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section7mfuThis part had been intended to fit with yesterday’s picture prompt but, because my mind decided to make life difficult the last few days, it wasn’t ready. Added to that, I couldn’t find a way to get the prompt into the story anyway. So, I give you part 3, which isn’t attached to any prompt.
I would also like to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mrua7 and spikesgirl58 for the instructions on how to do fancy links. If I’ve understood them properly, there should be two lovely links to the previous parts just before the story.
Edited to add - I have another reason to thankmrua7. I stated above that this story doesn't link to a prompt but, as she points out, it fits nicely with today's Ladies First theme. I have amended the title line and tags accordingly.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Part 1
Part 2
Illya was lying on the bed, seemingly examining the fingernails on his right hand, when THRUSH came for him. He’d attempted to break the chain holding him but, despite being stronger than he looked, he was far from superhuman. An eyebrow was raised in surprise as two THRUSH operatives, four guards, Mrs Partridge and her two men entered the room. All, bar Mrs Partridge who was carrying bolt-cutters, had some sort of gun pointed at him
“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked, innocently.
“We were expecting two of you,” replied Simon Fulton, the taller of the two operatives. “But it would seem we will have to make do with just you. I’m sure I’ll be able to extract plenty of information from you, for my employers.”
“Better men than you have tried.”
“On your feet,” instructed the other operative, James Benfield.
Knowing that, for the moment, there was no point in resisting, Illya complied. He didn’t resist as is hands were cuffed behind him, and his ankles were shackled with a twelve inch chain. Bang went his plan to make a run for it at the earliest opportunity. Mrs Partridge handed the bolt-cutters to one of her men, who cut the chain tethering the captive agent.
“Let’s go,” Fulton growled.
As they left, with Illya unable to do more than shuffle, Edith asked when she could expect the return of her husband and niece.
“Soon,” Benfield lied.
He knew full well she would never see them again. For his failure to THRUSH, G. Emory Partridge had paid with his life. He had accepted his execution with the stiff upper lip he knew would be expected. His niece, Victoria, had been claimed by a high ranking member of Central and was working out her days as a domestic ‘servant’.
“Well, goodbye Mr Kuryakin,” Mrs Partridge said pleasantly, as she wished her visitors farewell. “I do hope we meet again, perhaps you could come to tea.”
Illya gave her a look of pure incredulity. She knew she was sending him to his demise, and he knew for certain that she wasn’t as dotty as she seemed.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” he asked her.
“Oh my, Mr Kuryakin, such a nasty and ill-mannered thing to say. Perhaps Emory was right about you foreign types.”
“This is America,” Illya told her forcefully. “You are foreign also.”
Before anything else could be said, a rifle was pushed into Illya’s back, urging him on. He was taken outside and bundled in the trunk of one of the two waiting vehicles.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………....
“Should I be worried that this tunnel is remarkably well lit?” asked Mark Slate, as he and Napoleon made their way along it.
“I think it’s an old smuggler’s tunnel,” Solo replied. “But it’s obviously still in use. I just wish I knew by whom.”
The name ‘Partridge’ kept nagging at him, but he figured it was the presence of the gazebo in the hotel garden which had put that in his mind.
“What I do know is, “he continued. “When Illya and I checked over the maps and ground plans of the area, this tunnel wasn’t shown. That would suggest that the person still using it, is the only one who knows it’s here.”
Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two agents were faced with a heavy wooden door. It presented very little challenge to Mark, who quickly and efficiently blew the locks. The two men drew their weapons and cautiously stepped through, finding themselves in, what looked like, a wood store. With a gesture for Mark to keep following, Napoleon stepped out, and was only half surprised by what he saw.
Across the yard, Edith Partridge was waving, with her handkerchief, as to two cars pulled away. Two armed men stood behind her.
“I knew I was right,” he mumbled to himself.
Aiming the gun at Mrs Partridge, Napoleon strode across the yard, demanding to know where Illya was. Two rifles were aimed at him, but the old woman motioned for them to lower the weapons.
“Oh, Mr Solo!” she exclaimed happily. “It is so nice to see you, and who is this other nice young man?”
“This is Mark Slate,” Napoleon informed her. “He would also like to know where Illya is.”
“You’ve just missed him dear; he went off with those nice people from THRUSH. I shall have Emory returned to me now.”
“Mark, find a vehicle! Quickly!”
The rifles were raised again, this time pointing at Slate. Napoleon swiftly took both men down with sleeper rounds.
“Oh, very well done, Mr Solo,” Mrs Partridge complimented him, as she applauded. “You are so very good. If you’re quick, you may be able to catch up with your pretty little friend.”
Mark returned with an old, but still serviceable car. Napoleon jumped into it; glad to be away from the mad Partridge woman.
