"By the sea by the beautiful sea"~ Part 3 (the conclusion) for PicFic Tuesday 6/24

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Link to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/631476.html   Chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/637819.html



                     

Napoleon headed back to the beach as the kids car was there, and it was closer than his as he'd left parked in front of bungalow. three blocks away.

Though it took but a minute, Frankie and Bonehead insisted they fetch their surfboards along with Annette's and they tethered them atop the rack of an older model Ford Country Squire, affectionately referred to as a 'Woodie' because of the wood panels on the outside. It was a car favored on the west coast by the surfing and beach crowds there.

Once loaded the kids climbed into the vehicle with Napoleon slipping into the driver's seat.

"Hey I'll drive," Frankie protested,"I know where to go."

"So do I and I'll do the driving. I'll be less likely to be pulled over by a police officer than you and I have….let's say, I have special driving privileges."

Solo took off, taking the Ocean Parkway; estimating it would take about 45 minutes. He deftly wove in and out of traffic, traveling at fairly high speed, but luckily there were no police cars around to see an old Woodie being driven by what looked like a madman. If there had been, they would have surely been stopped but all Solo had to do was flash his U.N.C.L.E. identification and they'd be off. The NYPD knew about the organization and since Waverly's friend was the chief of police, there was an understanding, as it were.

Frankie directed Napoleon to roughly where the San Diego lay off shore and as they pulled up on the vacant shoreline Annette called out.

"Look, there's a boat out there. Is that your Uncle's Frankie?"

He shaded his eyes, squinting for a moment. "It could be...it's hard to tell as it's not that far out and definitely not as far as where the wreck is located. It actually looks like it might be drifting as the tide is coming in. Come on let's go Bonehead grab your board."

"Wait a minute…"Napoleon said with trepidation, but he knew there was no other way to get out there. "I'm coming too."

"You don't know how to use a surfboard, you said so yourself."

"I'm a quick learner."

"What about me?" Annette asked.

"You stay here with the car, " Napoleon quickly responded."If we don't come back with the boat, you go to a telephone and call this number. Ask for Mr. Waverly and tell him what's going on and tell him I need help. My friend's name is Illya, Illya Kuryakin...and remember to use my name."

"Okay Napoleon, good luck," she leaned over, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Hey me too?" Frankie protested."

"You I'll take care of later," she smiled.

"Is that a promise?"

"Have I ever broken a promise to you?"

That made Frankie smile as he grabbed his board and dashed to the water's edge with the others. After a quick lesson on paddling and maintaining one's balance, the three shoved off heading out into the open water.

"Pace yourself," Frankie called," It's a long ways off.

The three were pretty tired by the time they reached the boat, with Frankie confirming it belonged to his Uncle Walter. As they balanced on their boards Bonehead called out his warning.

"Hey dudes shark in the water!"

A fin suddenly appeared from beneath the surface, followed by a second and a third.

"Bluefins!" Frankie yelled as the three scrambled over the side into the boat. "There must be a pretty big kill in the water to have attracted this man...lots of blood."

That was before they turned and saw the blood smeared on the floor of the boat. There was no sign of Uncle Walter or Kuryakin…

.

Illya let loose a silent scream as bubbles released from his mouthpiece, but that didn't stop him. He grabbed his long knife from his belt, lashing out at the two men now paddling towards him.

Blood filled the water as the blade made contact with one of them, slicing into this neck, and most likely he'd be dead in a few minutes. The lines leading to the other man's air tank was sliced...leaving him scrambling for oxygen.

He let go a canvas bag in his hand and Kuryakin, though in pain, wanted to know why they were here and possibly attacked him; they answer lay in that bag, no doubt. He caught it as it fell and hooked it onto his diving belt.

Illya knew he had to work fast as the amount of blood in the water was going to quickly attract sharks, a lot of them.

He paddled out through one of the holes in the bulkhead, heading straight for the surface...ignoring the rules of decompression for the most part. Stopping at the 50' foot mark for 2 minutes as a safety precaution was the recommended rule but Kuryakin cut that down to thirty seconds. He had to get out of there. At what he estimated was 35' below the surface, he stopped for roughly a full minute before proceeding, at 20' he did the same. There were still no sharks visible but that could change in the blink of an eye.

