The Boxing Affair Chapters 13-15

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Chapter 13

It was early the next day when the two UNCLE agents found themselves aboard an impressive vessel appropriately named The Bird's Nest, traveling through the Amazonian tropical rain forest on the Puruni River. The final destination would be a place called Peters Mine; it had been an exciting gold discovery in the 1890's, producing significant amounts in the first decade of the current century. Located about one hundred miles (160 km) southwest of Georgetown, it would be a good part of the day getting there; the boat trip was not exactly what they had expected, the destination different from what they had originally planned.

The vessel was large, a yacht actually, according to its size. There was a generous deck upon which the men were now standing. The rooms below included a sitting room, or salon, a larger than average galley and four bedrooms. There were smaller cabins for the crew and two more rooms, or cabins, that had not been included in the tour. It was a beautiful vessel, and it cruised this river with ease.

Not enough ease to relieve someone of his natural disinclinations to traveling on water of any sort.

Illya was trying very valiantly, but without much success, to remain unaffected by the trip. It was a recurring and humiliating defect in his physiology that caused him to have motion sickness on the waterways of the world. This was proving to be no different from other times, something that was a cause for only slight concern and a certain amount of vindictive humor from his partner. He couldn't understand why Napoleon took his perverse pleasure in Illya's discomfort; unless it had something to do with…

"Illya, are you going to be all right? You look just awful."

He scowled as effectively as was possibly under the circumstances, eliciting a sadistic smile from his friend, a term he was considering with some hesitation at the moment.

"Your concern is touching, if a bit nyeiskrennii."

The American drew back as if struck, his hand covering his mouth deftly before the smile could be discerned. It didn't help, as his eyes could not disguise his amusement.

"I am genuinely concerned. How could possibly think of me as insincere, Illya? I'm crushed."

Their banter was interrupted by Evangeline, who was also on this little trip up river. Her father had relented as she cajoled him into joining the expedition that was entirely Thrush business.

When she had approached him about making the trip, her father had at first said no. They both knew of her dislike for Thrush, although her interest had more to do with the men he would have accompanying him. Ultimately his affection for her could not deny her the things for which she asked. If only her mother could have lived to see their beautiful daughter. Abruptly the sweetness was interrupted as he remembered that it had been he who had ordered her death. Tsk tsk…such hardness in life. La chagrin d'amour…

"Bon seigneur…Do you two always carry on like this?"

Her tone was sweet, but the underlying concern was real. She saw how pale the blond scientist was, and wondered if he wouldn't fare better below deck. She thought him to be pretty, in a masculine sort of way. Such a contrast to Napoleon, and yet together they seemed rather like two parts of a whole, rather than separate entities. It was peculiar…

"Merci mademoiselle. I am … fine. It is an unfortunate aspect of my nature that traveling in this manner has a negative effect on me, but I will be fine. You are very kind."

She took note of the mannerisms between these two as she had previously, and decided that they were not what they appeared to be. There was something else, something…

Not romantic. But a familiarity that came with certain types of relationships, partnerships…

How had her father not known this? These two were very good…very good indeed. She had sensed it from the beginning, and her aversion to Napoleon had not been because he was like the Thrush with whom she had been acquainted over the years.

"Bon, I am glad to hear it. I will leave you then, to your conversation and, hopefully, your recovery."

The woman left, not too abruptly she hoped, and went down below to speak with her father.

Illya looked at his partner, the same question reflected in Napoleon's brown eyes.

"What just happened? I know I'm green around the gills, but that woman just caught onto something, and I have a bad feeling about it."

Napoleon nodded his head, incredulity covering his face. Evangeline wasn't Thrush…

"I don't know tovarisch. But, I agree with you. Something gave us away, and her eyes gave her away."

He paused and looked at Illya, the smaller man still showing signs of his discomfort.

