Act V:  "Tune In, Turn On, Drop Out"

Illya Kuryakin balanced precariously on top of the low wall that marked the edged of the roof. To him, the swirling colors that had throbbed and hummed with discordant rhythm a few moments ago now pulsed in a pleasurable, beckoning swirls of muted shades and soothing music. He wanted to completely immerse his body and soul in the vision and bring his growing euphoria to a glorious peak and fly, unbound, from the chaos behind him.

Solo watched as his partner drunkenly pulled off his torn and bloody shirt with his one working arm and throw it to the wind. The injured arm drooped uselessly, the pain obviously unnoticed. Blood gushed from the exit wound with every breath; he swayed dangerously.

Solo approached carefully, waving off the agents that fell in behind. “Don’t startle him,” he said lowly.

“What’s wrong with him?” someone asked in a hushed voice.

“I . . . I’m not sure.” The CEA instinctively moved slowly and kept his eyes locked on the once familiar man before him.

It was a gruesome and surreal sight. The blond agent’s torso was shiny with sweat. Blood swirled in a wild pattern across his entire body. Red spattered blond hair that was not anchored by wetness blew wildly around his joyous profile as he stood swaying in the sporadic breeze. In addition to the rosette gunshot wound Solo could now see a spider web of crisscross scratches, some frighteningly deep, stretch from Illya’s fingertips to elbows.

When a grey cloud blew across the face of the sun, Solo was relieved and wondered if Illya’s eyes had burned. What he could see of his partners’ face, however, tensed in confusion at the sudden darkness. Illya blinked, frowned, and stretched his unhindered arm to the sky as if to pick the cotton ball clouds. He wobbled precariously when he rose to his toes.

“Do not go!" Illya uttered, quietly breathless. Just within hearing range now, Solo then heard him whisper, “I can fly to you!” His friend’s intent was clear when Illya bent his knees to jump.

The instant Illya’s feet left the wall Solo leaped and grabbed the back of the hospital pajama pants and yanked backwards with all his weight. Illya jerked backward and they fell to the roof top in a tangled mass with a jarring thud.

Solo wrapped both arms around his partner’s slick frame from behind and pulled him into a tight bear hug. The compromised agent writhed like a snake, screaming unintelligibly. His movements were disjointed and uncoordinated, but it was still a struggle to control him. Finally, Solo managed to roll on top and pin his friend down. Mournful tears of bewilderment and rage streaked Illya’s face as he refused to be calmed, his wails a heart wrenching mix of fear and betrayal.

Solo hung on like both their lives depended on it. Unsuccessfully, he tried to talk his friend down with constant, quiet chatter, but noise seemed to fuel the fire. It took three additional agents to secure Illya to a gurney commandeered from the facility.

Panting hard and shaking from spent adrenalin, Solo fought down the desire to stay with his partner and reluctantly stood back as he was taken away. Then the shaken agent turned his attention back to the captives.

Bellows, easily subdued and malleable, was taken from the scene with a heavy escort. The pilot and the second bear-like orderly were badly wounded and being tended to by medics. That left Negril, and Solo made it a point to take charge of him.

"What did you give him?" Solo snarled, his fist entwined in the doctor's collar.

To his credit, Negril would not be cowed. Instead he smiled and held Solo's eyes with his own. "Who?" he said with a chuckle, "Bellows or Van Dorn - oh, I mean, Kuryakin?"

Solo shook him like a rag doll as he yelled. "What’s the stuff in my partner?"

“It's probably a derivative of lysergic acid diethylamide by the way his eyes look and the hallucinations.” Trueheart appeared at the angry agent's side, slightly out of breath.

Solo cocked an eyebrow but didn’t take his eyes from Negril. "Hallucinations?"

Trueheart nodded sharply. “Yes. Such a drug mixes up the electrical messages to the brain."

“Will it kill him?” Solo’s voice was flat and direct and his dark eyes bored into Negril's.

“No, not directly. Only if he’s allowed to physically hurt himself - like trying to fly.” She gave him a significant look. “I’ve seen Negril use it on some patients before,” her voice sounded disgusted. “He logs it as ‘treatment’. He’s altered the formula so the effects last up to 24 hours. It doesn’t respond to normal treatment, either. We’ve tried Throazine and Vitamin C, but nothing seems to stop the effects. The best we can do is put Illya in padded restrains in a dark room to reduce sensual stimulation until it runs its course.”

