Act I “It Blew Up...”

“It blew up, Mr Smith?”

“Yes!” the plump storekeeper exclaimed, wringing his hands as he gazed pleadingly up at Solo from large brown eyes.

“The Christmas tree blew up?” Solo repeated to be on the safe side.

“Yes! That’s what I keep telling you people. How many more times? The Christmas tree blew up!”

Napoleon Solo gazed somewhat dubiously at the melted pile of plastic that was all that remained of the storekeeper’s Christmas tree. “With no provocation?”

“Provocation? What provocation? You think I was yelling insults at it or something?”

“There have been experiments that show plants can react to negative emotions aimed at them....” Illya Kuryakin said quietly as he joined them in the shop window.

“This one was plastic,” Napoleon explained soberly.

“Ah....And it blew up?”

“Yes! Bang!”

“Not boom?” Illya asked mildly.

Mr Smith stared at him and then turned to Solo. “Is he foreign?” he whispered.

“Russian,” Solo whispered back.

Smith nodded and tuned back to Kuryakin. “Yes...it....went....boom,” he said slowly and carefully, miming an explosion by flinging it up his hands.  “It...go....bang....”

Kuryakin stared at him for a long moment, then turned and raised a slim eyebrow at Solo who was doing his best not to grin. “In my country we are not having bourgeois luxuries such as Christmas trees which are exploding,” the Russian announced solemnly in a heavily exaggerated accent. “This is obviously an American capitalist plot!”

Napoleon nearly choked on his own laughter. Kuryakin however turned back to Smith.

“How exactly did it explode?” he asked politely in his normal voice. “Did it catch fire? Did it immediately explode? Do you know what triggered it?”

Smith blinked, a slow tide of red rising from his shirt collar. “I plugged it in and turned on the Christmas carol tape that came with it and it went.....boom....”

“Boom?” Illya repeated.

“Let’s not start that again,” Napoleon said hastily. “Could you be a little more specific?”

Smith shot a quick furtive glare at Illya. “First the lights went off....like a string of firecrackers and the tinsel started crackling then the rest of the tree went off with sort of a whoosh....It blew out the window!”

“I see,” Solo said coolly as Kuryakin went over to inspect the remains of the Christmas tree, crunching carefully over the broken glass.  “You said it was a window dressing item. Do you have the packaging it came in? Where did you get it from?”

Smith nodded, starting to wring his hands again. “I’ll fetch it for you,” he whimpered and scurried off before Solo could say anything else.

Shaking his head, Solo leaned over his partner. “And I thought Waverley was joking. Exploding Christmas trees? Whatever next?”

“Christmas bauble grenades?” Illya suggested as he prodded the remains of the plastic tree with a pencil. “Seriously, Napoleon, aren’t there some kind of American safety regulations about this kind of thing? Should he not report it to them rather than UNCLE?”

“They flagged it up to us. Apparently it’s the second one to explode. Fortunately no one’s been hurt so far. But....”

“There’s always the first time,” Illya finished for him. “But even so....”

“Here it is,” Smith scuttled back into the window, waving a sheet of paper. “The delivery manifest....”

Napoleon plucked it from his fingers, read it and handed it to Kuryakin. “That’s why, Illya. Sold by T.Rush Global.”

“A subtle clue....” the Russian observed sardonically.

“It amuses them.”

“In a bah humbug sort of way, I assume. I’d better take the...er remains of the tree back to the lab for investigation. Do you want to find out if there’s any more packaging? There might be another clue....”

Act II “Make your Christmas Go With A Bang...”

Wandering into the laboratory at UNCLE HQ a couple of days later, Napoleon was surprised to find a seven foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the floor. Kuryakin was standing in its shadow, clipboard in hand, taking notes.

“Illya? It’s a little early for decorations...”

“The stores have them up already,” the Russian pointed out absently.

“Waverley will get antsy,” Solo pointed out.

“Antsy?” Illya glanced at him inquiringly.

“Twitchy. You know what he was like last time....”

“That was because you filled his secretary’s office with mistletoe.”

Napoleon grinned in reminiscence. “It was worth it though. Ah, Inga....”

