"The Assumption Parish Affair" Chapter 3, the Conclusion. For PicFic Tuesday 9/23

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

LINK to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/739856.html
LINK to chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/746578.html


Illya was surprised to not encounter any guards as he moved quietly along the hallways of Le Panthère’s posh estate.  There were works of art everywhere, and he was pretty sure they were Persian silk carpets he was now treading upon.

He peeked out a window, looking down upon the main courtyard, spying what looked like all of the guards and Le Panthère himself standing on a lower balcony.  Beside the T.H.R.U.S.H. leader was a man with a crossbow but, who he was aiming the weapon at, Illya couldn’t see.

It was fortuitous, as whatever was going on out there was giving the Russian the time he needed to complete his mission, then getting out of this place was the next priority.

He arrived at the door he knew to be the Panther’s office and listened with his ear against it for any signs of occupancy, but all was silent.

Illya turned the door knob, quickly slipping inside and headed directly to the small floor safe sitting right there in the open next to an ornately carved oak desk.

He shivered for a second as he knelt down beside, remembering the combination from when he’d cracked it previously...but that was when he’d gotten caught. Le Panthère and two guards walked right in on him…

The safe open; Illya grabbed the documents needed as well as a vial containing the sample of the contaminant to be used on the sugar cane.

He stuffed them inside his soiled white shirt, tucking the tails into his pants to ensure nothing would slip out as he made his getaway.

That was when he heard it, muffled voices coming down the hall.  Illya shut the safe door, spun the tumbler and dashed to the French doors leading out to another small balcony.  He hid to the side out of view, as two men entered the office.

They headed toward a liquor cabinet against the wall.

“The boss wants his cognac, tout de suite.”

“Do you believe him with that accent of his. He ain’t no Frenchie is he.”

“No but he pays good and you better not let him hear you say that, otherwise you’re going find yourself locked up with those two U.N.C.L.E. agents.”

The guard shuddered. “No problem there, I’m not that stupid.  Those two were pretty bold especially that fellow Solo. Imagine that being tied up, on your knees with all those guns trained on you and still threatening to stop the boss.  Wow, that’s balls….or real stupidity. Hey you want to go down to the cells later and torment them for a bit...I’m sure Monsieur Le Panthère wouldn’t mind us having a bit of fun, no damage mind you.”

They both laughed, but decided to stay away from the prisoners.

As soon as Illya heard them leave, he knew what he now had to do, and he had to do it quickly.

.

Napoleon sat on the edge of his bunk, leaning on his his fist, lost in thought as he stared at the cell door.

It was old, iron from the looks of it and not made in this century. His eyes went wide as he suddenly realized something.

“Rennie, pull two of the legs from your bunk.”  He stood up, grabbing the discarded roped on the floor.

Du Bois, misunderstanding Solo’s actions, protested.

“No I will not help you commit suicide.”

Napoleon looked at him in dismay. “Did I say anything about that? I want you to wedge the wood under the bottom of the bars, and use the other piece to act as a fulcrum. If my guess it right you should be able to lift it enough. These are single pin hinges and should come right out. Push down when I say so.” He tied the ropes near the top of the cell door.

“Now!”

Rennie pushed down on the wood, and the bars lifted just a little with ease, while Solo pulled with the rope.

It was just enough to raise the bars, leaving it hanging on one hinge, while the door lock remained intact.

They crawled out the opening at the bottom and out into the darkened corridor.

“Now what?” Rennie whispered.

“We try to find Le Panthère’s office to get the answers we need.”

“That will not be necessary gentlemen,” a voice whispered.  Like a wraith, a pale figure emerged from the shadows

“Tovarish?” Napoleon smiled, offering his hand to his partner.

“We thought you were dead,” Rennie did the same.

“Speak for yourself Du Bois,” Napoleon said.” So why don’t we need to go to Le Panthère’s office?”

