The Twelve Days, Day 7 for the 12 Days of Christmas

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
~~~~~:

Day 7

It was a matter of the flight to Halifax by helicopter and then a plane ride back to New York City, and the day was pretty much done for the hapless travelers. The mission was taken over by a second team of agents who, as it turned out, had been in position and waiting for the distraction of the duo who were hi-jacked. Learning that had taken a little steam out of Napoleon’s engine, but he understood. Sort of.

Only slightly more disturbing than being a decoy was the fact that he and Illya were slated to head out again this morning for another assignment. Mr. Waverly had assured them that this time there were no surprises like the one in Nova Scotia.

Napoleon and Illya were traveling by taxicab to the airport in anticipation of boarding an early flight for …

“Tulsa?”

The Russian was unfamiliar with the city made rich by the oil strikes in the early part of the century and generally considered the Oil Capitol of America.

“Oklahoma, Illya. Home of Will Rogers and tornados.”

That was not a welcome piece of information.

“I am very glad then, that it is not tornado season. I suppose the threat that we are investigating would be very disagreeable to all of the rich oil men who live there.”

Napoleon was studying a photograph from the file on this affair. The actual task for them was to be one of retrieval.

The weather in New York had been moderate for December. Heading into Tulsa Municipal Airport, Illya could see snow blanketing the ground below. Mounds of it were heaped along the sides of the runway, making him wonder if he had really traveled south or if the plane had taken a wrong turn.

“I hope we can get this done quickly, Napoleon. I do not relish another day spent trudging through snow and cold.”

Napoleon observed the other passengers as he and Illya waited for them all to deplane. The cold gust of air that blew into the aircraft made every one of them shiver as coats were pulled on and preparations were made to brave the tarmac that stood between them and the warmth of the terminal.

This was to be a one day turnaround operation. The two agents had nothing to retrieve from baggage, so they went to the outside curb and hailed a taxi. The pavement was glistening from the ice storm of the night before, with little evidence of the salting that had been performed to help alleviate the slick conditions.

As the two slid into the back seat of the cab, Napoleon double checked the destination.

“Uh, Swan Lake. Hopefully it’s not frozen over yet.”

The cab driver turned around and smiled, his expression not betraying any worry over the roads or the blizzard like conditions.

“Swan Lake, you say? Not a problem. Just sit back gentlemen, and enjoy the ride.”

Illya cut a sidelong look at his partner, curious about a place named after a Russian ballet.

“I am still wondering if this is some sort of joke. What type of place is actually named Swan Lake? Unless, of course, it really is Swan Lake.”

Napoleon shrugged, not being at all familiar with this city.

“I don’t have a clue, Illya. It’s where we’ve been told to pick up our… um… product. Hopefully this lake has a place to wait without standing in the snow.”

Considering the road conditions and the continuing snow, the ride was not long, not did it turn out to be hazardous. The cab pulled onto a boulevard that was lined by homes that rivaled anything either man had seen in the world. These were the homes of oil barons, and when they were built in the early part of the century, no expenses were spared. A few turns and the driver brought his vehicle to a stop in the middle of a neighborhood that was built around a lake.

“Swan Lake, gentlemen. Now, do you have an address, or will you be getting out here?”

Napoleon looked at Illya, who in turn was staring out the window at the lake. It was not as grand as one would have assumed, being named, as it was, after such a great piece of music. Unless, of course, there were actually swans…

“Do you see that, Napoleon? There are swans on the shore.’

He directed his next question to the cab driver.

“Are there actually swans living on the water here?”

“Sure. It’s Swan Lake. There used to be an amusement park here, but it closed, and all of these houses and apartments were built around the lake… it’s a nice neighborhood. And it has swans.”

That last he said with a wink.

Napoleon spotted someone walking towards them; a pair of small dogs on leashes was keeping him busy as they pulled against the restraints. Beneath his arm he held a newspaper, which he dropped as he drew near to the taxi.

Illya was out of the car in a smooth, unhurried movement that did not betray his intention to make contact with the approaching dog walker. The blond bent down and retrieved the paper, deftly removing the packet that was inside of the folds and slipping it into his trench coat pocket.

The man thanked him and continued on his walk, the dogs anxious to return home and get out of the slush through which they were struggling to walk. Illya returned to the cab, grateful to be in out of the chill air.

“Okay, well, I guess now that we’ve seen Swan Lake we can go home.”

The cab driver knew better than to ask too many questions. His job was simply to provide transportation to visiting agents.

“Back to the airport then?”

With just a hint of weariness, Napoleon and Illya both said ‘yes’ at the same time.

“I have a sudden desire to see the Nutcracker.”

Napoleon had to laugh. Just the suggestion of something Russian…

“You just spent a day among your Ukrainian cousins. Are you feeling a little homesick, tovarisch?”

Illya turned to his friend, not completely sure how to answer. He did feel a little homesick sometimes. But not to be back home so much as to soak up the smells and tastes of the food, and the companionship of his ex-patriot countrymen.

“Perhaps. Mainly, I just prefer the Nutcracker to Swan Lake, and an evening of music would be enjoyable. You are the one always saying to me that it is Christmas, after all.”

Napoleon let his mouth form a smile that acknowledged what Illya said was true.

“I think I agree with you. Nutcracker it is then Illya. Just think, you may not have considered a night at the ballet if we hadn’t come here to Tulsa, to a place called Swan Lake.”

The ride to the airport was quick, and the return flight nearly a miracle, considering the weather and the probability of being headed back to New York in the same day.

The first thing Napoleon was planning to do when he got back to headquarters was start checking on performances of a certain ballet.

~~~~~:

Comments

[svetlanacat4.livejournal.com]

And Santa!Napoleon is filling his sack...