The 12 Days of UNCLE- Christmas Round Robin Chapter 3

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Chapter 1 by glennagirl
Chapter 2 by ssclassof56

The team of Slate and Dancer immediately returned to Nice as instructed, entering the dark antique shop. Just as with Solo, the proprietor gave no response to the agent’s acknowledgement, just a slight nod of their heads to him and nothing more.

Once they were sure the coast was clear they stepped through aged wardrobe to a small part of the hidden world of UNCLE that lay behind it.

“That thing is so ghastly,”April remarked as they stepped into the bright light of reception, if one could call chrome and gunmetal that, and she supposed it was in comparison to the dark, dinginess of the wardrobe.

‘It’s more like Alice down the bloody rabbit hole is you ask me luv,” Mark whispered, though his comment was only heard only by his partner

“Which will ensure that no one will ever want to buy it Mademoiselle Dancer,” the receptionist handed them their security badges.” “Monsieur Bouchard awaits you, second office on the right.”

She was blonde, short haired and thin unlike the buxom woman who had greeted Solo, this one was more waifish, rather Twiggy-like in appearance but well tanned as Slate noticed a sun lamp tucked away in the corner of the small anteroom.

Clicking the intercom switch, she announced their arrival to Bouchard.

“Thanks, we know,” April said. She had to pull her partner by the sleeve to get him to follow her as Mark was too busy eyeing the pretty receptionist.

“Mark, let’s go.”“Sorry luv, I was a bit distracted.”

“So I noticed.”

Together they headed down the corridor to the office; in a split second the pneumatic doors opened for them.

Bouchard rose from his cluttered desk, welcoming them back.

”Alors, you must pardon the mess still. I have not been able to catch up with my paperwork and now with this latest affair, I have fallen behind even moreso. Orders from Monsieur Waverly takes precedence, n’est ce-pas? ”

He dug out a map and spread it open for the agents to see.

“The next step of the plan takes you to Saint-Paul-de-Vence; it is a commune in the Alpes-Maritimes department .” He pointed to its location on the map.

“Isn’t it one of the oldest medieval towns on the French Riviera,” April asked.

“Oui, it is but fifteen minutes from the sea, and enjoys an exceptional view that stretches from the coast to the pre-alpine mountains. Less than 300 people reside in the village itself; the rest of the population lives in the houses and villas scattered throughout the valley and on the heights. It is off season, so you will be assured of relative privacy when conducting your transaction Monsieur Slate.”

“Just me? What about April??”

“I’ll get to that momentarily; Saint-Paul-de-Vence is also known for its art museums and galleries as well as a haven for the famous, such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Picasso. This will play into the next part of our ruse. As you may or may not know Marie Antoinette was a collector of lacquer boxes, specifically Japanese lacquer.”

“I did some reading up on the subject,” April said,”Her collection was one of the finest in Europe, and considered to be among her most cherished possessions. The elaborate works revealed the queen's personal taste and demonstrated a high level of craftsmanship attained by Japanese lacquer artists."

“Correct,” Bouchard nodded.” One such piece is or I should say was, on display at the Musée national des Châteaux de Versailles et de Trianon. It is an exquisite book shaped box from the Japanese Edo period, late 17th–mid-18th century.”

He reached beneath his desk and place a small parcel wrapped in a soft off-white chamois cloth. Opening it, he uncovered a golden lacquered box. He lifted the lid, revealing a lacquered tray and four smaller boxes within it.

“It’s stunning,“April said. “It can’t be the real thing, could it? I mean that would be a bit risky using a National treasure as bait.”

“Mais non, it is an identical piece created by the Japanese masters from the same period. It is far less valuable than the real box, as it does not possess the same provenance of being owned by Marie Antoinette. The real artefact has been withdrawn from display at Versailles and has been safely stored away for the time being.”

“Won’t Depardieu know it’s not the genuine article?” Mark asked.

“C'est impossible! The pieces are identical. This will be our next lure, as we are sure Monsieur Depardieu possesses nothing like it; Messrs Kuryakin and Solo were given a tour of his collection and reported it so.”

“We have set a rumor in motion that it is on its way to be displayed in one of the museums in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. It will of course mysteriously disappear en route. That’s where you come in Monsieur Slate.”

“And me?” April asked.

“You will be the backup, in disguise of course, in case anything goes wrong,” the sandy-haired Bouchard smiled. “You will both remain anonymous again, as per Monsieur Waverly’s instructions.”

Napoleon and Illya sat at the immense dining table with Depardieu, Regina and Denise.

It was covered with a fine white linen cloth and set with exquisite white Noritake china etched in gold, from the Nagoya, Aichi Prefecture, in Japan. It was obviously not the standard, commercially made import for the European market;  the cutlery was gold as well.

Dinner was in several courses. The most amazing specialties of the area were served, soupe au pistou (soup with basil and garlic), ratatouille niçoise, salade niçoise, sauté of veal aux olives, tians de légumes (vegetable gratin), and calissons d'Aix en Provence, a mixture of finely ground almonds, melon de Provence and candied orange peel, all drawn on a wafer bed covered with royal icing.

