"And if you act right now, Ronco will include this beautiful
set of steak knives!"
Illya Kuryakin resisted the urge to throw his pillow at the
TV set, but the reality was, it was his only pillow and if he threw it, he'd
have to go get it. One of these days, someone was going to invent
something that controlled a TV from a chair or the sofa. Or better than that, a way to mute those
irritating commercials.
"Napoleon, must you watch such drivel?"
"I'm not watching drivel; I was watching the news and that came
on. It's called a commercial,
Illya. Don't you have them in the USSR?"
"No, we aren't given a choice; we have what we have and
that's all. You want bread, you buy what
they have to sell."
"Sounds dismal."
"It works for us."
Illya dropped his attention back to the small book he held. It was in French, but that was hardly an
issue. Just for the challenge, he was
translating from Russian to English in his head. "When did Waverly say he'd call?"
"He didn't. He just
said that we were to stay here until he did."
Napoleon stood up and squatted in front of the set to change
channels. There wasn't much choice, just
the big three. He shut it off and stood
back up. Like his partner, he was going
just a little stir crazy. To be holed up
in a hotel room wasn't a problem at the end of an assignment when rest was a
necessity or even in the middle of something when they could spend the time
making plans and mapping out alternatives.
But to be stuck in a hotel room in Los Angeles with strict orders to stay
put with literally nothing to do was practically a death sentence.
Oh they could sun on their balcony or sleep, have as much or
as little as they wanted to eat via room service, but they were literally
restricted to quarters. They'd already
played chess, Napoleon won, and played cards, Illya won, but Napoleon
maintained he cheated. They'd talked
about big things, small things until they lapsed into an uncomfortable
silence. They were men of action and
three days in any hotel room was too long.
"I keep wondering what we did wrong," Napoleon muttered as
he returned to his bed.
"What do you mean?"
"To be punished like this.
Did you forget to turn in your vouchers?
Travel expenses? Case reports?"
"No, no, and no, and why would it be my fault? I'm not the one who bought three new suits in
Paris, or a new pair of shoes in Naples or that watch in London." Illya closed the book and tossed it onto the
nightstand. "But I can tell you, if
something doesn't happen soon I am going to be forced to take desperate
measures."
"You and me both."
Twin on/off blats filled the room and Napoleon sighed. "Finally!
Solo here."
"Mr. Solo, is Mr. Kuryakin with you?"
"Yes, sir, I'm here."
Illya leaned in over Napoleon's shoulder in order to respond.
"Both of you stay there.
Waverly out."
Napoleon looked down at the communicator and shook his head
slowly. "I swear whatever it was, I
didn't do it... it wasn't my fault."
There was a knock at the door and both men froze. They exchanged glances and both reached for
their guns. Illya stood to the right of
the door as Napoleon moved to the left.
"Yes?"
"I have a package for you, Mr. Solo. Your Uncle Alex sent me." Napoleon eased
opened the door. The man on the other
side was wearing a loud floral shirt and pink-rimmed sunglasses. "Hey, hey, cousin, can I come in?"
He took a step into the room and then looked down at the
P-38 Illya had leveled at his chest.
"As my partner is a little jumpy, I would advise you to
reach very slowly into your jacket and produce some identification."
"Sure, no prob." He
reached in and Illya's hand twitched slightly.
"I'd move slower on the way out if I were you," Napoleon
advised and then he added softly, "He's Russian, you see."
"Ah, sure, sure Big Daddy, no problemo." The man carefully took a thin wallet from his
inner jacket and passed it over to Napoleon.
Napoleon flicked it open and studied the ID card. He reached out and pulled off the sun
glasses, to study the man's face.
"Well, Mr. Val Docket, let's see what UNCLE has to say about
this." Napoleon walked to his nightstand
and retrieved his communicator.
Docket looked down at the pistol Kuryakin held and stared at
him. "That's not really necessary, you
know."
"It is not your call."
Then he unconsciously brought a hand to his face as Docket continued to
study him.
"But it is mine."
Napoleon slapped Illya on the shoulder.
"He's one of us."
"He may well be an agent, Napoleon, but he is not one of
us." Illya holstered his weapon
grudgingly.
Docket reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a
communicator. "Open Channel F
please. Willy, are you there?"