"What did we do wrong? How could she possibly…"

Both men turned in the same instant as footsteps came up from the rooms below them. Without hesitation, they turned to the railing and prepared to jump into the green waters that were churning beneath the steady thrum of the boat's engines. Before they could make that move, however, there were Thrush converging on them, pushing them down onto the deck, shoving their faces hard against the teak stained boards.

"So, it appears that my good fortune in finding a physicist was nothing more than a ploy by UNCLE to infiltrate my mining operation. You must have had very good intel to discern my plans, Mr. Solo…Doctor Kuryakin; if indeed you are a doctor of quantum mechanics, as you so boldly proclaimed."

Victor Gervais was mad. He didn't rant or give away his displeasure with common vulgarities or anything so pedestrian as a show of temper. These two would know the depth of his disappointment, however. Once again he thought of his daughter and her unerring ability to spot the enemy. She had saved him more than once with her uncanny discernment. It was, in hindsight, very fortuitous for her to have come on this trip.

The agents made no attempt to try and talk him out of his discovery. They each wondered how Evangeline had known. What had they done to provoke her suspicion? Their partnership was not entirely new, and certainly there was a familiarity between them. But, to be spotted like rookies… This would require some review and quite possibly revision. Well, assuming they were going to get out of this situation…

"It is a profound disappointment to discover your deceit. I quite liked you both, and our conversation last night was so very encouraging. So much so that I must believe that you, Mr. Kuryakin, are what you claim to be. And because of that, I shall have further need of you. Mr. Solo, on the other hand, is more of a liability than an asset; he is not a physicist, also, is he?"

The bemusement on his face did little to hide the disdain in his voice, or the not so subtle shake of his head as he raised his eyes heavenward as though merely seeking clarity on a less volatile situation. They would be arriving at their destination in less than an hour, so decisions would have to be made.

His thoughts ran to the operation that was meticulously making way for his triumph. He feared that Kuryakin understood his goals better than the men presently working for him. Perhaps there was a benefit in keeping Mr. Solo alive; leverage was a good thing when held in the right hands

With that he fluttered his in an indication that the two UNCLE agents should be taken down below decks.

It seemed they were going to find out about those other two rooms after all.

Chapter 14

Being unceremoniously dumped is the best way to describe how an UNCLE agent lands when being deposited by a Thrush goon. It's not a pretty sight, even considering the two agents who were involved. No amount of natural grace or élan could counter the rough handling that Napoleon and Illya received at the hands of Gervais' men; they were shoved simultaneously through a too narrow opening, landing in a heap in the darkened cabin.

It was to Solo's credit that he hadn't worn a suit today, opting instead for khakis and a golf shirt. Illya's jeans served him well as he slid across the linoleum flooring, but his cotton shirt was torn open from the several buttons that had been jettisoned away when the biggest of the crew tried to haul him downstairs by pulling on it.

"I think I cracked my skull open on this chest. Am I bleeding?"

Illya looked at his partner, running his fingers across the other man's forehead in search of damage.

"No, but you're going to have a bruise, probably. I believe, however, that the stitches I received yesterday are not quite intact. That imbecile of a thug punched me in the same place as the knife wound."

He was still on the floor, watching as Napoleon made his way up on hands and knees, searching for a light source. A sliver of light was piercing through a small porthole, but it had been mostly covered in some type of paint. The occasional streak allowed a minimum amount of daylight to penetrate the small cabin, but a stealthy perusal of the room was rewarded with a light switch. Napoleon wasn't even able to get a good look at their surrounding before the door was flung open and Victor Gervais entered. His height was accentuated in the doorway, the white hair and brown eyes providing a contrast in his features. The man was smiling, slightly, and took note of the Russian's posturing as he struggled to sit upright.

"Ah, I see your wound has reopened, Mr. Kuryakin. Unfortunately, there is no one onboard to see to it.'

Illya was, as usual, disheveled from the short encounter with the Thrush crew and, to Napoleon's dismay, bleeding more than his stoic friend had indicated. It was one thing to pop a stitch, quite another to be bleeding out by the pint.

