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Ye Olde Bookshoppe Affair
By kanders07 for Down the Chimney Affair 2010
Mr. Waverly looked across the table at his top two agents. These two had been partnered longer than any other pair, and while it gave Waverly a bit of heartburn, they were his best. Very few of the assignments given to them had failed. Now he had to send them out again in search of yet another rumored disease causing bacterium created by Thrush. He spun the table so that the files would land in front of the two agents.
“Gentlemen,” he said gruffly. “As you can see, there is no hint of who is behind this crisis. At the moment, all we have is a location and reports of increased activity. “
“A bookstore?” remarked Napoleon Solo, “Hardly seems the place to be creating viruses.”
“According to the information here, this is a working bookstore.” This came from Illya Kuryakin who looked over his partner’s shoulder to see if there was more information in the file. “Do we have any idea who owns the place?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” said Waverly. “That will be part of your mission. You are to find the owner of this bookstore and find that bacterium. We don’t want to bring in the New Year with this kind of threat hanging over the city.” With that Waverly dismissed them.
∞∞∞∞∞
Napoleon stood across the street from the bookstore in question. They seemed to be doing a brisk business. He continued down the street nonchalantly until he reached the car where Illya was waiting.
“Well?” asked Illya as Napoleon got into the car.
“Well, I don’t know how they could hide anything with people going in and out of that shop all the time.” Illya nodded his agreement.
“Perhaps there is an underground laboratory, or something hidden in the back of the store,” he replied finally. “I have noticed that a number of the people who went into the store did not come back out.”
“Maybe they just found something really interesting to read.”
“I think not. The shop is called ‘Ye Olde Bookshoppe.’ More than likely they sell antique books and not dime novels.” Illya continued looking toward the shop. “We will need to get in there unobserved.”
Napoleon let go a sigh and said, “I had a feeling you were going to say something like that. Well, we’ll have to wait until the store is closed before we try anything. In the meantime, I think one of us should go in as a potential customer and look around for anything out of place. Drop me off in front and then head back to headquarters to see what else you can find out about the place. I can’t believe there’s no listing for an owner.” Illya nodded as he started the car.
“I’ll contact you after I’ve looked around the place.”
∞∞∞∞∞
Illya went through City Hall records looking for the owner of the store. It had taken almost three hours, but he had found a name, Ilse Vandergrad. No one else was listed on the paperwork. The fact that he hadn’t heard from Napoleon was worrisome. The Russian agent entered U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters and asked the receptionist as she handed him his badge, “Has there been any word from Mr. Solo?”
“No, Mr. Kuryakin; not a thing.” He barely heard her answer as he rushed into the main headquarters building and straight to Mr. Waverly’s office.
“Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, come in, come in.” Illya stood by the round table.
“I’ve lost contact with Mr. Solo, sir,” he said, as he straightened his posture still further. Mr. Waverly nodded, pipe in hand.
“So it seems. Did you find any information about the owner before you lost him?”
“Yes, sir. The owner is Miss Ilse Vandergrad; she has owned the shop for six months and seems to run it by herself. Beyond that there is no other information. I’d like to go back to the shop tonight and see if I can locate Napoleon. The fact that we haven’t heard from him seems to suggest that the reports were correct. Whatever else, is going on in that bookshop, it’s a front for someone.”
“Indeed. You will have agents at your disposal so that we do not lose you as well.”
“Yes sir.”
∞∞∞∞∞
By ten o’clock Illya was dressed for burglary and behind the bookstore. A small magnesium charge in the lock and the door swung open. Illya thought it odd that there did not seem to be an alarm. He entered the back of the store and shut the door. The room smelled strongly of old leather, musty pages, and glue. He quietly reported to the small band of U.N.C.L.E. agents placed inconspicuously around the outside of the shop.
Illya continued to search the back room; the lack of a basement door becoming apparent to him after ten minutes of searching. He entered the main part of the store quietly and began looking around. It appeared to be exactly as advertised; a bookshop selling antique books. He had been wrong about the dime novels as there was a rack of them near the front door. As he looked behind the counter, he noticed what looked like a trap door. Odd place for an entrance to the basement, he thought as he lifted the door.
The door had been weighted so that it opened soundlessly. As he climbed down the ladder, Illya noticed that there did not seem to be anyone around. If Napoleon was here, it did not seem to be a priority for Vandergrad to leave a guard. He began searching through rooms along a corridor that seemed much longer than the space used by the book shop.
None of the doors were locked and Illya found several rooms that looked very much like hospital rooms. The last room on one side was a laboratory. He went in and looked around the lab to see what was being done here. The small flashlight he was using for light did not illuminate much in any of the rooms, but he didn’t dare to turn on any other lights in case an alarm was attached to the lighting system. He went to the incubator in one corner of the room and looked in.
The stacks of petri dishes inside gave him pause. With this much bacteria, the only thing lacking was a way to deliver the bacteria to the population. Closing the incubator, he looked around for anything that looked like a vaccine or antibiotic. Suddenly the lights came on in the laboratory; he ducked behind one of the tables.
“Mr. Kuryakin,” said a high pitched male voice. “We know you’re in here. Come out.” Illya stood up slowly, knowing that he did not have the best of hiding places.
“And you would be?” he asked. The dwarf who stood by the doorway smiled.
“I’m Mitchell; Miss Vandergrad’s assistant. And you seem to be the second nosy U.N.C.L.E. agent to come in here today. Miss Vandergrad is not happy.”
“Perhaps your Miss Vandergrad should have been more security minded,” snarked Illya. Mitchell aimed the pistol he was carrying at Illya’s chest.