“Because I have everything we need to know about his plans. formulas, codes and a sample. And by the way his name is actually Leonard Stillerman from Brooklyn… his demeanor is all a sham.”

Napoleon chuckled at the name. “So what is Mr. Stillerman up to chum?”

“His plans are to contaminate sugarcane produced here in Assumption Parish, and the sugar product derived from it will be tainted, making anyone who ingests it open to hypnotic suggestions, which T.H.R.U.S.H. plans to broadcast via mass media.  It would create a population of zombies, obedient only to them.”

“Assumption Parish sugarcane is only the beginning, other supplies will eventually be contaminated as well, creating a domino effect around the world. T.H.R.U.S.H. will succeed at world domination with not ever having to fire a shot.”

“Not if we can help it chum. How about doing some damage before we blow this place.”

“My thoughts exactly my friend,” Illya smiled. He opened one of the heels of his shoe, pulling out grey explosive compound and wires, Solo did the same as did Du Bois.

“We have enough to blow this place to kingdom come,”Rennie said.

“And that is exactly what we will do,”Illya smiled. When he first arrived he was able to explore the compound looking for Le Panthère’s office, and that information he imparted to Solo and Du Bois.

“There is a tunnel beneath the compound, and can be reached through the corridor in which we are standing now. There they have dozens of coffins in which they plan to ship the compound once it’s manufacture has been completed, and from what I gather, that will be in only another day.

“I will take care of the lab, and the rest I leave to you two,” Illya smiled, disappearing again into the darkness.

“If I didn’t know better Napoleon, I’d swear your partner is going to take great joy in this plan.’’

Solo grinned. “Yeah he does have a thing for explosions, but hey what can I say...everyone needs a hobby.”

Napoleon and Rennie headed off the way Illya had indicated, while the Russian took off in the opposite direction.

They managed to set the explosives and make it to the tunnel beneath the complex, but there they encountered a big problem….there were no boats anchored there. Only a collection of white coffins being readied to ship with supplies of the T.H.R.U.S.H. formula.

“Chyort,” Illya cursed in frustration.” We are about to feel experience some very loud explosions.”

No sooner had he said that; they flet a loud rumbling above them… bits dirt and rock started to come down on them, followed by larger and larger chunks of debris. The roof of the tunnel was about to collapse around them as all hell broke loose.

“Quick, in the coffins,” Solo called out. “Let’s hope they’re waterproof. They pushed the caskets into the water, pushing them off with a mighty shove.

.

“See you on the other side,”Rennie saluted before closing the lid, praying to himself they’d survive and not end up in the belly of an alligator.

The current took them out into the swamp and after hearing all become quiet, the three men opened the coffin lids to view the destruction.

The compound had gone up in flames and with the surrounding area beginning to burn as well. The air boats were gone from the dock, but a lone figure dressed in white appeared.

“I’ll kill you you freakin’ U.N.C.L.E. agents.” Leonard Stillerman screamed, his voice cracking. He raised a crossbow in his hands and let loose an arrow at the men who were literally sitting ducks.

Dropping down into their coffins, as that was all the cover they had, though it didn’t help. The arrow found its mark, driving through the wood and piercing the side of Rennie Du Bois.  He was killed instantly.

The current took the other coffins out of range. There was nothing Napoleon and Illya could do to exact their revenge for the killing of their friend.  As they watched  Le Panthère stomped on the dock like a spoiled child, his black panther crept up behind him.

Stillerman turned, just in time to see his snarling pet leap at him, taking him down and and gravely wounding him with a garbled scream.  The panther rose, licking it’s chops and disappeared into the brush, seconds before the dock collapsed. Le Panthère  was thrown into the water, to the waiting jaws a very large alligator.

“Poetic justice,” Napoleon said, and they began to carefully paddle themselves along the river.

A mist was beginning to form and after a long time had passed, they stopped, listening to something in the distance.

It was singing, yet it echoed, strangely hidden in the vaporus haze.

