"Escape from the End of the World"~ Part 9

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

They arrived at the airport without incident, and Illya was able to drive directly to the private jet that awaited them rather than ferrying Machado through the terminal.

Kuryakin had already gotten out of the car, going to the boot, and opened up a silver briefcase. There the accoutrements to convert his Special to a carbine awaited him and he quickly constructed the weapon.

He stood, completing his task as a hot wind blew his blond hair. Taking a  handkerchief from his suit pocket; he wiped his brow as he’d begin to perspire. His side was hurting, more than he wanted to admit.

Illya was convinced that once he’d gotten out of this humid climate and back to the fall weather in New York, he’d feel much better.

As the deposed dictator stepped from the back seat of the Mercedes, he looked at the steps leading up to the open door of the jet.

“Those would be easier to navigate if you removed my ankle chains Senhor Solo.”

“We’ll see, General,” he replied.

April immediately boarded, her weapon drawn, looking about. There was a sofa style bench opposite the door and to her right there were large comfortable seats on either side of the plane, enough to seat at least eight passengers if needed. She reached out, touching the upholstery.

“Nice...leather,” she whispered.

“Oh!” A startled woman stopped in her tracks as she stepped out from the small galley in the rear of the plane. She wasn’t exactly expecting someone with a gun to be staring her in the face.

“And you are?” The agent questioned her, aiming her pistol straight at the woman.

“I’m the stewardess Miss Dancer. My name is Sylvia Henriques, Sao Paulo office.” She was petite, with dark hair done up in twist on top of her head, wearing a crisp white blouse and a tight black skirt.

“Pleasure to meet you,” April shook her hand before proceeding to the cockpit, thinking that one would no doubt catch Napoleon’s attention.

Sylvia was nicely built and had very expressive eyes and those pouting red lips of hers would make any girl jealous. Dancer chuckled to herself, no she wasn’t jealous...or was she? This wasn’t the time or the place for that.

She poked her head through the curtains, checking out the pilot and co-pilot.

“Hi boys, we ready to get going?”

“Hello Miss Dancer. I’m Captain Carroll and this is Lieutenant Gibbs. We’ll be sure to get you to Caracas on time as soon as you are all on board and settled in.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled to herself, finding the one named Gibbs kind of cute.

“Keep your mind on the mission girl,” she warned herself. Though she rationalized that Napoleon would no doubt be eyeing Sylvia, so why couldn't she have fun doing the same with Gibbs?

April returned to exit, giving the others the all clear; watching as Solo put a key to Machado’s leggings and removed them. She stayed put while the prisoner entered the cabin, followed by Kuryakin who had his carbine aimed directly at the man’s back.

Napoleon, not wanting his partner to carry anything, brought their luggage from the car; stowing what little there was in the cargo hold. He proceeded up the steps, and closing the door behind him;  he locked it and surveyed the interior of the plane.

“Nice,” he nodded his approval.

“Can I get you anything before take off Mr. Solo,”  Henriques smiled.

“Hmm, nicer,” he smiled back at her. “Nothing right now thank you Miss…”

Old habits die hard and he looked her up and down, guessing she was a 36-24-34… Her blouse fit in all the right places with the top buttons open, showing just a hint of cleavage and her tight pencil skirt outlined her derriere quite nicely. Here eyes were almond shaped, and exotic and surprisingly blue. Oh yeah...

His stare wasn’t lost on her. “My name is Sylvia, but you can call me anything you want, handsome.”

Napoleon caught his partner and Dancer both rolling their eyes.

“I think I’ll just stick with Sylvia for now.” Solo crinkled his nose, flirting back with her just a little bit.

He turned his attention to Machado, making sure he was secure in his seat. Napoleon pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket as secured the chains the General was still wearing to the arm of his seat.

After everyone was set, the stewardess picked up a microphone, giving the pilot the all clear. The jet slowly taxied out to take its position in the queue, preparing for its turn.

“Tower, this is Bravo Tango Niner-7. We are ready for take off.” The Captain radioed their status.

“You have permission Bravo Tango Niner-7 on runway three. Que tengas un buen vuelo_have a good flight.”

