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section7mfu“All set,” said Illya Kuryakin, as he got into the passenger sear of the car in which Napoleon Solo was waiting.
He was slightly out of breath, having sprinted up the short, but steep hill, from the Purple Valley Event Catering Company, to where the vehicle was parked.
“A smoke bomb will go off in . . .,” he checked his watch. “. . . twenty-seven seconds, and trigger the fire alarm. Anyone inside will have two minutes to get out before things collapse. Why do Thrush cling to the name ‘Purple Valley’?”
“No idea, Tovarisch. Did you get the formula?”
Illya held up the file he’d purloined. U.N.C.L.E. had learned that the catering company had a side-line in truth drug manufacture, so Napoleon and Illya had been sent to recover the formula, and destroy the means of production. It had been decided early on that only one of them would go in and, given his skills, and love, of explosives, that task went to Illya.
The pair heard the sound of the fire alarms, and soon saw a couple of people leaving the building. The agents had chosen the small hours of the morning, on the assumption there would be very few people around.
“What is a King Cake?” Illya queried.
“What makes you ask that?” said Napoleon, with a puzzled glance.
“They seem to be making them in the legitimate side of the business,” the Russian explained. “I saw several boxes of them.”
“It’s a sort of coffee cake, crossed with cinnamon rolls,” Solo told him. The whole thing is covered with icing in the colours of Mari Gras; purple green, and yellow. Inside, there is usually a small plastic baby?”
“Why?!”
“It has something to do with the baby Jesus, I think. Whoever gets it is supposed to supply the next cake, or throw a party.”
Before Illya could ask any more questions, a rumbling from the Purple Valley building drew their attention. As they watched, one corner of the building folded in on itself.”
“You didn’t do the whole thing,” Solo stated.
“I destroyed what needed to be,” Illya replied. “The legitimate business seems to be quite a large operation, and I was attempting to preserve innocent people’s livelihoods.”
“Fair enough,” Napoleon said, and left it at that. “I think our work is done.”
“On our way back, I believe we should stop off at a bakery,” Illya said, as Napoleon started the car and set off. “I would like to sample one of these King Cakes.”
.
He was slightly out of breath, having sprinted up the short, but steep hill, from the Purple Valley Event Catering Company, to where the vehicle was parked.
“A smoke bomb will go off in . . .,” he checked his watch. “. . . twenty-seven seconds, and trigger the fire alarm. Anyone inside will have two minutes to get out before things collapse. Why do Thrush cling to the name ‘Purple Valley’?”
“No idea, Tovarisch. Did you get the formula?”
Illya held up the file he’d purloined. U.N.C.L.E. had learned that the catering company had a side-line in truth drug manufacture, so Napoleon and Illya had been sent to recover the formula, and destroy the means of production. It had been decided early on that only one of them would go in and, given his skills, and love, of explosives, that task went to Illya.
The pair heard the sound of the fire alarms, and soon saw a couple of people leaving the building. The agents had chosen the small hours of the morning, on the assumption there would be very few people around.
“What is a King Cake?” Illya queried.
“What makes you ask that?” said Napoleon, with a puzzled glance.
“They seem to be making them in the legitimate side of the business,” the Russian explained. “I saw several boxes of them.”
“It’s a sort of coffee cake, crossed with cinnamon rolls,” Solo told him. The whole thing is covered with icing in the colours of Mari Gras; purple green, and yellow. Inside, there is usually a small plastic baby?”
“Why?!”
“It has something to do with the baby Jesus, I think. Whoever gets it is supposed to supply the next cake, or throw a party.”
Before Illya could ask any more questions, a rumbling from the Purple Valley building drew their attention. As they watched, one corner of the building folded in on itself.”
“You didn’t do the whole thing,” Solo stated.
“I destroyed what needed to be,” Illya replied. “The legitimate business seems to be quite a large operation, and I was attempting to preserve innocent people’s livelihoods.”
“Fair enough,” Napoleon said, and left it at that. “I think our work is done.”
“On our way back, I believe we should stop off at a bakery,” Illya said, as Napoleon started the car and set off. “I would like to sample one of these King Cakes.”
.
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no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 08:49 pm (UTC)A King Cake is actually a brioche, a cross between a cake and bread and made with butter folded in. I've made many when I worked for a caterer. Mine also had some almond paste swirled with the cinnamon. God, it was GOOD! I'd slip a plastic baby into the cake before frosting as it would have melted otherwise.
Thanks a lot, Dawn, now I'm hungry for King's cake!
no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 08:54 pm (UTC)I'd never heard of a King Cake so looked it up on Wikipedia. I like the sound of the cake itself, but the colours are a little off-putting.
no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-17 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-16 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-17 08:22 am (UTC)He can be restrained he needs to be (though he may not like it :-D )
no subject
Date: 2019-03-17 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-17 08:22 am (UTC)