The Ducks of St James' Park - Short Affair 25th Jan

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Prompt Word - Duck
Prompt Colour - Silver
Word Count - 790

The Ducks of St James' Park

“Are you sure Borrs doesn't know you don't work for the KGB anymore?” Napoleon asked into his communicator from his position concealed behind a clump of nearby trees.

“Five,” Illya said succinctly.

Napoleon blinked. “Five?” he repeated. He could see his partner standing by the lake, already surrounded by a swarm of expectant ducks.

“That is now five times you have asked me that,” Illya explained. He had his back to Napoleon, so he couldn't see his face, but Napoleon could still picture the look of irritation on his partner's face.

He grinned. “Just checking you're paying attention, tovarisch.” Truthfully, even though this had been as much his plan as Illya's, now it came to it he wasn't completely happy. There were too many things that could go wrong. Borrs knew Illya from back when he had been a KGB agent stationed in England, and if he realised that this was a trick and Illya now actually worked for UNCLE – or if the KGB got wind that Illya was impersonating one of their agents – then the consequences could get very serious very quickly.

He saw a stooped-over man in a long raincoat approaching, straggly silver hair visible beneath his trilby. That certainly matched the description Illy had given him. Good. They needed to secure this information before THRUSH did. No one had been able to figure out quite how a list of undercover THRUSH agents had made its way into the hands of a mid-level crook like Borrs, but it had. And UNCLE wanted to get it just as much as THRUSH wanted to get it back.

Unfortunately there was no way Borrs was going to talk to UNCLE directly – they were too obviously law enforcement for that. But he was a known London contact of the KGB and apparently the old dead drop Illya had used was still effective. Napoleon had politely affected not to see the location of see the location of the dead drop. The chances were Illya wasn't even still supposed to know that.

Borrs approached the edge of the lake, standing a few feet from Illya and both men drew out paper bags and started tossing scraps of bread towards the ducks, who frantically crowded closer, with a chorus of quacks.

Illya had left his communicator open so Napoleon could hear the conversation. “So,” Borrs grunted. “You're back.”

“Yes,” Illya said shortly, and even in that one word his accent was obviously thicker.

That provoked another grunt. “Good. Your replacement was an idiot. So was the fool they replaced him with. Not surprised he got himself dead.”

“I did not come here to discuss internal security matters,” Illya said coldly. “You have information we require.”

“Mmph.” Borrs paused for a moment, and the quacking grew to cacophonous levels as the ducks fought over a particularly large piece of bread. “I do have the information,” he said slowly, sliding a brown envelope out of his coat pocket. “There's been a lot of interest in this, you know. A lot of strangers. And you show up after all this time.”

“I've got the money,” Illya said, gesturing at the briefcase at his feet. “What else do you want?”

A sudden movement at the corner of his eye drew Napoleon's attention away from the exchange. Hmmm. There was someone sneaking around the building on the island in the middle of the loch. Napoleon didn't recognise him, but since he was holding a THRUSH rifle, he didn't really need to. He started picking his way around the treeline, and by the time the THRUSH agent raised his rifle, he was in position to aim and fire.

Simultaneously at the sound of the gunshot; the THRUSH agent fell; Borrs whirled round to stare wildly towards Napoleon; and the ducks erupted into furious, quacking flight.

“You set me up!” Borrs shouted loudly, and he threw the brown envelope towards the water, and as Illya dived to save it, took off running.

Napoleon let him go, instead jogging towards the lake where Illya was lying submerged among the weeds, only his hand, triumphantly clutching the envelope, still held aloft.

“Are you alright?” Napoleon asked curiously, as Illya sat up, spitting out a mouthful of dirty water. The ducks, still ruffled and indignant, settled in around him.

“We have the list and we have the money,” Illya said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I should call that a success, wouldn't you?”

“Mmmm.” Napoleon surveyed his soggy partner solemnly. “If you think I'm getting into a taxi with you in that state, pal, you're absolutely quackers.”

“I hate you,” Illya told him with feeling.

Napoleon grinned.

Comments

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Poor Napoleon, wouldn't want his suit to get messed up. Real cute

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! No, his suit is the most important thing here. :)