“J´avais promis dans ma jeunesse, Que j´m´aurais jamais marié

J´avais promis dans ma jeunesse, Que j´m´aurais jamais marié

Adieu la fleur de la jeunesse La noble qualité de vie

La noble qualité de vie,C´est aujourd´hui que je veux la quitter

C´est aujourd´hui que je porte le nom de dame,C´est par l´anneau que je porte au doigt, C´est aujourd´hui que je porte le nom de dame

C´est par l´anneau que je porte au doigt...”

(I promised in my youth, What I would never married

I promised in my youth, What I would never married

Adieu the flower of youth, The noble quality of life

The noble quality of life, It is now that I want to leave

It is today that I called the lady, This is the ring that I wear finger

It is today that I called the lady ,This is the ring that I wear finger...)

As the image belonging to the crusty old voice came into view, an old man looked up, seeing the strange sight of two men sitting in floating coffins.

“Well beck moi tchew, ( bite my ass).” the man cussed in Cajun dialect. “What you fellows be doing der in dem boxes?”

“Long story Napoleon called, but could you help us get to dry land?

“Oui, Illya called in French, “Nous semblons être dans une sorte de dilemme.” (We seem to be in something of a dilemma.)

“Merde (shit) there be nuttin’ dry here son. Tell you what, I toss you dis he-ah rope and you ‘ang on. I tow you to mah place. You jus’ wait while I pull in my nets.  He gathered his tar-dipped nets used for catching catfish to his small flat-bottomed boat, called a pirogue.  Running catfish nets was hard back-breaking work and it took him a few minutes to bring it all in.

After tossing them a line, he slowly towed them to a rather unexpected place, a house on stilts in the middle of the water.

It reminded the Russian of a childhood myth, that used to frighten the hell out of him; the legend of the Baba Yaga whose house was mounted similarly but would turn into chicken legs and walk after her as she would come to steal children in the night.

As they approached the rickety house, fireflies began to light up the darkness adding a serenity to their surroundings, along with the sound of frogs singing their mating songs. The pirogue was tied off and their rescuer pulled in the coffins one by one, helping the two agents onto his ramshackle dock.

“My came is Cecil Cocteau, and welcome to mah home.”

“Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin,” the American made the introductions. They withheld offering their hands, and simply nodded to the older man..

Following him up the steps, they entered that cabin, being surprised at the interior.  It was clean, organized, the walls were sheetrocked and painted a pale green.  The furnishings were fairly new but more homey, nothing modern.

On a desk in the far corner of the living space sat a ham radio.

Illya nodded to his partner, making a beeline for it. “Cecil does that radio work?”

“That chouchoot? (thingamajig) Sho’ does, help yo’self son. Can I enerest you boys in some libation? I think your story maght need one, when you git to de tellin’...”

Cecil reached out, grabbing a ceramic jug from behind the desk.”

“I think that would do nicely sir, merci,” Napoleon smiled. A good stiff drink would hit the spot right now.

He and Illya were handed two glass mason jars and each poured a generous portion of a clear liquid.

“Is this what I think it is?”Solo asked.

“That dependon what you be thinkin’.”

“Moonshine?”

“Mais oui,” Cecil smiled.

The glasses were chinked together.

“Here’s to interesting stories and the telling of tales,” Napoleon said, and after taking a sip of the hooch, he coughed...noting that Kuryakin with his cast iron stomach had drained his glass without batting an eye.

“Whoo-eee, Cho! Co! (wow!) Das goo’ stuff,” Cecil swallowed his as well.

Illya radioed for help and within the hour an airboat arrived to rescue them, returning them to the field office in New Orleans.

Once an initial report was made to Waverly, they were able to obtain some clean clothing before they boarded the U.N.C.L.E. jet for their return flight to New York.

Beverly McMaster welcomed them aboard, though she seemed a little miffed.

