Writing for Fun
The 'Building Site' Affair - Vivian Burdon
April 2014
Illya Kuryakin, aka Janet Bickerstaff, leapt through the pane less window frame set into a half built brick wall and waved a piece of copper piping around. A bit aimlessly, I thought. No display of martial arts panache there then. I normally play Kuryakin on account of my blond hair and martial arts skills. She had been bloody ages scouting the area for THRUSH agents and I was fed up crouching in a stinky hole that builders had probably pissed in. The sunlight was flooding the slit in the part built cavity wall I was peering through, making a silhouette of special agent Kuryakin. It would have been a great image worthy of the opening credits of a Bond film if she had just struck the karate chop pose correctly.
I rehearsed the quick chop motion with my hand and had to shift my hips away from a bit of broken guttering that dislodged itself from a down pipe. Holding this crouched position in the small gap was beginning to tell on the perfectly honed body of special agent Napoleon Solo. I reached into my jacket for my hand held satellite radio cunningly disguised as a packet of Number 6. 'Open Channel D,' I shouted loudly . . . on account that it wasn't really a radio so I had to make sure Kuryakin heard me. 'Kuryakin, come in,' I yelled, secretly. 'Any sign of deadly THRUSH Agents?' Janet fumbled for her cigarettes and flicked opened Channel D. 'Three outside the Chip Shop and one suspicious character by the Off Licence. Solo where are you?' she added, a bit lamely I thought.
I clambered out of my hiding place and jumped onto a bag of spilt cement. 'What took you so long?' I whispered. Apparently Kuryakin had cunningly engaged one of the THRUSH agents outside the chip shop. A ploy, apparently, to distract the agent and extract information about the capture of an innocent bystander (aka the old lady that runs the laundrette). THRUSH wrongly suspects she holds the second part of a secret equation they need to construct the weapon that can destroy the world. Once they have this technology they will be able to complete their quest to dominate mankind. It was our mission to rescue the innocent Mrs X and steal back the first part of the equation the dastardly Sebastian Moran already held.
It appears that during her covert reconnaissance operation Kuryakin had managed to acquire three chips from the suspected THRUSH operatives and the name of that new lad, sorry spy, lurking about near the Offy.
'But did you get any clues to the whereabouts of Mrs X?' I challenged, somewhat ticked off that Kuryakin should risk blowing our cover like that and because she knew I fancied that new guy ever since his family moved to the estate. 'Do you think he's a THRUSH agent too?' I mumbled grumpily.
'No, stupid, he's Mr Waverly. I saw him disappear down his secret entrance to headquarters.'
Oh, she's good, quick recovery, I thought, and a stroke of game play genius. Actually she wouldn't know it was the secret entrance, because it's secret to all but Mr Waverly, so she couldn't be certain the new lad was Mr Waverly. But I let this go because it meant if he is the Mr Waverly, Alex Waverly, British head of organisation, Number 1 of Section 1, we would have to contrive to bump into, sorry, report back to him about our Mission. Kuryakin also mentioned that she had seen Mrs X being bundled at gun point into the Newsagent.
We needed a plan.
Our two man trouble shooting team working for the global organisation UNCLE had been given this assignment on a hot sunny afternoon in the school holidays so we decided to head down to the precinct for an orange Jubbly. This would provide ideal cover to get closer to the captured Mrs X if she was in the Newsagent. Stroke of genius on my part I thought.
We leapt from partly constructed brick walls to foundation trenches as we fought our way across the hostile terrain of part built houses. I killed three THRUSH agents with the infra-red sniper-scope providing cover for Kuryakin's dash to the safety of the public library at the north end of the precinct. I followed close behind but got ambushed by two previously unseen THRUSH agents. I was forced to engage in arm to arm combat. My deadly karate chop felled one agent and the other I killed with a stab of my cunningly concealed stiletto in a fountain pen as he tried to throttle me.
We rendezvoused at the Large Print Section and I had to catch my breath and Kuryakin patched up my wounds because she had done a first aid course and had a bandage and a large safely pin. We decided to load our pistols with special darts tipped with a fast-acting tranquilizer on account of the need to have live prisoners.
