section7mfu | The ABC AFFAIR 2019- F is for Float

They waited there in the dark, with their surroundings continuing to make them both a little jumpy, a half hour had passed since they’d hidden behind the mausoleum. Every little noise they heard, a scuttling rat, the hoot of an owl or the distant din from the parade put them even more on edge.

Finally Napoleon felt the coast was clear as there were no signs of any movement. They stepped carefully in the darkness as they couldn’t chance turning on their flashlights.

Having gone only a short distance, they suddenly heard what sounded like chanting. The breeze had suddenly shifted, bringing new sounds with it.

A few rows over, near a particular tomb that was all too familiar to the agents, a half dozen people there were moving about a small fire holding a candle in one hand and a talisman of sorts in the other.

Someone with indistinguishable features tossed something into the fire and the flame exploded into a cloud. That gave off enough light up the area, revealed several women and a one man dressed in clothing one might see worn by peasants in Jamaica. Their faces were painted like skulls.

One woman held a chicken in hir hands and moved it to and fro towards the flames. The language they were chanting in was apparently Creole and they were calling to the spirit of Marie Laveau.

Solo and Kuryakin had stumbled upon a Voodoo ritual, and given their last experience with that sort of thing, they made a hasty retreat from the cemetery. THRUSH was bad enough but the last thing they needed was a loa chasing them.

As they exited the gate they found their contact’s body still laying there; his clothing had been searched as his pockets had been turned inside out, and his shirt pulled out from his trousers and his shoes removed.

“Best we head towards the parade after all,” Napoleon said. “The crowds will give us more cover as I suspect the Thrushies might still be looking for us.”

No sooner had he said that when they heard a voice calling out from inside the cemetery.

“There they are by the gate, after them!”

The UNCLE agents took off and squeezed in among the onlookers watching each float roll by.

“This way!” Illya shouted though his voice could barely be heard over the din of the crowd.

Solo had pushed through to the street as he’d ducked beneath a wooden police barrier and ran up the street towards a float that had already passed by. Climbing onto it, he gave Illya a hand up.

There they grabbed a pair of discarded skeleton masks and top hats lying on the platform of the float and they quickly donned them. Those on the float were so busy entertaining the onlookers that they paid no heed to the two strangers joining them.

There were boxes of colorful plastic beads and baubles and both agents began tossing them to the crowds, mimicking the the actions of those already on the float. The people in the street had their waving hands raised high above their heads in hopes of catching some of the trinkets, souvenirs for many.

Illya elbowed his partner as he spotted three men dressed in suits, and wearing fedoras as they pushed their way into the street. Looking around, one of them...their obvious leader, waved the others on and they headed down a side street. It had to be the goons who were chasing the UNCLE agents.

Solo and Kuryakin remained on the float for a few blocks until it came to a stop, and there they disembarked.

The float coming to a standstill happened periodically so as to let people cross a street as well as to maintain a proper distance between each rolling display for safety reasons. The last thing needed was a collision between these large floats, or worse still colliding into the onlookers.

Keeping on their purloined costumes to maintain their anonymity, Napoleon and Illya made their way back to their hotel in the French Quarter.

Once in their room they could remove their disguises and finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“I think it’s best we have an agent from the field office pick this envelope up from us and bring it back with them to transmit to New York. No use us risking it since we were spotted by the the local birds,” Napoleon said.

“Agreed,” Illya set his top hat on the dresser, taking a moment to examine the mask before putting it aside.

Napoleon contacted Waverly and apprised him of the situation. The Old Man agreed with Solo’s plan and after a pause, he spoke again.

“Agent LaCroix from the field office will arrive shortly at your hotel room and you will hand over the Triad Codes to him. Enjoy what time you have left in New Orleans gentleman. Waverly out.”

“No thank you, no job well done,” Napoleon mumbled.

“Why would you expect such from him my friend, that is not his way. At least he gave us leave to remain here for a bit of a respite.”

Illya picked up the envelope and opening it, he looked over the codes. There were only six of them. “Odd,” he said. “In the past there there was an entire page of codes.”

He folded the paper and returned it to the manila envelope.

Moments later there was a knock on their door and both men automatically drew their weapons. Solo stood to the right of it, and Illya to the left.

“Who is it?” Napoleon called.

“La Croix. I was sent for a pickup.”

Illya opened the door, but instead of letting the man come inside, Solo stepped in front of him.

He was young, fresh faced with sandy colored hair and at best in his mid- twenties. Napoleon looked him up and down before handing him the envelope.

“Make sure you get this to the office immediately.”

“Will do sir.”

Solo watched as the young man walked down the hall towards the elevator and as the doors opened another man stepped out and La Croix stepped in, pressing a button for the doors to close.

“They’re getting younger and younger aren’t they?” Napoleon said.”Were we ever that young? No, don’t answer that.”

The man exiting the elevator walked towards Napoleon. “Mister Solo, I’m Agent LaCroix from the field office here in New Orleans. Mister Waverly ordered me to pick up an envelope from you.”

Solo and Kuryakin immediately reacted, dashing down the hallway to the stairwell. They bounded down the steps, reaching the lobby in record time, but it was still too late. The elevator was empty and the impostor was nowhere in sight.

They’d never find him out on the street among the throngs of people gathered there. The Old Man wasn’t going to be happy about this...