At the 15' mark he should have hovered for 3 to 5 minutes but it was then he spotted them… a large school of bluefin sharks, but there was an even more ominous dark shape among them; it was an enormous bull shark.

He paddled for his life to the surface, knowing he was going to pay the price for doing so as he'd probably have a mild case of the bends. He'd survive them...but the loss of blood from the spear in his leg might lessen his odds substantially. Still, better than being eaten alive by a shark.

The sunlight silhouetted the outline of the boat above him and he headed straight for it, and as head broke the surface; Illya spotted that immense fin heading his way.

"Walter!" He yelled loudly, grabbing onto the side of the the Jersey skiff. Kuryakin's arm wrapped around the railing and he felt a strong arm grab and pull him up, hiking the Russian on board. The blond fell gasping to the deck as the Commodore immediately began to pull off the diving equipment.

Illya grabbed his head, moaning; not knowing if the pain there was worse than the pain in his thigh.

"Jesus-H. Christ, what the hell happened to you?" Walter bellowed.

Illya tried sitting up but the symptoms of the bends, though apparently mild, were setting in. He was dizzy, nauseous; having trouble breathing and his skin felt like it was on fire as it began to itch.

It was the accumulation of gases in his muscles causing that; he knew all the scientific reasons for his discomfort. Right at the moment he could care less was causing his symptoms; he only knew what needed to be done to help ease them.

"Bends…" he managed to get out. "Need oxygen."

Walter grabbed Illya's breathing apparatus and shoved the mouthpiece into the Russian's mouth. Taking long slow breaths, Illya knew the air would help if he just remained calm and slowly breathed in and out...still it was easier said than done.

After a few minutes he finally removed the mouthpiece; able to speak between taking more breaths of oxygen.

"The canvas bag on my belt...open it."

Walter unhooked it and undoing the string keeping it closed; he reached inside coming out with a handful of jewelry. There were sparking rings set with diamonds, earring, pearls…it was a virtual fortune with what he just held in his hand and there was much more in the bag.

"Where did you find this?"

"Two men...in the wreck were carrying it...they were the ones who attacked me."

"Where are they?" Walter casually dropped the bag to the deck; the contents spilling out as he focused his attention on the spear sticking out of his customer's thigh.

"Dead, I hope. One is for sure as I cut his throat with my knife, though it was unintentional as I was going for his breathing tubes. The other I managed to cut the tubes to his tank. I imagine they are now fodder for the sharks that have gathered."

Walter glanced up, seeing a number of shark fins breaking the surface. That was but a momentary distraction as he took a closer look at Illya's wound.

"We need to get you to a hospital boy."

Illya gave no argument there, but as he was about to agree; he looked over Walter's shoulder, seeing a diver climbing onboard. It was the remaining one whose breathing lines the Russian had cut...he must have taken his diving partner's tank. This time he was carrying the now reloaded speargun and he was aiming it at the two men.

"You ain't goin' nowhere just yet. Old man, sit down and put your hands on your head...you too blondie." He reached over, grabbing the radio handset and switching it on; he was calling the tugboat.

"Willie to Annie, come in Annie."

"This is the Annie," Louie responded. "Where the hell are you?"

"We had some complications boss. Some guy was in the wreck...he killed Mario and took off with the jewels. I caught up with 'em though. I'm on the Jersey skiff off your port side."

He took that moment to lay down the speargun to wave to the nearby tugboat.

Illya saw his moment and dove at the man, trying to wrestle him to the ground, but the spear protruding from his bleeding thigh and his weakened condition had sapped all his strength and he was easily beaten off.

He fell to the deck, moaning in pain a well as at his failure to overwhelm his opponent.

"Fuckin' bastard," the man lashed out, kicking the downed blond in the side. "

"Willie, come in. What the hell's goin' on over there?" The voice over the radio demanded.

"Nuttin' boss," he caught his breath." What do you want I should do with 'em?"

"Stay put. We're comin' to you."

"Hey old man, yous got a first aid kit?" Willie asked.

"No, never needed one."

Willie shook his head. "Got a towel and some duct tape?"

"Yes that I do have," Walter nodded.

"Get 'em now and no funny business or else I'll slit your friend's throat.

Walter returned with the supplies and watched in horror as Willie sliced into Illya's leg and removed the spear. The Russian barely moaned while it happened.

