The Man From UNCLE series ran from 1964 -1968.
Starring Robert Vaughn as Napoleon Solo, and David McCallum as Illya Kuryakin,
it set the pace for slick, fun, hip, intrigue/drama for television spies. Using
futuristic technology, The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, an
international crime-fighting organization, utilized James Bond-like agents in
their quest for world justice. Leo G. Carroll played their irascible leader,
Alexander Waverly. Napoleon and Illya, the two highest ranking Enforcement
agents, globe-hopped to exotic locales to romance a new girl of the week and
usually battle their arch-enemies, THRUSH (Technological Hierarchy For The
Removal Of Undesirables And The Subjugation Of Humanity). A reunion movie, The
Return Of The Man From UNCLE, The Fifteen Years Later Affair, aired on CBS in
1983, with Patrick Macnee as the leader of the UNCLE organization.
Because the characters are contemporaries,
and with Intelligence backgrounds linking Napoleon and McGarrett, the
possibilities for encounters came naturally. The Man From UNCLE and
THE NAPOLEON OF CRIME AFFAIR
by
GM
I
"OH,
WE'RE GOING TO A HUKILAU."
"I know MY excuse, Danno, what's
yours?"
Dan Williams jumped, dropping the file
folder of papers in his hands. Looking up in exasperation, he grimaced at his
boss. "Same as yours," was his wry response. He crouched by his desk
and retrieved the scattered pages.
Helping with the clean up, Steve McGarrett,
head of the Hawaiian state police unit known as
"I had to clean up after that wild
birthday party," came Williams' sarcastic repost.
Throwing surprise birthday parties for
McGarrett had become something of a challenge for the young and enthusiastic
second-in-command Williams. McGarrett, serious and committed to his job, rarely
allowed any personal aspects of his life into his professional duties. More and
more over the years, a private life took a distant second place to Five-0. One
of Williams' pet projects was to bring some balance and reality to his
workaholic boss and friend.
The night's celebration had been a qualified
success. McGarrett, so wrapped up in their latest hot case, remained distracted
throughout the birthday celebration. Dan had outdone himself, arranging for
catered Chinese food to be delivered by dancing hula girls. No doubt he would
pay dearly -- soon -- for the excessive and overt embarrassment, but for that
evening it had been worth it. At least for a little while the crass, innocent
fun almost took Steve's mind off crime -- specifically the 'Napoleon of Crime'.
Almost.
"Yeah, a birthday I won't soon
forget," McGarrett admitted, not entirely pleased.
From the grim tone Williams knew his friend
definitely would not forget or forgive the overt party. The birthday
distractions were legendary around their office, and while McGarrett
appreciated the sentiment, he did not like the blatant party revelry, or the
embarrassment of the public marking of his age. The annual game, however, was a
great boost to morale, and deep down, Steve really was touched by the
affectionate display from his guys. At least, Dan hoped so.
Oh well, being a Five-0 cop meant living
dangerously.
Steve laid a hand on Dan's shoulder.
"Thanks for the thought, anyway."
From the expression and tone of voice Dan
knew his little ploy to distract the boss had been found out.
"I was hoping for the 'Napoleon of
Crime' all wrapped up in a nice package. But the hula girls looked a lot
prettier. At least for a few hours tonight I didn't even think about our
notorious cat burglar," he confessed, confirming Williams' thoughts.
Dan smiled. "Then Lani's price was
worth every dollar."
"Now, let's get out of here. I'm afraid
we'll have more work --" he glanced at the clock, "-- later this
morning thanks to our cat burglar."
"HPD's tied up
"Yeah, I'm afraid he will. I just hope
some sharp cop spots him first." He shut out the lights and shepherded his
colleague out the door. "I'd like to have a pleasant New Year's." He
locked up and the two detectives strolled down the koa wood steps of
"Yeah. I think she's free tomorrow
night."
"Why? You asked already, I
suppose?"
"No, I asked Lea, her sister. The one
with the hibiscus lei. I just hope we're free tomorrow night."
"I hope so, too, Danno. It all depends
on our foe, the cat burglar."
*****
Only a portion of the tropical moon was
visible. Cottony dark clouds, nearly translucent silver at their edges, scudded
across the faintly illuminated sky. The willowy cloud-patches, blown by the
tender Trade winds, occasionally obscured the glowing stars to the south on the
winter night.
The brightness of the huge Hawaiian moon
shown like a spotlight as it reflected in the mirror-like windows of the
high-rise. Far above the beach a black-clad human fly danced from shadow to
moonlight and back to shadow as he tracked his way along the wall of the
multi-storied hotel. The progress was methodical yet swift as the man climbed
from one lanai to another. Special suction shoes and a short safety line were
his only aids as he gracefully bounded up each level with a sure and confident
pace.
From far below came the quiet murmurs of
conversation; and the lilting melody of the 'Hukilau Song' -- the song of a
fishing party. The hotel band at a poolside restaurant could be heard along
It took only moments of strenuous expertise
to take the man to the top floor of the Sheraton Waikiki. It was a quick and
simple task to slip the lock on the lanai's sliding glass door. Once inside,
the black-masked figure furtively yet purposefully crossed to the wet bar.
The beach-scape painting behind the wall
swung aside. The burglar placed a small magnetic box on the safe door. Tiny
lights flashed on the box as the device automatically worked the safe's
tumblers. Seconds later the safe door swung open.
With brisk, efficient skill the safe
contents were rifled with professional speed. The thief knew exactly what he
wanted. Some pieces of jewelry were abandoned in favor of more elegant and
expensive gems. A handful of precious stones were slipped into a small pouch
tied to his belt. He removed the box, closed the door, replaced the picture and
slipped out the lanai door. In less than two minutes after he had entered the
penthouse suite, he was gone -- like an imagined specter of the night.
Repelling down one lanai to another was a
faster and easier trip than the assent. The Sheraton Waikiki was gull-winged
shaped, the middle of the inner curve facing makai was a well sheltered and
shadowed place. The cat-burglar escaped undetected as he swiftly descended
toward the beach.
His feet touched the railing on a fourth
floor lanai and he paused to readjust his line. The rope-grip released
automatically when the weight was removed. Balanced on the rail he caught the
rope and grip and prepared to repel off again.
A sudden scream ripped through the
relatively quiet night. Surprised, the cat-burglar tottered precariously on the
narrow ledge. Only his iron nerves saved him from falling to the beach far
below. However, he overcompensated his balance and fell forward to the floor of
the lanai. The repelling rope and grip fell in a heap atop his shoulders and
head. His crash toppled a small table laden with several Blue Hawaii cocktails.
In the same clumsy fall he also tripped a woman tourist dressed in a brightly
flowered muumuu. The tourist screamed again in an ear piercing shriek. The
scream sliced through the background noises of the Hawaiian band; through the
constant resonance of Pacific waves as they lapped and caressed the sands of
"Terrorist!" the lady cried.
She was not so overcome with fear that she
couldn't defend herself. She picked up one of the glasses partially filled with
liquor, and threw both glass and contents at the intruder.
The burglar was instantly on his feet. With
monkey-like prowess he snatched up his equipment, leaped the lanai railing and
scrambled from lanai to lanai until he could jump to the deck of the swimming
pool area.
The hue and cry evolved into a tsunami of
general alarm. People gathered at pool side and watched the burglar run across
the lawn, vaulting deck chairs and skirting tables in his way. Two security
guards appeared around the corner of the hotel and gave chase. The burglar
hurtled over the bushes edging the patio area. Still laden with gear he leaped
across the concrete sidewalk on the other side and raced onto the sand. Within
seconds, he was in the surf and disappearing into the velvet-blue cushion of
ocean.
