section7mfu | The ABC Affair 2019- S is for Stompers

Napoleon and Illya returned to the office with their unconscious prisoner. La Croix was handcuffed to a chair and kept in the main room, with his mouth gagged and just to satisfy Kuryakin, he was blindfolded.

Nate would of course know where he was once he awoke, but some sensory deprivation would keep him on edge. No one was to speak to him, nor were he and Miss Georgia permitted to be in contact with each other.

Napoleon sat in a chair at the communications panel, and after flicking a few switches, he contacted New York. After all, Waverly asked to be apprised of the situation. It wasn’t going to be all good news.

“Yes Mister Solo, your report please?”

“Nathaniel La Croix has been captured alive. We now have we he and Georgia Couture in our custody.”

“I take it Dancer, Slate and the others arrived in time to help you out.”
“Not exactly sir, Miss Dancer let us know that she and her team were caught in traffic due to the continued Mardi Gras festivities. I expect them here momentarily. It was Mister Kuryakin and I who captured Nate, sir.”

Napoleon could envision the Old Man’s bushy eyebrows raising in mild surprise given is two best agents were in dire straights not long ago and asking for assistance.
“Well done. I’m sure your explanation of how you both managed that will be in your report when you return to New York.”

“Yes sir, but we can’t leave just yet. Apparently our former agent set bombs to detonate at the final event of Mardi Gras at the Comus Mystic ball. It sort of signals the end of Mardi Gras.”
“Dare I say a bomb going off at such an event would definitely bring an explosive end to the festivities,” Waverly’s attempt at mild humor fell flat.

“Well then,” ahem. “I expect you to get moving young man and neutralize the threat. Contact me when it’s done. In the meantime you can send the prisoners with the backup agents to New York. Have Slate and Miss Dancer remain to assist you. Mister Kittredge will not be arriving just yet, so until he does I will expect you all to hold down the fort, as it were. Waverly out.”

At last April, Mark and the other agents arrival to them felt anticlimactic, and in spite of being welcomed with open arms they realized there was more work to be done after all.
While Napoleon filled Dancer in on the situation, Illya and Mark took over the interrogation of La Croix once he regained consciousness.

He wasn’t expected to be forthcoming with any helpful information as to where he’d hidden the explosive devices, or where the location of this Comus ball would be held for that matter. Apparently it was a well kept secret, guarded until the eleventh hour by the Rex and Comus Krewes.

It was indeed a fancy costumed ball, by invitation only, held by and for the upper crust elite of the city. Finding out its location would be the next major next task at hand.

They had to get to the venue before the event took place in order to neutralized the bombs and not create a large scale panic.

Napoleon permitted Kripke, Valmont and Jennings to head home for a bit of a rest and cleanup. They’d be due back just before Georgia and Nate were being taken away permanently. Even though Napoleon made some promised to Georgia if she cooperated, it would be out of his hands. Most likely it would be Tartarus for both she and Nate. That final decision remained in the hands of Waverly and the heads of Section I and the heads of Security.

The receptionist whose name was Valerie Kingston returned to duty in the meantime. As luck would have it, she knew the location of the Comus ball since she was connected to one of the oldest families in New Orleans. Not that she received an invitation, but her parents had. They were still debating to attend or not.

When she overheard Napoleon and April discussing how to find out where it was, she chimed in with the information.

“Mister Solo sir, the Mystic ball is held at the Hotel Monteleone right over on Royal Street right here in the French Quarter. You could walk to it from here as it’s that close. The hotel has a huge ballroom, around 6,200 square feet as I recall.”

“Valerie, remind me to put in a raise for you. You’ve made my day,” he smiled just before he kissed the back of her hand with a slight bow.

“Well there is some bad news,” she cringed. “No one can get into the ball without an invitation. Since everything’s so hush-hush they even have tight controls on who can come and go into the hotel.
I think that comes from the past when one of the Rex kings was murdered, though that was a pretty long time ago. Since then everything about the ball has become top secret to a privileged few. So you can’t just walk into the Monteleone. You have to have an invitation to the ball or a reservation to stay at the hotel. Those invitations to the Mystic ball of Comus are treated like gold, as a matter of fact the ink used has gold in it. They’re highly collectable. No one can get into the hotel much less the ball without one, and they check for forgeries at the door.”

Napoleon was quite familiar with the Monteleone as he and Illya had been there for a courier drop last year. It was purported to be haunted and they found out first hand the rumors were quite true.

For once they hadn’t been sent on a courier run that put them in one of the many cemeteries located throughout the city. They’d had their fill of those along with their run ins with voodoo magic, spirits and zombies. Their return to Cemetery No. 2 this time around was more than enough for them.

