section7mfu | The Yellowstone Affair Chapter 2

The instant the pneumatic doors whispered shut behind him, Illya Kuryakin took off at a run towards the elevator.

As he entered the car, he repeatedly jammed the fourth floor button as if his actions would encourage the car to travel faster to its destination. He leaned against the far wall taking advantage of the brief moment to collect his thoughts and make a mental list of what equipment he would need for the mission. Cold weather gear was a given. He would need to stay warm in what would be an unforgiving cold and hostile environment.

Goose down sleeping bag, snowshoes, ski poles, various layers of clothing, warm boots, gloves with overmitts were the first items he pulled from the shelves in UNCLES supply room. He also signed out a backpacker's camping stove, matches, and enough LRP rations to last fourteen days. He was happy not to have to rely on old military C rations as they were heavy. Fortunately, in 1964 the United States Army developed freeze dried meals known as Long Range Patrol Rations or Lurps which were actually quite tasty and weighed a fraction of what the same amount of C rations weighed.

Next, Illya selected a scoped 30-06 hunting rifle to supplement the fire power provided by his handgun. A large folding saw and Buck knife were added to the internal framed knapsack. Chances were that he would be traveling in a thickly forested area and he didn’t want to chance having an external framed backpack catching on low tree limbs.

The last item he grabbed from the shelves was a cold weather trauma bag. It was a small canvas duffle bag filled with Sterno, matches, bandages, suture needles, various intravenous medications, thermal blankets, down booties, flavored gelatin, and various other items that could be useful in emergencies.

When he had finished his “shopping” in the supply room he loaded the items on a pulk, a short toboggan with rigid poles used to drag equipment behind a person in snow country.

Mark Slate helped Illya load his equipment into one of UNCLE’s carryall station wagons and drove the Russian agent out to the private airport where an UNCLE jet was waiting. Mark had heard that Napoleon’s plane had crashed somewhere in the wild country of northwest Wyoming.

As he drove in early morning hour the light traffic afforded Mark a chance to glance at his friend. Illya was tense and his body language did not invite conversation. Mark took a deep breath and chanced a dialog anyway.

“Illya, I’m sorry about Napoleon. Do you think there’s any chance he survived?”

Kuryakin’s shoulders stiffened more, his jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Finally, he looked over to Mark.

“I don’t know, Mark. And I won’t be able to find out until after I finish this mission,” his voice strained with resentment. “I understand why Mr. Waverly has given this mission priority, but I wish he would have sent someone else instead. I hardly think I am the only one in North America with the cold weather skills to complete the assignment. I should be looking for Napoleon, instead!”

“Do you think THRUSH’s operation may have something to do with Napoleon’s plane?”

“Count on it, Mark! It is too much of a coincidence not to be.” Illya turned to stare out of the window, thinking of his partner and wondering if his friend was still alive. Softly, so softly that Mark almost didn’t hear him, Illya spoke again. “When I find the bastards who did this they will wish it was some other agent that had been assigned to take them down.”

Mark pulled the Carryall up to the company jet and helped Illya load his equipment into the rear cargo compartment. He turned to his friend and stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Illya! Be careful and bring Napoleon home.”

Illya looked at Mark and his outstretched hand and grimly shook it. “Thank you, Mark, and I will.”

Without another word, the Russian turned and climbed up the jet’s gangway and disappeared into the dark interior. A member of the flight crew pulled up the steps and locked the door.

Mark stood back as the jet revved up it’s engines and taxied to the runway where it roared as it took off quickly rising above the morning mist. “God’s speed, Mate!” He whispered and headed back to UNCLE headquarters.