A Leaf Moves ~ chapter 5
Sep. 8th, 2012 11:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfulink to chapter 4: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/116152.html
____________________
Napoleon waited for word from his partner in a hotel in Villach, the second largest city in the Carinthian state in southern Austria, near the Drava River. He was starting to get worried as Illya had missed his check in by an hour and Illya never missed a check in unless he was in trouble.
The Russian’s communicator was not active; giving Napoleon only buzzing static when he tried to contact his partner.
He picked up a silver briefcase from the floor, putting it on the bed and opening it. Setting up a tracking unit stored inside, he raised an antenna on the outside edge of the case, before switching on the device; instantly there was a signal, a weak one, an agent in distress beacon on Illya’s frequency, but it lasted only a minute and disappeared.
“Damn,” Solo muttered, slamming the briefcase closed. He immediately pulled his communicator.
“Open Channel D- overseas relay, Waverly.”
“Yes Mr. Solo, was the operation a success?” Alexander Waverly asked with his usual aplomb.
“Sir, we have a problem. Mr. Kuryakin missed his last check in and activated his ‘agent in distress beacon.’ The signal lasted less than a minute, and went dead.”
“Bounce the data to us Mr. Solo and I will see if we can get a fix on the location.”
“Yes sir.” Napoleon reopened the case, turning the unit on again and adjusting it to sent the last signal received.”
“Yes we have it Mr. Solo, triangulating it now....yes. Mr. Kuryakin’s signal came from Belgrade, in the vicinity of….Knez Minailova Street. That is as specific as we can get. Find him Mr. Solo, and the information he was supposed to retrieve. It is vital that it be available to present to the United Nations Security Council.”
“Yes sir, Solo out.”
Napoleon punched his fist into a bed pillow; he hated when the Old Man got like that, putting Illya second to the mission, but he knew in truth, the mission always came first, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
That night he boarded a train bound for Yugoslavia, heading for Belgrade and using a cover as a French salesman for a wine import company.
His false identity papers, a small bribe and a several bottles of Marselan made the border crossing a simple task and afterwards he acquired a car for the remainder of his eight hour journey.
Upon arrival in Belgrade, the first thing he did was to head to Knez Minailova, Illya’s last known location. He searched the poorly lit street and its alleyways, dreading he would find the body of his partner, but instead he found nothing, not even a clue.
The next thing he needed to do was to find the contact Illya had spoken about, a man named Bojan Popović. He had no idea where to locate him, or what he did for a living, and after making inquiries he soon found out Popović was one of the most common names in the country. Napoleon realized finding the man would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had to try, as his window of opportunity was growing smaller with every passing moment.
Napoleon spent the next few days searching in vain, not finding the right Popović, as he discreetly flashed a picture of Illya to people he met on the street. He needed to be careful, and not draw the attention of the secret police.
There was only so much time before he would have to return to New York, with or without Illya and the documentation, as the Old Man wouldn’t let this go on forever.
A frustrating week later, after having no success in finding any signs of Kuryakin, Napoleon was recalled to New York and forced to abandon the search for his partner. The only thing of interest he’d found was a small newspaper article in Vjesnik, the major Croatian newspaper. It stated that the body of one Bojan Popović was found on the left bank of the Sava river, his death listed as a suicide.
This was too much of a coincidence in Napoleon’s mind, and the thought that his partner’s body might eventually be fished out of the river turned his stomach into a knot.
But his time was up, and he had no choice but to leave...”Illya,” he whispered, hoping the wind would carry his voice to his friend,
whereever he was.
.
Solo was restless on the flight home, not able to sleep, as his only thoughts were of his partner. Even the pretty stewardesses couldn’t pull him out of his funk. “Illya,” he muttered. “where the hell are you tovarisch.” He prayed the Russian was still alive and swore an oath to himself. “I’ll find you buddy, I promise.”
The weather was dismal and raining when his flight touched down at Kennedy Airport, but instead of an U.N.C.L.E. driver waiting there to pick him up, he was met by April Dancer and Mark Slate.
April was a ray of sunshine on a dull day, dressed in a blue-checkered mini dress, sporting a bright yellow slicker and rain hat, and standing beside her holding a closed black umbrella was her slightly damp partner.
“Welcome home guv.” Mark offered his hand. “Heard about Illya and figured you could use a warm welcome.”
April slipped her hand into Napoleon’s, leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I know you must feel pretty down right now, having had to leave off the search for him. We thought you might need some moral support.”
“Thanks you two,” he tried mustering a smile.” Yeah, I’m not feeling too happy right now.”
“How about we go have a few pints and relax? You can fill us in,” Mark asked. “Can’t hurt?” He shrugged.
“I’m supposed to report to Waverly for an assignment.” Napoleon answered downheartedly.
“You know what mate, to hell with him for once. You look like you could use a stiff drink, and if he questions why you’re late mate, tell him you were caught in traffic...what’s he going to do, fire his best agent over being late?”
