"Looks can be deceiving" for the PicFic Tuesday Challenge 1/24/17

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

“Shouldn’t you be singing?”

Napoleon asked his gondolier who was dressed in a black pants, a typical horizontal black and white striped shirt, as well as a straw hat, encircled by a red ribbon. His neck was adorned with a red bandana that matched the wide red sash around his slim waist.

“Will you please give it a rest,” Illya hissed as he steered the boat down yet another of the many canals they'd already traveled.

“We should be nearing where you are meeting the contact. As you recall, I am here to give you cover just in case of unwanted visitors.”

“Sometimes you have no sense of humor, come on this is Venice where lovers meet.”

“And we are moving along the one of the biggest outdoor cesspools in the world. Not very conducive to romance or a healthy lifestyle.”

“It didn’t seem to bother the children we saw a ways back as they were diving and swimming in the canal.”

“They have no doubt built up a resistance to the germ-laden water.”

Napoleon shook his head. Sometimes his partner could be a bit too much.

Looking to his left; he became distracted by the sight of an attractive woman, her long bare legs dangling over the side of a dock. She was dressed in white, barely dressed that is, as it looked like she was wearing only a chemise.

“Whoa, hold on tovarisch...will you take a gander at that?”

Napoleon discreetly pointed to the scantily clad blonde creature; beside her was sitting a bottle of vino and two glasses. “Illya, stop the boat.”

“Napoleon, no! We are on assignment.”

“And I said alt, Signor. That, I believe, is our assignment. The wine bottle and glasses are the signal."

“And that seems a bit too alluring if you ask me. This might be a trap.”

“And who would know we’re meeting a contact along the canals of Venice?”

“And...and.” Illya was dumbfounded as he had no comeback to that.

Kuryakin watched as the woman waved to Solo, holding up a manila envelope.

“See, it’s my contact. Come on tovarisch, take me over there.”

Illya gave his partner the stink eye, but complied, though once manuvering the gondola close enough it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Once Napoleon got a look at ‘her’ he realized that she was a he. It was Agent Enrico Bellardi, a slightly built operative who was well known for his chameleon-like ability to change his appearance, even more so than the Russian.

“How’sa going Napoleone,” Enrico’s whisky voice crooned.

“It was going fine until I realized it was you. What’s with the get up?” Solo climbed out of the gondola, accepting a glass of wine as Bellardi discreetly passed him the envelope.



“Good disguise if ita fooled the greata Napoleone Solo.”

“Yeah right.”The American swallowed his drink in one gulp.

“This information needs to get to the Roma office as soon as possible,” Bellardi said. “Now I needa to get inside, I’m a little chilly and I’ve had to fenda off too many admirers.”

“Well maybe next time choose a less risqué disguise,” Solo snickered. “Ciao Enrico.”

“Ciao Napoleone. Buona fortuna.”

“Grazie Signorina,” Napoleon saluted as he climbed back into the gondola.

“You knew didn’t you Illya?”

“Me, why would you think that?”the Russian answered, feigning innocence.

“Just because I know you and your sense of humor. Now just for that, sing, and it make it something nice, Per favore?”

Illya watched as his partner set the envelope beneath his seat in the boat. Grinning, he broke out into a version of ‘O sole mio.’

“Ma n’atu sole Cchiù bello, oi ne’,’o sole mio sta nfronte a te! ’o sole, ’o sole mio sta nfronte a te, sta nfronte a te...”

“Good choice tovarisch,” Napoleon settled back for a nice, calm ride along the canal, that was until a small motor boat came out of nowhere and tapped them. The gondola tipped and Solo went flying into the water while Illya managed to maintain his footing, still holding onto his long oar.

Napoleon sputtered as he broke the surface of the water, hearing his partner cackling in a fit of laughter.

“Oh yeah?” Napoleon reached up and grabbed Kuryakin by the ankle and pulled him over; he landed with quite a loud splash.

The pilot of the boat rattled off in rapid Italian, profusely apologizing for the mishap, and motored off in a state of embarassment.

It was merely an accident, mere chance and not an attempt at stealing the envelope they had just received.

Several days later both men sat in Rome headquarters, listening in on a video conference with Alexander Waverly.

“Excellent work getting that information to our office there in such a timely manner, however gentlemen, I do not understand why every time you have an assignment in Venice that either or both of you wind up in the canals and catch cold.”

“Yes sir, odd coincidence that,” Napoleon coughed into his handkerchief as Illya sneezed rather loudly.