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section7mfuApologies if this seems a little rushed. I'm at the tail end of a migraine and this is the only time I've had to write it.
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Prompt - What do you mean it's on its way?
Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had to drive almost two miles off the main highway before they found what they were looking for. It wasn’t at all what they expected.
Following up on information gained from a captured THRUSH operative, the agents were investigating an apparent chemical weapons plant. What they had been sent to was a derelict single-storied farmhouse; which was the only structure for miles around. Reaching the building, Illya brought his vehicle to a stop, a short distance from the door.
“Are you sure you followed the directions correctly?” asked Napoleon, as he climbed from the car.
“I know how to read a map, Napoleon,” Illya replied, surveying their surroundings. “Unlike some people I could mention.”
Solo narrowed his eyes at his partner’s barb, but didn’t rise to the bait. He was more concerned about the farmhouse. An uneasy feeling was beginning to settle in his stomach. Neither Napoleon nor Illya had been part of the interrogation which had yielded the information, but the operative had been in the hands of skilful questioners.
“Do you get the felling we’re being led into a trap?” he asked.
“Very much so,” Illya agreed. “It would seem we will have to walk in to it in order to discover what it is.”
Napoleon scanned the horizon, hoping to see something that would give him a clue as to what was going on. When nothing was forthcoming he looked back to the house.
“I don’t think it would be prudent for us both to go in,” he said to Illya. “I’ll check out the house, you wait out here. Call HQ and double check the gen. I’m really not happy about this.”
“And I am not happy with that plan,” Kuryakin countered. “You’re the CEA, and as such, I should be checking the house.”
Solo couldn’t stop his sigh from escaping. He and Illya had argued this point on more than one occasion, yet he couldn’t get the Russian to accept that he wasn’t his bodyguard. Admittedly, it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but putting oneself between a senior officer and danger had been ingrained deeply into Illya.
“I’m not going over this again, Tovarisch. Just keep an eye out for any danger out here.”
Napoleon drew his special and walked towards the house. Slowly and carefully, he made his way around the outside, peering through all the windows as he passed them. There was nothing to be seen within. Every piece of furniture and decoration seemed to have been stripped out years before. Reaching the front door, Solo pushed it open and entered the house.
As he’d seen from the outside, every room was empty; apart from one. One the wall of the kitchen, in a position which couldn’t be seen from outside, was a brand new telephone. The incongruity of it caused Napoleon to stop in his tracks. He glanced around him to check for danger before reaching out to the device.
Just as his hand touched the telephone, it began to ring. Only his years of training prevented Napoleon from dropping his weapon out of shock. The sudden sound in the silence would have caused lesser men to flee. Picking up the receiver, as much to stop the noise as anything, Napoleon lifted it to his ear.
“Hello,” he said, attempting to sound confident.
“It’s on its way, Mr Solo,” a deep voice stated.
“What do you mean it’s on its way?” Napoleon demanded. “Who are you? What’s on its way?”
“A bright and burning death.”
Whoever the voice belonged to hung up, leaving Napoleon to stare at the receiver. A couple of minutes later, his survival instinct kicked in. A bright and burning death could only mean one thing. As fast as he could, he darted from the house and ran back towards Illya.
“Get in and start the engine,” he yelled.
Illya didn’t question it. He simply did as asked, and as soon as Solo was in the car, he stepped on the gas. Thirty seconds later, the house exploded.
Kuryakin continued to drive for a few more seconds, and then slammed on the brakes. The two men got out of the vehicle and watched as the remnants of the house burned. Neither of them said a word for a while.
“It was definitely a trap,” Napoleon eventually commented, without any inflection in his voice.
“The THRUSH operative has been found dead in his cell,” Illya informed him, equally deadpan. “We’ll get nothing more from him.”
Solo glanced at his watched.
“Lunch?” He asked.
“Absolutely,” agreed Illya. “I believe you owe me.”
As they drove away, they both contemplated which member of THRUSH had set the trap for them, but neither of them discussed it. It didn’t profit anyone to dwell on such things.
.
............................................................................
Prompt - What do you mean it's on its way?
Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had to drive almost two miles off the main highway before they found what they were looking for. It wasn’t at all what they expected.