*****
"Your blundering is unbelievable!"
Napoleon Solo poked his sudsy head out from
the edge of the shower curtain. His face scowled into a tired expression of
irritation that was lost on his target. His partner, the critical member of the
team, was in their living area of the hotel room.
"It wasn't my fault!" he yelled in
defense. He took out his frustrations by vigorously scrubbing sand from his
thick, dark hair. Then he retreated back behind the curtain.
Dressed in t-shirt and swim trunks, Illya
Kuryakin walked in and leaned against the bathroom door. He was shifting the
cache of jewelry from one hand to the other, a visible extension of his inward
irritation.
"You could have blown the whole
operation!"
"It was bad luck, Illya. It could have
happened to anyone!" he insisted as he shut off the water and reached for
a towel. "Even you," he pointedly added. He poked his dripping head
around and glared at his partner, again. "If you'd have been up there
instead of me!"
Kuryakin returned to the main room and
deposited the jewels in a secret compartment of his suitcase. His movements
were sharp and quick, reflecting his annoyance. The close call at the Sheraton
was a reminder that this affair was not all fun and games.
This had been the fourth burglary in Solo's
recent career of crime. Their mission was to establish a pattern of
cat-burglaries in penthouse suites in
Soaking up the sun and scenery of
However, the crimes were real enough to the
Honolulu Police Department and
Kuryakin didn't like to speculate on the
consequences if they were caught. UNCLE in general, Napoleon in particular,
would be in serious trouble. Their main enemy this time was not THRUSH, but,
ironically, the head of Five-0. Steve McGarrett was a fellow Naval Intelligence
associate of Solo's. The two men admired each other a great deal, but sometimes
came to verbal blows when jurisdictions overlapped on the
The cat-burglar of
However, there were other very real dangers
that Illya did not find so amusing. The woman on the lanai was a minor snag
that could have been far more serious. Too easily, Solo could have slipped and
fallen to his death, or at any time been shot by overzealous policemen.
Dressed in beach shorts and a polo shirt, an
irked Solo emerged from the bathroom. He massaged a sore shoulder that had
collided with the lanai table. "You could give me a little credit for
having the presence of mind to remove the UNCLE equipment," he still
defended as he towel dried his hair.
"The irreplaceable new climbing
equipment that now rests at the bottom of the
A cool, stiff breeze swept off the nearby
ocean and into the room. The agents resided in a second story cottage bungalow
of the Halekulani Hotel. Notable for being the site of Charlie Chan's first
case, the Halekulani was the only hotel on
"What are you going to do without the
equipment?"
Solo shrugged. "I'll have to pick an
easy hotel, I guess. You know, Illya, you worry too much."
Without comment, Kuryakin removed two sodas
from the room's refrigerator and took a seat at the lanai table.
Solo tossed the towel onto his bed and
joined his partner on the lanai. He settled into a chair and propped his feet
on the railing. Once the bottle-cap was removed from his drink he leaned back
and closed his eyes.
Just above the slight rustle of palms, the
quiet rushing and receding of surf provided a lulling subliminal rhythm. He
sighed as he shifted to an optimally comfortable position.
"What's bugging you?" he quietly
asked.
Illya stared out at the dark patch of
horizon that was the
Napoleon took a long drink of the cola. He
swallowed and scowled. The self-imposed sobriety diet for this mission was
almost an over-caution. However, alcohol was too potent to play with when he
balanced precariously dozens of stories above the ground.
"Secrecy is our business," Solo
quipped. "Isn't it engraved above Waverly's door?" He glanced over at
his partner. The silence, the set expression, revealed the humor had not
penetrated the Russian's soberness. "We can always trade," he teased,
knowing Kuryakin would rather stay on the terra firma than be suspended high
above the Hawaiian tourist mecca.
"I don't have the qualifications. You
are the Napoleon of crime," Illya returned wryly, finally responding to
Solo's efforts to lighten the mood.
"Cute." Seeing the standard
raparte did nothing to lighten his partner's mood, Solo changed gears and tried
honesty. "Look, Illya, I don't like this level of deceit, either. Steve
McGarrett is my friend! You think I like sneaking behind his back?"
"No. Aside from the ethical
complications, I also dislike the danger. The Honolulu Police, Five-0, or
McGarrett himself, could catch you. They don't know you're a good guy in
criminal clothing, my friend."
Solo made a sour face. "I know.
Fortunately, Steve IS the kind to questions first and shoots second." He
grimaced in distaste. "That might change, however, if he finds out the
real identity of the 'Napoleon of Crime'."
The beachside band music carried on the
wind. Solo recognized the song. The 'Hukilau' again. He smiled ruefully,
remembering the last time he had heard the tune. In retrospect, he saw the
humor in his near escape.
"What's so amusing?" Kuryakin
wondered, his tone a little more relaxed.
"The song. Made me think -- if you want
we can always go get the gear and have an impromptu hukilau."
"With you as the catch?" Illya
dryly queried. Then, in a more surprised tone asked, "Where did you learn
about hukilau?"
"Remember that one assignment on the
"Don't tell me," Illya
interrupted.
"Lanikai --"
"Napoleon I don't want to hear another
of your escapade stories," he retorted with finality.
The senior agent took another drink.
"All right. I guess we should earn our pay instead."
"Another target? Tonight?"
"They'll never expect another hit
tonight," Solo explained, then added with a crooked twist of a smile,
"Did you know the Moana Hotel is not a skyscraper?"
"Chicken."
*****
Steve McGarrett wove through the poolside
tourists crowded on the beachside deck of the Sheraton Waikiki. He reached a
spot near the walkway leading to the sand and stopped to look up at the
ocean-view rooms. He focused on the fourth floor lanai where lab crews from
"Steve?"
McGarrett continued to study the distant
hotel lanai. "So he got us again, Danno," he sighed. He turned to
look at his second in command. "The lab boys come up with anything
yet?"
Williams shook his head. His gaze flashed
toward the lanai and back to his boss. "We might have something, though.
The burglar had to make a run for it down the beach and into the surf. He swam
-- well, could be anywhere -- but some distance, because officers were covering
most of this side of
"Looking for a suspicious character in
black?" McGarrett countered with a tone of skepticism. "He could have
had trunks under the clothes and come up anywhere on this beach without being
noticed."
Williams shrugged and in frustration brushed
at his sandy, curly hair. "True. When he ran, he was carrying his
grappling equipment. It's my guess he didn't carry it far. I'm having the area
swept by scuba teams. With some luck, we could find the equipment." He
stifled a yawn and rubbed at tired eyes.
"Good work, Danno," McGarrett
congratulated and patted his friend on the shoulder. "If we can trace the
equipment we'll have our first edge on this guy." He smiled at the younger
detective. "You should have gone home earlier."
"Another incentive to catch this creepy
guy," Dan sighed, staring up at the side of the high-rise hotel.
"We will, Danno. I promise."
It was McGarrett's nature to seek out and
bring to justice those renegades of society who defied the laws of the land.
The
Steve followed Williams to the beach and the
younger detective showed him the spot where the burglar had jumped into the
water.
"If you can believe our
witnesses," Williams countered dryly. "We have descriptions: 'Not too
tall, not too short, fast runner, good build.' In otherwords, nothing useful."
