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section7mfu2019-08-10 11:59 am
- gen,
- mrua7,
- section vii,
- wip
"Inquisitio Veritatis- to seek the truth. Chapter 5
Illya walked some distance before finally ducking into an alleyway in order to contact headquarters.
“Yes Mister Kuryakin?” Waverly answered.
“I visited with Cardinal Spellerman and discussed the possible THRUSH infiltration of Xaverian high school.”
“I’m aware of that and the fact that you let him know Mister Solo was injured.”
“Was that inappropriate sir, if so I apologize.”
“No no, not at all. Mister Solo is of the Catholic faith and therefore a member of the Cardinal’s flock, so to speak. I’m sure your partner would appreciate prayers on his behalf from his Eminence.”
Ringlets of smoke from the Old Man’s pipe circled his head. There was a stack of personnel files sitting in front of him on his conference table. He’d removed his tweed jacket, which was a rarity for him.
A white porcelain teapot sat on the table as well, though its contents that had gone quite cold.
“Now what conclusion have you reached Mister Kuryakin?”
“Well, for the moment I think more agents are needed on this affair in order to visit the other Xaverian schools across the country. There are nearly a dozen, not to mention those of higher learning located in England as well as Belgium. We need to discern if other students at these locations have been targeted for recruitment as well.”
“That is a tall order Mister Kuryakin. However, one that is being addressed as we speak; I trust your instincts in this matter. Continue with your investigation in Baltimore and I will assign additional agents as quickly as they become available. Keep me informed, Waverly out.”
“As always sir, out.” He tucked his communicator pen back to the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. How the Old Man managed to anticipate his every move was almost inconceivable. This wasn’t the first time Waverly was a step ahead of his agents, nor would it be the last. Sometimes Kuryakin felt like a puppet on a string...he stopped moving, snapping his fingers as he’d just had an epiphany.
Stepping to the curb, he placed his fingers to his mouth and gave a loud whistle to hail a cab. After doing so, he raised his hand until one pulled up.
“Where to Mac?”
Illya looked at his watch. “Kennedy Airport, TWA.”
“Gotcha.”
Illya shut the taxi door and the driver pulled into traffic, hitting his horn to clear the way.
He tried chatting with his blond passenger,”How ‘bout them Yankees making it to the World Series?”
“Sorry, I do not follow sports.”
“What do you do then, like for kicks?”
“For kicks? Nothing really as my job keeps me quite busy.”
“What’d ya do for a living?”
“I work for an International Novelty Company.”
“No kidding, like you sell whoopie cushions?” The driver laughed.
“I do not sell our products directly to our customers as I am more of an...accountant.”
“Oh you’s a bookkeeper then, balancing the books?”
“Precisely.”
“I was never good with multiplication but I can do my plusses and minuses okay.”
“Sometimes that is all one needs to get along in life.”
That basically ended the conversation.
Illya knew better than to give out anything more than basic information. Keeping one’s cover story short and simple prevented slip ups, not that he thought the taxi driver was an enemy agent, but one never knew.
His training kept him suspicious of everyone and everything, though he wouldn’t let it go as far as paranoia.
Once an agent was unsound of mind in that way, he was as good as done in the field, and possibly with the Command.
Illya had seen a fair few agents become emotionally unstable and sent to the UNCLE sanitarium in upstate New York.
The drive to Kennedy was uneventful, and after paying the driver he headed into the busy terminal.
Trans World Airlines facility at Kennedy was always a marvel to behold and considered an architectural masterpiece. Illya was in awe of its sweeping, modern look, but now was not the time to stop and smell the roses, per se. He needed to check in.
One had to acknowledge the terminal with its arc-like traveling hub was designed to symbolize a bird's wings spread in mid-air. This was done in order to fulfill the airline's directive which they stated was to 'capture the spirit of flight,’ and visually, that it did.
Kuryakin joined the bustling comings and goings of people that filled the terminal, his blond head becoming lost among them as he headed straight for the check in counter.
There, a pretty redhead wearing a light blue uniform greeted him. Some of the clothing the airlines had their female employees were could be quite, in his opinion, gaudy. This one the woman wore was rather pleasing to the eye.
“How may I help you today sir?” She flashed an attractive smile.
“Yes, I have a reservation under the name Jan Van de Meer.” It was one of his standby covers, that of a representative of a Dutch novelty company. This time he was a bookkeeper, next time he might be a salesman. He switched it around from time to time.
