The Gazebo in the Garden (Part 2) - Picfic Tuesday - Jan 20th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Part 1 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/874712.html


It took Mark Slate an hour to get to the hotel, where he found Napoleon sitting in the garden.

“Alright Mate,” he called out. “No luck then?”

Napoleon shook his head at the Brit and explained that he’d looked into every room in the hotel and searched the garden three times.

It’s a complete mystery, Mark,” he told the other agent. “Illya has just disappeared from the face of the Earth.”

As his words, a loud rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. Both men automatically looked up.

“That was ominous,” commented Mark, as the heavens opened.

They dashed into the gazebo, in a vain effort to stay dry. Although he’d been briefed by Waverly, Mark asked Napoleon to go into greater detail about what had happened.

“That’s just it,” Solo replied. “I don’t know.”

The CEA recounted every last detail, leaving Mask just as confused as he was. They decided to wait until the rain let up before attempting another search of the garden. The sat in silence and watched the spectacular light show which nature was providing. It was while they waited that Mark noticed the strange behaviour of the rain water on the ground. It seemed to be flowing directly under the steps of the gazebo.

“There’s probably a small gap letting the water under.” Napoleon pointed out.

“But surely, with the amount of rain coming down, the ground should be saturated and it would be pooling by now. That looks as though it’s draining.”

The falling rain was forgotten in an instant as the two man jumped down to inspect the steps. Looking closely, Napoleon spotted two, almost invisible, hinges.

“It must lift,” he said to the other agent. “Give me a hand here.”

Together, the two men raised the steps with relative ease. They revealed another set which led under the gazebo. Mark made his way down and found himself looking along a tunnel.

“I’m going to guess that this has something to do with Illya’s disappearance.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….


Illya awoke to the blinding headache he always got when he was sleep darted. It was becoming too much of a habit for his liking. Opening his eyes, he was surprised, and confused, at his surroundings. He was lying on a soft, comfortable bed, in a bright and airy room. The wallpaper was of a pale blue flowery pattern; matching the curtains and bedclothes. At the far end of the room, standing either side of the door, was and antique dressing table and a large armoire. There was a shaggy blue carpet and a few tasteful watercolours. All in all, it was a quite pretty bedroom.

Two things spoiled the comfort of the room. The first were the thick iron bars on the outside of the window. The second was the heavy iron shackle fitted around Illya’s right ankle. A five foot long chain attached the shackle to the iron bed frame. It had been welded closed around his ankle, meaning there were no locks to pick. Illya wasn’t going very far, very soon.

Checking for his weapon and communicator, he was unsurprised to find them missing. His watch, belt and shoes were also gone, leaving him without any of his little useful gadgets. A flash of lightning drew Illya’s attention to the window so, fighting off a wave of nausea, he got as close to the glass as he could. Stretching to his limit, he was still a few inches shy. Looking out beyond the bars, Kuryakin could see the heavy storm clouds and through the rain he could just about make out a beach. There were no clues as to where he could be. Hearing a key in the lock of the door, Illya turned to face his captor. Even though he’d half expected it, he was still surprised by the person he saw.

“Welcome, Mr Kuryakin. I do apologise for the manner of your arrival, but it was entirely necessary.”

“Mrs Partridge?” Illya exclaimed. “You were our informant?”

Edith Partridge stepped into the room, flanked by two dangerous looking men with rifles.

“I got one of my lovely boys to do it for me,” she told him. “But it had the desire effect.”

Crossing the room, she offered the back of her hand for Illya to kiss. The Russian found it difficult to marry the woman’s twin personas of gracious hostess and sadistic torturer. As he accepted the proffered hand, every method he knew to subdue her, fleetingly crossed his mind. They were dismissed just as quickly. He could very easily kill her without trying, but he was still tethered, and there were still two armed men in the room. His lips barely brushed her skin, but she smiled happily at his good etiquette.

“I was so glad it was you we caught,” Mrs Partridge continued, with that deceptively simpering voice of hers. “You’re so much more intriguing than Mr Solo. Of course, it doesn’t really matter to my associates which of you I got.”

“What do you want with me?”

Mrs Partridge sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her, inviting Illya to join her.

“My dear husband, Emory, is in the hands of THRUSH. As is my niece, Victoria,” she explained. You and Mr Solo were quite unfair, not allowing him his little mineral enterprise. As always, it falls to me to get him out of trouble, so I offered one of you in exchange for them.”

“Where is this place?” Illya asked her, hoping to get enough information to start formulating an escape plan.

“I shouldn’t really tell you,” Mrs Partridge cooed. “But I shouldn’t think it will do any harm.”

It turned out that they were in a cottage, situated about half a mile from the hotel. Sixty years previously, the buildings had been part of the same estate. The tunnel which connected them was once used by smugglers, the leader of who was the owner of the estate.

“I would very much like to give you the full history, but I must prepare for my guests. They should be here soon, so make yourself at home until then.”

Panic wasn’t something Illya allowed himself to feel, but he was coming fairly close. He couldn’t see any way of getting out of the situation. He couldn’t free himself and it was doubtful Napoleon knew where he’d gone. Still, looking on the bright side, he was still alive.

For now.


To be continued.

Comments

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Ooooooo! So far so good! At least Mark and Napoleon are on track now. Can't wait for the next installment.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you. So glad you're enjoying it, as I wasn't too sure about it myself.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Great use of the prompt. I love the water draining clue.

A very good Mrs Partridge, too; and I'm by no means a fan normally.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much :-)

I find Mrs Partridge to be unbelievably annoying. I wasn't sure if I'd got her right in this, but I think I'm pretty close.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Oh this is just getting better and better. And hey, you were able to finally post the prompt with the fic. Great job on both counts and I look forward to the next installment cuz.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much :-)

I've actually managed to work out how next week's prompt is going to fit (which isn't like me at all, LOL)

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Such a sweet woman... maybe not. She does rather fancy our Russian though, so kudos for good taste.

[yumyumpm.livejournal.com]

What a lovely surprise - Mrs Partridge and you tied it in with The Yukon Affair. So fitting since Illya first met her in the Gazebo in the Maze Affair. You did so good with Edith, after all she always gets Partridge out of his scraps. It sounds just like her.