A Merry Dance (Part 3 - Conclusion)
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section7mfuPart 1 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/809262.html
Part 2 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/811439.html
Angelique had told Napoleon that he wouldn’t be able to trace the telephone number she’d given him, be he knew he could. At least, he knew Section 4 could. It would take them a little while, so Napoleon took the opportunity to update Mr Waverly.
“This woman is proving to be a thorn in our collective sides, Mr Solo,” the Old Man grumbled.
She was definitely an annoyance, but he couldn’t deny her affection for his CEA was occasionally useful. Still, it wouldn’t do to allow her to abduct his agents whenever she felt like it.
“She has her uses, Sir,” Napoleon replied, as though reading his mind.
“Hmmm, yes. Be sure not to lose sight of your duty, young man,” Waverly warned, aware exactly of the uses Solo had for her. “Now, what is your strategy for retrieving Mr Kuryakin?”
“As soon as we have a location and a building plan, I will take five agents and mount an extraction,” Solo explained. “Do you want Angelique brought in, Sir?”
Napoleon didn’t really relish the thought of having to apprehend her. For all she was the enemy, he had quite a soft spot for her. Several in fact, he thought to himself, smiling at some nice memories.
“I repeat, Mr Solo, don’t lose sight of your duty.
Within two hours, Napoleon had been furnished with the address and building plan for Angelique’s location. He’d gathered together the first five agents, who were free, he could find. They all sat around Waverly’s conference table as Solo outlined his plan.
“The building is an industrial unit with a main floor and a basement,” Napoleon explained, as he pointed to the floor plan on the projector. “Jones, Peterson and Willis, you’ll take the front entrance and the main floor. Ferris and Grant, you’ll be with me at the back entrance and basement. We don’t know how many personnel we’ll have to deal with, but you’ll be armed with sleep darts only.”
“Sleep darts, Sir?” queried Grant.
“Yes Mr Grant,” Waverly interjected. “We don’t kill unless we have to.”
“Yes Sir.”
Napoleon showed the agents a picture of Angelique, which drew an appreciative whistle from a couple of them.
“This is Angelique LeChien, gentlemen,” he informed them. “She is extremely dangerous and must be handled with caution. Our main priority is Mr Kuryakin, but our secondary agenda is Angelique.”
“I am sending a medical team with you Mr Solo,” Waverly told him. “I am in no doubt that Mr Kuryakin will be in need of it.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Illya was indeed in need of medical attention; his back was a mess. After the crop, Angelique had sat down on the chair and instructed one of her goons to use a bullwhip and a cat o’ nine tails while she interrogated him. She had ambitions to rise high in the hierarchy, and saw Kuryakin as her means to that end. She knew Napoleon wouldn’t bring the microfilm, so decided instead to coerce some information from the Russian, before handing what was left of him over to Central.
Following three hours of the interrogation, with no information being extracted from him, Illya had passed out for a while. While he was unconscious, Angelique sat back and enjoyed the view. She really didn’t like the man. His refusal to submit was intensely frustrating, but she had to admit he was very nice to look at. His ability to withstand physical duress was also to be admired. She didn’t know of any THRUSH operative who could take what the Russian could. A low groan informed Angelique that her captive was coming to. Standing up, she gripped his hair and lifted his head.
“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?” she asked sweetly. “I’ll stop hurting you if you do.”
“Allez au diable, putain!” (Go to hell, whore!)
“That isn’t a nice thing to say, Darling.” she snarled, slapping him across the face. “It would also appear that Napoleon doesn’t care about you as much as I thought.”
“I told you,” Illya grunted. “Agents are expendable.”
“Mademoiselle!”
“What is it?” Angelique yelled, annoyed by the interruption.
“A load of U.N.C.L.E. agents are outside. Solo is with them.”
Illya chuckled, despite the pain. “Seems I was wrong.”
“Go and deal with them then,” the blonde ordered, then turned her attention back to Kuryakin. “Time to go, Darling. Say goodbye to Napoleon for me.”
Much to Illya’s distaste, Angelique kissed him on the lips, then let go of his hair. His head dropped, but he lacked the strength raise it and watch her go.
