He sat back,
settling into the dark leather of the chair the way a vulture settles onto a
branch, hungry, expectant and anxious.
The air was thick with cigar, pipe, and cigarette smoke. It created dim rings around lamps, making
them hazy. Voices were muted to just
murmurs by the atmosphere, the heavy velvet curtains and tapestries. Heavy, muffled, oppressed, and exactly the
sort of atmosphere Napoleon Solo did some of his best thinking in.
He studied
the chess board before him and pursed his lips in thought. His opponent, buried deep in his own chair,
watched him with care, as if Napoleon might suddenly upset the board or attempt
to shift a piece.
He slid his
rook over and removed a pawn.
Immediately the man opposite him sat forward and frowned.
You weren't expecting that, were you
my friend?
"So tell
me, Herr Docktor. What do you think
of this new scheme of theirs?"
"Scheme, Herr Commandant? You say scheme, I hear possible potential."
"We are
speaking of the bipolar, infinitely diversified manifold coupler?"
"As you
will," Napoleon murmured, inclining his head.
"A brilliant if slightly avant-garde interpretation of an old problem."
"Do you
think they have even the smallest chance of success?" He slid his knight forward and removed
Napoleon's rook. He carried it back to
his nest of leather and cigar smoke.
"Success...
what is success exactly but the overwhelming absence of failure?
Do I believe they will triumph over this issue? That is for someone else braver and with
considerably less sense to decide than you or I. Rather I think we should poise ourselves upon
the brink, ready to applaud their success and yet prepared to distance
ourselves in the event of their failure.
We must be neither the pursuer nor the pursued in this situation. Check."
The man
frowned and sat forward sharply, his eyes scanning the board frantic for a way
of escape. "So you say we must hold back
our support?"
"Just the
opposite, we must give the appearance of confidence in their work, herald their
thoughts as brilliant."
"You are
dazzling me with your insight, Herr
Docktor." He moved his queen out of jeopardy. "But confusing me as well. Check."
"We must
neither get too close nor drift too far."
A waiter
walked up balancing a tray on one hand.
He gathered up their empty brandy glasses and replaced them with fresh
ones. He deftly flourished a lighter
one-handed to light Napoleon's cigar.
"Will there be anything else, gentlemen?"
"No, I
think we're fine, vielen dank."
The waiter
nodded and moved quietly away, disappearing into the haze.
"That
one, a vision of our dedication to a master race.
We should recruit him."
"Him?" Napoleon shook his head. "He's too
small, zu mager. He wouldn't survive one winter. Not exactly what our fuehrer would have considered prime stock, eh?" Napoleon shifted his queen. "Check again, mien commandant. Your mind is not on the game tonight."
"Perhaps."
Then he grinned widely.
"Checkmate. You left yourself completely open."
"Ah, that
is why I am but a humble servant to you.
I am not a strategist," Napoleon murmured, dipping his head in gracious
defeat. His head ached and he craved
fresh air. Instead, he settled back in
his own leather chair and swirled the brandy, giving in fact the opposite
impression.
"So we
wait."
"And we
watch... very carefully." He raised his
glass and sipped the amber liquid. "One
cannot rush into such adventures without diligence."
He walked
slowly to the coat room and collected his top coat, hat and gloves. Slipping his hand into the right one, he felt
a bit of paper and smiled. Right on time, Napoleon thought as he
climbed into the town car and savored the quietness.
As the
driver rounded the car and slid behind the wheel, he caught Napoleon's eye in
the rearview mirror.
"Everything
all right tonight, guv?"
Napoleon
pulled out the slip of paper from the glove and smoothed it out. Hotel
bar, 12:30 was written in Illya's deliberate hand. "I think everything is going exactly to plan,
Mark."
Napoleon
had just enough time to rush up to his room and wash a night of smoke out of
his hair and from his skin. He didn't
bother to do anything more than pull a comb through his dark hair and hurriedly
dressed in slacks and a sweater.
He hit the
threshold of the bar at exactly 12:30 and looked around. In the corner sat a familiar figure,
shoulders stooped, head drooping forward, giving the illusion of complete and
utter exhaustion.
Napoleon
slid into the chair across from his partner and waited for Illya to come back
to life. The blond hair formerly slicked
back was now a wild bird's nest and the black-rimmed glasses gave Illya a
befuddled look.
"You're
late," he grumbled, sipping his beer.
