The Deader than Dead Affair - non challenge fic

[otherhawk]

Hi there! It's been a long time, but I woke up today and actually felt like sitting down and writing something. So here we are.

 

“He couldn't have died at a worse time,” Napoleon said wryly as they gazed down at the body slumped in the easy chair.

Illya raised his eyebrow at his partner. “I doubt it was convenient for him either.”

The loss of Dr Albert Tarley was hardly what one would call a tragedy. Most of the highlights of his dubious scientific career involved scandal and human experimentation, but he had been essential for the culmination of their latest scheme. Which, by Illya's reckoning, was almost due to come to fruition. THRUSH would be here within half an hour, at which point they'd find that their latest eager would-be conspirator had succumbed to what looked like a massive heart attack.

“He's cold,” Napoleon reported with a grimace. “I don't suppose you have a hidden talent for - “

“ - necromancy?” he suggested dryly.

Napoleon looked at him. “I was going to say ventriloquism.”

He considered that for a long moment, looking at Tarley's swollen, purple face. “I think we would perhaps have more luck with the necromancy. Do you suppose if we simply planted the notes in amongst his papers THRUSH would take the bait?”

“Maybe.” Napoleon didn't exactly sound convinced. “It's all a little pat. He contacts THRUSH to tell them about a problem with the aphite formula and then he just happens to die before he can meet them? I know it's true and I still don't believe it.”

“Statistically speaking, most people die of natural causes,” Illya pointed out. Napoleon looked at him and he shrugged, conceding. “Admittedly not most people that we meet.”

“And definitely not most people that THRUSH meet,” Napoleon said slowly, his eyes bright with thought.“So let's give them a story they can believe. Look around; see if you can find a needle or a pin. Something sharp.”

Catching on, Illya nodded, searching the sitting room. He'd just found a safety pin when he heard an enormous crash. He turned to see Napoleon had closed over the front door then kicked it, splintering the wood around the lock. “As ever, your subtlety amazes me,” he said, deadpan. “What do you think, neck or arm?”

“Neck,” Napoleon said decidedly.

He nodded and carefully tilted Tarley's head to the side before expertly stabbing his neck with the pin, leaving an obvious puncture mark. Any sort of rigorous examination would immediately reveal that it had been inflicted post-mortem, but at a glance this should pass for murder. He looked up to see Napoleon's expression of fastidious distaste. “This was your idea,” he reminded him.

Napoleon opened his mouth to say something, but just then they heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.

“Who is going to play bait?” Illya asked quickly.

Napoleon just looked at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I do not know why I even bother to ask.”

 

*

 

Napoleon vanished out the backdoor and Illya concealed himself in the alcove behind the bookcase, listening – waiting – as the voices came closer, exclaiming at the broken door.

“Someone got here first!”

“Be careful – keep your guard up.”

“Where's Tarley?”

They spread out through the house. He stayed still as one of them came into the sitting room and immediately stopped, cursing heavily on seeing Tarley's body. “We're too late, he's dead.”

“Maybe he left a clue or something. Check everywhere.”

And that was his cue. Before they'd so much as started searching he burst out from his hiding place, the notes clutched openly against his chest and ran past their startled faces towards the front door. Fortunately – in a manner of speaking – they weren't so taken by surprise that they forgot to chase after him, and he slowed down just enough to let them grab him on the threshold. The big one smashed his face against the door frame which, personally, Illya felt was overdoing it, even as he staggered theatrically and sagged back into their arms.

“Get those papers!”

“What should we do with him?”

“Hey!” And that was Napoleon's voice, and a half-second later there was the sound of pounding footsteps and a gunshot rang out, bullet ricocheting off the wall somewhere above him.

“We've got what we came for, let's get out of here,” one of the THRUSHies exclaimed, and he carefully feigned unconscious as they stood up and started running – even when the big one managed to plant his foot right in Illya's stomach.

“Well,” said Napoleon brightly, helping him up once the ruckus died away. “That all went according to plan.”

Gritting his teeth, hand pressed against the goose egg on his forehead, Illya carefully didn't say a word. But he thought a great deal.