by Marianne

"Take a left here, Amy."

Amy Springer obediently swung the car into a hard left. "So, Mr Solo," Amy glanced across to the dark-haired man in the passenger seat. "We've now been driving in the middle of nowhere for nearly an hour. Are you ready to tell me where we are going?"

"You can read the road signs," Napoleon said.

"Yes, they tell me where the road is going, but that isn't necessarily where we are going. Besides," Amy added. "We’ve not passed a sign for miles. I don’t think they have them where they expect nothing except the odd tractor."

"True, but just to reassure you, we are going the right way," Napoleon said, with almost no trace of a smirk.

"You're just as irritating as Illya said." Amy deliberately accelerated into a sharp bend, screeching the car round the curve.

"Slow down!" Napoleon yelled, hanging onto the door handle. "We're not in a high speed chase."

"Sorry," Amy said, not slowing down, knowing the Lotus would easily take the converging verges of the Sussex lanes.

The car continued to speed along the lanes, high hedges boxing them in. It was getting towards the end of the day and long shadows were beginning to fall across the light grey of the road.

"Who taught you to drive?" Napoleon asked, closing his eyes as he saw another tight bend ahead.

"Illya."

"That figures."

"At least," Amy added. "Illya taught me how to drive when you're in the passenger seat."

Napoleon made a mental note to have a serious talk with his Russian partner. "I might regret saying this, but you need to take a right...here." Napoleon pointed out the turning. "It's a narrow road so...never mind."

"Whee! This is fun." Amy went up into fourth gear, knowing Napoleon would rather she was in third, or even second.

The ground to the left of the road dropped sharply away. However, to the right the ground rose steeply. At the top, along the ridge, were three grey metal pylons.

"Umm, Napoleon?" Amy asked.

"Yes."

"That wouldn't be where we are heading would it?" Amy pointed up to the pylons.

"As it happens, yes. There's a lay-by in about two hundred yards, so you might want to slow down. We'll have to walk the last stage."

"Right," Amy pulled the car into the gravelled lay-by Napoleon indicated. "And tell me, Napoleon. When we get to the base of these pylons are we going to have to climb one or more of them?" She switched the engine off.

"No," Napoleon hesitated. "Not in the literal sense of your question," he added, getting out of the car. He felt that same sense of relief at having his feet on solid ground as he occasionally did when his normal partner was putting a car through its paces.

"Let me put it another way then," Amy persevered. "Will I have to climb them?"

"What an astute little UNCLE agent you are," Napoleon said with a grin, opening the trunk of the car.

"I always thought Illya exaggerated when he talked about you," Amy said, slamming the door shut. "I take it I'm carrying this?" She hauled a rucksack from the trunk. "I'll have to apologise when I next see him."

"Speaking of which," Napoleon said, helping Amy put the rucksack on. "I hadn't realised you and Illya had worked together."

"We haven't."

"Oh," Napoleon looked at the redhead with renewed interest.

"So, which pylon do I have to scale?" Amy asked, standing at the base of the first one.

"That's some climb," Napoleon puffed, looking back the way he had come. Rough steps had been hacked into the turf, but it had still required a steadying hand to the ground at times.

"You're telling me," Amy sighed, looking up at the pylon.

"Great view though," Napoleon gazed across at the rolling hills of England's greenest. The sun had yet to slip from view, and was still yellow enough to light the fields in their true colours of varying shades of green and yellow.

"There'd better be. Do I have to go right to the top?"

"We are at the top. Highest point for miles," Napoleon waved his arm around to illustrate his point.

Amy realised they were talking at cross-purposes. "The highest point except for these," she said, indicating the huge metal structures.

"Oh, yeah," Napoleon laughed.

"So, which one do I climb?"

"Don't you want to know why you're climbing one first?" Napoleon asked.

"Surveillance? There's high powered binoculars and a telescopic camera in the bag," Amy slipped the rucksack off and held it up in front of Napoleon. "Both suitable for nighttime use. I looked when we stopped for lunch."

"In America we consider it rude to search other peoples bags," Napoleon said stiffly.

"Well, it's considered rude in Britain too," Amy conceded. "But then it's considered equally rude to march into someone else's office and demand an agent for the day without telling anyone why."

"Touché," Napoleon acknowledged. "My Mr. Waverly did explain to your Mr. Bentley though."

"Well no one explained to me. But then I'm just a lowly UNCLE operative!"

"I'm sorry you weren't briefed. But we couldn't risk this getting out. Across there," Napoleon waved his arm in a small arc, encompassing the hills in front of him, "is a THRUSH satrap. It's down in a big dip, and completely hidden. However, by chance, it was discovered that from the top of this pylon the entrance can be seen. I need someone to observe it for twenty-four hours, after which the satrap won't exist. I couldn't risk anyone finding out that we had an observation post."

