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section7mfuThis chapter is also on AO3
A two-tone alarm woke Napoleon from his doze. The truck’s cab was warm and dark, and his tired fingers fumbled with the communicator.
“That’s one loud gadget you’ve got there,” Nick said as he peered out the windshield at the snowy highway. “Almost sent me clean off the road.”
“You get used to it,” Napoleon replied, nudging his snoring partner. “Solo here.”
“It’s Mark. I’ve good news and bad news, mate.”
Napoleon rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Of course, you do.”
“We breached the concrete wall. The captives are free and in good condition, considering all they’ve been through.”
Illya released a drowsy but gratified exhalation. “And the bad news?” he mumbled.
“Adams escaped.”
“What about his men?” Napoleon asked sharply.
“Still here. April’s interrogating them, poor blighters. Wait, she’s heading this way.”
After a few seconds, April’s voice came on the channel. “Napoleon, those men aren’t working for Thrush.”
“What do you mean? They were going to attack us.”
“Adams fed them some line about you and Illya being compromised. With the death of Cathy Claiborne and your disappearance, they were already inclined to believe it. Seeing the van tear off with Illya at the wheel clinched it for them.”
“A convenient tale,” Illya said.
“I gave one of them a truth serum tablet. His story held.”
Napoleon ran his hand over his face. “Even if they’re innocent, Adams isn’t.”
“True. Headquarters knows that they’ve now got two Thrushies to track down.”
“Perhaps they will kill two birds with one stone,” Illya said.
“That’s the spirit, darling. Ta-ta.” April closed the channel.
“The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” Nick recited into the ensuing silence.
“What’d you say?” Napoleon asked, the hand with his communicator pausing above his pocket.
“What was that?” Illya asked at the same moment.
“I was just thinking, what makes a man like this Adams do what he did?”
“I had the same thought,” Napoleon said.
“So had I,” Illya added.
“And what answer did you boys come up with?”
Napoleon shrugged. “Power. Money. Sex.”
Illya settled his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. “Or any combination thereof.”
“Then I guess we’re agreed.” Nick adjusted the radio to pick up a stronger station. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
<>-<>-<>
Under the light of the chandelier, Marjorie Claiborne’s head and arms lay sprawled across the tabletop, her body racked with sobs. “Not Cathy. She would never do that to us.”
“Why not?” Illya asked coldly. “The apple falls not far from the tree.”
“You’ve seen the evidence,” Napoleon continued. “Dirk Skala, alias Shiv, currently in UNCLE custody, has intimate knowledge of all your business ventures.”
Illya leaned over her. “And of your daughter.”
From the other side of the table, Waverly gave a slight cough, and Illya withdrew.
Marjorie looked up at Waverly, her cheeks stained with tears. “I didn’t know anything about human trafficking. You heard what Randall said.”
“I did, indeed. But hearing him and believing him are entirely different matters.”
Napoleon sat down in the chair across from her. “Mrs. Claiborne, we already have teams sifting through each of your houses with fine-tooth combs. Soon they’ll be here too, pitting every olive and slicing into every wheel of Camembert until they find what they’re looking for. Now if you make things easier for us, we might make things easier for you.”
Illya held up his hand. “Do you smell that?”
Napoleon scrunched his face and sniffed. “All I smell is tobacco and truffles.”
Waverly looked from his pipe to his agent. “What is it, Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Accelerant.” Illya drew his replacement Special and headed toward the rear of the store. The office door swung open. Collier Adams stood on the threshold, a metal canister in one hand and a lighter in the other. With a click, it sparked into flame. “Drop your weapon, Illya, or I drop this.”
“Coll,” Marjorie shrieked. She ran to the office and threw herself at Adams, who released the canister and wrapped his arm around her.
“The same goes for you two,” he said, as Napoleon and Waverly slowly approached.
The agents glanced at their Chief. At his slight nod, they laid their guns on the floor and kicked them aside.
“Would you mind, Mr. Kuryakin?” Waverly asked, holding out his weapon. “This weather has made my joints rather stiff.”
With a raised brow, Illya took the gun from his Chief and repeated the procedure.
“I knew you didn’t mean those things you said,” Marjorie cried, clinging to Adams’s neck. “I knew you’d come back for me.”
Adams kissed her hair, never taking his eyes off the others. “I should hate you, Jorie,” he said fiercely. “God knows I tried to. But this thing’s too strong for me.”
