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section7mfu2013-05-05 09:47 am
Snapshots~"Meandering Thoughts"
“Ah, Istanbul, how I remember it well,” the Russian said, as he and his partner moved deliberately among the many spice and fruit vendors on the outside of the Egyptian bazaar, with a view of the principal mosque of Istanbul, the Hagia Sophia looming in the distance behind it.
“Yes,” Napoleon agreed, ”the pungent odor of something that hasn’t been cleaned since....ever.”
“Fruit flies and spiced meats, a lovely combination.” Illya crinkled his nose and sneezed. “Yes the red pepper, mint, cumin do add to it.
“Don’t forget the sumac and cinnamon...what a combination,” the American said, sniffing the air. “They add a certain saveur to the place.
“Watchout! “Illya yelled, pushing his partner out of the way.
The roar of a motorbike barely alerted the agents as it sped past the two, nearly knocking them over.
“I do not miss that either,” Illya mumbled, sneezing again. “I think the drivers here are the worst.”
“I think Morocco,” Napoleon countered, swatting a fly away from his face.
They both looked at each other, “Egypt,” announcing it at the same time.
“Well maybe Paris as well,” Illya added.
“Aaaah Paris,” Napoleon sighed blissfully, “The Eiffel tower, the Moulin Rouge....les girls. What I wouldn’t give to be in Paris right now,” he pulled at his collar, feeling the heat.
Illya tried not to breath in the current scents too deeply as he envisioned the boulangeries and bistros. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief.
“Right now, I would prefer Moskva.”
“You would...”
“You do not prefer to be cooler than we are here?”
“Yes, but Paris would be comfortable enough and there’s so many ladies there to occupy my time,” He smiled again, letting his thoughts drift.
“Tsk.” Illya shook his head at his partner’s one-track mind. “Someday, when this world has straightened itself out, I would show you Moskva.”
“Too cold for my taste,” Napoleon smiled.”I’ll stick with Paris.”
“Not when you have one or two of our beautiful Russian women to warm your bed.” Illya elbowed him with a serious look, pointing to a man standing in an alcove across the square.
“Nope, Paris.”
“Suit yourself. There is our target,” Illya said, “the man in the white linen suit.”
“Back to work chum,” Solo nodded, his demeanor changing instantly as he reached for his Special; though thoughts of les girls still ran through the back of his mind.
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