"I'm
exactly on time." Napoleon held his
watch out to show him and Illya shook his wrist and swore softly.
"This is
the last time I buy American," he muttered.
"You and Commandant Rankin seem to have hit it off."
"He likes
that I lose to him in chess."
"You never
lose to me in chess." Illya picked up a
handful of olives and ate a couple.
"You I
respect as an opponent and you do win on occasion."
"Only
when you let me." Illya spit the pits into his hand and dumped
them onto the small plate provided.
Napoleon
picked up the second glass on the table and sniffed it delicately. "Whiskey?"
"Single
malt, I didn't know what you were drinking now."
"You are
becoming quite adept with that lighter by the way. Gotten any good shots?"
"Not
really. Enough to
identify Herr Rankin, possibly enough to hang him, not sure. How's your fishing been?"
"The more I
advise caution, the more their interest piques.
I suspect within the next day or two, they will be approaching
THRUSH."
"Excellent. This gig is making my feet hurt... and my back."
"Word of
caution, Rankin thinks your genetic material would be an agreeable addition to
the Master Plan."
"Thanks,
but I'm using all my genetic material right now. He can have it when I'm through."
"Just
wanted to give you a heads up about accepting rides from strangers.
He had a look about him."
"No riding
with strange men, understood." Illya
finished his beer and stood. "I will
tell you one thing; I am taking away a whole new appreciation for waiters."
"I imagine
April says the same thing. She looked
very comely in her little maid outfit."
"She hears you
say that and she'll rip your tonsils out and use them as a paperweight."
"Anything
else?"
"Not
really. They are nervous about
something. I think they are beginning to
get suspicious. My thought is the faster
you sell it and we pull out of there, the better."
"You,
Illya, running from a fight?"
"Not a
fight, necessarily, but I prefer to avoid car wrecks. Tell Mark to go over your vehicle very
carefully tomorrow morning." Illya
looked down at his watch again and sighed.
"Or rather this morning. If you will excuse me, I have an early
shift. If I go to bed now, I might
actually be able to sleep three hours before I have to get up again."
Napoleon
reached out and put a hand beneath Illya's chin, studying his partner's
face. "Are you all right, Illya? You look... what? Tired, concerned, annoyed?"
"All of the
above." Illya pulled back slowly,
offering Napoleon a brief, unguarded smile.
"Just be careful?"
"And
you." Napoleon watched Illya get to his
feet and move wearily out of the room.
There was something odd about his partner tonight. No, not just tonight, starting about three
days earlier. He shook the thought from
his head. Illya was a big boy and more
than capable of taking care of himself.
Napoleon squelched a yawn and stood himself.
He was
quickly gone from the room, as if a man on a mission, unaware that he was being
observed by the bartender.
The man
reached for a phone, dialed a number and then spoke quietly. "He was here again with the blond man. I think you are right, Herr Commandant."
Rankin sat
across from him, his eyes fairly glistening as he studied the chess
pieces. Finally he advanced a pawn, not
to capture but as an obvious sacrifice.
Too obvious, Napoleon thought and countered by
moving one of his. Not a sacrifice, but a neutral gesture.
"So tell
me, Herr Docktor, did you sleep well
last night? Was it satisfying?"
"I did,
thank you." Napoleon was desperate to
leave the board and wander the room, in appearances trolling for news, in
reality trying to get a word with Illya.
His partner was to everyone else just as he'd been all week, quiet,
obedient, and efficient, but Napoleon noticed weariness in his movements,
something only someone vastly familiar with him would see.
Worse, he'd
been reassigned to a station well away from Napoleon. Even though they couldn't talk, that
momentary connection of eyes was reassuring.
"Your game
seems to be off tonight, Herr Docktor." Rankin advanced his rook. "You are having second thoughts about the
device?"
"Second? Oh no, Herr Commandant, third and fourth thoughts by now." Napoleon let his knight remove the rook
easily and hid a smile at the flash of annoyance in Rankin's eyes. He then mentally chastised himself to not let
Rankin lose. It was hard for Napoleon. He was a natural leader, a strategist and he
did not like to lose - at anything.
"Do tell, Herr Docktor. If you have concerns..."
"Not
concerns, exactly. It's just the
overwhelming lack of information. If no
one knows what you are up to, how can we be assured that what we are seeing is
what we are really seeing and not merely what they want us to be seeing."
"You see in
circles, Herr Docktor." A knight this time and the
swift capture of a pawn.