"I'm here, Val, what's wrong?"
"Just wanted to let you know I made contact and Waverly
wasn't kidding. These two will fit the
bill."
"They're in good shape?"
"Pristine, just like Waverly promised. We owe him some California sunshine."
"Ah, excuse me for interrupting, but will someone please
tell us what's going on?" Napoleon kept
his voice at its polished best.
"Sure, let's head down to the office and I'll explain on the
way." Docket gestured to the door. "Shall we?"
"Take the long route." Napoleon advised as he picked up his
suit jacket and slipped into it, straightening the lapels as he went. Illya
simply snatched up a windbreaker and shrugged into it.
Docket paused at the door and studied both of them again
before putting his sunglasses back on.
"Waverly is pure genius."
He led the way to a car that was parked under the portico of
their hotel. True to form, it was a
convertible. As they approached, two
attendants hurried up.
"Was everything to your liking, Mr. Docket?" one asked as he
opened the driver's side door. "Was your
shopping successful?"
"Very, Mr. Hackett, very.
Thanks for keeping an eye on her."
He patted the red tuck and roll upholstery. Then he frowned as he saw a pair of men
walking swiftlyup the sidewalk. "Quickly
gentlemen, quickly." He slid in and
waited as Illya climbed in the rear and for Napoleon to join him up front. He barely gave the agents time to shut the
door before he roared off.
"Sorry about that, but I have to be careful. Those two walking towards us had a look about
them."
"THRUSH agents," Illya turned to see if they were being
followed.
"Worse - talent scouts.
This is a cut throat business here.
They saw you with me and they were moving in for the kill."
"They were armed?"
"No, that's LA-speak for they were going to try and woo you
from our agency." Docket glanced at his
mirrors and grinned just before slamming to a stop. Illya hit the front seat with a thunk.
"Sorry, Mr. K. Stop and go literally
means exactly that here. Excellent, so
now we can talk."
"This is going to be pure poetry," Napoleon predicted.
"More like pulp fiction." Illya righted himself. "Just exactly what is going on, Mr. Docket?"
"About five months ago, we caught wind of a new scheme by
THRUSH. They were developing a fragrance
for men."
"A cologne?"
"Nope an actual scent, like Chanel No 5."
"Men don't wear perfume," Illya protested, pulling out his
own sunglasses from his jacket pocket and putting them on.
"Yet, but you will soon learn, cousin, that the American
buying public does whatever we tell them to do."
"We?"
"I work for one of UNCLE's cover businesses. It's an ad agency and we have secured the
advertising contract for this new scent."
"What's it called?"
Napoleon's interest was piqued.
"Gladiator."
"Why would anyone want to smell like a gladiator? Personal hygiene wasn't highly prized among
them at the time."
"I agree, but I didn't name the thing; I'm just the guy
responsible for selling it."
"And the plan?"
"We are hoping to get one or both of you close enough to
check the stuff out. So far, we haven't
even been given a sample to try."
"Suspicious," Illya murmured, bracing himself as the car
leapt forward a few feet and stopped again.
"Very."
"But why us? Why not
some of your local agents?" Napoleon leaned back in the seat and studied his
surroundings.
"We needed fresh blood.
Someone who won't be recognized."
"That wouldn't be us then, we are both well known to
THRUSH."
"In the field, yes, we're talking in front of a
camera." Docket suddenly veered off to
one side and stepped on the gas. The
convertible shot forward and down a side street. "Waverly seems to think you two will fit the
bill."
"Napoleon..." Illya grumbled and his partner just shook his head.
"I swear I don't know what we did wrong, Illya."
"What are you two yammering about?" Docket asked.
"This is a plum assignment, you
just have to stand around and have someone take photos of you. The opportunity opens up for a bit of
exploring, well, then you two do what you do best."
"In the meantime?"
"We'll do what we do best."
He drove into a below ground garage and pulled into a marked parking
space. "You are both going to have to
trust me on this."
"Why do I suddenly feel like Custer's left hand man at
Little Big Horn?"
"No idea, Napoleon, I thought it would have been more like
Waterloo."
Docket just laughed and climbed out of the car. "We'll arrange to have someone shuttle you
back and forth from the hotel to here.
Rest of the time you might want to stay low, below their radar. At least
until we know if there's anything there."
