by LRH Balzer
On the back, tied down and covered with a black tarp, were three dark shapes, each roughly the size and mass of a car. The semi switched on its high beams and in the flash of brilliance, Solo and Kuryakin made their dash into the darkness of the tunnel. There was a pile of tarps to one side near the entrance and they worked their way under one of them before the next car appeared from deep inside the tunnel and headed for the exit. Two more trucks rumbled by, followed by another jeep.
The entrance door creaked closed. Footsteps passed by where they were hidden, the lone guard half whistling a tune as he headed down the tunnel at a quick pace.
They waited another few minutes, but when no further vehicles or guards could be heard, they emerged from under the tarp, brushed themselves off, and moved down the entrance tunnel. The main area was conspicuously empty, except for a limousine, a Jaguar sports car, and a panel van, only the oil stains and tire tracks showing where the other vehicles and trucks had been parked. The cavern itself was largely natural, but there was evidence of where it had been expanded to fit the needs of the satrapy. Faint voices could be heard down a corridor at the far end of the cavern.
"We've got time yet. They still have some of their people here." Solo indicated a route around the vehicles, into the shadows to one side of the room, where the overhead lights were unable to reach. A darkened secondary tunnel led to an empty cavern. "This is where the green laser light was before," Solo whispered. "They've obviously moved it all out."
Kuryakin nodded, looking around the room, at the silent generators, and the bare walls, stripped of tools and equipment. "There's nothing here." He turned abruptly and walked back to the main cavern, the edginess returning. "Where does that go?"
At the far end of the main area, a short corridor branched off left and right. "The offices I was held in were to the left," Solo whispered as they approached. The long hallway was empty of personnel, a long row of doors extending in each direction.
"You check them, and I'll take the other side," Kuryakin said, and headed to his right, his gun pulled. Behind him he could hear Solo quietly opening and closing doors, checking on the status of the rooms.
Kuryakin passed a stack of boxes, the top one opened with the packing material discarded around it, whatever it had held now missing. The stamp on the side of the box said: "Jackson Lab".
Ahead of him, Kuryakin heard a high-pitched cry again, like the mew of a cat, cut off as though a door around the comer had opened and closed. He shivered suddenly and ducked into a doorway as a white-coated man walked by him, flanked by two Thrush guards. The man was carrying a full-briefcase in each hand, a heavy wool coat draped over his shoulders.
Even seeing him from the back, Kuryakin knew precisely who it was. Dr. Weller. The same deceased geneticist he had traced from Holland to Maine the previous March. Jackson Genetics Laboratory was at Bar Harbor, Maine, and they had been broken into and robbed at that time.
He looked back over his shoulder, but Solo was nowhere in sight. He tightened his grip on the gun and stepped back into the corridor.
*****
Napoleon Solo threw open a door, only to come face to face with a woman he had not expected to see, although he realized a second later that he should have expected her to be here. She was in the process of emptying a desk drawer into a cardboard packing box, and she looked up at him, her anger at being interrupted startling her to silence when she saw it was not the guard she had been expecting.
"Angelique," he said, calmly. "Going somewhere?"
"Not with you, darling," she answered, slowly rising, both hands in clear sight as he kept his gun trained on her.
"Nice office." He glanced around, his gaze coming back to her constantly, his hand steady. Considering how far under the mountain it was, it was a remarkably civil space, tastefully carpeted and decorated, French Provincial furniture and even a potted plant in the comer. The lighting was soothing and faintly pink, not the glaring overhead lighting elsewhere Next to it was the office he had been held in the last time he was at the facility, but the room through the adjoining door was dark.
"It sufficed. The view was terrible though," she said, starting to lower her hands, then returning them to her shoulders when he coughed his disapproval. "Come now, darling, what did you expect me to do just now? You certainly have me ... at a disadvantage," she cooed, one hand slowly moving to the top button of her blouse.
"And I'll be putting you at a greater disadvantage. Turn around, and put your hands behind your back."
