Tripping Away Part 2 - PicFic 1/20

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Part 1


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The traveling party from New York flew into Nassau's International Airport under a grey sky.  Constance Waverly was not pleased with the unwelcoming weather and said as much to her husband.

"I depend on these holidays to cheer me, Alexander.  I am very disappointed to be greeted with grey skies and ominous looking clouds overhead."  Alexander petted her hand consolingly.

"My dear, if I could manipulate the weather the same way I manage my staff then, rest assured, you would have sunshine today and everyday."  Constance looked into the steely grey eyes, still bright with mischief and full of love for his wife of forty years.

"Alexander my love, I have no doubt that you would move heaven and earth for me.  I will settle for dinner in our room and a good night's rest."  With that she determined to not say another negative word about this trip.  The primary thing was that they were away from New York and, even with a schedule of meetings that he had warned her about, Constance was confident that Alexander would do his best to make this holiday memorable for them.

Napoleon was seated next to April with Mark and Illya across the aisle from them.  As they prepared for landing the four agents also observed the elderly couple at the front of the plane as they bowed their heads together in conversation.

"I wonder what they talk about.  Do you think he tells her about UNCLE business when the day is done?"  April liked to think that the two were, in all aspects, partners.

"I don't know, maybe.  Is that what you'd like, someone who can share secrets with you and then …" He didn't finish.  Somehow that line of thought might be misconstrued as inappropriate.  It was, and he was immediately sorry he'd said it.

"Napoleon, really?"  Illya heard April's voice as it reached a higher note than usual, and wondered at the content of their conversation.  Turning to Mark he asked if he'd ever been to the Bahamas before; it was a popular holiday spot for the British, both the familiar and exotic in one location.

"I was here in sixty-five when the Beatles were filming that movie, um… Help."  Illya raised an eyebrow.

"With what?"  Mark's brow furrowed and then he laughed.

"Help. That's the name of the movie.  I happened to be here and was called in to sort of be a bit of security around the lads.  All of those screaming birds you know."  Illya nodded knowingly.

"Ah, more birds… of a different feather than we normally encounter."  Mark had to laugh at that, although watching Napoleon and April, it occurred to him that their CEA did very well among the former category of birds as well as the THRUSH variety.

When the plane finally pulled to a stop on the tarmac, the UNCLE entourage began preparations to disembark.  Traveling on the UNCLE jet was a pleasure compared to the usually cramped conditions of a commercial liner.  The Section III contingency would be responsible for the additional luggage beyond individual carry-ons and briefcases.  They were also going to be serving as bodyguards during this visit and the subsequent meetings with the head of the emerging nation seeking membership with the Command.

The first order of business was the trip to the hotel,  an exclusive establishment known only to a few with money and power enough to be considered for inclusion in its client list.  The head of UNCLE Northwest was among those and his request for accommodations for his entire group of personnel was met with exceeding grace and enthusiasm.

Illya was quick to notice the upscale arrangements and the location on what appeared to be a private beach.  April was impressed with the view while Napoleon and Mark remarked on the added inconvenience of having not one but two approaches to the sprawling estate on which the hotel had been built.

The main house had been the residence of a 19th century industrialist whose love of the island had inspired him to build a cottage reminiscent  of those in the Newport, Rhode Island strand of homey estates.  The term cottage was used to describe the summer homes of the wealthy, mansions that rivaled the great homes of Europe but in the American vernacular of privileged humility referred to in a way designating them as something other than a year round residence.  The Russian agent scowled at the obvious folly of attempting to conceal conspicuous consumption with mere language.

The party of travelers from New York would be staying in the grandiose home that was the main attraction at this island retreat.  The rest of the compound were a series of bungalows, some built as single units while others had multiple combinations that allowed for two or three separate reservations.

"I find it distasteful to think of the lives needed to support a lifestyle such as this home represents.  I may not sleep well within these walls."

Napoleon made a face that April found funny,  her own opinion of the sumptuous environment slightly more favorable.

"I imagine they'd be happy to put a cot out on the sand for you Illya.  I mean, there's always a way to avoid being taken in by all of this …" She spread her arms out and then winked at the sullen blond.

"Oh, Illya won't mind sleeping in a good bed, he just feels duty bound to complain about the money being spent and the fate of those who serve."  Illya made his own face at that.

It took only a few minutes to designate rooms and assignments.  Mrs. Waverly intended to change clothes before lunch; that meal was being prepared in the house's state of the art kitchen and would be served in the dining room.  Everyone was expected for lunch, and although her preference would have been to eat outdoors, the approaching storm was forcing them all indoors.

Mr. Waverly called his agents together for a briefing in the upstairs study, a smaller version of the large library on the main floor.

"All of this marble is going to be murder in heels.  I think my tennis shoes are going to get more service than I anticipated."

The floors were all highly polished Italian marble,  brought over on ships and labored over by the finest craftsmen of their day.  No expense was spared in the construction of Longmire, the name chosen by that long ago industrialist.

"I believe the appropriate attire for this mission will be casual rather than business.  Of course I'm not sure what that means for you April."  Napoleon winked at the relentlessly enthusiastic Miss Dancer; she had brought enough clothes for a month of vacations and was confident she could pull off island casual without any trouble at all.

Mark had remained mostly quiet during all of the 'moving in' procedures.  Now as they all waited for their briefing to begin, April moved in a little closer and nudged her partner, smiling at him and hoping to cajole a little more conversation out of him.

"What's up Slate?  You haven't said ten words since we arrived.  Are you having a Kuryakin moment among all of this grandeur?"  April brought out the best in Mark, he couldn't resist her good humor.

"No, just … well it is rather grand now, isn't it?  I understand Illya's discomfort though, all of this money poured into a home that was only used for part of the year.  No wonder we have people like THRUSH, they want a piece of this, to live like this and act like kings."

April considered that, wondered what it would be like to have survived the London Blitz, or the horror of the German invasion of your homeland.  Mark and Illya had very different views of the world because of what they had lived through as children, she really didn't have a clue about what the world must look like to them.

Napoleon sat down next to Mark, followed by Illya.  The four of them were the only Section II agents on the island, and their jobs would be to protect the Waverlys and make certain that the meeting was not interrupted or threatened in any way.

It would be easier said than done.

Comments

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, I shall be working on part 3 with the picfic prompt provided, so something's going to happen.