the Cry UNCLE Affair
She never should have become a THRUSH agent. She’d known better. Cowards just did not belong in the spy business. And now, here she was, surrounded by four UNCLE agents.
“I don’t suppose that it would help if I were just to cry ‘UNCLE’?” she requested shakily.
“Cute,” said the cute blond with the British accent, smiling unoffendedly.
“I think that you know what we need from you,” said the suave brown-eyed brunette, with a pleasant, but no-nonsense expression.
Following her previous line of thought, she tried, “Or if I were just to cry??”
Ignoring that, the enigmatic, Russian-accented, ice-blue-eyed blond said unsmilingly, “And we’re not releasing you until we get it.”
She whined, “But I don’t know anything! I’m just the most minor lackey!”
“You know who gave you your assignment. We want his name. Or her name.”
She turned desperately to the only female amongst the four. “Help me! Please!”
“Sorry, Ducks.” The charming, long-haired brunette continued to hold her UNCLE Special unwaveringly on the hapless girl, just as each of the men was doing. “You picked the wrong side. And now you must pay the price.”
“Price??” she echoed in fright, and the mysterious Russian took a step closer to her, as if to help to clarify the meaning. She took a step backward in turn. “Oh, no! You’re going to play ‘good-cop, bad-cop,’ aren’t you?” Her voice trembled more and more with every utterance. Glancing quickly at the other two men, she amended, even more fearfully, “Or is there even going to be a good…anything???”
“That depends on you,” said the male brunette evenly, his whistling speech seeming to “hiss” the S, startling her already-jangled nerves.
“But don’t you realize that they’ll kill me if I tell?!!”
“We can protect you,” said the cold blond. “If you give us a reason to, that is.”
Turning back to the woman UNCLE agent, she pleaded, “As you said, I joined the wrong side. Is it too late to switch sides???”
The UNCLE agents exchanged glances.
Back at UNCLE headquarters, she waited with badly-frayed nerves, alone with the two blonds, Illya Kuryakin and Mark Slate, while the two brunettes, Napoleon Solo and April Dancer carried her nearly-unprecedented request to their enigmatic, often cold-hearted boss, Alexander Waverly. She had long since and promptly acceded to their demands for the identity of her former THRUSH boss.
At length, Mr. Waverly himself chose to enter with Solo and Dancer. Even so, he allowed those two to speak for him, seeming more interested in assessing the young lady than in replying to her request.
Miss Dancer suggested tentatively, “Perhaps a desk assignment. We don’t think that you’re really the field-agent type.”
“Neither do I!”
Pleased at her ready acquiescence, all five actually managed to smile.
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