The Man from U.N.C.L.E: Operation Istanbul

Chapter 10

Illya glared at Napoleon. They ran for the periscope, Illya pushed Napoleon away and grabbed the handles, giving the command for them to surface. As Napoleon fell to the floor he could feel the submarine make it's ascent, the metal body whining from the change of pressure.

As Illya peered through, Napoleon could see the Russian turn white. The American got up and turned the periscope away from a distraught Illya, who sank back, the nervous twitch in his right hand becoming ever more pronounced, like a premonition to disaster: the tremor before an earthquake.

Napoleon looked through the periscope and saw two men at the pier dragging off Gaby's limp body like the apostles carrying dead Christ to the tomb. It was a scene Napoleon had seen many times before in paintings he had 'liberated' but with the event playing out in front of him, he felt moved to that same helpless despair as he watched the thugs haul Gaby onto a motorboat and zip away. Illya hadn't stopped his tirade of commands; Napoleon could feel the submarine gain speed, propelling itself through the water. All of a sudden, the submarine halted. Napoleon could hear the sonar pulsate, transmitting its echoing beeps across the water. The crew was frantically running along the length of the submarine, turning wheels pulling levers, repeating Illya's command with the solemnity of monks chanting prayers. Napoleon could make out the murmurs of numbers from Illya's lips as he looked back into the periscope. He signaled with two fingers pointing at an officer reaching a lever. The rest of the crew gathered at the far end of the submarined forming a sweaty huddle. Napoleon's eyes went wide as he realized what Illya was planning to do.

Napoleon ran and seized the arm of the officer. He scolded Illya, "You can't just fire a missile!" Illya didn't pay heed; his face was glued on the periscope, a single arm raised as he continued to shout the coordinates. But Napoleon knew the one thing that would get his attention, "Gaby will get hurt."

"I would never hurt her," he responded stressing every word with his the deep drone of his accent. The officer's hand still clasped on to the lever, Napoleon could feel the muscles of the man's arm tense and coil to pull. Fortunately for Napoleon, Illya kept talking, "I'm not going to hit the boat. It will just be a distraction." Illya exchanged glances with the Russian officer holding the lever.

Napoleon loosened his grip on the Russian officers arm. The American was still adamant, he sighed, "It won't work." Although Napoleon faked his seeming indifference, his heart was pounding. If the assassination didn't cause a war, a Russian missile firing in Istanbul might. Illya stared at the officer holding the lever; Napoleon held his breath. As Illya tilted his head, the officer let go of the lever and backed down. Napoleon allowed himself to breathe again.

"Then what should I do, Cowboy?" he demanded an answer. Although, he had a booming fury in his voice, rage held tight in his clenched fists, Napoleon could see more than that. Illya was a beast of raw emotion; the skin around his eyes had gone pink, he was blinking profusely in pain and disbelief, hating his dependence on this snake of an American. As Napoleon smirked, Illya resisted the urge to punch him in his smug face, for how could anyone afford to make an expression like that in this situation.

"I'll steer. You keep an eye on Gaby. Should be no problem for you."

"That I can do." Napoleon went for the steering wheel, and Illya grabbed the handles of the periscope. The submarine crew sprang back to their positions.

Illya saw the motorboat zoom across the empty waters, straight in front of them. He commanded a cabin boy to rush to the engine room. The boy sprinted, weaving his way through the length of the submarine, it was like a seeming never ending corridor, each segment different from the rest. He passed the sleeping quarters with fitted bunk beds and pinups, mess hall, cupboards outpouring with stale crackers, then finally the door the engine room. Merely standing in front of the engine room's door was unnerving, it rumbled like thunder. Once he opened the door, he was blasted by the noise, the engines not only roared but they screeched and whistled, the pistons hammering up and down, pumps turning and churning. The air felt compact and hot, the bodies of the engineers were covered in a cling film of sweat. As the boy hollered the orders, the chief engineer whipped some sweat off his forehead and tugged a lever. It was as if the whole world of the engine room sped up, the pumps and pistons pounded more vigorously, the engineers rushed to check each component. Even Napoleon could feel the buzz from the engine room as he struggled to keep the steering wheel steady; his hands found it difficult to remain in control of that energy.

Illya narrowed his eyes. The motorboat had now entered the busy waterways of the Golden Horn, weaving past, tankers, ferries and cruise ships. The congestion made Illya anxious, so he called the submarine to descend. As he watched the water pour over the periscope lens, he saw the world submerge into an emerald glow, the hulls of ships loomed like the massive underbellies of dark icebergs. He spotted the smaller hull of the motorboat; maneuvering nimbly between the tankers. As Illya directed Napoleon towards the motorboat, Illya noticed some litter float down, eight plastic bottles strapped together tied to a weight. The weight clanged against the submarine, its sonorous tone reverberated throughout the submarine's hull. The crew jumped in surprise, everybody looked up except for Napoleon, who exchanged glances with Illya. The Russian didn't think much of it, shrugged and looked back into the periscope to search for the motorboat. Then he noticed something. The bottles were filled to the brim in thick white smoke and they were expanding with every second. His eyes widened.

Illya turned away and braced himself. He opened his mouth to shout but all noise was drowned by the blast of the explosion. The submarine shook, the crew was thrown off their seats Napoleon fell sideways but kept a tight grip of the steering wheel, causing the submarine to tilt over until it was horizontal. The dim red lights flickered and the room went dark. Bodies slammed against the steel walls. The metal hull creaked and moaned. As the submarine rocked back and forth, Illya dragged himself to the periscope, the force of the blast had destroyed the top of the periscope and he couldn't see a thing. Frustrated, Illya punched the ground and cursed.

"We lost them! All because of that bomb! I should have known it wasn't just a piece of garbage!" he yelled as he threw a nearby chair over his head, unwittingly slinging it at an officer who was struggling to get up.

"How can someone turn a plastic bottles into bombs."

"Liquid nitrogen, of course. But that doesn't matter. They are long gone by now!"

"We will find them," Napoleon assured, Illya looked doubtful and continued.

"This whole thing wouldn't have happened she wasn't put in this team!"

"If we didn't get put in this team, you would have never seen her again."

"She would have been safe. They are going to hurt her!"

"Illya Kuryakin, calm down!"

They sat on the floor in silence as the crew scrambled to get the submarine working again. Napoleon looked at his hands and stared at his signet ring. It was craved with the two headed god Janus, one profile looking to the past the other looking to the future. An idea clicked.

"What happened to that engagement ring?"

"I let her keep it," the Russian said as he dropped his head towards the floor, avoiding eye contact with the American. Illya could sense Napoleon grinning behind his back; it irritated him. The Russian felt the need to defend himself, "It doesn't mean anything. It was just a souvenir for her."

"Do you have your suitcase?" And with that Illya understood why Napoleon was going on about that. Illya felt his way towards the storage compartments and brought it out. Once he opened it, he noticed it gave a faint beep. The two men squeezed to catch a glimpse of the bright green dot moving across the screen.

"Well, Peril, I think it definitely meant something."