Kuryakin rolled his eyes. “This tree happens to be part of a scientific investigation....” he began, pausing at Napoleon flicked one of the shiny metallic baubles. “Um, Napoleon?” he said, quickly catching his wrist. “Do you remember what I said about exploding baubles?”

“Er, yes....”

“Well, THRUSH seemed to find it amusing....They explode on impact.”

Solo frowned at him in bewilderment for a moment, then flinched as he caught on. “You mean?”

“Yes....Boom....” Kuryakin said dryly. “So no...flicking....”

“Gotcha. And I always thought the glass ones were dangerous....”

“I should avoid the stars too,” Illya advised, motioning at the gold stars decorating the branches. “They have razor sharp edges....”

“That is wrong is so many ways.. Where’d you get it from?” Napoleon asked, inspecting the tree cautiously.

“Waverley has a team tracking them down. This is my third sample. The last two we destroyed in controlled explosions....”

“And are you any nearer finding out what makes them go boom?”

“Explosives,” Illya said absently.

“Pedantic Russian,” Solo muttered, prodding his friend’s shoulder. “Specifics, Illya?”

Kuryakin flashed him a wry smile. “The trees and their decorations are made out of a modified plastic explosive. When detonated, the tinsel ignites causing the lights to explode and set off the tree itself. The baubles are a new touch on the deluxe model.”

“Lovely. Make your Christmas go with a bang....Any idea of the trigger yet?”

“Each tree comes with a musical movement that plays various Christmas songs and carols. The explosion is triggered by a series of notes in one of the carols that should only play when activated by a timer, presumably to prevent them from being set off accidentally.”

“But with THRUSH’s usual care and precision a few faulty ones slipped out?”

“In both instances of the trees detonating early, the musical movement had been altered. Apparently their new owners decided that they liked the trigger carol and tampered with the timer to cause it to play early.”

“Didn’t read the instructions huh?”

“In addition to the pre-programmed timer mechanism there is also a radio receiver, so THRUSH can send a detonation signal at any time they wish.”

“When are the timers set to go off?”

“Christmas Eve at midnight.”

“Christmas Eve? That’s cold....” Solo protested. “Imagine if your tree was to go off at midnight in the middle of your party....”

“I believe Waverley has arranged to have a recall sent out on the radio and television.”

“So he said,” Solo agreed. “I’ve also got a couple of agents tracking down T. Rush Global. Hopefully we’ll be able to find some shipping lists to find out who’s got these things....Illya, any chance of us sending out a jamming signal of some kind? If THRUSH can active these things remotely, maybe they can shut them down remotely too.”

“It had crossed my mind, Napoleon,” Illya said dryly. “Actually, I was about to do another test....”

“Light blue touch paper and run like blazes?”

“I was going to wander over and stand behind the blast shield, but it you want to stay here and see if it goes off.....”

Napoleon snorted and bowed. “After you, tovarisch,” he said dryly. Kuryakin flashed him an impish grin and led the way across the laboratory to where a permanent blast shield had been erected as a safety precaution; since there were frequently explosions in the UNCLE lab, occasionally even on purpose.

Glancing at his partner to make sure he was fully behind the shield, Illya picked up the small transmitter he had left on the wall shelf. “According to my calculations based on extrapolated data....”

“Your best guess in other words,” Napoleon teased.

Illya glared at him. “This should deactivate the tree....”

“And it doesn’t?”

“That’s why we’re behind the shield where it’s safer...”

“Okay. Go on....Wait a minute, ‘safer’? Not safe?”

“The explosives are rather powerful, Napoleon.”

Solo considered this dubiously. “Oh well, in for a dime. Let’s get on with it....”

Illya nodded and pushed the red button on his transmitter. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, then the faint strains of a carol started to echo melodiously from the tree. Napoleon cocked his head to one side. “Hey, I thought it’d be tinny. That’s not bad....”

“Oh dear,” Illya sighed however and grabbed his partner, yanking him to the floor as with a sizzle the tinsel on the trees ignited, whipping in all directions, setting off the lights with a series of vicious glassy cracks.