"Exactly my
point, my dear Rankin, anything can be defined as a success or a failure if one
is unsure which is which." Napoleon put
his rook on the chopping block this time.
A stranger approached carrying a tray and set two drinks down.
"Someone
new this evening," Rankin said, smiling through the
wreath of smoke he was wearing. "Where
is our little friend?" He sat up and
glanced, oh so obviously, around the room.
Warning bells started going off in Napoleon's head and he ached to shout
a warning to Illya. Instead he relaxed
back into his chair, uncomfortable old thing that it was, and put on an air of
dismissal.
"One is
very much the same as another here, I would suspect. Perhaps this one will be a bit more efficient
and faster to refill our glasses. The other one... beautiful, but dismal. I suspect they keep him here out of loyalty
to the family. That can be the only
reason."
It was not
the reaction Rankin wanted, that was obvious.
"The tests are tomorrow. You will
be there?"
"Somewhere
in the back, I should think. In my line
of work, it is better to be part of the background than sitting astride a
stallion and waving a banner." He sipped
the brandy. "If they were to know I was...
interested, you would lose all your bargaining power."
"They fear
you?"
"Just the
opposite; were they to know I was part of this, their attention would be
considerable. They would tell you
everything you want to know and a good deal of things that you don't. My role, rather, should be that of a magician
who offers you a deck of cards, makes you pick exactly
the card he wants and then makes you believe it was at random."
"I
understand." The black queen moved. "Check."
"You are in
exceptional form tonight, Herr
Commandant."
"Or your
mind is not on the game, but rather with something or someone else..."
Napoleon
moved his white knight to the rescue. "I
don't know what you mean."
"It's
obvious that you... are distracted. Check
again." He leaned forward and offered
Napoleon a Cuban cigar. Napoleon took
it, inhaled the aroma and nodded his thanks.
Rankin looked around and then raised his hand and snapped his fingers as
Napoleon raised the cigar to his mouth.
A second later, there was a flare of light almost in front of his nose
and Napoleon flicked a look up.
Illya
looked bone weary, but the hand that held the lighter was rock steady. Even so, Napoleon reached out to capture it
and move the lighter closer as he lit the cigar. The warm flesh calmed him and gave him a
chance to center himself and his confidence again. He
blew a cloud of smoke and nodded.
"Danke."
"You're
welcome," Illya said flatly and then vanished.
Napoleon watched after him with what he hoped was a detached air of non-concern.
"And now,
perhaps, your game will take on a bit more of an edge."
"Excuse
me?"
"Now
that you have had a moment with your blond."
Rankin grinned and patted Napoleon's forearm. "Not to worry, Herr Docktor. Your secret is
safe with me."
Napoleon
carefully kept his face bland, free of reaction. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"It's
rather straight forward, Herr Doctor. Being a skilled chess player, I am used to
studying my opponents, looking for a weakness.
I am fast to exploit it to my favor.
I have now found yours. You see,
you can control your facial features, your speech, but you can't control your
eyes, my friend. They give you away
every time he's near." Rankin leaned
back into his chair and crossed his legs, toying with the crease in one trouser
leg. "And for a small, very affordable
price, I can see that he is delivered to you, lock, stock, and barrel. Or be removed with equal ease."
Napoleon's
stomach clenched. "Choose your words
with care, Herr Commandant. I do not like what you are suggesting."
"Like it or
not, you want him, for whatever nefarious reasons are yours alone."
"Your
price?"
"I want the
demonstration to be a tremendous success.
That would put me in considerable favor with my superiors, a raise, a new home in the country, a place for a man of my
capacities to stretch both his mind and his... appetite. To have it fail after my people take control,
that would be neither my fault nor my concern."
"And if I
refuse?"
"You will
have to permanently make do with a new waiter.
His transfer to a distant facility would be of little consequence to
anyone here. In fact, no one else would
probably even notice."
"You are...
blackmailing me, Herr Rankin?
"No, Herr Docktor. I am winning, at any cost. Do not disappoint me." He moved one last piece, then
stood. "Checkmate."
The lack of
a note in his left glove started a small pit of concern roiling about
Napoleon's guts. Yet no one would know,
certainly not from the walk he walked, confident and polished, from the men's
club.
The wait
for his car was brief and the doorman held the door open. Napoleon climbed in and flicked a confirming
glance to the front seat. Another
surprise - strange, apparently uninterested eyes watched him.
