"The Spies that go bump in the night" Part 1- for the Writer's Choice~ 7 Days of Halloween

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This was the third story I ever wrote for the MFU way back when, and it took on a spooky tone. Perfect for Halloween. Hope you enjoy it! BOO!

lllya Kuryakin completed his apprenticeship in Europe under the watchful eye of Harry Beldon, building his skills and experience with U.N.C.L.E. as a a section two field agent, but also using his scientific skills in the Section IV labs. Harry Beldon though decadent his his lifestyle and habits had an amazingly keen mind, and took full advantage of Kuryakin's skills in research and development. He developed quite a few useful tools for himself and for the agency while working there and enjoyed it doing it as it was something he was never permitted to engage in  while working for the GRU.

His heart though, was always in the field, as he preferred the action. He like so many other section two agents found they needed the thrill, unlike Illya though, some craved it like a junkie addicted to drugs.

Alexander Waverly finally called for his "pet project", as people generally referred to Kuryakin behind his back. He was to be transferred to New York after spending enough time Waverly felt, based in London and West Berlin "learning the ropes. But first Illya had to do something that every section two agent before him had done, and that was attend Survival School. This hidden island somewhere in the Pacific was the place where agents received their field training.

Waverly had held off on it, as Kuryakin came to the organization already fully trained by the GRU, and felt the Russian just needed to learn the ways of UNCLE in order to function as a member of their agency was expected to in the field. UNCLE had it's rules and Illya needed to learn them and that was all Waverly needed the man to do for the moment.

Kuryakin, however,  could not be shown special treatment; Waverly knew that and so before Illya was transferred to New York, he was shipped off to Jules Cutter to put in his required time at the School.

While there Illya excelled in spite of the efforts of Jules Cutter to make him fail. Illya was a "dyed in the wool Commie" in Cutter's eyes and he had no love for the Russian. He was against Alex's notion of bringing a Soviet into the fold from the start, but Kuryakin succeeded at whatever Cutter threw at him and Jules developed a respect for Kuryakin's abilities. He graduated Survival School in 1956 and Cutter even asked him to stay after graduation to teach a class on explosives and ordnance.

All during his training, Illya kept hearing the name Solo, Napoleon Solo. The man had graduated the school prior to Kuryakin and was the one who had set all the standards from there on. Solo held most of the records at Survival school and Illya managed to beat or at least tie some of them, but the name Solo was still regarded as the best.

Illya finally made it to New York and spent the next year working with different agents and was teamed with Solo for several missions. At first he thought the American cavalier and pompous, but learned otherwise after Solo risked his life to save him on several occasions. He developed a healthy respect for Napoleon Solo and found he actually liked the man. Surprisingly Kuryakin dared to allow himself a feeling of trust toward the man, breaking one of his cardinal rules...’trust no one.’

Alexander Waverly took note that the two men, though completely different in personality and style were taking to each other and worked very well together. Solo was the extrovert, quick to make a joke, but sharp minded and a brilliant strategist, his style being more "laid back," whereas Kuryakin though quiet, unemotional and ever the pragmatist, was athletic and quick to jump into action. Both men were deadly when needed to be. Their's became a ‘yin and yang’ relationship; what one lacked, the other made up for it.

Number 1 Section I was not blind to their working relationship, as well as the friendship that seemed to be growing between the two. He made the decision to keep them together as partners on a permanent basis; cautioning them however, that friendship must never supersede the importance of completing a mission. The day that happened, he warned them, would be the day the partnership would be dissolved and they would never work together again. That was three years ago…

Illya Kuryakin walked along a cold dark street in Milwaukee, he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets as it had begun to snow heavily. His courier drop was completed successfully and now he was on his way back to the hotel where hopefully he’d have a warm bed to go to, unless of course, his partner had found company for the evening as he often did.

If that was the case Illya would have to wander the hotel until he found an unoccupied room to crash in for a few hours, if not for the rest of the night.

Agents were expected to share hotel accommodations, another little cost-saving move by accounting to curb the spending habits of Section II agents when out on assignment.