We needed information not corpses.
On the count of three we broke cover and dashed over to the Newsagents. On entering, Kuryakin demanded two orange Jubblys and ten fruit salads, distracting the shopkeeper and giving me time to sweep the isles for THRUSH agents and Mrs X. Rounding the Radio and TV Times rack I spotted Mrs X sat on her Zimmer frame. The dastardly THRUSH agents were trying to get her to spill the equation with a truth serum disguised as a glass of water. Just in time. I signalled Kuryakin with a rolled up copy of Jackie. Instinctively she knew we needed to tranquilise the agent and release Mrs X.
As I rounded the corner Mrs X spotted my and greeted me with obvious relief. Cleverly, this untrained innocent person caught up in this deadly quest, understood Kuryakin's highly skilled hand signals and knew we were there to rescue her. Taking the cue she said weakly, 'Take me home, dear, I've had a bit of a turn in this heat and need to get back to cook your granddad's dinner.' I pretended to help Gran X to her feet and lead her out the door waving away the truth serum in the glass of water. Kuryakin cleaned up the crime scene by paying for the Jubblys and sweets and tranquilising the THRUSH agent. We would deal with them later.
'I'll take Gran to a safe house then meet you back at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters,' I hissed behind my hand to Kuryakin.
'Which entrance? Del Floria's Tailor Shop or through The Masque Club?' she replied. I thought about it and decided we should use the Masque Cub entrance. 'We can enter the Masque Club through the off licence,' I announced, 'so I will meet you there; I can get granddad's Mackeson while we're at it. That tranquillizer will only last two hours so I will send the UNCLE car to pick up the drugged THRUSH agent and get to you as quick as I can'. I hesitate, then add for effect, 'Kuryakin. Be careful out there, my friend.' Janet, I noticed, had become a bit distracted by the wrapper on her fruit salad, she snapped back into action and loped off in full Kuryakin style, karate chopping unsuspecting agents as they passed by.
I had to stop for some dinner with Gran so I didn't get to the off licence (aka the secret entrance to UNCLE headquarters) for half an hour. Kuryakin had started to interrogate a woozy agent. She was getting nowhere. I joined in but it appeared we may have overdone the dosage so we let the guy leave but not until we had put a tracking devise, cunningly disguised as a fruit salad, in his pocket. The storeowner was grumbling about that old soak coming in everyday wanting cider on tick. We ignored him and scanned for the concealed handle that would open the secret door. Before we could find it Mr Waverly (new lad, now washed with best togs on, looking dreamy) emerged from a doorway imaginatively concealed by multicoloured plastic strips. I froze and blushed. This, of course, was because we hadn't been totally successful with our mission and I was uncomfortable reporting this back to Number 1. Kuryakin had no such qualms and started speaking Russian.
'Dobryi den, Stalingrad, politiski angleeski comrade,' she said, like they were old comrades from the Kremlin. Irritatingly he joined in . . .
'Balaclava gulag samovar troika baboushka,' he smiled back.
Excluded from the game play, I decided to take the moral high ground. 'Oh stop being stupid Janet, anyone with half a brain can tell that's not even proper Russian just random words.'
'Aaah Janetski my leetle dhaarling!' loverboy smarmed. 'Would you like to go to the cineminski wiz me?' he was grinning at Kuryakin who had gone all girlie.
Eyes stinging on account of an unexpected THRUSH gas attack I planned my escape. I had to get away quickly, so I grabbed granddad's Mackeson and slammed the money on the counter. 'I think that's right,' I called out to the man doubled up with laughter behind the counter. I flounced out. 'Got to get these back to Gramps, I may see you tomorrow if I'm free,' I cried cheerfully over my shoulder to Kuryakin . . . aka my so-called friend Janet.
Under my breath I mumbled, 'I hope the film's shit.'
Anyway, he didn't look so good close up. A bit too Mod with his Fred Perry shirt and Levi Stay Press. Bet his music taste is crap too. And he had a few too many spots when you get close up. She's welcome to him but I'm definitely going to play Kuryakin next time.