![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jantojones.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfu“I understand the need to be clandestine with passing messages,” Napoleon muttered. “Especially in such a public arena. But this borders on the absurd.”
He and his partner were leaning on a railing, which lined one of the parade routes of New Orleans, awaiting the arrival of a messenger. Illya couldn’t help but agree with his partner’s point. Methods for passing information often needed to be varied and, as in this case, a little unusual. This time, however, Illya was certain someone was trying to make things difficult just to prove they could.
“I suppose,” he replied. “That it is good in one way. Who, other than a warped mind, would guess that intelligence was being relayed?”
“That’s true.”
Napoleon looked at his watch, to see how much longer they would have to wait, and realised it was only the matter of a minute or so.
“Whose bright idea was this?” he asked.
“Someone who has never had to decipher a code in the field,” Illya answered bitterly.
He often found himself frustrated by the ridiculousness of some of the things agents were given to do, by people with no experience of the realities of the job.
“Here they come,” said Napoleon, pointing at the group of men who had entered the street.
The Stompers were an all-male dance troupe, dressed in blue shorts, white t-shirts, and red jackets. Their look was finished off with a sweatband around the head. The troupe was freestyling, meaning that everyone of them was doing something different. For the U.N.C.L.E. agents, only one of them was of interest.
The man they were interested in was at the front of the pack, and he was performing a routine which involved quite a lot of feet stomping. For anyone who was looking for it, they would have easily noticed he was stomping in Morse code; with the right foot representing the dots, and the left, the dashes. Napoleon and Illya concentrated intensely on reading the message. As soon as the troupe passed them, they went off to confer, and to ensure they had both read it the same.
“I got ‘Three at midnight at the double’.” Napoleon said, after they got into the car.
“As did I,” Illya confirmed. “What do you suppose that means?”
“Your guess would be as good as mine, Tovarisch,” Solo replied. “But, thankfully, that isn’t our problem. We are only hear to receive the message and send it to Waverly.”
“I will leave that to you,” said Illya, as he started the car. “While you do, I will locate somewhere for lunch.”
.
He and his partner were leaning on a railing, which lined one of the parade routes of New Orleans, awaiting the arrival of a messenger. Illya couldn’t help but agree with his partner’s point. Methods for passing information often needed to be varied and, as in this case, a little unusual. This time, however, Illya was certain someone was trying to make things difficult just to prove they could.
“I suppose,” he replied. “That it is good in one way. Who, other than a warped mind, would guess that intelligence was being relayed?”
“That’s true.”
Napoleon looked at his watch, to see how much longer they would have to wait, and realised it was only the matter of a minute or so.
“Whose bright idea was this?” he asked.
“Someone who has never had to decipher a code in the field,” Illya answered bitterly.
He often found himself frustrated by the ridiculousness of some of the things agents were given to do, by people with no experience of the realities of the job.
“Here they come,” said Napoleon, pointing at the group of men who had entered the street.
The Stompers were an all-male dance troupe, dressed in blue shorts, white t-shirts, and red jackets. Their look was finished off with a sweatband around the head. The troupe was freestyling, meaning that everyone of them was doing something different. For the U.N.C.L.E. agents, only one of them was of interest.
The man they were interested in was at the front of the pack, and he was performing a routine which involved quite a lot of feet stomping. For anyone who was looking for it, they would have easily noticed he was stomping in Morse code; with the right foot representing the dots, and the left, the dashes. Napoleon and Illya concentrated intensely on reading the message. As soon as the troupe passed them, they went off to confer, and to ensure they had both read it the same.
“I got ‘Three at midnight at the double’.” Napoleon said, after they got into the car.
“As did I,” Illya confirmed. “What do you suppose that means?”
“Your guess would be as good as mine, Tovarisch,” Solo replied. “But, thankfully, that isn’t our problem. We are only hear to receive the message and send it to Waverly.”
“I will leave that to you,” said Illya, as he started the car. “While you do, I will locate somewhere for lunch.”
.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2019-03-24 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-24 06:45 pm (UTC)As usual, I was drawing a blank for the prompt. Then I made a cup of coffee. While waiting for the kettle, I absent mindedly tapped the mug with the spoon, which brought Morse code to mind. It's amazing where inspiration comes from at times :-)
no subject
Date: 2019-03-24 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-24 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-24 11:41 pm (UTC)It's a ridiculous enough plot to be from season 3 :-D