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section7mfuThis story began with Stranger Things Have Happened, and continues in this order: Duck and Cover , All Bottled Up , A THRUSH By Any Other Name
~~~~~:
Napoleon and Illya could only stare at the lifeless form of Ward Baldwin as they listened to his wife tell of the assassination attempt that had left him in this state. Someone within THRUSH itself was vying for the old man’s position and influence, and willing to undertake the dangerous path of eliminating the competition.
Ward Baldwin wasn’t just any competition however, and his wife, Irene, was an unlikely grieving widow; more of a lioness protecting her cubs, or in this case, her mate. The two men from UNCLE wondered about how they fit into this melodrama.
“Irene, how is it that you consider Illya and me suitable … ‘
Napoleon was at a loss for words. Even should Mr. Waverly approve this strange request, what could they do about what was a singularly THRUSH dilemma?
“What is it, exactly, that you think we can do for you?”
Irene Baldwin looked from the brunet to the blond, appreciative of their talents and intellect. If anyone could find her husband’s attacker, it was these two.
“You can do your job, Mr. Solo … Napoleon. You and Illya are possessed of extraordinary skills when it comes to tracking down THRUSH villains, and the man who did this to Ward is a villain.”
Her expression was so earnest, neither man had the heart to refuse her. In the time they had spent here the previous year, Irene had been completely hospitable and kind to them. In spite of her wayward allegiance to THRUSH, they had a certain affection for her that defied their differences.
There was something else, however, a feeling that Irene wasn’t telling everything. Napoleon set about to coax the woman into divulging whatever missing element there might be in the story.
“Irene … without insulting you or your hospitality, is it possible that you’re not being completely honest with us?”
It was almost impossible to resist Napoleon when he set his mind to charming the truth out of a woman, and Irene Baldwin was no exception. She considered for a moment, and then expanded the story of why she had summoned the UNCLE agents.
“There was a message waiting for me when I brought Ward home from the hospital.”
Illya cocked his head, the question visible before he spoke it.
“What sort of message?”
The gaslight that was the choice of the Baldwin’s for illumination began to cast soft shadows about the room. Irene hesitated, her eyes straining to see into the blue of Kuryakin’s.
“The message said, “Only the best will be able to find me. Get Solo and Kuryakin, or Baldwin will surely die.”
Napoleon cleared his throat, Illya remained stoic and impassive.
“I see. And, just what do you think was meant by this message, Irene?”
“It’s personal now, Napoleon. What does it matter if Irene knows or doesn’t know?”
With a glance Illya conveyed his willingness to participate in what was now a challenge to him and his partner. Napoleon agreed; he put in the call to New York. Mr. Waverly would certainly have an opinion about all of this.
While Napoleon consulted with their boss, Illya and Irene carried on a conversation of a different nature; an attempt to discover something that might give the UNCLE agents a lead.
“We were enjoying the day, Ward and I. We decided to take a few hours and visit the zoo, one of our favorite haunts these days. Ward does love the big cats, and on the day of the … ‘
Irene paused, intent on replaying the events exactly as they had occurred.
“We were visiting the tigers, and just as one of them stood up to stretch, a whirring noise rushed by me and … Ward slumped over, stricken by an assassin’s arrow.”
Illya was immediately stunned by that detail.
“An arrow? Someone attacked Ward Baldwin with a bow and arrow?”
Irene looked up into the blue eyes of the Russian agent, searching perhaps for solace.
“Yes. In broad daylight in front of the tigers display, an arrow with a poison tip found its target in my Ward.”
At that moment Napoleon rejoined Irene and Illya, and observed the look on his partner’s face.
“What? Is something wrong?”
“Ward was shot with an arrow. That is the most extraordinary thing, is it not?”
Napoleon caught the meaning of that, but not without a shudder at the memory of the last encounter they’d had with an archery aficionado.
“Haven’t we done this already?”
But Voegler was dead. Who else had the same penchant for archery as the Voeglers as well as a vendetta against UNCLE?
Illya absently let his hand go to his shoulder; the one where a scar marked his encounter with a barbed arrow in the low country of South Carolina. Irene observed the silent communication, the involuntary signal of recognition and … what was that? Illya had a particular sense of what was going on, she knew it.
“Have you already discovered who this is then? Your faces betray you, and I think that you, Illya, might bear the mark of the same assassin who tried to murder my husband.”
Napoleon assessed the implausible and the probable. Sometimes the two were closer than first impressions would indicate.
“Perhaps. Mr. Waverly has given us permission to help you, Irene, but only on one condition.”
The wizened dame of San Francisco’s THRUSH satrapy scrutinized the handsome Solo; he was a sweet young man but he was UNCLE, after all.
“And what is the condition Napoleon?”
Illya wondered as well, hoping that they would not have to battle their way out of San Francisco as they had done after their last sojourn among the Baldwin nest of birds.
“No interference. Not from you or any of your people. We do it our way, and we do it with complete freedom from harm by anyone in THRUSH. Can you guarantee that?”
Irene took a deep breath, causing the ruffled jabot of her white blouse to jostle slightly as she exhaled. She then extended her right hand to Napoleon.
“Very well, Mr. Solo. On my honor, you and Illya will encounter no ill will or treatment from anyone here. But, I warn you, the assassin has his own network of people; I can’t speak for any of them.”
“Understood. Illya?”
The blond nodded, his expression was solemn as he considered the unpleasant scenario of yet another of Kurt Voegler’s family out for retribution; not only against Ward Baldwin, but possibly him as well. Better to find them now and end it before anyone else was hurt … or worse.
“We should not waste any more time. I have a feeling I am now the sacrificial lamb in search of an altar.”
The two agents exchanged knowing looks as Irene Baldwin sat down next to her husband’s bed.