“Illya...” Napoleon shouted above the noise of whizzing stars hurtling off the branches like shurikens, propping himself up on his elbows. “About those baubles....” he began, which was when with a building shaking boom the tree exploded and all the lights went out as the blast shield collapsed on top of the agents....

                                                            * * *

“Ouch....” Napoleon hissed, shifting cautiously on the infirmary bed.

“Be grateful you were not seriously hurt....” Illya scolded, barely glancing up from the report he was reading on the bed next to him.

Solo glared at his partner. “You didn’t get tree light glass stuck in your butt....” he growled.

“I'm not quite sure how that happened,” Kuryakin admitted.

“The damn tree exploded....”

“Yes, but you were behind the shield....Perhaps a ricochet....”

“I'm blaming you....”

“It wasn’t my fault....”

“I didn’t say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you,” Solo retorted primly, folding his arms across his chest and wincing as a bruise protested. Having a blast shield land on you was painful. It had taken Security an hour to dig them out and they were lucky not to have been badly hurt.

Illya smiled faintly, knowing perfectly well that Solo was not truly blaming his partner for the accident. “We were fortunate that none of the baubles exploded, otherwise a considerable portion of the scientific section could have been destroyed....”

“Instead of merely your lab....”

Kuryakin gave him a frosty look and tapped his report. “The explosives disposal team has now detonated the remainder of the baubles...”

Solo sighed and swung his legs off the bed, sitting up gingerly he smoothed his infirmary gown down over his bare butt. “Well, we can’t lay around here waiting for the others to go off,” he said grimly. “We need to find out where these things are being sent out from.”

“Did you not say you had agents looking in to it?” Illya frowned, setting aside the report.

“Mark Slade and it high time he checked in in. Besides....” Easing off the bed, Napoleon walked somewhat stiffly over to the closet where his clothes had been hung up

“Besides....?” Kuryakin echoed curiously.

“I am not laying around here waiting for Mark to wander in and make sarcastic comments about where I got hit....” Solo paused, eyeing the shredded remains of his pants. “Ah....moths.....Illya, since your clothes seem to have survived intact....”

“They wouldn’t fit you,” Illya said flatly. “Besides, you know I’d give you the shirt off my back, but you can’t have my pants. People would talk.”

Napoleon grinned. “I was thinking more along the lines of you slipping down to my office and grabbing my spare suit for me...”

Act III “Whatever happened to paper chains?.”

Clad in his favourite black turtleneck, pants and leather jacket, Illya slithered back along the wall to where Solo was waiting for him. Slade had succeeded in locating the THRUSH satrap where the trees were being despatched from and was now waiting with a team of heavily armed UNCLE agents to back up Solo and Kuryakin who were scouting the building.

“Anything?” Napoleon asked softly as his partner reached him.

“I have found a way in. A window. There is an alarm, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Solo nodded, peering at his watch for a second. “There are two teams of guards on patrol. If we move now, we should get past the first one. Slade is standing by to move on them once we’re inside. Lead on...”

Kuryakin nodded and flitted back across the rain slicked concrete, leading the way along the side of the warehouse to the window he had found. Solo gave the slender Russian a leg up, giving him time to deactivate the alarm the jammer built into his watch.

Satisfied by the soft beep the watch gave that the alarm was off, Illya slipped out a knife and used the old fashioned method to pop the latch and ease the window open. Boosted by Napoleon’s solid muscle, the Russian then eeled through the window and dropped silently to the floor inside, diving behind a handy stack of crates for cover before scanning the rest of the silent warehouse.

After a moment, Napoleon appeared, having chinned himself up to the window. He flashed a quick look round then dropped to the floor and darted into cover with his partner. 

Illya was running his penlight over the crates. “Trees...” he whispered.

“Hundreds of them,” Napoleon agreed grimly as he peered into the gloom. The warehouse floor was stacked with huge piles of crates, offering a handy warren of hiding places for the UNCLE agents. “Come on....”

As Solo drew his UNCLE Special and moved out, Kuryakin followed him. Their torches flickered over the crates as they crept through the gloom, noting the packing labels. “Napoleon....?” Illya pointed at one of the labels. “Paris?”