It took Solo and the agents all of ten minutes from arriving to secure the building and its guards. He found Illya hanging limply from his chains, and winced at the man’s damaged back. It was a marvel to him that his partner’s torso wasn’t entirely comprised of scar tissue. While he and Agent Ferris released the Russian, Grant called the medical team in.
“Hey, Tovarisch, you okay?”
“Of course,” Illya mumbled, as he was loaded onto a stretcher, face down. “Aren’t I always?”
“Where’s Angelique?”
“She left.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“There was no sign of her Sir,” Napoleon told Mr Waverly, giving his verbal report. “We did find a hidden panel leading to a tunnel. She must have gotten out that way.”
“Very convenient,” the Old Man harrumphed.
He never liked to think ill of his CEA, but if the other agents hadn’t corroborated his version of events, he could easily have believed Solo had let the blasted woman go. Before he could comment further, the door opened, and Illya Kuryakin limped in. The Russian looked drawn and tired, which was hardly surprising.
“Shouldn’t you be in medical, Mr Kuryakin?”
“No Sir.”
The Old Man didn’t pursue the matter. He knew, as did everyone in the building, that the only way to keep that young man in medical was to sedate him. Waiting until Illya had sat down, he prompted Napoleon to continue his report.
“The three henchmen Angelique had with her have been most forthcoming,” Napoleon told them. “They have given us the location of two satraps.”
“Very well, Mr Solo, you will look into these satraps and organise raids. Mr Kuryakin, you will help with the research aspect.”
Acknowledging the order, the two men left the office. They walked in silence for a while, until Illya placed a hand on Solo’s arm.
“Napoleon, thank you,” he said quietly. “You came for me as always and I hope will continue to do so.”
“Always, Tovarisch. You know that.”
“And I will do the same for you, my friend,” Illya promised. “But I want you to know, the next time my path crosses Angelique’s, I will kill her.”
As they carried on the walk to their office, Napoleon was in no doubt that Illya meant his words. The steel in his icy blue eyes was testament to that.
The End.
Part 2 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/811439.html
Angelique had told Napoleon that he wouldn’t be able to trace the telephone number she’d given him, be he knew he could. At least, he knew Section 4 could. It would take them a little while, so Napoleon took the opportunity to update Mr Waverly.
“This woman is proving to be a thorn in our collective sides, Mr Solo,” the Old Man grumbled.
She was definitely an annoyance, but he couldn’t deny her affection for his CEA was occasionally useful. Still, it wouldn’t do to allow her to abduct his agents whenever she felt like it.
“She has her uses, Sir,” Napoleon replied, as though reading his mind.
“Hmmm, yes. Be sure not to lose sight of your duty, young man,” Waverly warned, aware exactly of the uses Solo had for her. “Now, what is your strategy for retrieving Mr Kuryakin?”
“As soon as we have a location and a building plan, I will take five agents and mount an extraction,” Solo explained. “Do you want Angelique brought in, Sir?”
Napoleon didn’t really relish the thought of having to apprehend her. For all she was the enemy, he had quite a soft spot for her. Several in fact, he thought to himself, smiling at some nice memories.
“I repeat, Mr Solo, don’t lose sight of your duty.
Within two hours, Napoleon had been furnished with the address and building plan for Angelique’s location. He’d gathered together the first five agents, who were free, he could find. They all sat around Waverly’s conference table as Solo outlined his plan.
“The building is an industrial unit with a main floor and a basement,” Napoleon explained, as he pointed to the floor plan on the projector. “Jones, Peterson and Willis, you’ll take the front entrance and the main floor. Ferris and Grant, you’ll be with me at the back entrance and basement. We don’t know how many personnel we’ll have to deal with, but you’ll be armed with sleep darts only.”
“Sleep darts, Sir?” queried Grant.
“Yes Mr Grant,” Waverly interjected. “We don’t kill unless we have to.”
“Yes Sir.”
Napoleon showed the agents a picture of Angelique, which drew an appreciative whistle from a couple of them.
