The wind stopped, leaving two UNCLE agents listening to silence. Nothing moved, not a leaf or branch; there was no fluttering of pigeon wings.
“Nice to have such stillness in the middle of New York city.” Napoleon bit into his sandwich.
Sitting on a park bench, taking their lunch; they needed some fresh air.
“Not for long,” Illya drew a paper bag from his pocket. Taking out bird seed; he tossed it to the ground.
Birds surrounded them, jockeying for position to get to more food in Illya’s palm.
“Tovarisch, did you have to do that?”
“They are hungry too…”