section7mfu | The ABC Affair Challenge 2019- M is for Magnolia

Napoleon and Illya entered the empty courtyard where even the sounds of Mardi Gras seemed somewhat distant. The field office was off the main drag where the parades were in progress, giving it the needed anonymity that was vital to the spy business.

The only sound now was the trickling of the water cascading in fountain.

There were discreetly placed security cameras that would give the agents inside a clear view of whomever entered the location. Hidden machine guns could be trained on any intruder, just like the ones in the secure UNCLE parking garage back in New York city.

These guns here however, had never been fired. The New Orleans operation had until now been quite low key with a minimal UNCLE presence.

The images the agents on duty were looking at were that of two men, each with an oversized unicorn and lion masks covering their heads.

Napoleon and Illya removed their head pieces and deposited them on the ground near the entrance.

Solo’s code was given.

They were granted admittance of course, and once inside they received their security badges and proceeded on into the main part of the office.

Several agents greeted them, though Illya ignored the pleasantries and immediately sat down at the communications station.

This was their only means of contacting Mister Waverly.

“Channel D- Waverly,” he spoke into the microphone after flicking a few switches.

“Mister Kuryakin, where the devil have you and Mister Solo been for the last twenty-four hours? You haven’t answered your communicators and you have not been at the field office,” Waverly’s voice was not his usual calm tone.

“Sir…”

“Please do not tell me Mister Solo has been caught up in one of his liaisons again. A woman will be the death of him some day! Odds botkins, that man needs to learn to keep it in his pants…”

“Sir, if I could have...”

“What the devil are you waiting for Mister Kuryakin! Report please!”

“Yes, sir,” Illya shook his head, he did smile at the Old Man’s use of the phrase ‘odds bodkins’ and guessed Waverly might have been reading Shakespeare recently.

“Mister Solo and I were waylaid by, well we suspect Nathaniel La Croix. We were drugged at the TruTone bar and woke up as prisoners in a warehouse. Relieved of our communicators, guns and wallets, we had no way to contact you until we made good our escape and arrived here at the field office.”

“Well, yes,” the Old Man harrumphed. “When the devil are those codes being transmitted? Time is of the essence my good man.”

Napoleon looked perplexed.”The codes were transmitted yesterday sir.”

“Well we never received them. I want Mister Kuryakin to transmit them immediately. Waverly out.”

“Where is Miss Georgia?” Illya asked, knowing she had been given the code to send to New York. She had better have a reasonable explanation as to why it wasn’t done.

“Right here,” she stepped through the door of the weapons room, aiming an UNCLE carbine at them.”

As she stepped closer, Illya suddenly sniffed the air.

“What is that fragrance you are wearing?” He asked.

“Essence of Magnolia, why?” She thought it an odd question for a man to ask while a gun was trained on him.

“I detected it at the Gautier House but it did not register to me then. You have been there and is it also safe to assume that is was you who baked the drug laced King Cake that Lucius served us at the TruTone?”

“Yes indeedy. Lucius the fool will do anything I ask. I told him to serve that special cake to y’all if you came back to the bar. Told him it was a present from Cassius but not to say anything.”

“Now everybody remove your guns from your holsters real gentle like, put them on the floor and kick them over towards me. All y’all keep in mind that I’m a very good shot. I do declare, you Mister Solo and Mister Kuryakin just keep turning up like a bad penny.”

“So what happened to the codes, if I may ask?” Napoleon said.

“Oh there nice and safe in a cozy place, near and dear to my little old heart, sugar.” She pointed to her ample bosoms, and the way her blouse fit, it gave just quite a glimpse of her décolletage.

All four agents raised their hands above their heads.

Napoleon looked at Illya and Illya returned his look. They knew they had to act now.

“K yeye nogam,” Illya spoke in Russian, telling Solo to go for her feet, hoping that Miss Georgia wouldn’t cop on.

Apparently she didn’t.

“Hey, none of that,” Georgia warned. “What are you saying?”

“Just a little prayer to keep us safe,”Illya lied.

“Odin-dva-tri,” Kuryakin counted in Russian.

Illya distracted her by erupting into a violent coughing fit, that was Napoleon’s cue to dive low. Grabbing her legs, he bowled her over, though she got off a few rounds that hit the ceiling, sending bits of plaster raining down on them.

As soon as she was horizontal, Illya wrestled her for the gun and wrenched it from her hands.

Napoleon straddled her as she shrieked; she became even louder as he slipped his hand between her breasts and feeling around with his fingers, he withdrew a folded paper.

When he opened it, it was indeed the codes.

“Here tovarisch,” send these to New York now, before anything else happens.”

The two Section III agents were as pale as ghosts, and felt helpless to do anything; Solo and Kuryakin had moved unbelievably fast and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

Napoleon pulled Georgia to her feet and gave her a quick frisking. He told her to take off her high heeled shoes and kick them to the side just in case they were loaded with who knew what.

“Sorry we weren’t of much help to y’all,” one of the agents said. “I guess we’re still pretty green.”

“Hey it comes with experience,”Napoleon said.

The Section III’s handcuffed Georgia to a chair, and tied her ankles to the legs of it. It was a sturdy and made of metal, nothing from which she could escape.

“So where’s your boyfriend La Croix?” Napoleon asked her.

“Closer than you think. He won’t let y’all live, you know.

“Oh that comes as no surprise, “Napoleon smiled.” So tell me, that whole story about you being pregnant, was that true?”

She threw back her head as she laughed. “Me and a low level wannabe like Nate La Croix? Y’all have to be joking. I had to make myself seem like the poor innocent who was taken in by the likes of him. You understand, playing the sympathy card, sugar...to avoid suspicion.”

She licked her full lips into a luscious pout before batting her eyelashes at him, knowing Solo couldn’t resist a beautiful woman.

“That little trick isn’t working sweetheart,” Napoleon smiled at her.

“Now if you tell us where your pretend loverboy is we’ll make sure the U.N.C.L.E goes easy on you. Maybe a pardon if you see the error of your ways.”

He was lying through his teeth of course; most likely she’d be sent to Tartarus. The Command had no sympathy for traitors, if that’s what she was proven to be instead of a Thrushie agent in disguise.

Solo leaned in towards her face, not touching her but close enough to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek as he whispered to her.

“You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a very cold jail cell...say in Antarctic now, would you?” His voice was clearly seductive, even if the words he spoke weren’t.

“Oh my goodness, your reputation does precede you Mister Solo. If my hands were free I swear I’d be fanning myself as I surely am having a case of the vapors,” she said breathlessly..

Napoleon had her right where he wanted her, and Illya glancing over at him couldn’t help but flash a half smile.

“Now Miss, if you do not cooperate and tell us where he is, then I will have no choice but to inflict pain upon you. Unlike my Mister Solo, I have no qualms about hurting a woman.”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasped. Turning to Napoleon she asked him this time, “would he?”

“They don’t call him the Ice Prince for nothing Miss Georgia and to quote Rhett Butler…”frankly my dear I don’t give a damn...if he does rough you up.”

“Now will it be my way or Napoleon’s way.”

Making a fist, Illya pressed it into the palm of his left hand. It was a threatening gesture, and that along with his blue-eyed stare worked every time.

“I pick Solo, please?” Her voice had gone up to a squeaky octave.