"The Spies that go bump in the night" Part 2- for the Writer's Choice~ 7 days of Halloween

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Napoleon pulled out his communicator while he remained hidden behind a lush palm tree in an alcove beside the hotel elevator.

"Open Channel D, Waverly," he spoke softly into the pen.

.

"Good morning Mr. Solo...enjoying the wintry landscape?" Answered Alexander Waverly.

“The Old Man didn't miss a thing,” Solo thought.” So you're aware of our delay then sir?"

"Yes Mr. Solo. I hear record snowfalls are predicted. Yes, quite troublesome and annoying, as I have another assignment awaiting your attention. As soon as the storm is over and travel resumes, please return to headquarters immediately. You and Mr. Kuryakin enjoy the respite, as I expect you may be snowbound for several days. Waverly out."

"Respite,”  Napoleon repeated," in this place?” He headed back out to the lobby to collect his partner, and the two of them headed back up to their room. They threw their cases in the corner, wedged the chair against the door again.  Illya hit the bed and went to sleep immediately, while Napoleon already bored, flipped on the television, tuning to the local news. “The forecasters call for an overnight snowfall with accumulations in some areas up to four feet..." said the voice of the announcer. “ The public is advised to stay indoors and off the streets, as this is predicted to be a dangerous storm. If you have elderly neighbors or anyone who lives alone check..." Napoleon turned the television off with a moan.

"Great!" At this rate they'd be stuck here for more than a few days. He walked over to the door and the chair, checking both before he went to the bathroom; when he came out the chair had been moved. Illya being clever," he thought.

"ILL-I-YA!" Napoleon barked, adding that extra syllable that always annoyed his partner.

The Russian nearly jumped out of his skin as he woke, as usual with his gun in his hand.

"What?” hee called to Napoleon as he surveyed the room." What is wrong?"

"YOU moved the Goddamn chair didn't you?"

"What...chyort poberi_dammit Napoleon" he cursed in Russian rubbing his eyes," I did no such thing! I-did-not move-that chair. I was asleep until YOU woke me! Now quit your joking and let me sleep please?" Illya returned the Walther under his pillow, laying his head back down.

"I did-not-touch-that-chair either!" Napoleon insisted, mimicking the way Illya had said it.

"Maybe it was a ghost then..."Kuryakin mumbled, burying his face in his pillow.

"Then I'm losing my mind and you lost yours this morning...something very strange is going on here," Solo grumbled. "Could T.H.R.U.S.H. know we're here? Maybe they're pumping our room with some sort of gas..." he sniffed the air to see if he could detect anything unusual.

"Napoleon will you please shut up!" Illya barked. " I am sure it is just a defective doorknob and the chair is just slipping out from underneath it.

Now please let me sleep?" Illya suddenly sneezed, grabbing his handkerchief.

The rest of the afternoon remained incident free, and by 5 p.m. the two of them were now completely bored. Napoleon chatted a while on his communicator with Dolores back at headquarters.

Illya lay in his bed rolling his eyes at his partner's flirtatious comments to the woman, thinking he should be accustomed to if after all this time.

Finally Napoleon closed his communicator pen and returned it to the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Napoleon, do you ever give it a rest?" Illya asked him that question, probably for the hundredth time.

"Does the sun ever stop shining?" He smiled.

"Yes it does as a matter of fact." Illya retorted, pointing out the window to the darkened sky."Well, it's shining somewhere.

Solo countered, changing the subject. "Let's go eat, then we can hit the bar for a bit."

That suited Illya fine, food and vodka on a snowy evening.

When they arrived at the dining room they found the menu was somewhat limited, as all the guests were eating their meals in the hotel and there had been no fresh deliveries due to the storm, so food was running a bit short. This forced the chef to be rather creative. The choice for dinner was the beef stew, or the beef stew with burgundy sauce. The two agents opted for the burgundy one. Either way, it would at least be filling. They had both noticed their room had become chilly, so a hearty meal would make it feel a little more tolerable of the cold. Illya wondered when the hotel had their last heating oil delivery…

After dinner they headed for the bar. A scotch on the rocks for Napoleon and a vodka neat, of course for Illya. After three rounds they were both feeling quite relaxed..."toasty" as Solo put it.