"You're not sure?"
"Naw, it could just be a money making scheme for them. They have to turn a profit too you
know." Docket tucked his glasses into a
pocket. "You agents are an expensive
commodity. Those suits of yours don't
grow on trees, you know."
"Busted," Illya murmured for his partner's ear alone. Napoleon grimaced in return.
They followed the dark haired man into an office and he
walked to a desk and sat down. "Okay, we
might as well get started." He slapped
and rubbed his hands together. "Vonnie,
would you send the squad in please."
"The squad?" Illya's
hand moved towards his weapon and Docket chuckled.
"Just our make-up people, calm down." Docket shook his head and laughed. "You two are really high strung, you should
mellow out a bit."
Three men and a woman entered and Docket rapidly introduced
them. "Okay guys, these are our golden
boys."
The woman, Shibon, approached the pair and walked around
them slowly. "It would be easier if they
weren't wearing quite so many clothes.
How good do you look naked?" She asked Napoleon. He shrugged.
"No one has registered any complaints."
"And you?" She lifted
Illya's chin and turned his head first one way and then the other. "Left is better than right. Take off your shirt."
"Excuse me?"
"Your shirt... and your pants.
Both of you."
Illya's jaw flexed and he shot a look at Napoleon. His partner dropped his gaze and smiled
slightly.
"Mr. Docket, I think we are going to need a bit more
authorization before we comply. Even
you have to admit that this might seem a bit odd to someone outside the
advertising business."
"Okay... time to call in the big dogs." He leaned forward and hit the speaker phone.
"There are big dogs?"
Illya glanced towards the door, then to the window.
"It's a saying, Illya. I'll wager he's calling Waverly for
confirmation."
"Don't let me play poker with you, Napoleon," Docket said,
then added to the speaker. "Vonnie,
would you call our New York uncle?"
"You got it, boss!"
There was a pause. "Waverly is on
the line for you now."
"Mr. Waverly?"
"Yes, Mr. Docket, what can I do for you?"
"Well, we picked up your packages and they are great, but a
little resistant."
"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?"
Their answers overlapped each other.
"Sir?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Get on with it. If
THRUSH is intent upon unleashing some unknown danger onto the whole of society and you --"
"Just guys really.
The item is just aimed at guys," Docket murmured softly as he picked up
a file. "And it's not like we're asking
them to have sex with an animal or anything."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Docket." Waverly's voice was no nonsense now. "These are two of our top agents and you will
treat them accordingly. Remember, also
that they are very dangerous and have very long memories... especially the
Russian. Don't turn your back on him."
Everyone glanced over at Illya, who crossed his arms and
tried to look dangerous, Napoleon smirked and rolled his eyes.
"Dangerous indeed, they don't know about your reading comic
books and giggling," he murmured just loud enough for his partner to hear.
"And they won't either...," Illya murmured back, "partner... "
Docket spoke with Waverly for a few more seconds and then
clicked off the phone. Shibon held out a
hand. "Mr. Kuryakin, your shirt please."
Face set in rock calm, Illya took the jacket off and there
was a murmur at the sight of his shoulder holster and weapon.
"Oh, I like that," she said, tapping her mouth with a
pencil. She started to sketch something
on a sheet of paper. "The way it gathers
the material and accentuates the muscles, very sexy and very dangerous."
"It's all right, I have my safety on." Illya said as he
worked the straps off and handed the holster to her.
"God, it's still warm..."
Illya looked over at Napoleon and sighed, then tugged his
polo shirt over his head. Static made
his hair stand on end for a moment and he shook it back into place.
"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Huston, one of
the three up-until-now silent men asked.
"You certainly have the moves down.
We'll have to do something about the scars."
"Hide them, you mean?"
Shibon looked up from her paper.
"Accentuate them - he's supposed to be a gladiator for God
sakes." Huston walked slowly around
Illya. "Okay, now the pants." Only one corner of Illya's mouth moved as he
unbuckled his pants and let them drop.
"Nice legs."
"He looks great in a dress," Napoleon said and then paused
and smiled at the fuming look Illya leveled at him.
"Keep it up, Solo, your turn is next and I know some things
that you might not like aired in public as well... Nappy..."
"Point taken, Pooseycat."
"What?" Shibon looked
from one to the other, her clipboard forgotten.