"Really, dear, must—"
"Yes, I must." He quickly handcuffed her, then pushed her gently toward the door. "Where were you off to in such a rush?"
"Home for the weekend. New York is ever so much nicer than this place, even in January."
Solo glanced into her box, seeing an unorganized mess of letters, memos and other correspondence, documents, pens, stamps, and other female items such as compacts and lipsticks. "Looks like your purse, only bigger," he retorted
She bristled at that. "Looking in my purse, Napoleon? How rude."
"They didn't give you much time to pack. Looks like everyone else has already cleared out."
"I just got here. I've been out of the country. They said I had thirty minutes to get my things and get out."
"And then what happens?"
She shrugged. "I've no idea. I didn't ask."
There was the sound of people running in the corridors, and Solo kicked the door partway shut as they passed the office door. He moved to the doorway and looked out, but they had moved into the main cavern area. At the far end of the hallway, he could see his partner appear from one doorway and round a distant comer, disappearing from sight. "Who else is still here?"
"No one you'd be interested in. Trust me, darling."
"I'm really in no position to trust you at this particular moment in time. Tell me something that will interest me, something I don't already know."
"Like my cup size?"
"You're a 38 D."
"You peeked. Naughty boy."
"I'm a good judge of... character," he retorted. "So tell me what's happening and we'll join the rush."
"Why can't we leave it that it's in everyone's best interest to be out of here by 10:15 p.m.?"
He glanced at his watch. "Still twenty minutes away."
Her voice was angry now. "We have to be on the main highway by then, you fool! If this place goes, it might very well cause an avalanche down the side of the mountain, burying this entire area."
"What about the lodge? The resort?"
"They'll be fine. They're not considered to be in the path."
"How noble of you." He looked back at his captive, his voice demanding. "So what are they hiding here?"
"Even Thrush makes mistakes, darling. And we no longer need this facility. Too much traffic around here. It used to be such a peaceful place to work in, but construction begins soon on a new resort up the road. We're relocating."
"Why now?"
"The weather forecast is for increased snowfall over the next few weeks. We don't want to get locked in like they did last year. I was in Europe, thank God. I'd have been ready to scream being locked in there for a month."
The sudden blast of an air horn echoed through the cavern.
"Ten minutes to clear the building," Angelique provided. "Automatic warning."
"I thought you had twenty minutes."
"That's to get out of the area. I told you already." Her upper lip was sweating. "We've got to get out of here now."
Solo pulled out his communicator, but he couldn't get a signal underground. He swore and pushed Angelique ahead of him into the corridor, his gun trained at the back of her head. "Don't trust on me being in a good mood," he said thinly, "as I don't know where my partner is." They reached the main corridor, and he dragged her back as a limousine left the building, heading down the exit tunnel. "Who was that?"
"Weller and his crew."
"Weller?"
"Some doctor/scient
ist guy."
"Specializing in?"
"He's an embryologist, I think they call it."
The name came out of the past. "Ian Weller? The late Dr Ian Weller?"
She smiled suddenly, as though he was an idiot, and refused to say another word, despite his threats.
*****
Kuryakin rounded the comer right into the path of a guard. He slammed his fist into the Thrush agent's mouth before he could call for help, but the burly guard retaliated immediately, two-fisting the side of Kuryakin's head, sending him slamming back into the corridor wall. Illya braced himself against the surface, raising both feet to kick the man backwards as the guard approached. The Thrush agent managed to get to his feet before Illya caught his breath, and the U.N.C.L.E. agent found himself pummelled by deadly fists that his sluggish mind was having trouble anticipating. Finally, the bloody hands stopped, and the guard let him drop to the floor as he turned away to retrieve his gun, which had fallen during the scuffle. Without a moment's hesitation, Illya reached into his boot and lurched to his feet, his knife in his hand as he caught the man's jacket and spun him around to deeply slice him across the chest.
