Feb. 5th, 2013

[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com




Under normal circumstances, of which there were few, the bills might have made it past an unobservant customer and safely into the hands of the waiter, the co-conspirator whose only means of communicating with his comrades was the passing of money that they configured into cryptic messages. 
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[identity profile] alynwa.livejournal.com
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No one knew why, but for some reason, it seemed like every bad guy and bad organization in the world was on vacation. Try as they might, UNCLE Sections II, III and IV couldn’t scare up a peep of Intel suggesting nefarious activity anywhere on the planet. The world of espionage was quiet as a tomb and half as busy; which was a great thing for the world, but made for an excruciatingly boring time for agents used to living on the edge.

In the New York headquarters, Napoleon tossed a form into his “Out” box and announced, “Mark this day on your calendar, Partner Mine: I am caught up with my paperwork.”

Illya looked up from his magazine and raised his eyebrows at his office mate who was now attempting to balance a pen on his nose. “You mean…?”

“Everything. Everything. My share of our mission reports, all of my expense reports, every single expense and mission report from every other team. I have prepared all my evaluation reports for all probationary agents for the Old Man’s review and signature. Look at my “Inbox;” it hasn’t been empty since 1960! I should take a picture.” He reached into his bottom drawer, extracted his Polaroid camera and practically blinded the Russian when the flashbulb flashed white hot. Pulling the film out to develop he said, “The next time I’m stressed about a mission, this will remind me what having nothing to do feels like.”

Illya had closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the negative images flitting across his vision. “Thank you, Napoleon,” he snarled sarcastically, “I had been wondering what having my retinas fried would feel like. If you do not mind, I would like to continue to read my magazine.”

Napoleon squinted. “Is that Vogue?

“I have other interests besides quantum physics.” With that, the blond turned his attention back to the editorial he had been perusing.

Knowing that another interruption might result in bodily harm, Napoleon began to entertain himself; first by balancing his pen again on his nose, then his forehead and index fingers. A glare from across the desk when he dropped the pen for the third time prompted him to find a quieter distraction. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out three singles and began to play with them. He started making some basic origami folds. Liking what he saw, he began making folds in earnest. Letters came together to form words and he folded and refolded until an entire sentence emerged. Feeling a little bit cocky and proud, he silently tossed the intertwined bills across to land on Illya’s magazine.

Illya picked the package and read “We need a revolution” formed by Napoleon’s intricate folds. “Most impressive, Tovarisch; I see I am not the only one who has other interests. When did you learn to do this?”

“Summer camp…Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Illya had tucked the money into his shirt pocket. “You have owed me for breakfast for three days. I will keep this as repayment and because it reminds me of the Beatles’ new song, ‘Revolution.’” He smiled wickedly. “You should never give me money when you owe me money, Napoleon; you know better.”

The American sighed, “I do, now. Let’s go get coffee.”

“Fine. You’re paying.”

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com



The handoff was simple, just one man reaching out to another as they passed by, walking in opposite directions.  No one was the wiser that something had taken place on the crowded New York street.  The din of the city surrounded them, with people scurrying on about their business, and one could only imagine their reaction if they were told such things were going on around them on a daily basis.



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The handoff was simple, just one man reaching out to another as they passed by, walking in opposite directions.  No one was the wiser that something had taken place on the crowded New York street.  The din of the city surrounded them, with people scurrying on about their business, and one could only imagine their reaction if they were told such things were going on around them on a daily basis.


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