section7mfu | It Was A Dark And Stormy Night, Part II

Part I
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Part II: The Key, Mr. Solo, The Key

Indeed, the calm transcended whatever questions might have arisen in the minds of the two UNCLE agents, aided by the excellent meal and smooth ale. The castle afforded each man his own well equipped room so that, with their Specials beneath their pillows to offset any possible intrusions, they each slept well until the sun rose to greet them the following morning.

Illya was the first to emerge from his room, dressed but not yet shaven he was on the hunt for a morning meal. When Napoleon awoke it was to the aroma of Irish bacon, something he assumed would be accompanied by eggs and something more, that is if he knew his Russian.

“Ah, good morning Napoleon. I see my culinary skills have drawn you to the kitchen on this beautiful day.” The exuberance was pleasant, if not entirely normal. Napoleon smiled his greeting, stopping to sniff at the bacon and admire a growing stack of oatmeal pancakes.

“So, what is it exactly that has brought out this side of you, tovarisch? And how did you know where to find everything?’ He located the coffee and poured himself a cup of the black brew. It was a pleasant surprise to find it here in addition to the tea he knew was lurking behind the cabinet doors.

Illya was busy with his pancakes on one burner and eggs on another. The bacon was piled high on a plate already, and with a flip of the spatula the last pancake landed on a stack.

“Just let me get the eggs and ... sit down and we can eat.”

It didn’t take much for Napoleon to oblige; he was hungry, almost as though a good night’s sleep had encouraged his appetite. What still puzzled him were the circumstances, and Mr. Waverly’s nonchalance regarding the missing contact person. He had indicated that answers would be forthcoming, and now that morning was here the American agent was ready to hear some.

As the two ate in congenial silence, each one with thoughts about the trip and the castle in which they were enjoying their morning meal, sounds in the distance caught their attention.

“Is that a helicopter?” Napoleon thought it sounded like one, and got up to peer out the window. Sure enough, a small craft could be seen in the distance, just close enough for the sound of its rotors to carry in the morning air. Illya got up as well, angling for a view of the intruding noise. He sat back down to finish his meal, unwilling to waste his effort. The helicopter could wait.

“Sit down, Napoleon. If it is coming here then let it come. At least it isn’t black.” True enough, it didn’t appear to be a THRUSH craft, nor was it marked with the UNCLE logo as far as either of them could see.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Odd though, don’t you think?” Illya shook his head as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of oatmeal pancake. “Do you not suppose that they have helicopters here in Ireland? It could be a military craft, or simply private. Who knows what type of people live here.” That struck Napoleon as odd. Illya was usually a little more inquisitive than this. They continued to eat, although Napoleon was still ruminating on the situation, and the sounds.

“I think you’re beguiled by our surroundings. Just because ...” A resounding knock at the front door shattered the morning calm.

“Perhaps that is our answer knocking on the door.” Napoleon rose from his chair and headed to the entry, followed closely by Illya. First a helicopter and now someone at the door... Apparently answers were on their way.

Napoleon reached the door, signaling Illya to be ready. According to years of habit each man had his gun handy; neither would have considered leaving it upstairs still beneath the pillow. With one hand on his gun and the other on the door handle, Napoleon opened it to a surprising sight.

“Mr. Waverly? I mean... Mr. Waverly.” He was alone, looking dapper in a three piece suit and a jaunty fedora. He had a walking stick and had apparently come up the pathway from some point where the helicopter had left him.

“Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to enter, Mr. Solo?” A harrumph of impatience accompanied the question, at which both Solo and Kuryakin backed away from the entry in order to allow their superior to enter.

“Sir, we were not expecting you here. Is there some new development, or problem...?” Illya let the question trail off, he was as confused as his partner. What was Waverly doing here?

“Gentlemen, I realize this is quite a departure from our discussion of this mission. However, it was always my intention to arrive here and join you. I have a ... umm... personal investment, you might say, in the outcome.’ The Chief of UNCLE Northwest and beyond looked at his two top agents, smiled inwardly at his own stealthy abilities.

“Come with me, gentlemen, and I will introduce you to your contact.” Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks of utter confusion. There was no one else in the castle, they were certain of it. They had examined the entire place last night. Waverly led them to a stairwell at the back of the kitchen.

“Have you been down there yet?” He pointed a finger down the stairs, his gaze unyielding as it examined the two younger men. “Yes sir, we made a cursory examination of the entire castle. There’s no one else here, unless we overlooked some hidden room.” Napoleon felt the need to defend their technique, their professionalism.

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Solo. You couldn’t have known about the contact I will show you, it is quite out of the ordinary. Follow me if you will.” And with that Waverly led them down the stairs and into what seemed a storeroom of some sort. He flipped a switch and the room was illuminated from overhead by a solitary bulb; moving to a rack full of onions and other root vegetables, he touched a protruding piece of wood. The rack pivoted on a hidden rod to reveal a door, burnished with age and decorated with nailheads. Beside it was a large ring with several keys.

“This, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, is your contact. I trust you will glean from it the information we require for the next phase of this mission.” Waverly’s expression was serious, the bushy eyebrows a study in consternation.

“Sir, umm... how, exactly, is this door going to speak to us?” Napoleon was struggling with the situation, with Waverly’s presence here and the mystery of the door. Illya’s demeanor suggested that he was working on the problem much like a science experiment.

“Excuse me, sir but is the door made of something that will tell us what we need to know? Should we be analyzing its content?” Illya would take that path, dissect it like a lab experiment.

Waverly sighed with exasperation. This younger generation sometimes wore him down.

“You needn’t make something more out of this, Mr. Kuryakin. It is a door, and there are the keys. I believe if you will use one to open the other...”

Oh. Napoleon reached for the keys as Illya looked on, waiting for it to turn...

Part III