Collection 9 - The Changeling

by LRH Balzer

  The helicopter tipped forward suddenly and Napoleon snagged hold of his partner to keep him from sliding away. Illya was only half-conscious, mumbling something Napoleon couldn't hear. Solo squinted at Illya's forehead, but it looked as though any bleeding had stopped. It was still cold in the back of the helicopter, the air uncomfortably chilly to breathe. "Can I help at all?" Solo called up to Grayson.

  "Yeah. Get up 'ere. I need a gunner."

  Solo eased Kuryakin to lie flat, pulled a tarp over him, and then clambered up and into the empty copilot seat. The controls were standard, yet he was hampered by pain shooting through his left shoulder and the throbbing of his right wrist. "This isn't going to be easy," he muttered.

  "It never is," Grayson laughed shortly. "Makes it interesting, though, don’t it?" He pointed suddenly to the dark shadow of a narrow building off to Solo's right. "There's our problem. Look at two o’clock—see them?"

  "Roger. Can you get me a bit closer? I'm not in range." From the meager light of the half-risen moon, Solo watched through the sights as Grayson circled the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter around the building. Four of the five men visible on the roof were busy with a large metal cylindrical object that the Chief Enforcement Agent couldn't identify in the darkness. The fifth kept taking pot shots at them with a gun as they closed in on their target.

  "Hang on for a minute, Karl." Solo reached for the binoculars and focused on the object. A pulsing green light shot out from one end of the device and snaked across the roof before winking out. One of the men had caught a tendril on his leg and was writhing on the ledge.

  "UP!" Solo yelled. "Get us out of here NOW!"

  The helicopter shuttered, pulling them rapidly away from the scene, then darted east and north of the area. Solo twisted in the copilot seat to keep the building in the binocular's view but both men clearly saw the orange-white explosion that lit up the cold November sky.

  He pointed to it. "A smaller version of that is what hit us earlier tonight."

  "Wicked." Grayson frowned; the panel glow ht his face wanly. "We've got a problem, matey. I can't get you boys back to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. They have me boxed in and it'll take awhile for the boys on the ground to flush them out. Thrush, or whoever that is shooting at us, is pretty organized down there. And something else major is happening... It's not just Manhattan that's without lights; I haven't seen any power in the area—no lights, nothing. We came in following the Hudson River, and it's the same all over."

  Solo glanced out his window at the darkness below them. Only the ships in the harbor gave any lights, that and the headlights of cars. "What about the airports?"

  "Well, it's almost seven o'clock," Grayson shouted, tapping at the clock on the control panel. "The New York City airports are diverting incoming flights to other airports not affected. I haven't been able to get through to Kennedy International, but I brought in LaGuardia Field's frequency and they say they are attempting to set up emergency lighting on one runway at least, using water-pump generators as power, but that won't be ready for another half hour or more. Even then, they'll be bringing in the bigger craft who are low on fuel first. Same situation as in November, during the Big Blackout."

  "Are the control towers working?"

  "They're equipped with auxiliary power, but if the runways aren't lit and there are no navigational aids or radar; there's no point even trying to land."

  "Then why can't we land at the U.N.C.L.E. Aircraft Hanger? They have emergency generators. Surely two guys and flashlights are enough to help land a helicopter? We don't need full field lighting."

  "Good point, except for one thing—While you were napping, I attempted landing on our New Jersey office to see what was happening, and then I tried the main U.N.C.L.E. Aircraft Hanger. I had to abandon them both as we came under attack each time." Grayson's face was tight with anger. "Frank was shot down already, running interference for us." Frank Griffith was the pilot of the second helicopter, the one who had blown away the cars following them.

  They flew in silence .for a few minutes, Grayson adjusting altitude and checking his controls. "Napoleon, the documents you have—urgent or just confidential?"

  "Why?"

  "If they're urgent, we'll have to take the risk. If not, we have time to reschedule our arrival."

  "Why not contact Waverly for instructions?" Solo fished the slim pen transceiver from his pocket.