“So what happened to our night out in the French Quarter Napoleon Solo?” she tapped her foot impatiently.

“Bev honey...we lost Rennie.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Her face reddened with embarrassment.

“When we get back to New York and everything is settled, I’ll take you out for a night on the town...Scouts honor.”

“Thank you Napoleon, I’d like that. Now if you and Mr. Kuryakin would buckle up, I believe we’re ready for take off.

Once she disappeared back to her own seat, readying herself...Illya leaned over to his partner.

“Are you really going to take her out?”

“What makes you think that I wouldn’t?”

“Oh something Lisa Rogers once said...seems that every time you swear Scouts honor, you are lying through your teeth,” the Russian grinned, “and I concur.”

“You know we have to have a talk about these things you and me...who are you going to believe, me or someone else?”

Illya didn’t answer, and closed his weary eyes, leaning back on the head rest.  He was asleep within minutes.

Napoleon simply smiled, and closed his eyes as well, following his partners lead.

Comments

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Nice beginning, middle and ending! Poor Rennie. I liked his character. Worked that coffin prompt in, didn't you? Floating down the river in coffins,OMG. Mais oui, I tasted real moonshine once and never again! Paint thinner is a better name for it. The disappearing shelf that Illya stood and his escape was quite clever. Dancing over the gators backs will make quite a story for him to tell his grandchildren. Have to say thus story is one of my favs. A real winner, M. I even forgive you for making it a cliffie.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Wow, thank you. I have to admit this one was a labor of love and took me until after 2 am this morning to finish it. I could have made it even longer, but decided against it.

And hey, at least I didn't cut it off at chapter 2? lol!

PS I've had American moonshine, scrumpy and Irish poitín too...that stuff, if you lit a match in front of your mouth and exhaled....well I could have gotten a job in a side show as the fire breathing woman. 'Wheeeeew-eee! Mon Dieu, sacre bleu!

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor Rennie. I really liked him. Wonderful story, and the image of Illya running across the alligators is brilliant.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I liked Rennie too and I'm a bit sorry I killed him off. Doesn't mean I can't resurrect him in pre-Assumption Parish stories. Yep the visual of IK leaping from gator to gator was a fun one...given he's a slightly built man and light on his feet, I figured it would be plausible.

Thanks for reading cuz and commenting and glad you enjoyed it.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

A good ending; though definitely the poorer for Rennie being killed. The floating coffins were a very good and canonesque touch.

And now we know where the tales of Florida black panthers come from.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Hahaha! Didn't read this before I made my other comment about the black panthers...chuckle. Great minds think alike. :D

[pactnmmt.livejournal.com]

I, like the others, hated to see Rennie meet an untimely death. He was a likable character. Loved the story!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I'm with you on that, and after the fact I'm regretting the demise of Rennie as well.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting. I'm very happy you liked the story!

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Ah a very good read! Now, as for Rennie, who's to say that he wasn't pulled from that coffin and nursed back to health? Stranger things have happened.
Illya and the alligators, definitely wins the prize for visual delights.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

That's true about Rennie...I mean what the heck, soap operas resurrect characters all the time right? Hmm Illya and the alligators, I figured he's supposed to be cat-like and light on his feet so what the heck.

That little alligator romp was inspired by a scene from a James Bond movie, and homage of sorts but no one picked up on that. And the visual of Illya inspired my Legolas in The Hobbit, dissolution of Smaug. giggle.

Thanks for reading and commenting. Glad you enjoyed the little adventure! As you know it was a tough one to finish. :F

[ssclassof56.livejournal.com]

Very satisfying ending. Except for poor Rennie. Sorry to see him go. I'd have liked to have seen him again in another story. Thanks for reposting.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

You're a fast reader! I always feel guilty about killing off a character, especially one I like... but c'est la vie. Thanks so much for the comments. As I said to someone else, I could always resurrect Rennie in a pre-Assumption Parish story.