|
The Lovecraft Affair - Chapter 2
|
Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
Before he could get more than a few steps Napoleon had grabbed him by the
arm and pulled him back into the room. Shoving the door shut, he pushed
Illya up against it, pinning him there with a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Okay partner mine, you've been acting all edgy ever since Mr. Waverly gave
us this assignment. What's wrong?"
Illya gently but firmly removed Napoleon's hand. "Have you not forgotten
that I am soon to be a married man? I am sure that my 'bride to be' would
not be overly impressed to catch the groom and the best man in such
close...proximity." He easily evaded Napoleon's grasp and walked over to
sit on the bed.
"You haven't answered my question. Why are you so edgy? Is it because of
all this paranormal stuff that Mr. Waverly has suddenly acquired an interest
in? Come on, you said yourself it's just mumbo jumbo. I mean, demons and
specters and monsters. It *is* a bit far-fetched. All this talk about
Cufuffle..."
"Cthulu," interrupted Illya. "And you should not toss the name around so
easily. It is...not a good idea." He shut up suddenly bowing his head and
refusing to meet Napoleon's eyes.
There was a gleam in Napoleon's eyes as he said, "You've read his books,
haven't you? But I don't remember seeing them in your apartment. Don't
tell me you keep them hidden under the bed with your jazz records," he
teased.
The tips of Illya's ears were beginning to turn pink as he mumbled something
inaudible.
"What was that?" asked Napoleon, cheerfully.
"I said," and Illya raised his head, allowing Napoleon to see that it wasn't
only the tips of his ears that had pinkened. "I read them one of the times
I was in Sickbay last year. You were on a mission and I was bored, so
Betty, one of the nurses brought in a handful of books to keep me occupied."
He paused for a moment before continuing, "Obviously I knew they were pure
fantasy, but..." He fell silent.
"But?" asked Napoleon, sitting down on the bed beside Illya.
"Mr. Waverly does not send agents into the field unless he believes that
their mission will be successful. Logically therefore, he must believe that
the so-called information will be valid. And we all know that he is a
practical man...not given to flights of fancy. So I am forced to accept
that perhaps there *is* something to all this 'mumbo-jumbo'. And if one
aspect of the supernatural realm can be true...then what if *all* aspects
have some basis in fact." Illya wasn't being entirely honest with Napoleon.
True he did believe that there was a possibility of communing with the
'other side'...but his belief did not originate solely out of faith in Mr.
Waverly. It had been instilled in his mind from an early age, listening to
stories at his Nana's knee about demons and ghosts and Baba Yaga with her
iron teeth. He had forgotten much of the myths and legends he had learned
as a child and growing up he had discounted many others as simply tales to
feed the imagination of a growing child. But something about the books he
had read the previous year had stirred his memories and he had devoted a
considerable portion of his off-duty hours into researching various
half-remembered tales. The results of his studies had been both fascinating
and unnerving and the only conclusion he could come to was that while he
couldn't prove the existence of the supernatural...neither could he entirely
disprove it.
"Listen," said Napoleon, in a soothing tone as he reached out and squeezed
Illya's shoulder reassuringly. "Whether this stuff is true or not, it
doesn't really matter. It's not our job to deal with it. We just go in,
get the information, and turn it over to the proper authorities. It's up to
the scientists and the psychics to deal with it then, not us." He patted
Illya on the back before standing. "So come on, we have a wedding to go
to." He reached out his hand expectantly.
Illya grabbed it firmly and pulled himself up. "Once more unto the breach,"
he muttered, gloomily.
"You'd better cheer up," said Napoleon, quickly straightening Illya's tie.
"You want to get a nice set of wedding photographs don't you?"
Illya glared at his friend as they headed out the door. "I don't even know
why Mr. Waverly insisted that *I* be the one to go through with this
charade. After all, everybody knows that *you* are the more experienced
when it comes to romancing women."
"Yes, that's true," agreed Napoleon, earning himself a dirty look from Illya
as they walked down the hall. "Maybe the bride just prefers blonds!"
-----------------
Several floors below, in a dark and gloomy cellar, two hooded figures were
hunched over a large leather bound book.
"You are quite sure that every eventuality has been covered?" said the first
one. "We cannot afford to make a mistake at this stage."
"Don't worry," replied the second figure. "I have checked and double
checked the translation. Everything that we need for the ritual has been
gathered. Those men from UNCLE don't suspect a thing."
"Excellent. Then all we need now is our sacrifice. I'm sure Mr. Kuryakin
will be most suitable."
|
This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit. |