“I second that,” April added.”Come one, our car’s parked just outside the terminal.”
Mark drove for a bit, finally ending up at a bar on South Conduit Ave. in Jamaica and there they sat at a booth in the back having their drinks, and letting Napoleon simply unwind.
“We’re here for you darling,” April rubbed his back as he bowed his head, feeling quite helpless. That was something Napoleon Solo was very unaccustomed to.
“Yeah mate, somethings gotta give and if you need us to help you find him, we’re with you.”
“Thanks.” Napoleon took a swallow from his pilsner glass, followed by a shot of whiskey.
April and Mark glanced at each other, unaccustomed to seeing their friend drink like that.
After a few more drinks Napoleon stopped, looking at his watch he announced, “Time to pay the piper, better get going to headquarters...”
.
He arrived at Waverly’s conference room, after having gone to his office to freshen up, brushing his teeth and using a little mouthwash to mask the smell of the liquor and to help in the process, he splashed on a little ‘Old Spice’ for good measure.
He sat in his usual seat at the table, with the chair Illya usually occupied next to him now ominously empty. He half listened as Waverly droned on about something, until he was called on the carpet by the Old Man for not paying attention.
“Young man, I am keenly aware that you are concerned about Mr. Kuryakin and though you may not believe it, so am I. Rest assured I have sent operatives into Yugoslavia to continue the search for him and I will let you know immediately if we hear anything positive. Understood?”
“Positive?” Solo thoughts brought more doubts; would Waverly tell him if Illya was found dead, or would he withhold that information to be given at a more opportune time. Waverly was no fool, he knew Illya’s death would affect his CEA for the worse. “What would he do if Illya had been killed? He knew he’d stay with U.N.C.L.E. of course, but he wouldn’t have another partner. Not this time, no one could replace Illya Kuryakin, neither as a partner or a friend.
“Yes sir, and thank you,” he replied, hoping that it would be positive news as the Old Man had promised.
“Yes, and please Mr. Solo, I know you’re upset, but next time Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer take you to a public house instead of reporting to headquarters...”
Napoleon hunched over with embarrassment. “Yes, sorry sir.” How the hell did the Old Man know?
“Hmm, quite, and now back to the task at hand. I am afraid G. Emory Partridge is up to no good again. Apparently he has taken over a small town in Vermont and is attempting to turn it into another East Snout, as it were. I’ll need you to go there to see what else he is up to...”
____________________
Napoleon waited for word from his partner in a hotel in Villach, the second largest city in the Carinthian state in southern Austria, near the Drava River. He was starting to get worried as Illya had missed his check in by an hour and Illya never missed a check in unless he was in trouble.
The Russian’s communicator was not active; giving Napoleon only buzzing static when he tried to contact his partner.
He picked up a silver briefcase from the floor, putting it on the bed and opening it. Setting up a tracking unit stored inside, he raised an antenna on the outside edge of the case, before switching on the device; instantly there was a signal, a weak one, an agent in distress beacon on Illya’s frequency, but it lasted only a minute and disappeared.
“Damn,” Solo muttered, slamming the briefcase closed. He immediately pulled his communicator.
“Open Channel D- overseas relay, Waverly.”
“Yes Mr. Solo, was the operation a success?” Alexander Waverly asked with his usual aplomb.
“Sir, we have a problem. Mr. Kuryakin missed his last check in and activated his ‘agent in distress beacon.’ The signal lasted less than a minute, and went dead.”
“Bounce the data to us Mr. Solo and I will see if we can get a fix on the location.”
“Yes sir.” Napoleon reopened the case, turning the unit on again and adjusting it to sent the last signal received.”
“Yes we have it Mr. Solo, triangulating it now....yes. Mr. Kuryakin’s signal came from Belgrade, in the vicinity of….Knez Minailova Street. That is as specific as we can get. Find him Mr. Solo, and the information he was supposed to retrieve. It is vital that it be available to present to the United Nations Security Council.”
“Yes sir, Solo out.”
Napoleon punched his fist into a bed pillow; he hated when the Old Man got like that, putting Illya second to the mission, but he knew in truth, the mission always came first, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
That night he boarded a train bound for Yugoslavia, heading for Belgrade and using a cover as a French salesman for a wine import company.
His false identity papers, a small bribe and a several bottles of Marselan made the border crossing a simple task and afterwards he acquired a car for the remainder of his eight hour journey.
Upon arrival in Belgrade, the first thing he did was to head to Knez Minailova, Illya’s last known location. He searched the poorly lit street and its alleyways, dreading he would find the body of his partner, but instead he found nothing, not even a clue.
The next thing he needed to do was to find the contact Illya had spoken about, a man named Bojan Popović. He had no idea where to locate him, or what he did for a living, and after making inquiries he soon found out Popović was one of the most common names in the country. Napoleon realized finding the man would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had to try, as his window of opportunity was growing smaller with every passing moment.