“Looks like T.Rush Global is planning on going global for real,” Solo whispered back. “This one says London....Did you hear something?”

“Music. From over there...” Kuryakin slithered forward, leading the way towards the distant tinkle of sound.

The two agents slipped silently through the gloom, skirting the edge of the crate stacks to emerge into an area at the front of the warehouse. Above them was a walkway, reached by climbing a set of stairs and below that a set of closed doors. Between them and the doors however was a veritable forest of Christmas trees, somewhere in the midst of which a musical movement was playing Auld Lang Sine.

For a minute or two the agents watched the forest, waiting for any signs of movement. Stars twinkled menacingly, hanging from metallic chains twined with a rainbow of multi coloured tinsels. Baubles twirled, ready to explode like over ripe fruit.

Finally Napoleon signalled his partner and the two of them moved out; there was no point in sitting around when they had to establish whether the building was occupied before Slade’s team could move in.

They were halfway across the floor, being careful to avoid even brushing against the trees or their decorations when the music stopped.

“Somehow I don’t think that means Santa Claus is coming....” Solo muttered uncomfortably.

“You are correct, Mr Solo,” an urban voice announced from above them on the walkway. “Santa Claus will not be coming. Either for you or your partner....”

“And you are?” Napoleon asked, peering up at the tall, thin faced man standing above them. He was dressed in black and had a neat goatee black beard. He was backed by a pair of uniformed THRUSH guards, both heavily armed and pointing weapons threateningly at the UNCLE agents.

“You may call me Senticles,” came the cool response.

“Never heard of you,” Solo replied promptly. “Illya?”

“I believe that is a pseudonym for Joseph Brun. He is somewhere at the bottom of the Most Wanted Villains List, Napoleon. Marked as Mostly Harmless.”

Senticles scowled. “That is about to change....”

“Oh? Going down to harmless?” Solo suggested.

Senticles’ thin fingers clamped tightly on the walkway rail. “As the THRUSH who killed Solo and Kuryakin and destroyed the disgusting capitalism of Christmas!”

“Ah, a fanatic,” Napoleon remarked to his partner.

“So, what exactly are the exploding trees supposed to do?” Illya asked however.

“Do? Blow up of course!”

“And?” Kuryakin asked expectantly.

“What?” Senticles stared at him in bewilderment. “That’s it....”

“And that achieves what?” Illya pressed.

“What’s the punch line?” Napoleon added as Senticles boggled at him, noting that one of the guards at least was looking at Senticles dubiously. “I mean, THRUSH is usually into global conquest, domination, profit....I don’t see any of that in a few exploding trees.”

“Ransom,” Senticles said succinctly.

“A demand for people to send you presents?” Napoleon suggested sarcastically.

Senticles’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “Christmas will be banned,” he began.

“There go the scraps for the peasants,” Illya muttered.

“A ransom of ten million dollars will be paid, otherwise I will detonate the first of my trees,” Senticles continued. “And do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t do it. My trees have been carefully positioned, the baubles have been freely distributed as gifts. Imagine the impact of a twenty foot tree exploding....”

“I’d rather not,” Solo admitted grimly, flicking a glance sideways at his partner. Neither of them had been inactive while Senticles announced his plans but had split up, ready to dive for cover and rush the THRUSH. “Is this your only warehouse? Your only stock?”

Senticles frowned. “Yes, I....”

“Don’t tell him....sir,” one of the guards protested.

“Oh be quiet! What difference does it make? We’re going to kill them anyway.”

“But they’re UNCLE. You can’t trust them....”

“Well, of course not. They’re the enemy, you fool. But it’s traditional to gloat....” Senticles leered down at Solo and Kuryakin. “THRUSH have been somewhat disparaging of my efforts, but they too will soon learn they have underestimated me! Every tree and all the decorations were made and despatched from here. And UNCLE never even noticed! The transmitter is on the roof. I am about to go and send the signal to explode the first tree and then issue my ransom demand.”

“And what are we supposed to do? Applaud?” Solo demanded.

Senticles smirked at him. “I expect you gentlemen to be rather busy,” he replied as he drew a small remote control from his pocket and held it up so they could see it.

