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section7mfu
It started with a woman opening a can of lobster bisque and almost choking on a broken tracking chip. A tracking chip which had been previously to be found in the upper right molar of Simon Bailey, an UNCLE agent who had been missing for three weeks.
“Moderately disgusting,” Napoleon declared. “I guess she's just lucky not to have found the rest of the tooth.”
“Unless she had already swallowed it,” Illya suggested darkly, and Napoleon pulled a face at the thought.
Simon had gone missing while investigating a THRUSH research lab. The information he'd provided had enabled them to shut the lab down, but by the time more agents had arrived, Simon had already been gone. Dead, everyone thought, but there had been no sign of a body. And now this, their only lead, and the lobster from the soup had apparently come from a lobster hatchery barely ten miles from the lab.
Obviously they had to check it out anyway, but there was still the chance Simon was alive. If this place was an interrogation centre...well, it wasn't hard to imagine a tooth getting dislodged and somehow ending up where it shouldn't. It wasn't impossible.
The hatchery seemed to consist of several sprawling metal sheds, all joined together around a low warehouse. A sign telling all visitors to wait outside creaked in the breeze. There was a dock out back, two dilapidated fishing boats moored at it. A heavy smell of seaweed and brine hung in the air.
“Not the most likely THRUSH base I've ever seen,” he murmured.
“That is supposed to be the point of a cover,” Illya replied. “But you are right. For something this far out of the way I would expect to see more signs of activity.”
Yeah. He nodded, wondering if perhaps this was all coincidence after all. Perhaps the chip had got into the soup by some other means.
“Wait,” Illya hissed, pulling him back and a second later he heard it too, the sound of a vehicle rumbling along the dirt road towards them. They vanished back into the undergrowth, taking cover as a delivery van rolled into view and up to the entrance. Two men jumped out and threw the doors open and a second later the door on the warehouse slid up and a small, spindly, awkward-looking man stepped out.
“You're late,” he said crossly to the driver.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Where d'ya want 'em? On the boat?”
“No, of course not, it's far too late,” Spindly said. “Take them inside....how many are there today?”
“Three,” the driver said, and, as Napoleon watched, incredulous, they started pulling body bags out of the back of the van. Ah, hell. Not an interrogation centre then - a corpse disposal centre.
“They must load them on the boats and dump them out at sea when it's dark,” he whispered.
“Perhaps...” Illya said slowly. “Those boats do not look as though they have moved in some time.”
Good point. He frowned. “More boats?” he hazarded. “Perhaps they go out during the day and Spindly there is simply minding the store.”
“Mmm. Perhaps.” Illya sounded doubtful and truthfully so was he.
They watched as the thrushies carried the body bags inside and Napoleon had to force himself to lie still and not interfere. Whoever those had been, they were entirely beyond help now. A direct confrontation won them nothing – they had no idea where the bodies had come from. Their car was parked a couple of miles away as they'd decided on the stealth approach but they still needed to investigate.
Once the three were inside for a moment, he nodded to Illya and kept careful watch as his partner sprinted silently over to the van. He'd just reached it when Napoleon saw the shadow approaching the doorway, so he gave the signal – the bird call which he swore sounded like a majestic eagle, and Illya insisted sounded like a drunk penguin – and watched, relieved, as Illya leapt up on top of the van and lay flat and out of sight.
“So we're done?” Spindly demanded sharply. “Good, good. Give Harry my regards. And don't let the door hit you on your way out. Now leave me alone. I've got a lot of work to do.” He stomped back inside, leaving the others to get in the van, and the moment they did Illya hopped across over to the building roof and safety.
Good. But he waited until the van had driven off before approaching. “Did you manage to plant the tracker in between climbing around like a monkey?” he asked enquiringly.
Unsurprisingly, he was answered with a scowl. “Of course. Wherever they go, we can follow.”
And so they should be able to find out where the dead people were coming from. Now to investigate where they were going.