“What exactly is the meaning of this, Mr. Adams?” Waverly asked.
“It’s very simple, sir. I love Marjorie, and I’m taking her away from here, someplace far away where not even UNCLE will find us.”
“Think, Collier,” Napoleon urged. “You were a good agent. A good man. Are you going to give all that up for a woman you’ve known little more than a week?”
Adams’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I was trying to do the right thing, Napoleon. I went back to smooth things over. I wanted to erase the horrible desires I saw in her eyes the day before. No woman as lovely as Marjorie should ever look like that. Surely you of all people understand.”
Napoleon grimaced in response.
“Yes, I’m quite certain he does,” Waverly said dryly. “As I’ve told Mr. Solo on several occasions, that sort of rehabilitation is best left to our medical experts.”
“She needed me,” Adams insisted, squeezing his arm more tightly around the woman who trembled against him. “Now I’m all she has left.”
Illya rolled his eyes. “What are your demands?” he asked impatiently.
Adams pointed his chin to the front of the store. Outside the windows, the sidewalk bustled with holiday revelers. “You’re going to let me and Marjorie walk out that door. In exchange, you’ll find all the information you need to shut down Claiborne’s trafficking ring.”
“I thought you two searched that office thoroughly,” Waverly said to his agents.
“We did. I assume Collier is aware of a hiding place that was very cleverly concealed.”
“I am,” Adams said. “And if you try to stop us, everything goes up in smoke.”
“What about those papers?” Illya asked, looking at the folded sheaf in Adams’s hip pocket.
“Just a few financial records. Even on the lam, I’ll need to keep Marjorie in the style she’s used to.” Adams waved the lighter. “Now what’ll it be? Our two lives or hundreds of others?”
“When you put it like that, the choice is obvious.” Waverly stepped aside.
“He could be lying about the information in there,” Illya said.
“I am afraid that is a chance we will have to take,” Waverly replied.
With reluctance, Illya and Napoleon joined their Chief beside a display of pâté, clearing the path to the door.
Adams dropped his arm from around Marjorie. “Hand me that canister, Jorie. It’s time to go.”
Marjorie did as he asked, then hurried toward the front of the store. Adams followed at a slower pace, squirting a thin stream of accelerant onto the floor behind him, the lighter poised above it.
“Ho-ho, boys, what did I miss?”
At the sound of the jovial, booming voice, Adams spun around. Napoleon and Illya exchanged a coordinating glance, ready to spring into action, only to watch as Waverly pitched a can of foie gras toward the rogue agent. The projectile struck Adams’s hand, and his lighter flew across the store. Illya quickly tackled him.
“Your joints have loosened up,” Napoleon said, jogging after Marjorie, who struggled frantically with the lock on the front door.
Waverly chuckled. “So they have. Here, Mr. Kuryakin, hit him with this, if necessary.” He tossed Illya a salami the size of a billy club, then stepped around the two men grappling on the floor, his hand extended toward Nick. “Mr. Rozhdestvo, I presume. My agents told me you were headed back upstate.”
Nick shook his hand vigorously. “I thought I should stick around a little while, in case I was needed again. I’d have returned sooner, but I had the hardest time finding a parking place for the plow.”
Napoleon escorted Marjorie back to the others, holding her firmly by one arm. At the sight of Adams lying on the floor, bound with his own necktie, a fractured salami beside him, she screeched and wrenched free, then collapsed on top of her unconscious lover, weeping hysterically.
Napoleon turned his scrunched face from the spectacle and swung his finger toward the front door. “Just, ah, how did you get in here, Nick? That door’s been locked since Mr. Waverly arrived with Mrs. Claiborne.”
“That’s funny. It opened fine for me,” Nick replied with a grin.
“Another mystery would be how you managed to enter without a sound,” Illya said, handing a sheaf of papers to Waverly. He joined his partner, who sniffed and backed away, mouthing the word, “Boom.”
Nick looked at the little bell which hung from the top of the door. “Isn’t that the darnedest thing?” he said, scratching his white beard. Then he pointed to a tin of Russian caviar on the table beside him. “If I leave the money with you boys, could I take one of these back with me? I’d love to give it to Nastya as a Christmas surprise.”
Waverly’s shaggy brows rose as he scanned the offshore account statements. “Have it on the house, as it were. I doubt Mrs. Claiborne will object.”
“In that case, I’ll take a few.” Nick handed Napoleon and Illya a tin each and gave a wink. “Merry Christmas, boys.”
