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The
Sumerian Codebook Affair |
Summary - The guys track down and protect a linguist while he deciphers a new THRUSH code. But this "innocent" isn't, and he's hiding a secret he'll kill to protect.
Notes - This was written for the Channel_W Summer Writing Challenge.
For the Highlander Challenged (skip this if you understand HL): Immortals are a race of humans who cannot be permanently killed unless beheaded, though they can suffer pain and injury, and even "die", although the death is temporary. They posess remarkable powers of healing due to energies called a "Quickening". When an Immortal is beheaded his or her Quickening is passed to and absorbed by the nearest Immortal, usually the one who performed the beheading. Immortals are born (nobody knows where or how) and grow up as normal humans until their first "deaths", at which time their Quickening fully manifests and heals them. From that time on they no longer age, and are subject to "The Game", a ritual combat fought with swords and ending with the beheading of the loser. New Immortals either die at the hands of a more experienced opponent or find Immortals willing to teach them to fight, and the rules for The Game, the first of which is: "There can be only one."
Loke
Act I: "It looks like cuneiform."
He knew they were close, but if he could make it to the drop point he could forward the package and draw them off. It was going to be a close thing, but UNCLE hadn't trained him to fail.
There was the bookstore, just ahead. He chanced a glance around and saw no suspicious people -- good. It meant he was far enough ahead of them to make the drop. He pushed open the door and entered.
"May I help you?" the proprieter, an elderly man with muttonchop sideburns, asked.
"Do you have any books about thrushes?" the man replied, placing the package on the counter. "I was hoping to buy one for my uncle."
"Thrushes can be dangerous things," the older man said.
It was the correct countersign, and the agent slid the package over. The other man quickly whisked it out of sight, handing back a similiar sized package. "This should be just the kind of book you need."
The young man took the offered package and left. A few blocks away his pursuers caught up with him, taking the package and leaving him for dead.
By the time they discovered the switch, the original package was well on its way to New York.
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U.N.C.L.E. North America Headquarters
New York, New York, USA
The two men picked up their badges from the receiptionist after entering thruogh the tailor's shop. While the slender, fair skinned, blue-eyed, blond accepted his badge and politely thanked her, his dark haired, brown-eyed, olive skinned partner paused to flirt until the other man reminded him they had an appointment.
"Really, Napoleon, must you always annoy her like that?" the blond remonstrated.
"She wasn't annoyed, Illya," Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Officer, said. "If she had been, she'd have passed me my badge with the hand which wasn't chemically treated." The chemical was an extra security precaution, designed to keep invaders from simply overpowering the receiptionist, taking badges and passing themselves off as agents.
"One of these days you're going to run into one who is, and then where will you be?" Illya Kuryakin, Number 2, Section 2 and Solo's partner, asked.
"Perfectly safe, since I'll have you there to identify me," the other man replied with a smirk.
Kuryakin would have replied to the outrageous statement, but they'd reached their goal -- the office of their superior, Alexander Waverly, Chief of UNCLE's North American Branch. Waverly's secretary smiled at the pair and waved them past, saying, "He's expecting you."
The two men entered the office and found Waverly scrutinizing what appeared to be a stenographer's notebook. There were several more sitting on the table before him. The elderly Englishman looked up as they approached, and spun the table to place the notebooks before the two men. "What do you make of those?"
Each man picked up a notebook and looked at the writing within.
Solo thought the triangles and lines looked familiar, but he couldn't quite remember where he'd seen them before.
"It looks like cuneiform," Kuryakin said, "but beyond that, I can't help you. Do we have an Assyriologist on staff?"
"It is indeed cuneiform, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said. "It also appears to be THRUSH's newest code, and our cryptologists are at a loss to understand it. Unfortunately, we don't have an Assyriologist on staff, but my contacts tell me there's a young man who's absolutely brilliant when it comes to ancient languages. He's here in town, doing some post-doctorate work at one of the smaller colleges."
The UNCLE head pulled out a leather folder and sent over to the agents. "The man's name is Matthew Peterson. He's British, here on a student visa. Lives alone in a small apartment near the campus. No known family; he claims they were all killed in the war."
Solo picked up the folder and held it so Kuryakin could read over his shoulder. The black & white photos showed a tall, slender, dark haired man with a penchant for full length coats, even in summer. A head and shoulders shot showed a thin, high cheekboned face with a hawkish blade of a nose and intense eyes.
"Your assignment, gentlemen, is to make contact with the young man, and bring him here if he's at all willing. THRUSH is by now aware we have a copy of their new code, and may be watching anyone they think might be able to decipher it. If they're watching Peterson, bring him in, willing or not. Good luck, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. Dismissed."
The two younger men departed the office, on their way to a small campus and a large amount of trouble.
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Prof. Matthew Peterson -- known as Matt to his friends, at least the ones on campus -- had just finished up a lecture on the importance of the Rosetta Stone in translating Egyptian hieroglyphics, and was gathering up his lecture notes prepatory to leaving when the two men entered the hall. He at first thought they were there for the next lecture until they came up to him.
"Prof. Peterson?" one asked.
"Yes," he replied. "May I help you?"
"Actually, we're here to warn you," the other man said. They were wearing identical off-the-rack charcoal gray suits, with white shirts and skinny black ties.
"Warn me of what? Are you policemen?"
"Not as you would think of them. We represent an international organization dedicated to order."
"We needed to warn you about another group who oposses our goals."
"They recently came into possession of our newest codebook, and we believe they'll contact you for assistance in deciphering it."
"Why would they do that? I'm a professor of languages, not a code-breaker."
"The code is in cuneiform, which you're an acknolwedged expert in."
"It might be possible for you to work it out if you had the proper guide."
"Between your expertise and their own, our entire organization could be threatened."
"We don't know exactly who will come to you, but they will say they are from the U.N.C.L.E. Go along with them at first. Get them to agree to bring you the codebooks if you can."
"They're not likely to agree to that," Peterson said.
"Do you think," the first man asked, "you could retrieve the books if we gave you facsimilies to leave in their place?"
"I might not have the opportunity. They might search me to prevent that. Hell, they might just keep me wherever they have the codebooks."
"If they wish to do that, you must tell them you need time to get your affairs in order. We will be nearby and ready to help if you need us."
"Couldn't I just tell them I'm too busy, and recommend one of your people go in my stead?" Peterson had no intention of playing spy vs. spy if he could get out of it.
"We can't get a believable cover story into place in so short a time. It will have to be you."
While the three men had been talking, the lecture room had begun to fill with students waiting for the next lecture. It was easy enough for one small, blond Russian to slip in among them.
The UNCLE agents had shown up some minutes earlier and recognized one of the men talking to Peterson as a THRUSH operative. They'd immediately pulled back to keep the Assyriologist out of danger. Now Kuryakin watched from the rear of the room and waited for a chance to speak to Peterson alone.
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