section7mfu | The ABC Affair 2019- P is for Pelican

They finally made it back to the harbor and it was there Napoleon insisted Illya take a rest on one of the many benches that lined the docks.

It was late and everything was serene. No one was around and the Natchez was long gone.

They could hear the sounds of the river and it had a rather calming effect on both of them.

“This is nice for a change, just a bit of peace and quiet.” Napoleon said. He pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his inside pocket and lit up a cigarette for himself. He would have offered one to Kuryakin but it was his last one. After a long drag he held it out to his partner but for once the Russian waved it off.

“Peace and quiet can only be a lull before the storm perhaps,” Illya countered.

“Always have to ruin the moment, don’t you?”

“That was not my intention my friend, but it would stand to reason that things things will soon ramp up. It is just a matter of the odds…”

Napoleon sighed. “Yes I know. I don't need to be reminded."

The repeat of a gunshot rang out, ricocheting off the side of the bench on which the agents sat. They drew their guns and took off running along the dock and doing so, they disturbed a large flock of white pelicans nesting on the many pylons anchored along the dockside.

Most of the birds flew off in every possible direction. Some of them could have weighed as much as 30 pounds with a wingspan that reached as much as 110 inches. They were big by any standard.

They temporarily blocked the line of sight for whoever had taken a shot at the agents.

Some of the pelicans remained on the pylons, flapping their wings, forcing air from their lungs and that produced a low, hoarse sound. Their calls echoed in the air.

They gave Napoleon and Illya enough cover to make their getaway. Under such duress, Kuryakin’s body produced enough adrenaline to will himself to run in spite of the pain in his ass.

When they were far enough away from the docks, they slowed, huffing and puffing for air as they found cover nearby in a darkened alleyway.

“I do not like role reversals,” Illya gasped.

“You mean us being the hunted instead of the hunter?”

“Precisely.” Illya suddenly slipped to the ground as he’d become light headed. The fight or flight instinct had kicked in but once he stopped moving his body was drained of any remaining energy and he passed out.

Napoleon quickly examined his partner, making sure he hadn’t been wounded again; he was fine, but his trouser leg was quite bloody.

“Come on buddy boy, wake up. Not a good time to be taking a nap.” He gave several gentle slaps to Kuryakin’s face.

Illya woke up swinging, connecting with Solo’s chin. Still it was a weak punch and no damage done.

“Easy there tovarisch, it’s me.” Napoleon drew back.

“Sorry, I was not myself.”

“Clearly. Come on, let’s get going before the shooter catches up to us.”

“You know it has to be La Croix,” Illya said.

“I have no doubts about that,”Napoleon hefted his partner to his feet and hung onto him.

They headed along Hayne Boulevard and swung right at Bullard Avenue. There Solo finally paused to contact the field office and allow Illya a breather. In truth he was a bit tired as well, but Kuryakin was definitely weakened from blood loss, and the chase of course.

He knew they couldn’t continue on foot and he ordered one of the Section III agents to get a car and come for them. The closest landmark he could give them was the Bon Temp Bayou Grocery Store.

Apparently Kripke knew exactly where it was, and there Napoleon and Illya waited in the shadows for their lift while remaining near the darkened store.

It was nearly an hour later when Newt Kripke arrived, driving a metallic grey Chevy Corvair. It was a compact car, perfect for navigating through the city most of the time.

“What took you so long?” Napoleon asked.

“Sorry sir, it couldn’t be helped as our motorpool garage isn’t near the field office and then of course there were the parades. Too many streets closed down for them, and too many people still wandering around...most of them drunk I'm afraid."

“It's an interesting town you live in Newt; now help me get Mister Kuryakin in the car. He’s pretty wiped out.”

“Was he injured again sir.”

“Only his dignity,” Napoleon winked.

The drive back to the field office felt like an eternity, but Kripke becoming wise to the revelers decided take a circuitous route and brought the car into the gated courtyard rather than trying to return it to the small garage where they kept the motorpool cars. Unlike New York's motorpool, it was a relatively unsecured location and used simply for parking their vehicles.

Illya was helped inside and a cot was set up for him, though he became a bit argumentative at being babied. It wasn’t a serious wound; his landing on his rear had simply aggravated it. Having it restictched didn't exactly help the pain, then of course there had been some blood loss too.

His attitude was nothing new to Solo, but the junior agents didn't know what to make of Kuryakin. They'd heard he was tough, but this took the cake in their estimation.

Kripke had taken the initiative and retrieved their suitcases from the room at the TruTone. That gave Illya clean pants in which to change.The bar was in the process of being shut down as word had finally gotten out that Cassius Pride had been arrested and was going to prison.

The liquor and pretty much everything of value downstairs in the bar had been divided among the employees, and they took pretty much everything that wasn't nailed down. To them it was minor compensation for not getting their last paycheck. Cassius didn't keep much cash around; he didn't even lock his safe for that reason.

Lucius was in the middle of boarding up the place with Kripke arrived and was permitted upstairs to get what he needed.

That was the end of the TruTone bar. Lucius was leaving town, heading up to Mississippi to visit kinfolk. He’d saved enough money over the years that would allow him that comfort in his old age. He could do odd chores to help out the family, and they in turn offered him a room with a rocking chair of his own on the front porch.

He was quite a good cook, and he thought he might be able to open up a little juke joint. Could be some musicians would drop by to play; he found the thought of that purdy nice. His cousin made his own moonshine, so there was a good chance it could happen.

Napoleon pulled up a chair next to his partner who had finally fallen asleep on the cot. He tried not to doze off himself but it was two in the morning and he was dog tired.

Kripke and the other agents named Valmont and Jennings took turns napping in their chairs and watching the security monitors. La Croix was hunting Solo and Kuryakin according to the senior agents and that dictated the staff remain sequestered in the office. It was the safest option at the moment.

Miss Georgia was still tied up in the armory room, and there she’d stay. Kripke had taken the initiative of shooting her with a sleep dart; that way she’d be one less problem with which to deal.

The facilities however, were lacking. There was a bathroom with a sink, but no shower. No kitchen to prepare food either.

The only thing they had here was a water cooler and an electric percolator. Everyone in the office drank their chicory laced coffee black, especially since there was no refrigeration available. There was one container of coffee in a cabinet along with some sugar packets. That was it.

One of them would have to chance going out in the morning to gather supplies, but that had to be cleared by Mister Solo as he was the agent in charge. Right now he was sound asleep in the chair beside the cot where Kuryakin was resting.

Kripke would leave it up to Solo to contact New York in the morning. That was his prerogative, and surely he had more information to offer to Mister Waverly.

The field office wasn’t exactly designed for a long haul. The machine guns hidden outside in the courtyard walls offered them more than enough defense from an attack, but any personnel leaving that safety put themselves at risk in this particular situation.

Nathaniel La Croix knew everything there was to know about the office and all he had to do was wait them out. They was no way of knowing if he’d contacted any other THRUSH cronies to help him.

He was most assuredly determined to get even with Solo and Kuryakin for screwing up the little operation he had going right under the noses of the U.N.C.L.E.

The ABC Affair 2019- P is for Pelican

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