"Napoleon has a short memory when it comes to remembering
things, like my name... may I redress?"
"No, but I'll get you a robe. Follow Dwayne." The man raised his hand. "He's going to do your colors."
"My what?"
"Colors - find out what you look good in."
"Black, I like black."
"Black technically isn't a color... it's all colors. And white is the absence of all color. And we will be dealing with neither on this
shoot."
"And Mr. Solo, you are all mine..."
Napoleon walked a bit gingerly into the changing room and
slammed to a stop. Illya was standing in
front of a mirror, completely naked and staring at his reflection.
"Illya, what's wrong?"
"Huh?" The man looked
over his shoulder and then back at the mirror.
"It's the first time I've seen myself without body hair since I was
twelve."
"An early bloomer then?"
"Papa used to say that being hirsute was the Soviet way of
staying warm. "
"Survival of the furriest then?"
"You laugh, but you should see our women." Illya ran a hand over his chest and sighed.
"They made you shave your entire body?"
"No they waxed me and THRUSH has nothing on these guys. I will be personally holding a grudge against
every candle I see for quite probably the next ten years."
Napoleon's hand dropped reflexively to cover his own genitals
and winced. "Ouch."
"That would just about cover it, yes."
Napoleon came to stand directly behind him and whispered in
his ear. "You look like my first grade teacher, Miss Snoot."
"I beg your pardon?"
Illya's eyes dropped to his own groin.
"Miss Snoot had a secret?"
"Your hair, Pooseycat, what did they do to your hair?"
"They gave it an oil treatment and then added body... whatever
the hell that is. I thought I was
through with olive oil..." Illya moved stiffly back to a changing screen where
his clothes hung and started to dress.
"Please tell me this is some drug induced dream, Napoleon. Tell me I'm going to wake up in a nice quiet
THRUSH cell."
"Would that I could, partner." Napoleon had moved to his own screen and was
dressing carefully.
"You seem relatively intact."
"If they use any sentences that incorporate the word bleach,
run..." He pulled on his shirt and
buttoned it quickly. "They are taking us
directly back to the hotel where we are, once again, restricted to our room."
"There is one thing I do not understand, Napoleon."
"Just one?"
"Well, no, but one significant thing. How are we supposed to do any looking around
when we are never left alone for a moment?"
"My understanding is that we will have that chance
tomorrow. We will be going with a large
group over to the manufacturing offices, i.e. THRUSH's current hangout, and the
photographers will work with us one at time, permitting the other one to amuse
himself accordingly."
Illya brushed his hair into place with a casual hand and
grunted. "And something else that is a
puzzlement."
"Yes." Napoleon came
around the screen, pulling on his jacket.
"Why did they strip my body of all its hair and then tell me
not to shave?"
"Not a clue and no desire to find out. I just want to be done and out of here. New York has its share of crazies, but at
least there I can recognize them for what they are." He gestured to the door. "Ready?"
"More than you can know."
Napoleon Solo re-did the tie on his robe and let his
attention wander. All morning he'd been
before the cameras, being put through a series of unlikely scenarios. Now it was Illya's turn and his partner was
not happy. There had already been some
heated discussions, like the one going on now.
Napoleon knew exactly what Illya was doing, permitting him a chance to
melt into the background.
"Hey, Docket, I'm going to go grab something to eat ," he
murmured into the agent's ear.
"Do you need an escort?"
He nodded to one of the many hangers on.
"I don't know..." He
lowered his voice. "Do I need one?"
"I think you should take one... in case you get lost..." Docket glanced over at Kuryakin and shook his
head. "We're going to have our hands
full with that one."
"Oh, the stories I could tell."
"I bet. Okay, let's
try something new then. Illya, you are
the brave gladiator."
"Больше
как его очень
раздраженный
кузен (More
like his very annoyed cousin)," Illya muttered and Napoleon chuckled.
"What did he say?"
"Suffice it to say, he's not happy."
"Dwayne, show Napoleon where the commissary is, there's a
good intern."
Napoleon followed as Dwayne led him out of the room. "You're an intern then? What exactly does an intern do?"
"Someone messes with you, I, in turn, make them into
confetti. No one scalps our talent."
Napoleon nodded thoughtfully and then continued. "Is it odd that we aren't even being given a
sample of the product we're advertising?"
