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home | part 2 |
Act III......Manhood End
Back at UNCLE HQ - Bognor Regis, Ros peered out of the window in her room. She blinked her eyes a couple if times before giving a very loud and pissed off sounding cluck.
"I'm guessing this is the right chicken farm," Ed observed.
"Are you sure?" Illya asked, glancing around him.
"Pretty certain," Ed nodded.
"What gives it away?" Illya wanted to know. "Is it the security cameras?"
"Well..."
"Or the cages of chickens with needle marks in their feathers?"
"It's the..."
"Or what about the sophisticated laboratory at the far end of this chicken shed?"
"Actually," Ed explained. "It's the half dozen armed guards in those funny green boiler suits with a black and white patch depicting a thrush."
Illya looked very serene as he replied. "I wondered if that was the give away. Any good ideas?"
Ed shrugged.
Illya tried again. "Any ideas - good or otherwise?"
"Run?" Ed suggested.
Illya thought about it. "I like that idea. After you."
Ed tried to do the decent thing. "No, no, after you."
At this point Illya grew tired of the banter and pushed Ed out of the door. The two men pelted across the farmyard. They veered left, aiming for the gap in the hedge. A volley of bullets changed their minds and the two men went right. Illya brought a picture of the farm layout to mind. "Oh no," he muttered to himself, as he recalled what lay to the right. He reached out to Ed, trying to slow him down, but it was too late.
"Aargghhhh!" Ed yelled.
The startled ducks swam for the banks where they paddled onto the mud. The ducks turned to quack indignantly at the two blond men who spluttered to the surface.
Ed plucked a strand of green pondweed off his face. "No one mentioned the duck pond."
Illya sighed. "There's always a duck pond, or a lake, or a river or something that involves water. Always."
Ed looked towards the shore. A cluster of THRUSH henchmen had gathered, all pointing guns at the two bedraggled men. Ed and Illya waded to the edge of the pond, and slowly climbed out onto dry land. Their wet clothes clung tightly to their bodies. Illya shook his head and droplets of water were flung off the blond strands. Ed ran his fingers through his curls.
One of the THRUSH guards gestured with his gun towards one of the chicken sheds. "That way," he ordered.
"Wonder where she's heading?" Napoleon mused, flicking his eyes between the tracker and the Ordnance Survey map spread open over his knees.
Beckett, who was driving, glanced at a conveniently placed road sign. "Sidlesham is the next village," he commented.
"Oh, she's taking a right," Napoleon informed him. "Keep your eyes open, there should be a turning in a minute."
"Here we go," Beckett swung the car gently round the turning.
"That was smooth," Napoleon said approvingly. "Illya just throws cars round corners like they were going out of fashion."
"Yes," Beckett said dryly, with a sideways glance at Napoleons suit.
"She's taking a left now," Napoleon said, watching the tracker. He examined the map. "Oh," he said.
"What?" Beckett asked.
"I think I know where she's going," Napoleon said mysteriously.
"Well?" Beckett asked.
"The next village along is called Birdham," Napoleon told him.
"Ahhh," Beckett sighed, making the connection.
"And," Napoleon added
"And?" Beckett asked.
"Just outside Birdham is a farm."
"And the farm is called?" Beckett helped drag out the agony of suspense.
"The farm is called," Napoleon hesitated for a moment, perhaps hoping for a drum roll. "The farm is called Manhood End!"
In the main chicken shed at Manhood End farm, just outside Birdham, West Sussex, the chickens were kept at one end of the shed, in a pen enclosed by high chicken wire. In the centre of this pen Illya and Ed were tied back to back, around a solid metal pole that was set into the floor and reached up to the ceiling. The THRUSH henchmen threatened dire threats should they try to escape, and made promises to be back shortly with some chicken serum to try out on them. Illya and Ed did their best to look suitably cowed and scared.
The sound of chickens clucking died away as the henchmen left the shed. A couple approached the two tied up men and tried an experimental peck or two.
"Scat!" Ed said indignantly, crossing his legs protectively.
The chicken decided she didn't like the taste and moved on.
"I wonder if we could persuade one to peck through our ropes?" Ed pondered.
"What do you think I'm doing?" Illya muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Ed twisted round and realised that Illya had managed to scoop some chicken feed onto the ropes that tied them to the metal pole. Sure enough a chicken was pecking away enthusiastically. "Good on yer, mate," Ed congratulated Illya.
"Keep still, you don't want to scare her off," Illya instructed him.
"How long do you think it will take?" Ed asked after a few moments.
"When did those men say they would be back?"
"About 15 minutes," Ed said, looking up at the clock that was conveniently placed on the wall in front of him.
"Right," Illya did a few calculations in his head. "Thickness of the rope, chicken feed, pecks per minute..." he muttered the vital information to himself. "It will take between 14 and 16 minutes."
Ed watched the second hand of the clock complete another circuit.
Time passed. Fifteen minutes to be precise. As the minute hand of the clock moved forward for the fifteenth time, three things happened at the same moment - well four things if you count Ros, back at UNCLE HQ: Bognor Regis, clucking painfully as she attempted to lay a phantom egg.