If their expense accounts were too high, then the agents in question were called on the carpet. Waverly wanted to hear nothing of any cost overages from accounting as he let the guilty parties know of his displeasure. That was something no agent wanted to have happen. As mild mannered as the "Old Man" seemed; he could at times be brutal and make an agent feel two inches tall.

Incurring the wrath of Alexander Waverly could always result in a transfer to some God forsaken outpost in the middle of no where, monitoring T.H.R.U.S.H. communications on the weather conditions.

But the sharing of hotel accommodations with a partner who liked to have  a way with the ladies sometimes left Kuryakin literally out in the cold from time to time.

As he anticipated, the doorknob to the the room was draped with a necktie; Napoleon's signal he was entertaining someone. A do not disturb sign on the door as well told Kuryakin that he was also out of luck in reaching his bed.

Illya sighed in frustration, as he was tired and could feel a cold coming on...he just wanted to lay down and go to sleep.

"No matter," he smiled, he knew he would eventually have pay back; he always had his payback with Napoleon.

Yet again Illya resigned himself to his situation, and began his search for an empty room, but after a half hour he realized he was out of luck; the small hotel was fully booked...no room at the inn, so to speak.

There was always the lobby, but with only one armchair and that occupied by the night clerk it was eliminated as an option, the hotel bar was out of the question, too many barflies and that awful music being played on the piano by a man lacking any talent whatsoever was intolerable. He refused to stoop to picking up a woman in the bar for the sake of having a bed to sleeping in, as a late night rendezvous would most certainly not result in a good nights sleep for him.

An all-night coffee shop would have to do.

There was one just a block away from the hotel where he could sit, feed his cold with food, drink coffee and at least stay warm indoors in relative safety among the transients, destitute and homeless that were surely there seeking shelter from the snow.

Illya walked into the diner, brushing the snow from his hair and dark wool coat, surveying the patrons, they were as he surmised; people left out in the cold with no where else to go at one a.m. in the morning.

If it had been any other agent that Illya had been paired with for the assignment instead of Solo, he would have probably tossed the lady out of the room and and claimed his right to his bed. But when it came to his partner he was tolerant of Napoleon's liaisons as they did not interfere with their missions and he simply owed his partner some slack for having been rescued by him one too many times.

He understood Napoleon needed these brief encounters to feel as he said, more ‘human’ and to keep himself grounded in the real world. Illya on the other hand did not feel the need for such feminine contact as his partner did, and was much more selective about the women he slept with when it suited him.

Illya sat down on a stool at the rear of the counter, giving him full view of the diner as well as quick access to the kitchen door if he needed to make a sudden get away for whatever reason. Though tonight he suspected there would be no trouble for him.

A heavy-set waitress with the name badge of Andrea pinned on her blouse asked him if he wanted to see a menu. He squinted at her name tag for a second and thought the name did not fit her…

"Just black coffee," he answered politely," and a slice of that apple pie please?" He asked, making a point to acknowledge her name with a, "thank you Andrea."

"I'm not Andrea," she answered, snapping her chewing gum.

"That is what your name tag indicates.”

The woman pulled the badge up, looking at it. "Well what d'ye know...wrong name tag!" She laughed. She stared at the rest of the people sitting in the diner." None of these losers would bother noticing!

My name is Fran," she smiled as she placed the pie and coffee in front of him.

Illya returned her smile..."My name is Illya, Fran."

"Illya? What kind of name is that?" She asked.

They were in the middle of the Cold War and he knew better than to tell her it was Russian. "Swedish, it's a Swedish name," he lied to her.

"Really?" she smiled." I never met anybody from Sweden before...you from there, I mean... you have an accent and all?"

"Yes" he smiled, swallowing a forkful of pie.

"You here on business?"

"Umm, yes. I work for an import company...just here for a few days." Illya kept it simple, brief as he was taught to keep a cover story. This was one that he used on a regular basis, so the answers were always kept straight in his mind.

"Why you out on such a bad night like tonight? You have a date?" She smiled at him.