"Now tape the towel over it," Willie ordered.

The Commodore did as he was told and once done he checked his passenger's closed eyes.

The Russian was unconscious.

"Now tie his wrists with the tape," Willie barked.

Once that was done, Walter's wrists were wrapped with the duct tape as well just as the tugboat Annie drew up alongside.

Walter and Illya were moved onboard and the spilled jewelry was quickly gathered and shoved into the small black duffle bag Illya had tucked aside with his belongings. Reaching inside Willie found a gun with a K inlaid in the grip.

"Well will you look at that...sweet." He tucked the gun into his belt, continuing to rifle through the bag.

There was a silver pen and a wallet and he opened it...helping himself to the cash; a moment later he cursed aloud as he pulled out Illya's ID card.

"Shit boss," he called back on the radio. "Blondie here is an U.N.C.L.E. agent...Illya Kuryakin. A freakin' Russian to boot. What we gonna do with 'em?" Willie asked.

"We're going to take them out to sea and dump them overboard. Weigh the anchor on the skiff and set it adrift...we'll make it look like a boating accident...and bring all that shit with you."

The tug's engines were started up and it slowly pulled away with the prisoners onboard; the crew not seeing the three men on surf boards paddling their way out from the shore.

.

After searching the skiff, Napoleon snapped his fingers; turning on the homing device in his communicator and seconds later he smiled. There was a signal and it was fairly strong. He looked around, doing a 360 degree turn, and it was then he spotted the tugboat heading out to sea.

"Get ready for a ride boys," he said, quickly starting up the boat. The agent's instinct somehow told him his partner and hopefully the Commodore were onboard that tug.

The powerful engine of the Jersey Skiff roared to life and Napoleon brought her about, heading out in pursuit. He pushed her to full speed as there were quite a few miles between them.

,

Annette nervously watched from the beach as the boat belonging to Frankie's uncle took off, going away from the shore and out to open waters as a very high speed. That was her signal to get to a phone and call this Mr. Waverly.

She hopped into the driver's seat of the Woodie and flooring it, the spinning tires sent up a storm of sand into the air. There was a telephone booth a small marina she remembered passing on the drive here, and it was maybe a mile or so away.

She pulled into the parking lot in record time; jumping from the car and leaving the engine running only to be stymied. Someone was using the phone booth.

Annette waited politely; pacing back and forth but when her patience was at an end she began to rap on the door.

The man inside opened it, red-faced with annoyance."Keep your shirt on kid. I'll be done when I'm done!"

Annette didn't have an aggressive bone in her body but this was now an emergency to her and she reached inside, hanging up the hookswitch. She grabbed the receiver from the bewildered man's hand and slammed it into the cradle.

"Your call is done Mister….this is an emergency and I need the phone. Now get out of my way please?" Despite her aggressive actions, she spoke politely.

"Sure honey...yeah, um sure go ahead." He stepped out of the booth." It's all yours."

Annette inserted a dime into the coin slot, and waited as the telephone rang.

"Lisa Rogers here,"she answered Mr. Waverly's private line.

"Ummm hi Miss Rogers," Annette spoke demurely," I'm calling for Mr. Solo. I think he's in trouble and he told me to call this number."

That got Lisa's immediate attention and she listened carefully as Annette filled in the details.

"All right Annette, good job. I want you to drive back the beach where this all started and wait there. One of our teams will be there shortly."

"But you don't understand Miss Rogers...they're heading out to sea following another boat from what I can see…."

"Understood Annette. Now please do as I ask."

The phone went to a dial tone and Annette hung up. She climbed back into the Woodie, obeying Lisa Rogers instructions.

Lisa reported the situation to Alexander Waverly and the immediate order was issued for a backup team with two Bell 47 Ranger helicopters fitted with pontoons that would allow them to land on the water.

"Miss Rogers get me Mr. Solo if you would please?" His tone of voice remained calm.

"Solo here," Napoleon responded to the chirping of his communicator.

"I have just been informed of your situation. Can you give me an update?"

"Yes sir. We're in pursuit of a tugboat and I suspect Mr. Kuryakin is onboard as is and innocent named Walter Lawson….umm I also have two people with me at present, Mr. Lawson's nephew and a family friend."