"Here's to a very brief respite," Napoleon said, raising a fourth shot of J.D.

"Soglasilis"_ agreed!" Illya whispered in his own language, raising another glass of vodka and downing it.

They happened to overhear two young women sitting in the booth behind them complaining about things being moved mysteriously around their room.

"Excuse me Miss" smiled Napoleon,"may I ask what room you're staying in?”

"Oh, why room 303," she smiled.

Napoleon thanked her but said nothing.

"That is the room next to ours," Illya whispered.

At that moment the barman spoke up..."Yep..I was wonderin' when it'd start up...every time we get a big storm it happens."

"What happens?" asked the Russian.

"Oh, the ghosts. They start acting up" the barman answered.

"Ghosts!"Laughed Kuryakin. “There are no such things!"

"Hey you suggested it this afternoon,”  Napoleon quipped.

"I was making a joke. Surely you cannot believe in such a thing?" Illya asked him rather surprised.

"You never know. Think about some of the things we've seen...zombies, vampire bats, and enough mad scientists to sink a ship. Why not ghosts?" said Napoleon.

"Yep, this hotel was a hot spot in it's day, back in the 1920s," said the barman. "This very bar was closed off as a speakeasy and the ‘special clientele’ were serviced up on the third floor where you all are staying."

"That gives me the creeps!" said one of the women.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Miss?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh, Jennifer, Jennifer Johannsen and this is my sister Margaret," she smiled.

"Charmed, ladies. My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo and this is my...business associate Illya Kuryakin.''

Illya nodded to the two women, with a passing thought, "Here we go..." rolling his eyes again, trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

"You two are business men?" Asked Jennifer.

"Imports and exports," Illya chimed in." I am here visiting the U.S. from Sweden and Mr. Solo works here for our company."

Margaret suddenly addressed Illya in Swedish "Jä glad att trä dig, Herr Kuryakin_ I am pleased to meet you Mr. Kuryakin.”

Not missing a beat, Illya responded to her in kind.

"Och jäg dig, Fröken Johannsen_And I you, Miss Johannsen...your accent is excellent," he smiled at her, "Where did you learn to speak Swedish?"

"Oh I studied in England for a while...took a lot of trips throughout Europe with my school mates. Sweden is one of my favorite places...our grandfather was from Sweden... now Kuryakin, that's not a Swedish name is it?"

"No, It is Polish...my father was from Poland," he gave her one of his other standard answers, though suddenly he hoped there was a chance at more stimulating and interesting conversation for the evening than he first anticipated.

Illya observed that Napoleon was already making his moves on the sister, and decided  he should choose his words carefully, so as to not give the same signals to Margaret, as Illya had no interest in the girl that way. Clearly Napoleon was flirting with Jennifer.

"So are you married?" Jennifer asked Napoleon, fluttering her eyelashes at him just a little as she smiled innocently.

Napoleon would never be the marrying kind," Illya thought. "He could never tie himself down to one woman, then neither could Illya, for that matter. He was not against marriage, but he could not imagine having a woman put up with him and his habits, much less handle the fact that she could lose her husband any moment, day in and day out. Men like he and Solo were married to their jobs and the business of espionage, as well as saving the world from time to time.

Napoleon leaned on his elbow facing the sister,"So Jennifer do you believe in ghosts? He flashed his smile at her,changing the subject.

"Well, if you asked me that two days ago, I would have told you no, but after what happened in our room yesterday and today; now with what the bartender just told us, I'm not so sure now,” she answered.

"What exactly happened?" Illya asked.

"When we went to bed, our suitcases had been put in the closet, then Maggie woke up in the middle of the night after she'd heard a sound like someone moaning, followed by laughter. She got up out of bed and found all our luggage sitting stacked on the floor by the door! First she thought I was pulling a joke on her...which I wasn't! It was almost like we were being told to check out.”

"I thought the noise was coming from your room and I was gonna knock on the wall for you to keep it down, but when I saw the cases, the sounds went away," Margaret added.

"Were you making the racket, or did you gentlemen have anything strange happen in your room?” She asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, our locked door was opened and a chair was moved several times" Napoleon answered." No sounds, though."

