the sun was beginning set behind the big house. Another hour and it would be dark.
“Do you suppose he has Veronica in there?”
Napoleon didn’t turn to look at Illya as he answered.
“Maybe. Hmmm… I wonder if Robin still works for the Baldwins?”
Illya didn’t reply, but he did remember the pretty blonde nurse and her brilliant blue eyes. He and Napoleon had both been rather smitten by the young woman, in spite of her association with THRUSH.
In the deepening dusk it was more difficult to see into the shadows, but Illya spotted someone emerging from the side of the house from behind a row of bushes. It was one of the men who had been at the old Revere house.
“One of our welcoming committee just showed up.”
“She must be in there, Illya. Let’s…”
Napoleon never finished his sentence, he was too distracted by the gun that was nestled against his partner’s blond hair.
“Why don’t you just ease out of there, Mr. Solo, and I’ll try to resist the temptation to blow a hole in your partner’s head.”
The big man talking was the same one who had slammed Illya into the wall the night before. Somehow it wasn’t a stretch to believe that he would, indeed, shoot the Russian at the slightest provocation. Napoleon put his hands up, then opened his door and slid out from behind the steering wheel in one smooth motion. Illya was staring straight ahead, his breath seemingly on hold until the gun was removed.
“There, I’m out and so … Your turn. Please put the gun away, you already have us at a disadvantage.”
The big guy straightened up and motioned for Illya to get out of the car, then with the gun rammed into his back began to push the smaller man into the street.
“Why don’t you lead the way Solo. Blondie and I will be right behind you.”
With that dubious bit of direction, Napoleon crossed the street and headed up the slight incline towards the Baldwin house. He was being careful to not aggravate their captor and hoped that his stubborn and slightly irascible partner would observe the same cautious behavior.
As the trio reached the front door it was opened from within by another man, but not one that the UNCLE agents had encountered previously.
“Ah, come in, please. I hate to sound trite but we really have been expecting you.”
Napoleon smiled in a cautious manner while Illya was shoved into the foyer in a manner that indicated some sort of unresolved annoyance on the part of the burly fellow holding the gun. A slight grunt reminded Solo that his partner was still hurting from the last encounter with this goon.
“You seem to have us in the uncomfortable position of being ignorant. We have come here in the hopes of meeting with Mr. Baldwin. Is he home?”
The one who had welcomed them into the house shook his head, and from inside the living room another voice answered the question.
“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin … please, come in and join me won’t you.”
It was Irene Baldwin, the same genteel woman who had stood by her husband the last time she was visited by UNCLE. Now she was alone, and Napoleon was beginning to wonder about the situation they had stumbled into.
“Mrs. Baldwin, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Napoleon strode across the room and took her hand in both of his. Something wasn’t right here, and Ward Baldwin was nowhere to be seen.
“Mr. Kuryakin, come here as well. Dominic, you can go now, these men are my guests.”
Dominic nodded and with an economy of movement that belied his size, was soon out of sight. Napoleon took Irene’s direction and sat down in the chair opposite her while Illya sat on the couch at her side.
“You are wondering, no doubt, about Ward and Miss Revere … this entire situation. I will tell you as much as I can, but if you have come here to talk to my husband … ‘
Irene seemed to lose her concentration for a moment as she looked off to an unseen place.
“Ward is ill, very ill. Robin is still caring for him, only now her services are even more important to his well being. If you like I will take you to him, and then perhaps you will do something for me.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks that held questions and some skepticism. What could Irene Baldwin possibly want from them?
“I would like to speak with Ward, if that is at all possible. If we can do something for you, within reason of course, we will try.”
Irene sighed, looking first at Napoleon and then Illya. She shouldn’t involve these men, and yet …
“Follow me, gentlemen. Ward is down this hall.”
The UNCLE agents fell in step behind Irene Baldwin, following her down a hallway that led past several large rooms and finally into one that was full of medical equipment and a hospital bed. Ward Baldwin was not awake, perhaps unconscious by the looks of him. IV lines were pumping
something into his veins as the thin figure lay beneath white linens, his complexion only slightly more tinted than his bedding.
“Ward had what we thought was a stroke, but now suspect was an assassination attempt. He’s been mostly unconscious for the last three weeks.”
Napoleon caught a glimpse of his partner in a rare moment of surprise.
“Someone in THRUSH?” Illya asked the question, his voice almost unbelieving. Irene nodded, as though reluctant to actually voice her suspicions.
“What does this have to do with Veronica Revere? Did you stage all of this…?”
That took Irene by surprise, and she refuted the idea vehemently.
“No, oh my goodness no. That situation is real, but her life was in danger for what she was doing and I had Dominic bring her here. I apologize if he was rough with you gentlemen, but …’
Was that a twinkle in her eye?
“Well, you are UNCLE agents, after all. We had no reason to believe that she was any safer with you. But when I was informed that if was the two of you, well… I was hoping you would help me in exchange for the information Veronica promised you.”
Now it was Napoleon’s turn to be surprised.
“You want us? To help you?”
Irene nodded.
“Yes. I want you, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, to find out who tried to murder my husband.”
Now each man looked at the other for some type of help. Would they do it? Should they?
It was time to call Mr. Waverly.
~~~~~:
** Ward and Irene Baldwin are characters first introduced in the Ace novel The Dagger Affair, written by David McDaniel
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Thanks, for the comment and the prompts.
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