For a moment, McGarrett watched the HPD
divers scanning the shallow shelf of underwater
"We'll get him," he finally said,
then glanced at his companion. "And I have a feeling it won't be
easy."
Williams scoffed. "It hasn't been easy
yet. He's a real pro."
Steve studied his younger companion.
"You know, we keep saying how good this guy is. Uniquely qualified
maybe?"
"An inside job?" Dan guessed.
"Different hotels, different security personnel and systems."
"No, I'm thinking a professional at
breaking and entering, escapes, daring and unusual feats."
"Like Special Forces?" At
McGarrett's nod, Williams considered the idea. "Yeah. A lot of military in
the islands. Some recently discharged vets around who probably qualify. Even
someone on leave from
McGarrett warmed to the theme. "Or a
spook from the CIA maybe? Get with our contacts in Washington, Danno."
"Official contacts?"
"For now. I might have to call a few of
my old friends in the spy game if we don't get some decent answers."
"Like your Napoleon?"
McGarrett grinned at the pun. "Yeah,
maybe." He gave his friend an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "If we
don't catch this 'Napoleon of Crime' soon. He's good, Danno, but we're
better."
II
"ON
THE BEACH AT
No late-night beach strollers took notice of
the two men wading through the surf. With rolled-up pant-cuffs, shoes in hand,
they looked like any other tourists on an after dinner walk in the tropical
sand. There were many visitors on the beach listening to the bands that played
at every hotel bar and restaurant. A hundred different styles and songs could
be heard by beach-strolling toward
Tonight, the beach was unusually crowded and
the hotel bands were unusually loud and peppy. It was New Year's Eve. Revelers
jammed the sidewalks of
Solo and Kuryakin stopped and surveyed the tall,
impressive blue and white, multi-winged Ilikai Hotel. The agents had leisurely
walked from the Halekulani, to the
Yesterday and today they had been forced to
reevaluate the strategy since they no longer had the special UNCLE equipment
and could not replace it.
Waverly had been quite piqued at the loss of
the experimental one-of-a-kind gear. He had muttered dangerous threats about
never trusting Solo with such equipment again; with docking the agent's salary
-- except none of them could live long enough for Solo to repay his debts to
the organization. Waverly had signed off with a grim warning that the mission
had better be completed satisfactorily or else.
Neither Kuryakin nor Napoleon questioned
what that dangerous phrase meant. They did not even speculate between
themselves. Some matters were just too serious to contemplate.
Most of the day had been spent around the
Ilikai reflecting pool courtyard or on the nearby dock. The agents had studied
the penthouse from every side and had even visited the suite (by using a
skeleton key on the elevator). They'd removed themselves just before the THRUSH
agents had arrived.
The UNCLE agents walked from the beach up
the long, broad ramp that led from the harbor to the courtyard. Illya stopped
at a newspaper machine and grabbed his partner by the arm. "Look."
The Honolulu Star-Bulletin headline was a
story on the 'Napoleon-of-Crime's' latest caper; the double thefts at
the Moana Hotel and the Sheraton the night before. A side article featured
comments by Five-0's Steve McGarrett, who promised to bring the criminal to
justice.
Solo nervously shifted and tugged at the
sleeves of the black sweater slung over his shoulders. "Five-0 has been
known to not solve a case," he commented with forced optimism. "Once
in a while."
"And you can count those cases on the
fingers of one hand," Illya replied dryly.
"Thanks for the confidence," was
the stinging reply. Napoleon lowered his voice. "I did fine last night
without the gear."
"On the third floor of a very old
hotel, Napoleon." Illya glanced up the nearest wing of the tall Ilikai.
The penthouse was lost in the darkness. "I am more sure-footed than
you," he reminded.
The American shook his head. "Let you
take the credit for the crime of the year? No way."
"And I look much better in black,"
Illya persisted.
This time Solo laughed. "Score for you.
However, I have a better head for heights. And I'M a much better Robin Hood
than you, tovarich."
Napoleon had come to relish the ultra-high
adventure and risks of being a cat-burglar. He understood the mentality of toying
with danger. He did it every day. However, this was a new kind of thrill and he
wasn't ready to give it up. There was also a personal blow to make insurance
companies sweat a little. They deserved the anxiety. However, at the end of the
mission, all the jewelry would be quietly returned to the owners, with
explanations provided in exchange for secrecy.
"Besides," Napoleon continued,
emphasizing his comment by gently tapping Illya on the shoulder. "Your arm
is still healing from that nasty break."
"It's been two months."
With an expression of annoyance, the senior
agent took his friend by the arm and steered him to a secluded corner of the
railing.
"You are getting cold feet, my friend,
and it's making me a little nervous. Now tell me what's wrong?"
Kuryakin shifted his head as if trying to
come to a decision. "I don't know."
Napoleon's countenance mellowed to concern.
"This isn't doing anything for my confidence, you know," he confided
and leaned his elbows on the railing.
"Sorry. That was not my intent."
"Is this one of your mysterious
"Perhaps."
Solo had a few worries of his own, though he
revealed none of his concerns. At the top of the list was the threat of his
capture by local authorities. Aside from destroying the mission, an arrest
would bring down the full Irish anger of his old acquaintance, McGarrett. It
would not only alter their personal relationship, it would disrupt UNCLE
credibility in the
He resisted the urge to massage his sore
shoulder. He did not want to give Illya another reason for concern. With a
little luck, he could pull off this last burglary without difficulty. He knew
it would be a rough climb without equipment and with an injured shoulder.
Still, he could not back out now, nor could he ask Illya to substitute.
Therefore, his only option was to succeed with the mission.
Solo placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"I think we need to forget about sixth sense messages and finish our
job."
Illya nodded in reluctant agreement and
followed his partner along the walkway. The courtyard lanai was crowded with
people. A hot dance band was playing, and happy party-goers packed the deck.
Rolling down their trouser-legs and
replacing their shoes, the agents blended in with the crowd. They slowly wound
their way over to the bar where Illya ordered a vodka for himself and a
Coca-Cola for his partner.
"Have you spotted them?" the
Russian asked as he joined Napoleon at the railing of the courtyard that
overlooked the harbor.
Solo accepted the drink without
acknowledgment. Kuryakin followed his friend's gaze and was unsurprised to see
a good-looking blond standing a few yards away in the reflected light of a rail
torch. The blond wore a Hawaiian print, tight fitting sarong.
Illya sighed. "Don't you ever give
up?"
"No," The American smiled -- not
at his friend, but at the blond. "I've already located our birds. They're
not as good-looking as the blond. And she's got a friend," he added,
nudging Kuryakin in the ribs.
"Napoleon --" was Illya's
impatient reply. His reprimand died away when he saw the blond's 'friend' was
an exotically beautiful Polynesian girl.
"Napoleon we have a job to
finish!"
"Well, the job will be done very
shortly. And we do have to celebrate New Year's."
"First business," Kuryakin
insisted.
Solo scowled but reluctantly complied.
"Spoil sport. The courier is the flashy redhead." He nodded toward a
woman who was wildly gyrating to the music. Dressed in a silver and green
jumpsuit, the lady seemed gaudily out of place and a bit drunk. "The
gorilla next to her is the bodyguard."
Illya nearly choked on his drink. "And
you want me to distract them?"
"Just in case anything goes
wrong."
"Nothing will go wrong as long as you
stick with the plan. Is my electronic box working? You didn't damage it, did
you?"
