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

Chapter 14

Napoleon had dragged himself back to the sewer. He couldn't decide what was worse, the stench of the sewers or the pungent refuse of burning oil. The burning oil won, mostly because of the burn of his leg, a slash of blistering crimson, his trousers charred black. With all his might, he pushed his hands to lift his body, the muscles of his arms shaking uncontrollably. He slumped back down within seconds, his body slammed against the floor.

In the flickering amber light, the flames slowly consuming the cistern, he saw her. Gaby was a discarded marionette; her head drooped down like a wilting flower, her arms pulled behind her back, her navy blue dress crumpled.

"Illya..." His eyes widened. Her voice was wavering, coarse and dry. He stepped forward closer. She saw him move and begged, "Don't come near me."

Illya's stomach lurched, and warily he took a step back. He wanted to ask why. What had he'd done? He knew what he had done. He couldn't prevent this from happening.

"We back came for you."

"Go back to Solo."

He couldn't help that his tapping finger pierced his thigh. It didn't match the pain he felt, hearing those words echo against the drumming of his heavy heart. Illya bit his lips. Defiantly, he took two steps forward.

"Just go!" She barked, "Please trust me."

"I'm not losing you."

"They want Solo. They will get you to if you let them. One's behind me."

A hand stretched out from the darkness, appearing at the side of Gaby's head. A gas mask was fastened on as she let out muffled screams, the whites of her eyes drowning her pupils. She wilted back into a puppet. Before Illya could rush by her side a voice boomed, "She was a feisty one, I'll give her that. I thought that having her just a little conscious would provoke you just a bit more, but she was revealing a bit too much."

"You're not the one I met before. You must be that bastard Kasher."

"Good to know that you have done your research, Kuryakin. I thought you would be glad to face me instead of Samson. I understand you took quite a beating from him, although I know from experience he could have done worse. Minor lacerations and bruising but the psychological damage on the other hand-"

"The beating I can handle. Anyone who hurts her, I will tear apart."

"You better get to her quickly then. If the volume of gas in the mask remains constant and she maintains an average respiratory rate of twelve breaths per minute, I would say you have exactly thirty seconds before she asphyxiates."

Illya rushed to her. Kasher walked away from Gaby, standing from the position where Illya had stood earlier. Illya grabbed the mask but realized it was fastened from behind. He fiddled with the clasps, his large fingers struggling to remove it. He yanked it off and pulled the mask off. Her body was pulled forwards by Illya's strength. He caught her but she didn't move, she had fallen into his arms like a ragdoll. He tried to prop her up and pressed his hand against her chest. He felt it rise and fall. Illya cradled her in his arms for a while, and just looked at her, swiping a stray hair from her face.

"You may have saved her for the moment, but the poison is still in her blood stream. What about central nervous system depression, liver poisoning or complications that may arise from cardiac arrhythmia? Whatever happens the probability of her survival is low."

"I'll take my chances," Illya turned around and fired. Kasher dodged.

"Then, I'll have to add myself to this equation," he said. He unsheathed his knife and slashed at Illya. The Russian dodged and grabbed his utility belt. The knife slipped out of Illya's sheath and spun in his fingers. Kasher swiped again at his chest, Illya leapt back. Illya lunged at his gut, Kasher spun out of the way, slashing Illya's forehead. Blood poured over the Russian's eyes, blinding him in crimson. He could only make out the bloody figure of the Israeli, poised with his knife over his head, ready to take the final stab through his neck, when he heard a thud. Then, a gentle touch, smudging the blood off his face. "Are you alright?"

Illya blinked as the world lost its red tint. He saw Kasher on the floor, and a chair lying on its side next to him. Then, he saw her face, her disheveled hair hanging over his face, the bated breath warming his cold skin. The amber fires and died down, and the Cistern returned to blackness.