  "I can't get through. U.N.C.L.E. Eastern America has been effectively shut down. No communications, no movement. And it's more than just this power outage. They were planning something anyway—regardless of whether this outage turns out to be a coincidence or not. They were in place, ready to act. They've blocked our escape routes. They’ve crippled our communication devices. The emergency generators at U.N.C.L.E. should have kept us going with no more than a few seconds delay."

  "Then what's happening?" Solo felt thick-headed, as though his thought processes were numb from the cold.

  "Try your transceiver and see for yourself."

  The Section Two agent fingered the send switch on the miniature radio. "Open Channel D." Besides the static, there was no answer. He made several attempts, trying different channels and frequencies. Finally he turned to Grayson, "That's crazy. What could be—".

  The attack started all over again as another chopper appeared on their tail. It took five minutes before Grayson was able to bring the Thrush helicopter down over the Atlantic Ocean and they headed back to the coast.

  "You see, Napoleon? Every time we use the U.N.C.L.E. frequencies, they’re on us. I had to let you see for yourself."

  Solo rubbed his chaffed wrist. "You made your point."

  "So what will it be?"

  The Chief Enforcement Agent patted his pocket. "We've waited months for most of this stuff; a few more days won't hurt. I believe it's long range information. You're the expert here, Karl. Lead on. What do you suggest?"

  "Okay. I have an idea before I get too low on fuel. I know a place northeast of here that you can hide out in. I'll leave you two there for a day or so and come back for you in Wanda."

  It was Solo's turn to laugh. "Is she still around?"

  "Certainly is. And Frank and I made a few minor alterations... dammit, Frank, why weren't you more careful?... Napoleon, I’m droppin’ you off at my cabin. It’s safe, armed to the teeth, loaded with food and provisions, and out of the way. Try to stay put until I get back. You have about thirty minutes now to get yourself and your partner ready. I’ve got a place where I land right close to the cabin, near a small lake. I’ll help you both get inside, but as soon as it is light out tomorrow, I suggest you immediately try to cover the bird's tracks. I don't see why they’d check up on me, but better to be safe." Grayson glanced to the rear of the chopper, then over to Solo. "On second thought, can you fly this for a few minutes? Stay on this heading."

  "No problem, providing no one else comes after us." Solo transferred control to the copilot's station and Grayson made his way back to Kuryakin.

  The towering pilot returned several minutes later with a groggy agent in tow and strapped him in the passenger seat tucked sideways behind the pilot's. Kuryakin looked only marginally awake, although managed a crooked sarcastic smile for Solo. Grayson questioned the Russian for a few minutes but the words were lost to Solo in the noise of the aircraft.

  "You guys have tough heads," Grayson said, turning back to the cockpit, "but keep an eye on him. A head injury can often collapse on you when you think they're recovered."

  "Not Illya," Napoleon said, grinning at his partner. "There's nothing between those ears but solid rock and a computer."

  Grayson settled back behind the controls and took over the helicopter, adjusting his voice for Solo's ears only. "Jest if you must, Solo, but I'm serious about watching him. He's still susceptible to shock. He seems to have some bruised ribs, but no other apparent damage. Just be aware that the possibility exists."

  Solo's face lost its grin. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
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  Grayson didn't look up from his controls. "I was a helicopter pilot for a medical unit in Korea. I've seen a lot of our own men needlessly die after the fact because someone wasn't paying attention to the post op drill or misjudged their triage. Now, to be fair, I spent most of my time while I was talking to him telling him to keep an eye on you. You've lost a lot of blood and your wrist is turning purple. It's badly bruised. Kuryakin knows how to bandage it, so let him."

  "It wouldn't be the first time we've patched each other up. But I can do it myself. It's not that bad."

  "I'm sure you can, but you can deduce a lot by watching his actions as he dresses the wound, things he might not tell you otherwise. Watch his coordination, especially his hand-to-eye coordination."

  "Okay." Solo turned to toss a smile back to his partner, but Kuryakin had his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest, holding onto the shoulder straps that held him in place. Maybe it was just the lights from the control panel, but his partner looked distinctly green.