"It's fine, and thanks for the
optimism. The mission will succeed because of your brilliance, Mr. K."
Illya raised his glass in a droll toast.
"Here's wishing you a perfect mission," he quipped and finished his
vodka in one gulp.
With a nod, Solo quietly wished, "Good
luck. It's show time on
He walked toward the harbor ramp. The agent
paused for a moment to speak to the blond. With amusement he noted his friend's
disapproval. In a moment of mischieviousness he suggested the girls, Tara the
blond and Anuinui, the Hawaiian, join Illya until he returned.
He walked down the ramp and from the dock
below Solo could see his irritated partner trying to discourage the girls.
However, Illya didn't seem to be trying too hard.
Napoleon walked around the back of the
Ilikai to
Napoleon picked the lock on the service
elevator and hitched a ride to the floor just below the penthouse suites. He
chose a room at the end of the corridor and again picked the lock to gain
entry. Illya had ascertained that the room was vacant, but just to be sure Solo
cautiously tip-toed to the lanai. He removed his black sweater from around his
neck and pulled it over his shirt. Then, before he ascended the dizzying heights
above
*****
McGarrett leaned back from the illumination
of the desk lamp, light that had become too harsh and bright with the
advancement to late night. With vision too blurred to read the words he rubbed
his eyes and tried to refocus on the papers scattered on his desk. He gave up
trying and pushed away from the desk, taking a stance in the open doorway of
the lanai.
Fresh winds blew in from the ocean, and the
cool night air helped revitalize his spent energy. He had been at this nonstop
all day, since before dawn when he had received the news of the burglary at the
Moana.
There were other cases on the dockets of
Five-0, but this case had snagged the personal attention of the chief detective.
He was determined to catch this impudent, arrogant lawbreaker. Although the
burglar had given them few clues to work with, McGarrett sensed it was only a
matter of time. He also sensed he did not have much time left. This burglar
would not stay here forever, and McGarrett would have to have some breaks to
catch the criminal in Hawaiian jurisdiction.
McGarrett stepped out to the broad walkway
of the lanai. He leaned his hands on the wrought-iron railing and studied the
lights of the traffic in front of
The door to the office slammed open.
"Steve!" Williams raced out to the lanai. "We finally got a
break! The equipment we found yesterday. I told you the experts I consulted
thought it was CIA or something."
"Yeah?"
"Tom Carter, our local agent, said this
stuff is much too specialized for a domestic agency." The younger man
paused dramatically. This was his significant find and he was savoring the
victory. "He suggested we check the United Network Command for Law and
Enforcement.!"
McGarrett's eyes widened as surprise.
"UNCLE?"
Then realization, coursed through his mind.
Yes, UNCLE would have this kind of equipment and the men to use it expertly.
United Network Command for Law and Enforcement -- a multi-national
crime-fighting organization with seemingly unlimited resources and technology.
Their arch enemy -- THRUSH -- was a world-wide criminal alliance. UNCLE, a
super-spy group much more effective and deadly than Interpol, countered bad
guys on a global scale. If the international organization was responsible for
this crime wave, they were operating here without HIS permission or
cooperation. Other places on the globe they might get away with that, but not
on his rock!
"Did you contact the local UNCLE
agents?"
"Yeah, they denied everything,"
Williams confirmed.
"They would. Did you call
Napoleon?"
"Not yet. You want to call him, or go
through official channels to the
Before the boss could respond the phone
rang, and Williams moved to answer it. "Right," he said sharply and
hung up, then spun back out to the lanai. "Duke reports some nervous
tourist at the Ilikai just phoned the manager. It seems she thought she saw
someone walking along her lanai."
McGarrett practically pushed his friend out
the door ahead of him. "Let's go, Danno!"
"Great! Just how I wanted to spent New
Year's Eve!"
*****
Kuryakin had managed to remove himself from
Tara and Anuinui. Forcibly reminding himself it was all in the line of duty he
made obvious and overt eye contact with the THRUSH courier. She had responded
with obvious interest but had not advanced on him. Yet.
Determined to fulfill his part of the
assignment, he plowed through the crowded bar and stood next to the lady. The
THRUSH courier had taken time out from her wild dancing to order drinks from
the bar.
"Allow me," Illya insisted and
laid several bills on the bar. He handed the lady her drink.
Now that he was so close he realized she was
a good four inches taller than he was. It was a bit disconcerting, but he
didn't let it deter him.
"After that --"
"What?" she yelled.
Before he could restate his proposal the
band halted their song. The leader announced it was only thirty seconds to
The THRUSH bodyguard hurried up to the woman
and frantically spoke into her ear. Illya realized the game was up. They had
been alerted to the break-in.
"Happy New Year!" The Russian
shouted in his most obnoxious, drunken manner. He literally swept the woman
from the floor and executed a ridiculous version of a quasi-tango. The woman
struggled to get free, but he pretended to ignore her reluctance to continue
the dance.
The vigorous display lasted only as long as
it took the huge bodyguard to reach the couple. The giant roughly pried
Kuryakin from the lady. Illya noted the man was about twelve inches taller and
twice as wide as he was. However, the agent was determined not to let size
intimidate him. After all, he had a duty to perform.
Suddenly, through the din of ear-breaking
music and over the crackle of fireworks, came a new sound. Police sirens
warbled above the other noises -- sirens from many police cars converging on
the area. From his vantage point in the bar he could see three blue-and-white
patrol cars speeding dockside toward the hotel.
The woman yanked away from him and rushed
from the bar. Illya tried to follow her and Godzilla Bodyguard, but the crush
of spectators for the fireworks, and the mob of curious spectators clogged his
path. By the time he reached the railing of the lanai he saw five HPD cars and
two unmarked police sedans at the back of the hotel.
For a moment Kuryakin remained where he was.
If Solo had been cornered his first duty was to assist his partner. If Napoleon
was still at large, he would have to find his friend before THRUSH or HPD did.
*****
In the first few seconds of the New Year a
splashy, crackling fireworks sunburst display exploded in the air above
Working as quickly as he could, he ran to
the first bedroom and instantly found the wall safe. Within seconds he had
opened the door and removed several pieces of jewelry. No codebook was hidden
in the vault. He slammed shut the door and ran to the master bedroom where he
rammed directly into a man just emerging from the room. Both bodies landed on
the floor. Solo's reflexes were slightly faster, and he leveled a karate chop
to the man's neck.
Leaping back to his feet, Solo rushed to
another wall safe and attached the combination decoding box to the door. The
safe did not open! He tried a second setting and again failed. Sounds of running
feet in the corridor -- his solitude was about to end. There was no time to
waste on confusion. Solo was experienced enough to know when to employ the
better part of valor. He removed his magic box and raced from the room.
The man on the floor was coming around, but
Napoleon didn't pause. He dashed across the wide lanai and to the railing.
Hands tightly gripping the edge, he swung down to the next lanai. Then he ran
through the vacant room, shedding his mask and sweater by the time he reached
the door. Instinctively cautious he opened the door slowly and peeked into the
corridor, then quickly closed the door again. An HPD officer was in the hall.
Solo did not pause to catch his breath. He
raced back to the lanai. From the shadows along the wall he studied the
exterior of the hotel. Fireworks exploded in bright, multi-colored candescent
rain. The extra light would work against him if he had to scale down the floors
on this side of the hotel. He had not considered this extra difficulty.
His communicator beeped and he pulled it
from his pocket. "Happy New Year."
"It doesn't look very happy from down
here," Illya soberly replied. "Where are you?"