"Mr. Solo," Waverly huffed, "when will you stop involving innocent bystanders in your escapades?"

"Trust me sir, it wasn't planned."

"Very well, we will discuss all of this in detail later. There is a team heading your way and two helicopters. Will that suffice?"

"Yes sir I think that will do. Solo out."

Napoleon pushed the skiff until it finally caught up to the Annie and circling it; he was able to slow down the other boat, until gunfire erupted from the tug.

"Get down!" Solo ordered Frankie and Bonehead as he drew his special, returning fire. Though Napoleon ordered them not to, the boys followed him as he jumped on board the tugboat where an immediate knockdown drag-out fist fight ensued.

Louie took aim, firing his gun, grazing Solo in the shoulder and was readying to shoot Frankie and Bonehed when the Commodore beaned the gunman over the head with the canvas bag of jewelry; knocking him out cold.. At that moment he two helicopters appeared in the air above them.

"Cease fire on board the tug!" A voice ordered over a loudspeaker."Or we will blow you out of the water.

There was a moment of silence.

"Throw your weapons over the side, get on your knees and put your hands on top of your heads. One false move and you will be shot."

Members of the backup team were lowered down via a winch and cable; taking immediate charge while Napoleon looked to his partner and the others.

"You okay tovarisch?" He whispered, cutting the duct tape from Illya's wrists, but there was no answer as the Russian was barely conscious.

"He has a case of the bends and has lost a lot of blood," Walter said; rubbing his wrists as Solo freed them as well.

.

After everything was wrapped up, Mr. Lawson and the other innocents were brought back to headquarters for a brief meeting in Waverly's conference room.

"Well Miss Funicelli, Mr. Avalone and Mr. Hedderman you performed admirably today. Still you took unnecessary chances however, so in the future…"

"They'll mind their P's and Q's," the Commodore chimed in. "Though in this case I'm glad my nephew, his friends and your agents came to the rescue. How is Mr. Kuryakin by the way?"

"He's recovering from his injuries as is Mr. Solo. Though it was inadvertent this incident helped solve the largest burglary ring to date on Long Island. Rest assured Mr. Lawson we'll make sure your boat is repaired and we'd like thank you as well as your family and young friends. Now, one of my agents will escort you from the building and of course, your visit here to U.N.C.L.E. is not to be made public knowledge. Good day."

Agent Lopaka the head of Security appeared to take the guests away.

"Oh," Frankie turned before leaving," Please tell Mr. Solo the offer of surfing lessons still stands."

"I will indeed Mr. Avalone," Waverly cocked a bushy eyebrow; giving a little smile as he picked up his pipe from the ashtray.

.

Kuryakin awoke in the Medical wing at headquarters, feeling nicely numb from the morphine that had been administered to him.

"Hey partner, quite a little adventure you had there," Napoleon smiled whose arm was in a sling.

Illya lifted his oxygen mask to speak. "Tell me about it...is the Commodore all right?"

"Mr. Lawson? Yes he's fine. Are you up to answering some questions?"

"Yes, I feel fine at the moment, no doubt due to dose of opiates I have been given. Did you recover the bag of jewelry?"

"Yes, and your former captors confessed to what it was all about. Seems there's been a rash of burglaries all up and down well to do residential areas of the South Shore. The thieves were using the San Diego as a sort of dead drop for the goods, transferring the jewelry to be picked up and delivered to the right people to fence it all."

"Interesting. I am confused though...how were you able to find me and so quickly."

Napoleon smiled. "The tracer in your communicator and it helped the thieves used your ditty bag in which to put their cache of jewelry. I also had a little help from some friends shall we say and I just might be getting surfing lessons from them to boot."

"You surfing? This coming from a man who is afraid to swim..." Illya finally broke a smile.

"Hey it could happen. You'll have to come with me to the beach when I do."

"Perhaps, "Illya shook his head, " but not for a while as I think I have had my fill of sun and surf for now…"

"Yeah maybe I have too chum," Napoleon slumped back in his chair; lurching forward with a hiss as he'd forgotten about his injured shoulder. "So much for a relaxing weekend."

"Napoleon, why do these things happen to ...us?"

"Lucky I guess chum."

"That I do not consider luck at all my friend," the Russian shook his head.

                                             

.

FINIS