“This is Angelique LeChien, gentlemen,” he informed them. “She is extremely dangerous and must be handled with caution. Our main priority is Mr Kuryakin, but our secondary agenda is Angelique.”
“I am sending a medical team with you Mr Solo,” Waverly told him. “I am in no doubt that Mr Kuryakin will be in need of it.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Illya was indeed in need of medical attention; his back was a mess. After the crop, Angelique had sat down on the chair and instructed one of her goons to use a bullwhip and a cat o’ nine tails while she interrogated him. She had ambitions to rise high in the hierarchy, and saw Kuryakin as her means to that end. She knew Napoleon wouldn’t bring the microfilm, so decided instead to coerce some information from the Russian, before handing what was left of him over to Central.
Following three hours of the interrogation, with no information being extracted from him, Illya had passed out for a while. While he was unconscious, Angelique sat back and enjoyed the view. She really didn’t like the man. His refusal to submit was intensely frustrating, but she had to admit he was very nice to look at. His ability to withstand physical duress was also to be admired. She didn’t know of any THRUSH operative who could take what the Russian could. A low groan informed Angelique that her captive was coming to. Standing up, she gripped his hair and lifted his head.
“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?” she asked sweetly. “I’ll stop hurting you if you do.”
“Allez au diable, putain!” (Go to hell, whore!)
“That isn’t a nice thing to say, Darling.” she snarled, slapping him across the face. “It would also appear that Napoleon doesn’t care about you as much as I thought.”
“I told you,” Illya grunted. “Agents are expendable.”
“Mademoiselle!”
“What is it?” Angelique yelled, annoyed by the interruption.
“A load of U.N.C.L.E. agents are outside. Solo is with them.”
Illya chuckled, despite the pain. “Seems I was wrong.”
“Go and deal with them then,” the blonde ordered, then turned her attention back to Kuryakin. “Time to go, Darling. Say goodbye to Napoleon for me.”
Much to Illya’s distaste, Angelique kissed him on the lips, then let go of his hair. His head dropped, but he lacked the strength raise it and watch her go.
It took Solo and the agents all of ten minutes from arriving to secure the building and its guards. He found Illya hanging limply from his chains, and winced at the man’s damaged back. It was a marvel to him that his partner’s torso wasn’t entirely comprised of scar tissue. While he and Agent Ferris released the Russian, Grant called the medical team in.
“Hey, Tovarisch, you okay?”
“Of course,” Illya mumbled, as he was loaded onto a stretcher, face down. “Aren’t I always?”
“Where’s Angelique?”
“She left.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“There was no sign of her Sir,” Napoleon told Mr Waverly, giving his verbal report. “We did find a hidden panel leading to a tunnel. She must have gotten out that way.”
“Very convenient,” the Old Man harrumphed.
He never liked to think ill of his CEA, but if the other agents hadn’t corroborated his version of events, he could easily have believed Solo had let the blasted woman go. Before he could comment further, the door opened, and Illya Kuryakin limped in. The Russian looked drawn and tired, which was hardly surprising.
“Shouldn’t you be in medical, Mr Kuryakin?”
“No Sir.”
The Old Man didn’t pursue the matter. He knew, as did everyone in the building, that the only way to keep that young man in medical was to sedate him. Waiting until Illya had sat down, he prompted Napoleon to continue his report.
“The three henchmen Angelique had with her have been most forthcoming,” Napoleon told them. “They have given us the location of two satraps.”
“Very well, Mr Solo, you will look into these satraps and organise raids. Mr Kuryakin, you will help with the research aspect.”
Acknowledging the order, the two men left the office. They walked in silence for a while, until Illya placed a hand on Solo’s arm.
“Napoleon, thank you,” he said quietly. “You came for me as always and I hope will continue to do so.”
“Always, Tovarisch. You know that.”
“And I will do the same for you, my friend,” Illya promised. “But I want you to know, the next time my path crosses Angelique’s, I will kill her.”
As they carried on the walk to their office, Napoleon was in no doubt that Illya meant his words. The steel in his icy blue eyes was testament to that.
The End.
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Date: 2014-11-09 08:16 am (UTC)