The door at one end of the chicken shed at Manhood End Farm, West Sussex, burst open as Napoleon and Beckett manfully kicked it down.
The door at the other end of the chicken shed opened, and a man in a white lab coat, five THURSH henchmen and Penny Poultry entered.
The chicken that had been pecking through the rope that bound Illya and Ed to the metal pole in the centre of the shed, pecked through the last few strands enabling Illya and Ed to leap to their feet.
Act IV......Tom, Dick, Harry and...
Mark held Ros' hand tightly. "Deep breaths," he instructed.
"Cluck!"
"I know, I know," he said reassuringly. "But it will soon be over and we'll all be so proud of you."
"Cluck," Ros said plaintively.
Illya and Ed exchanged a brief glance and came to the same conclusion. They both started shinnying up the metal pole, Illya leading the way.
Napoleon and Beckett, already heading into the shed found their momentum carrying them forwards into the chicken pen. A volley of bullets from the henchmen at the opposite end of the shed encouraged them to dive face down onto the floor of the pen. The chickens clucked ominously.
It took longer for Napoleon and Beckett to join them on the roof of the chicken shed than Ed expected. The two dark haired men climbed through the skylight and perched uncomfortably on the corrugated metal roof. Illya, who had his back to them, said "They're surrounding the building. We're sitting here like..."
"Sitting ducks?" Beckett volunteered.
Ed shuddered. "Don't remind me," he pleaded. "I'm sure I can still feel some pond weed down my back."
Illya looked closely at Napoleon. "What happened to you?" He asked. "You look as if you've got.."
"Oh yeah," Ed agreed. "I had it when I was little."
"What?" Napoleon ran his fingers over his face, felling a little worried.
"Now Napoleon, don't scratch," Illya advised.
"What is it?" Napoleon asked again, having felt lots of tiny bumps all over his face.
"Well it looks like you've got chicken pox," Illya observed.
Beckett stifled a giggle. "You said you thought you might be allergic to feathers," he reminded Napoleon.
It was something of a stand off. On the ground several THRUSH henchmen, a couple of scientists - evident in their white coats - and numerous chickens stared up at the four men perched uncomfortably on the tin roof of the hut.
Time passed. The four men, still perched uncomfortably on the tin roof, discussed and rejected several plans. Those on the ground watching closely would have noticed that the men were increasingly shifting around, unable to settle in one spot for more than a few seconds.
Illya had stopped paying attention to the conversation and was concentrating on the cat that was approaching from the far side of the roof. "Look at that cat," he pointed it out to the others.
"Oh yeah," said Ed, after watching it for a moment. "It's walking like a...like a..."
"Cat on a hot tin roof?" Beckett asked.
"Actually," Napoleon said, shifting his feet. "Now that you mention cats on hot tin roofs..."
"Yeah," Ed interjected. "What's with the underfloor heating?"
"Ah," said Beckett, a flicker of memory running through his mind.
"Ah," said Napoleon as the memory reached him as well.
Illya knew the signs - they weren't good. "What?" He demanded of his fellow agent.
"Take that note of accusation out of your voice," Napoleon told him. "You don't know that I've done anything."
The cheap comment along the lines that Napoleon never did do anything was left unspoken as the pressing need to investigate the latest development was given priority. Illya tried again. "So Napoleon, what do you think might be causing the roof to heat up, when the sun is so low in the sky?"
Napoleon realised he had nowhere to go...except. "It was his idea," he pointed to Beckett.
Beckett tried to look indignant, but failed. "It may have been my idea but Napoleon was the one with the matches."
Illya sighed. He had a pretty good idea what was coming next.
"We needed a distraction," Napoleon explained. "Time to climb up the pole."
"So you set fire to the straw," Ed concluded.
Napoleon and Beckett nodded in unison.
"And you didn't stop to think what might happen about ten minutes after you had climbed the pole to get onto the roof of the building you were setting fire to?" Illya just wanted to make sure of the facts. He liked to write accurate reports for Mr Waverly.
Napoleon and Beckett hung their heads, shame-faced.
Ed was distracted by something else. "Where did all the little Thrushies go?"
The men on the roof looked down at the ground. Sure enough, there was no-one in sight. Just a few stray chickens.
"They haven't evacuated this building," Beckett observed.
Illya and Napoleon were well versed with the layouts of THRUSH satraps. "Underground rooms and tunnels," they chimed in together.
Several moments later, courtesy of Ed's handy utility belt, four men and one disgruntled cat were back on the ground. It was the cat that found the entrance to the underground tunnels. It was having an eyeball staring contest with a chicken. Illya was the first to realise that the chicken was staring with a rather fixed expression. He went over to it and quickly ascertained that the chicken was indeed stuffed. Illya poked it in the eye and a neat square of grass slid back, revealing a flight of steps that led down.
Each of the men tried to be polite and let the others go down first. In the end it was Illya who led the way, with Beckett bringing up the rear. At the bottom of the flight of steps four tunnels forked off.
"Convenient," Illya observed. "Tom, Dick, Harry and...."
"Fred?" Ed suggested.
They each took a tunnel.