  Solo turned back to the dark landscape beneath them. "What would cause a blackout like this? I thought they had fixed the problem that caused it last time."

  Grayson waved him silent, fiddling with the volume on the radio controls. The warning broadcast he was picking up from a local station was repeating an alert about the massive power service outage, which had apparently hit the United States northeastern region between 6:30 and 6:42 p.m. that evening. A few areas had power restored, but most of New York State, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and even into Ontario were still out. The broadcaster did not have many other details, other than saying that locally there had been a power load collapse once again within the Consolidated Edison system, which served much of New York City, and also the Long Island Lighting Company. There was no indication of when power would be back on line. More than six hundred thousand people were presumed to be stranded in the subway system alone.

  Grayson changed frequencies, trying to get more information, but it appeared little, as yet, was known as to the cause of the Canada-United States Eastern Interconnection (CANUSE) system shutdown.

  "It'll be crazy in the city. The masses are not known for calm thinking in a crisis," Kuryakin's voice carried forward. "Why aren't we there, Grayson?"

  Solo glanced back at his partner. "There's no way of getting to headquarters at the moment. Illya, what would cause a power outage like this?"

  "Aside from Thrush tampering?" Kuryakin shrugged. "In November it was a power surge somewhere in the transmission lines. There was a cascading effect, tripping the overload relays between the lines."

  "Any way of stopping it once it started?"

  Kuryakin shook his head, then gritted his teeth and held still for a moment before answering. "They could have closed down particular sections of their systems, or shed the load onto other areas, but decisions like that have to be made instantly. I suppose they could have also reduced the loads by severing ties with interconnecting systems. Once the system is dead, though—" He shrugged, then fell silent.

  "And if Thrush or someone else is behind it?" Solo looked back to his partner, but there was no response. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the chaos that New York City would be in. He hadn't been there in November for the Great Blackout, but he'd heard about it. No lights. No subways. No railroads. No airports. The roads would be a tangled mess. The hospitals—how many of them would have emergency generators? Would a mass riot erupt? There was no way of knowing. He had no idea if the city was even remotely prepared for this type of emergency so soon after the last one. Had they time to rebuild their resources?

  But U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters was ready. Or at least, they should have been. The equipment was there, but something was preventing it from working. Perhaps an emergency within an emergency. But how many coincidences could you pile together before admitting that something was very much wrong?

  - 9 -

  Solo took the cigarette package from his outer jacket pocket and transferred it to his inside pocket, one that buttoned closed. He hadn't told Grayson, but the microfiched information he carried was cleared for Section One only and he had no idea what was on it. It could be as dull as the accounting totals for the previous quarter, or as highly restricted as a report on U.N.C.L.E.'s latest technology or discoveries. All Solo knew was that U.N.C.L.E.'s Eastern Canada office had issued it, passing on their report with the one from the Section One office in England. Even in his position as Head of Section Two for North America, Solo was not privy to the document. Any attempt to open the tiny sealed flask would disintegrate the microfiche within.

  He took a deep breath and carefully expelled it through pursed lips, eyes searching the dark landscape below for small telltales of life now that they had steered away from the city. Moonlight reflected on the river, and he realized Grayson was following the winding trail away, flying just high enough to avoid power lines.

  A quick glance confirmed his suspicions that the helicopter pilot was uneasy, focused on his flight and on the static-distorted voices on the radio. Grayson was in his early forties, had flown helicopters for most of the past twenty years, but despite his level of experience, there was still a dark aura of tension about him that bespoke his high level of apprehension about their present situation.

  Behind Grayson, Kuryakin sat silently, eyes still closed, head resting back, one hand gripping tightly to the restraint holding him upright. "I am fine, Napoleon," he said abruptly, loud enough for his partner to hear. "I just have a headache. A very large headache."

  Solo grinned and looked back out the side window. "I'll meet that headache and raise you two," he offered, tapping his own forehead and earning a frown from the Russian. He waved off the unspoken question.

