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mlaw ([personal profile] mlaw) wrote in [community profile] section7mfu2014-05-05 09:15 am
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"Blood Moon"~ part six

 link to part 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/582662.html



                              


 

Solo, as tired as he was, checked the usual places where Illya tended to haunt around headquarters as of late but after coming up empty-handed he finally resorted to calling Security to locate his partner's ID badge.

 

"He's in the Commissary Mr. Solo. He went straight there as soon as he came into headquarters."

"Thanks Errol."

"You bet Mr. Solo."

It was a youthful voice that spoke, still filled with enthusiasm. Errol Finnerty was a green horn Section III agent who'd been promoted to Security, as there simply weren't enough agents to go around.

Many of the remaining field agents had been moved to different sections as well, as Waverly had all but done away with assignments in the outside world. There was little impact they could make on the current situation and he just wasn't going to risk his people's lives on what he thought might be a fool's errand.

 

Napoleon headed down to the small cafeteria, finding it fairly empty. That made it very easy to spot his partner sitting at their usual table, staring at nothing; seemingly lost in thought.

"Hey there buddy, don't let that tea go to waste."

There was no reaction, so he tried again to get Kuryakin's attention.

"Mr. Waverly said if you don't get your hair cut then he'll shave your head himself with a rusty straight razor."

Illya slowly looked up; obviously there was something on his mind.

"I lost Agent Williams," he finally picked up his mug again with a slight tremor in his hand.

"Shit, what happened?"

He told Solo about his venture outside to the Bowery Mission and Claire's refusal to leave.

"You really thought she would?"

"I hoped. I told her I would leave someone there to help safeguard them, though she refused that as well. It would have been Williams." He sighed, covering his face in his hands. "The young girl I sent away from the drug den, Louise Miller, she attacked me on the street when I came out of the Mission. She was looking for White Rider, thinking I was Rasputin. Someone shot her in the head, and then fired upon me…"

"When was the last time you slept tovarisch?" Napoleon sat down beside him. He thought he smelled alcohol on the Russian's breath, but said nothing.

"I… I do not remember. I guess it has been a while."

"Well as your boss I order you to go upstairs to the couch in our office and get some sleep. If you're too tired, you'll make a stupid mistake and I can't afford to lose you."

There was no pithy comeback from the Russian this time, only a nod that he agreed. He took one last sip of his tea, put down the mug and rose, heading slowly towards the door; his shoulders drooping just a little.

"And you better be going to our office, capisce?" Napoleon called out."I'll fill the Old Man in about Agent Williams….and no unauthorized ventures outside tovarisch." That was the sum total of the tongue lashing he had planned to give his partner, as he could see the remorse and guilt were punishment enough...or so he thought.

"Sì ... il mio capo_ yes boss," Illya responded in Italian, giving Solo the finger as he left the room.

Napoleon picked up Illya's mug, giving the remains a sniff and taking a taste himself; he confirmed his suspicions about his having been drinking. After what Kuryakin had gone through on the outside today; he didn't blame the guy. Solo just hoped the vodka wouldn't become a regular habit.

Illya had a tendency to hit the bottle when he was down, so he'd have to keep an eye on his partner.

Right now life was bringing them all down: they just coped in different ways.

.

The shrill screech of a barn owl cut the night air outside a dingy hole in the wall in the Catskills, where a slightly built man nervously paced back and forth. It was obvious he was waiting for someone...a person he really didn't want to have to deal with.

Being stuck here out in the mountains and not being able to go anywhere to even get a beer and mess with a woman...well nowadays it just wasn't that safe to even try.

The the simple cabin that must have been built in the 1920's, smelling of dust and mildew was sparsely furnished. It was surprisingly plain given it was occupied by such a rich and powerful man whose operation was secreted here.

There were a few old leather-bound books on a shelf, written in what looked like Cyrillic, though he dare not pick any of them up to verify that fact; not that he could read them anyway.

In the corner was a highly polished silver Samovar, and a porcelain tea set ...Soviet made, that he was sure of as his late grandmother had one like it.

On the wall was a mounted a yellowed photograph... a portrait of Tsar Nicholas and his family; though he found that a bit strange, considering how long ago the Emperor, Empress and their children had been executed during the Bolshevik revolution. It was something he knew little about, Russian history…

Though Borislav Navalny never paid much attention to his Slavic heritage; he was sorry he hadn't when it came to his latest boss. Navalny had been sought out and put to use because of his experience in setting up and supervising labs to manufacture illicit drugs, but this time it was on a massive scale.