"Odd, but not unheard of.
Some agencies play their products a bit close to their chests." Dwayne looked around and said loudly. "Okay, I think it's this way to the
commissary." He opened a door and looked
inside.
The secretary at the desk glanced up and smiled. "May I help you, gentlemen?"
"Got turned around, sorry.
The Commissary...?"
"Three doors down on the left. It will take you to a staircase and the
commissary is one floor below that.
Don't take the elevator, it is running slow today."
"Thanks!" Dwayne
winked at her and shut the door. "Okay,
we are cleared to snoop."
"Her?"
"One of ours, just as one of the photographers is one of
theirs. It's all about hiding in plain
sight." Dwayne headed down the hall and
took a right. "This should lead us to
their labs. Do you know anything about
science?"
"That would be more of Illya's ball of wax, pardon the pun."
"He's still hot about yesterday?"
"You have no idea."
"Well, at least he won't itch when it grows back, unlike
shaving." Dwayne opened the door and
three lab coated men looked at him. One
moved to cover up some papers.
"Can we help you?"
"We were on our way to the commissary and got turned around,
I think." Dwayne glanced around. "You guys have some great facilities
here. No wonder you are being so secretive
with your latest line."
"Which one?"
"Gladiator. This is
one of our models."
"Gentlemen, I thank you for my continued employment."
Napoleon let his voice go reedy, almost whiny.
"As do my three ex-wives."
"Use some of this on them and you won't have any trouble at
all." One of the scientists tossed him a
small vial. "Just be warned, a little
goes a very long way."
"What is it?"
Napoleon turned the vial this way and that, giving it a little shake.
"It's our current fragrance, the one you are advertising. Use a drop and women will be your slaves..."
"It doesn't affect men?"
Dwayne took the vial as Napoleon held it out.
"Not as a rule, but in Los Angeles anything is possible."
Dwayne sniffed it and coughed, then hurriedly held it away
from his nose. "It smells like horse
piss."
"To you, but you put a bit of that in the hollow of your
neck and you will have any woman you meet volunteering to be the mother of your
children."
"That might be awkward."
Dwayne recapped it and swiftly handed it back to Napoleon. "It's all yours."
"Gee, just what I need - another ex wife. Illya would love that."
"He would, would he?"
Dwayne said, gesturing to the door.
"He doesn't like sharing?"
"Not as a rule."
Napoleon waved back at the men.
"Thanks, I'll give this a whirl."
Illya walked into the small UNCLE lab, looked around until
he spotted Napoleon and went straight for him.
"They told me you have a sample?"
"It's in the centrifuge."
He looked over at Dwayne and grinned.
"Did I lie?"
"No, you said you'd give it a whirl. I also imagine those three scientists are now
ex-THRUSH employees for handing over a sample. "
"Knowing THRUSH, they're ex everything."
"Well, two THRUSH and one UNCLE, word is we got our guy out
of there."
"They handed out these samples at the shoot after you
left." Illya pulled a small vial out of
his pants pocket. "It's a little spicy
for my taste."
"Spicy? Illya, this
stuff smells like horse sweat."
"Really?" Illya
sniffed his and then shook his head.
"Perhaps the smog has knocked my sense of smell off." He offered it to Napoleon, who cautiously
took a whiff and frowned.
"This smells nothing like what we were given."
Illya pulled on his black-rimmed glasses and scanned the
sheets. "What are they playing at?"
"Domination of women it would appear," Dwayne said, braving
his own fast sniff.
"Hell, all Napoleon has to do is smile to accomplish
that. The man's a magnet for the
opposite sex." Illya traced a finger
down the list of chemicals. "This is
most odd. This is basically straight 2-methylphenol."
"What's
that?"
"Among
other things, it's the basic element in male sweat. It's what triggers cortisol and increases a
woman's hormonal drive, according to some studies."
"Really?"
"Drives
some women wild." Illya dropped the report
to the desk. "What are you testing for?"
"Everything. Are you through for the day?"
"I am
through for the duration, but was told it was not my decision to be made. They want us back at eight tomorrow for a
group shoot, whatever that is."
"They
do some set ups with you and Napoleon.
The fact that you two look good together was one reason why Waverly
suggested you."
