by LRH Balzer
He felt the hiss of the cigarette and tore at the bandages on his chest. Solo and Brekker, on either side of him, grabbed his hands and held them immobile.
"The code to his data box--"
He gasped, sagging, the memory-pain and the fading drugs nullifying each other. His chest stung.
"-- in the main lab. The entry code to his private lab. I heard them repeating numbers loudly and I saw them write the numbers down, but, Paddy, I'm sure he didn't say anything. His mouth was shut tight." Hennie's eyes were wide with confusion, staring across at Kuryakin expecting him to have an answer. "And they would burn him even though it sounded like he was answering their questions and the men said they were happy with what he told them."
"Napoleon," Dunn said, his voice tight, "it sounds like they already had all the information --"
"-- and were using him as a scapegoat --"
"-- to protect someone else on the inside? --"
"-- But who?" Solo pounded his fist down on the table. "A double-agent at U.N.C.L.E.? WHO?!" He swung back to Illya, ignoring as the Russian cringed involuntarily at the sudden movement. "Illya, who else would know all this? There are only a few possibilities. Think, man," he threatened through clenched teeth.
"I CAN'T! I CAN'T THINK ANYMORE!" He shut his eyes tight, hands clutching his hair, pulling.
"ANSWER ME, KURYAKIN!" Solo yelled back.
Erasmus holding the book in the rubble.
Someone else showing him a book, turning pages. Look at this idea... what do you think.., take a look at this... can you look at this... I have Waverly's okay for you to come to the lab and give me some help... it will be good for you to help... just sign here... just add your name here… no, don't get up, you don't look well. What's your combination and I'll get it for you... I'll get it for you… What's your combination and I'll get it for you...
Promise you won't tell, Nico. Promise or you'll go to hell and burn in the pit and not even Erasmus can save you…
Erasmus turned the book around and held it down for him to see the name written across the page.
"Powers." Illya opened his eyes and looked at Solo wearily. "It's Dan Powers. It has to be. He has my entry code. It's not me, Napoleon. It's not me."
"I know. Powers... They wanted us to believe that you were the leak so they could keep on getting information from Powers. How convenient... THRUSH must have found out that Voorne had abducted you and took over, pretending to help the Zekering group get the information from you that Voorne wanted."
Dunn looked like he wanted to kill someone. "So they return Illya wrapped in an Inrhysec sheet so it would appear he had given the secret away, then waited until Powers could get Illya's name and signature on more documents and dig out Illya's lab codes from him so they could kidnap him again and supposedly extract the secrets Powers had already given. And they walked away now, hoping we would break out and do it all again."
"Miep is THRUSH." Illya's voice was harsh. Dutch, Russian, and English curses streamed from his lips.
A noise at the doorway and Voorne came in with the gun, and looked at him, and aimed the gun at him. No one moved; five guns were trained on the small group.
"THRUSH wouldn't let me kill you because they needed you alive. They aren't here right now, and I need you dead. You destroyed my plans. Besides, if I can't use you, you might as well die so they can't use you any more. Oh, the bitch will die, too, Kuryakin, I promise you that. But you killed my brother and you threatened me --" His speech broke off suddenly.
The air-raid sirens were wailing.
Brekker, Illya, Hennie, and two of the guards dropped to the ground automatically as the piercing sound cut through the neighborhood. Voorne spun around, waving his gun at the roof, eyes round with remembered fear. From outside the warehouse came the sounds of guns, men yelling, and explosions. The building next to them blew up, shaking the ground beneath them and the warehouse walls, and sending a rainfall of dust and dirt from the rafters. Two guards ran outside leaving the door open to let in the smoke and ashes from the burning building beside them. A car exploded as a grenade took it apart.
Illya was on his feet and running, leaping to a chair, on to the table and then flying through the air to land on Voorne, his hands locked on the man's throat. They rolled, snarling and shrieking like two male cats fighting. The other three U.N.C.L.E. men disarmed the remaining Zekering agents and tied them up as Hennie collected their guns.