At the end of his tunnel Ed found a laboratory. It was empty, save for a chicken in a cage. He quickly scanned the contents of the cupboard and to his delight found a large bottle marked 'Chicken Serum antidote". He quickly pocketed the bottle, and with an apologetic glance towards the chicken, which had been clucking angrily, he darted out of the laboratory and back up the tunnel. After twenty paces he did an about-turn and dashed back for the chicken.
Napoleon walked casually along the tunnel he had picked, his gun at the ready. A chink of light showed the position of a door and he carefully edged round it. He was almost in the room when he was roughly pushed the rest of the way. Someone slammed him hard against the wall and he slid gracefully down it, grazing his nose along the brickwork as he made his way to the floor. He was aware of someone standing next to him, and Napoleon could also make out the shadow of his UNCLE special lying within arms reach. He reached out an arm. Moments later Napoleon was back on his feet, gun pointed towards a THRUSH guard who had his arms firmly in the air.
Beckett caught a glimpse of someone moving in front of him. He sprinted down the tunnel after the figure. Turning the bend he grabbed hold of the person's arm. It was Ms Poultry. Her white lab coat was undone, revealing a bright orange dress, with vibrant blue accessories.
"Hello Penny," Beckett said, with a smile. "How nice to find you."
"Let me go," Ms Poultry snarled, trying to wriggle free of his grip.
"I think I'd rather you came with me," Beckett said, starting to march her back through the tunnel. "I'll buy you a coffee," he offered.
At the far end of the fourth tunnel Illya was crouched in front of a steel door, patiently picking the lock. It finally clicked open and the Russian agent stepped into the room. He smiled appreciatively at the fully equipped computer room, before sitting down in front of the largest machine and punching at the keyboard. It was not long before he had hacked into the database. Looking around he soon spotted a blank tape and he quickly recorded all the data onto it. He then grinned as he set about corrupting the information left on the main computer storage banks.
Before he left the room, he deposited a gift of his own. Clutching the tape he ran back down the tunnel. At the intersection where the four tunnels met he found Napoleon, Ed and Beckett all waiting for him. "We're doing show and tell," Beckett explained. "Ed's got the serum, Napoleon a guard, I've got Penny Poultry..."
"A tape with all the formula on it, plus lots of other useful THRUSH information," Illya said, holding up the tape. "Might I make a suggestion?
Napoleon recognised the glint in his colleagues eye and started immediately back to the main entrance.
"What?" Beckett asked.
"I've planted a couple of explosives," Illya told him. "I suggest you start running."
Epilogue(s)
"Well, err " Mr Waverly said, pushing himself up from the table. "I must say that you've had a most successful mission. Mr Beckett and Mr err, umm. You have both been very helpful."
The four men sitting opposite the head of the New York division of UNCLE, currently visiting Bognor Regis, could not help but look a trifle smug.
"And now," Mr Waverly continued, reaching for his humidor which, being on his desk back in New York, wasn't there. "You will be interested..."
"What about Ros?" Beckett asked, his patience being shorter than Mr Waverly's manner of delivery.
"As I was about to say," Mr Waverly rebuked him, "Your companion, Ms Henderson has made a full recovery following the injection of the serum."
Napoleon and Illya looked on at the rather touching reunion.
"Don't you ever, ever," Ros was saying to Ed as she backed him into a corner," "Touch my equipment again."
"Come on Ros," Beckett tried to intercede. "It's not been that bad,"
Ros turned to face him, an incredulous expression on her face. "Not that bad?" She repeated.
Napoleon tugged at Illya's sleeve. "Shall we leave them to it?"
Illya nodded in agreement and the two UNCLE agents made a hasty exit from the room.
A couple of days later, Ros, Ed and Illya stepped back from the laboratory table from which they had been working at. Beckett looked suspiciously at the toaster on the table. It was an ordinary toaster, if you ignored the mass of wires leading out of it and the blue alarm clock attached to the side.
"I know, I know," Ros said, before he could speak. "It's doesn't look great and I don't think it is capable of toasting bread, but it's the best we could do."
"Shall I plug it in?" Illya asked, holding the cable up.
They made their goodbyes and then Ros, Ed and Beckett stood round the toaster.
Illya plugged it in. He and Napoleon stood well back as the other three silently depressed the toasting button. There was a puff of smoke and the distinct smell of burnt toast. As the smoke cleared they realised that they were alone in the room.
Illya unplugged the toaster and Napoleon opened a window to waft out the remaining smoke. Napoleon looked at his fellow UNCLE agent. "I wonder if they got where they wanted to get to?" He mused.
Beckett glanced around. They were standing on a raised platform in a windowless room. A chubby man stood behind a console directly before them. Despite the stern face on the tall clean-shaven man standing in front of her, Ros managed a small smile. Ed tried his charms on the slight blond woman, wearing a yellow and black jumpsuit. Her arm was out stretched, pointing...aiming something at him.
"Hi," Ed said, figuring it to be a general greeting of goodwill.
"Ah, captain," the tall man said.
Ros, Beckett and Ed turned to look at the bald man who had appeared in the doorway.
"It seems we have visitors."
The End?
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