Epilogue to: The Man from UNCLE episode THE SHARK AFFAIR

  UNCLE / Hawaii Five-0 crossover


 

SHARK BAIT

By

G M
 

 Oct 1964
 
 

Another explosion rocked the ship and Illya Kuryakin precariously balanced on his feet. The crewman next to him put both hands on the lever to disengage the lifeboat. "We've got to --"

"We're not leaving yet!" He pushed the man away from the lifeboat winch. "At least one more man is coming."

Napoleon had returned to get Captain Shark -- the last known person aboard the doomed ship. Shark was a modern day pirate gathering skilled workers and their families together to start a new colony on a deserted island. A new civilization -- survivors of the nuclear holocaust Shark was certain was coming to the earth. Napoleon Solo and Illya had placed themselves in the ocean to be picked up as bait, and had been captured by Shark. When their true identities had been discovered Solo's had belligerently opposed Shark. For that Solo had received ten lashes from a whip. Feigning exaggerated injuries, Solo had skipped out on the ship's party and set some bombs in the engine room. The ship was going down. Illya bit his lip. Hopefully not with his partner.

Another blast tilted the ship. Then through the smoke a man in a tuxedo -- Solo -- appeared, trotting unsteadily to the last lifeboat.

"Now!" Kuryakin okayed, and helped the crewman start the winch that would lower the boat into the water. "The Captain?" he asked as Solo helped with the boat.

"Going down with the ship."

"A misguided heroic I could never understand," Kuryakin admitted wryly. Solo could have been the second casualty if he'd stayed much longer. His partner probably didn't have a death wish, but with the incredibly risky heroics Napoleon often engaged in, Illya sometimes wondered. He gestured to the American. "After you."

For an instant the dark-haired agent hesitated, then gave a nod and jumped over the side, into the hull of the lifeboat. He landed with a hard thud and a groan. Illya launched after him, rolling like a gymnast. There was plenty of room in the boat with only six others in the craft. In the opposite of the Titanic mentality, the first lifeboats had filled over capacity because everyone wanted off immediately.

The two crewmen took the oars and straightened them out to follow the other boats, roughly in a north easterly course toward the Hawaiian Islands. Illya had issued a mayday before he had secured the last lifeboat for their escape, but he could not wait for a reply. Presumably the Coast Guard received the message and would send helicopters and boats. Even so, it would take hours to find them and the choppers wouldn't deploy until dawn, so they had a few hours ahead of them in a boat. It could certainly be worse, Illya reminded himself. Perhaps they were lucky to get off with one of them receiving ten lashes.

Next to him, Solo bumped his arm shouldering out of his jacket. It was a humid, tropic night and the heat from the sinking ship created a fiery pyrotechnic show on the horizon.

Kuryakin wiped sweat from his brow. The Russian was more comfortable in the cooler climates than this tropical warmth. "You timed that very close." It was a flat observation, devoid of much personal concern.

"Close, that's my specialty, isn't it?"

Solo settled down to lean against the stern of the boat and Illya's shoulder. Soon Illya felt Napoleon's head drop and Illya leaned over, using his slumbering partner to support him as he drifted off to sleep.
 
 

***

A bright shaft of light flashed into his eyes and Kuryakin winced, automatically shading his eyes. The rising sun stabbed into his eyes with sharp brightness. Blinking, he focused on his surroundings. The crewmen and the other two passengers had taken turns rowing in the last few hours, graciously allowing the UNCLE agents to sleep.  Shifting from under the deeply sleeping Solo, Illya wondered why his shirt was soaking wet. Sweat. Solo was hot. Pulling his partner away, Illya gulped to see his friend's white shirt stained with pink stripes. The lash wounds had re-opened and the fever indicated they were probably infected. Kuryakin settled his friend so his back was not rubbing against the boat.

Solo cringed. "Oh, shut out the light," he complained, squeezing his eyes shut. "And turn down the heater," he sighed tiredly, wiping his face. "Sooo hot."

"Dawn." Kuryakin poured some water into his hand and wiped it on Solo's forehead. One of the crewmen complained and Illya assured it would come out of his ration. Not that they were in critical straights. The emergency supplies aboard each boat were designed to aid ten people in surviving for a few days. "Your wounds are infected, Napoleon. Rest. We will be rescued soon."

With a nod Solo complied, never doubting his partner's word. "Hurts."

An anxious growl gurgled in his throat. "That's what you get," Illya sighed, "when you offer yourself as shark bait."