"Tie him up."

Gervais gave the order, indicating the blond agent. Napoleon was surprised by that, having thought he would be the bait to keep Illya in line, and working towards the Frenchman's goal. Two of the crewmen hauled Illya up from his reclining position and sat him down hard in a chair by the trunk that Napoleon had rammed into earlier. Grunts of pain were expelled without apology as the jeans clad man was jostled into position. When he tried to bolt against the manhandling, he was rewarded with a slap on his left cheek that stunned him momentarily. It was long enough to finish tying him securely.

Napoleon watched without any idea of Gervais' next move. This one didn't make sense, somehow…

"Now, Mr. Solo if you will kindly come over here…'

Gervais motioned him to stand beneath what both agents could now see was a metal ring attached to the ceiling.

"And now you will raise your hands above your head…yes, just like that. Cuff him to the ring. I will consider our next move when we arrive at our destination. It won't be much longer, so enjoy the solitude and…peace. I assure you, it won't last."

With that last promise, the party of Thrushmen left. Napoleon and Illya both made the cursory effort to free themselves, but they were each securely bound. Illya was also losing ground as his wound continued to bleed.

"How are you feeling? You're not going into shock, are you?"

Illya shook his head. It would take more than this amount of blood loss, but he felt tired.

"I think we need to consider our options, Napoleon. What are the chances that we can overtake the guards and escape?"

Napoleon almost laughed, but he considered the look on his partner's face and decided against it. Perhaps Illya was suffering from shock.

"Umm, I don't know if you noticed, but we seem to be pretty well captured at the moment. Although…"

Illya caught that and raised his eyebrows, his expectations fueling a glimmer of hope that they might actually be able to get free from this situation.

Napoleon scanned the room: there was that chest. No, what good would that be. A bed against the wall; well, a bunk actually. Nothing was useful unless they could get free of their bonds, and right now he didn't think he could manage it. Illya…

"Is there any way at all that you can get out of those ropes?"

Illya was trying. Each ankle was tied securely to a chair leg, and his hands were secured to the arms…just maybe…

"If I can break the arms free from the back of this chair, then I should be able to…"

"Just do it. My feet are free, and if anyone comes through that door, I think I can scissor him between my legs."

Illya went to work on the chair, wiggling the spindles that held everything in place, rocking the arm pieces to which he was tied. Little by little things began to move until he had broken the front spindle and could slide the rope forward. It wasn't easy, and he had to smash it against the wall in order to break more of it off, enabling the rope to slide beneath the top of the arm.

One arm was free of the chair, although the single piece of rope held both arms in place. He stretched across his body, turning in order to better reach the left wrist, his fingers grasping for rope as he struggled with the knots that held it in place.

Napoleon watched and listened, hoping against hope that no one would be returning for them before they reached wherever they would dock. The engines were still churning and it remained quiet outside the cabin door. As Illya worked at the rope, Napoleon urged him on, his mouth contorting as he punctuated his friend's movements with his own attempts to help, much like a passenger will apply the brakes in aid of the driver of a car.

Finally, and in spite of the discomfort of the still bleeding knife wound, Illya succeeded in freeing his hands. He quickly reached for his ankles, nearly passing out from the movement, but persevering until that too was accomplished. In as quick a movement as was possible, he was up and attempting to free Napoleon when they heard the engines slowing. The metal cuffs around his wrist resisted Illya's attempts to manipulate them into opening. He needed something…

"Oh, I keep forgetting about these.'

Napoleon directed Illya to reach into his pocket and retrieve his money clip.

"This is too large, it will blow us up."

Illya had heard of this one, and wondered at the Thrush ineptitude that they would not relieve the UNCLE agents of all of their tools.

"No, not the clip. Pull out the ten dollar bill. There's a fiber in the portrait; see it? Roll up the bill with that on the outside and put it in the link; pull on the fiber and…"

Illya was following instructions as they were given to him, and when he pulled the slender fiber it caused a small psssfft, and the cuffs split in two, letting Napoleon fall free from the ring on which they had hung.

