What Old Lady? - Song Story

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The PROMPT
~~~~~:

The park was nearly empty at this time of day, the small town in which it was situated one that had little activity after the work day was over.  On a bench facing a small pond sat a neat little old woman in a sensible dress, sensible shoes and a shawl around her shoulders to ward off any unwelcome chill.

Her hair was short, her glasses large, and topping it all was a funny little hat with black netting that fell over her face.  Sitting beside the old woman was a good looking young man with dark hair and wearing an impeccably cut suit.  He seemed to be trying to converse with his companion, although, for all his effort, there seemed to be little response.

“C’mon Illya, it wasn’t my idea for you to dress up like a little old woman.  Can I help it if I’m taller than you?  You just fit the part better, tovarisch.”  Napoleon Solo was pleading his case to the faux granny sitting next to him.  Illya Kuryakin was immovable at this point, his ire at having been chosen to play this part still an annoyance to the normally flexible Russian agent.  He excelled in costumes, so why he objected to this one...

“Please, do not speak to me unless it involves this mission.  I’m giving our man ten minutes more and then...’ It was an idle threat.  Illya would stay the course until they had accomplished what they were sent here to do.

“He had better show up, that is all I have to say about it.”

A man appeared from the other side of the park.  He matched the description given to the UNCLE agents; Morris Danby was a THRUSH operative with information vital to a new device being touted as a new weapon of unparalleled power.  Danby had been spotted coming to this park on numerous occasions and now the two men from UNCLE were waiting for him.  Kuryakin’s disguise was intended to completely derail any suspicion on the part of their prey, thereby allowing Napoleon to grab him without a lot of fuss.

That was the plan.

What actually happened would later be the highlight of any UNCLE gathering at which stories were told with little or no respect for the subjects within the story.  Morris Danby was a THRUSH with a great deal of experience, and a very good memory when it came to faces.  One of the faces he had seen before was that of Napoleon Solo, so that when he came to within twenty feet of the two people on the park bench, he identified the American agent easily.  It took him by surprise that he was with an old woman, but who UNCLE hired these days was none of his concern unless they were after him.  Danby made an abrupt turn and headed back into the trees, quickening his pace and finally breaking into a run.

“Great!  There he goes, Illya; he made us!”  Napoleon was off and running, but not before his partner sprinted off after the escaping THRUSH.  Always fast and now determined to make someone pay for his outlandish disguise, Illya soon overtook the other man and was quickly joined by Napoleon.

“Boy, you are one fast granny.”  Napoleon couldn’t help but smile, watching his partner in that get up, running full throttle, had been quite a sight.  The real spectacle had been the tackle Illya executed in order to stop Danby, taking him down with a flourish and then sitting atop the man until Solo could get there to help wrangle him into cuffs and back to their waiting car.

“Who the heck...?  Illya Kuryakin?  I don’t believe it.”  If Morris Danby had been embarrassed to be tackled by an old woman, he felt a little less so now that he realized it was the Russian in the blue flowered dress.

“Shut up, Danby, or I shall be forced to do something unpleasant.”  The look on Illya’s face almost made Danby obey.  He wondered what the gang back at Central would think if they could see this.

“I think there was someone shouting from the sidelines; did you hear them?  Go granny go! That’s what they were yelling, Kuryakin.”  A snide smile was the last expression Danby wore that day as Illya pulled back and then delivered a decisive punch.

“I had better not see pictures of this outfit at Headquarters Napoleon.  I am holding you responsible for this.”

“Illya, you wound me.  I would never...”  His smile said otherwise.

“I hate you, Napoleon.  At this moment, I hate you.”

Napoleon knew his partner would get over it, but as they drove back to Headquarters he was humming the tune of a popular song... Go granny, go granny, go granny go...