  "In all honesty,” Kuryakin responded, after a moment, "I'm more apprehensive of what Sam will say when he finds out I've had yet another head injury. Two in a week."

  The U.N.C.L.E. doctor, Sam Lawrence, was constantly monitoring the excessive amount of concussions sustained by U.N.C.L.E. agents in general, and in Solo and Kuryakin in particular. Both agents had sustained head injuries while on their last assignment, Solo's bordering on concussion.

  "So we don't tell him," Solo said with a shrug.

  "Besides," Kuryakin said, with a shrug, "I don't have a concussion, this time."

  "Karl said that you do."

  "Really? No, I think not. And if I do, it is a mild one."

  "You were unconscious for at least five minutes."

  Kuryakin had no response to that. After a moment, he looked back to Solo. "And you? Concussion?"

  "I, on the other hand, have no symptoms."

  Kuryakin nodded, then closed his eyes again. Solo rested his head against the seat back and inadvertently closed his eyes as the echoing drone of the helicopter lulled him to sleep.

  A sudden shift in air pressure alerted him that Grayson had landed the helicopter in the middle of nowhere. Solo blinked himself awake, peering out the windshield but able to see nothing. Once the helicopter's landing lights were off the moon, now high in the sky, was the only source of illumination and he saw that they were in what was probably a meadow, though the ground around them was covered in a fresh dusting of snow.

  Grayson helped him out of the helicopter's cabin and the enforcement agent ducked and moved unsteadily away from the twirling rotor blades. The ground was uneven and hard to walk on in the dark. He held his arm close to his chest, bracing himself once clear of the overhead helicopter blades, Solo stopped and waited for Grayson and his partner to join him.

  From where Solo stood, trying to get his balance, he could see the now risen moon's light reflecting across the surface of the lake, the surrounding area hidden by darkness. There was no other sign of human habitation, no visible roads, no feeling at all that civilization existed. He glanced at his watch. All somewhere within an hour of New York. Not bad.

  "So how much exactly do helicopter pilots make?" Solo mumbled, trying to work out the financial impli
cations of the property. "This can't be cheap."

  "It was my father's," Grayson answered, smiling in response. "My uncle originally bought it when he returned from World War II. Dad inherited it from him, then I ended up with it when my father died five years ago." Grayson helped Kuryakin make the jump to the ground, then steadied him and waited while the Russian gripped the side of the helicopter to avoid passing out. "Easy, old chap. Give your head a moment to right itself."

  Kuryakin was in a less than lucid phase, hardly seeming aware of his surroundings at all, but when the pilot tugged gently on his arm, he stumbled willingly alongside Grayson, his head down awkwardly as he run, trusting the steady hand at his elbow as they cleared the blades of the helicopter.

  They passed Solo and kept moving up the hill following a path among the trees. He followed them, squinting ahead to see where Grayson was heading. A short distance later, he saw it, a lone wooden cabin part way up the slope, one shuttered window and a door facing out across the valley. Grayson had made it to the cabin, assisting a still-dizzy Kuryakin, had unlocked the door and was putting together the makings for a fire by the time Solo made it to the shelter.

  Exhausted, Napoleon brushed the powder snow off his suit pants in the doorway, sighed at his ruined leather shoes, and glared across at the pilot. "Nice place. Do we just call a cab when we're ready to leave?"

  "Come in and shut the door, Napoleon. In answer to your question, I come and go by helicopter. Either this one or my own, which is back at the U.N.C.L.E. airfield right now." The fire caught as the dry kindling popped and crackled, the sound filling the cabin like firecrackers.

  Kuryakin, sitting on the couch, snapped to attention at the noise, reaching for his gun.

  "We're fine," Solo said, his voice loud enough to reach through his partner's instinctive response.

  Grayson scowled, moving past Solo to push Kuryakin's empty holster aside. "You lost your gun earlier, bucko, but you don't need one here. At the moment, anyway. Here's mine—keep it handy." Grayson put his gun on the table, then opened the bottom drawer of a small table by the couch and withdrew a first aid kit.