Accompanying the fine cuisine were regional wines, Baux-de-Provence, Coteaux d'Aix-en-Provence,

Despite the man’s declaration that the agents were now in his employ along with his warning should they fail, it wasn’t repeated. Still, his threatening their lives didn't fall on deaf ears. Though this assignment was obviously being well orchestrated by Alexander Waverly, there was always the distinct possibility something could go wrong.

The dinner conversation seemingly returned again and again to the topic of Marie Antoinette, proving Depardieu’s ever growing obsession with any and all things to do with her.

He was beginning to prattle on about her, so much so that both Regina and Denise discreetly rolled their eyes. Napoleon and Illya however, remained attentive, listening for any little detail that they might exploit.

After dinner, Kuyakin excused himself to take in a breath of fresh air, but in reality he needed to check in with Bouchard for the next step in the plan.

Once outside, he walked the grounds, putting some distance between himself and the house. He quickly took out a cigarette case communicator, and dialed the proper frequency.

“Channel D- Bouchard.”

“Ahhh, Monsieur Kuryakin at last. I will be brief; tomorrow you are to travel to Saint-Paul-de-Vence. Take the street Rue Grande to White Penitents Chapel, there outside it you will meet your contact at noon. He will have a Japanese lacquered box in his possession; Marie Antoinette was an avid collector of these and though it will not be the actual box owned by her, it is identical, not a fake mind you. It was made during the same period as the original one owned by the Queen.”

“And how are we to tell Depardieu we came upon this piece of information?"

“The box will be rumored to be brought on loan from Versailles to one of the museums in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, and that Monsieur Solo has managed to convince the person transporting the box to sell it.”

“And when exactly has he had the time to do this? We are positive our rooms are bugged and are unable to discuss anything at all.”

“A telephone call will be made to Depardieu’s home. A supposed contact will speak to Monsieur Solo, giving him the location and time of the exchange as well as a password  He will be told the item is a lacquered box owned by Marie Antoinette, but nothing more. We must go on the premise that the phone is bugged as well. Will that suffice Monsieur Kuryakin?”

“Certainement, et merci. Out.” He removed a cigarette from the case and lit it, taking a long soothing drag from it. He needed it before heading back.

There was rustling movement in the bushes behind him and he turned to find Denise smiling at him.

“Oh, you are alone; I could have sworn I heard voices.” She sidled up to him, removing the cigarette from his lips and taking a puff from it herself.

“I have a tendency to talk to myself at times. Nothing serious, it is just my way of sorting things out,” he said.

“And what’s there to sort out?” She pressed herself against him, dropping the cigarette to the ground.

“This...”

He figured why not take advantage of the situation and pulled her closer, letting his hands roam and when it was the right moment, he kissed her, long and hard.

When they finally came up for air, Denise laughed. “I’ve been ruddy well been waiting for that, let’s say you and I go up to my rooms for a shag? We won’t be disturbed there.”

“I’m afraid not yet...as I have already said, business before pleasure.”

“My, what a tease you are Mister Kuryakin, but remember I always get what I want.”

“And patience is a virtue.”

“Neither of which I have...well, you can at least escort a girl back to the house,” she batted her eyelashes at him, pouting just a little.

Illya offered her his arm and once returning to the house he joined Napoleon and Depardieu in the study for brandy while Regina and Denise made themselves scarce.

“I just received a telephone call from a contact,” Napoleon announced. He’d waited for Illya’s returned to tell Depardieu what it was all about.

“We have available to us one of Marie Antoinette’s Japanese lacquered boxes. It’s coming from the museum in Versailles and the seller says he can divert it, for the right price of course.”

Depardieu was like a giddy child, clapping his hands together with glee.

“Mon Dieu! I don’t have any of her lacquer pieces. That’s marvelous. Where do we go?”

“Saint-Paul-de-Vence, the White Penitents Chapel at noon tomorrow.”

“That deserves another round gentlemen! “Depardieu poured them each a second brandy. “To the success of our endeavors, and your survival.”

The agents raised their glasses to that ominous toast…

“Saint-Paul-de-Vence is a typical Provençal village,” Depardieu announced from behind the wheel of the Aston Marton. “It is completely encircled by16th century ramparts built by order of King Francis I.”

The man was acting as a tour guide; was he filled with pride or was it perhaps his enthusiastic anticipation of making yet another Marie Antoinette acquisition? They finally continued on foot through the narrow streets of the town.

“There,” he pointed out,” is the auberge La Colombe d'Or, which has had innumerable artists as guests, such as Yves Montand, Chagall, Modigliani and Matisse. It still houses many of their works.”

“To the left just after the Colombe is the1850 wash house where a local farmer will sell her fruits and vegetables several times a week. To the right, the famous Café de la Place extends its terrace all along the square where the townspeople play boules. The town does not truly begin until you have passed through the arched royal gate with its cannon. From there, we will take the Rue Grande to our destination."