"So, which pylon?"

"This pylon," Napoleon indicated.

"That little wave took in all three. Narrow it down for me." Amy waited for an answer. "You don't know, do you?"

"Not precisely," Napoleon admitted.

"How precisely do you know?"

"Well, it's either the one on the right, or the one on the left. Or possibly the one in the middle," Napoleon said, without a hint of embarrassment.

"Oh, brilliant. Who discovered this look-out?" Amy asked

"Your driving instructor," Napoleon said with a grin.

"You enjoyed saying that too much," Amy told him. "How did Illya find it?"

"He was coming back from France in a light aircraft, the pilot didn't know he had an extra passenger. Illya managed to remove the piece of cargo he was after and jumped from the plane - with a parachute of course."

"Of course," Amy muttered. She had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what was coming next. "Don't tell me, he landed on one of the pylons?"

"That's right. Very nearly a nasty accident, so I'm told," Napoleon almost resisted the temptation to smirk while saying this. "Anyway, while he was disentangling himself he watched the plane land, and following the lights realised he could see a whole lot more than just the plane. Unfortunately in the dark Illya didn't realise there was more than one pylon."

"So," Amy recapped. "You want me to climb these pylons until I find the one that allows me to snoop on the THRUSH satrap?"

"Good girl. You have been listening."

"OK, I have a question."

"Yep?"

"Won't THRUSH notice me climbing the pylon, and won't they get a tad suspicious if I sit perched at the top gazing down at them with powerful binoculars? It's going to be a trifle exposed up there," Amy smiled at Napoleon. "I don't do very good impressions of roosting crows."

"Due to some quirk in the topography of the land around here..." Napoleon began.

"You looked that up didn't you?" Amy said interrupting Napoleon.

"What?"

"Topography -you never came up with that on your own."

Napoleon took a deep breath. "Someone has mistakenly informed you that I'm just a pretty face..."

"No," Amy said with all innocence, fluttering her green eyes at him.

"You know," Napoleon began. "When I picked you up I was looking forward to this assignment. A nice drive in the country, pleasant company, a quick briefing..."

"You're planning to leave me here all night freezing to death!" Amy interjected.

"Come back Illya," Napoleon grumbled. "All is forgiven."

"Get back to the topography," Amy suggested.

Napoleon gave the young, British UNCLE agent a long hard stare before continuing. "Due to some quirk in the topography of the land around here, the pylons can't be seen from the THRUSH satrap."

"How do you know?" Amy asked suspiciously.

"That Russian of many talents is currently inside the satrap. He's checked."

Reassured, Amy pulled out some clothes from he rucksack. "Then I'd better change, this isn't too practical for climbing pylons."

Napoleon cast an experienced eye over Amy's short, tight skirt. "Oh I don’t know."

"Turn around please," Amy ordered, gesturing at Napoleon. Reluctantly he did so. Amy quickly pulled on a tight pair of black pants, to match the black top she was already wearing. Black pumps completed the outfit. "Ok, you can turn back again." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and tied a band round it.

"Right then," Napoleon looked out across the Downs. The sun had now begun to turn red, the trees on the horizon were silhouetted against to orb that promised to descend behind the hills. "I know it’s not dark, but there wont be anyone around to see you."

"Dusk hangs on for so long this time of year," Amy commented.

"Up you go then, Miss Springer," Napoleon gestured towards the pylons.

"You know," Amy began. "If you climbed one we could narrow the search down a lot quicker."

"I don’t do climbing pylons," Napoleon told her.

"You don’t do…" Amy said, bemused. "How did you get to be a top UNCLE operative if you don’t do climbing pylons?"

"One of the perks of being a top UNCLE agent," Napoleon explained. "Is that you no longer have to do the climbing pylons thing."

"I bet Illya climbs pylons," Amy murmured, starting to haul herself up the middle pylon.

"Yes," Napoleon agreed meaningfully. "OK then, I’ll leave you to it."

"Leave me to it?" Amy asked, looking down on him from her vantage point, a third of the way up a pylon.

"Yes, I have a few things to check out," Napoleon explained, looking up at her, wishing she was still wearing the skirt. "I’ll keep in touch via the communicators, and I’ll come back and pick you up later."

"But I still don’t know what I’m looking for," Amy told him.

"The THRUSH satrap," Napoleon said.

"Yes, but then what?"

"Just watch it, and call in if you see anything other than just a THRUSH satrap," Napoleon said, over his shoulder as he started to gingerly pick his way down the slope.

