section7mfu | The ABC Affair 2019- J is for Jazz Shirt

One by one more of the Thrushies came out to search the Indian players as they passed by; waiting a day for Solo and Kuryakin to show up had apparently thrown them off and they’d let their guard down.

Being the idiots they were the goons found themselves in the middle of a mock battle between several tribes.

Guns were drawn, and blood was spilled as several Indian tribes retaliated. They had their guns too; it was after all a rough area and a few people carried protection.

The fighting grew to near riotous proportions, and no doubt the police would eventually arrive.

It wasn’t the kind of distraction Solo and Kuryakin had hoped for but it was one nonetheless.

They found the entrance to Gautier House unguarded, and moving inside, first into a foyer, they immediately saw a computer and communications set up in what was a formerly a sitting room off to their left.

They split up, searching for any paperwork, but most importantly a safe where the Triad Codes would surely be kept.

Illya headed up a staircase to the second floor while Napoleon searched the back of the house, given where it was situated and the sea level issue of New Orleans, there was no basement.

There were three doors off the landing upstairs, the first one Illya opened and found it was a bathroom. Hanging on a wall hook was a shirt with the name of Pete Fountain printed on it. Illya being a jazz enthusiast instantly recognized the name of the legendary New Orleans jazz clarinetist.

He mentally nodded his approval; one of the Thrushies had good taste. Pausing for a second, he sniffed the air as there was the hint of a familiar scent.

He continued on to the next room where he observed an empty bookcase, but he was unable to find any release to make it move; it was quite solid with no marks on the hardwood floor to indicate it had ever swung open.

He tapped the wall between the shelves just to make sure...no hollow area behind it.

Finally Illya headed to the last room and still found nothing, no hidden panels, nothing. Then it hit him...

He returned to the bathroom and taking hold of the wall hook, he gave it a turn, just like the hook in headquarters, and voila, a secret panel opened in the wall revealing a safe.

Illya called down to Napoleon. “I found it!” Immediately he knelt down and worked on cracking the combination. He had no stethoscope and would have to rely on his sense of touch.

It took a few minutes, but click, click and the final click; it was unlocked. Turning the handle, he opened the door to find a single folder and the contents, a single sheet of paper with the codes printed on it.

“Napoleon I have the codes,” Illya said, turning his head as he presumed Solo was there.

“Good job partner.” The American was there all right, but his hands were in the air as a handgun was pressed against his ribs. Holding that weapon was none other than… Cassius Pride.

“I didn’t think you boys would get this far. I figured my people would have killed you by now but it just goes to show you that when you employ morons like THRUSH does, it ends up you have to do the job yourself if you want it done right. Still it was a stroke of luck when you showed up at my bar.”

“You had us fooled Mister Pride, and here I thought it was Nate La Croix who was running the show,” Napoleon said.

“Nate’s just a kid, still he did manage to get you here, with you being none the wiser.”

“Actually that wasn’t the case; we knew he was the mole. We just had no idea you were the head honcho.” Napoleon suddenly grabbed Pride’s gun and wrestling him for it, it went off as it pointed towards the floor.

Illya dove forward at that exact moment, tackling the man’s legs just as the weapon discharged and grazed the Russian across the left gluteus maximus.

Together the UNCLE agents overcame Pride, who was finally rendered unconscious with a sleep dart.

Napoleon tied Pride’s hands behind his back with an electrical cord and dragged him downstairs, while Illya hobbled to the only bit of equipment in the satrapy and that was the computer and the communications station.

He set up his explosive putty with a timer and hurried out to the street while counting down aloud “Five-four-three-two-one.” Nothing.

Illya swore in Russian when the explosion finally happened. It was pretty powerful and blew most of the house to smithereens.

The police arrived on the scene just as it happened, requiring the fire department to be called. Most of the crowds had dispersed, but the rest of parade moved on seemingly unfazed by the free for all and the explosion.

Solo flashed his UNCLE ID card, turning Pride over to the police, telling them it was he and his people who attacked the Indian parade. As far as the house blowing up...it must have been a gas leak.

The agents were given a lift to the nearest hospital, though Kuryakin fussed at being able to take care of himself….it so happened the hospital wasn’t that far from the UNCLE field office.

Napoleon left Illya in the emergency room, though the Russian protested loudly as his partner headed off to see to Nate La Croix.

When he arrived at the field office Nathaniel La Croix was nowhere to be seen. The staff said he’d been there about a half hour ago, but took off in a hurry. He didn’t say where he was going.

Solo pulled the paper with the Triad Codes from his jacket pocket and instructed they be transmitted immediately to Mister Waverly in New York.

“And under no circumstances are you to let Nate La Croix back in this office. He was a double agent in the employ of THRUSH.”

That news shocked everyone, and Miss Georgia began to cry.

“What am I going to do now?” She moaned.

Solo handed her his handkerchief.” What’s wrong.”

“Nate and I were secretly engaged and...and I’m pregnant with his baby!” It was then she really turned on the tears.

There was nothing he could do for the woman at the moment other than offering her a few soothing words. Napoleon asked one of the other agents for La Croix’s home address and he was off.

“Open Channel F- Kuryakin.” He called once outside in the courtyard.

“Kuryakin here. Where are you Napoleon?”

“At the field office but I’m heading to La Croix's apartment, it’s located above the Sainte Marie Blues club on St. Claude Avenue. He’s bolted. Are you mobile?”

“On my way. I know where that club is and am not far from it. Kuryakin out.”

Illya arrived minutes after his partner and together they burst into Nate’s apartment. They were too late as the place had been ransacked with the closet and dressers emptied. Nate left a trail of socks and ties on the floor in his rush to pack and get away.

“Well, the mission was mostly a success,” Illya said. He tucked his Special back in its shoulder holster, and bending over, he rested his hands on his knees.

“You okay?” Solo asked.

“Fine. I am just a bit sore in the posterior.”

“It could have been worse,” Napoleon said.

“Yes I know…” Illya nodded.