“Be that as it may, you will come with me.” Mitchell waved the gun toward the door and waited for Illya to follow his directions. The agent came out from behind the lab table and moved toward the door. As he walked, he looked for any chance to catch the dwarf off guard. Mitchell turned and held the door to the lab open and Illya took his chance.
Back in the hallway, the unconscious dwarf at his feet, Illya looked carefully up and down the length of the hallway for any sign of Miss. Vandergrad. There was no sign that anyone else was in the building, so Illya continued his search.
The last door in the hallway had light shining underneath it; he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Creeping toward the door silently Illya heard the sound of coughing behind the door. There was no other sound coming from the room, but this door was locked.
After picking the lock, Illya slowly opened the door. The sight was horrifying. Napoleon was lying on the single bed soaked in sweat and struggling for air. Illya rushed to the bedside.
“Napoleon! What’s happened?”
“Why, he’s been infected, as you soon will be,” replied a woman’s voice from the doorway. Illya pressed a small button on the end of his pen communicator to signal the rest of the agents, then turned.
“Miss Vandergrad, I presume,” he said.
“Why yes. We’ve worked very hard these last six months. Engineering the bacterium wasn’t particularly difficult, but finding an effective way to deliver it was quite the challenge.”
“Is there an antidote?” Illya hoped there was. This was obviously meant to be a horrible way to die and if enough people became infected, Thrush would have no trouble taking over the city.
“There is a vaccine and an antidote, but that is safely hidden.” She turned toward the ladder at the far end of the hallway hearing the other U.N.C.L.E. agents storming into the bookshop above. Illya took the chance and stepped a little closer to her. Sensing the movement she turned back to him. “You’re too late. The bacteria have been delivered; soon the city will be in the middle of an epidemic starting with U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. With that she turned and shut the door. Illya heard the click of the lock and reached for his communicator.
“Open Channel H,” he snapped and waited. Soon the voice of Mark Slate answered.
“What’s up? There’s no one here except us.”
“Vandergrad just headed up the stairs! She’s blond, about five feet four inches, and she is armed. Call Medical, Napoleon is down here and very ill. Tell them to take precautions.”
“Right, I’m on it.”
Illya looked back at his sick partner and shook his head. Going to the door he tried the handle, then took out a little more of the magnesium he had used to gain entrance to the store. Placing it, he moved away and hit a small button on his watch and the lock sizzled. The door now opened easily. He ran back to the laboratory and switched on the lights. Now he noticed a small office at the back of the lab and headed there first.
Going through the papers on the desk Illya was able to find what looked like a formula, but he could not tell if this was the formula for the vaccine or the antidote. Gun drawn he turned back to the main door as he heard someone enter. It was part of the medical team he had called for, led by Dr. Wilson completely covered in what looked like space suits.
“Get the bacteria,” the Russian shouted, pointing at the incubator in the corner of the room. Dr. Wilson motioned one of his men in that direction, while he headed for the office where Illya was standing.
“Mr. Kuryakin, you have to leave. There are medics to take you and Mr. Solo back to headquarters.” He waved to two medics who were waiting near the door, also wearing space suits.
“I need to find the antidote and the vaccine,” Illya snapped back. “They have to be here.”
“I’ll find them,” replied the doctor, pulling Illya away from the desk. “You need to go now. You’ve been exposed.”
Reluctantly, Illya went with the two medics.
∞∞∞∞∞
Three days later, Illya walked into Napoleon’s hospital room. Napoleon looked ragged and a little thinner but he seemed to be on the mend. Illya had never gotten sick even though he had been exposed. Dr. Wilson found the formula for both the vaccine and the antibiotic that would destroy the bacteria. Illya had been given the antibiotic in an injection. Napoleon still had the IV running into a vein in his arm. He turned his head as Illya came into the room.
“Hi, partner,” he said weakly. “How’d it go? I seem to have missed most of the excitement.”
“You had plenty of excitement, Napoleon,” replied Illya.
“What day is it?” Illya looked at the man lying on the bed for a moment before answering.
“Thursday, the fourth. I’m afraid you missed your New Year’s date,” remarked Illya with a small grin.
“What a way to start the New Year. Did we catch Vandergrad? That would at least make all of this worth the trouble,” said Napoleon waving weakly at the IV and the room. Illya finally held up what he had been holding behind his back. Napoleon stared at the mask and wig and sighed deeply. “Egret,” was all he said.
Illya nodded. “I cannot understand how she manages to elude us each time we come into contact with her. This time could have been more deadly than any other. I have hopes that we will eventually catch up to her.”
“How many sick?” asked Napoleon.
“Twelve, including you; the bacteria is extremely virulent. Two people died. U.N.C.L.E. Medical managed to get to the rest of the population with the vaccine or antibiotic in time. They’re working with the Center for Disease Control to produce enough of both to vaccinate everyone in the world over the next couple of years.” As Illya finished, Mr. Waverly walked into the room.
“Mr. Solo, it’s good to see you on the mend,” he said.
“Thank you sir,” replied Napoleon.
“This Dr. Egret is quite the master of disguise. We will have to find her and put her out of commission permanently. I’m afraid she may have taken some of the bacterial cultures when she left.”
“Yes, sir,” said Illya.
“Well, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, that’s an assignment for another day. With luck the vaccine will be ready before she strikes again.” Mr. Waverly turned and left in his usual abrupt manner.
∞∞∞∞∞
On a small island in the Caribbean, the dwarf approached the woman sunning herself on the veranda. Her face was effectively covered.
“Dr. Egret, the lab is set up,” said the dwarf.
“Very good Marshall, very good.”
End