"How long?" he asked.

"It depends on the dose," she replied. “Like I said, it can last up to 24 hours.”

Solo shook the doctor. "HOW MUCH DID YOU GIVE HIM?" he yelled, his mouth inches from the prisoner's face.

Negril's face turned to stone and he crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm not telling you anything."

In a flash of motion Solo swung his pistol across the doctor's cheek and the man crumpled, unconscious. The agent released his grip and let the man fall to the ground at his feet.

"About time someone took him down a peg," Trueheart mumbled quietly.

There was a moment of strained silence before the sound of dragging feet made Solo turn. Hauser, holding his hand against a bloody bump on his head, stopped next to his boss. Panting and swaying slightly as he glared down at the doctor, he said, "Gee, it's a shame he got knocked out in the crash, isn't it?"

A second agent guarding the pilot agreed, as did the rest of the team. Trueheart covered her mouth as she giggled. Solo smiled sheepishly in gratitude.

The nurse then took Solo's elbow. "Please, Mr. Solo, I need to get this place back to normal for the sake of the patients and your partner. Can we hurry this up?"

*****

Bellows was placed in his room with a pair of guards posted in the hall. Solo’s partner could be heard from behind the doors of an empty room, and the CEA had to muster all his reserves to enter the room.

Illya's voice was growing hoarse from screaming and Solo's head pounded with the constant onslaught, but the American managed to keep his voice calm and low in direct contrast to the way he really felt inside. It didn’t take long until Solo felt his nerves were about to shatter. When Trueheart returned with some basic medical supplies and glided in with smooth, unflustered efficiency, the agent felt his burden lift a little.

The nurse smiled sympathetically as she took a blood sample then set up an IV. The bullet wound’s bleeding had slowed and it didn't take long for Trueheart to bind the shoulder and secure the associated arm to the agent's torso. “No sense in trying to work on it now. He’ll make that impossible, and he shouldn’t be sedated. The shoulder needs to be immobilized so he doesn’t make it worse.” She finished off by snugly bandaging the right forearm up to the elbow.

Illya thrashed in the restrains, red faced. Gooseflesh peppered his arms and he groaned at visions unseen by his partner and Trueheart. Finished, the nurse grabbed a side of the gurney.

“There's a dark, soundproof room on the first floor in Admittance. That's the best place for him right now. Any outside influence - noise, smell, sight - will affect him." Trueheart's eyes were full of sympathy. "I'm sorry this happened."

Solo nodded tightly. "You're sure it's temporary?"

"If it's the LSD derivative I think it is, yes."

Solo's head snapped up at the acronym. "Dr. Timothy Leary."

"Tune in, turn on, drop out," the nurse replied disgustedly as she started the gurney with a shove.

Hands still shaking slightly, Solo helped to guide the gurney to the small, dark isolation room on the first floor. The hunting lodge ambience of the reception area now seemed cruelly obscene as he pushed his partner through the double doors.

He leaned over and spoke quietly to his partner. “You’ll be all right, tovarisch. I promise.” He plucked a towel from a small table and wiped Illya’s face and neck, trying to ignore the wails his touch ignited. Finally, he stepped back. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Solo and Trueheart stepped out of the isolation room and quietly closed the door. The tortured moans could still be heard outside, muffled by the soundproofing.

The possibility that Bellows’ condition was orchestrated by outsiders now looked like a reality to Solo. He set his jaw and told himself silently that he would keep his professionalism when he spoke with Negril; anything less would put the agent on the same level as the despised man.

The UNCLE Chief Enforcement Agent had to force his fists to unclench. It became easier when he could no longer hear his partner’s torment. The upcoming night promised to be a long one.

Act VI:  "Someone Leave An Unpaid Bill?"

