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section7mfuI apologise if this is a little late and a little long. I have a dispensation (not papal). I do hope it all makes sense....
Chapter 17
As the elevated railway clattered its way inexorably towards Brighton Beach, Napoleon surveyed the scene. His old trench coat, hastily retrieved from the ‘discarded’ pile in his closet, provided both disguise and adequate cover for his holstered gun and the large packet in his inside pocket. He looked round, inwardly shuddering at the coat. Towards the end of the carriage a girl sat reading, the book’s title, even at this distance, clearly Yiddish. Solo rated her as a nine in his estimation; striking long black hair, and matching long legs curled sideways as she sat wedged into the corner. There were just too many difficulties in taking this further he decided eventually, not least of them being what awaited him and Kuryakin in the neighbourhood he was rapidly approaching.
Cindy had been strangely cooperative, he reflected. The oft-repeated phrases and invitations hadn’t been required. It was almost as if she had known he would be coming and what he was looking for. Drawing a bulky brown envelope from a desk drawer, she had said, in what he thought was a slightly rehearsed voice,
‘Oh, this might be useful.’
He pulled the envelope out of his coat and laid it on his lap, using his finger to gently slide open the flap. He hadn’t wanted to open it at headquarters; here on the sparsely populated train seemed a safer place, away from prying eyes. He frowned at what he saw. A compliments slip was attached, Waverly’s familiar handwriting scrawled across it.
I hope this will be informative. AW
A slight screech signalled the application of the train’s brakes and the approach of the station. Napoleon stuffed the contents of the envelope back into his coat and got up. The girl was already at the door of the carriage before him, a mysterious smile lingering on her rather voluptuous red lips. She walked ahead of him along the platform and onto the steel steps leading to the street. Napoleon looked down, once again slightly disconcerted to see a bald head rather than the reassuringly messy blond one awaiting him below. As the girl reached street level, he heard her utter a kind of stifled scream and clutch Kuryakin’s shoulder, the distinctive words ‘Nyet’ followed by Illya’s voice, calming her. Napoleon had recently improved his Russian exponentially on the pillows of Yulia from translation, and so, hidden by a steel pillar, he heard Kuryakin explain about the baldness, and how she could remove his disguise, and anything else she might like to as well, but later.
Judging his time right, he appeared behind them.
‘Napoleon. I was wondering where you were’ Illya said, a slight flush seeping across his normally pale cheeks. ‘May I introduce you. Valeriya, this is Napoleon Solo. Napoleon, Valeriya. Lera’s parents live near to the building in question. She has agreed to help us and provide somewhere convenient for us to stay.’
Napoleon barely concealed a grin.
‘Uh-huh. Well that’s very kind of you, Miss….’
‘Kramarova’ she replied, smiling. ‘I’m sorry if you heard me scream’ she laughed, walking next to him, Illya slightly behind. ‘It was a shock seeing Illyusha like that.’ Napoleon smiled, noting the diminutives.
‘Well he does look very different, that’s for sure. Perhaps he’ll grow to like it so much…’
‘Nyet’ she repeated, her faint smile repeated in Kuryakin’s face behind them. ‘That will never happen.’
They sat round a table, faint noises from the café below seeping into the conversation from time to time. Spread over it were the contents of the envelope together with three large cups of very strong coffee.
‘So you think he had this waiting for you?’ Illya said, opening and flattening the paper onto the table.
‘Definitely. Look at the slip. What I can’t quite understand is why a map of the New York Telephone Company phone lines and exchanges is relevant to all this.’
Illya sat back, sipping his coffee.
‘Oh I think I can. I visited Rabbi Bruk at the Jewish Centre this morning, on Lerusha’s advice.’
‘Naturally.’
Illya frowned then continued. ‘After advising me to get over the shock of losing my hair in the accident, and other family advice, we talked for some time.’
‘And?’
‘There is a synagogue here’ he pointed to a block on the map, ‘whose Rabbi has made a complaint to the authorities about drilling noises and disruption to their phone line. That building is directly behind the Kosher butcher and the Satrapy that was discovered. Napoleon, when that building was searched, did they discover a cellar of any kind? Lera tells me that all the buildings here have cellars.’
Napoleon thought for a while. He had read the report Section III had prepared. There was definitely no mention of any cellar or underground rooms.
‘So, what you are saying, is that there is a hidden room somewhere underground.’