Following up on information gained from a captured THRUSH operative, the agents were investigating an apparent chemical weapons plant. What they had been sent to was a derelict single-storied farmhouse; which was the only structure for miles around. Reaching the building, Illya brought his vehicle to a stop, a short distance from the door.
“Are you sure you followed the directions correctly?” asked Napoleon, as he climbed from the car.
“I know how to read a map, Napoleon,” Illya replied, surveying their surroundings. “Unlike some people I could mention.”
Solo narrowed his eyes at his partner’s barb, but didn’t rise to the bait. He was more concerned about the farmhouse. An uneasy feeling was beginning to settle in his stomach. Neither Napoleon nor Illya had been part of the interrogation which had yielded the information, but the operative had been in the hands of skilful questioners.
“Do you get the felling we’re being led into a trap?” he asked.
“Very much so,” Illya agreed. “It would seem we will have to walk in to it in order to discover what it is.”
Napoleon scanned the horizon, hoping to see something that would give him a clue as to what was going on. When nothing was forthcoming he looked back to the house.
“I don’t think it would be prudent for us both to go in,” he said to Illya. “I’ll check out the house, you wait out here. Call HQ and double check the gen. I’m really not happy about this.”
“And I am not happy with that plan,” Kuryakin countered. “You’re the CEA, and as such, I should be checking the house.”
Solo couldn’t stop his sigh from escaping. He and Illya had argued this point on more than one occasion, yet he couldn’t get the Russian to accept that he wasn’t his bodyguard. Admittedly, it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but putting oneself between a senior officer and danger had been ingrained deeply into Illya.
“I’m not going over this again, Tovarisch. Just keep an eye out for any danger out here.”
Napoleon drew his special and walked towards the house. Slowly and carefully, he made his way around the outside, peering through all the windows as he passed them. There was nothing to be seen within. Every piece of furniture and decoration seemed to have been stripped out years before. Reaching the front door, Solo pushed it open and entered the house.
As he’d seen from the outside, every room was empty; apart from one. One the wall of the kitchen, in a position which couldn’t be seen from outside, was a brand new telephone. The incongruity of it caused Napoleon to stop in his tracks. He glanced around him to check for danger before reaching out to the device.
Just as his hand touched the telephone, it began to ring. Only his years of training prevented Napoleon from dropping his weapon out of shock. The sudden sound in the silence would have caused lesser men to flee. Picking up the receiver, as much to stop the noise as anything, Napoleon lifted it to his ear.
“Hello,” he said, attempting to sound confident.
“It’s on its way, Mr Solo,” a deep voice stated.
“What do you mean it’s on its way?” Napoleon demanded. “Who are you? What’s on its way?”
“A bright and burning death.”
Whoever the voice belonged to hung up, leaving Napoleon to stare at the receiver. A couple of minutes later, his survival instinct kicked in. A bright and burning death could only mean one thing. As fast as he could, he darted from the house and ran back towards Illya.
“Get in and start the engine,” he yelled.
Illya didn’t question it. He simply did as asked, and as soon as Solo was in the car, he stepped on the gas. Thirty seconds later, the house exploded.
Kuryakin continued to drive for a few more seconds, and then slammed on the brakes. The two men got out of the vehicle and watched as the remnants of the house burned. Neither of them said a word for a while.
“It was definitely a trap,” Napoleon eventually commented, without any inflection in his voice.
“The THRUSH operative has been found dead in his cell,” Illya informed him, equally deadpan. “We’ll get nothing more from him.”
Solo glanced at his watched.
“Lunch?” He asked.
“Absolutely,” agreed Illya. “I believe you owe me.”
As they drove away, they both contemplated which member of THRUSH had set the trap for them, but neither of them discussed it. It didn’t profit anyone to dwell on such things.
.
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Date: 2016-09-25 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-26 09:48 am (UTC)I had intended to write this on Saturday morning, but that was not to be. I'm glad you liked it :-)
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Date: 2016-09-25 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-26 09:49 am (UTC)I was going to have the voice simply reply with the word 'death', but I wanted something a little more sinister.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-26 09:50 am (UTC)The migraine is almost gone. I just have the fuzzy head I always get after one.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-27 10:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-27 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 10:08 pm (UTC)Best wishes for your migraine.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-26 09:54 am (UTC)I occasionally like to explore Illya's soviet training, and I believe he would have difficulty working with non-Soviet methods.