"Oh, hanging around just below the
penthouse."
"Don't come down on the outside.
Somehow, HPD knows you're here. And so do our feathered friends."
Napoleon wiped the sweat from his face and
studied the string of lanai stretching across to the center of the hotel. Three
wings extended from a central core where glass elevators encased in blue lights
ran up and down the length of the hotel.
"You've got to get out, Napoleon!"
The warning elicited a deprecatory laugh.
"Any ideas?"
"No," Illya admitted.
"Well, I might have one. Where are
you?"
"The ramp leading to the harbor."
Solo asked for and received placement of the
HPD officers around the outside of the hotel. Most of the police covered the
obvious emergency exits, lobby exits and courtyard lanai. Solo instructed Illya
to remain where he was and get ready for a fast exit.
Solo glanced over the lanai railing to make
sure the route was clear. Sighing out a long breath, he carefully stood on the
railing and jumped to the next room. The soles of his shoes slipped on the damp
metal and he slid into the wall with a crash. His shoulder throbbed from the
blow. For a moment he considered surrender instead of this foolhardy escape.
Visions of an irate Waverly and outraged McGarrett pushed him on to the next
lanai.
As rapidly as possible he leaped from one
lanai to another, careful to cross only when the fireworks did not illuminate
him. He would be a hard target to miss in the brightness of the light displays.
The abominable ache in his shoulder was a
dangerous distraction and he tried to shut out the pain. However, ignoring the
injury would not improve his grip. There were a few close calls when he almost
fell because his arm muscles just couldn't take the strain. A few times he was
nearly discovered when he nearly swung onto a lanai occupied by spectators. He
had been forced to drop down to the next level to avoid detection.
'Holy trapeze, Batman,' he thought ruefully
as he practically sailed from one room to the next. Despite the dangers and
soreness of his shoulder he was having the most exhilarating experience of his
life! The flying-through-air business was breathtaking and energizing. A New
Year he would remember, this little escapade brought a whole new meaning to
death-defying assignments.
He finally reached the last lanai in the
row. He waited for several minutes until the elevator approached from the top
of the hotel. This would be the toughest part of his dangerous plan. One slip,
one miscalculation would send him plummeting to the deck far below. He tied his
sweater to the railing of the lanai above him and tested the strength. It would
hold together for one swing.
He hoped.
The elevator moved past at a faster rate
than he had guessed. He launched off the edge of the lanai and swung to the top
of the elevator car.
His body slammed into the glass with an
agonizing thump. For a frantic moment he had no hand holds or support, and he
nearly slipped from the car's slick, rounded glass top. Fingertips clung to the
edge as he established a handhold with his left hand while the fingers of his
right hand clung onto the top of the car. The grip was his only lifeline for
the precarious seconds it took him to regain balance and laboriously pull
himself atop the lift.
It seemed like an eternity before he was
perched on the curved roof. His left shoulder was afire, throbbing in the
agony.
Once settled, he took several deep breaths
and wiped the sweat from his face. Luckily, the elevator was an empty express
to the lobby. Occupants would have been a serious complication, especially if
the elevator had stopped on a floor with nearby police.
'Maybe my luck is back,' he thought
optimistically.
With nothing else to do for the moment, he
paused to appreciate the brisk, spectacular ride. The pace was faster than he
remembered when inside the elevator. The fresh, crisp air rushed up into his
face with the lingering moistness of the sea. The incredible view of the
Pacific, the fireworks, the harbor and the hotel strip along the beach were all
breathtaking. It was an incredible high, he thought and laughed at the
unintentional pun.
The elevator descended to an awning just
above the main lobby. Solo leaped to the overhang and sprinted to the edge,
pleased he had not been spotted during his amazing descent. He swung down the
roof's edge and raced across the patio toward the ramp where Illya was supposed
to be waiting.
"Stop!" ordered a voice behind
him. "Police!"
Solo kept running.
Gunshots exploded in the air. His trained
ear could distinguish the sounds of the shots from the fireworks. Most
spectators were too caught up in the skyward spectacle to take notice of the
plainclothes officer chasing the spy, which made it easier to weave through the
crowd. Solo was grateful for the confusion. The pursuer was slighter than him
and not quite so fast. Napoleon was also counting on conscientious police
training compelling the officer to shoot into the air and not risk hitting an
innocent bystander with wild gunfire.
Kuryakin emerged from the shadows just
before his partner reached the beach ramp. To add confusion and further
complication to the pursuit the Russian toppled deck tables and chairs as they
raced toward the sand. The pursuer cleared several of the obstacles, then
finally tripped over two chairs toppled together.
"It took you long enough," the
blond agent shouted.
The ramp was surprisingly sparse of
spectators, and the agents leaped to the beach before the concrete walkway ran
out at dockside. Solo led the way across the sand as they weaved in and out of
the crowds. Most people were too busy watching the fireworks from the
Halekulani Hotel to notice the two runners on
*****
Unable to return to their hotel -- the
Halekulani was most conspicuous at the moment -- Solo led the way through the
Hawaiian Hilton Lagoon. Running across the smooth sands of
"Where are you going?" Illya
shouted to his friend as they ran though a beach access between two hotels.
"You don't want to go for a swim, do
you?"
"No."
The agents emerged near the entrance of the
Reef Hotel. Within the shadows of the skyscrapers Solo had shed his belt pouch.
Both men rolled-up their pant legs and held shoes and socks in their hands. The
best disguise was to blend in with the crowd and slowly work their way inconspicuously
back to the Halekulani.
For a moment the men quietly debated whether
they should try to bluff their way through. Kuryakin decided the risk was too
great. They turned around and started back toward the Reef when an HPD officer
called out to them.
"It's your suspicious nature,"
Solo accused and kept walking away.
"They've got your description,"
Kuryakin countered.
Solo didn't react until he heard the sound
of feet running after them. Then he and Illya broke into a run. They coursed
their way through small alleys and parking lots. They cautiously emerged on
Solo suddenly pulled his partner into a
doorway.
"What is it?"
"Look," Solo pointed down the street.
The girls from the bar, Tara and Anuinui,
were standing near a jeep conversing with a sandy-haired, slightly built man
with a torn trouser-leg. The girls accompanied the limping man to the end of
the block, bidding him good-bye.
"He looks familiar," Illya
pondered aloud.
"Can't tell from this distance, but I
think he's the one who was chasing me."
"The one who tripped over the deck
chairs I threw out? I hope he doesn't catch us. He'll probably charge us for
the suit."
"I know MY expense account can't handle
another tailor's bill!" Napoleon quipped, then dismissed the comedic
banter. He tugged at Kuryakin's sleeve. "I have an idea."
The agents circumspectly approached the
jeep. When they seemed to be unobserved, they crawled under a tarp covering the
back seat.
"What if the jeep belongs to the
light-haired man instead of the blond girl?" Illya asked sarcastically as
he folded himself into an uncomfortably small ball.
"Move your foot, Illya. And my luck is
never THAT bad," Napoleon confidently countered as he scrunched against
the tailgate.
Illya muttered something under his breath,
then added. "Your luck doesn't seem very good lately," he accused
unsympathetically. To himself he absently said, "Perhaps the man is with
THRUSH. Perhaps the girls are, too. That would be quite a coincidence."
Solo did not reply with a snide retort. How
could he when his partner could well be right?
