A Staggering Event - Short Affair
Dec. 1st, 2014 01:42 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuPrompts: Stagger and Black
:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:
Two men sat on a park bench, their lunches now a thing of the past as they appeared to anyone looking as though simply enjoying the day, in spite of the weather. Across from them a man had been walking up and down in front of a solitary building.
"How do you like that swagger? Poor fellow seems a bit out of his element if you ask me." Mark Slate was busy doing nothing much as he and Illya Kuryakin continued to observe some activity across from their position on a park bench. It was cold, and neither man had seen anything that looked remotely dangerous or THRUSH-like.
"I think it's more of a stagger than a swagger. Look at him, he can barely stand upright." Illya thought he could probably just touch the fellow and he would topple over. Mark shook his head.
"Illya, he is not staggering. That is a definite swagger, look at his shoulders." Mark was less convinced than he sounded, but sometimes it was worth a few words to get the better of the Russian.
"I will wager you that he is drunk and nearly ready to pass out. The attempt he is making to walk is merely to try and camoflage his inebriated state. I will gladly cross the street and demonstrate." Mark was shocked; Illya would certainly not consider blowing their very meager cover with such a callous act.
"You have a black heart, Kuryakin. Imagine, taking advantage of the poor soul, not to mention taking money from me." Mark wondered how long, or how far, this would go. Kuryakin was known to take chances, and now he was poised to turn this surveillance into a melee over what? Over a drunk who had prompted a debate over staggering vs. swaggering.
Illya turned to the less adventuresom British agent and let go with a mischieveous smile that sent a pang of remorse through Mark's skull.
"You wouldn't. Would you? Oh no, Illya, don't do it. We'll both get our backsides busted by the Old Man if you ..." But it was too late. The blond launched himself up from their park bench and set out across the street, dodging cars and irritating taxi drivers. As he neared the man whose way had been slow and decidedly unsteady, Illya reached out to touch him, but also to take a better look in the window of the building they had been monitoring all day long.
It didn't take long for the door to open, and as it did two men came into view. Mark was up and ready immediately, crossing the street to join Illya as they each darted a man, causing the one they had been observing to spring into action. Suddenly, and without warning, he straightened up and produced a gun.
"That's it, I hope you two had fun because from here on in it's nothing but ..." Mark punched him in the jaw, sending the man staggering backwards before landing in a heap amidst an array of trash cans and boxes.
"Yes, definitely not a swagger." Illya couldn't resist adding that before motioning towards the door. When the two agents entered it was empty, the only signs of habitation a collection of files and a small communication console.
"Hmmm... it looks as though this was some sort of temporary headquarters. Not much of a staff, a lookout who needed a better cover than walking up and down in front of the doorway... What do you think, Illya?" As he looked around the room the Russian agent was unimpressed with its contents, which made him wonder what had really gone on here.
"Check the other doors...' He indicated the two on either side of the room, "but be careful. I think there's more behind this room."
Mark did as instructed, carefully turning the knob of one door as Illya did the same with the other. Each of them crept into darkened rooms, their senses on high alert.
"Nothing. How about you?" Slate was turning towards Illya when suddenly the blond shouted at him to run.
"Out, now!" They bolted for the front door, each aware of a buzzing sound behind them. In the street and still running, they were blown forward as the room blew, taking the rest of the building with it.
Raising himself up from the debris and dust, Mark looked around incredulously, his unformed question leaving a puzzled expression on his face.
"It was a trap. This entire thing was a ruse to get UNCLE's attention for nothing more than an easy way to kill our agents." That made Illya mad, at himself and at THRUSH. He should have known something was amiss, if for no other reason than the tiresome activities of the man who had piqued his interest.
"You couldn't have known, mate. And besides, we were sent here because someone else..."
"Tipped us off..." Illya reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver pen-like communicator.
"Open Channel D, Kuryakin here."
"Mr. Kuryakin, what have you found out?" Mr. Waverly's voice filled the other end.
"Sir, it was a trap, a ruse set up to entice us to go in and ... be blown apart. Mr. Slate and I made it out, but just barely."
Now there was only silence as Waverly pondered the situation.
"Very well, Mr. Kuryakin. You and Mr. Slate return to Headquarters, I believe I know what to do about this. Waverly out."
Mark was frowning at the quick conversation.
"That's it then? We just go back?" Illya nodded. He thought he knew what was going to happen next.