“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?” Solo murmured.

“Because we’re surrounded by exploding trees?” Illya suggested as an cacophony of tunes from a hundred different musical boxes filled the air around them.

“Run!” Solo barked and lunged forward, dashing between the trees as they spun into life, whirling like dervishes on their castor bottomed pots, decorative chains slashing the air as stars hissed in all directions. Ducking and weaving through a hail of needles, Solo dodged a star, and shoved a tree aside, diving away from it as it collided with another trees. Lights exploded, scattering shards of glass in all directions....

Behind him, Napoleon heard his partner yelp. Dodging a particular vicious branch lashing at him, Solo kicked out at the tree attacking Kuryakin, dragging it backwards by a fistful of branches as Illya struggled to unwrap the chains that had wrapped around his throat. His left wrist was engulfed in chains, the razor edges stars only prevented from slicing his arm open by his leather jacket. Gritting his teeth, Solo grabbed for the chains and started unwinding them as fast as he could, aware that the trees were somehow gliding towards them.

With a final wrench, Solo yanked Illya free of the tree and hauled the stumbling Russian backwards. The trees followed, tinkling furiously as they slashed maliciously at the air in search of them....

“They’re heat sensitive....” Illya gasped, cradling his wrist close to his stomach. His hand was bleeding as he hissed in pain.

“Bad?” Napoleon demanded,

“Broke my wrist....Whatever happened to paper chains?” Kuryakin grated. “Can you push that one over?”

“That one?” Solo frowned at the one Illya nodded to. It was a garish over gilded model with its branches still heavily festooned with baubles.

“Yes, then we should run....” Kuryakin urged as he plucked at his wrist watch, fumbling with the winder.

Solo gave him a dubious look. “Ready?”

“Go....”

Solo lunged, lashing out in a karate kick at the selected tree that sent it toppling into its grove, bringing the rest of them down. Baubles crackled and exploded, starting a small fire.  Illya tossed his wrist watch on top of them.

“Run....” the Russian advised, breaking into a sprint for the walkway. Solo followed, the pair of them bursting through the confused trees that lashed at them wildly. Behind them an explosion ripped through the forest, knocking them both off their feet as a blaze of bright fire whooshed upwards. 

“What the....?” Solo panted, rolling over onto his back and staring at the fire behind them. The remaining trees were trundling into the fire, stars whizzing through the air and baubles and lights exploding.

“My wrist watch contained a small explosive pack,” Illya answered through gritted teeth. “The fire should keep the rest of them occupied....You need to get Senticles...”

Solo glanced at the walkway, then grabbed his partner’s good arm and hoisted the slender Russian upright. Overhead the sprinkler system came on, showering them with water. “You don’t shoot with your left hand,” he pointed out. “And I don’t think this warehouse will be a good place to linger. Come on.....”

Grabbing a couple of baubles from a tottering tree, Solo charged the walkway, bounding up the stairs with Kuryakin at his heels. The door at the top had been left open and Solo slithered through it, gun in one hand and keep his back to the wall. “Someone’s getting careless,” he muttered. 

“Arrogance suggests itself,” Illya murmured, leaning against the wall for support. He was starting to pale as he held his arm stiffly to him.

A whisper of noise from above alerted them both and they both flattened out instinctively, ducking back into the doorway as a rattle of shots crackled down the stairwell. Solo grinned nastily and fished out one of the baubles he had shoved in his pockets.  “Catch!” he yelled up the stairs even as he ducked back into cover.

There was a dull boom from above them and a lot of pained swearing. Solo darted out into the stairway and raced upwards, finding a bleeding THRUSH agent at the top. A rapid punch put the man out for the count and Napoleon leaped over him, slamming through the door onto the roof.

Another hail of gun fire sent him diving for cover again. This time he fired back, driving THRUSH guard into hiding long enough for Illya to get onto the roof. “Where’s Senticles?” Kuryakin fretted however as he flattened out beside his partner.

“Over there I think....” Solo had what he thought was the THRUSH’s position spotted, crouched behind a blast shield. Long wires emerging from behind it suggested the existence of  a radio transmitter was hooked up to the antenna tower on the warehouse roof. “Senticles! Your trees are done for! Give it up!”