"I
still want to know what you did, Napoleon, to annoy Mr. Waverly so much."
"Me? Why couldn't it have been you?"
"Rank,
my friend. He would have gone straight
to you for disciplinary action regarding me."
Illya placed a hand upon his chest.
"I am but a mere cog in the giant wheel of UNCLE. You, Napoleon, are a main spring."
"There's
a bad joke in there." Docket wandered
in, the colors of his shirt preceding him by several yards. "Are you two ready to head back to the
hotel?"
"That
would be an immediate yes for me.
Illya?" When the blond didn't
immediately respond, Napoleon tried again.
"Illya? Earth to Illya?"
"I'm
sorry, did you say something?"
"Are
you ready to go back to the hotel?"
"I'd
like to stay here for awhile." Illya
took his glasses off and tucked them away.
"I have an idea..."
"What?"
"Too
soon to say. I'll meet you back at the hotel."
Napoleon
let the curtain fall back into place and sighed. It wasn't as if he could see Illya walking
down the street or anything. Their room
was opposite the lobby. The sky outside
was turning a confusing mixture of oranges, reds and violets, gratis the
ever-present LA smog.
Hard on the lungs, but pretty at
sunset, Napoleon
thought and then he heard a noise at the door.
Even though he was anticipating Illya's arrival, it didn't keep him from
retrieving his weapon and taking up position.
A moment later, Illya walked in, waving a hand over his
shoulder. He saw Napoleon with a gun and
nodded. "Have you eaten yet? You want to go downstairs?"
"They've actually given us permission to leave the room?"
"I didn't ask.
There's a really good sounding restaurant up on the fifteenth floor,
French, I think. At least it will be a
different view."
"That would be heaven.
That room service menu is beginning to wear." Napoleon holstered his gun and pulled his
suit jacket on.
Illya waited until they were seated and had placed their
drink order before talking shop. "We
found nothing of any real importance with that sample. It is exactly what it seems to be. However it has some interesting side
effects."
"Such as?"
"One of the scientists spilled a drop on his hands and his assistant
practically took him down for the count.
I've never seen a woman act with such flagrant disregard for
decorum." He paused as the drinks were
delivered and menus offered. He put on
his glasses and began to study the menu.
Napoleon went for the wine list instead.
"So tell me about your three ex-wives."
"What? Oh, I just
made up a cover story for the scientists.
I do have a theory though."
"You have Dwayne wandering down the wrong path --"
"What are you going to have tonight, beef, poultry...?" Napoleon
interrupted.
"The pheasant looks good and a salad..." Illya paused.
"And the brioche de foie gras,
I think."
"I think I'll go with the stuffed trout and the onion
soup. Coeur a la crème?"
"Cream cheese hearts?
As an appetizer? Aren't they more of a dessert?"
"That's always been my belief. Think I'll stick to the caviar."
They ordered and Napoleon selected a white burgundy to
start. All the time they sat, Illya's
eyes scanned the room, making sure that no one was paying either of them the least
amount of attention. To the casual
diner, they were just a couple of men out, possibly on a business trip, having
dinner.
"So you said you have a theory," Illya prompted.
"Of a sort. Either
that or the guys who put this together couldn't get a date in high school. If our tests are any indication, few women
would be able to resist it."
"I'm still not following." Illya leaned forward, helping himself to the
bread basket as he did.
"Two formulas - one
that just smells good, in short, the one you were given and the other... You would be able to control any woman in the
world."
"And?"
"Think of the implications globally... suppose the Queen
became bewitched by THRUSH . They could
wreak considerable havoc before anything could be done. Or suppose you are the popular leader and
suddenly your wife is being held an emotional hostage, what would you do?"
"Potential control over any country in the world." Illya whistled and chewed on his bread for a
moment. "Just when I think THRUSH can't
surprise me anymore, they do."
Their appetizers arrived and the waiter placed the plates
down, then offered Napoleon a slip of paper.
"A gentleman at the bar asked me to give this to you."
"Thank you." Napoleon
glanced at the unfamiliar writing and handed it to Illya.
"Can we talk?" He
read out loud. "I don't understand the
game here, Napoleon. It's like an
entirely different world. We have agents
with them, they have people planted with us, but each one is aware of the
other. Give me the world of cloak and
dagger. Are you going?"