Napoleon was very pleased.

"That is exceptionally useful."

Illya nodded.

"Isn't it just."

The two men were free as far as this room was concerned. Now they needed to get off of this boat. They neither one had any doubt that in spite of Illya's usefulness to the project, they wouldn't survive for long if Victor Gervais was successful in his pursuit of whatever it was he had planned.

"Do we try and go out the front door?"

"Perhaps we should try to hide in plain sight."

Illya didn't understand. Sometimes he was still at a loss when conversing with Americans.

"What does that mean, and where is this plain sight that you have in mind?"

Napoleon heard the boat pulling into the dock, and he knew they had very little time to execute the rest of a plan that he hadn't formulated just yet. It did occur to him, however, that there was another cabin next door, and that Gervais would probably not expect them to stay onboard the boat if they were able to free themselves.

"I say we go next door and wait out the storm."

"You want us to stay here? Are you certain…?"

Napoleon was opening the door as his partner asked questions. The hallway was empty, so obviously no one had thought they would escape. Silly Thrush.

He motioned for Illya to follow him, and they slipped out of the cabin they had been in, turning quickly into the next one. It was identical to their previous place of confinement, right down to the trunk. He looked at Illya and mentally measured him against the size of the trunk. Now all he needed was a similar hiding place. It was too easy, but he figured it was worth a shot.

"Okay, you get in there…'

He pointed to the chest, and Illya raised his eyebrows and the lid. He would fit.

"I'm getting under this bunk, but first…"

Napoleon backtracked as quickly as he could manage it, looking for any blood that Illya might have tracked into the room. There was none, which was a good sign all around. He lowered the lid on the chest and then, with one last look around and an ear to the approaching footsteps, he crawled beneath the bunk and into the farthest corner.

And they waited.

Chapter 15

Napoleon had crawled as far back under the bunk as he possibly could manage. The bunk was a typical cabin size, not quite as large as a regular twin bed. They were fortunate that it wasn't built in and doubling for storage. This was more like a navy design, open below for stowing a bag or supplies.

He didn't try to speak to Illya, and wondered if his partner was still bleeding. That knife had plunged deep enough to do creditable damage, and this type of activity less than twenty-four hours later had been more than the fresh sutures could handle. It seemed longer ago than that, and thinking about it brought up one of the other pieces in this convoluted affair.

Where was the CIA? They had wanted to make their position clear yesterday when the assassin was sent to eliminate Illya, and then nothing was heard from them again. No doubt Mr. Waverly had been in communication with some key people; hopefully that had put an end to things. Still, Napoleon wondered…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps; the door to the cabin they had escaped from was pushed open and then, it seemed, all hell broke loose. Shouting and cursing, three distinct voices he thought; surely they would have known it would take more than three to handle him and Illya.

The door opened and Napoleon could hear the same voices, but they didn't seem very interested in this room. It was unlikely that any of them would have considered putting a grown man into the trunk, and their lack of imagination precluded them searching any more in this room.

The agent let out a breath he'd been saving for Christmas as he heard the door close, and then silence. After what seemed sufficient time between the closing of the door and the sound of those men running to what was sure to be an angry Victor Gervais, Napoleon breathed out his partners name.

"Illya?"

No answer. Perhaps he just couldn't hear him; he was, after all, inside a trunk.

Slowly and carefully, he extricated himself from beneath the low bunk, wondering now how he'd managed to remain hidden there. Illya was practically back in the womb, his slight frame was so compactly folded inside of this…

"Illya, are you still breathing?"

Napoleon was relieved to see a surly expression on the Russian's face. Surly was good, under the circumstances.

"Yes, Napoleon, I am still breathing. Although, I will need your help…'

A hand was reaching towards the blond as he grunted out his response, pulling him up and out of the awkward position. Somehow, getting in had been easier than trying to get out.