"No, but unfortunately my business associate does. He is shall I say, using our hotel room for some ‘personal’ needs," he smiled to himself, as he was telling the truth.

"Oh you poor thing!" said Fran.”Put out on a cold snowy night?"

Illya laughed, " Not really a problem and I am used to it."

"A good lookin' fella like you... got no date for tonight and your friend does? He must be some ‘looker’ if you're the one not gettin' the girl," she winked at him.

Illya smiled but gave no response, and simply enjoyed a second piece of pie and coffee on the house. He suspected she was flirting with him, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. After listening to Fran chatter on about nothing in particular, he looked at his watch...2:30 a.m. He decided to head back to the hotel in hopes that Napoleon had at least looked out the window, and seeing the worsening storm, decided to have pity on his partner and sent his lady friend off for the night.

He said goodbye to Fran...tipping her generously then headed back to the hotel. The snow was coming down heavily and the accumulation made it difficult to walk and by the time Illya arrived back at the hotel his shoes and socks were wet and his feet were quite numb, and, of course, he started to sneeze.

Arriving at the room, he saw the necktie and sign gone, so he knocked the usual code before entering, finding Napoleon coming out of the bathroom dressed in his grey silk pajamas and a navy blue silk robe.

"Have a lovely evening?" Snickered the Russian before he sneezed again.

"Of course," he smiled." Miss Charlotte Witherby was just that...and you?"

"Just LOVELY...if you can call sloshing about in snow at nearly 3 in the morning and hanging around at an all night diner with the local derelicts...THAT?"

"Hmmm, cranky," smiled Solo. "Sounds like your kind of crowd...no unoccupied rooms huh?”

"Obviously not," monotoned the Russian, taking off his wet wool coat and tossing it across Napoleon's suit jacket that was neatly draped on a chair.

"Hey, sorry" Napoleon offered his apology picking up the coat and putting it on a hanger.

Illya grunted as he sat on the bed, pulling off his soggy shoes and socks;  stripping down to his underwear he climbed under the blankets, not bothering to put on pajamas. The last thing he did was to slip his Walther under the pillow.

"Night," he mumbled, and was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Napoleon wasn’t long after him as he turned in minutes later.

.

Illya woke with a start, sitting up in bed with his gun in his hand pointed towards the door. Napoleon doing the same. Someone was there jiggling the doorknob apparently trying to get in. The two agents were out of their beds instantly flanking either side of the door. The knob turned slowly and the door opened about an inch then stopped. They waited, but it opened no farther.

Napoleon motioned for Illya to step aside, then quickly pulled the the door open, finding no one there. Solo looked carefully out into the hallway, but it was empty.

"What the hell was that all about?" Illya asked.

Napoleon shrugged..."maybe someone thought it was their room and tried to come in...?"

"Napoleon, we and the management should be the only ones with keys.”

"Well ...I think maybe someone left the door unlocked when he came in?" Napoleon said, taking a pot shot at his partner.

"I think not," replied an annoyed Russian."And how could someone have opened the door and completely disappeared so quickly?"

"Maybe they're in the room across from us...I don't know.

“ Napoleon shrugged."I suppose one of us will have to stay up. Coin toss?"

It was now 4 a.m. and they'd both had only an hour of sleep.

"Fine." Illya answered tersely.

Solo took a coin from his change laying on the night stand. "Heads I get first watch, tails you do, " he said flipping it,  letting it drop to the floor.

Tails," he smiled climbing back into bed.

"Of course it was." Illya thought, knowing  Napoleon was the luckiest S.O.B. he had ever met. The Russian threw on a pair of sweatpants and sneakers, wedged the back of a chair beneath the doorknob, and putting on his glasses; he settled into reading the only thing available...a TIME magazine dated several months ago.

Sometime later the doorknob jiggled again, sending Illya immediately to the door. He looked out the peephole, but still there was no one there?

"Maybe the fixture is defective," he thought" a faulty spring perhaps?

