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As Napoleon and company continued down the stairs the granite base closed above them making the corridor at the bottom dark. They silently crept down the hallway past an empty security room. Napoleon checked inside, noting that the frost covered monitors were indeed showing only a distorted image of the deserted Jeff Feigel Square.
“Sir,” Napoleon glanced at Mr. Waverly “it would be safer if you stayed here with Miss Bright while we continue.”
“Nonsense Mr. Solo, I’m perfectly capable….”
“True Sir, but we also need someone to monitor the square in case we have more company. You and Miss Bright need to be a rear guard.”
“I am capable of holding the rear, however I think Miss Bright should continue with the rest of you. We don’t know how many Thrush are in the facility.”
Napoleon knew when his boss was adamant. “Very good Sir. Frances you take the rear. Mr. Waverly, be careful.”
“Quite”.
Mr. Waverly entered the security office, locking the door and sat down. He was secretly grateful for the opportunity to sit in a warm room, though he’d never admit that to his people. They didn’t need to know that his feet were cold and his back was sore.
At the end of the dark corridor another lighted corridor branched off to the right. Napoleon, Angelique, Illya and Frances Bright slowly made their way down the deserted hallway, stopping occasionally to listen for voices or footsteps.
Illya whispered, “Is there anyone else here?”
Angelique shrugged, “I haven’t a clue darling, this is the first time I’ve been here.”
“We should be underneath some of the buildings that ring the square by now.” Napoleon looked back at his motley team. “I wonder if there is a back exit?”
“I’m sure there is darling, that’s standard Thrush protocol”.
They had come to a cross corridor when they heard the sound of some one hurrying, muttering to themselves. Angelique motioned to Illya and Frances to step back while she pushed Napoleon forward, her pistol aimed at his back. Napoleon quickly slid his special into his jacket.
“Gads!”
Napoleon gaped at the startled man who slid to a stop in front of him. He was tall, well over six feet. Skinny to the point of looking skeletal. He was bald, wrinkled, wearing an over large white lab coat that flapped around his notebook and paper filled arms. He looked like a mummified scarecrow. This was obviously Dr. Dasher.
“Darling, look what I found outside!”
“Oh, my love. I knew you would come back to me.” His voice was soft and very high pitched. “You brought me a present too!” Dr. Dasher giggled, sounding like a little girl.
Napoleon could feel the waves of revulsion coming from the beautiful Thrush agent. He had to admit he agreed with her feelings. Why did every Thrush scientist resemble a comic book villain?
“Quick, my little cupcake, my turtle dove, we must leave before more UNCLE shows up. I’ve got all my notes, and samples of my creation loaded into my car. Follow me!” and he hurried off down the corridor giggling wildly.
Napoleon looked back at Angelique who pantomimed shooting the crazed Thrush doctor, Napoleon shook his head and pantomimed a book. He wanted to get the notes and samples. With a disgusted look she waved her hand after the doctor and they followed. Following several yards behind, Frances and a dazed looking Illya brought up the rear.
At the end of the corridor was a circular staircase that led up. Doctor Dasher scampered up, giggling the entire way, Napoleon and Angelique followed. They found themselves in a well lighted garage. The doctor was putting his notebooks and papers into the trunk along side sealed boxes. There were bottles of chemicals stacked on a bench behind the car. Napoleon and Angelique stood watching him. Straightening up from his task Dasher jumped out, he had a pistol in his hand. “You can stop pretending my dear little cherry tart. I know you are here to kill me with this, this person. Drop your gun, you wicked witch, you and Solo move over against the wall!”
Angelique looked at Napoleon and he gave her a subtle nod. She dropped her pistol and they moved over to the wall. Dasher came forward and kicked her gun under the car. “Now it’s time to say goodbye. You would have made a wonderful queen and we would have had so much fun together in Argentina!”
Just then, Frances popped her head up from the staircase and screamed “This is for Leann!”. She pulled the trigger. The doctor had jumped at her scream and the bullet hit him in his shoulder. He staggered back. Napoleon had his special out and was taking aim. Frances fired again, and again, her bullets hitting some of the chemical filled bottles on the bench. They burst into flames and exploded, filling the garage with dense clouds of toxic yellow fumes. The flames raced up the walls and along the ceiling. Frances and Illya climbed into the garage, Napoleon grabbed Angelique’s arm and headed toward a door. “This way!” he yelled, coughing. He could hear Doctor Dasher’s screams over the roar of the fire. Napoleon and Illya hit the door breaking it open, falling outside into the snow. The two women followed. The fire in the garage was out of control. There was no way anyone could survive.
They moved away from the now burning house and stood, snow softly falling about them. Angelique turned to Napoleon, taking his face in her hands she kissed him. “Thank you for taking care of my problem, darling.”
“Anytime.” Napoleon took out his communicator, “Open Channel D.” He smiled as Mark Slate responded. “Hello mate, everyone all right?”
“Yes, I’m sending Frances Bright back to Jeff Feigel Square. Mr. Waverly is safe, holding down the Thrush fort.” Frances nodded and started to trot toward the square.
“Can you pick us up?”
“Sure thing. Will be there in a jiffy. Slate out.”
“Napoleon?” Illya looked confused. “Do you hear a horse?”
“No Partner. You’re imagining things. It’s the antidote in your system.”
“I hear a horse. I’ll be right back.” Illya ran stumbling toward the burning house and disappeared behind it.
“Illya! Come back! There’s NO HORSE!”
“He’s a confusing little man.” Angelique shook her head.