“Now this is really frightening me!"Jennifer said, rubbing her arms as if they were chilly. "Say...do you feel that? It got really cold all of a sudden. Positively frigid!”

Napoleon took off his suit jacket, draping it over Jennifer's shoulders.

"Allow me Mademoiselle," he said smoothly.

Illya however, made no such gentlemanly offer to Margaret.

"They say it gets really cold when spirits are around," Jennifer whispered to Napoleon, giving him the opportunity to put his arm around her shoulders.

Illya on the other hand asked the barman if everything was all right with the heating, since the only spirits Kuryakin was interested in were in a bottle of Stolichnaya.

"It's kind of antiquated sir," he replied pouring Illya another glass of vodka," and unfortunately...well let's say the furnace is working overtime and the heating oil is going fast keeping this place warm because of the storm. We won't get another delivery until who know when..."

"Hmmm," purred Solo. “We may have to make like Eskimos and rely on some body heat to get us through the night.”

"Napoleon! Excuse me?" Giggled Jennifer " I'm not that type of girl!”

"Oh Jeeze! That's my sister," whispered Margaret, leaning deliberately close to Illya's ear. “ Always trying to play hard to get! Soooo Illya, you playin' hard to get?" She whispered, nuzzling his ear."Mmm, you smell nice."

Illya leaned away from her, holding up his hand and flashing the gold band he usually wore on his left hand, just for such an occasion as this.

" I am flattered Margaret," he lied, "but I think there is someone who would be rather upset." he said to her being rather evasive.

"She wouldn't have to know," Margaret smiled.

"Ah...but I would," Illya said most seriously. “It goes against my vows."

"Vows..like in wedding vows?" She asked.

Illya just smiled at her, reaching out and pinching were chin.

"Some day you may meet someone special."

"Inte en chans va?_not a chance huh?" she asked in Swedish.

"Tyvörr, ingen_" sorry, no." Illya smiled.

Suddenly the lights flickered and went off for a minute, accompanied by the usual gasps and groans from the bar patrons.

The desk clerk came in and spoke to the barman, and he inturn made an announcement.

"Sorry folks, but we're going to have to close down the bar. There's a good chance we're going to lose power, and we'd rather have you all safe and warm in your rooms then caught down here in the dark! There's extra blankets out by the desk for you, if you'd each pick one up on your way up to your rooms. And my apologies, please take the stairs, not the elevator...don't want anyone stuck if the power does go out. So let's go folks. Sorry no last call! He clapped his hands, forcing everyone to rise out of their chairs.

Kuryakin motioned to the barman, whispered a few words, handing him some money, and was handed bottles of Stolichnaya and J.D. in return.

Napoleon and Illya headed out to the desk along with Jessica and Margie,  picking up the blankets, and escorted the sisters up to their room.

Napoleon knew it wasn't going to go anywhere with Jennifer as he walked her to her door. He did however, get a good night kiss on the cheek from her.

"C'est la vie?" he thought. "Remember girls, we're right next door, any problems and you just call us," Napoleon said giving them a little two-fingered salute as he disappeared into the room after his partner.

"Oh Paleese!" Illya said, flopping on his bed. "You are going to rescue them from ghoooosts?" He shook his hands in a mocking gesture.

"Ah Illya my lad," Napoleon laughed. "The power of suggestion works wonders with the ladies…”

"Napoleon..there are no ghosts! The door handle to our room is obviously defective. When it loosens by way of a bad spring, it releases the tension on the chair causing it to come free...there is a simple explanation for it," the Russian insisted. "Just like the drop in temperature; we are in the middle of a blizzard in a very old creaky building, with a substandard heating system. there are bound to be a lot of drafts."

"And what about the girls suitcases being stacked by their door?" Solo demanded.

"Those two women were fairly well drunk when we began speaking with them. It is a good chance they were inebriated last night as they seem the type. They probably did it themselves or one is indeed pulling a joke on the other," Illya insisted as he poured a scotch for Napoleon and a glass of vodka for himself.

Suddenly there was a scream from next door and Solo and Kuryakin were out, getting to the girl's door in seconds with their guns drawn.

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