section7mfu | Light The Way - PicFic for 5/6/14 (Reply)

“Key West?” The blond canted his head to one side, his memory of places whirring into order as he visualized strands of white sand, fishing boats and women in bikinis. It was a pleasant memory.

“Yes, we’re heading there this afternoon. Something about a THRUSH installation in a lighthouse; they’ve managed to get into a landmark and use it as a base for some type of radar operation. It seems odd that it’s gone undetected until now.”

Napoleon decided long ago that nothing was outside the grasp of the Hierarchy, their schemes seemingly always finding a way to succeed initially. It was the job of UNCLE to make certain initially was as far as the bad guys could get.

Later that afternoon the two men from UNCLE were in this southernmost, balmy tropical island famous for its ninety mile proximity to Cuba. When Solo and Kuryakin stepped out of the plane and onto the tarmac of the Key West International Airport, the May temperature greeted them, encouraging them to remove their suit jackets and go native among this carefree, seemingly languid environment.

“I don’t think you’re going to need that turtleneck, Illya.” The temperature in New York had been unseasonably cool, and walking into this nearly ninety degree heat made both men regret packing anything except linen trousers and shirts.

“I imagine blending in will be the order of business here. We stick out like the proverbial sore thumb dressed as we are.” Kuryakin was a master of disguise, so becoming ‘local’, a conch in earnest, would be his first order of business.

Napoleon’s role at this juncture was to approach the person in charge of the light house; recently decommissioned and waiting for a new lease on life, the interim had provided just enough space for THRUSH to squeeze in and begin operating. Solo assumed it was below the surface, but he wouldn’t rule out some complicity with the local powers that be. Neither would THRUSH.

Acting as lead agent on this affair, Napoleon was eager to get it underway. He needed Illya to get into his element and ferret out something useful about what types of activity had been observed by the locals. Before leaving New York the Russian had been subjected to a new treatment for instant tanning, leaving the normally pale complexion a robust golden hue that would aid the infiltration into this island community. If this ever found a commercial use, someone was sure to become rich catering to a future sun-shy population.

The agents checked into their hotel and found closets full of their new wardrobes. The Miami office had been here to set things in motion, and two of their operatives would remain close by. A meeting was arranged for the dinner hour at a local eatery, something to which Illya was already looking forward with great anticipation. He changed quickly into a pair of shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt. Loafers were traded for flip flops to complete the casual look of a true Key West resident.

“My my, don’t we look like the quintessential beach bum.” Napoleon was impressed at the transformation, a tan Russian somehow didn’t look like his partner.

“What are you going to do about that accent? High toned British doesn’t quite fit here.” A smirk accompanied that remark, but he knew Illya had something in mind already.

“I speak Spanish, I think I can come up with something that will lend me a history that is acceptable. Perhaps my mother was Cuban and my father French, that might do the trick, as you say.” A twinkle in Illya’s blue eyes let Napoleon know it would be convincing, no matter what story he came up with.

“All right, let’s reconnoiter around the lighthouse and Old Town, see what there is to see. We have to meet Gonzales and Estefan at seven o’clock, so that gives us...’ Napoleon looked at his watch, noted the time...

“Only three hours, tovarisch. We better get going. I think Key West is going to be a very interesting place.”

Illya agreed, with all the possible complications inherent in working this close to Cuba, stopping another THRUSH scheme and masquerading as a carefree native beneath an artificial tan...

“Better to get on with it then.”

Out the door and into the afternoon heat, the two UNCLE agents were ready for action.

TO BE CONTINUED...