The ABC Affair 2019- the conclusion. Z is for Zatarains

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The initial surprise at April Dancer sticking hat pins into the bottom the voodoo doll of Angelique wore off quickly but instead of annoyance from Napoleon, everyone including Solo broke out into a loud belly laugh.

The laughing continued until their sides hurt, and tears actually fell down Illya’s cheeks as he was laughing so hard. He especially appreciated April’s little tactic given the dislike he had for Angelique; granted, she couldn’t stand the Russian either.

Napoleon finally held out his hand. “I’ll take that please.”

April took it as an order and not a request, after all he was her superior. She carefully placed the doll in the palm of his outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” Napoleon quickly removed the hat pins as he looked to Illya.

“Are we going to require the services of Mama Luc...again?” Illya snickered, wiping the tears from his cheeks. April was the only besides Solo who understood that question, though as promised she didn't let on that she knew.

“No. I think I’ll just hold onto this.” Napoleon tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket and tossed the hat pins in a trash bin. Not that he’d use it against Angelique, but still it was a bit of ammunition to keep to the side, just in case. He had to think over what he should do with it.

Napoleon did know that he was going to have some explaining to do with Miss La Chien if he did indeed meet up with her again in New York. His instincts told him he would.

As to what Angelique said during the phone conversation, he took it as a gift from her...a thank you for there little liaison here in New Orleans. She did things like that.

Both UNCLE and THRUSH knew of their involvement with each other and tolerated it, turning a blind eye as it were.

Periodically Napoleon and Angelique would feed each other information that was sometimes false, or sometimes had a ring of truth to it. It was part of the game. They both knew the day might come when one of them was ordered to kill the other, and it would have to be carried out. Until then they'd enjoy the sex, and it was very good sex...

“Mister Solo sir,” Kripke interrupted. ”Our new agent has arrived.”

They all looked to the courtyard security monitor, seeing Jean-Baptiste Angelus standing there at the gate. His photograph had been posted and there was no mistake in recognizing him.

He was young, fresh faced and dressed in a well tailored suit. His coloring was fair, but his facial structure and the tight curliness of his dark hair gave away his mixed heritage. He looked calm and collected as he waited patiently outside the gate.

“Let him in,” Napoleon said. He nodded for Illya to accompany him to the courtyard where they’d conduct the intake interview.

It wasn’t for the hiring process as Waverly had already seen to that, no, this was just to get a feel for the guy and clarify the job title and job duties.

“Mister Angelus,” Napoleon held out his hand and Jean-Baptiste shook it with confidence.

”I’d welcome you to New Orleans but that would seem a bit redundant. My name is Napoleon Solo.”

“Yes sir I know who you are. Mister Waverly had high praise for you, and you as well Mister Kuryakin. He said you were his top agents, but pretty much everyone knew that at Survival School.”

Illya greeted Angelus in Russian, and the young man gave a proper response. His pronunciation and accent were spot on.

“I understand you speak a number of languages,” Napoleon said. “A fair few for a young man.”

“I have an ear for it sir. As a musician I can pick up the nuances of a language, its rhythm you might say. I have a very good memory as well.”

“Ahh a musician, what instrument do you play Mister Angelus?”Illya asked.

“I play the keyboard, and guitar, though I’m just an amateur. I used to sit in with some of the jazz sessions in the French quarter while growing up here.”

“Then you are far from amatuer,” Illya nodded. He didn’t mention that he too played the same instruments as well, along with a few others.

“You are aware that you’re replacing an agent who was stationed here,”Napoleon said.

“Yes sir. Mister Waverly explained to me that the previous agent named La Croix was a THRUSH mole. “

“And you will be assuming his full duties but as assistant to a new Station Manager, a Section II agent. That's a change in UNCLE procedure."

"Yes sir I'm aware of that."

You have very high Survival School marks; how do you feel about not being a Section II yourself? Napoleon tossed him that zinger just to see how he’d react.