“Step on it Mark. Let’s get my partner back.”
To Be Continued.
I would also like to thank
mrua7 and spikesgirl58 for the instructions on how to do fancy links. If I’ve understood them properly, there should be two lovely links to the previous parts just before the story.Edited to add - I have another reason to thank
mrua7. I stated above that this story doesn't link to a prompt but, as she points out, it fits nicely with today's Ladies First theme. I have amended the title line and tags accordingly.…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Part 1
Part 2
Illya was lying on the bed, seemingly examining the fingernails on his right hand, when THRUSH came for him. He’d attempted to break the chain holding him but, despite being stronger than he looked, he was far from superhuman. An eyebrow was raised in surprise as two THRUSH operatives, four guards, Mrs Partridge and her two men entered the room. All, bar Mrs Partridge who was carrying bolt-cutters, had some sort of gun pointed at him
“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked, innocently.
“We were expecting two of you,” replied Simon Fulton, the taller of the two operatives. “But it would seem we will have to make do with just you. I’m sure I’ll be able to extract plenty of information from you, for my employers.”
“Better men than you have tried.”
“On your feet,” instructed the other operative, James Benfield.
Knowing that, for the moment, there was no point in resisting, Illya complied. He didn’t resist as is hands were cuffed behind him, and his ankles were shackled with a twelve inch chain. Bang went his plan to make a run for it at the earliest opportunity. Mrs Partridge handed the bolt-cutters to one of her men, who cut the chain tethering the captive agent.
“Let’s go,” Fulton growled.
As they left, with Illya unable to do more than shuffle, Edith asked when she could expect the return of her husband and niece.
“Soon,” Benfield lied.
He knew full well she would never see them again. For his failure to THRUSH, G. Emory Partridge had paid with his life. He had accepted his execution with the stiff upper lip he knew would be expected. His niece, Victoria, had been claimed by a high ranking member of Central and was working out her days as a domestic ‘servant’.
“Well, goodbye Mr Kuryakin,” Mrs Partridge said pleasantly, as she wished her visitors farewell. “I do hope we meet again, perhaps you could come to tea.”
Illya gave her a look of pure incredulity. She knew she was sending him to his demise, and he knew for certain that she wasn’t as dotty as she seemed.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” he asked her.
“Oh my, Mr Kuryakin, such a nasty and ill-mannered thing to say. Perhaps Emory was right about you foreign types.”
“This is America,” Illya told her forcefully. “You are foreign also.”
Before anything else could be said, a rifle was pushed into Illya’s back, urging him on. He was taken outside and bundled in the trunk of one of the two waiting vehicles.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………....
“Should I be worried that this tunnel is remarkably well lit?” asked Mark Slate, as he and Napoleon made their way along it.
“I think it’s an old smuggler’s tunnel,” Solo replied. “But it’s obviously still in use. I just wish I knew by whom.”
The name ‘Partridge’ kept nagging at him, but he figured it was the presence of the gazebo in the hotel garden which had put that in his mind.
“What I do know is, “he continued. “When Illya and I checked over the maps and ground plans of the area, this tunnel wasn’t shown. That would suggest that the person still using it, is the only one who knows it’s here.”
Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two agents were faced with a heavy wooden door. It presented very little challenge to Mark, who quickly and efficiently blew the locks. The two men drew their weapons and cautiously stepped through, finding themselves in, what looked like, a wood store. With a gesture for Mark to keep following, Napoleon stepped out, and was only half surprised by what he saw.
Across the yard, Edith Partridge was waving, with her handkerchief, as to two cars pulled away. Two armed men stood behind her.
“I knew I was right,” he mumbled to himself.
Aiming the gun at Mrs Partridge, Napoleon strode across the yard, demanding to know where Illya was. Two rifles were aimed at him, but the old woman motioned for them to lower the weapons.
“Oh, Mr Solo!” she exclaimed happily. “It is so nice to see you, and who is this other nice young man?”
“This is Mark Slate,” Napoleon informed her. “He would also like to know where Illya is.”
“You’ve just missed him dear; he went off with those nice people from THRUSH. I shall have Emory returned to me now.”
“Mark, find a vehicle! Quickly!”
The rifles were raised again, this time pointing at Slate. Napoleon swiftly took both men down with sleeper rounds.
“Oh, very well done, Mr Solo,” Mrs Partridge complimented him, as she applauded. “You are so very good. If you’re quick, you may be able to catch up with your pretty little friend.”
Mark returned with an old, but still serviceable car. Napoleon jumped into it; glad to be away from the mad Partridge woman.
“Step on it Mark. Let’s get my partner back.”
To Be Continued.
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Date: 2015-02-08 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-08 07:43 pm (UTC)If you haven't read it already, I think you'll find the final part a little disappointing. The story just wouldn't go right for me.