Christmas Round Robin - Chapter Ten
Dec. 31st, 2020 04:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuWaverly and Collier looked over the windowsill at the sprawled ragdoll figure of Claiborne, sprinkled with glass that glittered like diamonds. A mildly interested crowd had already begun to cluster about the spectacle.
“Hm.” Waverly rubbed his chin. “Dashed inconvenient. Still. It eliminates the question of his guilt or innocence.” He turned on Marjorie Claiborne, shrinking into herself, all tears and quivers that might or might not be faked. “Madame, your guilt or innocence is irrelevant also – for the moment. Where are our agents and where is your assassin, and how do we stop him?”
She gestured widely – wildly – and cried, “I don’t know! The assassin … his name is Shiv. I don’t know anything about him or where he is.”
Collier advanced on her. “I’ll get it out of her, sir.”
Impatient, Waverly said, “Please do, and with some speed, Mr. Collier. Several lives may hang in the balance. Get a team in here to go over this place. I’m going back to headquarters.”
“Yes sir.”
~*~*~
Napoleon gently coaxed the ladies into a smaller cluster – at least it would conserve heat and he wouldn’t have to shout.
“We need to get to town,” he said. “It’s only about …” He did the rough math in his head and sighed. These girls wore indoor clothing and shoes, and were probably already hungry, tired, and cold.
“About 5 miles that way,” he lied – it was more like 10, but no point in fomenting despair – and pointed down the mountain. He hated giving up the chase – the hitman, any assistants he had, and the men who’d been holding these girls were all up there somewhere, and the cabin they said they’d been kept in was probably close to the control center – but the priority was getting these girls to safety and reporting in. They wouldn’t last, dressed as they were, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours. At least it wasn’t snowing, and there was a bright moon to light their way.
And to provide perfect targeting conditions for anyone with a rifle.
“Come on,” he urged, waving with his hands as if trying to herd a clutch of ducklings. “Keep moving. We have to get to safety and you need to keep warm. Try to link arms if you can. Keep close and keep moving. It’s not far.” He grimaced mentally at the lie and waved the crowbar in the general direction of the road, which lay a couple of miles down the narrow path he’d so recently ascended.
They marched.
It wasn't long before the faint crunch of tires on snow came to his ears. Quickly he shooed the girls into the treeline and told them to get down.
A van was struggling its way down the road. Big, expensive, no windows in the back – and coming down, not up from town. All that told Napoleon it would be best to stay hidden. Barring Nick, everyone he’d met on this mountain had tried their best to kill him.
Before he could communicate that, the girls erupted in a series of cries and sobs and yells for help, scampering around him and running through the snow toward the road.
The van skidded to a stop.
Quickly, Napoleon weighed the benefit of leaving them to their fate and simply getting to town himself. But he realized it would be better if he could find out where they were being held – they weren’t the only girls in captivity on this ruthless mountain.
Sighing, he hid the crowbar behind his back and followed the girls to the van.
Leaving the van running, a man hopped out, a semiautomatic in hand but not actually pointed at anyone, which Napoleon took as a propitious sign.
“There you are,” the man said.
“Here we are,” Napoleon agreed. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Shiv. Where’s your partner?”
Napoleon pretended to look around him. “As is so often the case, I’m not really sure.”
Shiv shook his head and leaned in to the van to access a mobile phone. He requested access to “Claiborne” from whoever he got connected to, and waited. And waited.
And waited. Then cursed, once.
“Sounds like your boss is hors de combat,” Napoleon said as Shiv hung up.
Calmly, Shiv said, “Sounds like.”
“So you might as well cut your losses and let us go.”
To his astonishment, the hitman seemed to consider this. Solo filed that information in his brain.
Finally, though, the man said, “I got nothin’ against you, Solo, or these girls.” He indicated them with his gun, casually, and they shrank into themselves en masse. “But I got no time to baby-sit, and I don’t want no witnesses.” Shiv shrugged, raised his .45.
“Stop!” Napoleon said, hands out – he quickly dropped the crowbar, realizing it presented a less-than-conciliatory appearance. “Let’s talk this over.”
Again, Shiv paused – that pause reassuring Napoleon his assessment was correct. He plunged on.
“Look, you’ve gotten all you’re going to get from the Claibornes. But they aren’t the only bidders here.”
Like two tiny earthquakes, the heavy brows in that rocklike face shifted upward as Shiv examined Napoleon’s face and the option he was presenting.
“Go on.”