“I understand the responsibilities of the position, and you’re wondering why with my qualifications am I still in Section III. That was at my request sir. Given I’m fresh out of Survival School, I thought it appropriate that I learn the ropes from the bottom up. Given I am thoroughly familiar with this region, it was a good place for me to start. I requested to come here and Mister Waverly seemed pleased with my reasoning.”

“He was?” Illya asked.”Mister Waverly does not do things lightly.”

“Yes sir, I know the territory and its people. He has a concern over potential problems with the Port of New Orleans as an entry point for THRUSH weapons shipments. Sending them up the Mississippi would be an efficient method of distributing them or any sort of equipment, while keeping it all under the radar. It’s Mister Waverly’s intention to promote me to Section II at the appropriate time, as well as make me the station manager once I’ve gained my footing, so to speak. It’s my understanding that Mister Kittredge will be holding the position until improvements are made here with the current staff and he determines I’m ready to take on the position.”

“Well Jean-Baptiste, if I may call you that. You’ve summed up everything very nicely. Welcome to the New Orleans field office,” Napoleon said.

“Thank you sir. It’s my town and I’m determined to keep it safe.”

Napoleon nodded.” Let’s go meet your fellow staff members.”

The introductions were made and a very brief tour of the station was completed, and just in time as Kit finally arrived.

As always, the Aussie greeted his fellow Section II agents in an insulting manner, it was meant more as a of term of endearment as he’d worked with Solo, Kuryakin, Dancer and Slate on many’s the assignment.

“What a mob of drongos to meet and greet me here, and why are you all dressed in white? * It’s not even Easter yet.”

“Something to do with the temperature change caused by a tropical storm that blew through recently,” Napoleon said. “How’ve you been Kit?”

“Fair to middlin’ mate. So how long you here for?”

“Well now that you’re here, it’s time for us to leave darling,” April gave him a peck on the cheek.

“You have a decent crew here Kit,” Napoleon said. “With a little tweaking, they’ll be great. Oh and make sure Valerie gets a raise.”

“Will do mate. Thanks for holding down the fort and cleaning out the bird mess. Safe journey home to ya.”

Napoleon and the others bid their goodbyes to the staff and headed out.

“So one last fling before our flight to New York tomorrow?” Napoleon asked.

“How’d you know it’s tomorrow mate,” Mark asked.

“Mark, that’s a secret...you know spy stuff,” Napoleon winked.

Illya leaned towards Slate and whispered. “ Kit handed him our tickets.”

Mark shook his head with a smile, but chastised himself mentally for not being more observant.

“Come on darlings, it’s our last night on the town. Where should be go?” April chimed in.

“I could go for some etouffee and perhaps a crawfish boil,” Illya said. “And a jazz band...do not forget the music.”

“And I could go for a po' boy and beer,” Mark added.

“And you Napoleon?” April asked.

“I’ll go for whatever y’all want, “ he tried to sound like a local, but apparently failed.

“Napoleon, again your accent is just awful,” Illya quipped. Not that it really was, but the Russian’s comment had become a bit of a running joke. Though truth be told, he did think Solo’s French accent was terrible.

Solo as usual, ignored his partner's insult. "Well then I think the Purple Unicorn is in order."

"I was hoping you would say that," Illya rubbed his hands together.

“Well then, lead on McDuff,” Solo waved them on.

Late the next afternoon they were back in New York with Solo and Kuryakin in conference for their debrief with Mister Waverly.

“Well done, well done in New Orleans gentlemen. The new intelligence you uncovered in regards to THRUSH nesting somewhere in Florida is being investigated. Now there are a few other matters we need to discuss. Apparently costly damages were done on a riverboat named the Natchez, and there is the question of some missing costumes from said boat. I know you were graciously offered hotel accommodations at the Monteleone but there’s a room service bill involving a rather expensive bottle of champagne. There’s also a matter of linen clothing for the two of you as well as Miss Dancer and Mister Slate.”

“I can explain sir,” Napoleon said.

“I’m sure you can. Make it reasonable as Accounting is questioning everything to do with this affair.”