*****
"Danno! You all right?" The
concerned Five-0 chief spotted his detective limping across the poolside area
of the Ilikai and crossed to join him. His younger colleague's pant leg was
ripped, revealing a large, red scrape and discoloring around the knee. Steve
winced. "What happened?"
" 'Napoleon'
cheated."
"You mean his accomplice? I heard
someone helped him escape."
Williams sneered. "Yeah. And he fought
with tables and chairs!"
"At least we know why he's evaded us so
completely. He's had help. Did you get a look at them?"
"They're pretty average build -- one
blond, the nasty accomplice -- the other dark-haired. They were spotted running
Ewa on
Unlike his associate, McGarrett felt
energized with resolve and reminded his friend of their progress. Discovering
an accomplice, with partial descriptions of both men, gave law enforcement
another edge. While investigative advancement came slowly because of the skill
of their adversary, the good guys, nonetheless, continued to close the gap.
Confidence building, he reminded Dan of their greatest advantage.
"They're on the run now, Danno. Each
time they strike, they come out worse for the encounter. As with any criminal,
it's only a matter of time before we put our cuffs on them." He smiled
with humorless intent. "These two are nearly in our grasp."
"Not soon enough for me."
In sympathy McGarrett grinned and helped
Williams to his feet. "Come on, Danno, let's have someone look at your
leg. I'll take you over to the ER."
"It's not that bad, Steve. Besides, I'd
rather stay on top of this tonight. These two have slipped up bigtime. Maybe
they'll take a fall tonight after all."
"I have a hunch you're right, Danno. By
the way, Happy New Year."
" 'Houoli makahiki hou' to you
too, Steve. Let's hope it's a lucky one."
"Oh, I think it will be, Danno. I think
it will start out with the arrest of the notorious 'Napoleon of Crime.'
"
*****
After only a few moments of the agents'
pretzel imitations, Anuinui and Tara climbed into the jeep. The vehicle started
through the concourses of
"My instincts were right on
target," Solo smugly whispered.
Traffic crawled through the jammed
"This brings a whole new meaning to
'covert operations'," Illya whispered at one point.
A sharp jab from his unamused partner kept
further sardonic comments silenced.
Neither agent felt it safe to offer more
than an isolated whisper. When the jeep merged onto the H-1 freeway, Illya
dared to shift his position. Solo peeked an eye out from under the tarp and could
not determine their route or destination. "This always seemed a small
island," Illya sighed.
The jeep left the main highway and rumbled
onto a short dirt lane just off the main road. They came to a stop and the
women exited. Seconds later a house door slammed shut. Then, only night noises
of the crashing surf; the chirping of insects, and the muted hum of traffic
filtered to the secluded spot.
"I hate it when you're always right,
Napoleon," Illya sighed.
"I'm never wrong about women,
comrade."
"May we now end our pretzel
disguise?"
"Yes," Napoleon breathed with
relief. His injured shoulder was so sore, he felt slightly dizzy.
The tarp was removed slowly, cautiously.
First the agents poked their heads up and threw off the covering. They jumped
to the ground and stretched aching arms, legs and backs.
Two high-intensity flashlight beams suddenly
struck them in the faces. They raised their arms to block the glare.
"Keep your hands in sight," a
voice warned.
"Anuinui?"
"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin," the melodic
voice of the pretty, Polynesian girl was falsely sweet. Her tone was
uncompromising and steel-tough.
The unwavering beams came closer. Solo saw
Anuinui and Tara both held flashlights in one hand and .38's in the other.
Solo glanced at his partner. "I hate it
when YOU'RE right about my luck." He turned his attention to the blond
woman. "You're very good. I never guessed you were with THRUSH."
"Never mind, just keep your hands in
sight and slowly step forward."
Solo grimaced with chagrin. "Sorry. I
can't move. My legs are asleep."
"How embarrassing," Illya dryly
said. "So are mine."
Anuinui giggled. "Some bust," she
said to her companion.
"Bust?"
Anuinui revealed a shield-shaped badge.
"
Kuryakin slowly and carefully reached into
his pocket and removed his own wallet. He pulled out the gold card.
"U.N.C.L.E. Illya Kuryakin." He nodded toward his partner. "My
friend is Napoleon-of-Crime Solo." To Solo he said,
"Policewomen." Suddenly placing the faces and circumstances, he
frowned. "The man they were talking with was Danny Williams."
"Five-0," Napoleon sighed as a
curse. "Great."
"No, HPD. Robbery Division,"
The women were clearly miffed with UNCLE's
representatives.
"A dark-haired, athletic man, and his
accomplice with blond, shaggy hair," Anuinui said sternly, directing her
gaze mostly at Solo. "You're our suspects."
"My hair is not shaggy," Illya
protested.
"You make it sound almost fun," he
responded with the slightest trace of flirtation in his voice. He took a step
closer.
"Your legs weren't really asleep, were
they?"
"No," Illya admitted. He massaged his
legs. "Just dozing. Are we under arrest?"
"This is one bust I don't think I'll
mind," Napoleon commented, then smiled at the women.
"Just one thing," Kuryakin
grimaced as his wet shoes sloshed on the sand. "Can we get some dry
clothes?"
"No,"
Solo raised his eyebrows teasingly. "No
telling what kind of plea bargains we could arrange. Can I throw myself on the
mercy of the court?"
"Just walk, don't talk," was
Anuinui's stern order. "You're the 'Napoleon of Crime' and you're
as tricky as a magician. We're not taking any chances."
Kuryakin slowly moved across the dirt.
"A Napoleon of some kind," was his muttered aside. "I just wish
we could be captured in comfortable clothes sometime." A prodigious sneeze
caused him to stop suddenly.
"What do we do for an encore?"
Solo smiled. "No one would expect the
cat burglar to hit the same hotel twice in one night!"
III
"I
WANNA GO BACK TO MY LITTLE GRASS SHACK."
When Illya pulled the jeep into a curb spot
along
The communicator beeped, and Solo reported
he was prepared. He had found an unoccupied room on the floor below the
penthouse, from which he was ready to reprise his role as cat burglar. This
time he would be aided by a Kuryakin distraction.
"Watch your shoulder."
"You knew."
"For a spy you can sometimes be quite
transparent. Good luck."
"Same to you. Out."
Illya was motionless for a beat, concern
etched on his features. Then his expression cleared and he whispered to
himself, "Here we go again."
*****
The view from the top of the Ilikai was
nothing short of spectacular. Along the beach all the way to
Solo leaned over the railing and studied the
climb he would have to make to the penthouse. He would face his greatest
challenge tonight: a rough ascent with no equipment and a sore shoulder. When
he had awoken that morning he'd realized he had somehow damaged a shoulder
muscle. A twinge of pain rippled from the muscle every time he moved. He had
not mentioned this little complication to his partner. No need for the
pessimistic, worrisome Russian to know of this extra tid-bit of bad luck.
With a long, deep intake of breath he
hoisted himself up to the rim of the rail, reached up and over the ledge of the
penthouse lanai.
Climbing across three lanais was the
greatest obstacle Solo encountered. As he had anticipated, THRUSH was on alert
after the first robbery attempt. However, their upgrade seemed in manpower
instead of security gadgets. This time Solo knew what kind of alarm to expect.
The penthouse did not have just a lanai, but
a private courtyard that overlooked the harbor. Solo did not pause to admire
the view. He swiftly crossed to the sliding glass doors and removed a small box
from his pocket. He quickly scanned the door and found added THRUSH electronic
security devices in effect.