Last year’s mission had them picking up a pouch in the Monteleone; it was an absolute magnificent hotel that dated back to 1886 that had one of the richest histories of all the hotels in the area, catering to the likes of Tennessee Williams, Faulkner and Hemingway. They could often be seen at the Monteleone Carousel Bar that literally revolved every fifteen minutes and slow-spun its drinkers past a bank of windows facing Royal Street.*

Then of course there were the resident ghosts, people who loved the hotel so much that they never
wanted to check out in this world or the next.

This time however around spirits were farthest from Napoleon’s mind. Being able to search the rather large hotel as well as the ballroom was going to take time, and they would probably have to cut it close.

It would stand to reason the ballroom would be his target as that’s where he would get more ‘bang for his buck.’ There would be a large number of innocents in attendance.

He was planning to blow them to smithereens regardless of Solo and Kuryakin’s presence or not. That became abundantly clear.

The only words Nate kept saying with a snide demeanor during his interrogation were to a children’s rhyme.

‘Tick-tock, tick-tock, the mouse ran up clock, the clock struck one and down he’d come, hickory dickory dock.’

Illya pulled his partner aside, as the rhyme suddenly struck him as being possible clues.

“Remember the large grandfather clock in the lobby at the Monteleone?”

“How could I forget it? That’s were we saw a ghost, correction several ghosts.”*

“Napoleon, what if he has hidden explosives in the clock, and set them to go off at one in the morning? The ball no doubt would still be going strong.”

Solo sat for a moment, his fingers laced together with only the index straightened out, and being tapped against his lips.

“Hey it’s worth a shot tovarisch.”

Solo and Dancer changed into more sophisticated clothing, and strolled over to the Monteleone. It was easier said than done as the sidewalks were again crowded, this time onlookers were applauding a group of male dancers dressed in matching blue shorts and red satin jackets as they paraded along the street;

Someone called them 'stompers' because they were stomping along, doing choreographed dance moves to a jazz band that led the way.

The men shouted out the words “Oh when the saints O when the Saints (when the saints) Go marching in (marching in) Now, when the Saints go marching in (marching in)Yes, I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in.”

There was a trumpet solo and the crowds went wild, strutting along with the stompers; women raised their parasols in time as they strutted along with the lively brass band.

“I had no idea Mardi Gras was like this,” April said. She was clinging to Solo’s arm to keep from being separated from him.

“Honey, I’ve never seen this before and I’ve been here for Mardi Gras a number of times. I guess things are changing.”

Napoleon and April arrived at the hotel and were immediately questioned by a couple of burly bald-headed security guards as soon as they walked through the entrance.

“We’re here to register as guests. The Missus and I will be attending the ball.” Napoleon put on a southern drawl.

April gazed at the opulence of the lobby, and couldn’t help but marvel at the decor, the floors were of polished marble and the ceilings at least twelve feet high, were trimmed with intricate moldings, and recessed panels that were ornately painted. White fluted Ionic columns trimmed in gold led one’s eyes to several immense crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling near the front desk, which was so long that it spanned the width of the room.

Inviting looking brown leather chairs and sofas, some with crushed red velvet, were set about the lobby and looked to be somewhat antebellum in style, recalling a bygone era.

Just before they neared the desk, April spotted the dark oversized antique grandfather clock. It came to life with its chimes sounding right on the hour.

“Is that the one?” She whispered.

Napoleon simply nodded. He gave a quick glance back, taking note that the famed ghost of the clockmaker seen working on his clock day or night hadn’t made his appearance. That seemed odd, but no pun intended, the ghost was known for appearing like clockwork.

The head clerk looked them over questioningly, and consulted the other clerks working with him, buzzing together amongst themselves.

“I am sorry sir, but you must be mistaken. All our guests have checked or already confirmed their reservations, especially those who’ll be attending the festivities in the ballroom. Perhaps your reservation was at another hotel...I can call ahead for you to check for you.”

“No my good man, you will not call ahead. Our reservation was made for here for this very night.”

“As I said sir, all our guests have either checked in or confirmed their reservations.”

“This is simply unsatisfactory,” Napoleon snapped back.”I demand to see your manager.

“I’m sorry you feel that way sir. We have no reservations pending, nor do we have any vacancies. The manager is busy with preparations in the ballroom and expressly instructed that he not be disturbed under any circumstances.”

“Well I nevah!” April put on heavy southern accent as she pretended to cry into a lace hankie. “This is the way you treat your clientele?”

“Now look what you’ve done sir, “Napoleon said.”You have upset my lovely wife and with her being in a ‘delicate condition.’ Preposterous. I demand to speak to your manager!”

The desk clerk raised his hand, snapping his fingers in rapid succession.

“Mister Beauregard, if you would be so kind as to escourt the gentleman and the lady from the hotel.”

Solo and Dancer knew they’d hit a brick wall and would have to figure out another way to search the premises. They followed the head of security and exited the hotel, they were wished a lovely day and told to enjoy the last of the Mardi Gras festivities.

*ref to last year’s ABC Affair Challenge II- Chapter N for New Orleans