Another explosion from outside. The sirens kept up their blood chilling wail. Kuryakin and Voorne were still locked in battle, and even with the gun in his hand, Solo could see no way of separating them to take out Voorne. More sirens. Fire engines this time. Police.
As Solo turned he saw the doorway was filled with a giant aiming an automatic rifle at Voorne and Kuryakin. Illya still had Voorne by the throat and the man was weakening as Kuryakin bashed his head against the wooden flooring. Suddenly, the body beneath his fingers spasmed as the left side of the man's head shattered beneath his fingers. Illya stared at the blood covering his hands, not knowing whose it was or how it had happened. He rolled off the body, pulling Voorne's pistol from his belt as he went, flicking the safety off and the hammer back and landing on his feet in one easy movement.
The sirens stopped.
The giant bald man in the doorway came in, walking awkwardly on heavy braces, his automatic weapon lowered. "WHERE ARE MY BOYS?" the voice thundered through the warehouse.
Brekker dropped his weapon and took a leap at the man who caught him in a one-armed embrace. It took Dunn a moment longer to realize this was Anton Appel, out of his wheelchair, and he batted Solo's weapon down.
Appel's eyes never left Kuryakin, standing alone in the middle of the warehouse over Voorne's very dead body, the pistol ready to fire, blood dripping from his hands.
Appel passed his massive rifle to Brekker's care. He opened his arms wide and slowly winked at Kuryakin. "HEY, LITTLE NICO," the voice boomed again. "YOU DID WELL, ILLYA. COME OVER TO ONE EYE."
Illya's weapon slid out of nerveless hands and he staggered toward Appel, collapsing into the old man's arms. His towering frame propped against the wall, Appel whispered to Kuryakin and they saw his head nod yes or no to the questions. Illya's face was buried against the old man's chest; he was clinging to Appel as though he were a life preserver on a stormy North Sea. Appel continued to talk to him and suddenly the dam broke and immense sobs racked the Russian still securely enfolded in his old mentor's arms. Appel smiled across at them, nodding his satisfaction, tightening his grip.
Old men, all ex-Resistance fighters, flooded the warehouse, carting off bodies, and paying homage to the downed U.N.C.L.E. agents. Solo moved to the doorway, watching the pandemonium created outside by the fighters slowly dissolve into order as fires were put out and the Zekering agents -- and even a few THRUSH agents who had hung around too long -- were rounded up by the police and taken away. Ambulances carted off the few remaining injured, including one old-timer who had thrown a grenade and then found his legs didn't run as fast as they had twenty years before.
Hennie approached Appel, her face radiating a smile of relief and the old man found room in his wide armspan for her, too. "Hi, dearie. Still reading your paperbacks? I heard about your uncle."
"Who is this guy?" Solo asked. "Everyone appears to know him but me."
Dunn plopped into a chair, his bandaged arm throbbing. "That crazy old man is Anton Appel."
"The guy in the wheelchair at the seniors' home you talked to?"
"Yup."
Brekker joined them, his eyes glistening with pride. "He was in charge of several units during the war. He trained us kids to fire guns and use telescopic sights on rifles. How to lob a grenade into the back of a Germany truck and skip out the way. How to lie quietly for hours, hidden, waiting for a German soldier to walk by.
"After the war, in the late forties and early fifties, he set up a foundation for the little soldiers, as he called us, making sure we had proper couns
eling, homes, and an education. I was in a different city than Illya during the war, but he had still trained us and in later years would come to our town to speak and we found we could talk with him. He understood us. He was always looking for the little soldiers that hadn't had proper counseling to deal with the horror of what we lived. Some of my friends committed suicide. Some are killing themselves with alcohol or drugs."
He gestured to Appel and Kuryakin. "He found another one, now. It's uncanny; he knows exactly what to say to release that hurt that has built up inside. He says that 'je krijgt de wind van voren', we all have to face the wind. It's a Dutch saying that just means that one day we have to pay the consequences of what we did. And most of us were too young to understand what it was we were doing, so our memories of the events are rather disjointed."
