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section7mfu
After indulging Kuryakin’s scientific curiosity, and letting him gather fish and water samples from six different locations, they had one more stop before returning to the Napoleon’s yacht.
Illya pulled his communicator, contacting the Rhode Island office requesting for a helicopter to come collect the samples. Shortly after the agents arrived at the airport on the way back from the Coast Guard Station, they were met by the chopper that took but twelve minutes to fly over from the mainland.
Block island was not only accessible by air, but by ferry year round from Point Judith on the coast of Narragansett, Rhode Island on the western side of Narragansett Bay. There it opened out onto Rhode Island Sound; in summer to New London, Connecticut; Montauk, New York; and Newport, Rhode Island. Still the traditional ferry took about an hour to reach the island from Point Judith. Having their little airport became a necessity, for more expeditious travel.
Illya approached the two man helicopter as it settled on the tarmac just behind the small terminal; his hair whipping wildly as the main rotor slowed its rotation.
He had a paper sack containing the specimens in his hand; each jar carefully labeled by him as to where they were collected along the coast.
Kuryakin stepped up on the landing strut and leaned in as the pilot waved to him. The noise from the engine was still loud, forcing Illya to raise his voice in order to be heard.
“I WANT A FULL ANALYSIS ON THESE SAMPLES. CHECKING FOR LEVELS OF BREVETOXINS AS WELL AS ANYTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY UNDERSTOOD?”
“GOT YOU MR. KURYAKIN. WILL NOTIFY YOU OF THE RESULTS IMMEDIATELY.”
Illya tapped the pilot on the shoulder before stepping down and away from the aircraft. Ducking below the blades; he backed off and watched as the helicopter took off.
“Happy tovarisch?” Napoleon said.
“Immensely, thank you. Now we can go eat.”
“Not quite yet. We still need to clean up, and I don’t know about you but I feel like I stink of dead fish, or is that you I smell Illya?”
The Russian clicked his tongue, admitting sheepishly that his partner was probably right. He’d trundled around on the shore line amongst the countless carcasses of dead fish, so he was a bit...rank himself.
After heading back to the Pursang, the men freshened up and changed their clothing, all wearing jackets and ties as Napoleon told them they were required for dinner.
Their next destination was the Block Island Boating Club, located on the eastern side of the Great Salt Pond just about one mile North of town, so they basically headed back in the same direction from which they’d come. Since the island was so small it seemed immaterial.
Napoleon took the lead this time and they arrived within minutes, parking their mopeds in the lot outside the clubhouse that was situated right on the water’s edge.
“I know where all dressed up,”Mark said, “but is this place posh right? I mean we’re not going to be served creamed chipped beef on toast are we?”
“No Mark, not to worry,”Napoleon shivered, suddenly remembering ‘shit on a shingle’ from his army days.” I assure you the cuisine here will be fine.”
“As long as it is not fish,” Illya mumbled.
“Too right mate,”Kitt agreed.
The two story building had a back deck that overlooked the pond, a small dock with a number of slips that were mostly empty.
They were met at the door, and though Napoleon wasn’t known to the Sergeant at Arms, a brief introduction allowed them entrance as guests; given Solo’s family history there.
They would have opted to eat on deck, as it was like a veranda with a spectacular view overlooking the Great Salt Pond. A surprisingly few yachts were anchored not far offshore, but even there the continuous odor of dead fish seemed inescapable.
At least with the club doors and windows closed and the air conditioning on, that helped to alleviate some of the stench, that and the copious number of freshly cut flowers that were strategically set in vases around the dining area.
A snappily dressed waiter approached the table.
“Good evening gentlemen, my name is Bernard. Might I interest you in cocktails this evening?”
“Yes, hello Bernard,” Napoleon spoke up. “I’ll have Hennessey on the rocks, and my friend here vodka straight up and the other gentlemen...
“No, make that a dirty martini with Stolichnaya vodka,” Illya asked. He decided to go a bit more cosmopolitan.
“We have Absolut vodka sir.”
“That will be fine,” he nodded.
“Beer for me,” said Mark.
“Ditto,” Kitt added.
“Which kind gentlemen? Ballantine or Schaefer's?”
“How about two of each mate?” Kitt said, winking at Slate.
“Very good gentlemen.” He handed them the menu cards, and the agents didn’t waste time deciding on the steak and lobster tails, given Napoleon was paying; an offer he was probably going to regret.
What the heck, he figured they were doing him a favor by crewing for him, even though he had to blackmail his partner into coming along. Illya could have gotten out of it if he’d really tried. Even if the regatta was cancelled, it could still turn into a nice sailing trip, at least once they got away from all these dead fish.
The dinner and drinks were more than satisfying and the conversation light, with Slate and Kittridge throwing jokes back and forth at each other. They kept ordering beers while Kuryakin went a little easy on the drink refills so as to not bankrupt his partner, who’d probably want to borrow money from him anyway.
The more interesting thing was the conversations around them as they automatically eavesdropped on during dinner, listening to the complaints of the locals about the fish kill.
It was the consensus of opinion that this was the worst fish kill in the history of the island. A small pod of dolphins had been found in distress and had been taken away by a mainland Cetacean rescue group. They would most likely live as they’d been found in time.
“The test results on those dolphins; I would be very interested in hearing,” Illya leaned over to his partner; whispering to him. “I will contact the Rhode Island office to look into it.”