She typed his name into her terminal. “Yes Mister Van de Meer, I have it right here. I see you’re traveling one way, would you like to book a return flight now?”
“No thank you.”
“Any luggage to check?”
“No, just a quick business trip.”
Though she continued to smile, she tilted her head; he imagined she was thinking it was still odd to take a trip with no luggage, not even a briefcase. He made a mental reminder to himself to correct that in the future.
Right now all he needed was in his wallet, a few things in his pockets along with his holster and gun.
She handed him his ticket. “You’ll be seated in our Ambassador Class row six seat A.”
“Is that an aisle seat?”
“No sir, it’s window.”
“I would prefer the aisle Miss, if possible.” He was being truthful in that. The aisle seat offered a split second more of maneuverability should a situation arise, say a hijacking.
He chuckled to himself, those usually took place on international flights, and rarely domestic. For a split second he wondered if it were paranoia creeping into his thought process, but he immediately dismissed it.
“Sorry Mister Van de Meer, I’m afraid everyone in the Ambassador Class has already checked in, however there is an aisle seat available in Coach.” She smiled at him again, fluttering her eyelashes as if that would make him happy.
“No thank you,” Illya refrained from snatching the ticket from her hand. He detested the false friendliness, though he reminded himself they were most likely trained to behave a little like like automatons with everyone.
Considering the vast amount of people they dealt with on a daily basis, they were supposed to smile and be friendly no matter the situation. He could be a bit forgiving for that he supposed.
Illya was pleasantly surprised the seating wasn’t in Coach to begin with and wondered if it had something to do with his being seated next to the Section III agent from Paris.
He looked at his watch and realized he had just enough time to get something to eat; he was hungry and knew that on a short flight such as this only snacks would be served to the passengers, and drinks of course.
He wanted that drink after all, but not on an empty stomach. He’d had nothing since his meager breakfast that had consisted of a mug of tea and a bagel with cream cheese. For an average person that might be enough, but for this Russian with his high metabolic rate it barely scratched the surface of his hunger, and need for calories.
There were a few locations where he could find food, but it had to be something quick, there was no time for a prolonged sitdown meal.
He ended up at the Lisbon Lounge, ordering a basic ham and cheese sandwich, a bowl of split pea and ham soup as well as a slice of apple pie while he remained seated at the bar. He’d have his drink while on the flight.
Though he’d get his money back once he submitted his expense voucher, he still felt miffed at the prices they charged for such simple food. People at airports were basically captive audiences; restaurants and vendors could get away with almost whatever they wanted.
Illya wolfed down food, which wasn’t hard for him to do, when he heard his flight being called. After paying for his meal, he dashed out. Getting in line along with the other passengers as they just began to call for the Ambassador section to board and be seated. His timing was perfect.
When he reached his assigned seat there was a blonde woman sitting in the aisle seat, the Section III agent he presumed, though he was surprised it was a woman. He supposed he was being a bit chauvinistic for presuming the agent would be a man.
She was blonde, and quite pretty considering she was wearing no makeup. He thought that nice for a change to not see a woman painted and powdered. She was wearing a pink sleeveless dress that seemed to give her pale skin a rosy glow.
“Beg pardon Miss, but would you mind switching with me? I need to sit on an aisle seat.”
“Pardon Monsieur?”
Illya immediately switched to French, introducing himself as Jan Van de Meer and mentioning that his uncle neglected to book an aisle seat for him.
“Oh but of course Monsieur Van de Meer.”
Whether she copped onto the ‘uncle’ clue, he wasn’t sure.
In turn, she introduced herself, “My name is Delphine Émilie Le Claire.”
“D.E. Le Claire,”Illya repeated mentally before leaning over and whispering to her.
“You should not be using your real name while on assignment Mademoiselle Le Claire.”
She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “Je suis désolé. Je m'excuse,” She switched back to English. “I am still a bit new at this. I was told you would be sitting beside me Monsieur Kuryakin and I suppose I was a bit nervous as your reputation precedes you.”
She immediately rose, moving to the window seat, allowing Illya to sit down.
“I caution you to not make that mistake again regarding your name,” he whispered to her, though it wasn’t in a very friendly tone of voice. “You must always be on guard.”
As he buckled his seatbelt and made himself comfortable. This was all he needed, an air headed courier sitting next to him.
Now he really wanted that drink...
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