"Marvellous, just marvellous," Amy muttered to herself as she continued to climb up the metal framework. "Mental note to self - next time a smooth American UNCLE agent walks into HQ and asks for some help, go hide under a desk."

Moments later she found herself reaching for the highest metal rung. She swung herself up until she was standing on it, bracing her legs around the tip of the pylon for stability. A gust of wind caught at her and she clung tightly to the cold metal. When she had found her balance and felt reasonably secure she took one hand off the bars and held the binoculars up to her eyes.

She swept the countryside with the powerful lenses. The land spread out before her was truly spectacular, and no less so for being bathed in dusky red light. The Downs were surely English hills at their most undulating. "Beautiful," Amy declared appreciatively to herself. "All very natural, and no sign of any little birds that might be THRUSH." She heaved a sigh

She quickly realised that this wasn’t the pylon that offered the glimpse of the THRUSH satrap. Packing the binoculars back into the rucksack she contemplated the climb down. With a deep breath she began the descent. Reaching the bottom she took a moment to examine the remaining two pylons. There wasn’t much to choose between them. Both were the same height, topped by a red light. Smooth grey steel cobwebbed its way skywards.

"Which ever of you I decide to climb first," Amy said outloud, "It’s going to be the wrong one."

"Open Channel D," Napoleon spoke into his slim pen communicator

"Ah, Mr…err…Solo," Alexander Waverly’s voice fumbled its way through the wave bands. "How are things..umm..progressing?"

"Very smoothly, sir," Napoleon informed his superior, knowing that Mr Waverly was reaching for his pipe. "Miss Springer is busy scaling pylons."

"And young Mr…umm…Kuryakin?" Mr Waverly asked, filling his pipe with a foul smelling tobacco from his jar. "Have you heard from him?"

"Yes, sir," Napoleon replied, slightly resenting the prefix ‘young’. Illya was only a few years younger than himself. "I’ve just checked in with Illya. He’s found a hidey hole just inside the entrance, so he’ll be ready to take the delivery when Amy gives the word."

"Excellent work, Mr Solo," Mr Waverly said. "Keep me informed of any developments."

"Of course, sir," Napoleon responded, wondering if Mr Waverly ever smoked any of the pipes he so studiously prepared. "Close Channel D."

Napoleon looked through the windscreen of the Lotus at the sign beside the entrance to the car park he had taken advantage of. "The Three Towers," he read. "How appropriate." He got out of the car and walked into the Sussex pub.

It was furnished in the grand tradition of English pubs; dark wood, an oaky, yeasty smell, armchairs in varying shades of deteriorating condition and an assortment of colourful characters leaning against the bar. As one, they turned to stare at the stranger.

The barman, a well-rounded man, looked at him welcomingly. "What’ll it be, sir?" he asked, gesturing to the row of pumps that advertised various beers and ales.

"A pint of that one," Napoleon said adventurously, pointing to one with a garish red label and a motif of a green pig.

"An excellent choice," the barman began to pull the pint, letting the dark amber liquid fill the glass. "You visiting these parts then?"

"Just driving through," Napoleon explained. "Just thought I’d stop for some refreshment." He picked up a newspaper lying on the bar. "Can I borrow this?"

The barman nodded as he stood the pint on the polished surface of the bar. Napoleon paid for the drink, and then retired to a quiet corner, out of earshot of the locals standing at the bar.

He took refuge behind the open newspaper and activated his communicator. "Open Channel E. Amy are you there?" It seemed an inordinate amount of time before there was a response. Time, as Amy could have explained - given the opportunity - taken up with her securing a safe hold on the pylon while she pulled her communicator from her pocket.

"Napoleon?"

"Hi," Napoleon greeted her, taking a sip of his ale. The barman was right; it was an excellent choice.

"Great, thanks," Amy said. "I now know which is the right pylon."

"Good girl," Napoleon silently toasted her. "What can you see?"

"I don’t know yet, I’m half way down the second pylon," Amy explained.

"Ok, get in touch when you’re in position," Napoleon instructed her, taking another long swallow of his ale. "Close Channel E." He put the communicator on the table, within easy reach, and settled back to read the newspaper.

"Napoleon, what am…?" Amy began to ask, but Napoleon has already cut in with an instruction to "Close Channel E."

"Damn," Amy thrust the communicator back in her pocket. "I’m really beginning to feel…aahhh!" She let out a short involuntary scream as her foot slipped off the latticework. She quickly swung up her free hand to clutch the metal strut above her head, and hung there for a moment scrabbling her feet in the empty space. "Don’t panic," she told herself sternly. Calming down, Amy pulled herself back up by her arms until both her feet were standing on a rung.