"Where's my
regular driver?" he asked, keeping his voice even.
"Had a bit
of an emergency from what I understand.
I am Commandant Rankin's driver. He
asked that I drive you back to your hotel."
"He's very
generous," Again, Napoleon carefully adjusted his features to reveal
nothing. Mark was out of the
picture? This was not a good sign. He leaned back and crossed his legs as the
car moved out. He noted that at least
they were headed in the direction of the hotel.
He wondered if Rankin would try to contain him before the tests
tomorrow. To go to such extremes told
Napoleon just how anxious and foolhardy this man was. If he wanted to be in league with THRUSH,
Napoleon was only too happy to comply.
The limo
pulled to a smooth stop in front of the hotel and Napoleon climbed out,
sighing. It had been a long day, it might be an even longer night.
His
immediate thought was to head for his room and try to raise either Mark or
Illya on their communicators, but he realized now that that was what the
Commandant wanted; their desperation.
Well, his bishop and white knight might be gone... let's see about his
queen.
He walked
into the hotel, through the lobby, and disappeared from view, a trick any good
spy learns early on in the game. In
fact, Rankin's men, their faces familiar from the men's club passed just inches
from where Napoleon stood. He listened
to their instructions to each other and moved in the opposite direction as soon
as the opportunity presented itself. If
Rankin wanted to play, Napoleon was certainly up to the task.
He slipped
by the restaurant cloak room, exchanged his easily spotted jacket for a
horrible plaid thing with an equally horrible hat and paused by an ash
tray. It had been emptied earlier, but
the bottom was still black with the residue of snuffed out cigarettes. A quick look left and right and he sneezed,
his hand accidently going into the ashtray.
He muttered a curse and shook his hand almost cartoonishly
in case anyone had even noticed him.
Then he melted into the background, out into the night, smearing the ash
along his jaw. In the dark, it
camouflaged his features enough so that he walked by Rankin's men without a
flash of recognition from them.
It took him
just minutes to find a quiet bench along the river. He brought out his communicator and opened
it.
"Open
Channel D please. Priority level A. April, are you there?" The seconds dragged by and he tried
again. "April?"
"Yes,
Napoleon?" The voice was slurred with sleep. "Trouble?"
"I think
we've lost Mark and Illya to them."
"What? How?" She was awake now and, Napoleon knew, already
hastily dressing.
"Not sure,
but Rankin wants a positive report tomorrow and is willing to barter Illya for
it."
"He's
completely unaware of who you are, of course?"
"Of course,
he thinks Illya's my paramour." There
was a choking sound on the other end of the communicator and Napoleon now did
panic. "April??"
"Sorry, bad
visual there. What would you like to
do?"
"As far as
I can tell, there is no connection between the two of us in his mind, so I need
you to do a bit of mousing for me." A
couple walked by and Napoleon hunched over apparently involved in something
less than savory. A noise of disgust
and they walked quickly past. "I have no
problem with Rankin playing me. I just
want to make sure he's good to his word and no harm comes to Mark or Illya. Can you meet me?"
"Where are
you?"
"The
path along the river. There's a burnt-out street light, I'm two
benches north of it."
He'd
wrapped himself in thought against the events he knew were coming, so much so
that April's voice almost startled him, almost...
"Napoleon?"
Napoleon saw her eyes widen as she
took in the coat, hat and his ash-smeared face. She handed him something, an envelope, he
realized, as he took it. "I took the
liberty of turning down your sheets this evening. There is a microphone in your bedside lamp and
another in the bathroom. That was on the
floor of your room."
Napoleon
dumped Illya's medallion out into his hand.
It was so worn that it was hard to make out the image or lettering. "His grandmother gave him this. He wouldn't take it off voluntarily. Sadly, it also has a transmitter in it. Had he still been wearing it, it would have
been easy to track him down."
"The good
news is that I got a call from Mark. He
was involved in a hit and run -"
"Oh my God,
April, is he...?"
"He was a
witness only, so he's been down at the local gendarme station filling out
reports and trying to unravel the red tape they've wound him up in."
"That's a
relief. For a moment, I thought --"
"Yeah,
me too." April's voice was very soft for a
moment. "I told him to be very careful
and stay out of sight from here on in.
I'll contact him after we're through."
"Good." Napoleon looked at the medallion again, wrapping
the gold links of the necklace around his fingers, then
tightened his hand into a fist, pressing the metal into his skin. It was a way to focus his anger without
letting it boil over and cause him to act irresponsibly. A slender hand appeared on his forearm and he
glanced up at the dark-haired woman.