“I would think they might appreciate the Monteleone giving us free accommodations for having saved their hotel and guests from being blown up by La Croix,” Illya said. “Therefore we did save on our hotel expense.”

“Though they are aware of the hotel’s , that does not negate what they’re perceiving as frivolous expenses.”

Napoleon and Illya looked at eachother; it was going to be a long debrief.

…

Later that night, Napoleon invited his partner up to his apartment for dinner.

As soon as the Russian walked in the door he raised his nose, sniffing the air.

“I know that smell,” he smiled.

“You better. I bought this in New Orleans as a treat.” He held up a box of Zatarain's spices. “It’s what they use down there for the distinct flavoring in their food.”

Illya walked into Napoleon’s kitchen where there was a large pot of gumbo simmering on the stove. He looked at his casually dressed partner and noted he was wearing his alligator shoes.

"Still breaking them in I see," Kuryakin noted.

"They're a little stiff, but I'm sure they'll soften up soon enough."

"Speaking of money..."

"Who said anything about money?"

"You still owe me for those shoes."

"And I will pay you...next pay day." Napoleon redirected the subject. "Et voila mon ami, a taste of New Orleans.”

"I have heard that before. Be forewarned Napoleon this meal does not in any way shape or form absolve you of the money you owe me."

"Scout's honor, I'll pay you back."

In Illya's mind that cast a major doubt as when Napoleon used that phrase, he was usually lying. He said nothing though, and trusted that he would indeed see his money...eventually.

Napoleon doled out two large bowls of gumbo while Illya sliced a loaf of French bread, and together they feasted at the dining table. Napoleon provided a very nice bottle of Riesling to go with their meal.

“This my friend is a good way to close the book on a mission," Illya said.

“Amen to that my brother. Cheers!” He held up his glass of wine in toast.

“Da, a zdorov'ye Tovarisch.” Illya nodded.

“Oh, by the way I did run into Angelique,” Napoleon said as he put down his glass.

“And you survived her ire? She sounded as though she was ready to kill you when she blamed you for the pain in her backside, though I am unsure as to why she accused you. Is there something more that happened between the two of you than your usual carnal session?"

“Oh no, nothing at all. I straightened that out with her.  No harm, no foul...for me that is.”

“Please do not tell me you gave up April as the culprit?”

“Would I do that her?”

“Well I suppose not. So what did you tell the dog?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that Illya.”

“It is her name.You know La Chien means ‘the dog’ in French.”

“Tsk,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.

“Well, did you tell Angelique what caused the pain in her posterior?”

“Oh I let her know it was a voodoo doll, which I gave to her by the way.”

“And…”

“I told her you did it.”

“You did not!” Illya was aghast.

“Well it made sense as you and she are always at each other’s throats.”

The look on Illya face was priceless. Instead of pouring himself another glass of wine, he grabbed the bottle and drank heartily from it.

“Hey that’s an expensive wine!” Napoleon protested.

Illya put the bottle down on the table with a loud thump.

“You owe me on this one! Really Napoleon, setting me up for trouble with that bitch? How could you?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time…” Solo shrugged, while trying not to smile.

Of course he didn’t really blame it on his partner. He told Angelique that Georgia Couture managed to do it just before she was shipped off to Antarctica...

* drongos is Australian slang for ‘idiots’

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Good twist about the voodoo doll. Thank you for this fine and enjoyable ending. And for giving us a good, solid chapter for every letter. The whole adventure was fun to read. (I hope not too arduous to write.)

As usual, good ocs and the vivid New Orleans background was a big plus.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

OMG thank you so much. I'm really glad you enjoyed the story and stuck with it to the end.

I have to admit at times it was hard to write. I'm glad it's over and I was happy with the last chapter as I was able to tie up some loose ends like the alligator shoes and the money owed to Illya...and the expenses incurred by UNCLE.

My favorite part though was the very end when Napoleon pulled Illya's leg about telling Angelique it was he who used the voodoo doll on her. lol!