"Get a grip," she muttered, then laughed as she realised the irony of what she had said. Feeling more composed she carefully continued to climb down.

The pen communicator on the table beeped once, and Napoleon had it to his lips before it could make a second sound. "Napoleon," he identified himself.

"I’m at the top of the third pylon," Amy’s voice sounded more breathless now.

"What can you see?" Napoleon asked, from behind the obscurity of the newspaper.

"Illya’s right, I can see a THRUSH satrap," Amy said excitedly. "There’s a thin light that marks the entrance way, and the infra-red glasses are picking up markings that look like some kind of landing spot. Oh, and I saw a THRUSH guard in full uniform sneaking out for a cigarette."

"We think there is going to be a delivery tonight, but we’re not sure how it coming in. You need to keep an eye out for any transport that is heading for the building. I want to know what and when," Napoleon finally gave some explanation as to what Amy was to look for.

"Any idea what transport, or from what direction?" Amy asked, using the infra-red binoculars to scan the surrounding area.

"Nope. We’re know they’ve made deliveries before, but we’ve never picked anything up on radar, and although we had roads watched in the area we didn’t see anything. This is the first time we’ve had an exact location of the satrap though."

"And the delivery will be tonight?" Amy checked.

"Or tomorrow. Close Channel E" Napoleon hastily signed off to forestall any awkward questions about having to climb pylons the following night as well.

There was a cough from the other side of his newspaper, he lowered it and smiled at the pretty blond girl standing there. "Your pie ‘n’ chips, sir," she said, indicating the plate she held.

"Thank you," Napoleon said, wishing he could afford to invite her to join him, but work had to come first.

"I’ll just leave it on the table, shall I?" She asked.

"Um, yes, I suppose so," Napoleon wondered if it was his imagination, but she seemed to be offering to leave more than just his food on the table. "And your name is?"

"Janice," she said with a smile. "Just here, then?" The girl placed the plate on the smooth, polished surface of the table.

"Perhaps later…" Napoleon suggested.

"I’ll come back and…collect your plate?" She winked at him.

Napoleon waited until she had gone, then tasted the pie. "Delicious," he murmured appreciatively, hoping this was an indication of what might happen later.

Taking refuge behind his paper, Napoleon activated the communicator again. "Open Channel B. Illya, are you there?"

Amy chewed miserably on a dry sandwich. "Three hours," she grumbled to herself. "Three bloody hours stuck on top of this pylon, and the most interesting thing I’ve seen is a THRUSH guard pee against a tree!" The memory reminded her of something she needed to do, and she shifted uncomfortably.

Conscientiously she lifted the binoculars to her eyes and looked at the entrance and the surrounding roads. Nothing. A half glimpsed movement encouraged her to check the entrance again. A guard came out and moving a short distance away placed something on the ground. Moments later, a beam of light was emitted from it. A beam of light that was directed upwards. Amy realised that due to the shielding around the lamp, the light would not be seen from the ground

"Open Channel E. Napoleon?"

"Yes, Amy?" Napoleon answered her quickly.

"They’ve put out a spot light. It must be for an aircraft. Maybe a drop, as I don’t think there is room to land a plane," Amy reported.

"Scan the skies, can you see anything?"

"No," Amy said, moving the binoculars across in strict movements, so as not to miss anything. "But it must be due, otherwise…"

"Can you hear anything?" Napoleon interrupted.

"No, it’s quiet as the grave."

"There’s been no report of anything being picked up on radar," Napoleon thought outloud. "Keep checking the roads as well."

"Wait a moment," Amy said quickly. "There is something…"

"What - an aircraft?"

"I still can’t hear anything, but I’m sure I saw a flare of light," Amy said distractedly, swinging the binoculars back across the sky. "I’ve got it!"

"What is it?" Napoleon demanded to know.

"A balloon, a hot-air balloon," Amy told him. She could see it clearly now, with the help of the infra-red glasses, the huge domed shape, with a basket underneath it. It moved silently through the sky, guided by the wind.

"That’s how it missed the radar," Napoleon realised.

"It’s coming down," Amy said, realising the balloon was starting to loose height.

"Right, don’t go anywhere," Napoleon instructed. "Close Channel E."

"Don’t go anywhere!" Amy exclaimed. "Like I’m about to go for a short stroll."

"Open Channel B, Illya, get ready," Napoleon said. "It’s coming in by balloon. Keep the channel open, I’ll move between you and Amy." Realising he would have to concentrate for the next few minutes, Napoleon decided to move out to the car park.

