"A T.H.R.U.S.H. and his fez are seldom parted" Chapter 3

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

link to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/412363.html
link to chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/2013/10/05/



                 

Illya swore under his breath as he watched the truck drive off, stirring up a trail of dust as the wheels turned. He hadn’t a clue where it could be heading, but noted there were other men in the back of the lorry, dark-faced men he assumed were prisoners as well. That was a reminder there was a military coup still underway here..

Turning to a vendor in his stand, one of many lining the street; Illya reckoned to try his hand at a sort of pidgin English he knew was spoken locally. With his limited knowledge of Yoruba, it was the best he could manage.

“Wetin dey happen for here_what is going on here?” The Russian asked, pointing to the truck.

“Put leg for road,” the shopkeeper pointed, “but no put me for trouble. Go way.”

Illya shrugged his shoulders, raising his hands in the universal ‘I don’t understand’ gesture, though he knew exactly what the man had said; his hope in feigning ignorance would keep the limited conversation going.

“Camp for de prisoners. No one come back dere. Now go way!” The vendor shook a staff at the agent, warding him off.

“I de comot_ I am leaving. Ose mo dupe. Ose mo dupe_thank you, I thank you,” he answered in Yoruba as he cautiously backed away. Illya walked off behind the stalls, hiding in a doorway as he tried  to stay out of view as he again pulled out his communicator.

“Overseas relay Channel D,” he spoke quietly.

“Mr. Kuryakin, your status please.” Alexander Waverly responded.

“I have the Triad Codes sir, but we ran into a bit of trouble with the local military police. We were being pursued by T.H.R.U.S.H. agents, who in turn brought attention to themselves and a military patrol gave pursuit. Mr. Solo and I split up, I lost the Thrush, but the last I just saw of Mr. Solo; he was unconscious and being loaded on a truck by soldiers. I was told it was going to a prison camp.”

He could hear the Old Man sigh. “Very well Mr. Kuryakin. I will give you a window of opportunity to locate Mr. Solo, but if you haven’t found him within the next 48 hours, you are to return with the codes, am I clear?”

“Yes sir,” he answered begrudgingly.

Waverly’s instructions were an obvious side step. Procedurally, a captured agent was secondary to the mission, and their expendability was a given. However, Waverly knew the bond between Solo and Kuryakin, and the Russian would seek to rescue his partner inspite of procedure against it. It was better to keep the Russian under control and give him a time frame in which to find his partner.

The CCO harrumphed his displeasure.”This was a simple assignment Mr. Kuryakin, I do not understand at times how you and Mr. Solo manage to complicate things.”

“Neither do I sir.” The discomfort was evident in the agents voice.

“In the meantime young man, try to stay out of trouble as those codes are quite important to us.”

“I will do my best.”

“Stay on the channel, I’ll put you through to section IV.”

“Intelligence,” a female voice answered.“Hi Illya...I mean Mr. Kuryakin, how may we be of assistance,” It was Sandra, one of the few people working in the Intelligence section he’d asked out to dinner, though it was strictly casual as she enjoyed listening to jazz.

“I need information on a possible political prisoner camp located near the city of Warri in Nigeria.”

“One moment Illya...”  He could hear the computers running feverishly in the background.

Moments later his reply arrived.

“There’s only one in that vicinity, approximately 12 miles southeast of the city, getting closer to the Gulf of Guinea...take the, no wait. Sorry Illya there’s no road names that I can give you.  It looks pretty desolate....be careful. Lots of jungle and desert combined.”

“Thank you and I will Sandra, Kuryakin out.”

There was nothing for it but to head in the direction he’d been told. He feared luxury of the 48 hours the Old Man had given him would not be enough, knowing in the past how rescues tended to sometimes take an inordinate amount of time.

These government camps were notorious for their wanton abuse and murder of their prisoners and he only hoped he could get to Napoleon in time to safely extricate him.

His first priority was to take care of the codes, and he needed to get them to a safe place. Illya travelled across the city on foot, to the only Consulate located there, the British one.

Showing his U.N.C.L.E. identification; he was granted admittance, and with the help of the Ambassador was able to include the codes in a diplomatic pouch to be sent to UNCLE headquarters in London.  With the documents safely out of the reach of T.H.R.U.S.H. he could concentrate on his partner, though knowing the risk that both of them could die anyway.  At least the mission would be fulfilled, regardless of whether they lived or died.

He decided it best not to communicate the method of transport for the codes, just in the event T.H.R.U.S.H. was somehow monitoring local transmissions here.

“Just so you know Mr. Kuryakin,” the Ambassador spoke with a strong but cultured British accent,” we have a man on the inside of that prisoner camp.”  He pulled out a map, given the Russian more detailed directions in which to find it.

“And your man on the inside?”

“Has just recently arrived; at present we are maintaining radio silence for his safety.  I’m sure he’ll spot your friend and will make a judgement call about what to do for him.”

“So might you give me your operative’s name, or his designation. It is not 00…”

“No, it’s not him, and I will not risk our man being exposed. The ball as the Yanks say, is in his court. Now you look rather parched, young man...perhaps a spot of tea?”

“No thank you sir, water will suffice. If you could outfit me with some basic supplies, and perhaps a mode of transportation….U.N.C.L.E. would be ever so grateful, as would I, since I am under a time limit from them.

After downing several glasses of water, Illya was given a canteen, food supplies to last several days, as well as a nice little cache of C4. They also provided a motorbike with a full tank of petrol.

“Godspeed.” He was told as he left the embassy, heading off in search of his partner. His visit to the Consulate, though necessary,  had cost him valuable time in getting to Napoleon.

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Glad you're sticking with it. Not a whole heck of a lot happening now as it's sort of the set up stage. Won't be able to post chapter 4 until Thursday.