:~~~~:
By the time Kuryakin and Slate had cleaned up and were seated at the big conference table in Waverly's office, Napoleon Solo was also present. He had been tasked with the responsibility to apprehend the person responsible for the suspicious 'tip' about the THRUSH location. Mr. Waverly was the first to speak, as usual...
"Gentlemen, you all seem to be reasonably in tact. Mr. Solo, please report.
Napoleon cleared his throat before beginning, cutting a look at his partner and then at Mark.
"Sir, the person responsible for that so-called tip was Matthew Laudner, a Section III agent who, it now seems, has been a THRUSH plant from the beginning. His personnel records are being gone over with the proverbial fine tooth comb. If there's anything overt in there to identify his THRUSH associations we will find it. He submitted the information originally to his section chief, Lance Coombs, who then passed it on to Section II via standard procedures. We are confident that Mr. Coombs is not involved in any way."
Illya and Mark both retained impassive expressions, as though the thought of one of their own being a THRUSH mole didn't make thier blood run cold.
"What will happen to Matt? He's always been a friendly bloke, I would never have taken him for a mole." Mark thought back to his interactions with the man and couldn't come up with any signals that might have been helpful in spotting his true intentions.
Napoleon recognized the discomfort involved in this type of thing; discovering that one of their personnel worked for the other side was always difficult to swallow. Illya alone remained silent. He had seen too many people herded off to an uncertain future after being targeted as a traitor to the state. He didn't doubt that it was true, but maintained his silence nonetheless.
"Very well then, this incident will be considered closed for now." Waverly did not answer Mark's question, nor did he intend to. What went on beyond the event of a traitorous act was best left unknown. Bad business, all of it.
Napoleon caught up to his partner as the trio exited Waverly's office.
"Are you okay Illya? You seemed very somber in there." Illya stopped to turn and face his partner.
"I am slightly bruised by the explosion, if that is what you mean." He knew better, but his response would be enough to tell Napoleon that none of his questions would be answered.
"Okay... nothing more damaging than that?" He'd known Illya long enough to read his cryptic messages in almost any form.
Illya turned again to walk towards the elevator, Napoleon at his side.
:~~~~~:~~~~~:~~~~~:
Two men sat on a park bench, their lunches now a thing of the past as they appeared to anyone looking as though simply enjoying the day, in spite of the weather. Across from them a man had been walking up and down in front of a solitary building.
"How do you like that swagger? Poor fellow seems a bit out of his element if you ask me." Mark Slate was busy doing nothing much as he and Illya Kuryakin continued to observe some activity across from their position on a park bench. It was cold, and neither man had seen anything that looked remotely dangerous or THRUSH-like.
"I think it's more of a stagger than a swagger. Look at him, he can barely stand upright." Illya thought he could probably just touch the fellow and he would topple over. Mark shook his head.
"Illya, he is not staggering. That is a definite swagger, look at his shoulders." Mark was less convinced than he sounded, but sometimes it was worth a few words to get the better of the Russian.
"I will wager you that he is drunk and nearly ready to pass out. The attempt he is making to walk is merely to try and camoflage his inebriated state. I will gladly cross the street and demonstrate." Mark was shocked; Illya would certainly not consider blowing their very meager cover with such a callous act.
"You have a black heart, Kuryakin. Imagine, taking advantage of the poor soul, not to mention taking money from me." Mark wondered how long, or how far, this would go. Kuryakin was known to take chances, and now he was poised to turn this surveillance into a melee over what? Over a drunk who had prompted a debate over staggering vs. swaggering.
Illya turned to the less adventuresom British agent and let go with a mischieveous smile that sent a pang of remorse through Mark's skull.
"You wouldn't. Would you? Oh no, Illya, don't do it. We'll both get our backsides busted by the Old Man if you ..." But it was too late. The blond launched himself up from their park bench and set out across the street, dodging cars and irritating taxi drivers. As he neared the man whose way had been slow and decidedly unsteady, Illya reached out to touch him, but also to take a better look in the window of the building they had been monitoring all day long.
It didn't take long for the door to open, and as it did two men came into view. Mark was up and ready immediately, crossing the street to join Illya as they each darted a man, causing the one they had been observing to spring into action. Suddenly, and without warning, he straightened up and produced a gun.