A two-tone alarm woke Napoleon from his doze. The truck’s cab was warm and dark, and his tired fingers fumbled with the communicator.
“That’s one loud gadget you’ve got there,” Nick said as he peered out the windshield at the snowy highway. “Almost sent me clean off the road.”
“You get used to it,” Napoleon replied, nudging his snoring partner. “Solo here.”
“It’s Mark. I’ve good news and bad news, mate.”
Napoleon rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Of course, you do.”
“We breached the concrete wall. The captives are free and in good condition, considering all they’ve been through.”
Illya released a drowsy but gratified exhalation. “And the bad news?” he mumbled.
“Adams escaped.”
“What about his men?” Napoleon asked sharply.
“Still here. April’s interrogating them, poor blighters. Wait, she’s heading this way.”
After a few seconds, April’s voice came on the channel. “Napoleon, those men aren’t working for Thrush.”
“What do you mean? They were going to attack us.”
“Adams fed them some line about you and Illya being compromised. With the death of Cathy Claiborne and your disappearance, they were already inclined to believe it. Seeing the van tear off with Illya at the wheel clinched it for them.”
“A convenient tale,” Illya said.
“I gave one of them a truth serum tablet. His story held.”
Napoleon ran his hand over his face. “Even if they’re innocent, Adams isn’t.”
“True. Headquarters knows that they’ve now got two Thrushies to track down.”
“Perhaps they will kill two birds with one stone,” Illya said.
“That’s the spirit, darling. Ta-ta.” April closed the channel.
“The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” Nick recited into the ensuing silence.
“What’d you say?” Napoleon asked, the hand with his communicator pausing above his pocket.
“What was that?” Illya asked at the same moment.
“I was just thinking, what makes a man like this Adams do what he did?”
“I had the same thought,” Napoleon said.
“So had I,” Illya added.
“And what answer did you boys come up with?”
Napoleon shrugged. “Power. Money. Sex.”
Illya settled his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. “Or any combination thereof.”
“Then I guess we’re agreed.” Nick adjusted the radio to pick up a stronger station. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
<>-<>-<>
Under the light of the chandelier, Marjorie Claiborne’s head and arms lay sprawled across the tabletop, her body racked with sobs. “Not Cathy. She would never do that to us.”
“Why not?” Illya asked coldly. “The apple falls not far from the tree.”
“You’ve seen the evidence,” Napoleon continued. “Dirk Skala, alias Shiv, currently in UNCLE custody, has intimate knowledge of all your business ventures.”
Illya leaned over her. “And of your daughter.”
From the other side of the table, Waverly gave a slight cough, and Illya withdrew.
Marjorie looked up at Waverly, her cheeks stained with tears. “I didn’t know anything about human trafficking. You heard what Randall said.”
“I did, indeed. But hearing him and believing him are entirely different matters.”
Napoleon sat down in the chair across from her. “Mrs. Claiborne, we already have teams sifting through each of your houses with fine-tooth combs. Soon they’ll be here too, pitting every olive and slicing into every wheel of Camembert until they find what they’re looking for. Now if you make things easier for us, we might make things easier for you.”
Illya held up his hand. “Do you smell that?”
Napoleon scrunched his face and sniffed. “All I smell is tobacco and truffles.”
Waverly looked from his pipe to his agent. “What is it, Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Accelerant.” Illya drew his replacement Special and headed toward the rear of the store. The office door swung open. Collier Adams stood on the threshold, a metal canister in one hand and a lighter in the other. With a click, it sparked into flame. “Drop your weapon, Illya, or I drop this.”
“Coll,” Marjorie shrieked. She ran to the office and threw herself at Adams, who released the canister and wrapped his arm around her.
“The same goes for you two,” he said, as Napoleon and Waverly slowly approached.
The agents glanced at their Chief. At his slight nod, they laid their guns on the floor and kicked them aside.
“Would you mind, Mr. Kuryakin?” Waverly asked, holding out his weapon. “This weather has made my joints rather stiff.”
With a raised brow, Illya took the gun from his Chief and repeated the procedure.
“I knew you didn’t mean those things you said,” Marjorie cried, clinging to Adams’s neck. “I knew you’d come back for me.”
Adams kissed her hair, never taking his eyes off the others. “I should hate you, Jorie,” he said fiercely. “God knows I tried to. But this thing’s too strong for me.”
“What exactly is the meaning of this, Mr. Adams?” Waverly asked.