"Ouch! My neck feels as though it has been wrung by a butcher."

Napoleon smiled, vaguely aware that he was visualizing his partner with the body of a chicken, the blond hair spiking up like a rooster's comb. Stop it… He resisted a full-blown chuckle at the image.

Gingerly, and still favoring his side, Illya unfurled slowly, like a flag in a soft breeze. Something graceful remained in him, in spite of the discomfort. Being small of stature had never been a hindrance to the man, and between the two of them, it was obvious that he was the only one who could have crawled into this trunk and survived.

"Okay, now that we've got you out, we need a way to get off this boat. I think the search has moved to land, but Gervais is no doubt still onboard."

Illya wrinkled his brow beyond his always present furrow, his eyes catching the little stream of light that came in through the painted glass of the porthole.

"Why do you think Evangeline spotted us?"

Napoleon returned a quizzical look to his partner's scowl. Illya didn't like being spotted, especially by someone whom they had thought a benign aspect of this affair.

"I'm afraid I don't have a clue, tovarisch. She's highly intuitive, perhaps?"

A long pause was a luxury here, but it was taken anyway. Illya shook his head, ending the discussion. They needed to get off of this boat, and the question of their discovery would have to wait. It didn't matter now, as it was firmly established. It was officially UNCLE vs. Thrush, no more games or subterfuge.

The mines must be close by, as most of the mining operations were near the various rivers. This one would be no exception. Undoubtedly the laboratory would be located there as well. Whatever was going on needed to be stopped. If Illya's theory was correct, Thrush was on the verge of some sort of time displacement or manipulation, and Gervais was poised to gain control of something that would endanger the entire world. Thrush would be able to go back and retrieve whatever they needed to conquer nations and corporations…it was a daunting and ferocious danger.

"Are you able to travel? The bleeding…"

Napoleon was looking beyond the dried blood on Illya's shirt, glad to see there were no fresh deposits visible.

"I'm fine. It was momentary. We need the fastest way out of here, before they decide this room needs another looking over. Any ideas?"

Napoleon did have an idea, and it wasn't complicated.

"Yeah, I think we should just walk off of here. There's really nothing else to be done about it. Most of the crew is gone off looking for us, and if Gervais is still here, he's most likely in his own cabin, gathering his things. The sooner we move…"

Illya nodded his head in agreement. So that was that. They went to the door, opening it slowly and, with no trepidation, casually walked out of the cabin and down the hallway. Illya spotted their guns and communicators on a table just beyond the stairs that led up top. He quickly retrieved them, wondering who would have been so reckless as to leave them out for easy access. Then he remembered that they weren't supposed to just wander out of their confinement. When, he wondered, was Thrush going to figure things out.

"Do you see anything?"

He whispered it to Napoleon, who had already reached the top of the stairs. The answer was a shake of his head, signaling that they could both continue up. No one was on deck, and the dock itself was empty of activity. This was a private dock then, and The Bird's Nest the only boat here.

Napoleon motioned to his partner to lead the way while he kept a keen eye on their surroundings. It was good to get a break once in a while. If Gervais thought they were already ashore and heading for the mine, it wouldn't do to disappoint him. Perhaps the Thrush chief had already disembarked and was himself on the way to his lab.

"Where is everyone? I would have thought it would be more populated than this."

Illya's surprise was shared by his partner, but neither of them argued with their good luck in finding themselves alone and unchallenged. Now if they could just find a …

"There's a jeep. Do you suppose the keys are in it?"

An amused look came across both of their faces as they headed towards the vehicle. Eureka, or something like it, marked their delight at not having to hotwire the jeep. Now, if they only knew where to go…

"Uh, Illya, does this look like a map to you?"

"Well, considering it is one, and there is a big red circle around this one location…I'd say it's where we need to go next."

An expression of smug delight covered Napoleon's face. He knew that some people said he was lucky. He liked to think he was just very good at his job.

"Onward then, my good man. Let's find ourselves a goldmine."