The door to the cabin finally opened with a slow creak and in walked a cloaked figure; his long dark hair falling around his shoulders, though parts of it were missing on his scalp and the chin line where the rest of his long beard should have been.

His black beady eyes stood out as did his hawkish nose, but it was the red, raw burns that permanently scarred the right side of his face that added to the final image of terror that surrounded this man.

"Boss," the weasel-faced man greeted him, "I know I said we had some problems with the last batch of drugs. I thought it was some sort of screwup in the lab but…"

He was unable to finish as he was grabbed by the throat in a vice-like grip by an icy cold hand.

"Haven't I told you never to call me that Boris?"

His eyes stared into Navalny's, like two piercing daggers, making the man tremble with fear as he was finally freed from the icy grip..

"Yes sir, Mr. Rasputin, sorry sir it won't happen again," Boris gasped.

"What has happened at the lab?"

"Someone screwed up the formula you gave us. The whole batch was ruined, doesn't work at all."

"That someone will pay for this," Rasputin snarled.

"Hey it wasn't me bo...sir, please don't hurt me?" Boris groveled, his face averted downwards.

"I won't, if you bring me the fool responsible for this."

"Yes sir, right away sir," the underlying scrambled out the door.

Fifteen minutes later he returned with a grey haired man wearing a lab coat, with his wrists handcuffed behind him and flanked by two muscular goons.

"Ah, Professor Peter Cummings, so it was you who managed to disrupt my plans."

"Yes you madman, I did it and I'd do it again to stop you!" Cummings struggled while being held in place. "I know you're going to kill me, but I just want to know one thing? Why are you doing this?"

Rasputin threw back his head, laughing maniacally.

"I am speeding up the natural selection process, culling the herd so to speak. When the world is rid of the poorest specimens, I will make my presence known. I am counting on people to remember the prophecy of the Blood Moons and the end of the world. Except there will be no rapture… I will reveal myself as a messiah of sorts, saving everyone from the scourges that have plagued them. I will bring a new world order."

"You really are mad Rasputin!" Cummings said. "Another man filled with visions of demagogy, and who sent his goose stepping soldiers across Europe failed, as will you!"

Like so many other megalomaniacs, Rasputin couldn't resist bragging."

"I will be the true saviour of the world as it will be a simple matter for me merely introduce the cure for all the drugs. Just as easily as I gave them to the remaining weaklings out there, they will be freed of it either through death or the cure. You, however, Professor have ruined my last two additions to this end of days scenario…my beautiful Black Rider and my pièce de résistance and most potent of them all, the Pale Rider. Now we'll have to start all over…"

Rasputin's anger grew as he continued; his concern over this genuine threat to his plan meant he might not be able to meet his timetable with the last two Blood Moons now set him off.

He had to have it timed perfectly to coincide with the last two moons of the tetrad, it had to be just right for him to reveal himself as the redeemer of the masses. They would worship him for saving them all.

"You won't succeed, you'll be stopped," the professor barked.

"You insignificant little man, how dare you!"

"What are you going to do, kill me?"

"No," Rasputin snapped his fingers." You're not going to die today Professor, but your daughter is... Boris, bring her to me."

"Yes sir."

The Professor laughed hysterically, seemingly unfazed by the threat to his daughter who had been working in the lab as his assistant.

"What's so funny?" Rasputin demanded; confused by the man's reaction.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Cummings continued to laugh.

Rasputin back-handed the man, forcing him into silence.

"Get him out of my sight! I want the lab operating twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, even if it kills this one and the other workers.. We must get back on track! Bring in more techs if needed. And increase the guards in the lab and warehouse. No one, and I repeat...no one is to leave this compound. Understood?"

"Yes Mr. Rasputin."

"And no more screw ups Boris or that will be the last thing you will have done before you die."

He disappeared with Professor Cummings in tow, taking him back to the lab.

The professor's daughter Christina was no where to be found, and that news made Navalny tremble as he slowly walked back to the cabin where Rasputin was waiting for her arrival.

One step after and other; the sound of his feet crunching in the gravel made him feel his impending door as he got closer to the door. Boris had no choice. He was a dead man and he knew it...

"She's gone?" Rasputin bellowed at him. "I warned you didn't I?"

"But boss...sir. It's wasn't my fault. I'll question the guards…"

It was too late, as Rasputin grabbed the man by the throat and slowly squeezed the life out of him. He let the body drop to the floor like it was a piece of discarded trash and turned to his head guard.

"You, Maynard….you are the new 'Borislav.' Do not disappoint me?"

"No sir. Mr. Rasputin," the guard nervously replied.