Jun. 21st, 2017
"It's really hot. Why are you still wearing a turtleneck?" Napoleon wiped the sweat from his brow as his Russian partner sipped his third iced tea.
"I am willing my body to be cool. It is a matter of mind over matter and it works on many fronts. You should try it Napoleon." Illya's smirk reminded Napoleon that they were out here and not in their air-conditioned room because of him.
"I didn't think she'd take the room and kick us out."
"You simply did not think at all Napoleon."
He silently hoped Illya would have a heat stroke.
"Jack of all trades, that's how they describe me." The fellow speaking was a big guy, with a mane of red hair and a smile the width of his broad face.
Napoleon Solo felt dwarfed as he looked up at Jake Jones, and had a sudden realization of how it must feel to be Illya Kuryakin. He hadn't worked with him yet but seeing him around Headquarters Solo had thought the Russian agent must surely be underweight for the job.
"So Jake, if I may call you that…' The big guy nodded, prompting Napoleon to continue.
"So, I have heard some things about a couple of men who paid you a visit. What exactly did they ask you to do? I mean, you're the jack of all trades guy, right? So, they must have wanted you to do something for them."
Jake's eyebrows drew close together as he considered the line of questioning about those fellas from, um… he couldn't remember where they were from.
"They just wanted me to build 'em somethin." No details forthcoming… yet.
"Uh huh, and what exactly, if you don't mind my asking, did they ask you to build?" Napoleon knew this couldn't go on much longer. If Jake were truly 'in' with THRUSH, then he would surely turn on the UNCLE agent and try to take him down. Napoleon imagined Jake using the term 'whomp'; it just suited him somehow.
Nah, I don't mind none. I already told that little blond feller all about it. He had a fair amount of know how hisself, and helped me finish putting this engine together."
So that was the Russian's game, eh? Come in and take Napoleon's mission right out from under him.
"Jake, you say you talked to the, um… blond fellow. What did you tell him?" Napoleon was looking as earnest as possible while his blood roiled at the thought of being bested by the new agent.
"Why don't you just ask me, I shall be more than happy to share what I have learned here." That accent, that infuriating tone of someone who has what someone else wants.
"Mr. Kuryakin, how interesting to find you here. Did I miss a memo back at the office?" Illya Kuryakin smiled at the apparent annoyance he had become. Oh well, it was not the first time.
"Mr. Waverly sent me down here, he thought you might need some help with the, um… situation."
Jake was watching the two men, aware that he was the topic at hand but slightly amused to be causing such a hubbub. He'd have to tell his granny about this, she'd get a hoot out of it.
Napoleon looked the Russian over from top to bottom. He wasn't wearing a suit, he was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt; there was grease all over the front and the obvious tactic of blending in with the locals, as much as one could blend in when saddled with an accent like his.
"I see, and have you…?"
"Yes. We have what we need and can return to Headquarters just as soon as I finish with Jake's little project. You are most welcome to wait and, hmmm… watch." There it was again, the little half smile that hid something that Napoleon was determined to ferret out. He'd finagle a mission with the upstart and figure out all of his secrets.
But not before Illya and Jake rebuilt the transmission and convinced Napoleon to take off his silk shirt and help them. Stripped down to a tee shirt like the other two men, it was only a matter of time before he relaxed and began to reveal a few characteristics to the cagey Russian; characteristics that would come in very handy someday.
Illya knew how to get secrets out of people too.
“I thought you liked summer,” Illya replied. “Especially as it means more female flesh on show.”
“I’m not complaining about that,” Solo said, wistfully. “I just worry what they will do?”
“They? Who are you talking about?”
“You know,” Napoleon whispered. “The ones on the other side of the screen who like to torment us. I just know they’ll have mentally dressed us in skimpy swimwear.”
“They will now you’ve said that,” Illya chided.
He looked around, wondering what they would have in store over the summer.