Higher Objectives Chapter 11 by mrua7

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The room where Kuryakin was being held was not meant to be a cell, per se. There was however only one door, most likely with a guard standing nearby.

He suspected from the old brickwork that he was in some sort of basement.  Little Russia was made up of some very old buildings, some quite decrepit as this one seemed to be.

There was a boarded up window, too small for him to make his way through.  Examining the masonry around it with his fingers, Illya found it loose and crumbling.

It could be chipped away and the bricks removed if he had something to do it with besides his fingers. Glancing around the room, he found his tool, a bent nail most likely discarded for that reason.

Illya scraped around each brick, and one by one he was able to remove them; once that row was gone, the next easily gave way.

Prying the board away, he pulled out the window frame; Kuryakin shimmied through the opening to freedom. As he elbowed his way on the ground, he found himself unexpectedly staring at a pair of legs as he looked up.

“Hi there tovarisch, fancy meeting you here,” Napoleon smiled.


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