This was where the plan got tricky. If he
jammed the security signal THRUSH would be alerted to UNCLE intervention. If he
broke through like a naive cat-burglar he ran a very good chance of getting
caught by the THRUSH agents.
'No one said it would be easy, old boy,' he
silently sighed to himself. He removed his communicator and whispered,
"Open Channel L."
"Channel open," Kuryakin replied,
his voice barely audible above the blasting music in the bar.
"I'm ready to go in."
"Wish me luck," Illya deadpanned.
"That's my line," Napoleon
protested.
"You don't have to distract the wicked
witch and her friend Godzilla. This is usually your job, Romeo."
"I can't have all the fun."
Illya's retort was dry. "Thanks."
"Oh, Illya."
"Yes?"
"Happy New Year. It's been a fun
one."
"Same to you. I hope the new one starts
out better than the old one ended."
"So do
"Napoleon?"
He detected a hint of concern in the
Russian's voice. He didn't want to hear anymore of Illya's distracting
pessimism. He had quite enough on him mind right now. "Yes?"
"Uh, watch out," Illya stuttered.
Solo grinned. 'At least it wasn't the cliché
of "be careful",' he mused.
"Remember what happened to the first 'Napoleon
of Crime'?"
"He took a great fall," was the
American's sardonic retort. "Thanks for the reminder."
Solo wouldn't admit it to Illya, but he had
his own symbolic mental comparisons between the Ilikai and
Right verses wrong; good guys verses bad
guys, law enforcement verses crime, etc.
On this steel and glass-slick Reichenbach,
the roles of good and evil had been blurred, melded, mixed and swirled. Solo
was a grey knight who lived in a world that was no longer black and white; just
and unjust. 'Champions of law' in this generation had to compromise and bend the
rules to achieve modern justice. Yet there was enough of a glimmer of old
fashioned idealism. Solo imagined he yet belonged to a class of crime-fighter
that deserved to live somewhere within the broad shadow of the Master
Detective.
"Maybe a sober reminder will keep you
on your toes," Illya said. "See you downstairs," he finished
with a bit more optimism in his voice. "Out."
Napoleon tucked the communicator back into
his pocket and removed the tools to pick the door lock.
*****
Illya donned a straw hat and glasses, then
unlocked the special penthouse button. The elevator stopped at the top. Illya
then pushed the button to send the elevator back to the next floor. With
exaggerated dramatics, he swayed against the wall, loud and obnoxious in his
supposedly drunken revelry. Almost instantly, two armed men -- one of them the
huge bodyguard from the bar -- emerged from the penthouse. If the man
recognized the UNCLE agent, there was no comment made. Illya took this to mean
the man was duped by the simple disguise.
The THRUSH men demanded the drunk leave. In
return he harassed the bodyguards. Occasionally, Illya would unobtrusively
glance at his watch. He had agreed to give Napoleon as much time as possible,
but would try for a minimum of five minutes. The opposition did not want to
cooperate. Not even three minutes had elapsed before the huge bodyguard slammed
Kuryakin against the wall. With profuse apologies he slinked to the elevator.
When the doors closed Kuryakin looked at his watch; three minutes forty-four seconds.
He hoped it was enough time. he stopped the car on the next floor and waited
for a signal from his partner. If Napoleon did not signal within another
minute, Kuryakin would know the plan had failed and he would have to rescue
Solo.
*****
One of Illya's jamming boxes eliminated the
security sensor on the door. Napoleon simply slipped the lock and entered on
the courtyard lanai sliding glass door.
His entry was timed simultaneously with
Kuryakin's elevator antics. If Illya was off, then Solo was dead. Napoleon
entered the suite without a second thought. He never doubted his partner's
skill at distraction. One lucky thing about having Kuryakin as a partner -- he
was completely trustworthy.
He carefully stalked through the suite
directly to the master bedroom, where he gingerly opened the door. A THRUSH
bodyguard was slouched in a nearby chair. Solo silently drew his Walther and
popped a sleep dart into the man. Tiptoeing into the room, he removed the dart
and shot another dart into the woman sleeping in the bed. He checked his watch.
Only thirty-five seconds had elapsed.
With rapid, efficient skill he opened the
safe, courtesy of another Kuryakin-device, and rifled through the contents. The
codebook was still there! The miniature camera was whipped out of his pocket,
and he quickly snapped through the pages.
There was a loud disturbance in the hall.
'Illya,' he thought and smiled to himself. The last page was photographed and
he slipped the book back into the safe while Illya was still arguing with the
bodyguards.
He nearly ran from the room and out the
lanai. Like a monkey, he skipped across the lanais and back to the empty room
where he had started two floors below. His feet hit the deck and he stopped,
catching his breath for the first time. Adrenaline still raced through his
body, and his hands were slightly shaky. He took a moment to brush back thick,
windblown hair off his forehead and wipe off the sweat his face. He didn't
realize how anxious he had been until now.
The camera was removed from his pocket. For
several seconds he tightly clutched in his fist, as if he couldn't believe the
prize had been won at last. He removed the black shirt (a bit too tight since
he had borrowed one of Illya's turtlenecks) and tossed it to the floor. He
reached through the open glass doors for an Aloha shirt hanging on the back of
a chair on the lanai.
Cold metal suddenly slapped onto his wrist.
Solo jumped back in surprise, unable to move more than a few feet. A
silhouetted tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the other side of the open
lanai door. Lights snapped on, bathing the spy in brilliance.
"Happy New Year and welcome to
Solo gasped in a breath of surprise when he
identified the man on the other end of the cuffs. He was stunned. He couldn't
remember when he had been caught so dead-to-rights. And after he believed the
mission a success!
The dark-haired, square-jawed detective was
equally amazed. "Napoleon?" Steve McGarrett incredulously wondered.
Solo smiled bleakly. "Hi, Steve."
Revolver trained on the cat burglar,
Williams limped from the shadows. "Napoleon? You're the -- the --"
" 'Napoleon of Crime',"
McGarrett finished dangerously.
Solo raised his hands in surrender. The
moment of greatest dread had come to pass. Capture meant failure of his mission.
Now, eye to eye with his old Naval Intelligence colleague, he had to explain to
his friend of over twenty years why he publicly played McGarrett for a fool.
"Steve, I can explain."
Barely controlled rage worked McGarrett's
jaw muscles. His eyes sparked fire. "I'll bet you can." He roughly
shoved Solo into the wall. "Search him, read him his rights."
Napoleon started to protest but Steve cut him short. "No special treatment
for Mr. Solo. Keep him isolated until I get this sorted out. Now book him,
Danno."
McGarrett stalked out of the room leaving
Williams to comply with his orders. Unsympathetically snapping the cuffs on
Solo, Five-0's second-in-command leaned over his shoulder and said,
"Aloha, Napoleon. That also means good-bye."
IV
"BLUE
Dawn of January First arrived in a weak
reflection of gold over the city of
Tropical storm McGarrett had already hit the
offices of
At the moment McGarrett was slouched in the
comfortable chair behind his desk. Tie askew, hair fallen across his forehead,
he irritatedly twirled a coffee cup in small circles on the desktop.
When he glanced up the detective glared icy
daggers at his audience. Kuryakin paced near the open lanai doors, too
disgusted and angry to converse any more with the obstinate detective.
The door to the office opened. Dan Williams,
in an undamaged suit, limped into the room towing a rumpled, handcuffed, and
very subdued Napoleon Solo. The two weary people in the room automatically
straightened. Solo's expression brightened when he saw his partner.