Illya dropped down from the roof lightly and they took up position on either side of the door, guns in hand. At his nod, Illya dropped down and forced the door open, and Napoleon quickly ducked inside.
He found himself standing on a metal catwalk surrounding a large room covered with large tanks of water. Two of the body bags were stacked awkwardly by the doorway, and the third.....looking round, he spotted Spindly at the other side of the walkway, tipping the body down into one of the tanks with an almighty splash.
What? He looked down into the tank below him and through the murky water he could see movement. Dark, spiny lobsters scuttling over the floor, their tendrils waving, their thin legs scratching across the metal floor, their claws clacking together.
He put the body in the water. He put the body in the water with the lobsters. The tracker chip from Simon's tooth was in the soup.
Oh, God. He felt sick. Behind him, he heard Illya swearing under his breath.
“Don't move,” he said levelly, aiming his gun.
“Oh ho!” Spindly turned round slowly, gazing at them with apparent interest. “UNCLE agents, eh? Come to stop my work?”
“Most assuredly,” Illya said dryly.
“You just don't understand what I'm trying to do here,” he said, and it was like he'd been waiting for someone to talk to.
“You're feeding people to your lobsters,” he said, still staring fixedly at the man. “And then you're feeding them to people.”
“Well, yes,” Spindly said with what was almost an exasperated sigh. “No one understands. THRUSH wants me to dump these bodies at sea – such a waste! All that energy, lost to the wild. In so many places around the world our ancestors understood it. Consuming the flesh of your fallen enemies makes you stronger. I'm improving the human race, and they don't even know it! And the taste! Oh, the taste is sublime.... In fact I send my finest lobsters to all the heads of THRUSH North America every month. They always say that no other taste compares.”
“I would be willing to bet they do not know what they are eating,” Illya said, and Napoleon nodded. Yeah. He doubted it. Say what you wanted about THRUSH depravity, cannibalism was a new one.
“Of course you do not understand,” Spindly said glumly, and he reached towards his pocket.
They shot him at the same moment. Sleep darts. They would be able to interrogate him later....try and find out just what the hell he was doing – and just where it was that he'd been sending those lobsters. Damn. He shuddered, still feeling green around the gills.
Illya poked the unconscious Spindly contemplatively with his foot, and then knelt down and reached towards the tank. “Help me, will you?” he said, looking back at Napoleon.
“Of course,” he said, and they reached down and hauled the body out of the water, dragging it up onto the catwalk. Crabs fell off it from where they had already been swarming across it.
He looked at the man's face. No one he knew, thank god. There was a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.
“At least we will be able to identify him,” Illya said.
True. They both stood, gazing deeper into the warehouse, wondering just how many others might be lurking beneath the water. How long had this been going on? “I suppose Simon is long gone,” he said reluctantly. Dead and eaten. It was hard to believe. Impossible to stomach.
“In the wild, crabs can strip a body completely to the bone within three weeks,” Illya said remotely. “In these conditions, in such concentrations and with no other food source, it might take even less time.”
“Right.” He swallowed hard. “I took Brenda to Gamba Fish last night.”
“Ah.” Illya gazed at him sympathetically. “You had the lobster?”
“We both did. With parsley and lemon.” He pressed his hand against his mouth at the memory. “It was delicious.”
“You know, it probably did not come from here,” Illya offered.
“Thanks,” he said ironically. “You're such a comfort.” He sighed. “So how long do you reckon he'll last when THRUSH find out what he's been feeding them?”
“Not long.”
No. He gazed down into the water at the scuttling, insect like creatures below, each one filled with human flesh. “I'm never eating seafood again.”
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Date: 2015-11-24 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-24 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 08:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 02:10 am (UTC)"How's it taste?"
"It varies from person to person."
:D
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Date: 2015-11-25 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-25 04:31 am (UTC)I'm glad you didn't write this a month ago when I was visiting New Orleans and ate more seafood in seven days than I had in 17 years! Nicely written.
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Date: 2015-11-25 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2015-11-26 08:12 am (UTC)