"Going already?" Janice asked. "I haven’t collected your plate yet."

"I’ll be back in a few minutes," Napoleon reassured her. "For…"

"Dessert?" Janice asked innocently. "We do a really good cherry pie."

"Dessert would be wonderful. Does it come with cream?"

Back in the car park Napoleon gazed up at the sky. Unsurprisingly, he could see nothing except darkness, twinkling stars and a half moon. "Wind blowing in from the coast," he noted. "Control," Napoleon opened up communication to UNCLE HQ. Patch this through the Channel B. Just one way." He slipped a small metal disc into his right ear. "And feed an audio only from Channel B into the remote receiver."

"Will do," Control confirmed.

"Channel E, Amy?" Napoleon called.

"The balloon is just about to touch the ground," Amy informed him from her perch on top of the pylon.

"Give me a running commentary, and don’t worry if what I say doesn’t apply to you, I’ll just be giving Illya instructions."

"OK," Amy made sure her legs were firmly wrapped round the metal work. She needed one hand for the binoculars, the other to hold her communicator. She couldn’t afford to slip now. "The basket is now on the ground, almost on top of the spotlight I mentioned. Three THRUSH guards have come out to meet it. Two are holding it down with ropes; the third is keeping watch. There are two men in the basket. One is busy with the balloon. The other is getting something from the bottom of the basket."

"Describe it," Napoleon commanded.

"A square box, he needs two hands to hold it, but it’s not very big. He’s passing it to the THRUSH guard…"

"What are the others doing?"

"They’re all busy with the balloon," Amy checked quickly. "They’re just topping it up with gas, it looks almost ready to take off again.

"Now, Illya!" Napoleon ordered.

As Amy watched another figure darted out of the doorway, small and lithe it dashed towards the balloon. "I can see Illya," Amy said excitedly. "He’s reached the man on the ground and…oooh," she winced as Illya kicked the man, who promptly fell to the floor. "Now he’s wrestling with the man in the basket for the box." She quickly scanned the area to check what the other men were doing. "One of the other guards is moving behind Illya, he’s…he’s pulling a gun - Illya!" She screamed. "Move now!"

She watched with horror as infra-red picked up the small puff of smoke as the gun discharged, then she choked back a cry of relief as Illya twisted away. The bullet hit the man in the basket and he crumpled to the bottom of the wicker floor.

"Amy! What’s happening?" Napoleon demanded to know.

"Illya’s picked up the box and he’s climbing into the basket. The two THRUSH guards holding the rope are calling for help - I guess they daren’t let go of the ropes. Oh, Illya’s cut them. The balloon’s beginning to rise. Illya is throwing something overboard - it’s the body of the THRUSH man."

She imagined she could hear the thud of the body as it hit the ground. The balloon had risen quite dramatically. "It’s heading north," she informed Napoleon.

"Good work, Amy. You too, Illya," Napoleon praised the two agents. "I’ve been working hard as well," he added indignantly, in response to an accusation in his right ear. "It’s not been any fun for me stuck out in the middle of the Sussex countryside."

Amy could still just make out the balloon as it drifted north. "Napoleon, is that it for the night?" She asked.

"One moment, Amy," Napoleon said. "Yes, I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up. Tell me when you’re down. Close Channel B."

Amy dropped the binoculars from her eyes as the balloon faded from sight. She checked the Satrap, but there were no signs of movement. She guessed that inside things were pretty frantic. "Napoleon?"

"Amy, you’ve done really well," he congratulated her.

"Napoleon, I’m cold, I’ve lost all feeling in my legs and I’m hungry. Can I come down now?" There was no reply. "Napoleon? Napoleon?"

"Close Channel E," was all she heard coming through the communicator.

"Napoleon?" Amy said plaintively. "Don’t leave me up here."

"Close Channel E," Napoleon said distractively, closing the slim pen communicator and slipping it into his pocket.

"You were such a long time, I thought I’d better come and find you," Janice explained, with a toss of her hair.

"I’m glad you did," Napoleon was appreciative.

"I’ve brought out your pudding," Janice said invitingly.

"You have?" Napoleon raised an eyebrow. The hand he could see was empty. The other was, admittedly tucked behind her back, but somehow he didn’t think it was holding a slice of cherry pie.

Janice brought her hand out from behind her. She was holding a jug. "Well, I brought the cream," she laughed.

At that moment Napoleon’s communicator beeped. "Excuse me," he said, quickly opening it. A minute later he was opening a channel up to control. "Hi, can you send a car to pick up Illya," Napoleon gave some co-ordinates. "Oh, and can you take him some clothes. Apparently he landed in a lake."

 

The End