Chapter Text
Napoleon Solo ducked into the nearest broom closet and flipped open his communicator. He was just a few dozen feet from his own office door, in the corridors of U.N.C.L.E headquarters, yet his heart was racing as it never had on his most dangerous foreign mission.
“Open channel D, message in scramble.”
“Channel D is open, Mr. Solo.”
“Get me Security.”
He checked his watch and felt himself beginning to sweat. Every second that passed might change the outcome for better or worse.
“Security here, Mr. Solo.”
“Security, Illya Kuryakin has been replaced by a Thrush double. Repeat: Illya Kuryakin has been replaced by a Thrush double. Proceed to my office at once and arrest the individual who appears to be Mr. Kuryakin. Subject last seen in my office approximately one minute ago, believe he is still there. He’s to be taken UNHARMED, you hear? Oh, and make sure he has no opportunity to take any of those little cyanide pills the Thrushies always seem to have on them. We need him alive and well to lead us to the real Mr. Kuryakin.”
“Understood, Mr. Solo. Security detail on its way.”
The device crackled faintly as a new voice broke in.
“Waverly here, cutting in.”
“Yes, sir."
“Your message received and understood, Mr. Solo,” said Waverly. “Where are you right now?”
“Er, in the broom closet about thirty feet from my office, sir.”
“Good. Please remain there until Security have detained the imposter. Then meet me upstairs for briefing.”
A few more agonizing seconds passed, and Napoleon heard the soft but unmistakable steps of Security personnel trotting stealthily past his hiding place. A moment later, he heard the sound of indignant shouting and chairs being overturned, followed quickly by the now less-stealthy feet of Security running by with an irate Russian in tow. Napoleon risked a quick peak through the door, just in time to see the imposter being hustled past, fully restrained and slightly worse for wear, issuing a steady stream of Russian expletives. For one anxious moment, Napoleon doubted his judgement. But then he realized that any double who could successfully impersonate Illya for six weeks without detection would certainly have taken the trouble to learn how to swear like an ex-officer of the Russian navy.
Napoleon emerged cautiously from the broom closet and straightened his tie, communicator in hand.
“Sir? The imposter is in custody, and I’m on my way up. Solo out.”
As he proceeded briskly to the elevator, Napoleon tried to make sense out of everything that had transpired in the last ten minutes. Hard to believe it was really only ten minutes earlier that he’d first sat down with Illya - or rather, the imposter - in his office, and the world as he knew it had suddenly imploded…