‘Precisely. Now, look at the telephone map. I have a feeling this was found at the scene and given to Waverly.’ They all leaned forward over the map together, Valeriya’s face close to Illya’s.
‘Look.’ A thin, barely discernible pencil line had been drawn from the block in Brighton Beach stretching across New York. Illya traced the line to its conclusion. Valeriya gasped and looked at them both.
‘The United Nations Building!’
Illya glanced at Napoleon from under his glasses. ‘Lera works at the UN Secretariat. She is an expert in Slavic languages.’
‘Of course.’
Illya took off his glasses and scratched his head; carefully.
‘This is only conjecture based on very little factual evidence, but, I believe there may be some breach of UN security being attempted here. But that is not the real point of all this.’
Napoleon sighed and picked up his coffee, waiting. Illya stood up and went to the window, glancing down at the steady stream of customers entering and leaving the café.
‘Call me paranoid, but the object of this attack is not just a breach of UN security’ he said gravely. I’m sure that your friend Richards at the FBI will soon track back the leak to here in Little Russia, which no doubt will be made obvious to him in some way. And he will conclude, I imagine, that it is the Soviet government who are behind the breach when he finds the underground room and its incriminating evidence. You Americans may not like us very much’ he added, looking fondly at Valeriya, ‘but for the sake of world peace we need to find some way of working together, and at the moment the United Nations seems the place to do it.’
Napoleon stared at both of them over his coffee cup. Working with Illya, entering his world had profoundly changed his own attitude to so many things, even though he had always considered himself a liberal thinker. He put the cup down.
‘Just one last thing before we go and find this underground cellar of yours’ he said. ‘Why did Agent Fake and his merry men try to take you out?’ Illya returned to the table and sat down.
‘Because they knew that if I discovered the evidence, I would know instantly what they were up to, and we would avert an international incident….. once again’ he added rather despairingly.
Napoleon put down his cup and folded up the plan.
‘OK children, we’d better just pick up a dinky little piece of explosive and be on our merry way.’
Chapter 17As the elevated railway clattered its way inexorably towards Brighton Beach, Napoleon surveyed the scene. His old trench coat, hastily retrieved from the ‘discarded’ pile in his closet, provided both disguise and adequate cover for his holstered gun and the large packet in his inside pocket. He looked round, inwardly shuddering at the coat. Towards the end of the carriage a girl sat reading, the book’s title, even at this distance, clearly Yiddish. Solo rated her as a nine in his estimation; striking long black hair, and matching long legs curled sideways as she sat wedged into the corner. There were just too many difficulties in taking this further he decided eventually, not least of them being what awaited him and Kuryakin in the neighbourhood he was rapidly approaching.
Cindy had been strangely cooperative, he reflected. The oft-repeated phrases and invitations hadn’t been required. It was almost as if she had known he would be coming and what he was looking for. Drawing a bulky brown envelope from a desk drawer, she had said, in what he thought was a slightly rehearsed voice,
‘Oh, this might be useful.’
He pulled the envelope out of his coat and laid it on his lap, using his finger to gently slide open the flap. He hadn’t wanted to open it at headquarters; here on the sparsely populated train seemed a safer place, away from prying eyes. He frowned at what he saw. A compliments slip was attached, Waverly’s familiar handwriting scrawled across it.
I hope this will be informative. AW
A slight screech signalled the application of the train’s brakes and the approach of the station. Napoleon stuffed the contents of the envelope back into his coat and got up. The girl was already at the door of the carriage before him, a mysterious smile lingering on her rather voluptuous red lips. She walked ahead of him along the platform and onto the steel steps leading to the street. Napoleon looked down, once again slightly disconcerted to see a bald head rather than the reassuringly messy blond one awaiting him below. As the girl reached street level, he heard her utter a kind of stifled scream and clutch Kuryakin’s shoulder, the distinctive words ‘Nyet’ followed by Illya’s voice, calming her. Napoleon had recently improved his Russian exponentially on the pillows of Yulia from translation, and so, hidden by a steel pillar, he heard Kuryakin explain about the baldness, and how she could remove his disguise, and anything else she might like to as well, but later.
Judging his time right, he appeared behind them.