"That's it, I hope you two had fun because from here on in it's nothing but ..." Mark punched him in the jaw, sending the man staggering backwards before landing in a heap amidst an array of trash cans and boxes.
"Yes, definitely not a swagger." Illya couldn't resist adding that before motioning towards the door. When the two agents entered it was empty, the only signs of habitation a collection of files and a small communication console.
"Hmmm... it looks as though this was some sort of temporary headquarters. Not much of a staff, a lookout who needed a better cover than walking up and down in front of the doorway... What do you think, Illya?" As he looked around the room the Russian agent was unimpressed with its contents, which made him wonder what had really gone on here.
"Check the other doors...' He indicated the two on either side of the room, "but be careful. I think there's more behind this room."
Mark did as instructed, carefully turning the knob of one door as Illya did the same with the other. Each of them crept into darkened rooms, their senses on high alert.
"Nothing. How about you?" Slate was turning towards Illya when suddenly the blond shouted at him to run.
"Out, now!" They bolted for the front door, each aware of a buzzing sound behind them. In the street and still running, they were blown forward as the room blew, taking the rest of the building with it.
Raising himself up from the debris and dust, Mark looked around incredulously, his unformed question leaving a puzzled expression on his face.
"It was a trap. This entire thing was a ruse to get UNCLE's attention for nothing more than an easy way to kill our agents." That made Illya mad, at himself and at THRUSH. He should have known something was amiss, if for no other reason than the tiresome activities of the man who had piqued his interest.
"You couldn't have known, mate. And besides, we were sent here because someone else..."
"Tipped us off..." Illya reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver pen-like communicator.
"Open Channel D, Kuryakin here."
"Mr. Kuryakin, what have you found out?" Mr. Waverly's voice filled the other end.
"Sir, it was a trap, a ruse set up to entice us to go in and ... be blown apart. Mr. Slate and I made it out, but just barely."
Now there was only silence as Waverly pondered the situation.
"Very well, Mr. Kuryakin. You and Mr. Slate return to Headquarters, I believe I know what to do about this. Waverly out."
Mark was frowning at the quick conversation.
"That's it then? We just go back?" Illya nodded. He thought he knew what was going to happen next.
:~~~~:
By the time Kuryakin and Slate had cleaned up and were seated at the big conference table in Waverly's office, Napoleon Solo was also present. He had been tasked with the responsibility to apprehend the person responsible for the suspicious 'tip' about the THRUSH location. Mr. Waverly was the first to speak, as usual...
"Gentlemen, you all seem to be reasonably in tact. Mr. Solo, please report.
Napoleon cleared his throat before beginning, cutting a look at his partner and then at Mark.
"Sir, the person responsible for that so-called tip was Matthew Laudner, a Section III agent who, it now seems, has been a THRUSH plant from the beginning. His personnel records are being gone over with the proverbial fine tooth comb. If there's anything overt in there to identify his THRUSH associations we will find it. He submitted the information originally to his section chief, Lance Coombs, who then passed it on to Section II via standard procedures. We are confident that Mr. Coombs is not involved in any way."
Illya and Mark both retained impassive expressions, as though the thought of one of their own being a THRUSH mole didn't make thier blood run cold.
"What will happen to Matt? He's always been a friendly bloke, I would never have taken him for a mole." Mark thought back to his interactions with the man and couldn't come up with any signals that might have been helpful in spotting his true intentions.
Napoleon recognized the discomfort involved in this type of thing; discovering that one of their personnel worked for the other side was always difficult to swallow. Illya alone remained silent. He had seen too many people herded off to an uncertain future after being targeted as a traitor to the state. He didn't doubt that it was true, but maintained his silence nonetheless.
"Very well then, this incident will be considered closed for now." Waverly did not answer Mark's question, nor did he intend to. What went on beyond the event of a traitorous act was best left unknown. Bad business, all of it.
Napoleon caught up to his partner as the trio exited Waverly's office.
"Are you okay Illya? You seemed very somber in there." Illya stopped to turn and face his partner.
"I am slightly bruised by the explosion, if that is what you mean." He knew better, but his response would be enough to tell Napoleon that none of his questions would be answered.
"Okay... nothing more damaging than that?" He'd known Illya long enough to read his cryptic messages in almost any form.
Illya turned again to walk towards the elevator, Napoleon at his side.
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Date: 2014-12-02 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-02 03:37 am (UTC)