“Never!”

“Um Napoleon....” Illya murmured.  “I had a thought....”

“What?”

“I'm not sure the sprinkler system will be able to put that fire....”

“So?”

“So, all those crates....If they were filled with more trees.....”

Napoleon stared at him wide eyed then whirled back to Senticles. “Listen, this entire building may be about to go up!”

Senticles merely waved a hand at him over the top of the blast shield. “You cannot stop me now, Solo! My guard will shoot you if you move....”

He had a point, Solo reflected. Kuryakin was keeping the THRUSH pinned down with sporadic fire but the second he moved into view Napoleon would be a running target.

“Illya, I can't hit the transmitter from here,” he said grimly. “I'm going to have to rush him....Cover....”

“No!” Illya barked.

“Illya....”

“Destroy the antenna!” Kuryakin interrupted his protest. “Use the baubles....”

“I am ready to send the signal!” Senticles gloated.

“Oh devious Russian!” Solo cackled in delight as he hauled the last two baubles from his pocket. The first one he lobbed at the antenna, smashing it against the tower legs were the transmitter was hooked up. As Senticles shrieked in rage, he hurled the second one over the top of the blast shield where Senticles shrieked even louder at the satisfying boom that followed. 

A yelp from the THRUSH guard drew Napoleon’s attention back for a second. “Got him,” Illya announced smugly. “You’re right, Napoleon. They are getting careless....”

“Watch him then,” Solo urged and darted out of cover, sprinting across the roof to circle the blast shield.

Senticles was cowering behind it, clutching a bloody hand as the he stared at the wreckage of the radio transmitter. “You broke it,” he whimpered.

“So it seems,” Solo admitted, glancing up at the antenna tower groaning above them. Destroying one of its supports hadn't done it any good and it was starting to lean dangerously sideways.

Grabbing Senticles, he yanked him to his feet.  “I hope this place has got a fire escape, because I think its time to go....”

Act IV  “Your crackers, Napoleon....”

 “I thought it appropriate, seeing as how you blew up your last one,” Solo commented, watching Illya inspecting the new wrist watch Napoleon had brought his partner for Christmas. Silver tissue paper littered the table from Solo’s own gleeful unwrapping up his present from Kuryakin; gold cufflinks. Solo was had exchanged them for the ones he had been wearing. “And this one comes with a life time guarantee. When the guarantee expires, the mainspring breaks and slashes your wrist...”

Kuryakin chuckled appreciatively, laying the watch carefully down beside his plate. As had become traditional, they had selected an expensive restaurant for a shared Christmas dinner in celebration of their mutual survival. “I would put it on, but....”  He gingerly waved his heavily plastered wrist.

“Good point.....” Solo grinned, sipping his cognac. Waverley had not been impressed by the fact that between them they had burnt down half the warehouse since he had apparently had some hopes of learning more about the plastic explosive made to make the trees. On the other hand, Senticles had failed to send his detonation signal and Slade had the lovely task of tracking down and retrieving all the trees Senticles had sent out from his records. Solo didn’t envy him the task. But then Slade shouldn’t have made those cracks about where those tree lights had wounded him....

“Your crackers, Napoleon....”

“What?” Solo gave his partner a startled look that turned suspicious at the sight of Illya’s innocent smile. Kuryakin however was holding out a Christmas cracker to him and Solo obligingly grabbed the other end to pull. With a muted pop, the cracker surrendered to the inevitable and the novelty inside pinned off Kuryakin’s glass and dived into Napoleon’s empty dessert dish. Solo fished it out with a chuckle, displaying the garish red Christmas tree to his partner. “Seems appropriate somehow...” he mused as he set it down on his napkin and picked up his glass again. “To us,” he toasted his partner.

“The agents who saved Christmas,” Illya grinned.

Solo saluted him, leaning back complacently in his chair and reaching for the after dinner mints. For all the adrenaline rush and the excitement of every mission, he enjoyed this part almost as much. When all was said and done and all the excitement of the chase over, what man could ask for anything more than good food, good wine and a good friend to share it with.

                                                oooOooo