"The secret life of George Dennell"~ free_for_all... Song Story Challenge from July 24th

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

  The prompt: Al Stewart's 'The Year of the Cat'

                       

George Dennell was on the vacation of a lifetime, or so it seemed like it to him.  He was a bookworm, and workaholic, devoted to his work with U.N.C.L.E.

When he’s signed on with the Command he thought it would be the most exciting job he’d ever have.

It wasn’t.

Granted he dealt with a lot of important information, reading report after report of the dangerous situations the Section II agents faced on a daily basis, and their derring do escapes.

He’d gotten involved in a few of them, and after the fact George realized that he just wasn’t cut out for fieldwork. On his last unauthorized outing into the field, Mr. Kuryakin had him help in rescuing Mr. Solo, and it was thrilling, but as usual he screwed up and nearly got Illya in trouble. •

He discovered after the fact he’d come face to face with one of T.H.R.U.S.H.’s most dangerous operatives...Angelique La Chien, and found himself realizing she could have very easily killed him.

It was that and the fact that Mr. Waverly had called him out on his little illicit adventure with Illya, were the straws that broke the camel’s back.  No more adventures in the field or daydreaming of being the hero for George Dennell.

He decided the most thrill he wanted in life would be to take a vacation, which in truth was quite a change of pace for him.

What possessed him to go to Marrakech, he had no idea, though he supposed having read several reports from the team of Solo and Kuryakin, it had intrigued him.   He figured the T.H.R.U.S.H.  satraps had long since been cleared and though the slave trade still existed in the area; George figured no one would be interested in a poor slob like him.

He was skinny, far-sighted enough that he was pretty much blind without his glasses….granted Illya was far-sighted, though not that bad and he was skinny too, but his blond hair, good looks and those piercing blue eyes...well no wonder slavers got hold of him.

George, dressed in crisp khaki pants and a shirt, now wandered through the colorful market filled with the sights, sounds and smells described in those agents reports.  This would be about as close as he wanted to any action, but just walking where Napoleon and Illya had walked was exciting...six degrees of separation he supposed.

As he strolled through the crowds, he felt for a moment as if he’d stepped into the Bogart movie, Casablanca. There were men dressed in white linen suits looking like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime of some sort. It was all so mysterious... and thrilling but in a safe sort of way.

It was then he spotted her coming towards him in a shimmer of flowing pastel silks, wearing a yellow veil covering her face as if the sun had caressed her.

She headed straight toward him, locking up his arm in hers. Without a word the woman led him along the blue tiled walls near the market stalls, not giving him any time for questions.

“We’re being watched,” she gestured for him to be silent with a finger to her veiled lips.

She took him to a hidden door and it was there she spoke to him in English...though her accent was clearly French.

“These days, I feel my life is just like a river running through."

George knew instantly it was some sort of code.

“Look, I’m sorry Miss, but I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,”

“Please don’t play coy with me Monsieur Solo.”

“Napoleon Solo?”

She laughed, looking at him so coolly.  Her green eyes shone like the moon in the sea and he suddenly felt as if all his strength had drained right down to his feet, and exited to the ground beneath him.

Like one under a spell, he was led through the dark wooden door to an exotically tiled room filled with the scents of incense and patchouli. Diaphanous orange curtains rippled gently as a breeze blew through the intricate latticework covering the windows that protected the interior from the heat of the Moroccan sun. The color of the curtains filtering the light cast a warm, inviting glow throughout the room.

George’s eyes were instantly drawn to a bed covered in silks and all imaginable sizes of brightly colored pillows. It was there she drew him by the hand, moving sensually like a cat.

No words were spoken as he was was pulled down and enveloped by her arms. His glasses were removed first as was her veil... and one by one articles of clothing were shed as they were caught up in the moment.   Part of him wanted to run away, but other parts or a particular part of his anatomy told him to stay.

"Kiss me," she said, pulling his face to hers. It was when their lips met that his decision was made…

As they moved with each other, wrapped in the silken sheets, she purred one name over and over…”Napoléon.”

He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth....


When the morning arrived, she dressed herself, handing over a microdot to George as he put on his glasses.

“As agreed Monsieur. I will never forget our night together, “she whispered into his ear before kissing it.

Just as she had appeared the day before, she disappeared out the door in a flurry of silks.

George ran after her with only a pillow to cover himself, and stepping outside he called to her.

“Say, I don’t even know your name?”

She turned, answering him. “It is Quitte.” With that she was gone, lost in the crowds of the bazaar.

“Quitte?” George repeated aloud. He closed the door as he was beginning to get some stares from passersby.

He had a smattering of languages and had made a point of studying up on Arabic before beginning his trip….’quitte’ was the word for ‘cat.’

"Interesting," he smiled.The double entendre wasn't not lost on him for once.

Dennell dressed quickly, figuring he needed to get out fast. She’d obviously mistaken him for Napoleon, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how.  Before the wrong people found him, George knew he had to find Solo. This was all so confusing, and a little scary. How was he going to find Napoleon Solo in Morocco? Where should he even start?

As he stepped out the door, the clueless Dennell slammed into a man...the very man he was going to look for.

“Napoleon?”

“George?” The baffled American, neatly dressed in a khaki shirt and trousers, with a silk scarf tied round his neck, stood in shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Vacation, I’m on vacation and this girl see…a real gorgeous girl mistook me for you.  Well I tell you one thing led to another and it was quite a night. I still can’t believe I was in bed with such an exotic woman and, well she gave me this, thinking I was you and...” he babbled away.

He held out the microdot on the tip of his index finger.

Solo exhaled in relief. He’d had trouble getting transportation and was a day late meeting his contact. The microdot contained the blueprints for a new weapon being developed by T.H.R.U.S.H.

“I’ll take that George.”  A robed figure suddenly appeared from behind them. It was Kuryakin, dressed in a loose fitting hooded burnoose to disguise his fair skin and yellow hair. He’d already had a bad experience in Morocco being sold into the slave trade and wasn’t about to have that happen again. **

“Gee guys I didn’t know you were here...maybe I could stay and help out?”

“No!” Napoleon and Illya said in unison.

“I think it’s time for your vacation to end and for you to get back to New York before anyone comes after you George. I want you to get to the airport now and take the next flight out of the country, even if it’s to France or England. Just get out,” Napoleon ordered him, not mincing any words.

“Gosh, sure Napoleon if you say so, but what about my stuff at the hotel…”

“Do not worry about that, we will have your belongings sent back to New York,” Illya assured him. “What is the name of your hotel?”

“It’s the Riad Dar Mimouna on Sidi Mimoun, Derb Sidi M'Barek.”

“Okay George, get going, and keep a low profile,” Napoleon gave him a little shove.

He and Illya watched as the man was enveloped by the morning crowds.

“Why do I have a feeling one of us should have gone with him?” Illya asked.

“He’ll be fine.,” Napoleon paused, thinking about what had transpired. “I can’t believe someone mistook George Dennell for me.”

“Yes to the point where he not only got the girl, but completed the mission for you,” Illya flashed an annoying smile.

“Say one word of this Kuryakin, and you're a dead man,” Napoleon threatened as he spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Now let’s get outta here before someone figures out I'm the genuine article.”

“Perish the thought,’ Illya snickered.

*ref “The Gambit Affair (AU) George appears starting at chapter 10. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7008872/1/The-Gambit-Affair

** Ref. “The Moroccan Affair” https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7350669/1/The-Moroccan-Affair (warning- het)