Solo drifted in and out of sleep, the fever intensifying. Illya silently berated himself for not stopping the whipping. He had tried, of course, but not hard enough, not quick enough. Napoleon was sick now. If the rescue took too long . . . he didn't want to think about it. They had been through too much for the partnership -- his friend's life -- to end like this.  The sun well into the morning sky, Illya shifted his weight under his partner, once more checking the jacket he had used to press against the wounds. The bleeding was not excessive, but was further weakening the agent. Napoleon blinked his eyes open.

"Doing okay?"

Not sure if the question was directed at him or Solo or both of them, Illya took the easy way out. "Okay."

Nodding, Solo closed his eyes again. "Snoring. You're snoring again."

Scowling, Kuryakin was about to argue, then stopped as he listened, then smiled. Shouts from the nearby boats confirmed his realization. The sound was the beating of chopper blades. A large red and white Coast Guard helicopter flew low and slow over their position. Illya allowed a slight nod and patted his friend's shoulder.

"We are okay now, Napoleon."
 
 

***

 

Staring through the window, Illya gazed out at the blue Pacific on the other side of the city. In his career time spent in Honolulu had been mostly at the nearby airport. Honolulu had never been one of his stops. Swinging American cities were much the same throughout the country, but this one might be different, he considered, since it was the crossroads of the Pacific. The mix of Hawaiian, American and Japanese influences could prove interesting. Unfortunately, they might have time to explore here for a few days before returning to New York. Solo was being pumped full of antibiotics and after the night in the hospital would be returning for check ups for the next few days. Illya hoped to persuade Waverly to allow him to stay as well, though he would not mention it was to keep an eye on his partner. UNCLE agents didn't need partners to mother them -- Kuryakin would like to stay close just the same. Hopefully, Waverly would fall for the ploy that Solo needed assistance -- at least for a few days. Not to mention all the nasty international red-tape resulting from Captain Shark's piracy and the sinking of said captain's ship.

There was a knock at the door. A tall man with dark hair, strong jaw and piercing blue eyes stood in the doorway. The dark suit in the tropics denoted someone of sober, even strict mainland standards of propriety and business. He did not exactly have the demeanor of the military or the police, but a near-approximation of both. Intrigued, Kuryakin stepped past his sleeping partner's bed and stood near the man, just in the off chance he posed a threat, which instincts indicated was not the case.

The blue eyes glanced past Kuryakin to the sleeping Solo. A look of concern, then relief passed across the expression, then a neutral assessment fell on the Russian. "I'm Steve McGarrett. I'm an old friend of Napoleon's. I won't wake him." He stepped in, but remained quietly distant from the bed.

"Ah," Illya nodded, then subconsciously dropped his voice. "Ah, you are Napoleon's friend from the war." He held out a hand. "You were with Naval Intelligence. I am his partner, Illya Kuryakin." He ruminated for a moment. "You are the head of the police here."

They shook. "Hawaii Five-0. Napoleon's mentioned you a lot." A disapproving glance returned to the mutual friend. "He also promised he'd come to my island paradise and have a vacation. I didn't expect it to be like this." He took a step closer and shook his head. "He always liked playing the hero."

"Shark bait."

Steve nodded.

Illya studied his friend. "It happens all too often," he admitted soberly. "He is lucky this time." Suddenly conscious of his slip to sentimentality -- even emotionalism -- when he turned back he made sure his voice and face were a mask of objectivity. "How did you know he was here?"

"The rescue made the papers, of course. Some enterprising reporter got the names of the survivors. The Governor put me onto it since we have an international brouhaha over Captain Shark's piracy and kidnappings and all those entanglements." His face darkened. "The doctor told me he's being treated for infections caused by a whipping?"

"A long story."

McGarrett checked his watch. "I'd like to hear about it. Can I spring for dinner with you both when he's released?"

"We would be pleased to do so."

"The doctor indicated that might be tomorrow." He handed the Russian a card. "Keep me updated, please." He shook again. "I'm glad he's got someone trustworthy to watch his back."

Like a shivering charge of electricity, Kuryakin felt the somber duty more than ever. From one old friend to a newer partner. The responsibility for the life of someone they cared deeply about was not to be taken lightly.

"I look forward to the rendezvous." He surrendered a cagey smile. "I am sure you will have many old stories to share."

McGarrett grinned. "Embarrassing, too," he admitted with relish.

After the policeman left Kuryakin slipped into a chair and studied the Honolulu skyline, then studied his partner. With a sigh he felt the worries were behind him for the moment. And for once they could relax and enjoy the local color. Grinning at the thought of the secrets to be revealed, he felt he was going to enjoy his first visit to Honolulu.
 
 

THE END