“It’s simple. Take us to the nearest town and leave us. I’ll give you 24 hours to disappear, and –” He quickly calculated – UNCLE wouldn’t pay off an independent contractor like Shiv, and though he was comfortable, he wasn’t sure how much money he could lay his hands on immediately. “— and $10,000 cash to help fund that disappearance, along with my promise of no retribution from my organization.” That line item, in light of the fact that this deal would save these girls’ lives (not to mention Solo’s own) – he thought he could defend to Waverly.
“You got that much on you?” Shiv challenged.
The catch, Napoleon thought, and cursed silently. “No. I can get it to you as soon as I get back to New York, though – in whatever form and to whatever place you prefer. No double-cross. This is a deal for saving the lives of these girls.”
“And yours,” Shiv said. “Maybe I’ll keep one of them for collateral…” He eyed the girls again, and at least one of them started to cry.
“How about …” Napoleon fished in his pockets and about his person. No communicator, no badge, not the exploding cufflinks, no, no … damn.
He handed over about $200 in cash and his (damn!) Rolex. “That’s a bit more than 10 percent down. Good enough?”
Shiv looked at the down payment, then at Solo. He shrugged. “Hell, I got nothin’ personal against you or these girls.” Solo handed over the money and watch. Shiv shoved them into his wallet, keeping the gun steady on Napoleon. “If I don’t get the balance within that 24 hour window you mentioned, I will find you and I will take you down.”
Napoleon scout-swore, confident the man would keep his word. “On my honor.”
Shiv squinted at him, believing him, Napoleon thought, about as much as Napoleon himself meant it – maybe 50%.
Then Shiv shrugged. “OK. Load ‘em in the back and I’ll run you in to town. No skin off my nose.”
The girls were already eagerly entering the relative warmth of the van, probably heedless of the identity of the various items of mayhem and destruction they were shoving aside to make room on the floor. Napoleon closed the van doors behind them and got up front, wanting to do nothing to make the man think he would cause any trouble. The heavy steel mesh between the front and back of the van was another incentive – he didn’t want to be trapped.
Shiv started off, driving surprisingly carefully for a hitman. Clearly he had some familiarity with snow. Napoleon sought for some innocuous topic of conversation.
“So the Claibornes hired you to kill us.” OK, not innocuous, but it was something they had in common, at least.
Shiv said nothing.
“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes.”
Shiv didn’t shift his gaze from the road. “I would.”
The grey-white mist of early morning gradually revealed a set of headlights moving toward them. The road being narrow as well as slippery, Napoleon wasn’t surprised that Shiv slowed and moved to the outside edge. To everyone’s surprise, the car coming toward them slowed, fishtailed, and blocked their path. Someone got out and Napoleon immediately recognized his shape and movements. And damn again.
Illya, bundled in a too-big (presumably borrowed) coat, stumped toward him, his breath pluming in the frosty air. It was snowing again, lightly, but the wind was low. In dramatically different circumstances it would be pleasant.
“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Napoleon growled, glancing behind him. Shiv was out of the van, standing still by the driver’s side door, engine still running.
“I came to help.” Illya looked at the van. “I guess I’m redundant.”
“Not necessarily,” Napoleon said. “That’s one of the guys who was trying to kill us.” He gave his head a backward nod, toward Shiv, and Illya tensed.
“Napoleon!” The remonstrance was mild. “I wish I could have gotten a gun.”
“Not sure it would help – he’s got five young girls in the back of that van. The last thing we want is a shootout. Anyway, he’s driving us back into town.”
“He’s what?”
Napoleon shrugged. “We made a deal. He lost contact with the Claibornes – he has a phone in the van – so I … sort of outbid them.”
Illya shook his head. “Leave it to you.” He started to get back in the car. “I’ll follow—”
“No, you won’t.”
Shiv’s voice made both agents turn. He stood with a shotgun pointed very emphatically at them.
“Both of you. In the back. Now.”
Clearly he was accustomed to being obeyed.
“No gun.” Napoleon said sourly.
“I couldn’t find one,” Illya groused.
Napoleon sighed. “After you, then.”
Shiv herded them to the back and opened the door. Illya climbed in, with some effort, telling Napoleon he was in no shape to be out here.
Napoleon paused, looked at Shiv. “I thought we had a deal.”
Shiv smiled. “I got a better offer.”
Surprised, Napoleon blurted, “When?”
This time Shiv’s smile showed all his teeth. It was like staring into the face of a shark.
“Ten years ago when I joined THRUSH. Now get in the van.”
Napoleon got in the van.