“Roger that tower”.

The jet moved to the runway, picking up speed as Captain Carroll increased the forward thrust and when it reached the proper velocity, he raised the aircraft’s nose, bringing it airborn in seconds.

Once they were leveled out and in their flight plan to Caracas, he picked up the microphone on his console, informing the passengers of their altitude and approximate arrival time to their destination.

“You may now move freely about the cabin, and how about some coffee Sylvia?” The Captain asked.

The stewardess handed each of the passengers some magazines, though Kuryakin had brought his own. How he’d managed to find a scientific journal in their short stay at the hotel was beyond Napoleon.

Sylvia offered them cocktails before seeing to the pilots.

“What can I get for you Miss Dancer, gentlemen?”

April decided on a Tom Collins, while Solo had his usual single malt scotch on the rocks, though they didn’t stock his favorite. Illya erring on the side of caution for several reasons, declined anything alcoholic.

“Surely I can get something for you? Coffee, tea...me,” the stewardess smiled.

Illya was in no mood for jokes and frowned at her.

“I’m sorry I was just trying to be friendly Mr. Kuryakin.”

“No I apologize. I am... a bit under the weather. Might I have a cup of tea please?” He cleared his throat, trying to control another cough but didn’t succeed.

“Absolutely,” Sylvia remained cheerful in spite of Illya’s momentary chastisement. “Could I get you some aspirin perhaps?”

“No thank you.” He held up his bottle of pills for her to see.

She turned her attention to the General who asked for a glass of red wine, snorting his derision at the label that was available. Still it was better than nothing and would do for the moment.

“You okay tovarisch?” Napoleon leaned across the aisle closer to where his partner was seated. “You’re looking a little flushed and that cough, you didn’t have that yesterday.”

“Stop being a mother hen; I am fine.”

Solo looked at this watch. “You’re due for your medication shortly. Make sure you take it please?”

“Yes Doctor Motherhen,” Illya snickered.

“I’m not kidding. Why don’t we check your dressing before you get too comfortable?”

The Russian slowly turned his head, dropping his chin and giving his partner the stink eye. “I told you I am fine. As you saw I behaved myself and asked for a cup of tea. I will take my medication with it. Satisfied.”

“Yes I am.” Napoleon buried his nose in his magazine, as did Kuryakin.

April tried not to laugh as she listened in on their banter. Sometimes they could be like two little children, though children who’d both die for the other.

Sylvia emerged from the galley, carrying the tray of drinks, stopping by each passenger and giving them their libation with a friendly greeting..

The last one to receive his was the General who nodded to her with a  knowing smile.

She took the requested coffee to the pilots and when that was done, she seated herself on the sofa nearest to the cockpit and waited.

Napoleon downed his scotch after a few sips, but found himself feeling a bit warm and after loosening his tie, he undid the top button on his shirt. He tugged uncomfortably at his collar, not feeling any better, now concerned he might have caught whatever was working on his partner.

Looking across the aisle he saw Illya was asleep, as was April.

Solo yawned. “No they all couldn’t fall asleep,” he groggily thought.” One of them had to remain awake.”

“Sylvia,” he called, thinking coffee was in order; yet he found it difficult to speak.

“Yes Napoleon?” She answered with an almost singsong tone and moved in front of him as he tried to rise from his seat. He staggered; his eyes darting everywhere as he felt like he was spinning.

“My my, can’t hold your liquor Solo, can you?” Her voice was now sharp and sarcastic.

Napoleon took a step towards her but collapsed, dropping with his face coming to rest in between her breasts before he slipped down to the floor of the cabin; lying unconscious at Sylvia’s feet.


Part 10

Comments

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Ah...I sensed a foul plot afoot when you mentioned something blue (don't want to drop a spoiler here.) What's going on with IK? I have an idea about that also. Damn...my fingernails were just starting to grow back.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Ahhh there you are? didn't see you on chapter 7 & 8 and figured you were letting your nails grow back a little. Hmm, I was wondering who would pick up on the blue eyes...

Mwaaa haa haa,

thanks!