He would have been fine if the second guard hadn't arrived to see what the commotion was. With a groan, Illya thrust the first guard into his companion. Drawing his U.N.C.L.E. Special, he took the new arrival out as the guard stumbled back, a bullet through the center of his forehead.
Before he could fire again, the first Thrush agent attacked, slamming his night stick into the side of Illya's head, the effect feeling like it would take his head off at the shoulders. Illya grabbed at the stick as it came at him again, holding on to it, first shoving it away from him, then yanking it toward him, throwing the Thrush guard off balance. The Russian spun, his right foot kicking out and catching the man on the upper chest, across the previous wound. Kuryakin then completed the martial arts move, his left fist connecting with the man's right eye.
The guard staggered backward, then as Illya struck out at him again, a fist compacted against the U.N.C.L.E. agent's nose, blood spurting, momentarily blinding him. Illya rolled, secured his gun as he tumbled, then a second shot rang out as the guard collapsed on top of him. Gasping for air, Illya clamored to his feet, wiping the blood from his face as he headed down the corridor.
*****
Both agents jumped at the sound of gunfire. Napoleon tried to relax, recognizing both shots as being from his partner's distinctive U.N.C.L.E. Special. Once the limousine had cleared the tunnel, he dragged Angelique down the stairs to the main cavern, now occupied by only the Jaguar and the panel van.
He stopped at the Jaguar. "I'm assuming this is yours."
Angelique shrugged.
"The keys."
She shrugged again.
"Listen, I can hot-wire this car and take it, leaving you here, or you can come with me. The choice is yours."
"In my sweater pocket," she growled.
"Thank you. Now was that so hard?" He fished out the key, wishing he had more time, then pulled out a handkerchief and gagged her. Rather than unlocking the car door she waited by, he opened the trunk and shoved her very ungentlemanly into the cramped quarters.
Another blast from the air horn, his watch confirming it would be the five minute warning. He headed down the corridor where he'd last seen his partner.
*****
Illya Kuryakin found the nurse running down the hall, her overnight bag clenched in one hand. She skidded to a halt when she saw him, fear making her white with terror as she stared at his blood-covered face.
"Please—just let me go. Don't shoot me. I'll go quickly. I'm sorry I took so long but I'll go straight to the van, I promise."
"What did you do?" he barked at her, realizing she assumed he was a guard. "Why are you late?"
"I killed them. Smothered them. I didn't want them to die in the explosion, I didn't think they should suffer, regardless of who they were." She held her head high, as though expecting his discipline for attempting to be merciful—at least that's how she perceived her actions.
"You k-killed all of them?" Kuryakin stammered.
"The older ones. Ours. Not theirs. I didn't worry about theirs," she said haughtily.
"Where are they?" he demanded, the weapon in his hand shaking with barely contained rage.
"In the back room."
"How many?"
"Just the one. The others died last week in the experiment. Number Four had the sniffles so he was disqualified. And the newborn is there."
"Show me."
"I have to get out."
The air horn blasted through the corridor, startling them both
"That's the five minute warning," she cried out. "I have to go."
"Show me!" He stepped back, indicating she should go by him back down the corridor the way she had come. "Make it quick and we can both get out of here."
"Oh, for the love of—" The nurse threw down her bag and stormed past him, going to the end of the hallway, punching in her code, and opening the last door.
Kuryakin pushed by her, ignoring as she raced out the door back into the hallway. He reached into the playpen and took out the year old toddler, balanced him on his left hip, then moved his gun to his left hand as he scooped up the tiny newborn child in his right arm. The names were written on the cribs.
He ran out into the hallway as lights began to shut down around them. He could see Napoleon running towards him, the older agent grinding to a halt when he realized what Illya was carrying. Then Napoleon turned around and started back to the entrance. Illya skidded around the comer, past the two dead guards and an equally dead nurse, her gun still in her hand, and by the time he reached the cavern, Napoleon had the Jaguar primed and ready. Illya tumbled into the open door, somehow pulling it shut, then the car spun down the corridor. The entrance gate was still open as they raced toward it, the wheels of the car catching as it hit the snowy road.