Dr. Ellroy spent a long, cramped night in a linen closet on the first floor. He huddled under a large pile of dirty linens listening to the sounds of the closet being checked twice. After several hours of undisturbed quiet, the doctor finally crawled out from under and moved the pile closer to the door. This gave him a little more legroom and, from under the concealment, he could at listen to the chatter in the Admittance reception area through the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

Ellroy’s closet was across the hall from the Admitting double doors. As the night wore on, his surveillance rewarded him with the information that Kuryakin was in the isolation room – temptingly within his reach. He also overheard the plans to have the incapacitated agent transferred to UNCLE Medical first thing in the morning.

“Well, it looks like things are falling right in my lap,” the doctor mused to himself. “Bringing in Kuryakin would do a lot to keep my hide out of the fire for losing this place. Negril can be that fall guy.”

A plan began to cook in his mind. In the darkness of the closet, Ellroy pulled together the uniform of an orderly and hoped no one would closely check the laminated Sanctuary Identification card hanging from his pocket flap. UNCLE seemed to think, according to what he could hear, that they’d already found and shipped off all Thrush personnel. As dawn approached, there was more of the usual foot traffic, indicating a return to the normal routine. UNCLE guards, however, were staying put for awhile.

Ellroy heard one voice that came around Admitting several times to check on Kuryakin and eventually realized it was the agent’s partner, Napoleon Solo. It was clear that he was both worried about Kuryakin and frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help him.

With dawn came a lull in activities and Ellroy took the opportunity to slip from the closet, his arms loaded with folded linens. He crossed the hall and pushed through the Admittance double doors, only to be stopped by an armed UNCLE guard on the other side.

“You here to prepare Kuryakin?” the guard asked efficiently.

“Uh, yeah,” the doctor stammered.

“He’s been quiet for awhile. I think his voice gave out.” The guard glanced at his watch. “The transport team should be here any time now.”

“Yessir,” Ellroy nodded as he put down the linens. He picked up a sheet and a light blanket and entered the darkened isolation room.

When the slice of light cut across the still form on the gurney, a guttural moan vibrated the air and the body stirred. Ellroy let the door close and waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the near dark conditions. Finally, he approached the form and gave it a quick exam. When he checked the eyes with his penlight, he chuckled.

“That old fox Negril gave you the altered Leary juice, didn’t he? That means they’ll keep you in the dark right up until they move you.”

Ellroy checked Kuryakin carefully, noting the arm bound across the agent’s chest as well as the neatly wrapped but blood spotted forearm and IV line. He double checked the restraints then covered the oblivious agent with sheet and blanket. Snugly tucked in and cocooned, the patient was ready for transport.

Now to figure out how to be part of the transport team, Ellroy thought. He stepped from the isolation room. “He’s all ready,” he said cheerily. The doctor picked up the rest of the folded linens and moved around the corner to put them away, knowing the linen cabinet was right next to the drug cabinet and out of sight from the guard. Ellroy took the opportunity stock up on syringes loaded with tranquilizers.

Ellroy hung around in the room folding linens and looking busy until he heard the arrival of the transport team. He immediately joined the small group as the man he recognized as Solo briefed them.

The suave agent looked tired. Charcoal bags of weariness hung under his hooded eyes and the perfect hair Ellroy recalled from photographs looked a bit rumpled. The doctor hoped the agent was tired enough to not notice the physical details of the team.

The transport team consisted of one doctor, an orderly and an ambulance driver all dressed in similar white coats and UNCLE hats. The doctor immediately grabbed Illya’s chart and began to read.

“I want as little physical stimulation as possible. Make sure he’s restrained and covered. Tape gauze over his eyes, also, to cut the light. I don’t want to sedate him. He should be pretty worn out by now anyway. “ He flipped the papers and began to write his orders. “Let’s move, gentlemen.” Solo began to speak quietly with the doctor. The orderly moved to get the patient and Ellroy followed closely behind like he belonged there. No one stopped him.

Inside the darkened room with the door closed, the Thrushman pulled out one of the syringes. He grabbed the orderly from behind and clamped a hand over his mouth, and then jabbed the needle into the orderly’s bicep. The man crumpled after a few long seconds. Ellroy switched coats – complete with identification - and donned the UNCLE hat.