"I don't know. Not
while there's food on the table and you're sitting across from it. My mother did not raise a fool."
"Coward." They ate
for a moment and then Illya murmured, "So what are we going to do? How do we convince them it's a fool's errand
to pursue this? Brute force or something
else?"
"This whole thing hinges upon a single application directed
at a single target, doesn't it?"
"That's the assumption."
"What if something was to go wrong? Like say during the shoot tomorrow?"
"The bigwigs are supposed to be there - I overheard one of
the photographers talking. Why do they
think we can't hear them, just because they are shining lights in our eyes?"
"No idea. Could
something be engineered to have a large number of women on hand and one of the
THRUSH be, uh, over-exposed? Sort of
showing him the scope of his short sightedness?"
"I could talk to someone, but the problem is I'm still not
sure who to trust." Illya watched his
plate being carried away. "There's
something about Docket I don't like."
"Same with Dwayne, but I'm not sure if it's just the oddness
of the situation here or something else."
Their soup and salad arrived. Illya speared some lettuce, but didn't lift
it to his mouth. Instead, he pushed it
around on his plate.
"Illya?"
"Yes?"
"What's going on in that head of yours?"
"I was just playing out a couple of scenarios. Being mobbed by women, they can be quite
aggressive, you know."
Napoleon sipped his soup and closed his eyes to further
concentrate upon the flavor.
"Why would anyone put themselves willingly in that
situation?"
"Likes the attention, uh, tolerates it once it's thrust upon
them. I really don't know."
"Makes me glad I'm a nobody."
"You're somebody to me."
"Yes, but you aren't likely to be ripping my clothes off any
time soon--"
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Both men looked in the direction of a strange
voice.
"Not yet and who are you?"
Napoleon studied the man more closely.
He had 'the' look about him.
Dark, features carefully set into a neutral expression, eyes moving a
little too much.
"I am the one who sent you the note. I was hoping we could talk."
"My friend and I are eating."
"And I am here to make sure you don't bite off more than you
can chew and choke, Mr. Solo. Be
careful. Not all is what it
appears." He handed over a card and
walked away.
Napoleon's eyes flicked down to the business card and the
familiar logo.
"Another agent?"
"Apparently."
"I need a score card, Napoleon. And I think a few aspirin." Illya set down his fork and rubbed one eye. "This is getting very confusing."
"Agreed. I say we
close this up and head back home as soon as possible. I have had about as much West Coast
eccentricity as I can stand."
Illya Kuryakin glanced over his shoulder as the changing
room door opened and he smirked before returning to the task of dressing in his
leather kilt. "You look as if you've run
afoul of a bottle of cooking oil. What
happened to you?"
"You're one to talk.
What color are you exactly?"
"Supposedly beach bronze, but it's more like marmalade." Illya looked back into the mirror. His hair was two shades lighter than normal
and his skin about five shades darker and he gestured. "I look like some mutant carrot."
"At least you don't make funny noises when you walk." Napoleon pulled the waistband of his kilt
from his stomach. It came away with a
slick sloop sound. "It's going to take three days to get this
off my skin."
"At least not yet.
Are we all set out there?"
"I spoke with Waverly, who assures me that Docket is one of
ours. I explained what we wanted and he
said it would be taken care of."
"Napoleon, he wears loud Hawaiian shirts, smokes a cigar and
has pink rimmed glasses, with palm trees on the side of them. I have more confidence in a sponge than I do in
him. I spoke with Waverly about Dwayne
and he likewise assures me of the man's loyalties and commitment." He adjusted the shoulder straps. "I wish these were longer. Any shorter and I would speaking in a
falsetto." Napoleon began to
chuckle. "What?"
"Just remembering a story I'd heard... they were looking for a
voice for Daffy Duck -"
"Who?"
"An animated character."
"Animated? As opposed
to stationary, you mean? I wouldn't
think a stationary character, no matter what sort of voice he, has would be very
interesting..."
"A cartoon, Illya, an animated cartoon, surely even you have
seen a Warner Brothers short."
"Short what?"
Napoleon let out an exasperated groan and then caught just
the briefest hint of a smirk. "I ought
to smack you."
Illya grinned. "I'm
sorry, but you seemed to need the release.
