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selyndaep.livejournal.comDespite having dressed in record time, April had just fastening her hair back with a large barrette when she saw Mark pull up in front of her building. She grabbed her purse and London Fog raincoat as she slipped out the door, pausing just long enough to set the alarm system before hurrying down the steps from her second floor apartment.
Mark leaned across to open the passenger door for her, giving his attractive partner a quick once-over as she tossed the coat in back. “Coffee as promised.” Grinning at her heartfelt expression of thanks, he murmured, “That’s a smashing look, by the way.”
He watched her settle in before putting the sleek red Charger into gear and pulling out into the street.
April glanced down at her mustard wool bell bottoms, soft shimmery blouse in copper, and sleeveless v-neck sweater in variegated reds and yellows. Chocolate brown boots just over ankle high completed the ensemble. “Thank you, Mark. I try.” The fortifying aroma of coffee drew her eyes back to the cup holder. Picking up the large cup, she inhaled deeply before taking a cautious sip of the hot brew. “Just what I needed! Thank you.”
“We’d better report in, Luv.” Mark braked sharply as a car pulled out from an underground garage without regard for possible traffic. It was most likely a rude and careless driver, but… Tonight’s events had everyone on high alert. Wordlessly, April pulled her Special out of her purse as the British-born agent did some sudden turns and detours for a few minutes. Not seeing any tail, he smoothly brought the car back on route for headquarters. Occasional flashes of lightening highlighted the buildings and streetscape of Manhattan wet and shiny from the recent deluge of rain.
As they rode along, April tried contacting headquarters. The static with what could possibly be voices stopped abruptly leaving an ominous silence.
“Open Channel D!” Shaking the pen, she tried several more times, before disassembling her communicator pen in disgust. “I can’t imagine why I can’t get—”
Her jaw dropped as Mark slammed on the brakes, the car skidding on the slippery road. All of Manhattan was lit up as usual, except for the block of brownstones which were completely dark!
Driving slowly to avoid plowing through the large puddles, they drove past Del Floria’s. Not only was the building dark, but one of the windows had been hastily boarded up. As they continued around the corner, they were astonished to see the flashing lights of a fire truck as well as a couple of police cars. As he slowly nosed the car near one of the men directing traffic, Mark started to roll down his window.
“Mark, down!”
They ducked, just as the partially-opened window shattered, along with the passenger window! April, Special in hand, gave an answering shot to the bogus policeman. She saw him stagger from the hit, but he must have been wearing a vest since he pulled his gun back up to fire again.
Mark, punched the gas pedal and sped away, skidding around the corner in a squeal of tires.
Driving evasively, they managed to slip out of Manhattan and into New Jersey until they finally pulled in an all-night diner truck stop. Ducking down low in the seats, the car shut off, they waited to see if there were any sounds of pursuit. Finally, after a time, the agents drew a cautious sigh.
April gave the trucks an appraising look. “I think we’re going to need more coffee.”
Her partner cocked a questioning eyebrow.
“We need another way in!”
Illya slowly made his way from the lab back to the main computer room, Baitman following closely with the powerful flashlight. At least it used to be powerful. Now it seemed to flicker in and out as it was aimed more or less at the floor ahead. He paused a moment and glanced back at the scientist. The man’s complexion looked pasty in the reddish glow of the fading emergency lights and the flashlight jerked around in his unsteady hand. If he hadn’t been so anxious to reach his partner as well as struggling with an injured ankle, he’d have shooed the frightened man into the canteen where most of the people were staying. Food, coffee, and above all, company, would go far to bolster up the nervous…
Well, they were almost there. Strange how much farther this seems tonight.
As they rounded the corner they spotted Slater standing guard just outside the main computer room. Even in the dim lighting they could see the agent relax slightly as he identified the men.
“Napoleon inside?”
Slater nodded as he took a deep sigh of relief. “He’s trying to get a fix. Cripes, this has been one crazy night! All those crazy Whozzits... We were even attacked by one of ‘em…a leopard, no, jaguar.”
Illya quirked a tiny grin. “So that what Napoleon was talking about.”
Slater ran a hand over his army brushcut. “Yeah. The big cat disappeared just in a nick of time.”
Glancing across the hall through the bulletproof glass at the darkened bank of computers in the communications center, Illya felt a cold chill skitter across the back of his neck. His eyes darted around, but he could see nothing. “So, you able to get power up long enough to get Waverly’s signal?”
“It came up for a couple of seconds. Long enough to get a general area, but we couldn’t narrow it down less than a 20-mile radius.”
“I’d better see if I can help—”
He stopped abruptly at the expression on Slater’s face and spun around. The cold was more pronounced as the hallway began to fill up with swirling fog. As they stared, the fog began coalescing into a shapely woman with carefully styled black hair. Her features began to sharpen in her pale complexion.
Illya stared a moment—the woman was very familiar, but who…?
Lucia Belmont!
The ghostly image grinned evilly and melted through the door into the main computer room. Instantly, Kuryakin reached for the sliding door’s override. It wouldn’t turn! Slater lent his bulk to trying to pry open the door.
It wasn’t going to work.
Illya leaned to the door and shouted, “Napoleon! I’m going to blow the door. Stand back!”
Swiftly pushing a rope of malleable explosive into where the door met the wall and inserted a short fuse. They stood away from the door, standing on both sides. Slater pulled Baitman against the wall as Kuryakin pressed his watch to activate it. After a couple of sputters, the fuse was lit and moved into the explosive…and died!
The agents turned to look at the unscathed door.
“That can’t happen,” muttered Illya.
“I have another fuse.” Slater suited action to words and started to reach for the device when—
“Wait! Get back!”
Illya’s shout came out the same moment the blast happened, the concussion flinging Slater to the floor.
There was a small hole in the door. Illya’s eyes flicked from it then over to the fallen agent and back to the shaking Baitman. “Take care of him.”
Baitman looked stunned.
“Now, if you please!”
Baitman scurried over to see how he could help the man groaning on the floor. The man was bloody, but still alive and moving. Illya caught Slater’s eye as he pulled out his communicator to call for assistance. “
“Kuryakin. We need a medic down by the Main Computer room. Agent down.”
A crackle. “This is Kovan. With the elevators out, it’ll be a bit. How critical?”
“It’s bad, but not too bad…” Slater was holding his shoulder.
Illya gave a short nod. “Slater was hit by the concussion of a door blast. He’s conscious and holding his shoulder. I don’t see a lot of blood.”
“I see. Okay, keep him calm. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
Illya recapped his communicator. “Baitman will stay with you while I check on any progress Napoleon has made.” Suddenly worried since he hadn’t heard anything from his partner after the blast, he quickly ducked down and squeezed through the small opening into the room.
Except for a single pulsing light on the mainframe of the computer, the room was completely dark. Flicking on his flashlight, Illya played the light around the room. And moved it around again, this time more slowly.
Napoleon was gone!
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