After tucking the unconscious man in a corner, he taped gauze over the agent’s eyes as ordered, then roused Kuryakin by roughly patting his cheeks and speaking sharply until the agent twitched. Then Ellroy maneuvered the gurney through the door, keeping his head down to obscure his face.

The already agitated Kuryakin began to squirm violently. His voice was hoarse and raspy from overuse as he uttered pleading phrases in a variety of languages. Everyone in the room concentrated on the incapacitated, writhing agent and missed the fact that a sole orderly exited the room.

“Let’s go,” the UNCLE doctor barked after a quick exam. “We need to get him to a quiet place.”

Orderly Ellroy nodded obediently and pushed the gurney through the double doors, his hat’s brim covering his smug grin.

***********

Dianna Trueheart rubbed her eyes and for a second wondered how sand had gotten under her eyelids. She laughed a giddy laugh after a moment when she realized that she was now in her 21st hour of being awake. I haven’t felt like this since nursing school exams, she thought with humor. I’m going to sleep forever when I leave here.

Napoleon Solo joined her at the main nurse’s station, looking just as weary. Their eyes met for a moment and then they both cracked crooked grins. “Breakfast is my treat, Miss Trueheart,” Solo said with just a little of the debonair edge his invitations usually held. He rubbed his eyes. “After we both get some sleep, that is.”

“Deal,” the nurse sighed, picking up several loose sheets of paper scattered on the desk. “I need to clean up a bit. I haven’t been done a thing here since yesterday.” Something in the papers caught her eye, and she paused. Frowning tiredly, her brain tried to make sense of what she held in her hand. There was something odd here . . .

Solo noted her expression immediately. “What?” he asked wearily. “Someone leave an unpaid bill?”

“No,” she said slowly, studying the sheet. “This transfer order isn’t complete. Your partner’s name is on it.”

The agent craned his neck to look at the paper. “Transfer? Into Deerwood?”

“No, out of Deerwood. The time written here is 1430 hours; that’s when the lockdown . . . I recognize this writing! This is Dr. Ellroy!” Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes were wide now as her mind kicked into gear. “I remember seeing him now! Right after I saw you . . . if he filled this out at two fifty yesterday . . .”

Solo snapped to attention. “. . . then he never got out of here,” he finished. “Dr. Philip Ellroy is a high ranking Thrush and isn’t on any of our detained lists. I didn’t know he was here!”

“SIR!” The guard from Admittance waved frantically from down the hall. Their weariness forgotten, Trueheart and Solo sprinted down the hall. “Our orderly is unconscious in the isolation room!”

“Ellroy has Illya,” Solo realized instantly. “And he has a fifteen minute head start.” He pulled out his communicator as he dashed to the exit, Trueheart on his heels.

******

Ellroy easily dispatched the UNCLE physician in the back of the ambulance with another tranquilizer. Then he unbuckled Kuryakin’s torso in his plan to get the driver to pull over. Ellroy quickly removed the eye patches and then proceeded to rouse the agent into an over stimulated panic.

“HELP!” Ellroy yelled as he pounded the small window between him and the driver. “HE'S LOOSE!”

The driver immediately pulled over and ran around to the back. Ellroy stumbled out of the back door when it opened, covering his nose like he’d been hit. “He hit the doc!” The beefy driver stepped in with the Thrush doctor right behind. Throwing his body over the thrashing agent, the driver yelled at Ellroy to buckle the straps. Ellroy responded by pumping the driver full of tranquilizer.

Ellroy pushed the driver and drugged UNCLE doctor out of the back. Kuryakin legs were still strapped in the gurney, so it was fairly easy to restrain the one free arm to Kuryakin’s torso in a similar fashion as the other arm. Next, the doctor taped the glassy blue eyes closed again. The agent calmed down immediately, deep in his own world of sights, smells and feelings.

Ellroy then unbuckled Illya's legs and half dragged, half led the agent to the front of the car. The Russian was quite malleable once he got his feet under him, and the Thrushman easily maneuvered him into the passenger’s seat and buckled him in as snugly as a lap belt allowed.

Giddy with excitement at his success, Ellroy drove away with his catch, already hearing the praises of the Thrush Council.

******

Ellroy had a forty-five minute head start by the time Solo and Trueheart were picked up by the UNCLE helicopter. The nurse had insisted that she would be needed to take charge of Illya when they found him.