After all, you are all slicked up with no place to go." He scratched his day old beard and
sighed.
"So says the mutant carrot man. Let's go get this over with, partner, before
they cart us both off."
"Did they tell you what was going to happen?"
"No, just to be ready for anything."
"That evens it out then.
Up until now, I've been prepared for nothing."
Napoleon barely realized anything had happened until the
moment exploded and threatened to wash over them. One minute, he and Illya were posing, rather
intimately, he felt, looking more like star crossed lovers than rivals for the
same woman's hand.
The THRUSH advertisers had come in, politely shaken their
hands and immediately moved as far away from Napoleon and Illya as
possible. Napoleon mistakenly thought it
was because they were recognized. Not
so, the THRUSH just wanted to distance themselves from the hired help. In their eyes, Illya and Napoleon were no
better than the dozens of people who fluttered around the studio. The contempt on their faces was enough to
calm Napoleon's worries.
"Get closer to him, Napoleon," the photographer ordered and
Napoleon shifted self consciously.
Already he was straddling Illya's thigh, his hand far too close to
Illya's groin to be entirely comfortable.
"Left hand higher, Napoleon.
Illya, lean back into him. You
are torn between what you know and what you want. Closer, Napoleon, he won't bite."
"If I get any closer to him, I'll be standing behind him,"
he muttered and felt a chuckle vibrate through Illya. Anyone else and the Russian would have
reached his limit hours earlier. Even
now, Napoleon knew Illya was about at the end of his patience with all this
nonsense.
Then it was as if the room took a huge breath and collapsed
into itself. At first he thought it was
an earthquake; he knew Los Angeles was famous for them. He braced himself, using Illya as both
support and anchor while Illya did the same.
There was this strange roaring sound and Napoleon followed it to its
source.
The two THRUSH advertisers were literally buried beneath a
mass of writhing, twisting women. It
looked like something out of a B grade movie.
The women fought not only with the men, but with each other as they
tried to get to their goal.
At first the men were shouting demands, but those became
cries for help and then strangled mews of anguish. Finally the other men in the room had
galvanized into action and started to drag the women, still kicking and
screaming, away. What they left behind wasn't
pretty...
Illya Kuryakin sipped his bourbon slowly. Most nights he drank vodka, but he needed
the extra kick today. He pulled the
hotel robe closer and stared at the far wall of their shared room. His eyes flicked up as Napoleon entered, but
otherwise he moved only to carry the glass back and forth from his mouth to the
arm of the chair.
"The doctors turned off the life support on one; the other
is getting last rites."
"I never saw anything like that before; certainly animals,
but not women. It was like watching a
pack of wolves bringing down a reindeer."
"Yes, well, I think we can both say that we didn't quite
anticipate the depth of the reaction.
Docket said the FAA is pulling Gladiator off the market as we speak. They deem it too dangerous for human
consumption at any level."
"After what we saw, I would agree." Illya finished his drink and poured another,
passing it to Napoleon. He helped
himself to another glass as well. "That
is a sight that will stay with me for awhile.
When I think no punishment is too severe for THRUSH, I will remember
this." He drank. "What will happen to the women?"
"Nothing. Most of
them don't even have any memory of the attack.
The others are being counseled."
Napoleon drained his glass in one gulp and then dry washed his face with
a hand. "Poor bastards..."
"We had no way of anticipating the severity of the
reaction."
"Docket swears he only used one of those small sample
vials."
"Good thing he wore gloves to apply it to the THRUSH's
jackets or we would be mourning his passing tonight as well." Illya held up the half empty bottle. Napoleon
shook his head. "Better to sleep with
Mr. Daniels tonight, Napoleon, than with the lights and the television on."
Napoleon passed over his glass. "Docket's still pretty shaken. Says he's giving it up and going into real
estate sales. Waverly gave us the all
clear to leave in the morning."
"Good. New York's
familiar skyline rivals this one any night."
Outside, the wail of a siren interrupted him. "Although some sounds are the same
everywhere."
"Pain, greed, despair, it's a helluva of legacy to leave
behind for our kids."
"Indeed." Illya held
up his glass to Napoleon. "But at least
we shall go to our graves knowing we did our best to make it safe for them and
theirs."
"For the rest of our lives."
"For the rest of our lives," Illya repeated softly.
|
|