“He grows on you. We should just wait here, I’m sure he’ll wander back once he can’t find his imaginary horse. Mark should be here shortly.”
Angelique leaned again Napoleon and smiled. “So, now that we’re alone….” The front of the garage exploded outwards as a snowmobile crashed out of the flaming garage. Doctor Dasher was hanging over the steering, screaming and brandishing a gun. His lab coat was scorched and burnt. His face was red and blistered. He fired the gun, not aiming, and roared off, the falling snow obscuring him as he rapidly drove away. Angelique gasped and slumped to the ground grasping her chest, blood pooling between her fingers.
“Angelique!” Napoleon knelt down, cradling the Thrush agent in his arms. He looked around as he heard bells. Coming from around the burning house was a large bay horse pulling a sleigh. The horses harness was festooned with large silver bells, the sleigh driven by a disheveled Russian dressed in a tattered and dirty Santa suit. “Illya! Help, Dasher went that way…..”
Illya stopped the bay alongside his partner. “Horse! A beautiful horse! I can’t shoot and guide the sleigh. Get in!” Napoleon hefted Angelique into the back and climbed in. He tucked the heavy furs around her. He abruptly fell back as Illya yelled “idti!” (Go!) and the large bay charged forward. Illya looked over his shoulder and yelled over the jingling of the bells, “There was a stable behind the house, the horse was trying to get away from the fire. Who would put a horse near a fire? I think he speaks Russian!”
Soon they were miles outside of town in a clearing, highway on the right and a granite cliff face on the left. The snow momentarily cleared and they could see Doctor Dasher. He was sitting on the snowmobile at the end of the clearing waiting for the UNCLE agents to appear. Illya stopped the sleigh. The bay stomped at the snow, his breath billowing about his head like a wreath. They could hear the crazed giggling of the Thrush scientist as he revved the snowmobile’s engine. He started the machine heading at a high speed directly toward the sleigh. Illya stood up, reins in hand and yelled at the bay to go, cracking a whip over it’s back. The horse and sleigh surged forward, bells ringing. Napoleon closed his eyes and hung on. He could see his obituary, died in sleigh accident while playing “chicken” with mad scientist. “I don’t want to die this way.” he muttered. It was obvious his partner was still feeling the aftermath of the antidote. That would explain everything.
“Hang on!” Illya yelled. Napoleon opened his eyes. Time seemed to slow down. He could see Dasher bent over the handles of the snowmobile, his scorched lab coat flapping, teeth bared keening wildly in his high pitched voice. Illya stood reins in one hand a whip in the other, his Santa suit billowing in the rushing wind, snow kicked up by the charging bay flying about. The entire scene looked as if they were inside a child’s snow-globe.
Napoleon knew they were going to crash. The crazed Thrush and the sleigh were only a few yards apart when Illya pulled the reins hard to the side and the horse and sleigh turned right in front of the snowmobile sending a wave of snow into it. The machine and Doctor Dasher flew into the air propelled by the wave of snow, slamming against the granite cliff. The snowmobile exploded on impact. Illya called to the bay in Russian calming the excited horse. The sleigh slid to a stop. Illya, laughing wildly, had huge smile on his face.
The sleigh was suddenly bathed in a bright light as an UNCLE helicopter came in for a landing. Mark Slate jumped out. “Are you all bloody crazy!”
“Mark, help me get Angelique into the copter. We need to get her to a hospital, she’s been shot.”
Several Section Three agents jumped out and help carry the wounded Thrush, one took hold of the bay’s harness as Illya jumped down. The agents climbed aboard. Mr. Waverly nodded at Illya “A fine bit of driving Mr. Kuryakin”.
“It was fun!” The excited agent replied. “Just like home!”
“Quite, Mr. Kuryakin. About your attire…..”
EPILOGUE
Angelique: UNCLE got her to a nearby hospital where she was cared for and listed in stable condition. Thrush Central rewarded her for her heroic attempt to save the late, lamented (and demented) Doctor Dasher.
Mr. Waverly: Made it home to his wife and enjoyed a well deserved quiet and warm Christmas. No crazed Thrush plots. Just peace and quiet, a glass of brandy and a pipe.
Frances Bright: Decided that UNCLE wasn’t the career she really wanted. She now raises toy poodles at a kennel in upstate New York.
Napoleon Solo: Has been suffering nightmares about a crazed Russian elf trying to run his car off the road. He’s hoping his New Year’s Eve date with a certain blond Thrush agent will help sooth his dreams.
Mark Slate: Can’t get anyone to believe his story of the wildest game of chicken he’s ever seen. Even April Dancer doubts him. His fellow agents are getting tired of hearing his story.
Illya Kuryakin: Is troubled by a less than clear memory of the entire affair. There is also the mystery of a Santa hat on his kitchen counter sitting on top of an empty bottle of vodka. He has no idea where it came from, however, it smells like smoke and horse manure.
And......
Mary Christmas: After her stay at UNCLE headquarters, Mary decided a change was needed. She started to attend a local Junior College and discovered she had a talent for creative writing. She now has a profitable career as a fiction writer. Using the pen name "Robert Smith" she is the author of a wildly popular series of novels about a fearless female spy, "Mary Christmas" and her Russian enemy (and sometime lover) "Rudolph the Red". April Dancer loves the series.
Now the ground is white
Go it while you're young
Take the girls tonight
And sing this sleighing song
Just get a bobtailed bay
Two forty as his speed
Hitch him to an open sleigh
And crack! You'll take the lead