section7mfu | Seven Days of Halloween

“This is the cargo ship Marianthe,” Mr. Waverly said, turning toward the image on the screen. “She left Rotterdam for Newark five days ago carrying materials for Section IV. New enhancements for headquarters security, that sort of thing. A complement of Section III agents sailed with her.”

Napoleon leaned back in his chair. “A routine precaution.”

“I wish it were all routine. Almost immediately they began to report troubling occurrences. Power fluctuations. Equipment malfunctions.”

“Well, those could be the result of poor maintenance. Do you suspect Thrush sabotage?”

“Not unless Thrush is also responsible for the parakinesis and disembodied voices.” Waverly acknowledged Napoleon’s surprise. “Oh, yes. Mind you, they didn’t report those details until they almost had a mutiny on their hands.”

Napoleon indulged in a quick grin. “They probably assumed they’d be relieved of duty pending psychological evaluations.”

“Whatever the reasons, their hesitancy cost us valuable time. I immediately dispatched Mr. Kuryakin to the Marianthe to get to the bottom of it.”

“A sea voyage? And there I was in Palm Springs missing all the fun.”

“Yes, Mr. Kuryakin expressed similar sentiments.” Waverly consulted his casebook. “That was two days ago. Since yesterday we’ve had no contact whatsoever with the Marianthe. Nor have there been sightings of her by other vessels in those shipping lanes.”

Napoleon sat up straighter. “What about military?”

“We made discrete inquiries, of course, to several nations. Nothing.”

“I presume that also means no, ah, wreckage has been found,” he said with a grimace.

“None. Communications had the good sense to triangulate Mr. Kuryakin’s last transmission. Not a single piece of debris was found near that location.”

“Good news, though it gets us no closer to finding them. Did Illya say anything in that last call to indicate they were in danger?”

“You’d better hear for yourself.”

Waverly worked his instrument panel, and Napoleon recognized Linda’s voice on the speaker. “Come in. Channel D is open. I repeat, Channel D is open. Come in, please.”

There was a moment of silence. Then heavy breathing filled the room, each exhalation descending into a feral growl.

“Animal?” Napoleon asked. Waverly shook his head, his face grim.

A cloud passed over the sun, and the narrow windows darkened. Napoleon shuddered as a chill coursed through him. The low, guttural noises amplified, their tone and cadence eerily familiar.

Napoleon swallowed his revulsion. Though the words were unintelligible, his creeping flesh told him they were foul and malevolent. His hand raised in a vestigial need to trace the sign of the cross.

“Turn it off,” he said sharply.

Waverly’s brows rose, but he flipped a switch. The horrible gnarring ceased.

“Thank you.” Napoleon’s face set stubbornly. “That was not Illya.”

“Our scanners indicate the vocal patterns are consistent with those of Mr. Kuryakin. But I tend to agree with you. I don’t believe that my agent was responsible for that…I don’t know what to call it.”

“Do we know what it was saying?”

“The computers only tell us it’s a language. So far it’s untranslatable.”

Napoleon rose from his chair. “I’d like to review all reports related to the search. Maybe we missed something.”

“Section IV is taking care of that. You are going to YIT.” He spun the table, and a folder stopped in front of Napoleon. “There’s a professor there, a Dr. Wagman, who’s an expert on linguistics. I want him to listen to that transmission.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but Waverly’s expression brooked no argument. He gave a small salute with the folder and crossed to the door.

As the panels hissed open, Waverly said, “You’d better wear a crucifix.”

Napoleon turned back, his lips curving wryly. His smile faltered under Waverly’s forbidding gaze.

“Yes, sir.”