Continuing along the cobblestone street, they came to a fountain that was built in the early 1600s by a stonecutter in the village, on this square also stood a 13th century Romanesque church, beside it immense palm trees that competed with its bell tower.  Just behind it was the White Penitents Chapel.

“At last we have arrived,” Depardieu announced while pointing to the chapel. It was a simple, whitewashed structure, in a way not looking at all like the agents expected.

“I think it best that I meet with the gentleman first,” Napoleon cautioned.”I don’t want him to get cold feet and back off the deal.”

“For you sake and Monsieur Kuryakin’s, you had better hope he doesn’t.”

“Daddy, please! Do you always have to throw your weight around like that?” Denise protested. She looked at Illya, whose face remained expressionless.

“Child, I am merely excited about this new piece, that’s all.”

“I’ve heard that before. Come on Illya, take a walk with me?” She latched onto his arm and he promptly removed her hand from it, gently but firmly.

“I cannot leave in the middle of a business transaction, sorry,”

Denise stamped her foot before crossing her arms in front of herself and proceeded down the street in a snit.

“Women and their tantrums,” Depardieu shrugged.” I give her carte blanche and she is never satisfied. I admire how you handled that as my daughter can be quite demanding.”

Illya refrained from commenting, and watched as Solo approached the front of the chapel. There sweeping the ground by the open door to the chapel was an elderly Dominican nun dressed in her white habit and dark veil.

A few steps away from her, beside a bench stood a man of an indeterminate age. His curly hair was long and wild and one could barely make out his features through his bushy brown beard. He was dressed in a rather flamboyant blue velvet jacket, a white satin shirt with a paisley scarf tied around his throat. Completing his ensemble were a pair of dark bell bottom trousers and white leather boots.

Napoleon gave no reaction to the man’s garish attire and simply offered the prearranged passwords in English, hoping it was the right fellow.

“The weather is mild considering it's the off season.”

“But always when it’s on, Signor.” He was obviously Italian, and gave the proper response.

Napoleon glanced over at the nun, concerned she might hear the transaction, as he wasn’t quite sure if she was U.N.C.L.E. or not.

“Do not worry Signor, the sister she is quite deaf...observe.”

“Sœur, la chapelle est en feu!” He announced rather loudly in French that the chapel was on fire, but she just kept on sweeping the ground, completely oblivious.

“See Signor, we are safe.”

“May I see the umm, package?” Napoleon whispered out of habit.

The man carefully folded back a chamois cloth, revealing the golden lacquered treasure.

“May I ask my benefactor to examine it?”

“Is he the one who’ll pay my price?”

“Yes, and he has a rather deep pockets, but I caution you to not be greedy. Capisce?”

“Capisco...I understand.”

Solo waved for the others to join him and when Depardieu saw the box, he grinned from ear to ear, unable to contain his joy. He’d seen it in the museum in Versaille and it was one of his favorite pieces.

The price was agreed upon, with Depardieu not even batting an eye at the amount. A small brown leather valise he was carrying with him was opened and the cash was handed over several stacks of francs neatly wrapped in paper currency straps.

Depardieu took possession of the box and he carefully rewrapped it, placing it safely in the valise.

“Grazie Signor. Merci... you are most generous,” the seller stuffed the money inside a bag slung over his shoulder.

“And you are a fool,” Depardieu drew a gun from the case, pointing it at the gentleman. “You’ve seen my face and can identify me as the one who took possession of stolen property.”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on,”Napoleon barked. “You kill him and word will get out that it won’t be safe to sell anything belonging to Marie Antoinette. You do want more pieces, don’t you Monsieur Depardieu?”

“Certainement.” He immediately set the gun back in the bag and picked it up but offered no apology.

“Grazie, mille grazie for not killing me, ”the bearded man backed away and as soon as he’d put some distance between himself and the others, he turned tail and ran, disappearing up the rising narrow cobblestone street.

As they turned to leave in search of Denise, Napoleon noticed the nun was no where to be seen.

“Keep this up Monsieur Solo and Monsieur Kuryakin, and you both can expect a substantial commission. I compensate my people when they do a good job; you have already heard the consequences for when I am displeased. I thought you would like to hear that there is an upside for the two of you as well.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Illya mumbled to Solo once they were out of earshot to Depardieu.

They finally located the daughter meandering among the local shops. She was now sporting a rather ostentatious diamond and ruby necklace.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” She modeled it, specifically for Illya.

“It is quite distinctive,” he nodded.

“I bought something for you as well,” she handed him a bracelet box.

“No, really. That is unnecessary.”

“It isn’t necessary, it’s just a gift. Now open it.”

Illya popped open the black velvet box and in it was a gold identification bracelet with a diamond set into the bar. Next to it were engraved in elegant script the initials I.K.

“It’s 18 karat gold and the diamond is half a carat, D color, internally flawless.”

“Denise, I cannot accept this, it is far too dear.”

“I’ll decide what is and isn’t too dear, now put it on or I’ll become quite upset. You wouldn’t want to upset me would you? I am after all, my father’s daughter.”