He checked that the door was still locked then returned to his bed, propping himself up with an extra pillow; he continued to read the dated magazine. He was dog tired, and sick and must have nodded off when he woke with a start.

Illya shook his head to clear it of his drowsiness, looking across to Napoleon who was fast asleep. He suddenly realized the chair was no longer wedged under the knob and had been moved away.

"Chto,chertvoz'mi!_what the hell?" Illya got up and checked to see the door was still locked.

"Why would Napoleon have moved the chair?" He wondered. "Perhaps to mess with his head, because he had dozed off? But then he thought that was a rather risky prank to play considering they had no idea who their late night visitor was.

He looked at his watch...it was now 8 a.m. and they would have to be at the airport by 10:30 a.m. to catch their flight back to New York. Illya resigned himself to that fact that he would sleep on the plane, and decided to wake Napoleon, giving them time to shower, shave and have a decent breakfast. Maybe he would drag his partner to the all night diner to show him where he had to sit half the night...and make him pay for breakfast as recompense.

Illya called Napoleon’s name,"Time to get up!"

"Gee mom, already?" Napoleon called from beneath his blanket.

"Keep watch while I shower,"Illya said," and why did you move the chair from the door last night?"

"I didn't move it,”  Napoleon answered with a yawn.

"Someone was trying to open the door again and it was moved when I woke..." Illya stopped himself.

"Oh sleeping on the job. Nice guard duty buddy!" Napoleon jabbed.

Illya was tired and in no mood for Napoleon's usual banter." I did not move that chair, and if you did not move it, then who did?"

Napoleon only shrugged his shoulders, thinking it was his partner who was playing a prank on him.

Illya shoved the chair back against the door in a huff, and headed for the bathroom for his shower, believing his partner was still joking with him.

After they both cleaned up, the two agents headed down to the lobby, coats and suitcases in hand. Illya was now determined to drag Napoleon to the diner.

"Gentlemen,"said the desk clerk," I'm afraid you're not going to get very far out there. It's an official blizzard! There's at least two feet of snow on the ground, and it's still comin' down. Weather report on the radio says it's going to be a record snowfall."

They looked at each other in surprise, and in resignation, headed to the small hotel dining room, filled with the other guests who were also snowbound. The pair ordered a hearty breakfast which was paid for on Napoleon's expense account...just a little payback for Illya.

"Guess no flight out today" said Solo, pushing his breakfast plate away.

"Napoleon, you state the obvious. Mr. Waverly will not be pleased as he is expecting us in New York by this evening. This was a simple drop and you know he has another assignment waiting on his desk for us...as if we could control the weather?"

"Well they say, no rest for the wicked... or is that weary?" sighed his partner.

"Speaking of rest" said Illya" YOU get first watch tonight as we still do not know who was trying to get into our room last night, nor do we know if they are snowed in here just as we are, AND you get to contact Mr. Waverly and inform him of our delay," Illya smiled, crossing his arms in front of himself in complete satisfaction.

Solo made a childish face at his partner, realizing that his sudden thought of revisiting with the lovely Charlotte again...maybe in her room, would be out of the question. Illya was right, someone was creeping around their room and they had no idea why. Napoleon signed for the bill, adding a nice tip for the waitress, a cute little blond, but a little young even for him; guessing she was maybe seventeen or eighteen at the most. He excused himself; disappearing out of sight to contact headquarters.

Illya walked to the front door to survey the snowfall; some of it had been shoveled away from the hotel entrance but the snow was quickly drifting up as the wind blew it horizontally, creating near white-out conditions. The cars parked in front of the hotel were barely visible and he could not even make out anything across the street. Illya's thoughts went to Fran and the lost souls in the diner, suddenly hoping they were all right.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

I missed this one. Good build up.

I do like the coffee shop scene. The wrong name tag is a good touch.

Newsletter for Sunday, October 26

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User kanders07 referenced to your post from Newsletter for Sunday, October 26 (http://mfu-weekly.livejournal.com/212738.html) saying: [...] by for the 7 Days of Halloween The Spies that Go Bump in the Night, part 1 [...]