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section7mfulink to chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/412573.html
link to chapter 3: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/413043.html
Napoleon regained consciousness face down in what he quickly realized was the back of a truck; he rolled over to his back as the jostling continued to jar him back to his senses. His head was pounding, and as he put his hand to his scalp, it came away covered in blood.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he began to feel dizzy.
“Nothing like a head wound to make a mess,” he thought, looking at the armed guards sitting in the rear of the truck, blocking his escape. “Escape,” he thought,”not going to happen with the way he felt right now.”
A dark hand appeared in front of his face, one of the other prisoners offering to help him up to the bench where they were seated.
“Thank you,” Solo whispered as he sat beside the man,” and you are?”
“Akinjide, Doctor Omiyale Akinjide. And what are you called my friend?” He spoke in English with a clipped accent.
“Napoleon Solo.”
“Ah a very powerful and auspicious name that is Napoleon,” Akinjide nodded his approval.
“Tell me Doctor, do you have any idea where we’re headed?”
“Why yes. Sadly we are being taken to the prison camp near Warri. I have been commandeered to treat the soldiers, and hopefully the internees as well.” He leaned closer, whispering this time. “I have heard they are not treated well. Speaking of which, that is a nasty gash you have on your head, you should let me tend to it.”
The doctor turned to the guards, asking permission in Yoruba to treat the American. The men laughed their reply, waving their approval, seemingly unconcerned as they puffed away on their cigarettes.
The doctor opened his black medical bag, showing the guards what he was removing, just some gauze and antiseptic.
Solo winced as Akinjide dabbed his scalp, wiping the blood away as he examined the wound.
“You are lucky sir, it is not deep. Head wounds have a way of bleeding more and therefore look worse than they actually are.” He took hold of the Americans chin, turning Napoleon’s face and examining a darkening bruise that was forming on his cheek. There was nothing he could do about that.
“Tell me about it, “Napoleon mumbled. “Not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
The doctor, oddly enough, did not react to what the American said.
What seemed like ages later, the lorry pulled through the gate to the prison camp, coming to a stop in front of a simple whitewashed building. The occupants of the back of the truck were shoved out one by one, rifles aimed at them as they were each stripped of whatever bits of clothing the guards fancied.
Napoleon wasn’t sad to see the striped robe his partner had gotten him go but when his khaki shirt was being eyed, he protested. Someone barked an order to the guard just as he was about to hit Solo, and instead of the American’s jacket being taken, he and the other prisoners were made to stand in the blazing African sun while their ankles were shackled.
Napoleon protested again, politely this time. “Look... I’m sorry but there seems to be some sort of mistake. If I could just have my ID back, I could show you who I am.
His papers indicated he was an American businessman, there to import equipment for drilling water and creating wells around Warri.
A rifle butt slammed into his stomach this time, doubling him over with a grunt. Solo straightened himself up slowly, scanning the camp and seeing hundreds of poorly dressed and half starved prisoners. There were a few white faces among them, gathered together, hiding in the shade beside one of the many crude huts erected within the barbed wire fencing.
Uniformed guards stood in the towers while some patrolled the perimeter of the camp. There were other men there, and he spotted a red fez on one of them waiting by the main building.
Napoleon clicked his tongue with an annoyed, ‘Tsk,” realizing he might be in for more trouble than he imagined. His mind drifted to thoughts of Illya but they were disturbed as he and the doctor were pushed inside the building and hoped his partner would help get him out of this hell hole, and fast.
The prisoners were made to stand at attention in front of the camp commandant’s metal desk two at a time; the man standing with his back to them once they were settled in place.
“Doctor Akinjide, welcome to my camp,” a dark, oily skinned man smiled; he spoke heavily accented English as he sat down behind the desk. His face was pock-marked with scars, possibly from acne or just bad hygiene and there was a large and distinctive gap between his front teeth. His ill-fitting uniform was tight, covering his rather rotund form.
“This is not a welcome. Am I to be held a prisoner here? And why am I chained thusly?” The doctor spoke up boldly.
“Let’s say you need to be here for an indeterminate length of time. My troops need medical attention and I can’t have you running off.”
“And what about the prisoners.” Napoleon piped in, eyeing the man wearing the red fez as he walked into the room, followed by one of his compatriots...this one sporting a heavy moustache.
“Ah yes Mr. Solamente.” The Commendant said holding up Napoleon’s documents. “Or should I say Mr. Solo. I also welcome you but you are here for a different reason are you not?” He flashed a wide grin. “My friends Mr. Bukhari and Mr. Hazzizz want to know what you have done with the items you and your partner stole from him.”
Napoleon feigned ignorance, flashing an innocent, wide eyed gaze. “Sir...I’m sorry we haven’t been introduced, but you’re mistaken. My name is Anthony Solamente and I work for an Italian company here to deliver equipment for building water wells in this area.”
“Oh so kind of you to remind me. “ I am General Akingbade, a name you will learn to fear.” He backhanded Napoleon across the mouth. “Don’t lie to me, I know who you are, U.N.C.L.E. agent. A little bird told me the truth. ”
Solo spat blood from his mouth, as he looked the General in the eyes. “But...”
“Close your mouth, prisoner!” Akingbade bellowed.”I am told that you are the best in your organization...let us see how long you last here.” He snapped his fingers and a tall blond, pale-skinned man entered the room, dressed in different military fatigues, Russian ones.
“Take him to building number three and tell your Colonel Zakhrov to soften him up a bit, but remind him not damage my goods too much, I want him kept alive,” he sneered at the Russian, before returning his attention to the American.
“You’ll tell us Solo where the codes are, if not, then others will suffer for your silence. Perhaps when we find that partner of yours, he will pay the price, or he might be the one to talk?A man would be willing to give up his mother after Zakhrov finishes with him."
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Date: 2013-10-10 01:22 pm (UTC)Mmmm... Napoleon might tell them where the codes are... or the codes might come on their own. Blond and very angry "codes", I mean...
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Date: 2013-10-10 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-10 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-11 01:11 am (UTC)