There were comments by several other diners about the low number of yachts anchored in the Pond; presupposing the regatta and subsequent July activities would all be cancelled.
After dinner Napoleon, Mark and Kitt helped themselves to cigars offered them by Bernard and they walked out to the deck to smoke them, enjoying an after dinner aperitif as well. The strong odor of the stogies helped mask the fishy smell.
Illya decided he’d had enough of the eau de fish, and most certainly didn’t relish the heady smell of cigars mixed with it. Rather than going back to the Pursang, he suggested booking rooms for them at the Spring Hill Hotel in town.
He wanted to not be in a bunk rocking to and fro in the harbor, breathing in that stench.
After nodding their agreement about the hotel rooms they said they’d meet him there later on. Apparently drinking was their game plan for the evening, but Illya was not in the mood for it.
He mused to himself, knowing that if he drank vodka, matching them shot for shot; he would drink them under the table, as Napoleon would say. Even if Solo competed with his Hennessy, Illya knew he could best him as well.
Arriving at the hotel, Kuryakin parked his moped and entered the spacious but quaint establishment.
White with red roofing like the Coast Guard station; it had a long porch that wrapped around the building, outfitted with very comfortable looking white lounge chairs that lined up in a row on the green grass, over looking over the water.
It gave the appearance of the perfect spot to relax. After registering Illya planned to do exactly that. He’d watch the sunset, and perhaps some of the comings and goings of the locals while he waited for the lab results, as long as the wind had shifted that is.
The interior of the hotel was a bit like stepping back in time with its darkwood furnishings, luxurious wool carpets and of antique trappings.
The desk clerk greeted him with a cheerful smile. She was blonde perhaps in her mid-twenties, pretty with blue-grey eyes and well tanned skin. Her name tag read ‘Madeleine.’
“I would like a room for myself as well as to reserve three more for my friends who will arrive shortly. Do you have any available?”
He realized after asking that it was a silly question, given the tourists had all been chased off the island.
“If you’re here for peace and quiet then normally I’d suggest a back or side room, as it’s a bit noisy over the lounge, “she said.
“Normally?”
“Well as you can see we’re not very busy given the problem…”
“Yes I am aware of the problem with the fish,” he cut her off, finding the discussion of it somewhat tedious. He’d heard it all already. The topic though mildly interesting when he first heard it seemed to be the only one the locals were talking about ad nauseum, or so it seemed.
“Oh sorry. Guess you’re tired of hearing about it huh?”
“I apologize for cutting you off, but yes it does seem to be the only thing people are going on about today and how it is affecting the economy here.”
“That’s for sure.”
Illya in a rare moment turned on the charm and flirted with her. “And how long have you been working here my dear?”
“Oh since I was a teenager. I was born and raised on the island, though I went to the mainland to go to school. Majored in hospitality in college, since my family owns the hotel here. It’s the oldest on the island.”
“So I have heard,” he leaned his elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his hand.
“Now Madeleine,” he looked at her name tag again, though he already knew it but pretended he didn’t.
“what would you recommend as far as my room is concerned?”
“Oh, number 12 that’s a really nice one, good view and quiet. It was just renovated before the start of the season. Freshly painted and wall papered, a new bed and bedding as well.”
“Excellent, and if you would please reserve the rooms for my friends as well? You will not have any difficulty recognizing them when they arrive as they will be the ones smelling of cigars, beer and scotch.”
Madeleine giggled. “Sure, though I don’t think they’ll need to worry about getting a room. The hotel is pretty much empty,” she sighed. “If you’d please sign our guestbook?”
He did so, and she turned it around to read his name.”
“Illya Kuryakin? Did I say that correctly?”
“Very good, yes you did. Most people do mispronounce it.”
“You’re not from here...Russian I’d guess?” There was no suspicion or condescension in her voice, given the Cold War was still going strong between the United States and the U.S.S.R.
He gave her another nod of approval and a cover story, adding half lie to a bit of truth.
“My parent’s were from Russia but escaped right before the war and I was raised in London. I am here to crew for my friend who was planning on racing in the regatta but sadly I think that will not happen.”
“Don’t want to sleep on a boat in the middle of all those dead fish huh? And you left your luggage on the boat, right? “
“Correct on both counts Madeleine. You are quite observant.”
“Not much else to do but people watch when you’re stuck behind a desk all day. Say would you like a cup of coffee? I’m going to take a little break out on the porch; care to join me?”
“I would like that very much, thank you,” he gave her one of his crooked smiles.
“Or would you prefer tea with a little raspberry jam?”
That surprised the canny Russian.
“Why yes? How did you know I would?”
“I had a roommate at college whose parents were Russian too, and she drank it that way. I kind of like it myself as I became accustomed to drinking it with her like that.”
Illya again nodded; he was impressed.
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Date: 2016-03-08 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 07:19 pm (UTC)I like your three grades of cooking!
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Date: 2016-03-08 07:59 pm (UTC)I'm glad they didn't have to eat the SOS.
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Date: 2016-03-08 08:32 pm (UTC)Thanks for the great comments!
And yes no SOS on the menu. Hoping there'll be a few more SOS stories, since the it was such a hot topic last week.
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Date: 2016-03-08 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-09 03:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-09 03:29 am (UTC)