‘Napoleon. I was wondering where you were’ Illya said, a slight flush seeping across his normally pale cheeks. ‘May I introduce you. Valeriya, this is Napoleon Solo. Napoleon, Valeriya. Lera’s parents live near to the building in question. She has agreed to help us and provide somewhere convenient for us to stay.’
Napoleon barely concealed a grin.
‘Uh-huh. Well that’s very kind of you, Miss….’
‘Kramarova’ she replied, smiling. ‘I’m sorry if you heard me scream’ she laughed, walking next to him, Illya slightly behind. ‘It was a shock seeing Illyusha like that.’ Napoleon smiled, noting the diminutives.
‘Well he does look very different, that’s for sure. Perhaps he’ll grow to like it so much…’
‘Nyet’ she repeated, her faint smile repeated in Kuryakin’s face behind them. ‘That will never happen.’
They sat round a table, faint noises from the café below seeping into the conversation from time to time. Spread over it were the contents of the envelope together with three large cups of very strong coffee.
‘So you think he had this waiting for you?’ Illya said, opening and flattening the paper onto the table.
‘Definitely. Look at the slip. What I can’t quite understand is why a map of the New York Telephone Company phone lines and exchanges is relevant to all this.’
Illya sat back, sipping his coffee.
‘Oh I think I can. I visited Rabbi Bruk at the Jewish Centre this morning, on Lerusha’s advice.’
‘Naturally.’
Illya frowned then continued. ‘After advising me to get over the shock of losing my hair in the accident, and other family advice, we talked for some time.’
‘And?’
‘There is a synagogue here’ he pointed to a block on the map, ‘whose Rabbi has made a complaint to the authorities about drilling noises and disruption to their phone line. That building is directly behind the Kosher butcher and the Satrapy that was discovered. Napoleon, when that building was searched, did they discover a cellar of any kind? Lera tells me that all the buildings here have cellars.’
Napoleon thought for a while. He had read the report Section III had prepared. There was definitely no mention of any cellar or underground rooms.
‘So, what you are saying, is that there is a hidden room somewhere underground.’
‘Precisely. Now, look at the telephone map. I have a feeling this was found at the scene and given to Waverly.’ They all leaned forward over the map together, Valeriya’s face close to Illya’s.
‘Look.’ A thin, barely discernible pencil line had been drawn from the block in Brighton Beach stretching across New York. Illya traced the line to its conclusion. Valeriya gasped and looked at them both.
‘The United Nations Building!’
Illya glanced at Napoleon from under his glasses. ‘Lera works at the UN Secretariat. She is an expert in Slavic languages.’
‘Of course.’
Illya took off his glasses and scratched his head; carefully.
‘This is only conjecture based on very little factual evidence, but, I believe there may be some breach of UN security being attempted here. But that is not the real point of all this.’
Napoleon sighed and picked up his coffee, waiting. Illya stood up and went to the window, glancing down at the steady stream of customers entering and leaving the café.
‘Call me paranoid, but the object of this attack is not just a breach of UN security’ he said gravely. I’m sure that your friend Richards at the FBI will soon track back the leak to here in Little Russia, which no doubt will be made obvious to him in some way. And he will conclude, I imagine, that it is the Soviet government who are behind the breach when he finds the underground room and its incriminating evidence. You Americans may not like us very much’ he added, looking fondly at Valeriya, ‘but for the sake of world peace we need to find some way of working together, and at the moment the United Nations seems the place to do it.’
Napoleon stared at both of them over his coffee cup. Working with Illya, entering his world had profoundly changed his own attitude to so many things, even though he had always considered himself a liberal thinker. He put the cup down.
‘Just one last thing before we go and find this underground cellar of yours’ he said. ‘Why did Agent Fake and his merry men try to take you out?’ Illya returned to the table and sat down.
‘Because they knew that if I discovered the evidence, I would know instantly what they were up to, and we would avert an international incident….. once again’ he added rather despairingly.
Napoleon put down his cup and folded up the plan.
‘OK children, we’d better just pick up a dinky little piece of explosive and be on our merry way.’
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Date: 2016-05-15 07:55 pm (UTC)A very good (I mean bad) plot by THRUSH. And I can't help quoting avert an international incident…..once again'he added rather despairingly.
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Date: 2016-05-15 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-15 08:10 pm (UTC)Wow only two chapters left!
Well done as always my friend!
Merci mercie ma cherie!
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Date: 2016-05-15 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2016-05-18 04:13 pm (UTC)