Solo was heartened by her use of the term ‘when’. She seemed to feel his confidence that they would find the wayward agent and Thrushman. On their side was the fact that Deerwood was in the country with only a few major roadways. The circular search pattern they flew soon bore results.

“Ambulance just up ahead, sir!” The pilot’s voice was tinny in Solo’s ear, but the message was very clear. The agent took his Special in hand.

“Stop it before it hits a busy road.”

“Yes, sir!”

Trees and telephone lines made the maneuvering tricky and heart pounding, but it wasn’t long before one skid of the craft gently touched the roof of the swerving ambulance.

“Bridge ahead!” Solo yelped. The pilot managed a sideways push on the skid, which sent the vehicle into a sideways slew onto the dirt shoulder of the road.

Skillfully, the pilot pulled up and touched down, reporting their location to all units as he did so. Solo leaped to the ground among swirling dust and debris and sprinted to the vehicle, his Special leading the way.

The ambulance had jolted to a stop, the front wheels in a ditch. Before the dark haired agent got to the vehicle, the passenger door popped open. Kuryakin, his torso wrapped in a mummy like fashion, was dragged out by Ellroy, who hefted the blond agent into a choke hold and used him as a shield. Something shiny flashed in the doctor's free hand.

A feeling of deja-vu quickly flitted through Solo as he skidded to a stop and trained his weapon on the pair. The only part of Ellroy visible was an ear and the arm choking Illya. The other arm appeared wielding a syringe, which the doctor pressed into Illya’s neck just enough to draw a bead of blood.

Illya uttered a guttural noise and shimmed weakly against the pressure. His head lolled forward over his captor’s forearm.

Solo was sickened by the appearance of his partner. The bandages around his upper body were dark with sweat and blood, his hair wet with sweat. Perspiration made his deathly pale face shine. The gauze patches across his eyes made him seem unreachable; Solo could always read his partner by his eyes. Illya’s chest heaved with panicked breathing. His legs were unsteady.

He still wore the hospital pajama bottoms, but they were torn, dirty and spotted with blood. Bare feet didn’t seem to feel the rough ground on which they stood.

“I’ll kill him," Ellroy snarled. "Don’t come any closer.”

Solo stopped. “Don’t do it, Ellroy. You have no where to go.”

“And you have a partner to lose. Drop your gun.”

Solo held up his free hand behind him to stop the UNCLE pilot and Trueheart in their tracks behind him.

Ellroy chuckled. “And you even brought alternate transportation for me. How thoughtful. Now put the gun down, Mr. Solo.” He accented the request by increasing pressure on the needle; the tip was now well into Illya’s neck and it began to bleed freely. Ellroy gave it a glance. “I just may puncture an artery if I’m not careful. Now put it down.”

Solo slowly squatted down in a motion to lay the gun down. His movement caused Ellroy to crane his neck over Illya’s shoulder so he could watch the maneuver. Ever so slowly, Solo lay the gun down.

Ellroy’s chin was now well over Illya’s shoulder, his face visible. Solo picked his target.

In a flash, he scooped a handful of dirt and threw it directly at Ellroy’s face. Instinctively, the doctor yelped and fell backward. Illya was dragged to his knees and screamed hoarsely at the sudden stimulation. He jerked violently and wrenched free as the doctor rubbed his blinded eyes. The syringe fell to the dirt.

Solo was on top of Ellroy in an instant, swinging hard. He got in two solid, satisfying hits before Trueheart appeared at his side with a syringe. She injected the Thrush doctor with something that dropped him immediately.

Panting lightly, pushed off the limp doctor and turned his attention to his partner. The pilot had pulled Illya aside, but the agent struggled against him.

Solo wrapped his arms around his friend’s body and held him tight. “Shhh, calm down, partner. You’ll be alright.” He kept repeating the words in a low and calming voice until his partner shuddered into stillness and melted to the ground.

EPILOGUE

Solo’s whistled tune changed into a low wolf’s whistle when he saw the amazingly transformed figure of Dianna Trueheart swaying down the hallway of UNCLE medical at the side of Alexander Waverly.