"Napoleon...
he'll be okay."
"Let's hope
so, April, or Rankin will experience a most unpleasant end. I've been a guest of THRUSH often enough to
pick up a few tricks and I don't like being manipulated by a second rate
dictator."
Napoleon
stood beside the tree and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. The test was going just as he expected - a
lot of bells and whistles, but very little actual substance. This
device THRUSH had, it was especially designed to fool people and sucker them
in. The client offers a huge amount of money, THRUSH turns over the device and walks away with its
pockets jingling. When their clients
realize they have been rooked, well, let the buyer
beware. It's not exactly like they have
someplace to turn. If they try for
retribution, THRUSH removes them from the gene pool and another willing fool
steps into the vacant spot.
It had been
UNCLE's plan all along that Rankin play into this. Displeased, he would move against THRUSH and
be eliminated before he became a serious world threat. Neither UNCLE nor Napoleon could have guessed
at the extreme depth of his willingness to play.
"So,
Herr Docktor?" Napoleon
glanced over at Rankin and his eyes narrowed.
"The viability of the product - will it deliver as promised?"
"Will you
deliver as promised? I will not say a
word until I am certain that my friend is all right."
"Herr Docktor, you wound me. I may be a cold-hearted bastard, determined
to win at any cost, but I am a not a cheat."
He snapped his fingers and two men moved from inside a van. Napoleon had suspected that Illya was inside,
but now it was confirmed.
Between them they half pulled, half carried a
gagged, blindfolded, and bound Russian out and to his feet. Illya stumbled and staggered trying to stay
upright as he was yanked through the underbrush. "You tell me what I want and you can have
what you need."
"In
reality, many people have the power to stop things from happening, yet few have
the power to make things happen."
Napoleon watched Illya's head turn in his direction and nod. He was still very much in the game.
"Meaning, Herr Docktor? And, I beg you, no riddles this time. Your 'friend' wouldn't appreciate it." One of the guards put a gun to Illya's head. At that distance, not only would Illya be
killed, but probably the guard to the other side of him as well. Napoleon shook his head slowly. He hated dealing with amateurs. "Think very carefully about your next words."
"This will
make things happen. Very big things and
I suspect it will make you the focus of much attention from your superiors."
"Excellent...
I had suspected as much. I shall send
them word that I am accepting their terms of payment. And now, Herr
Docktor, you will learn a lesson in sportsmanship. Simply put, I have none - shoot him now."
Rankin
snapped his fingers and both guards dropped in their tracks. Rankin's mouth fell open. April and Mark stood there, both in camouflage
outfits, both holding weapons trained on Rankin.
Rankin's
face paled and he looked first at Napoleon and then down at the P-38 pointed at
his midsection. "I do believe this is
checkmate, Herr Commandant. Please, I beg you, try to escape."
Slowly
Rankin raised his hands into the air as April and Mark undid Illya's
bindings. He blinked furiously in the
morning sun as the blindfold was removed and looked around at his surroundings.
"You nod
off for five minutes and all hell breaks loose," he commented to Mark as he
rubbed the circulation back into his hands.
"Or you get
involved in a hit and run. These jack-abouts are odd birds."
Napoleon
tossed Illya his medallion. "I believe
you are missing this."
"Thanks,
partner, nice to have it back where it belongs." Illya slipped it over his neck and then
accepted a pistol from Mark. "And this."
Napoleon
watched Rankin out of the corner of his eye.
If he had read the man true, he would be making his escape attempt...
Rankin
suddenly shoved Napoleon, who stumbled into April and took off. They toppled to the ground and Napoleon
grinned at her grimace as she landed on the bottom.
"Let him
go!" Napoleon shouted, even though none of the UNCLE agents made a move to
fire. He rolled off April and helped her
to her feet.
"He's
getting away," Mark argued, grinning and offered a hand up to Napoleon.
"I can
still get a clear shot," April shouted.
She knelt to check upon one of the fallen guards. "These two will be sleeping for awhile," she
murmured softly to no one.
"He's
mine," Illya protested loudly as he worked a kink out
of his shoulders. "Napoleon, out of my way!"
"It's all
right, we'll find him later." Napoleon
didn't raise his voice. "Let's go home."
Only then did he permit himself the
luxury of a small smile. It was good to
be the king.
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