"Slow down!" Illya hissed, trying to protect his two charges.
"We're dead if we do," Napoleon shouted back, his injured arm ignored, his hand tight on the wheel as his right hand worked through the gears. "We have to get to the highway, closer to the resort."
"What?"
"Lots of bombs and an avalanche."
The six short words were answer enough. Illya twisted in the front seat, depositing the toddler on the floor between his legs. There was an unnatural silence about the child, silent sobs shaking the infant, who clung to the black skiing pants with one hand while sucking on his other thumb. The newborn was screeching though, his face red, eyes tightly shut, the thin mewing cries shattering the young man who held him awkwardly against his chest. He hadn't had time to grab more than the thin blanket the baby was wrapped in. As soon as he could pry his own hand from the dashboard, he unzipped his jacket, slipped the newborn next to his body, and did the ski jacket up again, one hand supporting the child's neck while the other returned to the dashboard to brace himself. His face was still bleeding, he realized, staring at the dark smears across the back of his hand
*****
The car spun out suddenly on the icy road, spinning dizzily until it halted long enough for Napoleon to hit the gas again. The Jaguar shot down the highway as the first rumbles gave indication that something was happening behind them. They passed the turnoff to the lodge, Napoleon still accelerating until they reached the U.N.C.L.E. barricade.
Off to one side he could see the flatbed truck, the van, the jeeps and the limousines. From the damage to the vehicles and the bullet marks on the U.N.C.L.E. SWAT vans, the Thrush unit had made an attempt to fight.
"Give me your transceiver and I'll call this in," Kuryakin mumbled, smearing blood across his face as he wiped a hand over his brow.
"I can do it if—"
"No. I'll do it. You deal with the locals."
"Stay in the car then," Solo ordered, "it's cold out here." He left the vehicle running, heat on full as he got out and headed over to the Section Chief in charge of the
operation. "What's the situation?"
"Looks like we got them all," the man grinned. "Dwight Hill, Section Three Chief, Vermont Montpelier station," he added, holding out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Agent Solo. We don't get many Section Two Chiefs out this way. You've got quite the reputation."
Another agent approached them, speaking into a walkie-talkie. "Sir," he said to Agent Hill, "we've got a report of a minor avalanche down the road. Our lookout near the Thrush lodge there says it's done exactly as Agent Solo said it would, sir, taken out the Thrush satrapy and the road leading to it. We're gonna need some major snow plows to get through there."
"We can leave that to the locals, fortunately. We'll have our hands full here."
Solo counted the cars, missing one limousine and the Thrush geneticist, Weller. "Are these all the vehicles?"
"Yes, sir. Everything that came down this road. There was one other limo that headed in the other direction, but they ran our road block, and we're still in pursuit. Most of our forces were stationed here, as this is the direction the trucks would have to go. The other direction has extremely poor road conditions. The limousine won't get far, sir. Maybe if it had had chains, but not the way it was. It won't happen."
"Don't be surprised. I'm rarely surprised any longer." Damn, that doctor is going to get away from us again. "I've got another prisoner for you," Solo said to Hill, watching the Thrush agents being led handcuffed away from their vehicles and shackled to board a yellow bus. "In the trunk." He wait around the back of the Jaguar and unlocked the trunk, carefully helping out an incensed—and very bruised—Thrush agent. She struggled to get her high-heeled shoes back on, refusing his offer to help her. He unraveled the gag and waved goodbye as Hill led her away.
"I'll get you for that, Napoleon Solo," she seethed, staring back at him.
"Consider it payback for two years ago when you abandoned me in my shirt sleeves outside," he called out after her. "At least I'm making sure you have somewhere nice to go to get warmed up. More than you did for me."
Once she'd moved away, he thought about heading over to the covered laser-modified cars, but decided he really didn't care about them right now. They'd be dealt with soon enough. Instead he detoured by the U.N.C.L.E. ambulance, secured a few blankets and some first aid supplies and returned to his borrowed car.