Last part!


Illya sat close to the base of a tree.  He could hear the wind rustling through the leaves far above.  He could hear birds twittering to each other in the bushes nearby.  He could hear the chirping of a cricket in the underbrush.

All around him, there were the sounds of nature.  He couldn’t, however, hear the one sound that he wanted desperately to hear.  He shivered as he pulled his coat a little closer over his chest.  Then, he closed his eyes to listen harder.

There!  The snapping of twigs as some walked towards him.


“I’m here, Napoleon.”


Nearly out…


Illya was soaked, but he made it to the other side of the river in one piece.  Now, it was a matter of getting to the rendezvous.  The question was: would he make it there before or after his “ride” did?  If whomever was sent to pick him up arrived first, would they wait for him?  That was anyone’s guess.  Although, Illya supposed it really depended on who they sent for him.

He was making his way up the slope when his communicator warbled.  “Kuryakin,” he said, pausing to lean against a tree.

“It’s Napoleon.  Wanna wait there?”

Illya sighed.


Yeah… Illya has more problems getting away.


Illya was frustrated.  No, that was an understatement.  He was beyond frustrated and edging into angry.  Mr. Waverly had said they couldn’t come to his location.  He had no choice but to make it the rendezvous.  When Illya asked how he could be expected to do that, Mr. Waverly had pointed out that he was an intelligent young man.  He could surely solve the problem on his own.

All he had was a rope.  Illya tied a stone to one end and threw it around a branch on the far side.  After tying it off, he plunged into the rapids.


More problems for Illya…


Illya had lost his pursuers, but now he had a new problem.  He stood at the edge of the river with a frown on his face.  There had been rains recently and water tumbled wildly over stones.  There was simply no way that Illya could cross that in his current state.

He sighed and sat down on a large stone.  Once more, he drew out his communicator and assembled it.  This time, he was calling to tell them he couldn’t make it to the rendezvous.  He wondered what Mr. Waverly would say.  He could well imagine the old man’s displeasure.




Illya dozed in the tree for a moment, nearly falling asleep completely before he heard his pursuers reach the brush where he’d left the trail.  He held his breath as he watched them through the leaves.

First, they beat the bushes themselves.  Then, satisfied that he wasn’t hiding there, they moved away, deeper into the trees.  When one of them approached the tree, Illya acted quickly.  He snatched an acorn from nearby and threw it as far away as he could.  As it crashed through branches further off, the Thrushies ran off in pursuit.  Illya breathed a sigh of relief.


Continuing the story…


Illya knew that it was time for him to try something different.  Simply struggling to run away from his pursuers wasn’t working.  He was getting tired.  He pushed through the thick brush, dragging his injured leg behind him.

Praying that they would either assume he’d lost them in the brush or hidden there, Illya scrambled up into the branches of a tree.  It was, by no means, easy.  His injured leg hampered his progress.  However, finally, he was hidden in the thick leafy growth of the branches.

Stifling a sigh, he leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes.


This is the beginning of a series of drabbles that tell a little story…


Illya was well aware that he was leaving a trail that a blind man could follow.  However, also didn’t see what else he could have done.  His leg ached too much for him to walk properly, which forced him to drag it.  If there were a road or rocks to move over, he might have a better chance to hide his trail.  In this loose leaf-litter…

He heaved a sigh, pushing the thoughts away.  He needed to focus on getting away.  With the trail he was leaving, hiding wasn’t an option.  That left him with escape.  The question was: how?


This is a little scene inspired by the fourth season episode of The Man from UNCLE, “The Thrush Roulette Affair”.


So much of their work was about taking risks.  Illya had accepted long ago that, every time he went into the field, he could be killed.  He also knew from experience that there were things far worse than death.

However, he never imagined that anyone would be able to turn him against Napoleon.  They’d been through too much.  He trusted Napoleon to watch his back and Napoleon had to trust him to do the same.

“Are we all right?” he asked, frowning.

Napoleon nodded.  “I took a gamble that the programming wouldn’t stick.  I was right,” he said.

“I’m glad.”


This is kind of like a missing scene from “The Dippy Blonde Affair” from the second season of The Man from UNCLE.


Illya stood in the pouring rain, frowning at Napoleon.  “Really?” he breathed.  Heaving a sigh, he shook his head as if to shake the water away.  He laughed to himself.  That wasn’t going to help!

He stalked over to the car and rapped on the window, startling the occupants.  Leaning down to peer in through the glass, he said, “Thanks for the rescue.”

Napoleon grimaced and slid away from the woman.  As Illya climbed inside, he said, “Hurt?”

“No,” Illya said.  “I’m fine.  Aren’t I always?”  He stifled a sneeze and then gave Napoleon a flat-eyed stare.  “Call it in?”


This little scene was inspired by “The Apple a Day Affair” in the third season of The Man from UNCLE – sort of my take on why Illya didn’t want to have a bite of that apple.


Illya watched Colonel Picks pluck the apple off the pile of produce.  He felt a tremor of fear that he fought to hide.  He didn’t want this man to know he was afraid.  After all, he was a top-notch UNCLE agent.  It was bad enough they’d captured him so easily.  It was bad enough they had him there, tied and virtually helpless.  He had a reputation to uphold.  He couldn’t show fear.

His eyes closed as Picks forced the bite of apple into his mouth.  It tasted sweet and, more importantly, it didn’t explode.  He restrained a sigh of relief.

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