It was the most Solo had ever heard Brekker say at one time. "Why did Illya call him One Eye? He has two perfectly good eyes."
Brekker closed one eye, holding up an imaginary rifle. "Snipers only use one eye."
***
Only the fire department was left, hosing down the smoldering shell of the empty building that the ex-Resistance workers had blown up. The U.N.C.L.E. agents and Anton Appel sat around the table in the center of the warehouse, the transceiver frequency open to Waverly in New York. Illya lay curled on a mattress that had been brought upstairs from the underground room, sleeping soundly. Leaning against Dunn's shoulder, Hennie was dozing, almost asleep herself.
"And Miss Van Daan? What is her situation, Anton?" Waverly's voice crackled across the ocean.
Appel chuckled, his barrel chest echoing the sound. "We apprehended her leaving here, Alexander. She is sitting in the police lockup as we speak."
The chuckle died. "We arrived too late to save young Vandermeer, though. He had headed over with backups but they ran into the THRUSH leaders arriving here and were gunned down in the battle."
"Our office there has greatly appreciated your help and experience, Anton. Would you consider staying on as an advisor to the new office, helping them reestablish themselves? They've had a terrible blow and are extremely short handed."
"Yes!" Brekker exclaimed. "Would you, sir?"
"It depends, Jakob."
"On what, sir?"
"Are you going to pay attention to what I say?" His rolling laughter burst out again.
"Mr. Solo, how is Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly asked.
"Sleeping, sir. I gave him a stamina pill two hours ago and it knocked him off his feet about fifteen minutes ago. He'll sleep for twenty-four hours. We are just waiting for a car to come to take us to the hospital so I can have him admitted. I think they'll want to check his heart -- you know how rough the stamina pills can be -- and he's got assorted burns and injuries, mostly minor. He's probably dehydrated again, but I'd say his nightmares are over now. While we're there, I'll have Miss De Groot checked and Paddy's arm looked at again."
Appel leaned over, speaking quietly into the miniature transceiver. "I've talked to your boy already, Alexander, but we'll have a much longer chat before I send him back to you. He seems to have found a place for himself with you and U.N.C.L.E."
"It's appreciated, Anton. And I understand it is you we have to thank for his superb marksmanship. Well, gentlemen, I have other matters to attend. I will speak with you tomorrow."
"Mr. Waverly? Sir? I have a request." Dunn took the transceiver/cigarette case from Solo's hand. "I would like to be reassigned to Rotterdam U.N.C.L.E. They need me here."
Solo's eyes met his. "You don't have to, Paddy. We are partners."
"Thanks, Napoleon. But I've seen you two together. I worked with you longer than he did and we never had that kind of rapport. We are too much alike, you and I. We think along the same lines. We don't balance each other out. He trusts you."
"And you don't?"
"That's not what I mean. I have other reasons, too. Personal reasons." He indicated Hennie, sleeping with her head comfortably on his shoulder.
From New York, Waverly understood already. "A woman, of course, Mr. Dunn. You are too much like Mr. Solo... "Waverly said, dryly. "Well, Mr. Brekker. According to my files, you have never worked with a partner. Are you willing to give it a try?" He sounded rather amused.
"Yes, sir." Brekker looked relieved at not having the entire weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders.
"I will see to the paperwork, then, Mr. Dunn. You may begin there later this month. However, you are all three requested to report back here at the beginning of next week. I expect seven days is ample to conclude the business there?"
"Yes, sir." Solo flicked the case shut. The U.N.C.L.E. car arrived and he herded them all out of the building, firmly shutting the door behind them.
Epilogue
11:59 a.m.
Napoleon Solo paid the cab driver and walked across the square. "I thought I'd find you here. So this is Erasmus."
He stared up at the centuries-old bronze statue. "Quite impressive." He sat down on the bench next to Kuryakin. "You shouldn't have left the hospital without telling them where you were going."
The bells of the church behind them began to count off the hours. One. Two.
Kuryakin said nothing, but stared intently at the statue.
Three. Four.
"The hospital had scheduled some tests for you and were upset because you had disappeared. They called me in."