Napoleon spent the next few days searching in vain, not finding the right Popović, as he discreetly flashed a picture of Illya to people he met on the street. He needed to be careful, and not draw the attention of the secret police.
There was only so much time before he would have to return to New York, with or without Illya and the documentation, as the Old Man wouldn’t let this go on forever.
A frustrating week later, after having no success in finding any signs of Kuryakin, Napoleon was recalled to New York and forced to abandon the search for his partner. The only thing of interest he’d found was a small newspaper article in Vjesnik, the major Croatian newspaper. It stated that the body of one Bojan Popović was found on the left bank of the Sava river, his death listed as a suicide.
This was too much of a coincidence in Napoleon’s mind, and the thought that his partner’s body might eventually be fished out of the river turned his stomach into a knot.
But his time was up, and he had no choice but to leave...”Illya,” he whispered, hoping the wind would carry his voice to his friend,
whereever he was.
.
Solo was restless on the flight home, not able to sleep, as his only thoughts were of his partner. Even the pretty stewardesses couldn’t pull him out of his funk. “Illya,” he muttered. “where the hell are you tovarisch.” He prayed the Russian was still alive and swore an oath to himself. “I’ll find you buddy, I promise.”
The weather was dismal and raining when his flight touched down at Kennedy Airport, but instead of an U.N.C.L.E. driver waiting there to pick him up, he was met by April Dancer and Mark Slate.
April was a ray of sunshine on a dull day, dressed in a blue-checkered mini dress, sporting a bright yellow slicker and rain hat, and standing beside her holding a closed black umbrella was her slightly damp partner.
“Welcome home guv.” Mark offered his hand. “Heard about Illya and figured you could use a warm welcome.”
April slipped her hand into Napoleon’s, leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I know you must feel pretty down right now, having had to leave off the search for him. We thought you might need some moral support.”
“Thanks you two,” he tried mustering a smile.” Yeah, I’m not feeling too happy right now.”
“How about we go have a few pints and relax? You can fill us in,” Mark asked. “Can’t hurt?” He shrugged.
“I’m supposed to report to Waverly for an assignment.” Napoleon answered downheartedly.
“You know what mate, to hell with him for once. You look like you could use a stiff drink, and if he questions why you’re late mate, tell him you were caught in traffic...what’s he going to do, fire his best agent over being late?”
“I second that,” April added.”Come one, our car’s parked just outside the terminal.”
Mark drove for a bit, finally ending up at a bar on South Conduit Ave. in Jamaica and there they sat at a booth in the back having their drinks, and letting Napoleon simply unwind.
“We’re here for you darling,” April rubbed his back as he bowed his head, feeling quite helpless. That was something Napoleon Solo was very unaccustomed to.
“Yeah mate, somethings gotta give and if you need us to help you find him, we’re with you.”
“Thanks.” Napoleon took a swallow from his pilsner glass, followed by a shot of whiskey.
April and Mark glanced at each other, unaccustomed to seeing their friend drink like that.
After a few more drinks Napoleon stopped, looking at his watch he announced, “Time to pay the piper, better get going to headquarters...”
.
He arrived at Waverly’s conference room, after having gone to his office to freshen up, brushing his teeth and using a little mouthwash to mask the smell of the liquor and to help in the process, he splashed on a little ‘Old Spice’ for good measure.
He sat in his usual seat at the table, with the chair Illya usually occupied next to him now ominously empty. He half listened as Waverly droned on about something, until he was called on the carpet by the Old Man for not paying attention.
“Young man, I am keenly aware that you are concerned about Mr. Kuryakin and though you may not believe it, so am I. Rest assured I have sent operatives into Yugoslavia to continue the search for him and I will let you know immediately if we hear anything positive. Understood?”
“Positive?” Solo thoughts brought more doubts; would Waverly tell him if Illya was found dead, or would he withhold that information to be given at a more opportune time. Waverly was no fool, he knew Illya’s death would affect his CEA for the worse. “What would he do if Illya had been killed? He knew he’d stay with U.N.C.L.E. of course, but he wouldn’t have another partner. Not this time, no one could replace Illya Kuryakin, neither as a partner or a friend.
“Yes sir, and thank you,” he replied, hoping that it would be positive news as the Old Man had promised.
“Yes, and please Mr. Solo, I know you’re upset, but next time Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer take you to a public house instead of reporting to headquarters...”
Napoleon hunched over with embarrassment. “Yes, sorry sir.” How the hell did the Old Man know?
“Hmm, quite, and now back to the task at hand. I am afraid G. Emory Partridge is up to no good again. Apparently he has taken over a small town in Vermont and is attempting to turn it into another East Snout, as it were. I’ll need you to go there to see what else he is up to...”
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Date: 2012-09-08 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 06:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2012-09-08 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-08 07:43 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting. Appreciate it always!