ACT 3

Solo silently stood against the wall as he watched U.N.C.L.E.’s scientists examine a recently deceased agent. Usually his imperturbable nature made this task bearable but after…
    "We have a leak."
    Horror shot through Solo and he frantically looked around, his breath coming in short bursts, and then he saw him, kneeling at the far end of the room. There was a small man in brown overalls tapping the underneath of a sink, as he moved his blond hair fell untidily across his face. Solo was there in one bound, grabbing the man by the collar.
    "Illya?" He looked closely at the face, fortyish, grimy, with dark squinting eyes. "Sorry, mate, what did you say?"
    "A, Gov, you’re hurting me. All I said was we have a leak — see? All over the floor, must ave a blockage. Take it easy, man."
    "Mr Solo, are you alright?" asked one of the scientists. "This place getting to you?"
    "I’m fine, just fine."
    "Right then, Mr Solo, this is what we have discovered. This agent was found dead one mile away from here. He has three bullet wounds, two relatively minor and the third to the heart, instant death."
    Solo knew, always fatal, always instant, the pain flitted through his head again. Always instant, no time to think or to scream…
    "Mr Solo?"
    "What? I’m sorry, what were you saying?"
    "In the first communication you received a month ago…
   "Good God," thought Solo. "It’s been a month? A whole month?"
      "Mr Solo, are you feeling unwell?"
     "What? Yes, fine. I’m fine, sorry carry on."
    "The communications asked Uncle to examine bodies of dead agents, we have been doing this. In all cases bullet wounds have been present, one massive wound to the heart or head and other minor wounds. In every case the small wounds have shown signs of three to four weeks of healing."
    "Do you mean these agents were shot twice, at different times?"
    "That’s exactly what I mean. This agent was reported dead. I in fact pronounced that death. There was no output of any kind. But now I could swear he died yesterday. This wound is fresh the others have healed."
    "Are they all like this?" asked Solo trying to remember, always instant…But he…
    "I’m afraid so. All the agents have evidence of high levels of morphine in the blood. I have examined every body several times with the same results. All of course apart from Mr Kuryakin, as you know his body was destroyed in the fire. All of them have died twice.
    The pain returned as he left the room to report to Waverly. One month, it couldn’t be one month since...  His mind began to wonder, yes that was what it was, yesterday he had turned to watch a very lovely girl and while doing so walked into the wall. He had scowled, waited for it... The hand on the shoulder, the voice that would say, "Clever." But it didn't come... A whole month.
     "We were good..."
    "Your fault, you could have stopped it." The voice refused to go from his head. He walked slowly into Mr Waverly's office and breathed deeply. The room seemed deprived of oxygen, filled only with the smell of Waverly's pipe and a feeling of despair.
    "Arh, Mr Solo," said Waverly taking a deep puff on his pipe. "You have the lab report?"
    "Yes, Sir."
    "Good, I've been waiting for this. Mr Hodder has finally come through with some good news for us." He waved his pipe in Hodder's direction to signal him to begin.
    "Yes, Sir, I made contact with an old Thrush agent who is disillusioned with the whole idea of that organisation. He is going to help us."
    "Ha!" Solo began. "And of course you trust him."
    "Yes, I do..."
    "You haven't been here five minutes and already you have been taken in by them. They are cold blooded killers." Solo was shocked by the sound of his own voice, angry, bitter and full of hatred. "Ok, what does he want?"
    "Nothing, Mr Solo, he told me I wasn't to trust anyone, even you, until full clearance has been given. Mr Waverly has cleared you, temporarily, but everyone is suspect."
        "And Illy..." He swore under his breath, why did he keep forgetting?
        "Sir?"
        "Never mind..."
"Yes, I'm afraid Mr Kuryakin was right," cut in Waverly. "We somehow have a leak, quite a large one I'm afraid. Thrush seem to know everything we are doing. Carry on, Mr, er, Hodder."                                                          "Yes, Sir, my contact Mr Smith is meeting me tomorrow with the full list of names…"                  "I’ll go with you, " Solo interrupted. "I want to meet this man."                                                    "No, he specified that it must only be me to meet him, nobody else."                                               "Mr Waverly, have we got a dossier on this man?"          "Yes, Mr Solo, Mr Slate pulled it this morning." He handed Solo a green file which he quickly read. On the surface he seemed an ordinary little man and the dossier backed this up by saying he was no threat, even so he was THRUSH and they killed.
    "Where are you meeting this man?"
    "Sorry, Sir, I can’t say, he just appears. Today was at the newspaper stand. I just don’t know."
    Solo looked questionably at Slate who answered with a nod, both men were becoming very worried about the situation. If it were one of them meeting Mr Smith it would be different, they had been in the business long enough to recognise a set-up. Hodder could so easily be taken in by a scam and lose his life.

Hodder walked up and down the same road he had checked countless times. The rain seemed to have settled in for the day and still the old man hadn't turned up. The meeting was meant to be at 2pm, yet now it was nearly 4pm.  Hodder's hopes of finally making his mark on U.N.C.L.E. were beginning to fade. He'd seen the doubt in Solo's face, perhaps he was right, this was not a job for a new agent.
    "Here!" The voice said from a doorway. The old man leaned against the wall and took another swig from a paper wrapped bottle. After coughing several times he began to talk.
    "Sorry, I'm late — long walk — old war wound, you know?" He coughed again and winced.
    "Perhaps we should go for a coffee or something." said Hodder beginning to think this was all a big set-up.
    "No!" Mr Smith sounded insulted. "No, we stay here. I have some of what you want." He began to recite numbers, some of which Hodder knew. "One, clear. 58, clear. 14 clear...
    Twice the old man stopped while he had a coughing fit and another swig from his bottle. After about thirty numbers he stopped. "When you get them back to Waverly, get him to check all previously injured agents who were missing for a few weeks. They are very doubtful, Thrush are using a new tactic to force agents into giving information."
    "I would never tell anything."
    "No? You think not?"
    "No way!"
    "I will tell you this much. An agent is shot, to cause greatest pain not threat to life. They are hospitalised with no form of pain-control. Then they are worked on. One tiny piece of information and painkiller is given. Not many can stand the pain and those that do are killed. Tiny pieces of information all gathered together make a big security leak."
    "Some of our agents would die first."
    "I know this, but some have been given so much morphine that they are addicts and will do anything for the next shot. Don't blame them. Tell Waverly   to de-brief them and get them help."
    "How do Thrush  get hold of the injured?"
    "They have doctors at hospitals and the morgue. Drugs are given to mimic death. This can be given anytime but usually in the bullet, it appears like, instant death. Now I will go."
    "Thanks, Mr Smith, you have been a great help. I will see you tomorrow."
    "No, I really can't make that walk again. Oh I forgot, one more number, 189, I believe that's you?"
    "Yes, thanks, wait! You haven't cleared number 11..."
    "Not yet, there's another list. Tomorrow at 8pm tell Waverly to clear communications . Tell him prepare for incoming on Channel B."
    "We haven't got a B, are you sure of this?"
    "I'm sure, he said, 'incoming on Channel B, he will know'."

Disclaimer:- The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and it’s characters Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo and Alexander Waverly, is copyrighted by MGM Inc/United Artists and Arena Productions � 1964.
Tzavros belongs to no man apart from himself.