“Hm.” Waverly rubbed his chin. “Dashed inconvenient. Still. It eliminates the question of his guilt or innocence.” He turned on Marjorie Claiborne, shrinking into herself, all tears and quivers that might or might not be faked. “Madame, your guilt or innocence is irrelevant also – for the moment. Where are our agents and where is your assassin, and how do we stop him?”
She gestured widely – wildly – and cried, “I don’t know! The assassin … his name is Shiv. I don’t know anything about him or where he is.”
Collier advanced on her. “I’ll get it out of her, sir.”
Impatient, Waverly said, “Please do, and with some speed, Mr. Collier. Several lives may hang in the balance. Get a team in here to go over this place. I’m going back to headquarters.”
“Yes sir.”
Napoleon gently coaxed the ladies into a smaller cluster – at least it would conserve heat and he wouldn’t have to shout.
“We need to get to town,” he said. “It’s only about …” He did the rough math in his head and sighed. These girls wore indoor clothing and shoes, and were probably already hungry, tired, and cold.
“About 5 miles that way,” he lied – it was more like 10, but no point in fomenting despair – and pointed down the mountain. He hated giving up the chase – the hitman, any assistants he had, and the men who’d been holding these girls were all up there somewhere, and the cabin they said they’d been kept in was probably close to the control center – but the priority was getting these girls to safety and reporting in. They wouldn’t last, dressed as they were, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours. At least it wasn’t snowing, and there was a bright moon to light their way.
And to provide perfect targeting conditions for anyone with a rifle.
“Come on,” he urged, waving with his hands as if trying to herd a clutch of ducklings. “Keep moving. We have to get to safety and you need to keep warm. Try to link arms if you can. Keep close and keep moving. It’s not far.” He grimaced mentally at the lie and waved the crowbar in the general direction of the road, which lay a couple of miles down the narrow path he’d so recently ascended.
They marched.
It wasn't long before the faint crunch of tires on snow came to his ears. Quickly he shooed the girls into the treeline and told them to get down.
A van was struggling its way down the road. Big, expensive, no windows in the back – and coming down, not up from town. All that told Napoleon it would be best to stay hidden. Barring Nick, everyone he’d met on this mountain had tried their best to kill him.
Before he could communicate that, the girls erupted in a series of cries and sobs and yells for help, scampering around him and running through the snow toward the road.
The van skidded to a stop.
Quickly, Napoleon weighed the benefit of leaving them to their fate and simply getting to town himself. But he realized it would be better if he could find out where they were being held – they weren’t the only girls in captivity on this ruthless mountain.
Sighing, he hid the crowbar behind his back and followed the girls to the van.
Leaving the van running, a man hopped out, a semiautomatic in hand but not actually pointed at anyone, which Napoleon took as a propitious sign.
“There you are,” the man said.
“Here we are,” Napoleon agreed. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Shiv. Where’s your partner?”
Napoleon pretended to look around him. “As is so often the case, I’m not really sure.”
Shiv shook his head and leaned in to the van to access a mobile phone. He requested access to “Claiborne” from whoever he got connected to, and waited. And waited.
And waited. Then cursed, once.
“Sounds like your boss is hors de combat,” Napoleon said as Shiv hung up.
Calmly, Shiv said, “Sounds like.”
“So you might as well cut your losses and let us go.”
To his astonishment, the hitman seemed to consider this. Solo filed that information in his brain.
Finally, though, the man said, “I got nothin’ against you, Solo, or these girls.” He indicated them with his gun, casually, and they shrank into themselves en masse. “But I got no time to baby-sit, and I don’t want no witnesses.” Shiv shrugged, raised his .45.
“Stop!” Napoleon said, hands out – he quickly dropped the crowbar, realizing it presented a less-than-conciliatory appearance. “Let’s talk this over.”
Again, Shiv paused – that pause reassuring Napoleon his assessment was correct. He plunged on.
“Look, you’ve gotten all you’re going to get from the Claibornes. But they aren’t the only bidders here.”
Like two tiny earthquakes, the heavy brows in that rocklike face shifted upward as Shiv examined Napoleon’s face and the option he was presenting.
“Go on.”
“It’s simple. Take us to the nearest town and leave us. I’ll give you 24 hours to disappear, and –” He quickly calculated – UNCLE wouldn’t pay off an independent contractor like Shiv, and though he was comfortable, he wasn’t sure how much money he could lay his hands on immediately. “— and $10,000 cash to help fund that disappearance, along with my promise of no retribution from my organization.” That line item, in light of the fact that this deal would save these girls’ lives (not to mention Solo’s own) – he thought he could defend to Waverly.