Kuryakin glanced at him, returning his attention to the statue. "I don't want any more tests."
Seven. Eight. Nine.
"Illya, the pages aren't going to turn."
Eleven. Twelve.
Silence.
Kuryakin sighed, his eyes dropping to the sidewalk in front of him. "I know."
Beside them, a brightly dressed child jumped up and down. "I saw it, Mamma! I saw it turn."
The mother swept him up with a joyous laugh, cuddling the youngster and bringing out additional squeals of joy. They wandered down the street, still laughing in the sunshine.
"The world has changed, Napoleon." He watched the mother and child until they disappeared from view.
"Yes, it has. And Waverly has reassigned us. We leave for New York tomorrow, then down to Rio the next day for the peace conference," Napoleon said, trying to gauge the effect his words were having on his partner.
Kuryakin said nothing, but continued staring down the street.
"Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm tired, Napoleon. I feel very tired. I don't know what happened to me for six months. I feel like I'm floating in time and I can't find my place. I can't go back and do it all again. I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself."
"You trust that statue."
"I didn't see the pages move."
"Perhaps not... Do you remember when Paddy, Jakob Brekker, and I broke into the warehouse and took you down into the underground room to hide? You were drugged and you thought I was Erasmus."
Illya reddened and he looked away. "I had hoped that was a dream."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "It wasn't very professional."
"Not true. You communicated to me very well. You trusted me. Your hallucinogenic awareness perceived me as Erasmus, someone to trust. You let me bandage you up and stayed quiet when I told you to. You would scream if anyone else came near you. You listened to me. And on one level, you also knew it was me, not the statue."
Illya looked away from him. "I don't want to hear this. Can we talk about something else?"
"No."
Several heartbeats. Kuryakin turned back. "The statue isn't real. It is stupid to trust a statue."
"Why? What does the statue represent to you? It was still standing when everything around it was destroyed. You are the only surviving member of your family. It was all alone in the rubble. You were all alone. It was unable to turn a page. Same as you, stuck in a war you couldn't get out of. But it had lasted all those years. I think you wanted to survive, too. You wanted to know the statue's secret.
"Illya, we all drag around with us our childhoods, our pain, the death and disease in our lives. When you thought I was Erasmus, you let me share that with you."
"Is this a pep talk? I hate pep talks." Kuryakin was on his feet and walking. He went down the block, turned right, and right, and right again, and kept walking until he had done a square and was back in front of Napoleon, still sitting on the bench waiting. "You don't think I'm crazy?"
"Of course I do. That's why we will work together so well. As Paddy says, we balance each other out. You're crazy. I'm not."
Illya fumed. "You are the most conceited --"
"I'm self assured."
"-- bossy, --"
"A born leader."
"-- sarcastic, --"
"Witty."
"-- pompous, --"
"Sophisticated."
"-- frustrating, --"
"Complex."
Illya screamed silently, throwing himself onto the bench, his face buried in his hands.
"On the other hand, Illya, you are obsessed --" Napoleon paused, waiting.
After a moment, Illya mumbled, "Persistent."
"—neurotic --"
Pause. "Sensitive?"
"—compulsive --"
"Dedicated."
"—stubborn --"
"Tenacious."
"-- bookworm --"
"Smarter than you'll ever be," Illya said, with a smile.
Solo laughed, standing. "Maybe so. Come on, I'm hungry."
"Wait," Illya grabbed his arm and hauled him back down. "This is important. Am I the brains or brawn?"
"Neither at the moment, you skinny fool. Now let's get some lunch."
Table of Contents
Chapter One: "Parcel for you, Mr. Solo. Postage due."
Chapter Two: "What do you mean, he's not here?"
Chapter Three: "Nico is dead."
Chapter Four: "Are you sure this isn't paranoid?"
Chapter Five: "The land of the living"
Chapter Six: "The luggage was drugged..."
Chapter Seven: "A Happening place"
Chapter Eight: "Mysteriouser and Mysteriouser"
Chapter Nine: "Facing the Wind'