The Scent of an Agent - Short Affair - July 11th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Prompts - Wobble/Sky Blue
Word count (approx.) - 504

Despite it only being ten o’clock in the morning the man was clearly extremely inebriated. As he staggered and wobbled his way down the street, people moved away from him; not wishing to be near such a person. It was bad enough that he appeared to be covered in his own vomit, but he also smelled like week old urine.

Being the owner of the odour meant that Illya Kuryakin couldn’t get away from it. Every ounce of his will power was working to prevent him from adding to the stains on his shirt. To take his mind from his predicament, Illya threw himself into the role of drunken bum.

He staggered on, singing colourful sea shanties, and generally making a public nuisance of himself. Every so often, he took a swig from the bottle which was hidden inside the paper bag in his hand. Of course, it was merely water, but no-one was going to get close enough to him to check. The bag held more than a bottle. Safely ensconced at the bottom was an exceptionally sensitive microfilm. If the enemy were to get their hands on it, then they would have access to a top secret weapons laboratory.

As he weaved his way through the crowded street, Illya kept his eye out for his contact. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, he saw who he was looking for. It was another Section 2 agent, by the name of Harvey, and he was disguised as a police officer. Without making it too obvious, Illya headed his way.

As he approached the fake officer, he made a big play of stumbling, and landed in front of the man, and rolled onto his back.

“Are you okay, sir?” Harvey asked, before saying his code phrase. “It’s a little early in the day for festivities, don’t you think?”

“Good morning, occifer,” Illya slurred, and then recited his own code phrase. “Isn’t it an amazing coincidence that the colour of the sky is actually sky blue?”

Helping Illya to his feet, Harvey took the bottle from Illya, and tried not to gag at the horrendous aroma. Whoever had created Kuryakin’s disguise had done an excellent job with authenticity.

“I’ll be taking this, Sir. Maybe you should think about heading home.”

Cursing loudly, the Russian shrugged, and continued his wobbly journey. He went half a block before turning into an alley; undoing his fly as he went so that observers would assume he was going to relieve himself. In the alley he found his partner waiting. As he opened the car door, Napoleon thrust a pair of coveralls at him.

“You are not getting in my car smelling like that,” he told Kuryakin, holding a handkerchief over his nose.

For once, Illya didn’t argue. He quickly shed the offending garments and slipped into the clean, fresh-smelling coveralls.

“The hand-off went smoothly,” he reported, once he was finally in the vehicle. “Now, please get me back to HQ. I have an appointment with a long, hot shower.”

.

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[spikesgirl58.livejournal.com]

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