"Ah, the cavalry has arrived." He
held his hands out to Williams. "Can you remove these ridiculous bracelets
now?" He shot an accusing glare at McGarrett. "You've proven your
point, Steve."
The unrepentant attitude nettled McGarrett
even more. "You're lucky to be on this side of a cell in the first
place!"
Not in the best mood himself, Solo played
the dangerous game of blatant antagonism. "Do you know how embarrassing it
is being seen in these cuffs?"
"Less than you deserve," McGarrett
shot back with barely restrained anger. He nodded to Williams. "Let him
go, Danno."
Dan unlocked the handcuffs at bit roughly.
"All prisoners have to be cuffed, Napoleon. Regulations." Obviously
the younger man sided with his friend. The Five-0 team felt stung at the spy's
underhanded operation. "Until I hear otherwise, you're still under
arrest."
In a show of solidarity, Illya came to stand
next to his partner.
Napoleon scowled. "Well, the least you
could have done was kept me in interrogation," he said to Dan.
"You're mad about the suit, aren't you? I promise Illya and I will
reimburse you." Glancing at the replacement attire, Solo scoffed, "I
see you could use the new threads." He massaged his sore wrists and turned
to McGarrett. "I guess it was your idea to throw the book at me?"
"You bet!" McGarrett assured as he
came to his feet, coming face to face with his old friend. In a near replay of
their confrontation in interrogation, the detective shouted, "No super-spy
card in the world gives you carte blanche on my turf, Napoleon! You know
that!" He spared a glance at Kuryakin. "The minute you pulled the
first caper you were in my sights!"
"I was under orders --"
"You knew better!" Steve ruthlessly
cut in. "You know ME, Napoleon! You knew I could be trusted!" His
eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or did you think you were better than Five-0?
You thought you could play your little spy game and leave without us being the
wiser, didn't you?"
"It was a calculated risk,"
Kuryakin interceded. The distraction worked, angling McGarrett's considerable
ire momentarily onto the Russian.
Solo stepped back and slumped into a chair
next to his partner. "You know we must obey certain orders, Steve. We do
not have latitude in some operations." Illya gave a nod toward his friend.
"Napoleon objected to the secrecy, but there was nothing he could
do." Argument complete, he sat in a chair next to Solo.
Eyeing the two agents as if doubting their veracity, Steve paced back toward
his desk. "If the Governor hadn't interfered, it would have been a lot
more than a night in jail, Napoleon!"
"At least I'm saved from more than
one," Solo said with a nod of thanks to his friend.
Kuryakin added, "I'm not so sure about
that."
Warily Illya explained the political
machinations flung between
Alerted by Illya's attitude, Solo was
equally circumspect. "You mean we don't get to go home in time for the
Rose Parade?"
Kuryakin shook his head. "Not
exactly."
Napoleon sighed with exasperation and looked
at McGarrett. "Steve, we've known each other a long time --"
"Not long enough if you think
friendship will save you."
The worst part of his night had not been the
time in a jail cell (although that was NOT his favorite place to be on New
Year's morning, or any other morning). The worst moments had been in
interrogation when he and McGarrett had come head to head. Both stubborn, both
remembering too much from past associations (mostly good times), which made the
crimes seem all the more deceitful. The battle had been unpleasant and
disturbing for both men, with Steve finally leaving feeling betrayed and angry,
Solo feeling abashed as he was jailed.
Napoleon wasn't very proud of himself, but
he had been under orders. His fealty to UNCLE had to transcend old friendships
and debts, at least this time. Countless times he had apologized for the
deception, but never for the criminal acts. He didn't dare mention it, but he
had done far worse deeds in the name of the job. If it had been under his
control, he would have avoided the whole mess by confiding in McGarrett and
telling some of the truth. It would have saved a lot of trouble, anger, hurt
and an old friendship. It would have avoided damage to both men's reputations
here in
"Steve, I am sorry. If I could make it
up I --"
"Oh, you will," McGarrett sternly
assured with a hint of satisfaction.
Napoleon looked at Illya. "What does
that mean?"
"We may not have a Hauoli Makahiki
Hou."
"Happy New Year," Dan translated
when he saw Solo's perplexed expression. "Technically, you're under
diplomatic immunity, so we can't prosecute you or release your name to the
press." The young man still treated the turn of events seriously, but
calmly. Good thing someone was keeping a perspective, because his boss was
angry enough to chew bullets and spit them out at the UNCLE agents. "But
that doesn't mean you'll go unpunished," Dan clarified with satisfaction.
"We've arranged a very special
penitence," McGarrett assured with relish.
*****
The stolen jewelry was recovered and returned
to the rightful owners. The insurance companies were appeased, and a convincing
story was fed to the press: a car had catapulted over a pali, into the ocean,
with the cat-burglar's cache. The badly ravaged body was declared the notorious
'Napoleon of Crime' and officially listed as dead, true identity unknown. Yet
the legend lingered on, much to the amusement of another Napoleon.
Solo sighed as he looked back at the view of
A solid blow landed him on his backside and
he caught his breath. His punishment of choice was so much better, he reasoned
sarcastically. Coming painfully to his feet, he squared off across a mat with a
massive Polynesian SWAT officer eager to take him apart. Special training
classes, supplemented by exclusive, high-tech UNCLE equipment, was Solo's
penance for the cat-burglary debacle. No sun-soaked vacation for the wayward
agents.
A broad Hawaiian flipped through the air,
seemingly defying laws of physics. Illya gave his partner a superior look
before dusting his hands. The Russian was making it all look easy. In realty,
both agents had taken a lot of pounding in this training seminar, but then, it
beat jail.
Solo's giant Polynesian came toward him.
Instructively, Napoleon lectured a move, pretending to hold a knife in his
hand. The opponent moved in, hoping to win with a bulky tackle. Solo feinted to
the side, then shouldered into the man, using the momentum to flip the immense
officer on his back.
"All in the wrist," Solo quipped,
more winded than he wanted to admit.
Sparse applause came from the side of the
gym. The two top Five-0 officers joined the UNCLE agents at the mat. Solo
scowled at McGarrett and Williams.
"I think HPD is finally getting the
best of this deal," Steve remarked smugly.
"I thought corporal discipline went out
with Captain Cook," Kuryakin countered tiredly. "Don't you think your
officers have had enough training?"
Williams shrugged, eyes buoyant with
amusement. "Maybe when these guys can take you two, you'll be finished.
Besides, it's just snow and rain in
This was undoubtedly the worst start of a
New Year he could ever remember. Solo sneered. "We haven't see a lot of
sun and sand here, Danny." Hopefully, he addressed McGarrett. "When
can I cry UNCLE, Steve?"
McGarrett took betrayal seriously, but he
was not without mercy. There were acts in his past he was not proud of, duties
performed under orders that he would never do again. Shades of pity softened
his heart.
"I guess I'll let you off the hook when
I think you've learned your lesson, Napoleon."
"He's learned," Illya assured
fervently. "I've learned."
"And just to make it even," Solo
offered, "We'll throw in some personal training for you and Danny."
Williams quickly shook his head. "Not a
chance."
Napoleon stared out McGarrett, daring him to accept. After a tense moment the
Five-0 chief smiled and shook his head. "I'm not too proud to admit when
I'm outclassed, Napoleon." He smiled mercilessly. "But I would like
to hear the 'Napoleon of Crime' say 'uncle' ."
With a chagrined, sour expression, Solo
responded in the only possible way he could. "Uncle!"