The Fortune Cookie Affair - Chapter 9
Sep. 23rd, 2015 08:48 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuAs each cookie was opened, the fortune was checked and then dropped onto the floor. No-one had any real idea what they were looking for and were basically trying to spot something which clearly wasn’t a fortune.
“Next time I have Chinese food, I’m going to ask them not to include a cookie,” moaned Mark, as he started on a new box. “If I never see another one again, it will be too soon.”
Sitting beside him, Illya agreed, though Mark couldn’t help but notice that the Russian was eating his way through a fair few of them.
"Where did Napoleon disappear to?” the Brit asked, looking around the room.
“He went to interrogate Ecks,” Illya told him, somewhat tetchily. “Personally, I think he found the first excuse he could to avoid getting his suit covered in crumbs.”
Before Mark could comment on the probable truth of Illya’s statement, a call from the other side of the room grabbed their attention.
“I have it,” cried Sylvia Barton, before she waded through the debris to hand it to Illya.
The agent looked at what was written on the paper and visibly paled.
“Keep looking,” he ordered. “I must see Mr Waverly.”
.
“Next time I have Chinese food, I’m going to ask them not to include a cookie,” moaned Mark, as he started on a new box. “If I never see another one again, it will be too soon.”
Sitting beside him, Illya agreed, though Mark couldn’t help but notice that the Russian was eating his way through a fair few of them.
"Where did Napoleon disappear to?” the Brit asked, looking around the room.
“He went to interrogate Ecks,” Illya told him, somewhat tetchily. “Personally, I think he found the first excuse he could to avoid getting his suit covered in crumbs.”
Before Mark could comment on the probable truth of Illya’s statement, a call from the other side of the room grabbed their attention.
“I have it,” cried Sylvia Barton, before she waded through the debris to hand it to Illya.
The agent looked at what was written on the paper and visibly paled.
“Keep looking,” he ordered. “I must see Mr Waverly.”
.
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