Soon. It would be over soon.
~~~~~:
The story referenced is The Archer's Revenge
~~~~~:
Napoleon and Illya could only stare at the lifeless form of Ward Baldwin as they listened to his wife tell of the assassination attempt that had left him in this state. Someone within THRUSH itself was vying for the old man’s position and influence, and willing to undertake the dangerous path of eliminating the competition.
Ward Baldwin wasn’t just any competition however, and his wife, Irene, was an unlikely grieving widow; more of a lioness protecting her cubs, or in this case, her mate. The two men from UNCLE wondered about how they fit into this melodrama.
“Irene, how is it that you consider Illya and me suitable … ‘
Napoleon was at a loss for words. Even should Mr. Waverly approve this strange request, what could they do about what was a singularly THRUSH dilemma?
“What is it, exactly, that you think we can do for you?”
Irene Baldwin looked from the brunet to the blond, appreciative of their talents and intellect. If anyone could find her husband’s attacker, it was these two.
“You can do your job, Mr. Solo … Napoleon. You and Illya are possessed of extraordinary skills when it comes to tracking down THRUSH villains, and the man who did this to Ward is a villain.”
Her expression was so earnest, neither man had the heart to refuse her. In the time they had spent here the previous year, Irene had been completely hospitable and kind to them. In spite of her wayward allegiance to THRUSH, they had a certain affection for her that defied their differences.
There was something else, however, a feeling that Irene wasn’t telling everything. Napoleon set about to coax the woman into divulging whatever missing element there might be in the story.
“Irene … without insulting you or your hospitality, is it possible that you’re not being completely honest with us?”
It was almost impossible to resist Napoleon when he set his mind to charming the truth out of a woman, and Irene Baldwin was no exception. She considered for a moment, and then expanded the story of why she had summoned the UNCLE agents.
“There was a message waiting for me when I brought Ward home from the hospital.”
Illya cocked his head, the question visible before he spoke it.
“What sort of message?”
The gaslight that was the choice of the Baldwin’s for illumination began to cast soft shadows about the room. Irene hesitated, her eyes straining to see into the blue of Kuryakin’s.
“The message said, “Only the best will be able to find me. Get Solo and Kuryakin, or Baldwin will surely die.”
Napoleon cleared his throat, Illya remained stoic and impassive.
“I see. And, just what do you think was meant by this message, Irene?”
“It’s personal now, Napoleon. What does it matter if Irene knows or doesn’t know?”
With a glance Illya conveyed his willingness to participate in what was now a challenge to him and his partner. Napoleon agreed; he put in the call to New York. Mr. Waverly would certainly have an opinion about all of this.
While Napoleon consulted with their boss, Illya and Irene carried on a conversation of a different nature; an attempt to discover something that might give the UNCLE agents a lead.
“We were enjoying the day, Ward and I. We decided to take a few hours and visit the zoo, one of our favorite haunts these days. Ward does love the big cats, and on the day of the … ‘
Irene paused, intent on replaying the events exactly as they had occurred.
“We were visiting the tigers, and just as one of them stood up to stretch, a whirring noise rushed by me and … Ward slumped over, stricken by an assassin’s arrow.”
Illya was immediately stunned by that detail.
“An arrow? Someone attacked Ward Baldwin with a bow and arrow?”
Irene looked up into the blue eyes of the Russian agent, searching perhaps for solace.
“Yes. In broad daylight in front of the tigers display, an arrow with a poison tip found its target in my Ward.”
At that moment Napoleon rejoined Irene and Illya, and observed the look on his partner’s face.
“What? Is something wrong?”
“Ward was shot with an arrow. That is the most extraordinary thing, is it not?”
Napoleon caught the meaning of that, but not without a shudder at the memory of the last encounter they’d had with an archery aficionado.
“Haven’t we done this already?”
But Voegler was dead. Who else had the same penchant for archery as the Voeglers as well as a vendetta against UNCLE?
Illya absently let his hand go to his shoulder; the one where a scar marked his encounter with a barbed arrow in the low country of South Carolina. Irene observed the silent communication, the involuntary signal of recognition and … what was that? Illya had a particular sense of what was going on, she knew it.
“Have you already discovered who this is then? Your faces betray you, and I think that you, Illya, might bear the mark of the same assassin who tried to murder my husband.”
Napoleon assessed the implausible and the probable. Sometimes the two were closer than first impressions would indicate.
“Perhaps. Mr. Waverly has given us permission to help you, Irene, but only on one condition.”
The wizened dame of San Francisco’s THRUSH satrapy scrutinized the handsome Solo; he was a sweet young man but he was UNCLE, after all.
“And what is the condition Napoleon?”
Illya wondered as well, hoping that they would not have to battle their way out of San Francisco as they had done after their last sojourn among the Baldwin nest of birds.
“No interference. Not from you or any of your people. We do it our way, and we do it with complete freedom from harm by anyone in THRUSH. Can you guarantee that?”
Irene took a deep breath, causing the ruffled jabot of her white blouse to jostle slightly as she exhaled. She then extended her right hand to Napoleon.
“Very well, Mr. Solo. On my honor, you and Illya will encounter no ill will or treatment from anyone here. But, I warn you, the assassin has his own network of people; I can’t speak for any of them.”
“Understood. Illya?”
The blond nodded, his expression was solemn as he considered the unpleasant scenario of yet another of Kurt Voegler’s family out for retribution; not only against Ward Baldwin, but possibly him as well. Better to find them now and end it before anyone else was hurt … or worse.
“We should not waste any more time. I have a feeling I am now the sacrificial lamb in search of an altar.”
The two agents exchanged knowing looks as Irene Baldwin sat down next to her husband’s bed.
Soon. It would be over soon.
~~~~~:
The story referenced is The Archer's Revenge
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