“I hope that was not intended for me,” Waverly commented with a glitter of humor in his eye.

Solo stopped in his tracks and cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Um, no sir, it wasn’t.” His hand moved to the button of his coat and he instituted a short bow. “It was for the lovely lady in blue!”

Trueheart smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Mr. Solo. I don’t live in nurse’s whites, you know.”

Solo fell in beside the lovely woman as they turned down the hallway.

“Visiting our surly Russian?” Solo asked brightly, nestling a small paper bag in the crook of his elbow.

“Yes, Mr. Solo," Waverly said. "I understand he’s finally free of the influence of that drug. Based in LSD, was it?”

“That’s right,” confirmed Trueheart. “He should be all right now. The altered formula makes it last longer, but then the occurrence of flashbacks is negated.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s a fair trade off.”

Solo held the paper bag aloft. “I brought gifts to appease the beast, just in case he surlier than normal.” He pushed the door open.

“That had better be chocolate,” a low, scratchy voice said from single bed. The room was dimmed of light. Illya was sitting up looking only a bit less pale, but a whole lot cleaner. “It’s the least you can offer for shooting me.”

“Oh, that.” Solo stopped just out of his partner’s reach and offered the bag carefully. “I had no choice. It was that or use your head as a paperweight."

“I assure you, Mr. Kuryakin, the reports indicate it was necessary. I am only glad that Mr. Solo managed to miss anything major. You should be back to work in no time at all.”

Illya grabbed the bag with his less injured arm and pulled out a small carton of ice cream. He frowned at it.

Trueheart instantly saw the problem and moved bravely forward. She sat lightly on the edge of the bed and pried off the lid. Picking up the spoon that came with the gift, she began to spoon feed the injured agent, who smirked at Solo when she wasn’t looking.

Solo raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something. Illya’s glare stopped him cold.

“Dr. Ellroy has been extremely cooperative with us,” Waverly said conversationally, ignoring the interplay between his agents. “We apparently stopped Deerwood from becoming a center for Thrush brain washing and such. Bellows was an ongoing experiment in extracting information.”

Illya spoke with a partially full mouth. “I saw the equations on his wall. If we have pictures, I’d like to see if I can decipher some of them.”

“Sounds like perfect assignment for your time off active duty, Mr. Kuryakin.”

“How is Dr. Bellows doing?” Trueheart asked, dishing out another spoonful of ice cream.

“Not too much change yet,” Solo said, trying to ignore how close Trueheart was sitting to his partner. “It’s only been two days. He’s been Ellroy and Negril’s toy for almost a year.”

"And as soon as the swelling goes down from Negril's fractured cheekbone, we will work on extracting information from him." Waverly sounded almost gleeful. "Well done, gentlemen. It was a successful Affair. Miss Trueheart?" The old man offered his elbow, feeding time was over. She put the carton on the nightstand.

Solo looked smugly at his partner.

"Well, back to work for me," the woman sighed. "Now that I'm in charge of the sanctuary, I can institute the changes I've always thought would enhance the patient's treatment. Goodbye, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. Drop by sometime."

A smiling Waverly escorted the lovely nurse from the room. The two agents stared at the door as it swung shut.

Illya tried to reach the ice cream with his unbound arm, but Solo beat him to it. The American held the spoon aloft with raised brows, pantomiming his offer to feet the Russian.

Illya snorted. "I hardly think so. Anyway, I'm full." He laid back and threw the arm over his eyes with a plaintive sigh.

Solo dove in and plopped onto the edge of the bed, ignoring Illya's twitch of discomfort. "So, you still sensitive to light?"

"Yes."

"So, what you're saying is, you're not going to be able to help with the reports?"

"Apparently."

“Looks like your bad trip is now my bad trip." Solo scraped the bottom of the carton. "Well, then. I guess I'd best get going on that, shouldn't I?"

Illya's grunt was indecipherable.

Solo snorted and dropped the carton in the trash can. At the door he paused and looked suspiciously at the form in the bed. He wondered just how incapacitated his partner really was.

"Be sure to check your spelling," Illya commented a little too lightly.

As Solo frowned and turned to go, he failed to see the self-satisfied grin on his partner's lips.

FINIS