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section7mfu
Prompts – Laugh/Cream
Word Count (approx.) – 840
Madeleine Pullman had worked for U.N.C.L.E. for almost thirty years. In that time she’d gone from being a junior file clerk to Head of Communications. Her long service with such a covert organisation meant she was highly attuned to things which seemed off-kilter. While in the ladies washroom, she overheard something which may have sounded innocuous to most people, but it set alarm bells ringing for her. As she headed back towards her office, Madeleine changed her mind; she had to tell someone of her suspicions.
Illya looked up from the report he was typing as Madeleine entered his office.
“Oh, it’s just you Mr Kuryakin,” she exclaimed. “I was hoping for Mr Solo.”
“I shall try not to take that personally,” the Russian replied with a smile. “Is there something I can help you with, Mrs Pullman?”
Thinking about it, she realised that telling Mr Kuryakin was akin to telling Mr Solo.
“Actually yes,” she acknowledged. “I think there may be a problem with one of the ladies in my department, but I’m not sure how to proceed.”
Illya stood up and pulled Napoleon’s chair over for Madeleine before inviting her to sit down and tell her story.
“I overhead Helen McKenzie telling someone how her boyfriend drops her off and picks her up outside work every day,” she told him. “I know the staff entrance looks like an ordinary office block, but it is still a concern. If it had just been that I would have had a chat with her, but she also mentioned she’s only been with him for two weeks. Am I being paranoid, Mr Kuryakin?”
“If you were anybody else telling me this, I would probably dismiss it,” Illya admitted. “However, I know your instincts are good. Leave it with me, but don’t say anything to Miss McKenzie.”
Madeleine breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully it would all come to nothing, but if there was anything to worry about, Mr Kuryakin would uncover it.
“Thank you Mr Kuryakin,” she said, as she stood up to leave. “Please let me know if you need any further information.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Two days later, Madeleine found herself joining a meeting with Mr Waverly, Mr Kuryakin and Mr Solo. It wasn’t the first time, so she wasn’t as awed as some people might have been. The Old Man welcomed her, while Napoleon pulled out a chair. Illya dimmed the lights, apart from the one needed by Lisa Rogers to take notes, and brought a photograph up on the projector. It was an image of the street outside the staff entrance, and it showed Miss McKenzie with a man.
“Is the something wrong with the image, or is that man actually wearing a white suit during the day?” Solo scoffed.
“Actually, it’s a sort of cream colour,” Illya told him. “I took the photo, so I can tell you it looks just as bad close up.”
“Not everyone can have your sartorial elegance Mr Solo,” Waverly harrumphed and urged Illya to go on.
The next slide showed a close up of the man’s face.
“This is Malcolm Kent,” he informed the gathering. “As you are aware, Mrs Pullman came to me with concerns about this man. As it turns out, she was absolutely right to be worried.”
He brought the lights back up and took his seat at the table.
“I’m sure I know that name,” Napoleon mused. “Wasn’t he second in command of that satrap in Canada, which we destroyed two years ago?”
“Yes,” Kuryakin confirmed. “We thought he was killed in the explosion, but it would seem not to be the case. It could all be a huge coincidence, but it’s unlikely.”
“I would say the odds are against it,” Napoleon agreed. “With that suit, I thought you were going to tell us it was something connected with that whole Robespierre* incident.”
“That thought occurred to me, and I’m glad to say it doesn’t.”
“Do we know how Miss McKenzie and Mr Kent met?” Mr Waverly asked. “Or how he knew she works for us?”
None of the staff at U.N.C.L.E. were permitted to tell anyone where they worked, other than agents when in the pursuit of their duty. The staff entrance looked like every other office building in the district, so no-one would know it was linked to the tailor’s shop; which every THRUSH agent seemingly knew about.
“No Sir,” Illya told him. “Until we can ascertain what exactly is going on, I suggest we put surveillance on Miss McKenzie and Mr Kent.”
Before the Old Man could reply, the telephone rang and was answered by Miss Rogers. The call was incredibly brief.
“Apparently Helen McKenzie is outside one of the entrances, laughing maniacally,” she told the people around the table. “No-one can calm her down. Medical is on the way.”
“Which entrance?” Kuryakin asked, warily.
“Del Floria’s.”
“I suggest we adjourn the meeting until you gentlemen have investigated this worrying development.”
To Be Continued.
*The Virtue Affair
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no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 04:42 pm (UTC)Nice bit, Napoleon snooting the Lorre style.
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Date: 2014-11-17 06:53 pm (UTC)I'm hoping to have the next part up for tomorrow's picfic challenge. Right now I'm trying to stop it becoming 'season three' canonesque.
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Date: 2014-11-17 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 10:42 pm (UTC)It had to be WIP. Firstly, because my basic concept wouldn't fit into the constraints of the challenge. Secondly, as usual, I don't know where it's going. I'm completely writing it on the fly and hoping the answers just flow out of the pen, LOL.
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Date: 2014-11-17 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 11:31 pm (UTC)Can you imagine Napoleon in a cream suit in the middle of the day? :-)
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Date: 2014-11-18 02:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-11-18 08:37 am (UTC)