“You got that much on you?” Shiv challenged.
The catch, Napoleon thought, and cursed silently. “No. I can get it to you as soon as I get back to New York, though – in whatever form and to whatever place you prefer. No double-cross. This is a deal for saving the lives of these girls.”
“And yours,” Shiv said. “Maybe I’ll keep one of them for collateral…” He eyed the girls again, and at least one of them started to cry.
“How about …” Napoleon fished in his pockets and about his person. No communicator, no badge, not the exploding cufflinks, no, no … damn.
He handed over about $200 in cash and his (damn!) Rolex. “That’s a bit more than 10 percent down. Good enough?”
Shiv looked at the down payment, then at Solo. He shrugged. “Hell, I got nothin’ personal against you or these girls.” Solo handed over the money and watch. Shiv shoved them into his wallet, keeping the gun steady on Napoleon. “If I don’t get the balance within that 24 hour window you mentioned, I will find you and I will take you down.”
Napoleon scout-swore, confident the man would keep his word. “On my honor.”
Shiv squinted at him, believing him, Napoleon thought, about as much as Napoleon himself meant it – maybe 50%.
Then Shiv shrugged. “OK. Load ‘em in the back and I’ll run you in to town. No skin off my nose.”
The girls were already eagerly entering the relative warmth of the van, probably heedless of the identity of the various items of mayhem and destruction they were shoving aside to make room on the floor. Napoleon closed the van doors behind them and got up front, wanting to do nothing to make the man think he would cause any trouble. The heavy steel mesh between the front and back of the van was another incentive – he didn’t want to be trapped.
Shiv started off, driving surprisingly carefully for a hitman. Clearly he had some familiarity with snow. Napoleon sought for some innocuous topic of conversation.
“So the Claibornes hired you to kill us.” OK, not innocuous, but it was something they had in common, at least.
Shiv said nothing.
“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes.”
Shiv didn’t shift his gaze from the road. “I would.”
The grey-white mist of early morning gradually revealed a set of headlights moving toward them. The road being narrow as well as slippery, Napoleon wasn’t surprised that Shiv slowed and moved to the outside edge. To everyone’s surprise, the car coming toward them slowed, fishtailed, and blocked their path. Someone got out and Napoleon immediately recognized his shape and movements. And damn again.
Illya, bundled in a too-big (presumably borrowed) coat, stumped toward him, his breath pluming in the frosty air. It was snowing again, lightly, but the wind was low. In dramatically different circumstances it would be pleasant.
“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Napoleon growled, glancing behind him. Shiv was out of the van, standing still by the driver’s side door, engine still running.
“I came to help.” Illya looked at the van. “I guess I’m redundant.”
“Not necessarily,” Napoleon said. “That’s one of the guys who was trying to kill us.” He gave his head a backward nod, toward Shiv, and Illya tensed.
“Napoleon!” The remonstrance was mild. “I wish I could have gotten a gun.”
“Not sure it would help – he’s got five young girls in the back of that van. The last thing we want is a shootout. Anyway, he’s driving us back into town.”
“He’s what?”
Napoleon shrugged. “We made a deal. He lost contact with the Claibornes – he has a phone in the van – so I … sort of outbid them.”
Illya shook his head. “Leave it to you.” He started to get back in the car. “I’ll follow—”
“No, you won’t.”
Shiv’s voice made both agents turn. He stood with a shotgun pointed very emphatically at them.
“Both of you. In the back. Now.”
Clearly he was accustomed to being obeyed.
“No gun.” Napoleon said sourly.
“I couldn’t find one,” Illya groused.
Napoleon sighed. “After you, then.”
Shiv herded them to the back and opened the door. Illya climbed in, with some effort, telling Napoleon he was in no shape to be out here.
Napoleon paused, looked at Shiv. “I thought we had a deal.”
Shiv smiled. “I got a better offer.”
Surprised, Napoleon blurted, “When?”
This time Shiv’s smile showed all his teeth. It was like staring into the face of a shark.
“Ten years ago when I joined THRUSH. Now get in the van.”
Napoleon got in the van.
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no subject
Date: 2021-01-01 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-01-01 03:43 am (UTC)* How he got a rental car at Christmas in a snowstorm in a small town, I don't know. I just gave him the car to get him there quickly. :-)
no subject
Date: 2021-01-01 02:24 pm (UTC)Just taking a liberty, so to speak ;)
no subject
Date: 2021-01-01 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-01-03 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-01-07 05:59 pm (UTC)Our poor heroes—captured once more...