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section7mfu2014-02-12 08:21 am
The Randomness of Life ~Chapter 79
Prompted by:The Couriers ~Sylvia Plath
.
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
Napoleon Solo watched cautiously as his contact approached slowly along the dimly lit London street...bathed in lamp light, plunged into darkness, then into light again as he moved closer and closer.
This was supposed to be an agent from the local office, though the American didn’t recognize the man.
.
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
There was something wrong, the American felt it and if his partner had been there, he would have voiced that concern; Illya’s instincts for these things were usually dead on.
“Dead on...” Not a good thought at the moment. Solo shook off that feeling, readying himself for whatever came his way.
.
Lies. Lies and a grief.
The man stopped in front of him, staring intently and the UNCLE agent had his hand in his jacket, ready to pull his gun at any moment.
“I hardly think that is necessary,” a familiar Russian voice spoke out of the shadows.
“Illya? Surely you’re not my contact?”
.
Cauldron, talking and crackling
“No, it seems your contact was actually a little bird of prey, and I took care of it before it could harm you,” Illya
removed his fedora and false moustache.
Napoleon looked up at a sign... sighing, “The Bird’s Nest,” odd name for a pub… just coincidence.
“Care for a drink chum?”
.
Of nine black Alps.
They walked inside the smoke-filled pub; the patrons turning to stare at the two strangers now in their midst.
“Two pints of ale,” Napoleon ordered, as Illya tapped him on the shoulder.
“I think we are in the wrong place my friend.”
Nine men were approaching them, billy clubs in hand.
.
The sea shattering its grey one ----
The agents hurtled themselves at the men, bowling some over, fists flying, chairs shattered, leaving them standing while the others held their heads, groaning as they lay on the floor.
“I think we have stumbled upon a new bird’s nest...perhaps reinforcements are in order?”
“Our cue to leave tovarisch.”
.
Love, love, my season.
“How do we do these things?” Solo asked, “bad drop... falling into a THRUSH satrap in the blink of an eye?
They headed down the street, avoiding the light of the street lamps, sticking to the shadows and calling
headquarters for help.
“Just lucky I guess,”the Russian shrugged his indifference.
no subject
That is nice - his contact approached slowly along the dimly lit London street...bathed in lamp light, plunged into darkness, then into light again as he moved closer and closer.
no subject