“It’s very simple, sir. I love Marjorie, and I’m taking her away from here, someplace far away where not even UNCLE will find us.”
“Think, Collier,” Napoleon urged. “You were a good agent. A good man. Are you going to give all that up for a woman you’ve known little more than a week?”
Adams’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I was trying to do the right thing, Napoleon. I went back to smooth things over. I wanted to erase the horrible desires I saw in her eyes the day before. No woman as lovely as Marjorie should ever look like that. Surely you of all people understand.”
Napoleon grimaced in response.
“Yes, I’m quite certain he does,” Waverly said dryly. “As I’ve told Mr. Solo on several occasions, that sort of rehabilitation is best left to our medical experts.”
“She needed me,” Adams insisted, squeezing his arm more tightly around the woman who trembled against him. “Now I’m all she has left.”
Illya rolled his eyes. “What are your demands?” he asked impatiently.
Adams pointed his chin to the front of the store. Outside the windows, the sidewalk bustled with holiday revelers. “You’re going to let me and Marjorie walk out that door. In exchange, you’ll find all the information you need to shut down Claiborne’s trafficking ring.”
“I thought you two searched that office thoroughly,” Waverly said to his agents.
“We did. I assume Collier is aware of a hiding place that was very cleverly concealed.”
“I am,” Adams said. “And if you try to stop us, everything goes up in smoke.”
“What about those papers?” Illya asked, looking at the folded sheaf in Adams’s hip pocket.
“Just a few financial records. Even on the lam, I’ll need to keep Marjorie in the style she’s used to.” Adams waved the lighter. “Now what’ll it be? Our two lives or hundreds of others?”
“When you put it like that, the choice is obvious.” Waverly stepped aside.
“He could be lying about the information in there,” Illya said.
“I am afraid that is a chance we will have to take,” Waverly replied.
With reluctance, Illya and Napoleon joined their Chief beside a display of pâté, clearing the path to the door.
Adams dropped his arm from around Marjorie. “Hand me that canister, Jorie. It’s time to go.”
Marjorie did as he asked, then hurried toward the front of the store. Adams followed at a slower pace, squirting a thin stream of accelerant onto the floor behind him, the lighter poised above it.
“Ho-ho, boys, what did I miss?”
At the sound of the jovial, booming voice, Adams spun around. Napoleon and Illya exchanged a coordinating glance, ready to spring into action, only to watch as Waverly pitched a can of foie gras toward the rogue agent. The projectile struck Adams’s hand, and his lighter flew across the store. Illya quickly tackled him.
“Your joints have loosened up,” Napoleon said, jogging after Marjorie, who struggled frantically with the lock on the front door.
Waverly chuckled. “So they have. Here, Mr. Kuryakin, hit him with this, if necessary.” He tossed Illya a salami the size of a billy club, then stepped around the two men grappling on the floor, his hand extended toward Nick. “Mr. Rozhdestvo, I presume. My agents told me you were headed back upstate.”
Nick shook his hand vigorously. “I thought I should stick around a little while, in case I was needed again. I’d have returned sooner, but I had the hardest time finding a parking place for the plow.”
Napoleon escorted Marjorie back to the others, holding her firmly by one arm. At the sight of Adams lying on the floor, bound with his own necktie, a fractured salami beside him, she screeched and wrenched free, then collapsed on top of her unconscious lover, weeping hysterically.
Napoleon turned his scrunched face from the spectacle and swung his finger toward the front door. “Just, ah, how did you get in here, Nick? That door’s been locked since Mr. Waverly arrived with Mrs. Claiborne.”
“That’s funny. It opened fine for me,” Nick replied with a grin.
“Another mystery would be how you managed to enter without a sound,” Illya said, handing a sheaf of papers to Waverly. He joined his partner, who sniffed and backed away, mouthing the word, “Boom.”
Nick looked at the little bell which hung from the top of the door. “Isn’t that the darnedest thing?” he said, scratching his white beard. Then he pointed to a tin of Russian caviar on the table beside him. “If I leave the money with you boys, could I take one of these back with me? I’d love to give it to Nastya as a Christmas surprise.”
Waverly’s shaggy brows rose as he scanned the offshore account statements. “Have it on the house, as it were. I doubt Mrs. Claiborne will object.”
“In that case, I’ll take a few.” Nick handed Napoleon and Illya a tin each and gave a wink. “Merry Christmas, boys.”
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